Spread Your Wings: Men in Blue, Book 4 (2 page)

She almost tried another time to get him to stay since the same instinct she’d used to administer hugs to the surliest patients at exactly the right moments tugged on her insides.

But before she could, he’d vanished.

“Good luck,” she whispered.

Chapter One

Present Day

Jambrea rode bitch on the bench seat of Matt Ludwig’s beastly black truck. As her date to Lily and Jeremy’s commitment ceremony, he’d insisted on picking her up. She supposed the vehicle fit the man himself, who was enormous enough to dwarf her, making her feel petite. Very different than the story Lily’s and Jeremy’s photos of the big day would tell. Next to the bride and her sister Izzy—especially in these heels they’d insisted she wear to match the rest of the wedding party—she was going to come off like an Amazon. Terrific.

In the background, the radio droned about a missing presidential candidate. It’d been all over the news for weeks now. Annoyed with life and horrible things happening to good people, Jambrea flicked the volume all the way to zero, muting more bad news. Usually she could shake off misfortune, even living with it day by day in the hospital. Lately, that was becoming harder to do.

Maybe because of her present company.

On her right perched Clint Griggs. Her
other
date to today’s festivities. He looked deliciously handsome in the charcoal tailored suit his friends had dressed him in. It was odd seeing the pair of cops in street clothes. Despite their dashing good looks in their matching outfits, she missed their crisp navy uniforms—especially the pants that usually hugged their tight asses to perfection. Well, that and the bulge of their
guns
. Plus their handcuffs. Right.

“What’s that sigh for?” Matt dropped one hand from the wheel to squeeze her knee. That didn’t resolve any of her issues. In fact, she thought she might overheat when she took in his relaxed posture as he handled the monstrous truck with ease. His walnut hair feathered over his forehead in the breeze from the air conditioning, which did nothing to cool her down. The rugged features of his face captivated her.

How could one man be so damn big, strong
and
handsome? It didn’t seem fair.

Clint must not have approved of Matt receiving all her attention since he combated his friend’s touch by drawing circles on her upper arm. Bare at the edge of the cap sleeve he toyed with, her skin nearly burst into flames at their direct contact.

Dear God, when were they going to stop torturing her and either make a move—individually or collectively—or pass for good? In limbo, they were playing a constant game of red-light-green-light that confused the hell out of her. Frustrated her too. Or was it a round of monkey-in-the-middle, with her grasping for something they withheld? Either way, she kept losing.

She’d burned through a crap ton of batteries lately. Pretty soon, she’d send them a bill.

“I guess there’s just a lot to reflect on today.” She didn’t begrudge anyone happiness. That didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult to watch friend after friend find eternal bliss while she waited in the wings. Even a temporary fling would suffice at this point. Anything to get her back on the proverbial horse.

Why did her heart have to be so stubborn? For most of her twenties, she’d had a crush on an unattainable man. Then, when she’d finally decided it could be time to move on, she’d fallen for not one of these sexy Men in Blue, but both of them.

Fuck. Why can’t my life ever be simple?
She glanced down at the tattoo on her right wrist and reminded herself to be strong. Moping wasn’t her style.

“What does that mean?” Clint angled toward her and the man who’d been his bestie, the guy who still was his partner on the force. The complicated attraction braiding the three of them into a colossal knot had wedged some distance between the men. Awkwardness had snuck in ever since the night they’d both made out with her on her couch, during the case that had brought their mutual friends Lily and Jeremy together permanently.

The brief taste of paradise had only resulted in weird vibes the next time she saw the pair, not any progress. They hadn’t mentioned the stolen kisses again. Neither had she.

“Frankly, it means I’m annoyed I had to be stuck with the two of you today.” Nothing like rubbing her face in what she couldn’t have, for some reason she didn’t understand. They supported Lacey, Mason and Tyler—a pair of cops in their precinct and the mens’ shared wife—in their unconventional relationship. So that wasn’t it.

What was the problem? She wanted to scream but would never risk ruining Lily and Jeremy’s celebration with lingering tension from an unfinished fight.

Clint groaned and Matt snatched his hand back as he turned into the lot of Gunther’s Playground, where Lily and Jeremy both held positions of high esteem. The sex club was a blend of old and new. Black Lily’s respected clientele and a fresh start for all who’d rather leave the horrors of the sadistic chemical aphrodisiac Sex Offender and the elite drug-slash-sex-ring they’d survived behind them forever.

In truth, Gunther’s was a place for people serious about the BDSM lifestyle to mingle. That included Mistress Lily and the only man to ever top her, Dom and cop, Master Jeremy. Jambrea understood now that the club was so much more than a means to score an easy fuck. Her eyes had been opened through her friendship with Lily. And while the midnight activities engaged in here might never be exactly her cup of tea, she found it hard not to be jealous of the community of likeminded individuals who had a safe place to express themselves.

Jambrea had nothing but two men who wouldn’t be straight with her. They came to a gentle stop as Matt eased into a parking spot. “Let me out, Clint.”

She practically shoved him because it was the only way she could escape. Even the short ride to the venue where two of her dearest friends would vow publicly what their hearts had already sworn to each other had riled her. Clint and Matt’s powerful thighs on either side of hers had scorched her through her flimsy scarlet dress. It wouldn’t have been a problem if they intended to do something…
anything
…about it.

Her hopes of that had long since evaporated.

“What’d I do?” The pinch of Clint’s lips made her fingers itch to reach out and reassure him. Reality was, he kept hurting her and she’d had enough. At some point, self-preservation had to come before coddling.

“Nothing.” She practically spat the denial at him. “I can’t believe Lily stuck me with both of you in the processional. Can’t even have a freaking normal date like every other woman in the world.”

“You know there was an uneven number of guys and girls.” Matt tried to defuse the situation.

“Yeah,
that’s
why she did it.” Jambrea rolled her eyes. As if Lily wasn’t a professional at manipulating people, though not in a malicious way. Surely, her friend had been trying to be helpful.

She ignored Clint’s proffered hand and slid from the truck, clutching her purse—embroidered with black lilies and red roses, a bridesmaid’s gift from Lily—like a shield against the way his soulful gaze turned her insides to mush.

“You’re saying we didn’t just get lucky?” Matt joined her on the pavement after circling the hood of his baby.

“I haven’t gotten lucky in forever. Certainly not with you two dumbasses.” It might not have been ladylike, but she stomped off, leaving them in her wake. It was either that or bash them with her clutch. How could they be so dense? And if they didn’t want her, why did they keep sending her mixed signals?

Fortunately, the troupe of cops and wives—including her fellow nurse Lacey—who’d become her dear friends milled out front, available to run interference. Izzy squealed when she saw Jambrea approaching. The pixie practically bounced in place, her blond curls springing, until Jambrea came in for a much-needed hug.

“You look amazing!” Lacey joined in the barrage of embraces.

“Thanks.” She scanned what she could see of herself, thinking again that the dress
was
more flattering than she’d imagined it would be. Shapewear to the rescue.

“I almost didn’t recognize you out of scrubs,” Mason, one of Lacey’s husbands, teased Jambrea, though his smile was warm and his gaze appreciative. He gave her a squeeze that set her more at peace.

“Let’s check the floof factor.” Izzy’s fiancé, James Reoser, snagged Jambrea’s hand and swirled her in a move he must have learned in his ballroom dancing days. She giggled as the skirt of her dress fluttered outward and her anger leeched away on the resulting breeze, replaced by appreciation for her friends.

Apparently, Tyler—Lacey’s other husband—approved. “Pretty darn good. Maybe you’ll let me have a turn at the reception, Jambi?”

“You’re on.” She beamed at the gathering, reminding herself how fortunate she was to have a by-choice family this strong. Which reminded her of their growing numbers. “How’re you feeling today, Izzy? How’s Razor Jr.?”

Lily’s half-sister, bright and bubbly, rubbed her hand over the baby bump her bouquet couldn’t quite hide. She and James were waiting until after their newest addition made an appearance to get hitched themselves. Probably meant another dress, more makeup and someone doing her hair again.

Secretly, Jambrea couldn’t wait.

As long as she could swing a real date. Or attend solo.

When Matt and Clint ambled over to the group, probably having argued again for a bit, she didn’t feel like ruining the vibe. She fanned herself with the luscious bouquet Izzy handed her, then announced, “I’m going to head inside. Don’t want to get sweaty.”

“Okay, we’ll be in shortly.” Izzy waved to her, though her narrowed eyes probably meant she was on to Jambrea’s ruse. Sometimes dodging was the right move.

Ushers she recognized as some of Lily’s submissives guided her to a holding room off the auditorium, which generally hosted events of a somewhat baser nature. They’d done up the space brilliantly for today, draping crimson and black tulle from the ceiling and lighting what looked like a million tapers held in ornate candelabras of all shapes and sizes. Gilded mirrors reflected light and warmth from every direction.

Moisture gathered in the corners of Jambrea’s eyes. The hall, which even vampire nobility would be proud to get married in, was perfect for her friends—dramatic, intense, serious and gorgeous.

Before she could bawl and ruin her face, she stepped into the waiting room.

Inside, two people had already taken their positions. Lucas and Ellie.

“Hey there.” She waved at the pair as she joined them. Both had suffered horrific injuries in the Sex Offender scandal. Lucas, physical ones; Ellie, more emotional wounds. If they could carry on, Jambrea scolded herself, then she had no business whining. Again she ran her finger over her tattoo.

“Hi, Jambi.” Ellie beamed. It was so nice to see her smile again.

“You look really pretty.” Lucas peeled his stare from Ellie for long enough to give Jambrea a cursory glance. She didn’t mind. It was sweet to see the two of them together. The more she mulled it over, the more she thought they might be good support for each other. They had a lot in common. Unfortunately, not much of it was good stuff.

“Thank you.” The nurse in Jambrea immediately noticed Lucas rubbing his thigh compulsively. She’d facilitated his rehab sessions enough times to know he was overexerting himself by loitering, even with the aid of his cane. He’d pay for this later. Still, she knew better than to dishonor his efforts by calling him out. So she took up a post on the far side of the space and pretended to study a painting of a woman suspended in an intricate web of ropes while she peeked at the unlikely friends from the corner of her eye.

Ellie, however, didn’t have the same healthy respect for the temper of an injured man. Or maybe she just didn’t give a shit about Lucas’s bark. The thin woman had lived through unspeakable abuse. The ire of one pissed off ex-military commando would seem like nothing to her. The fact that Lucas had been maimed while trying to rescue her from The Scientist probably added to her concern. Guilt could drive people to do crazy things.

“If it’s sore, why not use your wheelchair? The ceremony won’t take long, but it’ll feel like forever if you’re hurting. I bet your leg is already past numb to burning again, huh?” Ellie didn’t shy away from Lucas’s foul mood. Not even when he snarled at her. Truth was, she’d endured much worse.

“I’m not gonna let you push me down the aisle like an invalid.” He rejected her help. Jambrea had seen that one coming a mile away. She’d dealt with prideful patients enough to know he’d fought to walk again, against all his doctors’ expectations. Sentencing himself to the chair so publicly wasn’t going to happen unless he had absolutely no other choice.

The man’s pain tolerance was legendary. Accounts of his heroics in the dungeon of Morselli’s lair were only surpassed by those the nurses and hospital staff recounted from his recovery and therapy sessions.

“Better to fall on your face like a self-absorbed fool and ruin Lily and Jeremy’s day? Of course, you’re right.” Ellie turned her nose up and gave him the cold shoulder. At least for a few seconds.

“Shit. Fine. Hand me the damn thing. I’ll rest until the last second, okay?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Still, he waited for Ellie to accept his compromise.

She beamed so quickly Jambrea wondered if that hadn’t been the slender woman’s goal all along. Crafty little bitch. Jambi liked her.