Breathe

Chapter Two Bubblemint

“This is good.”

“This is not good.”

“I think it’s good.”

“It is definitely not good.”

I was standing behind the checkout desk in the library and in front of me were Lexie Walker, Krystal Briggs and Lauren Jackson.

Lexie was married to Ty Walker. She was a beautiful brunette and her husband was a gorgeous half African American, half white man who’d recently made national news when it was uncovered he was framed and went to prison for a murder he did not commit.

Krystal Briggs was a petite, buxom woman who, today (but it could be different tomorrow), had a mass of golden, honeyed locks akin to Farrah Fawcett’s hair in Charlie’s Angels. She was married to Jonas “Bubba” Briggs who had, for years, partied hearty and he did this without her while she worked at their bar called Bubba’s. She’d kicked him out and then about a year and a half later, for some reason, she married him. I didn’t get that and in the past few months, as Lexie introduced me to her posse, Krystal hadn’t shared. Then again, Krystal kind of scared me so I didn’t ask. What I did notice was that Bubba wasn’t partying hearty anymore and instead seemed pretty devoted. So I guessed things were going all right.

Lauren Jackson was married to Tatum Jackson who I’d had a crush on for forever (or, until Chace Keaton moved to town). Growing up, anytime I saw him, my heart would skip a beat. This was because he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen (until Chace Keaton moved to town). He was a little rough around the edges but he made it beyond attractive. He was also a nice man, well-liked, if a little messed up seeing as his on-again, off-again girlfriend was more than a little crazy. Now he was with Laurie and he was no longer messed up. Of course, this was after his on-again, off-again girlfriend was murdered by a serial killer and Laurie was almost murdered by the same guy. But now for Tate, and for Laurie, everything seemed cool.

Thinking all this, it brought to mind my Dad’s comment after Misty Keaton was killed which was, “Used to be, Carnal was quiet. Sure, the bikers could make a ruckus and did. But no one got dead. Maybe stuck with a knife but not dead. Now seems everyone’s gettin’ dead or almost dead or doin’ time for a crime they didn’t commit. Quiet, small town life ain’t all it used to be.”

This was, unfortunately, true.

Lexie was the first one who spoke after I told them what happened with Chace Keaton in Harker’s Wood and on the sidewalk the day before. Krystal was the second and forth comment. Laurie was third.

I watched Lexie turn to Krystal and ask, “How is it not good?”

“Uh… hello?” Krystal asked back sarcastically. “Did you not hear Faye? That boy is fucked up.”

“Yes, so, he needs someone to help him get unfucked up,” Lexie shot back.

“Is unfucked a word?” Laurie asked me.

As usual when these girls were around, I didn’t get the chance to say much since they were talking all the time but I did get the chance to get a shrug in to Laurie but just barely before Krystal spoke.

“Well, I had to unfuck one and, I’ll remind you, so did you and Laurie,” Krystal jerked a thumb at Lauren, “and it wasn’t much fun.”

“Mine was fun,” Laurie whispered to me.

“Mine was too,” Lexie did not whisper to Krystal. “Mostly because of all the fucking we did while I was unfucking him.” She looked at me, grinning. “And other parts. But the fucking was a highlight.” Then she muttered, “Still is.”

Krystal turned and rolled her eyes at me before saying, “The pain, it fades. Trust me, it is not fun.”

I could feel my cheeks burning and knew they were bright red at all this talk about fucking and, well, unfucking (whatever that was).

This was because I was a virgin and although recently I’d been spending some time with these women as they came into the library with relative frequency. Krystal especially, rarely held any punches (as in, never), I wasn’t used to talk about “fucking”.

Incidentally, being a virgin was by choice.

Kind of.

First, as a starry-eyed adolescent, I’d made it my mission to give it away only after I found the right guy (not that, at the time, I actually knew what “giving it away” meant).

This was because I’d read romance novels since I was thirteen. Therefore, I decided, just like the heroines in my books, I would only give something that precious to a man who deserved it. The perfect man. The one who would sweep me off my feet, make my heart race, fire my blood and be happy to dance with me all night. The one who was smart, strong, handsome, good. The one who was larger than life. The one who would look after me. The one who would hold me close all night long.

Then, thirteen years ago, Chace Keaton showed up in town, in uniform, thick dark blond hair, intense dark blue eyes, handsome white smile, tall, straight, lean body and I fell in love.

I know it sounds crazy but I did it. And I did it because I knew he was all that I needed him to be. A man like that could sweep me off my feet. He was strong, handsome and a cop so he had to be good. He was so beautiful, in uniform or out of it, wearing his jeans and western belt buckle and cowboy boots. Coming from Aspen money (big money, if rumor was true) but leaving all that to be his own man. A good man. A brave man. An officer of the law. He seemed larger than life.

I was sixteen but I knew he could make my heart race, fire my blood because I didn’t even know him and I was young but he already did.

And I never let go of that feeling.

Even when he married Misty, the town slut who no one liked all that much.

I was shocked and, I’ll admit, hurt when he did it. It wasn’t nice to think but she was the town slut and she didn’t suit him, she didn’t fit him, it didn’t make sense. Especially since everyone in the whole town knew she lied about Ty Walker’s alibi. That made her a slut and a liar and not the little white lie kind of liar but the huge, earth-shattering, life-altering, vicious, nasty kind of liar.

It didn’t make sense, Misty and Chace. Chace was a good guy. A straight arrow. Well-liked. Trusted. And in our town on the police force at that time, this was practically an unknown commodity.

But I didn’t let go of the feeling I had deep down inside that Chace was the one because everyone in town was talking about how she trapped him. And Chace himself never acted like he was happy to be wed in holy matrimony to the town slut (and liar). He wasn’t nice to her and he wasn’t faithful to her and he was obvious about both.

I didn’t know how she could trap him. I mean, I knew they’d been together if not together-together in a girlfriend/boyfriend way. Then again, as the town slut, everyone had been “together” with Misty. So, I thought at first he got her pregnant. But then she never had a baby.

Although I didn’t like them together (as in, really), either “together” or together in the married way, it didn’t faze me. Everyone knew the hero in any good romance had to have his fair share of experience. If he didn’t, how was he going to be a good teacher, showing his lady love how to give him pleasure at the same time giving her more than she’d ever dreamed? So I didn’t mind that Chace played the field, including with Misty.

But putting his ring on her finger? Then cheating on her openly?

No.

It never made sense.

And truth be told, I didn’t like it much. It didn’t say nice things about him at all.

For some reason, though, I never gave up hope. For some reason, even removed, I felt whatever was between them wasn’t right. I knew just looking at him he wasn’t happy. And after a while, I saw the same thing in Misty and by the end, for Misty, it was even worse.

It wasn’t like they were married. It was like they were enemies legally bound together. This made Chace go about his life as if he wasn’t married. And it wore Misty down. It was strange, it was sad and, in the end, it was tragic.

There was more talk after she died. Speculation that she was wound up in all the goings-on at the Police Station with dirty cops and corruption. Especially since it was found out to be true what everyone already knew, that she lied about Ty Walker’s alibi. So folks figured that Chace somehow got caught up in all that and Misty somehow got Chace out of the deal. But no one really knew the true story.

After Misty died and all that stuff at the Station was brought out in the open, Lexie came to the library with the obvious intent to be my friend (for some reason). But even though I knew she knew Chace, like, for real, spending actual time in his presence instead of just seeing him around, she’d never shared. She just counseled me, frequently, to have a go at Chace, telling me she was certain he was into me.

As often as she informed me of this, he never gave any indication of it. In fact, after his wife was murdered it was the first time he showed that he might care about her. It was clear it disturbed him, not a little, a lot. Of course, anyone being murdered would, even a wife you didn’t much like who may have trapped you into marriage. And now I knew this to be true since now I knew he hung out in the dead of night in the cold at the spot where she was killed.

Seven months had passed and he wasn’t shaking it off. And he was also hanging out at Harker’s Wood in the middle of the night. So maybe everyone was wrong about Misty and Chace. Maybe, out there in the crazy world where things were messed up and not nice, a world, Chace was right, I didn’t spend a lot of time in for a reason, they had something. Something it couldn’t be denied was twisted. But it clearly was something.

So, in the end, I’d spent so much time admiring Chace from afar, and living in my books, time just got away from me. And now I was twenty-nine years old and still a virgin.

And also, I’d finally spoken words directly to the man I fell in love with at sixteen and I’d done it twice.

The first time he was not nice. And he was definitely no hero.

The second time, well, the second time, I didn’t get. I’d heard the term “mixed messages” and now I understood it.

Boy, did I ever.

“What were you doin’ up there in Harker’s Wood anyway?” Krystal asked, taking me from my thoughts and I blinked before I focused on her.

It then occurred to me, belatedly, that I probably shouldn’t have told them that part.

“Oh God,” Lexie whispered, leaning toward me over the counter, “are you stalking him?”

Oh no. Now I had to lie.

I didn’t like lying. I also didn’t like cursing which Chace, I was surprised to discover, did with great frequency. I further didn’t like any kind of cheating, the on tests kind, the in life kind or the in relationships kind, the latter something else Chace did with openness and, again, great frequency.

At least he wasn’t in on all that dirty stuff at the Station but instead had put himself in grave danger to uncover the corruption and sweep it free from the Carnal Police Department. That bit, I decided, forgave some of his other obvious sins.

“Are you?” Laurie asked, also leaning toward me. “Stalking him, that is?”

I wasn’t. I had no idea he was out there. I was out there for something else. Something I’d gone out there several times to do. Something I couldn’t share.

So I had to lie.

“Actually, Harker’s Wood is kind of my place,” I told them. “I go out there a lot. Always did.”

Lie!

Lexie’s brows drew together and her head twitched. “Really?”

“Uh… yeah,” I replied.

Another lie.

“At two in the morning?” Krystal asked and my eyes moved to her. Her arms were crossed on her large bosoms and her brows were drawn together too. Though hers were a bit scarier.

“Sometimes. If I can’t sleep,” I answered.

“You can’t sleep?” Laurie queried quietly and I bit my lip because this wasn’t true either. I slept like a baby. Dropped off, usually with a book in my hand, and was out until the alarm clock went.

I stopped biting my lip and whispered another lie, “Yeah.”

There it was. One lie led to another then another and another and then you were drowning in them.

“I had trouble sleeping all my life,” Laurie told me then grinned. “Tate fixed that.”

“I bet,” Krystal muttered.

“And I bet Chace would find ways to keep you from driving up the mountain to Harker’s Wood in the middle of the night if you had trouble sleeping,” Lexie put in.

I didn’t want to think about that.

No, that wasn’t strictly true. I didn’t want to think about that now, when I was at work. I wanted to think about it later, when I usually did. When I was in bed with the vibrator that it took me three months to psych myself up to buy on the internet. Something I used often considering I was a twenty-nine year old virgin with a thirteen year old crush on a man who, until a few of nights ago, I didn’t think knew I existed.

Needless to say, Chace factored largely when my time was occupied with this activity.

“I think, now that the ice is broken, you need to give him a sign,” Lexie went on.

“She needs to back off, let that boy sort his shit and, if he’s salvaged something that makes him worth her while, then she can give him a sign,” Krystal advised.

“Life is too short and too precious to wait for that, Krys,” Laurie added in a quiet voice.

Krystal gave her a look that said she was right and Krystal found that annoying.

I had, in getting to know her, learned that Krystal found a lot annoying.

“I…” I started then finished softly, “wouldn’t know how.”

“Kiss him,” Lexie suggested instantly, I blinked, my body locked but I felt my face heat again at the very idea.

“Are you nuts?” Krystal hissed, now leaning in close to Lexie.

“No,” Lexie replied. “Nothing says, ‘I like you’ like your tongue in their mouth.”

One thing could be said for that, it was inarguably true.

“So, did that work for you? Did you kiss Ty and then everything was hearts and flowers?” Krystal asked, leaning back and again crossing her arms on her chest.

“Actually, no,” Lexie returned. “I didn’t. But things were hearts and flowers when I wanted to do it, had an overwhelming urge to do it and I didn’t do it. And it was exactly the time I should have done it. Then things went bad and it would be days before I got another shot. Or, I should say, I did eventually kiss him and it didn’t work out then things went bad and days after that Ty took his shot and that, well,” she looked at me and grinned, “that worked out great.”

As far as I could tell, it certainly did. I saw Lexie a lot because she came around to the library and sometimes sat with me in the diner when we were having lunch. I didn’t see Ty very much but when I did and he was with his wife, it was clear they were close. Very close. Happy, loving close.

It also helped to know this seeing as she was currently six months pregnant.

“Not to put a damper on your enthusiasm, honey,” Laurie entered the conversation at this point, eyes on Lexie, “but I’m uncertain with what Faye told us so far that going for that kind of gusto at this juncture is the right advice.”

Lexie held Lauren’s eyes as she spoke then her gaze swung to me. “Kiss him.”

Krystal threw her hands in the air at the same time she threw her honeyed locks back as she stared up at the ceiling with easy to read exasperation.

Laurie gave me a grin.

As for me, I was not ever, ever going to kiss Chace Keaton.

Not until he kissed me.

If that should ever (please God!) happen.

Lexie kept speaking as that thought gave me a pleasant shiver.

“Now, I’m a girl and you’re a girl, we’re all girls.” She lifted a hand and did a twirl to indicate Krystal and Laurie. “And it’s my sworn duty as a girl not to lead you down the wrong path, especially in matters of the heart. But I’ll tell you again what I’ve been telling you now for months. Chace Keaton is into you. Not just into you. Into you in a hungry heart, longing, soul destroying if you can’t have it, put your life on the line to get it kind of into you.”

My heart skipped a beat at these words but she was not done.

“I know. I felt that for Ty and I still do. He feels it for me and I’ve been seeing it in his eyes since the beginning. At first, I didn’t get it. You need to get it faster than I did. Learn from me. I see it in Chace when he looks at you. He’s got issues. You help him deal and give him a little somethin’ somethin’ while you do, trust me, this is a tried and tested method and it works. I’ve done it and Laurie’s done it. Now it’s your turn. And, if he’s fucked up, which he is, the shit that has gone down, he can’t help but be it’s going to have to be you who puts yourself out there.”

She took in a breath, leaned across the counter to me and grabbed my hand before she finished.

“And I swear, honey, I would not lead you wrong.”

Again, no way I was ever going to kiss Chace Keaton until he kissed me.

But something else she said captured my attention.

“What’s gone down?” I asked softly and, as she’d been doing for months when this subject was broached, she leaned back, let me go and closed down.

This time, after what Chace said to me in the wood, the fact that he was at the wood at all, the way he was yesterday morning, the mixed messages that he was giving me, making me want to run at the same time I wanted to wrap my arms around him and absorb his pain, for the first time I pushed it.

“You can’t expect me to put myself out there if I don’t know what I’m dealing with,” I informed her.

“That right there is a good point,” Krystal backed me.

“And what she’s dealing with is Chace’s to share,” Lexie returned.

Krystal disagreed. “You gotta give the girl something.”

“She has it,” Lexie retorted. “His wife was murdered. He didn’t like her much but still, he’s a good man and no one deserves that. And that’s coming from me, a woman who intimately knows that Misty Keaton was the worst kind of bitch there is. And he’s been working alongside scum for years. That shit will mark a man.” Her eyes came to me. “And that has marked Chace. Help him heal his wounds then get past the scars. Don’t delay, honey. Neither of you are getting any younger and I promise, you do, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. That lost time, if you take your time. Or if you never do it at all, the loss of something beautiful you never had that was something you yourself let slip through your fingers.”

It must be said, she made a case for throwing myself at Chace Keaton.

Still, I was never going to do it.

Nevertheless, I was forced to lie again just so we could stop talking about this.

“I’ll think about it.”

Lexie smiled huge.

Krystal closed her eyes.

Laurie made an “eek!” face that she quickly hid when my eyes hit her and she gave me a reassuring grin.

They left shortly after and when they did, they left me with visions of throwing myself in Chace Keaton’s arms and kissing him.

This did not make it easy to focus on the work I had to do.

But I still saw him when he came in.

Sandy blond hair but this was at a guess seeing as it was dirty. Not dirty, greasy. It wasn’t a day or two of missing the shampoo bottle. It was a whole lot more.

His clothes weren’t any cleaner. And they hung on him. This was not hard to do considering he was skin and bones.

His pallor was marked, too. It was February in the Colorado Mountains therefore cold and there was always snow on the ground. Even so, the sun shown regularly so the cold gave you rosy cheeks but the sun still could kiss your skin if you spent any amount of time outside. And most of the citizens of Carnal had been there awhile. The cold and snow didn’t stop them from doing much, inside or out.

My guess was, he was nine, maybe ten and I figured it was a good guess. The Carnal Library was the only one in the county. This meant folks from Gnaw Bone and Chantelle came there even if it was a ways away. Also, the schools of Carnal, Gnaw Bone and Chantelle took field trips to my library so I’d seen a lot of kids. And, last, my sister had kids. And one was nearly nine, about that boy’s size, his height but my nephew was a lot better fed.

He’d been coming in for a few months, once or twice a week.

And more than twice, I’d seen bruises. Once, around his jaw. Once on his cheekbone. Once around both wrists.

He always slunk in, eyes to the ground, shoulders hunched, thin, beaten up coat way not warm enough for this weather hanging on him, obviously trying to be invisible.

And he stole lbooks. One or two each time he came, whatever he could shove in his coat and take away.

I hadn’t made a big deal of this because, with regularity, books not checked out were in the return bin in the morning and I’d put one and one together and made the two that he wasn’t stealing them, he was borrowing them. Just not the normal way. And I’d tried to approach him on several occasions to tell him all he needed to do was apply for a library card. But the instant I got near, he shuffled away, darted between rows of books and eventually raced out.

The first time this happened, I thought he wouldn’t come back. But he did.

This meant he liked his books like I liked mine. And clearly he didn’t have the money to get them at a shop. So he got them the only way he could.

I didn’t get why he didn’t get a library card but at the same time I did.

Something was not right with that boy.

And today it was less right. I knew this because, even though he ducked his face away and headed straight to the short flight of stairs that led up to the fiction section, I saw he had bruising on his cheekbone and around his swollen eye.

This made me forget about Chace Keaton.

It also made me forget about the decision I made some time ago that I’d let him borrow as he felt he had to do it. He returned the books, it was no skin off my nose. And clearly they gave him something he needed enough to brave stealing them (essentially) and going out into a world filled with people that scared the heck out of him. I knew this because I was a librarian, I was a woman, I was five foot six and I was no threat and still, he ran away from me. Sure he was stealing my books (essentially) but also, he was not.

But seeing that black eye, I was reminded of something my Dad said.

“A wrong is just wrong no matter who’s doin’ it or who it’s done to. You know someone’s doin’ wrong and even if it has not one thing to do with you, you do what you can to right that wrong. You don’t, you’re no kind of person or, at least, no kind of person I’d wanna know.”

These were words Dad lived by.

This was also a philosophy that meant him living in Carnal with what had been going on for as long as it had been going on had made his life a living hell.

He’d lodged formal complaints (twelve of them) against the Carnal Police Department. He’d also encouraged others to do the same, blatantly and with intent, even going so far as to go to their house and have a chat (or chats, plural, if need be) if he heard something not right had gone down. He’d also visited Mick Shaughnessy, the head honcho of the Police Force in Gnaw Bone and a buddy of my Dad’s, about how he could intervene and he did this more than once (in fact, five times that I knew). He’d further told Arnold Fuller, the dirty cop ringleader, the police Captain then the Chief of Police, and now a dead man (literally), exactly what he thought of him on more than one occasion both publicly and privately.

As well as all this, even though everyone agreed, Dad was one of few who speculated openly and widely (in other words, to all who would listen, including Mick Shaughnessy) about the fact that Ty Walker was extradited to stand trial and then went down for a crime my father was certain (and he was right) Ty didn’t commit.

And last, my Dad had been pulled over and had more tickets than any other citizen in town and once had been arrested for drunk and disorderly when he was neither. And all this happened because he did all of the above.

Every single ticket, as well as the arrest, he fought loudly, boisterously but not always successfully.

But he never gave up.

And I knew, looking at that boy, wrong was being done to him. I also knew, with his eye swollen shut, I had to stop doing the little I was doing, letting him get away with stealing books (essentially) and I had to start doing something more.

I searched the immediate area, noted no patrons were close to approaching the check out desk and I skirted it to move out into the library. Cautiously and quietly, I moved up the steps then, like a super-sleuth, feeling more than a little idiotic, I rounded the shelves and stopped. Hiding my body, I peeked just my head around the side to check the aisle to see if he was there.

I found him three rows in.

I pulled my head back, pressed my back into the side of the shelf and took a deep breath.

Then I peeked just my head around again and called softly, “Please don’t run. You aren’t in trouble.”

He was squatting to the bottom shelf, a book in his hand and his head snapped around and up.

It was then I saw the full extent of damage to his face.

Not only a black eye, swollen shut, and a bruised cheekbone but a swollen, painful looking nose and a gash on his lip that glistened, not because it had been treated with ointment but because it was gaping and exposing flesh.

My stomach clutched, my frame froze and my throat closed. He dropped the book, shot up straight and dashed down the aisle the opposite direction from me.

At his movements, I came unstuck, quickly turned on my boot and raced down my side, clearing the shelves and seeing him darting down the stairs. No, jumping down them three steps at a time, taking him down in two big jumps that made my heart jump with him because I feared he’d harm himself.

“Please! Stop! You’re not in trouble!” I shouted. “Promise!” I kept shouting as I ran down the steps after him. “I just want to talk!”

Out the door he went and out the door I went after him, down the sidewalk to town.

The pavements were cleared, my boots had low heels and I belonged to McLeod’s Gym. I didn’t do those boot camps they had at McLeod’s because they weren’t at times I could attend (not to mention, I’d heard about them and they scared me). But I did go four times a week to spend half an hour on the Stairmaster, treadmill or rowing machine.

“A body takes care of itself or a body finds they don’t have a body no more.”

This was more of Dad’s wisdom. So I took care of mine.

This meant, I might not be ready to attempt my first Iron Man, but I wasn’t in bad shape.

Even with all this going for me, I was no match for the boy. He sprinted three blocks gaining more and more, darted around the corner into town and by the time I darted around it after him, he’d disappeared.

I stood there, breathing slightly heavy, my gaze scanning the area to find any trace of him but he was gone.

“Darn,” I whispered, hoping I didn’t scare him into never coming back at the same time knowing that was not all I should do.

He was nine or ten and regularly beaten by someone. Bullies or, God, I hoped not, family. I knew it. And I had to do something about it.

I stood in the cold without a coat, my breaths coming out in visible puffs, my mind sifting through my possible next steps.

First, I had to get back to the library. I was the only one on which meant there was no one there except patrons.

Then, I could do two things.

One, I could call my Dad, tell him what was happening and lay the problem on his broad shoulders, knowing he’d look into it then promptly do something about it.

Two, I could be a grown up, not call my Dad to hand over a burden that wasn’t mine but was all the same and I could go to the Police Station, report what I’d seen and hope they’d do something about it.

The problem with that was, Chace Keaton worked at the Police Station.

The boy’s nose, eye, cheekbone and lip came into sharp relief in my mind’s eye and I closed my actual eyes as I sucked in breath.

I opened them and turned back to the library knowing what I had to do.

I should note, not liking it.

But knowing it.

Chace

It was quarter to seven when she walked in.

He’d applied for the job in Carnal upon graduation from the Academy. It was the only place he’d worked since earning his badge and he’d worked there thirteen years.

And not once had Faye Goodknight walked into the Police Department. Not even when Rowdy Crabtree brought her father in on that trumped up charge for drunk and disorderly when Silas Goodknight had just been in Bubba’s, a place he didn’t frequent but he wasn’t a stranger. Silas had been celebrating a friend’s fiftieth birthday. Silas, nowhere near drunk and definitely not disorderly, spent the night in the tank. His wife, Sondra, had come in to make bail and pick him up.

Fortunately, the charge didn’t stick. And none of the Goodknights knew this but the reason it didn’t was because Chace intervened with Fuller, talking him down about targeting another well-respected, well-liked citizen. He’d explained Fuller already had enough talk in town about what was done to Walker, he didn’t need more speculation. And worse, he didn’t need to rile up Goodknight who had demonstrated, repeatedly, he was not the kind of man to go away quiet, lick his wounds and fight another day. He was the kind of man who would go down fighting which meant he’d take others with him.

Fuller had, surprisingly, relented and set up Crabtree to take the hit of a bad arrest.

Now, she was here. And he saw her eyes skid through him at his desk while they scanned the room and she moved to reception.

He figured she was there at that time because the library opened at ten and closed at six.

He also figured she was there at that time because she expected him not to be there.

Whatever reason she was there, he should leave it be. He knew he should leave it be.

But he couldn’t help but think it was no coincidence that he’d not spoken to her directly once in all the years they’d lived in the same town, now they’d spoken twice and she was there.

So he didn’t leave it be.

He got up and started to the reception desk.

Her clear blue eyes skittered to him when he was five feet away and he felt the touch of them like it was real. A hand curled around his neck. Fingers gliding into his hair. Soft, light, sweet.

That kind of real.

Fuck.

She just had to look at him, that was it, and he reacted.

He continued on his path to the last place he should be.

Close to Faye Goodknight.

“Everything all right, Faye?” he asked when he got there.

“She’s got a report to make,” Jon, the officer on duty at the desk, answered for her.

Chace didn’t take his eyes from Faye. “About what?”

Jon answered again, humor in his tone now, “We haven’t gotten that far.”

Chace’s body and mouth made a decision and carried it out again before his brain caught up.

And this was, stepping to the side and opening the low, hinged, wooden gate, eyes still on Faye, mouth saying, “Faye, you follow me. Jon, I’ll handle it.”

Her teeth appeared in order to bite her lip, she hesitated a moment then she moved to do as he asked.

Chace felt Jon’s eyes on him but he didn’t glance in his direction. It wasn’t worth the effort. First, whatever this was, he was going to handle it and he had rank on Jon so Jon had no say in the matter. Second, Jon had a big mouth and even if Chace threatened him, Jon would run that mouth. It wasn’t worth the effort to do more than threaten him. So whatever Jon was thinking about Chace intervening would be all over the Station by tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. And Faye looking the way she looked and Chace showing at reception before she even had a chance to explain why she was there, he knew exactly what would be all over the Station by tomorrow.

This last, he didn’t give a fuck about. Enough words had been whispered about Chace over the last six years. This no longer affected him.

He led Faye to an interrogation room, opened the door and kept it open with arm extended, his nonverbal invitation for her to precede him. She glanced at him then lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear as she looked away, ducked her head and walked by him.

He’d seen her tuck her hair behind her ear, often. And he’d always thought it was cute.

Seeing it close up, it was, like everything he was noting about Faye, a fuckuva lot cuter.

He stepped in behind her, closed the door and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Um… you might be mistaken,” she started, her eyes moving to the door behind him before lifting to his. “I’m not certain this needs privacy, Detective Keaton.”

“I thought we decided on Chace.”

She blinked and her head gave a slight twitch. “What?”

“I want you to call me Chace, Faye.”

“Right,” she whispered, her eyes on him having changed so she wasn’t simply meeting his but studying him.

“Now, what doesn’t need privacy?” he prompted.

“I…” She started, paused then continued, “See, there’s this…” She paused again, adjusted her torso in a way where it seemed she was trying to straighten her shoulders but failing as her eyes drifted away and she went on, “The thing is…” she trailed off, stopped and he watched as her teeth came back out. This time, they caught her lower lip on the outside then pulled in, teeth gliding over her lip and disappearing.

Christ, everything she did, having no clue she was doing it, was not only unbelievably sexy but her having no clue she was doing it was precisely why her doing it was unbelievably sexy.

“Faye,” he said softly, her gaze shot back to his and she spoke again, this time quickly.

“There’s a boy,” she began. “I don’t know, nine, ten years old. He comes into the library and steals books.”

“I see,” he murmured then guessed, “You don’t want to get him into trouble but you also can’t have him stealing books.”

“No,” she shook her head, “he returns them.”

Chace blinked.

Then he asked, “What?”

“He returns them,” she answered and kept talking in a rush. “I mean, since he steals them instead of checks them out, I can’t know if he’s returning all of them. But, for months now, he’s been coming in once or twice a week and once or twice a week I’ll have two or three books in the return bin that were never checked out. So, since I have no record what he took, I can’t know if he returns them all. But he’s a slip of a boy and although his jacket is big, he can’t lug out dozens of books. And I’ve had my eye on him. So if he’s stealing loads, I would notice. He isn’t stealing loads so, I’m not sure, but I think he returns all of them or, uh…” she faltered then finished, “the vast majority of them.”

“If this is true, I’m uncertain how there’s a problem.”

She pulled in a visibly deep breath.

And then she let it out while informing him quietly, “He’s being beaten.”

At that, Chace straightened from the door but he didn’t move from it as he whispered, “Beaten?”

She nodded.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Well, the bruise on his cheekbone I saw. And the other one around his jaw. And then there were the ones on his wrists. But today,” she swallowed, took a half step toward him, stopped and sucked in another breath before going on, “today, it was bad.”

“How bad?”

“Eye swollen shut, bruises on his face, nose swollen and a gash on his lip that isn’t being treated.”

“Fuck,” Chace muttered.

“It’s worse,” she whispered and Chace nodded to her to go on. “He… well, he’s very thin. And he’s not clean, as in, way not clean. And his clothes don’t fit him. And he’s very, very thin.”

“You said that,” Chace noted quietly.

“He’s so very, very thin, Chace, it bears repeating,” she said quietly back.

Chace held her eyes and repeated his muttered, “Fuck.” Then he put his hands on his hips and asked, “You know this kid?”

She shook her head.

“Speak to him?” Chace continued.

She shook her head again but replied, “Every time I’ve tried to approach, he runs away. I tried again today and chased him. He was terrified. He outran me then disappeared.”

Jesus, she’d chased him? The town’s pretty, curvy, quiet librarian chased a kid?

He verbalized his question. “You chased him?”

“Yeah, out of the library and into town. He disappeared the minute he turned onto Main Street. Well, not the minute seeing as I was half a block behind him but close after. And I told him he wasn’t in trouble but he still ran.”

“You chased him.” It was a statement this time.

“Yeah,” she answered anyway then he watched her body give a small jolt and she whispered, “Oh no, was that the wrong thing to do?”

“Sorry, honey, but you gotta know in case the opportunity comes up again. A kid being beaten and malnourished, which gives us an indication who’s likely beating him, and not taken care of, which pretty much solidifies who’s beating him, should not be chased. It’s clear he’s not livin’ a good life. It’s likely that life is filled with a good deal of fear. And him borrowin’ library books outside of acceptable practice says to me whatever’s happening at home means he doesn’t trust anyone so he takes every opportunity to dodge connecting even if it means checking out a library book.”

As he spoke he saw her eyes had grown wide, her lips had parted and she was staring up at him with that appealing wonder she’d stared at him with yesterday morning.

And alone in a small interrogation room while discussing an abused child it was far more appealing.

Then she whispered her cute, “Oh.”

At this point he was seeing his error at giving them privacy. Top to toe, she was an itch he’d wanted to scratch for a long time. Faye Goodknight talking and reacting two feet away, her voice coming at him, her face expressive, her scent filling the room, she wasn’t an itch.

She was a craving.

Chace buried it and asked, “He keeps coming around?”

She blinked and asked back, “What?”

“This kid, you said you’ve tried to approach, the times you didn’t chase him down the street, he kept coming back?”

He saw her bubblegum lips twitch but she nodded and added her, “Yeah.”

“Right,” he muttered, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone. “He comes back, you don’t approach. You call me.”

“Call you?”

“Yeah,” he bent his head to his phone and activated it, saying, “I wanna get a look at him. See if I know him or who his kin might be. Maybe find a way to make my own approach.”

“He doesn’t look familiar.”

Chace lifted his head and looked at her. “You lived here your whole life, Faye, but still, it’s likely I’ve met more folk around here than you have.”

“This is true,” she said softly.

Christ.

Cute.

“Give me your number,” he ordered.

She blinked.

Then she whispered, “What?”

“Your phone number. Give it to me. I’ll call you, you’ll have mine you can store in your cell.”

“Can’t you just give me yours and I’ll program it in my cell?” she suggested.

“I could. But, darlin’, things the way they’ve been…” he trailed off, shook his head and let that speak for itself. She might live in her books but the shit that’s gone down, he knew from the limited conversations they’d had, had not escaped her notice. “I’m not big on surprises. You need to call me, when my phone rings, I like to know what I’m dealin’ with before I answer it. I got your number, it’ll come up on caller ID.”

She nodded and pressed her lips together before she said quietly, “That makes sense.”

Then she stood there staring at him.

“Faye, your number?” he prompted and her body gave a slight start.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Right.” Then she gave him her number.

Chace punched it in and hit go. Her purse rang and he heard her making the moves to pull her phone out but he disconnected the call before she answered it. Then he hit buttons and programmed her into his phone while he heard her hitting buttons programming him in hers.

This meant access to Faye Goodknight’s voice whenever he wanted it.

Fuck.

He buried that as he shoved his phone back in his pocket and looked again at her.

“I also need you to bag a book he’s stolen and bring it to me,” he told her.

Her head cocked slightly to the side and she asked, “Why?”

“’Cause he might have hit the system. We can lift prints, we might find out who he is which might lead us to where he is.”

“Oh,” she again whispered, then another, “Right. Okay. I’ll do that.”

“Try not to handle it too much.”

“Uh… Chace, our books, at least some of them, are handled a lot.”

“We’ll sort out what we find, don’t worry about that.”

She nodded again.

“I need a physical description of the kid too. I’ll give it to the boys. They can keep their eyes peeled.”

More nodding then she described the kid and his behavior. Nothing she said struck him as familiar to any kid he’d seen. Seeing as everything she said was not good, if he’d seen him he would have noted him.

When she was done speaking, he started.

“I’ll talk to the boys, see if they’ve seen anything or heard anything. I’ll also do some digging to see if any reports were made. Way things were, they could have been ignored or buried. I’ll do what I can to uncover it if they have. Tomorrow, I’ll call Child Protection Services to see if they’ve had any reports we haven’t acted on or any at all. I’ll also swing by the school to talk to the principal and ask him to talk to his teachers to see if any of them have concerns, either reported or unreported. In the meantime, you bag a book he stole and call me. Tell me when you can bring it in. When you do, I’ll have an artist here who can take your description and give us a picture we can go on. That all good with you?”

“A police artist?” she asked, again looking at him with that expression of adorable, effective wonder.

“A police artist, yeah,” he answered, expending not a small amount of effort to ignore her look. “You might not think you’re good at describing someone but they’re trained to pull it out of you and they’re good at what they do.”

“A police artist,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Chace replied.

“And fingerprints.” She was still whispering.

“Yeah, Faye, got no clue who this kid is. Gotta do something to find him, find out what’s happening to him and put a stop to it. We don’t have a name. We don’t have an address. So we have to work with what we’ve got.”

She was still whispering when she repeated, “Put a stop to it.”

Now, Chace was confused. She seemed stunned. Not in a bad way, that wonder was still clear in her expression. But stunned all the same.

“Uh, yeah, Faye. That’s why you came here and reported this, isn’t it? To put a stop to bad shit happening to a kid. So, let’s set about doin’ that, yeah?”

He stopped speaking and she said nothing, just stared up at him, those blue eyes big and locked on him.

But Chace was done. Done with this conversation. Done with gathering info and giving detail on what they were going to do. And especially done with being in a private room with the town’s pretty librarian looking at him like he parted the Colorado River so she could get to the other side without the unnecessary hassle of getting wet. Something only her own personal miracle worker could offer her.

But Faye Goodknight was not done.

He’d know this when suddenly she was not two feet away but in his space. So far in his space, her soft body was pressed the length of his, her arms were around his shoulders, one hand curled around the back of his neck, fingers in his hair, putting pressure on to bend his head. And last, her mouth was pressed hard to his.

What the fuck?

He put his hands to her hips to push her away, his mind filled with how he could do that as gently as possible when her tongue came out and the tip touched his lips.

And at that, Chace’s body and mouth made another decision before his mind could catch up. This being his arms closing around her tight, his mouth opening over hers, his tongue spiking out, pushing hers back into her mouth and then he kissed her, very hard, very wet and very, very deep.

She didn’t taste like bubblegum.

She tasted like bubblemint. Sweet and fresh and fucking fantastic.

He kept one of his arms locked tight around her waist while he slid the other hand up her spine, her neck and into her hair.

Fucking hell, silk.

Better than he imagined.

Better than he could even dream.

He bent forward slightly, arching her over his arm, forcing her body deeper into his and she moaned a sweet, soft moan against his tongue.

It was the best thing he’d ever tasted in his life.

In some faraway, vague recess of his mind that wasn’t intent on her body pressed against his, the feel of her hair in his hand, the taste of her on his tongue and what all that was doing to his body, he realized she had no clue what she was doing. She was along for his ride. A willing, eager participant, giving, opening herself to him and doing nothing more but letting him take what he wanted.

It was, by far, the best kiss he’d ever had.

And on that thought, his brain caught up to his mouth and body and he tore his mouth from hers as he curled his fingers into her waist and shoved her back roughly.

She retreated three steps, her body not in control with the force of his shove, before she righted herself.

But she wasn’t feeling his shove. She hadn’t even processed the fact she was no longer in his arms.

She was staring at him, rose in her cheeks, mouth soft and swollen, lips parted, eyes hooded, visibly affected by his kiss which meant she wore the fact that she was supremely turned on all over her face.

Just from one kiss.

It was a fucking good look.

It was the kind of look a man would get once and then fight and die to have aimed his way on a regular basis.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

“What the fuck was that?” he clipped and she blinked but that look didn’t leave her face.

“What?” she whispered.

“What… the fuck… was that?” he ground out.

“I –” she started, blinking again, but he didn’t let her continue.

“Don’t do that shit again, Faye,” he growled, took a step toward her and pointed in her face. “Do not do that shit again.” He dropped his hand but put his face where his hand had been and kept growling. “I don’t know what bullshit game you’re playin’, following me around, suddenly everywhere I am. But straight up, I’m not playin’ it. You got some romantic idea I’m a wounded soul you can heal with…” he shook his head and flipped out a hand, “your limited charms, think again. I already told you, I do not want your concern. I do not want your company. And I do not want your inexperienced bullshit fumbling. Trust me, I had in my bed the master at that shit and she got nowhere. And you, just now, got as much as you’ll ever get. Get this in your head, Faye, all I want from you is for you to leave me the fuck alone.”

He didn’t allow the look on her face to register. He didn’t know what was happening with her. What he did know was, for her sake, he had to make his point clear. And if that meant being a dick, he had to be a dick.

So he was a dick.

He turned around and prowled to the door.

But at it, he braced, turned back and looked at her. He ignored the pain back in her features and the fact that it was magnified to such an extreme, if he wasn’t set on ignoring it, honest to Christ, it would have brought him to his knees.

“You get a book, you call Frank Dolinski. I’ll brief him, he’ll be your point of contact from now on,” he informed her, turned, yanked open and strode through the door, through the Station and straight outside where he walked to his truck.

And while he did this, he didn’t give one fuck that Jon’s eyes followed him the whole way nor did he care what that would mean tomorrow would bring.