“Yeah.”
Dylan slapped the wheel. “Fuck.”
Now she was confused until she realized that the three of them were with Carl French an hour ago. If he didn’t kill this new person, then perhaps he didn’t kill either of the other two. She clasped a hand on Gabe’s wrist. “Why do they need you?”
“Grimes is hoping I can identify the guy. Dylan and I have studied the case pretty thoroughly. He thinks I’m his best shot.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I won’t be gone long.” Gabe ran his thumb over her lips and her insides melted. “Don’t start without me.”
Her body had already been going crazy since she’d stepped into Striker’s Lounge. Making love with only one of them might feel empty. “I promise.”
Dylan glanced in the rearview then back to the road. “Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, sugar.”
“That’s not fair to poor Gabe.”
Dylan laughed. “He’s a big boy.”
In less than five minutes, Dylan pulled into the garage. Gabe helped her out, kissed her like he was leaving for a month then jumped in his truck. “I’ll call if I’m going to be tied up too late.”
He was out the garage in a flash. Before they went back inside, she spent a minute petting Fawn.
Dylan came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “You like animals, don’t you?”
“I’ve been around them my whole life.”
“You ride well. We’ll have to do it again.”
She smiled. “I’d like that.”
Dylan escorted her inside. At seventy thirty, the sun had yet to set. It was such a wonderful time of day. When they entered, the place seemed a little vacant. Even though she’d been in the house without Gabe, being with both made her whole.
Dylan led her into the kitchen. “Since we’ve been forbidden to engage in any sexual activity without Gabe being present, what do you say to some ice cream for dessert?”
She’d been tempted to ask if she could put some on his cock and lick it off, but cold ice cream on his dick might have some unpleasant side effects. Besides, once he was naked, she’d have to be naked, too, and sex would result. “Sure.”
She’d have to be satisfied with just eating ice cream. She pulled down two bowls while he retrieved the ice cream. He opened the drawer, extracted the scoop, and handed it to her. “Take what you need.”
She laughed. “Clearly, you’ve forgotten what I’m like when I have my ice cream.”
He smiled. “Don’t worry. Remember the freezer in the laundry room?”
“Yes.” She’d figured it had a cut up deer inside.
“I bought out Pack & Save. We have enough cookie dough ice cream to last us through the summer.”
She doubted that, but she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. “You are the best man I’ve ever met.”
He widened his eyes in an exaggerated motion. “Don’t say that in front of Gabe.”
That made her giggle. “You’re both amazing.”
“Thank you, ma’am. We try hard.”
Not wanting the ice cream to melt, she dished up four small scoops. She only wanted three, but she didn’t want an odd number.
“Save some for me.”
“You said you had plenty.”
“True.”
She handed him the scoop and he set it in the sink, took her bowl and handed her the container. “I noticed how you like to eat out of the carton. Have at it.”
There had to be something wrong with him. He remembered all of her likes and dislikes. The man was too good to be true. She hoped he wasn’t aware of all of her annoying habits like John Bean was. He never missed an opportunity to point out her quirks.
They sat next to each other on the sofa. For the first time, she actually looked around. “Where’s your television?”
“Don’t have one.”
What guy didn’t have a television? “How do you watch sports?”
“You a big football fan?”
“As a matter of fact I have my favorite teams.”
He ate half of a scoop of ice cream at one time. “Who are your favorites?”
“I like the New England Patriots.” She held up a hand. “Because I find Tom Brady cute. Since I went to school in Philadelphia, I have to be an Eagles fan. You?”
“You like New England because they’re winners.”
“I cheer for the underdogs sometimes, too.”
“I’m a diehard Broncos fan because I want to school in Denver.”
“Do you go to Mountain View Bar & Grill to watch the games?” It really was the best place to watch, as it had about eight big television screens above the bar. Preston and Luke Caulfield had installed them a few months back.
“From what I’ve been told, it’s the only place to be.”
“It is.” They finished their ice cream. She hadn’t realized how dependent she’d become on her electronic devices. “What do you two do during the evening if you don’t watch TV?”
“Oh, sugar. Would you like me to buy you a television?”
“No.” Yes, but she wasn’t going to presume they were really together.
You want to be with them. Too bad wishes didn’t make something come true.
“To answer your question, we read, work on our cases, fiddle with our bikes or other electronic devices.”
She probably would be better off if she didn’t watch the mind-numbing shows, but sometimes she needed to relax, and watching a movie did it for her.
“How about a game of War?” he asked.
She laughed. “War?” That was a kid’s game.
“I would have suggested strip poker, but if I get you naked, I’d have to lick your pussy and tug on those delicious breasts.”
She finished his thought. “And we’d have to have sex.”
“Right on.”
“Then War it is.”
Dylan opened the armoire along the far side of the wall. She had thought it housed the television as she’d seen the Dish TV on the outside of their house. She then caught sight of a chess game.
“I play chess,” she said.
He turned around. “Oh, yeah?” He extracted the case from the cabinet and brought it over. “You’ll be sorry. You might have won at cards.”
She punched him. “I am a highly intelligent woman.” So what if she hadn’t played in years. Her analytical skills were still sharp.
“I’m not debating that. I’m just warning you that if you have to win, cut your losses now and go with War.”
“You are so going down, Dylan Jacobs.”
They set up their pieces, and it came as no surprise that he insisted she take the whites, which meant she went first. The first few moves were standard. Dylan moved his pieces quickly and decisively, as if he was toying with her. She took longer, not wanting to make a mistake.
Once he took her queen, though, the end was inevitable.
“Checkmate.” He grinned.
Damn, but she hated to lose. “I want a rematch, but first I need more ice cream.”
He laughed. “You know where it is.”
She stood and stretched then headed to the laundry room at the back of the house. She stepped past the washer and dryer and lifted the lid to the freezer. “Wow.” Packages wrapped in white paper greeted her. That must be the deer meat. Evidence of the ice cream peeked out from below. She had to move a few of the items on top to the side and was just about to yank up a carton when she heard voices. Gabe was home! Maybe she should grab two cartons.
One voice sounded angry and she held still. It wasn’t Gabe. She returned the dessert and edged out of the room to hear better.
When actual shouts reached her, her heart pounded in her chest. This time it came from Dylan. The man never raised his voice, at least not that she’d ever heard. Was it a warning to her? Oh, my God.
Who was out there? She heard words like murder, kill, and motherfucker, but she couldn’t understand what was going on. What she did know was that this wasn’t good.
She patted her pants pocket and extracted her phone. She ran her fingers around the edge twice before texting Gabe that something very bad was going on.
Her breath caught. The reply came back right away. “Where are you?”
She texted him again. “In the laundry room.”
Immediately he responded. “Go out the back and hide. I’m almost home.”
The relief that Gabe would be here soon helped lessen the escalating anxiety.
You can do this.
She put one step in front of the other and tiptoed down the hall to the back door. From the front entrance, the man wouldn’t be able to see her, thank God. She wanted to call 911, but the man would hear her. Was it Carl French? The man who supposedly killed Martha Dobbins?
It doesn’t matter. Move. Her hand rested on the doorknob and she feared the act of opening it would alert the guy, but she had no choice. When the angry voice rose again, she eased it open, stepped outside, and closed the door as quietly as she could.
Adrenaline raced through her veins as she jogged around the side of the house. As she neared the living room window, she stopped, not wanting the man to catch sight of her. Too bad her curiosity got the best of her and she peeked in. The second she spotted Carl French with a gun in his hand, her legs weakened and panic crawled up her body.
She ducked down and crawled under the window toward the front of the house. Hiding to Gabe probably meant going to the garage and either climbing in Dylan’s van and locking it, or jumping on Fawn and riding the hell away. That would be the easy way out, but she refused to abandon Dylan. She’d already run out on one man, and she wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
Once she believed she was out of hearing range, she punched in 911.
“911. What is the nature of the emergency?” Connie, the dispatcher answered.
How could she be so calm? She’d only met the woman twice, both times when the sheriff or Tom, his deputy, had covered for Connie and she’d come next door to the Mountain View for happy hour with her and the girls. “Connie,” she whispered. “It’s Ceci.”
“Ceci. What’s wrong?”
“There’s a man inside Dylan Jacobs’s house with a gun.”
“Sweetie, don’t worry. Gabe called it in. The sheriff is on his way, too.”
She sagged against the wall at the relief. “How long before he gets here?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
Shit. Dylan wouldn’t be able to keep the man talking for that long. “Okay.” She disconnected and tried to figure out what to do. She had to help Dylan. She wasn’t going to be a coward this time. Having a second man’s death on her hands would put her in a place so dark she’d never see the light of day again.
She inched her way to the front door. It sat ajar. French’s voice boomed out. She closed her mind to the words, not wanting to let his lies taint what she needed to do. If Dylan hadn’t locked the paintball rifle in the garage closet, she might have been able to use the gun, assuming he had paintballs stashed somewhere. Too bad he’d brought his real gun into his bedroom. She considered going back inside and hunt for it, but that would increase the chance French would hear her. She’d never had time to locate Dylan’s gun either.
Hell, you couldn’t shoot him and you know it. You’re basically a coward.
There had to be something she could do. In the flower bed next to the front door sat a nice flat rock. She visualized slamming him in the head—not too hard to do any real damage, but enough to distract him so Dylan could take him down. Think this through. What if French turned around and saw her? He might shoot and she could die.
You have to do it. It could be Dylan’s life. She picked it up and ignored the dirt.
Telling herself she only weighed fifty pounds, she walked like a butterfly and slowly raised the rock over her head as she moved through the mudroom. French was three feet in front of her now.
To Dylan’s credit, he kept his hands raised and gaze on Carl French’s face. Never once did his eyes shift toward her.
Do it. Now!
She brought the rock down on the man’s head and her stomach nearly revolted at the horror of hurting someone. He grunted, bent over a little and twisted around, gun still in hand. Oh, shit. She’d expected him to crumble to the ground but he didn’t.
Maybe it was those dreaded ballet lessons that she’d taken as a kid that allowed her to have good balance, but she kicked her leg upward and slammed her ankle into his wrist. While he held on tight to the weapon, it gave Dylan time to charge him.
“Get out of here!” Dylan yelled.
The two men tumbled a few feet from her, and as they crashed to the ground, the gun skittered across the wood floor. She couldn’t abandon him now. Without thinking she rushed to the gun, bent down, and picked it up. Fists pounded flesh. As she straightened, someone grabbed her ankle and her knees slammed into the hard floor, but she managed to keep hold of the weapon.
Despite French holding her tight, he managed to brawl with Dylan. She kicked French in the head with her other foot. He grunted and let go. Free, she rolled over just in time to see French, with a long blade in his hand, rush toward Dylan. Arm raised he lowered his arm in a deadly arc. The gun in her hand registered and she inhaled to kick start her heart. The weapon didn’t have one of the things to cock. It was like the pistol Dylan had her use. On instinct, she pulled the barrel forward, let go, took aim, and fired. Blood spurted out of French’s shoulder, and the knife clattered to the ground.
“Motherfucker.” He twisted forward.
That gave Dylan the edge. He scrambled for the knife. A second later, French dove on top of Dylan and struggled for the weapon.
Stunned, all she could do was watch. Both men grabbed the knife at the same time. They twisted and turned. One minute Dylan was on top and the next French was. Even if her hands stopped shaking, she never could shoot for fear of hitting Dylan.
“Stop!”
The click of another gun made her heart sputter.
Chapter Nineteen
The next two minutes were a blur. Sheriff Justin Bradford stepped closer to the men while his deputy, Tom Carnes, pulled French off Dylan. Tom yanked the man’s arms behind him before slapping cuffs on his wrists.
“Watch it, fucker. The bitch shot me.”
Blood had smeared on the floor. Only then did she look down and notice her shirt was covered in spray, but the usual panic didn’t arise. Yay for adrenaline.
Tom escorted French out and Justin came toward her. With gloved hands, he removed the weapon from her clutched fingers. “We’re going to need this for evidence.”
“I shot him.” Her voice trembled.
“I know.”
Dylan rose to his feet and came over to her. “Oh, sugar. Are you okay?”
On the outside she had two bruised knees. Inside, she wouldn’t be surprised if the stress had expanded a few arteries going to her heart. Psychologically, she was barely able to keep it together. “I could have killed him.”
Dylan shook his head. “If you hadn’t pulled that trigger, French would have stabbed me. There was nothing I could have done to stop him.”
She didn’t believe that. Couldn’t he have kicked the man or something? It didn’t matter. What was done was done.
“Ceci, I’m going to need to process your shirt,” the sheriff said. He looked over at Dylan. “And yours, too.”
He was covered in blood from the struggle. Dylan nodded. “Come on Ceci. You can put on one of my shirts.”
As she undressed in his room, she didn’t want to see this top ever again. It would forever remind her of this terrible day.
Dylan took her shirt from her outstretche
d hands and then handed her a clean T-shirt. “You should have run when I told you, but I’m glad you disobeyed me.”
“I couldn’t let you die.”
Holding both shirts at arm’s length, he hugged her with one arm. “I was so damned scared, sugar. What if he’d grabbed you?”
“I couldn’t leave you.” That didn’t answer his question, but right now the reality of what happened was slowly sinking in.
“Let’s get this evidence back to Justin.”
No sooner had they handed him the shirts than a car door slammed, voices sounded, and a minute later, Gabe rushed in. “Baby, baby. Are you okay?”
He ran over to them both. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken. Help Dylan.” In the living room light, she’d seen how Dylan’s eye was really swollen and his lip bleeding.
Dylan must have waved him away because both of them led her over to the sofa.
Just as she settled next to them, Tom Carnes came in. “I’ll need to take your statement.”
She groaned. She probably could say she’d come down to the station tomorrow, but she wanted to get it over with. “Okay.”
He placed a hip on the arm of the chair across from them. “Tell me what happened.”
She went through everything, from being in the back to get ice cream, to texting Gabe, spotting French inside with a gun, to calling 911. “I snuck up behind him and hit him on the head with a rock.”
The evidence of her story remained at the far end of the mudroom.
“Ceci kicked his arm, which distracted him for a second,” Dylan said. “I yelled for Ceci to run away, but she’s stubborn. Good thing, too, or I’d have been killed.”
“Then what?” Tom asked Dylan.
“I took advantage of French’s surprise and charged. One good right hook and the gun went flying. Then French came back with a good upper cut.” Dylan rubbed his jaw as if talking hurt. “I fucking dropped like a stone.”
“I picked up the gun,” Ceci said. “It took me a minute to figure out how to cock the damned thing.”
A slight smile creased Tom’s face and he scribbled down her comment.
Dylan went on to say that if she hadn’t grabbed the gun and shot French when she had, French would have killed him with the knife. “She literally saved my life.”
Dirty Pleasures [Pleasure, Montana 10] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 16