Jennifer POV
"Why'd you pick New York?"
"It's seventeen hundred miles from Abilene."
"Ah," he said with a knowing nod. "So it's my good fortune you didn't end up in…Seattle?"
"Nineteen hundred miles," I agreed with a smile. "Trust me. I looked it up."
"And?"
"And…actually, it was all about opportunity. I had to go where the Marshal Service had openings. I spent more than four months in Georgia, going through the training program, and when I got out, I was given two options. Baton Rouge or Rapid City."
"Let me guess…Baton Rouge was too close to Texas."
"Exactly. So it wasn't a difficult choice to make, despite the fact that I spent eighteen months in a parka that weighs more than I do. Do you know how hard it is to go running every day when the temperatures routinely dip below zero?"
"Um…ever heard of a treadmill?" he teased. "It saves you from the elements."
"It's not the same."
He smirked and pulled my right foot into his lap, having just finished rubbing the left one. The remnants of our take-out dinner was spread over the coffee table, along with a nearly-empty bottle of wine and a couple of glasses.
The excellent meal, a day spent being lazy, and the current pampering being done by my sexy companion had me in a hazy state of bliss.
"I can't picture you in South Dakota," he said thoughtfully. "Too…unpopulated."
"You've obviously never been to west Texas."
He chuckled lightly and then seemed momentarily distracted by my spontaneous moan of pleasure.
"Good spot," I explained through heavy-lidded eyes.
So of course, he did it again…he pushed his thumbs along the bottom of my foot, where the heel gives way to the arch.
I let my head fall back against the arm rest and let out a contented sigh.
"Oh my God, that feels so good," I murmured. My entire body was tingling just from the contact of his hands on my feet.
Although, he's kept my body tingling for nearly twenty-four hours now.
In the kitchen…in the hall…in the bed this morning…we've been trying to make up for two weeks in less than a day, and we're doing a pretty damn good job of it.
And I know he needs some recovery time, but I'm thinking that maybe it's been long enough.
"So Rapid City is a Witsec hotspot, huh?" he asked, unknowingly interrupting my lascivious thoughts.
I opened my eyes and found him watching me, his gaze hungry and purposeful despite the casual questions.
And I like that he wants to keep talking rather than just getting to it.
Maybe we're both a little addicted to the idea of holding back until we can't stand it anymore.
"No," I answered. "I was still a deputy back then. I didn't start in Witsec until about six months ago…just before Christmas. Before then, I worked with the courts, overseeing prisoner transfers and attorney protection…that kind of thing."
"So that's why you have a thing for lawyers. You started your career protecting them."
"Maybe. Although I think maybe I'm also a little bit of a masochist because the asshole to nice guy ratio for lawyers is pretty one-sided," I joked. "I'm talking…at least eight to one. In fact, I think I need to see your ABA card, because I'm not sure I believe that you really are a lawyer."
"You've never known a lawyer who gives foot rubs?"
"No," I said decisively. "But I have to tell you…you're really, really good at it."
"One of my many talents."
"No argument there," I replied, humming my agreement. He moved his hands up to my calf and began kneading the muscles.
"So…New York after Rapid City?"
"Uh huh. There…um…there…" I began distractedly, instead focused on the feel of his hands on my leg.
He was alternating the pressure, stroking and rubbing, and that tingling feeling had evolved into a pleasurable buzzing sensation.
"Jenn?" he asked, his expression a mixture of cockiness and amusement.
"Yeah. Um…sorry. So…there were openings that cropped up sooner…Memphis, St. Louis, Atlanta…but those were all still too close for me, so I just waited it out in South Dakota. And then the New York spot opened up."
"You dislike Texas that much?"
"I dislike my father that much," I clarified. "I haven't spoken with him since I left."
Not that it bothers me.
It doesn't.
"What about your mom?"
"She checked out a long time ago," I answered with practiced nonchalance.
I could tell that he wanted to ask more questions.
I mean, let's face it.
He's a lawyer. Questions are his thing.
But as much as I hate talking about my father, I hate talking about my mother even more.
And considering the fact that one of Mike's hands has inched up to my thigh, I'm really not interested in discussing either of my dysfunctional parents.
Some other time, I'm sure. Because I care about Mike a lot, and if I want there to be any hope of us having a future of some sort then I need to be open and honest about everything, including my past.
But not right now.
"Are we moving on to another topic?" he asked, clearly reading the expression on my face.
"We can come back to it," I conceded and then I inhaled sharply as he slid that rogue hand inside the leg of my cotton shorts.
"Fair enough," he agreed, his deep voice coming out as just a rumble.
He shifted slightly on the couch, and then leaned closer, slipping his other hand inside of my shorts, too.
We did a lot of this over the past week.
A lot of him touching me beneath my clothes, and oh, it feels so so good.
Although I'll admit it.
I also enjoyed the hell out of having him feverishly strip me down last night.
And the look on his face when I was finally naked in front of him…
"You've got to be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he said to me.
It was surely an exaggeration and yet he said it with such conviction that I almost believed him.
With his fingers still teasing the bare skin beneath my shorts, he scooted a little closer to me, and I bent my knees so that I could keep my feet in his lap.
I rubbed the bottom of my foot against him, feeling the hard length of him through the thin fabric of his boxer shorts, and this time it was his turn to let out a moan as his hands faltered briefly.
"You're supposed to be talking," he said, withdrawing one hand so that he could push up my t-shirt and then he trailed his fingers over my stomach.
"So…um…you grew up in…" I posed ineloquently, my brain fully focused on the feel of his fingers against my skin.
"Every one-stoplight town in New Jersey," he answered.
He pulled his other hand from under my shorts, but I didn't have time to mourn its absence before he used it to push up my shirt even further, revealing new skin which he then traced lightly with his fingertips.
I pressed my foot against him again, and a shot of arousal rolled through me when I felt him return the pressure.
"You…uh…moved? Around? A lot?" I managed to ask as he shifted again so that now he was over top of me, situated between my thighs.
He pushed his hips against mine, creating a delicious ache that drastically decreased my already-waning ability to think. I grabbed onto his butt, bringing his hips down to mine again, even harder than before, and I watched his face as he closed his eyes for just a moment, letting out a long, slow breath.
"Sixteen schools in twelve years," he responded after a few more seconds, and then he ran his hands up the sides of my body, catching the shirt and taking it with him until he finally pulled it over my head.
He paused for a moment, looking at me like he was seeing me for the first time, even though we spent most of the day naked.
And that look…it sparked off an entirely different feeling.
Because it's not just lust and desire in his eyes.
But I can't possibly analyze it any further at the moment. I'll just catalogue it for later review, because really, it's a miracle my brain's even functioning at all.
"That must've been hard," I remarked, trying to keep up my end of the conversation but still letting my eyes fall closed as he moved his lips over every inch of exposed skin.
"It was. Maybe that's part of the reason why I have trouble investing myself in a relationship," he reasoned.
And it felt a little strange, having such a normal conversation while engaging in foreplay and yet at the same time, it was nice.
To me, it's just one more item of proof to back up my theory that he truly likes me as a person and not just as a sex partner.
And I know…the idea that he does only view me that way is crazy.
I mean, he waited until I gave him the green light.
He's been incredibly sweet and open and affectionate, both prior to last night and after…because we did actually spend most of the day in bed and yet we haven't made love since just before noon, so he seems to enjoy my company, too.
Earlier, while we were still in bed, we watched a couple of movies, action flicks with lots of stunts and gunfire.
"Probably not what you want to watch when you're not at work," he said self-consciously during the beginning of the first movie.
"I love this stuff," I assured him. "Why do you think I wanted to be a marshal?"
"The cool badge?" he teased.
"Tommy Lee Jones," I told him. "You know, from The Fugitive. I was ten when I first saw that movie, and I bet I've watched it a hundred times since then."
"I've got it on DVD."
I smiled at him, insanely pleased by the fact that he has a copy of my favorite movie of all time.
"We'll watch that next," I stated, and then I laced my fingers through his and leaned my head against his chest, settling in to finish watching the first movie.
But then I grabbed the remote control and hit the pause button again.
"What about you?" I asked him. "What made you want to be a lawyer?"
"You want the short answer, or the long-winded, self-aggrandizing monologue?"
"The latter, of course. I'm a sucker for self-aggrandizing monologues."
He chuckled, shaking his head as he said, "You really are destined to be with an attorney, aren't you?"
I refrained from quantifying his statement by saying that I hoped it would just be one attorney in particular.
Because it's too soon to make that kind of statement, and yet I've already told him more about myself than I've ever told any other man.
Any other person, for that matter.
Lauren and I have started having some in-depth chats, and I definitely feel a connection with her, but our time together has been fairly limited.
And of course, her smile doesn't send my libido into overdrive.
And aside from my extremely powerful sexual attraction to Mike, there's also just something about him that makes me want to tell him all of my secrets.
And I want to hear all of his, too.
"My mother liked to run cons on people," he explained. "To get free stuff. She always played the sympathy card, and she'd use me to make sure it worked for her. I hated it. That's why we moved so much, because every time she'd get busted trying to pull a fast one, we'd pull up stakes. I didn't want to be like her. I wanted to be someone respectable, someone who could make a difference in people's lives. And someone who could stand up for those who found themselves bamboozled by people like my mother."
"An honest and righteous man," I stated quietly, feeling honored that he'd shared so much of himself. "I'd say you did what you set out to do."
"I think so," he agreed. "For the most part, I'm happy with my life."
"Are you in touch with your mother?"
"She died about ten years ago. But yes, I kept in touch. Although I think I only did it because I wanted her to know how I was doing…I wanted her to be impressed with my accomplishments."
"There's nothing wrong with seeking approval from your parent. Did you get it?"
"Not at first, but she was sick for about six months before she passed, and I think that time gave her some clarity…I think she finally understood why I chose the path I did. We were on good terms in the end."
"That's a good thing. I'm sure she'd be so proud to see you now."
"Well, not right now," he said, injecting some humor into the conversation. "I'm naked in the bed on a Saturday afternoon with a woman I met two weeks ago…"
"It sounds perfect to me."
"It is," he agreed, leaning down to kiss the top of my head.
After that, he pushed the play button and we went back to our movie.
And then, of course, we watched The Fugitive.
And after that, we finally ventured out of the bedroom.
"I'm going to have to go out for food," he told me after checking the stock in his refrigerator.
"We can have something delivered," I suggested.
"There's a new Thai place down the block," he countered. "But they don't deliver. I can be back in thirty minutes."
While he was gone, I texted Lauren, and after getting good news from her, I pulled on a pair of shorts and Mike's t-shirt and then I settled on the couch with a book from his shelf.
Not The Odd Clauses: Understanding the Constitution Through Ten of Its Most Curious Provisions.
And not Justice: Crimes, Trials, and Punishments.
But the book tucked in between those two.
Playing for Pizza by John Grisham.
There's more than one side of Mike Cutter, I thought at the time.
And that's definitely true.
Because at the moment, I'm learning that he's really good at multi-tasking, carrying on a conversation about his childhood while doing wonderfully sinful things with his teeth and tongue.
"I've always been really good at keeping parts of myself locked away to keep from getting hurt," he stated quietly.
I opened my eyes and found him looking at me again, only this time he was staring into my eyes and I found myself in a mental scramble trying to piece together the meaning of his words.
"Oh," I said at last.
How astute, I thought cynically, but he smiled at me as he brought his lips close to mine.
"I'm going to try not to do that this time. I mean, I've already told you about my absentee father and my gypsy mother…"
He trailed off, looking somewhat vulnerable and a little bit nervous, too, so I reached up and ran my hand through his hair.
"I won't hurt you," I promised.
His lips grazed mine lightly as he settled more firmly against me, pressing his chest against mine and rocking against me, and I was reminded of the very first night that we spent together on his couch, making out and struggling not to take it too far.
Only tonight, there's no such thing as too far.
But the sense of urgency has passed, leaving it its wake a feeling of deep emotional connection. I feel like our relationship has evolved tremendously, just over the course of the past twelve hours, taking us from eager new lovers to…a real couple.
Two people who care deeply for each other, and are happy just being around each other.
It's exciting and terrifying at the same time.
I've never allowed myself to become invested in a man, and I've certainly never dated any man for much longer than our logged-in two weeks.
And yet as he brought his lips to mine again, kissing me slowly and purposefully, I realized that I am invested in Mike.
Fully.
"I won't hurt you either," he replied, and the way he said it…call me crazy, but it almost sounded like we were trading I love yous.
He pulled back from me, but just so that he could take off my shorts and his boxers, and then he came right back into my arms.
He pushed into me slowly, oh so slowly, and I struggled to keep my eyes open as the onslaught of sensations rolled through me.
Because oh my God, he feels so good.
And as much as I love the frenetic pace from earlier, the complete and utter loss of control, this…this is just…sublime.
The unhurried pace, the long drawn-out strokes, the feel of his mouth on mine…
Making love has never felt quite like this.
The first wave hit me surprisingly quickly and a second one followed almost immediately. I found myself digging my nails into his back, holding on against the maelstrom of pleasure. My skin felt like it was on fire and my heart was pounding, and I realized that tears were trickling from the corners of my eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to care.
His rhythm changed slightly as he began pushing in harder, even deeper than before, and I was suddenly right back on the verge again, and after a few more powerful strokes, I was a goner. And so was he. He stilled for a moment and then relaxed against me, the weight of him pushing me comfortably down into the cushions.
I eased my grip on him as I reminded myself to breathe because honestly after an experience like that, oxygen just seems so trivial, because do I really need anything other than Mike?
He kissed me one more time and then rested his head in the crook of my neck, and I ran my hand over his hair.
"Oh my God, I love you," I whispered.
And then I froze.
Because I most definitely never intended on saying those words out loud.
I briefly entertained the silly notion that maybe he hadn't heard me…that he was so spent from our love-making that he wasn't paying any attention.
But then I realized that he wasn't breathing.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I shouldn't have…I mean, it just…I…"
He raised his head and looked at me, and I'm not sure what I expected his response to be, but he just looked surprised.
And pleased.
"I guess I don't have to ask if it was good for you," he said, sounding playfully cocky.
Despite my initial mortification, I was glad to see that he was willing to play it off. And that it had served to give him a huge confidence boost.
"You didn't have to anyway," I responded. "You know it was."
"For me, too," he said, dropping his voice and becoming suddenly serious.
He put his hand on my cheek, running his thumb over the moisture from my eyes, and he looked at me so earnestly that for a second, I thought maybe he was going to say it back to me.
And even though I want to hear it, I'm not sure I'm ready.
I'm not sure we're ready.
"You want to strike your statement from the record?" he asked at last.
"Not that…I mean, not because…it's just…shit, when did I forget how to talk?" I spouted in frustration.
"Jenn, it's okay. Just…save the thought, okay? Don't forget about it altogether."
"Not much chance of that," I assured him, relieved by his understanding.
"Good," he responded, and then he dropped his head again, settling it back in the crook of my neck, and I wrapped my arms around him and held him close.
We stayed there like that for a long time before finally deciding to go to bed.
Once we were back under the covers, I was wide awake.
Not only thinking about what I'd said, but thinking about what I didn't say.
He'd talked about his mom and his dad and growing up, and yet when it came to me, I avoided the hard topic, putting him off until later.
But when is later? And is that really fair of me?
"Mike?" I said softly, not wanting to wake him if he'd already fallen asleep.
"Hmm?"
"You asked about my parents," I began, and then I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I was really ready to proceed.
But he turned towards me, taking hold of my hand and sliding his fingers through mine and then he looked at me so sweetly...expectantly and with understanding...so I took a deep breath and then I jumped right in.
I told him what it was like for me, growing up under the thumb of a man besieged with disappointment.
And how my mother had walked away from both of us when I was only seven.
I was home when she packed her bag, and I knew she was leaving. I begged her to take me with her.
"You belong with him," she stated firmly.
"But why? He hates me."
"He wanted a child."
"He wanted a son," I argued, because even at that tender age, I was already painfully aware of that fact.
"And I wanted a fix for my marriage, but I didn't get that either," she retorted sharply. "Suck it up, Jennifer. Life is filled with disenchantment."
Those were her parting words, and that was the last time I saw her.
Up to that point, my father had distanced himself from me, leaving my mother to take care of me.
After she left, he stepped up.
I suppose I have to give him credit for that.
And he never blamed me for her departure, so that's another plus.
But he still never let me forget that I was a member of the weaker sex.
"When I turned sixteen, he paid a man to have sex with me."
"He did what?" Mike asked incredulously.
"I'm not kidding," I said, laughing lightly at the memory because the story didn't exactly go as my father planned. "He said that it's what he would've done for a son, so he wanted to give me a similar experience."
"Jenn, that's…crazy," he said at last. "I can't imagine any father doing that."
"He's rather unique," I said disparagingly.
"And it was a grown man? And he…you…"
"I didn't do it," I told him. "But yes, he was grown. Probably twenty-two or twenty-three…I'm not sure. He worked at my father's company, so I'm sure he was blackmailed into doing it."
"How'd you get out of it? Your father doesn't sound like the kind of guy who takes no for an answer."
"He's not. But…well…let's just say that I happily informed him that his gift wasn't necessary."
And of course, I said it as crudely as possible, too.
By that point, I took great pleasure in shocking him and piling on to his already overwhelming sense of dissatisfaction.
"You honestly think I'm a virgin?" I'd taunted. "Surely you've seen the studies about girls who don't get love from their fathers. We engage in risky behavior. Hell, I fucked half the football team by ninth grade."
He stood there staring at me, his face red with anger, but he didn't deny his lack of love.
Instead, he slapped me.
Hard.
Hard enough to knock me down, but I'm going to say that's only because it was unexpected.
In hindsight, I probably deserved it. That football team comment was over the top.
And untrue.
In fact, the whole statement was a lie. At the time, I was still a virgin, but I wasn't about to have my first time be with some guy who took money to sleep with me.
Fortunately for me, my sixteenth birthday coincided with the end of high school, which meant I could escape to college.
His college of choice, of course, but still…I was away from him.
"But I had a chip on my shoulder the size of a boulder," I admitted to Mike. "At SMU, I went through a phase when I used men just because I wanted to prove to myself that I was better, you know? I'm not a man…I'm better."
"How long did that phase last?"
"Long enough for me to earn a reputation," I said sadly. "Because even though I thought I was the one getting power from using guys just for sex, that's all they wanted from me, so…it was lose-lose for me."
"You were young, graduating high school at sixteen. And dealing with the emotional abuse from your father…it couldn't have been easy."
"No, but I'm not going to make excuses. Everyone has their crosses to bear, right?"
"True," he agreed.
"So…you have trouble investing because your mom never put down roots," I remarked. "And I have trouble accepting the idea that I'll ever need a man to be happy."
"You're not supposed to need one to be happy," he countered in a low, rumbling voice. "But wanting one…that's a different story. Then it's about choice rather than necessity."
I thought about that for a moment, thought about how much I want him.
And I don't mean sexually.
I mean, yeah, there's that. But he's so easy to talk to and fun to be around.
And like he said, wanting him doesn't make me weak, right?
Because it's about choice.
And yeah, my father's screwed with my head a little more than I'd like to admit…
We talked a little longer, moving on to lighter topics, until I could barely keep my eyes open, so I quit fighting the inevitable and drifted off to sleep.
The room was flooded with sunshine when I opened my eyes.
Not early-morning sun, either.
"What time is it?" I asked sleepily.
And then I realized that I was alone in the bed, and my disappointment at that knowledge made me think back to our talk last night.
Is it just want that I'm feeling?
Or is it truly need?
And even scarier yet, is it love, as I so recklessly spouted out in a moment of passion?
"You're awake," Mike said as he came into the room.
"How long have you been up? And what time is it? And why do you look so cheerful?" I groused.
"Five minutes. Eleven-thirty. And because for the second morning in a row, I woke up with a beautiful woman in my arms," he replied, climbing onto the bed and trapping me beneath the covers. "And I only got up so that I could turn on the coffee maker. Trust me. I was coming right back."
And then he gave me a good morning kiss that set my insides on fire.
"So what do you want to do today?" he asked, moving off of me so that he could pull back the blankets and lay down next to me.
"I've got an idea," I replied, rolling onto my side to face him.
"I bet you do," he responded as he reached out to trail his fingers over my hip.
"Will you say yes?" I asked coyly.
"As nervous as that makes me…yes," he answered, his lips quirking into a smile.
"Good. After being so lazy yesterday, I need to go for a run. So you'll go with me, right?"
He groaned in protest as I kissed him on the cheek and then got up from the bed.
"You said you'd say yes," I reminded him.
"Yeah, well…that's when I thought you were going to ask a different question."
"You're a lawyer. You're always supposed to know what the question's going to be," I joked. I pulled some clothes from my bag and then turned to look at him, where he was still stretched out on the bed. "I know you're in good shape. I'm looking at the proof of that."
"It's not that I can't run," he complained good-naturedly. "It's that I don't like to."
"Not even with me?" I asked suggestively.
"Two miles," he bargained as he finally got up from the bed.
"Four, tops," I countered.
"When's Lauren coming back?"
I barked out a laugh and said, "Tonight. You'll be off the hook after this."
Within twenty minutes of opening my eyes, we were out on the sidewalk, and considering how unlike me it is to spend a day in bed, breathing in the fresh air was especially rejuvenating.
Not that I'm complaining about yesterday.
Not one bit, actually. In fact, I wouldn't mind penciling it onto our calendar for next Saturday, too.
And the one after that.
"Ready?" I asked him after we each took a moment to do a bit of light stretching.
"No," he answered with a smile.
"I'll make it worth your while," I promised.
"Come on," he conceded, and we took off at a good clip in the direction of the courthouse. "It's a little less than a mile to the office."
"Uh huh. And if we head down to Battery Park from there, and then loop around towards the Hudson and come back up the west side…"
"Are you trying to kill me?"
"It'll only be four or five miles," I reasoned. "We'll go at your pace."
We settled into a comfortable rhythm and for a while, I enjoyed just listening to the sounds of the city combined with the steady pounding of our tennis shoes against the sidewalk.
For me, there's always been something relaxing about running. It helps clear my mind. Of course, it also keeps me in shape, which is a must in my line of work.
"I didn't get my Bachelor's degree until last year," he said, the topic coming from out of the blue and catching me by surprise.
"Um…okay. Then how did you get into law school?"
"It was a whole thing. My transcripts showed that I was missing a couple of credits when it came time to get my diploma, so they held it back. But I'd done the work. And surprisingly enough, a Bachelor's isn't required for admittance into law school. It didn't come into play until my interview with the board. My advisor told me not to worry about it, so I didn't, and then a year ago, it was brought to light during trial. By that same advisor, who was acting as opposing counsel."
"Ouch," I commiserated. "That's a low blow. What happened?"
"I had to go before the board and explain myself. Jack was ready to fire me. I could've lost my license...it was definitely a low point for me. But in the end, I managed to come out of it mostly unscathed. Well, except for my pride, of course."
"I'm sure. Having that happen in open court…"
"Exactly. But I got it straightened out. And I officially have my degree, by the way. Undergrad and law. It wasn't that I was trying to slip one past the board…"
And then it hit me why the situation had probably been even worse for him than it seemed at first glance.
"You felt like you were emulating your mother," I stated. "She was a con artist, and then you were caught, supposedly perpetrating a fraud…"
"Uh huh," he said, glancing at me with an odd expression on his face.
"It was a mistake, Mike. Not an effort to deceive."
"Yeah, I know. I had trouble dealing with it at the time, but…yeah. Anyway, there aren't very many people who know about that, but…I wanted you to know."
By this point, we were making our way through Battery Park, which was filled with people out enjoying the beautiful day.
"You want to take a break?" I offered, gesturing towards an empty bench.
"Are you quitting on me?" he asked, the seriousness from moments ago now gone from his face.
"I'm taking pity on you."
"I can go for miles, Austin," he asserted arrogantly. "Can you?"
And then he started running faster, easily moving ahead of me, so I picked up the pace, too.
"You're challenging the wrong girl, Counselor," I replied. "And it's still two miles back to your place."
"What do I get if I win?"
"Beat me and find out."
There was no way he was going to beat me, but we had fun pushing each other, racing along the sidewalks as we headed north back to Tribeca.
We sprinted the final block and despite my overblown sense of competitiveness, I let him win.
I know.
It surprised the hell out of me, too, because my entire life has been about proving myself, always being better, especially against the opposite sex.
But for some reason, watching him joyously gloat was even better than winning.
"You must've gone easy on me," he said as we went into his building. "You did, didn't you? Did you let me win?"
"You have to know me better than that by now," I deflected.
"Uh huh. But you know what? I don't care. What's my prize?"
"A shower," I said, pointedly looking him up and down.
He was sweaty, his shirt completely drenched and his hair damp, causing it to curl around his ears, and Lord almighty does he ever look sexy.
I mean seriously. It was all I could do not to jump him right out here in the lobby.
"What fun is that?" he asked huskily, clearly picking up on the look in my eyes.
"I'll take it with you."
So we went upstairs with the intent of taking a shower, but I'm telling you…something about him in those sweaty clothes, looking so masculine, made me not want to wait another second.
I was all over him as soon as we got into the apartment.
"So running is an aphrodisiac for you?" he managed to say as I pulled off his clothes.
"No, you are," I corrected. "Trust me. Lauren and I don't do this afterwards."
He hesitated for a moment and I laughed as I added, "You're trying to picture it, aren't you? Oh my God, you're such a guy."
"I'm pleading the fifth," he asserted, and then there was no more talking as we were down to skin on sweat-slicked skin.
It was passionate and feverish and oh so gratifying and by the time we finally made it into the shower, my legs felt like Jell-O.
"I think I'm going to have to go back to bed after this," I told him as we stood together beneath the pounding spray.
"It was your idea to run so many miles."
"It's not the run that did me in," I told him, and he flashed me a smile, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Although I suppose we should probably eat something to replace all those calories we burned."
"Want to go out or stay in?"
"Out. No, in. Out," I said, going back and forth rapidly. "In."
He laughed at my exaggerated indecision, and then we heard a sound that's been absent since Friday night.
And I hadn't missed it at all.
The ringing of the phone.
We finished up in the shower and then went to track down the source of the interruption.
"Connie," he told me as he stared at the display on his cell. "Give me a second to call her back."
I got dressed while he made the call, but after only a minute, I could hear his raised voice from down the hall.
"How the hell did that happen? Did you call her? Do they have any leads?"
I quickly trotted out to the living room where he was standing stock still with the phone to his ear.
"Keep trying. I will, too. Yeah, Connie. I know. We will."
He hung up, shaking his head as he dialed another number, and then he put the phone back to his ear and brought his eyes to mine.
"Flowers escaped. I have to call Lauren."
He had to leave her a message, and it was forty-five minutes before she called him back.
It felt like a lot longer than that, knowing we were getting ready to drop a bombshell on her, and even though I'd been starving before, I completely lost my appetite.
By the time he finished his conversation with Lauren, his face was etched with distress and misplaced guilt.
"It's not your fault," I said firmly.
Although I get how he feels, because I hate that this is happening, too. Lauren's the best friend I've had in a long time, which is sad considering the newness of our friendship, but it's still true, and I hate knowing how much she's surely upset by this.
"Maybe not," he agreed. "But that doesn't do much to help her, does it?"
"So what's this guy's deal? The lawyer was dirty, and now he's in jail, and coincidentally this guy manages to escape a few days later…he's in on it, isn't he? This Schmenke guy."
"It would make sense."
"He's in Pennsylvania? Or here?"
"He lives in Queens. Or at least, he did. He's in Rikers right now."
"So how did he come to be Flowers' lawyer?" I asked. "He didn't face any charges here before, did he?"
"No," he said thoughtfully. "Which means that they must've known each other before Flowers left the state."
"They have a past," I said with a nod. "Okay. Okay. Um…get dressed."
"Where are we going? Rikers?"
"No. Queens. I want to check out his place."
I'll give Mike credit.
He didn't argue with me.
I think he feels so powerless about this situation that he's willing to do whatever it takes.
Even if that whatever includes a little breaking and entering.
I didn't think of it as such when I suggested it, but as we walked up the rickety stairs to the front door of Schmenke's hole-in-the-wall apartment, I realized the reality of what we were about to do.
"What do you think we'll find?" he asked me quietly as he turned around and scanned the street.
A practiced lookout, it seems.
"I don't know. But this is where they picked him up, right?"
"Yeah."
"So maybe he didn't have time to hide…whatever. I'm sure the police would've confiscated his computer, but there might be…I don't know. Something."
"What makes you think so?"
"Think about it. Schmenke's on the inside now, in a different facility from Flowers. So either he had nothing at all to do with the escape or it was something they were planning anyway, before the arrest. And if he was working on it when he got arrested…"
He nodded his agreement to my line of thinking, but I paused for a moment, my pocketknife in my hand.
It's one thing for me to be doing this. I can probably talk my way out of trouble under the guise of searching for a potential fugitive. After all, I'm a marshal. We hunt fugitives. And no, it's not my case, but still…I'll be okay.
Mike has no business being here whatsoever.
"You know, if you just want to give me a few minutes, I can…"
"Do it. I'm coming in with you."
Four hours later, we sat across the table from Lauren and Bernard, and despite the news of the escape, the mood was upbeat.
Because of what we found at Schmenke's apartment.
"I'll pass the information along to Benson, and as the arresting officer, she can do a thorough – and legal – search of the apartment," Mike explained. "She'll find the evidence of the affair Schmenke had going on with the nurse at Frackville, along with the fake passport he had ready to slip to Flowers."
"And we've got a couple of bounty hunters sitting on the apartment, so when he shows up to pick up his credentials…" I added.
"This is great news," Lauren replied. "I'm just…wow. I can't believe this."
"See? You worried for nothing," Bernard said, nudging her with his shoulder until she broke into a grin.
"Well, I never considered the fact that my friends would commit a felony for me. B & E guys? Really? What if you'd gotten caught?"
"Please," I said with a dismissive wave. "You think this was my first rodeo?"
Mike looked at me with curiosity, but Lauren started laughing.
"There's a Texas joke in there somewhere," she said. "So, have you guys talked to Connie? I tried calling her after the plane landed, but it went to voice mail."
"I got in touch with her after we left Schmenke's place, so she's up to speed," Mike told her.
"Good. Okay," she said, letting out a long breath. "This is such a relief. I mean, he's still not back in custody, but…"
"It's only a matter of time," I finished. "And you talked to Mulder?"
"I did. He sounded a little distracted. I guess he's still in Boston, or at least he was earlier today when we talked. But anyway, he insisted that he'll be careful."
She looked like she was going to say more, but she didn't, although I can guess where her thoughts were going.
Flowers doesn't mess with men. He goes after unsuspecting, vulnerable women because he's a fucking coward.
We talked about Schmenke for a few minutes more, and then the waitress brought our drinks and the topic shifted to lighter subjects for the remainder of the evening.
"What a day, huh?" Mike remarked as we took a cab back to his place.
We hadn't discussed whether or not I would stay the night. I mean, it's a work night, so maybe it's not such a good idea to get in the habit, but still…I'm not ready to go home.
"You're not kidding. And work tomorrow, bright and early."
"I don't envy you," he remarked.
"You have to go into the office, too, right?" I asked, not sure what he meant.
"Oh yeah. But I don't have to work with someone just coming back from the Bahamas. Mary's going to be crabbier than usual, I'm sure."
"Yeah, well, I might be, too. I mean, I didn't go to the Bahamas, but I still hate for this weekend to end."
"It's not over yet," he said, leaning over to say the words into my ear.
And just the sound of his voice brought back that flurry of butterflies, and I realized that never once in my life have I spent forty-eight hours straight with a lover.
At least not without wanting to kill him.
I'm not sure where the lack of homicidal urges falls into my categories.
Want.
Need.
Love.
But I'm also not sure that I need to put a label on it just yet.
"Stay the night?" he asked in a husky whisper. Then he backed off slightly and added, "I mean, if you want…"
Okay, so I can at least put that label on it.
"I want to very much."
The End
A/N: Okay, so I guess this officially number 2 of a 3-part series of oneshots post-TMC. Mary and John will be up next, and then I'll probably start the sequel, although at a slower pace, since I'm still working on other projects, but for some reason, I can't leave this world alone.
A/N2: Tremendous thanks to guitar73girl for her beta work on this story. You don't want to know what it looked like before she got her hands on it. Oh, and she recently updated "All About Him" - if you haven't checked it out yet, go take a peek. It's an excellent read!