Black Heart (12 page)

screaming. “Where is it?” one of the men demanded.

“You said this house was supposed to be empty, asshole!”

“Hey, I didn’t know the girl was staying home sick!”

“Shut the fuck up and find that baby! I don't care if you have to throw it into the dryer,

just shut it the fuck up!”

Tristan swore under his breath. Damn it, he couldn’t just sneak up on them. If they got

their hands on those kids, he was screwed. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the hall

and raised the shotgun at two men wearing stained handkerchiefs over the bottom half of

their faces.

“Police, drop your weapons, now!” he ordered.

Both men’s eyes widened as their trembling hands automatically rose towards the ceiling.

“Put your weapons down!”

The men flinched and that’s when all hell broke out. Their fingers tightened on the

triggers, releasing several shots into the ceiling. The men nervously dropped their weapons

and themselves to the ground, but the guns continued to go off a few more times barely

missing Tristan’s shoulder and leg. Realizing that the triggers had locked, Tristan swore as

he jumped out of the way of the faulty guns all while keeping his aim on the two cowering

men on the floor.

“We didn’t mean it!” the balding one screamed.

“Shut the fuck up before I put
you
in a dryer, you piece of shit,” Tristan said as he

carefully retrieved the hair trigger weapons and cuffed the men. He found two knives and

another gun on each of the men. He pulled the men into the living room where he cuffed

their wrists behind their backs and their legs together, because he was in no fucking mood

for any more bullshit today. After they were secured, he walked through the house, making

sure there weren’t any more surprises waiting for him. Once he was certain that there

weren’t, he shifted his attention to finding the children.

“Hey, buddy, it’s the police. It’s okay, you can come out now,” he said over the sounds

of the screaming baby. Tristan walked into a pink room covered in boy band posters and

headed straight for the double white closet doors. He set the safety on his shotgun and set it

aside.

He lightly knocked on the closet door. “Hey, buddy, this is Detective Black. Are you

ready to come out yet?”

“H-how do I know you’re really a police officer?”

Tristan went down on his haunches in front of the double doors. “Well, I guess you have

me there. What if I show you my badge? Will that work?” he asked softly, trying not to

frighten the poor kid anymore than he already was.

The baby still screamed as the boy considered it. “I guess,” was his response after a short

pause.

Tristan pulled his badge off his belt and slipped it beneath the door. A few seconds later

the door tentatively opened and a little boy in pajamas, who couldn’t have been older than

ten years old, crawled out on his knees barely able to hold the screaming baby boy in his

arms.

The boy sniffled as he struggled to stand up. Tristan reached out slowly and took the

baby into his arms, not wanting to frighten the boy. The baby continued to cry, but Tristan

didn’t care. He was so relieved the kids were safe and unharmed.

“I-I tried to get him to be quiet, but he’s hungry.”

“You did a great job, buddy,” Tristan said as he cradled the baby in one arm and took

the little boy’s hand in the other. He gave the little boy’s hand a reassuring squeeze as they

walked into the hallway.

-
-
-

Marty watched the house nervously as she tried to comfort the very distraught mother,

who’d come home to a nightmare barely ten minutes ago. “My babies!” the woman cried. “I

just left to pick up their medication! How could this happen?”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Marty said soothingly, giving the woman’s shoulder what she hoped

was a comforting squeeze.

The woman shook as they watched several police officers drag two cuffed men out of

the house. They appeared unharmed, which meant…..oh no, Tristan was shot. Marty

forced herself not to panic. He was fine. He had to be.

“Are you okay?” the woman suddenly asked, making her realize that she was trembling

as well.

Marty forced herself to smile. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Seconds later a teenage girl and a young boy ran out of the house and straight for their

mother. “Mommy!” the little boy cried.

Marty dropped her arm from around the mother’s shoulders and watched with a small

smile as the woman ran to her children. She covered their faces in kisses as she hugged the

life out of them. After a moment, Marty’s gaze returned to the front door. She watched as

several officers came and went, but there was no sign of Tristan.

“Where’s your brother?” the woman asked through sobs.

“He’s in there.” The little boy pointed towards the house as his face squished up. “He

pooped! The officers are in there arguing over who has to change him.”

That startled a laugh out of the little boy’s mother. “I guess I should go in there.”

An officer standing nearby held up a hand to stop her. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m going to

have to ask you to stay out here.”

“But, my baby-“

“The detective has it covered, ma’am,” the officer explained with an understanding smile.

Marty nervously licked her lips. “So, Detective Black is-“

“He’s fine, ma’am,” the officer said.

“The gunshots?” she asked, forcing herself to remain calm.

“The perps' guns went off when they surrendered. No one was hurt.” As the officer

spoke, Marty felt herself relax against the squad car.

“There he is, Mommy! There’s the officer who saved us!” the little boy cried.

Marty watched as Tristan strolled out of the house with a baby in his arms. The baby was

suckling a bottle while looking up at Tristan adoringly. Tristan kissed the baby on the head

and rubbed his back. Marty was a little taken aback. She’d never in her life seen a man who

looked more comfortable with a baby in his arms than Tristan did. He looked like he was

made to be a father. It sent a weird rush through her body that she quickly squashed. This

was not the time or man to have those feelings about.

“Thank you so much!” the woman said as she took the baby into her arms.

Tristan gently rubbed the baby’s head. “You’re very welcome.” He smiled down at the

little boy and gently clasped his small shoulder. “Your son did a good job, ma’am. He kept

the baby calm and did a great job by calling 911.”

Tristan noticed the daughter looked upset so he added, “Your daughter also kept the boys

safe by not informing the men that they were in the house. That ultimately gave your son

the opportunity to call for help.”

The woman put an arm around her daughter and gave her a hug. “How did they get in?”

Tristan absently rubbed his injured shoulder. “It seems they busted in through the

basement. After my men get what they need, they’re going to attach a better lock for you,

ma’am.”

“Thank you for everything, Detective,” the woman said through tears.

Tristan ruffled the young boy’s hair again. “You’re welcome.”

“Ah, lad, yer hurt again,” Shayne said a moment after he popped onto the scene. “I can

see the pain in yer eyes, lad. Ye need to get that looked at.”

Tristan couldn’t agree more. His shoulder was on fire from dragging those men into the

living room. He wasn’t too surprised that Shayne had abandoned his
Gilligan's Island

marathon to come to him. He could sense when Tristan needed help. For some reason they

were connected, always had been.

With a forced smile, he excused himself, leaving Marty to follow after him. Without a

word, he tore off his body armor. He climbed into the passenger seat and waited for Marty.

After a slight pause, she climbed in and adjusted the seat by sliding it forward several inches

until she could reach the pedals.

She delicately cleared her throat. “Where to?”

Chapter
8

“Detective Black, stop squirming!” Janice snapped as she mauled his shoulder. Tristan

buried his face in his office couch and gritted his teeth.

“Gad, that looks like it hurts,” Shayne said.

“Of course it hurts! I’ve got Attila the Hun trying to give me a massage!” Tristan

snapped, uncaring at the moment that he was talking to Shayne in front of Janice, the

masseuse from hell, and Marty.

Janice's hands stilled. “There’s no need to insult me.”

“Bullshit!” Tristan snapped. “Who the hell taught you how to give a massage? Freddy

Kruger? For fuck’s sake, Janice, cut your goddamn nails!” he snapped the last part as she

commenced with her backrub.

He wasn’t kidding about her nails. What kind of masseuse had inch long nails with

flowers painted all over them? They kept digging into his skin, sending more fire straight

into his injury.

“I don’t know, lad, maybe ye shouldn’t keep pissing her off. It looks like she’s being

rougher,” Shayne said nervously.

“Ah, Janice?” Marty piped in from her desk.

“What?” Janice asked, not stopping in her assault, ah, massage.

“You’re leaving scratch marks on his scar tissue,” Marty tried to point out quietly.

“What?”
Tristan demanded.

Janice squirmed. “Sorry. I have a big date tonight and well,….you know,” she said with a

shrug. “I got my nails done this morning.” She placed her fists on her hips and said

defensively, “Hey, I did you a favor by coming here today. It’s supposed to be my day off!”

Tristan struggled to push himself up, but thanks to her massage, his shoulder and arm

were on fire and useless at the moment. Janice moved to continue the massage, but Marty

stopped her.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said. Janice rolled her eyes before she

caught the murderous glare Tristan was sending her way. Then she stepped back and

noticeably swallowed. Smart girl.

“Ah, I think a gentle rubdown with warming lotion will take care of everything.” She

grabbed a tube of lotion from her bag and approached Tristan, hesitantly.

“Ah, lad, I’ve seen this scene hundreds of times in horror movies. This is the part where

she skins ye alive and makes a dress out of it. If I were ye, I’d run,” Shayne said, sounding

amused.

Tristan threw him a glare as Janice slowly approached him. He opened his mouth to tell

her where she could put those fake nails when Marty surprised him by snatching the tube of

lotion away from her.

“Hey!” Janice cried.

“I’ll do it,” Marty surprised the hell out of him by saying.

Janice nibbled her lip nervously as she looked from Marty to Tristan. Finally she sighed.

“Fine, but someone owes me a hundred and fifty dollars for this visit.”

At that, Tristan managed to push himself up, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and arm.

Janice yelped and jumped back, grabbing her bag and headed for the door. “You know

what? On second thought forget about it!”

He was still going after her when a small warm hand pressed against his bare chest. It

stunned him enough to halt his pursuit and allowed Marty to gently press him back.

“Sit at the desk. It will make it easier for me,” she said as she squeezed some lotion in her

hand.

The idea of Marty running her hands over his body sent a very different fire through

him. A thousand past fantasies raced through his head, all of them making him break out

into a sweat.

“That’s not necessary,” he finally managed to say.

Instead of listening to him like anyone else would have done, she shook her head and

gently pushed him towards his chair. Not sure what else to do, Tristan threw Shayne a

pleading look.

“Sorry, lad. I’d let her if I were ye. I’d do it myself, but I’m not yer bitch,” Shayne said

with a wink.

Tristan discreetly flipped him off, earning a chuckle. “Good luck, lad. I’m off,” Shayne

said before he faded out of the office.

“I don’t want to hurt you, so let me know if I’m being too rough, okay?” Marty said as

she gently touched his shoulder.

He groaned as she began to carefully massage his shoulder. Her hands stilled

immediately. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, it felt good,” he said, feeling like a moron.

“Okay,” she said as she returned to massaging his shoulder.

Tristan tried to focus on something else, anything else as her hands moved over his

shoulder, back, chest and down his arm. Her hands felt so good on him. He soon found

himself closing his eyes and just enjoying it.

-
-
-

Marty forced herself to relax as she ran her hands over his body. Well, not his entire

body, unfortunately, but enough to fulfill several of her old schoolgirl fantasies.