He thought he was making me feel trapped.
He wasn’t letting me go because he wanted to, because I’d final y convinced him I wasn’t good enough for him, because I was annoying and stubborn, because I was a nut or because my mother cal ed out to Sweet Jesus.
He was letting me go so I could, final y, feel free.
Oh… my… God.
He was such a good guy.
The thing that I thought had started unraveling inside me tightened up.
Then steel bands slid across it and locked it into place.
“Whisky?” I cal ed.
“Yeah?”
I took a deep breath.
Then I took a scary plunge.
“I think I’ve changed my mind,” I said.
I felt his body grow tight.
“I think…” I whispered, “I don’t want you to let me go.” I’d barely got out the “go” when Hank rol ed me over, rol ed on top of me and Shamus jerked and jumped off the bed as he kissed me.
He went straight into one of his make-me-dizzy, ful on tongue, brains scrambling, hands everywhere Hank Nightingale kisses.
One of my arms wrapped around him and my other hand slid into his hair. I pushed off with a foot and rol ed him over, getting on top, laying kisses down on his neck, col arbone and I started down his chest when he yanked me up and rol ed me back. He got on top of me again and kissed me, his hands sliding my nightie up to my waist and then beginning to pul my panties down.
It was then my phone rang.
We both stil ed.
We listened to it ring until it stopped.
Hank’s hands slid back up my hips, slow, not starting anything, waiting.
Then my phone rang again.
“Fuck,” he muttered and shifted, moving to turn on the light.
Stil under him, I twisted, grabbed my bag off the nightstand and snatched out my phone as the light came on.
It said, “Unknown number”.
I flipped it open. “Hel o?”
“Were you fuckin’ him?”
My body tensed.
Hank was mostly on top of me and looking down at me.
“Bil y?” I said.
Instantly, Hank rol ed away from me and knifed off the bed. I came up on my elbow and watched as he tagged his phone from the nightstand at the same time grabbing his jeans. Bil y talked in my ear.
“Were you fuckin’ him? Is he touchin’ you now, you bitch?”
“Bil y, where are you?” I was watching Hank. He’d hit a few buttons on the phone and it was tucked into his neck while he pul ed on his jeans.
“Fuck you, Roxie. Fuck you and fuck Detective Hank Nightingale.”
“You listening?” I heard Hank say into his phone.
“Is that him? What’s he saying, the fuck,” Bil y said in my ear.
“Bil y, you’re in trouble. Desmond Harper’s men are after you,” I told him.
Hank looked at me, nodded and gave me an encouraging wink.
I felt relief flood through me. I was doing the right thing by keeping him talking.
“Harper’s boys are behind bars,” Bil y said.
“That was the other ones, he’s sent more after you. Bil y, you have to go. You have to get out of town. Harper wants his money back. He’s going to find you.”
“How do you know this shit? God dammit! Did Detective Nightingale tel you?” Bil y asked.
“Bil y –”
“What else has he been tel in’ you? Don’t believe him, Roxie. Don’t believe a thing out of that lyin’ pig’s mouth.” I sat up straight.
Um… I did not think so.
“Don’t you cal Hank a pig!” I snapped.
“Don’t defend him to me, you whore.”
Now, this was how I was used to fighting.
I threw the covers back and shot out of bed.
“Don’t cal me a whore,” I yel ed.
“You left my bed two weeks ago, you bitch. Now you’re fuckin’ some cop. That’s the goddamned definition of whore!”
“It was my bed, you idiot. You were my roommate and for some stupid reason, do not ask me why, I let you sleep there.”
“You let… you let me sleep there? You were beggin’ for it when I first met you.”
“I was begging for it? You have a creative memory, Bil y.” Even Bil y, completely unhinged, couldn’t fight that one.
“I wasn’t your fuckin’ roommate. You’re my woman!”
“I haven’t been your woman for three years, you moron!” I shouted.
“How you figure that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I got sarcastic. “Maybe it was when I put your shit in the hal and changed the locks. Or, when I left you, like a billion times, writing you a note saying it was over. Or, maybe it was when I didn’t let you put your filthy, stinking hands on me for the last eighteen months! That’s how I figure it!” I shrieked While I was yel ing, there was a knock on the door. Hank kept the phone in the crook of his neck, buttoned up his jeans and opened it. Mom and Dad stood there, Dad wearing his jammies, Mom tightly bundled in a robe. Hank stopped them from saying anything by lifting a hand and they stared at me, their faces worried.