Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) (13 page)

Four days passed since Aspen came to my apartment. Four days and twenty-five text messages. Twenty-five groveling, begging, sorry-for-being-such-an-assuming-prick messages asking Aspen if we could move forward, if she could please forgive and forget what went down. Apparently Aspen wasn’t ready to do either as she didn’t respond to any of those messages. Not one.

The protective side of me wondered if her husband found the phone, but I knew better. She was furious with me, and I had to face facts that I deserved her silence, her anger, and frustration. I crossed a line in a big way.

Elizabeth let me have it later that day when we met for lunch.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, tilting her head down, looking over her reading glasses. With one swift movement, she closed her menu and slapped it on the table, glaring at me. “The poor woman is at your mercy, a sitting duck in your apartment, vulnerable because you avoided her messages, and
that’s
when you attempt to kiss her?”

“What?” I asked, genuinely confused. “Why are you pissed?”

“She was vulnerable, needing you—did you think you had a better shot or something? Couldn’t you have waited until after the case? I mean, c’mon, Jon. You
have
to know you were out of line.”

“I wasn’t trying to take advantage of her, I swear. Emotions ran high, and before I knew it, I was kissing her. Or trying to anyway.”

“I’m glad she told you to go fuck yourself,” Elizabeth snarled, picking up her menu and ignoring me.

“She didn’t say
that
, but thanks a lot. I appreciate the sentiment.” I shook my head, feeling like the biggest asshat on the planet. “Girl power.”

“Oh shut it, that’s not it. But, seriously, this girl’s world is spinning on its axis and you couldn’t wait to get your rocks off.”

“E, c’mon, you know better than anyone, I’m not like that.”

“Then, why now? Why couldn’t you just give her time to figure this all out? Figure out if she even wants to stay there without muddying up the waters?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Say it.”

Goddamn, this woman read me like a freaking book.

“All right, fine. I wanted to give her a reason to leave. I wanted to
be
the reason, okay?”

Elizabeth turned her head to the side. “Now, was that so hard?”

“You’re infuriating,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Hey,” she said, removing her glasses. “I’m always going to tell you the truth, you know that. Whether or not you meant to, you were taking advantage of this girl—of her out-of-control situation. You can’t be the reason she leaves or she’ll resent you for the rest of your life when she wakes up one day and realizes she doesn’t belong out here. She belongs in there.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes.” She nodded emphatically. “Listen, you and me . . . we don’t even go to church. Hell, the closest thing I have to a Sunday ritual is binging on Netflix shows while my coffee sets in. This girl eats, breathes, and sleeps her religion—it’s like this intricately woven fabric for her. And you can’t undo that, Jon. I’m sorry, but you can’t.”

“People leave there every single day,” I said under my breath, pretending to check my phone, not wanting to hear E’s brutal honesty.

“Yeah, but not her. I mean, for God’s sake, her husband ignores her, the prophet wants to marry her eleven-year-old
baby
, and she’s still there. If that didn’t make her leave already, nothing will. She’s there for good.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Will you still help her? That’s the question of the hour.”

I recoiled at her question. “Of course I will, how can you even ask that?”

Elizabeth smiled before taking a sip of her Diet Coke. “Just making sure.”

“Oh woman.” I shook my head. “You’ll be the death of me.”

She gave me a devious smile . . . the kind that used to make me hard in half a second. “Whatever. Let’s order our food. You’re getting hangry.” She raised her voice and looked out into the sea of people in the busy restaurant. “Can someone get this man a burger, please?”

“Nice.” I shook my head, sending a quick message to Aspen—the first of dozens. “For the record, I’m getting the Reuben.”

“Touché.”

Four days later, I was still staring down at the screen, hoping for a response.

Nothing.

“Cooke?” Sergeant Ross was standing under the doorframe, pulling my attention away from my phone.

“Sir?”

“Where are we on the Stevenson case?”

Aw shit.

Where
was
I on the Stevenson case?

“Just, uh,” I said, grabbing the stack of files from the corner of my desk. “Waiting on forensics, sir. Then I’ll be out in the field again, depending on the results.

I was talking out of my ass. Totally. Completely. But he bought it. With a decisive nod, he walked away, leaving me in silence.

“Damn,” I said under my breath, knowing I had to stop neglecting my job. Ross didn’t hesitate to penalize those who didn’t have their acts together. I’d been a performer since joining the force, and I couldn’t let my personal crap with Aspen affect the reputation I’d spent years building. I needed to get started on the Stevenson case, and in order to do that, I needed a fresh cup of coffee . . . and maybe a doughnut. I was pretty sure Megan was hoarding doughnuts and pastries at reception just so I’d come visit every once in a while.

I grabbed my cup and strolled to reception, ready to greet Megan, when I saw
her
. Clear as day, standing there, hunched over the desk. My instinct was to turn and walk back to my office, but instead I froze. And then she said it.

“Roger?” Linda Jean said, her brow knitted in total confusion.

Busted. Motherfucking busted.

“Roger?” Megan said with an awkward giggle. “That’s Detective Cooke.”

“Detective?” Linda Jean asked, tilting her head to the side. “I thought you said—”

“Hey,” I said, looping my arm through hers before she could out me to the station. The last thing I needed was Ross up my ass over using a pseudonym in public for the sake of a case I wasn’t supposed to pursue in the first place. “Let’s go to my office.”

“Um, ohhh-kay,” Linda said. “I’m just here to pay a parking tickets.”

“We’ll take care of that, just . . .” I led us into my office and closed the door behind us. “Come in here for a minute.”

“So,” she said, walking around my office, picking up the nameplate on the desk, “you’re obviously not Roger the construction guy.”

I shrugged, trying to escape the noose with forced humor. “I’ve never worn a hard hat.”

“You’re a detective, huh?” Linda Jean leaned against the front of my desk, her hair pulled up into a loose bun, large black-rimmed glasses on her tiny nose. The cutoff jean shorts crept up to her ass and her tank top hugged her insanely hot boobs.

Focus, Cooke. Focus.

“Guilty as charged.”

Linda Jean pressed her hands into the wood of my desk. “You can relax. I won’t blow your cover.” It may have been my imagination, but it seemed as though she enunciated the word
blow
ever so slightly.

“Look, L.J., I’m sorry I had to lie to you. I didn’t want to, just . . . pitfalls of the job, I guess.”

“I understand. So, who were you
investigating
?” She said that last word as if it was a joke, like I was pretending to be a detective. Like this was all a giant playground and we were all playing cops and robbers. She was sorely mistaken.

“I can’t disclose that, I’m sorry.”

She tilted her head forward. “You’re kidding, right? I’d have to be a moron not to know it’s Jim. Of course it’s Jim. I mean, he’s the only person you talked to besides me, and he sure as hell isn’t a detective.”

“You never know,” I deadpanned.

She laughed. “Good lord, if
that
man has a badge, I’m leaving this state immediately.”

I chuckled, in spite of myself. I couldn’t let Linda Jean jeopardize my case, but the idea of Jim Penowsky as a police officer was a humorous (and equally horrifying) concept.

“Listen, I can’t tell you anything about the case, but I can ask for your discretion.”

Suddenly serious, L.J. pushed away from the desk and stood to face me, her cheeks blushing. “Of course. I would never rat you out.”

I shook my head, feeling only slightly better. People lied all the time. All. The. Time.

“I hope not, L.J.” I said softly. “It’s a big case . . . a
really
big one.”

Slowly, she licked her lips and, without meaning to, I watched as her tongue traced a line against her top lip and she sank her teeth into the plump bottom lip. Goddamn, this woman was gorgeous, but she was trying too hard. I preferred the sweet and unassuming bartender I’d met weeks earlier.

“Your secret’s safe with me. Promise.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

She paused, then fidgeted with her hands before she spoke.

There’s the L.J. I know.

“We should get together. You know, now that you’re not coming to the bar anymore?” She said it like it was a question, which was actually kind of cute.

“That’d be nice,” I said, telling myself I was just playing along. Of course, I wasn’t in any state of mind to date someone. My feelings for Aspen wouldn’t disappear overnight. But in my gut I knew eventually she would make her choice to stay on the compound, and I’d have to move on with my life. Hopefully, the case would be closed, the prophet would be behind bars, etc. Regardless, I would end up alone. And as much as I loved my bachelor pad, maybe it was time to at least humor the possibility of a date with Linda Jean.

She walked to my desk and grabbed the stack of untouched Post-it notes and a pen. She scribbled furiously and handed the stack of neon green paper to me. “Give me a call.”

She dotted her “i” with a heart.

Lord, help me.

“Will do,” I said with a forced smile. “Listen, I have a ton of work to do and—”

“Say no more.” She smiled. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Don’t forget about your tickets. Megan can take care of that for you.”

“Ah, yes, thanks.”

“And next time, just pay ’em online, L.J.” I winked. “Save yourself the hassle.”

She licked her lips once again before pushing them out in a fake pout. “Then I wouldn’t get to see you, now would I?” she said.

I laughed, looking down at the carpet and shaking my head. “I suppose that’s true. Nice to see you, L.J.”

A warm smile crossed her face and I was reminded of that unassuming and friendly girl behind the bar. She left my office and I looked down at the bright green Post-it. Walking to my desk, I crumpled it in my hand and tossed it into the garbage.

I sat down and grabbed the Stevenson file, but the green paper called to me. Quickly, I bent down and retrieved it from the can, smoothing out the paper before placing it inside my desk drawer, right next to the paperclips.

“Don’t rule her out, Cooke,” I muttered before shutting the desk drawer and returning my attention to the Stevenson file.

Hours later, I’d managed to clock in enough time on the Stevenson file, and figured I should check in with Porter before leaving for the day. I hadn’t seen him since our conversation was cut short at the diner. Maybe he could help me figure out what to do next. He knew these people in a way that I never could, and with Aspen MIA I needed all the help I could get from someone who’d been there.

“Hey, man,” he said, his voice gruff. Then again, Porter’s voice was gruff a lot of the time.

“Is this a bad time? I just wanted to check in.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m on my way home.” He paused and then asked, “How’s the case?”

“It’s at a standstill, unfortunately. I pissed Aspen off and she’s not speaking to me.”

He laughed. “Oh man, with her it’s not that hard to do.”

“I’m learning that.” I tapped my pencil against the desk. “I tailed one of the prophet’s clients for a couple weeks but he wouldn’t crack. I’m at a loss.”

“Aspen will come around.”

“I’m not so sure,” I mumbled.

“What’d you do, man?” he asked, sounding sympathetic.

“I tried to kiss her.”

“You what? Aspen? Are you crazy?”

“I’m starting to think so, yeah. My ex-wife basically said the same thing. I just thought . . . God, I don’t what I thought. That there was something between us . . . and that maybe she’d leave, make a new life.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I can see why you’d like her, I mean . . . she’s beautiful and stubborn and all that stuff I imagine you
like
. But there’s no way she’s leaving, man. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll get over it. Plenty of fish in the sea, right?”

“Why don’t you sound convinced?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. She’s special, you know?”

“I get it, believe me. That’s how I felt about Brin when she was still there, but those women are like oil and water. Totally different. Aspen
is
the FLDS.”

“I still want to help her, Porter. I want to help all of them.”

“I know you do.”

“I just need a witness, you know? Or a victim. Somebody who can offer a firsthand account of what’s happening inside that room. Someone who
knows
. Then we can charge him. I just need
one
.”

The line was silent, and I worried the connection was lost somewhere during my rambling. Or he got bored. Anything was a possibility.

“Porter?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry, I, uh . . . I dropped the phone.”

“You should really go hands free, it’s safer.”

“Yes,
officer
.” His voice was snide. “Anyway, I just pulled up to the house and I know Brin’s cooking, so—”

“No, that’s cool. You go. I’ll keep mulling this over.”

I contemplated asking Porter to talk to his wife, to ask her to put in a good word for me with Aspen. However, that kind of underhanded action would never affect Aspen. No, when it came to Aspen Black you had to deal with her head-on, in person, with determined words and sincere sentiments. That’s what I intended to do.