Authors: Esther M. Soto
My mother reappears, tossing two large trash bags at me. “Here. I want you out. Now.”
My arms can't move, my knees are wobbly. “And don't you ever come back, you—”
My eyes spring open and I fly off the bed. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I run to my master bathroom, barely making it to the toilet. Last night's Chinese dinner comes right back up in one fluid motion as my body purges the sickening memories from all those years ago.
I crash onto the tile in front of the toilet, throwing up until there's nothing left, my body continuing to convulse until dry heaving subsides.
I wipe off my face drenched in tears and sweat, my heart pounding like a jackhammer inside my chest. The memory of his hands on me, the realization of how close he came to raping me, makes me feel ill all over again.
That night changed my life forever.
Before, I had just wanted to get out of that house, but that night, I realized I was the one in control of my life—me and no one else. In college, I worked out daily to make sure I would keep up with my Army ROTC physical requirements, studied until I couldn’t see straight. I finished college in three years by attending full time and every summer. Even losing my virginity was carefully planned. I chose the guy, made the arrangements, and controlled every aspect of that night. Every single one. No room for messy feelings or impulse. Those two things only lead to chaos. I have no room for chaos in my life. I had my fair share of that when my mother was calling the shots.
It's funny how the scratches and bruises I suffered from that night healed in a week, yet the bruises to my soul continue to torment my mind and body to this day. Christ, I thought I was past this. What brought this on?
After finishing up, I use what's left of my energy to get off the bathroom floor. I clean up the mess, remove my sweatshirt and yoga pants, wet with vomit and sweat, and then stand in front of the bathroom mirror, contemplating my reflection.
My eyes are bloodshot, and my usually pink cheeks are crimson and flushed. My small nose is pink and runny, my naturally red lips a pale white. My hair is damp around my face, the long layers all mangled with sweat. I look just like I feel. I look like I just got into a fight, and I did.
A fight with my demons.
I wash my face and rinse out my mouth. I can't help but think of all those women, all of those victims, so young, their lives ahead of them.
Did they feel as helpless as I did that night all those years ago? Why didn't they fight back? None showed signs of struggle. No bruising. Why? Why would they accept their fate as if they had no choice in the matter? As I look in the mirror, it dawns on me.
That's it! Dammit, we've been looking at this all wrong.
قلب
“Wake up, Tommy!” I burst into my spare bedroom, hitting the light switch.
Tommy is fast asleep, lying flat on his back, yesterday’s clothes scattered on the floor.
“Colton! On your feet!” I shake his shoulders as I lean in. I kick several empty beer bottles on the floor next to the futon. Jesus, what time did he go to sleep?
In a sluggish haze, he tries to open his eyes, fighting the brightness sneaking into his closed eyelids. He squints at me through his thick lashes, the ends of his hair haphazardly mussed in all directions, and scruffy beard stubble outlining his jaw. Luckily, he grabbed a blanket from the hall closet, which covers him just below his obliques, showing that V shape. His boxer briefs are peeking out of the blanket, his huge frame dwarfing my full-sized futon. Even half asleep, he looks like a magazine model.
“What the hell, Harper?” he croaks as he tries to shield his eyes from the light.
With a new burst of energy, my words rush out as I walk back and forth in front of the futon, agitated. “We're looking in the wrong place!” I continue to pace across the room. “It's all wrong—”
“Whoa, slow down.” Tommy raises up off the futon, one elbow supporting his upper body, muscles flexing as he rubs his eyes with his other hand. His eyes land on me and he freezes, probably wondering what the hell I’m doing in his room.
I stop pacing and bend over to pick his T-shirt up off the desk, tossing it to him. That amount of flesh is distracting to me. I notice the hollow of his neck, his wide shoulders showing his strong, perfectly shaped muscles. His thick arms outlined by the curves of well-defined triceps. His solid pectorals covered by a light dusting of chest hair, trailing through the middle of his stomach down his six-pack to—Jesus, I’m checking Tommy out now?
He’s right. I need to get laid.
Snap out of it, Ileana
! Wait. There’s something right above his heart, but I can’t make it out. Is that a new tat? Other than the Farsi band he got around his right bicep to cover that bullet wound he suffered back in Iraq, I haven't noticed any new ones—
“Lil!” he shouts, putting on his shirt, snapping my thoughts back to the present.
“Okay!” I shake my head and get back on track. “The FBI profile, maybe it's all wrong.”
That catches his attention. He's fully awake now, as he swings his legs to the floor.
“Wrong how?” He's sitting up, watching me as he pulls the blanket around his lap.
I focus on our conversation. “The profile says Caucasian in his forties or fifties, someone that blends. We're looking for this guy based on the profile.” I'm rambling on, but I can't help it. “The victims didn't fight back, so what if the sex was consensual?” I continue. “These were all young women. What if he's young, say in his twenties, and handsome? They wouldn't feel threatened, would they? Hell, he might have an act. Seem harmless in some way.”
I have Tommy’s full attention now. He's frowning at me, waiting to see where I'm going with this. I try to calm myself down.
“Okay, what if the victims didn't know him but bumped into him at the post office? He chatted them up, they got used to him…maybe he asked them out? They met up with him or maybe ran into him in a club or bar, and then he ended up going home with them?” I sit on the edge of my chair in the corner of the room, but not before picking up Tommy's pants and handing them to him. He takes his pants but stays impassive as he contemplates my new theory.
“So, our victims either ran into him or arranged to meet, took him home...and didn't fight back because they were willing? Wouldn't they struggle once he started strangling them?” Tommy asks, making a twirling motion with his index finger as he rises off the futon. I turn my back to him as I go on.
“That’s what bugs me the most. Maybe they were already unconscious, maybe asleep? I don't know yet. Nothing showed up on the tox reports. But let's say—hypothetically—they met this guy and took him home? Maybe for sex or some other bullshit pretense.” I glance over to find him sitting back on the futon fully clothed. Tommy nods to himself, pensive, absorbing my every word.
“Ted Bundy,” he finally says as my theory sinks in. “He was young. Good looking, used situations like car trouble or injury to lure victims.” He pauses and addresses me with a quizzical gaze. “Wait that can't be right, the murders span about twenty years. He can’t be in his twenties.”
Tommy has a point. I think about it for a minute.
Then something occurs to me. “What if there are two of them, and there’s a younger one? You know like those cousins in LA back in the seventies? Maybe they’re relatives or one picked up an apprentice like the Washington sniper.”
He looks at me in amazement. “If there are two, one of them gets in with her, and lets the other one in after? So no forced entry. Or maybe one’s retired or dead, and a younger one took over? Shit, Harper, that could be it!”
“All right, then!” I feel energized, my nightmare buried deep into the back of my memory.
“So, say you're a guy, wanting to score, where would you go?”
Tommy gives me his panty-dropping smile, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’d head downtown, hit some clubs. Those places are packed, no one pays attention to who comes and goes.” He snaps his fingers. “Let’s talk to their girlfriends again tomorrow. Girls like to go out in herds. I bet they had some stomping grounds we don’t know about.”
And just like that, we're both filled with a new sense of purpose.
“Let's go!” I get up in a hurry and start to head out into the hall when he suddenly stops me.
“Harper, it’s four a.m.” He looks at me with a mixture of compassion and dread. “The nightmares are back, aren’t they?”
I rub my neck. “I’ll be fine.” Even I don’t believe me.
“You used to sleep like the dead in the sandbox, what gives?” Tommy stands just across from me, but I can’t even bear to look up at him.
“What gave me away?” I ask under my breath.
“It’s all over your face,” he responds, matter of fact.
I need to walk away before I dwell on what woke me up in the first place, because I don’t want to talk about it. Before I can get away, Tommy does what he does best. He makes me smile when I’m feeling shitty.
“Come on Harper, bring it in.”
I peer up at Tommy, standing there with his arms wide open and a smart-ass expression on his face, motioning me closer. I can’t help it. I shake my head and smirk.
“Nope, I’m good, Colton,” I reply, but he’s not buying it.
“Come on, Harper, let’s hug it out,” he says playfully, gesturing with his head for me to walk over.
He’s done it. Now I’m smiling as I reluctantly walk straight into his arms. Tommy is a hugger, always has been. Lately, not so much, so it’s good to see him getting back to being himself.
He brings his strong arms around my shoulders and hugs me to him, resting his cheek on the top of my head. His hold makes me feel safe. That is something I’ve never felt with anyone else. He starts giving me little squeezes and I know what he wants. I laugh against his chest and bring my limp arms around his waist, hugging him back. He then gives me a quick squeeze, grabbing me by my shoulders and pushing me to arms’ length.
“We're not going anywhere until you put some pants on.” Tommy arches one eyebrow, a big grin and amused expression on his face.
I look down at myself and realize that I'm only wearing a cami and panties.
Shit
.
Tommy
We take some time out to clear our heads by heading to the gym. Lil needs to get that shit out of her system. My frustration comes from seeing her like this. Even though we just caught the case, there’s been one vic on our watch, and Lil takes it all very personal. She’s wound so tight, she’s about to snap. Fucking nightmares are back, and the least I can do is be there for her, give a hundred percent on the job. I hope against all hope we catch a break and get this sick bastard.
“So, what’s first?” I ask, knowing full well exactly where she’s going to head first.
“The kickboxing bag,” she says, “I need to kick the shit out of something.” Yep. Figures.
“All right. I’m heading for the weights, unless you need me to hold the bag for you?”
“Nah, I’ll be okay. See you in a bit.” She doesn’t even glance in my direction as we part ways to the locker rooms to change.
A while later, she emerges from the women’s locker room. She’s wearing her kickboxing gloves, yoga pants low on her hips, and a sleeveless sports top. Most women here love showing off the results of their hard work by wearing sports bras. Not Lil, she’s covered her torso as she always does. I know what’s underneath though, having sparred with her numerous times—lean muscle. Those abs of hers are solid as concrete, especially when she’s taking punches.
I’m in the middle of my rotation: planks, weightlifting, pull-ups and cardio. She’s not the only one needing to burn some pent-up energy. I just wish we could burn it another way.
Cool it, Colton.
Following her with my gaze, I see her looking around, most likely trying to spot me. What she doesn’t see is every male with a pulse in her vicinity checking out her ass. Fucking infuriates me. No respect. She’s completely oblivious. I’ll count them lucky because if she caught them gawking, they would get a mouthful. The regulars try to be discreet, but the newbies are the ones that try to hit on her because they don’t know better.
She finally spots me and gives me a quick ‘what’s up’ head signal. I return it, acknowledging we have about an hour. She goes straight for the bag and gets to work. She hones in on the bag, punching and kicking it as if her life depended on it. Her deep whiskey eyes are murderous as she punches and kicks that bag with everything she’s got. I have to keep an eye on her because she’ll go deeper and deeper within. Before she realizes it, she’ll fight that bag for so long and with such intensity, she’ll drain every bit of her energy until there’s nothing left.
And what a work of art it is, her hitting that bag. Her concentration is unwavering. She’s oblivious as men walk by and stare at her. Some stop working out altogether just to watch her. Her back and shoulder muscles tighten, and every muscle in her arms is perfectly defined and visible every time she swings at that bag. After a while, a sheen of sweat covers every inch of her beautiful skin, while her ponytail swings side to side as she bounces around the bag. The way her tits bounce right along, and her solid, perfectly round ass clenches every time she plants her feet and swings at the bag. I don’t even want to think about those punching bag sit-ups…those fuckers get me every time.
Turning around and keeping my mind busy, I give her about thirty minutes while I go through my cycle. Even after doing multiple pull-ups and the salmon ladder repeatedly, I have energy to spare. The woman ran into the room and woke me up half-naked. Christ, I’m only a man. I think she forgets sometimes. Jesus, she shook me awake wearing nothing but a fucking tank top and panties. Took everything I had not to grab her and pull her into bed with me.
Our time is up, so I try to clear my head, and walk over to the bag. She’s just finishing up her sit-ups. Good, I missed them. Her silky skin is glistening with sweat, loose strands of hair from her ponytail sticking to her delicate face. Her cheeks are red and flushed, and she’s panting loudly. She’s gonna kill herself one of these days. Those fucking ghosts are getting the best of her.
“Harper.” She doesn’t even see me, and I’m standing right across from her. Her eyes are focused on the bag like she’s contemplating a second round.
“Harper!”
She finally peels her eyes off the bag and looks at me. She’s completely spent, yet her expression hasn’t changed. Whatever is bothering her, she hasn’t purged it.
That makes two of us.
“Ready to go?” I ask because this isn’t working for me. Every muscle in my body is burning, and not from the workout. She takes in my expression. I hate this; Lil can read me like a book sometimes, and I fear this is one of those times.
“No. Let’s take a spin at the mats,” she pants, gesturing to the mat.
Shit. The last thing I need right now is full-on close contact with her.
“I’m wiped, Harper, and we need to go over case files again.” That’s my lame attempt to get out of it.
“I see,” she says in a curt tone.
I’m not falling for it. She’s baiting me. Nope. Not falling for it. “See what?” Yup. Fell for it. She can press my buttons like no other.
“You’re scared. It’s okay, Colton.” She leans in and whispers softly, “Last thing you want is me kicking your ass right here in front of these guys.” She pats me on my chest, walking right by me and heading for the locker room. Before I can control myself, I reach out, grabbing her forearm.
“It’s on, Harper.” I try to glare at her, but I can’t. She’s trying to hold back a smile. She’s got me good and she knows it.
“Good. Let’s go,” she says with a smirk.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Bring it, Harper.”
“Always, Colton.” As she starts walking toward the mats, she calls over her shoulder, “Don’t forget I warned you.”
Oh, it’s on.
قلب
“Let’s go over the rules: no hitting below the belt,” I warn her like I do every time, while I put on my gloves.
She nods, bouncing side to side on her tiptoes. She jabs her hands around like a boxer, stretching her arms and cracking her neck, so I continue, doing my best not to stare right at her perfectly round bouncing tits.
“Also, none of that girly bullshit.” She stops bouncing and stares at me with an innocent look. “I’m not falling for it, Harper. None of that wounded girly shit.” She drops the act, rolling her eyes at me. She’s gotten me with that shit time and time again. Every time I’m winning, she fakes an injury, or complains I'm too rough. The second I ease up she goes for the kill.
“Fine.” She sighs. “Is that it?”
“Yes. Do you have any rules for me?”
“Same rules. Don’t hit below the belt, and don’t pull any ‘girly shit,’ as you put it.”
I laugh. She’s got me there; I love my playful partner. This is going to be fun.
Once we step onto the mat, she turns my way. She’s enjoying this way too much, and it makes me smile.
She’s like the little Energizer Bunny, jumping and swaying her hips side to side, her ponytail high up on her head following suit. Her curly hair is in disarray, framing her heart-shaped face. Her cheek color now matches her lips, and her light freckles shine from her little, upturned nose.
She’s breathtaking.
My breathing picks up and it has nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the feelings she’s stirring inside of me. Goose bumps rise along my arms despite my hot, sweat-covered skin.
A sharp kidney pain snaps me out of my thoughts, as she quickly retreats laughing. Lily is getting to me, my lack of concentration giving her full access to my dumb ass standing here. I concentrate, zeroing in on her face while keeping a keen eye on her body movements. She’s way ahead of me in that regard. She doesn’t have much upper body strength, so she takes full advantage of her size and speed. I move to her left, she moves to the right and vice versa. She counteracts my every move, making it look like a perfectly orchestrated dance.
“Too slow, Colton,” she teases.
I move fast, but she’s faster. She keeps up with my every move. She already got one shot in, so I have to stay on my toes. Just like she can read me, I can read her. Right now, she’s got the upper hand. If I know Lil, next is going to be a roundhouse kick to my head. Her strength is in her lower body, and she uses her legs as a weapon every chance she gets. If I didn’t lay out the rules early on, she would have stomped on my balls already.
I see it between blinks. A quick turn on her heels, her left leg coming full speed for my head, so I put a swift stop to it by grabbing her leg mid-air. Lil doesn’t miss a beat. Standing in place on her right leg, she mocks me without as much as losing her balance, even though I’m still moving around holding her leg up.
“Nice, Colton, but I’m gonna need that back,” she says, bouncing on her right leg and nodding to her left.
“Come and get it.”
And then, she drop kicks me with her right. I didn’t see it coming.
Two blinks later, she’s sitting on my back, my face kissing the floor. Before I can react, she’s back to position one. Shit, she’s kicking my ass. Time to pull out all the stops.
There’s something that I’m fully aware of, that Harper thinks I don’t know, and that’s what happens when I remove my shirt. Nothing rattles my partner’s composure more than the sight of my bare chest. But if Harper wants to rumble, I’m going to play dirty. Without breaking eye contact, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the side.
Her grin fades instantly and she swallows hard. She tries to shake it off, but it’s too late; her cheeks are twice the shade of red they were two minutes ago. If her chest movements are any indication, her pulse is racing. Good. But now she’s squinting, looking at my chest.
Shit.
I have to get her attention away from my new tat.
“See something you like, Harper?”
That does it. She pins me with a glare.
“Lucky for you I’m tired, Colton, so I’m gonna make this quick.”
Her gaze is murderous, but it’s too late. I’m in her head. I start my predatory circle, but she’s rattled. I wounded my prey, now I just have to move in for the kill.
I adjust my gym pants, so they’re barely hanging on my hips, and her eyes don’t miss the movement. There’s my window. I barrel straight for her, taking a shot at her ribs. She’s quick and avoids the full force of my punch, but I feel her core tense up, meaning she wasn’t ready. Good.
“You were saying?” I tease.
“Lucky shot.”
She’s pissed. Maybe I went too far. The more I gloat, the more determined to wipe the grin off my face she gets.
She shoots a quick look over my shoulders, and her lip quirks up.
Who the fuck is she looking at?
No. I’m not falling for it. My eyes don’t leave hers, but my curiosity is getting the best of me. It’s early in the morning, so most guys here work out before heading to work. Most are law enforcement since we’re close to the bureau. Can it be someone from our branch?
Fuck.
Now she’s messing with
my
head.
The gym isn’t very crowded, so the music in the background seems louder, along with the clanging of the weights. I hadn’t noticed the guys standing by the mats watching us. Or rather, watching
her
. That does it. My grin is gone.
I circle around to see what’s going on behind me. There’s a new guy I haven’t seen before moving alongside the mat, following Harper with his eyes. Was that the guy she smiled at?
My head pounds, as anger and a now familiar feeling course through me. Who the fuck does he think he is, looking at Harper? I want to stop sparring and go straight for this guy’s throat. He’s fucking watching her, eye-fucking her right here in this gym.
Boom!
I’m sprawled on my back again and she’s astride me. No way. Once she locks me with those thighs, she won’t let go until I pass out, so I buck her off me in one swift, feral movement. I don’t know what has gotten into me. I fling her away and she lands hard on her back. She tries to get on her feet, but I grab her legs and bring her down on her stomach, pinning her to the mat.
My brain is boiling, and I’m all instinct. I want to pound this guy’s face right here. Walk over to him, rip his head off, and piss on his skull. Instead, I’m heaving and panting all over Harper. I have a good hundred pounds of solid muscle on her; for her it would be like trying to lift a concrete wall. She tries to knock me off, but I’m not going anywhere.
I’m so worked up, I’m close to growling. Something is happening, and neither of us knows what to do. I know what I want to say, but I can’t. I just can’t risk—
“Mrs. N. thinks I should snatch you up while I can,” she says between breaths.
What?
Before I can even blink, Lil jabs her elbow full force and nails me in the face. In a second, we’ve reversed positions and I’m still blinking, now with my back pressed to the mat and Lil on top of me again. I’m still stunned when she climbs off me.
What the fuck just happened?
“That’s it. You’re done,” she says matter-of-factly, glancing at the fucking guy by the side of the mat. She does it again. She played me. I am such a fool.
“Wait. What?” I spring up, and now I’m the one pissed. Bloodthirsty is more like it. I’m going to kill this guy if he smiles at her one more fucking time. Instead, I head right for her in challenge.