by Tara Mills
Wes scooped up Lauren’s breasts and pressed them together, nuzzling and nipping both. “Beautiful,” he said with a reverent sigh.
No longer interested in hurting Wes, all Lauren wanted to do was touch him, anywhere and everywhere she could reach.
“If you’re going to stop me, you better do it now,” Wes warned.
Lauren flashed a naughty smile and pushed his head down to her jutting nipple. “Not when I’ve got you right where I want you.” Her eyes fell closed as his warm mouth sealed over her. “Mmm, yes.”
* * * *
Wes was in a great mood Tuesday night. As promised Lauren came to his class and he was proud of how much progress she made in a single lesson. She was a gutsy woman, but her kind nature still concerned him. He was afraid it could override her instinct to act if necessary. More training would certainly help, but that was merely one battle, the war still raged on other fronts and they had more skirmishes dead ahead.
They stopped at the supermarket for a few things on their way home.
Wes compared two packages of deli ham for a second before tossing one into their shopping cart and putting the other back.
“Grab smoked turkey breast too,” Lauren said, pointing. “No, that one.”
It followed the ham into the cart. “What’s next?” Wes asked.
“Dish soap. We’re just about out.”
“Didn’t you say you wanted different bread this time?”
Lauren raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “You mean I can have something other than white?”
“Just grab what you want. I don’t give a rip.”
“Pumpernickel?” She grinned, testing him.
“No, I guess I do give a rip. Not pumpernickel.”
Lauren laughed and headed over to the dairy section.
Wes put a carton of milk in the basket and turned back with a serious expression. “I can’t get out of my shift on Thursday.”
“I didn’t know you were trying.”
“I don’t want you to go to Will’s hearing by yourself.”
“It’s already planned.”
She tried to push past him but Wes stepped in front of the cart and put his hands on either side, blocking her. “Lauren, I really don’t feel comfortable about this.”
“You’re just being paranoid.”
“And you’re not sleeping. As unlikely as it is that he’ll be paroled this week, he’s going to get out eventually. Accept it. Don’t go in there and give him a reason to look you up when he’s released. You, better than anyone, know what he’s capable of.”
She rubbed her arms as if suddenly chilled and looked at Wes with a helpless expression. “But they have to know.”
“They do know, but get a letter on file. It’ll help. Just don’t show up there and make it personal between the two of you.”
“But it is personal,” she mumbled.
“I heard that.”
“Wes, I get what you’re saying. I do, and I think it’s sweet, but you’re exaggerating the risk.”
“Humor me.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Wes was determined to keep Lauren out of harm’s way even if it meant cuffing her to the bed until the hearing was over. He hoped it didn’t come to that. It would be infinitely preferable if she gave in to persuasion instead.
Lauren ran herself a bath as soon as they got home. Wes took advantage of the situation and pulled out the file he’d compiled on William H. Stovall, rereading the news stories and records he’d been able to access on Lauren’s former brother-in-law. The man was no good, and Wes knew the type, both as a man and as a cop. All he wanted to do was protect the woman in his life. Why did it have to be so hard?
* * * *
Wednesday morning Chuck looked over the already sweltering roof of their car at his partner and shook his head. “And she’s still going?”
“I haven’t been able to talk her out of it,” Wes said.
“Women,” Chuck grumbled, climbing in and slamming the door. “My wife is the same way. She gets something into her head and she sticks to it like a greyhound on a rabbit. It’s frustrating. There’s no reasoning with her.”
Wes shifted his holster on the seat and slid the key into the ignition.
“Hurry up. It’s a furnace in here.” Chuck’s finger was already on his window button.
The engine turned over, the fan went on, the windows slid down, and they both heaved a sigh of relief.
Wes glanced over at Chuck. “I’d like to head back to Berenson’s Chevrolet and talk to Rudy again. Something isn’t sitting right with me. I think he knows more than he’s admitting. It feels off.”
“You want to put a little scare in him, don’t you?”
Wes grinned. “I don’t think it’s going to take much. Bet he pees his pants when we show up again.”
Chuck laughed. “Yeah, I think he’s ready to cave. Our persistence is wearing him down. I’ve never seen a guy sweat so much. It warms my sweaty cockles.”
“Big time. Oh, and I’m going back to see Sam Streeter this afternoon.”
“At the jewelry store? But we put those guys away.”
“I know.”
Chuck groaned. “Are you shitting me? You’re shitting me, right? Tell me you’re shitting me.”
“Can’t.”
“Don’t you think you’re rushing this just a bit?”
“No.”
“Aw, Christ.”
Wes chuckled at his partner’s reaction and pulled out of the lot. They only made it two blocks before a call came over the radio.
“All units, code three. Armed robbery HOT. Man down at University Liquors on Marshall and Thirtieth. Suspect on foot, Asian male in his twenties, short black hair, black t-shirt, gray hoodie, loose black jeans with a torn left knee, and red canvas sneakers.”
Chuck picked up the radio as Wes navigated a u-turn. “2460 responding.”
“Copy, 2460.”
“Change of plans,” Chuck said to Wes. “Gotta love a Wednesday.”
Chapter 17
The lovers brought take-out over to Ken and Sherry’s on Wednesday night, earning hugs of emotional gratitude from Wes’s sister.
“I’m going stir crazy,” she admitted, leading them back to the kitchen. “I need work or the baby, something to keep me focused. This limbo is for the birds.”
Lauren poked inside one of the bags and pulled the containers out, setting them on the counter. “Look at it this way. You just bought the baby another week in the womb.”
“Yeah,” said Sherry grudgingly. “Good point.”
“How’s he doing anyway?” Wes asked, placing his hand over his little nephew.
“Robin’s an impatient little bugger, just like his momma. I hardly sleep anymore. I doze for short little stretches, but that’s about it.”
“Good thing you’re not driving.”
“No kidding. Wes, get some plates down, would you? Ken should be home any minute.”
Wes set a stack on the table then went into the next cabinet for glasses. “What do you have to drink?”
“You know the answer. Get one for Ken too while you’re at it.”
Wes pulled two bottles of beer from the fridge and held up a bottle of white wine in front of Lauren.
“Can I pour you a glass?” Or two?
So what if he had an ulterior motive? Who wouldn’t after the tense ride over there? Wes was hoping the alcohol would work to relax Lauren. Their argument on the way over had left them both unsettled. He regretted expressing his impatience and frustration with her. Lauren did not respond well to those emotions. She obstinately dug in her heels and now it looked like they were at an impasse.
“Wes, I’m warning you,” said Sherry. “If you uncork the wine, you finish it or take it home with you. The way I’m feeling right now, I can’t be trusted with an open bottle.”
“We’ll take it with us. Lauren?” Wes wagged it in front of her.
“Oh, all right. One glass.”
Ken walked in while Wes was pouring. He leaned down and kissed Sherry then gave her belly a little rub. “Daddy’s home,” he whispered at her navel.
“Daddy.” Wes chuckled, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
“Get used to it.”
Sherry looked up and smiled at Lauren. “Robin’s kicking. Do you want to feel him?”
Lauren rushed over, and Sherry took her hand and placed it on her hard belly. Lauren’s face lit up and she laughed.
“That’s so cool,” Lauren said with a big smile and pulled back her hand.
“If you think that’s something, you should have felt him a month ago. He was all over the place, but he’s run out of room now. It must be cramped. Poor Robin can’t be comfortable hanging upside down with his head wedged. I know it doesn’t feel pleasant for me.”
“No doubt.” Wes shuddered and handed Lauren her wine.
“Well, if I get a vote, I’m ready to get this party started.” Sherry looked at the apple juice in her hand and sighed.
* * * *
After dinner, Sherry shooed the guys away, her motive clear as day to all of them. It was time for some girl talk. Lauren braced herself for it, not exactly sure what to expect. Working in tandem, Sherry rinsed the dishes and Lauren loaded the dishwasher but a cloud of tension hovered in the air between them.
Finally Sherry turned to Lauren and asked, “Does he make you happy?”
They both held the last plate and neither was letting go.
“Yes. Very happy,” Lauren admitted with a sheepish smile.
“Good.” Sherry sighed and released the plate. “I can’t believe I was so blind. How did I miss this?”
“I kept my mouth shut. It wasn’t your fault.”
“You could have told me.”
“No.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Sherry laughed, her hands flapping out from her sides. “I like you together. Don’t get me wrong, I love you both apart, but you’re really great together.”
“You think?” Lauren straightened up and shut the dishwasher.
“What…trouble in paradise?”
“We had another argument on the way over. Wes doesn’t want me to go to Will’s hearing tomorrow.”
“Can you blame him?”
“No.” Lauren rubbed her temples. “But he doesn’t understand.”
Sherry laughed. “Lauren, Wes is a cop. Trust me, he understands.”
Lauren smiled and reached for her wine. “You’re right. Am I being unreasonable?”
Sherry’s eyebrow went up, the expression so much like her brother’s it was uncanny. “You tell me.”
* * * *
Wayne Coulter got home from work at half past six and carried his dinner into the kitchen. He set the fast food bag on the counter and went looking for ketchup and mustard in the fridge. Finding the mustard empty, he threw it at the garbage in the corner. The bottle bounced off the mounded top and joined the other bags and bottles littering the floor. He left it there and hooked a six pack of Bud with one finger and carried everything into the living room and over to his La-Z-Boy recliner.
Toeing off his shoes without untying them, Coulter kicked back in the chair and picked up the remote. The footrest sprang out to support his legs as the television glowed on.
A half hour later, Wayne made his way into the bathroom, bringing the extra napkins with him. There was a multicolored stack of napkins sitting on the edge of the vanity—some stamped, most not. He added to the pile, growing angrier by the second because using napkins for toilet paper had given him a hemorrhoid. Not good when you drove a truck for a living. It would have been nice if the bitch had done the shopping before she left.
Glaring down at the gun catalogue on his lap Wayne fumed about his diet of late. For three days now he’d been backed up, unable to move his bowels, and he could almost feel his arteries constricting from all the fatty shit he was eating, but what was a man supposed to do?
Eventually giving it up as another lost cause, he stood and hauled up his pants. He had to wash his hands with the cheap-assed strawberry scented shampoo Sylvia left behind and dry them on his trousers because every fucking towel reeked now. To make matters even worse, he was out of socks and underwear too. This particular pair of boxers was on its third wearing already, the second time he turned them inside out and this morning he went sorting through the clothes on his bedroom floor looking for the cleanest of the dirty. There was no point in turning them around. Who the fuck was going to see them anyway?
Wayne picked up the can of beer next to the sink and took a long swallow, staring at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror when he finally lowered it. He looked like shit. His skin was slack, his stubble was becoming a problem because every razor in the house was dull, and he was overdue for a haircut.
Slapping off the light, Wayne wandered out and frowned at the television. What was this shit he was watching anyway? Crap, everything was crap. He set his beer on the end table and went into the bedroom and fished under his pillow for his gun.
* * * *
If Wes could rank all the things he hoped to hear from Lauren, “Wes, I’m not going to Will’s hearing,” would come in at number two. He got his wish on the way home. Maybe now she could finally sleep through the night. Unfortunately, just shy of two AM., Lauren woke Wes with a ghostly moan.
No matter how quiet her soft wails sounded to him, Wes understood Lauren was screaming in terror on the inside. He pulled her tight against him and wrapped his arms and a leg around her. Soothing her with gentle murmurs, he got Lauren to settle back to sleep. Wes wondered how she coped on those rare occasions when she returned to her apartment. She probably sat up half the night with the television to keep her company, using it to distract her from her demons. There was no way she would ever admit it, but Lauren’s exhaustion spoke volumes.
Awake, Lauren was a strong and sassy woman, a true advocate and fighter for those who needed a champion, but at night, locked in her own head, it was clear she was losing her battles and finding herself just as vulnerable as the women she helped.
* * * *
The sun was coming in low and long through the bedroom windows when Lauren woke to Wes’s breath on her ear.
“Come on, sleepy, time to wake up.” He whipped the covers back and caressed her naked bottom.
She grumbled and dragged his pillow over her head but Wes pulled that off too.
“Lauren, we both have to get to work, but it’s Thursday—two more days, that’s all.”
“Five more minutes.”
“No.” Wes nuzzled into her neck until she rolled away and sat up.
“All right already. I’m up,” she said irritably.
He laughed. “I might even believe it if you could open your eyes.”
Lauren peeled her lashes apart and frowned up at him.
“That’s better,” he said with a big smile.
“You’re way too perky in the morning.”
“Funny, you’ve never complained about that before,” he said roguishly.
She reached for his pillow and tossed it at him, missing.
Wes laughed on his way out. “Your shower’s waiting, babe.”
Lauren dragged herself into the bathroom and stepped into the tub. Hot water rained on her face and she stretched into it, smoothing it back from her forehead and down her hair. Wes walked into the bathroom a few minutes later and snaked his hand around the door, giving her breast a friendly squeeze. In a much better frame of mind now, she smiled and pressed into his palm.
“You’re so easy,” he said, chuckling softly.
“Never used to be.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now come on, your coffee’s getting cold.” He stood back and held open a large bath towel.
Lauren turned off the shower and stepped out, and Wes wrapped the towel around her. Stretching up on her toes, Lauren gave Wes a wet kiss and they nuzzled noses.
“Thanks again for backing down today,” he said, roug
hing her skin dry.
Lauren sighed. “What choice did I have? You wouldn’t let it go. I still think you’re making too much of me going to the hearing, but I hated seeing you all stressed out. And,” she added grudgingly, “you’re probably right about his chances of getting paroled this soon.”
“Probably?”
Lauren smiled. “The jury’s still out.”
“Ah.”
“And I’m not giving up. I’m just giving myself more time to revise my tactics. Can you deal with that?”
He studied her long and hard. “It depends on what you come up with.”
She laughed. “Fair enough.”
“Lauren, I appreciate this.” Wes kissed her tenderly then left so she could dress and make-up her face.
* * * *
Sometimes the planets really did align, Wayne thought with satisfaction. The shelter harboring his wife was a secure location so it took him several frustrating days to find their address. He never could have done it on his own. Just when he was about to give up he remembered, belatedly, that he worked for a delivery service. Duh! The shelter wasn’t on his route but it turned up in the company system. It was a piece of cake to access what he needed. His family was going to be back together by tonight.
Of course someone must have talked Sylvia into leaving him, but Wayne was damned if he could figure out who to blame. There was a point when he feared his own sister may have been responsible for interfering in their lives, but when she called looking for Sylvia a few days after her disappearance, those suspicions subsided. He even toyed briefly with the possibility that Sylvia had left him for another man, but it was hard to imagine that since she didn’t even like sex. Only when Wayne saw Sylvia riding around with a strange woman was he finally able to put that lingering suspicion to rest.
It was a quarter to eleven on Thursday morning when Wayne pulled his delivery van against the curb in front of the unremarkable house and parked. He could almost taste the home-cooked meal Sylvia was going to make tonight. He released his seat belt and bent to pick up the two priority mail packages—one sealed and intended for Security Title, the other bulky and sliced open at the back.