by Ray, Lexie
I found myself pouring my heart out to this man even though we’d only just met. He listened dispassionately, his eyes never leaving my face, studying me as I divulged every gory detail starting with my baby’s conception to yesterday’s violent rejection of my presence.
“I just don’t understand,” I said, light-headedly starting on my fourth glass of wine. “Four years ago, Ben said that they’d keep in touch with me. He said that there was the chance for custody once I got back on my feet. And now, just when everything is finally going my way in life, something changes. Why won’t they let me have my son back?”
“Something changed,” Tyler said. “It’s as simple as that.”
“What?” Maybe it was the way the wine was fogging up my mind, but I didn’t quite catch his drift.
“The game changed,” he said, shrugging. “Something began to change four years ago. You said at that point, you barely knew Ben. He was so vastly different from the boy you’d loved. And yesterday, it was more than not being able to recognize him. He’d turned into a monster. People change because their circumstances change. And it’s the circumstances that we need to figure out.”
“I’m impressed,” I said, wondering why my head was so heavy and light at the same time. “You didn’t even take notes.”
“Taking notes is an excuse for people not to listen,” he said. He tapped his temple with one neatly manicured finger. “It’s all in here.”
“That’s good,” I said. “I’m glad I’m all in there.”
He laughed shortly and I realized I was spouting nonsense.
“I’ve taken too much of your time, Mr. Marlowe,” I said, rising suddenly and unsteadily, my head spinning. I didn’t fall, though. Tyler had a strong grip on my arm. He’d risen when I had, though I didn’t realize it.
“You haven’t,” he said. “You’ve been sharing pertinent information on this case that will hopefully help me reunite you with your son.”
“I hope you don’t charge by the hour,” I joked.
He shook his head. “We’ll discuss payment when the case is resolved to your satisfaction,” he said.
“Well, I’m good for it,” I said, my words slurring a little bit. I was drunk and I felt stupid, like I didn’t want Tyler to see me like this.
“I don’t doubt it, Ms. Crosby,” he said softly, those blue eyes shimmering.
“I’m going home,” I said.
“Not alone you’re not,” he said, taking my elbow as I left a couple of bills on the table and stumbled a bit.
“Mr. Marlowe,” I crowed, giggling. “What was all this about professional distance?”
He smirked at me and I wanted to kiss him just to see what he’d do. I tried to shake myself from the tendrils of the thought. I’d only just hired the man to help me get my son back. It was a testament to just how long it’d been for me sexually that I was so attracted to a practical stranger.
Another errant thought: I’d willingly fucked men who were much more strangers than Tyler Marlowe. Where were these thoughts coming from? Didn’t I have control of my own brain anymore? I was lucky that the private investigator couldn’t hear them.
“I’m not going to let a tipsy woman negotiate the streets of New York by herself,” he said, walking me out of the bar.
“Tipsy?” I echoed. “Mr. Marlowe, I’m drunk. There’s no tipsy about it.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” he said, putting his arm around my waist as I tried to totter down the sidewalk on my own.
“Should we get a taxi?” I slurred, feeling like an idiot. Why had I felt the need to have so much wine in front of the private investigator? He must think I was the mother of the year or worse—not take the case seriously. The only thing that mattered was Trevor, my treasure. I wanted him, no, I needed him back in my life. I didn’t know how much longer I could go without seeing him.
“We’ll be fine walking,” Tyler said reassuringly. “Your apartment isn’t too far from here. And the exercise and fresh air will do you good.”
“Are you calling me fat, Mr. Marlowe?”
He gave a surprised laugh, the rich and unexpected sound echoing pleasantly off the pavement.
“No, Ms. Crosby,” he said. “You have quite a nice figure. I’m calling you drunk. Exercise helps metabolize the alcohol. Maybe, if you drink some water and take some aspirin before passing out, you might escape the worst of a hangover.”
We walked on for a block before I had my next thought.
“Wait,” I said, stopping in my tracks and almost falling down. If not for Tyler’s strong arm around me, I would’ve eaten sidewalk.
“What’s the matter?”
“How do you know where I live?” I demanded. “Are you stalking me?”
“You’re very astute, Ms. Crosby,” Tyler said in what I strongly suspected was a sarcastic voice. “But I’m not stalking you. I do my research on all clients before taking their case. That’s how I decide which cases to take.”
“What made you take on this case?” I asked as we approached my apartment building. “I’m interested in knowing.”
Tyler ducked his head for a moment, and if I hadn’t been so drunk, I would’ve sworn he was blushing.
“I hope this doesn’t violate our professional distance,” I said, deliberately making my voice husky.
He smirked almost ruefully and shook his head. “You sure do know how to push a man’s buttons, Ms. Crosby.”
“It’s what I do best.”
We stood in front of my apartment building as I fumbled with the keys long enough for Tyler to take pity on me and open the door.
“Thank you for seeing me home,” I said, even though I could barely see Tyler. Figures were blurring together, and all I wanted to do was collapse in bed. “I can take it from here.”
“Not likely,” Tyler said. “I can’t leave you until I see that you’re safely back home. I have this vision of you struggling with the door to your apartment and then giving up, sleeping on the floor outside it.”
I shrugged. That didn’t sound so bad.
But Tyler insisted on accompanying me up to my apartment, opening the door and turning on the lights, which hurt my eyes. I sat heavily on the couch and put my face in my hands.
After some sounds from the kitchen and a few moments, a strong but gentle hand took me by the wrist and made me close my own hand on a cool glass of water. The thought of drinking anything else turned my stomach and I shook my head furiously.
“Try to drink a little bit,” Tyler urged me. “It’ll make all the difference in the world tomorrow. Believe me.”
I took the tiniest sip possible just to get him off my back, but it soured in my belly and came lurching back up. Somehow, instead of vomiting on my apartment floor, there was a trashcan right in front of me. I heaved and heaved, purging all the toxins I’d tried to numb myself with this evening. I knew now that it wasn’t the right thing to do. I had to stay clear headed for my son and to try to resolve this situation. Tonight I’d displayed nothing but weakness, and that was inexcusable.
“That’s it,” Tyler encouraged. “Get it all out.”
“I’m done,” I said, leaning back from the trash bin and feeling miserable. What a fantastic first impression I had to be making.
With incredible tenderness, I realized that Tyler was dabbing my lips and forehead with a cool, damp washcloth. The small gesture of kindness and care set me off, and I started weeping.
“I’m sorry,” I said, taking the washcloth from him and pressing it into my eyes to try to staunch the tears as if they were blood from an open wound. “What you must think of me.”
“I think you’re a woman who simply wants something desperately,” Tyler said. “That’s all. Now. Do you think you can hold down a little more water? What about some toast?”
I shook my head violently at the suggestion of anything solid. “I can do water.”
This time, the liquid soothed instead of antagonized, and cooled my scorched throat.
> “Here,” Tyler said, placing two pills in my palm. “Aspirin.”
I took the pills, feeling thankful that I could swallow them down without incident. Tyler wasn’t satisfied until I finished the entire glass of water, then insisted on filling it again and placing it by my bed.
Deft fingers took me out of my button down shirt and pencil skirt but went no further once I was down to my camisole and panties. I licked my lips a little, unable to see his face in the darkness. I’d let him do whatever he wanted. I was desperate for physical contact, and nuzzled his hand as he helped me to lie down beneath the covers.
“Mr. Marlowe.”
“Yes.”
“Tyler.”
“Yes.”
“You can—why don’t you—I’d like you to stay.”
I could hear his smile in the dark. “Ms. Crosby.”
“Hm.”
“I’ll never be far away,” he said. “Good night.”
I slipped into slumber almost grateful to not have a chance to make a fool of myself anymore than I already had. When I awoke the next morning, I felt a little fuzzy but not terrible. And the glass of water he’d insisted on placing on my bedside table was still cool and delicious, the perfect remedy to shake off the remainder of my funk.
Tyler, however, was nowhere to be found.
He said he’d never be far, but that was obviously somewhere outside of my apartment.
I took a shower, trying to rinse the vestiges of last night off of me. I was so embarrassed that I could’ve curled up and died right on the spot. Trust me to hire a private investigator and try to sleep with him in the same night. I could only hope that the professional distance hadn’t been breached enough for him to decide not to take the case.
I didn’t hear anything for nearly two weeks, comforting myself with work. I hired two able assistants and immersed myself in training them. It was a good distraction from my real problems.
Then, when I was back at my apartment, eating a chicken breast over a bed of greens, my cell phone rang. I left the table to get it, thinking it was one of the assistants asking a question.
“Yes,” I greeted.
“Shimmy. Chuck Bloom.”
My attorney. I realized with a sharp inhalation that I hadn’t heard anything from the direction I’d given him to pursue.”
“Hi, Chuck,” I said. “What’s up?”
“You and I have a meeting with Ben Paxton and his lawyer tomorrow morning at nine,” he said. “Can you make it?”
“Of course I can make it,” I said. “Is this—is this a good thing or a bad thing?”
“We’ll see,” Chuck said in a tight voice that I didn’t like. “Would you like to meet at Sisters Together before heading over to court?”
“Court?” I repeated, my heart thumping. “Why is the meeting at court? Is this a hearing?”
“This is all preliminary,” Chuck said. “We’ll know more about what’s going on once we’re there.”
I felt like there was something he wasn’t telling me, but I hung up all the same. Well, the wheels were in motion, regardless. Even though I hadn’t heard from Tyler, my legal machinations were proceeding.
As soon as I sat back down with my dinner, there was a knock on the door. That was odd. I had to buzz someone in if they wanted to come up and see me. The only knocks I got on my actual door were from the super or other neighbors.
But when I looked through the peephole of the door, the hallway was empty. There wasn’t movement at all. I stared for a long time, feeling uneasy, before I cracked the door open. There was no one in the hall that I could see, just a brown paper bag resting on my doormat.
There weren’t any markings on the outside, so I took it inside and shook it out onto the kitchen table.
And screamed.
Chapter Seven
I sat on the couch, a blanket around my shoulders as Tyler took a photo of my ruined kitchen table.
“Are you okay?” he asked me again before taking another photo.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You won’t get vomit duty again. What—what is it?”
A terrible, bloody thing had come tumbling out of that brown paper bag, and I’d immediately dialed the first person I could think of to handle this: Tyler.
“It’s a dog head,” he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Why?”
“To scare you,” Tyler said, looking at me with those blue eyes. “And to make you think.”
“Well, whoever sent it can check off those two objectives,” I said sarcastically, rubbing my eyes.
“Whoever sent it?” Tyler asked. “Is there really a question?”
“That means that the Paxton’s know where I live,” I said dully.
“We’ll make a detective out of you yet,” Tyler said. “Now, tell me. Do you think that this has anything to do with the restraining order Ben Paxton is prepared to take out on you?”
“The what?” I rose to my feet, the blanket dropping forgotten to the couch. “What are you talking about?”
“You have a meeting at court with your attorney and Ben Paxton and his attorney,” Tyler said dispassionately. “I’m betting it has to do with the restraining order. Or the visit that CPS paid to the Paxton’s house last week.”
This was all news to me, and I shook my head slowly, trying to clear it.
“What exactly are you trying to do, Ms. Crosby?” Tyler asked me, his eyes cold.
“I’m trying to get my son back,” I whispered.
“You don’t get a child out of a dangerous place with bombs and machine guns,” he said, his voice dripping with something like incredulity. I hated it. “If the Paxton’s are as dangerous as you say they are, then you’re putting your son at risk by making all these moves out in the open.”
I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. “I thought that going through the legal system was the right way,” I said. “I didn’t think that it would be dangerous.”
“Because you didn’t think,” Tyler said ruthlessly. “You’re going to have to stop and think now before you do anything else. The Paxton’s know you’re moving against them. They have infinitely more resources than you can ever hope of amassing. It would’ve been better if you’d kept your intentions in the dark.”
I felt like an idiot, like I’d blown everything. If I’d screwed up getting my son back, I would never forgive myself.
I gave a long sigh and looked at Tyler. “I’m a fucking grizzly bear mama,” I told him. “I will sloppily crash through whatever obstacle I may perceive stands in my way in order to get my baby back. I think—I think, though, that I might need a handler.”
“Ms. Crosby.”
“Mr. Marlowe.”
“Do you trust me?”
Did I trust this man? Two weeks prior, I hadn’t known he’d existed. I hadn’t heard from him in a full fourteen days and he still knew more about my life than I did. He obviously had secrets and quirks that I had no idea how to handle or even imagine.
But I remembered his tenderness, how carefully he’d taken care of me that first night we met, and I realized that I’d let him so totally into my life that I had no other choice but to trust him.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said, nodding.
“Then let me do my job,” he implored. “I’m going to get your son back to you, Ms. Crosby. But you have to get out of the way and stay out of the way.”
“Tell me what I have to do.”
“Go to the meeting tomorrow,” he said. “There’s no way out of that. But don’t give Ben the satisfaction of knowing that you’re scared. Or shaken. Be as emotionless as possible.”
“I can do that,” I said, nodding.
“You can do that because you must do that,” he impressed upon me.
“Mr. Marlowe.”
“Ms. Crosby.”
I crossed the room until I stood right in front of him. He’d put the dog head back in t
he paper bag, and I tried not to look at it. I was so close to Tyler that I could’ve stuck my tongue out and touched his chin with it, but I didn’t. Instead, I stood on my toes and kissed him lightly on the lips.
I leaned back to gauge his reaction. He had closed his eyes and was touching his lips with the very tips of his fingers.
“I know that might violate professional distance,” I said. “But I wanted to show you how grateful I am for you working on this case.”
Tyler slit his eyes open at me. “I only take cash as payment for services rendered, Ms. Crosby, and I don’t discuss that until the case is solved to your satisfaction.”
“I think you can take tips,” I said, and kissed him again. “Can’t you?”
“There’s not a policy on it yet,” he said.
I kissed him again. “How about now?”
“I’ll work on something,” he said, kissing me back so ferociously that it took my breath away.
We kissed each other as we crossed the room, coming up only for air and to negotiate our path around furniture. It was easy enough to find my bed and fall in it, twisting our fingers together and kissing passionately, pressing our bodies against each other.
“Wait,” I said, putting my fingers against his hungry lips.
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, giggling a little bit at the situation and everything that had come before it. “But the dog’s head.”
“Oh, Christ,” he said. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll go take care of it.”
I heard the snapping of a cell phone camera in the kitchen, then the front door opened and shut. I was afraid I’d screwed up my chances of being with Tyler, that his passion would cool by the time he found his way back up into my bed, but I was delightfully wrong.
“Just so you know, Ms. Crosby, this completely violates professional distance,” he said, jumping back into bed, working his hand beneath my shirt, and giving my breast a squeeze.
“You’d better start calling me Shimmy, then,” I said. “And I like hearing my name.”
Tyler laughed at me and slipped his fingers beneath the hem of my skirt. He teased my pussy through the thin material of my panties, then hooked the fabric to the side to explore me even further. I arched my back into his touch, encouraging him to delve deeper, to find just exactly what I wanted him to find.