Soul Rest, Page 45

  He arrived in a matter of minutes, though it felt like hours. Two other units were pulling up, Mike and Billy. They'd recognized the address as well and gotten on scene first, probably because they liked the cardiac-arrest lunch at the diner about a mile away. Hell, they all knew her. They'd be the first of a damn army of cops rushing to her aid. And they might all be fucking too late.

  Shoving that away, he was out of the car and headed up onto her porch, Mike with him and Billy only a beat behind, probably reporting they'd arrived and were going in.

  As Mike circled to the back, Leland took out the front door with one kick that busted the door on its cheap hinges and ripped the dead bolt out of the frame. His girl had done what he'd told her, and it hadn't done a damn bit of good. He went high while Billy went low. He saw her keys and phone sitting on the kitchen counter, on top of a pile of mail. Then he saw her in the hallway, lying there unconscious. Naked.

  "Fucking Christ." He forced away the cold rage, the fear, and focused on what mattered, clearing the scene. Her living room, piled up with junk, her guestroom which was a second office, just as he'd guessed. Billy checked the closet and Leland came back out of the room as Mike came in through the back door and turned off into her bedroom, the last unchecked room.

  "Clear. Got a body here."

  He let Billy and Mike handle that issue. Leland was at Celeste's side, holstering his gun and dropping to a knee beside her. Because he could already tell she was alive, he radioed for an ambulance first thing, but when she tilted her head to look up at him, his heart still damn near jumped ten beats. She had a gunshot in her shoulder that looked like a through and through. Her face was a mess, forehead and cheek cut, jaw and eye swelling up. There was purpling over her ribs and abdomen. He'd beaten her, the motherfucking bastard.

  No, Leland corrected himself fiercely. Dogboy hadn't beaten her. Because Leland didn't have to look to know the bastard's body was lying in that fucking bedroom. She still had the empty gun clasped in her hand. No matter what had happened here, that knowledge would help her deal with the aftermath. Help them both deal with it.

  "Good girl," he said, putting his hand on her head as lightly as he could, stroking her hair. "That's my good girl."

  Her face eased. Yeah, she liked it when he said that to her. He bent down as she said something, then bent down lower, unable to hear her. "What, darlin'?"

  She muttered it again. "What happens when...you try to boss me around. Better remember...that."

  It was as if someone wrapped their hand around his heart and squeezed it so hard it was in danger of rupturing. He wanted to hold her, wanted to lift her in his arms, but he didn't know how badly she was injured. Where was the fucking ambulance? That bruising on her stomach and ribs was what really worried him. She was shivering. He started to look around for whatever was closest, so he wouldn't have to leave her side, but Mike was already on the same wavelength.

  "Here you go." The veteran cop had brought a fleece throw out from somewhere, maybe her bed or the couch. Leland draped it over her, tucked it in as much as he could without disturbing her. Her shaking was increasing. Shock, nerves, cold, probably all of the above. Mike pointed toward the empty nine millimeter she was holding. "Bastard has a bunch of holes in him, Leland. Far as I could see, she only missed once. Hit the wall behind him. That is one hell of a woman."

  "Yeah. She is." He bent down over her, pressed his lips to her head, put his arms around her to give her as much warmth as he could without aggravating her injuries. "I love you, darlin'. Fucking love you. I'm here."

  His voice broke. Mike gripped his shoulder, a quick squeeze, then withdrew. Leland heard the sirens of the ambulance and other cops coming. While he stayed crouched over her, his hands on her, letting her know he was there, Mike donned a glove and carefully extricated the gun from her fingers. Distantly, Leland heard Mike tell Billy to stop traipsing all over the crime scene or the detectives would ream their asses. Billy told Mike how the shower curtain was torn, how it appeared Dogboy had jumped her and then figured he'd subdued her enough to have her pulling things out of her lingerie drawer.

  Nobody subdued his girl. Her surrender had to be willing and when it was, there was nothing sweeter than that. But try to boss her around... His lips pulled back in a grim smile. She was right. He'd do well to keep that in mind, but he didn't think she'd be letting him forget it anytime soon.

  SS

  Celeste hated hospitals, but who didn't? Leland was with her the whole way, and that helped. He was going to step out when the detectives needed to question her, but she refused to let him go, her hand clasped on his. The questions, while seemingly endless, actually were fairly brief. She was just so tired and in pain, the departure of adrenaline telling her she had received a fairly severe ass kicking. Fortunately, X-rays found only a couple cracked ribs and no significant damage from the bullet wound. No bones in her face had been broken, confirming she had an exceptionally hard head, but she wasn't going to be going to entering any beauty pageants in the immediate future. They used that stitch tape stuff to close up some of the cuts.

  They also kept her overnight for observation and comfortably floating due to the mercifully generous administration of pain meds. Even with those though, Dogboy kept coming into her dreams, making her start out of sleep like a jumpy cat. But Leland was there, every time, sitting in her line of sight in the guest chair. Sometimes he was reading a magazine, sometimes watching the TV, sometimes dozing a little, arms crossed over his broad chest, legs stretched out and ankles crossed. Most of the time his eyes were on her like a guardian angel, and she lost herself in their golden-brown depths, sliding back into slumber again.

  Toward dawn she couldn't stand that nervous yank out of a sound sleep anymore. She didn't care that the meds were wearing off and everything throbbed. She slipped out of the bed and toddled over to him. She'd had to wear that ridiculous gown that supposedly wrapped over the back but everyone knew never did. At least they'd allowed her underwear. When she'd been so carefully specific about what kind she wanted brought from her house, not really sure she wanted anything from her underwear drawer at all, he'd understood.

  She'd been drifting in and out, so she had no idea who he'd dispatched so that he wouldn't have to leave her side, but when she surfaced, he had a brand-new package of Hanes in her size, a three pack with pretty pink, lavender and light-green colors. It was the first time tears had threatened and, as she fumbled to get the package open, the dam broke entirely.

  He sat down on the bed next to her, wrapped his arms around her and held her close, as gentle as he always was, but so strong, so solid. "It's all right," he murmured. "It's okay. You beat him, darlin'. He's gone. And I'm so proud of you."

  Another man might have railed about not being there, to assuage pointless guilt. She expected he was pissed about that, because any man of worth would be. But whether it was because he'd seen countless victims, or because it was simply the kind of man he was, he'd set that aside. He'd known what she needed to hear, what was more important. When the tears eased up, he opened the package for her, asked her gravely what color she wanted to wear, and then helped her into the lavender, his hands warm and soothing on her body.

  "Did Billy bring these for me? You know he has a thing for me."

  His lips had twitched, though his eyes remained serious. "One of the hospital volunteers went to the corner drugstore and bought them for me. Otherwise Mike would have probably beaten Billy to it. They all have a thing for you, darlin'."

  Sweet humor, mild reproof, all the things she needed to hear to remind her life was going to keep going, and it was going to be all right. He was here.

  So now, as she moved toward him unsteadily in the predawn light, she wasn't surprised he woke. His surprise was replaced immediately by concern as he straightened, reached for her.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Coming to you." She stopped between his knees, holding on to him, swaying. "I want to sit in your lap. I want you to h
old me. I don't care if it's uncomfortable." She expected every joint to protest. But she needed her Master more than she needed physical comfort. Dreams of Dogboy wouldn't dare follow her if she was being held in Sergeant Leland Keller's arms.

  The benefit of modern hospital rooms was that the guest chair tended to be a recliner, allowing a caregiver a more comfortable sleep. Though it was still undersized for a man Leland's size, he made it work. He eased her into his lap, taking it slow as he cupped a hand beneath her knees, helped her draw them up, guiding her to lie back into the curve of his other arm as he reclined the chair. She dropped her head on his shoulder with a little sigh, face tucked under his chin. She clasped the fingers he had wrapped over her side and crossed her arms over her chest, forming a comforting ball around his hand as she succumbed to sleep again.

  Leland stroked her hair, her neck, the line of her shoulder. Each time she'd started out of her sleep, he'd gone to her, held her hands or touched her face until she fell asleep again. While he didn't want to cause her any discomfort, he had to agree with her that this was much more preferable. He cherished the chance to hold her fully in his arms, have her in his lap.

  He'd been humbled and gratified by how she'd looked to him for reassurance throughout everything. She hadn't let him leave while the doctor examined her, so Leland knew Dogboy hadn't raped her, though he'd had his hands on her, in her. When he heard that, the surge of anger he felt had been so strong he'd wanted to shoot the piece of shit nine more times, but he'd reined back the reaction at the doctor's sharp look. Even Celeste's desires might be overridden if the doc thought he was interfering with her care. But Celeste herself had dispelled his anger and the doctor's worries. Giving Leland a knowing look despite her abused face, she'd tightened her fingers on his where they were locked together on the padded examining table.

  "He can't be any deader than he already is," she said dryly, despite a crack in her voice.

  He resisted the desire to hold her tighter now. He knew she had to be hurting, even with the pain drugs. If he could figure a way to reach the nurse's button without waking her, he might ask for some more for her.

  "I want to go home as soon as they clear me this morning," she said sleepily. Her fingers slipped up to his neck, touching him in a light, drifting way.

  "Do you want to stay at my place a few days?"

  She shook her head. "Would you stay with me at mine?"

  His brow creased. "Anything, darlin'. But are you sure you want to be there?"

  She tipped her head back to look at him. "It's my house," she said resolutely. "I hate cleaning, but I'm going to clean every inch of it, throw out that chair and everything in my lingerie drawer. I may want to wear cotton undies like these for a while. Not sure I can..."

  She stopped, swallowing noisily. Pushing down that useless rage once more--he's dead, she beat him--Leland cupped her head, kissed her brow. "You can wear flannel PJs and granny panties for the rest of your life and I'll still only want you." He tipped her chin. "You know you can talk to me about any of it, Celeste, right?"

  He waited until he had her uncertain nod before touching that abused jaw as if it were porcelain. Precious porcelain. "That said, if you don't feel comfortable talking it out with me, I think you should talk it out with someone. You remember what I said about when one of us has to kill someone in the line of duty? Dogboy deserved it, but taking a life comes with a bad after-kick, especially if you're a civilian and you have what he did to you piled on top of it. Though we like to pretend we're tough and can handle anything, it can help to talk it out with someone trained to deal with trauma like that. Will you think about doing that for me?"

  "Yeah. Okay. Maybe. But right now, I just need you. All right?"

  "You have me through all of it, darlin'. Just rest now."

  She pressed her face back into his neck. He felt the tease of her lashes as she closed her eyes. For a while they were silent. He was tired, and was glad the recline setting allowed him to keep holding her without worry that she might tumble. Yet as he dozed, he stayed aware of her every movement, every twitch. As well as the quiet whisper.

  He surfaced, listened to make sure she wasn't having a nightmare. She wasn't.

  "Master?"

  "I'm here." He held her close and she nestled into him, said it again, a reassurance to herself, and maybe to him as well.

  "Master." That was all.

  SS

  Eventually the nurse came and he had to put her back in the bed for a vitals check. The hospital was waking up, breakfast on its way, and the nurse said that Celeste would be checked out by lunchtime. He answered a couple texts on his phone while she frowned at the bland fare.

  "So are we dating now?" she asked as he tucked his phone back in his pocket.

  The question was unexpected, her neutral stare making him wary. But he'd never been anything less than honest with her. "I think we've moved way the hell past dating, darlin'."

  Her smile was like a shower of glitter to him. "So it's safe to say you're my boyfriend. And if you're my boyfriend, you'll go get me some Raising Cane's. I want the Caniac. I'm starving."

  "Is binge eating a thing for you?"

  "Men like women with a bigger butt. Jai said so. I've also heard from reliable sources that black men are all about the booty."

  "Stereotyping and racial profiling." He shook his head mournfully, but made sure she saw his answering grin, because she was watching his reactions closely. Typical for the kind of beating she'd taken, her face looked worse today, and from the way she shifted in the bed, every move she made brought pain. Those were the things that told you that you were alive, yes, but seeing her have to deal with them made him want to break something. Instead, he glanced at his watch.

  "A little early for Raising Cane's opening time. Got a backup choice?"

  "I want comfort food. Two Bojangles egg-and-cheese biscuits. And orange juice. They have that here, but everything in the hospital tastes like the hospital." She sighed. "I look like shit, don't I? I can tell, just from your face. You look torn between wanting to do the King Kong Empire State Building thing and wanting to hold me like a newborn kitten."

  He stood and leaned over her, touching her face lightly. "I'll hold off on the King Kong thing. You kind of stole my thunder on that one, taking out the bad guy before I could get there."

  "Well, you were running late, and I had other things to do that day." She gave him a smile that became a little tremulous. He would have put his forehead down against hers, but it had a taped gash. Instead, he laid a soft kiss on it.

  "Mmm." She closed her eyes, fingers curling over his forearm. "Like Raiders of the Lost Ark. Want to kiss everywhere else it hurts?"

  "Don't get pushy, sub," he said gently. But he kissed her face several places, then laid another lingering kiss under her ear, that delicate spot on her neck. He hadn't intended to do so, but once there, he stayed a longer time, struggling against a surge of emotions so strong he found he simply couldn't move. His arms had slid around her, holding again. "It's so fucking good to see you smile. Hear you giving me shit."

  She let out a little hiccup of a laugh. "I'm going to remind you of that," she said against his throat. "God...it feels so awful, remembering it. Like it wasn't real, then it's so real I'm afraid I'll wake up and still be right there. And I'll be too slow. I won't have left a round chambered, like I always do when I put the gun in the drawer. Or he'll be smarter than me. Or..."

  She stopped, because she'd started to shake. He slid his hip on the bed, closed her in his arms as carefully as the newborn kitten she'd described, but she shook her head, pushed him back. "No. I'm not going to fall apart like this." She sniffled, rubbed her nose gracelessly and gave him a brave, brassy look. "Breakfast. I'm dying of hunger here."

  He wanted to insist, but he knew he was riding his own need for comfort, and didn't want to impose it on her. She was close to breaking again, but it needed to be at her pace. So he went back to placid teasing.

  "Dyin
g of hunger, but not enough to eat any of this?" He poked at the tasteless-looking scrambled egg mix.

  "Please. I have standards. My meals come from fast-food joints or convenience stores. And only ones run by funny, wonderful Indian men who should still be alive, fuck it all."

  She dashed at the sudden tears, but again shrugged him away. He normally wouldn't have let her get away with it twice in a row, but he sensed she really was trying to pull it together, so he caught her hand, kissed it in a courtly way that had her blinking at him, surprised.

  "Okay. One Bojangles breakfast coming up. I have my phone. You call me if you need anything. Even if it's just to hear my voice, all right?"

  She nodded, and he saw the flash of gratitude for him understanding enough to give her space, and still throw her the lifeline. In her current emotional state, he sure as hell didn't want to leave her, and her uncertain look as he left suggested she felt the same way. But it was a good sign that she was determined to send him off on an errand. She was getting her sass back, God help him.

  He paused at the elevator at the end of the hall, taking a second to run a hand over his face, the back of his neck. Christ. Fucking Christ. He loved her so much he was Goddamned overcome with it suddenly, as if he might need to lean against the wall to steady himself.

  Instead, the elevator opened and he found himself face-to-face with two friends.

  Celeste's ordeal had been splashed across the newswires, and her identity had slipped out faster than shit through a goose. The texts he'd been answering were from those who knew them both, as well as Mike, some of the guys and Captain Teller. He'd let them know she'd be discharged this morning, so he wasn't expecting any visitors, unless any members of the press were unwise enough to try to figure out where she was. He definitely wasn't expecting to see Ben and Marcie, since they were supposed to be headed to Italy for their honeymoon.

  Marcie embraced him immediately, and Ben clasped his hand in a firm, reassuring grip. Marcie had a Bojangles bag clasped in her hand. "I know you texted Matt that they're discharging her this morning," she said, "but we all know how long that can take, and nobody likes hospital food. At least not what they deliver to the rooms. They have pizza and ice cream in the cafeteria, but I figured she'd like this better."