Marry Me for Money (36 page)

“Okay, don’t do anything drastic. Everyone, in your cars!” the cop yelled into his receiver.

One by one, the officers began to draw back. Jesse retreated backward, flopped me into the backseat, and jumped into the car. As he wheeled the car around to drive out of the dead-end street, I heard the first gunshot, held my ears, and screamed.

Jesse’s eyes were wide as he looked around him. He hit the brakes hard, plummeting me forward toward the seat in front of me. The gun was still gripped in his hand against the steering wheel.

I didn’t waste any time to think. I just reacted.

I propelled myself out the door and ran. I ran as fast as I could. All I kept thinking was,
Run
.

Run.

Run.

Run.

He could shoot me, but I kept running until I tripped on my own feet and fell to the ground on all fours. The impact of the fall scraped my knees while pain shot up my thigh. I glanced behind me. Jesse was on his feet and out of the car, and his gun was pulled straight out in front of him. This time, everyone had their weapons pointed at him as well.

I felt strong hands pull me up, and I yelped as an officer dragged me away from the scene. Words were exchanged back and forth between Jesse and the officers, but I didn’t comprehend what was being said. The only sound that I kept on hearing was the ear-splitting boom of the gunshot earlier.

“She’s my wife,” I heard him say.

Hands reached under my knees and lifted me. When I glanced up, it was Kent, and automatically, I collapsed into his arms, held him tightly, and sobbed uncontrollably into his neck. I was shaking as he held me, the tremors from my cries taking control of my body. I didn’t pay attention to where we were going. I just held onto him for dear life as if he was the air I needed to breathe.

“Shh…it’s okay. I’m here. I’m going to take care of you,” he said, pulling me closer toward him. He kissed my forehead and held me like a small child. He comforted me with his words telling me that everything was going to be okay, over and over again. Not once did he let me go. If anything he held me tighter.

I cried and cried until my tears ducts were dry, and when the sobbing slowed, I realized that we were in the back of a cop car. He placed both hands under my chin, searched my face, and wiped the tears under my eyes with his thumbs.

“Did he hurt you? Should we go to a hospital?”

I stared at him from under my lashes and shook my head. He gripped me closely, pulling me flush against him, and kissed my forehead forcefully.

“Thank God,” he whispered.

The cop opened the backseat of the car to peer in.

“Ma’am, we’ll need a statement. Before that though, I think you should get checked out for any trauma. The crime scene is cleared and they’ve taken the culprit down to the station. There is an ambulance outside. In any way, did that guy use force on you?”

I shook my head to indicate ‘No’.

“At the minimum, you should at least get that scrape on your knee looked at.”

I nodded, and Kent scooted out of the car. As I stepped away from the car, Kent lifted me again and carried me to the ambulance. I nestled closely, resting my head against his chest, as I relaxed in his arms, taking in his masculine scent that calmed me.

He positioned me at the back of the ambulance truck, and a nurse tended to the scrape on my leg. I flinched at the sting of the alcohol wipe against my bloody knee and observed the nurse as she tended to my wound. Dazed and tired from what had happened, I zoned out as my adrenaline died down.

My head popped up when I heard Kent yelling. I saw him pacing back and forth with my phone in one hand and his other on his hip. “No. You cannot talk to her. You’re the reason she got into this mess. I warned you and that bastard to never contact her. No. You can’t. She doesn’t want to speak to you. There is nothing you can say that she wants to hear.”

When he glanced my way, I motioned him toward me.

“I said, no. What don’t you understand? If you want to speak to someone, you can speak to Officer Daniels. He said he’d be contacting you, and you can bet I made sure he had your number.”

I reached for his arm. “Just tell her that I’m okay. I don’t want to talk to her, but just tell her I’m okay,” I said, my voice hoarse.

“She said she doesn’t want to talk to you, and she’s okay. That’s the end of this conversation.” He hung up the phone, reached for my hand and squeezed it. Immediately, he softened at our touch. “Ready?” he asked, his warm eyes meeting mine, a contrast from his mood a moment earlier.

I nodded.

“Let’s make your statement, and then I’m taking you home,” he said, assisting me from the ambulance.

As soon as we stepped into Kent’s condo, Mom and Dad charged toward us and wrapped their arms around both of us.

Mom took hold of my hand, walking me further into the condo. When we were in the living room, her hands cradled my face, examining my features as if I could disappear in an instant. Her warmth that always surrounded her was amplified as she took hold of me, bringing me close and thanking the heavens above that I was okay.

Men weren’t affectionate. They didn’t usually show much emotion. But after Kent relived the day by telling his father all that had happened, his dad gripped him close and patted his back. Dad’s eyes showed relief and thankfulness. It was the most I’d ever seen them interact on a physical level, and it showed me the amount of love Dad had for his son.

The high-speed chase was broadcasted all over the news, and by now, everyone had heard. Caroline, Kendy, and Aunt Diane had called to check that I was okay. After almost thirty minutes of reassurance, I tried to convince Kendy that she didn’t have to drive down to Chicago. When Kent reached for the phone and ensured her that he would take care of me, only then did she calm down.

With the adrenaline long gone, exhaustion hit me, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I was glad when Kent sensed my mood and hurried his parents out. After we said our good-byes, I stood and watched him close the door. I wrapped my arms around myself to hold myself up as tiredness hit.

He walked toward me, searched my face, and slid one arm around me. “Let’s get you to bed.”

I changed into my pajamas and lay in my bed in the spare bedroom.

“You just stay there. I’ll cook you something and bring it to you,” he said, sitting on the edge of my bed.

He brushed a strand of hair from my face, and I leaned into his touch.

Staring up at him, I was so grateful that he was here with me. My heart swelled as I thought of how he’d saved me today by calling the police, how he’d cared for me at the crime scene, and how he’d continued to take care of me now.

“I never said thank you. I just want to thank you, Kent, for calling the police today and for—”

“Beth, you don’t have to thank me. All that matters is that you’re safe…here…with me.” He pulled me in by the nape of my neck and kissed my forehead tenderly.

I closed my eyes and exhaled, relishing in the warmth of his touch. In that moment, I felt so cared for, so loved.

He was the first to break contact as he backed away and moved from the bed. “I’ll go get you something to eat.”

Kent tucked me in that night and brought me dinner in bed as if I were sick. I basked in his comfort and as he sat next to me as we watched TV together, I realized one thing. I’d realized that I was madly and deeply in love with my best friend. I didn’t know when it happened or how it happened. I hadn’t even had time to think things through or sort out my feelings along the way. It just happened. With everything that occurred earlier, all my true feelings rushed to the surface.

I snuggled closer to Kent as he continued to flip through the channels, holding me, as I nestled against his chest, taking in the scent of laundered sheets and pure masculinity. Finally, sleep claimed me as I lay in the comfort of his arms, once again.

After a couple of days, everything went back to normal. The gossip of what had happened and the concerned people asking if I was okay had lessened. I’d found out from Kendy that Jamie was going to testify against Jesse and that she’d only found out of his plan to rob the bank when she was actually in front of the building. Jamie was supposed to be the getaway driver, but she’d left the car as soon as he stepped into the bank. The prosecution was going to try to charge her with aiding and abetting until Jamie agreed to testify against Jesse.

Jamie had called Aunt Diane to check on me, but I didn’t want to talk to her. I was glad she wasn’t with the loser, but she had never been a part of my life. Just when I was getting my life together, I didn’t want her to ruin it.

My days with Kent had turned into a routine. I would wake up for work, and when I walked out of my bedroom, Kent would already be up with a cooked breakfast on the counter. He would walk me to the elevator, seeing me off to work. Everything would have been fine if his hand didn’t linger on mine when he would pass me the orange juice, if his knee didn’t brush against mine when we would sit at the counter, if his embrace before I would step into the elevator was less intimate and shorter, and if his eyes didn’t darken when they would meet mine.

It was driving me insane—absolutely insane.

It was fun living together because our laughter never ended, but it was torture at the same time. The near misses were escalating to a point of almost combustion, and each and every time, I’d wanted him to give in. I just wanted him to give in to temptation and cross that line because I would respond without restraint. I wanted him to say he’d change his ways for me and that he wanted me, and only me, to be his.

It was only two more weeks until our deadline. The closer that date approached, the heavier my heart felt. I didn’t want it to end, but it was torture to feel this way toward him, knowing he couldn’t give me the kind of commitment I needed.

Every night, Kent would cook me dinner. Where I was a good cook, Kent was exceptional as he was a perfectionist in the kitchen. His sauces were always flavorful, and he had to have the right amount of spices.

During the routine preparation of dinner, I would watch his muscles move under his T-shirt as he reached for bowls in his cabinets. I was his assistant, and although I enjoyed learning about the art of cooking, I enjoyed watching the art of Kent cooking more and found it harder and harder to concentrate.