Primal Force

by D. D. Ayres

  “We can’t … not now.”

  He smiled. It was something she was beginning to think of as a reward because he did it so rarely and felt so good. “Later.”

  Jori nodded, not daring for both their sakes, and the wedding, to say another word.

  Law watched her gather up her purse and a wrap that looked like a sweater with long tails she wrapped around her waist and tied. She didn’t look dressed warmly enough for the weather. He should insist she put her coat over what she had on. Maybe he should get the blanket off the bed.

  When he suggested the latter idea, she laughed and ran her hand down his jacket front. “You’ll find ways to keep me warm. I’m counting on it.”

  Law grunted and swung his hand out for her to go ahead out the door. He’d find ways all right. Spend the entire trip thinking about them. He was already hot enough to burn down the cabin around them.

  Once they were both in his truck, she turned to him, her eyes a little bright. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have the nerve to do this alone.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek near the corner of his mouth.

  Again, he only allowed himself a nod. Anything else would be a disaster. He didn’t know how to cherish. But he did know how to protect. If anybody said or did anything today to dim the light in her eyes or stiffen the soft beauty of her smile, he would pound them into the ground.

  Law turned on the ignition, threw his beat-up truck into gear, and stomped on the pedal, sending gravel flying.

  * * *

  Sam looked up from the backseat, curious about the cause of the excitement. All she noticed was two Alphas on high alert. But not the scared or angry kind. That other kind she hadn’t quite figured out. But it made the air between them fragrant with happy.

  At least Cat wasn’t with them. The last glimpse she’d had of the feline was as she was being shut into the downstairs bathroom with a tray of something even Sam wouldn’t eat.

  Samantha lay her head on her paws and sighed. Alpha happy. Pack happy.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Looks like Santa farted Christmas all over town.”

  Jori laughed. “That’s a terrible way to put it.”

  Law wagged his head in disbelief as he inched his truck along Spring Street. The narrow winding lane through downtown Eureka Springs was clogged with shoppers and holiday guests drawn by the town’s monthlong celebration, and the chance to purchase one-of-a-kind artwork, jewelry, and crafts.

  “Just look at that.” He pointed to a storefront window where a young man sat wearing a Santa’s elf costume. Holding a huge peppermint lollipop, he waved at passersby. “That’s just freaky.”

  “They call them living windows, Law.”

  Law grunted. “I’d say a man dressed up like that lacks a certain amount of self-respect.”

  Jori landed a playful swat on his arm. “Some people have a better-developed sense of play. I bet you’d make a wonderful elf.”

  He scowled at her, but it was halfhearted.

  “Now, that’s more like it.” He pointed to a young woman standing on the curb at the Basin Street Park, right in the middle of town. She wore bright-red Heidi braids and a Santa’s helper costume that consisted of a lace-up bustier, a very short skirt with ruffled panties, and thigh-high white stockings with Christmas bows as garters. The sign beside her said she was handing out fudge samples from Two Dumb Dames Fudge Factory.

  He turned his sludge-gold gaze on her. “Would you wear that for me?”

  Jori laughed. “No way. You’re hell on lingerie.”

  “Damn straight.”

  Jori turned away from his wolfish grin, a little stunned that the man she’d once thought had no sense of humor was teasing her. Better to concentrate on the scenery.

  Law was right. Eureka Springs’s Old World spa village facade of original nineteenth-century Victorian houses and storefronts did look like a Santa’s Christmas Village come to life. Every store window and restaurant and bar entrance that wasn’t swagged and wreathed was strangled with tinsel and ornaments and lights. But the town lost its starchy appearance after dark, becoming the most open-minded in the state.

  She had often walked the meandering slope of Spring Street on a weekend getaway from the University of Arkansas with friends. There were bars for every taste. Her favorite had been the Rowdy Beaver Tavern, which offered karaoke as well as live bands. Other bars catered to bikers. Some welcomed doctors, lawyers, and businesspeople styling the “Born to Be Wild” swagger of their lost youth. Others, like the Cathouse Lounge, served the hard-core one-percenters. Both groups shared a love of the challenge and the thrill of riding the steep twisty roads leading into town. For the moment, the celebration of Christmas had brought everyone into cheerful coexistence.

  Jori glanced at Law, who was intently watching holiday shoppers cross the street without even acknowledging traffic. This would be her first Christmas in five years to celebrate as she wished. So what did she wish for? She mustn’t wish for him. If history was any judge, she didn’t make good decisions where the men in her life were concerned. The jump from outlaw businessman to wild-man lawman sounded a lot like rebound.

  Lost in thought, she didn’t realize they had climbed past town and up through the residential area until they came out of the final steep, twisty turn of the street at the entrance to the Crescent Hotel. Here the crowd swelled again as people milled around the Christmas Tree Forest of lighted and decorated trees on the east lawn. The hotel built on the mountaintop rose out of the woodland darkness as majestic as any Old World castle.

  But it was the laughter that caught Jori’s attention as they pulled into the curved drive before the multistoried hotel. Carefree and joyful laughter.

  Jori pushed back against the seat. There were people dressed for a party thronging the entrance. Many of them had to be wedding guests. Her mom had said small wedding. Her eyes did a jittery dance over them, seeking yet fearing recognition.

  The spinning sensation was back. The quivery feeling that her compass was shot and that, if she moved, she would simply dance off the edge of the mountain.

  That’s when Law’s headlights caught a woman.

  Jori couldn’t catch her breath. No, she’d stopped breathing. Memories quaked through her. They would know. They would all remember when her life had become a one-minute news spot on the local channels for weeks.

  Bail denied. Flight risk.

  A risk to whom?

  Shame, thick and corrosive, coursed through her. She was going to be sick! No, that might be seen as an admission of guilt.

  She’d not even been allowed to attend Brody’s funeral. What must his family think of her? Not her fault, his, that she was stuck in a jail cell.

  Guilt—oh God! She’d been found guilty. Guilty, of what?

  “Jori.”

  Jori realized Law was saying her name. Had said it three times. She turned to him. In the gloom of the truck cab, it took her a moment to see the hard stare he bent on her.

  “Have you changed your mind?” His tone was low and neutral. “We can go get a beer instead.”

  A way out. He was offering it. But she wasn’t as much of a coward as that. “No. I’ve come here for answers. Let’s get them.”

  He watched her for several long seconds, as if guessing her thoughts. “They can’t hurt you unless you let them.” He reached over and unhooked her seat belt and then grabbed her chin and planted a swift hard kiss on her mouth. “Let’s go get these bastards.”

  Jori smiled. “You always talk as if you’re going to war.”

  Law shook his head. “I’ve been to war. This is the opposite. We’re investigating a crime. Cool heads required.”

  “You’re never cool.”

  “Around you.” His face sobered with emotions at odds with his gentle tone. “You haven’t seen me doing my job. The Hoodie robber doesn’t count, either. Most of my job requires this face.”

  Jori watched as every emotion but sharp watchfulness drained from his expression. Hard eyes,
harder mouth. She shivered. He was right. She’d never seen that face. Someone was about to be in a world of trouble. She was glad it wasn’t her.

  * * *

  “Jori! You’re here.” Despite the crush of people in the columned lobby, cordoned off in the middle for a huge decorated tree, Heather Garrison spied her daughter the second she entered the hotel lobby.

  Her mother threw her arms around Jori’s neck. “It must have been the traffic. I told everyone you’d come. I told them!”

  Her mother’s voice squeezed Jori’s heart. It had not occurred to her that her mother would make believe that she was coming up until she could no longer hold on to that lie. For the first time it occurred to her that maybe not showing up would have been worse than being here. And that she had been unkind and thoughtless to think otherwise.

  Heather released her daughter, her blue eyes swimming in unshed tears. “Let me see you. Yes. You chose the absolute best dress. It suits you perfectly.” Her mother rotated her fingers to make Jori twirl around. “Have you been to the gym? Your figure looks better than ever.”

  Jori blushed as her mother’s joyous tone drew glances her way. “Work keeps me active. And look at you. You look like you could be the bride, Mom.”

  It was true. Taller and slimmer in physique than Jori, her mother looked wonderful in her formfitting, blush-colored sequin mesh gown.

  “Sorry we’re late.”

  “We?” Heather Garrison’s gaze widened as she looked fully at the man who stood a little behind her daughter with his back angled to the wall. Her gaze stayed wide as it shifted to the shaggy dog the color of barbecue sauce wearing a service dog vest who sat beside him.

  Jori reached back and snagged Law’s arm to pull him closer. “Mom, this is Lauray Battise.” She left out his title. Considering recent circumstances, mentioning that he was an officer of the law might not be considered a good thing. Sam pushed her head under Jori’s hand, reminding her. “Oh, and this is Sam, his service dog. I hope it’s okay that she’s with us.”

  “It’s fine.” Her mother’s voice sounded pleased and girlish. Law was having that effect on the other women in the hallway, too. “Welcome. Mr. Baptist, is it?”

  “Battise. Just call me Lauray.” Law held out his hand but Jori knew her mother wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to hug a good-looking man.

  Sure enough she scooted under his arm to hug him, saying, “Oh, we aren’t a formal family, Lauray. I’m Heather, Jori’s mom.”

  She gave him a quick squeeze and then backed up before her friendliness could be misinterpreted. “We’re happy to have any friend of Jori’s with us on this special day.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She gave Law’s arm a pat, her eyes widening perceptively at the hard muscle underneath his tux coat. She turned to Jori and gave her a raised-eyebrow smile. “We have so much to catch up on later, don’t we?”

  Jori smiled back. “Yes we do, Mom.” How could she have ever thought otherwise? “Where’s Dad?”

  “Keeping Kieran company until it’s showtime. Which is in…” She twisted the diamond watch on her wrist around to see the dial. “Oh my. Ten minutes! There’s still so much to do. Kaitlyn wanted a small ceremony but Kieran wanted a party. So they compromised. The wedding is in the Conservatory. Only immediate families. The reception will be in the Crystal Ballroom with all three hundred guests. Go through there,” she pointed down a hallway to the right. “I left space on the second-row groom’s side for you. Just in case.”

  * * *

  “I like your mom.”

  “Everyone does. Dad likes to say that God sprinkled a little bit more positive dust on Mom than he did the rest of us. She never sees a negative.”

  Law grunted noncommittally. “I see where you get your legs from.” He pushed open the doors to the Conservatory.

  The first things Jori saw past three short rows of chairs were her brother and her dad. They were standing next to the priest under an arbor of white poinsettias.

  Kieran saw her first and came charging up the shallow aisle. “Pima!” He swept her off her feet and swung her around, knocking over a white folding chair in the process. Neither cared.

  “Put me down, Kieran. You’re ruining my dress.” But Jori had wrapped her arms around her big brother’s neck and held on.

  He deposited her on the floor but then threw a possessive arm around Jori’s shoulders as if he wasn’t ready to let go. For a second they just stood staring at each other with stupid grins on their faces.

  “Pima?” Law’s voice broke the spell.

  “Stands for pain in my ass,” Kieran answered easily, giving the stranger a quick up and down. “She wasn’t an easy child. I’m Kieran, the big brother.” He stuck out his hand.

  Law took it. “Lauray Battise.”

  Their grins were friendly but Jori saw the momentary struggle as those hands locked in contest. They were nearly the same height but Kieran was built leaner. Kieran shared Jori’s open face and easy smile yet his gaze was nearly an even match with Law’s in steely determination.

  “Army?”

  “Ranger.” Kieran jutted out his jaw. “Two tours.”

  Law nodded. “Afghanistan. Three tours. I lost the last time.”

  Kieran’s gaze dropped to the dog Law petted with his left hand, noted the canine’s vest, and moved on to Jori, who was blushing. “Not where it counts.”

  “Jori?”

  She turned toward that bewildered voice. “Daddy!”

  “Hi, Kitten.” He pulled her close to him, mercilessly crushing his boutonniere. “Finally listened to your mother, huh?”

  “Mostly.” She stared at her father, a slightly shorter, grayer version of her brother. “You look good, Dad.”

  “You look better.” He palmed her head and kissed the crown of her hair and then held out a hand to Law. “Time for introductions later. Right now everybody grab a seat so we can get this party started.”

  The ceremony was short and sweet. Kieran and Kaitlyn looked like everyone’s idea of the topper on a wedding cake. His grin revealed a man so proud and happy, he was about to bust his studs. And she, all blushing teary bride in a simple elegant gown, had eyes only for her new husband.

  Jori kept her eyes on them, ignoring the shocked, round-eyed glances of the maid of honor. There’d be time to deal with Erin Tice later.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Law stood back from the other guests at the reception, observing. No one seemed to mind that, an hour after the nuptials, they were still waiting for the arrival of the bride and groom.

  Samantha sat beside him, nudging her head under his hand from time to time as they waited for Jori. Law petted her, the rhythmic action soothing the tension of exposure. Jori had said she wanted to speak privately with her parents, but Law suspected she just needed to catch her breath. He couldn’t blame her.

  Crowds made him edgy. The large Crystal Ballroom had too many exits and windows. The music was too loud. The laughter was too high-pitched. And the food. The mountains of what was probably delicious, expensively arranged gourmet fare—still untouched—reminded him of a Kandahar province food bazaar. The aromas made him slightly nauseated. He was way out of his comfort zone. If not for Jori, he would be long gone.

  Finally, he saw her. She paused in the doorway, her eyes roaming the group, searching. God, he hoped it was for him. And then he remembered. She had yet to face all these people who, for him, were like so many bleating sheep. No way would he let her run the gauntlet of curious stares alone.

  He moved quickly and quietly along the perimeter of the room, his discomfort at being bumped and jostled by other bodies forgotten. He wasn’t sentimental. He’d never understood other guys in his unit getting all moony-eyed over face time with their girls or wives. But the sight of Jori standing proud but uncertain got to him. This wasn’t about him. This was about keeping her strong, and watching her back.

  Jori felt all eyes on her as she stepped into the Crystal Ballroom
. Even looking directly ahead, she could see some of the guests elbow others to draw their attention her way.

  “This sucks.”

  Jori glanced sideways at Law, who had stepped up behind her. He placed a hand on the small of her back and urged her forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She knew he didn’t like being on display, either. “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.” He slanted a glance down at her as they moved into the throng of guests and toward the champagne fountain. “I know I look good in this tux but I didn’t think I’d cause a scene.”

  Jori choked on her laughter and misstepped. But Law was there, a strong arm around her waist. “How about some champagne?”

  Jori nodded. She could use a little liquid courage at the moment.

  Erin must have been waiting for her. As soon as she and Law had snagged glasses of champagne, Erin floated up to them in a bridesmaid dress a little shorter and a little better-fitted than any of the other attendants’. Her hair was cut in long layers in shades of blond from champagne to butter, gold, and honey. A marathoner, she was toned, lithe, and tan.

  In purely female fashion, Erin gave Jori a down–up glance, assessing her critically. “Wow, Jori. That is you. You’re the last person I expected to see today. How are you?”

  “Peachy, Erin. And you know what they say about bad pennies.”

  Erin frowned, as if not familiar with the cliché. “I almost didn’t recognize you.” She touched one of Jori’s curls. “You were blond last time I saw you.”

  “But you’re still the same.” Jori let her puzzle on that for a second. She might have known, Erin’s attention didn’t stay on her. She was now looking up at Law with a flirtatious smile.

  “I’m Erin Tice, Luke Tice’s wife.” She held out a slender hand that barely seemed capable of managing the chunk of diamond that was her engagement ring.