The Bridgewater Case

by R. C. Martin

  “I’M SORRY. I’M so sorry, baby—I love you. Please come. Please come get me.”

  I race out of the courthouse, pressing the phone to my ear as I call Sigourney. The call goes straight to voicemail, and I curse before trying again. When she doesn’t pick up a second time, I shove my phone in my pocket and throw myself into the Benz. She left the message not even ten minutes ago, and she didn’t sound like she did last night. No—she sounded scared out of her mind. There’s only one other instance in which I recall her voice sounding like that. I didn’t like it then, and I sure as fuck don’t like it now.

  I probably break a few laws on my way to her apartment, but I have not one shit to give. It takes me over twenty minutes to arrive. When I pull into the lot and see three patrol cars and an ambulance with flashing lights in front of her building, my stomach drops and my heart starts to pound in my chest.

  As I jump out of my vehicle and slam my door shut, an officer looks my way. I recognize Meacham Cowell. He starts toward me, and I follow suit, speaking before he can.

  “Where is she? Is she okay?”

  “She’s upstairs. She’s pretty shaken up, but she’s not hurt. The perp—”

  I don’t give him a chance to finish. While I have every intention of finding out what the hell happened here, right now information isn’t at the top of my priority list. I need to see my woman with my own eyes. I need to touch her—to hold her. She asked for me to come, and I’m here. Taking the steps two at a time, I barely even pay attention to the officer standing at the doorway, or the other speaking to Sigourney’s neighbor, who is seated on the couch. I scan the room for the only woman that matters and don’t see her.

  “She’s in the room,” Otto tells me. I look to him, and he points down the hallway. “Too many people milling about. She needed a moment alone.”

  I dip my chin in silent appreciation and then take off toward her old room. When I darken the doorway, I pause at the sight of her. She’s curled up in the fetal position in the middle of the bare mattress we left behind. I can tell she’s still trembling, and I scowl, frustrated it took me so long to get here; angry that anything happened to her at all.

  She doesn’t hear me as I enter the room quietly. She snaps out of whatever daze she’s lost in when I sit on the edge of the bed. My weight on the mattress causes her body to shift, and she gasps before she sits up and throws herself into my arms. For a moment, neither of us says a word. She holds onto me so tightly, it’s as if she’s trying to adhere herself to me permanently. I adjust her body, so she’s sitting in my lap, and then fold her in my arms, allowing her a few seconds to rest in the fact that she’s not alone. I’m here, right where I belong.

  With her face still buried between my neck and my shoulder, she whimpers, “I thought they were going to rape me.” As she says the words, my arms constrict around her even tighter, and I clench my jaw in an effort to control my sudden rage.

  “Who? Who fucking touched you?”

  “Wayne—Wayne Holden and some other trucker, I guess. I don’t know. They said I didn’t listen well and that there were to be consequences.” She pulls in a shuddered breath, lifting her head to look at me.

  “Fuck—that motherfucker,” I growl at the sight of her bruised cheek. “He hit you?”

  She doesn’t respond. Rather, she stares at into my eyes, as if she’s contemplating something, and then she pulls away from me. When she lifts up her shirt and I see the dark spot on her stomach, I almost lose my shit.

  “Son of a bitch,” I grunt, gripping hold of her sides to move her out of my lap.

  She’s quick to wrap her arms around my shoulders, her eyes searching mine frantically as she insists, “No. Don’t leave me. It’s okay. I’m okay. It’s my fault anyway.”

  I jerk my head back, appalled by her statement. “Excuse me? How is this your fault? How the fuck do you figure that?”

  “I shouldn’t have been here alone,” she murmurs, her eyes welling up with tears. Shaking her head, she goes on to explain, “I shouldn’t have been here at all. I screwed up. I screwed up so badly.”

  “What?” I slip my hand around the side of her neck, searching her face for answers. “Babe, what are you talking about?”

  She closes her eyes, and tears stream over her cheeks as she whispers, “I couldn’t think. I got in that room, and I couldn’t concentrate. I could blame it on the trial, I could blame it on my anxiety, I could blame it on lack of sleep—I could blame it on anything, but I fucked it up. I couldn’t even finish the second section. I failed, Dane. I didn’t even go today.

  “Last night—I couldn’t face you. I didn’t want you to look at me and see a failure. That’s what I am. It’s been proven over and over again. And if you love me, if you think we work together because we want the same things and we’ve chosen the same career path, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. I might not ever be a lawyer.”

  Even with her eyes closed, I can see her heartache. Now, knowing how devastated she was last night, knowing I left her here with her head filled with these lies—I regret leaving even more than I did before.

  As I gently wipe her tears away with the pads of my thumbs, I hold her face and demand, “Look at me, baby.”

  She swallows hard, a quiet sob spilling from her lips as she opens her eyes. I furrow my brow, my chest tightening as I admire her. I know her. I know her mind. I know how intelligent and smart she is. I know the depths of her potential, for I have tested it—I’ve pushed it. Yet, even hearing about her testing anxiety didn’t prepare me for this. After all of her study prep and practical application, I was without a doubt that she was ready. Even now, I’m still sure.

  Staring into her gorgeous, sad, green eyes, I don’t feel disappointment. I reason that in the best of times, she’s struggled under pressure. Yesterday, with everything going on, it was not the best of times. So she’ll try again. She will not be bested by this hurdle. I won’t allow it. She’s better than that. It’s obvious to me that she doesn’t believe it now, but I do. She just needs reminding.

  Lining my lips up with hers, I tell her, “There’s a lawyer inside of you, babe. A fucking good one, at that. There’s also a resilient woman. A brave woman. An intelligent woman. And a sexy as hell woman. I don’t love you for one reason, Sigourney—but too many for me to even comprehend. You’re not a failure unless you quit, and I won’t let you do that.”

  Another soft cry spills from her lips; only this time, it slips into my mouth as she closes hers around mine. Gripping the nape of my neck with both of her hands, she holds me near as she kisses me urgently. The second I force my tongue into her mouth, she surrenders to me completely. I kiss her hard, reminding her that she is mine, and nothing’s going to change that.

  We don’t pull away from each other until we hear someone at the door clear his throat. Even still, as Sigourney looks over my shoulder, my eyes don’t stray from her face. The sight of her plump lips, pink and swollen from our kiss, makes my dick twitch, and I’m already impatient to get her out of this place.

  “Pardon the interruption, but we’ve got some news I think you’ll want to hear.”

  Taking her by surprise, I press one last quick kiss to Sigourney’s lips before I stand, bringing her with me. When she’s on her feet, she tucks herself into my side as we turn and face Officer Cowell. He then proceeds to tell us that they got one of the men to talk. Wayne Holden.

  Sigourney said the name before, but it isn’t until I hear it again that it registers in my mind. I curse under my breath, remembering the first time I ever met the fucker. The way he looked at Sigourney made me suspicious, but she swore she had never met her assailants before. With a mask on, it wouldn’t be hard to alter his voice and deceive her. Nevertheless, I’m pissed I couldn’t put this together myself a long time ago.

  Cowell informs us that Wayne confessed he was only in on it for the money, and there was a lot of it being offered to fuck with us. Apparently, his recommendations for Royce to get a desk job were b
ecause he knew his company was full of shady characters—and he was one of them. As Cowell continues to speak, everything starts to add up in my mind. It was Wayne who recommended Janet’s first lawyer. He probably knew the guy wouldn’t take the case as far as I have.

  The son of a bitch.

  Wayne only gave up one name in regards to where his orders were coming from, but it’s the only name we need to put an end to the Bridgewater trial. When the judge is informed that the CEO and founder of Rollin Mammoth Trucking, brother to the owner of Flash Packing Co., was the man behind all of these threats, both companies will be sentenced to a punishment far worse than I was fighting for—I’m sure of it.

  Tomorrow’s session is scheduled to begin at eleven in the morning. That leaves me with plenty of time to arrive at the office and construct a motion to provide the evidence required to put this case to bed. I ask Cowell to make sure all necessary documentation is sent to my email no later than first thing in the morning, and then I tell him I’m getting Sigourney the hell out of this place.

  Leaving Sigourney in the room to gather her things, I stick with Cowell. Following him down the hall, I ask, “Why? Why did Holden give you all that information? I understand he was caught with his dick in his hand, but it sounds like he tucked tail and squealed.”

  “It’s not unusual with his type. He’s in it to strike some kind of deal. He figures, the more information he coughs up, the easier we’ll be on him.”

  Scowling, I grumble, “After the stunt he pulled today—”

  “Justice will be served,” Cowell insists, his gaze locked with mine as he offers me a reassuring nod. “I know what he’s done. I won’t forget.”

  A part of me isn’t satisfied with his thinly veiled promise, but with Holden in custody, there’s not much I can do. Knowing I’m better off shifting all my attention toward my woman, I look out for her down the short hallway. After Sigourney slips into her coat and shoes, she grabs her purse and gives Otto a hug, thanking him for coming to her rescue. The details about exactly what happened are still spotty, but I know enough to shake the man’s hand and offer him a thanks of my own.

  “Wait,” Sigourney murmurs before we cross the threshold into the hallway. She turns back, her gaze searching for Cowell. I know, because she takes a step in his direction when she finds him. “Wayne—he said he was getting his orders from his boss, but how did he know anything about me? How did he get so close to me time and time again?”

  Cowell furrows his brow, glancing down at his pocket-sized notepad before he looks back over at us. “He had help. Woman named Lydia Bretford. He said she worked at the firm until recently. She’ll be called in for questioning tonight.”

  “Oh, my god,” Sigourney gasps, her focus shifting up at me. “That bitch…”

  “Hey, it’s over now,” I insist, biting back my own anger.

  It’s bad enough Wayne has already been taken into custody and out of my reach. Giving too much thought to that conniving slut I fired last month won’t do either of us any good. Besides, if I don’t get Sigourney out of here, I can’t promise I’ll keep my shit together.

  Tucking her hair behind her ear, I remind her, “Lydia will get what she deserves.”

  Seemingly satisfied with that truth, she nods and turns back toward the door. When we exit the building, the ambulance and one of the police cars is gone. I’m sure it won’t be long until the others take their leave, as well.

  “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” I ask as I walk Sigourney to her Rover. “We can come back for your car tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want to come back. I’ll be okay.”

  Grabbing hold of her chin, I lift her head and study her for a moment. Finally deciding to take her at her word, I press a kiss to her lips and insist, “I’ll follow you.”

  “Okay, baby,” she whispers. Before I can step away from her, she grabs a fistful of my shirt, keeping me close as she murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head and reply, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “But I do. I—”

  “Nothing, Sigourney. Now get in the car. Let’s go home.”

  She nods and lets me go, opening her driver’s side door before climbing inside. Once she’s in, I shut the door after her, my hand lingering against the side of the vehicle as I look at her through the window.

  I think about what happened to her—what could have happened to her—and reality settles in my gut like a boulder. I don’t just love this woman. I can’t live without her. I don’t care what kind of man that makes me—that’s the man I am.

  HOME HAS NEVER felt quite like it does in this moment. As I pull into the garage, Dane right behind me, I don’t just feel safe or welcome. It’s bigger than that. It’s more comforting than that. It’s indescribable, and the thought of ever losing it frightens me to my very core. I know it’s not merely this place that makes me feel this way, but the man who lives in it. The man I love.

  When we walk inside together, I take his hand. After the last thirty-six hours, I feel clingy and I don’t even care. I want him close to me. I also desperately long for a shower, so I lace my fingers with his and lead him up the stairs and to our bedroom. I don’t bother going into the closet. Instead, I start stripping out of my clothes in the middle of the room. He watches me, as if he’s not sure what I’m doing. When I’m in only my bra and panties, I see his nostrils flare in anger at the ugly bruise that’s spread across my belly.

  I don’t say anything to calm him down. His rage is like a balm to the pain I feel. I need it. In this moment, I yearn for it.

  Once I’m completely naked, I reach for the lapels of his wool coat and shove the material from over his shoulders. His suit jacket goes next, and then he helps me finish undressing him. When we’re both completely bared to each other, I turn and make my way to the bathroom. I start the shower, and as the water begins to warm up, I sense Dane at my back. He slips an arm around me, just below my breasts, and pulls me against him. He kisses my shoulder and then lets me go before we both step under the spray of his large shower head.

  Without a word, he begins to wash my body. His touch is tender and sensual—his hands lingering in all the right places. Yet even as I grow wet with arousal, he doesn’t take things far. I almost weep when he washes my hair, it feels that good. After he helps rinse the shampoo out and massages in the conditioner, I take the lead and turn to wash him. His cock is hard and jutting out even before I begin; still, he doesn’t allow me to linger there anymore than he did with me. I wonder if he thinks I’m not ready—if he thinks, because of what almost happened, he doesn’t intend to touch me tonight. I’m disappointed, but I respect his decision anyway.

  The both of us washed and rinsed clean, we step out and dry off. All the while, I keep looking at him. What I have on my heart needs to be said, but I’m afraid to say it out loud. I stall, towel drying my hair until it’s not dripping wet any longer, and then face him directly. He’s already looking at me, as if he’s been waiting for me to speak.

  Clutching my towel to my chest, I blurt, “I know you said we don’t have to worry about it. I want to believe that—I really do—but this new rule? The board’s order? It scares me more today than it did yesterday. I need this job, Dane. It’s important to me. After failing the bar again, I can’t afford to lose it. But even more than that, I can’t lose you. So—I don’t know, maybe I could be reassigned or maybe—”

  He scrubs his hand down his face and then interrupts me when he speaks, his voice a clear indication that he wishes not to be challenged when he says, “We won’t lie to each other. We won’t be unfaithful. We won’t fight late into the night; and if you ever scream at me, it will be when I’m buried inside of you. We will not make each other miserable; and if we have children, they will never know of our disagreements.”

  Confused, I grip my towel tighter as I ask, “Dane, what are you talking about?”

  “You’re not going to be reassigned. I’m not writing you a referral
to work someplace else. I’m going to marry you.”

  The sensation that hits me square in the chest at his declaration is indescribable. For a moment, I can’t breathe. Shaking my head in disbelief, my mouth opens and closes as my mind tries to reboot itself to process what’s happening.

  “Dane—I don’t want you to marry me because—”

  “Because I love you?” he asks, taking a step toward me. “Because when I got your voicemail, the thought of you being hurt or in danger made me reckless?” He takes another step toward me, and for reasons I can’t explain, I retreat a step. He’s not deterred as he goes on to say, “Because when I saw the evidence of that motherfucker’s hands on you, I wanted to maim and torture and toss the law I swore to uphold out the window? Because for the first time in my life, justice didn’t feel like enough?”

  I suck in a shallow breath, dropping my towel when he gently holds the sides of my neck. I tilt my head back in order to look at him, and he presses his body against mine as he takes another step in my direction.

  “Why don’t you want me to marry you, huh? Because when I look at you, I see a woman who understands me? Because I know you to be a woman with untapped brilliance inside of you? Because you make me want things I never thought I’d want? Because you make me want more? Tell me, babe.”

  I moan, unable to conjure up a single word as he pushes up against me, causing my backside to hit the vanity’s counter. His erection against my lower stomach makes my nipples hard, and I suddenly wish he’d move his towel.

  As if he’s invited himself into my head, he drops his hands and grabs my waist, lifting me onto the counter. His towel is on the floor a second later, and when he teases my entrance with the head of his cock, I wrap my fingers around the back of his biceps and spread my legs wider in invitation.

  “I’m going to marry you, Sigourney,” he says on a groan, slowly sinking inside of me. “Because you’re mine.” He leans toward me, holding one of my legs up around his hip, his other hand buried in my hair at the nape of my neck. As he eases his way into my center until he’s fully seated, he brings his lips close to mine. Staring straight into my eyes, he grunts, “You’re unbearably beautiful, and you’re mine.”