Captured Again (2 page)

She definitely wasn’t feeling drunk now. If the finality of being arrested hadn’t sobered her up, her throbbing toes did. The officer gently turned her back around without a word, leading her to his car. She tried not to limp under his stare. She couldn’t believe she was actually going to be arrested, and she was seriously pissed.

At the patrol car, waiting for him to open the door, her shoulders slumped forward, and she looked down at her feet, guilt washing over her for going out tonight and for drinking, always...
always
a bad idea for her, but especially right now. She wished for the thousandth time she’d have just given in to Rickey when he’d asked her to hang out with him and see a movie. If only she had, she might be home right now, where she should be, curled up on her couch—safe and out of trouble.

This would be her first time going to jail. Her face felt the burn as heat followed her shame.

CHAPTER 2

After
stuttering through her Miranda rights, all of which Emma seemed to indifferently ignore, Officer Rowan guided her into the car, his hand hovering over her head to be sure she didn’t bump it going in. Completely unconscious of what he was doing, his hand floated down, cradling the back of her head, as though it had a mind of its own. He’d wanted to sink his fingers into her hair since the moment he first saw her. Realizing his mistake, he quickly jerked back his hand.

He could feel the heat in his cheeks as he looked down at her, waiting for her to settle in, and watched her gather up her hair, pulling it over to one side and bringing it around to her front, keeping it off of the back of the seat. She leaned forward, and he caught a glimpse of her tat—a scarlet dragonfly—completely bared by the thin straps and low back of the sundress she wore, innocently revealed by the graceful sweep of her hair—
beautiful
, almost magical. He didn’t have any tattoos of his own and really wasn’t into them... usually. But he was drawn to this one and all conscious thought of what he was doing disappeared for a moment.

Emma settled herself, leaning back and daintily crossing her legs—now drawing his eyes to the tops of her tan, bare calves peeking out from her boots—and pulling the skirt of her dress over her naked thighs as she leaned back against the seat and then looked up at him hovering outside the door, staring down at her. She was stunning, tiny... and breathtaking.

Emma stared back at him, not blinking. “So are you taking me in or what?”

Officer Rowan shook his head, smiling at her consistent indignant attitude that conflicted with the elegant way she’d settled herself in, as if he were her driver taking orders from her.
There’s a lot of layers to this chick
, he thought.

“Yes, ma’am, Miss Daisy, I’ll be happy to drive you,” he joked, receiving nothing but a scowl in return for his efforts.

After making sure she was buckled in, he shut her door and hurried around to the driver’s side. He almost chuckled, thinking back to her last little display of temper. He was surprised she hadn’t fallen on her rump with that kick, but he’d stayed close enough to catch her if she’d lost her footing... and wouldn’t have minded doing just that. She was a little spitfire at just twenty years old and barely over five feet tall—according to her driver’s license.

He was glad his dash-cam had stopped working the week before and the requisition process for a new one was so tedious and drawn out; he’d hate for his superior officers to see how much he’d let her get away with and how many do-overs he’d allowed her.

The moment Emma had rolled down her window and he’d looked into those piercing blue eyes framed by her dark hair, she’d mesmerized him. He remembered pulling his eyes away long enough to see that her tiny hands gripping the steering wheel were naked—no ring.

She had failed the first few sobriety tests, and he could’ve taken her in right then, but it was as though she’d put a spell on him. He’d enjoyed watching her wobble around in her sexy little dress and shit-kickers, as they were called back in Tennessee, where his family was originally from, and he’d really hoped she could convince him she was sober. He could have followed her the two miles to her apartment, just to be sure she’d made it safely, and possibly ended it with an exchange of phone numbers. Between his job and finishing his degree in criminal justice, he rarely had time to date, but for a girl like this one, he’d have made the time.

But after the Breathalyzer, there was no doubt. She’d proven to him, and herself, that she’d broken the law, no matter that it was just barely over the limit. His department had zero tolerance for drinking and driving. His job—and possibly saving lives—was more important than scoring with a hot girl. If he let her go, she’d probably do it again. He couldn’t take that risk. It wasn’t his job to teach lessons, but it was his job to prevent drunk driving accidents.

He glanced into his rearview mirror. Emma was biting her lip—but not crying. He had to hand it to her, most girls her age would be sobbing by now. He watched as she held her head high and didn’t shed a tear, accepting her consequence with poise. He had to concentrate on keeping his eyes on the road instead of the sensual pull of her front teeth nibbling her lip that kept drawing his eyes back to the mirror. He felt like shit having to take this girl in... and even worse, he knew he’d probably blown any chance he had with her.

He cleared his throat, swallowing repeatedly, and tried to clear his head.

“So... Emma, I heard you on the phone. Celebrating Independence Day, huh?” he asked over the constant squawk and chatter on the police radio, feeling an unusual—and unprofessional—need to break the deafening silence between them on their ride to the station and make her feel a little more comfortable. “Holidays are the worst for getting pulled for drinking and driving. You do realize we put out extra patrols? You should’ve had a designated driver, maybe one of your friends from college?”

“No, I didn’t
say
I was celebrating Independence Day. I said I was celebrating my freedom—and mourning a loss,” Emma snapped while continuing to focus straight ahead on the back of the front seat, her chin held high. “And are you on a first-name basis with everyone you arrest?” she asked sarcastically.

She had him there. That was a total slip-up. He hadn’t meant to address her so familiarly. He ignored her question.
Freedom and loss... must’ve been a breakup—or a job?
he thought.

“Freedom from what? Did you break up with your boyfriend?” Officer Rowan held his breath, hoping she would say yes. A girl like this would definitely have a boyfriend.

“No,” she snapped and began tapping her fingers on the rough, scratched vinyl of the door panel.

“Oh, so you’re still together? Will he be bailing you out?”

“No and no.”

Officer Rowan paused to let that sink in. She’d already said she didn’t break up with her boyfriend, and now
no and no
to still together, and he’s not bailing her out...
Ah, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Maybe I should set my sights on detective,
he thought and smiled at his own inside joke.

“Okay, so did you leave your job?”

Emma sighed. “No.”

Damn,
Dusty thought,
I skipped right over husband. She seems too young to have been married and divorced, but that has to be it... Just my luck.

“Oh, I’m following you now. You’re celebrating your divorce. Sorry, I’m a little slow tonight,” he said while sneaking another peek at her in his rearview mirror, smiling back at her smugly for finally figuring it out.

“No! I’m not divorced!” Emma huffed out a breath. “Look, it’s personal. Can we just keep this business? How long before I can leave the station after we get there? I’m hoping my sister will be there to pick me up. I’ve got class first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah, me too...” he mumbled under his breath.

Officer Rowan had run her license and tags, but no red flags came up. She couldn’t have just been freed from custody or he would have been alerted by his computer. He’d covered husband, job, and boyfriend. He wondered what was left. Whatever she’d been celebrating—or grieving—she was holding it close to her. He again chose to not answer Emma’s last question. He didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news, and they were pulling into the station now. Someone else could fill her in during processing. He’d had enough of being the bad guy, even if he was just doing his job.

CHAPTER 3

Gabby
startled awake in the dark. She sat up quietly, listening, trying to find what had awoken her. She looked at the window, surprised to see it was dark outside. She must have slept the entire day through. Guilt pinched her conscience. She knew her boss was getting close to the end of his patience.
Dammit, I hope I don’t lose my freakin’ job,
she thought.

That morning she’d gotten up with all intention of going to work. But she’d made the mistake of glancing out the window and seeing her swing dangling in the early morning mist. She’d walked out to sit for just a minute—she had told herself—but minutes had turned into an hour as her mind convinced her she should just call out of work one more day. She was late anyway, and she could just go back to bed and sleep... and dream of Jake.

A breeze had tickled her toes. She had still been in her pajamas. She hadn’t found the energy to dress for work yet. So she had sat and swayed, not swinging... feeling bared—stripped of all the goodness in her life. She’d shivered uncomfortably. But this was the place she felt closest to Jake. He’d hung the swing the same day they’d moved into their new house, seven years before. It was his special gift to her.

As she’d sat on her swing that morning, she’d gotten lost in remembering the day Jake hung it, her giggling as he grew tired and sweaty trying to throw the bundle of rope over the lowest limb of their oak tree—which was quite high—and missing over and over again as she’d yelled out, “I’ve seen better throwing in T-ball! You got about as much control as two rabbits on their first date! You couldn’t throw a party! Come on!”

She’d cracked Jake up with her pitcher repartee, and he’d stopped throwing the rope and started chasing her with it instead. They’d wrestled and he’d tickled her relentlessly until she had finally promised no more heckling. He looped it over on the next throw. When the rope finally made it over the branch and fell back to the ground, she had run to him, thrown her arms around his neck, and kissed his sweaty, grinning face. She’d been so happy she’d have her swing.

That was a fun and special day. One of many she’d had with Jake.

Gone now.

He’d been gone six weeks. She couldn’t remember the first two weeks at all. It was a blur, a dark spot in her memory. She couldn’t... or wouldn’t go there. All she could say for sure was during that two weeks, she scarcely remembered crawling out of the unquestioning sanctuary of her bed. She didn’t leave the house. She’d watched the empty swing from their bedroom window and thought how lucky she had been; her time with Jake had been a gift. He’d saved her—twice—the first time when she’d had nowhere to go after giving up her baby at age seventeen, an event that had left her alone and homeless. But he’d scooped her up, married her, and helped her build a life, a good life, together.

Jake saved her again when the family cycle of abuse finally caught up to her and shattered her life—cracking it into fragments. She had tried to hold the pieces together alone, not wanting to hurt Jake, but she wasn’t strong enough. She was the victim of a sociopath, forced to endure sexual abuse in fear of her marriage and her freedom. It was a puzzle she couldn’t put back together again, so she tried to escape it.
Escape life.
He’d saved her, not just by rushing her to the hospital, where she’d nearly died, but by standing beside her after finding out why she had wanted to die.

He had stayed with her for five years after that nearly fatal night.

Gabby had thought once Jake knew she’d been with another man—repeatedly—he wouldn’t want her, regardless of the circumstance. But he had. He had believed the truth and not only stayed in the marriage, but helped her recover.

She’d wake up nearly every night, for years. Screaming from nightmares of being held captive in a wooden box. She’d awoken countless times swatting and swearing there were spiders in the bed, and too many times to count she’d been so adamant that René was in the room—yelling that she
wasn’t
asleep; he
was
there—that she’d convinced Jake, too. He’d jump up and grab his ball bat, searching under the bed, in the closet, the bathroom, before he finally realized Gabby was having a night terror again—eyes wide open but asleep.

He’d held her. Rocked her back to a peaceful sleep. Never losing his temper, even after so many sleepless nights. And he’d given her space to heal, mentally and physically, supporting her through it all. So patient, never letting her go.

How could she let him go?

Gabby hadn’t been able to go to work. She’d dropped down from the swing and slowly walked up the steps leading into the house. She’d made her call to her disappointed boss and crawled back into bed, covering her head to block out the sun shining through her window, and slept through yet another day.

She shook off her replay of yet another wasted day and looked at the clock.
Damn, chick. You did sleep through another day,
she thought. It was the middle of the night.
I’m definitely dragging your lazy ass to work tomorrow, so get some more shuteye.
She dropped her head onto her pillow, forgetting about the noise that had woken her up, and fell instantly back to sleep.

CHAPTER 4

Olivia
stood silently, chin quivering and hands on hips, in the doorway. She hated seeing Gabby like this. She quietly watched her twin sleep for a moment, standing unnoticed until she could get a handle on her own emotions. Although she too was dealing with her own share of angst, and now trouble with Emma, she had to rein it in for now. This reminded her of the old days, when she had to carry her own burdens alone in silence. But for now, she knew it was best to keep her feelings to herself until Gabby had come to grips. She wanted her back... the old spunky version of Gabby, not this lifeless shadow of her sister that was now curled up in the bed.