Forbidden Crush Page 2

  “No blood?”

  The deputy snorted. “Not yet.”

  “Thought so.”

  “How long we keepin’ him?” the deputy asked.

  “Sid said until the morning. Then we turn him loose.”

  “Yessir.”

  The left wall of the hallway changed from faded particle board to the open, vertical iron bars of a jail cell. The man they were talking about came into view. He sat on a bench with his head resting back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off, revealing the bulging, tattooed muscles of his arms. His hair was the color of raw brown sugar, and was a mess like he’d only run his fingers through it a couple of times before being hauled into the jail. The full beard along his jaw and chin, however, looked carefully brushed and trimmed.

  He wheezed while breathing, and there was a pained look on his face. I’d seen the same look on my brother when he had appendicitis.

  “Hey,” I said. “Is he okay?”

  The sheriff barked a mocking laugh. “Don’t worry about Hawk. He’s a dead man, he just don’t know it yet. Or maybe you do know it, boy?”

  Hawk opened his eyes but didn’t respond. His eyes followed me, not the sheriff, as he led me to the cell next door. The bars clanked and banged shut behind me with an ominous echo.

  “Don’t I get a phone call?”

  “Phone’s right there,” the sheriff said, pointing to the wall just outside the cell. “Knock yourself out.”

  I waited until he walked away before rushing to the phone. It was the old kind, made of yellow plastic and with a curly cord connecting it to the receiver on the wall.

  “Don’t bother,” came a deep, gravely voice.

  I glanced over my shoulder. My better sense said to ignore anything that man said, but I’d had a long day. Plus, even though he was dressed and tattooed like the biker gang, he had much softer eyes. Kind eyes.

  “I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” I picked up the phone and started dialing. Nothing happened. I hung up and then listened for a dial tone. Nothing. The numbers didn’t beep when I pressed on them, either.

  “No,” the man—Hawk?—said in a voice like boulders rolling down a mountain. “I’m sayin’ the phone’s broken. You’re not gonna get your call, Charlotte.”

  “Oh.” I hung up the phone and walked to the bench, acutely aware that I was wearing heels in a jail cell. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  I gave a start. “Wait. How do you know my name?”

  He jerked his head. “sheriff called it in on the radio. Checkin’ to make sure you didn’t have any priors.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Me? Priors?”

  Hawk smiled with me and leaned his head against the wall again, closing his eyes. His face would have been beautiful if not for the wince of pain.

  “You okay?”

  “Nope,” he said simply.

  “Do you need anything?”

  He opened one eye. “Nothing you can give me right now.”

  He was right. I couldn’t even help myself right now, let alone a stranger in a cell.

  I looked around my own cell. The floor was cement, and sloped down to a drain in the center. For easy cleaning, I thought. Against the wall on the left was a toilet. There was no toilet paper. The room wasn’t cold, but my wet hair was now dripping water down my back. I shivered.

  I took a deep breath, let it out, and then took another one. I’ve already cried once tonight. I won’t do it again in front of a complete stranger.

  “Word of advice?” Hawk said in that deep, rumbling voice. “Don’t do anything else to piss off the sheriff. Or anyone else. Best to just keep your head down and your mouth shut, you understand?”

  “Wish I’d known that an hour ago,” I said, keeping my voice low so he couldn’t hear from the other room. “Seems he was intent on throwing me in here the moment he pulled me over. I wasn’t even speeding!”

  Hawk’s chest shook with silent laughter, which brought another wince of pain to his handsome face. “Yeah, sounds like you met the sheriff alright. Welcome to Eastland.”

  Something in his tone ticked me off. Like he thought my situation was a big joke worth laughing at. I felt my anger rising at the circumstances. Scott had too much control over my life. So did the power-tripping sheriff in the other room. But I was certainly not going to allow the jerk in the cell next to mine to have any power over my emotions tonight.

  “I don’t see why you think this is funny. I’ve had my entire life torn apart and now I’m stuck in jail in some podunk little town an hour in any direction from civilization. The last thing I need is some criminal hick lecturing me about how to treat the town’s jerk of a sheriff.”

  My insult failed to get a rise out of Hawk. Either because he wasn’t insulted, or because my description was accurate.

  “Your life was torn apart?” he snorted. “Join the party.”

  I cocked my head to one side. “You think you have it worse than me?”

  “I know it,” he said flatly.

  “Let’s hear it, then.”

  “Naw,” he said, twisting to lay his back on the hard bench. He bent one knee while keeping the other on the ground. “You don’t wanna hear my story.”

  I took a long look at him. I normally didn’t go for guys with tattoos, but Hawk was gorgeous. Far better looking than the bikers who’d walked out of the jail when I arrived. I realized I wanted him to be a dick, so that I would be justified in taking out my frustration on him some more. I wanted him to be my punching bag.

  But he just lay there on the bench, wincing with each breath.

  “Asshole,” I said, savoring the curse. I heard him rumble with deep laughter again.

  Now what? I wondered.

  4

  Hawk

  God damn she was a hot little thing.

  Twenty pounds of attitude in a ten-pound bag.

  Marching into the jail in heels and a skirt like she owned the place, short blonde hair plastered to her head and not giving a damn.

  If she were in a bar, I’d pick a fight with the biggest asshole in the joint just to get her attention. But something told me she wouldn’t be impressed by that.

  The moment she sat down, I was curious about what would impress her.

  I can’t do it.

  The voice was soft in the back of my head, but it was firm. I couldn’t start thinking about this girl, because then I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about her. And that would give Sid something to use against me.

  Still, as I closed my eyes I couldn’t help but imagine Charlotte the way she might have looked before getting dragged into the rain by the sheriff. Silky blonde hair brushing her shoulders, flawless after an hour in front of the mirror. Probably going out for a date with some preppy dude in a button-down who didn’t deserve her.

  I sighed on the jail bench even though it made my ribs ache. I imagined picking her up for a date on my bike, but then not taking her anywhere. Grabbing her neck with one hand and her ass in the other, pulling her in to crush my lips against hers, a rough kiss that curled her toes. I pictured the way her ass would look as I slid her skirt over those round globes, a thong hidden in the depths of her beautiful ass. I’d carry her into the bedroom and plop her down on the edge of the bed, then bury my face between those gorgeous thighs. Get her pussy nice and wet before I took out my cock.

  I’d fuck her so good she would never want another man. Never need another man.

  I would make her mine.

  I can’t do it.

  There was that voice again. The voice of reason. It didn’t matter what I wanted, because the sheriff was right.

  I was a dead man, whether I knew it or not.

  She sighed over in her cell. I thought about sitting up and talking to her some more. She looked like she could use a stranger’s ear, even if it was just getting shit off her chest.

  That’d be a bad idea, though. Talki
n’ led to flirting. Flirting led to other stuff. Other stuff led to other stuff, which couldn’t be undone.

  It’s a good thing she’s not sticking around, I thought while closing my eyes. She’ll be out of this town the moment the sun comes up, and then I’ll never see her again.

  As sad as that made me, I knew it was for the best.

  If only I’d known how wrong I was.

  5

  Charlotte

  My dreams were rapid and restless.

  I was back at the restaurant with Scott and the food magazine guy, except in the blink of an eye he was a she, Tammy from Scott’s phone, and they quickly began flirting as if I wasn’t even there. I ran from the restaurant to the car, but it was our food truck in the parking lot instead of my car, and somehow Tammy and Scott were inside before I could reach it and drove away. And then my parents were there, hugging me while insisting everything would be okay.

  Then I had a different kind of dream. One where I was in a black hole, with nothing all around but thick darkness. I waited for my eyes to adjust but they never did, and although I could see nothing I could feel something dangerous closing in, surrounding me on all sides and cutting off my escape. And then a man with a full beard and sexy tattoos covering his arms wrapped me in a protecting blanket, something like Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak, and suddenly I was safe.

  I woke shivering on the bench in the jail cell, my arms wrapped around me. I started to sit up and something slid off my chest, something that had been covering me. A denim vest. No, a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off.

  Hawk’s jacket, I thought.

  Even with the jacket draped over me I’d been freezing. I doubted I would have gotten any sleep without it. Instinctively I pulled it to my nose and inhaled. It smelled like oil and smoke, and something sweet like peppermint.

  I glanced to my right. His cell was empty. I was alone now.

  Boots stomped down the hall and the sheriff’s face appeared on the other side of the iron bars. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he said in that thick accent that reminded me where I was. He wrestled with a ring of keys and then unlocked my cell.

  “Am I free to go?” I asked.

  “Almost.” He waved me on. “Come on, then. Best behavior, if you please. If you make me use the handcuffs I’ll be awfully ornery.”

  I didn’t want to leave the jacket in the jail so I took it with me, draped over one arm. Down the hall we went and into the morning sunshine. He held open the back door of the police cruiser. Dropping down into the back seat was like returning to a nightmare that I’d been hoping wasn’t real.

  I wanted to ask him questions as we drove along the road. My experience yesterday kept stopping me. That, and Hawk’s advice: keep your mouth shut. Instead, I focused on the landscape. It was a small paved road with ditches on either side. To the right was a forest, and to the left was a long field filled with tall grass desperately in need of a mow. Trash fluttered in the wind along the road and collected into piles in the ditch.

  We made a turn and then drove down what I assumed was the town’s main street. There was a pharmacy with two gas pumps out front and a neon “SODA FOUNTAINS” sign above the front door. After that was a diner built into a double-wide trailer, with a few faces staring out the window as we passed. The diner didn’t have any name to distinguish it. A few buildings down was a restaurant called Flop’s Bar & Grill which looked like it hadn’t seen a coat of paint since the Nixon Administration. After that came Bob’s Barber, which looked like it was a combination barber and hardware store.

  “Welcome to Eastland,” the sheriff announced. “It ain’t much to look at, but it’s the nicest place on earth.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was making a very bad joke or not, so I stayed silent. Laughing at his town would probably be a trap.

  We turned off main street down a gravel road which wound through an abandoned field. It led to a riverbank with a boat launch and a shack which might have once sold refreshments, but was now one strong breeze away from blowing over. A man in fishing waders stood knee-deep in the river. He pulled back his fishing pole and cast it out into the water.

  The sheriff pulled to a stop. “Here we are.”

  “We’re going fishing?”

  “Naw.”

  We walked down to the edge of the river where the fisherman was reeling in his line. A wide-brimmed fishing hat concealed all but a little bit of his white hair, and his skin was leathery.

  “Charlotte Owens?” he asked without looking.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “I’m Judge Benjamin,” he said in a thick, but gentlemanly, accent. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

  Judge. What on earth was going on here? I glanced at the sheriff, but he just stood with his arms crossed and a blank look on his face.

  “Judge,” I said. “I like your courtroom. Lots of natural light.”

  He turned to show me his big grin. “Thank you kindly. We’ve got a building in town, but it’s stuffy and smells like moth balls. I prefer to dispense justice under God’s blue sky. You’ve declined to have a lawyer present?”

  I hesitated. I hadn’t been allowed to make a phone call, nor given any opportunity to request a lawyer. The sheriff was still standing behind me. I got the feeling it would be a mistake to point any of that out in this unorthodox courtroom.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t regret the words. “I don’t think a lawyer is necessary for a traffic stop.”

  Judge Benjamin reeled in the slack from his fishing line, then glanced over his shoulder at the sheriff. “I think we’re safe without you hovering. Charlotte here isn’t gonna run away. Are you honey?”

  “No, sir.”

  The sheriff nodded and returned to his cruiser without a word.

  “You fish, Charlotte?”

  “My dad taught me when I was young.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “I enjoyed being out there with my dad,” I said.

  “That’s a polite way of saying no.”

  I chuckled. “It just wasn’t for me. I liked the peacefulness of it.”

  “So do I,” he said. “Charlotte, you’re charged with speeding, failure to obey a stop sign, disorderly conduct, and resisting arrest. Is that correct?”

  I gave a start. This was the first time I’d heard any of this. Stop sign? Disorderly conduct?

  The judge glanced at me. “You have an issue with these charges?”

  Keep your mouth shut, Hawk had said. If I disputed the charges, it would be my word against the sheriff’s. In good-old-boy towns like this, an outsider had no chance of convincing the judge.

  “No, sir,” I made myself say. “No issues.”

  The judge spent a few moments focusing on his fishing rod. “The sheriff is a good man, but he can be… over-enthusiastic about the law. Conducts himself by the letter of it, rather than the intent. Sometimes he perceives the slightest offense to be a terrible infraction. If you know what I mean.”

  “I may understand what you mean,” I said carefully.

  “Do you believe my sheriff pulled you over mistakenly?” he persisted. “Were you speeding, did you run a stop sign, and did you then resist arrest?”

  He had understanding eyes. Eyes which would accept the truth. And his tone said this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

  “I… am not sure,” I said judiciously. “The weather was terrible last night, so I believed I was going under the speed limit. I was on the frontage road next to I-16, and I didn’t see any stop signs, but I guess it’s possible I missed one on account of the rain.”

  “And the disorderly conduct?” he pressed. “Resisting arrest?”

  I glanced at the sheriff. He was inside the cruiser now, unable to hear what I would say.

  “You can tell me, sweetie,” he said in a kind, grandfatherly voice. “I’m a judge. If I’m to dispense justice, I need to know all the facts.”

  I took a deep breath and said, “The s
heriff seemed to be looking for an excuse to bring me in,” I said. “I had my license and registration ready when he came to my window. He wouldn’t take them. Just asked me questions about my suitcases, then demanded I get out of the car. I obeyed every order he gave as quickly as I could.”

  “Mmm hmm,” he nodded. “I don’t doubt that you did. What’s that?”

  He was looking at the jacket I was holding in my arms. “Oh. The guy in the jail cell next to mine put this over me while I was sleeping. To keep me warm. I didn’t want to leave it.”

  “A man named Hawk?”

  “That’s him.”

  Suddenly the fishing line went taut, and the rod curled down with the weight of a fish. The judge made an excited noise and expertly reeled the fish in. The fish that finally broke the surface of the water was just under a foot long, silver and blue scales glistening in the early morning sun.

  “You’re calling my sheriff a liar.”

  It took a moment for the words to hit home. “I… no sir?”

  “Yes you did.” He pointed at my feet. “You stood right there in your heels, just now, and contested my sheriff’s account of the events.”

  “Sir, I didn’t—”

  “Your honor,” he corrected.

  Crap. “Your honor, I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. You asked me for the truth…”

  He held up a palm to cut me off. He paused to remove the fish from the hook, then dropped it in a wicker basket. “Here’s what I think,” he said slowly. Like someone passing judgement. “I think you were drunk last night.”

  “Your honor…”

  “High heels and a skirt?” He scoffed. “You were out on a date. You’re not married, unless you conveniently removed your ring.”

  “I was at a business meeting in Savannah, your honor.”

  “With all your belongings in the backseat of your car?” He snorted to let me know what he thought of that. “Next you’ll tell me you came by Hawk’s jacket innocently.”

  I was at a loss for words. I didn’t even know where to begin. “I woke up with the jacket on me. He was already gone. Last night I was in Savannah…”