Captive Audience (4 page)

Mickey went home that night, stripped off her clothes, and crawled into bed without even washing her face or brushing her teeth. A cloud hung over her as all the doubts and fears of the past rose again to meet her.

The next day, she made it through her classes in a daze. When it was time to head to work, she considered putting on her old clothes, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. All the joy she had felt the day before while dressing for work and feeling like herself for the first time in years had evaporated. Today she was just going through the motions.

When she walked into work, the warden was standing near the entrance. He gestured toward his office. “Can I see you for a moment, Officer Grace?”

Her heart pounded as she followed him down the corridor. He motioned for her to close the door behind her and sit.

“Mickey, I guess you know why you’re here,” he began.

She swallowed hard, and wondered if her gulp had sounded as loud to him as it had in her head. “No, sir. Actually, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Well, it seems as if your little makeover is causing quite a stir on C-block,” he responded sternly. “I’m happy for you that you’ve decided to…embrace your femininity. But I’m going to have to ask you to tone it down a bit, or face disciplinary action.”

“Tone it down?” she repeated carefully.

“Yes. I think you know what I mean.” As he spoke, his gaze drifted from her face to her breasts and back up again.

Any fear, any doubt about what course of action to take evaporated in the wake of her anger. “Yes, my shirt fits now and my pants aren’t two sizes too big. I fail to see how that is over the top, sir.”

“Be that as it may, we can’t have those types of distractions in this environment.”

Mickey leaned forward and put her hands on the desk. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I am going to turn around and walk out of this office and never come back. I’m not quitting because you’re right. I’m quitting because you, sir, are an asshole. And I’m not going to spend my time working for an asshole. If you don’t want to get slapped with a discrimination lawsuit, then I’ll expect to receive a month’s severance and a glowing recommendation so I can at least find another job. It’s that or I fight you every step of the way, while you spend the next couple of months trying to build some trumped-up case to fire me. You decide.”

He stood and nodded once. “Fine. Leave your badge and your gear. You can drop your spare set off tomorrow sometime. The official story will be that you left for personal reasons. Good day, Ms. Grace,” he said, his expression unyielding as he ushered her from his office.

As Mickey walked out of the prison, her ire slowly dissipated. She stopped and turned her face toward the sun and let its warmth soothe her. A tingle started in her belly and spread through her body. She felt…hopeful.

The job had been a means to an end, and she wasn’t sad to be done with it. She was
going
to be a homicide detective, just maybe not in this podunk town, and that was okay too. If she budgeted carefully she could manage for the next six months on her savings, allowing her to focus 100 percent on school.

Regardless of what happened next, Mickey felt free, and the future seemed bright with possibility. Even when faced with pressure, she had stood strong and hadn’t allowed that bastard Eller to sway her. He was wrong, and so was her mother. She was just fine the way she was, and she was never going to change for anyone else again.

She got into her car and spared one last look at the prison. What would Jake think when he found out she had left?

She tamped down the feeling of disappointment and tried not to dwell on the fact that if they had met somewhere else, somewhere on equal footing, that just maybe…

Chapter Seven

Six months later

Mickey’s head pounded. The music from the band was thumping and she could barely hear herself think. A few people from her criminology class had convinced her to go out for appetizers and drinks with them after a particularly grueling midterm exam. They had arrived at the Thirsty Camel Saloon three hours ago, and it seemed as if they were staying for the night.

She looked over at one of the girls she’d come with and chuckled despite her headache. Emily was dancing on the bar to a Carrie Underwood song about smashing her cheating boyfriend’s car to bits. Clearly, she could relate to Ms. Underwood’s woes because she was singing her little heart out into someone’s empty beer bottle. Her other two classmates were on the dance floor, and whether they had been a couple all along or they just decided to be a couple for the night, things were looking pretty heated out there.

Mickey took a sip of her tepid beer and sighed. She was too old for this. And what the hell was she doing drinking cheap warm beer from a communal pitcher? She was a grown woman.

The bartender walked by and Mickey pushed the beer away and ordered an ice-cold Cosmopolitan with lime. When the bartender handed her the drink, she took a sip.
That
hit the spot. Cold and tart and fantastic. Now if she could just get some distance between herself and the too-loud band, life would be good.

She tapped Emily on the foot and gestured to the pool tables across the room to let Emily know where she would be. It took some maneuvering, but she made it, noting with relief that it was much quieter away from the blaring speakers.

She’d grown up playing pool with her father in their basement but had lacked the confidence to play out in public very often. Reminding herself that she was a brand-spanking-new Mickey, she walked over and slapped her quarters on the edge of the table to let the guys playing know she was up next. She could feel the men stare as she went to sit and wait her turn.

She watched the game and sipped her drink, noting that, of the men playing, the lighter haired of the two was actually pretty decent. While he didn’t have good control of the cue ball, he was a good shot maker. The other guy was sloppy, and had no finesse. He seemed to think that the harder you hit the balls the more likely they would end up in the pockets. She hoped the blond guy won so at least she would have somewhat of a challenge. A moment later she was disappointed as he scratched on the eight ball, losing the game.

As Mickey set her drink down and walked over to deposit her quarters into the slot, she could hear the men murmuring. She began to rack as the dark-haired one approached her.

“Well, hello there. My name is Chase. My friend Wade and I were only playing singles till our buddies got back with drinks. So, we’re playing partners now. Do you have a partner?”

It was fairly obvious she didn’t, but she responded politely. “I’m Mickey. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to play singles. I’m only playing one game and then you can have the table back.”

“Well, it’s our table till someone wins it from us, so our rules. And we’re playing doubles. But, seeing that you’re all alone, I can be your partner. What do you say, gorgeous?” he asked, sidling close to her and laying a hand on her shoulder.

Mickey backed up a few steps, but he moved forward, crowding her against a corner table.

“Back up, asshole,” she said firmly, reminding herself that she didn’t need to be afraid. They were in a public place and he was probably just some lowlife whose mommy hadn’t loved him enough or something.

“Aw, now that’s not nice, is it, darlin’? I was being nice to you, offering to be your partner. I could show you how to hold the stick,” he said with a leer. “Or maybe you don’t like people being nice? Is that it? Hey, I’ll be your partner here for a game and then we can go back to my place and you can tell me just how you like it. Nice and sweet or mean and dirty.”

Just as she was about to pull back and knee him in the balls with all her might, another man spoke.

“I’m the lady’s partner.”

She stood stock-still as the voice she’d heard a hundred times in her dreams over the past few months washed over her. Jake Thompson.

It took every ounce of self-control Jake had not to clip this guy in the jaw and drag Mickey out of there. He had clearly been all up in Mickey’s personal space and she was not receptive to his advances. Jake tried to explain away his fury with the fact that he truly did think guys who used their superior physical strength to intimidate a woman were the lowest form of scum. But that didn’t explain the intense surge of jealousy, of possessiveness that flashed through him.

When he’d first seen her from across the room, he thought maybe the guy was her boyfriend, but he realized quickly that wasn’t the case.

Lucky for him, Mr. Amorous took a look at Jake and decided to back up.

“Hey man, she said she wanted to play singles, but we’re playin’ doubles. I was just trying to help her out.”

“Well, I’m here now so we can play doubles if she wants to. Or we can go…?” He looked at Mickey questioningly. If she wanted to play and prove a point to this jackass, then he was in. But if she was stressed out by his nasty behavior and wanted to leave, Jake was more than willing to drive her home.

“Let’s play.”

Jake tried not to drool as she walked toward him, arms open. She wore a white tank top and a denim skirt that came down to just above her knees. Despite the relatively modest length, in her case it still left a mile of tan leg bare to his gaze. Her graceful feet with sexy red toenails were encased in brown sandals. She took his breath away.

“How was work today, dear?” she asked, a smile in her voice as she pulled him close for a light hug.

“Just fine, just fine.” She felt so good in his arms, it was difficult to let go when she began to pull back.

“What, no kiss for your honey?” he asked, affecting a wounded tone.

She shot him a mischievous smile and raised one eyebrow. Placing both hands on his shoulders, she stretched up onto her tiptoes and pulled him down to meet her mouth. Her lips were full and warm and soft and erotic as hell. Her tongue darted lightly against his mouth and he parted his lips and deepened the kiss. And as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

He held her close for a moment, trying to gain control of both his breathing and
his cock as she whispered in his ear, “Let’s crush this son of a bitch, okay, Jake?”

Yup.
They’d crush him.

And then Jake would find out where the hell she went to and where the hell she’d been for the past six months. Because the way he figured it, they had some unfinished business.

Chapter Eight

Mickey backed away to finish racking the balls, cursing her shaky hands.

Jake.

How often had she thought of him in the past few months? How many times did she pick up the phone, thinking to call 411 and dial every J. or Jake Thompson in West Chester until she found him? How many times had she imagined running into him somewhere? Maybe the grocery store and their eyes would meet over a bin of cabbages. Or maybe at the post office and her head would be down while she rifled through her mail and they would bump right into each other, mail flying everywhere.

Ugh, what a sap. This wasn’t Hollywood. Who even went to the post office anymore? She had realized pretty quickly that, even though they lived in the same town, the odds that their paths would cross anytime soon were pretty slim.

Yet here he was
.

So now what? Clearly, their chemistry hadn’t been just a fluke, because they still had it in spades. The question was, what were they going to do about it?

Mickey pulled the triangle tight, making sure all the balls were flush, then lifted it away, flipping it with a flourish and sliding it back into its space beneath the table.

“Break,” she said to Chase, who was blissfully ignorant of how close he’d come to singing soprano only a few minutes earlier. Wade had come back from the bar and was waiting, cue in hand.

Chase broke but sunk nothing, leaving a wide-open table. Jake waved Mickey forward in a sweeping gesture and she gave him a smile.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, rubbing the blue chalk back and forth over the tip of her cue.

She walked once around the table, eyeballing various paths and shots.

“Why don’t you shoot the one ball, sweetheart,” Wade asked with a patronizing smile. “It’s hanging right on the pocket, right and tight. Just hit it softlike.”

“Thanks, Wade,” she murmured, not even sparing him a glance.

Mickey bent low, lining up a long shot for the seven ball up the rail, taking two measured practice strokes before hitting the ball cleanly into the pocket with a snap.