Protect (10 page)

“Yes. Yes, I was attacked. My husband had to
defend me with a shotgun.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Fritter roared,
reaching for the phone. She avoided him.

“Please, tell them to get here quickly.”

Fritter turned for the kitchen, ready to head
out to the yard and tell Tims to load up their gear and get ready
to go. These fucking people were too precious for him.

He ran into the barrel of Cullen’s shotgun,
level with his chest.

“You’re kidding,” he repeated, shaking his
head at Wayne.

“Sit at the kitchen table and don’t fucking
move.”

Fritter did as told, sighing the whole
time.

“Tell the police you made a mistake, tell
them to turn back.”

“No!”

“Trina!” Cullen roared at his wife, not
letting his guard down this time, though. “Put the fucking phone
down!”

“They’re already here,” Fritter muttered,
hearing the sirens stop and car doors slam shut, very close.

“Shit,” Cullen muttered, and Fritter could
tell he was running through scenarios.

“She ain’t worth it man,” Fritter assured
him. “Put the gun down and tell them the truth, tell them exactly
what happened. I’m telling you, that’s the easiest and best way to
go. You are not made for prison, Wayne.”

The doorbell cut through the long silence
that followed. Fritter cocked his eyebrow at Trina, who was
hovering between the kitchen and living room, clutching the phone
even though she`d hung it up.

“Let them in or they’re kicking your door
in,” Fritter warned.

Trina went to do as asked. Wayne put the
shotgun on the table. And when Sheriff Sharon Downey walked in,
police issue revolver drawn and down by her thigh, it was all he
could do not to throw his head back and laugh.

It wasn’t until she was behind the wheel with
Mark Horton in the backseat that Sharon cracked up, laughing so
hard her stomach hurt and tears rose in her eyes. For his part he
was pretty pissed to be in cuffs and in the back of a cruiser but
that was just too fucking bad.

She started the engine, still cackling, and
pulled out on the street. Fritter’s assistant was loading equipment
into the back of a pick-up truck and gave a slightly jaunty wave as
they drove by. He was grinning, too.

“Are you seriously arresting me?” he asked
from the backseat. “Because you didn’t read me my rights.”

Sharon glanced up into the rearview mirror,
not quite done giggling yet. “Of course not,” she finally answered,
biting back another mad cackle to see he was relieved. “It was kind
of obvious what had happened there.”

They drove on a while and she composed
herself. After a few blocks he asked, “You pissed?”

She frowned at his reflection a moment before
looking back at the road. “Why would I be pissed?”

“I was fucking another woman.”

That surprised her. She felt how her eyebrows
lifted before she could get her reactions in check. “Why would that
make me angry?”

“Come on, Sharon,” he laughed, leaning back
against the seat, letting his legs spread. She really had to keep
her eyes on the road.

“Come on,
what
? What are you talking
about?”

“You find out I’m with someone else and
that’s okay?”

Sharon waited for him to elaborate. “Yeah,”
she answered eventually. “We’re not exclusive, Mark. I know that. I
never assumed we were.”

He leaned forward now, against the
bulletproof shield between the front and back seat. “You’re not
shitting me?”

She met his eyes in the mirror again. “I’m
not shitting you. We meet once a month. What about that suggests
we’re in any way involved in a
relationship
?”

He had an unreadable look, complete with his
odd half-smile, then he leaned back. “I’ll be damned.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not
the manic girlfriend type.”

“No, no. I’m getting that.”

“Sorry if that’s a disappointment.”

He laughed at that. “Considering you walk
around armed, I’d say at the moment it’s a very lucky thing for
me.”

She shook her head, smiling in spite of
herself. “Relax, Mark,” she eventually said. “I’m not trying to
trick you into being my boyfriend. I’m a grown-up. I know what’s
what.”

“Yeah, you do,” he muttered in an odd tone,
but when she looked up she just got his profile, staring out the
window.

The rest of the ride to the clubhouse was
silent. She pulled up to the curb, opting not to pull into the lot
given the way her last interaction with the rest of the club had
gone. She opened the side door and helped Fritter out, unlocking
his cuffs when he was upright. She’d been kind and cuffed his hands
in front.

He rubbed his wrists anyway, nodding
cordially. “Thanks for the ride, Sheriff.”

“And from now on, check the house for weapons
before fucking a guy’s wife.”

He laughed, stepping away from the car so she
could shut the door. “That’s good advice. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“And Sheriff?”

She turned back before opening her car door.
“Yeah?”

His grin was back to being downright impish.
“What if I told you I get hard when you cuff me?”

Something dropped and clenched in her lower
abdomen, but she kept her face stoic. “I’d say ask someone inside
to help with that, and never tell me that again.”

His grin didn’t drop. It got wider actually,
and he was laughing as he rounded the corner of the building into
the parking compound. She got behind the wheel with heat rising in
her chest and neck, then she stared at her dashboard trying to
remember what she had to do.

Shit, Brayden!

Only breaking the speed limit slightly she
got back to headquarters, clocked out and changed into shorts and
light T-shirt for the drive to Bakersfield. A shower would have
been great given the close humidity of a day spent in a polyester
uniform, but there just wasn’t enough time. Jasmine only wanted
Brayden left alone for a few hours at a time at the condo.

She still didn’t get what the issue was. He
was sixteen for fuck’s sake; he hadn’t crapped his pants in years.
At least, that’s what she assumed. She’d get it out of him if
Jasmine couldn’t say what was going on. She’d have the drive back
to Markham to get it out of him.

Her Focus was already fueled so she hit the
highway with a bottle of Coke Zero. Halfway between Markham and
Bakersfield the rain finally let loose and it was almost a relief.
She cracked her window for a bit of fresh air, then turned up the
radio. It was just starting to be a fun one-person road trip as she
hit Bakersfield city limits.

Jasmine and Steven had a swanky penthouse
condo in some towering glass and concrete high rise. She parked in
a five-minute loading zone spot and sent her son a text message,
since that was what the kids did these days.
I’m here. Get your
ass out here.

No response, but she waited and soon enough
she saw him pass through the glass double doors. Grinning to
herself she climbed out of the car and circled back to open the
hatchback so he could toss his two duffel bags inside. Then she
gave into her urge and yanked him into a hug.

“Oh Mom,” he mumbled sullenly, but he hugged
her back.

“Missed you Bray,” she mumbled, rubbing his
back before stepping back to get a look at him.

He was only sixteen but he was already three
inches taller than her. And he looked like a
man
now. It was
somewhat disconcerting. His hair hit his shoulders in dirty blonde
waves. That was her hair, she recognized it immediately. The blonde
stubble on his jaw was new. She hadn’t known he was shaving. He was
long and lanky, emphasized by an oversized T-shirt, flannel shirt
tied around his waist and baggy jeans. He pushed his hair back with
both hands and smiled down at her.

Not her kid, no way. He was almost
grown-up.

Her heart did a weird little trip, then she
shoved him by one arm. “You wanna drive us back?”

Manliness was gone. His eyes got big.
“Really?”

“Sure. Your old mom had to drive here to
collect you, you should drive her home.”

“You’re not old, Mom.”

She was grinning as he took the keys from her
hand then passed by to climb behind the wheel. She got in the
passenger side, buckled up and watched him adjust the seat and
mirrors.

In a weird moment of “mothering,” Sharon had
taken it upon herself to teach Brayden to drive. Jasmine and Steven
hadn’t seen the need and none of his friends drove. In the city
they had no shortage of public transport. Jasmine didn’t even have
a vehicle of her own, never needed one. Afterwards Steven had hit
the roof, demanding to know what she was thinking teaching Brayden
to drive in the city.

Sharon had gotten a rise out of that. She was
a parent, for fuck’s sake. And an officer of the law. She had
regular driving assessments done. She always had been a better
fucking driver than Steven was.

That had been a shitty fight, but it resulted
in Brayden getting a learner’s permit. In a few months he could get
his full license. Not that he’d have a car, but who the hell went
through life without a driver’s license?

“Hospital?” he confirmed, signaling and
shoulder-checking before pulling into traffic.

“Yeah, might as well see how your old man’s
doing,” she mumbled, rolling her window down. It wasn’t raining
here, but the temperature had dropped a little. It was nice.

“So, what’s new in the thriving metropolis of
Markham?” he asked sarcastically with a charming smile. Her son was
going to break hearts—that was becoming obvious to her.

“The ice cream shop got closed down.”

“What?” He seemed honestly disappointed.

“I know, bummer, hey? Health inspector closed
them down. They were serving expired ice cream and the coolers
weren’t being maintained.”

He laughed at that. “You’re making this
up.”

“I’m not! The fifth grade class all got sick
after stopping there after a field trip.”

“Oh my God,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
“Anything else?”

“Um,” she scratched an elbow, trying to
remember the last time he’d actually
been
to Markham. “Do
you remember the kids’ paddling pool? In the park?”

“Yeah. I remember going there.”

“That got filled in last year.”

“What? Why?”

“Teenagers were lighting bonfires in it and
shit. There was always broken beer bottles in the bottom.”

“Damn kids,” he cackled with an old-man lisp
he’d picked up somewhere a few years’ back.

“That’s about all the news I have.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “Nothing exciting
happening as far as the
sheriff
is concerned?”

She shook her head, grinning. “Nothing I’m
telling you about.”

“Fine,” he relented, having heard this
before.

He filled her in on his asshole teachers, and
she tried to be diplomatic in her defense of them but she didn’t
know these people so it just came across as cliché tripe. He
listened anyway. It was too early in their visitation to get into
arguments.

Steven Westhall was on the third floor. He
was able to have visitors, and that’s where Jasmine was. When they
appeared in the doorway she excused herself, giving them a moment.
Jasmine was really understanding like that, she always had been. It
was difficult to dislike her, but occasionally Sharon managed
it.

The man in the bed looked like he should be
in a cartoon. Everything seemed so extreme; the body cast, the
contraption keeping his limbs in place, all the equipment hooked up
to his plaster prison. She had the grossly inappropriate urge to
laugh suddenly but she prevailed. He’d been seriously hurt, after
all.

“Steven,” she said sympathetically,
approaching the bedside and leaning over to peer into the face that
looked like it was being squeezed out of the neck brace. “Jesus.
How are you?”

He moved, might have been a shrug but it was
impossible to tell. Whatever it was, her ex-husband winced and had
to take a few deep breaths before he could answer. “Mostly I’m
doped up,” he admitted, attempting a smile.

Sharon inhaled sharply. Half of his front
teeth were knocked out.

“Yeah,” he continued. “Teeth are fucked up,
too.”

“I’m so sorry, Steven. I can’t believe
it.”

“Hey, thanks for taking Brayden. I mean it.
It’ll be a big help to Jasmine.”

Again, she had no idea why a sixteen year old
wasn’t able to fend for himself. She just nodded, though. Her
sympathy had her avoiding anything that might turn into a fight.
“It’s fine, don’t thank me. I’m his mom for Christ’s sake. Just
worry about getting better.” Although, there was no way he was
going to be up and moving around in two months.

“Thanks.” Now Steven looked to the opposite
side of the bed. “Listen to your mother. Do what she says.”

“I know,” her son groused, sounding like a
sixteen year old again.

“Don’t worry about us,” she interrupted.
“We’ll be good. It’ll be fun. Maybe?”

That got her another smile. “Maybe,” Brayden
agreed.

Silently, Sharon watched her husband give her
sixteen-year-old son a proper set of warning-like instructions,
which should have felt insulting. But she wasn’t offended, just
amused. She was pretty sure she could handle a
sixteen-year-old.

The rain caught up with her just as she and
Brayden were leaving the hospital, and they dashed to her car with
her shouting, “You’re sure you can handle driving in this?”

He shouted back, “Uh,
yeah
,” as they
both hurriedly ducked into the Focus, her throwing her damp hair
back just as he did the same. She fought back a laugh as he pulled
out an elastic and tied his hair up at the back of his head in a
sloppy knot.