by April Wilson
Erin texts me back:
But I don’t have much cleavage to display. : (
Chuckling at Erin’s reply, I text her back:
Mack’s a red-blooded heterosexual male. Trust me - he won’t be able to resist cleavage, regardless of its size.
Cooper and I eat some snacks while we watch a movie in bed. It’s late, and I’m half sleep when Cooper turns off the TV and nudges me. “Time for bed.” He gets up and heads to the bathroom.
Just as I get up to follow him, the adjoining door bursts open and Jake comes through the door, gun in hand. “Look alive. We’ve got company.” He peers past the drapes in our room to the parking lot. “We’ve got three Tangos in the rear of the building. I don’t see anyone out front.” He scans the room. “Cooper’s in the bathroom?”
“Yeah.” I grab my gun and tuck it in the back waistband of my jeans, then grab Cooper’s gun and head for the bathroom. The door is partly open, so I rap quietly before pushing it open. Cooper’s standing shirtless at the sink. I flip off the bathroom light and hand him his gun. “We’ve got company. Three Tangos out back.”
Cooper tucks his gun into the waistband of his jeans, then pulls on his discarded T-shirt.
There’s a window in the bathroom, but the glass is frosted, so we can’t see out of it. Cooper double-checks the window’s lock, and we back out of the bathroom to confer with Jake, who’s back in his room consulting the video feeds on the laptop screens.
“We’ve got three guys in the rear of the building,” he says, pointing at the surprisingly clear black-and-white video feed. Then he hands us each a two-way, wireless communication earbud. “Billy Monroe and the two guys he had with him at the tavern this evening. They’re armed with shotguns and wearing Kevlar.”
“Then they came to do some damage,” Cooper says grimly, as he inserts his ear piece. Then he checks his weapon.
“They’re moving around to the front of the building,” Jake says, moving to peer out through the drapes in his room. “Stay clear of the windows and door.”
We move away from the front wall of Jake’s room.
“Do you want to call it in?” Jake asks Cooper, letting him make the call. “Are we going to handle this ourselves or let the police deal with it?”
Cooper considers the question for a minute, then shakes his head. “I’m sure someone will call it in when the bullets start flying. Until then, we’ll let them make the first move. Then we can claim self-defense. Let’s take out as many of these assholes as we can. After all, they started this.”
Not a moment later, the front wall of Jake’s room is sprayed with gunfire. The large window shatters inward, sending glass flying into the room. The screens of two of the laptops shatter, and the door is riddled with holes and now resembles a huge block of Swiss cheese. Fortunately, the other room is untouched.
“They don’t know we have two rooms,” Cooper says, moving back into our room to make sure there’s no damage. Then he returns to Jake’s room and takes up a position near the base of the shattered window.
I take a spot, too, at the open window, and we return fire on the assholes who are now hunkered down behind an older model pick-up truck.
A sharp cry of pain is the only indication that we hit at least one of them.
“I’m going out the back window so I can come up on their right flank,” Jake says, heading for the bathroom. “Keep them occupied.”
A couple minutes later, with Jake positioned out front, we’ve firing at the Tangos from two sides. We hear a second scream, indicating a second Tango has been hit.
The shrieking wail of sirens rents the air, letting us know that some helpful citizen has called 911, and our opportunity to take these guys out is quickly coming to an end.
Jake moves closer to the pick-up, using our rented Escalade as cover. I throw open the damaged door to Jake’s room so I can race outside and take shelter behind a large metal trash can. I figure our best bet is for Jake and me to come at them from opposite sides and pin them down behind the pick-up. If we can force them to make a run for it, out into the open, we’ll have clear shots at them.
“Sam! Get back inside!” Cooper hisses into the comm system, clearly pissed.
Shit! Now is not the time to let Cooper coddle me. The sirens are getting closer, and we don’t have much time. Jake must be on the same wavelength, because he lifts his hand, catching my gaze. At his signal, the two of us lay down a solid wall of fire on both sides, while Cooper fires through the broken window.
Using parked cars as cover, Jake and I work our way farther from the motel and closer to the pick-up. From where I’m crouching behind a rusty old station wagon, I can see one of the men lying flat on the pavement. Another one is sitting propped against the rear of the truck, clutching his belly. The third man, Billy Monroe, is still on his feet, hunkering down behind the pick-up. He appears to be unscathed. The asshole.
Monroe’s our primary target. He’s the problem we need to solve before the cops arrive.
Just as Jake and I prepare to make another go at them, three police cruisers pull into the motel parking lot, lights flashing and sirens ablaze. Damn it!
Monroe takes advantage of the distraction to jump into the driver’s seat of the pick-up and take off, abandoning his two fallen pals. As Monroe tears out of the parking lot, I aim for his tires, but the patrol cars enter my line of sight, and I have to lower my weapon.
Deputy Williams and several other officers exit their patrol cars, guns drawn, shouting at us to lower our weapons and step out into the open.
When he sees us, Williams holsters his revolver. His expression is part annoyed, and part something that looks an awful lot like amusement. “I figured you guys had to be involved. What the hell’s going on?”
“Monroe and his buddies opened fire on my motel room,” Jake says, stepping out from behind his cover and holstering his gun.
Cooper steps out of Jake’s room, his gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “Monroe attacked us. We caught everything on the surveillance cameras.”
Both of Monroe’s buddies are on the ground—one of them alive and wounded badly, the other one prone and showing no sign of life.
Deputy Turner checks the pulse of the second man. “Jesus, Denny,” Turner says, glancing up at his partner. “It’s Harvey Jackson. He’s dead.”
“I’ll need copies of the surveillance feeds,” Williams says to Jake. Then to Turner, he says, “Call the EMTs for Fisher and the coroner’s office for Jackson.”
Williams turns back to the three of us. “I’ll need statements from all of you.” He shakes his head as he looks at Cooper. “You sure are stirring up some shit in this town.”
* * *
I walk around the leased Escalade, counting the dings in the side and rear panels—at least a dozen. The paint is certainly destroyed, and there are two cracks in the rear window. The vehicle must be armor plated, because none of the bullets pierced the sides. “Who’s going to tell Shane he just bought a slightly used Escalade?” I say.
Jake just shakes his head.
It takes an hour for the deputies to finish up documenting the crime scene. One of Jake’s laptops survived the hail of bullets, so he was able to collect the video footage from the online server and e-mail it to the police station. After they took our statements, and after the EMTs carted away the injured guy and the coroner took away the dead guy, we were left alone.
Jake’s room is, of course, unusable, so he collects his gear and moves into our room. He sets up the remaining laptop on the little round table and configures the video feeds from the surveillance cameras, both of which survived the shoot-out.
“Let’s go home,” Cooper says. “We’ve done all we can do here. The rest is up to the local authorities and to the feds. We’ve given them all the evidence they need.”
“I’ll call Shane and order an evac,” Jake says, pulling out his phone. While he’s talking to Shane, at midnight, he dumps his duffle bag at the foot of the oth
er bed and roots around inside.
“Looks like we’re sharing a room after all,” I say, grinning at the frown on Jake’s face as he gives his brother an update.
Jake gives me an annoyed scowl, so I head into the bathroom, where Cooper’s double-checking the lock on the back window.
“Hey,” I say, walking in. “Jake says the surveillance cameras are still working, and we’ve got one functioning laptop. We should be okay for the night.”
Cooper turns to look at me, his face ashen.
“What’s wrong, babe?” I ask him.
“I want you out of here,” he says. “Tonight was too close for comfort. You could have gotten hit out there.”
“I was just doing my job.”
He brushes my hair back. “I know. I just hate to see you in harm’s way.” He steps close and wraps his hand around the back of my neck to draw me close for a kiss.
At the touch of his lips on mine, I feel a kick of desire low in my belly. “Damn. We have a roommate tonight.”
Cooper chuckles. “Just think, by this time tomorrow we’ll be home sleeping in our own bed.”
When we head back into the room, Jake’s seated at the table, keying something into the laptop. “Shane will have the jet down here early tomorrow morning. We have to be at the airport by seven.”
“Good,” Cooper says. “The sooner the better. I’m ready to go home.”
Everyone’s in bed—Jake takes the other bed—and the lights are off except for the faint glow of the laptop screen. Any motion in the front or the back of our section of the building will set off alerts.
“No shenanigans, guys,” Jake says, as he settles into his bed. “This isn’t a frat house.”
Cooper laughs. “Don’t worry. I’m not an exhibitionist.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I think I’m okay with a little bit of exhibition.” I’m lying on my side, facing Jake’s bed, and Cooper’s lying behind me, his chest and hips pressed against my backside. He’s got briefs on, but I can still feel his erection prodding me from behind. His arm is over my waist, beneath the covers, so that Jake can’t tell he’s lazily tracing the outline of my rock-hard cock through my briefs.
“Good night, Jake,” I say into the darkness.
Jake sighs loudly. “Good night, Sam.”
“Good night, Cooper,” I say.
Cooper muffles a laugh. “Good night, Sam.”
“Now you guys say good night,” I say, managing to keep a straight face.
“Honestly, Cooper, how do you put up with him?” Jake says.
Cooper laughs. “He keeps me young.”
Chapter 15
Cooper
Long after Sam falls asleep in my arms, I lie awake with a bad feeling I just can’t shake. Morning can’t get here fast enough. I want Sam on that plane and heading back to Chicago.
The wind soughs through the branches of the trees behind the motel, but instead of creating a soothing backdrop, the sound heightens my nerves. Rationally, I know we’re safe. I can see the video feeds from my bed, so I know the cameras are working fine. If we have any more late-night visitors, we’ll be alerted in ample time to respond.
I tighten my arm around Sam’s waist and press my lips to the back of his bare shoulder, breathing in the natural scent of his skin, mixed with a bit of honest sweat and a faint hint of his deodorant, which is familiar and comforting. When I dwell on how much he means to me—like I’m doing now—I get choked up. I’m an old-school relic, and I don’t deserve him. I’m stubborn, stuck in my ways, and a poor excuse for a boyfriend. I don’t know why he puts up with me. He could have anyone, someone his own age, like Craig, who’s probably better able to meet his needs.
I shudder when I realize how close I might have come to losing him to that personal trainer. Of course, I wouldn’t have lost him without a fight. I was more than ready to head down to Dayton if need be, to fight for the love of my life—because that’s exactly what he is.
He’s dead to the world, and I’m pretty sure Jake is asleep too. I close my eyes and let sleep overtake me.
* * *
Sometimes you know when you’re just dreaming, but the dream unfolds anyway and you just can’t seem to stop it. And then the dream becomes a nightmare. But still, you’re trapped.
I’m standing on the Sweetwater River Bridge beside Cody, only I’m me now—an adult—and Cody’s just a boy. The fog is so thick I can’t see the three bullies looming behind us, although I can certainly hear their biting taunts.
My hands are tied in front of me with rope, but I’m not afraid for myself. I can survive this fall, and I can get myself to shore, even with my hands tied. But Cody? I look over at him, to see him staring blindly off in the distance, seemingly unaware of what’s happening. I think he just shut down.
Rough hands push us both closer to the railing, and when I glance one last time at Cody, my heart in my throat, a raw scream tears out of me. It’s not Cody standing beside me, staring numbly out across the rushing river. It’s Sam. My Sam. My beautiful, vibrant, brave, hot-headed Sam. And he looks catatonic.
Oh, fucking hell, no! “Sam!” I scream at him, hoping to shake him out of his stupor. “Sam!” He can survive this. He can handle himself in the water, get himself to shore. He can do this.
“Sam!”
But he just stands there, listless and lost, and my heart climbs up into my throat, choking me, cutting off my air.
“Sam, wake up!” I try to yell, but nothing comes out.
Billy Monroe, an old man now, grabs Sam and shoves him over the railing. I peer over the side and stare in horror as Sam falls head first into the water, lifeless. He sinks beneath the murky surface, disappearing from sight.
“Sam! No!”
* * *
“Cooper, God damn it, wake up!”
I open my eyes, gasping and blinking against the bright light coming from the bedside lamp. Sam’s sitting beside me, shaking me.
I grab his wrists, trying to orient myself. “What? What is it?”
Jake’s sitting upright at the side of his bed, watching me with sympathetic eyes.
My heart pounds as I reach out to touch Sam’s face, just reassuring myself that he’s here and he’s alive. That he’s not lying dead at the bottom of that damn river.
“Nightmare?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah.” This isn’t the first time I’ve awakened Sam in the middle of the night with a nightmare. “Only this one was different.”
He laughs quietly. “So I gathered. You kept yelling my name.”
I look up at him, the panic threatening to overwhelm me all over again. “It was you this time, instead of Cody. And you just stood there and let him throw you over. You just…gave up.”
Sam brushes his hand over my hair. “Well, that’s ridiculous,” he says, grinning in an attempt to cajole me out of my stupor. “You know I never give up.” He smiles and leans forward to kiss me. “It’s okay, babe.”
* * *
Somehow, I manage to fall back to sleep, but not until long after Sam turns off the lamp and lies back down beside me. I pull him into my arms, and he lays his head in the crook of my shoulder, his arm draped over my chest. As I lie there, I have to force myself not to think about the image I have of him from my dream, standing there on the bridge. The sense of helplessness and panic I’d felt overwhelm me, even now that I’m fully conscious that it was just a dream. It takes a long time, but I finally manage to calm down to the point that I can sleep.
The next thing I know, the alarm on Sam’s phone is going off. It’s our five o’clock wake-up call.
“God, I feel like road kill,” he mutters, reaching to hit the snooze function on his alarm. “I could sleep ‘til noon.”
“We’ll be back in Chicago long before noon,” Jake says, as he heads for the bathroom.
“Hurry, man,” Sam says, groaning as he stretches. “I really gotta piss.”
The three of us get ready quickly and quietly, happy to put this pla
ce behind us. Sam and I pack up our clothes, as Jake goes outside to remove the surveillance cameras from the front and rear of the building. When Jake returns, he packs up the three laptops and his other electronic gear.
As I head into the bathroom to gather up our toiletries, I hear Sam in the other room, saying, “I’ll carry our bags out to the Escalade.”
After I’ve packed up the last of our stuff, I strap my gun holster on and slip in my weapon. Jake does the same, and we glance around the room.
“That’s all of it,” Jake says, reaching for his laptop cases. He freezes and looks at me. “Where’s Sam?” There’s no mistaking the sudden urgency in his tone.
My stomach drops, and I feel chilled to the bone. I try to gauge how many minutes he’s been gone, but it can’t be more than a handful. “He carried our bags out to the vehicle,” I say, but already I’m moving to the door with my hand instinctively going to the handle of my gun. Jake’s right behind me.
It’s dark outside, as sunrise is still an hour away, but the lamplight in the parking lot casts a warm circle of light on the Escalade parked outside our room.
We slam to a halt at the sight of Billy Monroe holding Sam in a choke hold, holding a 9 mm handgun to his temple. Sam’s hands are gripping Billy’s arm, and based on how red his face is, we can tell Monroe’s cutting off his air. My heart slams into my ribcage, my adrenalin going on overload. It’s fight-or-flight time in my Neanderthal brain, and I’m sure as hell fighting.
Like a well-orchestrated team, Jake and I draw our guns simultaneously, pointing them at Billy, who blanches. I don’t think he expected us to do that.
“Drop your weapons,” Billy growls, glaring directly at me as he jabs his gun into the side of Sam’s head. “Or I swear to God I’ll blow his perverted head right off.”