by Macy Largo
“I’ll start the shower and help you get in. When you’re done, I’m taking you to a walk-in clinic so they can look at those cuts.”
When she started to protest again he held up a hand. “Listen to me. You can give them a fake name, tell them you’re my sister or something. Tell them you fell overboard and lost your purse and ID. I’ll pay for it.”
“I can pay.” She unhooked the fanny pack and removed the baggie and her flip-flops. Her clothes, wallet, keys and the cash were all dry. At least something had gone right. “I took it from him when I left. I hope it’s not counterfeit. Wouldn’t that be ironic, to survive Paulie Scorsini, and then get busted for passing fake money?” She laughed, then started sobbing. “I’m sorry. I’m just so scared.”
He held her, letting her cry against his shoulder. “Hey, you’re lucky you’re alive.”
“I don’t know how long I’ll stay that way once he finds me.”
“You’re welcomed to stay here as long as you need. I’ve got plenty of room.”
“I can’t impose on you like that.” Not that she had any other options. She damn sure couldn’t go back to Daytona Beach.
He squeezed her hands one last time before turning to start the shower for her. Such a sweet guy. His boyfriend was one lucky son of a gun.
He brought her shampoo and conditioner and a comb for her hair. He offered her a steadying hand while she dropped the towels and stepped into the shower. After pulling the shower curtain closed, she carefully slipped her suit off and handed it out to him.
Trashed by her journey to shore, several long rips split the fabric torn from snagging on the rocks. “Want me to just toss this?” he asked.
“Please.”
“I’ll stand outside the door if you need me.”
“You might as well stay in here. I’m not modest.” Screw it, he was gay. Her feet hurt like hell, especially with the fresh water now aggravating the cuts in her soles. Standing felt like agony since she’d warmed up and feeling had returned to her extremities. She also realized she had scrapes up and down her legs when the water stung those, too.
She tried to work the worst of the snarls out of her hair. It was hopelessly tangled and matted, even after she washed the mud and assorted grass and other crap out of it. “I hate to bother you, but can you help me with this?” She turned around and pulled the shower curtain open enough so he could reach her hair.
She handed the comb to him. He drenched her hair with conditioner and carefully pulled at the ends with the comb. After fifteen minutes, he sighed. “Honey, I’m sorry, but it’s bad.”
“I hate it long anyway. Can you cut it for me?”
“Let me get some scissors.” He returned a moment later. “How short?”
“As short as you need to.”
He touched a place on her back a few inches below her shoulders. “Here?”
“Sure.”
She felt him carefully slide the blade along her back, snipping, then combing and snipping some more until a few minutes later he made one final long cut, in a straight line, across her back. “That’s it.”
“Thank you.” She finished showering, turning the water even hotter while he cleaned the hair up off the floor. It felt weird having shorter hair.
It felt good.
“I’ll be right outside when you finish,” he said, then she heard the door shut.
She found he’d left fluffy towels out for her, as well as a thick bathrobe and a clean pair of socks. She limped over to the counter, dried off, dressed, and pulled the robe on over her T-shirt and shorts. She still felt a little chilly.
“All safe?” he asked through the door.
“Yeah.” He opened the bathroom door.
When he saw how much pain walking caused her, he carried her out to the kitchen, where he’d fixed her some soup. “You need something in you after that night.” She ate as he sat across the table from her. “You can talk to me, you know,” he said.
She nodded but didn’t reply. She had a feeling he didn’t totally buy her story, but she wasn’t about to admit the truth.
She tried not to think about the man she witnessed being murdered. That might make her yak the soup.
Alan must have realized she wasn’t going to talk. “Once you finish that, I’ll take you to the walk-in clinic.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s okay. I imagine you’re going to sleep the rest of the day and a good chunk of tomorrow. Listen, I have to take a charter out tomorrow, but if you promise not to try to run away, I’ll leave you here by yourself.”
She might be stubborn, but not stupid. Paulie couldn’t trace her here. Not this quickly. “I’ll stay. Are you sure it’s not an imposition?”
When he smiled, her heart thumped in reply. Shaggy blond hair, those big brown eyes, sweet, gentle voice, and a hunky bod. What wasn’t there to like? He was adorable, gay or not. “It’s no imposition,” he assured her.
* * * *
The doctor bought her story about falling overboard hook, line, and sinker. She wore one of Alan’s baseball caps with her hair shoved under it. He gave her a tetanus shot, rinsed her wounded feet out with antiseptic, and stitched two of the wounds with dissolvable sutures. After putting her on a preventative round of antibiotics and admonishing her to stay off her feet for the next several days, the doctor declared Alan’s “cousin,” Jenny Walker, otherwise okay.
Alan stopped at a drugstore to fill her prescription. He got her a wheelchair they provided for customers and she held a hand basket in her lap while he pushed her through the store so she could get other things she needed. She bought some cheap tourist T-shirts and beach shorts, underwear too, giving her more than just one set of clothes.
On their way back to Alan’s, she remembered hair dye. “Dammit. I should have gotten that, too.”
He laughed. “You just survived a night in the Gulf, you’re sliced up like you lost a round with a set of Ginsu knives, and you’re worried about your roots?”
“No. I hate being a blonde. The only reason I dyed my hair was for…” She thought about it. “He is my ex now, isn’t he? Not that I probably could have left any other way.” That led to more nervous laughter, which soon turned into crying. “Jesus, I’m losing my mind.”
He parked in front of his house. “No, you’re exhausted. I bet you sleep the rest of the freaking day.” He carried her inside to the guest room, got her situated, then rolled in an office chair. “Use this, stay off your feet so they can heal like the doctor said. I already checked and it’ll make it through the bathroom door.”
Her eyelids felt like two anchors had been tied to them. “Your boyfriend is a lucky guy, Alan.”
He smiled, but it looked a little sad. “Yell for me if you need me, kiddo.”
She crashed into sleep.
* * * *
Alan closed the bedroom door. With a little time to himself to think, he needed a shower. The holes in her tale about why she jumped overboard sounded big enough to fly a jumbo jet through. With three younger sisters, he knew better than to push Daphne for more answers. She would open up to him and tell him the full truth when she felt safe enough to do it.
Until then, he’d have to wait her out.
Now the problem would be wrangling Jerald so he waited her out, too. He would want to go all cop on her ass and try to force the story from her.
Something had terrified her, without a doubt. A person doesn’t get rescued from the Gulf just to try to jump out of a boat again. Not unless they have something to hide.
Or fear.
After his shower, he sat at the kitchen table. She’d left her wallet laying there. He picked it up and looked through it. Daphne Peres. Daytona Beach address. Her driver’s license had been issued a month earlier, before her renewal date. Just moved, maybe? Twenty-three years old. She’d had her birthday that past July eighteenth. She also had a Social Security card, and a recently expired student ID for the University of Central Florida in Orlando. Well, that ruled
out her being an illegal alien, most likely.
He looked up at the sound of Jerald’s truck in the drive. He’d lost track of time. It was after six already…
The barbecue. Dammit.
Jerald walked in, a pleased look on his face and dressed in a nice button-up short-sleeved casual shirt and khaki shorts.
Yum!
And…it would go to waste.
When Jerald walked in, he frowned at the look on Alan’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“You need to sit down. I’ve got a whopper for you.”
“Is this about why you didn’t call me like I asked? That’s not like you. Only reason I didn’t chew you out is I had to deal with a BUI and saw your boat was at the marina when I got back.”
“Just sit down.”
Alan watched Jerald’s professional mask immediately slip into place. “I guess this means we’re missing the barbecue?”
“Yeah.”
Jerald pulled out a chair and sat. Alan related the day’s events and handed him Daphne’s license.
Jerald didn’t speak until Alan finished. He stared at her license. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“You can’t go all Perry Mason on her.”
“Perry Mason wasn’t a cop. He was an attorney.”
“You know what I mean, Jer.”
“Why didn’t you call me when you found her?”
“Because she totally flipped out when I mentioned the Coasties. I did tell her you’re FMP and could help her. She’s scared for her life.”
He let out a long, sad-sounding sigh. “Did you call them and tell them we won’t be there tonight?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay. Do it. Blame it on me, if you want. Say I had paperwork or something. I’ll be back in a few.” He picked up her wallet and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. I’ve got to run her license. My work truck with my laptop is there.”
“You can’t report this! I told her I wouldn’t.”
“I need to find out if she’s got any outstanding warrants, or if there are any missing person reports.”
“Jer, please, I promised her.”
“I have to do this. If I get nothing back on her, I won’t call in a report.”
Alan made the call to their friends and apologized for their absence. Then he nervously waited until Jerald returned thirty minutes later. Jerald laid her wallet on the table. “She’s clean. No record, no outstanding warrants. One traffic warning citation a year ago for a headlight out. The new license was an address change from Orlando. No car currently registered in her name, but she’s got insurance through one Paul Scorsini, Jr., of Daytona Beach.” He arched an eyebrow at Alan. “You do know who they are, don’t you? This could be a major fucking deal. You realize that, right?”
“Yeah. I realize that.”
“She needs to go.”
Alan sat up. “I’m not making her leave!”
“She’s not a stray cat. She’s a mobster’s girlfriend, for chrissake.”
“She’s a mobster’s ex-girlfriend.”
“Oh, yeah, like that doesn’t complicate things!” Jerald stood and jabbed his finger at Alan. “First thing tomorrow morning, you put her on a freaking Greyhound to anywhere and don’t stick around to find out where. That way you won’t end up in the line of fire.”
“No.”
Jerald’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, no?”
“N. O. Spelled just like that.”
“You’re going to risk yourself over someone you don’t know?”
“Jer, talk to her tomorrow. Please? If you’d just seen her when I found her—”
“I’ve seen desperate gratitude before. It comes as an unfortunate part of my job’s territory. It doesn’t mean I bring every person who expresses it home with me.”
Alan studied his face. “You’re jealous.”
Jerald’s eyebrows arched. “What?”
“Yeah. You’re jealous that I brought her home.”
“What the fuck? No, I’m not. I’m worried about your safety.”
“She’s not going to hurt me. She can barely stand, much less walk.”
“No, but the Scorsini family, they find out she’s here, they will hurt you. Haven’t you been paying attention to the news? The father’s up for a whole law dictionary full of charges, including the RICO act. They’re not throwing the book at him, they’re chucking the whole goddamned Library of Congress in his general direction to hopefully make something stick. The guy’s so slippery he makes Gotti look like Velcro instead of Teflon.”
Alan stood and rounded the table. He put his arms around Jerald. “That’s sweet that you’re worried about me. You’ll keep me safe, tough guy.”
Jerald finally returned his embrace, hugging him tightly. “Man, you finally drag me kicking and screaming out of the closet and you’re putting yourself into the line of fire like this? I don’t like it.”
“We need to help her.”
Jerald remained quiet for a long time. “The only reason,” he finally said, “that I’m not filing an incident report on this right now is because it’s you. There’s no missing boater or missing person report on anyone remotely matching her description. I don’t have any proof to suspect she’s tied up in something illegal. My honest opinion is she’s either running a major scam, or there’s a hell of a lot more to her story and she’s scared shitless to say so. Either way, it’ll show up soon enough. Please, promise me you’ll be careful and not get suckered into something you have no business being involved in.”
“I promise.” Alan kissed him. “Let me make you dinner and take you to bed to make up for our missed barbecue.”
“No, I’d better go.” He tried to pull away but Alan wouldn’t let him.
“Why?”
Jerald’s face reddened in embarrassment. “It’s not like we can do anything,” he mumbled.
“Okay, dude, seriously? For one thing, she’s out like a light. She’s so exhausted we could probably have sex in bed with her and she wouldn’t wake up. For another, and frankly the most important point, it’s my house and you’re my boyfriend and she knows I have a boyfriend.”
Jerald kissed him, but still extricated himself from Alan’s arms. “I’m sorry. I’m just not comfortable with someone else here. I didn’t have a big family like you did.”
What he didn’t say, Alan easily guessed. Jerald wasn’t comfortable boinking with someone on the other side of the wall, able to hear them. Even in a hotel he sometimes tended to freeze up a little.
Alan sighed and leaned in for one last kiss. “One of these days, I’m nailing that goddamned closet door shut so you can’t retreat anymore.”
“Sorry,” Jerald mumbled. “I’ll stop by tomorrow to talk to her.”
“I’ve got that charter.”
He nodded. “I’ll come by after you’re back. Give me a call when you get in.”
With that, Jerald left. Alan’s appetite left with the man. He plopped himself onto the couch to watch TV. He had sworn he would never get involved with someone like his father, who had a job that put them in danger or who was a workaholic and let his job take priority over their private time. And look what he did, fell ass over ankles for a cop just like his old man. A wildlife officer, sure, but marine patrol officers were still cops. In some ways, Jerald’s job was even worse than a land cop’s job. An investigation or rescue could take him out onto the Gulf in treacherous weather no person in their right mind would brave.
He’d also sworn, after a relationship ended badly a few years ago, that if he got seriously involved with a guy again, it wouldn’t be with a guy who wasn’t totally open and comfortable being out.
Strike two.
Still, Jerald was different than anyone he’d ever met, man or woman. The last woman Alan had dated had screwed him over. Not as badly as Jerald’s ex screwed him. Thank god he hadn’t been dumb enough to marry the woman. But she’d stolen his identity and nearly
put him in the hole financially. Fortunately, he’d caught on to her early enough to prevent serious long-term damage.
In the long run, it didn’t matter if Jerald was gun-shy. Alan knew he’d wait as long as it took to totally coax Jerald into being fully comfortable with the public aspects of their relationship. Maybe Jerald came off as a stone-faced, stiff and personality-challenged cop to most everyone else, but Alan knew the truth. He had seen the man’s softer side.
He was the only one who’d seen it. Once Alan realized it, he knew he didn’t want anyone else in his life.
Chapter Four
Alan woke up at his normal time the next morning, a little before five, hating the feel of the wide swath of empty bed beside him. He preferred it when Jerald spent the night, even if all they did was sleep.
Waking up alone did not suit him well anymore. Not when Major Jerald Carter filled the other half of his king-sized bed so perfectly. He almost walked out of the bedroom naked when he remembered his house guest. He slipped on a pair of shorts.
Alan stood in the kitchen, waiting on the coffee to brew, when he heard the guest room door open. After an extremely long moment, the bathroom door shut. He went to look and sure enough, the office chair still sat by her bed.
He grabbed it and stood waiting with it outside the bathroom door. When she emerged, she flinched, startled to see him standing there.
He pointed at the chair.
Rolling her eyes and smiling, she sat. “Thank you, Dad.”
“I’m not old enough to be your dad. Big brother, maybe. You want to go back to bed, or would you like coffee and something to eat?”
Her stomach growled at the mention of food.
Alan laughed. “I think that answers that question.” He pushed her into the kitchen and over to the table. “You want cream and sugar?”
“Please.”
Daphne watched while Alan poured her coffee. Shirtless, his jersey knit shorts clung to his ass in a tantalizing way.
Gay with a boyfriend. Totally off limits. Gay with a boyfriend…
He turned from the counter with a mug in his hand. He brought it, a sugar bowl, a spoon, and a gallon of milk to the table. “There you go.”