Because Beards
Page 24
Inexplicably, his heart pounded hard in his chest, like they were about to go in and defuse a bomb or chase down an armed burglar.
“I felt that way about Sloane.” His voice cracked.
Keith parked and turned in his seat. “Me, too.” He looked miserable.
His heart pounded harder. His mouth had gone dry. “You can have her, man. I don’t want to stand between you and—”
“Fuck that. You can have her. You’re young like her. You could start a family, make a life together. I’m not going to stand in the way of your future.” He scrubbed his beard again and hesitated then turned away and opened the door, climbing out of the car.
Keith took down the information from the distraught college student whose car had been stolen. Fourth one that week—all from the university area. Someone was definitely running a ring, because none of them had turned up abandoned, as often happened with stolen cars.
He and John had a few leads—just rumors, barely enough to start digging. But, today, he couldn’t concentrate on the case, couldn’t shake his rotten mood. He ought to be happy. He’d had the hottest blonde in town last night. But Sloane was like an addiction—one taste hooked him. Apparently so was his partner.
He’d meant it when he said John could have her—if she could be convinced to see them—or him—again. A girl like her only came around once in a lifetime. Or maybe twice, in his case. He considered himself lucky to have met his soul mate early on, to have had ten glorious years with her.
Watching John settle down and have his own happiness would be enough for him.
They finished up with the report and climbed back in the car. “In-N-Out Burger?”
“Yep.” He started the vehicle and drove to the fast food joint.
“Let’s leave it up to her.”
Although picking up a conversation they’d left off discussing three hours ago, Keith knew exactly what he was talking about. Or rather, who.
He nodded slowly. “I’m down with that. But I just want you to know there will never be any bad blood between us if she picks you.”
“Same here,” John promised. “Listen, man. I’m not going sappy on you, but I had that same thing with you. Minus the chemistry. Like we knew each other right from the start. I mean, I trust you more than my own brothers.”
Already in the drive-through for In-N-Out Burger, he ordered their food, grateful for the momentary distraction.
“All I’m saying, is maybe all three of us would work as a long-term thing.”
Keith snorted. “Come on.”
“I’m serious. Why not?”
“So, what? We’re all going to live together like we’re on some some crazy hippie commune?”
John grinned his boyish smile. “Except with deodorant.”
Keith gave a short bark of laughter, the first time he’d felt like laughing all day. “You’re fucking nuts.”
“Well, let’s just see. First, we gotta win back the girl.”
A reluctant smile stretched across his face, a primitive flare of hope sparking in his chest. John was the Golden Retriever of men. He liked everyone and generally figured things would always turn out well. He might not feel the same way, but he couldn’t help but love his asshole partner.
Sloane’s feet were killing her. After trotting out in the spike heels last night, she should have opted for flats today. She limped up her sidewalk and unlocked the door, kicking her shoes off onto the hardwood floor the moment she stepped inside.
The cool air of the AC hit her in the face, and she drew a deep breath, happy to be home. She’d spent the entire day fighting off the memories of two pairs of manly hands on her body, of being bound, ordered into position, and pleasured.
She wanted to remember it all. She’d draw a bath and pour a glass of wine and just…go over the entire experience. She’d give herself this one night to remember it all and then put it behind her.
Brrrr. She checked the AC, ready to turn it up, and then froze. Seventy-three? She didn’t set her thermostat that low. Not ever.
The now-familiar chill she’d been feeling lately swept through her with a rush. What in the holy hell was happening?
Someone had been in her house.
Goose bumps rose on her arms and neck. She crept from room to room, holding her breath. Were they still here? What did they want?
She stepped in her bedroom and looked around. Opened the closet door. Everything looked normal, except…
She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream, then stumbled back.
It’s okay. It’s not that scary. It’s just shoes.
But, Jesus. Someone had arranged them— set all her shoes in a neat line, toes pointed outward. The laces of her sneakers had been untied and pulled straight out to the front.
Creepy. Super creepy.
Someone with a case of OCD couldn’t stop themselves from moving her stuff.
She ran for the front door, leaving her shoes but grabbing her purse. She got in the car and locked the doors, her phone already out in her trembling hands. She wished she had Keith’s card here, but it remained inside, on the dresser.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Someone broke into my house—322 West Avenida Bonita.”
“Are you in the house, ma’am?”
“No, I’m in my car in the driveway.” She was pretty sure there wasn’t anyone in there, but thought she’d better wait outside, just in case.
“Okay, stay out of the house until the police arrive.”
“Can I request particular officers? Sergeants Swensen and Hathaway?”
A long pause. “I’ll relay your request, ma’am. I don’t know whether it can be accommodated.”
“Thank you.” Her voice shook.
What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck? Seriously? What the fuck was happening?
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She needed a do-over on this day in a really bad way.
The minutes ticked by. It felt like hours. Her car grew warm, and she had to turn on the engine to run the AC.
Who had been in her house? Was it some kind of prank? Some kids playing a joke on her? Or something more serious? Nothing had been stolen. At least, not before today, nothing she’d noticed. A peeping Tom? Oh God, had someone been there while she’d been home?
The thought had her quaking.
The sound of screeching tires brought her head up and eyelids open. Her officers. She leaped out of the car and went running for them before their squad car had even pulled to a stop.
Keith jerked the car to a stop and flew out, not even bothering to shut the car door. He wrapped her up in his arms, seeming to know exactly what she needed. “It’s okay, baby. It’s going to be okay. Tell us what happened.”
In the next moment, John was there, too, stroking the back of her head. “What happened? Someone broke in?”
She pulled away, still trembling. “Yeah.” Her voice sounded shaky, but she was proud of herself for not crying. “Someone’s been coming into my house. The cat was out last night, remember? Today, the AC setting had been lowered and”—she beckoned them to the door—“come and see my shoes.”
They exchanged a glance, and she stopped.
Great. They thought her a nut job. She had to admit, her accusations sounded pretty benign and stupid out loud. “I’m not making this up.”
“I believe you.” Keith held out his arm to prevent her from coming in. “Let us search the place first, then you can show us the shoes.”
She nodded and stayed on the porch as the two officers slipped inside the house, looking every bit as lethal as their weapons.
Several minutes later, they emerged. “It’s empty. Show us what you saw.”
She brought them in and pointed to her shoes, explaining how she’d left them in a big heap.
“I don’t like this,” John said.
“Nor do I.” Keith took out a notebook and pencil and made notes on it.
“Can you think of anyone
who might want to fuck with you? Some guy you pissed off in court? A former client?” John asked.
Her mind ran over her recent cases. She hadn’t had any dissatisfied clients or anyone who seemed to blame her for the outcome of their cases as far as she could remember. She shook her head.
“Ex-boyfriend? Angry co-worker?” Keith prompted.
“No—no one like that.”
“You’re not staying here alone until this has been resolved,” Keith said firmly.
“Right,” John agreed. “We’ll stay here with you. Either in shifts or together, whichever you prefer.”
In seconds flat, she shifted from terror to turn-on. The single word together had her blushing at the memories of the previous night, heat swirling in her core, her skin prickling with a new awareness of their bodies and nearness. Her resolve not to repeat the night flew out the front door.
She swallowed. “Okay.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“Huh? Oh…both of you,” she spoke without hesitation then flushed again. Maybe she asked too much. They probably had other things to do. “I mean, unless you’d rather split up.”
“No,” they answered simultaneously.
“I’m glad you called us,” John said. “We appreciate your trust.”
“Yeah… Of course I trust you. I mean…” She had let them do anything and everything with her the night before, hadn’t she? She realized she trusted them implicitly. Individually and separately. “Thanks for coming. I’m really glad…we met.”
Met. What a funny way of putting it. She had a feeling they’d be meeting again soon, in many new configurations.
“We’ll check the place for prints, but I’m not sure we’ll be able to get any good ones,” Keith said. John stalked through the house, checking behind doors and under beds while Keith dusted the door knob and closet door, trying to pick up any good prints. After about a half hour, he shook his head ruefully. “Nothing. The perp may have been wearing gloves. You see this smudge here? Doesn’t look like it came from a bare finger.”
Something about the gloves reminded her of something else, but the more her brain tried to retrieve the thought, the deeper it hid from her. She shook her head and sighed, feeling like she was going nuts.
“All right. I think our investigation is wrapped up here. I’ll head home and get a change of clothes and some takeout. Does that sound good?” Keith asked. “John will stay with you while I’m gone.”
She nodded. “Sounds great.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“How about pizza?”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Rocco’s Old Chicago—sausage and jalapeño.”
He grinned and put the pencil and pad he’d been scribbling notes on away. “You got it.” The wink made her knees weak. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
He headed out, and she turned to face John, who still stalked around her little house, inspecting everything with a dark look.
She loved how protective they seemed. Honestly, she couldn’t remember when someone had taken care of her. She was a do-it-yourselfer by nature—prided herself on being able to handle her problems without calling in the cavalry. And she’d never dated guys who offered much more than what she could do on her own. But she had to admit, knowing two strapping policemen willing to rush over to her house and protect her with their lives made this situation a helluva lot easier.
But would they be able to solve the case? How long would it take? They didn’t have much to go on. Worse still, her willpower to resist the two men sexually wouldn’t last a half hour. And the more involved she got with them, the more complicated and painful it would be when things ended.
This was why she didn’t do relationships.
John’s protective instincts went wild. The idea of someone fucking with Sloane made him want to rip his or her face apart. Who would do this to her? And why? It seemed like a mind-fuck. A subtle form of intimidation. Who would be after their beautiful public defender? What grudge could they hold?
His investigative wheels turned as he circled the outside of her house, checking all windows and doors. One of the window locks appeared forcibly broken, and he found a large male footprint in the dust outside. White-hot fury surged through him.
Who the fuck had been here? He took photos of the print and tried to get a cast of it, but the dust was too fine and dry, the print not deep enough. He wanted to kill this guy, he really did. He circled the house again. The sound of a scream made his heart lodge in his throat. He threw the front door open.
A tall, thin man backed away from Sloane, who slowly advanced on him, clutching a butcher knife.
He drew his gun. “Freeze.”
The man whirled, caught sight of John, and his already panicked face distorted. He lunged back toward Sloane.
“Touch her, and I’ll shoot you in the back.”
The man froze, a choked sound coming from his throat.
“Hands in the air, real high.”
The guy slowly lifted his shaking fingers toward the ceiling. He stooped like an old man, but he couldn’t be more than fifty, with thinning hair and broken front teeth. His clothes were wrinkled and unclean.
“Face down, on the floor.” Without taking his eyes or his gun from the guy, he hit his radio. “Sergeant Swensen, return to premises immediately.”
“Copy that. En route.”
The man sank to his knees, desperation streaking his face. “Ms. Walters is my friend. Aren’t you, Ms. Walters?”
“You know this guy?” He didn’t move his eyes from the perp.
“Yeah,” Sloane gasped, her face white. “He was a client.”
Outside, the screech of tires signaled his partner’s return.
John ran forward and shoved the guy the rest of the way down then cuffed him roughly.
“Take it easy,” Sloane said, her voice shaky. “He’s mentally ill. I don’t think he meant to hurt me.”
He struggled to dial back his need to protect, but he agreed the guy didn’t seem aggressive.
“What were you doing here?” he demanded. “Huh?”
“N-n-nothing. I just wanted to see her again. She’s my friend. She’s nice to me.”
“Not like this. You scared her. Did you want to scare her?”
“No,” the man sobbed. He attempted to lift his head and look at Sloane, but John didn’t allow it.
Keith rushed in, stopping in the entry to take it in then easing past them toward Sloane. He closed his fingers over hers around the handle of the knife. “Let me have it,” he murmured when she didn’t let go. “You’re safe now. We’re not going to let anyone hurt you.”
She let out her breath in a gush and released the knife.
Keith instantly pulled her into his arms.
John wrestled the guy’s wallet from his pocket and tossed it to his partner. “Where did he come from?” he asked Sloane. It bugged the shit out of him he’d somehow missed the guy being in the house.
“He came in the back door.”
The one he’d just exited through and left unlocked. Damn.
“Where were you hiding? Were you in the house when we got here?”
“Outside,” the guy panted. “I went out the back door.”
“You hid outside? What was your plan, asshole?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to see her,” he pleaded. “I wouldn’t hurt her. I would never touch her.”
Jesus Christ.
“What was he accused of when you represented him?”
“Breaking and entering.” Sloan sounded miserable, as if she bore the guilt of his continued law breaking.
“Did he steal things?”
“No.”
Keith rifled through the wallet, the anger on his face matching John’s.
Maybe the guy was mentally ill. Probably. It didn’t make it any less creepy to find him in Sloane’s house. John leaned his head low to the guy’s face and snarled through gritted teeth, “You don’t break in
to someone’s house. You don’t touch their things. You scared her.”
“I’m sorry,” the man wailed. “I didn’t mean to scare her. I didn’t mean to.”
Sloane’s eyes swam with unshed tears. “Please take it easy on him.”
He pulled the guy up to his knees and turned him to see Sloane. “She’s crying,” he snarled. “Because of you.”
“I’m sorry!” the guy cried. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Okay, let’s get him down to the station. Sloane, you’ll need to come, too, so we can get a statement. We’ll make it as fast and painless as possible.”
After getting Sloane’s stalker booked, John headed home to shower and change then returned to her place while Keith went to get the pizza. They hadn’t even questioned whether they were still spending the night at Sloane’s. Nor had she.
He tapped on the door and entered to find Sloane slicing vegetables for a salad. Something about the domestic scene made his cock thicken. Not that a professional woman wouldn’t also be good in the kitchen. Sloane seemed ultra-capable. But the idea of domesticating with her was doing all kinds of things to his body and mind.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind.
She stiffened at first, but then her body went soft and she leaned back. Her head fell against his shoulder, her moon-pale hair smelling sweet.
“Keith was so pissed we let you get away this morning,” he murmured.
She stiffened again, but then turned in his arms, her aqua eyes curious.
“I haven’t seen him take a genuine interest in a woman—not since he lost his wife a few years back.”
Her expression softened with sympathy. “Is that why you two—?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, partly. I had hoped to get him back in the dating scene. I never expected we’d fall for the same woman.”
Her eyes widened, lips parted. Worry crept across her face.