frowning at the sloppy handwriting before even reading the words. Inmates from the jail are known to spend their time writing letters to arresting officers, the chief, and often times, probation officers, something I learned early on after a conversation with people at a crime scene.
My head tilts, eyes scanning the letter, but then it hits me exactly what it is that I’m holding in my hand. Threats aren’t new, but I’ve never seen a letter written with such graphic terms. The letter goes into the heinous ways he’s going to torture Colton if his demands aren’t met. I don’t know what the person wants because I don’t get that far without having to look away.
On trembling legs, I leave the rest of Colton’s mail on the table and head straight to his office. I don’t bother knocking on his door, and it takes more than one try to get the doorknob to work in my shaking hand.
“Sophia?” Colton looks up from his computer screen, concern drawing his brows together. “What’s wrong?”
Unable to answer him, I shove the paper in his direction. At first, he doesn’t take it, keeping his eyes on me and trying to assess the situation.
“L-look,” I beg. “It’s bad.”
“Lay it on the desk,” he advises, but he doesn’t reach for it. “Was there anything else in the envelope? Did it feel gritty or damp?”
“No,” I tell him. “Just the one piece of paper.”
I pull my hand back once the letter lands on his desk.
“Don’t do that,” he instructs, reaching for me when I try to lift my trembling hand to my face. “You’ll need to wash your hands.”
“It’s f-fine. There was nothing on the paper.”
“Can’t be too sure.”
Only now do I realize he’s holding my hand, and I hate the way the warmth of his touch has a calming effect. It only makes me want to be closer to him, to take more from him than he’s willing to offer.
“You’re shaking.” His grip on my hand tightens.
Looking up at him, I have the urge to touch his face, but I know I can’t. Not only is there a concern for what might be on my hands, but he doesn’t want that from me.
“Come here.”
I don’t resist when he pulls me to his chest. Instinctively, my arms go around his back, tangling in the fabric of his shirt as he holds me close.
“It’s nothing,” he assures me. “We get these all the time.”
“He said he’s going to kill you, your family, and your dog.”
“I don’t have a dog, Sophia.”
“But you have a family.” The memories of the scenes we’ve worked and the devastation those people had in their eyes with the loss of a child, I can’t imagine that same fate for him.
“He doesn’t have a clue about my family, baby.”
I cling to him tighter.
“Shh, I’ve got you.”
It sounds like a promise, and God, how I wish it were true. I tremble even more, my knees threatening to give out. I feel like such a child right now. I’ve gone to and assisted on several deaths in the last six weeks, but at the moment, I feel the most vulnerable. Maybe it’s because it’s my own life in turmoil right now and I don’t have the ability to close my eyes and distance myself from it, or maybe it’s simply his proximity and finally being in his arms.
I open my mouth to beg him to feel the same way right now while he’s sober that he felt Friday night, but a sob comes out instead.
“Baby,” he whispers, his face buried in my hair. “Everything is fine.”
He couldn’t be more wrong.
Fine is subjective. Yeah, nothing may come from the letter. His family may not be in real danger, but I’m not fine. I haven’t been fine for a very long time.
“I miss you, too,” I confess, the admission coming easier since he isn’t looking into my tear-soaked eyes.
He holds me tighter, the embrace transitioning from comforting to something a little more carnal.
“All of those things you mentioned at Jake’s, I want those, too.”
More than I could even admit out loud.
Fingers tangle in my hair, his hips moving closer until his entire body is pressed against mine. The stiff length of him presses against my lower belly, and it takes all of my strength not to moan his name.
The threatening letter forgotten, I move my hips only slightly.
“Sophia.” The grip in my hair tightens as he tugs, my face coming away from his chest to look up into his