by Cecy Robson
Wren grins and pats my shoulder. “No problem. I’ll be at the table looking after your club and saving Evan from all the money grubbing politicians who figured out who he is.” Her face lights up when she sees him stepping out of the ballroom. “Hey, babe,” she yells, hurrying toward him.
Melissa moves off to the side for privacy. I think she’s ready to iron things out, but when she lifts her chin, I can tell she’s not happy.
Well, that makes two of us. “What the hell was that?” I ask her.
“Are you referring to your blatant and uncalled for display of possessiveness, the way you practically marked me as yours in front of Trevor, or what could have happened if the press caught sight of your interaction?” She narrows her eyes. “Grow up. You’re the District Attorney for the state of Pennsylvania not some jealous boyfriend.”
Yeah. Not the kick to the balls I need. But this isn’t about me and what I did. “What happened between you and Stone?”
If I didn’t think she could get angrier, I was wrong. “You’re seriously asking me this?”
“Yes. I am.” She looks around, as if debating whether to answer. “Just tell me,” I say.
She squares her stance. “I spent the night with him a few times,” she admits.
“Was it consensual?”
She seems taken aback by my question. But I need to know, because if it wasn’t―and he hurt her―I’m going to fuck up his world.
“Very,” she says.
“Very?” I ask.
“We weren’t intoxicated if that’s what you’re insinuating. We were both . . .” Her voice trails at the sight of my heating face. “We were both willing,” she adds quickly.
Every muscle in my body tightens hard enough to yank me back to the ballroom and nail Trevor across the jaw. It’s not that I’m not glad that he didn’t hurt her. I am. But like I said, this jealousy shit is a vicious bastard. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”
Her jaw pops open. “You’re the one who wanted to know.”
“No. I wanted you to tell me he’s been pining after you and you rejected him every single time.” No, I’m not an asshole or anything.
She raises her brows. “So you wanted me to lie?”
“No,” I tell her flatly. “But how do you think I feel right now knowing he’s touched you, the only way I should touch you?”
Her expression, so furious before, softens. “It’s been several months since the last time I saw him, Declan. And I didn’t go to bed with him that time.”
“Oh, that time. That’s great, babe.”
She rams her hands on her hips. “It’s been over a year since the last time Trevor and I slept together. But do you know what? It’s only been a few weeks since we ran into someone you slept with.”
I lean back on me heels, a hell of task considering how straight my spine is.
“What?” she demands. “I’m hearing impaired, not blind. Do you think I’ve missed the way those women have looked at you when they’ve seen us together? That hostess at that Japanese restaurant, the defense attorney you negotiated the Trammel case with―Oh, and that bartender during happy hour. I’m surprised she didn’t poison my drink. And don’t get me started on all the women who want to sleep with you, including that airhead Stephanie who’s ready to claw my eyes out every time I walk past her stupid pink cubicle.”
“None of them mean anything to me,” I bite out.
“Like me?”
I keep my voice as low as hers, but where she seems close to tears, I don’t flinch, the truth behind my words keeping my voice even. “You mean everything to me.”
Her expression caves, like what I say is more than she can take. I clasp her wrists gently, drawing her to me until my chest brushes against hers. “Everything,” I repeat.
She lowers her lids. “Declan . . . Trevor didn’t mean anything. I need you to know that, okay?”
His name alone riles me more than it should. I let out a breath, trying to keep it together, knowing I’m acting like a prick. “Did you know he was going to be here?”
“I didn’t think about it,” she says. “I should have seeing how he attends these functions, but my mind wasn’t on him.”
I rest my forehead against hers. “Who was it on?” I know it’s me, because God knows she’s all I ever think about. But I want to hear her say it.
“It was on you, it’s always on you.”
She says it like it pains her. I don’t understand why she’s so upset. Yeah, I get I’m behaving like a lunatic. But it’s not like I lost my composure.
Like too many times before, she pulls away from me, as if she can’t accept that I love her and need her more than anyone in this damn world.
My eyes lock on her. “It’s always on me?” I question. “Like when we were in the limo when I went down on you?”
Her eyes close and she shudders, her face flushing in that way it does when I’m turning her on. I lift my finger and trail it against her jaw, stroking it lightly until she opens her eyes. “I like it when you blush,” I rasp, speaking so quietly she has to read my lips. “You do it every time I’m on top of you and you’re ready to come.”
The feral look she pegs me with makes me lose my damn mind. Shit. It’s all I can do not to get us a room right now, the need to take her blinding me to reason.
“Hey, Deck!” Curran calls.
With a great deal of effort, I glance over my shoulder and away from Melissa. He’s standing close to the entrance of the ballroom with his arm around Tess.
“Come on, man,” he says. He jerks his head toward the double doors. “Let’s show our women how good we can dance.”
His suggestion reminds me it’s my night to shine, and I will. But I want Melissa to take her place in the spotlight with me.
I offer her my arm. “Will you dance with me? I want to show the world we’re together.”
She wavers, once more appearing close to tears. I don’t understand her response, it’s as if she’s afraid to believe me.
I almost ask her what’s wrong when she takes my arm and allows me to lead her forward. She seems stiff and hesitant. I’m wondering if she’s having second thoughts about us. But she can’t, not when my life hasn’t been the same without her.
The governor steps out of the bathroom with her security detail, smiling when she spots us. She seemed happy when I saw her earlier and mentioned Melissa and I were together. I wasn’t looking for her approval, just happy to share something good with someone who knows us. Still, it was nice of her to give us her blessing.
I nod in her direction and slip my arm around Melissa, feeling oddly protective when we enter the ballroom and crowd of reporters swarm us. I expected some buzz from the press and maybe a few questions when they saw us. I didn’t expect all the flashing cameras.
“District Attorney O’Brien,” a reporter calls. “Are you and Miss Fenske a couple?”
Oh, look, there’s Stone, his cocky smile fading as I answer, “Absolutely, but don’t tell anyone.” I wink. “It’s a secret.”
The crowd laughs. We stop to pose for a few pictures. Damn, it’s good to have Melissa back in my arms. She’s breathtaking and poised and I’m so fucking proud of her. She took the podium as easily as the governor did, handling tough questions with grace and a winning demeanor that captivated her audience.
I keep her close against me as more photographers move forward. The gossip and entertainment columns will be all over the story, as well as the political circuits, but I don’t care. This time without Mel has been among the worst in my life. I want us together, and I’m not afraid to show the public what she means to me.
“District Attorney O’Brien―Melissa, Melissa!” The governor’s assistant frantically waves, motioning us in the direction of more press.
We turn as one, my smile widening. As much as I believed I didn’t need a woman, I was wrong. All this time I needed Melissa, a strong woman capable of holding her own and standing as my equal.
I lean i
n and kiss her cheek, stirring the media into a frenzy. More clicks of the camera. More flashes. More attention. We’re getting more press than the governor. But although I enjoy coming out as a couple, I can feel Melissa is overwhelmed.
Her delicate senses are likely on edge. I hold out a hand, keeping my smile. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to dance with this beautiful woman.”
The crowd parts as we head to the dance floor. Stone glares as we pass. If there wasn’t all this press, I’d flip him off. But there is, so a grin is more than enough.
We join my family already dancing. Wren and Evan are kissing like usual and Finnie’s hands are just centimeters from Sol’s ass. And look at that, Seamus is dancing with Senator Billings’ daughter.
I play it safe and dance near Killian and Sofia, and Curran and Tess, pulling Melissa close. Killian and Sofia are still in that honeymoon phase, and one I’m not sure they’ll ever grow out of. Curran and Tess are ready for their next kid, but there’s Curran, his hands even lower on Tess, than Finnie’s were on Sol’s.
I motion to the way Curran curls around Tess and their unborn child. “I want that for us,” I tell Melissa quietly,
Melissa turns to look at them, only to glance quickly away.
Shit. Too much too soon, I suppose. But I’m tired of denying how I feel or brushing it aside, like it will somehow go away.
That locket I gave her . . . as crazy as it sounds it was almost a ring. More than once during my time in that jewelry store I found myself looking at engagement rings. Me, the same guy who was perfectly content to die alone.
My fingers skim over her back. I told her I didn’t believe in forever. Now that I do, will she believe in it with me? It’s too early to tell. This is our first night in too long. But as I gather her closer and kiss her bare shoulder, I can’t think of a better start.
My lips trail to her cheek. I want to taste her lips. But I need to behave and watch my hands around the press.
“Have I told you how stunning you look?” I whisper, careful to not speak too close to her ear.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Her voice shakes and it’s not because of the way I’m touching her. Like I said, I’m watching my hands. Something’s wrong. I angle my chin so I can see her. She turns, resting her cheek against my shoulder and shielding her face from mine. The rustle of fabric against her hearing aid should bother her in this position. Regardless, she stays where she is, attempting to hide.
My palms smooth down her back. “What’s wrong, baby?”
She lets out a breath. “As soon as the song is over, I need to check on my dad.”
Her father. Of course. No wonder she’s so upset.
She holds me closer, like she’s afraid to let me go. But I’m not going anywhere.
I stroke her spine. “I’ll go with you,” I promise. Hell, after all he’s done for me and what his daughter means to me, it’s the least I can do.
We spend the remainder of the night dividing our time between her father, my family, and some of the higher ups, my arm rarely leaving her waist. But when we return to the limo, and the door shuts behind us, we’re all over each other.
Her large breasts bounce in my face as she rides me. I snag one in my mouth to suck, my lap colliding against hers. She clutches my head, her circling hips slowing at the start of her orgasm. I flip her over, throwing her legs over my shoulder and pumping hard.
We’re loud, intense, and unable to get enough. My hands grip the seat as I come. I’m not quite finished and already looking forward to the next round in my apartment.
I feather kisses along her throat. But when I reach her mouth, I freeze in place.
Tears stream down her cheeks in small, thin rivers.
I cup her face, carefully wiping her warm skin with my thumbs. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she answers quietly.
I search her face. “What is it, baby?” I ask, hating the way she pulls away from me.
Her chest rises and falls like she’s trying not to break down. “I just really love you, Declan,” she whispers.
It’s what she says. And I believe her. But the more I take her in, the more she seems regret it.
My cell phone ringing wakes me from a sound sleep. I reach for it where it’s perched on my nightstand, trying not to disturb Mel tucked against me.
We’ve only been asleep for a few hours, but my movements stir her awake. She lifts her head from my chest. “What’s wrong, love?” she asks.
I look at who’s calling. “It’s Curran,” I say, my voice hoarse with exhaustion. It’s not quite nine, and we were up all night, but I can’t help my smile. “I bet Tess is in labor.”
“Hey, man,” I say, answering the phone. “Am I an uncle, again?”
“Declan, it’s me,” Tess says, her voice unusually morose. “I have some bad news.”
I push up in bed, suddenly awake. “Are you okay―is Curran all right?”
“We’re fine.” Her voice breaks. “It’s Rosana, the victim in the Iker Escobar case. She’s dead, Declan. Iker killed her.”
CHAPTER 22
Melissa
Declan leans back into his office chair, rubbing his jaw as if it will somehow remove the ire cloaking him like death itself.
“Tell me what happened,” he says.
Chief Lee and Detective Melo exchange glances from where they’re seated in front of Declan. Like me, they sense his anger. But they’re doing a better job of masking their fury. Declan . . . my God. If I didn’t know him, I wouldn’t dare approach him right now.
“Escobar was being transferred to a different jail because of threats against him by the other inmates,” the chief answers. “Based on your reputation and your unwillingness to plea bargain, he knew he was headed to prison. He and three other transfers overpowered the guards and escaped. The other three headed south and away from the city.”
“But not Escobar,” Declan finishes for him.
The chief doesn’t speak. Not right away. When he does, it takes all I have not to cry. “No. He went to the victim’s house and killed her.”
“How’d he do it?” Declan asks, his stare drilling a hole into the picture Rosana drew of him.
“He choked her with his bare hands,” Chief Lee answers. He’s been in law enforcement for decades, witnessing the evil people are capable of firsthand. But behind his jaded stare, I see it. The sadness we all feel when someone this young and innocent dies.
Brenda, my victim services worker on call can’t take it. She breaks down, sobbing into her hands, her cries the only sound in the room.
I put my arm around her. I want to cry with her. But if I start, I won’t stop.
Rosana, a sweet kid with an even sweeter smile and a gift for art, who had a horrible life that no one deserved died in a way no one deserves. Life is so unbearably cruel.
“Come on,” I whisper to Brenda, helping her to her feet.
Declan and the chief need to form a plan, and for that they need quiet. They can’t have quiet with Brenda here. She’s in full-blown hysterics. As much as I empathize with what she’s feeling, an emotional breakdown won’t help anyone.
“Do we have any idea where Escobar is?” Declan asks.
I pause at the door to hear the chief’s answer. “No. The neighbors heard the victim screaming and called 9-1-1. Three people saw him as he fled the apartment, including the responding officers. One of badges ran after him, but lost him a few blocks away, they’re combing the area now. The other badge ran into the apartment, but the victim was already dead.”
I step out and close the door quietly behind me, guiding Brenda down the hall and past the row of cubicles. A few of the on-call staff came in when they heard what happened. They watch us in silence, their expressions somber.
It’s only Valencia who speaks. “I’m sorry, Melissa,” she says.
“I am, too, Valencia.”
I lead Brenda to my office, motioning her to sit in one of the chairs. I sit beside her and wait for her to calm.
“I can’t keep doing this,” she finally says.
“Brenda, this is a tough job,” I begin.
“No,” she says, cutting me off. “A tough job is getting up at three in the morning to haul garbage like my father did. A tough job is driving a tow truck like my brother does. A tough job is working as a teacher in the inner city school system like my mother has for the last twenty-nine years. This is hell!”
I lean back, letting her yell because she needs to. “I quit this unit,” she says. “I’m sorry, Melissa. You’ll have my official transfer request on your desk tomorrow.”
I don’t ask her to reconsider or to think things through. Bottom line, she can’t do the job. Eight months on my staff and she’s already burnt out. “That’s not necessary. I’ll just take your resignation.”
She blinks back at me with red, swollen eyes. “Can’t I just transfer to another unit?”
“Not without my recommendation.”
“And you won’t give me one?” she asks.
She didn’t even know Rosana and lost all semblance of control. “No,” I reply quietly. “This isn’t where you belong.” I’m not trying to be insensitive or mean. I’m being honest. Someone this fragile can’t work here. Victims of crime deserve better.
Tears stream down her face. She knows I won’t change my mind. But before she considers cursing me out, I hope she remembers the riveting speech she gave me during the interview process, about how passionate she is about victims’ rights and how social work was all she had ever wanted to do.
“Just go home,” I tell her when she doesn’t move. “Leave your phone, and your keys, and I’ll take care of the rest.”