Faith, Honor & Freedom (6 page)

“It’s stressful because you’re in the PICU, and for the last time, I never talked you into a home birth,” I say, with a forced laugh.

“But you did. Every time you came home from a birth all blissful and radiant, talking about how magical it was, it made me want it for myself, too,” she says.

“Yeah, yeah, give my boy a kiss for me, will you? I’ll be up in the morning; text me with anything you need, and I’ll bring that up, too.”

“Will do, and thanks again, Lana.”

“I’d like to say anytime, but he’s used up his quota of scaring us to death. Make sure he knows that.” I hear Vi chuckle.

“Thanks. See you tomorrow,” she says, hanging up the phone.

My stomach rumbles, and I groan. I do not feel like cooking. I open my drawer, looking for my take out pamphlets. I’m not proud of it, but hey, a girl’s gotta eat, and cooking for one isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Once in a while, I’ll treat myself. I start rooting through them, thinking about Chinese food when I hear a knock on my front door. I have no idea who it could be, considering the time of night and the fact that Vi’s in the hospital. I open the door to find Hoss standing there in a light blue t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. He looks strangely casual, and I’ll admit, pretty damn sexy … until he opens his mouth.

“Lana, how many times do I have to tell you, check your peephole,” he scolds.

“What makes you think I didn’t?” I retort.

“Because I’m sure as shit you wouldn’t have opened the door for me,” he says, pushing past me. “Look …”

“Honestly Hoss,” I say, interrupting him. “You are the absolute last person I want to see right now. Can we do this later?” I ask, moving past him to search through my take out pamphlets again.

“I’m sorry for punching the hole in your wall, I really am. I’m not sorry for what I said, though.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, looking up at him. “Did you really just come all the way over here to tell me you’re
not
sorry?” I ask, incredulously.

“Lana, you’re better than I am. You always have been, always will be. Don’t mix yourself up with people like that. Don’t let them take advantage of you,” he pleads.

“What makes you think he was taking advantage of me? You don’t even know who the hell I slept with so how do you know I’m better than him? You don’t! Is it that hard to believe that maybe I liked it? Scratch that, maybe I loved it,” I say, taunting. My blood is boiling, and at this moment, screw the wall, I’d like to punch his face in. Of course, I never would, but it’s fun to imagine.

“You’re lying,” he hisses.

“Fuck you. Stay out of my life, Hoss, before I permanently block you out of it,” I threaten.

He runs his fingers through his hair as he paces back and forth. I hear my phone ring and rush to it, not even caring who’s on the other line. They’ve got to be easier to talk to than Weston Hoss.

“Hello?” I answer a little snippy.

“Lana?” he drawls. I know exactly who it is, and I feel myself tense and get excited, all at the same time. He’s definitely dangerous, but in the best way possible.

“Yeah, sorry,” I mutter, feeling Hoss’s eyes bore into the back of my skull.

“I got your number from your phone last night before I left. I hope you don’t mind. You were off in a hurry so I just wanted to touch base and make sure everything was all right.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, everything’s fine now. Her son was sick; he ended up needing surgery, but he’s doing well now,” I answer, walking out of the room and away from Hoss.

“I’m glad to hear that. I’m actually just wondering if you wanted to go out tonight. I’ll be out of town soon on a contract, but I wanted to see as much of you as I can before I leave,” he says in that incredibly sexy voice of his.

My stomach jolts, and I wonder if it’s in hunger, or if I’m truly scared. I know he wouldn’t have hurt me, but I just can’t shake this bad feeling. I feel Hoss come up behind me, and I make a decision I’m not sure I should.

“Sure I’d love to. What about dinner?” I ask, patting my stomach.

“I’ll pick you up at eight,” he says, hanging up the phone.

I glance down at my watch; it’s already seven thirty!

“Where are you going?” Hoss growls.

“None of your business. Look, we’re done here,” I say, pushing past him and walking into the bathroom. I close the door and start to strip down. He can let himself out.

I wash and shave my legs quickly, barely feeling the water pounding against my skin. I mentally pick out my outfit to try and save some time. I blow-dry my hair hurriedly, throwing in some hair spray to give it volume. I do my make-up and then rush out of the bathroom toward the white and grey empire-waisted dress hanging in my closet.

Instead, I run smack dab into Hoss’s chest. Did I forget to mention I was naked?

We stand staring at each other like deer in headlights for what feels like a decade, but is probably more like ten unbelievably long seconds. I feel his eyes burning into my flesh, and I start to wonder if he actually likes what he sees. I blush at the thought, before snapping back to reality. What the hell do I care what he thinks of my body? He passed it up long ago. He must have known I liked him in high school, and he’s never made a single move on his own accord.

“What are you still doing here, Hoss,” I yell, running back toward the bathroom to grab a towel. I come back out to find him still rooted to the same spot on the floor.

“I, ah, I have to go,” he mutters.

I start to relax, knowing he’s as flustered as I am and look around the room. The giant hole he punched in my wall is now covered over in plaster, leaving an ugly white spot on my otherwise pristine walls.

“I found the stuff in the garage. I figured the least I could do was fix it for you,” he says, nervously running his fingers through his tousled hair. He turns to walk away, and I start to feel guilty. As much as he pisses me off, he’s still family, and I can feel Rhett up there screaming at us to suck it up.

“Weston, wait,” I say, securing my towel in place and following him into the living room.

“Thanks for fixing the wall. Thanks for looking out for me, too, but seriously, I don’t need it anymore. I wouldn’t need it from Rhett either, and he’d have to deal with it just the same, so don’t take it personally,” I say as calmly as I’m able to.

“I know. I wish I could thank my mother for not giving me any sisters,” he says with a forced laugh.

“Well, I hope you wouldn’t have stared at them naked as long as you did me either,” I say, rolling my eyes. I instantly regret it, and I feel myself turn a nice bright shade of red. I watch his face as it blanches. He turns and slips his feet into his shoes and grabs a hold of the door handle.

“You called me Weston.”

“Yeah, so?” I say, failing to see his point.

“I like it,” he says, without looking back.

I stand in the doorway for a good minute, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened before I realize that I only have about thirty seconds before Alec shows up. I let out a screech and run back into my room.

I pull out the dress I was thinking of, white top, ending just below the bust, and a grey bottom, falling just above my knee. It has a flirty slit, and three vertical buttons at the top of the grey skirt. I slip on a pair of gray pinstriped heels as I hear a knock at the front door.

“Coming,” I scream stupidly, knowing there is no way he can hear me.

I take a deep breath before opening the door.

“Alec,” I say, motioning for him to step inside. “Come in.”

He’s dressed in a white button up shirt, with the top few buttons open, and I can see the muscles rippling underneath his shirt. Paired with navy blue dress pants, that probably cost more than I make in a week, he looks unbelievably good.

“You look beautiful,” he says, leaning in to plant a kiss on my cheek.

“Thanks, you too,” I say, blushing. “I just need to grab my purse.”

I rush back into my room, grabbing a light grey sweater and my purse. My mind flashes back to us in this bedroom, and I feel my knees start to go weak. I’m still not sure if it’s out fear or excitement. Maybe a mixture of both.

I take a deep breath and walk back out to the front door, where Alec is still patiently waiting.

“Are you ready?” he asks politely.

As ready as I’ll ever be.

Chapter 5

Hoss

“Sorry babe, I’m just not going to be able to make it tonight,” I tell Emma.

“Are you sure? I promise I’ll make it worth your time,” she croons in her sickeningly sweet voice.

“It’s work, babe. You know I would if I could,” I say in an attempt to reassure her.

She huffs, and I know she’s annoyed at not getting her way. I try and play nice, but honestly there’s another dozen out there to take her place. I don’t need to spend my time kissing her ass. I told her what it was when we first hooked up.

“All right, call me if you can get it off,” she sighs.

“Will do,” I say, hanging up my cell phone. I throw it down on the end table beside me.

I wish I was missing my date with Emma for work, but instead I’m sitting alone in my apartment, unable to get the image of Lana standing stark naked in front of me out of my head. Her firm, round tits, soft tanned skin, and hot little pussy. In all the years I’ve known Lana, I have never seen her naked. What the fuck was I thinking staring at her? Rhett would have my head on a stake.

“Fuck,” I shout out, moving into the kitchen.

She’s on a date right now, and I have half a mind to check every restaurant in the city and drag her ass out of there when I find her. I walk over to my fridge and look at the scarce contents. I settle on last night’s left over Chinese food. Turns out Amanda had a taste for something a little more American. I sent her on her way pretty early in the night, though, waiting for Lana to call me back.

Yeah, I’m a sick fuck. I can never have Lana, and I need to take the edge off somehow so I can be around her without my dick permanently standing at attention. It’s this or run the risk of acting on it every time I see her.

I don’t even finish chewing my first bite of fried rice before my cell phone rings in its annoying tone, signaling it’s work calling. Maybe it wasn’t a false excuse I gave Emma after all.

“Hoss,” I clip, pulling it to my ear.

“Fucker’s at it again,” Parker says, clearly disturbed. He must already be at the scene of the crime.

“Where to?” I run into my bedroom to grab my badge and gun.

“Twelve Quinpool Street.”

“Shit, that’s …” I start, before he cuts me off.

“Lana’s street, I know. Look, I’ll fill you in; just get here fast.”

I head out the door and down into the parking garage, jumping into my baby. Her engine roars to life, and I drive out, putting my lights and siren on. Logically, I know Lana’s all right and it’s not her address I was given. It’s not Violet’s either, but it doesn’t cease to freak me the fuck out. It’s too close for comfort. I pull out my cell phone, dial Lana’s number, and put it on speakerphone.

She doesn’t answer. Of course, she’s on a date.

My mind reels over the gruesome murders we’ve had these past six months—all beautiful women, all killed in the same manner, and all by, who we assume is the same killer. He’s clever, though, never giving us anything to put his ass behind bars. He lays the bodies out, naked, exposed, and in suggestive positions, stealing their last shred of dignity.

There’ve been a few other murders just like these, all within a twelve-hour drive of here. But without any DNA evidence, it’s hard to link them all together. All we know is that it’s the same MO, and I’d bet my life it was
him
.

I curse again as I pass Lana’s house at the opposite end of the street. Her red jeep is sitting in her driveway, and her lights are out, which means she’s still on her date.
Damn it.

I drive to the end of her road, where crime scene tape is just being set up, and nosy neighbors are starting to flock. I get it; people either care or they’re just curious assholes, but I always find myself scanning the crowd, wondering if the killer’s just standing there laughing at us.

I cut the sirens, and park on the road since the driveway is already full. I walk up to a dated house, probably the oldest looking one on the street. This means it probably has the least amount of security features as well, making it an easy target. We have never found signs of forced entry, so I have to assume the girls willingly go home with him, or let him into the house—but why? Have they met him before? Where? There are still so many unanswered questions. We have yet to find much linking all the girls. The victims, ranging in age from eighteen to thirty-five, were all single, white, attractive females. That’s about as much as we can find that they have in common, though.

I nod to a few of the guys on the force, trying to prepare myself for what’s inside the house. No matter how many times you see it, it’s just not something you can ever get used to, and this sick fuck likes to get creative. I can only hope the body is not too decomposed.

Sergeant Parker meets me at the front door. “What do we have?” I ask.

“Twenty-four year old female, Jenny Owens, dead approximately sixteen to twenty-four hours. Her sister came to check on her after she didn’t show up for work today. She’s hysterical, but we managed to talk her into coming down to the station. Says she doesn’t know anyone who could have done this. Looks like the victim was strangled to death, but we’ll have to wait for the autopsy to confirm. Sick fucker sprawled her out, too,” he says, cringing.

I nod, because it’s all I can do while forcing the bile back down my throat. The past six months have been an absolute nightmare trying to take this guy down without any evidence. It’s like he doesn’t even exist.

Parker leads me into her back bedroom, where I can smell the stench of death. The victim has one hand tied behind her head and wrapped around the bedpost, her legs bowed out like a frog, and her hand spread out over her cunt. Her body is bruised on the inside of her thighs, around her throat, and her stomach. It’s sickening, and I fight the urge to cover her with a blanket, to give her some respect.