Fleeting Moments (9 page)

“What they’re doing in there . . .” I say, my voice tightening as I recall that poor young girl.

“Is fucked,” he mutters. “But it’s also incredibly dangerous. You need to trust me when I say to let it go.”

“I can’t.”

His eyes flash and then harden. “Lucy . . .”

I reach up and my fingers graze his jaw, moving over the muscle that jumps and stopping when my palm cups his cheek. “You saved my life. You understand. I’ve lost everything, please . . .”

He closes his eyes for a second, then reaches up and closes his big hand over mine, turning his cheek into my palm, closing his eyes and exhaling loudly. My bottom lip trembles. He opens his eyes and studies it before stepping back and letting my hand fall. “I have to go, Lucy.”

“Don’t,” I cry, my voice trembling. “Please, don’t go again . . .”

“This is for the best; trust that. Go home, get better, be happy . . .”

“My husband left. I lost my baby. I have nothing left to be happy about.”

His eyes flash and his jaw tics again. “I have to go.”

“No,” I cry leaping out of the car when he steps away. “No, please.”

He takes my upper arms, and I look into his eyes helplessly. “Lucy, get in your car and go.”

“No.”

“God dammit,” he growls. “You have to stop.”

“Doesn’t it matter to you?”

“Of course it fucking matters to me. I can’t get you out of my fucking mind. It’s taking all my power not to come for you, but I can’t. Don’t you get that? I can’t. You need to go home and forget about me.”

“No.”

He cups my jaw in his hand and tilts my head back. “Go home, Lucy girl.”

Lucy girl
. My heart pounds.

“No,” I whisper.

He growls, low in his throat and then pulls me against him. My tiny body presses deep, molding into every part of him, and the comfort I’ve been seeking comes flooding back, like it always does when we’re together. He wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me so my face is the same level as his, then he brings his lips down over mine, soft at first, then rough and deep. I let him kiss me, even though I shouldn’t. I let him because it feels so damned good.

He pulls back after only a few heartbeats.

“Stop. Looking. For. Me.”

“No,” I say again, my knees wobbling, but my voice firm.

“Jesus,” he grunts.

“I’m staying at Hotel Belair. If you want to see me for real, so we can talk about all of this, then come and find me. If not, I will keep coming here. I’m not going to stop because I’m invested now. I was there; I saw what those monsters did, and I saw what they’re doing to that girl. I’ll go to the police, with or without you. The choice is yours.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but I get into my car and slam the door, effectively cutting him off.

Then I drive away, feeling the strongest I’ve felt in weeks.

~*~*~*~

H
e doesn’t come.

I stay in my hotel for two nights. He doesn’t come. Each passing hour, my heart sinks because it just makes me realize I made a mistake. Maybe he really doesn’t want me to look for him, and that scares me. What could he be into that is so dangerous he literally can’t contact people? Or maybe he just wants me, and my craziness, to go the hell away.

I am acting exactly like what they’re accusing me of at the moment.

I went home this morning to collect my phone. It was sitting on the kitchen bench, and beside it, a note from my dad. I called him as soon as I left and assured him I was safe, but staying in a hotel for a little while because I wasn’t ready to go back to the house and face it all. He begged me to talk to Gerard, and I promised I’d call him, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet, either.

I just arrived back at the hotel room after going out for some Chinese food. I’ve been sitting on my laptop for hours, researching everything I can about cults and how they work. The more I read, the more terrified I become over the fact that they’re so deranged and twisted. Worse, that one person can manage to change the minds of so many. Do people truly believe God would want these things?

Extremists. That’s what they’re called. Their mission is beyond extreme. It is horrifying.

I shove a piece of cashew chicken into my mouth when my phone rings beside me. Gerard’s name flashes on the screen and I reach for it right away, picking it up and answering. “Hi,” I say softly after I’ve swallowed my food.

“Lucy,” he says, and his voice is brisk. “I’m just calling to let you know I’ll be needing access to the house to get my things tomorrow.”

The coldness in his voice hurts me. He’s never spoken to me like that.

“And tell her she’ll need to find a lawyer to handle the divorce papers and a settlement,” his sister yells from the background.

That explains why he’s so cold. Anytime Heather is involved, his mind is instantly warped. She’ll be loving this.

“You have a key, Gerard,” I whisper, my voice too tight to make an appearance. “You can go in whenever you want. Can’t we talk about this?”

“I don’t wish to enter until I know that you’ve granted permission. It makes me feel better.”

Bloody lawyers.

“Listen,” I say, trying to stop the hurt from coming into my voice, “I know things have been hard, but can’t we talk about this like adults and without your sister interfering?”

“Are you still looking for that man?”

“Gerard . . .”

“Then we’re done, Lucy. This is for the best. I’m not going to argue; it doesn’t need to be a messy divorce. All we need is to sort this out and then move on civilly.”

“You’re really just willing to hand it all over, after everything?”

“I can’t take it anymore, and you’re not willing to try either, so yes.”

“Our relationship has changed. And, you’re asking me to tell you I’m crazy, and that’s not going to happen, because I’m not.”

He sighs. “I’m not going over this again. You’ve made your choice. I’ll be at the house at ten a.m. tomorrow.”

“Are you going to protest if I come and talk with you?”

He goes silent for a few minutes. “If that’s what you need to do, but my mind is made up.”

Then he hangs up on me.

Jerk.

I shove more chicken into my mouth when a knock sounds out at my door. Narrowing my eyes, I stand and walk over, opening it. I gasp when I see Heath, his face bloodied, standing at my door, his body coated with sweat.

“Oh my god,” I rasp. “What happened?”

“Can I come in?”

I nod and step aside and he walks in, his long muscled legs striding across the room until he finds the bed, where he plants his ass down and stares at me. I stare back at him. I’m not exactly sure what he wants me to say or do. I never thought he’d show up, but here he is, bleeding and angry.

“I’ll get some ice,” I say, eyeing his swollen hands.

I rush to the small fridge and pull it open, reaching into the top and pulling out the ice in the little cooler above the fridge section. I wrap it in a towel and walk over, handing it to him. He takes it and presses it against his knuckles while I study his eye. It’s swelling, and a small cut beneath it is what’s causing the bleeding. “I’ll get another towel for your eye.”

I rush into the bathroom, soaking a towel, then I bring it out, kneeling in front of him and pressing it to his face. He hisses and my eyes meet his, holding them, and suddenly the air in the room thickens. He’s here. He’s really here.

“Ah,” I whisper. “Are you okay?”

He studies my face, his eyes dropping to my mouth, and then his jaw tics. “You’re messing with my head.”

“So you got beaten up?”

He shakes his head. “I got into a fight with my fucking brother; it had nothing to do with you.”

“Okay then,” I say softly.

“You’re just messing with my head in general.”

I look away. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make your life difficult.”

“I’m giving you one night, Lucy. I’ll stay here; you can ask me what you want and I’ll tell you what I can. I’ll talk with you, but there is one condition . . .”

“Name it,” I rasp.

“You gotta stop looking for me, and you’ve gotta stop asking about me.”

“So when you walk out tomorrow, I’ll never see you again.”

His eyes flash. “For now, that’s how it has to be. Go fix things with your husband, find your life—make yourself happy. Trust me when I say you can’t have that from me.”

That hurts, but I try not to let it show. “My husband wants a divorce, and so do I.”

His eyes flash again. “He can’t know about me.”

“You want me to keep letting them think I’m crazy.”

“No, you can tell them you were wrong and I wasn’t real, and nobody will think you’re crazy.”

“That would be a lie.”

“Life is a lie, Lucy girl. Deal with it.”

I flinch and lean back. “I don’t like your conditions.”

“They’re the only ones you’re going to get.”

I sigh. If he’ll give me a night with him, then so be it, I’ll take it. Maybe one night will give me the answers I need. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not sleeping with you.”

He grins, and it absolutely transforms his face. “Clear, honey.”

“Stop grinning at me like that,” I mumble, standing and taking the towel back into the bathroom where I rinse it off.

I return a few minutes later and he’s standing, staring down at my laptop.

“Next condition,” he growls pointing to the page on the screen detailing the history of cults, “stop looking this shit up. It’s dangerous.”

“Sorry, you’ve already made your conditions. And it’s free information; I can look at it if I like.”

He glares at me. I raise my brows and hold his glare.

Neither of us break.

“This place got room service?” he finally grumbles. “I’m thinking it’s going to be a long night.”

I smile.

His eyes drop to my mouth and he mutters, “Christ, thought you were beautiful before, then you go ahead and smile.”

My heart flutters.

I get the room service menu.

~*~*~*~

“S
o why were you there that night?” I ask, watching him chow down on his steak. I just had Chinese, so I’m letting him eat his heart out. Even eating, he is perfection. Slightly skewed perfection, but that’s what makes him unique. He isn’t what you’d expect—he’s so much more.

“I can’t tell you much about that,” he says, his gaze locking with mine. “All I can say is that we had an idea that it was going to happen.”

“And you didn’t think to cancel the game?” I gasp, crossing my legs and leaning against my headboard.

He watches me from the table, shoving more steak into his mouth and chewing before answering, “There have been quite a few threats made on the place before, and we had to answer to every one—nothing happened. They were threats more than anything. We can’t cancel every game; people would start questioning it, and the second something like that becomes public knowledge, all hell breaks loose.”

“So why do you think they picked that night?”

“We had a police conference. Most of the officers were in meetings, and they must have figured they had a good chance of pulling it off. They were right.”

“So you are a cop.”

He looks at me, narrowing his eyes, still chewing. “I was. I’m not anymore, but I am . . . helping with this.”

“Why?”

Something painful flashes across his face. “Can’t talk about that.”

If he’s no longer a cop, why would he be helping with this unless it somehow affected him? Does he have a wife in that cult, or a child maybe? Why would he risk so much when he didn’t have to?

“Is that why everybody is pretending they don’t know who you are?”

His eyes flicker away. “I can’t go into much detail, but it’s for my own safety. It can’t be known that I’m anywhere near this case.”

“Why?” I prompt.

“I can’t tell you that either.”

“They would have seen you there, so if you wanted to stay so secret why were you there that night?”

“The men attending didn’t know who I was, it was safe enough.”

“Well then who are you hiding from?”

“Can’t tell you.”

I huff. “What can you tell me?”

He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “That it’s not safe.”

I roll my eyes.

His lips twitch. “You have to trust me with this, Lucy.”

I look to him again. “I don’t know what to trust anymore.”

“If you keep digging, people are going to figure it out and you’re putting not just yourself at risk, but me, too.”

My face falls. “You?”

“Yeah, me.”

That was never my intention. Not ever. “I don’t want that. I didn’t realize . . .”

He sighs and gets up, walking over to the bed and sitting down. “I know that, honey. You just have trust me.”

“So you’re saying I can’t see you, at all?”

His eyes soften. “Right now, that’s not a good idea. If you promise to stop asking around about me, then I might be able to visit.”

Visit. Like I’m sick and in a hospital.

I look down at my hands. “Do you still think about it?” I whisper.

He sits on the side of the bed. “Every fucking minute of every fucking day.”

“How do you just move on?”

He exhales slowly. “I haven’t had much of a chance to stop and think.”

“I’m grateful,” I say, looking up at him through my lashes. “So damned grateful I was sitting next to you.”

He gives me a lopsided smile. “Me too, Lucy girl.”

I smile.

His eyes drop to my lips again. His body goes tense, and he abruptly stands. “Going to borrow the shower, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say softly, my heart pounding.

“All right,” he says, equally as softly.

He disappears into the shower and I watch the door for a few long minutes before staring down at my hands. I don’t feel guilty, but I should. My husband left, and I have no shame over the fact that there is another man in my room. Of course, I’m not doing anything with him, but the fact of the matter is I’m attracted to him and there’s no denying that. I can pretend I’m not, but I am. More than I care to admit.

That scares the hell out of me.

Is my attraction simply a reaction to what happened? Am I risking everything, only to wake one day and realize I have nothing left? No family. No home. Nothing. My heart seems so sure of itself right now, and things between Gerard and I have been spiraling downwards since the attack, but it was so good before that. Surely feelings can’t just change so quickly.