Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Head Over Heels.
Mercedes had no idea how it'd happened, that she'd ended up trying to climb Sam's body, but she blamed his mouth. One hundred percent.
"I'm over men," she said out loud, so that she might hear it, believe it and have it sink in.
Sam didn't say anything.
He just looked at her with the same intense expression on his face that he'd worn, when he'd kissed her, which made her want to beg for another kiss.
Instead, she clamped her lips to keep them to herself. But as it turned out, she wasn't good at holding her tongue.
"It's nothing personal," she said, "But as a whole, men haven't proven themselves all that reliable." She paused. "No offense."
"None taken."
"It isn't going to be a hardship..." she said, "...to be over men."
Sam gave her an almost smile.
"Hence the vibrator?"
Mercedes felt her face heat.
"Okay, I didn't lie before. That really was a gag gift. And it's not like sex isn't…enjoyable or anything. It just tends to lead to bad decisions on my part."
"I can respect that," he said. "But for the record, sex, when it's done right, is a hell of a lot more than enjoyable."
Her body was still tingling from his kisses, so it wasn't much of a stretch to believe, that he could make sex far more than enjoyable.
"One more thing," he said.
She looked into his deep green eyes.
"Not all men will disappoint you," he said. "I don't mean me. Because I will absolutely disappoint you. But we're not all assholes, Mercedes. I can promise you that."
She held his gaze, the man who'd let her stay in his house, the man who'd come for her no questions asked, not even 'are you guilty?' which meant, he'd already done more for her than most of the men in her life.
She was still staring at him when her phone rang.
"Ohmigod, Mercy," Andrea said. "They brought you in for questioning? Why? How? What the hell happened?"
"Well," Mercedes said, "Apparently, after you let me into Brody's office, I stole the fifty big ones."
"Did you?"
"No!"
Sam reached over and hit END, disconnecting her call.
Mercedes stared at him.
"Why did you do that?" she asked.
"You shouldn't discuss the case with anyone," he said. "And especially don't joke about stealing the money."
"But that was Andrea, Brody's assistant."
"I don't care if it was the Easter Bunny."
"She's nice. She's the one who let me into his office the second time. She…" Mercedes broke off, her mind suddenly racing.
"She what?" Sam asked.
And Mercedes met his gaze.
"She asked me to make sure, to never tell anyone that she'd let me in."
Sam's eyes turned sharp.
"You're friends?"
"Not the go out and share sushi kind, but yeah. It's more the 'your dress is pretty, where did you get it' sort."
Sam shook his head.
"Was that in English?" he asked.
"We're friends," she clarified.
"Did you know they found a toe ring in Wesson's couch?"
"Yes," she said. "The cops asked me about it, but it wasn't mine."
"And it's not Mandy's either. So whose is it? And is the owner fifty thousand dollars richer this week?"
Mercedes shook her head.
"I don't know." She'd been going over and over this in her head until it spun. "I saw the money at the auction like everyone else. The next day, I cleaned up the hall and carried out all the floral arrangements. Then I remembered the pencil pot I'd made Brody and for some reason, I couldn't leave it there, so I went in to take it back. But it wasn't on his desk."
"Where was it?"
She paused, remembering how embarrassed she'd been to find it buried.
"In his credenza."
Sam blew out a breath.
"You went through his things?"
"Yes, but I never saw the money. I grabbed the pot and left. I didn't know the bill wrapper was there until the police found it, and I sure as hell don't know where the money is. I'm thinking, Brody framed me."
"Is there any reason, he'd want to stop the building of the new rec center?"
"I can't imagine why. It's his baby, a feather in his cap. And he likes feathers in his cap." She shook her head. "I've never seen him lose it like he did this morning. He was…"
"Scared," Sam said.
Mercedes nodded.
"Yeah. I think he really believes I stole the money."
"It does have a woman scorned feel to it."
She didn't say anything to that, not wanting to know if he thought her capable of being that scorned woman.
"I'm meeting my lawyer tomorrow."
"Who?" Sam asked.
"Artie Abrams." She watched as he pulled out his cell phone. "He's an old high school friend," she told him. "What are you doing?"
"How old is he? He looks twelve," Sam said, showing her the screen.
He'd brought up Artie's Facebook profile, where indeed his pic revealed a young-faced Artie, clearly fresh from a haircut, since he had a ring of pale skin across his forehead and the tips of his ears.
His latest status update...from an hour ago...indicated he was at a sports bar in L.A.
Hooters.
"He's there for business," Mercedes murmured. "You're pretty quick with the research. I know you went back to your laptop. What else did you find out about me?"
Sam just looked at her.
"Come on," she said. "You're an off-duty detective, and I got taken from your house for questioning, about missing money. What else did you dig up about me?"
Sam shrugged.
"A few things."
"Like what? That I hated elementary school so much, I used to hide at the park and my mom had to take off work and come find me?"
"You were a decent student though," he said. "And you took dance."
"I loved dance," she murmured. "But I quit early. I had no coordination."
He slid her a look, knowing she was fibbing.
"Or you were worried about the cost," he said.
'Or that,' she thought.
"You moved around a lot," he said. "There's a few gaps in the known addresses."
Mercedes slid down a little farther in the seat.
Yeah, there'd been gaps, which matched her mom's gaps in income, when they'd bunked on friends' couches here and there.
"Sometimes my mom would lose jobs if she couldn't keep certain hours. Or…whatever."
He nodded. There was no judgment on his face. And, thankfully, no pity.
She hated going back there in her mind, but she hated even more, that he knew so much about her.
"What else?" she wanted to know.
"You applied to transfer to several different state schools, even getting into a few of them," Sam said, "But you didn't go. No word why, though I can guess."
Mercedes felt a horrifying burning behind her lids.
"You're thorough," she managed.
He shrugged.
She wasn't sure what that meant, but decided she didn't want to know.
"Tell me about Artie," Sam said.
"We went to high school together. He's a good lawyer."
"Yeah?" He slid her a look. "How long has he been practicing?"
Mercedes hesitated.
"How long, Mercedes?"
She sighed and said,
"Okay, he just passed the bar."
Sam's mouth tightened.
"You need someone who knows what they're doing."
"Artie does," she said. But really hoped. "And it's not like I've been arrested."
'But you could be…'
She knew he was thinking this, but thankfully it went unsaid.
"Where to, Mercedes?"
She knew she should come up with a plan, but suddenly she couldn't speak.
Reaching out, Sam pulled something from her hair.
Dried clay.
He let his fingers linger, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I've already asked," he said very quietly, and very seriously. "But I'm going to ask again. Are you okay?"
Mercedes had no idea, but she suspected no.
No, she wasn't okay, not even a little bit.
She'd been unceremoniously dumped, made homeless, and could be arrested at any moment.
To sum it up, it'd been a craptastic week.
But hell if she'd say it.
She couldn't say it, really, since the lump in her throat had grown to the size of a regulation football.
So she nodded instead, acting perfectly okay.
But she could feel the heat and strength of him, and for one shocking moment, she wanted to crawl into his lap and lay her head down on his shoulder.
She wanted to burrow in and feel his arms close around her again. She wanted to feel the brush of his rough jaw, as he pressed it to hers and whispered silly little nothings in her ear.
She wanted him to tell her everything will be alright.
But he didn't do any of that.
Because he didn't want to be involved.
She suspected it was his greatest wish to just be left alone, which, of course, was pretty much the opposite of her wish.
"You can drop me at the B and B," Mercedes said.
"Stay with me," Sam said softly. "But you should understand, that there are things you don't know about me."
"Are you an axe murderer?" she asked.
"No."
"You beat up old ladies?"
"No. Jesus, Mercedes."
"Do you call your mom every once in a while?" she asked.
Something came and went in his eyes. The very slightest glimmer of amusement.
"Yes."
"Then I know enough," she said.
"You don't know that there are death threats being lobbed at me."
This had her taking a beat.
"Seriously?"
Sam nodded.
"I think it's probably just the average, run-of-the-mill nut-job news junkie, but I can't be sure."
"That's okay," Mercedes said. "There's something you don't know about me either." She smiled proudly. "I'm a three-time, sharpshooter North Bend champion."
"You're an...arcade champion?"
"Three time," she repeated. "Missed that in your research, didn't you? I can shoot all my ducks in a row, ask anyone. Ask Mason, he runs the sweet shop next to the arcade. I beat him just last week on a break."
Sam laughed softly.
"Well in that case..."
Mercedes smiled, but his faded and he shook his head.
"This isn't a joke, Mercedes."
"As I'm all too well aware," she said quietly. "Look, thanks for the accommodations. I'll pull my weight, I promise."
He looked a little taken aback at the statement.
Did he do all the giving in every aspect of his life?
If so, it made her ache for him, because she understood. She'd found this common ground between them, and it felt both unsettling and comforting.
She was going to have to get over that.
And him.
Stay safe!
