Chapter Twenty-one #2
The bed began to squeak, the only noise above their whispers, their sighs. She shushed him. Twice. The whole neighborhood could hear them and he wouldn’t give a shit.
Cujo lifted higher above her, the angle changing and he brushed up hard against her clit. Her breasts were crushed under his chest. Both hands gripped her ass now, holding her close, spreading her wide as he pounded into her.
The way she clenched against him, the way she breathed his name like he was her fucking salvation had him seconds away from coming, and he wasn’t going there alone.
He thrust harder, faster, until her tremors turned into full-blown orgasm.
Drea bit his shoulder roughly as she exploded around him.
He felt her nails score across his shoulders as she shuddered in delightful waves and he joined her in his own release.
Cujo rolled them onto his back and tightened his arms around her. He pulled the covers over her and kissed her.
“Every time, gorgeous. It’s fucking unbelievable.”
Drea smiled and tucked her head into his neck. “It might be the only thing we agree on.”
* * *
Cujo let out a soft snore, and Drea pulled the comforter over her mouth to stifle the giggle. She’d never noticed him do that before, and it was reassuring that he wasn’t as perfect as he appeared. The little flaw was positively endearing.
Sex, especially epically great sex with Cujo, usually left her tired.
But there was too much in her head. Any attempt she’d made at processing what was going on failed.
In the morning, she was going to talk to Cujo and see if she could persuade him to hand the laptop straight over to Carter or Lopes.
Guilt wracked her. She’d put Evelyn in harm’s way. Twice. Once by not being there when the abduction first happened, and twice by informing Don of Evelyn’s whereabouts. How could she have been so foolish?
Still, in spite of everything, the story still intrigued her.
Evelyn, Gilliam, Mike, and Walter where ordinary people, just like she was, yet they risked their lives to make a difference.
And the pieces of the puzzle called to her.
While undercover work was probably not for her, following the leads of the story, making the connections, and networking with people had been challenging … and fun.
Cujo snored again, rolling so he faced her in the half-light from the window. He reached for her in his sleep, and she allowed him to pull her close.
He’d earned his rest. Listening to Cujo and his mom talk had been heartbreaking. So much pain had radiated from both of them that Drea had wanted to hug them both. She prayed they decided their relationship was salvageable and worth the effort.
They had a chance to start over, an opportunity she’d never get with her mom, and one she realized she desperately wanted. Her mom’s illness had ripped that away from them.
Drea looked at the alarm clock. Three thirty. She debated getting out of bed to make some hot milk.
A low thud sounded from the living room. Drea turned in the dark to face the direction it came from. A car drove by outside, but there were no other noises. Cujo’s home was still new to her. It was likely nothing, but given what was going on, she needed to be sure.
She slipped out of Cujo’s arms and moved to the edge of the bed. The wood flooring was cool beneath her feet as she stood. Quietly, she crept to the door to listen.
Drea held her breath. Her heart pounded frantically.
Thud. It sounded like … Oh shit, a drawer being closed.
Silently, she hurried back to the bed and shook Cujo awake.
“What—”
Drea clamped her hand over Cujo’s mouth and leaned down to his ear. “There is someone in the house.”
Cujo’s eyes opened wide as he sat up. He reached across to the chair and grabbed his shorts. Drea grabbed for her phone and dialed 911. Quietly, she told them Cujo’s address and that they believed the intruder was armed.
“Please stay on the line, ma’am, an officer is on his way,” the operator responded.
Suddenly aware of being naked, she looked around for something to wear. The idea of facing this in the nude just compounded her fear. Cujo reached over to the chair again, and presented her with his hoodie. He helped her pull it over her head while keeping the phone close.
A floorboard creaked, then stopped suddenly. “Kitchen,” Cujo mouthed quietly. He leaned over the side of the bed and produced his sneakers. Her shoes were over the other side of the room. Dammit.
The clock on her phone told her only three minutes had passed since she called the police. Each one of those minutes had felt like an hour. Fear coursed through her, a fierce, biting agony that caused her hands to shake.
Every now and then, the operator would ask if she was still there, if she was okay, but Drea kept the responses to a minimum.
“Stay here,” Cujo mouthed. He stood and crept toward the door.
Oh my God, was he going to go face them? She waved her arm to get his attention and shook her head, making the universal symbol of a gun with her fingers.
A floorboard creaked on the stairs drawing their attention to the door. Somebody was heading up toward them. Cujo stayed back against the wall. Drea pulled her knees up to her chest near the headboard.
The bedroom door burst open and Drea screamed, dropping her phone, sending it skittering across the wooden floor.
The man she recognized as Mike MacArthur’s killer, the man she thought of as Rondo, burst into the room.
Cujo launched from behind, grabbing him around the neck.
The gun he carried went off, the bullet narrowly missing Drea as it tore into the headboard, sending splinters flying.
Cujo looked over at her to make sure she was okay, and Rondo took advantage of the move to land a punch on his jaw. By the time he recovered, Drea felt the cold, hard barrel of a gun pressed against her temple.
A second person rushed into the room. Gun drawn. Snake.
“Andrea?” Snake said, looking straight at her, then at Rondo.
There was no hope. Mike MacArthur’s killer was pointing a gun right at her, his pronounced brow and enlarged nose and lips even more disturbing in the shadows.
“Take the gun away from her head, you asshole,” Cujo said harshly.
“Where’s the laptop?” Rondo growled, his voice deep and thick like treacle.
“Take the gun away and I’ll tell you.” Cujo’s hands were fisted at his sides, and his chest heaved furiously.
“Like you have a fucking choice. We can kill you both and find it anyway.” Rondo laughed, a sickening sound.
“Closet, behind you. Top shelf under the sweaters.” Anger roiled the air around Cujo. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth.
Please, God. Where are the sirens? By Drea’s reckoning, it had been about six minutes. Would the police rush to this neighborhood?
Snake, gun in hand, opened the closet and retrieved the laptop.
“Please, let us go,” Drea begged. “We have nothing to do with this. You know that, right?”
“Shut the fuck up,” said Rondo. “Let’s clean up this mess and get out of here.”
She thought of her mom, and looked across at Cujo. Her bottom lip trembled and she bit it. Tears started to fall. This wasn’t the way it was meant to end. Her life had barely started. This couldn’t be it.
She heard the click of Snake’s gun and closed her eyes.
No.
* * *
“What the fuck?” Rondo yelled.
“Put it down.” She heard Snake say. Drea opened her eyes to see Snake’s gun at Rondo’s temple. Relief overwhelmed her. Cujo looked angrily at Snake and cracked his neck to one side. She was going to be sick, violently sick.
Did he want the laptop for himself? Why would he help them like that?
“You’re dead,” Rondo spat as he placed the gun on the floor. “I’ll find you wherever the fuck you hide.”
“Good luck with that,” Snake said, kicking the gun under the bed. “Andrea, take the laptop and get out of here.” He placed it on the comforter and she grabbed it.
Why was he giving it to her? Was this some weird, fucked-up game they were playing? Make us think we are going free then kill us anyway?
Drea edged off the bed, away from Rondo, who was still focused on her. She immediately felt safer.
“They’ll come for you, Andrea Caron,” Rondo threatened.
It’s an empty threat. She repeated the thought over and over. Hopefully with the contents of the laptop, and the testimonies that Evelyn, Cujo, and herself would be able to give, it would end tonight.
Drea grabbed her jeans and a pair of sandals. She desperately wanted a bra, but there was no way she was getting naked in front of them. Sleeping naked is never happening again. As an afterthought, she grabbed Cujo’s phone from his night table.
Rondo lashed out at Snake with his elbow, catching him off guard.
They fell violently against each other. The sound of a gunshot echoed around the room.
It was difficult to tell if anybody was hurt until Rondo let out a roar.
He thrashed into the closet door, then the side table, sending the lamp crashing to the floor.
Snake stood and Drea could see blood oozing through Rondo’s denim-clad calf.
Cujo grabbed her hand and headed for the door, but she halted. “Why are you helping us?”
“Does it matter?” Cujo asked, tugging on her arm. “Let’s go.”
“Because you remind me of someone,” Snake replied, his eyes and gun still trained on Rondo.
“Who?”
“Fuck sakes, Andrea, does it matter? I had a daughter born on the same date as you. Noticed it when I checked your license.”
“Where is she?”
Snake shook his head dejectedly. “No idea. Lost track of her around twelve.”
Shit. Was it possible to feel compassion for a killer?
Rondo suddenly reached his hand under the bed and Drea realized immediately what he was going for. The other gun.
“Run, Andrea!” Snake shouted.
Cujo dragged her from the room. They raced down the stairs and hurried to the front door. “You okay, Drea?” he yelled over his shoulder as he grabbed the keys off the hall table.
“Just keep going,” she replied breathlessly.
He threw the front door open, and in the distance Drea could hear sirens. They must be heading their way, but there was no way she wanted to just stand around on the street to see if Rondo or the police got to them first.
Another gunshot burst through the quiet evening from within the house, shattering her thoughts. Rondo or Snake? Should it even matter?
Cujo already had the truck door open. “Fuck, Drea,” he said, grabbing her by the hips. In an insane display of raw strength, he picked her up around the waist and threw her into the truck. She scooched across the seat to make room and he immediately joined her.
The truck started with a powerful roar as Cujo threw it into reverse. The wheels spun on the driveway as he backed onto the road in a wide arc.
There were few cars about this early in the morning, and Cujo took full advantage. He sped down roads, overtook the few vehicles they came across, and made some questionable red light decisions.
Using Cujo’s phone, Drea quickly dialed 911.
She explained how there were possibly two men, both armed, and at least one of them injured, in Brody’s house.
Drea wasn’t sure what the absolute definition of fleeing a crime scene was, but she told the operator that they had run for their lives and were now on the way to the police station with the item the two men were looking for.
Next, Drea called Detective Carter.
“Hello? Drea,” he said roughly. “You okay?”
“Not really,” she answered. She was running out of adrenaline-infused energy, the effects of the night finally catching up with her.
“Where are you?” he asked, his voice heavy with concern. She looked across at Cujo. His jaw was clenched and he didn’t look at her. She reached out and tickled the scruff on his cheeks, relieved when she saw a hint of a smile.
“On my way to your office. Can you and Lopes meet us there?”
“I’m on my way. Do I need to send cars out to you, Drea?”
“We called nine one one already. I’ll explain when we get there. We’ll be there in…” She looked at Cujo.
“Five minutes,” he said.
“You coming in with Mr. Matthews?” The change in his voice sapped the last of her energy.
“I am. I’ll see you soon, Detective.” The use of his title was harsh but necessary, for both men.
A quick call to Detective Lopes ensured he would meet them at Carter’s office.
When she finally hung up, they were close to the station and Cujo had slowed down.
“What a fucking night, Shortcake.” He reached for her hand, and as always he kissed the back of it before placing it on his thigh. Touching him, being connected to him through what they’d shared, made the moment all the more intimate.
“Who do you think fired that shot we heard?”
“I don’t know, and I can’t say I care. They’re both assholes.”
Of course he was right. They’d killed Mike MacArthur, possibly killed Walter Tobias, attempted to kill Evelyn, and then tonight. Fuck. But Snake had shown them an amazing act of mercy.
“Look, Drea,” he said gruffly, his voice wrecked with emotion. “I realized something back there and I just need to say it before we get into the police station.” He took a breath and kissed her hand again, an endearing nervous action that made her smile.
“What’s that Brody?”
“I know you have stuff you want to work through. But don’t do it without me.
Live with me. Grow with me. Let’s figure it out together.
Because I swear to God, when the bullet went by your head, I was too scared to look in case you were gone.
” He choked, and coughed to clear his throat. “Just … be with me, Drea. Please.”
After everything they had gone through, nothing seemed insurmountable any more. They were stronger together than they were apart. It had wrecked her to see him fight for her, for them. To be physically hurt to give them both a chance of surviving.
“I want that, too, Brody. You can’t fill the holes for me, but I think I know the difference now. Somehow, around you, I feel like I can fill them on my own. You give me the confidence to do that. When it gets hard, right?” she said, tears burning her eyes.
Cujo parked outside the police station. He turned in his seat, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck. His lips brushed hers, a kiss so potent she shivered.
“Exactly, Shortcake.”