Don't Call Me Hero (23 page)

Finally, I felt capable, confident fingers wiggle in the space between my knees and the mattress. Julia grabbed onto my lower thighs and pulled until I was up on my hands and knees.

“Much better.”

“Julia.” My voice wavered on her name in warning. I shivered when I felt hands ghost over my outer thighs to rest lightly on my hips.

“Don’t worry, dear.”

“I don’t like surpri—” My words were cut off by a gentle, but firm smack to my backside. “The fuck?” I growled. I turned my head to look over my shoulder and glare.

She tried to look innocent, but her horns were showing. “I’m sorry. Should I warn you before I spank you?” she cooed.

“Or you could just not slap me,” I snapped. “Ever think of that?”

Her short, manicured nails trailed over the place where her palm had struck. She hadn’t hit me all that hard, but I was sure my pale skin still showed a faint pink mark. Her hands left my backside and moved to rest on the inside of my thighs. She applied slight pressure on my inner thighs, coaxing my legs farther apart on the mattress.

I bit down on my lower lip when she spread me wider apart. If I’d thought I’d felt vulnerable before, simply lying on my stomach, this new position took that vulnerability to a whole new level.

The hands at my thighs tightened. “Are you ready for me, Miss Miller?”

Before I could respond or react, the mattress sunk and shifted beneath my hands and knees, and then suddenly Julia’s mouth was on my sex. I breathed in sharply through my nose.

Julia licked the length of my slit. “Oh God,” I quietly groaned when I felt the tip of her tongue just barely flick against my clit before sliding all the way back again.

She held hard onto my pale thighs, fingers digging in as if she worried I might try to run away. She flattened her tongue and licked again, tasting my arousal, already heavy between my thighs.

I felt the absence of her heat and the mattress moved again. “Why did you … why did you stop?” I choked out, feeling equally annoyed and breathless.

I groaned again when she draped her naked body over mine and when her breasts flattened against my back. I could feel
all
of the city prosecutor this way.

“I didn’t stop. I just changed my mind.” Julia thrust her pelvic bone lightly back and forth, pressing against my sex from behind with each forward thrust. I could practically feel my arousal and her saliva, wet on the backs of my thighs.

“About what?” I was starting to feel the burn in my forearms from holding up my weight, but Julia’s body felt too good pressed against my own, and I craved more.

Her breath was warm and it tickled my right ear. “How I’m going to make you come undone, dear.”

“Oo-okay,” I stuttered.

She placed a finger against the opening of my sex. She stroked up and down my wet slit, gathering my arousal. Slowly, she sunk her digit inside from the first to the second knuckle. She rotated her single finger like a corkscrew and was rewarded with my quiet mewls of appreciation.

Her free hand wrapped around my torso. She curled her finger up and sought out the slightly textured upper wall that she knew would make me scream.

The arm around my waist tightened. “Don’t you cum,” she growled into my ear. “Don’t you fucking cum.”

One finger followed another, and I whimpered at the delicious stretch. Her movements slowed to let me accommodate to the new intrusion before she resumed at a punishing pace.

The arm around my waist gave way, and a hand—hard and stern—pressed down in the center of my back, flattening me against the mattress while her other hand continued to assault me from behind.

“Don’t cum,” Julia warned again. “I want to keep fucking you like this all night.”

The combination of her words and the magic of her punishing fingers caused me to cry out. I wasn’t close to orgasm yet, but I knew how to get there.

“Please,” I gasped, trying to arch into her unrelenting touch.

Her hand just above my ass kept me pressed against the mattress, denying me the freedom of movement I sought.

“Please, Julia,” I pled. “I need to cum.”

She fisted her hand in my loose locks and pulled them back as if in a ponytail. My head jerked backwards, my back arched, and my naked breasts jutted out, but I could finally lift my ass from the mattress to meet her thrusts with those of my own.

Julia gave a pained but approving noise as I pushed back against her, challenging her, forcing her, to fuck me even harder from behind.

“Julia.” I gasped her name over and over again like it was the only word I could remember.

She slammed her fingers harder and faster. She let go of my hair and snaked her hand around my waist so she could pinch and stroke my clit between her fingers.

“Do it.” The words were sharp in my ear. “Cum for me, Cassidy.”

I fell forward and screamed into a pillow, my cries muffled by the thick down material. My arms finally gave out, my knees wobbled unsteadily, and I crashed onto the mattress.

“Holy shit,” I gasped when my breathing came back under my control.

I thought myself in shape, but Julia had me rethinking that. I collapsed back onto the mattress, exhausted. I hadn’t ever been so thoroughly fucked, and my muscles reveled in the aftermath. I was going to feel this woman in the morning.

+ + +

Afghanistan, 2012

Our convey bumps over the uneven terrain of a road that makes the potholed streets of my childhood town look like the autobahn. We’ve been at it for a handful of hours—military presence in a bumfucknowhere village on the edge of land that flip flops every other day between Taliban and rebels.

I’m squinting into the sun. My sunglasses struggle to cut down the glare over a shimmery horizon. The heat bouncing off the sand dunes creates squiggly lines in the air over the ground like snakes made out of vapor and steam twisting up toward the sky. I chew on a toothpick. It’s been my constant companion since I decided to quit smoking. It’s safer not to be a slave to nicotine when you could be picked off just for taking a cigarette break.

I scan the horizon with my M16 clutched in hands in dire need of a manicure, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I keep watch because it’s my turn, but we all know this precaution has little effectiveness, especially when there could be a dirty bomb strapped to a goat that wanders into our area or a buried mine rigged to explode if you’re unlucky enough to cross its path.

We try to be safe. We try to take precautions. But our reality is a world where chaos reigns the day and security is a politician’s lie.

The insurgents’ gunshots sound like firecrackers.
Pop, pop, pop, pop.

“BOHICA,” my LT groans. Bend over, here it comes again. We’re about to get screwed.

A new kid, I think his name is Williams, is shaking in his Cadillacs.

“FNG,” someone near me grumbles: fucking new guy.

It’s Fourth of July in Minnesota, and I’m at my family’s cabin on Armstrong Lake. My mom’s made cherry pie and potato salad, and my dad is grilling burgers that plump up like ground beef baseballs. Barkley, my old golden retriever, is knee high in murky water, belly fur dripping with lake water, snapping at minnows that squirm away too quickly for his jaws.

My cousins throw pop rocks at the end of the pier as dusk settles over the lake. They snap and crack and light up like a firefly’s butt. We run around with roman candles and sparklers, and my aunt Jean Marie yells at us to slow down and be careful.

My LT is yelling orders, but I’m too stunned to move. There’s an explosion and the world falls out from under my feet, except that it’s not the ground or the all-terrain vehicle that’s moving; it’s me. My feet and torso and two arms and legs are lifted from the force of the bomb, and I’m thrown against the stone foundation of a village building. The barked command of my superior is drowned out by the ringing in my ears.

This is how you’re going to die
, that voice inside my head tells me.

Our ride is scorched—twisted metal that belongs in a contemporary art museum, not a war zone—and there’s a crater in the earth where there used to be straight road.

My gun is still miraculously attached to me, as are all of my external appendages. I’ve got my back to solid rock and my ass on the ground. On the other side of my primitive fortress, insurgents fire random shots into the sky.
Pop, pop, pop.

“Unit Charlie, do you copy?”

“CFB,” I bark into the radio. Clear as a fucking bell.

The LT shoots off a couple rounds of suppression fire so a portion of the unit can reposition without being hit by enemy fire.

My dad is lighting off confiscated fireworks. We’re shooting bottle rockets across the lake. They squeal and shriek as they haphazardly zip through the sky.

Private Williams is screaming. He can’t find his right arm.

+ + +

I shot up in bed, breathing heavily as though I’d just run a great distance. Beside me, Julia roused from her own sleep.

I didn’t know when I’d closed my eyes. Julia’s bedroom was the perfect temperature, her mattress the perfect combination of sturdy and soft, and the warm body beside me smelled entirely edible. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but I’d been so relaxed, so comfortable.

But even the most pleasant surroundings couldn’t keep the nightmares away.

“Cassidy?” Her voice was thick and worry crossed her features. She reached out and pressed the back of her hand against my sweaty brow. “You’re burning up,” she frowned.

I jerked away from the concerned touch. “I’m fine.” I tossed back the blanket Julia had placed over me at some point in the night and scrambled out of bed.

Julia sat up. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” I pulled on my jeans and hopped around a bit to get them all the way up my lean legs. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“I’m not exactly kicking you out of my bed, dear.”

“I don’t do sleepovers. Sorry.”

Julia opened her mouth, but deciding against it, snapped her jaw shut. Her face clouded over, shuttering away the former worry I was sure I’d seen. “Well, please do be sure to lock the front door on your way out. I’d hate for a criminal to take advantage while one third of the town’s police force is otherwise preoccupied.”

I pulled my T-shirt over rambunctious blonde hair. I was embarrassed to have fallen asleep, but even more so that she had witnessed one of my nightmares. I knew I should thank her for the evening or kiss her or even say that I’d call her later, but my mortification had me keeping those sentiments to myself.

CHAPTER SixTEEN

The front room of the Minneapolis police precinct was a cacophony of ringing phones and conversations too loud for the confined space. The noises caused the walls to seize, but I checked my nerves and strode up to the uniformed officer sitting behind the reception desk.

“Is Detective Gammon in?” I asked.

The male officer barely looked up from the morning newspaper, but I didn’t have a problem with the lack of eye contact. I was sure I looked like a wreck. I’d ridden my Harley through the early morning hours, without detour, to reach the city. My hair was probably matted from my helmet, and I still wore the clothes I’d been wearing when I’d stumbled out of Julia’s bedroom four hours earlier.

“Lemme see.” He picked up the phone and dialed an extension. “Detective Gammon? Someone’s asking for you.” He grunted at Rich’s response and hung up the office phone.

“He’ll be right out,” he informed me, finally looking me in the eye. If my disheveled appearance alarmed him, his emotionless face didn’t let on. He nodded in the direction of an empty wooden bench. “You can have a seat over there.”

I bobbed my head in thanks, but I chose not to sit down. I’d been on my ass for the past four hours and my legs could use the movement. I shoved my chapped hands into the front pockets of my tight jeans and began to pace.

Rich’s dress shoes squeaked on the floor. His tie was loose around his neck and the sleeves of his dress shirt had already been rolled up to his elbows. “Cass? What are you doing here?”

“Can you help me get my old job back?” I blurted out. I could hear the desperation in my voice, but I was beyond caring. “Or
any
job?”

Rich’s eyes swept around the front room. “Let’s go back to my office,” he said, lowering his voice. My shoulders crumbled, and he ushered me towards his cubical with a firm hand in the small of my back.

I slumped down in an empty chair and dropped my head into my hands.

“Can I get you something? Water? Coffee?” he offered, concern on his handsome face.

“Water would be great,” I mumbled through my fingers.

“I’ll be right back.”

Rich’s cubical was sparsely decorated. Unlike the other offices in the area, there were no photographs of a significant other and no crayon drawings posted to the carpeted partition walls. I picked up the sole framed picture that adorned his desk. It was a group shot—Rich, Angie, Brent, and me, faces smiling and arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. We’d gone to a Twin’s game late in the season, and Brent had practically fought a guy for a foul ball in the seventh inning.

“That was a fun day.”

I looked up at the sound of his voice. Rich held out a Styrofoam cup to me filled with water. I took it and quickly drained it of its contents.

He sat down at his desk while I began to shred the cup into tiny pieces. “What’s going on?”

“I’m going crazy up there.”

He frowned. “Small-town cabin fever or something else?”

“Something else.” My right knee bounced with pent-up energy.

“I was thinking about you last night,” he admitted. “I was going to call.”

“It’s okay.” I dug my short nails into the side of the foam cup and made half-moon imprints. “I probably wouldn’t have answered.”

The previous Fourth of July a group of us had gone to a St. Paul Saints baseball game. When the fireworks had started, I’d freaked out. It was embarrassing to think about now; I’d hidden out in the women’s restroom and had refused to leave my stall the entire night. Rich and Angie had sat on the floor on the bathroom, keeping me company. My eyes started to burn at the memory. I held my breath and kept my eyes shut tight until the wash of overwhelming emotions abated.

Rich pulled at a stubborn hangnail. I could tell he was just as uncomfortable as I was thinking about that night. He cleared his throat. “Was it bad again?”

I let out a shaky breath. “It certainly wasn’t good.” I didn’t want to go into detail, and he was a smart enough guy not to ask.

“You should come back, Cass,” he said quietly. “We’ve got resources down here that I’m sure they don’t have in that little town.”

“If I can’t be a cop, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I admitted. I was a Marine, a soldier. I couldn’t envision a future that didn’t involve that.

Rich leaned back in his chair and rubbed both hands over his bald head. “I’ll put a bug in the Captain’s ear, but I can’t promise you anything. I know he’s been looking to fill the vacancy left when we had to let Officer Timmons go.”

“Thanks, Rich.” I let out a long breath; my chest felt lighter.

“Do you still have the key to my apartment?” he asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Go there and get some sleep. You look like crap.”

“I can’t.” I self-consciously fluffed at my tangled hair. “I’ve got to work tonight.”

“Call in sick. Stay the night. It’ll do you good.”

“I can’t,” I insisted again, standing up on stiff legs.

“Why not?”

“Because if I stay tonight, I might never go back.”

“And that’s a bad thing because?” Rich pointed out.

I needed to go back. I
had
to go back; my mission wasn’t completed yet.

+ + +

“Detective Miller?” The curt, no nonsense voice rang across the rotunda of City Hall.

I stopped short of the staircase that would take me down to the police station. After leaving Rich’s office, I’d dropped by Mickey’s Diner in St. Paul for a burger and fries. Then it was back on the bike and back on the road. I’d returned to Embarrass just in time to grab a few hours of sleep before my shift.

My body reacted in an almost Pavlov’s dog response to the sound of Julia’s heels clicking against the floor. The dampness collecting between my thighs from the click clack against the hard surface caused me to grimace.

God, what had she done to me?

“Madam Prosecutor,” I stiffly returned. “Another late night?”

I had nowhere to hide. When I’d last seen her I’d left her home angry and embarrassed. I hadn’t shot out of someone’s bedroom that quickly since the first time I’d had sex with a girl after experiencing a moment of Gay Panic. I felt ashamed for similarly abandoning Julia.

“I looked for you at the station earlier, but Lori said you hadn’t been in today. I thought I’d catch you before your shift.”

“Yeah. I was looking into getting a hobby.”

I knew I was being rude, but my whirlwind round-trip to the Twin Cities had left me worn and frayed. Eight hours on a motorcycle had not been kind to my body or mindset.

“I got you something.” She pulled a small paper bag out of her black briefcase and handed it to me. Inside, I found an ornament that spun on a loop of fishing line. “It’s a dream catcher,” she explained. “I picked it up this morning from the Bois Forte Heritage Center in Tower.”

Its significance took me by surprise. I didn’t know what to say or how to respond. I considered myself a fiercely proud person; admitting weakness or vulnerability wasn’t in my nature.

“I-I’m sorry about last night,” I stammered out. “I shouldn’t have bailed like that.”

She ignored my apology. It was clear she had her own agenda. “Once upon a time you told me you took this job as a favor. But you didn’t say who the favor was for.”

I couldn’t meet her stare.

“Was Chief Hart the one giving out favors, Cassidy?”

“I …” I blinked and tears clung to my eyelashes.

Julia wet her bottom lip. “Your nightmares,” she said gently, “it’s because of the war.” It wasn’t a question; she seemed to know.

The nightmares hadn’t come for several months after returning to the States. They had nearly derailed my sanity and had prematurely ended my police career. I’d spent more time in the office of the city police’s psychologist than behind the wheel of a patrol car. I’d graduated top of my class at the police academy, and now I feared I’d be stuck behind a desk for the rest of my working days. That was until my father, back in my hometown of St. Cloud, had reached out to his childhood friend, the Chief of Police in Embarrass, Minnesota. Working third shift in a small town in northern Minnesota was a far cry from the future I’d imagined for myself. It could have been worse though; I didn’t have to sleep with a weapon under my pillow, and I could leave the house and go out in public, so I didn’t have it as bad as some of the guys in my PTSD support group.

“I found something else you might be interested in.” She pressed a stack of papers into my hands.

“More presents?” I said weakly. I didn’t like the feeling that other people knew about my baggage. It was mine alone with which to deal.

“It’s a grant through the Department of Homeland Security for those mobile fingerprint scanners you were telling me the police department needed. They’re free. All you have to do is apply.”

My mouth opened and closed a few times. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you is always a good start, dear,” she smiled.

“I don’t know the first thing about writing grants.” I was shocked she had remembered the brief conversation and even more surprised that she’d found a grant for me.

“It’s okay. I can help you.”

I shook my head and gathered my wits about me. “How about over dinner tomorrow night?”

“At Stan’s?” She arched a critical eyebrow.

“Maybe I could cook for you,” I offered.

“You know how to cook?”

“Actually, no.”

She hesitated. “You know I don’t—”

“It’s not a date,” I interrupted. I didn’t know why labels bothered her so much. “It would just be two co-workers collaborating on a project after hours.”

Julia raked her fingers through her hair. “I suppose I could be bothered to make you a decent meal. It wouldn’t do if you had a heart attack from all that cholesterol you ply to your body. The medical bills alone would be a hardship on the city.”

“Careful, Julia,” I grinned knowingly. “Between the dream catcher and dinner, I might start thinking you actually care about my well-being.”

+ + +

“You’re scaring me. It’s like you’re determined to cut off your fingers.”

I gave Julia a crooked smile and wiggled the fingers on my right hand. “You’re always so concerned about me keeping my fingers.”

She rolled her eyes. “Give me the knife. I’ll do it.”

Julia had showed up at my apartment the next evening with an armful of bagged groceries. I’d protested her spending money, but she’d pointed out that she couldn’t make a decent meal from frozen pizzas and boxed macaroni and cheese. I couldn’t argue with her there. I had been meaning to go grocery shopping, but I hadn’t been motivated to do the mundane chore. It was depressing filling my cart with lonely meals for one. Grace had suggested we do a once-a-week rotating dinner, but we hadn’t followed through with that yet.

“No,” I refused. “I want to help.”

She stepped behind me, nearly pinning me between the counter and her body. “At least let me show you the right way to cut up an onion.”

“I didn’t know there was a wrong way.”

“When you cut off your fingers, that’s the wrong way.”

She rested her hand on top of my knife hand and the other wrapped around me to move the half mutilated onion out of my reach.

“Like this.” Her warm breath ticked the back of my neck. If she truly wanted me to pay attention, having her body so close wasn’t the best strategy. “Imagine your left hand is a hermit crab, and it’s getting smaller and smaller as you cut the onion.”

“What about these fumes? Any tricks for that?” I inhaled through my nose and it made an unattractive rattle.

“You’re letting a little white onion make you cry? I thought you were tougher than that, Marine.”

I wiped at my stinging eyes with the sleeve of my Henley top. “Fucking ooohraaah,” I grumbled to myself.

There was a brisk knock at the door.

“This isn’t over,” I said, shaking the knife at the offensive onion.

I wiped my hands on my jeans and once more at my nose, and I opened the door to find David standing on the other side.

“Uh, did I catch you at a bad time?” he stammered.

I must have looked bizarre with my eyes red and nose close to leaking.

“No. Just losing a battle to an onion,” I said, stepping back and ushering him inside.

He took a step into the apartment and froze again when he saw I had company. “Oh, hey Julia.”

“David,” Julia crisply returned. There was no place for her to hide in the studio apartment unless she ran into the bathroom.