Chapter 41
Ace
"You better be glad this didn't end in that young man's death."
I snap my eyes from Cora and lift them to see none other than fucking Dale Fredericks walking toward us.
"Detective Granger," Cora says, and I can sense by the tone of her voice that she knows that isn't his real name.
"Special Agent in Charge Dale Fredricks," he says as he approaches. "This looks really cozy. Are you unable to walk, Ms. Preston?"
"My legs are fine, Dale."
Watching his jaw flex when she uses his first name as if she's disrespecting him, I have to roll my lips between my teeth to keep from chuckling.
"You weren't supposed to be involved in the Full Deck Killer’s case, Yarrow. You'll be sanctioned for this," he threatens, and I have no doubt he'll do his best to get me fired, but the man has made his very last threat.
"Sorry, baby," I tell her when I have to shift her weight to reach into my back pocket.
"What's this about?" he says when I hold out the government-issued badge.
"I quit," I snap.
He looks down at the badge in his hand as if I've just handed him victory. I have no clue why this guy has had it out for me the last couple of years. He probably doesn't have a clue I turned down his job so I could stay out in the field because I felt like I had more to offer the agency than sitting behind a desk.
"And your gun?" he says, a gleam in his eyes like I'd imagine he'd have on Christmas morning when he sits at the bar paying women to dance for him because he's a bitter, unlovable bastard.
"I've been with the Agency for thirty fucking years, dipshit. My issued weapon was decommissioned fifteen years ago."
I walk past him, no longer feeling the need to waste a second in his presence.
"You'll have to be debriefed," he snaps.
I turn partially to face him. "I'm not part of this case, Dale. I'm on vacation."
I feel Cora shudder in my arms, but when I look down, I see her chuckling.
"You'll never find another fucking job, Yarrow," he spits before I can turn back around and leave.
The man just has to have the last fucking word.
"He already has a job."
"Mr. Anderson," Cora says.
"He's Cerberus, and I'd like to officially withdraw our contract with the Immigration and Customs Enforcement." Kincaid dips his head in my direction. "Get her taken care of, Ace. We'll have a chance to talk later. I've got it from here."
"You can't just walk up and stick your fucking nose in government business," Dale says as we walk away.
"Is he going to get arrested?" Cora whispers.
"Kincaid?" I shake my head. "Dale won't have a job come morning time if they even attempt to put cuffs on that man. He's more connected than the fucking president."
"Ouch," she mutters when I reach for the door handle of a vehicle. "What's going on back at the house?"
Sadness is in her tone, and I hate that there will be long-lasting pain in this entire situation. Her brother turning into this man doesn't discount all the years she loved him, and I think the betrayal of it being someone she cares so deeply about will only make it worse. She has a long road of healing ahead of her, and unlike my own pain and regret I don't think I'll ever be over Noah, she doesn't have to face this alone. I'll be there if she lets me, every step of the way.
"Do you know about Faye?"
"We know about Faye and the roommate," I tell her. "We knew before you mentioned them earlier. I feel like I've been trying to get to you all damn day. I never should've left in the first place."
"What is this?" she asks again, referencing the cut on my cheek with tender fingers.
"A warning to stay away from you," I tell her, knowing I can't lie to her.
"Are you going to listen?"
My head is shaking before she finishes her sentence.
"Are you going to make that difficult for me?"
She huffs a laugh but then winces from the pain. "Do you want me to?"
I shake my head. "I'll fight for you, baby, but remember I'm fucking old. I'd rather not have to just for the sake of it."
"I don't want to go to the hospital," she says once we're on the road.
"It's not an option," I tell her. "As much as I want to get you alone and hold you in my arms, your health is too important. A quick check and we can find a place to crash."
There's no way she's going back to her house anytime soon.
"I need to speak with William," she says, but it doesn't sound like a conversation she's happy about having.
I can only imagine what's going through her head with everything that was revealed and what she went through today. My heart aches to take the pain and trauma from her .
The quick trip to the hospital turned into four hours of monitoring for a head injury by the hospital staff. She has bumps and bruises from falling, but other than that and the gnarly headache she'll have for a few days, she's okay.
Physically, she's mostly good, but I worry about the emotional side of it, wondering as I open the door to the hotel room if I shouldn't try and find a professional for her to speak with. I can comfort her, and assure her that I'm here for her, but I can't fix it. I know a therapist can't fix it either. This is just something she has to work through but I don't want to fuck her up even more by saying the wrong thing.
"Do you have—"
"The headache is mostly gone. It's more of a dull ache, and only hurts when I press my fingers to it," she says, lifting her hand to her forehead.
The bruise there is massive along with the accompanying goose egg, and I know she's going to freak a little when she sees it for the first time in the mirror.
"That's not what I was going to ask," I tell her with a soft smile, closing us into the hotel room.
Exhaustion coats me like a second skin, and I know she has to be just as tired, but showers will be required before we can go to sleep. With washrags provided by the hospital, I worked to wipe most of the blood from her skin, but there's only so much you can do in a triage bay.
"Sorry," she whispers. "I'm just so tired."
"Same. Let's shower."
She breathes a sigh of relief as if this is the best plan in the world.
I know her back is bruised from the fall but seeing it completely without clothing when I help pull the hospital-provided scrub top off of her makes me wince.
"You are going to be sore for a while," I mutter, gently letting the tip of one finger trace the purple and nearly black bruise on her right shoulder blade .
"I feel like I got run over by a truck," she says as she works down the scrub bottoms.
I strip quickly, turning on the shower and making sure the water is warm enough before helping her step over the side of the tub.
"I didn't think to stop and get different shampoo, conditioner, and soap," I say pointing to the prefilled dispenser on the wall.
"It's fine," she says, once again grimacing in pain when she lifts her hand toward the shampoo.
"Lean your head back."
She groans, the sound affecting literally every inch of my body when I help her lean her head back and soak her hair with warm water.
She clings to me, hands on my hips as I run shampoo-covered hands through her hair.
I wash it twice because that's what it takes before the run-off water isn't tinged pink.
Next, I condition her hair before soaping up my hands with body wash and running them all over her body, careful of where I touch and how much pressure I use.
Once she's rinsed and stepping out, I make quick work of getting clean.
I fight the urge to help her dry off as I dry myself. She isn't helpless, and I don't want her to feel like she is, but it's so fucking hard to watch her struggle and not step in. I don't know where the line is, and we haven't really had a discussion about what happens going forward. I'm fearful of her telling me she isn't interested or trying to push me away if I come on too strong.
Tears fill her eyes, and I can tell she's trying to fight them as she angles her face toward the ceiling.
"Tell me what's wrong," I urge.
"How do I ever go back to that house?"
"You don't have to," I assure her.
"I don't have any clothes, Eddie. I don't sleep naked."
"Sweetheart," I say, cupping her face. "I have an overnight bag, and you're welcome to anything in it."
"You just carry around an overnight bag?"
I shrug. "I've been on the move my entire life. I always have a go-bag. There are some T-shirts in there. Let's get you one."
"William wants me in DC with him," she says when we walk toward the bed.
She used my phone to call her brother and although I could hear her side of the conversation, I wasn't privileged to his.
"Is that what you want to do?" I ask, pulling a T-shirt from my bag for her and a pair of boxer briefs for myself.
I pull on my briefs and then help her with the shirt when it becomes clear that lifting her arms over her head is painful.
I climb into bed and open my arms to her. She turns off the bedside lamp before crawling slowly into my arms, struggling for a moment to get comfortable before settling against my chest.
I feel the tears from her eyes on my skin not a minute later.
"I don't have much to offer you, being a former fed, but from the sounds of it, I'm not unemployed. So that's a plus. Life with Cerberus won't look like anything you've ever experienced before, but I'd like you to consider it. You don't have to do a single thing alone, Cora. I'll be here as long as you'll have me."
"East Tennessee?" she whispers.
"Yeah," I say, knowing I'll have to have a very long conversation with both Hemlock and Kincaid about how things will work going forward.
"I love the mountains," she whispers, tears still leaking from her eyes.