"Don't kick him." Aaron put a hand on Forbes' arm. "You're the chief of police. It won't look good if you beat up an unarmed man."
"That's right," Stover piped up.
"Let me plant a knife on him first."
Stover scooted back, his eyes wide. "What the hell? You're the mayor."
"Exactly. When these other witnesses and I testify that you came at Forbes with a deadly weapon, nobody will even blink." Aaron tossed Forbes the handcuffs. "Now, answer the questions."
"The only other person in the house is Joy. And she has my gun."
Forbes had almost hit Stover again. He might have if Ian Drysdale hadn't arrived at that very second. It reminded him to focus his energy on Sophie, not the scum who helped kidnap her.
"What's the situation?" Drysdale asked, exiting his truck. Instantly, he was flanked by three other men.
"Grab your gear and follow me. I'll fill you in as we go. And have one of your men bring in the trash."
Drysdale listened as they jogged down the road, stopping on a hill just above the house. The men did a quick scout of the area, declaring it clear.
"What do want to do?"
Forbes lowered the goggles. "I'm going to check out the house to make certain Stover told us the truth. Unless I signal, do not approach. There is no telling what that bitch is capable of. Sophie is my first priority."
As he slid down the embankment, Forbes kept an eye on the house. His feet landed on solid ground just as a light went on. Crouching low, he ran the short distance, stopping by the window. A curtain blocked most of his view, but a small crack gave him a perfect angle. What he saw made his blood chill. Sophie with her hands behind her back, sitting on some kind of a cushion. And Joy, her back to Forbes, holding a gun.
Sophie looked to be in good health. She was listening to whatever Joy had to say, her expression ranging from disbelieving to exacerbated. She wasn't afraid or intimidated. Not his Sophie.
Forbes wished he could tell her that he was there. That she wasn't alone. She had to know he would come for her. For now, that had to be enough.
A few minutes passed, Sophie and Joy, exchanging words. It seemed almost casual if it weren't that one of them was bound and the other held a gun. All of a sudden, Sophie shifted her body—just a fraction. Her expression grew angry. Something was about to happen. Forbes felt it in his gut.
As Joy raised the gun, he tensed, taking aim. Sophie acted first. Fast, like a striking cobra, her fist connected with Joy's chin. The bitch crumpled into an ignominious heap. And that was it. Game over.
Always thinking, Sophie scrambled to pick up the gun. Smart. She would have made a great field agent. It was an odd thought. Then again, this was an odd situation.
Breathing for the first time since Sophie was taken, Forbes holstered his weapon. Using his knuckles, he tapped on the glass, gaining Sophie's attention and causing her to jump a foot. Cautiously, she lifted the curtain. In a flash, she pushed back the lock.
"So much for riding to the rescue," Forbes said, climbing through the open window. "Looks like you have everything in hand."
"Just your average mother and daughter reunion. Take this, please." Sophie handed him the gun which he unloaded, putting the bullets in his pocket. "Who would have guessed? Joy has a glass jaw. She's out cold."
"Remind me to pass the word to her future cellmate." Better safe than sorry, Forbes slapped a pair of handcuffs around Joy's wrists. Lips curving, somehow he was able to chuckle. "I know this isn't the most romantic setting. But…"
Sophie took a step closer. "But?"
"I love you, Sophie. I think part of me always has."
"I love you, Forbes. I didn't know what that meant when we were kids. But I do now. Always. That about sums it up." She sighed, her body drooping now that the adrenaline wore off. "It's finally over, isn't it?"
"For Joy? Yes. For us? This is just the beginning."
Forbes opened his arms. Without a backward glance, Sophie jumped.
EPILOGUE
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
ROLLING OVER, SOPHIE looked at the time. Almost nine o'clock. She never slept this late. But instead of a surge of panic, she snuggled under the covers, closing her eyes.
It was December. Snow blanketed every inch of the ranch. The animals needed feeding. A few repairs needed taking care of. This afternoon she would see to her horses. But for now, she was content to stay right where she was and for once, let somebody else take care of the chores.
Letting her mind drift, Sophie thought what Forbes had told her in that old house the night of her kidnapping. That their dealings with Joy were finally over. And he had been right. Up to a point.
Joy had been arrested. As had Eli Stover and Daphne Parks. Win Bodine, another Cloverdale deputy and friend of Stover's—and the man who had taken care of Daphne's dirty work for her—had been picked up on his way out of town. It seemed he was the one who tipped off Joy that Sophie was at the bar—and when she got up to use the bathroom.
Daphne ended up getting off lightly. She served a month in the county jail. After which she was given three hundred hours of community service—to be carried out in Spokane, not Cloverdale. For her family, it turned out to be the scandal that broke the camel's back. They left town. Settling in Tacoma.
Stover and Bodine were still in prison. Sophie couldn't have cared less when they were scheduled to get out. They weren't coming back to Cloverdale. That was the only thing that mattered.
Then there was Joy. There hadn't been a trial. Besides the kidnapping charge, it turned out she had embezzled a good chunk of money from her boss in Las Vegas, and he wasn't a forgiving man. When faced with multiple charges—and little chance of leniency from the court—she made a deal. She pleaded guilty. For the next ten years, she would be the guest of the state. After that? There was no rushing justice. It had taken almost twenty-nine years. But finally, Joy was out of her life.
"Still in bed? This must be some kind of record."
Forbes. The best part of Sophie's day. Morning. Noon. Night. She fell asleep in his arms. Woke with them around her. She rarely felt the need to wander alone in the dark. But when she did, he was right there by her side. For somebody who hadn't believed in love, she couldn't imagine her life without it. Without the man who filled every corner of her heart—her soul.
"You offered to do the chores with Mike and Jerry."
"And I was surprised when you agreed."
The red on Forbes' cheeks was proof he had spent the last few hours in the freezing-cold morning air. He was dressed in jeans, a plaid cotton shirt, and thick socks. Sophie, on the other hand, wore nothing but her birthday suit. However, that didn't stop her from lifting the covers, welcoming him in.
Happy to oblige, Forbes lost the socks. And the jeans. By the time he joined her, he was as naked as she was.
"Your hands are nice and warm."
"I stopped in the kitchen for a cup of freshly perked coffee." Forbes lay at her back, his lips nuzzling Sophie's ear.
"And you didn't bring one for me?"
"You, my love, have been off the coffee lately. Besides, I expected to find you dressed and ready to join me for breakfast. Sleeping late and you haven't had your first stack of pancakes." Forbes touched her forehead, his eyes concerned. "Are you feeling all right?"
Sophie felt wonderful. Never better. Tired, which wasn't like her. But that would soon pass. Or so she was told.
"I know Christmas isn't until next week, but I have an early present for you." Sophie took Forbes' hand—the one with the platinum wedding band that matched her own—and placed it over her stomach. "Actually, this is for both of us."
The catch in Forbes' breath was unmistakable. As was the feel of his lips on her shoulder. His fingers spread wide, covering the slight swell.
"When?" he whispered, his tone reverent.
"Early June."
"Are you happy?"
Sophie turned. She laced her fin
gers with his, her eyes looking into the deep blue of his.
"I love you. I love this baby. Happy doesn't begin to describe how I feel."
"I love you, Sophie."
As Sophie raised her lips to meet Forbes' kiss, she sank into the heat of his touch—the warmth of his love. This was home. Always and forever.
COMING IN APRIL
A BRAND NEW EXCITING SERIES
● ● ●
FOR A LITTLE WHILE
ONE STRIKE AWAY
BOOK ONE
⸎
Take a sneak peek at the cover
http://www.maryjwilliams.net/coming-soon.html
AFTER THE RAIN
(One Pass Away Book One)
PROLOGUE
LOGAN. LOGAN. LOGAN.
Logan Price closed his eyes, taking it all in.
"Hear that, kid?" Starting quarterback Gaige Benson slapped him on the back. "Two games under your belt and you're a star. Now let's go out there and add super to the front of it."
The announcer for the team set them in motion down the tunnel with his familiar introduction.
"And now, let's hear it for your division champion SEATTLE KNIGHTS."
The roar of the crowd. There was nothing like it. A packed stadium. Fans chanting his name. Few people would ever experience what it was like to take the field in a professional football game.
Logan Price had been working for this his entire life. He could still remember in exact detail the first game he ever saw. Too small to climb onto the stool in his father's bar by himself, his old man had lifted him onto the seat.
Stay and be quiet.
Not an easy order to follow for an active, inquisitive little boy. One look at the game and for once, Logan had no problem following his father's command. The old TV transported him to a foreign world filled with bright lights and shiny helmeted warriors. Logan didn't know what he was watching. He did know he wanted to be one of those men.
A Sunday afternoon in rural Oklahoma. Lefty's Pub was filled with after-church drinkers who figured they had done their duty to God and family. The rest of the day was their time. A beer. Or two. Or six. Cronies who understood a man's need to unwind before the start of another workweek.
And football.
If the Friday night high school game was their true religion, the Sunday afternoon games were a close second. As Oklahoma boys, they hated anything Texas. The men of Denville gathered every week to root for whichever team was playing the Dallas Cowboys.
No matter how the games ended. Whether the crowd was happy or disgruntled. It meant more drinking. Hours later, husbands, boyfriends, and sons would stumble out, pile into beat-up trucks, and weave their way home to frustrated wives, girlfriends, and mothers.
As he grew older, Logan's view changed. He moved from the stool to behind the bar. And he promised himself one thing. He would never become one of those men. He wouldn't spend the week at a job he hated. His home wouldn't be a semi-wide trailer filled with hand-me-down furniture and a wife to whom he couldn't face going home.
His Sundays were going to be spent playing football, not watching it.
"Ready to take down this vaunted Arizona defense?" Gaige yelled at him, butting helmets.
Vaunted. Good word, Logan thought. His QB liked to use what his granny called highfalutin talk. Must have been that Ivy League education. He knew that Gaige Benson didn't grow up with a silver spoon in his mouth. He came from the mean streets of Brooklyn. He had the scars to prove it.
Like Logan, Gaige had vowed to get out of the life into which he was born. In the process, he polished himself up like a new penny. He took advantage of his full-ride scholarship to Yale. He didn't spend all his time on the football field. Fancy vocabulary. Fancy clothes. Fancy women. They were all part of the package Gaige purposefully fashioned for himself.
Seventeen years after clawing his way out of the tenement that he grew up in, very little of that borough-rat remained. Until game time. No one was tougher than Gaige Benson. Three-time league MVP. Considered one of the best ever to play the game. No one stood in his way when he was playing the game. He had the scars to prove it.
"Gather round."
Knights head coach Harry Coleman gathered the team close. He had to yell over the crowd, but he had the voice to do it. Booming was putting it mildly. The first time Logan heard it, he stood right beside the man. The ringing in his ears didn't go away for three days.
"Divisional game. If I have to say any more than that, you shouldn't be out here. Go kick some ass."
The defense took the field to start the game. Arizona had a rookie quarterback drafted in the second round from a small college in the Midwest. The only reason he was out there was because the regular starter suffered a concussion in last week's game and the regular backup had food poisoning. Thrown into action at the last minute, Logan swore he could see the guy’s hands shaking before he took the first snap. When the ball went sailing between his legs, Logan shook his head.
The moment was too big for some people. For Logan, it wasn't big enough. He aimed for the biggest stage of all. The Super Bowl. It wasn't a matter of if he would get there, but when.
"Three and out." Gaige grinned, pulling on his helmet. "Come on, kid. Let's go show them how it's done."
Logan ran onto the field. Kid. He shook his head, grinning. From the first day of training camp, Gaige had hung that moniker on him. Ironic since he was almost twenty-five, a good two years older than most of the other rookies. However, he supposed when someone had been in the league as long as Gaige, all the new guys seemed like kids.
"We're starting on the ground," Gaige instructed them in the huddle. "Sweep out left. Basic. Got it?"
Lining up as he had a thousand other times, Logan checked the defense. He knew he was fast. One of the fastest in the game. What set him apart was his anticipation. He had the uncanny ability to read the guy covering him. He knew when to fake left or when to fake right. Stutter step or flat out, in your face, catch me if you can.
His speed got him out of Denville, Oklahoma. His brains and determination got him to the NFL.
The sounds of the game were as familiar to Logan as the back of his own hand. The call from scrimmage. Each quarterback had his own unique cadence. Gaige was a master of mixing his up. Study him all you want. Good luck figuring it out. His teammates knew. A signal just before they broke the huddle.
Pay attention, you were golden. Slack off even once? Gaige could ream a guy out with the best of them. And he had no problem doing it in the middle of the game.
An entire YouTube channel had been devoted to Gaige and his rants. They were as legendary as the man himself. With a ball in his hand, he was cool as ice. The rest of the time, watch out.
No one would ever accuse Logan of lacking focus. Today was no exception. They were driving down the field. First and ten from the Arizona twenty-yard line. He already had three carries of thirty-five yards. It was going to be a good day.
"Ready to take it in?" Gaige asked.
"Always."
"Then show them what you've got."
A quick snap later, Gaige handed the ball to Logan. The offensive line created a seam. Not a big one. Just big enough. Using the push of his powerful legs, Logan surged through. One more step. They wouldn't catch him. No one could.
Like everything connected with the game, Logan heard the snap of the bone with total clarity. The agony that surged through his body was so intense he almost passed out. In the next few minutes, he was going to wish he had.
"Get back." Logan heard Gaige through the haze of pain. "Goddamn it. Move the hell off."
The three-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker didn't get off by standing. He rolled. Crushing Logan's broken leg as he went. He would never know if the move had been deliberate. Now, it was the last thing on his mind. He only cared about two things. How bad was the injury and when would he be able to play again.
"Hold on, kid." Gaige to
ok his hand. "They're bringing the stretcher."
The team doctor checked his eyes. Logan knew he was asked some questions. What they were and how he answered, he would never remember. By the time they carted him off the field, Logan knew the break was bad.
"Gaige." Logan reached for him.
"I'm here, kid."
"Is it over?"
"The game?" Gaige walked with him, his head bent toward Logan. "No. But I promise we're going to win the bastard."
They loaded him onto the open cart. They had him secured and the vehicle rolled away before Logan had his answer. He wasn't wondering about the game. It was his career.
To no one in particular, he whispered the question again.
"Is it over?"
CHAPTER ONE
LOGAN SAT UP in bed, his body covered with a fine coating of sweat.
He glanced at the clock. Three in the fucking morning. On the one night he managed to get to bed at a reasonable hour, he was plagued by the nightmare that had haunted his dreams for the past two years.
Running his hand through his long, damp hair, Logan fell back onto the mattress. His sheets were as wet as he was. With a grimace, he rolled onto the floor. Flexing his stiff knee, he stripped the bed, tossing everything onto a pile of dirty clothes he planned on taking to the laundromat on his day off.
There was an alternative. He could always take Linda Sue Hemmings up on her offer. She would do his laundry anytime. Payment. On-call stud service whenever her husband Darryl was out of town on business. As much as Logan hated folding socks, he decided the price was too high. He had lost a lot in the last few years. He still held onto his dignity. Just barely.
Still groggy, Logan shuffled to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, he grimaced at what the mirror reflected.
Too many late nights followed by not enough sleep. As patterns went, it wasn't a healthy one. Perpetually bloodshot eyes. Dark circles on his dark circles. He needed a haircut. Logan ran his hand over his face. Even more, he needed a shave.
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