His enthusiasm gave me hope and made me think that getting the jewel back wasn’t just a pipe dream. If we succeeded, I would make sure he got credit for his role in the recovery effort. It would be well-deserved with how quickly he had offered to help.
An awkward silence stretched between us. “Look,” I began, dropping my arms into a casual stance. “I realize I’m not your favorite person. But I love Collette and want to make her happy. Same as you, really. We need to figure out a way to be in the same room without acting like archenemies. The eye-rolling and verbal jabs have to stop.”
Les sighed and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Yeah, I know I go overboard sometimes.” One side of his mouth quirked up when I shot him a look. “Okay, maybe it’s more often than I care to admit out loud. Anyhow, I’ll make a concerted effort to dial it down. But if you hurt her in any way–”
“You’ll hurt me,” I said, finishing the sentence for him. “Yes, we went over this six or seven weeks ago.”
“Shit, have you really been around that long?” He scratched his head, glancing at the calendar on the tackboard hanging over the panel of light switches.
I chuckled and followed him to the turret. The curved walls in the room were outfitted with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, turning it into a library stocked with Collette’s favorite books and magazines. Les lifted a framed photograph of a smiling young couple off a shelf, the bride a spitting image of her daughter, with the same dark hair and eyes.
“Please keep me in the loop as the investigation moves forward. I’ll do the same with any new developments in the one the police are conducting.” I opened the front door and stepped aside to let him through.
“Deal. You planning on going to work tomorrow?”
“I’m going to take a half day and head in for the afternoon.”
“I’ll drop this off so you can sneak it back in. See you around.” He turned and headed toward his truck.
I closed and locked the door, peeking in the den where Neil and Oscar dozed on the couch as Billy Madison tried to win the academic decathlon so he could graduate from high school. I muted the TV and headed to the kitchen, pressing the speed dial number for Darren’s private line at the office. As I left a brief message to notify him of my late arrival tomorrow, the tap in Collette’s bathroom turned off.
18
Ryan
A sweet scent permeated the air in Collette’s bedroom, courtesy of the body lotion she slathered on every night before bed. It smelled like someone had left a lemon meringue pie to cool in front of a window, the breeze from the ceiling fan spreading the aroma around.
I peered around the edge of the bathroom door just as she flipped the bottle shut. Collette looked…God, she looked so damn beautiful, it was hard to breathe. The look she currently sported–tiny sleep shorts decorated with dancing ice cream cones, a white camisole, no makeup, and hair in a sloppy knot on top of her head–was my favorite. I actually preferred this ensemble over the teddies and negligees she occasionally wore to bed.
Don’t get me wrong–lingerie was sexy and lined the road to pound town with green light after green light. But there was something refreshing about cartoonish figures and a tank top. And I loved how she felt comfortable enough to bounce from one end of the spectrum to the other in front of me.
Collette opened a vanity drawer and rummaged through the contents. With a bottle of dark nail polish clutched in her hand, she lifted one foot to the edge of the marble counter.
“I thought you were tired,” I said softly.
“The cold water I splashed on my face must have given me a second wind,” she replied, unscrewing the cap and withdrawing the little polish-soaked brush. “Thought I’d give myself a Halloween-inspired pedicure.”
I stepped inside and took the bottle from her. “Hop up here.” I patted the counter and reached for the tufted stool in front of her vanity table.
“Have you ever done this before?” Her smooth legs dangled in front of me as I settled in between them and propped her right foot on my thigh.
“Nope.” I wiped excess polish off of the brush and swiped a stripe of black lacquer down the center of the big toenail on her right foot. I’d never painted anything other than houses. Working with less real estate and a tiny brush was a new experience for me. But I wanted badly to do this for her, to take care of her and be here for her since I hadn’t been there before.
The worry that had waned during the tickle war returned with a vengeance. It had joined forces with guilt, and the pair wreaked havoc on my conscience. I focused on Collette’s feet to avoid looking at her face, specifically the discolored area stretching across her cheekbone.
“Wow.” Her toes flexed against my jeans as I moved to her other foot. “I’m not sure how to say this nicely…” She pulled a cotton swab out of a glass jar on the countertop and dabbed at the skin around her nail beds.
“Guess I can rule out a career change.” What a mess. How the hell did people do this for a living? I lifted my head, rolling my neck around to work out the crick that had formed in it from hunching over.
Big mistake.
My eyes gravitated to her face, and dinner roiled in my stomach. Looking at my girlfriend shouldn’t make nauseous, damn it. Shame suffused me, wedging in between the other shitty emotions battling for supremacy.
“It’s the thought that counts. This is one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me.” She kissed the pad of her index finger and pressed it to the middle of my lower lip.
That small act of affection damn near breached the wall I had erected to preserve my sanity and focus on tending to her needs. I had to stay strong and be the shoulder she cried on, be the man and not let her see how much of a number the assault portion of the mugging had done on me.
I kissed her knee and forged on, applying a second coat to her right foot. “Coloring between the lines never was my forte. Almost failed kindergarten,” I muttered, wiping up a splotch with the side of my thumb.
Collette giggled, and the happy sound made me crack a smile. “Really? I still love to color. Have you seen those coloring books for adults? I’ve been thinking about getting one for when I’m super-stressed out with schoolwork.”
“No clue what you’re talking about.”
She grabbed her phone and tinkered with it for a moment before showing me the screen. “Doesn’t this look fun?”
I eyed the intricate rosette pattern and made a face. “Complicated and torturous seem more fitting. Not sure why, but this looks familiar. Makes me think of churches.”
“It’s the South Rose Window of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris,” she explained. “There’s a coloring book of famous stained glass windows, and this is one of the pages. I’d love to get my hands on it.”
I dotted a few drops on her pinky toenail and smoothed them out. “All done. Where do you keep your hair dryer?”
“Oh, you don’t need to bother with it. This is a fast-drying formula. It only takes a few minutes.”
Blowing gently on her toes to speed up the process, I wrapped my hands around her left leg and massaged her calf, kneading and rubbing the firm muscles.
“That feels divine,” she moaned on a soft sigh as I switched to the other leg. “What did I do to earn the royal treatment?”
“Nothing. Maybe I just felt like pampering you after a rough day.”
“You are so sweet.” She leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
Under normal circumstances, a forehead kiss turned me into a grinning fool. I wasn’t sure why, but they were more potent to me than a lip-lock. Perhaps it was because they were rarely given and the delivery usually involved Collette going up on tiptoe. The extra effort turned a peck between the eyes into a deliberate, meaningful act. The sappy romantic in me equated it to a kiss from an angel, one that touched both my heart and my soul.
And apparently opened my emotional floodgates, because the wall I had built around myself tumbled down. I stared at the welt below Collette’s eye and lost th
e battle to control all the emotions swirling around inside me.
“I love you so much.” My fingertips feathered across her cheek. “But every time I see this bruise,” I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath, “I get so angry.”
“I’ve done worse to myself. One time I drank too many mojitos and tripped over a curb after leaving the restaurant. The entire side of my upper leg was black and blue for a month.”
Her attempt at levity didn’t make me feel better. “This wasn’t self-inflicted or accidental. A man purposely hit you, Collette. I want to break something, namely his arms and legs, so he can’t do this to anyone else.”
“I know you’re upset,” she murmured, sliding her arms around my neck, “but the whole eye-for-an-eye principle does more damage than good. Retaliation would feel good up until you’re the one getting handcuffed and carted off to jail.”
Okay, she had a point. Short-lived satisfaction didn’t hold a candle to a permanent record.
“All I can think about are the what-ifs.” I pulled her onto my lap and hugged her, refusing to let go when she tried to back away. “What if he had been out for more than your personal belongings and tried to rape you? What if he had a violent streak and hurt you for shits and giggles after taking your valuables? What if he had abducted you?”
“Stop, Ryan,” she commanded, clamping a hand over my mouth. “Focus on what you know and not on horrific fantasies conjured up by a runaway imagination. Don’t you think I thought of all those possibilities when he shoved whatever the hell that weapon was into my spine? I even took it a step further and wondered if he had an accomplice waiting in the shadows.”
“No one would have bothered you if I’d been there,” I gritted out, standing and wrapping her legs around my waist. “I’m so pissed at myself for not leaving the center with you.”
“Whoa, hold up.” Her arms shot out as I approached the doorway, preventing me from going through it. She dropped her legs and freed herself from my grasp, parking her hands on her hips. “This was not your fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I know better than to let my guard down in a dark parking lot, yet I did.”
“How can you possibly blame yourself for this in any way?” I asked in disbelief.
“Right back at you,” she countered.
“Now is not the fucking time for reverse psychology, Collette!” I yelled, kicking the doorframe hard enough to leave a dark smudge from the sole of my shoe.
“Someone has to save you from yourself.”
And let the victim comfort the one who was supposed to be comforting her? I might as well saw my balls off with one of her nail files and flush them down the toilet. “I’m supposed to protect you and make you happy.”
“The blow to your ego was worse than the one to my face. That’s the real issue here, isn’t it?” Collette sighed wearily and went into the bedroom, leaving me standing in the middle of the bathroom.
A tidal wave of shame crashed over me as the mattress springs creaked. I owed her a huge apology for being a Grade-A, top-of-the-line jackass.
Because what she had said was the absolute, unequivocal truth.
My insensitivity and my ego had inflicted more harm, done more damage than the mugger. I hoped to God she would forgive me, even though I deserved to be dumped and tossed out on my sorry ass by Les for upsetting her.
I toed out of my shoes and flipped off the lights, pulling off my sweater as I padded into the bedroom. Collette laid on her side smack-dab in the middle of the king-sized mattress, curled into a ball. The sight of her trying to self-soothe almost brought me to my knees.
“Sweetheart,” I whispered, sliding under the covers and scooting over as quickly as possible.
She straightened, flipped over, and closed the gap between us. Then, to my surprise, she assumed her usual sleeping position. Her chin met my pec, one of her legs nudged into the space between mine, and a slender arm draped itself over my waist.
“I’m so sorry,” I said against her hair, sweeping the dark strands over her shoulder. “I wish I had a solid excuse for acting like a jerk that doesn’t sound like a Hallmark card, but I’m so in love with you that my sensibilities disappear whenever–”
“You had me at ‘I’m so sorry.’” Her warm breath fanned across my neck. “Because I love you. And because I know you better than you realize.”
I smiled at the Jerry Maguire parallel. She loved that movie, especially the famous scene when Jerry bursts into a room full of pessimistic, bitter divorcees looking for his wife. “You don’t want to hear the rest of my apology? I worked really hard on it.”
“Please,” she muttered, snuggling into me. “We both know you were ad-libbing. But if you need closure, go for it.”
“My sensibilities disappear whenever your well-being is threatened. You’re my heart, my soul, my happiness, my…everything. The very thought of you lying on the ground in that parking lot scared and in pain is too much for me to handle. Do you remember what I said to you the first time I told you that I loved you?” I barreled on before she had a chance to answer, savoring the feel of her body molding to mine. “Your pain is my pain, and I would do anything in my power to make it go away.”
“I remember. That’s why I forgave you so quickly.”
“Are you okay? Do you want to talk about what happened? Do you need to talk about it? I don’t have to be at work until one tomorrow so I can stay up and listen.”
She nuzzled my chin with the tip of her nose. “I’ve said all there is to say. I’d rather get some rest so I can go to the police station first thing in the morning. I want to do whatever I can to help catch this guy before he strikes again.”
“Can I come with you? For moral support?”
“I’d like that,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Her gratitude was both humbling and unnecessary. I’d do whatever it took to make her part in the investigation less traumatic, even if all I could do was sit in a chair while she looked at mugshots.
She fell asleep quickly, wrapped around me like ivy on a trellis. I waited a while to make sure she was really out, then carefully disentangled myself and crept into the hallway, making my way to the spare bedroom.
Using my phone, I went online and ordered the coloring book of famous stained glass windows and the recommended package of fine-tipped markers, paying extra for one-day delivery.
19
Ryan
“Oh, I get it. You’re supposed to be a bum.”
My irritation simmered for the umpteenth time since the doors had opened two hours ago. I thought for sure people would recognize my costume, but so far no one had figured it out. “No,” I grumbled around the candy cigarette sticking out the corner of my mouth.
“Good guess, Polly,” Les told his date.
“Molly.” She glared at him, running a hand over the blond hair she had slicked back into a bun. I had to hand it to her, because in the matching red leather jacket and pants, she really did look like the female Terminator from the third movie in the franchise. It would have been cool if her hand turned into a weapon and zapped Les for calling her by the wrong name.
“That’s what I said, baby.” Les grinned at her, the lights in the ballroom bouncing off the silver makeup covering half of his face, the part which was supposed to be his Terminator exoskeleton showing after his skin had been blown off in a fight. He also looked the part in his all-black leather ensemble dotted with bullet holes and gouged with deep scratches.
“Gag me,” Neil muttered, pushing his thick, black-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He held up his empty bottle. “I’m getting another beer. Anyone want one?”
“Me,” I said, handing him my empty. “Thanks.”
He turned toward the long bar lining the opposite side of the room, jamming a hand into the pocket of his brown jumpsuit with the Ghostbusters logo on the right arm. The hose connected to the fake proton pack strapped to his back fell down and dragged along the floor, smacking a blonde in a skimpy policewoman c
ostume in the ankle. “Hey, your hose is swinging around all over the place,” she said, picking up the end and handing it to him.
Neil grinned. “It has a mind of its own and seems to be attracted to lovely ladies such as yourself. Can I buy you a drink to make it up to you, Officer?”
“Sure, I’d like that,” she said, taking the arm he offered her.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Les said with a smirk. “That stupid-ass trick actually worked.”
I laughed around the fake cigarette. “Good for Neil. She’s hot.”
“Who’s hot?” a voice asked from behind me.
I turned and smiled at the hottest woman in the room. Collette had toiled over her costume for days. Much to my relief, she didn’t choose the half-naked, slutty version of popular female costumes. I’d seen enough stripper-esque devils, angels, cats, and princesses to last a lifetime.
“You are, Lady Croft.” Holy hell, my dick swelled from the way her tits strained against the fabric of her OD green tank top. Tight black pants tucked into knee-high boots and a long French braid with loose tendrils hanging around her face turned her into a convincing real-life version of the video game heroine. The bruise on her cheek added a rugged touch to her appearance, making it look as though she’d wrestled with a competitor over a relic at an exotic dig site.
All of Collette’s female parts were covered, which only added to her costume’s sex appeal because it left quite a bit to the imagination. If I had a quarter for every guy who blatantly ogled when she walked by, I’d double the amount of my donation to the hospital.
She rested her hands on the utility belt circling her waist. “Was I imagining it, or did Neil successfully pick up a chick in his get-up?”
My eyes zeroed in on the pistols holstered to her thighs. There was something dead sexy about an armed woman, even if the weapons weren’t real. Collette had spray painted the black plastic pink, the color used to show support for breast cancer awareness.
More than Money (Found in Chicago Book 1) Page 15