by Dez Burke
"How is it different?" I blurt out before my brain engages. Oh, right, his dick, my butt, the vibrations... He turns to look at me and laughs. I turn a nice shade of crimson, I'm sure. "Forget I asked."
We both lie back on the sand, look at the stars, and stay silent for a while.
"Are you gonna get the bastards who killed my brother?" I ask.
He reaches out for my hand before he answers.
"Surely you know I can't talk about an open case."
"I understand that, and I don't want details. Really, I don't. I just want to know that you guys are doing what you can to make sure it doesn't happen again."
And then I bait him to find out if there's any truth to my suspicion that the "organized crime group" the task force is working on is the MC. I say, "It would be nice if you cleared the street of those Iron Tornadoes."
"Someone's been talking out of turn," he says, falling right into my trap. He turns on his side to face me and asks, "Who have you been speaking with?"
I glance sideways in his direction, and he does look annoyed. But no one but him can really be blamed for my putting two and two together. Captain Williams just said something about a task force against organized crime. Mike simply mentioned the irony of applying for that task force just before joining the MC. Without Everest's reaction, I would only have my suspicions, but there's no way I'm telling him that.
I decide the only way out of this one is to distract him, so I roll onto my side, facing Everest. I'm slightly buzzed. It's probably more the adrenaline rush from the ride than the wine. But who knows what's prompting me? I go for provocative distraction.
"Didn't you mention something about some light kissing, earlier?"
That wipes the frown from his face. He grins and says, "I sure did."
"The setting's perfect—you have the ocean, the half moon, and..."
He didn't need that much prompting because he's moved over to me, and he's sweetly covering my lips with his. He nibbles gently on my lower lip until I open up to him, and when I do, I'm pretty sure we're past the point of light kissing.
I get a warm and fuzzy feeling. It's sweet and nice and delicious. I’m not fired up but I feel a warm glow and I like it. He makes me feel safe, and right now, safe sounds like just what I need.
He wraps his arms around me and rolls to his back, bringing me with him. My head rests on his chest and he says, "You did sidetrack me for a while, but I haven't forgotten my question, you know."
I chuckle. "I'm not giving up my sources. I'll just tell you that I tricked someone into telling me what the task force was about. I don't want him to get into trouble, so I won't tell you any more than that."
"I'll find a way to figure it out," he says.
"No, you won't. I spoke to most of your colleagues after the funeral, so there's no way you can tell who spilled the beans," I say, hoping to get him as far away from Mike as possible since he returned to the station right after the funeral.
"We'll see about that," he says, and now I realize that he's going to make it a matter of principle to find the loose tongue in his group.
"What do you say we head back?" I ask. "And if you want, I'll even let you drive."
The ride back home is a lot smoother, but then he rides every day, and I was out of practice. Well, that's my excuse for tonight. I'll need another one for the next time—if there is a next time.
We reach the house at the same time as my mother and Captain Williams. There's an awkward moment as both men greet each other and then make a run for it.
My mother tells me she's very tired and wants to crash. This is so far past her bedtime; I never would have expected she'd stay out so late and not complain. I say goodnight and close the garage door.
I'm kind of wired, and I know I won't be able to sleep if I go to bed now, but I have just the right thing to keep me occupied: I still have the kitchen to clean up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
My mother’s a light sleeper when she’s not drugged, so I keep the radio on low and try to make as little noise as possible as I load the dishwasher and clean up the pots. I need to take out the trash and I'll be done. Dragging the container to the street is a pain. I make sure the lid is well secured, otherwise the raccoons will come and pry it open. As I turn around, I see Aunt Nancy taking her own cans out, and I walk over to help her.
"How are you doing, Lisa?" she asks.
"I'm just fine. What about you?"
"I'm okay," she says, but her expression contradicts her words.
She's upset about Brian. I'm pretty sure most of our nice neighbors are wondering why Brian didn't attend David's funeral, and even if none of them had the nerve to ask her to her face, she's annoyed by all the gossip going around. It seems it's also taking a toll on her relationship with Uncle Tony. I don't know what to tell her, so I just hug her and say goodnight.
I return to the back door, and the light is off in the kitchen. Weird. I thought I had left it on, as I was only going out for a minute. I reach for the light switch, and Brian grabs my hand and tugs me inside.
I don't scream, because I know it's him the second he touches me. He holds me close to him and puts a finger on my lips. We wait until we hear his mother close her door behind her, and then he closes my door and takes me further into the room where we can't be seen by anyone. He's still holding me close to him, and I don't push him away. Just being next to him gets my heart racing.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, looking up at him.
"Checking on you," he says as he pushes my hair away from my face, and I can't help but relish the tender gesture.
I reach out to his face and touch the stubble on his jaw line with the tips of my fingers. All my questions start pouring out, "What happened to you? Why did you quit the academy? What went so wrong between you and David that you wouldn't even come to his funeral? What are you doing with your life?"
"Just shut up, counselor," he says, and he kisses me.
The idea of resisting crosses my mind, but when it does it's chased by this vision of all those ridiculous old movies scenes in which the girl ineffectively pummels the hero with her tiny fist until she surrenders to the guy's kiss. I decide to save myself the embarrassment and skip the pummeling part.
As I thread my fingers through his hair I lose all sense of time and get lost in the moment, and when we come up for air, I beg him, "Please Brian—talk to me."
He presses my head against his chest and sighs, "This was a terrible idea."
He starts to push me away, and I grab a handful of his T-shirt to hold him back and whisper-shout at him.
"Oh no. You're not doing this to me again. You can't barge in here, kiss me as if you were crazy about me, and then walk out."
He laughs and starts to walk out the kitchen door.
"Brian Hatcher, I swear this is the last time you're doing this to me."
"Whatever you say, sweet butt," he says as he just walks out.
This time I have nothing to hurl at him, which is just as well since I'm in no mood to mop the kitchen floor—unless it were covered in blood, preferably his.
I walk up to my room in a really foul mood. What has Brian turned into? A bastard and a tease. So what's wrong with me? I'm sitting on my bed, ready to hit my head against the wall, when the door opens. My mother's in her bathrobe with her hair loose from the bun she jails it in every day. For a second I see the young woman she was when she was my age.
"What's up, Mom?" I ask.
"I couldn't sleep, and I heard you come up. I thought we could talk," she says tentatively.
I scoot to the foot of my bed and pat the mattress, inviting her to come sit next to me.
"Sure. What do you want to talk about? A charming police captain?"
It's funny how she blushes. Yet she sits down on the bed, puts her arm around my shoulder and pulls my head to her lap. I rest my cheek on her thigh and try to remember how many years it's been since she's done that. It conjures memories of early childhood, when she
would read bedtime stories to me a life time ago.
She pats my hair and says, "Yes, we could talk about that for a start, and then we could talk about Brian. I heard him leaving the house a few minutes ago."
I nod, and she says, "I figured that even if he never visits Nancy anymore, there was no way he could resist coming to see you." I turn my head and study her face. Funny how I thought she was lost to the world, but she saw more than I suspected. "You know nothing good can ever come from stringing two guys along, right? You need to choose between Brian and that young officer. Ernest, I think his name is?"
"I know, Mama," I say. "Ernest is nice but Brian is..."
I can't find the words to say it without hurting her. David and Brian were the two pillars of my life. I believed that no matter what they would always be there for me. Now that David's gone, I can't seem to let go of Brian. Not right away. He's the only anchor I have left. Even if it does look bad, even if everything points to his falling on the wrong side of the fence, I can't let go.
"Brian was your first love, and maybe you think you still love him, but that shouldn't prevent you from going on with your life," my mother says.
She feels me stiffen and keeps on petting my hair. "When your father passed, I thought I had died as well. If not for you and your brother, I would have followed him the next day. I felt as if someone had ripped away my heart. I was empty, and I remained that way until David died. His death jolted me back. It made me understand that I had been wasting something really precious that we're given so little of: time. We have very little time to live, to be happy. As I was standing by David's grave, I decided I had to start living again. I resolved to grab whatever life had left to offer before I ran out of time, and then a miracle happened: there was this lovely man, standing right by my side."
A smile creeps across my lips because I'm not sure “lovely” is the adjective I would have picked to describe that man.
"What are you smiling about?" she asks.
"Your description of Captain Williams," I explain. "I will agree that he's strong, powerful, possibly handsome in a rugged sort of way, and impressive. But lovely? Nope. That didn't make the list."
She laughs, and I realize I haven't heard her laughter in years. It brings tears to my eyes.
"Oh Mama," I say. "I'm glad you came back from wherever you've been hiding all these years."
"So am I, baby girl. So am I."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Another week has passed, and I'm becoming a bit anxious about money. I've interviewed with several local restaurants but without success. The issue is that I'm up-front with my situation. I explain they can work me to death all summer, but then in the fall I'm not sure I'll still be around and if I am, I'll only be available for evenings and weekends. That makes everyone reluctant to hire me. Work is quiet here in the summer. In Florida, the season starts after Thanksgiving, when the snowbirds start flocking in from up north.
I'm sitting at the kitchen table with my mother, arranging apple slices on a pie she's baking for dinner for Captain "call me Steven since we're practically family now" Williams when the phone rings, and my mother picks it up.
"Yes, sir. May I ask who's calling?" she says. "Just a minute; I'll go get her." She puts her hand on the lower part of the phone and says, "It's the manager of Les Délices."
I wipe my hands and take the phone. "Lisa Mayfield speaking."
"Hello, Lisa, this is Thierry from Les Délices. I'm calling to let you know you have the job. You can thank Lyv Clark. She gives a glowing recommendation. She practically ordered me to grab you while I had the chance." He laughs.
"I'll be sure to call her and thank her. When do you want me to start?"
"Sunday for brunch. Be there at ten."
"Thank you, sir. I'll be there."
I hang up, and I feel like jumping up and down. Looking at my ear-to-ear grin, my mother says, "I take it you got the job."
"I sure did, thanks to Lyv. I love that woman. I'll have to send her flowers or something," I say.
"I still don't understand why you didn't go back to New York for your summer internship, or at least look for one in one of the local firms," she says.
I've explained to her a thousand times how the summer internship programs work, that all slots are allocated almost a year in advance, but she still doesn't get it. The truth is that she's right—I could have tried, but I didn't. The real reason I went for a restaurant job is because I'm still not sure about her. She's fragile, and some days she still looks very lost. Just in case she does flip, I want to be able to quit my job to stay with her without jeopardizing my reputation in the local legal market.
I shrug and put the last slices of apple on the pie. I abandon my mother in the kitchen with her classic-rock radio channel blasting. She's singing Van Morrison's "Gloria." I rush out of the room just as she starts spelling the name at the top of her lungs. Sometimes I think a crazy alien possesses her.
Tonight, Everest's taking me to a rock festival. It's a huge event that will last the entire weekend with plenty of bands. I run up to my room to get ready. We're riding there with two of his friends from the task force.
I'm going for a total biker look. My nicely weathered leather pants, a white T-shirt, a pair of riding boots, and David's old leather jacket, the one he used to wear as a teenager. I know it's silly, but when I slip it on, I feel like he's not really gone. Can a spirit haunt leather? As I enter the kitchen, my mother does a double take.
"You look about eighteen tonight," she says.
"Thanks, Mom. Don't wait up for me. If the shows are any good, we're probably going to stay fairly late."
"Fine. Have fun!" She's smiling, and I can't believe how much she's changed in just a few weeks. It's as if she's absorbed all the joy that has been sucked out of Nancy. I feel sorry for my aunt, but there's nothing I can do for her.
I hear the sound of engines roaring in the street, and I walk out through the garage door with my helmet. I love the wind in my hair, but not as much as having my brain inside my skull, so for me, it's safety first.
I can tell from the smile on Everest's face that he likes my bad-chick look, and I think he's not looking bad himself. I wave to the other couple, Thomas and Catherine. I press a light kiss on Everest's lips and hop on behind him. I really like him—he's sweet, and he's been very patient with me.
We get to the festival, and it's huge. I don't think I've ever seen so many people in one place. It's a bit overwhelming, but you can't make for a better escort than three police members of a special task force, especially because while wrapping my arms around Everest, I was able to feel that he's armed.
We find a decent spot for the bikes where the ground isn't too soft. Everest looks for a rock to slide under the side stand, just to be on the safe side. I refrain from making any comment because if there's one thing I learned from watching my brother and his bikes over the years, it's not to make fun of a biker's attention to his first love.
Looking around at all the couples on shiny machines, it's difficult to miss—if the guys gave jewelry to their partners every time they got another piece of chrome for their beloved Harleys, the poor women would probably be too loaded with gold and diamonds to walk around.
"Ready?" Everest asks.
"Yessir," I say. "Lead the way."
We get a spot not too far from the main stage as a band starts to play, and the music is good. We're surrounded by people in various stages of inebriation, but they seem to be happy drunk, unless they're high on something else. I take a big breath and smile at Everest, who smiles back at me.
Yes, we're going to have fun tonight.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After a while, Thomas and Catherine decide to get some food. We follow them to where the vendors have set up their kitchens-on-wheels. It's next to a picnic area with tables, chairs, and barbecue pits. Catherine and I sit down while the guys go get food.
"I really liked your brother," Catherine tells me. "We're gonna get the bas
tards who did that to him, and we'll all be able to sleep better at night."
"Thanks" is all I can come up with. It's not that I don't want to talk to her; I just don't know what else to say. I'm a bit intimidated by her as well. I'm sure it took a lot of guts and a strong spirit for her to make the task force. And Catherine's persistent because she does not get discouraged by my brief answer.
"I hear your mother is dating Captain Williams," she says. "I would pay good money to see him courting someone. What's his style?"
That gets me started, and I tell her how devoted and caring he is with my mother, and how it took them about ten hours to fill in three miserable pages of paperwork. The guys return with cold beer, fried chicken, and fries. The food isn't bad, and Thomas and Catherine tell me they started dating while on an undercover assignment.
"I couldn't believe my luck when I realized that her brains were just as fabulous as her looks," Thomas says.
Catherine rolls her eyes and looks at me when she says, "Right, because if you're kind of pretty, you must be either silly or shallow."
"You're more than pretty," I tell her spontaneously.
Catherine laughs and explains, "It use to drive me up the wall when most people spoke down to me like I was some kind of idiot, just because of the way I look. Now I take advantage of the stupid stereotype any time I can."
I'm wiping some ketchup away from the corner of Everest's lips when he freezes and looks right behind me with a frown. Thomas's expression changes, too, and I'm about to turn around to find out what's happening when Catherine puts her hand on mine and tells me, "Don't move, and keep on talking."
She looks at Thomas, who shakes his head and puts his hand down on the table, thumb folded. I try to think of something to say, but my mind stays blank. I search for inspiration around me, and my eyes fall on a festival flyer that someone's pasted to a vending stand.
"So how many bands are attending this event?" I'm actually talking to myself. It's fascinating to watch Everest turning from a cool, laid-back guy into this intense police officer. Under the pretense of scratching his back, I think he's taking the safety off his gun. Catherine shifts position and straddles the bench with her hand in the bag she's been carrying on her shoulder since we arrived, and I'm pretty sure she's holding her service weapon as well. I close my eyes and pray they're not considering a shoot-out; in this crowd, it would be a disaster.