Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 (29 page)

“I was placed with the state three days later as she was killed in a fight over a hairbrush.” I straddled the chair I sat in as I shared my dinner with her, crossing my arms over the back. “I had been in and out of foster homes for one reason or another, until they sent me to the children’s home. It was the place I felt at home the most, until Momma found me.” They broke the mold when they made Priscilla Morgan, at least until the good Lord above created Claire Stuart.

“My brother Austin, who is two years younger than me, lived with his birth mother until he was three. She was killed by her pimp while he slept in the bathtub.” Claire’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, yet she stayed silent and let me continue.

“He currently lives in New York, but not for much longer.” Catching her eyes, I raised my index finger to her. “Keep this under your hat: Austin is moving back to Charleston. He plans to surprise our momma.” I whispered the last sentence and was rewarded with a giggle for my playfulness.

“Was Austin the one sitting next to you or the one in the uniform?” She had remembered, taken a genuine interest and recalled a moment, which, for me, was devastating. Most of the time, I had sat in the church and tuned out the world, staring at his coffin, wishing it were all a bad dream.

“Austin was beside my dad. Chase, the youngest, was in the uniform—he’s currently in the Marines.”

Her feet were swinging back and forth, and she was leaning her shoulder forward. “And what does Austin do?”

Lightning flashed behind her, illuminating her beautiful form. Claps of thunder startled her, and she jumped slightly nearly falling off the counter.

“Austin is a computer geek, graduated from MIT.” I extended out my hand, offering to steady her as she scooted back in place.

“MIT?” She exclaimed, her face matching her voice. “He’s much more than a computer geek then.”

She was right; Austin was fucking brilliant. “Yes, but I’m his brother, so I have the job of calling him whatever I choose.”

We stayed like this, in comfortable and easy conversation. She told me of crazy stories she wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t been there. I told her of the antics my brothers and I played on each other and our parents. The rain continued outside, with no sign of letting up.

“Well, Miss Claire, it appears the rain has settled in for the night.” She looked out the window, confirming what I’d said. “How about you allow me to drive you home, leave your keys with me, and I’ll make sure your car finds its way to your garage.”

Her clothes were drier than when she arrived, so she put her jeans and shoes back on. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me this evening, Dylan.”

The streetlights streamed their way across her skin as I drove her home. “It was my pleasure. I enjoyed your company.”

Far too soon, I pulled onto her street; my time with her had come to an end.

“You can drop me off at the entrance there.”

I ignored her instructions, as I had no intention of dropping her off anywhere. “Miss Claire, if I was to leave you on the side of a Charleston street and my momma caught wind of it, I would never see the light of day again.”

She smiled gently, then rolled her eyes as she started to argue. “Really, Dylan. Are you telling me a strong man, such as yourself, is frightened of his mother?” She had no clue how right she was. Not that I feared her, but more of an immense amount of respect. “I’ll be perfectly safe, I swear.” She held up her right hand, two fingers extended. “Scouts honor,” she vowed.

“Nice try, young lady, but I’ll have you know you have a few unsavory characters that live in this very building.” I pointed to the sky as she entered in her security code. “Take Mrs. Pettigrew, for instance. I bet you think she is just some nosy old lady?” I asked as we walked toward the elevator. “And she is a nosy lady,” I fully admitted. “But,” I added, “what you don’t know is the lady who owns the purple poodle, was once a getaway driver for a member of the Mafia. She has seen the inside of a jail cell more than most Wardens.”

Claire shoved my shoulder, taking me off guard. “Dylan Morgan, you should be ashamed of yourself, telling lies about a sweet old lady.”

She was laughing and shushing me as we continued to walk down her hall, past the door of the woman in question. I wasn’t lying when I told her that story; Mrs. Pettigrew lived a life found in old gangster movies.

“This is me.” She stopped at the white door, the gold number seventeen set in the center of the painted wood. “Thank you again, for everything.” Her eyes were bright and face flushed; she looked happy—which was exactly how I planned to keep her.

“You are most welcome, Claire. I’ll let you know tomorrow what is wrong with your car.” I reached down and grasped her tiny, cold hand in mine. In a move some would find ancient, I brought her fingers to my lips, kissing the tip of her index finger.

As I turned, heading for the elevators, I stopped and reminded her quickly. “Oh and, Claire, don’t forget to put your phone in a bowl of rice, it will dry it out in no time.”

“Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.”

~ Carl Bard

“D
id he say why he left the department?” Lainie had been frantic when I didn’t call and let her know I was home. She was about to call the police when I sent her an email telling her the fate of my phone.

“Just that he took a leave of absence to get his head together.” I combed my hair back into a braid; my phone was on speaker as I talked to Lainie this early morning. Dylan had been right about the rice, it took an entire day, but at least I didn’t have to buy a new phone.

“I guess it’s true what they say after all.” Her voice laden with humor and a hint of disbelief. “Even an old dog can learn new tricks.” The early hour brought a yawn to Lainie’s analysis of Dylan’s actions.

“All right, girl. Go back to bed and I’ll talk to you this evening after my shift.” After hanging up, I tossed my phone and keys into my bag, making sure I had my hospital badge, and then scurried off to work.

Dylan had been a man of his word, returning my car early the next morning. The interior had been vacuumed and wiped down. A Post-it note reminded me my oil was coming up due. As much as I wanted to wad the damn thing up and toss it out the window, I left it attached to the center of my steering wheel; a reminder of the sweet side of Dylan. A side I hoped to see more often.

Carson had knocked on my front door to hand me back my keys and asked if he could have a word with me. “Claire, I know you spent some time with Dylan last evening.”

We walked over to one of the corner coffee houses. Carson was a careful watcher of everything he ate, but every once in a while he allowed himself a slice of carrot cake. Today was one of those days.

“I’ve known Dylan for a lot of years, worked beside him when he was fresh from the academy. In those early years, he taught me as much as I did him.”

I glanced out the window as a motorcycle screamed by. It reminded me of the almost kiss we’d shared and the gentleness he showed me.

“I also know you’re more than familiar with his history.” His voice reminded me of myself after an incredibly tiresome shift. “Look, six months ago, hell even six weeks ago, I would have forbid you to have any romantic dealings with him.” He leaned back in his chair as the waitress filled his cup with fresh coffee. Thanking her in his sweet Southern way, he turned his attention back to me.

“I think I’m a bit old for you to forbid me to do anything, don’t you agree?” I laughed, only half-kidding.

“Claire, the first thing Southern husbands learn is to respect their Southern wives. Failure to do so could result in disastrous consequences.” He added a shake of his head from side to side. No one could ever doubt the level of love Carson had for Georgia; it radiated between them. “So when Georgia noticed Dylan making eyes at you over at McGuire’s, she told me have a…not so pleasant conversation with him, in which I informed him to avoid you.”

I choked on my coffee, his protectiveness taking on a new level. Even my own dad didn’t look after me that way. How different would mine and Cheyenne’s lives have turned out, if he would have taken care of us as he should? The good Lord only knew.

“He’s different, Claire. Having his granddad pass, losing the verdict in the trial, and then he took a good hard look at the man in the mirror and didn’t like what he saw.”

Carson was not only my protector, but also a loyal friend to Dylan. He risked the chance of making him an enemy to keep me safe. Allowing Dylan to come to him knowing Carson was well aware of his manwhore ways. How hard was the decision for Carson to stand back and give Dylan his blessing?

“He came to me, about a month ago, and informed me of his decision to quit his job and open the shop.”

I remained quiet, not telling him I already knew all of this. “He also asked for my blessing to pursue you. He said he wasn’t quite ready at the time, wanting to have his affairs in order first.”

I couldn’t deny the attraction was there, the desire to at least kiss those incredible lips of his. To trust him, however, knowing what I knew about the way he moved from woman to woman, no love or respect, was going to be difficult. For that reason, I just wasn’t sure.

“All I’m asking of you, sweetheart, is to give him the benefit of the doubt. I know he has spoken with his family about you and in my experience with him that has never happened before.”

Where my father had failed me, Carson had been steadfast. If he was willing to give Dylan a shot, then maybe, just maybe, I could too.

It had been three days since the coffee shop and no phone calls, no visits, nothing. I hated being like this. Being one of those girls who waited by the phone for the guy to call or writing his last name in big curvy letters on every surface she could find. The girl who dreamed about the day when he would sweep her off her feet, professing that he could no longer live a single moment without her. I was better than this. I firmly believed men were an accessory and not a necessity. But oh, what an accessory Dylan Morgan would make.

Dr. O’Leary had been on vacation; my suspicion was that his wedding was this weekend. I saw him the other night as he was coming off the elevator, cell phone in hand completely ignoring everything around him, including me. I wasn’t ready to confront him, to ask him point blank how he could swear to marry one girl, while he felt up another. In my opinion, Sean was a coward, afraid to stand up and be honest with the women in his life. Dylan might’ve been a player, but he never hid the fact and never lied to anyone involved.

As I arrived for my shift, the activity level on the floor was at a ten. Alarms were sounding at each end of the hall and phones were ringing off the hook. Patients were lined up in the halls, either waiting for rooms or doctors to see them. Kitty arrived only seconds after I did and we both dropped our stuff on the desk and dug into work.

It was just after lunch when things calmed and we all looked as if we had just survived the apocalypse. Most of us were having the first drink or bite to eat since we had arrived. We were down to three patients, a set of triplets who ate something which caused explosive diarrhea. Mom had rushed them in, nearing a panic attack when the medication she had at home didn’t work. Dr. Gillman had just discharged them to go home.