Chapter Twelve
RHYS
“THIS PLACE is a dump.” Agent Corbett says as he kicks a microwave dinner container away from the ratty reclining chair with beer cans stacked around it.
He’s right, the place is a dump. It belongs to Terrell, the guy who was stabbed the other night. We had to wait for a warrant to get inside the house, but it looks like someone has beat us to it.
The small two-bedroom is a rental just north of Tulsa in one of the lower-income communities. Some houses in the area are well taken care of, with flower gardens around the crumbling sidewalks and swings for kids in the front yard, but right next door might be a house with boards on the windows.
This house seems to be just a couple of steps away from having boards on the windows. The outside paint is peeling to reveal a different color of paint underneath, and the roof has a tarp over one side to keep rainwater from seeping through.
The inside smells like an ashtray and old cooking oil, and a greasy trail in the matted carpet shows the high-traffic areas. Dishes are piled in the kitchen sink, and under those is what looks like mold.
I don’t answer but walk by him to the hall to check out the bedrooms. Someone already cleared out the house before we could get here.
The card table in one bedroom is overturned with what looks like powder residue on the surface, and the closet door is open with boxes, magazines and clothes covering the floor from where they were pulled off the overhead shelf.
“We’ll need to process this room.” I say to Corbett, who is behind me. “It looks like he may have been mixing and packaging in this room.”
“On it, boss.” He turns to go to his car to get what he needs.
The only furniture in the other bedroom is a stained mattress and a box that was probably sitting next to it to be used as a table but is now on its side. The blanket that was on the mattress is on the other side of the room, and most of the clothes from the closet are on the floor.
“We won’t find anything here. If there was anything, it’s already been taken.” I want to hit something, but I turn and calmly walk from the room.
Sanders is in the bathroom looking through the drawers as I walk by in the hall. There’s still tension there. He’s been avoiding me all day, but I don’t give a shit. He deserved what he got.
I’d not worked with Sanders before this task force, I chose most of the guys on the team, but Sanders was highly recommended so I added him. I’m still trying to figure out why he was recommended.
“Anything?” I ask.
He doesn’t look up as he pushes a drawer closed with the tip of his pen. “No, I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
Fucking baby.
Gomez is on a stool, taking the return vent off the wall as I walk by him.
The tiny laundry room at the end of the hall has a water heater with a rusted pan under it, an unplugged space heater in the corner, and an oscillating fan with the front cover missing.
Next to the back door is an overflowing garbage can.
“Hey, Gomez.” I say over my shoulder.
“Yeah, boss.” He yells from the hall.
“Have someone look at this room, more specifically the water heater.”
“Will do.” He yells.
When we got the warrant this morning, I knew the house had probably already been tossed, but I still had a spark of hope of finding something concrete that could tie Terrell to Jessup or Ghost.
If he was cutting the heroin he bought from Jessup with fentanyl from Ghost, and then selling it in their backyard, there are ten different ways he was fucking himself over.
And it got him killed.
My thoughts go back to the guy holding a syringe at Ms. Harlow’s house.
What the fuck was in that syringe? Was he trying to knock her out to take her somewhere, or was that supposed to kill her?
Considering what could have happened that night while I slept on the couch is like a boulder sitting on me, making it hard to breathe.
I glance at my right forearm, which still has surface scratches from her fingernails when she was trying to get away from me during her panic. The little minx has fight in her, that’s for sure.
When she walked into the kitchen this morning in her tiny tank top and shorts, I almost had a heart attack. I tried not to ogle her, but her fucking nipples were peaked, and no matter how hard my mind was telling me not to look, my dick said fuck that and I looked.
When my mind started to wonder if her nipples are the same rosy color as her lips, or what they might feel like on my tongue, I had to squash it quick.
Her hair was messy, and her eyes were still a little sleep swollen, but she was sexy as fuck. It took more concentration to keep my dick from getting hard than when I took my first jump in airborne, when focus was a matter of life or death.
That little reach into the cabinet, the arch of her back and the curve of her ass, forced me to look away before I lost the battle with my dick. She’s just as hot from the back as she is from the front.
I don’t know what I was thinking taking her to my home, because I’m in fucking trouble.
Later that evening, when I get home, Swan is in the office, and the house is quiet. I set the boxes in my hand on the dining table, which has a new vase of fresh daisies in the center, and look over my kitchen that doesn’t look like my kitchen anymore.
The first thing I notice is the new expensive Keurig on the counter next to the refrigerator, no doubt purchased as some form of punishment. Next to that is a flat of coffee pods and a box of cocoa. A loaf of bread is next to the microwave. I don’t eat bread.
A quick look in the cabinet and the refrigerator reveals all the foods that I don’t eat: peanut butter and jelly, fruity cereal, several bottles of coffee creamer, whole milk, string cheese, chips, and so many other things that scream heart attack.
I look at the vase of flowers again, and I try to remember the last time I had fresh flowers in my home. I’m pretty sure it was when I was a kid living at home with my parents. My mom loved fresh flowers. A familiar warmth moves over me, and I don’t hide my smile.
“Oh good, you’re here. I might get to eat dinner with my wife tonight.” Swan says as he comes around the corner.
Putting my boss’s face back on, I lift a brow. “It looks like you helped her shop today.”
“Yeah, she asked me what your favorite dinner is, but I told her the only time I’d never seen you sit down to eat was when you had chicken and vegetables, and that you’re a health nut, so...” He shrugs his shoulders. “I believe she muttered the word ‘gross’ and didn’t get you anything.”
Was she thinking about making me dinner?
Not responding to his comment, I ask, “How’d it go today?”
“Well, she walked around the house a hundred times, she looked at the exercise room and wrinkled her nose, she pulled out some of your books and flipped through the pages, she sat in the window seat and stared outside for a long time.” He shrugs his shoulders again and cocks his brow.
“She’s fucking bored, and I think she’s about to lose her shit. ”
About an hour ago, I got a notification on my phone that the back door had been opened, and I watched her go out to the poolside and dip her feet before she sat in one of the loungers. She’s been there ever since.
Looking out the picture window, I can see her profile on the chair. A pang of guilt moves through me because she’s stuck. I would be fucking bored, too.
Without looking away from her, I say to Swan, “Okay, go have dinner with your wife.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm.” He swings his bag over his shoulder and turns to the front door but stops. “Am I coming back here tomorrow?”
“I might give you a break and call one of the other guys. I’ll let you know.”
“Ten-four, boss.” He looks out the window and tips his head in her direction. “Good luck.”
After locking the front door, I grab the two small boxes from the table and walk outside.
She doesn’t look my way, her gaze is on the clouds.
The orange glow of the setting sun is shining on her face, making her skin radiant.
Every time I see her in a new way, I’m taken aback by how beautiful she is.
Her legs are bent up on the lounger, and her hands are clasped over her hips. She’s wearing the little linen shorts that look like a skirt I saw her in a few days ago at her house, and they’ve fallen back because of the raised angle of her knees to expose all her legs up to the bend in her hips.
She has on another knitted or crocheted top that ties between her tits but hangs open to expose her stomach and the little diamond bellybutton piercing.
Her hair is half up and laying in silky waves against the lounger under her. Even when I sit in the lounger next to her, she doesn’t say anything or look my way.
She’s pissed.
Setting the boxes next to me, I take a deep breath as I rest my elbows on my knees and clasp my hands. “Look, I know this sucks…”
I don’t get to finish what I’m saying before she interrupts me. “I can’t do this. Especially not knowing how long I have to live this way. I’d rather face the guy who came through my window than do this.”
My heart sinks, but I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t want her to get hurt, or if I just don’t want her to leave. It’s both.
Either way, she’s my assignment, and I shouldn’t have an emotional reaction to her at all. But just the thought of her being assigned to another agent spikes my blood pressure.
Instead of arguing with her, I pick up the boxes and hold them out to her. Her eyes drop to the offering, and some of the anger falls away as she sits up and pivots to face me as she reaches for them. Her long blond hair falling around her arm.
“You got me a phone and an e-reader?” Crossing her legs under her as she sets both boxes on her legs, she opens the phone box first.
Without thinking, I rest my hand on top of hers to break the news about the phone. “Don’t get your hopes up, your use on the phone is limited, unfortunately. But you can call your family.”
Her eyes drop to my hand on hers for a moment before looking back up at me. It wasn’t something I did consciously, it felt second nature, but I quickly pull away.
She looks back down, her gaze on her hands, and after a few moments takes a deep breath. “So, even though I didn’t do anything wrong, I’m the prisoner?”
I wince before I answer. “It’s a safety precaution. I’m just trying to protect you.”
Setting the empty phone box and the still-boxed e-reader on the lounger next to her, she swings her legs over the side. When her eyes meet mine, she pauses, phone in hand. “I’m sorry.”
Fuck.
She’s going to call someone to come get her.
She stands and starts to walk to the back door. I should just let her go, she’s been a distraction from the first moment I saw her. But if she goes back to that cabin, they’ll kill her, and I can’t let that happen. Fear for her safety is pinching my chest.
Pushing to standing, I close the distance between us in two steps and grasp her arm.
Her reflexes are fast, she spins on me, and I catch her wrist just before her palm lands on my face.
Grabbing her other wrist, the phone falls and clatters on the ground, I back her up against the wall next to the back door, pinning both hands against the wall by her head.
Her hazel eyes are wide and locked on mine. “Let me go.”
“No.” Her soft jasmine perfume wraps around me.
Logically, I should let her go. The agent in me is screaming at me to let her go, but the man in me wants to keep her here. I want to keep her safe and close to me. I’m so twisted up by my head, my dick, and the frequently changing sensations in my chest that I know I’m in a shitload of trouble.
Fast, angry breaths are coming from her nose, and her eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”
Her hands are balled into fists, her knuckles white, so I adjust my grip on her wrists to slide my index fingers along the heels of her palms just under her fingertips that are curled over, stroking the skin to encourage her to relax her grip.
It works.
I can feel her eyes on my face as I watch her slim fingers gracefully uncurl, trusting me. Keeping her hands against the wall, I flatten my palms against her wrists, her erratic pulse beating against my skin, my fingers against her palm.
Lowering my eyes back to hers, I take a soft breath. “I’m keeping you safe.”
The angry huffs from her nose have calmed, and her eyes move between mine, her eyebrows twitch. “I don’t want to live like a prisoner.”
“Tell me what I can do to make it feel less like a prison.”
Tell me what I can do to get you to stay.
Her pink tongue wets her lips as her eyes lower to my chest, and she takes a small breath. “I need my art supplies, access to streaming music, and I left my journal in my bedroom.” Her eyes lift to meet mine. “I need it.”
“Done.” It’s a risk going back to her house to get her things, but a risk I’m willing to take to avoid leaving her there with a target on her back. “I’ll take you tomorrow.”
Relief crosses her face, and she takes a calming breath, her slim fingers curling down over the tips of my fingers pressed against her palms. Warmth spreads through my hands and up my arms. With the threat of her leaving eliminated, my heart can beat normally again.
Christ, I’m in so much fucking trouble.
The green in her eyes shines behind the dancing gold as her gaze holds mine. The orange glow of the setting sun reflects off the gold, making them gleam. “Thank you.”
Being this close to her tugs on something in my gut, something that wants nothing more than for her to be happy. Letting my eyes slide over her smooth skin, I’m drawn to her lips. Full pink lips.
Reluctantly, I release her hands and take a step back. If I don’t get away from her, I’m going to do something I can’t take back. With a nod, I say, “You’re welcome. We’ll need to go early.”
She nods. “Okay.”
I don’t want to do it, but I break eye contact with her and walk back into the house.