Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(63)
“Miss Story? Ma’am?”
They turned to find Officer Rink standing in the hallway just outside her apartment door.
“Officer . . . is every . . . Is . . .?” She couldn’t form words.
“Is everything all right?” asked Cameron for her.
“The situation is under control,” the officer said. “My partner has both suspects in handcuffs now, but we have quite a crime scene here, I’m sorry to say. And one of the suspects was reaching into his pocket for what Officer Monroe assumed was a weapon, so he discharged his firearm, incapacitating one of the suspects. Bit of a mess, ma’am.”
Margaret stared dumbly at the officer while Cameron spoke soothingly into her ear. “Let’s go home. We can let them finish up here and come back in a few days.”
“No,” she said softly. “It’s my home. I want to see what was going on.”
Pulling away from Cameron, she walked down the hall, feeling stronger with each step. “May I go in?”
“Like I said, it’s a crime scene, ma’am. CSI is on the way, and our drug task force too.”
“Just for a moment?”
The officer shrugged. “Sure.”
She looked back at Cameron, who held back, letting her make her own way, but ever present to support her. “Come with me?”
He stepped forward and took her hand.
Her front hallway looked fine, and as she glanced into the living room, nothing seemed amiss. She headed to the left and walked through the kitchen, which at first glance—other than the gaping hole of her unfinished wine closet—looked okay. Then she turned and walked into the dining room.
It had been transformed into a little hub of industry. Several ripped-open FedEx boxes were strewn on the floor, and on the table were scales, plastic bags, crystals, and white powder everywhere. In a careful pile lay hundreds of little Ziploc bags that read, in black Sharpie, “15g” or “30g.”
She looked up at the officer. “Is it cocaine?”
“No, ma’am. Methamphetamine.”
“Meth,” she whispered. She had no firsthand experience with the drug, but she’d seen reports about it on TV.
She raised her eyes from the drugs to the two handcuffed men sitting across from her at the table, one with blood seeping down his arm from his shoulder.
She looked Diego in the eyes first and didn’t look away until he met her stare. She then let her eyes slide over to his cousin, whom she stared at for a while before looking back at Diego.
“Which one of you hit me in the head last weekend?”
Diego’s eyes widened as he whipped his head to Geraldo. “You hit her? You hit Miss Story?”
“What you want, man? She surprised me.”
“So you hit her? She’s a lady, loco. You don’t got to hit her.”
Geraldo shrugged, looking annoyed at Margaret, then gasped dramatically as Officer Monroe pushed a piece of gauze against his bullet wound and barked, “Hold this.”
“Easy, ese!”
“Fuck you, scumbag. You been using this lady’s apartment for your dirty business? You put her in the hospital last weekend?” He pushed on the bandage again, and Geraldo whimpered. “Yeah. Not so tough now.”
Looking stricken, Diego rubbed his cuffed hands together. “Miss Story,” he said, “I never knowed that he hurt you. I just . . . I’m so ashamed.”
Ignoring Diego, Margaret fixed her eyes on Geraldo. “I’ll be filing assault charges.”
“In addition to the drug charges?” mused Officer Rink. “Possession, intent to distribute, trafficking across international lines. You’re going away for a long, long time, amigo.”
“That’s racist,” muttered Geraldo, sneering at the officer.
“You can complain to the judge.”
Officer Rink turned to Margaret and Cameron. “Can I see you out?”
Margaret looked back at Cameron, who was staring at both men with a murderous glint in his eyes. She placed her hand on his chest and gently pushed him backward. “I think that would be best.”
“Can you return to the station, Miss Story? We’ll need a formal statement, but you’ll need to file assault charges out in Newtown, where the incident occurred. Then we’ll be here for most of today. You should be able to get back into your apartment by Monday or Tuesday.”
As they walked into the hallway, Margaret took a deep breath and looked at Cameron. Because his face was so furious, she grinned at him and then at the officer. For a second, she couldn’t explain the feeling of peace and well-being that swept over her, but then, as Cameron’s fingers threaded through hers . . . she could.
“Oh, it’s okay,” she said. “Take your time. I don’t live here anymore.”
***
They considered staying the night in Cameron’s apartment, since it was late by the time they’d given their statements, but Margaret wanted to wake up at The Five Sisters, and frankly, Cameron couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be. So they headed back to Newtown, and Cameron proceeded to keep his woman awake half the night making love to her without having to worry about her safety anymore.
And in the morning, after waking up entwined around each other, they poured two mugs of coffee and walked down the brambly pathway, past the sheds, past the almost-finished tasting room, to Margaret’s glorious vines, which Shawn and Owen had managed to straighten up after last weekend’s terrible storm.