Damaged

by Jeanne St. James

  As she peeled the paper away, she uncovered beautiful blood-red roses that smelled heavenly. She loved roses: the feel, the scent, the soft, silkiness of their petals.

  Wait. What?

  At first, Colby thought she was seeing things. She wasn’t. In the center of the dozen red roses, a single deep purplish-black rose stood out. Though just as gorgeous as the red ones, the black color meant death.

  Why would Mace include a black one? Maybe it was a simple mistake made at the florists. She laid the bouquet on the table and dug out the attached card. It read: Thinking about you. Without a signature line.

  Not thinking of you, but thinking about you. Odd. The card did not indicate who it was to or from. Not only was it a bit out of the ordinary, the single black rose mixed in was as well.

  She heard the front door unlock and open. “Mace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m in the kitchen.”

  “Good. Did you get coffee started? If not, I brought—” He stepped into the kitchen, his hands full of a pastry bag and a drink carrier holding two large disposable cups. “What’s the matter?”

  “They delivered the flowers.”

  “Uh. Okay.” He dumped the food and drinks on the table, then placed a cup in front of her. “Chai tea.”

  She nodded her thanks.

  He pulled out a chair and settled into it, stretching his leg out. Looking a bit pained, a white ring circled the press of his lips.

  “Is your leg bothering you?”

  He nodded, kneading his knuckles against his thigh. “A little bit.”

  It had to be more than a little bit. When he reached for his bottle of pain medication which sat in the middle of the kitchen table, she made a noise. His fingers curled into a fist, and he grimaced, but he left the pain pills alone. Not that she enjoyed his suffering. She didn’t. She just didn’t want to see him end up addicted to pain medication.

  He moved away from the pill bottle and brushed his fingers over the petals of the roses instead. “So, what’s up with the roses?”

  “You tell me.”

  He pursed his lips, clearly fighting with himself whether he should take credit for the flowers or not. If he had to think about it that hard, he didn’t buy them.

  “If you didn’t order them, who did?”

  “What does the card say?”

  She tossed the card at him.

  He glanced at it and frowned. “That’s weird,” he said, after putting the card aside.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Could it be your Martin?”

  Colby sighed. “He’s not my Martin. Anyway, I doubt he’d send me flowers.”

  “Why?”

  “He just wouldn’t. Maybe this is some sort of joke.”

  “An expensive joke.” He took a long swig of his coffee.

  She wrapped her brain around a more puzzling thought. “Hold on. How do we even know these were meant for me? The delivery guy just said they were for this address. Maybe they were sent to you.”

  He choked and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No one knows I’m home except for you and my boss.”

  “And your physical therapist.”

  “Yeah, but—” He pulled out his cell. “We can solve this easily enough. What was the name of the florist?”

  She gave him the information, but there wasn’t a phone number on the card, so he Googled it and pressed Send. But a few minutes later, he hung up.

  “Well, that was pointless.” His attempt to not sound frustrated didn’t go unnoticed. He sank back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

  “Sounded like it.” She popped the lid off her tea and sniffed at it. The soft aroma of spices tickled her nose. She took a tentative sip. It tasted sweet and creamy and oh-so-good. Maybe it would calm her nerves.

  “Whoever bought the bouquet paid in cash. They have no record of who sent it and who the intended recipient was. Fuck.” He dragged his hand through his hair again.

  She fought the temptation to smooth it down for him. “Hey, it’s just flowers.” Though she had this niggling feeling, there was more to it. The people who knew she stayed at this address were limited, and Mace could say the same.

  “Look, no point in worrying about it, I guess.” He didn’t sound so convinced. He pushed the pastry bag toward her. “I brought breakfast. Croissants and a couple danishes.”

  She gave the bag of food a look of distaste. She didn’t know if she could eat now.

  What was once the pleasant scent of the roses, now turned her stomach.

  9

  Colby spread her legs and slowed her breathing. Mace reached around her to steady her arms, leaning into her back. His breath tickled the hair by her ear. “Steady, steady. Okay, squeeze.”

  The gunshot made Colby flinch, but her shot hit dead-on.

  “Ouch,” he groaned, looking at the target. He pressed the button and the paper target glided toward them. “You were supposed to go for center mass.”

  She grinned. “Close enough. I got him where I want him.”

  He stuck his pinky through the hole in the silhouette and wiggled it. “Yeah, right in the crotch. Sorry, buddy, there’ll be no more lil’ baby targets running around. She just neutered you.”

  With a laugh, she said, “Put another one out there.”

  He clipped a new target on, then pressed the button to send it out into the range. “Okay, this time—”

  “This time, I can do it myself.”

  He lifted his hands in surrender and backed off. “Fine. Whatever. I only want to help.”

  “Mace, I wouldn’t own a gun without knowing how to shoot it.”

  She barely caught the roll of his eyes. “Do you know what this world is filled with? People who buy firearms and can’t—”

  Colby gave him a quick elbow to the stomach. “Don’t group me with them.”

  “All right, show me what you can do, Miss Biochemist.” He brushed a kiss along her temple before backing off.

  “That’s Ms. Biochemist to you.” She flashed him a big smile before turning to concentrate on her target. Supporting her trigger hand, she carefully took aim. Inhale, exhale all the air; steady. She kept an even pressure on the trigger and squeezed. The sound of the shot made her flinch again, but when she opened her eyes, she’d hit her target square.

  “Nice. I want to see that again. But faster. Who will give you time to aim and shoot? A bad guy,” he pointed to the target, “will not wait around for you to shoot him. He’s either going to be running at you, running away from you, or blowing your head off.”

  Colby smiled wickedly. “Shut up and put your ears back on.” He slid his hearing protectors back in place as she raised her Glock again. She called the body parts off as she aimed. “Head…Heart…Lung…Trigger arm…Groin…Leg…” Every bullet met its mark, one after the other, in quick succession. When nothing remained of the target but a tattered piece of paper, she slipped the clip out and double-checked the empty chamber. “He isn’t going anywhere,” she stated.

  “Damn right, he’s not.” He shook his head. “Okay, we don’t need to waste any more time here at the range. Let’s go home, you’re getting me hard.” He chuckled and removed his shooting glasses. “Hot damn. A woman who can shoot and who’s good in bed. How lucky can I get?”

  “Don’t push that luck.” Colby popped out her orange earplugs and put the gun away in its case. “Wait a minute, just good?”

  He reached around her to snap the case shut, then snagged her wrists before she could pull away. He yanked her arms above her head, and with his hips, he maneuvered her against the concrete wall of the shooting booth, letting her feel how much he wanted her.

  She glanced quickly at the opening of the booth. Anyone could pass by at any moment. “Mace, someone will see us.”

  “Maybe.”

  She should be worried about the chance of getting caught. He pinned her against the wall and thrust against her. But she wasn’t. Instead, the possibility
of someone seeing them excited her.

  He nuzzled her neck before moving up to ear, then whispered, “I could fuck you right here.”

  He kissed her, slanting his lips over hers and burying his tongue in her mouth. He tasted so good. He shifted both her wrists to one hand then drew his fingers over her breasts and brushed over her nipples.

  “Are you still sore?” he asked against her lips, referring to her tender backside, a result from their afternoon delight at the house the day before.

  “A little.” Actually, more than a little, but it had been worth it. Though she suffered with a slight case of discord afterward. She told herself to just live for the moment, to just enjoy what Mace offered. Even if it only lasted for a short while.

  The man in question didn’t ask, but took it upon himself to pop open her jeans. He unzipped them completely, giving his hand enough room to plunge beneath her panties and explore her pussy. Colby gasped at the sudden invasion of his fingers but tilted her hips to give him better access.

  He stroked and tweaked her, playing along her slick labia, inserting a couple fingers before moving on to her clit where he started the pattern over again. When she cried out, he placed his lips over hers and caught it, muffling it. He kissed her deeply while he played with her, breaking away only to say, “This is my thank you for yesterday.”

  Curling his fingers inside her, he found her sweet spot, taunting and teasing it. He added his thumb into the mix, pressing and flicking her clit until she could take no more. Thrusting her hips against his hand one last time, she gasped and groaned into his mouth as her body convulsed around his fingers. He only released her when she quieted.

  He brushed a light kiss against her lips. “Damn, I’ll have to thank you more often.”

  She pulled herself together while he gathered their equipment. It took her a few minutes to move away from the wall and stand on her own. She was sure she wore the dumbest smile on her face.

  On their way out of the gun club, Colby said, “I’ve got to stop and check on the contractor, do you mind?”

  Their feet crunched along the graveled lot, and she noted the cars parked around her. There were at least a dozen. How could they have gone undetected? Maybe they hadn’t. She had been so caught up in the pleasure, there could have been a huge audience, and she wouldn’t have even known. Or cared at that moment.

  “No.” He unlocked the truck and opened the door for her. “I want to meet him, anyway.”

  She shot him a funny look at the sudden testosterone surge. “What for?”

  “Why not? I can’t meet the man who’s working on your house?”

  She climbed into the passenger seat. “Well, I didn’t think you were so interested in my house. I know how atrocious you think it is.”

  “Maybe I just want to meet my competition. I know how much a man with a paint brush excites you.”

  Only you.

  She tried not to laugh out loud. Wait until he meets the contractor.

  When they drove up to the house, a crew of men was busy at work on the porch.

  Colby’s eyes widened. She hardly waited for Mace to stop the truck before leaping out.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” he called out.

  “My porch! They’re working on my porch!” She shot him a smile through the windshield and laughed. She practically ran up to the front steps. The hammering sounded loud and glorious. She loved it. The sound of those busy hands made her happy.

  “Hi, Ben!” she yelled over the racket.

  The older man turned to give her a slight wave. “Hello, Ms. Parks. Things are going real good here.”

  Colby hopped in place and wrung her hands together. Then she did the happy dance. “I see! You’ve got almost all the floorboards replaced.” She probably looked like a crazy loon, but she didn’t care.

  “Yep, soon you’ll be able to paint.”

  Music to her ears. A loud groan came from behind her. But not to someone else’s apparently.

  “Did I hear the ‘P’ word again?”

  She turned and trotted up to Mace. “Hurry up! Look how far they’ve gotten.” She tugged hard on his arm.

  He slowly trudged up the overgrown walkway in mock misery. “I see. That’s nice.”

  She tugged harder, trying to get him to pick up the pace. “Ben, this is Mace Walker. Mace, this is Ben Fine. He’s my contractor.”

  “Oh, hell, I just thought he was collecting scrap wood for his fireplace.” Mace turned to eye up the gray-haired man. “Hello, Ben.”

  Deep creases surrounding Ben’s eyes and mouth and his weathered skin came from age and years of working in the sun. She watched Mace’s expression relax, almost as if relieved. Why he would find her contractor a threat was a mystery.

  Mace extended his hand and the older man shook it firmly while returning his hello. “Is the bedroom finished yet?”

  The hammering stopped dead, and the crew’s heads—all five of them—spun in unison to stare at Colby. Her face burned hot, and she turned on Mace. “Stop it,” she whispered fiercely.

  “What? I was just asking a question.” He smirked, draping an arm around her hips and drawing her against him.

  Colby jerked away impatiently and decided to ignore him and his childishness. As she wandered around the outside of the raised porch, she eyed all the new repairs. The crew had replaced broken spindles and rotted posts. The floorboards would eventually all be new. The steps still needed repair, but it looked like they would be finished by the next day.

  She hugged herself, hardly able to contain her delight at the progress, and thought about how it would look with a fresh coat of paint. And the new porch swing she wanted. Soon! Soon she’ll be swinging on her own porch, with a glass of lemonade, reading a novel and listening to the birds chirping, and the—

  A hand on her shoulder startled her. “Come back from wherever you are,” came the low murmur next to her ear.

  Colby blinked twice, coming back to reality, and turned to look at the man next to her. Where did he fit in the picture?

  “Oh, I was just doing a little daydreaming.”

  Did he even fit into the picture?

  “Yeah, I could see that. You went off to Never Never Land.”

  “Mace, you just don’t understand. This house is everything to me. It is me.”

  He laid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I believe it. Now, how soon do we need to paint?”

  Mace wandered around the back of the old house. Colby was still talking excitedly to Ben in the front, so he decided to get a little work done. He borrowed a carpenter pencil and measuring tape from one of the men and snagged a scrap of paper out of his truck. He needed to measure the rear entryway to the kitchen since she wanted to order a new storm door.

  As he climbed the two wooden steps to the small covered entrance, he paused. Something wasn’t right. Instinctively, he froze, searching his surroundings. Muddy footprints came from the overgrown bushes to the left of the house. Not from the right where the driveway was. And the empty paint cans he had stacked in a corner of the porch were scattered. The knocked-over cans he could attribute to a curious, wild animal. Maybe a raccoon. But the footprints were definitely human. And fresh.

  He’d ask the crew whether any of them had done some exploring of their own. But his instinct told him something was off.

  He shook his head. Even though his instinct was kicking in, the simple answer could be a teenager looking for an empty house to party in.

  Just like some kid prank calling the house.

  He finally moved, opening the outer storm door to inspect the inner wooden door carefully. He checked the small rectangular windowpanes. One had obvious palm prints. Like someone had peered in the back door, searching for something or someone.

  Teenager, crew member, or not, he had a bad feeling about this. But he wasn’t going to jump the gun and tell Colby. He didn’t want to frighten her without reason. He would just keep a close eye on her and her house.

  Colby glan
ced at her watch. 1:13 a.m. She never meant to stay this late at work. But she got involved in an experiment and wanted to finish it. She hated leaving ends untied. As it was, she wanted to make up time for leaving early last Monday to go with Mace to the shooting range.

  Her keys jingled softly when she inserted them into the door and slowly turned the doorknob. She expected Mace went to bed a few hours ago, and she didn’t want to wake him if he was asleep. The only light in the foyer came from one of those lighted plug-in scents she had stuck in one outlet. And that was hardly a glow.

  She slid her hand along the wall by the door until she found the switch and flipped it. A small, surprised cry escaped her when she turned to find Mace sitting at the top of the stairs in only sweat pants. How long had he been sitting there?

  Okay, there isn’t a problem.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was trying to be quiet. Sorry,” she whispered, even though it wasn’t necessary since it was only the two of them in the house.

  She needed to ignore whatever problem he perceived. She reminded herself that she was an adult who had a job. And as such, she should be able to work late without feeling guilty.

  After closing the front door behind her, she locked it and carefully put her briefcase on the foyer table. She slipped her feet out of her shoes and straightened up to face him. His narrowed eyes were dark. Colby cringed.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  Damn it, she didn’t have to answer to anyone. “Oh, do you want some tea? I’m going to make myself a cup of chamomile.”

  Without waiting for his answer, she headed into the kitchen, listening for his bare feet to pad down the stairs. When she didn’t hear him, she assumed he went back to bed.

  She grabbed a mug and a box of herbal tea bags out of the cabinet. After putting the kettle on the stove, she turned to take a seat at the table. Mace was already there. Colby jumped, her hand clutching her chest. “Jesus, you scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  When her heartbeat slowed, she grabbed another mug and tea bag, placing it in front of him. Then she settled into a chair across from him, waiting for the water to boil.