Double Vision

by Colby Marshall

  Saleda shrugged. “I’ll make the call.”

  43

  Jenna didn’t get much satisfaction out of being right in this case.

  Raine had agreed to let them borrow Molly, but she couldn’t arrange it when Liam wasn’t around until the next day. So they wrapped things up with Eldred, who insisted he needed to get to bed. They thanked him and CiCi and started to leave.

  “Hey, Jenna,” Yancy called just before she shut the door. “Do you . . . can you stay? I have some stuff I, uh, wanted to talk to you about.”

  Jenna glanced at Saleda. “You go ahead. I can call a cab.”

  Saleda nodded, doing a great job of holding in the smirk threatening to cross her face. Such a good acting job, Jenna was sure it would fool maybe one person on earth. Wow.

  Jenna shut the door behind Saleda and was suddenly standing awkwardly in front of Yancy and CiCi. Based on their respective positions in the room, if Jenna hadn’t known better, the way Yancy and CiCi stood on one side facing her, opposing her, seemed like the couple who lived in this home, greeting a visitor.

  CiCi glanced back and forth from Jenna to Yancy, something stirring in her eyes. Comprehension? Apprehension? She couldn’t place it. Maybe she was tired, too.

  “Well, I think I should probably get some rest, too,” CiCi said hesitantly.

  CiCi stared at Yancy for a strange, never-ending moment that seemed to hang in the air. Yancy’s gaze remained fixed on Jenna, but the unsettled feeling of the few seconds made Jenna almost sure he knew CiCi was trying to get him to glance over.

  Jenna shifted on her feet uncomfortably, the conversation with Ayana about lima bean colors and her thoughts of how, to her, it meant doubt surging forward. She couldn’t help it. For two people with nothing between them, Yancy and CiCi had been found in an odd situation already, with Yancy at her home after Eldred’s attack. And now, that look . . .

  Trust him.

  Finally CiCi tore her gaze from Yancy and turned and climbed the stairs where Eldred had disappeared minutes before.

  Now Jenna stood facing Yancy, and what was usually the place she felt most comfortable—alone with the person who knew her best—suddenly seemed foreign and distressing.

  As though he sensed what she was feeling, he took a step toward her, closing the ocean between them ever so slightly. “I’m glad you stayed.”

  A surge of affection rushed her as she caught that familiar look in his eyes. It was the same one she saw there every time he dropped his corny leg jokes that were his go-to whenever he felt self-conscious. He probably didn’t even realize when he let down that guard, but when he didn’t crack the jokes was when she knew she was with just him at his most honest. His most comfortable.

  “Me, too,” she said.

  He gave her a sad smile. “Not to mention, you’re stranded. Maybe you should stay-stay.” He wiggled his eyebrows feebly. “I can push Oboe over in the bed so you’d have some room . . .”

  “I really shouldn’t,” she said, though every fiber in her wanted to. She missed Ayana and her dad and Charley, but she missed Yancy, too. Ayana would already be in bed, and Jenna would have to leave the house before she was awake in the morning. Charley would be up just in time to give her grief about it, and even if Dad didn’t say anything to her face, she’d see his silent disapproval.

  “What if I promise to let you sleep on the non-nub side?” Yancy said.

  She grinned. “You know, what you lack in tibias, you make up for in sense of humor.”

  His halfhearted smile turned to an actual beam. “What can I say? Adversity gives you a leg up.”

  Jenna laughed. This was the very thing she’d first fallen in love with. “Well played, sir. How could a girl say no?”

  • • •

  Yancy fought to set the water dish he’d just filled in front of Oboe, the dachshund’s sharp little nails scratching his good leg as the dog jumped on him. “Cool it, dude. This’ll be infinitely easier if you let me put it down first. Jenna, you didn’t happen to throw his nail clippers in that bag while you were at it, did you?”

  “Nope,” Jenna said from where she was busy rifling through the bag of essentials she’d been thoughtful enough to pick up for him while she was retrieving the little wiener. “I didn’t bring any pajama pants for you, either. I must’ve forgotten them in my hurry. I know, because I was planning to steal them.”

  Stealing is a petty crime compared to what your awesome boyfriend’s been up to.

  “Boxers?” he asked.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “Those were my next option.”

  The sound of Oboe’s lapping filled the room as Yancy sat on the bed and watched Jenna shuck the black slacks she wore, her plain white bikini briefs peeking from underneath where her previously tucked-in shirt fell long over her hips. In the seconds between then and her pulling on the green plaid boxers, he could just glimpse the smooth curves of where her thigh rounded into her butt. God, he’d been lucky enough to see this every day for months now, a common little moment so ordinary and so private at the same time.

  You’ve really fucked up this time.

  He’d asked her to stay with every intention of telling her everything—about the pimp, about the gunshot . . . about getting rid of a body. As much as he wanted to protect her, when he’d seen her face tonight all he’d been able to think was how he just couldn’t keep something from her. Not this.

  And yet, every time he’d tried to start, something had come up. Important shit, like suddenly noticing that bald patch on Oboe’s butt he needed to check out, or Oboe’s near-fatal thirst. It was all that little asshole’s fault.

  Just man up and tell her, cool guy.

  Now Jenna’s fingers moved down her blouse, unfastening buttons one by one. The mounds of her breasts over her sensible bra peeked out of the slit that opened at the third button. Damn, this woman could rock some boring undergarments . . .

  No, sir. You will not be thinking about doing this in a house where you fucking killed someone, then accidentally checked out another woman. You’re already going to hell. If you do anything but tell her this shit in this house, you’re going to hell in place of a certain dead pimp.

  Jenna, however, was oblivious to the personal purgatory he was going through, because she was now picking up the line of conversation she’d been on when his previous guilt trip had culminated in an urgent trip to find Oboe a water bowl.

  “Even if Molly’s our only hope for unclogging Eldred’s memory, and even if she’s well-adjusted enough that she’ll handle it perfectly, I can’t help but feel sick that I keep exposing her to reminders of something as violent and evil as the grocery store shooting,” she said.

  Yancy ripped his gaze from where the shirt now fell open to reveal her chest and stomach. “I know what you mean, but you’ve gotta think the kid’s gonna be seeing mental images of that scene the rest of her life either way. Bad as it sounds, might as well let her reminisce with other people and help. Better than doing it alone in her room at night.”

  His distraction lapsed, and he turned back toward her. She was now in just the bra and boxers and was combing her long chestnut hair into a messy ponytail.

  He’d been wrong. Lying to her wasn’t the torture. Not being able to walk over and pull her onto the bed with him because he was lying was.

  God, he needed to think. Clear his head.

  Get up his nerve.

  He jumped up. “I’m gonna hop in the shower while you’re here to keep watch. If anybody comes while I’m gone, just throw Oboe at ’em to buy time.”

  Sure, tough guy. Sell out your best friend. Why not? You’re already on a roll. It’s the next logical step.

  “Sure thing,” Jenna said, too concerned with locating a T-shirt in his bag to look his way.

  He moved into the bathroom and, without looking back at Jenna, disrobed an
d carefully stepped into the shower. As he turned to run the water, he caught a glimpse of Jenna slipping a second arm out of the remaining bra strap and rotating the lace toward her front the way she always did to unfasten it. Her bare back was so perfect he could just feel his fingertips running down her spine, brushing where the small of her back curved gently at the waistband of his own boxers.

  Shit, son.

  He pulled the shower curtain closed.

  • • •

  Jenna held the soft, worn T-shirt bearing +1 SHIRT OF SMITING. Yancy hadn’t played his computer role-playing games nearly as much since they’d started seeing each other, she knew. But now, as she stood half-naked in another woman’s guest room and looked down at the shirt, a nagging thought bit the back of her mind.

  What if when he said he was RPing, he wasn’t?

  She blinked rapidly, forcing away the tear forming in the corner of her eye.

  Ridiculous. He works and sees you and Oboe. That’s it.

  Jenna clenched the shirt in her fists.

  “Hey, Yance?”

  The running water of the shower pelted the bottom of the tub, pausing and restarting presumably depending on Yancy’s movements.

  “Yeah?” he replied.

  She closed her eyes. “Why were you at her house?”

  Her heart sped up as she waited for the reply, every inch of her body tensing. Please, let him have a good reason.

  An eternal pause.

  “It’s a long story,” he called from the shower.

  Red anger flashed in. “You do realize that’s a cop-out, don’t you?”

  Silence again.

  She perched on the end of the bed and watched Oboe continue to lick at the long-empty bowl. She waited, listening to the water run.

  Just when Jenna thought her entire head might explode, Yancy spoke again.

  “Jenna, I know there’s a lot that looks so wrong about all of this, but it’s one reason I wanted you to stay tonight. I . . .”

  Water.

  “I got too involved, I know. It’s just . . . with us being apart so much and you starting back at the Bureau, I’ve . . . well, I’ve been . . . God, it’s so fucked up,” he said, pain oozing from his tone.

  Jenna looked down at her bare knees. She’d neglected a lot lately, and apparently picking up a new pack of disposable razors was included on the list of those things she’d put off. If she’d gotten so busy with her job that she had let her prickly knees languish, she could only begin to imagine how Yancy was feeling. Their argument over the phone that day he was at work flooded back to her, her harsh words reaming him for not having self-control echoing in her mind.

  “I . . . I wanted to be useful, Jenna. I know how that sounds, believe me, but . . . oh, God, this is hard to explain . . .”

  She hung her head, memories of her own lack of self-control pummeling her. She’d once driven to a prosecutor’s home to do nothing but tell him off, and Yancy had sat in the car, waiting for her. Not judging her, but waiting for her. She’d already taken this man who’d helped her so much and ripped him from his place as her teammate in the field, and now, she was making him feel guilty for being the very thing she was when her emotions reeled.

  Hypocrite.

  “I didn’t mean to . . . I just sort of found myself wandering over here that day after the nine-one-one call, and after that, things . . . oh, God . . . I just felt like she needed me for some reason, you know? Not in any way like that . . . God, please don’t think that . . . but I just . . . I needed to do something . . .”

  Without thinking, Jenna stood up. Claudia screwed up so much of my life. Because of her, I haven’t trusted people who don’t happen to share blood with me and aren’t named Claudia. For so long. I’ve lived my whole life without trusting anyone, damn it!

  Until Yancy.

  “Me being here, Jenna . . . it’s never been about anything like what it must look like, I swear . . . but then, she called into work so many times, and things just got confused. And I felt like it was my job . . . oh man . . .”

  Fuck you, Claudia.

  Jenna brushed the shower curtain back. Yancy turned from the spray, surprised by the noise.

  “What’re you—”

  Jenna cut him off by leaning into the shower and pressing her lips hard into his. She drank greedily, relishing in their softness. He tasted so good.

  He tasted like home.

  Yancy kissed her back furiously, something in him just as needy as she was. His arms wrapped around her waist, a current pulling her in the direction it had already felt so easy to go. She stepped into him, into the shower, boxers and all.

  She pressed her hands into his chest, pushing him away so she could slip the underwear off. He gave in to the pressure reluctantly, but the pause didn’t last long. She slid the boxers from her ankle just in time for his lips to dip to the base of her neck. She tossed the shorts onto the bathroom floor, then pulled his head to her.

  His hands roved her body, and in the next instant, he’d whirled them around so she was under the spray. Her balance thrown, she took in a sharp breath as her shin knocked his leg.

  He lifted his head, met her eyes.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Reflex. You were cold. Androids are immune to cool air.”

  She held his face in both hands, staring into him. “You know, if you didn’t mention the leg so much, I wouldn’t even notice anymore,” she said truthfully.

  He gazed back at her, hands by his sides, his breathing heavy. His face was so serious, she couldn’t tell if the statement about that thing they never talked about except in joking had been right or wrong.

  “Except that I bruise easy, and I think I have shrapnel lodged in some weird places from times like this,” she threw in, feeling tears springing to her eyes.

  Please, don’t be over. I need this. I need you.

  Yancy’s jaw set in a line, his chest heaving for a long ten seconds as the water beat down on them. Jenna was vaguely aware of the beads forming on his face and chest as she held his eyes, willing him not to look away.

  Then his hands gripped her thighs, hard, right under her butt, and she felt her feet leave the floor. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, clung to his neck for dear life as they rotated sideways. Her back met the tile, and she pushed against it to give leverage as she let go with one arm.

  She reached down, taking him into her hand, and guided him inside her. With one delicious thrust, she gasped as she felt every bit of him. He kissed her as he bucked his hips into her, water streaming on the left side of her face and into her mouth, mingling with their kisses. Her hand dug into his shoulders to push herself harder against the wall as he filled her over and over.

  She pulled back from his hungry kisses, her climax building closer and closer, so intense she could barely catch her breath without more air. The steam had expanded to nearly suffocating, but air was a small price to pay for the surge of pleasure swelling inside her.

  Yancy clutched her legs tighter as he thrust faster, moaning louder and louder with every push. “Jenna . . .”

  Every muscle tensed, and she squeezed his frame with her legs. The wave of bliss crashed over her, ripples coursing through her body. “Yance . . . I’m so . . . sorry . . .”

  His thrusts grew more urgent, his breaths becoming grunts as they varied in depth with what she could tell was his own desire, his sensitive places, everywhere he wanted to touch inside her. With a final thrust that smacked her tailbone into the wall, he climaxed, a loud groan to echo his release.

  It was only after both of their gasps had slowed that Jenna realized the previously scalding water had turned lukewarm. Her legs shook from maintaining the position, and she was suddenly just very, very tired.

  Yancy’s head dropped to his chest, showing her he was equally spent, but he seemed to be jarred back to
the reality of their superhuman stance at almost the same moment. He looked up at her and blinked water out of his eyes.

  “I would brush it away for you, but if I let go, we’d probably be in trouble,” she said, grinning.

  “Yeah,” he breathed. “We better disengage. I might rust.”

  He lowered her to the floor, and she felt him slip out of her. Disappointment washed over her as she felt the sudden, stark reality of being a separate person from him once more.

  Why the hell had she ever thought Ayana’s green could’ve meant doubt?

  44

  The next morning, Jenna rolled over onto her other side, the feather pillow beneath her head squishing and making her head sink. It took her a minute to remember she was at CiCi Winthrop’s house—with Yancy.

  Yancy sat in a straight-backed chair across the room and was staring out the window. She wondered if he was thinking about their sex in the shower last night the way she was at the moment, and if he, too, was hoping for a replay.

  Jenna’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. She groaned and reached for it. Saleda.

  “Time to hit the trail, I’m guessing?” she said, all hopes of an encore performance for her and Yancy dissolving in the air around her.

  “Yeah. Raine Tyler just called. Liam left for work, so you can drop by in about an hour. I have some things to tie up here, but I’m sending backup just in case,” Saleda replied.

  “Please not Dodd,” she blurted before she could think. It wasn’t that he was an awful guy, but his last run-in with the Tyler family had gone less than stellar. Jenna’s life would be easier if they could avoid any unnecessary temper flares or sparring matches.

  “Couldn’t send him if I wanted to,” Saleda said. “He had to catch an early flight to Chicago. Let’s just say this might very well turn out to be the worst day of Dodd’s damned life.”

  Jenna drew her neck back. “Ooh, that sounds bad. What’s going on?”

  “Agent’s worst nightmare. You know how they were moving the guy Dodd caught and saw convicted for the Cobbler murders to a mental institution?”