14. Ledger
Ledger
How do I find a body in the vast land of Paxton County?
There’s a lot of land here that goes untouched.
It’s a needle in a haystack, but it’s something.
It’s enough for me to go off of and pull Will from trying to go undercover.
It’s the best way I know how to protect my people and get the job done.
Or it’s throwing spaghetti at the wall hoping something sticks, because it assumes there’s a body to find and evidence to support who did it.
The moment I got into the station, Daisy fills me in on arrests from last night, two for DUIs, both alcohol and drug related. We’ve nearly doubled arrests this year, and there’s only one explanation — the Kensingtons.
After that revelation, I call Will and Luke in to explain most of what Shiloh told me last night, and they’ve been quiet since.
Luke runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, boss, that’s not much to go on.”
“And if we brought Grey in for questioning, he’ll clam up like a high school boy tryin’ to get to second base,” Will says.
“Are you speaking from experience, Will?” Luke grins.
“Maybe you should ask your mom.”
“You’ll never be my daddy,” Luke says dramatically.
“Guys,” I sigh. I swear it’s like I’m at home and Fletcher and Cooper are about to choke each other out.
Will clears his throat. “Let’s say we found a body, then what? Do we have the time or the funding it would take to get the evidence we need? And would it bring us back to Kensington at all?” he asks.
“I don’t know, and none of us will if we don’t try,” I grunt.
“I still think turning Kate is our best bet because there’s no way her brother will talk,” Will says.
“I have to agree with him,” Luke says, leaning back in his chair.
“Fine, while you two work that angle, I’ll find a body,” I tell them, frustrated, but they’re right.
“I think it’s a waste of time at the moment. Going after Kate is the workable angle,” Will says.
“I’ll think about it,” I mumble, even though they’re entirely right. I don’t have much time to waste, and searching for a body that might be scattered across thousands of acres isn’t fast enough, even if that person deserves to be found.
Will and Luke sit there, and I stare at them. “What are you two buffoons doing? Get back to work,” I command and wave my hand, telling them to get the hell out.
Will closes the door behind him, and I spin around in my seat facing the wall.
Kensington has been getting away with murder for a long time. I’m convinced he’s bound to mess up or already has. I just have to find it and make sure Shiloh is protected on all fronts.
By the time I get home Shiloh isn’t here, but a few hours later she rolls in like the tornado she is and waves to me as she beeline’s to her room, and I can’t help myself as I stare at her ass in those jeans. She must have had an early shift at the Wooden Cowboy.
I shouldn’t be looking at my wife’s ass, let alone imagining her sassy mouth in places it shouldn’t be. She annoy’s the hell out of me, but I like her, and it’s getting harder and harder to resist the pull she has on me.
I’ve even dreamt about her lips on mine — I’m pathetic.
Music plays in her room with the volume too high.
Giving up on my book, I decide to grab my clean clothes from the dryer and get them folded up. I don’t like to leave them sitting, and now that Shiloh is here, I don’t want her to have to wait if she needs the machines.
I lean into the front loader, tossing the load into my basket and drop it, heading straight for Shiloh’s door as a headache starts to bloom.
“Shiloh!” I yell, and beat on her door.
She doesn’t answer. Probably because her music is too loud.
“Shiloh! Get out here right now!”
The music stops, and the door flies open, making her hair blow back with the motion. She stares at me with wide eyes and pink cheeks.
“What? What’s wrong?”
I’m doing my very best to rein in my voice, but I’m about to lose it. I can be very patient, but my patience is running thin. “Do you know how to do laundry?”
She frowns. “Um, yes, what’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, crossing her arms.
“Follow me,” I grumble starting back to the laundry room.
“Why?”
I stop leaning my head back, asking God for strength, and a lot more patience for this hurricane of a woman.
“Just come here,” I grunt and wait next to the dryer while she catches up.
“What is the big — oh, shit,” she says, looking down at my laundry that is now all some hue of pink because of the bright pink sock lying within the clothes. It must have been left behind because she didn’t check.
“Yes, oh, shit is right, now my shirt, you know the uniform I wear to be a sheriff is tinged pink, yes, very serious.”
“Well, I’m sure pink looks amazing on you…” she says in a snappy voice.
“Why don’t you double check the dryer when you’re done?” I ask her.
“Who does that?” she asks.
“Me! I do! So this doesn’t happen!” I yell, gesturing to the laundry basket.
She huffs and crosses her arms. “You don’t have to be so … mad. You’re so particular about everything. I can’t keep up with it all,” she says flippantly.
I close my eyes, taking a long, deep breath.
“It’s not just this. You barely clean up after yourself.
You don’t put things back where you found them.
You keep reorganizing my kitchen, and you play music at all hours of the night,” I say, gesturing to her room.
“I feel like I’m cleaning up after you all the time, and it’s so loud I can barely think, let alone read a book! ”
“It’s too quiet in here, and who reads books anymore?” she says, lifting her chin.
“Me! I like reading, and I like it quiet!” I snap.
She makes a frustrated noise and puts her hands on her hips, eyeing me as if this is the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“Maybe it’s time you shake things up. Change isn’t bad,” she says, and the corner of her mouth is tipped up, and I can’t stop looking at those pouty pink lips.
I swear this woman is begging to fight with me. She just wants to get a rise out of me, and she hasn’t won … until now.
“You’re trying to make me crazy, aren't you?” I ask her.
Her brow tips up. “Is that what I’m trying to do?”
“Well, you’re doing something because … because you’re driving me crazy and…” I cut myself off. I don’t want to say something I don’t mean, and her expression isn’t amused anymore.
“You irritate me too, you know,” she rasps.
The air changes, and the tension I’ve felt between us is like a blanket, and it’s too warm, and it smells like her, tinged with sugar, and capped with whiskey.
“How could I possibly irritate you more than you bother me?” I ask her.
“For starters, walking around in those little shorts, showing off those ridiculous thighs, and…” she trails off, and I look down at my shorts.
I usually wear them to the gym, but it was warm today, and I didn’t want to wear sweatpants, and I prefer the seven-inch inseam. It doesn’t get in my way with squats.
“You’re annoyed … by my shorts?” I ask her.
She licks her lips before snagging her bottom one, and I become oddly aware of my heartbeat and the blood thrumming in my ears.
“I could say the same.” I toss back.
“You could,” she whispers.
My body acts before I do and takes a step toward her.
She lifts her chin, and her chest moves rapidly up and down.
What am I doing?
“And you’re always so decisive it’s irritating,” she says, her eyes searching mine.
“Most people would say that’s a good thing.”
“It’s okay to change your mind,” she snaps back.
“You’re right, it is.”
“And you’re so … you’re so observant. Sometimes people don’t want to know that things are obvious, you know? You could keep it to yourself.”
“Noted.” I take another step.
“And … and you don’t really tell me how you’re feeling, so I don’t really know what to do sometimes and …” she trails off and leans against the wall.
We’re nearly nose to nose, and I’m waiting, no begging her to tell me to buzz off, to get away from her, but she’s looking up at me with those pretty hazel eyes and that mouth begs to be devoured.
“And I don’t know if you’re feeling this too and —”
“Oh, I’m feeling it, Shy, but I’m not sure that I should,” I rasp.
“We are married, maybe … we could, you know, explore our options,” she says.
“Mhm, or we could just add lighter fluid to a bonfire.”
She nods quickly. “Yeah, or that,” she says breathlessly.
“I’m very frustrated with you, by the way, but I also really want to kiss you.”
“Ditto,” she rasps.
Her eyes search mine, and I’m begging my brain to make me stop, but I think it’s on board with this whole kissing my wife thing.
I’m powerless.
“Dammit, Shiloh, I have no business doing this,” I grumble and crash my mouth to hers.
It’s frustrated and needy, too much and not enough.
She whimpers against my lips, and I groan, seeking her tongue. Her small hands grasp the back of my neck, and her nails dig into my skin as she opens her mouth to me, sending goosebumps along my spine.
Our first kiss was only a taste comparatively because this is something else entirely.
Careful of her ribs, I squeeze her hips, and with our size difference, she struggles to meet every stroke of my tongue.
I dip lower, grabbing her face and savoring every brush of our mouths, holding on for as long as I can before oxygen becomes a necessity.
She pulls away before I do on a gasp, and I keep her in my hands. I don’t want to let her go yet.
Her lips are parted as she takes sharp inhales. Her warm breath puffs against my skin, and I lean in to take more. I need more, and then my phone rings.
Shiloh whines, and I look over her shoulder at my buzzing phone. “You better not answer that,” she rasps.
But it could be one of my guys, and they need me.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp, and kiss her nose before going to the kitchen.
She groans and I ignore it, picking up the phone. “We’re in,” Will says.
My stomach drops and it’s like a cold bucket of water was splashed over my head.
I sigh, rubbing my brow. The headache is coming back. “How?” I ask as Shiloh walks past me, and her door slams a moment later.
I groan silently, listening to Will.
“Kate took the bait. She said she talked to her dad, and he wants to meet.”
“Are you sure this isn’t a trap?” I ask him.
“We figure if it is, I’m a police officer, they have to assume people will wonder where I am. And on the chance that he is interested in hiring me, then everyone wins. I’ll have to keep up appearances at the station, but I can still feed him information.”
“Document it tomorrow and tell no one else.”
“Got it,” Will says.
“And will?”
“Yeah?”
“Please be careful,” I mumble.
“You worry too much. I’ve got this.”
I sigh. “Alright, thanks for the update.”
“No problem. Goodnight.”
“Night,” I grumble and set my phone on the stone.
I stare longingly down the hall, knowing the moment was broken because of me, and she’s probably regretting all of it.
Regret is not in my nature, and I don’t regret kissing her, but maybe I should be because we crossed a line and I don’t think I can go back.
The music starts up again, and I think it’s louder this time.
I sigh, listening to the pop tune. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it’s eight and I should tell her to turn it the hell down.
But I don’t. Instead, I wonder what’s going through her mind as it shifts from pop music to country, and what I can only call 90s rock, then to an artist I know well, Ella Langley.
The only reason I know anything about music is because Gracie and June wouldn’t stop playing it morning to night.
So I end up going to bed thinking about her lips, her warm body against mine, and Ella Langley’s voice to frame it all in, and I don’t say a word.