Heaven and Hell (48 page)

“Fine,” I returned because I already knew
that was a battle I’d never win. “But we won’t be having sex.”

Sam’s face got a little scary.

“Kia –”

“Sam.”

He stared into my eyes.

Then he burst out laughing, fell to his
back, taking me with him then he rolled so he was on top and he
lifted his head and looked down at me, still, I might add,
laughing.

When he got control of his hilarity, he
muttered, “Fuck, you’re cute.”

“I wasn’t being cute.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’re cute.”

I glared at him.

His face got soft and it also got closer
when he whispered, “You’re nervous.”

Uh…
yeah!

I didn’t answer.

“She’ll love you, honey.”

I swallowed.

Sam dipped his head, touched his lips to
mine then lifted it and, still whispering, said, “Luci loves you,
Celeste loves you, Hap loves you and Ma will love you. Trust me,
baby.”

I pressed my lips together.

Sam smiled at me.

My stomach, which was in knots,
unknotted.

“Okay,” I said softly.

“Okay,” he repeated softly then he touched
his mouth to mine again, lifted his head and told me, “Gonna take
Memphis for a walk. You comin’ with?”

“Before coffee?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Then no,” I replied and he smiled again.
“Make it short and we’ll take her out again later.”

“Works for me,” he muttered, dipped his head
yet again and kissed my nose.

Then he rolled away.

I lay in bed and watched him pull on a pair
of loose-fitting, athletic shorts, a tee with the sleeves cut off
and a pair of old, ratty running shoes with no socks. Then I
watched him move to the door, whistling. Then I watched him
disappear through the door, Memphis bouncing behind him and
disappearing too.

Then I rolled to my back and looked at the
ceiling.

I was going to meet Sam’s Mom in two
days.

Yikes.

Fearless,
the word sounded in my
head.

I took in a deep breath. Then I reminded
myself I had a mission.

So I didn’t delay.

I threw off the covers, did my bathroom gig
and headed downstairs to make coffee.

* * * * *

I was in the kitchen writing a grocery list
when I heard the garage door opening and Sam’s Ford F-150 supercrew
cab truck growling in.

It was late morning. I was showered, clothed
and made up. I was also juiced up on caffeine which was sharing
space in my stomach with oatmeal.

Sam had taken Memphis for her walk, came
back, changed into workout clothes which meant he put on socks and
a better pair of gym shoes. Then he took off to the gym.

Now he was back.

In his absence, I also had time to inspect
Sam’s kitchen finding he had all the accoutrements to the point I
was a little surprised. He even had a garlic press. What single man
had a garlic press?

I found this a little disturbing because no
single man had a garlic press unless that single man had a woman
that at one time lived with him and forgot to take her garlic press
with her when their relationship crashed and burned in a fiery ball
of flame. Or she was around enough to cook for him repeatedly thus
he outfitted his kitchen with items she’d deemed necessary.

I turned my mind from these thoughts to
other thoughts that were only slightly less disturbing. These
included the fact that I’d never cooked for Sam. I didn’t cook like
my mother, this was true. And I thought my cooking was good. In
fact, although Cooter was controlling about
what
I cooked,
he never got pissed off about how it turned out.

But I’d noticed that, although Sam wasn’t
freakish about his nutrition consumption inasmuch as he didn’t
demand his vegetables steamed, his chicken grilled and allowed
nothing unhealthy to pass his lips and he also would enjoy a beer
or three, still, his selections were all relatively healthy and he
leaned toward fish and skinless poultry and away from beef, fats
and copious carbs.

I was the queen of beef, fats and copious
carbs. Well, maybe not fats, so much, but definitely the other two.
If a meal didn’t have some sort of bread, even if that meal was
pasta, my thought was, what was the point?

Therefore, since I planned on making dinner
for him that night, I was kind of at a loss.

Then I realized as I was staring down at the
grocery list that didn’t have a lot on it that Sam’s truck was no
longer growling, the garage door had already come down but he
hadn’t come up the stairs from the garage.

My head turned in that direction just as I
heard the door to the stairs open. Then I saw a still sweaty (thus
luscious) Sam round the wall and come into the kitchen.

I smiled and greeted, “Hey, honey.”

My smile faltered when the man who I saw
standing outside his car at my yard sale followed Sam into the
kitchen.

“Hey, baby,” Sam replied on his
approach.

The man did not approach. He stopped on the
opposite side of the island. Memphis bounced in, yapping her
greeting to Sam, got a look at the newcomer, dissed Sam and bounced
yapping to him.

The man tipped just his eyes down to my dog
and didn’t try to hide his revulsion.

Clearly, there were some badasses who didn’t
think little dogs were cute.

Sam made it to me, his arm slid along my
shoulders and he stated, “You said you wanted to meet the boys. Two
of them came with. Aziz is off-duty. This is Deaver.”

“Hi, Deaver,” I greeted.

“Yo,” he grunted, his eyes moving from their
disgusted study of a still bouncing and yapping Memphis to me.

“Um… sorry I didn’t ask to meet you earlier.
I was, uh… kinda busy,” I told him.

He stared at me and made no response.

Weird.

“Do you want coffee?” I asked.

He shook his head but did not verbalize his
refusal.

I tried again. “So, are you from
Indiana?”

He stared at me a beat then nodded his head
but said not a word.

Totally weird.

“Uh, sorry that you, uh… couldn’t join us in
the lounge at the airport or that we uh… didn’t get you in first
class.” I tipped my head back to look at Sam and asked, “Why didn’t
we do that?”

Sam started to speak but Deaver beat him to
it and I looked back to him when he did.

“Can’t assess a threat drinkin’ champagne in
first class. Cooper had that covered, not a two man job. I covered
coach.”

“Oh,” I murmured.

He went on, “And can’t scan the area sittin’
on my ass in the first class departure lounge.”

“Right,” I muttered.

That was when Deaver became talkative…
ish.

He jerked his head toward the floor where
Memphis was sitting on her doggie bottom, sweeping Sam’s tiled
floor with her tail, waiting for Deaver to lavish affection on her
and he declared, “Need a Rottie.”

Here we go again.

“That’s been noted,” I told him.

“Or a Shepherd,” he continued.

“That’s been mentioned too,” I replied.

“Or a Mastiff,” he went on.

That was a new one.

“Uh…” I mumbled.

“Or a Dogo Argentino.”

I blinked. “Sorry, a what?”

“The badass mofo of the canine world,” he
explained.

“Oh,” I whispered thinking this guy was a
little scarier than the average scary.

“Not that,” he jerked his head down at
Memphis again.

Memphis yapped.

“She’s friendly,” I defended Memphis then
added, “and cuddly.”

Deaver’s eyes sliced to Sam, clearly
unimpressed with friendly, cuddly dogs and wanting to know why Sam
didn’t eject my baby immediately.

“And anyway, I have badass mofos of the
human variety looking out for me so I think I’m good,” I
finished.

That was when Deaver decided to share his
badass mofo wisdom. “You got a threat, you use every available
means to neutralize it.”

“Uh, that makes sense, of course, but
Memphis would probably yap pretty loudly to greet an intruder so at
least we’d have a head’s up,” I told him.

He again looked at Sam and since I just met
him I didn’t know if it was with respect that Sam had the patience
to put up with me and Memphis or if it was with disdain that Sam
was putting up with me and Memphis.

I decided I was done meeting my bodyguard so
I said brightly, “Nice to meet you and if you should want to, say,
use the bathroom or get a bottle of water, you obviously know where
we are.”

He took the hint and I didn’t have to know
him very well to see his relief at being dismissed from this
particular duty, he jerked his chin up and replied, not brightly,
“Right. Thanks. Hope you don’t get dead. You gettin’ dead means I
fucked up and won’t get paid.”

Yikes!

“Well, I’m glad Sam had the foresight to put
that clause in your contract,” I muttered and felt Sam’s body start
shaking against mine.

“Standard,” Deaver grunted, jerked up his
chin again, frowned down at Memphis again, turned on his boot and
disappeared.

Sam’s silent laughter became an audible
chuckle when I turned into him and looked up.

“I’m not sure I want to meet Aziz,” I shared
and Sam’s chuckle became a roar of laughter as both his arms closed
around me.

When he quit laughing but he was still
grinning huge, he replied, “Aziz wasn’t raised by Argentine Dogos.
He’s a little more sociable.”

“A little?” I asked and Sam’s huge grin
turned into a blinding smile.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “A little. A guy
checks the box marked ‘friendly’ on a job application for
bodyguard, he’s not gonna get much work.”

This made sense.

“Right,” I muttered.

Sam kept smiling at me then he looked to the
counter at my list and back at me. “You ready to hit the grocery
store?”

“I will be when I ascertain if there’s
anything in my cooking arsenal you won’t feel
forced
to
eat.”

“I don’t have a cast iron skillet, baby, and
shortening is not an acceptable addition to my pantry. That
help?”

“Yes, but barely.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured.

Yes, we damn well would and I knew this
because I was on a mission to make it so.

“Um… if Deaver comes with, he’s not going to
attack any grocery store patrons for looking at us funny, seeing as
you’re famous and all, and leave bite marks, is he?” I asked.

He pulled me closer and told me, “Good part
of bein’ home, in Kingston, people are used to me. Unless it’s new
folk or tourists, they leave me be.”

This
was
good.

“Excellent,” I replied.

Sam smiled again. Then he bent his head and
touched his mouth to mine, let me go and muttered, “Shower then
store.”

“Gotcha,” I muttered back.

He moved to the stairs. I turned to my
list.

I was scratching out the word “shortening”
when I heard, “Kia?”

I turned and looked over my shoulder to see
Sam at the wall by the base of the stairs.

“Yeah, honey?”

His head cocked slightly to the side and his
eyes moved over me. I held my breath because they’d gone that super
intense and I suspected he was seeing something,
feeling
something, something I didn’t understand, while looking at me in
his kitchen.

But he didn’t share.

Instead he said, “Won’t be long.”

“Okay,” I replied softly.

He tipped up his chin and disappeared.

I took in a breath and went back to my
list.

* * * * *

It was night, the moon lit the ocean, the
sound of waves crashing on the beach shifted lazily toward the deck
– those, a nice dinner and a good day spent with Sam lulling me
into a relaxation I hadn’t felt in years.

Years.

It felt good.

The grocery store mission was successful. I
got what I wanted and Sam got what he wanted. I paid close
attention to what Sam got which gave me ideas for dinner and, after
we left the grocery, we hit the liquor store then we went home.

And Deaver, who I noted trailing us twice,
didn’t attack anyone.

A plus.

I put chicken breasts in to marinade and Sam
and I took Memphis for a long walk on the beach. Then Sam and I
came back and he took me upstairs for a long, energetic session in
his bed.

We emerged from Sam’s bed late afternoon and
I met Aziz. Sam was right, he was friendlier if not less scary. He
was Arabic, had less bulk than Deaver but not less muscle, though
his was lean. He had more height and when he departed he did not
share his wish I didn’t get dead. He gave me a look that promised I
wouldn’t (thus him being not less scary).

The only thing that semi-marred our day was
that twice Sam got calls where he looked at the display on his
phone then took them elsewhere. This was not exactly unusual, he
had a lot of calls at home where he did that and I suspected they
were discussions with Ozzie or his crew of badasses. So I didn’t
think anything of it, in Indiana or in North Carolina.

That was until, during the second call, I
headed upstairs on bare feet to see to unpacking and I did this
while he was in his office on the phone.

The door was open and I heard him say, “Like
I said before, tell them I’m considering it but I haven’t made a
decision.” He paused, I debated the merits of eavesdropping and
before I made a decision, he went on, “They’re impatient for an
answer then the answer is no. They can keep their shit then they
can wait for me to fuckin’ consider it.”

It was then, considering his tone sounded
frustrated and the conversation was clearly not about my safety,
not to mention, I had some anxiety about what it
was
about,
harking way back to the conversation I overheard Sam have with
Luci, I moved swiftly to the bedroom. For the first five minutes of
unpacking, I made way more noise than I needed to. Firstly, I did
this to drown out hearing anything Sam was saying. Secondly, I did
this because I wanted Sam to know my whereabouts.