Going Home (The Green Bayou Novels Book 1) Read online

  He smiles back at me. “Yeah, I guess so. You look really cute with that bandage on your head,” he teases.

  “Gee, thanks. I do try to keep up with the latest fashion trends.” I raise my hand to touch the gauze, but he pushes it back down.

  “Leave it alone,” he demands, but his tone is joking.

  “Yes, sir,” I say with mock importance.

  “Em,” Jacob begins.

  “Huhm?”

  My eyes are closed, but I open them quickly when I realize Jacob has pressed his lips to mine. I raise myself to a sitting position, and he wedges his body into the space between my legs. His hands are on my face, and before I can say anything, he kisses me again. I get it. We’re survivors of an ax murderer who held us hostage. Jacob rescued me. We’re survivors so that gives us a bond, but I’m with Pete and this feels wrong. He pulls away slowly, and I lower my head. Mentally preparing a speech to let him down, I’m fortunate I don’t have to give it. He moves away and props himself against the wall.

  “I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry. We’ll pretend it never happened. About tonight’s call though… Look, I can’t handle the thought of you getting hurt. No more calls like that, okay?” he asks.

  “Fine by me,” I answer, still flabbergasted by the kiss.

  “Let’s go back to the station. You need to sleep,” he suggests.

  “Agreed,” I answer as he drapes his arm around me. On the way out the door, I wave goodbye to the nurse and thank her again. The doctor is already sleeping in a bedroom nearby. Lucky him. Sleep won’t come for me nearly as soon as I’d like.

  First, a very groggy Grant calls the station to check on me. He’s insistent upon sending me home, but I assure him I’m fine. Though I hear the reluctance in his tone, he reminds me to write up the incident in a formal report. He asks to speak to Jacob, and I know it’s because he’s making sure I’m not fibbing about my condition. They speak briefly, Jacob gives him a string of yeses, and then hands the phone back to me.

  “Satisfied?” I ask.

  “Enough with the smartassery. I’m still your boss, young lady.”

  “Got it, Grant. I love you,” I sing into the phone.

  “Yeah, I love you, too. Quit giving me near heart attacks, kiddo.”

  “I wish I could say that was the first time I’ve heard that.”

  He chuckles. “Good night. Call if you need anything.” After I get off the phone with Grant, the dispatcher calls to tell us Grant is trying to reach us. Since Grant has already talked to us, Jacob reads between the lines and fills in the nosey dispatcher on the story. It’s not long after that when Pete calls. He’s frantic at first but calms quickly once I assure him I’m fine. He promises to get to me as soon as he can, but I tell him not to worry. He’s on duty, and I don’t need him getting hurt while fretting over me.

  I’ve just taken off my uniform, which is covered in blood from my wounds and the unfortunate victim, when Jacob opens the door. Embarrassed, he looks down at the floor while I slip a towel around myself.

  “I’m sorry, Em. I thought you’d be zonked out by now.”

  “It’s okay, Jacob,” I insist. “I want to take a shower, and I’m not sure if I’m going to sleep in here or not. I’m still a little freaked out about tonight, so I may sleep on the couch.”

  “After your shower, I’ll stay with you if you want me to,” he offers sincerely. There’s a knock at the station door.

  “Would you get that?” I ask Jacob. “It’s probably a supervisor checking up on us, and I really want to get this funk off me. Just tell whoever it is that I’m fine and my written report will be handed in to Grant.”

  “Sure, I can do that,” Jacob says, closing the door behind him.

  I pull out a pair of sleep shorts I have packed in my overnight duffel. Tugging my long hair loose from a now lopsided ponytail, I stand staring at my bandaged reflection. I slowly move my head from side to side, checking the bruises that are forming on my neck. There’s a knock at my bedroom door, and before I can say anything, the door cracks open.

  I’m surprised to see Kent standing in the doorway, but obviously not as surprised as he is to see me all bandaged up and sporting a towel. I want to make a comment about people not waiting for permission before entering, but I keep it to myself.

  “Hi, Kent,” I say, breaking the silence. He’s so tall and broad that he nearly fills the entire doorway.

  “Hey, Em. Look, uh, I know you have to do a formal report for your records and all, but I need you to fill out a police report for me. It needs to be as detailed as possible because of the nature of the crime and the fact that so much stuff was tampered with at the scene, ya know?”

  “I understand completely. Look, can I do it tomorrow or at least later after I get some rest?” I ask, hopefully. I’m exhausted, and the shower is calling to me.

  “Well, it would be better if you could do it now. You know, with everything being fresh in your mind and all.” He tries to sway me. “You can record it on this if you want to, and I’ll get the dispatcher to type it up for you,” he says, pulling out a digital recorder from his pocket.

  “Fine.” I smile, relieved I don’t have to spend all night writing a report. “But you’ll have to wait until I finish my shower,” I insist. He nods, and I reluctantly take one of the quickest showers ever in my life.

  I put on my tank top and sleep shorts, and then make my way to the kitchen to join Jacob and Kent at the table. Glancing at the clock after retelling the story, I inwardly grumble when I see it flashes 4:37 AM. I wish Kent a quiet remainder of his shift and start to shuffle down the hallway.

  “Thanks, Emily. You be sure to call me if you need anything, okay?” After scribbling a number, he hands me one of his business cards.

  “Thanks, Kent. Night, guys.”

  I toss the card onto the dresser, slide in between the cool welcoming sheets, and my eyes barely close when there’s another knock at the door. Ugh! Who now? I climb out of bed and slowly crack the door. When I see Pete’s desperate eyes, the anger fades and relief takes its place.

  “Oh my god, baby. I’ve been trying to get over here since I heard what happened, but all these ignorant people kept doing stupid things, and .... Let me see you!” he says, pushing his way into the room. I turn on the lamp near my bed while he closes the door, and his face drops when he takes in the wounds, especially the bruises around my neck. He reaches out to gently touch the area, and his face turns red.

  “If Kent hadn’t killed that son of a bitch…,” he threatens, furiously.

  “I know, Pete. I know,” I say, plopping onto the bed. I jerk my hand up to wipe away a rogue tear.

  “Are you okay? I mean really okay, not you telling me what you think I want to hear?” Pete asks, his voice free of its previous anger.

  “I’m fine,” I assure him. “A little banged up, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  Pete narrows his gaze, and then starts unhooking his gun belt. “What are you doing?” I ask a little confused.

  “No way am I leaving you now. I’m going to crawl into that bed and stay until it’s time for you to go home. You needed to get your head stitched? How many did you end up with?” he asks, looking at the bandage.

  “Four,” I answer. “Pete, you don’t have to stay. I’m fine.”

  “End of discussion,” he says, climbing into the bed and holding out his arms for me to join him. His heart’s in the right place, so I concede, and once we’re in the bed, he traces the area around the bandage with his finger. His reassuring smile turns into a frown.

  “What’s bothering you now?” I ask.

  “Why did your partner let you go into that mobile home?”

  “Pete, Jacob feels bad about what happened even though he shouldn’t. If it would’ve been Robert or Terrell working with him as a partner, would you still feel the same way?”

  The hardened look on Pete’s face softens a little as he mulls it over, and I gently kiss his slightly parted lips.
“I guess not,” he says. “And I certainly wouldn’t be cuddling with either of them afterwards.” I smile at his joke.

  Sandwiched beside him, I must drift off pretty quickly because the next thing I know, my alarm clock is signaling it’s time for shift change. I struggle to sit up because I’m so sore and suddenly realize Pete is gone. On the pillow beside me is a note.

  I stayed with you until 5:20 but had to get back to Green Bayou for shift change. I’m going to catch a ride back with Kent so you don’t have to worry about driving home. Stay here until I come get you. See you soon.

  -- Pete

  I put the note onto the pillow and toy with the idea of crawling back into bed, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the station. I change into a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt before making my way to the kitchen.

  Jacob sits at the table with the crew who relieves us, Carter Melancon and Joe Naquin. Carter is in his forties and happens to be a long-haired Will Ferrell clone. Joe is painfully average in every way except for the huge gap between his front teeth. He is mid-twenties, average height, average weight, blond hair, and brown eyes. He wears his bangs longer in the front and sweeps them to the side, but they constantly fall into his face. The men look up when I appear from the darkened hallway.

  “Heard what happened to you guys last night. Rough shift,” Carter states. “You feeling okay?”

  “Yep, I’m good. Nothing really hurts too much. I’m still groggy and stiff, though,” I answer a little hoarsely.

  Joe nods his head. Jacob looks up from his coffee. “Want one?” he questions, pointing to the black liquid. I nod, so he walks over to the pot and pours a mug. I watch as he dumps extra sugar and creamer into my cup. He knows how I like my coffee? He must really pay attention.

  “Grant wants us to have those statements ready for tomorrow, okay?” “Sure. Not a problem,” I assure Jacob.

  After dropping my duffel onto the couch, I take a sip from the mug he offers and walk to the table to sit with the guys. Carter and Joe do most of the talking. Jacob and I do steal a few glances at each other, but mostly we keep our attention on our coffee mugs.

  A car door slams followed by the sound of shoes jogging up the side steps. The door swings open, and sunlight streams around Pete as he appears in the doorway.

  “Hey, guys,” he says to them as he makes his way to the kitchen. There are various greetings exchanged, but Jacob remains quiet. “You ready to head out?” Pete asks me, taking my duffel from the sofa.

  “Yes, thanks for driving me home.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says with a smile.

  I turn to wave goodbye to the guys and silently pass Pete the keys to my car. Once outside, he opens the passenger door for me.

  Instead of turning onto Cypress Mill Road towards my house, Pete continues straight on the parish road.

  “I’m taking you to breakfast.” He answers my unspoken question.

  “You don’t have to do that. I figured I’d eat a bowl of cereal at home.”

  “I want to. You had a rough night. The best way to get your strength back is by eating some of MeMaw’s Café’s famous pain perdu.”

  “French toast! Awww, that sounds so good!” My stomach growls.

  “Better than a bowl of cereal?” He laughs.

  “Way better. Do they serve café au lait, too?”

  “You know it,” Pete says.

  “You know I may never leave there, right?” I tease.

  “Who knew you’d give it all up for French toast?” He raises his eyebrows.

  My tone turns soft and appreciative. “Thanks for being so thoughtful.”

  “Anytime.” He smiles as we turn into the parking lot.

  The first thing I want when I arrive home is a long hot shower. The quick one I’d taken the night before did the job, but I still need a proper extra-sudsy one. I start to unwrap the bandages on my arms, but Pete takes over the job, his look solemn and concerned. Once he removes the bandage from my head, I start to undress.

  “I guess I’ll just sit here and watch you shower… just in case you get weak and slip or something,” Pete teases in an effort to lighten the mood.

  “Watch if you’d like, but I could use some help. My arms are really sore, and I already know it’s going to sting like a son of a bitch,” I admit.

  “Of course. I’m here to help you with whatever you need.” He twists the knobs to start the shower and sticks his hand inside to check the temperature.

  The house has been modernized, and the shower is a huge glass enclosure with a bench built into it. Across from the shower sits a whirlpool tub that is my favorite way to unwind at the end of a long day. I’m a sucker for bubble baths! Right now, I want to wash every bit of funk down the drain for good, so a shower it is.

  I know it takes a while for the water to heat up, so I walk over to the mirror and check myself out. I stare at my reflection while lightly touching the little dots of thread that hold the skin on my forehead closed. Pete stands behind me, places his hands on my shoulders, and spins me away from my reflection.

  “That’s enough looking. In the shower. Now,” he insists, pushing me towards the steam-filled enclosure.

  Once we’re inside, he squirts some of my body wash onto a cloth. “Turn,” he says.

  I don’t argue and turn my back to him. He slowly drags the cloth over my aching shoulders, taking care to gently massage my neck. I moan a mix of pleasure and pain because I don’t realize how tense I am until the muscles finally start to relax. He continues to move the cloth along my body, taking care to be extra gentle around my cuts and bruises. He kneels, and when he washes my upper thigh, he stops to kiss my hip before continuing down my leg.

  He repeats the process with the other leg, and when he stands up, he encircles my waist with his strong arms. I lean my head back onto his chest, and he slowly passes the cloth across my throat and chest. He whispers in my ear how thankful he is that I’m not hurt worse, and I turn to face him.

  “Thank you for taking such good care of me. Really, I’m okay. I’d probably just sleep anyway.”

  “I want to be here,” he insists. I smile and take the cloth from his hands.

  “Your turn,” I say.

  “Nope. Another time.” He takes my face in his hands and kisses me until the water turns cold. Once we’re wrapped in warm towels, Pete sweeps me off my feet and carries me into the bedroom. Once I’m settled in the bed, he crawls in on the other side and holds me in his arms. I don’t even remember falling asleep.

  I feel like I’ve only been sleeping a few minutes when Pete wakes me.

  “Sweetie, someone’s ringing the bell. Do you want me to answer it?” he asks.

  “No. It’s okay. I’ll get it.” I glance over at the clock. 3:30 PM shines back at me.

  “Oh, my gosh! I can’t believe I slept that long,” I say, trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I jump out of the bed and throw on some clothes. Somewhere in all that movement, my brain finally registers pain and soreness, so I take it easy going down the stairs. When I open the front door, I see Jacob walking back to his truck.

  “Hey, Jacob!” I yell, going down the steps to greet him. He turns and smiles at me, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

  “I thought you might’ve been out,” he says, making his way back up the porch steps with me.

  “No, I was just napping. Do you want to come in?” I ask when we reach the top step.

  “Sure, but wait...,” he answers, taking my wrist into his hand. He stops me from going inside and gives my wounds a thorough inspection.

  “You should probably let me re-bandage that cut,” he suggests while looking at my forehead.

  “If you think it needs it, okay.” I shrug. He hands the bouquet to me, and I lower my head, smiling. “Thanks, Jacob. They’re beautiful. Follow me to the kitchen so I can put them in water?” I suggest.

  He sits on one of the barstools that butts up to the island in the kitchen
and watches as I arrange the flowers. Jacob initiates the conversation, first asking how I’m feeling, then moving to the topic I least want to discuss.

  “Emily, I want to talk to you about the kiss.”

  As soon as he speaks, Pete waltzes into the room, and I wonder if he’s overheard Jacob. Steam isn’t shooting out of his ears, and his face remains its usual shade, so I figure we’re okay.

  “Jacob!” he exclaims extra loudly, while thrusting his hand out for a shake. Jacob looks surprised for half a second, but covers it well.

  “How are you, Pete?” he asks, glancing my way. I know I’m bright red, so I busy myself with rearranging the flowers in the vase.

  “I came by to see how Emily is feeling. That call we responded to is one of the worst ever.”

  “I imagine so. You guys probably shouldn’t have been there. In my opinion, murder is an issue for the sheriff’s department to handle,” Pete says a little too aggressively.

  “I agree, but if I remember right, we were dispatched there because you guys were all on the other end of the parish. What were we supposed to do?” Jacob responds, squaring up to Pete.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you could’ve waited until a deputy got there before blazing into the trailer? Or better yet, some guys I know might have kept their female partner from enter--…,” Pete begins, but I quickly cut him off by stepping between them.

  I glance at Jacob, and instead of the anger I’m expecting, all I see is guilt written across his face.

  “That is enough!” I scold, turning to face Pete. “Jacob tried to keep me from going inside, Pete. You and I talked about this already. What you said isn’t fair at all. We were just trying to do our job. You weren’t there, Pete. You can’t say what we should or shouldn’t have done! If you were that damned concerned about our safety, y’all should’ve sent someone besides Alphonse over to respond to that call!” I glare at him.

  He takes a step back and runs his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. You’re right. My comments were inappropriate, but I can’t help that it scared me. I could’ve lost you, Em,” Pete says before turning his attention back to Jacob. “Sorry, Jacob. No hard feelings?”