Tank
Paxton pulled into the driveway of his simple, one-story ranch just as the sun was coming up over the horizon. He was exhausted from the all-night stakeout he’d just finished—his limbs were sore from sitting in his truck for so many hours. On the plus side, his client would be happy to know her husband had, in fact, worked late at his office before going to the small apartment he owned in the city for the rest of the night. This was the third and last night Paxton would have to follow the man around.
He unfolded his cramped body out of the driver’s seat. Stretching his arms above his head, he could hear the joints pop and crack.
His left leg bothered him more than anything else. The bullet that shattered his knee had left him with a nasty scar and a slight limp, which was more pronounced in the colder weather. Even so, most people didn’t notice it unless they were looking for it. It had, however, given him a one-way ticket to a desk job in the Bush Castle PD.
Paxton was not cut out to be a desk jockey. Leaving the BCPD had been one of the hardest decisions he’d ever had to make, but getting his private investigator’s license seemed like the next best thing to being a cop. The downside, however, was working for a divorce attorney. All he seemed to do was follow around unfaithful spouses. That seriously put a wrench in the way he viewed relationships.
Now and again, however, he was able to prove a client wrong, like today. Those were good days.
He’d wished he could’ve proven his client wrong two years ago. He’d followed his “mark” around for three days. On the third day, Paxton had been surprised to find himself in his own neighborhood. An eerie feeling had taken root in his gut; he’d learned to always listen to that little voice, as nagging as it could sometimes be. It had served him well in his years on the police force. There he’d sat across from the house he’d shared with Gillian. He’d watched the man he was being paid to follow kiss his own fiancée hello.
Paxton could hardly believe his eyes. Through the lens of his camera, he watched the man pick her up and carry her into the house. Gillian squealed with delight.
What was he supposed to do? The woman he loved was in bed with another man. Not just any bed—his bed. Their bed. He’d felt as though his heart had been ripped out. She’d never giggled like that when he came home. Paxton knew it was over. In the process, his faith in love had been irrevocably damaged.
He pulled his duffel bag from the passenger seat, and movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Across the yard, a young woman carried boxes from the trunk of her car to the front porch. She was petite with long raven hair that shimmered in the sunlight.
Paxton had secretly watched her every day this week. On more than one occasion, he’d thought about offering help, but quickly changed his mind. He wasn’t interested in getting involved with anyone, and having a one-night stand with a neighbor wasn’t the smartest thing to do. He took one more look before heading up to his house.
He was excited about the future for the first time in a long time. This job was his final one for Schmidt & Frankel, attorneys at law. Starting Monday morning, he would be working for his longtime friend, Maxwell Fear. They had gone through the academy together years ago. Even after they both left the force, they stayed close.
A few months after things went to shit with Gillian, Max got himself tangled up with a woman named Sloane. The Russian mob wanted her dead after she witnessed her boss’ murder. Paxton—along with Gutter Mouth, Mother, and Foster—helped keep her safe when Max wasn’t able to.
Now, almost eighteen months later, Sloane would be running the office of the business Max built, Fear Incorporated. Since they still worried about the Petrov family, having her and their daughter, Mia, surrounded by ex-cops all day was a smart move.
Paxton entered his house and dropped his duffel on the floor by the door. His report to Schmidt & Frankel could wait until after a hot shower and a nap. He quickly sent them an email using his smartphone, informing the partners that Mr. Everhart was in fact being faithful to his wife. They could inform the woman without his full report. He’d send the details later.
He pulled his shirt over his head. Paxton tossed it into his laundry wicker basket. His jeans and socks followed after that. He turned the water on, brushing his teeth as he waited for it to heat up. He looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was starting to grow back in.
After his breakup, he’d shaved his head bald. Couple that with his height and tattoos, and it made him an intimating man. It helped keep people at arm’s length. He rubbed his hand across his head, feeling the prickly hairs brush his palm. He needed to shave again.
Stepping into the shower, Paxton groaned the instant the hot spray washed over his sore muscles. He stood there letting the water beat on his shoulders and back, slowly easing some of the tension away. Turning off the now lukewarm water, he wrapped a towel around his waist.
He left the bathroom, a trail of water dripping behind him. He strode down the hallway to his bedroom. He checked his phone, relieved no one had contacted him.
His basketball shorts lay waiting for him at the foot of the bed. He pulled them on, cringing slightly as his knee popped. He rubbed the soreness out of habit, but it wouldn’t do a damn thing to take the pain away. Not bothering with a shirt, Paxton headed back out to his living room. He plopped on the couch, turned on ESPN, and closed his eyes.
He was just beginning to relax when he was startled by a knock on the door. No one ever knocked on his door. Curious, he shoved off the worn couch. On the other side of the door was his raven-haired neighbor. Interesting.
Paxton opened the door. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” She smiled warmly. “I’m your new neighbor, Cori.”
He nodded. “Paxton.”
“Well, I hate to impose, but my shed door seems to be stuck. I’ve tried to get it open every day this week to no avail. Would you mind helping me?”
Paxton wouldn’t let one of his neighbors struggle with anything if he could help; he often carried in Mrs. Thomas’s groceries. She was in her seventies and her son rarely paid her a visit. Sometimes he would sit and talk with her for a little while. She had some wild stories of when she was younger. So of course, he’d try to help Cori too.
“Sure, let me grab some shoes.” He turned and slipped on a pair of sneakers. After stepping outside, he motioned for her to go. “Lead the way.”
The house had been sold three weeks ago, but he’d only begun to see the woman around this past week. He followed her around the house to where the shed was in the backyard.
She sure was a tiny thing…couldn’t be taller than five-foot-two. Her ass swayed naturally with every step she took, and his gaze kept dropping to watch it. When she finally turned to face him in front of the shed, he noticed that she had a pert nose and pouty lips painted with some kind of shiny gloss. Wonder if it’s flavored…He quickly shook that thought out of his head. He reminded himself—yet again—that he didn’t do relationships and banging the cute little neighbor would be a very bad idea.
“This is it.” She placed both hands on her slender hips, as if Paxton couldn’t plainly see the shed in front of them. He smiled in spite of himself.
Her fingernails were painted a light pink. Did her toes match? Why he found that so intriguing was a mystery to him.
He stepped forward and grabbed ahold of the handle. He tugged once. Twice. The third time, Paxton braced his other hand on the shed wall before yanking hard. The structure let out a loud shriek before the door gave way. The force rattled things off their pegs inside.
Paxton frowned at the small shards of wood littering the ground. “This all looks dry rotted.”
Cori rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be? Everything else is going wrong.”
He stayed quiet, watching tears well up in her eyes. What was he supposed to say? The house had been vacant for almost a year. He’d never gone inside, but the kids who’d lived in the place before hadn’t looked like they could take care of themselves, much less a whole house. Besides, he didn’t know anything about this woman except she had a fine ass. Her woes weren’t his problem. He decided to make his escape before she started seeking comfort in the wrong places.
“Anything else?” he asked.
She sniffled. “No, thank you for your help.”
Without answering her, Paxton barreled back across the yard to his house. He couldn’t take a woman in tears. Once inside, he kicked off his shoes and regained his position on the couch. Within moments, he was asleep.