Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 (13 page)

“Thank you,” Lainie responded, her voice full of emotion.

Detective Morgan excused himself, leaving the room with the swagger of a confident man. All positive thoughts disappeared as I rounded the corner in time to see him talking with Shayla, all seductive smiles and close bodies.

“You off tomorrow night?”

Shayla’s smile hitting a level of seduction I’d seen Gigi use a million times.

“I will be with your help.” She giggled with a twirl of her hair, and her bottom lip captured between her white teeth.

With a nod he turned and left through the ambulance door. Detective Morgan, crime investigator by day, down right dirty whore by night. I had no use for either one. Any thoughts I previously had of him containing one ounce of respect for women were just thrown out the window.

At the end of the shift, I collected Lainie, who was wearing the clothes I wore to work, and together we went to the townhouse. Ms. Georgia took one look at Lainie, engulfed her in a hug and made us both breakfast. Carson listened patiently as I told him what had happened.

“Major Diesel will have a few words to say, I’ve no doubt of that.” The humor in his voice didn’t escape me. Although, I’d like to hear if Carson was correct. Would this Diesel person smack him around or just write his name on the board?

Although there were no openings here, at the townhouses, Ms. Georgia did have a friend who had a vacancy two blocks over.

“Let us both get a few hours rest and we’ll go check it out,” I assured her. With a full belly, I was fading fast.

“Okay,” she agreed, letting out a half huff, half exhausted sigh.

I wrapped an arm around her as we took heavy steps to my front door.

Six hours later, I watched as Lainie stood in the living room of an apartment owned by Ms. Charlotte Weston. Another fine representation of the Southern charm the lovely ladies of Charleston displayed on a daily basis. With her beauty salon fresh, silver hair and her pale green pantsuit, she looked closer to someone giving an interview instead of showing an apartment.

“The utilities are included in the rent and Ms. Georgia gave you a good reference, so I’m dropping the deposit.” Lainie spun quickly in her direction, her mouth wide and eyes bulging.

“As long as you keep the music down and the young men to a minimum, we will get along just fine.”

I swallowed hard for her. If I were in her shoes, men would be the furthest from my mind.

“There are no
men
,” she stumbled over the word, “in my life, nor in the immediate future.” She finished with conviction. Her face was perplexed as she took another look around.

“Ms. Charlotte, you’ve been so kind to me, a complete stranger. I feel you need to know something about me before I accept your offer.”

I reached for her hand, giving her all the courage I could, and threw a confident smile in her direction.

“If you’re gonna tell me about the goings on over at the campus, I’ve already heard. I hope they hang that son of a bitch from his short hairs.”

Another thing I loved about the women in this town, they were carved from solid steel and came together to support one another. They were the true definition of Steel Magnolias.

Lainie eagerly signed the lease, hugged Ms. Charlotte, and took the keys to her new home. I had a date with a potentially taken doctor in a few hours, something I needed to address beforehand. After Lainie and I got back to the townhouse, I dialed his number, sat on my bed, and played with a thread from my coverlet. Three rings in before his rich accent flowed through the receiver.

“You’re not ditching me, are ya?” His voice told me he was joking.

“Depends on how you answer my question.”

Silence followed my statement. Some would have taken it as a sign of things to come, but I wasn’t one of those people.

“Rumor has it you have a girl with a ring on her finger waiting on you back in Ireland.”

“Let me guess, Shayla told you this?” He sighed in exasperation.

I wasn’t going to lie to him, I expect the truth and I would damn well give it. “You’d be correct. Shayla found out I was seeing you tonight and told me about this girl of yours.”

He made a noise of aggravation, then began laughing. “Claire, you have my word, there is no girl sitting in Ireland with my ring on her finger.”

Three hours later, I sat across from Sean in a popular bar and grill downtown. He had arrived at my door, flowers in hand and a smile on his face. Lainie assured me she would be fine by herself and swore she would call Ms. Georgia if she got scared.

“So, your grandparents still live in Belfast?”

Our conversation flowed easily. He regaled me with how he grew up in Ireland. Grandparents who lived with them his entire life and of how he missed them the most. He spoke of how primary school was different than in the US and how he fell instantly in love with fried chicken.

“What about you, Claire? What do you miss about Kentucky?”

I had to think long and hard. There was nothing I missed about my family and no real friends left behind. “The fog when it seems to hang in the pine trees growing tall along the hillside.”

Early in the morning, I would sometimes head out into the clearing not far from the RV. I’d look up and watch the cloud-like movement of the fog as the sunlight burned it off. At times I wished it would take me with it as it soared to new heights.

“I take it growing up wasn’t filled with trips to Disney and holidays on the beach.”

I lowered my eyes to the amber liquid in my half full beer glass, wishing I could lie to not only Sean, but to myself. Wanting to create this fantasy family who loved and cared for me.

“Vacation for us was a trip to the propane store to fill the tanks.”

When we first sat down, I had taken the seat with my back to the door. This decision made it impossible to see anyone come in, and was also how I missed Detective Morgan taking a seat at the bar and begin drinking shots of what I later assumed was whiskey. I discovered his presence and drink of choice when I excused myself to use the ladies’ room. He didn’t notice me, too wrapped up in the glass in his hand and the big chested bartender laughing with him.

The line to the restroom was short and I managed to avoid talking to anyone else waiting their turn. I was never one for small talk. I’d rather smile and be silently polite than to tell you how nice your shirt made your skin look.

I returned to my table with Sean playing the perfect gentleman by standing as I took my chair. Our waitress arrived to check to see if we wanted any dessert, which we both declined. Sean placed a crisp one-hundred dollar bill into the check holder.

“You know, you could have taken me out cheaper if we would have gone to your bar.”

Sean placed his wallet back into his jacket pocket. “Probably, but I wanted to bring you here,” he told me as he placed his hand on my lower back, smiling his cheeky smile.

The crowd had increased, and I was glad we were leaving. The hostess, who had showed us our table, wished us a good night. Sean pushed the door open as he returned her pleasantries. Turning to also return the sentiment, I caught sight of Detective Morgan and Shayla headed our way. His eyes caught mine, ending any thought of leaving quietly.

“Claire.” He slurred slightly, his arm around Shayla, cradling her to his side.

“Detective,” I returned. I glanced at an equally intoxicated Shayla, who was having a rough time placing one foot in front of the other. I chose to ignore her and try to get the hell out of here, knowing full well where they were headed. They deserved one another, both having the same outlook on casual sex. Shayla managed to nearly fall as she stepped into the night, joining us on the sidewalk. Her drunken laughter was contagious for her bed partner, as Morgan helped to right her on her feet then the pair proceeded to walk, weave, down the sidewalk away from us.

“Hey, you ready to go?” Sean questioned, holding his passenger door open for me.

With a smile and forward progression of my feet, I stepped toward the car. “Sorry, yes. I’m ready to go.”

How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

~William Shakespeare

B
efore my feet hit the carpet of my bedroom, the alert of an awaiting text message sounded. It had better not be Shayla, because it was too damn early in the morning to deal with her clingy ass. Last night had been a pure mind fuck for me. Messing with the way I’d lived and enjoyed my life. The feeling in my chest and the way it reacted to being around Claire…

“Fuck!” I tugged at my hair, trying to regain the control I always maintained, yet could feel slipping away. This girl was just another skirt, one I had sworn to avoid. I knew the attack from last night would be all over the station, as would my behavior. My suspension was confirmed as I read the message from my boss, Major Diesel, who wanted to have a word with me in his office. No one ever wanted to be summoned to the boss’s office, especially after a night like last night. Granted, I had stepped way out of the box in how I handled the attacker. Procedure dictated that I contacted dispatch for backup, but years of experience told me to do exactly what I had done. I knew what Diesel was going to do; smack my head for being too rough and threaten to write me up, but off the record, he’d tell me I did the right thing. I didn’t need him to tell me shit, the look on Lainie’s face as I left her last night was all the encouragement I needed.

“Ms. Melba, is he in?”

Melba Tolbert, a robust and tough as nails woman, had worked as the Major’s secretary for as long as he’d held the rank. You didn’t dare call her an assistant; she was old school and didn’t need a new title. The last three Majors all tried to change her, make things run smoother for her. One even tried to hire a younger lady to work in the office with her— she lasted three days. Once she figured out Ms. Melba could work circles around her, she was out the door.

“Yes, he is, sugar.” She looked over her half glasses, which never left the end of her nose. She wore too much perfume and the same orthotic shoes with every outfit. She also had the biggest heart, next to my momma.

“We heard about what happened to that poor girl. Thank the Lord above there are still men like you who do the right thing.” Her praise was genuine and not to boost my ego. “Now, when you gonna find your mind and get yourself a good girl?” Hands on her heavy hips, tight curls that were always in perfect order, never moving as her head turned to the side. “Your momma deserves to have a few grandbabies around to spoil rotten.”

With the smile I saved for the genuine women in my life, I told her, “Well, Ms. Melba, if you were single, I’d be on my knee right this second.”

With her pointer finger shaking in my direction, the look on her face changed from glad to see me to watch your cheeky ass. “Dylan, I love you like you were one of my own.” Her red lips were no longer smiling, but pierced in aggravation. “But you’re hurting yourself with this wild child behavior you’ve been showin’ ‘round town.” She picked up the white cardboard box that was on her desk. Southern women were born collecting shoe boxes, so they could bake a million cookies then pass them out to everyone with a pulse. This was to show off not only their culinary skills, but the brand of shoes they were either wearing or had stuffed in their closets.

“Here, I made this after I heard the news.” Nestled in the box was her world famous peanut brittle—a recipe that had been passed down for a thousand years, give or take.

“You know you want one.” Her sweet little sing-song voice teased me.

I closed my eyes and laughed. “But, Ms. Melba, if I eat those, I’ll get as big as a house and no girl will
want
to have babies with me.”

She smacked my chest and covered the box with the lid in frustration all while holding back her own laughter.

“Go on in, he’s waitin’.” She winked as she shooed me with her chubby hand. I loved to make her smile or cause a little blush to color those cherub cheeks, so I tossed her an air kiss, then planted my hand over my heart.

“Sir?” I rapped my knuckles on his door several times. Momma would have kicked my ass if I didn’t show some respect to my elders. Major Diesel was a thirty year veteran with the force. With his prior military experience and long history of lawmen in his family, he fit into the role as easily as he filled his starched shirts and blue jeans.