ToServeAndProtect (2 page)

“So you’re saying she’s stubborn,” he said
interrupting her thoughts.

McKenna chuckled. “She certainly wouldn’t let a little
thing like a man’s sexual preference get in the way of her efforts.”

“I wish her luck, but going after someone who isn’t
available seems like a waste of time. I’d rather put my efforts into someone
more receptive.” His gaze settled on McKenna’s face, leaving no doubt to the
implication he made. Her tummy tightened.

“Steven, you’re a nice guy, but I’m not interested in
seeing anyone.” She sighed. Not even for a big dick. She wrapped her hands
around her coffee. Damn Dawn for pushing her into a situation she didn’t want.
“But I’d love to be friends.”

“In other words, I’d have better luck with Gabriel.”

“You’d do better than I did.” Dawn plopped into the
empty seat between them. “Such a waste.” She took a sip of McKenna’s coffee.
“I’m out of here. I need to grab a shower before my date.”

“You’ve got a date while you’re trying to make a move
on Gabriel?” Steven asked.

A mischievous grin stretched her sparkling pink-tinged
lips. “I like having options.” Dawn hauled her bag over her shoulder. “See you
next class,” she said to Steven.

“I told you she’s tenacious.” They watched Dawn walk
away. McKenna picked up her bag.

“Do you have to leave, too?” he asked.

She briefly chewed her lower lip. “I really should. Thanks
for the coffee. I’ll see you next week for class.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Great. Okay then, see you later.” Awkward was an understatement.
Dawn had an active social life and needed to stay out of McKenna’s. With a
couple of long strides, she caught up with her.

“Don’t ever volunteer me again.” She fell into step
beside Dawn as they walked in the direction of the outdoor amphitheater.

“Next time I’ll suggest the back seat of his car. Did
you see his dick?”

“It was hard to miss.”

“Yes, it was definitely hard.”

McKenna didn’t laugh.

“Fine, Mickey, I won’t push. What are you doing
tonight?” She glanced over to where Steven had picked up a conversation with
another guy from yoga class. “You could’ve had a date. At the least, gotten
laid. So are you going to go home and hang out with your dad?”

“Don’t give me grief. You’re twenty-five and still
live at home, too.”

“But I have a social life,” Dawn said with a bit too
much condescension and tossed her yoga bag into the backseat of her cherried-out
Hyundai. Black tinted windows, bass thumping stereo, and soft leather seats in
a fifteen thousand dollar car. McKenna thought it was a waste of money, but
then she wasn’t entertaining in the backseat of her vehicle. Evidently, Dawn
had.

“I told Elliot I’d bring him home dinner. After we
watch some television, I’ll listen to him bitch and moan about the state of
affairs in this country under the watchful eye of the President.”

“A night with dear old dad.” Her lips smirked. “Sounds
fun.” Dawn climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. “Like a trip to
the gynecologist.”

McKenna rested her hand along the frame of the open
door. “You said your gynecologist was better than your last boyfriend. At least
Dr. Nelson was thorough.”

Dawn’s eyes widened. “Remind me to schedule another
yearly tomorrow. I’d forgotten that.”

“You’re terrible.” McKenna stepped back.

“Yeah, and you love me for it. See you later.”

“Bye.” She shut the door, then Dawn gunned the engine.
Standing on the curb, she watched her best friend zip out of the parking space.

She glanced down the street. The sax was now playing a
seductive melody that pulled McKenna to the stone bleachers to bask in the
ambiance for a few minutes. The crowd had thinned to a few dozen. She found a
place in the back of the amphitheater and let her eyes drift closed while the
sax played right into her soul. This she understood; the sound of solitude.

* * * * *

Overhead, the ceiling fan stirred hot air, rippling
the thin sheet covering Detective Dustin Pearce from the waist down. Through
the open windows, sounds of the river mingled with the rustling leaves on the
giant oaks surrounding the riverfront apartments. From the bedroom, he had a
pristine view of the complex’s gardens. Small, murky streams harboring giant
goldfish, mossy lily pads, and pond frogs slowly wound by the side of walking
paths between the buildings. Cotton pollen looked like drifts of snow along the
edge of the river.

The doorbell was an unwelcome shrill in the hot, one
bedroom apartment.

Dustin strode out of the bedroom wearing a pair of
long cargo shorts with the top button undone. Tyson Jones, his partner of three
years in the Olden City Police Department, homicide division, let himself in.
“You sleeping alone?” His friend laughed. “Of course, you are,” he answered his
own question.

Dustin’s hair was slightly damp with sweat from his
nap. He pushed it off his forehead then took a wrinkled T-shirt off the back of
the davenport, a glaring tribute to the nineties with its bright plaid print.

“All you’ve got is warm beer,” Tyson complained.

“I was too lazy to put it in the fridge. There’s ice.”

Tyson peered into the thick, crusted, frosted freezer
that had seen its best year in 1984. Room enough for two ice trays, and nothing
more, which was fine since it was too hot to cook in the little kitchenette.
“Ever think about upgrading to a refrigerator with ice in the door?” Tyson
asked.

Dustin took the glass with a measly few cubes and the
beer. “Had one.” He twisted the cap off the long neck bottle of MGD. “Trish got
it, along with the house, the dog, and the kid.” His lips pursed on the bitter
taste of the beer, made more so by the fact that he used to drink locally
brewed micro beers.

A lot had changed in the three years since the
divorce. Trish had a new husband, and his baby girl now had a brother. Hell,
the last time he’d had his daughter overnight had been nearly six months ago at
Christmas. Thirteen-year old girls would rather spend time with their friends
than with their fathers. At least that’s what Dustin told himself when Janie
didn’t want to spend time with him.

Tyson sat in the mesh lounge chair next to Dustin, propping
his feet up on the edge of the second floor balcony railing overlooking the
parking lot of the apartment complex Dustin called home. “Divorce sucks. My
third was the nastiest. She took my fishing pole. Brooklynn hates fishing.”

Tyson took a drink of beer and leaned back, causing
the chair to groan and creak under his six foot, two hundred and thirty pound
body. With skin the color of coffee and eyes that shimmered with flecks of
gold, women seemed to gravitate to Tyson. White, black, lesbian, it didn’t
matter. Shemar Moore meets The Rock, with a Glock strapped to his hip. Women
couldn’t resist the man.  Which explained three marriages that had all ended in
bitter divorces. Tyson loved women just as much as they loved him. “Got to be
tough not seeing your kid every day.”

“Yeah.” It was one of the reasons Dustin kept himself
busy.

Tyson leaned forward as the pretty redhead from 1A
walked to her yellow convertible. “Becca,” he called. “Playing a little
tennis?”

Dustin chuckled. He’d have thought that would be
obvious.

Becca lifted her racket while her short, pink
miniskirt flirted, giving a glimpse of her ass. “You haven’t called,” she
teased while her words sounded accusatory.

“Baby,” Tyson smoothly replied. “You know how busy I
get down at the station.” He stood and leaned his forearms on the wrought iron
railing.

She rested her hands on her trim hips. “You don’t look
busy to me.” She turned her brightest smile to Dustin. “Thanks for last night.”

“Glad I could be of service.” Dustin cracked a smile
as Tyson nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

“See ya.” Dustin returned her wave as she jumped into
her car and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Are you tapping that?”

Dustin tipped his glass to his mouth while raising an
eyebrow.

“Christ, Dustin, I’m not parking my cock where yours
has been. No one’s happier than I that you’re finally moving on after Trish. If
you ask me, it’s been too damn long.”

Dustin stood, stepping back through the sliding glass
doors into the apartment. The loud rattle and hum of the air conditioner did
nothing to chase the heat from the apartment. “I’m not sleeping with Becca. I
fixed her leaky shower head.”

Tyson took a deep breath. “Glad to hear it. Not that I
don’t think your dick’s been neglected, but I always worry about mine first.”

“She’s all yours.” Dustin didn’t want to date, and
casual sex was Tyson’s sport, not his.

Tyson sat on the sofa, crossing his ankle over the
opposite knee. “When she gets back from her tennis game, I’m replacing the
smile on her face with a look of satisfaction.” He picked up the remote to the
television. “What channel is the race on?” He flipped through the Sunday
afternoon line up until he found the stock car race. “Ten bucks says Johnson
finishes in the top five.”

* * * * *

McKenna wasn’t surprised the house was dark when she
arrived several hours later than she anticipated. At twenty-five years old, her
father wouldn’t expect her to give an accounting of her time. She had been
coming and going at her leisure for as long as she could remember. In fact,
he’d bought her first car when she was sixteen because he didn’t want to be
bothered anymore with curfews and carpools.

After toeing off her shoes by the front door, she went
to the kitchen and slipped his dinner into the stainless steel refrigerator.
Elliot had left her a note on the counter of the center island.
Sorry I was
harsh with you, Dad.

“Dad?” McKenna finished her large bottle of water and
set it in the sink. He hadn’t been
Dad
since she was nine years old. He
thought it sounded too much like whining. From that point on, he’d given her a
choice of sir or Elliot.

She read the note again. It had been a long time since
she’d had much more than passing words with her father. They were roommates in
a huge house that ran more like a mausoleum. Neither of them really had a life.
Elliot worked constantly. There were times he became so obsessed with his
life’s work, she wondered if he’d remember to eat. That was one of the reasons
she never moved out into a place of her own. Although they could go days
without seeing each other, he needed her. She was all he had and he was the
only family she had.

She glanced at the note again. “Sorry I was harsh.”

It had been a long time since Dr. Elliot Porter had
said anything that could be constituted as harsh. He hadn’t really said
anything kind either. He barely spoke to her. Although, when she was younger,
she could remember times when he had been blinded by anger. He’d been more than
harsh the time she thought her car was in reverse, but actually she’d put it in
drive and went right through the garage door into the back of his classic
Mercedes. She’d been sixteen and, for a moment, wondered if she’d see another
birthday.

Not that birthdays mattered. Elliot wasn’t
sentimental. That was okay with her, really. It didn’t matter that he rarely remembered
holidays. He didn’t have to talk to her to let her know he cared about her. She
had everything she could possibly need. What she didn’t, she purchased. With
her father, money equaled affection. So he must care since she always had
access to his funds if there was something she wanted.

Her feet were whisper quiet as she started up the
stairs. “Yuck.” Her foot slid in something sticky on the hardwood leading to
the bedrooms. Curling her toes, she walked on her heels into the bathroom at
the top of the stairs and turned on the fluorescent, overhead light.

She touched the dark, tacky substance and rubbed it
between her fingers. Turning on the spout in the tub, she put her feet under
the water and watched as splatters of red dotted the sides of the tub. With
sickening dread, she realized it was streams of blood swirling and churning
like rivers down the drain.

Horror stuck in her throat, cutting off her breath.
“Elliot!” she screamed as she scrambled from the tub. In her haste to find her
father, McKenna slipped on the tile in the bathroom. Smears of red marked the
doorjamb and wall. “Oh, my god!” Nausea roiled in her gut. Light from the
bathroom illuminated blood in the hallway.

Wet from the water, her feet slid into more puddles of
blood on the way to her father’s bedroom. Too much blood.

She fought the images that only haunted her dreams as
she struggled to move. The memory of a night five years before felt like a
heavy weight trying to hold her down. Fear kept her from reaching Elliot’s
door. Her stomach clenched.

Air swooshed from her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. Her
feet lost grip, and her knees slammed into the floor. Crying out, reaching for
support, she brought the marble hall table down to the floor breaking the
pillars into several large pieces. The vase of flowers crashed. Crystal splintered into shards reflecting light against red. Water soaked into the
shattered picture frames.