Golden Trail

Chapter Ten Your Boyfriend is Hot

He felt her hands on him, her mouth on him, her hair gliding across his chest following her lips.

They trailed up, then along his collarbone and his hands moved to her waist, down to her hips and in, over her ass as her lips went up his neck to his ear.

“You need to get home to your boys, baby,” Rocky whispered.

Layne’s eyes opened.

He was on his stomach on Rocky’s couch.

He rolled to his back and he smiled.

Then he rolled off the couch and stretched, looking out her huge-ass windows, the lights from the parking lot shining in, dawn not close but not far away.

He bent and replaced the back cushions on the couch. He’d been right, he could sleep there and he did, like a log. The seat was wide, especially with the back cushions off, plenty of room. Enough, Rocky could stretch out with him to watch a game. He remembered she loved football, she loved basketball and she loved baseball. It was chick love, it was cute, but there was no denying she liked her sports.

He turned to her stairs and went up, his bare feet silent on the steps. He’d taken off his boots, socks and tee and slept in his jeans.

The doors in the hall upstairs were all closed. One blank wall, the wall to the outside, three doors on the inner wall, another one at the wall facing him at the end. One of them had to be a bathroom.

He tried the first and found it was a bedroom. Nothing in it that he could see.

He tried the second and it was a linen closet, mostly empty.

He tried the third and found a bathroom. He used it then washed his hands, splashed water on his face, tagged a hand towel and dried his face, seeing she’d already decorated. Little chrome boxes on a shelf over the toilet, matching chrome soap dispenser and toothbrush holder. Thick towels, a color combo of a bright green and yellow. He was pleased she’d got herself sorted out before that asshole cut off her funds. At least she had what she needed around her while she worried about not being able to make the rent.

He turned off the light, left the bathroom and didn’t hesitate when he turned to her door and opened it.

He stopped when he saw her form easily in the queen-sized bed, her curtains open, the lights shining in. Her bedroom was on the third floor, not easy to peer in, but with a man trailing her with a camera, they’d be having a conversation about her keeping her curtains open.

He moved to the bed and then halted, staring at her sensing something was wrong. He kept his eyes glued to her as he tried to figure out what it was.

Then it hit him.

Growing up, she’d had a double bed. He knew this because he used to make out with her on it and she’d told him she’d had it as long as she could remember. She slept in the middle of it, on her belly, on a slight slant, one arm pinned by her body, one arm thrown out, one leg hitched at the knee. She wasn’t petite but she wasn’t a big girl by any stretch of the imagination. Sleeping like that, however, she took up most of the bed.

He knew she slept this way because she had not changed this habit when she’d moved in with Layne. He’d had a queen-sized bed but she did not stick to her side. She slept in the middle and the way she slept meant her arm was thrown over his abs, her hitched leg was resting on his thigh and her head was on his chest or shoulder. He slept on his stomach too but this position pinned him to his back on the bed and, since Rocky slept like the dead and didn’t move all night, that meant he was pinned that way all night.

This left him with two options, he moved her and trained her to sleep on her side or he got used to it.

Layne got used to it.

If memory served, it took two days.

Now she was lying on one side of the bed, closest to the windows and she was tucked into a ball so her frame was as small as it could be.

He stared at her and he knew she had ten years of that. Ten years of keeping her distance and protecting herself from Astley, even in her sleep.

Layne let the knowledge that she was herself with him, could sleep open and sprawled and close to him and she didn’t give Astley that same gift sweep through him and he felt another golden trail left in its wake. That might make him a dick and it sucked that she had ten years of that but that trail shimmered through him all the same.

He walked to her side of the bed and sat down. Her hair was dark against her neck and he slid his hand under it, through her hair and against her skin, pulling its heavy weight off her neck and to the back.

She shifted at his touch, legs straightening and her head turned, even in the dim light he could see the movement was fluid.

He knew her eyes had opened when she shot up to an elbow.

“Layne?” Her voice was husky with sleep at the same time openly surprised.

“Gotta get to my boys, baby,” he replied, his hand still in her hair, he cupped the back of her head.

“You could have left a note,” she told him, her body starting to inch back but his fingers curled deeper into her hair against her scalp and she stopped.

He ignored her. “You sleep okay?”

“What? Yes.” The first was confused, the second was inching close to a snap. “What are you –?”

“Six o’clock for Keira and pasta bake, yeah?”

“Yes, Layne, I remember.” She was pressing back against his hand.

“I’ll call you when I do the searches on Gaines.”

Her head stopped pressing, she kept looking up at him and he knew her mood had changed when she spoke. “Okay, but I can’t take calls during class. You may have to leave me a message.”

“Then call me when you can, I’ll be runnin’ him first thing.”

“Okay.”

“We gotta do it, we’ll activate Tripp tonight so you’ll need to find time to study those rosters if the searches come up clean.”

“Okay,” she repeated, this time with a small nod of her head.

“Good idea, baby, to keep your ears open if the kids start talkin’ about Youth Group. Report to me what you hear, anything, whether you think it’s strange or not.”

“I will.”

His fingers tensed against her scalp and he muttered, “Good. See you at six.”

“See you at six.”

“Later, sweetcheeks,” he murmured as he dropped his head, hers tipped back as his came down, not to pull away but so she could watch him and his lips brushed her parted-in-surprise ones. “Be good,” he whispered against her mouth. “No covert operations today, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathed against his lips.

He smiled against hers.

Then he let her go, got up and walked out of her room.

Tripp was sitting on his stool in front of Layne, shoveling down oatmeal that he put four sugars into before nuking. Rocky might be happy about the oatmeal but she probably would frown on the four sugars.

Jasper, not in attendance during the oatmeal discussion, was spooning up sugary cereal while standing at the end of the island.

Layne was standing in front of it, hair still wet from his shower, sipping coffee.

“So,” Jasper drawled and Layne’s eyes went to him to see his son’s were on Layne, “Rocky’s lack of security gonna mean she’ll need constant vigilance?”

Layne watched his boy’s lips twitch.

Jasper was giving him stick.

More progress.

“Likely,” Layne muttered against the rim of his mug and took a sip while he watched Jasper’s slow smile.

Layne’s gaze moved to his younger boy and saw his head bowed, he was grinning into his oatmeal and his shoulders were shaking. Layne watched him struggle to compose his features, his head came up and twisted to his brother.

“Dad takes pride in his work, Jas,” he announced. “He’s thorough.”

“Yeah,” Jasper replied, “It’s good he’s so dedicated, no one will guess this whole thing is a big fake.”

“Yeah,” Tripp agreed, “Heck, I know it’s a fake and even I’m wonderin’ if it’s a fake.”

“I dig you, Tripp-o-matic,” Jasper returned.

“Boys,” Layne said low, surprised he could make his voice a warning when he was fighting back a chuckle.

Tripp’s eyes shot to him then down to his oatmeal and his shoulders started shaking again before Layne heard him snort.

Jasper didn’t hide his amusement; he was flashing an open, huge, white-toothed smile.

It pissed Layne off he had to throw a wet blanket on their mood but he had to so he did.

“What’s happening at practice?” Layne asked, the smile fled from Jasper’s face and Tripp’s shoulders slumped.

“It’s smoothin’ out,” Jasper answered but Tripp stayed silent.

Layne studied his older boy. “You sure?”

Jasper nodded. “He’s still bein’ a dick but it isn’t as bad as before and they got some chick who comes to practices sometimes and sits there with a notebook. He’s totally cool when she’s there. Like another coach,” Jasper answered and went on sharing. “Kids hate him, Dad, the whole team. Even Seth, his own son. Seth feels shit. Thinks everyone’s gonna hate him because they hate his Dad. He’s not really as bad as he plays in the games. He just knows Tripp’s better and he wants the team to win. He fucks up so his Dad’ll pull him but Coach just won’t.”

That was another by-product of the formal complaints. Tripp had seen zero game time. None. And Jas’s action had dried up. He was still on the field but never got near the ball unless he was blocking for someone carrying it. The team’s morale was so low it was visible. They’d started the season undefeated but lost one, won the next by the skin of their teeth in overtime and the natives were getting restless.

Layne nodded to Jasper and looked at Tripp. “Tripp, you think things are smoothin’ out too, Pal?”

He heard Tripp suck in breath then he looked at his old man. “He’s a dick in the locker room.”

Layne stared at his son then his eyes cut to Jasper.

“Yeah,” Jasper confirmed. “That chick can’t come into the locker room and Coach gets bad. He lays it on me but mostly he lays it on Tripp.”

“How bad?” Layne asked.

“I can take it,” Tripp answered and his eyes moved to his younger boy.

“How bad, Tripp?”

Tripp shrugged. “He’s a dick, Dad, but I can take it.”

Layne looked back at Jasper.

“He can take it,” Jasper stated. “But still, it’s bad.”

Layne clenched his jaw and felt the muscle move in his cheek.

“I can take it, Dad,” Tripp repeated on a whisper and Layne caught his eyes. Tripp was looking at him steady, unblinking.

He could take it.

Another indication he was Layne’s son.

“You tell me if you can’t,” Layne ordered.

“Okay,” Tripp agreed.

“No shit, Tripp and no shame in that. Got me?”

Tripp nodded and grinned. “No shit, no shame, got you.”

Layne felt his temper ebb and he grinned back. Then he looked between both of them.

“A friend is comin’ to stay. He’ll be here tonight. Name’s Devin Glover. He’s an ex-PI. Good, solid guy, he’s been around the block and he taught your old man a lot.” Both Layne’s sons nodded. “He’s also a nut,” Layne went on and both Layne’s sons stared at him. “Total nut. You’ll get it when you meet him but, fair warning, the guy’s whacked.”

“He’s not gonna fuck up pasta bake with Keira tonight, is he?” Jasper asked.

“It could happen,” Layne answered honestly and Jas’s eyes got huge. “I’ll be here, Bud, I’ve got your back and, way you describe Keira, sounds like Dev is a member of her club.”

Jasper’s face lost its worry and warmed. “Yeah, she’ll probably think he’s a scream. Her long lost grandpa.”

Layne smiled at his boy and then said to them both, “School.”

Tripp moved quickly, rinsing his bowl and putting it in the dishwasher. Jasper took more than his usual time in getting his shit sorted so Tripp was out the door to the Charger before Jasper was even down the stairs with his books.

Layne would understand when Jasper came up to him and handed him a piece of paper.

“Mom’s schedule,” he mumbled.

Layne nodded and pocketed the paper. “Good man.”

Jasper nodded back and walked to the utility room door. Layne walked his coffee mug to the sink but turned to the door when Jasper called.

“Everyone in school is talking about you and Rocky,” he informed Layne.

“That’s kind of the point, Bud,” Layne replied quietly. “You cool with that?”

“Everyone thinks it’s the shit, you bein’ with her,” Jas said instead of answering Layne’s question. “Apparently, they all knew about you guys, you know… before.” He went on and kept talking when Layne didn’t. “Guess they never shared with Tripp and me ‘cause we’re your sons.”

Layne didn’t reply. Jasper had something to say and Layne was going to give him the chance to say it.

“Tripp said Melody was here then she was gone,” Jasper noted.

Layne kept his gaze steady on his son and stayed silent.

“It’s not fake, is it?” Jasper asked softly and Layne studied his son thinking he had vastly underestimated Jasper too.

“It was, Jas, it isn’t anymore.”

Jasper nodded.

Layne continued. “She doesn’t know that yet, though.”

Jasper stared at him then his mouth twitched before, very slowly, it spread into a smile.

Then Jasper shocked the shit out of Layne and walked straight into him, he bumped the side of his chest against his Dad’s like Layne had seen him doing to his buds.

He stepped away, looking to the floor, mumbling, “Later, Dad.”

“Later, Bud,” Layne returned.

Layne stared at the door for long minutes after it closed. Then Blondie sauntered up to him and sat at his feet, head back, tongue lolling, the invitation to pet her or, preferably, give her a rubdown, opened.

He turned and surveyed his house from the kitchen thinking he was beginning to like the place.

He looked down at Blondie and asked, “You wanna go to work with me today?”

She had no idea what he was saying but she got up on all fours, her body shaking with excitement and she barked.

Layne decided to take that as a yes.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what the fuck is that?” Devin asked when Layne came through the door to his office. Devin’s eyes were on Blondie.

Blondie ran forward and jumped on Devin’s wife beater covered chest.

“It’s a dog, Dev,” Layne answered then ordered Blondie to get down.

Blondie whipped her head toward Layne, whipped it back to Devin, aimed a lash of her tongue at his face, got nothing but air and then jumped down, put her nose to the ground and started her voyage of the discovery of his office.

Devin scowled at her and then looked at Layne. “Jesus, boy, next thing I’ll find out is you drive a mini-van.”

“That’s another reason I called you here all the way from Cleveland, Dev. I wanted you to help me pick the color,” Layne returned and Dev rolled his eyes.

Then Devin walked to the reception desk and picked up a white cup of lidded coffee. A Mimi’s coffee.

Devin was wearing a pair of dress pants he should have thrown away probably five years ago, a pair of scuffed shoes and his wife beater. Thick, gray, chest hair could be seen out of the top of the wife beater and the shock of white-gray hair on his head looked like he hadn’t even run his fingers through it after getting up from the couch. Total bedhead.

“You didn’t get me a coffee?” Layne asked, walking into the room.

“What am I, your nanny?” Dev asked back.

Good to know Devin hadn’t changed. Layne knew the man would take a bullet for him but he’d give him lip the entire time he was doing it.

“You go to Mimi’s in your wife beater?”

Devin moved away from the reception desk to his bag spread open on the couch and Layne moved to the desk, dumping the folder with TJ Gaines’s file on it, turned to Dev and leaned back into it.

“Woman runs that joint ain’t difficult to look at,” Dev muttered rather than answering Layne’s question which did answer Layne’s question that, yes, Dev wandered into Mimi’s wearing a wife beater like he’d wander up to his own kitchen counter and pour himself a mug of joe.

“Yeah,” Layne agreed, “and her husband used to be center on the football team, he’s no less solid twenty some years down the line but his devotion to wife and family, coupled with his gun collection, means you should not go there.”

“Can a man pay a woman a compliment?” Devin asked cantankerously and shrugged on a shirt.

“Sure,” Layne replied and Devin buttoned his shirt, his eyes locking on Layne.

“Well, now that we got all the heartwarming reunion shit outta the way, you run off what you got for me. I’m goin’ to the po-lice station to take a shower and I’ll want it ready when I get back.”

It was clear Devin took some time last night to get the lay of the land. He’d never been to the ‘burg but he knew where to get coffee and where the police station was, two things Devin Glover was sure to take note of on any assignment.

“Dev, no one knows you at the Station,” Layne reminded him. “You can’t waltz in there and take a shower. You can shower at my house.”

“Your house two blocks away?” Dev shot back.

Layne grinned at him. “No.”

“Be back,” Dev stated, grabbing his coat and hoofing it out the door.

Blondie barked at it.

Layne tagged the file and walked into his office, hitting the power button on his computer as he picked up the phone to call the Station and tell them a crotchety old man was going to stroll in like he owned the place and take a shower and their best play was to let him. Kath picked up at reception at the Station, Dev showed up while Layne was talking to her and she instantly agreed.

Layne went to his e-mail and found Merry’s intel about Astley and he also found that Natalie didn’t fuck around. As promised yesterday, she’d sent an e-mail with the names of people at work she thought might be able to help. She added addresses, phone numbers and copious commentary and she even made notes of who she’d already contacted to let them know someone would be calling them, helping out by making cold contacts warm. Checking the e-mail, Layne noted she’d sent it by eight o’clock last night and there were fifteen names on her list, eleven of them she’d already contacted.

Natalie, Layne had discovered yesterday, did not like Dr. Jarrod Astley, this e-mail was added proof and indication that she really did not like him.

He printed off the e-mails and put them in the file he’d created when he’d done his searches two weeks ago, making notes on the searches of what was probably now bogus due to Astley’s recent activities. He needed to start looking into TJ Gaines and he unfortunately didn’t have time to re-run Astley’s shit.

He’d begun work on Gaines, and was not liking what he was finding, when his cell rang. The display said “Colt Calling”.

“Layne,” he said after he put it to his ear.

“Hey Tanner, you busy today?”

“Yeah but what’s up?”

“Merry gave us the rundown on Stew. I got a guy you might wanna talk to.”

Layne sat back in his chair. “When?”

“I gotta go with you. He’s not fond of strangers,” Colt told him.

“Right. When?” Layne repeated.

“How’re you fixed to meet me at the Station at one?”

“I can do that,” Layne replied.

“Got it. See you then.”

“Later.”

Layne flipped his phone shut and Devin walked in carrying another cup from Mimi’s.

“That for me?” Layne asked.

Devin looked him in the eyes and took a sip, this being his answer.

Then he walked to the desk opposite Layne, held out his hand and grunted, “File.”

Layne grinned, picked up the Astley file, reached across the desk and gave it to Devin.

Devin weighed it with his hand moving up and down and asked, “How long you been workin’ this?”

“Haven’t really. There isn’t much there.”

Devin put his cup down on Layne’s desk and opened the file, his eyes skimming the paper on the top. “Rely too much on computers these days,” he grumbled.

“It’ll get you started.”

Devin looked at Layne. “How deep do you wanna bury this guy?”

“So deep he won’t remember what oxygen feels like.”

Devin studied him. Then he nodded, grabbed his cup and turned to go.

“Dev,” Layne called and Devin turned back. “Dinner, my house, be there at five thirty so I can introduce you to the boys and try to talk you into behaving yourself so my girl Rocky and my son’s girl Keira don’t run screaming into the night.”

Devin’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Only person I can be is me, boy.”

“Why don’t you try on a different personality for tonight?” Layne suggested.

“Women love me,” Devin shot back.

Layne grinned and muttered, “Right.”

“You wait and see, I’ll have them eatin’ outta my hands.”

“Just as long as you don’t try to do that literally.”

Devin grunted. Blondie, standing next to him looking up at him and likely wondering why he wasn’t petting her, barked. Devin glared at the dog and then he disappeared.

Layne chuckled and turned back to his computer.

An hour later he’d run through every scrap of information in TJ Gaines’s personnel file twice because he could not believe what he’d found and he’d printed it out. He’d also made some calls based on info from the file, typed up quick notes and printed those out too. He was in Mimi’s and Mimi was handing him his Americano when his phone rang.

The display said, “Raquel Calling”.

Seeing Rocky’s name on his phone, he made a decision, smiled at Meems, turned toward the door, flipped the phone open, put it to his ear and greeted her with, “Hey sweetcheeks.”

“Hey Layne. Did you run the searches?”

“Yep.”

“Well?” she asked when he said no more.

“You get a break?”

“Sorry?”

“Do you get a break, Rocky?” He walked through the door, gave a quick, sharp whistle and Blondie, waiting outside for him with her nose pressed to Mimi’s glass the entire time he was inside, likely wondering if Layne was getting her a seriously gourmet dog treat (Mimi’s coffees were great but her baked goods were so fucking fantastic, Layne wanted to watch Rocky eat one, guaranteed orgasm). Blondie wagged after him as he headed down the sidewalk to his SUV. “I wanna talk about what I found face to face,” Layne finished.

She was silent. Then she asked, “Did you find something?”

“Do you get a break?” he repeated.

She hesitated then said, “Yes, right now. I have third period free.”

“Can I walk right in or do I need to sign in?”

“Layne –”

He cut her off. “Answer me, sweetcheeks.”

“I’ll meet you outside the office,” she told him on a sigh.

“Be there in ten.”

He flipped his phone shut, shoved it in his back pocket, opened the door, Blondie bolted up into the cab and he swung up after her. He was at the school in ten minutes. He left Blondie in the truck with a window cracked and her nose shoved out of it, sniffing at the outside air like she’d never experienced it before. He walked into the school and saw Raquel was standing outside the office, which was right at the entrance.

She was wearing another one of her to-the-knee, tight-and-sexy-as-hell skirts, this one light beige topped with a thin, tight sweater in deep pink with a matching scarf tied around her neck and high-heeled pumps that also matched the pink. Her lips were glossed in a color that looked like raspberries and he wondered if it tasted the same. Her hair was coiled in a twist at the back of her head.

He smiled at her. When he did, her eyes went immediately to the windows of the administration office that faced out to the halls that Layne was certain was filled with colleagues, mostly women, all who were watching avidly. Then she looked back at him and smiled back tentatively, telling him she was at work and he needed to behave himself.

He walked up to her and stopped close, closer than he should, not as close as he wanted, not close enough to be inappropriate but definitely close enough to give their audience something to gossip about and he tipped his head down.

“Hey Roc.”

“Hey,” she whispered, staring up at him.

“Can we talk private?” he asked.

She nodded. “We’ll go to my classroom.”

He followed her down the corridor in front of the office then down the hall of lockers, four doors in, she turned left, opened the door and he moved in behind her. She closed the door and turned to him as he scanned the room. A narrow window by the door, a row of windows with views out to the front of the school, other than that, privacy.

He wanted to take in more but she asked, “Well?” so he turned to her then he moved into her space again. She held her ground and he grinned down at her. She stared up at him and she was off-balance, he could see, so off-balance she didn’t even try to hide it. She didn’t understand his game.

This was good.

“What did you find?” she prompted.

“The whole thing is a lie,” he answered and watched her blink.

Then she breathed, “Sorry?”

“Not one thing he put on his application is the truth. Not even his fuckin’ address.” Layne moved closer to her and his voice dropped lower. “Not even his name, Rocky.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

“Thomas Jameson ‘TJ’ Gaines, as far as I can tell, is a Youth Minister at a Baptist Church in a suburb of Chattanooga, Tennessee. He’s been employed there for two years and still lives there, or he did last night, when he took his family out to dinner and charged it. So, unless he’s discovered a way to clone himself, the man who’s Youth Minister at the Christian Church is not TJ Gaines.”

She was staring up at him, lips parted, eyes huge. Then she swallowed before she asked, “Are you going to give it to Merry?”

“Only one I could probably give it to is Merry since we came into the possession of his personnel file by breaking and entering and then stealing confidential documents.”

“We didn’t break and enter, I had a key!” she snapped.

“A key you stole, sweetcheeks,” he shot back.

Her teeth instantly sunk into her lip but her eyes were shooting fire. Then she stated, “Merry would run with it and keep us out of it.”

Layne shook his head. “We gotta send Tripp in.”

“Why?”

“Because, what Drew told me and what you added last night, I had a feeling this was bad, now I know this is worse. A lot worse. Something is going on there and we fucked it up by committing a variety of unlawful acts to come about undeniably damning information. As damning as it is, sweetcheeks, they build a case against this guy, it’ll all come crashing down if anyone ever finds out they were tipped from info we acquired and the way we acquired it. That could happen, Roc. So, a kid’s gotta report him and that kid’s gonna be Tripp, but he has to know what he’s reporting. He can’t just go to a few Youth Group meetings and cry wolf. If this guy is in there doin’ bad shit with those kids, someone says boo, he’s gone and they’ll never find him. Tripp gets anything, they can investigate in a way where they won’t tweak him until they got enough to arrest him. I have a meet with Colt later this morning, I’ll give him the head’s up Drew punted this case to me and what Tripp’s doin’ so he can work his end. You see Drew or Merry, you do the same. But what we did no one knows about, yeah?”

She stared at him for three long beats before she muttered, “I hate it when you make sense.”

Layne smiled and muttered back, “Baby.”

Her irritation fled and her face changed, worry seeping into it, so much, she didn’t check herself from leaning closer to him and resting her bandaged hand lightly on his chest. “Layne, we’re talking girls here. Young girls.”

He put his hand to her neck and gave her a squeeze. “I’ll coach Tripp, Rocky, and give him the sense of urgency. He’ll play it smart but he won’t fuck around. You have to have patience. Even if the cops were investigating this, it would take time. Now, we’re goin’ at it both ways.”

“Yes, I understand that, but time –”

Layne interrupted her. “He’s doin’ bad shit with kids, this guy has gotta go down and stay down, Roc and, baby,” his head dipped so his face was close to hers, “I’m sorry, but that takes time.”

She stared into his eyes and then she nodded. She’d agreed but he didn’t move out of her space or her face. His fingers tensed on her neck and his eyes dropped to her raspberry lips and, his hand on her skin, her hand on his chest, she was so close he could smell her perfume, Layne had the sudden urge to discover if she tasted like raspberries.

“Layne,” those lips whispered as his hand at her neck pulled her closer.

“Yeah, baby?” he asked, his mouth nearly on hers.

“What –?”

His mouth captured hers and his tongue darted out to taste her lip gloss. It tasted like fruit but he didn’t know if it was raspberry and he didn’t care because her lips parted and Layne didn’t waste the opportunity, his tongue slid inside.

His hand stayed at her neck as his other hand gripped her waist and pulled her body into his. Both her hands went to his shoulders, not to push away, for the fingers to curl in and she held on.

Her head tipped further back and tilted to the side causing her breasts to press into his chest. That felt good and he wanted more of it.

So he moved his hand along her waist, feeling the fabric of her sweater was soft, not scratchy, and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her body deeper into his, plastering her softness against him.

Yep, that felt better and Rocky thought so too, he knew this because she made a sweet, little noise in her throat that vibrated against his tongue.

That noise made Layne give a reciprocating one, but his wasn’t sweet, it was hungry.

Too hungry, the taste of her, the smell of her perfume, her body pressed against his felt fucking great. His body was reacting and she was at work. This couldn’t get out of hand. Not how he wanted it to, not here.

He tore his lips from hers but kept her close with his hand at her neck and arm around her waist.

“Layne,” she breathed and he realized then she’d kissed him back. No complaints, no resistance, like Sunday night, he’d touched his tongue to her lips and she was his.

This said a lot and all of it was fucking brilliant.

“I got work to do, baby,” he whispered.

“What are you… why are you –?” she started to ask but he touched his mouth to hers once, then again then he looked in her eyes to see they were slightly unfocused and slightly confused and that look was definitely cute.

“Got shit to do, sweetcheeks. Colt’s got a guy who may give me info I need on Stew and I got a file to build on a case I completed last night and I need to get that done so I can get paid.”

“Um… okay,” she whispered.

His hand at her neck and his arm at her waist gave her a squeeze. “See you tonight.”

“Okay,” she repeated.

“Later,” he muttered and touched his mouth to hers again.

“Okay,” she muttered back when he was done, her mutter breathy. “Later.”

He smiled down at her, let her go, stepped away from her and her hands dropped from his shoulders. He wiped her berry gloss off his lips with the back of his hand while still smiling. Then he turned to the door and his timing couldn’t have been any fucking better. The bell rang and he opened the door as kids started streaming into the halls. He waited a few beats, looking back at her and finding she was where he left her, staring at him, still seeming unfocused. Then, when the halls were packed with kids, he took a step out, turned back to her, gave her a wink and started to walk down the hall.

A young girl ran into the back of an opened locker right beside him after he took two steps and he caught her by the bicep because the noise of her slamming into the locker was loud and her dazed expression made it look like she was going down.

“You all right?” he asked and she stared up at him still looking dazed. He bent closer. “Hey, honey, I asked, you all right?”

“Uh…” she stared up at him like she’d never seen another human being before then she whispered in a voice so quiet he could barely hear her, “you called me honey.”

“Molly,” Rocky was there, “did you hurt yourself? Is everything okay?”

The girl tore her gaze from him, blinked at Rocky and mumbled, “Uh, yeah, Mrs. Astley.”

“Her name is Ms. Merrick,” Layne told the girl, he heard Rocky suck in breath, he let the girl’s arm go and the girl turned her head and blinked up at him.

“Oh, okay,” she turned back to Rocky, “yeah, I’m fine, Ms. Merrick.”

Rocky was glaring at him but she spoke to the girl. “That’s good, Molly, now you better get to class.”

“Right,” she muttered, scuttled between them and took off down the hall.

“Hey, Mrs. Astley,” a pack of girls called in unison then one of them went on, “your boyfriend is hot.” Then all of them burst out in giggles.

“Thank you, Mariah, your opinion is noted,” Rocky replied irately and Layne burst out laughing. When he was done, Rocky was close and she hissed at him, “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yeah, Roc.” He grinned at her. “See you tonight.”

“See you tonight.”

He winked again and she glared, then she turned, walked back to her room and then disappeared inside. It was only two strides but she did it with her strut so Layne took the time to watch. When he was done, he turned, saw two of Jasper’s friends, backs against the walls, both of their eyes were locked on Layne.

“Hey Mr. Layne,” one of them said in Jasper’s “you the man” tone of last night.

“Jamie,” Layne nodded and his eyes cut to the other kid, “Mitch.”

“Yo, Mr. Layne.”

Layne smiled at them and started walking down the hall thinking that his whole play went really, fucking great.

Layne met Colt and they took off in Layne’s Suburban.

When they did, Layne left Blondie with Sully at the Station knowing Jas’s dog would love him forever, such was her excitement at being left in a place full of men who liked dogs as well as a variety of corners she could stick her nose into to experience a variety of new and unusual smells.

“Things good?” Colt asked from the passenger seat.

“Workin’ on it,” Layne answered.

“How’s Rocky?” Colt went on.

“Workin’ on that too,” Layne replied and Colt chuckled.

“Can’t say I wasn’t shocked as shit coupla weeks ago,” Colt remarked.

“Everyone’s shocked as shit, includin’ me,” Layne told him.

Colt was silent a moment before he asked quietly, his voice openly concerned, “It goin’ okay?”

Alec Colton was a good cop, a good man and a good friend. They’d worked together years ago, he’d been that way then and he was that way now. Colt knew Layne before Rocky left him and after. He knew what she meant to him and he knew what it meant she was back.

Therefore, Layne said quietly back, “Path’s full of thorns.”

Another moment of silence and then Colt replied, “You get to the rose, man, it’s unbelievably soft and smells incredibly fuckin’ sweet.”

It hit Layne then that Colt and Feb had lived their own bittersweet love story in that ‘burg. Colt was a few years older than Layne but he’d been at high school with Feb. With Colt best friends with February’s brother since he was in kindergarten, Colt had known Feb forever. They’d been solid, unshakable, the couple who hooked up in high school that everyone knew would stick true. They didn’t. Layne had no idea what went down except it wasn’t good. Colt had stayed in the ‘burg and, working with him, Layne knew the loss of Feb, even years after, was a loss that stayed fresh. Like Layne, Feb had taken off and she’d been gone even longer than Layne. She came back a few years ago and they’d hooked up again when a local guy lost control of what was left of his mind and went on a killing spree in Feb’s name. Colt had stepped in to keep her safe and they’d come out of that back together, solid, unshakable, now married with a kid. Whatever tore them apart, they found a way to put it behind them and they made it through.

Reminded of this, Layne could say at that juncture that reminder was really freaking welcome.

“So I take it Feb’s good,” Layne noted.

“Yeah, man, Feb is good.” Colt’s words were weighty and Layne didn’t try to stop his smile.

Layne drove out of the ‘burg, they hit the vast fields that surrounded it and he changed the subject. “Run this down for me.”

Colt didn’t hesitate. “Guy’s name is Ryker. It’s happening, he knows about it.”

“Informant?”

“He isn’t adverse to sharing information when he might get somethin’ outta it.”

Layne glanced at Colt then back at the road. “He the kind of guy I wanna owe a favor?”

“That’s the beauty of this, Tanner. Ryker is not a friend of Carlito’s and no one is a friend of Stew’s. I reckon he won’t consider it a favor to share what he knows about Stew.”

Layne found himself smiling again.

Layne had learned one thing from his father, a man he’d never met, or he hadn’t met him at a time where Layne was old enough to form a coherent thought, and that was you not only didn’t shit where you lived, you didn’t shit anywhere. Layne had grown up watching his mother struggle to keep a roof over their heads, working as a secretary, going to night school, studying to be an accountant, having no time to do it and even less money so it took her freaking forever. But she did it and began to make more money but she always had to work. Layne was a latchkey kid, she had no choice but to lean on him to help her out by learning how to take care of himself early on and the minute he could earn, he did what he could to kick in. His aunt and grandparents did as much as they could but they had their own lives to lead. She was his Mom but Layne knew his mother was a looker. He also knew she was a good woman, she was funny, she was sweet, her family adored her and she had dozens of friends, all of whom she could call close. A man losing out on that, shitting where he lived, turning his back on a good woman and family and never looking back, let the whole world slip through his own fingers.

Layne had fucked up twice and both of them were royally. The first time was out of his control when the condom broke when he was with Gabby and it was now not debatable that he’d fucked up nailing Gabby in the first place, drunk or not. The second time was when he left his sons and the last year he’d given a lot of headspace to trying to remember why the fuck he did that at all.

Gabby was a bitch and divorcing her made her worse and Rocky was in that town. Layne had felt tied down, not by his sons, but by the history with Rocky and Gabby that fenced him in. This brought up the urge to get out of that ‘burg and roam. There were things he wanted to do, wanted to see and wanted to learn, things he couldn’t learn, see and do in a small town. He’d told Rocky all about this shit when they were together and she was with him all the way because she shared his need to roam, to learn, to see, to do. They had plans and, once she graduated from Butler, they were going to go. They didn’t know where but it would be somewhere.

He found what he was searching for in St. Louis, San Antonio, Reno, Phoenix and LA but he lost more by leaving what really mattered at home and he’d paid a mighty price for that fuck up. Nevertheless, he made more friends than enemies along the way, case in point, Devin Glover dropping everything and hitting town after getting a phone call.

Jarrod Astley and Stew Baranski hadn’t learned not to shit where they lived, where they worked, wherever they wanted. They didn’t care who they screwed over. You couldn’t live your life like that and not face retribution eventually.

And it was closing in on Astley and Stew’s judgment days.

Layne and Colt hit the even smaller town next to the ‘burg, a town right on the outskirts of Indy. It held a Raceway and was a decent place, generally, but could get pretty rough when the races were on. The ‘burg had J&J’s as its hotspot, no other drinking establishments in town because every one that sprung up failed due to people’s loyalty to J&J’s. J&J’s wasn’t the only place to drink, there were restaurants that had bars, but it was the only place people went to meet friends, listen to the jukebox, play a game of pool and tie one on.

This town wasn’t the same. They had tons of bars, most of them rough due to their clientele being race groupies or race hangers on. Layne swung into the one Colt informed him they were going to and parked.

He switched off the ignition and turned to Colt. “There a way we need to play this?”

Colt shook his head. “You don’t play Ryker. He either likes you or he doesn’t. He likes you, he shares. He doesn’t, we’ll know in about two seconds and then we’ll go have lunch.”

Layne nodded and they both turned to their doors.

The day was overcast with intermittent rain. Even if there was sun, the light in the bar would be dim stating openly to its customers that anything goes. You could fuck a race groupie in the corner and not be noticed. You could also make a drug sale or slide a blade into an enemy.

Colt led Layne to a corner table where a man sat alone with his back to the wall and a bottle of beer in front of him on the table. It was cold outside but the guy was wearing a black tank top stretched across his bulky, ripped torso, jeans and motorcycle boots and he wasn’t resting with his coat slung on his chair. But he was lounging back in that chair, one of his long, beefy legs straight in front of him, foot resting on its heel, the other leg cocked with foot flat to the ground. He looked relaxed but Layne knew he was alert to anything. He had two sleeves of tattoos running up his arms, full on wrist to shoulder ink, both sleeves slithering up his thick neck. He was bald, he was ugly and it was easy to read he was not a guy you messed with.

“Ryker,” Colt greeted and didn’t hesitate before he sat down at Ryker’s table.

“This guy a cop?” Ryker asked, his eyes locked on Layne.

Layne took a seat at the same time he held Ryker’s eyes.

“Nope,” Colt answered.

“Smells like a cop,” Ryker commented and, even though Colt was a cop, he did this in a way that stated plainly cops were not his favorite people.

“Used to be one, now he’s a PI,” Colt replied.

Ryker’s eyebrows shot up and he kept his eyes on Layne. “A dick?” That was meant to have two meanings and Layne clenched his teeth.

“What he is, for the purposes of this meet, is Gabrielle Layne’s ex-husband,” Colt told Ryker.

Ryker’s eyes cut to Colt. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Stew Baranski’s woman,” Colt answered.

Ryker grinned, he knew who she was but he still asked, “Fat bitch?”

“Ryker,” Colt said low.

“Dumb bitch.” Ryker refused to read the warning.

Layne was done so he entered the conversation.

“She and I have two boys, one of ‘em saw Baranski hand off an envelope to Carlito at the house. Gabby tells me Stew has troubles. You know anything about that?”

Ryker’s eyes sliced to Layne on the words “two boys” and he waited a beat before he answered, “I know Carlito is a fuckwad.”

“I know that too,” Layne returned.

“And I know Baranski is an assclown,” Ryker went on.

“Yeah, you aren’t tellin’ me anything I don’t know,” Layne informed him. “Not here to find out shit I know, I’m here to find out what’s goin’ on because I’m not a big fan of my boys witnessing Baranski makin’ a payment to a loan shark.”

Ryker grinned. “That wasn’t no payment.”

Layne didn’t like the sound of that.

“So what was it?” Layne asked.

“Wasn’t no payment,” Ryker answered.

Layne studied Ryker then looked at Colt.

“Ryker, you got somethin’, it’d help Layne out,” Colt prompted and Ryker’s eyes went from Colt to Layne.

He examined Layne for a long time before he asked, “Which one?”

“Come again?” Layne asked back.

“Which boy?”

Layne felt the muscles in his neck contract. “Not sure that’s relevant, man.”

Ryker didn’t let it go. “The one that tagged that sweet catch and, after, caught it from that dickhead coach who should have his nuts in a vice or the one who can block like that fat bitch pushed him out while he was wearin’ shoulder pads?”

Christ, this fuckin’ guy was a Bulldogs fan.

“Jasper,” Layne knew at that moment it was safe to say. “My older boy. The one who can block.”

“Got quick feet, hasn’t seen the ball in two games,” Ryker noted. “You doin’ somethin’ about that?”

“All I can do,” Layne replied.

“And what’s that?” Ryker pushed.

“The School Board is investigating my complaint,” Layne answered and when he did, Ryker threw back his head and barked out his laughter, something Layne didn’t appreciate all that much but he held his tongue.

When he was done, Ryker tipped his chin down and leveled his eyes on Layne. “You give me the word, sport, I might find it in me to convince the coach to let both your boys see the ball. No marker to be paid, I’d give you that for free.”

Jesus.

“I like my way of doin’ it,” Layne told him.

“Scouts not gonna get the full picture, your older boy’s a senior, that motherfucker’ll fuck him up.”

“I still like my way of doin’ it,” Layne repeated and it was far more firmly this time.

Ryker watched him awhile then he shrugged.

Layne brought the matter back to hand, saying, “How much is Baranski into Carlito for?”

“Nothin’,” Ryker answered immediately and Layne’s brows drew together.

“Nothin’?” he reiterated.

“Nope, he was, dickhead’s shit at the dogs, but he ain’t anymore.”

Layne felt Colt’s eyes on him and he turned to meet his gaze.

Then Colt looked at Ryker. “You wanna fill in that picture?”

Layne looked back at Ryker too and Ryker leaned forward, putting a tattooed arm on the table.

“He got deep with Carlito, so deep he couldn’t get out,” Ryker shared. “So, instead of Carlito takin’ it out on Baranski the normal way, he put Baranski to work. Baranski liked this work so now he’s doin’ it part-time.”

Then he leaned back and stopped talking but Layne knew what he was saying and Layne knew why Gabby asked him to take the boys for extra weeks, even though she probably didn’t know why. Carlito was undoubtedly a frequent visitor and, even if Gabby wasn’t full in the know, she’d read Carlito and wouldn’t want the boys around that. And, lastly, Layne was struggling against the urge to hunt down Stew Baranski and beat him bloody.

He won his struggle and sought confirmation. “Stew is Carlito’s enforcer?”

Ryker nodded once. “One of ‘em, yeah.”

There it was. Confirmation.

Fucking shit.

“You are shittin’ me,” Layne whispered but he knew Ryker wasn’t.

Ryker confirmed this too and grinned while doing it. “Nope.”

Layne turned his head to Colt. “That asshole’s livin’ with my boys.”

Layne was addressing Colt but Ryker answered, “Yep,” and Layne’s eyes went back to him.

Then he told Ryker, “Done my homework, Ryker, and Baranski hasn’t been payin’ bills and neither has my ex.”

Ryker shrugged again. “Why would he? He’s got a sweet ride. She’s fat and she’s nothin’ to look at but she keeps him fed. Pays his bills,” he grinned again, “or maybe she doesn’t but she tries. She’s good cover, all respectable, single mom, two boys.” He tipped his head to Colt. “Means even the cops don’t know about his leisure activities. Leaves him free to do his job and gives him the opportunity he didn’t have before to use his money and his take from Carlito to live his life as he wants to and to keep his other piece sassy. Figure, he got hooked up with your ex because no one else would suck his dick but lotta women will suck your dick you got the money to pay ‘em to do it.”

“His other piece?” Colt asked.

“Yep,” Ryker answered.

“You know who that is?” Colt pressed.

“Don’t know her name but know she ain’t no fat bitch, she don’t got no kids, she drives an ace ride that Baranski bought her and also know she takes it up the ass because everyone knows that’s the only way Baranski likes it.”

Layne swallowed the saliva this statement brewed in his mouth, not needing that much information about Gabby’s relationship with her fuckwad boyfriend.

Ryker was grinning at him and then he leaned forward again and his grin disappeared.

“I’ll give you an extra bonus because your boys can play ball,” he said. “Baranski won’t be cryin’ in his cornflakes, your ex turns him out. But he’ll wring her dry before he gets shot of her. She’s diggin’ a hole to keep him in her bed, he won’t give one, single, shit he leaves her in that hole. You want him outta her bed, wouldn’t take but a touch of pressure to get him to go but that don’t mean he won’t leave her fucked up the ass and I mean that in a different way. You want him gone, it’ll take you about two fuckin’ seconds to make that happen. You want him to pay, now that would be more fun and, since I’m feelin’ generous, I could help you with that too.”

“How?” Layne bit out.

“I make it my business to know Carlito’s business and I can give you the head’s up, he sends Baranski after someone. You’re a dick, I bet you got cameras and, if you’re a good one, I bet you can make yourself invisible. You take shots of him leanin’ on someone, and he has a special flair with that, sport, he’s Carlito’s top man, what you’ll catch him doin’ won’t be pretty and that’s comin’ from a man who ain’t squeamish at the sight of blood. You can use those shots to lean on him. You got evidence, you shove it in his face, make the payoff somethin’ that’ll get your ex outta her hole and he’ll be gone.” He sat back and clapped his hands. “Problems solved.” He smiled big and his smile made him uglier. “You got a mind to do it, you could even do some ass fuckin’ yourself, after he makes that payoff, your ex is good, you hand over those shots to the pigs anyway. Baranski goes down, only people would miss him are Carlito and his piece of ass and, I’m just guessin’ here, but I bet neither of ‘em will take too long to find replacements.”

Layne smiled at him.

Then he said, “I’ll give you my number.”