Chapter 16
Colin didn’t waste any time getting into his uniform, hooking on his duty belt, and driving over to Joe Monty’s office in a rundown section of the city. He turned onto Monty’s street. Half of the windows on the street were boarded up, and the other half looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since they were built in the fifties. Pulling up in front of the office, Colin zeroed in on the dark alley to the right of the building and a group of men loitering around the street corner one hundred feet away.
He stepped out of his car, checking his weapon and watching the men and the alley. He didn’t know if Monty would try to escape out the back when he saw a cop. The men must have guessed he was a cop from the uniform, and within seconds they’d dispersed.
“Monty, open up.” Colin pounded on the glass door with his fist. “I know you’re in there. You’re interested in me. Well, here I am.”
A light turned on in the back room and then Monty poked his pudgy face out of the inside office. “What do you want?”
“Nothing. It’s you who wants something.” Colin smiled non-threateningly and motioned for Monty to open the door.
Reluctantly, the greasy man slithered across the office space in bare feet, and no shirt.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“No. What do you want?” Monty asked, opening the door and gesturing inside.
Colin went in. The office was small, a desk in one corner and a pleather couch in another corner. Boxes and papers covered every available surface. “Nice place you have here.”
“I know it’s a dump. Who are you?”
“You don’t know?” Colin asked, leaning closer to the man, his silver name tag hanging from his uniform top.
“Rourke? As in Regan Rourke? Are you the ex-husband?”
So Monty didn’t even know his name? What the hell was going on? “Yep. That’s me. I heard you were looking for me.”
Monty backed up a step, slowly, like he didn’t want to anger him. Colin narrowed his gaze at the man. “So, Monty. What do you want from my ex-wife?”
“Nothing.”
“Who hired you?”
“I can’t tell you that.” He’d backed himself almost to the wall only a few steps from the back office.
“Come on, Monty,” Colin said, sauntering across the room, making sure his duty belt remained in Monty’s view the whole time. “You have to tell me. No options. You’ve been terrorizing an innocent victim and that’s a crime.”
“No, it ain’t. I didn’t do nothing.”
“Who hired you?” Colin asked, standing two feet from him, blocking the entrance to the office. Colin had about a foot on Joe in height, even though they probably weighed the same amount. “Who. Hired. You?”
“I’m not supposed to tell.”
“Let’s stop this game. I’ll ask the question one more time and you’ll answer me. Who. Hired. You?”
“Bainbridge was his last name. He paid in cash.”
“That was easy, wasn’t it?”
Monty twitched.
Colin started to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Brian’s last name was Bainbridge, but there had to be more of them in Port City. Still, he didn’t believe in coincidence.
“What was his first name?”
“I gave you info, man. Leave me be.”
“Monty,” Colin said menacingly.
“Brian Bainbridge. He said he was looking after his sister because she was in some serious shit, and he needed to keep you two away from one another. He wanted pictures of you two together, but I couldn’t get any. I swear. I don’t have none.”
“Why would he want . . .? Shit,” Colin said. Brian knew they had only gotten divorced for the trial.
Regan was so damn trusting of her non-brother, that she’d told him what they were doing. Now, he was trying to get the goods on them. Colin’s first inclination was to rush to Brian’s house and show him how dangerous he could be, but knowing that would only get him in more trouble with the court, he repressed the urge.
He pulled a business card out of a wallet he had in his back pocket and handed it to Monty. “Call me if you remember anything else. I also expect that you won’t be hanging around Regan anymore.”
The man nodded vigorously, taking the card.
Colin backed out of the office and onto the dark street.
Regan, who’d had trust issues since her parents’ death, had chosen to put all her trust in a man who, under the guise of protection, was out to ruin her. It made Colin sick. His second thought was to go to Regan and tell her what he’d found out, but how could he? Right now, Brian was the only person she had to confide in. And as sick as that was, he didn’t want to cause her pain. Plus, who knew what Brian and his team would do to him in court if he was to reveal that Brian had his own sister stalked by a creep?
Colin knew his hands were, figuratively, secured with handcuffs and he didn’t have a key. Since he wasn’t working, he drove around aimlessly, looking for a good place to hole up for the night. He considered going back to the clearing by the river, but the number of bug bites he’d acquired were starting to cause curious looks in the locker room.
He pulled the car into a small, clean motel he’d only been called to a few times while on duty. The owners were pleasant and the rooms were usually clean before the tenants moved in. He checked in, receiving a discount because of his uniform. It was less likely there would be trouble if a cop was staying on the premises and the owners knew that.
Once in the utilitarian room, he stripped his uniform down to his boxer briefs. He dialed Regan. “Hey there,” he said, his voice deep and throaty.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you again tonight.”
“Are you in bed?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What are you wearing?” he asked, already forgetting the reason he’d called.
“Flannel pajamas, with curlers in my hair and a mud mask.”
He groaned. “You don’t own flannel pajamas, and besides you wouldn’t want mud on the sheets and curlers.”
“Well, Detective, you’ve figured me out. I’m not wearing anything. No pajamas, no curlers, and no mud. Just me and the clean, crisp sheets.”
He groaned again, but this time it was born out of need.
“Where are you?”
“At the motel on Crescent Street.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Just underwear, but I can remedy that.” He hooked his hands in the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down off his feet. “Done.” Pleasure rushed to his cock. They’d never had phone sex and he didn’t know why they hadn’t considered it sooner.
“What are you doing?” Regan asked, her voice husky.
“I’m touching myself. Running my hands down over my chest, my abs . . .” He heard her breath catch.
“Me, too,” she said breathlessly.
“Pinch your nipples.”
She moaned into the phone.
“I hate not being able to see you.”
“I’m playing with my nipples and they’re getting hard.”
“I’m hard too, sweetheart. I’ve wrapped my hand around my hard cock. I’m imagining that it’s you. Close your eyes and put on the speakerphone.” He heard the click. “Better?”
“Mmm.”
“Pretend it’s my hands touching your body, your breasts to your hips and lower. Lower. Are you doing it?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Are you wet, ready for me?”
There was a pause, then a whimper.
“Touch your clit. Rub it.” He pulled on his cock and smoothed some of the pre-cum over the head for lubrication.
“It feels so good,” she said.
“That’s right. Put a finger inside you. It’s me. Touching you, turning you on.”
“It feels so good.”
“Are you moving those sexy hips of yours, grinding to the feel of me pumping in and out of you?”
“Yeah.”
Her breath was coming in pants now. He imagined her writhing on the bed, her hand between her legs, her breasts swaying to the motion of her hips. He moved his fist faster.
“Add another finger. I’m stretching your pussy. I want to be inside you so bad.”
“Me, too.”
He knew he was close to coming. The sounds she was making through the phone were enough to get her arrested if sexiness was a crime. His hips started thrusting.
“Are you touching yourself?”
“I’m so close,” she moaned. “I . . . just . . . wait . . . yes . . . there.”
“Come, baby. Come for me. I want to hear what I do to you.”
“Oh. Yes. I’m coming.” Her voice trailed off as she thrashed and called out his name as she came.
He pumped harder on his cock, his grip tightening until he too cried out into the phone. “Yes. Regan. I’m there with you,” he groaned, coming in strong waves.
“Why haven’t we been doing that all along?” she said, her voice raspy but satiated.
“I have no idea, but I think we should add that to our repertoire.”
“Definitely.”
“I want to be there to hold you,” he said. “This big empty bed isn’t doing it for me.”
“I know. Maybe it won’t be too long before we are together again.”
He heard a beeping noise. “Is that your phone?”
“The batteries are dying, I think. Stupid disposable phone.”
“When can I see you again?” he asked, desperate to hold her, see her, make love to her in person.
“I’m not—”
Her phone cut off. Colin closed his eyes, frustration eating at him. Throwing back the covers, he went into the bathroom to run a cold shower. Even though he’d been satiated for the moment, he still wanted her and he could feel his cock expanding just thinking about how hot she’d been on the phone.
He had to admit that their divorce of convenience was doing wonders for their standard sex life. Now they were having phone sex, doing it in bathrooms at parties . . . What was next? He couldn’t wait to find out.
Regan snuggled deeper into her bed. Her sex throbbed from the intense orgasm that had rocketed through her. And as good as he was on the phone, it didn’t come close to sex with Colin in person. She sighed. She had to do something to end this separation.
~ ~ ~
Regan stopped in to court every day, sliding into the back row of seats trying to stay out of view. On the third day, she had the time off and watched Colin’s lawyer and Brian and his other lawyers question people and do their own version of the soft-shoe dance while the jury watched. She tried to get a feeling about how the jury was taking all the information. Some glanced at Colin with obvious disgust and the others looked bored. It didn’t bode well.
For the last two days, a man had joined her in the back row. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place where she knew him from. It could just be someone she recognized from the grocery store or the bank, though she doubted that.
He had dark hair, shaved close to his head. His green eyes were dark but showed no emotion. He didn’t exhibit any signs of being interested in the trial over the two days. No smiling, no coughing, no bathroom breaks, nothing. She couldn’t stop looking over at him. He never moved, his gaze focused forward.
She tried to catch his attention. The curiosity over where she knew him from was eating at her. Something niggled at the back of her brain.
“Excuse me,” she said, leaning toward him.
When he looked at her, his blank expression sent a chill skittering across her back.
She swallowed. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
He shook his head and went back to staring straight ahead.
“Are you here watching the plaintiffs or the defense?”
He looked back at her. “I’m here for the entertainment,” he said, giving her a smirk.
She snapped her head forward, recognition dawning. Her eyes darted from left to right, then tried to bore a hole in Colin’s back so he’d turn around. She was sure he hadn’t realized she was sitting in the back. She usually left before he could see her. She needed to talk to him.
At the lunch recess, she walked with a purpose toward the station, which was only a block away. She had to get to her folder in dispatch. It was that smirk. Sure the hair was different, but that grin . . . She sprinted up the three flights of stairs and paused for a second in front of the dispatch door to calm herself. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the quiet, dark room, letting her eyes adjust and roam over the workstations. Hers was being used.
“Can I sneak in here?” she asked, pushing past the surprised man trying to do his job. She grabbed her folder and quickly sorted through the information until she found the article she’d clipped.
The smirk. There was no doubt.
She’d been sitting next to Rodrigo Ramirez for two days.
Colin didn’t kill him. Now she just had to prove that Ramirez was very much alive. She didn’t know where to turn first, her blood coursing through her veins and adrenaline made her jumpy and ready to run.
Sheila glared at her from across the room.
Taking the clipping, Regan put the folder back, thanked the dispatcher and left, her heart thudding in her chest. She found the proof Colin had been looking for. She’d discovered it without trying.
She ran back into the courtroom, glancing to her right at the back row. He was gone. Searching the faces of the spectators, she didn’t see him.
“Please be seated,” the deputy said. The judge was already on the bench.
“I’ll hear the closing arguments now.” The judge’s voice boomed in the room.
Regan didn’t know how court worked other than what she’d watched and seen on TV. Running to the front of the room screaming “stop the presses” wasn’t going to be looked upon favorably. She took her seat.
Colin looked back and cocked his head to the side as if he were asking, “What’s going on and why are you here?”
She smiled and winked at him. It was going to be okay.
Brian stood. “Many police officers believe they are God. They have the right to take a life if they feel they have justification. Officer Colin Rourke is one of those policemen. He sought retribution for an injury sustained when he arrested poor Rodrigo Ramirez and threw him off the bridge into the icy waters of Casco Bay. Rodrigo didn’t stand a chance of survival. The video is proof of the crime, and we have heard many character witnesses, including Rourke’s best friend, saying that Rourke has a violent streak.” Brian approached the jury. “This is a civil trial and since there is no body for Rodrigo’s family to bury, this judgment will have to sustain the family and punish Officer Rourke.”
Regan slumped back against the seat. Brian made a good argument, but Brian’s clients were frauds. She fought the urge to stand up and declare that “poor Rodrigo” was sitting here in court for the entertainment factor.
It was Colin’s lawyer’s turn to give his remarks. Regan clenched her hands together in her lap. Colin’s body language told her he was nervous.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Your Honor. As a police officer, the defendant has been trained to deal with many different circumstances. There are classes, therapy sessions, and sporting events designed for officers to work off their aggressions and frustrations. There was no reason for Officer Rourke to seek retribution, as the counsel put it. If you pass this judgment against him you will not only take down this officer, you will, in a sense, weaken the whole Port City Police Department. How, you ask?
“One officer can’t make that big a difference. Yes. He can. By passing this judgment, next time a citizen needs a ride or there’s a fight in the Old Port, the officer who responds will be less likely to offer help. Right or wrong, in the back of his mind, he will be concerned whether he, too, will lose everything he values—his wife, his career, and his assets. Officer Rourke is a good officer and a credit to the Port City Police Department. Please make the right decision.”
Petrowinski sat down, steepling his hands on his white notepad.
The judge smiled at the jurors. He read them a list of instructions on how to deliberate and asked the deputy to escort them out of the courtroom.
“Thank for your time, counselors. Jurors will now adjourn to the anti-chamber to make their decision.”
As soon as the judge left, Regan wove her way through the crowd leaving the courtroom to reach the front. “Colin,” she said, interrupting him talking with his lawyer.
“I found it.”
“What?”
“The key. I found it.”
Colin excused himself from his lawyer and turned his full attention to her. “The case is over. The jury is out to decide my fate. Our fate.”