Rough Rhythm: A Made in Jersey Novella (1001 Dark Nights)(26)

For one lightheaded moment, Lita was positive he would tackle her once again to the forest floor, his expression was so ravenous. Instead, he growled a curse and took her hand, leading her back the way they’d come. She didn’t even bother containing her smile as she stumbled along behind him, not sparing a single care about her disheveled state.

Until they walked into the clearing and came face to face with half a dozen police officers, red and blue lights flashing behind them.





Chapter Eight



James shoved Lita behind his back, positive he’d been transplanted into the middle of his own personal nightmare. Or maybe the universe was balancing out the heaven he’d just visited by casting him into hell. It couldn’t be reality. But it was. He could feel Lita’s hands sliding up and down his back, could hear her whispering into the material of his T-shirt, words that wouldn’t penetrate the denial revolving like a hurricane in his brain, throwing debris in every direction, intent on destruction.

“We received reports of screams coming from the woods.”

A silence followed the officer’s statement, the brief but heavy kind that ensues after a hospital patient flatlines. He’d heard that kind of silence before. Coming from his mother when the police showed up at their house, shuffling their shiny shoes on the porch. Police that may as well be identical to these men, attempting to stare straight through him to Lita. To ascertain the damage they’d already glimpsed. And what had they seen? A woman who’d been mistreated. A woman with marks on her body, inflicted by a man. Him.

We received reports of a disturbance coming from the house.

How many times had he heard those words growing up? Except now, he wasn’t comforting his mother in the living room while his father “got rid of” the cops. No, he was…his father. He was the monster hiding the damage. Guarding his own victim. God, he was nothing but a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Lita’s hand started to shake inside his, and he automatically tightened his grip. Protecting her came before anything else. Or it had at one time. They were facing a veritable firing squad and her only armor was a ripped tank top and mud-stained shorts. As far as he was concerned, he’d just forfeited his right to protect her ever again. As a lover, friend, or manager. He’d failed her three different ways.

And Jesus, if he’d just walked away four years ago, he’d have only failed her in one way. As a human being. Selfish. He’d been too f*cking selfish. One last time, he would allow himself to play protector. Just one.

“I’ll answer any questions you have, but I need to get her into my car first.”

The officers traded what they probably thought was a covert glance. It wasn’t. They were weighing his demeanor, the tension in his voice. Determining whether or not he was a threat. They were right to do it. “We’re going to need to speak with her, too.”

Lita pulled on the back of his T-shirt. “Let me talk to them. Come on, it’s just a misunderstanding.”

James turned his head slightly but didn’t meet her eyes. “Is it?”

Her hand dropped from his shirt.

The back of James’s neck pulled tight. How dare he feel so possessive of her? A shout threatened to burst from his throat, commanding the officers to stay away, knowing damn well the command should come in reverse. He should stay away. But rationality where Lita was concerned had never been his strength. “She’ll talk to one of you. Not all six.”

Ignoring the pain in his chest, James gripped the hem of his T-shirt and ripped it over his head, handing the garment over his shoulder to Lita and leaving himself bare-chested. For a moment, the shirt remained suspended in air before she moved, pulling it over her head. Covering herself.

This was why he’d maintained rigid control for four years. This is what happened when you gave the wrongness inside you an inch. It took a mile. No. He wouldn’t displace responsibility. He’d taken a mile. And now Lita would pay in the form of embarrassment. Judgment.

When James realized the officers were staring down at his uncovered chest, he wondered if the gaping wound in his heart was visible, but upon further inspection he saw what had drawn their notice. A slash of red, angry nail marks decorated his chest. He didn’t even recall her scratching him.

“Aren’t you Malcolm Brandon’s son?”

That question sounded as if it had come from inside the blue and red flashing lights, but when the asker came forward to reveal himself, James recognized the officer right away. The same officer who’d stood on his porch all those years ago, summoned by their neighbors. We received reports of a disturbance coming from the house. Only this time it was James, not Malcolm. The condemnation and disgust in the officer’s eyes was a bullet straight to the gut.

It was obvious that James’s father’s name rang a bell for each of the men. Eyebrows went up. Not just in recognition but in speculation. Like father like son.

James’s momentary shock gave Lita her opportunity to stomp past him. “Hiya, boys. Sorry you came all the way out here for nothing.” Her laughter echoed in the silence, but James could only focus on the desperation in her voice. “We got a little carried away while hiking. That’s all.”

“Lita.” James stepped forward to take her arm but drew his hand back when one of the officers laid a hand on his gun.

“Jesus.” She shoved a clump of dirt-streaked hair behind her ear. “Don’t tell me this is the first time someone messed around in the goddamn forest around here.”