Protect (49 page)

“My badge. I turned it in to you. Where is
it?”

“In my desk. Why?”

She got up. “Can we go?”

“Where?”

“To get my badge. I think it’s only proper I
resign by handing my badge over to the new Sheriff.”

“Sharon—”

“Fritter!” she called out, searching for that
dark-blonde hair she knew so well. When she found him he was
already heading for her.

“What’s up?”

“I’m going to go turn my badge in to the new
Sheriff.”

Fritter frowned. “Baby, you’re a mess. Worry
about it later.”

“I want to show everyone the Sheriff they
lost,” she whispered, trying not to sound like she was blowing her
own horn. “I want him to see what it takes. And I want him to all
but piss himself in front of his friends.”

As she spoke he went from looking concerned
about her to outright smiling. “You’re nuts,” he laughed.

“I want to do it. Wherever he’s having his
celebration.”

“His dealership,” Troy supplied. “I heard
that’s where it is.”

“Is it in that top drawer that still won’t
lock properly?” she asked Troy, smiling.

He shook his head. “Yeah. I’ll cover, but
only if you go with her.” That was directed at Fritter.

“Of course.”

She had to smile. No one was trying to talk
her out of it anymore.

“We’ll take the truck,” Fritter told her as
she stood.

“Is your mom okay?”

He nodded, kissing her cheek. “She’s going to
be fine. Let’s do this so we can get you back and resting.
Okay?”

Her chest swelled as she threw her arms
around his neck. She knew she was in love with him, but she wasn’t
where she could say it yet. Instead she quietly held him and he
gave her a slight squeeze.

After stopping quickly at the Sheriff’s
department, they headed for the industrial district of Markham. As
Troy said, there were cars lining both sides of the street in front
of the Turnbull GM dealership. Including along the yellow curb. She
considered calling in the parking infraction but decided it didn’t
matter.

With a grunt she shoved both glass doors
open, feeling the reassurance of Fritter behind her as she stepped
into the garish brightness of the beige-tiled floor and wall to
ceiling windows on all sides. Even in the sunset the room was
flooded with light.

The group turned to the door when she
entered, and it was a two-dozen double-take salute as she strode
across the tiles between two sports cars. Her badge was in hand,
and when she got to the reception counter where Turnbull and one of
his overweight cronies were talking, she decided that losing her
job was going to be a good thing. She knew right then what she
wanted to do for a living, and it would piss this prick off a hell
of a lot.

With a quick motion she slammed the badge
down on the high counter, and it was a delight when Turnbull
jumped.

“Sharon,” he greeted her, eyeing her up and
down. “Jesus. You look like hell. Is that blood?”

She smiled. “There was a shootout today. I
was in it, yes. But none of this is mine, thankfully. Your deputies
are over there starting the investigation. I just wanted to tender
my resignation to you in person.”

“Sharon, I don’t take office for weeks.”

“I don’t care. This town obviously wants you
for some reason. And sometimes people get what they deserve.” She
was about to turn, then changed her mind and faced him again. “Good
luck, Archie. You’ll need it.”

Then Fritter led the way for her as she spun
on her heel and left the dealership, feeling about three tons
lighter.

-TWO MONTHS LATER-

Fritter’s back and shoulders were aching like
a bitch as he swung his leg off his Dyna and carried his helmet up
the walkway to the back door. It was well past midnight, and his
new home was entirely dark.

He’d spent the day helping Knuckles move into
his
home, formerly Sharon’s place. After the fire her
insurance paid out and she sold the place “as is” to his brother.
As a team the Red Rebels had gone back into reno mode, removing
carpet and burnt drywall to replace what had been damaged. Other
than that Knuckles had left everything as is, arranging a few new
pieces of his own furniture with help from Fritter, Buck and Tank.
After pizza and a couple of beers Fritter was plenty happy to be
home and headed for his own bed.

He let himself in the back door, shushing the
four-month old German Shepherd puppy that started yipping and
scurrying around his feet with insane puppy energy.

“Keep it down, Drew,” he hissed, shutting the
door and throwing the bolt before engaging the security system. He
liked this house and its split four-level layout. The top floor was
a master suite, the next level down five steps had two smaller
rooms and a full bathroom. Then there was a kitchen and dining
room, then den on the lower level with a bedroom and another
three-quarter bath. Perfect for when Brayden came to visit. There
was also a double detached garage in the back.

He didn’t care that he’d shot a couple people
to death in this house months ago.

The dog knew to stay in the kitchen, by way
of the plastic gates on both entrances. It had vinyl flooring; that
was just smart. After toeing off his shoes Fritter stepped over the
gate, leaned down to give Drew’s ears a good scratch, then headed
up the stairs to the master.

There was some light seeping under the
bedroom door, and he grinned. Maybe she was reading something dirty
and he could get a little nookie before lights’ out. When the door
pushed open he was about to say her name but froze in place,
attention riveted by the puddle of blood in the middle of the
mattress.

“Sharon?” he finally called, voice cracking
as his phone vibrated in his pocket.

“Fritter?” The voice sounded thin, and it was
coming from the attached bathroom. He ran for the door, flinging it
open.

“Sharon, what’s the—” he stopped, trying not
to lose his mind. Sharon was crouched on the floor, back to the
wall, cell in hand. Her face was red from crying and the blood
running down her legs to pool under her hit him like a freight
train to the gut.

“It’s too soon,” she panted, dropping the
phone and holding her hands out. “It’s too soon for the baby.”

He yanked the towels off the rack and scooped
her up in his arms. “It’s okay,” he told her, aware of how his arms
were shaking. And not from the weight of her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Momma, don’t be sorry. Everything’s okay.
We’ll go see the doctor, okay?”

She nodded and rested her head on his
shoulder.

“It’s not very warm. Let’s get you a blanket,
okay?”

He knew something was wrong because she was
letting him do everything. He leaned over so she could open the
closet in the hall and reach in to grab a throw. Then he headed
through the kitchen, kicking the dog out of the way in his panic.
It was a struggle to get back into his shoes and a comment about
“no shoes in the house” but he swallowed it. Sharon was able to
punch in the code to kill the alarm, then they were in the back
yard and he was bee-lining for the garage.

Towels spread on the seat and the blanket
wrapped around her as she leaned into him, he beat his own best
time getting to the hospital. Once through the emergency doors the
nurses took over and whisked her away, one staying behind to ask
him how far along she was and who her obstetrician was. He numbly
gave all the information they wanted, and when he found himself
alone he pulled out his phone.

Sharon’s mom was in his phone list. He hit
that number, hands shaking, and waited for her to answer. It was
late and he bet she’d been sleeping by her tone, but she was
nothing but alert once he told her what was going on. She promised
they’d be in Markham as soon as they could.

Next, he called Ma. It had been a real point
of pride to watch his mother and Sharon get along so well the last
several weeks. He knew that would make life better. Not
surprisingly, Ma was halfway out the door before he hung up.

Then he called Jayce. His Prez beat them all
to the hospital.

Sharon’s doctor made it in about half an hour
after they admitted her. He didn’t pause to talk, which was good.
Fritter wanted him in there with her. He couldn’t sit, couldn’t be
consoled. He just paced, stomach rolling and churning.

“She’s okay,” Jayce kept saying. “She’s
tough.”

Fritter knew that. His problem was the deal
he was trying to broker with ... God, maybe? Or whoever might be
able to swing things for him. All he could think was,
Take the
baby, don’t take her.
He didn’t care if that made him an
asshole. He fucking needed her.

“Fuck,” eventually he burst out. “This is
probably my fault.”

Jayce shook his head. “What?”

“Last night, she was tired. I was horny. I
should have left her alone.”

“That’s not what causes this.”

He shook his head. “Fuck!”

“Hey, no one caused this.” Jayce put a
restraining hand on Fritter’s shoulder. “Don’t start that. I’ve
been there, man. It’s a slippery slope. And it doesn’t do anyone
any good. We wait, we see what happens. Yeah?”

Fritter nodded. Of course that was logical.
But he wanted to be able to
do
something.

His mother arriving was a good distraction.
She held his hand, got him to sit down, and Jayce went off to get
coffee.

“Where is she at again?” Ma asked.

“Twenty-two weeks, give or take.” His voice
was hollow. It was way too soon.

“She’ll be all right,” his Ma whispered,
pulling him close by the shoulder and kissing his temple.

When Jolene showed up she approached him,
arms wide, in jeans and a zipped hoodie. No make-up. They’d all
been pulled from bed. He took the offered hug, relieved that she
seemed to be pulling herself together lately. She’d been present in
her own life the last little while, slowly making inroads. She was
trying to figure out how to get the garage up and running, with
Jayce’s blessing. That was only because they’d moved the Thebaine
again, one night not too long ago.

Every now and then she’d be staring off into
space though, and a guy would have to put a hand on her shoulder to
bring her out of it.

When Rose and Tank showed up he felt like a
heel. Rose was so pregnant she almost waddled, but he thought that
might be because of how slight she was of frame. All that belly out
front was throwing off her natural balance and grace.

“You didn’t have to come,” he told her,
kissing her cheek as she did the same. “You should be restin.’”

She shook her head, her eyes soft, none of
that humorous sparkle she normally had. “No way. I wanted to be
here for you guys.”

No surprise here, either. Rose and Sharon had
taken to being Mom Twins the last month or so. They’d gone baby
furniture shopping together, even went looking for maternity
clothes. And on really warm days they could be found in either back
yard, feet in a blow-up pool, drinking iced teas. Gertie would
sometime take part as well, her little one already crawling and not
happy to be contained to a blanket spread out on the grass in the
shade.

Not that it had been that warm in quite a
while; November was starting to behave like its usual self and the
temperatures were dropping just a bit. October had been a hot one,
though. Could the temperatures cause something like this? He had no
idea.

Maybe this happened because Sharon was still
doing too much. They’d bought the house, and she’d gotten the
nursery painted a soft, natural green. And they’d steam cleaned the
carpet three times. But they hadn’t
bought
the crib or
change table or rocker. She’d insisted there was still time for all
that. There were no baby clothes in the house, either. She hadn’t
hit the nesting stage.

And she wanted to start a private
investigator’s service. He thought it was a great idea. She was so
excited about it her enthusiasm was contagious. He wanted her doing
something that she loved, and this suited her perfectly. She was
also hanging out with Adeel, a kid that had been rescued from the
Mazari’s human trafficking warehouse in Hazeldale. He was in foster
care, and as nice as Mark and Bernice Turner were, they had two
grown kids they’d gotten out of the house and their third child—one
they’d adopted a while back—was starting his final year of high
school. Expecting them to take on a ten-year-old was a
big
ask, and he could tell Sharon was falling in love with this kid.
She took him to the park, shopping, out for lunch, to the library,
and to the petting zoo when it was in town. He wanted her to relax,
and she wanted to be there for Adeel however she could be. She
hadn’t said it yet, but he was expecting her to suggest they take
him in.

Next Buck and Gertie arrived. He cursed under
his breath again, seeing the carrier that Davie was in. He accepted
the hand clasp from Buck and the kiss on the cheek from Gertie.
“You guys should have stayed home. It’s late.”

Gertie smiled, looking down at the carrier
she held. “He wasn’t sleeping. Sure enough, the second the car
starts moving he passes out and he hasn’t woken up since.”

Fritter peered down, and sure enough Davie
Junior was unconscious, tip of his tongue sticking out between his
rose-pink lips. Fritter had to smile.

Okay, so the kid was cute now. Good for
him.

“Any word yet?”

They looked to the doors, and Tiny was
striding through now, followed by Spaz. Fritter felt his eyes
prickle, and he sniffed to cover the unexpected rise in emotion.
Tiny approached with long strides, giving Fritter a quick hug
before surprising the hell out of him by holding his face in both
hands.

“Be strong, yeah? Be strong for her.”

Fritter searched his face, but the old fucker
was totally serious. It was freaking him out more. “I will be,” he
replied stupidly, not sure what to make of the sudden fatherly
advice.