Dirty Rich Cinderella Story: Ever After: Lori & Cole

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Yeah. That’s rough. He just wants justice.”

  “It makes me want to find the real killer. We tried, though, and we couldn’t nail it down.”

  “Well,” she says. “I’d say we could write a book about it together which always pressures the police, but Cole will lose his mind. It would just bring more attention to you and me. Reese might lose his mind, too.”

  “Maybe if we let some time pass?”

  “Maybe and we could secretly work on it on our own if we’re careful. I don’t mean keeping it from our men, but rather, keeping it from the public.”

  “I love that idea.”

  We chat about that idea for a few minutes, which turns into an hour and a half, with no word from Cole and Reese, which has us moving upstairs where Cat helps me unpack. Actually, Cat is lying across the bed watching me, but company counts as help. I’m just pulling out the sexy lingerie I bought in Paris from my suitcase to show Cat when a realization hits me. “I haven’t started my period.”

  She sits up. “What? How late are you?”

  I forget the suitcase in front of me on the floor, and bolt to my feet. “Only one day, but I’m never late.”

  “You are too,” she reminds me. “That’s how you ended up on the pill.”

  “But now I’m on the pill and I’m never late.”

  “I’m on the pill,” she says, “and I’ve been late. I even missed once.”

  “Really?” I say, feeling a small pinch of relief.

  “Yes. Really. And you’re only one day late.”

  “I know,” I say, “but I was in Paris. The time zones were weird. I struggled to take it at the right time.”

  “Exactly. You were in Paris. Your body is all whacked out from travel and the time change, not to mention you were attacked.”

  “Right, but Cole is not good right now. I don’t want to freak him out with this.”

  She stands up and settles her hands on my shoulders. “You’re overreacting, which is not you. I think you’re more freaked out over the attack than you realize. You’re suppressing it and a crash is coming. Let’s drink some wine and lay down. Maybe you can fall asleep.”

  “I’m not drinking wine. What if I’m pregnant?”

  “You’re not pregnant, but fine, we’ll turn out the lights, talk, and try to snooze a bit while we wait on the men. Actually, why don’t you go take a hot bath? I’ll chill out here in the bedroom.”

  I nod and head to the bathroom, running the water and sinking into the tub. Cat pops her head in when I’m neck deep in bubbles. “Wine?”

  “No!”

  She laughs and disappears, calling out, “You’re not pregnant!”

  I sigh. I hope not. Not now. It’s not the time. Cole and I need to find us first and decide if we want to be parents. I just need Cole right now and I think he just needs me, too. I think he really needs me right now and I really wish he’d call or just come home.

  ***

  I’m not sure when I fall asleep, but it’s some time in the middle of a long conversation with Cat about her newest book. I blink awake and it’s not Cat beside me anymore. Cole is sliding under the blankets with me, pulling me close. “Hey,” I whisper groggily, my hand settling on the rough stubble of a good two-day growth. “How are you?” I ask as his big hand lands on my hip, pulling me closer, his bare leg sliding between mine that are covered in leggings I wore because Cat was here.

  “Better now that I’m here with you.”

  “Where’s Cat?”

  He strokes hair behind my ear. “She and Reese headed home.”

  “And everything else?” I ask, catching his hand in mine, and dragging it to my chest.

  “He’s still in jail and we have our restraining orders. Nothing more until tomorrow.”

  “Cole, about you—”

  “This isn’t about me,” he says. “It’s about you.”

  “No. It’s—”

  I never finish that sentence. His mouth closes down on mine, his tongue delving past my lips, the torment he’s feeling bleeding from that kiss, from him into me. I tangle my fingers in his hair, and arch into him, wanting to be closer, feeling like that is what he needs. Maybe it’s what I need. Maybe I’m more rattled than I thought, because right now, I need the safety of his arms, the security. The passion that he delivers in every touch and kiss that tells me I’m alive, he’s alive—we’re okay.

  His hands slide under my T-shirt and he pulls it over my head. I work my pants down my legs, and he kicks them away. A moment later, I’m molded against him, his mouth on mine, his tongue stroking wickedly into my mouth, even as his hands caress up and down my body. But his mouth doesn’t stay on mine for very long. It travels, and he’s cupping my breasts, licking my nipples, and I’m arching into him, desperate for him in some way I have never felt. He kisses a path to my belly and lingers there, and I have this crazy random moment where I wonder if his child is in my belly that terrifies me and yet—it doesn’t. I think it would terrify him right now, but that thought is driven away when his mouth finds mine again, his body arching over mine, and he is hard in every possible way and place.

  He cups my backside, and shifts us back to our sides, the hard length of him settling between my legs, and there is this heavy, sharper need that spikes between us. He responds to it, pressing inside me, stretching me, and then driving hard. I pant and he swallows it, and this time his kiss is all hot demand and possession. This time, we are wild, he is wild, and I taste more than torment. I taste demand. So much demand and then we are rocking and grinding and touching. We can’t get enough of each other and yet we need to find that place that is enough.

  I tumble over the edge first, curling into the spasms that overtake me. He holds me close, almost too tight, but not tight enough, and shudders into release. We collapse into each other, and I don’t even think about getting up afterward and neither does he. I want to ask questions. I want to talk to him, but he’s still holding onto me, holding me like he’s afraid I’ll be gone tomorrow. And so, I let him. I want him to. And the peace I find in this is that he’s dealing with whatever this is right here with me. He’s not withdrawing.

  And I won’t let him even if he tries.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lori

  I blink into the sunlight of a new day, Saturday I believe, and find Cole standing at the bedroom window, hand pressed to the glass; he’s fully dressed in jeans, his impressive shoulders bunched with tension under snug a T-shirt. I sit up, his big T-shirt that I’d pulled from the suitcase after an early morning run to the bathroom, hugging my body. Throwing away the blankets, I sit up and eye the time, noting the eleven o’clock hour. Cole had been in bed with me, holding me a couple of hours ago. He wouldn’t let go of me all night.

  Still feeling hung over from the time change, I stand up and Cole doesn’t turn. It’s odd behavior, but I have no choice other than to make a quick bathroom run, and then as it is also necessary, I brush my teeth and splash water on my face. I try not to think about the fact that I still have not started my period. Cat was right. I’m stressed and there was a time change. I’m not pregnant.

  Exiting the bathroom, I’m shocked to find Cole in the exact same position. He hasn’t moved. I hurry toward him and when I’m by his side, I duck under his arm, stepping in front of him, my back against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Hey,” I say, resting my hand on his chest.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice a rough timbre, but he doesn’t reach for me.

  “How are you?”

  He reaches up and brushes hair from my eyes, his touch as tender as the look in his eyes. “The question is, how are you?”

  I have a momentary flash of that man charging at me that I shove away. Letting that screw with my head isn’t going to help Cole’s state of mind. “Except for worrying about you, I’m fine. What’s going on, Cole?”

  “I’m meeting with the ADA handling the attack today and I might t
alk to your attacker. Roger Adams.”

  “The brother of Rachel Adams, the final victim.”

  “Yes,” he says, “and he still thinks our client was the killer.”

  “He was her college professor, not her killer. The evidence showed it wasn’t him.”

  “Agreed, but it’s easy to understand how the victims’ families feel. They thought justice was coming, but justice is not convicting the wrong man. It’s also not attacking the attorney that forces law enforcement to do their job and find the right killer.”

  “About that,” I say, taking what feels like an opening that might actually be good for us all. “Cat and I were talking about writing a book on the case, and trying to find the real killer.”

  His hands shackle my waist and he pulls me hard against him. “No. You will leave this alone. There’s still a killer out there, not to mention a man in jail who could have killed you. Do you understand?” He’s fierce, intense, out of his own skin.

  “Cole,” I breathe out softly. “I think you need to talk to me.”

  He stares at me two beats and then lowers his head, his forehead pressed to mine. “I found you,” he says. “I’m not going to lose you.”

  My hands settle on his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere. We talked about this. Now tell me why this is so intense for you.”

  He pulls back to look at me. “Because I love you and that’s new to me. Loving someone. Not wanting to lose them.”

  “There’s more,” I say. “We both know there’s more to this.”

  He cups my face. “I tell you everything. You know I do.”

  “So tell me now.”

  “Not now,” he says. “I have to meet the ADA for coffee in half an hour.”

  “Can you push it back an hour so I can go?”

  “No,” he says. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I’m a part of this, a big part of this,” I argue.

  “Too big. You’re the one in danger.”

  “I’m not in danger anymore,” I say. “You’re just—”

  He kisses me hard and fast. “No. I need you to do this for me. Stay here.”

  “On one condition,” I say. “You talk to me, really talk to me, when you get home.”

  His lashes lower, and then lift. “We’ll talk,” he says, but he doesn’t say tonight. I catch that, but I let it go.

  “So Roger is still in jail, for sure?”

  “Yes,” he says. “I pressed the authorities to keep him there for a psych evaluation. We’ll know more about his mental condition tomorrow.” He kisses me. “I need to go. Savage is in the living room or I’d tell you to be naked when I get home. So, I’ll undress you when I get home.” He releases me and leaves.

  I turn and once again, stare at the empty doorway where Cole was and no longer is. My beautiful, amazing man is broken in some way I do not understand. He’s not talking to me. He says he tells me everything, but he has not and I don’t know if I should push him to talk, or give him space and time. I just know that I have to decide before he returns.

  ***

  Cole

  There are things I have not told Lori, but it wasn’t intentional. There are things I don’t think about, that until now no longer existed, thus they were not a part of who, or what, I am. Except apparently, they are. Apparently, the ghosts of my past have knocked on the door and said hello by shoving a knife into my chest.

  I’m about a block from the coffee shop, when I dial Savage’s boss, Blake Walker. “What kind of update do you have for me?”

  “All is calm,” he says. “Lori’s mother is safe. The picketers apparently took Saturday off. Roger Adams is still in jail. Your client left the city. And yes, as you directed last night, we are looking for the real killer, and damn glad to do it. That lead you gave us, that tip-off about the real killer, it’s solid.”

  “Do I need to get Lori out of town?”

  “It depends on a lot of things,” he says. “I would assume Roger Adams to be unstable. If he gets the help he needs, he’ll be off the streets. If he’s set free, the problem you have is that he might just wait you out. I’m of the opinion that you just ride it out and if he comes at you again, we’ll get him locked up to stay.”

  “If he comes at her,” I amend tightly.

  “Man, I get it. She’s your wife. I get it.”

  “And you’re going to tell me you’d keep your wife here?”

  “She’s an ex-FBI agent that could kick most men’s butts, so that isn’t a fair question for me to answer. But I’m telling you my honest opinion, and I wouldn’t do anything to put anyone in harm’s way. Whatever you decide, though, we’re here.”

  “Just get the killer. That ends this. I’m about to talk to the ADA and pressure him to do the same.”

  “We’ll work with him. Just send him my way.”

  “I’ll let you know. I’m at my meeting now. I’ll call you.”

  We disconnect, and I enter the coffee shop, finding one man in the place at a back table. He stands when he sees me and I walk in his direction, assessing him as I go, impressed with his confidence. He’s tall, with sandy brown hair, and in fit condition. He’s in jeans and a T-shirt today, but still commanding. All good things. I want someone who catches a killer and puts him in jail, not something I feel every ADA I meet is capable of doing.

  I cross and he offers me his hand. “Lance Miller,” he says.

  “Cole Brooks, and I’ll say it’s good to meet you after you tell me what you’re going to do about Roger Adams, among other things.”

  “Understood,” he says, meeting my eyes, no flinch whatsoever. Also a good sign. He has a backbone.

  We sit down and he says, “Look. Let me just start by saying, I didn’t agree with charging your client. Off the record, my boss responded to the fears that we had a serial killer and rapist. The incidents stopped when your client was arrested. That’s what I’m up against. He still thinks your man is the killer.”

  “So unless someone else dies, you just walk away,” I snap.

  “Give me something to reopen the case. I’d love to slam dunk this. You know that’s a feather in my cap morally and professionally and if I didn’t give a shit about catching the right people, I’d be in private practice making the big bucks like you.”

  “You can still fight for the right side in private practice. If you choose to fight for free, that’s on you.” I move on. “Roger Adams.”

  “You know what I’m going to say.”

  My lips press together. “His record is clean and his attorney is good. He’ll claim grief got the best of Roger and he will get out.”

  “But you’ll keep your restraining orders,” he says as if that’s a comfort.

  “In other words,” I say. “Unless I solve this crime for you, my wife will need to look over her shoulder for the rest of her fucking life.” I stand up and I don’t say another word. I turn and leave, yanking my phone from my pocket.

  I dial Reese. “Your ADA is a pansy-ass scared little puppy that bows to the DA.”

  “His hands are tied. He’s really a good guy.”

  “What are the chances Cat will do a write-up on the entire mess and put some pressure on them?” I ask, knowing her column is widely followed.

  “She already wrote it,” Reese says. “Waiting on your approval in your inbox.”

  “I’ll read it and I need to talk to Lori first. I want to get her out of town before it hits. I’ll take her to Houston with me and we’ll clean up that mess.”

  “Sounds like a good plan. Call me.”

  We disconnect and I start walking, knowing very well that I need to talk to Lori. I have no choice. I’m not myself and I’m not going to be myself until this is over. I love the fuck out of that woman, as Blake said of his wife. I just don’t really know what to say to her. This is just my own personal demon clawing its way to the surface. I need to beat it down and beat it down now. For her. For us. And so, I walk faster,
not even sure where I’m going. I’m just not ready to see Lori and yet, all I want is to see Lori.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lori

  I don’t know how long I stand at the bedroom window replaying every moment with Cole since that last night in Paris, reliving every tormented, erotic moment; looking for some clue to what has set him off, all too aware it started the minute he found out there was trouble here at home. I finally shake myself into action and make it to the shower, for no reason other than I want to be ready to talk to Cole when he returns.

  I hyper focus on picking out my clothes to calm my mind; I settle on outfit number three, and dress in dark jeans, and a navy V-neck tee, with navy Converse, a decision that becomes ridiculously complicated. I’ve just finished flat-ironing my hair and applying a light touch of make-up and lip gloss when my phone rings and I all but jump out of my skin. I grab it, hoping it’s Cole, but it’s Cat. “Hey, you,” she says. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay. Cole is not. I’m not sure what to do, Cat. He’s really in alpha, protect-me mode, but it’s—I don’t what it is. He’s just not himself.”

  “He called Reese and asked me to do a write-up about the case, and pressure the DA to find the real killer on your case.”

  I walk into the bedroom and sink into the chair in front of the window. “I guess I now know how the meeting with the ADA went.”

  “As far as they’re concerned, you got a guilty man off. There is nothing more they can do.”

  I puff out a breath. “Except he was innocent and the real killer is still out there.” I sit up straight. “Which is why you can’t write that article. What if the real killer gets fixated on you?”

  “I covered this entire case while it was happening. For me to demand a real answer would absolutely be in line with what I do. I’m handling it by way of me reporting a tip I received.”

  “I know you covered the case, but calling on the DA to hunt down someone who thinks they got away with murder is a whole other story.”