Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Kemp
It didn’t usually work out that my kid and my job woke me up at the same time, but one very early Saturday morning in late January, they did.
I was sleeping lightly, which was all I seemed to do anymore, when I heard Oliver stirring and babbling over the monitor. I turned my lamp on low and rolled out of bed, determined to get to him before he tuned up.
After changing Oliver’s diaper, I plucked the little chunk up from the changing table and headed to the kitchen for a bottle. We walked by the dogs, who lifted their heads but had learned long ago it was not feeding time. They had two modes: Lab-energy and asleep.
I was mastering the art of distraction when it came to Oliver’s feeding time, usually preventing him from reaching the nuclear stage before the bottle was ready. He especially loved when I made funny noises with my mouth.
Formula mixed, I carried him to my bed, where I’d been doing middle-of-the-night feedings.
Maybe it went against what experts advised, but until Oliver was a big crawler, I liked snuggling in my king-size bed with him, with pillows stacked on his other side.
He often went back to sleep as soon as I removed his bottle, which allowed me to drift right off too.
This time, however, I’d barely gotten the pillows stacked and Oliver positioned just right when a call came through from the dispatcher regarding a possible break in.
Fire and medical went on every emergency call in case of injury.
Tonight the sheriff’s deputy was twenty minutes out, so we’d likely be first on scene.
My adrenaline pumped as I set the bottle on the nightstand, pulled on my clothes, and assured my son I’d have Anna there in thirty seconds to give him his bottle.
I knocked softly on Anna’s door. She called out in a drowsy voice, “Come in.”
“Hey,” I said in a low voice as I opened the door and stepped inside. Bright moonlight filtered in around the blinds so I could see her eyes pop open. “A call came in, so I gotta go. Oliver’s in my bed. I was just about to give him his bottle—”
Before I could say more, he let out a cry.
Anna threw her blankets off, rolled out of bed, and stood. I didn’t have time to waste, but I couldn’t miss that her sleep tank was twisted, exposing half of her breast and a peek at her nipple before she adjusted it. My body reacted in an instant, and my brain went blank.
She rubbed her hands down her face and bent over to grab socks from the floor. My stupefied brain allowed my gaze to fall on her ass, barely covered by boxers, as she did, lighting up my imagination and my need for her.
“The bottle’s made?” she asked, standing first on one foot, then the other, as she pulled the socks on.
Her question was enough to yank me out of stunned mode. “Yeah.” My voice came out gravelly. I cleared my throat as we hurried out of her room. “Nightstand. Thanks, Anna. See you when I get back.”
I watched her hurry into my room. Then I jogged out of the house myself, trying to get my brain to switch from turned on as hell to emergency mode.
I couldn’t get the sight of her dark nipple and creamy breast out of my head. For the hundredth time this week, I questioned my decision to ask her to move in. This forced closeness was going to be the death of me.
A few days ago, I’d come home to find her fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel as she went from the laundry room back to her bedroom. The towel had barely, barely reached low enough to cover the lower crease of her butt cheek, but my imagination filled in the blank spaces.
Another day I’d discovered three bras hanging to dry in the laundry room. If they’d belonged to my sister, I would’ve thought nothing of them. And maybe if they were cotton and boring, I still would’ve been able to ignore them.
But they were Anna’s, and they were a seductive, dainty mix of lace and silk, one coral, one black, and one apple green.
They’d had me dying for a fashion show where she modeled all three so I could choose my favorite.
Or second favorite, rather, as my first choice would be to slip them off and admire her naked body.
I swore out loud and shook my head as I pulled into the station’s lot at the same time as Owen Engel. We hauled ass inside to grab our turnout gear and get to the scene as soon as we had enough responders.
“It’s a break in?” I asked Fitz, the captain on duty, as we climbed into the truck.
“At the bakery,” he confirmed. “Deputy’s en route.”
I could think of more lucrative businesses to rob.
Approximately four minutes later, we headed out, lights and sirens off in case the intruder was still inside. We followed the ambulance to the alley behind the bakery and parked a few shops down, then exited the truck.
We took a backseat on calls like this, as law enforcement would be the ones to secure and sweep the scene. Our job was to assist as necessary and treat any injuries.
Captain Fitz located Marko Wright—the large, dreadlocked owner of Sugar who’d called in the emergency—waiting a safe distance from his shop. We headed that way to get more info.
“Did you go inside?” Captain Fitz asked him.
“I saw the door gaping open as soon as I got out of my car. I called nine-one-one right away and came over here. I don’t know what kind of lunatic thinks breaking into a small-town bakery is worthwhile.”
“Well, your donuts are top-notch,” the captain said. “But your prices are pretty reasonable. I’d think walking in the front door and paying for them would be a better plan. Have you seen anyone come out?”
“Nothing. I haven’t heard anything either.”
“Who closed up last night?” Captain Fitz asked.
“It was one of my high schoolers,” Marko said. “Very responsible kid.”
“Well, you stay over here. Deputies will be here any minute.”
The captain went over to fill in the EMTs just as the sheriff himself pulled up and hopped out. He conferred with the captain, asked Marko some questions, and said he was going to investigate the perimeter while he waited for backup so they could secure the place.
Because there wasn’t any immediate sign of danger or injury, our job was to stand down and do whatever the deputy needed us to do. He had Reggie Harrelson, our driver tonight, go around to keep an eye on the main door to ensure the intruder didn’t escape that way.
Not two minutes later, a deputy pulled up and braked hard, then jumped out and went to work.
As the two officers went in the back door with weapons drawn and announced their presence, tension soared. The next few minutes could go wrong in a heartbeat, so we stood out of the way, ready for anything.
I braced myself for gunshots or yells, some kind of action, but the deputies were quiet as the minutes ticked by, making me wonder if someone had jumped them.
Then Sheriff Lopez exited the building, his body lacking any tension or alarm, to the extent that he was…
laughing? Deputy Roberts came out right behind him, shaking his head.
Captain Fitz straightened, shot me a WTF look, then stepped toward the sheriff.
“The things you see in this job…” Sheriff Lopez said.
He took his time walking toward the captain. Curious, I moved closer to hear what they’d found.
The sheriff spoke into his two-way radio. “Dispatch, the scene is secure. The intruder is not a threat. Repeat, not a threat. Intruder is a white long-haired llama. Esmerelda, I believe. In a deep sleep. Possibly overdosed on sugar. Bakery display cases sustained damage and are half empty.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the connection. Then the dispatcher repeated the facts with a giant question mark in her tone.
“Ten-four,” Sheriff Lopez said into the radio, then turned his attention to the rest of us first responders. “Anyone feel confident in verifying that the llama is Dr. Holloway’s Esmerelda?”
Lucy Whitmore, one of the EMTs, stepped forward, saying she’d helped Ben capture her a few weeks ago. She and Marko followed the sheriff inside.
Captain Fitz and I exchanged a dumbfounded look and a head shake.
“I think I’ve officially seen it all now,” he said.
“We should get photos,” Owen said. “Permission to enter, sir?” he asked Captain Fitz.
“Just stay out of Lopez’s way,” the captain said.
I couldn’t get in the truck and go back home without seeing it myself. I followed Owen in, with Reggie behind me.
The lights were on now, and the kitchen was neat and tidy, with nothing appearing to be out of place. I walked through it to the doorway of the front room and poked my head in.
Even though I had an idea of what to expect, the sight of a full-grown llama stretched out on the floor behind the counter, her neck extended and resting on the ground, shocked me.
The place was in shambles, with crumbs and rainbow sprinkles everywhere, including in the llama’s fur, making her look a little like the cookie version of herself.
Trays had been yanked out of the display case, and some hung haphazardly; others were scattered over the floor.
The single undisturbed section was on the far end and looked to be full of chocolate confections.
Either the llama hadn’t gotten that far, or she didn’t like chocolate.
If llamas were anything like dogs, that was a lucky thing.
I looked back at the animal, watching closely to make sure she was breathing. Her body rose and fell regularly, reassuring me.
“Ben’s on his way with the llamamobile,” the sheriff’s deputy said with a straight face as he came back in. To Marko, who was standing to the side with his hands over his mouth like he’d never witnessed such horror, he said, “You going to press charges?”
Marko straightened and removed his hands from his face. “I don’t think so as long as Ben covers the damage. This llama has sold so many of my cookies in the past year that I can’t hardly be mad.”
“We’ll hold off on cleanup until Ben gets here and checks her out to make sure she’s okay,” Sheriff Lopez said. “Hopefully she’ll be able to walk out of here; otherwise we’ve got ourselves a different kind of challenge.”
Since there was nothing else our fire crew could do, we headed outside toward the truck.
“That was the hairiest situation I’ve seen on this job yet,” Owen joked.
Reggie groaned at the pun. “This is a crumby job some nights.”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said as she headed toward the ambulance. “Some nights it can be pretty sweet.”
I shook my head, chuckling.
“You okay, Essex?” Reggie asked me. “You’re quiet tonight.”
“I’m good. Just spread a little thin lately.”
“How’s that boy of yours?” he asked.
“Growing,” I said. “All he does is eat.”
“That’s a good thing,” Reggie, who had a little girl, said. “Is he crawling yet?”
“Not yet but I think he’s getting ideas,” I said.
“You better rest up now because once they get mobile…” He shook his head like I was in for it.
“So I’ve heard.” I wanted my son to hit milestones at the appropriate times, but I was in no rush for him to crawl. I could barely keep up now.
We drove back to the station with a minimal number of cookie-thief jokes, ensured the truck was ready for the next call—which didn’t take much since we hadn’t used any equipment—and made our way to our own vehicles.
It was a few minutes till five when I pulled into my driveway. The neighborhood was quiet. The house looked peaceful. I wasn’t sure which I was more hyped about—seeing Anna in that tank top again, if she was still up with Oliver, or crashing for a couple more hours of sleep.
I made my way through the house, the only sound the dogs’ collars as they stirred to make sure it was me. A low light came from my bedroom, so I went there first and glanced in. What I saw halted me in my steps and punched me in the chest.
Anna and Oliver were sound asleep, her back to me and her hand on his chubby thigh, the empty bottle on the nightstand. An unfamiliar serenity came over me, and for an instant, I felt the rightness of having two of the people I loved the most in one cozy place.
I quietly walked around the bed, moved the pillows protecting Oliver, and picked him up as gently as I could, trying not to wake him. He snorted once, then relaxed against my chest, showing total trust, shooting warmth right through me.
I carried him back to his room. Before laying him in his crib, I pressed a kiss to his little head and breathed in his baby scent.
As I put him to bed, I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t wake up. Another snort, a stretch of his legs, and he turned his head the other way, his eyes never opening.
I tiptoed out of the room.
Back in my doorway, I took in the sight of Anna in more detail, noting the covers she’d pulled up to her waist and the strip of soft-looking skin between the blanket and her tank. Her silky hair spilled every which way over my pillow.
The smartest thing to do would be to wake her up, thank her for feeding Oliver, and tell her I’d see her in a few hours. But I didn’t do the smartest thing.
I switched the lamp off, went around the bed again, and pulled off my shirt and pants, leaving me in just my boxer briefs.
Then I crawled in beside her.