Through Fire (Portland, ME #3) (20 page)

“Ruby...” It seems Tim has found his voice, but by now, I’m so angry, I wave him off and stalk to the kitchen, hoping to find some coffee left in the pot. I’m not surprised to find him right behind me. “Boop, stop.” When I ignore him and start opening and closing cupboards in search of a cup, he braces me against the edge of the counter, his head dipping down in my neck. He shifts my hair out of the way with his chin, before pressing his lips underneath my jaw. “Don’t,” he warns me, as I try to twist free of his hold. “Just listen to me for a sec, okay?”

It’s not like I can move anyway, so I just give in with a slight shrug of my shoulders.

“I admit, that sounded bad. I’m sorry for that. I’m thinking you didn’t hear what came before. We were talking about options. Not only how to keep you safe, but also how to keep you in this country, should it come to that. It was said out of practical consideration. But one thing it could never be is a sacrifice.”

I’m find myself caving a little to what he says. Putting it into context certainly helps my perception, but it still doesn’t feel nice.

Maybe he’s sick of looking at the back of my head, or maybe he can feel a little give in my posture, but the next thing I know I’m being turned around to face him. One crooked finger under my chin tilts up my head so I’m forced to look up. “Never,” he softly repeats. “Any time spent with you is a pleasure. If there’s ever a time where the subject of marriage comes up again, I promise you will always have the final word.” Without giving me time to react, he drops his head and drills his point home with the sweet pressure of his lips on mine.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Gunnar is still sporting that grin when Tim finally releases my mouth, and I look in the direction of his voice. He doesn’t seem fazed by the angry look Tim sends him, or the hot blush on my face, and calmly continues, “But I should get back to the pub. Your truck is in the driveway and keys are here.” He dangles the keys before dropping them on the counter. He must have driven Tim’s truck home. “I’m catching a ride with Dino. We can talk later,” he says to Tim before turning to me. “And you, I don’t want to see in the pub until that cast is off, and you’ve been given a clean bill of health. Unless, of course, you’re looking for some food and a drink, in that case we’ll be happy to see you.”

“But I’m sure I can...” My protest is swiftly silenced by Gunnar’s stern look as he stalks toward me..

“No. You can’t. I’m sure you’ll have my wife and Viv knocking on the door. Both of those women would have my balls on a platter if I even entertained the idea. We’ll sort it out...we’ll sort
all
of it out, but not now.” He gives Tim a friendly shove and moves into his place to give me a kiss on the cheek. Dino is right behind him, shooting a smug look at Tim, before he too leans in for a sideways hug and a kiss on my hair.

“Let him in, little one,” he mumbles in my hair, before letting me go. The moment Dino steps away, Tim moves in again, sliding behind me and wrapping his arm around my waist. Dino just grins and shakes his head, before he walks out the door, with a wave and a polite nod at Pam but completely ignoring Mark.

“Do you feel up to a talk? Because I want you to hear what Mark has to say, Boop.”

My anger mostly forgotten, and making sure Pam is staying for some emotional support, I nod my head and let him lead me to the couch. The next ten minutes I sit with my lips firmly pressed together, with Pam’s calming hand on my knee and Tim’s arm around my shoulders. I listen to Mark. Something I realize after a while; if I allow myself to forget for a second that he’s a cop, what he says actually makes sense. Contact someone trustworthy in the FBI, talk to them about Milano, find out if they received any reports on Lima and where he is now. All sounds very reasonable, except that I’d once made the mistake of thinking my words would make a difference, and that didn’t turn out so well. Funny thing is, after I’d given the detective Lima’s name, and they’d sent me straight into the waiting arms of the man they were supposed to be hunting, I realized they’d never once asked for any confirmation of my background.

It all makes me very nervous.

“Do you have to tell him my name? Where I am?” Of course, I haven’t really shared my birth name yet. I’m hanging onto that like a last little layer of protection. My eyes stay focused on Mark, who seems to be considering my question seriously.

“I think I can get away with being vague about who you are. Your picture was doing the rounds, but your name was never listed. Gunnar told the cops, who showed this afternoon, there’d been some trouble with an unruly customer but that he’d taken off. He never once mentioned you, just said the guy got into it with staff members.” He walks closer and sits down on the coffee table facing me. “But Ruby, at some point, you’re going to have to trust someone. This situation is not going anywhere, and I’m pretty sure Milano and his cronies won’t suddenly forget you’re here.”

“He’s right, you know,” Pam says, squeezing my knee. “The reality is, even if they discover you are in the country illegally, they can’t simply send you back to Mexico. But more importantly, they won’t.”

I’m confused. “Why wouldn’t they?”

It’s Mark who answers. “Because you’re valuable as a witness. This case involves trafficking young girls from other countries into the U.S. for work in the sex trade. We now have a ranking officer of a large police force involved, and I shiver to think how much higher the rot goes. Besides,” he says, with an unexpected wink. “From the sounds of it, my brother is more than willing to make you legal.”

T
im

“Is Mark still with you? Where are you guys? Dinner is getting cold.”

Pam left a few minutes ago, needing to get back to the shelter. With Ruby slowly relaxing in Mark’s presence, Pam gave her a last pep talk and told her she’d call tomorrow. I walked into the kitchen when my phone rang, leaving the two of them hashing over any details Ruby might remember. She looks wiped out though. If Mark doesn’t wrap it up soon himself, I’m going to step in.

“Mom, I’m sorry,” I apologize, looking at the clock that shows it’s already after seven.

“Your father stopped me from calling earlier, but I was worried.”

“One of us should’ve called you. I’m really sorry. Something’s come up that Mark is helping me with. We just lost track of time.”

“Is everything alright? Have you eaten yet? I can bring something over.” As usual, Mom rattles off her questions without stopping for answers, her nurturing instincts not even dulled a bit, despite the fact both Mark and I have been out of the house the last quarter of a century. I peek into the living room, watching Ruby stifle another yawn, and curb my irritation with my mother. Here’s a woman who probably doesn’t even remember what being cared for feels like. All these years Mark and I have scoffed at Mom’s continuing need to
mother,
when Ruby had been forced to do without any warmth. Part of me wonders how Ruby would react to my mother’s borderline invasive attention, but I’m thinking it might be a bit overwhelming right now.

“We’re taken care of,” I assure her instead. “I promise, I’ll be there next week and I’ll call you soon.” A quick, “
Love you too, Mom,”
and I end the call.

I take my seat next to Ruby, who automatically leans into me with another yawn. “I suggest ordering pizza and shelving the third degree, Mark. What say you?” It’s clear he catches my meaning when his eyes flick back and forth between Ruby and me.

“Sounds good,” he concedes. “But I’ll head out right after. Got stuff to do tonight.”

Ruby is already half asleep by the time the pizza gets here, but manages to eat two slices before crashing on the couch. Mark and I make quick work of the rest.

“Calling a cab,” he says, pulling out his phone.

“I can drive you,” I offer, looking at Ruby’s sleeping form beside me.

“No worries. My car is at Mom and Dad’s, I’ll get them to drop me off there. You don’t want her to wake up alone and panic.”

He’s got a point, although I sincerely doubt a canon salvo would wake Ruby at this point.

“I’ll give Mike a call tonight. Hopefully he’ll be able to help. Some of the information she gave me will definitely pique his interest.”

“But...” I start when Mark’s raised hand cuts me off.

“Not going to use her name or our connection, Tim. Not without her say so,” he assures me.

The moment he leaves, I lift a still sleeping Ruby in my arms and carry her upstairs. She may be small, but asleep she’s heavier than I expected. Thank God for the occasional work outs I get in. She feels good in my arms—warm and soft—I don’t want to let go.

-

A
shift in the mattress wakes me up. In the semi-dark, I can see Ruby’s outline as she makes her way to the bathroom. I silently bless the fact I took off her jeans again earlier, so she’d be more comfortable in bed. I hadn’t quite wanted to go so far as to take off the rest of her clothes, but am grateful at least for the view of her scantily clad ass. Round, full, and soft, it jiggles slightly as she moves away from the bed, and an instant surge of lust stiffens my cock. There’s something about the natural movement of her luscious behind that stirs me more than the many tight buns I’ve seen parade by over the years. It makes me wonder if self-preservation, against the now evident draw of the softer flesh, had me opt for the slimmer, tighter choices out there. But it’s more than that. It’s Ruby’s emotional innocence that appeals. That seems to bring out a need to protect and savor.

I fold my arms behind my head and wait for her to return, but when I hear the water run, I realize she’s in there for more than just a quick relief. Just minutes later, I hear the clang of the toilet seat coming down, along with a frustrated yelp. Worried she may have hurt herself, I jump out of bed.

“Ruby?” I softly knock on the door, trying not to startle her. “Everything okay in there?”

No answer, just a faint sniffle.

“I’m coming in,” I warn her, as I push open the door. She’s sitting on the closed toilet, her back to the door, and her shirt halfway off. A quick glance at the tub shows it’s getting full, so I first turn off the taps, before sitting on the edge of the tub in front of her.

“Need help?” I gently ask. She lifts her tear-streaked face and looks so incredibly sad in that moment, it makes me swallow hard. There is shame in her eyes when she nods her assent. Without looking away from her face, I start untangling the t-shirt from the strap holding her arm immobile.

“I smell,” she whispers, lowering her eyes. “I still smell of puke. I can smell it in my hair.”

I don’t smell anything but Ruby herself, but I think maybe there’s more she needs to wash off in the middle of the night. “I’ll wash it for you. You can’t use that arm,” I calmly remind her.

In just her cotton panties and a functional bra, she seems to curl in on herself. I figure sometimes the best thing to do with discomfort is just to push through it, so that’s what I do. With swift movements, I have her out of her sling, her bra, and pull her up to standing so I can take off her panties. The entire time, her eyes are pressed shut. Only when I guide her to the side of the tub do her eyes open.

“Sit,” I instruct her, holding her cast above the water. “I’m just grabbing a plastic bag for this, so it doesn’t get wet.” With lightning speed I’m back in the bathroom, having managed to unearth an old grocery bag from beneath the kitchen sink. A roll of duct tape, I remembered in one of the kitchen drawers, comes in handy and in seconds I have her arm more or less waterproof.

With one arm curved behind her shoulders, I encourage her to lie back so I can get her hair wet, trying very hard not to stare at the creamy curves on display. With economic movements, I manage to wet and shampoo her hair, letting her float back to rinse it out. It’s thick and heavy, and I can’t stop running my fingers through. When I finally help her back up in sitting position, I noticed she’s started crying again. “What is it?” I ask, surprised when I get a watery smile in return.

“Thank you,” she mumbles. “For being kind.” Her eyes leave my face and travel down the front of her body. “You know, I wasn’t always like this,” she says, motioning her left hand down her body. “I was always curvy, but not fat like I am now. I wish you could’ve seen me then.” She almost sounds wistful; I want to contradict her but can sense she’s not done. “I did this on purpose, you know: packing on the pounds? Most men want the fantasy when they pay for sex, so I tried hard not to look like anyone’s fantasy. Tried to make myself ugly.” She’s quiet for a second before she says something that cuts me deep. “I wish I could be yours, though.”

Fucking hell. She wrecks me.

In seconds, I’m stripped down to nothing, and without a word I step in the tub behind her, sliding down so she is braced against my front. Leaning my chin on her shoulder, I gently slide my large hands over the swell of her belly, letting one wander up to lift the weight of her breast in my palm. “You have no idea, do you?” I mumble in her ear. “That when you tried so hard to make yourself ugly—as you say—you
became
my fantasy.” Her breathing hitches as I press my mouth to the junction between her neck and her shoulder. “You are stunning. Whatever shape or size you come in doesn’t change all the beauty that’s you. I love the way your body can mold itself around me. I love how there is not one hard place on you, inside or out. But most of all, I’m becoming fast addicted to the depths you show me with those big brown eyes.”