Wild Kisses (Wildwood 2)
He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, I phrased that wrong. It would be better if you stayed outside.”
“I need my phone. It’s upstairs.”
He gestured that direction. “Go on and get it.”
When she turned and glanced at Trace, he was scrubbing his face with both hands; then he threaded them through his hair and clasped them at the back of his neck, never lifting his eyes to hers again.
She jogged up the stairs with a fiery boulder in the pit of her stomach and tears burning her eyes. When she reached the landing and turned toward the apartment, she saw Austin looking through her dresser drawers.
Fear streaked through her chest. She may never use the picture, but she wanted it as insurance, because Delaney had proven holding insurance over Austin’s head kept him in line. And because Avery needed every little thread of power she could get right now—real or imagined—to help her feel in control.
As soon as she stepped through the unfinished doorway, Austin straightened. “You can’t be in here.”
“Yes, I can.” She stepped to the head of her bed and scanned the floor for her phone where she’d left it, but it wasn’t there. Avery crouched and looked underneath.
“Hey.” Austin closed in. “Get out of there.”
Her heart pounded in her throat, and she dropped to her knees for a better look, growing a little frantic when she didn’t see her phone. She swept her hand along the floor underneath the bed.
Austin gripped her bicep. “I said—”
Metal touched her fingers. Avery’s eyes closed, and her breath whooshed out in relief. Austin jerked her arm, pulling her partially to her feet. She wobbled off balance, falling sideways and hitting the wall.
“Hey man,” the other cop said, frowning at Austin. “Take it easy.”
Avery straightened and pulled her arm from Austin’s grip. “That’s just his normal, everyday abusive style—isn’t it, Austin?”
His lip twitched into a sneer of a smile, and he lifted his chin to the bed and its disarray of sheets. “And this is yours. Fuckin’ the bad boys now? I tried to tell you about him.” He shook his head with that superior smirk. “Guess you turned out more like Delaney than I thought.”
His reference to Delaney’s slutty reputation as a youth sleeping with the worst of the worst to get any morsel of attention from their father struck Avery funny considering how fantastic Delaney had turned out.
She huffed a laugh, lifted the phone, and waved it. “And you turned out a lot more like our daddies.”
Austin evidently didn’t care for the comparison to Avery’s dad, an abusive drunk, or Austin’s own father, the narcissistic bully who ran Wildwood and who’d threatened Delaney in an attempt to run her out of town.
Austin’s expression went from annoyed to pissed in an instant. He came at her, and Avery braced herself, clutching her phone, but the other deputy grabbed Austin by the bulletproof vest and hauled him back a step. “Dude, cool the fuck out.” Then to Avery he said, “Ma’am, it would be better if you waited downstairs. We’re almost done here.”
“Yes, sir.” And she trotted down the steps.
At the bottom, Tom asked, “Did you get your phone?”
“Yes, thank you.” When Trace kept his hands threaded in his hair without looking up, her heart started to numb around the edges. She could only hurt so long before she started to shut down. She wandered toward the door, doing her best to ignore all the blue uniforms messing with her stuff. Before she exited, she met Tom’s gaze and said, “Not that it makes much difference, because Trace wasn’t selling drugs here, but he had those bruises the day before he even hired JT.”
“You said you didn’t see the incident that caused them,” Tom said.
“No, but I saw the bruises.”
“And when would you have had occasion to see those?”
God, she was so sick of being questioned. “We’re sleeping together,” she said loudly, deliberately, so no one would have a question as to what she’d said or meant. “I have occasion.”
Trace swore softly, and his hands slid out of his hair to cover his face.
Avery’s chest pinched. She’d been able to push away the embarrassment over exposing her sexual habits to stand up for him. But his reaction made it wash back in on a tidal wave, creating a whirlpool of emotions. Anger vibrated in her voice when she asked, “Any other questions, Tom?”
“Not right now.”
She walked out of her café, head high, but she avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. She wasn’t strong enough to battle judgment in the face of Trace’s reaction.