One could not say that Jake Knox was not a complicated man, he was. And although I knew him, I had no freaking clue.
But that whole scene was wild.
Then again, Jake – with his motorcycle boots, his bike, his beat up pickup, his old t-shirts that fit way too well, his faded jeans that fit better, his dark brown, longish, unruly hair, his silvery gray eyes that told a million stories without giving away a thing, his capacity to drink beer, down shots, eat hearty, howl at the moon and kiss so hard it was like he knew it was the last moment for every being on earth and he was going to make the most of it – was wild.
Being with Jake was like the ride I once took on a mechanical bull. You could not even begin to guess which way that thing would buck. All you could do was hold on as tight as you could and enjoy the ride for as long as you had it.
So I needed to cool it.
It would all be okay.
It would be okay.
I got up, put on underwear and a nightie, went to bed and turned off the light.
It took awhile for me to find sleep even after having a very, very sweet orgasm, one given to me by Jake, one I’d waited a long, long time to have and after him leaving after kissing me like it was the last moment on earth and him telling me there was more to us because we were going to talk.
But after I fell asleep, I woke when my front door was busted open, a large cadre of bulletproof vest wearing men surged into my house and minutes later, I was hauled to the Police Station for questioning.
Chapter One
Fucking Great Actress
The door to the interrogation room opened and a man wearing slacks, shirt, tie and ill-fitting sports jacket strolled in, eyes glued to me, manila folder in his hand.
He dropped the folder on the table I was sitting at and sat across from me.
I kept my eyes on him and, like I’d been doing since I’d been led in that room what felt like hours ago (and what I didn’t know actually was), I kept them away from the mirror where I’d seen enough cop shows on TV to know recording equipment and possibly police officers were watching.
“Mrs. Heller,” he said and I felt my heart skip at hearing that name.
“Ms. O’Hara,” I replied and his gaze didn’t leave mine.
“Sorry, ma’am?” he asked but he wasn’t sorry, I knew he wasn’t sorry.
“Ms. O’Hara, my name,” I answered and he nodded, still not releasing my eyes and I didn’t tear mine from his.
“You were Mrs. Heller,” he stated. “Do I have that right?”
“Yes,” I told him. “You have that right.”
“For ten years,” he went on.
I didn’t reply, just lifted my chin a little wondering what the hell was going on.
“Married to Damian Heller, is that correct?”
Uh-oh.
I wasn’t sure this was good.
“Yes, I was married to Damian Heller,” I agreed then enquired, “What’s this about?”
“Funny,” he said quietly.
I wasn’t thinking anything was funny including him weirdly saying the word “funny”.
“Funny?” I prompted.