Officer Next Door (19 page)

“What woman doesn’t?”

His smile stretched a little wider. “I’m sure there are more than a few. It’s a safe bet that if a guy has to wear a uniform to work, he’s not exactly loaded. Probably lives in some backwoods place with one bedroom and one bath where any prospective girlfriends will have to stand beside him every morning and watch him spit his toothpaste into the sink.”

She shrugged. “Who cares? The handcuffs make up for it.”

He touched one of her wrists, fingers encircling bones that looked delicate in comparison to his. “Oh really?”

“You bet,” she said, trying to sound upbeat, as if just the thought wasn’t enough to almost have her melting onto the little rug in front of the sink.

“I had no idea you wanted me to cuff you.” His smile had turned into something resembling a smirk, though the light in his eyes betrayed his teasing, making her wonder if he’d thought about it too.

“I’ll try anything once.”

“Are you saying you’ve never been cuffed before? Not even with toys?” The light in his eyes flared a little brighter, and she felt his gaze burning into her, searing even though it was indirect, reflected in the mirror.

“Never by an officer,” she said. “And your cuffs aren’t toys.”

“No, they’re not.” He leaned in, lips brushing the top of her head. “I’ll make a deal with you… Stay with me again tonight and I’ll let you try on my cuffs.”

A little shiver raced through her as he leaned against her, his body warm and solid, a telltale stiffness pressing against the small of her back. “Deal.”

He certainly didn’t have to twist her arm. She wasn’t afraid to admit that the thought of being alone at night while the Levinsons were still at large creeped her out.

She wasn’t afraid to admit that she would’ve agreed even if that hadn’t been the case, either. Staying overnight with Liam was like living inside one of the dreams she’d started having shortly after the first time she’d laid eyes on him.

“Great.” She saw his smile, felt him relax a little against her despite the fact that he was still hard.

She knew he was worried that she’d retreat back to her house and not let him protect her like he wanted to. A part of her found that hot.

And as if Troy Levinson wasn’t creepy enough, the rest of her was still freaked out by the possibly paranormal incidents that had haunted her last few weeks. Sure, she could lock her doors and windows, even wield a weapon if she had to. But what could she possibly do to ward off any spirits that might decide to pay her a visit?

Nothing.

Of course, neither could Liam, but that wasn’t the point. When she lay beside him in the dark, the idea of lurking spirits seemed ridiculous. With another warm body at her side – especially one as strong and solid as his – it was easy to laugh at the fears that crept up on her when she was alone.

Besides, she was worried about him too – he was the one hundreds of convicts bore a grudge against, after all. She liked being by his side, knowing that he was okay.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his breath rushing against her cheek.

Straightening, she realized that she’d been standing in front of the mirror, frozen for a full minute in the process of tucking away a stray lock of hair. Forcing away thoughts of danger and hauntings, she flashed him a smile. “Being cuffed.”

He made a sound that was half-groan, half-sigh. It made her skin tingle, made her long for the end of the workday that hadn’t even started yet. She could almost hear the
click
of silver cuffs snapping shut around her wrists, and it occurred to her that she was probably one of very few people in Riley County who’d savor that sound.

The thought heated her from the inside out. Liam wasn’t just the officer next door anymore; he was the officer in her bed.

“Hey Alexander,” Petreski said. “You and Morgan got a minute?”

“Not really,” Liam replied, catching Grey’s eye. “Why?”

The search for the Levinson brothers was still ongoing – as long as that was the case, they were perpetually short on spare time.

“Inmate up in G Block might be hoarding contraband in his cell. He’s done it before and another inmate tipped us off. Need some help getting him out of his cell so it can be searched. Come on, before you two head out – shouldn’t take too long. If he finds out we know and might search his cell, he’ll probably flush everything down the toilet.”

Liam looked to Grey, who nodded.

“All right.”

Minutes later, Liam detached his cuffs from his duty belt. Grey and Petreski flanked him, standing ready just outside the cell door. “Stand with your back to the door and put your hands through the food slot.”

No reply came from the cell he stood in front of, solid metal with a narrow inset window. Not bars like in movies, just a solid wall between him and the convict behind it. This was solitary – one inmate to each small cell, on lockdown 23 hours a day.

“Place your hands through the food slot,” he repeated, “or we’re coming in to get you.”

The man inside sat on his bed, staring straight ahead at the opposite wall. Bland white cinder block, nothing worth looking at. “Fuck off,” he called, not bothering to look at Liam through the window.

There was no way the cell being stormed would end well for the convict inside, but that didn’t stop him from making the stupid choice and ignoring Liam’s order.

Grey stood to Liam’s left, Petreski to his right. They’d bring the inmate out together, after they cuffed him by force. Then the cell would be searched, every last inch scoured for forbidden items.

“Get up,” Liam said again, “and place your hands through the food slot. Let’s do this the easy way.”

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

With a dozen years on the job under his belt, Liam had long since stopped asking himself why so many of the inmates refused to do things the easy way. They just did.

If he wanted to get philosophical about it, he’d say that some of the prisoners relished what few scraps of control they could come by – a few minutes’ delay, the guarantee of irritating the officers and sometimes even the possibility of injuring them. Their lives were ruled by the correctional staff, but if they saw a chance to throw a wrench into things, they took it, regardless of the consequence. Their little rebellions were all they had.

As he, Grey and Petreski prepared to enter the cell, Liam mentally cataloged the possibilities that awaited inside. The prisoner could have a shank, some ridiculous but deadly weapon made out of a melted toothbrush or a stray scrap of plastic. Even metal. It happened, and he was aware of the possibilities, even though experience told him that the convict was probably just being a jackass for the sake of being a jackass.

“Hold on!” The prisoner started screeching the moment the three officers entered the cell, indignant, yelling at them to leave him alone. As if he hadn’t been warned.

It was too late. In a flurry of clattering boots and flapping prison uniform, they got the guy on the ground, forced him to flatten out on the cell floor beside his bed. Liam held him down with a knee in his back, reaching for one wrist, while Grey grabbed the other and Petreski kept the guy from kicking them. With one cheek against the concrete, the man was subdued and severely unhappy about it.

“I didn’t do nothin’!” he cried. “I’m not resisting! Shit, I’m not resisting!”

The prisoners’ hands were empty. Glad to see it, Liam wasted no time in fastening cuffs around pale, sinewy wrists sprinkled with dark hair.

“Shoulda put your hands through the food slot,” he said as he and Grey hefted the guy to his feet.

“Damn,” the convict mumbled. “I was just gettin’ up! I’m fucking tired, you know? Damn! I didn’t do nothin’.”

Join the fucking club.

The thought echoed through Liam’s mind, though he didn’t voice it. It was amazing how many of Riley’s residents – convicted felons, every one – felt no guilt over their crimes, no sense of responsibility for their evil actions. If the average inmate was to be believed, the Riley Correctional Center was one big club full of innocent men beleaguered by an impossibly unfair system.

Which was a sick joke. Murderers, rapists and abusers – they were all there in droves, behind gates and razor wire where they belonged. And 99 times out of 100, they weren’t sorry for what they’d done, only sorry that they’d been caught.

Liam wasn’t sure how to ‘correct’ the total lack of personal responsibility most of them harbored, but keeping them away from society seemed worthwhile.

“Shit.” The inmate screeched again as Liam and Grey removed him from the cell. “My lip is bleeding. My fucking lip is bleeding! That ain’t right.”

“I don’t see any blood,” Liam pointed out, because he didn’t. Not that it would’ve been anyone’s fault but the inmate’s if his temper tantrum had earned him a busted lip.

“I can fucking taste it. I wanna see a nurse.”

Liam bit back a sigh. It was going to be a long day, and not just because the promise of another night spent with Alicia haunted him, drawing out each second into an impossibly long little slice of eternity.

He couldn’t wait to trade the harsh, uniform sterility of the prison for her heat and softness, the sight of her smile, which made even his handcuffs seem innocent.

Well, maybe innocent wasn’t exactly the right word…

* * * * *

Three weeks and it would all be over. Alicia had to remind herself of that as she clutched her cellphone, which was like a hot coal in her hand, thanks to overuse and the Carolina heat.

“Absolutely we can change the color of the crème satin draping to aqua,” she said, mentally calculating exactly how quickly she’d have to act to ship the old draping back to the manufacturer and place an order for the new color.

“Thank God.” The bride on the other end of the connection released a long sigh, like she’d just won an important court case. “I woke up at 2 am last night and realized that there’s not really any such thing as elegant understatement – the crème color would’ve blended right into the grounds, like it wasn’t even there. Aqua will infuse the ceremony with color and vibrancy. I’m so happy I called to make the change.”

Alicia resisted the urge to roll her eyes even though she was standing alone under a wisteria-draped tree, where no guests would overhear her conversation. It was the fourth time that day that the bride had called her, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

Judging by the sound of it, the woman had been binge-reading bridal magazines. Every hour or so, she latched onto a new idea that she just had to incorporate, despite the fact that she’d been planning the wedding – which was now less than a month away – for a full year.

“I’m going to have the bridesmaids buy new dresses, too,” the bride continued. “I don’t want them to distract from me on my big day, of course, but I don’t want them to look awful either. So I’m going with a more subdued shade of blue for their new dresses – not quite
aqua
aqua, but more of a pale sky blue.”

“Sure,” Alicia said, acutely aware that it was her job to make sure the bride’s wishes came true, no matter how last-minute they were. This was what Wisteria paid her for, after all – acting as a human filter between power-crazed brides and the rest of the staff.

Of course, most of the brides she worked with were completely rational, likeable human beings. But there were exceptions, and those exceptions tended to take up five times more of her work hours than her other clients.

“About the flowers…” the woman began, prompting Alicia to lean against the tree, hiding in its shade.

It was going to be a long day, but there was a silver lining: the bride spoke way too loudly for Alicia to hear any telltale whips of fabric, any little sounds that might settle deep into her imagination, conjuring up images not of brides in wedding day white, but
the
Lady in White.

“Of course,” the bride said, “this is all assuming that those two convicts are captured before my wedding day. I
can’t imagine
getting married knowing they might be lurking somewhere near the grounds. What a nightmare…

“I mean, it just
isn’t fair
that something like this could happen so close to my big day. None of my guests will want to come to Riley County if this is still going on. Lord only knows why the police and those idiots from the prison haven’t caught them yet. I mean, how hard can it be?”

Alicia bit her tongue, inhaled deeply and looked up, studying the noon sky through a hole in the shade tree’s canopy. She didn’t tell Monster Bride that the prison officers were working their asses off, hardly sleeping and putting themselves in danger. Nor did she point out that the woman’s wedding was nothing compared to the lives that had been lost to the Levinson brothers’ violence.

A hawk wheeled overhead, and the feathers on the underside of its wings winked silver-grey in the sunlight.

The color, the flash of reflected light, reminded her of Liam and his cuffs. She smiled as sudden heat consumed her, putting the summer sunshine to shame.

“It’s just disgusting,” Monster Bride continued, “to imagine people like that running around Riley County. I don’t know why we have to put up with having that prison here. It’s not safe for anyone.”

Alicia’s moment of happiness didn’t last long. Next thing she knew, a cold breeze was blowing, putting her joy on ice.

It rushed by, rattling the soft blossoms in the branches above and whipping through her hair, causing her scalp to prickle. It was so unexpected, she dropped her phone.

Teeth chattering, she bent to pick it up. Luckily, the bride was still rambling on and hadn’t even noticed. Alicia held the phone halfheartedly, half-listening as she glanced around, inhaling the scent of Spanish moss the wind had stirred up.

Sasha was standing outside the carriage house restaurant, fanning herself with a folded menu. Even from a distance, her cheeks were visibly pink. Either she was having an especially vivid fantasy about Henry – a possibility Alicia couldn’t rule out – or the breeze hadn’t touched her.

“I’m sorry,” Alicia said, catching something about the custom vows the bride had chosen for the ceremony, “could you repeat that?”

She picked a purple wisteria petal out of her hair and turned for the house as she listened, still shivering and not wanting to be alone.

She purposely avoided looking in the direction of the lawn beside the house. The memory of white skirts flapping in a phantom breeze was still fresh in her mind, and she was afraid of who or what she might see.