Officer out of Uniform (Lock and Key Book 2) (9 page)

He just stared back at her, though he did have the grace to at least frown and look pained about it.

As horrified as she was, if he could say no while sitting there with her wetness glistening on his fingers as he stared at her bare ass, she figured she’d just have to respect his hyperactive sense of protective duties.

That reluctant decision still didn’t keep her from sashaying her way out of the room, as bare as the day she’d been born. After retrieving her overnight bag from the living room, she brushed her teeth and washed her face in the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom, then returned.

“I didn’t bring pajamas,” she said as she slipped into bed.

She thought she heard the faintest of moans coming from his direction, but couldn’t be sure.

When he turned off the light, she was finally safe to pout in the dark. As she laid her head down on the pillow – a pillow that smelled intoxicatingly like him – it occurred to her that if he’d managed to say no tonight, he must’ve wanted her beyond belief a few days ago, when they’d gotten together for the first time.

She knew she’d taken him by surprise, and had gotten exactly what she wanted.

It was only now that she realized he’d
let
her get to him like that. Obviously, the man was more than capable of exerting his own will, no matter how crazy or stubborn it was. Actually, he was probably the most stubborn person she’d ever met.

As soon as she was still, the mattress tilted as he sat down on the edge. He found her in the darkness, and slipped his hand beneath her loose hair, laying it on her shoulder. “I’ll be right here.”

The slight tug his motion had exerted on her locks reminded her of how he’d put his hand in her hair while she’d been sucking his dick. A sound that was half-sigh and half-moan escaped her and somehow, eventually, she fell asleep.

* * * * *

Henry shut his eyes, even though the room was dark. If he caught so much as a glimpse of Sasha’s outline, he’d lose it – cave and yank off his jeans, tear the covers off her and fuck her hard, like she’d wanted him to. Either that or come in his pants right then and there.

Saying no to her was the hardest thing he’d ever done, in every respect of the word. The way his balls ached let him know that his body was going to punish him for it.

He reached out and let his fingertips touch the cold steel of his gun. The feel of it – the exact opposite of her soft, hot body – reminded him of why he was sitting there aching on the edge of the bed while she was beside him, naked beneath the sheets.

It was going to be one hell of a long night. Between horniness and adrenaline, he was a fucking mess. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone, but more than that – above all – he wanted to protect her. No way was he letting anything happen to her. If blue balls were the cost of vigilance, then so be it.

God knew he didn’t mean to watch anyone he cared about die in front of him ever again.

The memories of those he’d lost in the past – the ones no amount of carefulness or planning had been able to save – were always just beneath the surface of his thoughts, a subconscious pain that dogged him constantly. He purposely let it rise to the surface and surround him.

All of it – the hurt, the regret and the bitter shame he couldn’t shake, even though he’d been told a thousand times it wasn’t his fault – could serve a purpose now by reminding him why what he was doing was so important.

He didn’t believe that everything happened for a reason, but if he could take bad things and
give
them a reason, well, that was something.

Sasha didn’t understand. How could she? He didn’t blame her for being frustrated. But he’d protect her, even if she resented him for it. All he had to do was stay one step ahead of anyone who’d want to hurt her or him or anyone else he cared about.

He could do that, this time. He had to.

Randy moved through the darkness, nearly tripping over a rotten log, then catching his sleeve on a sapling. The tree bent back and a cluster of leaves whipped his chin when he tore the fabric free. Though his eyes had long since adjusted to the night, it was barely past the new moon and the scrubby Carolina woods were a bitch when you could hardly see more than a few feet in front of your face.

He had a flashlight tucked away in a pocket, but didn’t dare use it. He’d rather trip and fall a hundred times than broadcast his location with a beam of revealing light. Peering over his shoulder, he stared in the direction of the little house he’d just left. He could just barely make out a pinprick of light burning in the distance – a porch light.

Damned if he hadn’t thought he was going to be eaten alive by that dog. The house had a wall-mount mailbox by the front door, and he’d had to sneak right up to it to access the inside. It’d gone smoothly until his fingers had slipped and the mailbox had swung shut with a bang.

Then the dog had started barking like fucking Cerberus, and he’d had to high-tail it back into the woods. The dog had come charging out the back of the house and had been leaping against the chain link a second later. He hadn’t felt safe enough to slow down until now.

Still breathing hard, he leaned against an old oak and shoved a hand deep into a pocket, pulling out a bent envelope.

He grinned. It’d all been worth it. There was no reading the print now, but as soon as he got back to the trailer, he’d tear open the mail and would know exactly who he was dealing with … exactly who was going to die next.

* * * * *

Despite the fact that Sasha had spent the night, Henry left for work the same way he had the day before: with a hard-on. It’d plagued him throughout the sleepless night, and ached now as he escorted Sasha to her car, seeing her off as she embarked on a trip to visit her mother.

It was a stroke of luck that she was heading out of town. It meant he wouldn’t have to worry about her being in the same county as a killer, at least for a day.

“See you,” she said, climbing into her car with a sultry smile.

At least, he thought it was sultry, but maybe that was just deprivation screwing with his perceptions. Either way, he was stricken by both relief and remorse as he watched her drive away. God, he hated that he’d had to stop things between them the night before. It’d just about killed him, and his self-restraint had left a predictable ache deep in his balls.

It was worth it, though, because she was safe.

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened after Wolf’s barking fit the night before, but he hadn’t been willing to take the risk. When he was inside her, nothing else mattered. The rest of the world didn’t exist.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to forget about the rest of the world right now.

He stopped halfway to his truck, boots crunching against driveway gravel. He could afford to spare a few minutes before he left for work. Now that she was gone, a nagging feeling told him that he should have a look around the outside of the house, inspect things in broad daylight in case whoever or whatever Wolf had been barking at the night before had left any clues.

He made a slow circuit of the house, his gaze roving over every surface, every tuft of grass, hungry for details, abnormalities.

He found none. Still, the prickling feeling between his shoulder blades wouldn’t let him stop looking. He walked slowly, letting his gaze linger on anything and everything. He even bent down, careful not to get his uniform dirty as he examined the doors and windows for any signs of forced entry.

Nothing.

Eventually he made his way to his truck and climbed in, the space between his shoulder blades still burning. He couldn’t shake the feeling, and he would’ve been reluctant to leave his home and Wolf alone, if he hadn’t been looking forward to hopefully getting called back onto the manhunt for Randy Levinson.

He was out there, and he wouldn’t get away, this time.

* * * * *

Randy drew a deep breath of early morning air, already feeling the day’s heat as it filled his lungs. It’d be a hot one. All the more reason why just minutes ago, he’d been tempted to off Officer Henry Dryden right then, before the sun rose too high above the sappy, heavily-needled coastal woods.

A few problems had made him think twice, though. A hot blonde with big tits who followed Dryden around like he’d hung the fuckin’ moon was complication number one. She’d strolled outta the house with him a few minutes ago. There was no ring on her finger, so Randy figured she was his girlfriend. In order to kill Dryden, Randy would’ve had to get rid of her too.

And there’d been a third person in the way. A little old lady – Dryden’s nearest neighbor – who’d taken her sweet time shuffling down her driveway to fetch her morning paper. She’d barely made it back inside by the time Dryden had climbed into his truck.

Of course, Randy could’ve taken them all out in a flat minute. Popped a bullet into Dryden and his girlfriend, then done the same to the old woman. But he wasn’t too keen on the idea of killing a little old lady if he didn’t have to. He wasn’t a goddamned monster.

She reminded him of his granny, who’d kept Randy and Troy on Sunday afternoons back when they’d been kids. Sundays had been the best day of the week back then – sitting around at her place eating pie had been a sweet deal compared to being at home with his old man.

Back then, Randy had spent a lot of time fantasizing about his parents dying in some sort of accident, so that he and Troy would have to go live with their granny. But the opposite had happened when Randy had been nine – his granny had dropped dead after a stroke.

He couldn’t remember ever being sorrier about anything else, before or since then.

Besides, with the warden’s death all over the news, a triple-homicide committed via rifle in broad daylight would likely have everyone within a mile’s radius calling the police as soon as the shots were fired. And the dog would pitch a fit loud enough to raise the dead, unless he spent a fourth bullet on it. Taking those three out that morning would’ve been Randy’s grand finale, his last act before it was all over.

He had much bigger plans than that.

He’d kill Dryden when the time was right. Quietly and slowly, if he could.

Maybe he’d even take out the blonde and let Dryden stew in his misery for a little while. She wasn’t Dryden’s kin, but he cared about her – he’d made that obvious when he’d walked her to the car. He’d moved like he’d had a splintery stick up his ass, always looking over his shoulder, keeping one hand on her like a little flesh and bone could stop a threat he couldn’t even see coming.

Dryden was one of Riley’s PERT officers – part of the team of COs that’d shot Troy on the day of the escape. Randy had searched his name on Reynolds’ ancient computer after tearing open the utility bill payment he’d taken from the mailbox the night before and had found a local news article mentioning that an Officer Dryden had been injured during the search.

There was no question about it – Randy was gonna take what Dryden cared about away from him before he killed him. Now that he and his girlfriend were gone and the old woman was back inside her house, he’d start with the dog.

Reaching into the same pocket he’d carried the stolen water bill in the night before, he pulled out a plastic baggy. Inside, there was a bologna sandwich marinating in lime green liquid. As quickly and quietly as he could, he emerged from the woods and approached the chain link fence that surrounded the little back yard. There, he dumped the soggy sandwich in the grass and turned on his heel, high tailing it back into the pines.

The dog would wander out into the yard eventually and find the treat waiting by the fence. The bread had soaked up plenty of the green stuff, and he’d slathered the meat with it like mayonnaise. Next time he came back, he wouldn’t have to worry about the dog getting in his way.

* * * * *

“This coffee tastes like shit,” Grey declared. “I’m going to buy a metric ton of decent quality grounds for the break room this Christmas. You’re all welcome.”

Henry couldn’t have cared less what the coffee tasted like. After a tense night spent protecting and – barely – resisting Sasha, he was dead on his feet. As he waited for roll call, he gulped down the contents of a Styrofoam cup like it was bitter, liquid gold.

Henry had already filled Liam and Grey in on what’d happened at his place the night before.

“You’ve got an elderly neighbor, right?” Liam said. “She have any cats? Those things love to tear into garbage.”

Henry shook his head. “No, no cats. Besides, my trashcan wasn’t touched.”

That was the weird thing: nothing appeared to have been touched. It’d been eating away at him all morning.

“Could’ve been raccoons,” Grey said. “Those little bastards are more trouble than cats. Maybe Wolf scared ‘em away.”

“Maybe. I can’t afford to just assume it was something cute and fluffy though.” Henry downed the rest of his coffee, even the grounds left at the bottom of the cup. Grey was right – they sucked. He chewed the acidic grit anyway, knowing he’d need the energy for his shift.

The prison was on lockdown. No surprise, after the warden’s death. Most of the inmates had wedged their heads firmly up their asses in celebration. In order to prevent riots, the whole place had been put on lockdown, and there was no end in sight.

Every little thing had to be handled individually by an officer, from personally handing each prisoner their food tray to dealing with their requests for toilet paper. And cleaning up after would-be hoarder inmates, apparently. Just minutes ago, a sergeant had pulled Henry, Liam and Grey aside and given them a special assignment.

After roll call, they headed to D Block together, where they counted the inmates, including the half a dozen or so who pretended to be asleep even though the place was buzzing with echoing voices, inmates talking shit, crowing from inside their locked cells about what’d happened to the warden.

“Here we go,” Grey said when it was finally done. “Good old Whitby. Remember the time he punched McCraw’s lights out over half a roll of toilet paper?”

Henry remembered, all right. It had been asinine, but it was far from the stupidest inmate fight he’d ever broken up inside Riley.

“He’s never given me any trouble,” Liam said. “Always seems pretty quiet. Keeps to himself.”

“He tries to fly under the radar,” Grey said, “until somebody gets between him and the useless shit he’s always collecting. Trust me, he’s going to go ballistic.”

“Maybe one of us should take him aside then,” Liam said. “Have a talk with him while the other two clear out the cell.”

“Be my guest,” Grey said.

When they reached Whitby’s cell, he was sitting on the edge of his bed. About 50, he was short, wiry and had some of the worst posture Henry had ever seen. He was currently between cellmates, and apparently, without anyone to keep him in check, his hoarding tendencies had spiraled out of control.

It wasn’t unusual for inmates to engage in at least a little hoarding. From newspapers to toothpaste, most of them liked to stock up on whatever items they were permitted to keep, whether they needed all of them or not. But Whitby had taken it to a whole new level.

Liam whistled. “This is ridiculous. How’d it get this bad without anyone stopping it?”

Newspapers were stacked in knee-high columns, and there was a pyramid of toilet paper that King Tut would’ve envied in one corner. From where he was standing, Henry could count three separate tubes of toothpaste.