by A. Gorman
I knew Ellie had come from old money; it was one of the things I’d guessed about her the second she opened her mouth. She might have fallen on harder times lately, but no amount of pinching purse strings could eradicate years of proper southern deportment. It was in the way she walked, the way she held herself, and in her ability to completely own any man who decided to take her on. “And where is she now?”
“Dead. God rest her soul. She took me in when I had no one else. When my parents found out about Spence, all hell broke loose. Mamma threatened to run me to the clinic to have him removed, as she put it. Daddy was upset, too, but he was runnin’ for governor, and I think he was more concerned about how it would affect his campaign than anything.” She stabs the food on her plate a little too forcefully. “I think my daddy gave up on me being his little princess long before that. I had a wild streak back in the day.”
I laugh. “I can see that about you.”
She flashes a wry smile. “Anyway, I put my parents through hell when I first met Jimmy, and then when they found out I was pregnant and about to throw my life away on some penniless, redneck hick—as my mamma put it—they told me I had to give up my baby and that under no circumstances was I to marry him, so I did. I did everything they told me not to.” She bumps her shoulder with mine. “And look where it got me. A beautiful son who is the honest-to-God love of my life and a hot pancake date in the middle of the night.” She winks.
I grin, but I ain’t done listenin’ to her opening up just yet. “Tell me about Spencer’s birth.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know, all of it.” I shrug. “You were only twenty, right?”
“Twenty-two,” she corrects me, shaking her head. “Scariest year of my life. Jimmy wasn’t there when Spencer was born. He wasn’t dealing too well with the pregnancy side of things, so when the time came he dropped me off and went to look for a park. He found a bar instead.”
God, I’d been such an ass, drinkin’ in front of her, sayin’ all those things I never should have said, about how she was entitled, and all along she’d been runnin’ from her past and raising a boy on her own.
“We spent half the next day waiting at the hospital for him to come pick us up, and when he did he reeked of whiskey. Almost ran us right off the road, too. I got out, used a muslin wrap to protect that little baby from the sun, and even though my arms were breaking and I hurt all over, I walked the rest of the way home. Eighteen hours after giving birth.”
I clench my jaw so hard I swear I hear my teeth creak; Ellie places her hand over mine, probably tryin’ to keep me from murdering the pancake on my plate. I set the fork down and stretch out my aching hands. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
She gives me a sad smile. “I had a lot to learn about men like Jimmy. I never should have gotten in that car with him in the first place. When I got back to the rundown apartment we shared, I packed up our things and called Memaw to come get me and Spence.”
“Not your parents?”
“Nope. They made it clear when I left that I was no longer welcome in their home.” Ellie smiles to herself. “Memaw, though? She loved that boy; she’d have done anything to protect me and Spence.”
“How did she die?”
“Broken heart. Doctors said it was a congenital thing, but that woman was fitter than an ox. Jimmy had showed up at Memaw’s a week after Spence was born, beggin’ me to take him back, and I did. I thought I could change him, you know?”
I take her hand and kiss it. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“Stupid was what that was.” She exhales loudly. “It took me two years to work up the courage to leave him, and then he found me and dragged me back. Memaw begged me to leave him, a number of times; she even sold her house so we could leave, just the three of us. I was terrified of him finding us, of her being hurt in the process, so I stayed.” She smiles sadly. “The drinkin’ got worse, the beatings got worse, and when I did finally up and leave in the middle of the night, I disappeared into thin air and she died a week later. I couldn’t even attend the funeral of the second-most important person in my life because I was afraid Jimmy would look for me there.”
A tear glances off her cheekbone and I move closer, cupping her face in my sticky hands and kissing her lips. “He can’t ever hurt you again.”
“I know.” She waves it off as if it’s no big deal, but it’s a really big deal. She married a monster, one that was shot dead only twenty-four hours ago. She’s barely had time to process any of this, and here she is, half-naked and eating pancakes on my living room floor. Maybe I should have turned her away, given her time to grieve, held her and not taken advantage of this situation.
God, I’m an asshole.
“Anyway, enough sad talk,” she says, staring down at my plate. Her brow furrows and she gives me a strange look. “You get enough syrup, or you need me to bring in the truck?”
I shrug. “I like syrup”
“I see that.”
“What? You don’t like sweet?”
“Oh no, I like sweet. In fact, I’m all about sweet,” Ellie says with a mischievous smile. She takes the plate from me. I quickly swallow a mouthful of food as she climbs into my lap and brings her lips to mine. Her tongue darts out along my bottom lip, licking away syrup.
“Angel, maybe we should—”
“Shut up and kiss me, Jake.”
How can I say no to that?
I lean in and kiss her, gently, sweetly. Her tongue slides between my lips and I snake my sticky hands beneath the oversized T-shirt and along her body. I cup her breasts as our kisses deepen. She writhes against the hard-on pushing at my sweats, and I rock my hips in time with Elle’s, her moans driving me fucking crazy. I grab the hem of her T-shirt and pull it up over her head, exposing her full, beautiful tits to me, and I pepper her neck with kisses, wanting to taste every inch of her. I palm her breasts and suck one nipple into my mouth. Elle threads her fingers in my hair and throws her head back, a moan escapes those perfect lush lips. I can’t stand not being inside her any longer, so I free my cock and watch as she lowers herself down on me, taking every inch.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I groan, as she rocks gently back and forth. I can’t keep my hands off of her. My fingers grip the nape of her neck while my other hand strokes her breasts, ass, and finally her clit. Her breath hitches and her body starts to shake when I circle the small nub.
She pants. “I like sweet . . . a lot.”
So I give it to her. I fuck her slow and bring her to the brink several times. I tease her until she begs for release and then I kiss her as she comes, and swallow the sweetness of her sighs. A beat later, I come inside her, and on my living room floor as we lie in a tangle of sticky limbs and beating hearts, I realize I’m real fond of sweet.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jake
In the morning I head out for my jog, but I don’t make it past the porch because there’s a marked car in my driveway. Nuke barks at the officers comin’ up the walk.
“Mornin’ Sergeant,” I say, looking beyond to the two uniformed officers behind him. “Officers.”
“Mornin’, Jake.”
“Nuke and I were just stepping out for a run, but what can I do you for?”
“Well, we just have a few questions for you. Won’t take up much of your time.” Sergeant Murphy tucks his thumbs into his gun belt and rolls his ample weight back on his heels. “Would you mind coming down to the station so we can have a proper chat?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“Nope, no trouble.” Murphy holds out his hands in a placating gesture. “Just lookin’ for some answers is all.”
I knew this was comin’—in fact, I’m a little surprised it took ’em this long to darken my doorstep, but that don’t mean I’m happy about it. “Answers to what?”
Panic roils in my gut, but I tamp it down and focus on each of the officers. I know the two offic
ers standing behind Murphy; I went to school with them both. I played football with Brooks McGinty, until coach switched out our positions and I took the field as the quarterback and McGinty sat out half the season on the bench because he was bitter about being made tight end.
The woman beside him is Georgina Squires. She’d been quiet in high school. One of those sweet, mousy types that teenage boys never appreciated enough—myself included. Growin’ up, she’d been tall and slender as a bean pole. Not much has changed. With the exception of her joining the police force, that is.
All three officers carry standard-issue batons fastened to their belts, and they’re kitted out with cuffs, mace and Glock 22s. In my head I make a list, this one detailing all the ways I could incapacitate all three officers in five seconds flat.
“I think we’d be better discussing it at the station,” Murphy says, sucking in his big rotund belly and puffing out his chest.”
I scrub my hand over my beard. It ain’t like I have much of a choice, but that don’t mean I have to like it. “Just let me grab my keys and I’ll follow you to the station.”
“Actually, we’d prefer you rode with us,” Sergeant Murphy says.
I stare at him a beat. “And if I refuse?”
“It’d be best for everyone if you didn’t, son.”
“Best for everyone, or best for you?” I challenge. It’s kind of a dick move, but I don’t take kindly to bein’ cornered.
“Come on now, Tucker, don’t make us use force.” McGinty takes a step forward.
I laugh. “I bet you’d just hate that, wouldn’t you?”
A muscle in his cheek twitches, and he reaches out and grabs my elbow. Nuke steps forward with a growl. I act on autopilot. Wrenching my arm from his grasp, I slam my elbow up into his nose with an ungodly crack and he drops like a sack of shit. Within seconds two guns are trained on me, but even the click of the safety doesn’t stop instinct from taking over.
I head-butt Sergeant Murphy. The man reels back from the blow and winds up flat on my front porch, out cold. Officer Squires aims her gun at my forehead. She looks like a scared rabbit. I don’t make it a habit of hitting women, and I’d sure like to avoid it now. Georgina is just doing her job. Hell, they are all just doin’ their jobs, but I can’t have nobody touchin’ me. Not when they’re trying to lock me up in a room somewhere.
“Get down on the ground,” she yells. I hold her gaze as I move. I slam my right hand into her wrist, grabbing the barrel at the same time, and transfer the gun to my grip.
Despite probably having learned all this in her training, Georgina’s eyes are wide with disbelief, she whispers, “What are you going to do, Jake?”
I empty the clip and shove it in my back pocket, then I pull back on the slide and let the loaded round come out. I hand her back the unloaded gun. Nuke barks at her and I command him to be still and to go back inside. I have to say it several times before he actually cooperates with a whine.
Dropping to my knees, I hold my hands out in front of me and wait to be cuffed.
“Behind your back,” Georgina says.
I shake my head. “I’ll come willingly. They’ll wake up in a minute, and I’d like to be in the car before then so no one has to touch me.”
She frowns and doesn’t look as if she’s happy with that, but concedes anyway. “I have to put the cuffs on you, Jake.”
I clench my teeth. “I know. But not from behind.”
She lets out an irritated sigh. “Oh hell, you’re going to get me fired.”
“I won’t hurt you,” I assure her. “I saw a threat to my safety, and I snapped. If you can promise me no one else will touch me, I can promise it won’t happen again.”
I turn and issue a single command to Nuke to stay, and I reach for the door but Georgina lets out a startled cry. I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’m just closing the door; I can’t have him running after us. If he gets out, he will find me, and I can’t risk him being carted off to the pound.”
She nods and I reach out and grab the knob again. Nuke jumps up at me but I tell him to stay, and then I close the door and turn to face Georgina. I hold my hands out again to be cuffed.
She pauses a beat as she stares down at the scars on my forearms. She lost an older brother in the air force the year I enlisted in the Marines, and I’m betting that’s the only reason I’m getting special treatment from her right now. She tilts her head toward the car. Her baton is poised and ready to strike if need be, but I don’t give her any trouble. I’m already waist-deep in it.
I walk to the car like a man walking death row. In a lot of ways, it feels like that. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and my body starts to tremble. I don’t wanna be locked up again.
I let her open the car door. Old habits must die hard, because she reaches out a hand to place over my head so I won’t bang it on the roof, and I hiss.
“Sorry,” Georgina says.
I duck my head and slide in as best I can with my hands clasped in front of me. She shuts me in and I sit with my head bowed, staring down at my hands and the metal cuffs that cinch too tightly around my wrists, and I wait.
Before long, she walks back to the car with the Sergeant and McGinty, whose nose I just broke. I thank God that Georgina is the one to sit beside me in the back, though the others protest it at first.
I’m driven to the station and ushered out of the car by McGinty. He touches me again, and my hackles go up. I’m workin’ out the best way to break his cheek bone when Georgina steps in and Murphy tells him to go see medical. He strides off in a fit worthy of a small child.
I’m taken inside and shown to an interrogation room with white walls, linoleum floors, and a two-way mirrored glass window. A table and two metal chairs occupy it. Sergeant Murphy paces while I’m instructed to sit down. Officer Squires bolts my cuffs to a small steel loop on the table.
“You wanna tell me what the hell that was all about, son?” Murphy says.
“I felt threatened, sir,” I say, meeting his angry gaze head on. “It wasn’t intentional, just instinct.”
“And what about what happened to Jimmy Boem? That instinct, too?”
“Well, I guess you’d have to ask whoever murdered him that.”
He don’t miss a beat. He pulls up a chair and glares at me across the table. “I know you and the victim’s wife, Miss Mason, are well acquainted—”.”
“I didn’t kill Jimmy Boem, sir.”
“And you’d remember if you did? Word is those scars aren’t the only stripes you earned in Afghanistan. I hear that head of yours took a pretty big hit too, and after seeing what you’re capable of, I’m inclined to believe it.” He stands and paces the room. It makes me edgy, especially when he starts to circle me like a shark with prey in its sights. “Course, it don’t look good you having one of those little episodes of yours right where the murder took place.”
I frown, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. No one was there. Were they? “I didn’t do this.”
“We’ll see about that. You certainly have the motive, and I’ve got plenty of witnesses who saw you beating the shit outta him in broad daylight only a few days earlier—”
“I want my lawyer. Jacqueline Jenkins.”
Murphy scoffs. “Course you do.”
“I’m entitled to a lawyer.”
“I tell you what, you sit tight in here and I’ll get right on top of that.” He walks slowly across the room, opens the door, and wanders through it.
Panic seizes my gut. The soft snick of the door closing fills me with dread, and I can’t breathe. I survey the room like a wild animal looking for escape. I do not like enclosed spaces. My legs shake, and I yank at my cuffs. It don’t do no good, so I bury my head in against my outstretched arms and try the deep breathing techniques my shrink taught me.
I can’t be locked up again. I can’t. Even if I’m guilty I’ll take my gun to my head before I’m locked in a prison cell again in this lifetime.
Hours later
, I’m sweating and nauseous, and all the demons of my past have come back one by one to visit me: Bashir, the boys in the courtyard, and the men I failed to bring home.
The door opens and Murphy walks in, followed by my lawyer. She’s pint-sized, but she is mighty. “Oh hon, you don’t look so good. Are you okay?”
I shake my head. She doesn’t touch me—she knows better than that—but she does crouch down in her heels and skirt on the floor beside my chair.
“What the hell were you thinking, Murphy? You lock a POW in a room and leave him there? And where the hell is his service dog? You’ll be lucky you don’t hang for this.”
“You got some other suggestion of where we should keep him? He broke Officer McGinty’s nose and knocked me out cold. Last time I checked it was illegal to assault an officer of the law. Even for a war hero.”
“You touched him.”
Murphy throws his hands up. “How the hell else am I supposed to arrest him?”
“What are you arresting him for in the first place?” Jacqueline shouts back. “You got nothing on my client but some grainy footage of him having a PTSD-related episode at the scene of the crime from the Pier camera, a camera which would have recorded the shooting since it runs night and day. If Jake Tucker was guilty of murdering that man, wouldn’t you have seen him on it at the time of the incident?”
“Mr. Boem was shot long-range with an assault rifle, as best we can understand. We’ll know more about the bullets once an autopsy is carried out, but even you have to admit, Jacqueline, him losing his head at the scene of the crime looks suspicious.”
“Oh, come on now. He’s a prisoner of war who suffered the kind of psychological stress you can’t even fathom in your job pushing parking tickets and shoveling Krispy Kremes in your mouth.”
Murphy’s double chin wobbles as he shakes his head incredulously. “Now, you hold on a minute.”
“Unless you’re charging him with assault, you will release him from those cuffs right now, and don’t think we won’t hesitate to sue all y’all for the treatment he’s received here. That’s the thanks he gets for serving his country? You should be ashamed of yourself Sergeant.”