by Odette Stone
“Not here. He knows I want to talk to him.”
Frustration creased his face.
I decided a little bit of distraction was in order. “What do you say we forgo the closet and head home for the main event?”
That got his attention. His eye darkened. “Right now?”
I stepped closer to him, “My inner stripper is begging to come out and play.”
He groaned, “Let’s go.”
Chapter 35
Porter’s cellphone rang as the cab pulled up in front of my apartment. With his phone tucked against his ear, he fished money out of his pocket, while whoever he talked to, gave him an earful. He wasn’t even getting a word in edgewise.
“Let me pay.” I grabbed his arm.
He shook his head, shoved money at the driver and spoke into his phone, “I hear you. No, I get that, but I don’t deserve any of that. I don’t even think I should vote.”
Porter walked a few feet away from me. One hand covered his ear while he listened with intense concentration. “I get that, Jordan, but I haven’t been back there in years. I have no say in this decision. Nor should I.” He paused so long, I thought he’d hung up. “Is that what Dad told you to tell me?”
There was a small grocery store right across the street. I could really go for some ice cream. I waved at Porter and pointed at the grocery store.
He lifted up his finger to say, “give me one minute.”
“Jordan, I honestly have no say. I support whatever you guys decide.” His voice indicated the seriousness of the conversation, and I didn't want to bother him.
Porter’s back was to me as I dashed across the street. I glimpsed back at him. He didn’t even know I was gone. I found some ice cream and a cheap bottle of wine. I paid for my purchases, and I got halfway across the street when I heard someone calling.
“Miss! Miss!”
I turned. “Are you talking to me?”
The clerk waved something at me. “You forgot your wallet in the store.”
Porter and I briefly made eye contact.
“What the fuck,” he mouthed.
I turned back to the store. A squeal of tires and the surge of an engine roared through the air. I froze as those headlights sped towards me.
“Beth!” Porter shouted.
I stepped back into the other lane, but the car veered into that lane. I stumbled forward, and it surged back towards me. This fucker was trying to hit me.
I started to run. It was too close.
Oh. Shit. This is going to hurt.
I hit the ground. Pain laced up my arms, and something cold and wet tricked against my hands. Miraculously, I was still breathing.
I heard the store clerk’s voice. He sounded so far away. “Lady! Are you okay?”
I was being rolled over, and suddenly, Porter’s face was mere inches from mine.
“Shit.” He touched my arms, my face, my neck. “I’m so sorry. Beth. Say something.”
“Something is leaking. Am I bleeding?” I asked in a daze.
He shook his head. “You’re wine bottle broke.”
“My ice cream,” I said lamely.
“We’ll get you some more.”
Everything hurt. Were my wrists broken? It felt like my kneecaps had been removed, like my hips had been jarred so hard, they had popped out of their sockets.
“Did the car hit me? I think the car hit me.”
“That wasn’t the car.” He shone his phone flashlight into my eyes exactly like a doctor would.
“Something hit me. I’m pretty sure it was the car.”
Remorse crossed his face as he studied my wrists. “That was me. I tackled you.”
Our eyes met.
“You tackled me?”
He put his hand beneath my neck and gently pulled me into a sitting position. “I don’t think anything is broken, but you’re pretty banged up. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
In shock, I glanced down at my hands. My palms were skinned to a pulpy mess. The knees of my pants were ripped, but there was no blood. And every single bone in my body hurt.
Queasiness rolled over me. “I feel weird.”
He lifted me up into his arms. “You might have a concussion.”
I stared up at his face while he carried me. “You saved me.”
“I hit you with all my weight and drove you into a cement sidewalk. I’m not sure if that qualifies as saving you.”
“My hands are stinging.”
He flinched. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Beth.”
“It’s not your fault. I wanted to get some ice cream. You were right there,” I babbled in shock.
“I was distracted. I was on the phone.”
“Why would someone try and run me over?”
He opened the truck door and put me down on the seat with so much gentleness and care, it made me want to weep. Didn’t he know by now that kindness was my undoing?
He secured my seatbelt over my hips. “We’ll get to the bottom of this okay?”
I wanted that, sure, but I was startled when I realized I wanted Porter—this, being cared for—more.
Two hours later, I waved my bandaged hands at Porter, who sat on the edge of my bed in the ER.
“Sexy, hey?” I rolled my eyes.
He lifted one of my hands and kissed my fingertips. “You’ve got sexy covered.”
Our eyes met. The weird thing was I knew he meant it. I really liked this guy. Not only as a friend. I had feelings for him. Big feelings. I didn’t know how to process that, but the need to let him know was growing stronger.
I hated that I was fake-engaged to him. I wanted everything with him to be real. “Porter, there’s something we need to talk about.”
“De ja vu,” a familiar voice interrupted my confession.
I sighed and turned to take in the blond woman that had appeared beside my bed. “Detective Christensen.”
She flipped through my medical report. “It says you were involved in a hit and run?”
“An attempted hit and run.”
“Trouble sure seems to like to find you.”
“Do you get sent out to mock all victims of crimes or is that something you reserve for only me?”
“What can you tell me?”
Porter cut in. “It was a black Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with a soft white top. It went from approximately six miles per hour to thirty-five miles per hour in the span of one block. Beth tried to dodge it, but the vehicle deliberately tried to hit her.”
“What else?”
“The driver was a white male, 40-50 years of age. He had no facial hair, and he wore a hat and dark-rimmed glasses. Aviators.”
“Did you get a license plate number?”
“GAN 4563. New York plates.”
She raised her eyebrows at me. “So did the car actually hit you?”
I shook my head.
“How did you get hurt?”
“I knocked her down to avoid her being clipped by the vehicle,” Porter answered for me.
“And where exactly did this take place?”
I cited my address to her.
She tucked her stubby pencil back into her pocket. “Okay. Let me run those plates and see what we can see on the street cameras. Lots of streets don’t have cameras, but if they do, and if what you are saying is true, then this would be considered attempted murder.”
I gasped.
She gave me a grim smile. “Along with mocking our victims, we also consider attempted murder a pretty serious crime.”
“What happens now?”
“I’m going to run those plates, and I’ll get back to you.”
Another hour passed before I was released from the ER. Porter wanted to carry me to the truck, but I insisted on walking. I hobbled beside him and tried not to groan. Every single step hurt like a son of a bitch until Porter took pity on me and literally swept me off my feet.
I was about to protest out of stupid pride, but my phone rang.
“Beth? This is De
tective Christensen, I’m going to need you to come down to the station.”
Chapter 36
“What is this?” I asked as she urgently ushered Porter and me to a small, windowless brick room with a laptop.
“There were cameras on the street. We caught the whole thing. I want you to watch this and tell me if you remember anything else.”
She hit play. There I was, grainy and grey on the screen, crossing the street. The store clerk came out and called to me. I turned around, and the car pulled out from the curb and began to speed towards me.
Exactly like a deer in the headlights, I wasted valuable seconds trying to decide which way to run. When I started to run, I was agonizingly slow. My fate seemed inevitable.
Out of nowhere, with the speed of a greyhound, Porter raced towards me. He moved so fast, but the car was dangerously close. Like a professional football player, making the tackle of his life, he flew through the air.
He landed on top of me, knocking me forward. The car swerved hard, trying to hit us, before speeding off. Porter made a noise in the back of his throat and turned his back to us.
“You saved her life.” Detective Christensen spoke. “She might be a bit banged up, but if you hadn’t done that, it would’ve been much worse.”
He paused when she spoke, but without looking back, he walked out. Detective Christensen and I shared a look.
I bit my lip. “He feels guilty.”
“That man deserves a medal. He risked his life saving yours.”
“I know.”
“We have a hit on the car. Plates and car were both stolen.”
“So, you can’t find this guy?”
She shut the laptop. “We found him. An hour ago, his body was found in this car, under a bridge, not ten blocks from your place.”
“What?” I put my bandaged hand to my forehead in shock. “What happened?”
“Two bullets to the back of his head.”
Panic laced my voice. “I don’t understand what is happening. This doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, but we’ll be doing everything we can to investigate exactly what’s happening and who this guy is.”
“What should I do?”
Her concern was real. “Stay vigilant about your safety until we can get to the bottom of this. And keep that big guy close. He looks like he’s doing a good job keeping you safe so far.”
I pulled my stiff body up from the chair. “Can I go?”
“You’re free to go.”
Shouting sounded from outside of the room.
“What the hot hell?” Detective Christensen flung open the door. “Oh, shit.” She disappeared.
I limped to the door and took in the chaos. Yates stood in the middle of the room, screaming while blood spurted out of his nose. Two officers pinned Porter against the wall as they handcuffed him.
One officer bled from his lip, the other bled from his nose. A table was flipped, three chairs laid on their sides, and another officer leaned against the counter, holding the side of his head.
“What the hell is going on here?” Detective Christensen strode into the middle of the mess.
Porter turned, his eyes finding me. He had no expression on his face.
“This guy jumped that guy over there.” One officer jerked the cuffs on Porter, making him wince. “When we tried to pull him off, he resisted arrest.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Detective Christensen pushed the officer out of the way. She took keys out of her pocket and removed the handcuffs from Porter. “This is my victim’s fiancé.”
Porter turned and eyeballed Yates, reminding me of a predator debating how best to launch his next attack.
The detective pushed her finger up in Porter’s face. “You’re going to calmly walk this shit off, right?”
He rubbed his wrists and, with a dark glance my way, gave a short nod.
She turned to Yates. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Beth is the love of my life,” his bloody hand muffled his voice, “and that barbarian attacked me in cold blood.”
She assessed Porter. “I assume you have a good reason for attacking this man?”
“He’s following Beth. I wanted to know how he knew she was here.”
Her head volleyed back to Yates. “That’s a good question. How did you know Beth was here?”
Yates winced. “I want a lawyer.”
She pointed at Yates. “Put this guy in room three. And let him call his lawyer.”
The officer glared at Porter, but he led Yates out.
Yates yelled over his shoulder. “You’re arresting the wrong man. He’s an animal. Did you see what he did to my face?”
She jutted her chin at the other two officers. “Go clean up.”
They both shot daggers at Porter but obediently left the room.
She crossed her arms and gave Porter a pointed look. “You think this Yates is part of this?”
I relayed my conversation with Yates, told her about our history and how he was now my father’s campaign manager.
“Do you think he’s following you?”
“How did he know she would be here?” Porter butt in.
She shook her head. “No clue, but I plan on finding out.”
Porter gave a sharp nod.
She crossed her arms. “Do me a favor and don’t take out half my team next time?”
He remained expressionless.
She sighed. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 37
Back at the apartment, I did my best to hide how much my body hurt.
Porter walked to the bathroom. “I’m going to run you a bath. You’ll feel better after you soak.”
I held up my bandages and followed him in.
He ran my bath, then turned to me. “I’ve got you covered.” He carefully undressed me and lifted me into the tub. “Keep your hands on the edge of the tub.”
I should have felt self-conscious about my naked state, but the warm water felt too damn good. I laid back and observed Porter with half-shut eyes. He sat beside the tub, and his hand rested on my stomach. He appeared lost in thought.
“Does this mean our hot night where I’m the sex slave is canceled?”
His tone remained dry, “Oh, I think I’ve done enough damage to your body tonight.”
“Porter,” my voice went soft.
His eyes lifted to mine. “I shouldn’t have taken that call.”
“I shouldn’t have gone to the store by myself.”
“I was distracted.”
“You’re not to blame. You saved me.”
“I also hurt you.”
His evident guilt told me I needed to change the conversation. So I asked a question I wasn’t sure he’d answer. “Who’s Jordan?”
His jaw tightened. “My brother.”
Ahhh. “Okay.”
“My dad’s retiring from ranching.”
I waited, hoping that he’d share something of himself without me asking.
Don’t make me pry. Please, don’t make me pry.
“My dad owns one of the biggest ranches in Montana. As each of my brothers grew up, he parceled off exactly one-sixth of his land to each of them.”
“Okay.”
He swirled his fingertips over my stomach. “He ran his family like a democracy. Each time he did that, all of us had a vote. He said this was our future, and we all had a say. Everyone had to vote, and everyone had to vote yes for it to happen.”
“Oh, wow.”
His eyes lifted to mine. “The remaining sixth piece of land, he’s been ranching. He’s parceled everything else off to my brothers, and now he wants us all to vote on giving the last piece to me.”
My mouth parted as I remembered his side of the conversation.
I hear you. No, I get that, but I don’t deserve any of that. I don’t even think I should vote…
I get that, Jordan, but I haven’t been back there in years. I have no say in this decisio
n. Nor should I…
Jordan, I honestly have no say. I support whatever you guys decide.
“You don’t think you deserve that,” my voice was soft. I had no idea of the history of his family, but I knew that he felt he didn’t deserve his piece of land.
“I know I don’t.” Sadness seeped from his eyes.
I lifted a bandaged hand and touched his face. He turned towards it and kissed my hand. Our eyes met again.
“I think you deserve the world.” I meant it.
He studied me for a long moment. “Why?”
“I just do. I think you’re incredible.”
“Beth.”
I had no idea why, but tears spurted out of my eyes. I clumsily wiped them away with the back of my bandages. “Sorry. I never cry.”
“Talk to me.”
I hated that I was screwing all of this up. I hated that I made Porter pretend to be something fake because he was the most authentic person I knew. Right now, he was the only thing that made sense in my life.
But how could I tell him that? How could I say to him that I felt real feelings for him? I was shocked that the guy was still here. A teary, emotional confession was exactly what this man didn’t need.
“I’m screwing this all up.”
He reached forward and wiped one of my tears off my cheek. “Hey, come on.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I just…you’re just…I think you deserve it all. All the happiness and your piece of land.”
His smile was bemused. “That’s why you’re crying?”
My bottom lip trembled hard. “Pretty much.”
His teeth flashed as his smile grew. “You’re really cute when you cry. You know that?”
“You haven’t seen my ugly cry yet.”
He laughed. “And what does that entail?”
“I get really puffy and red. And there’s a lot of snot. More than what would be considered normal.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Oh trust me. That’s a show you want to miss.”
“Beth.”
We stared at each other, my pulse quickening with each passing second.
I knew that if this conversation continued, in my state, I would end up blurting out things that we’d both regret. I bit my lip. “I think I want to get out now.”