Thank you for your continued interest. I appreciate it.
I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own It Had to be You.
Mercedes found Andrea at her desk in Town Hall, typing away on her computer, her brow furrowed.
"Does everyone always work on the weekends?" she asked.
"Just the lucky ones," Andrea said, as she looked up and took in Mercedes' hair with assessing eyes. "You're supposed to use that anti-frizz every day."
Mercedes ran a hand down her hair and grimaced.
"I forgot today. Listen, I have a question."
"No, I'm not still doing my boss."
"I actually wasn't going to ask that. Although, I'm kinda wondering, why you still work for him."
It was Andrea's turn to grimace.
"It's a good job," she said. "And, I can resist him," she said, though she didn't really look one hundred percent sure. "Listen, I'm pretty busy, so..."
"Is there anyone else?" Mercedes asked, cutting her off.
"Excuse me?"
Mercedes moved closer and leaned in.
"I'm wondering, if there's anyone else that Brody is seeing. Other than you and Mandy."
Andrea looked at her for a long time, then said,
"You seem to have someone particular in mind."
"Maybe."
Andrea arched a perfectly waxed brow and looked like she might have something to say, but James walked by with a mop.
At his presence, both women remained quiet, until the hallway was empty again.
"We can't talk here," Andrea said.
"I know. Just tell me you know something."
"I do...but, it's not concrete."
"Would you be willing to call me if that changes?" Mercedes asked.
"You mean if the couch gets put into use again, something like that?" Andrea asked.
"Yeah."
At that, Andrea went pensive, then sighed.
"Damn, I really like this job."
Sam drove into town and found Sheriff Luke at his desk, his head down on his arms.
"Bad day?" he asked.
"Some high school punks drove all the way up to Mt. Hood...three hours each way...loaded up fifteen truckloads of snow, drove it all the way back into town, and packed in all the doors to the school last night. Not yesterday afternoon. Not after dinner...but, at three a.m. So summer school detention had to be cancelled today."
"Could be worse," Sam said.
The sheriff lifted his head and blinked bleary-eyed at him.
"I'm afraid to ask," he said.
"I think Bethany Reyes stole the fifty grand," Sam declared.
Sheriff Luke stared at him and then silently handed him his empty coffee mug.
Sam took it, walked down the hall to the service table, filled it with straight, hair-raising black, and brought it back to the sheriff's office.
The sheriff took the mug from Sam, took a sip, winced, and then drank some more.
With his eyes far more sharp now, he looked at Sam.
"What the fuck?" he asked, to Sam's earlier statement.
Sam opened his mouth, but Sheriff Luke stood up and said,
"No, wait. Not here."
They both headed out in the sheriff's utility vehicle, while Sam gave him the rundown.
"Jesus," Sheriff Luke said and called the mayor.
"Hey, Manny. Yeah, we did. It was a great turnout at the ground-breaking ceremony earlier. Listen, what's Bethany up to? She busy?"
He paused, listening.
"I just wanted to talk to her about redecorating my office...I understand. Tell her, I hope her mom's feeling better real soon."
He slid his phone away.
"Bethany has gone to her mom's place in Ocean Shores for a few days."
"Ocean Shores," Sam repeated. "Her mom lives in Ocean Shores. Where the next closest nail salon is. We should..."
The sheriff held up a hand, pulled over and used his smartphone to find the number and make the call.
When he hung up, he looked at Sam.
"Bethany is a client there, and they said she has gotten blue, starred nail tips before."
He pulled back onto the street, made a few turns, and stopped about halfway down a street, pointing to a duplex on the corner.
"Wesson's new place," he said.
Sam looked, but there was no activity.
Sheriff Luke turned off his vehicle.
"Wesson cancelled a meeting with me. He said he wasn't feeling good. Think that's a coincidence?"
"I don't believe in coincidences," Sam said.
"Me either," the sheriff replied.
"So what are we doing?" Sam asked.
"You forget what a stakeout looks like?"
"No." Sam slouched in his seat. "But a heads up would've been nice. We don't have any food."
Sheriff Luke leaned forward and opened his glove box. Inside was a treasure trove of candy bars and other crap food.
"Nice," Sam said, helping himself.
Half an hour later, the mail carrier worked her way down the street. And two minutes after that, Brody Wesson's front door opened.
He appeared in boxers and an opened bathrobe.
"He's dressed like he's sick," the sheriff said.
'Or like someone who'd just gotten laid,' Sam thought, but said,
"Only pussies wear bathrobes."
"I have a bathrobe. The wife bought it for me," the sheriff said.
Sam looked at him and asked,
"Cassie bought you a bathrobe?"
"Yes. It's from one of those fancy day spas."
"You ever wear it?"
"Hell no!"
"I stand by my point."
Brody stepped outside, but before he got anywhere, a man's necktie came around his neck from behind.
In the sheriff's vehicle, both he and Sam tensed for action, but then, the shadowy figure behind Brody, materialized into the shape of a woman.
She wore a black leather bustier, matching thong, and thigh-high, stiletto boots.
It was Bethany Reyes, the mayor's wife, the one supposedly visiting her sick mom.
She slapped Brody's ass and then pulled him back inside by the tie, slamming the door shut.
"Jesus!" the sheriff said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I don't think I can un-see that."
That evening, Mercedes stood at the work table in the garage, completely lost, in the cool, wet clay.
In the zone, she worked and shaped, using her sensory skills, instead of her brain, so she could just be.
She heard the truck pull into the driveway, so when someone came up behind her, she knew it was Sam.
He didn't touch her, but she doubted a piece of paper could fit between them.
"You want to play Ghost?" she murmured.
He stepped into her, brushing up against her, so that she could feel his erection.
"Do I feel like a ghost to you?" he softly asked.
She turned and faced him and felt her heart tug at the sight of him, soaking up the sight of her.
"I need a shower," she said, gesturing to the front of her, which was a mess.
"Funny. So do I."
'Don't get sidetracked by his hunkiness,' she told herself. 'He's hiding it pretty well, but he's pissed at something.'
Mercedes felt her gut tightened a little bit, and maybe her heart too. Sam let her see the real man, something she knew he shared with few people.
"You okay?" she asked.
"I was with Sheriff Luke. We saw Bethany Reyes at Wesson's new place."
Mercedes could tell that there was a whole lot more to this story.
"And?" she asked.
"And...it was a...compromising situation."
"Compromising how?" she asked.
"Compromising."
She looked up into his face.
"Just tell me, Sam. Were they naked, rolling around on fifty thousand dollars in cash?"
"Not quite naked, and no cash. But Bethany was...taking charge. I'm pretty sure, Wesson is tied up with his own necktie about now."
Mercedes' jaw dropped.
"Seriously?" she asked.
Sam lifted a hand, like Boy Scout's honor. Except, there was no way Sam Evans had ever been a Boy Scout.
She drew in a breath.
"So, we've linked the mayor's wife and the town clerk to an illicit...and what might or might not be a BDSM...affair." She shuddered. "It has a high ick factor, but it's not necessarily illegal."
"True," Sam agreed. "Now, we've got to smoke out the money."
"How?"
"If she's got it," Sam started, "She's hiding it somewhere. Not in a bank account, but somewhere accessible. Holding it over Wesson's head."
He stepped close, crowding Mercedes.
"All we have to do, is catch her with it," he added.
"Oh, well, if that's all," Mercedes said, a bit sarcastically.
Sam gently pulled her in.
"Careful," she warned, "I'm covered in clay."
"Mercedes, the police are going to announce, there's an arrest imminent."
She went still, even as her heart began to pound.
"They've already done that," she said.
"Yes, except this time, they're going to leak...that it isn't you."
Mercedes let out a breath.
"Okay. I like the sound of that. Keep going."
"Bethany is under surveillance," Sam said.
"You think she's going to move the money..."
"I know it," he said. "It's what I would do, if I'd just gone from scot-free and in the clear, to guilty as hell. I'd get rid of the evidence."
He stroked the hair back from Mercedes' eyes, letting his fingers linger on her.
Yesterday, she would have been touched by the sweet gesture. But right now, sad and aching for him, it just hurt...and pissed her off.
He'd stood by her, believed in her when others hadn't, let her stay, when all he wanted was to be alone...and yet, he was leaving tomorrow.
And as attentive and wonderful as he'd been, he hadn't said one word about seeing her again.
In sudden overload, Mercedes poked Sam's chest with a clay-covered finger.
"Hey," he said.
She did it again, getting clay on his white T-shirt.
"Stop that!"
She didn't.
"Mercedes..." He caught her wrist, when she went to poke him a third time. "Stop."
"Right. I'll just stop. I'll stop caring about you..." 'Stop wanting you, stop loving you.'
Except, she couldn't seem to manage any of that.
And once again, she was going down with the sinking ship that was her heart.
But she wasn't going down quietly.
Nope, not this time.
With her free hand, she scooped up a fingerful of the soft clay off the table and streaked it across Sam's chest.
He stared at her, easily catching her other hand as well.
"What the hell's gotten into you?" he asked.
"You said you like to keep things real, but you don't," she said. "You wear your cynicism, better than you do your badge. I get that you do it, to keep your heart protected from whatever's going on, but what's going on, is that we're falling for each other."
She couldn't blame him for staring at her, like she'd just announced she had two heads.
She hadn't meant to let that slip, but it was out there now and she couldn't, wouldn't, take it back.
"Mercedes," Sam said quietly. "I told you..."
"Yeah, yeah, you told me."
She was tired of his calm steadiness.
Did he ever lose it?
Why wasn't he losing it like she was?
He was still holding her, and instead of trying to pull away, she stepped into him.
Her sole intent, was to cover him with more clay until she felt better, a plan that utterly backfired, because it put her up against him.
Which she liked way too much, and which of course, was the problem.
"Yes," she said, "You told me. You told me plenty. I guess, I don't listen very well. It's a Jones trait, you know. Denial. And I'm damn good at it."
"I don't want to ever hurt you, Mercedes."
"You're hurting me now."
Sam let out a long breath, released her hands, and then made the mistake of closing his eyes.
At that, Mercedes slapped some more clay on his chest...with both hands this time...and turned back for more clay.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.
"Fighting dirty...unlike you. You won't fight at all. You play clean and safe."
"You think I play clean and safe?" he asked, his voice deadly calm. Not his eyes, though. His eyes were fired up, as he grabbed two fistfuls of clay.
"You know what?" she asked quickly, raising her hands. "Uncle."
"Too late."
Sam stalked her slowly and surely, on legs far more steady than hers, and then hooked her leg so fast, she never saw it coming.
She fell right onto his grandma's sheet-covered beanbag chair, and before she could scramble free, he was on her, pinning her down, running his hands from her throat to her ankles, spreading clay all over her body.
"I can't believe you did that!" Mercedes squeaked.
And Sam rose in one fluid motion, satisfaction unmistakable on his face.
He took a step back, but slipped in a puddle of water she'd spilled earlier, while softening the clay, and went down on his ass...hard.
Mercedes scrambled to her knees and crawled to him.
"God. God, Sam. Are you okay?"
"No. I think I broke my ego."
Relief making her giddy, Mercedes dropped her head to Sam's chest and laughed.
And immediately, his hands came up and possessively gripped her butt.
"I'm not playing clean or safe, Mercedes. Not with you. And that's the problem. I'm feeling things I shouldn't be feeling."
And then he rolled them, tucking her beneath him.
"There's something else you're feeling," she said.
"No kidding."
He rocked into her, his eyes intense and glittering with heat, and a forearm on either side of her head.
And the overhead light caressed the tough, sinewy lines of his body, emphasizing the flexed muscles of his shoulders and biceps.
Around them, the air felt charged.
And there was a soft vibration just beneath Mercedes' skin...the hum of anticipation that spread warmth through her, settling into her good spots.
She let her eyes drift over Sam's face, letting the hunger for him show.
And her need...which showed in spades.
Whispering her name, Sam lowered his head, brushing his mouth along her jaw to her ear.
"You kill me. You know that, right?"
Wrapping her legs around him, so that he was settled between her thighs, Mercedes arched up.
This was it, she realized. Their last night together.
"It's a good way to go," she murmured.
Choking out a low laugh, Sam cradled her head in his hands, his fingers entangling in her hair.
"Not on the floor."
He rose, and pulled her up.
"Okay," she said, and looked pointedly at the workbench.
She was assessing it for sturdiness when he choked out another low laugh and pressed up against her back.
"Still killing me," he said, pulling her back around, so that now, the smooth steel of the table hit her at the lowest curve of her butt. "Like this. I want to watch you come."
He hoisted her up, so she was seated on the table.
Next, his hands ran up her legs, settling on her inner thighs, before slowly pressing them open, so he could step between.
Lowering his head, he concentrated on removing her apron, swearing when he had trouble with the knot.
"This wasn't my intent tonight," he said, and giving up on the string, he tore it with his hands, giving her a little thrill, deep in her belly.
"It's not your fault," she murmured. "Clay is sexy."
He laughed low and rough.
"I'm pretty sure it's you, Mercedes."
Mercedes took in a deep, slow breath, smelling the wet clay and the scent of clean, heated male.
And experienced a wave of desire that had her quivering.
When Sam finally freed her of the apron, he tossed it over his shoulder.
Her sundress followed shortly, and then her bra.
"God, you're beautiful."
He snagged her bikini panties and slid them down her legs, leaving her in nothing but mud boots.
And a lot of clay.
A ragged groan rumbled from Sam's chest.
"This is my favorite look on you," he said, taking Mercedes in, from his prime position between her dangling legs, which were spread and held open by his lean hips. "It's like a feast."
He bent over her, a hand on either side of her hips.
"And I am starving," he finished.
Sam kissed first one breast and then the other, lingering to nuzzle.
His jeans were rubbing against Mercedes' inner thighs and between, making her shiver.
There was something incredibly erotic and completely sinful, about being naked and sprawled out for him, while he was still fully dressed.
Even more so, when he dropped to his knees on the garage floor and used his mouth.
She might have come right off the table, but he caught her hips in his big hands, holding her in place, so he could devastate her with slow, purposeful care.
It took an embarrassingly little amount of time, but Mercedes completely fly apart.
Even less the second time.
And then, he was inside her.
Wrapping his arms around her, Sam lifted her, so that they were chest to chest, and began a slow, delicious glide in and out of her body.
"How?" she managed, breathless. "How is this better every single time? Is it because we don't want it to be?"
Latching his lips onto her throat, he shook his head.
The gentle tugs of his mouth, sent shock waves straight through her, and she cried out and clutched at him, tightening around him.
"Oh fuck, Mercedes" he growled, tightening his grip. "I'm not going to last if you keep that up."
But she did it again.
And in retaliation, he nipped at her shoulder, her collarbone, and the swell of her breast, wrenching a moan from her, as heat and pleasure spiraled.
Somehow, she managed to open her eyes and watch the intensity on his face, as he moved inside her, which proved to be her undoing.
Sam came with her this time, hard, shuddering, as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.
She trembled, little aftershocks of pure pleasure, and he tightened his grip in a soothing, protective embrace.
His heat seeped through her, consuming her, until she felt like she might burst again, as he breathed her in, nuzzling, kissing, and nibbling her throat, jaw and ear.
Just loving her.
Not that he'd admit it.
Unable to help herself, Mercedes clung to Sam for a few minutes, trying to remember everything about this moment.
Everything.
And he let her cling for long moments, as if he felt the same.
Finally, he raised his head and met her gaze.
She knew he was checking to see if she was okay, so she reached up, brought his face back to hers, and kissed him.
Because she wasn't okay.
He was leaving.
Stay safe!