Page 5 of Crossing Lines

I didn’t understand any of it.

Getting to my feet, I looked back down at Mama’s headstone and let my fingers run across the indented letters.

Grace Elizabeth Malone

B. 1960 D. 1996

Beloved Mother & Wife

“Why, Mama? Why did you have to leave us?” I watched as her name became blurry once again with the tears filling my eyes. With a deep sigh, I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, stood, and walked away. My heart was aching, stomach churning, and worry was holding me so tight I was choking.

This was a bunch of bullshit.

I climbed back into my truck and looked around. My cell was ringing. Where was it? I patted my pockets, ran my hand along the seat, and looked under the seats. There it was on the floor pad of the passenger seat. How it had gotten there, no one knew.

Shelby’s name was on the screen, so I ignored the call, started my truck, and put it in drive. I had to clear my head before I got to the bar. I was meeting Trace and Chip there to discuss a caseI’d probably be off the second the words ‘I’m pregnant’ fell from my lips.

A long, heavy sigh left me as I turned from the cemetery and headed back toward town. My eyes were puffy, my stomach hurt, and I was feeling…utterly lost. That changed, though. Something happened when I pulled into the parking lot at the bar.

I think I became possessed by the Hounds of Hell—or better yet, the sanity that I held onto like a whisper in the dark finally took a long overdue hike.

At the sight of Trace’s truck, my stomach flipped. He’d done this to me. He’d made me…pregnant. His sperm. That grubby bastard was the reason I was going to get fat, irritable, and completely miserable. I was probably going to die while pushing outhisspawn!

I parked my truck, opened the back door, pulled Louie out, and stalked over to his monster of a truck. This asshole was going to ruin my lady bits and give me stretch marks! If I survived this thing, the bastard was going to pay. I swung as hard as I could when I got close enough to knock the mirror from the passenger side of his truck.

“You stupid son of a bitch!” I screamed as I smashed one light, making sure to break it completely. The grill was next. The crunch of my bat against the thick plastic was deeply satisfying to my soul. I slammed the bat down across the hood, the metal fighting back but inevitably denting. I screamed again as I swung Louie around and brought it down on the hood before aiming for my next target.

My heart was pounding as I stalked around, pacing as I tightened my grip on my bat. Each hit put another dent in my soul. I didn’t know how to control the rage and panic billowing up inside of me. It was an active volcano with no off-switch. I knew this would hurt him, make him upset. I wanted to showhim what I was feeling. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but it was how it was going to be.

I flipped the bat in my grip, swung, and took out the other headlight. The white and red plastic fell to the ground in pieces. Those pieces ground under my boots as I made my way around, smashing the bat against the windows. The damn safety glass didn’t shatter like I wanted it to. It cracked though, spider-webbing.

“You did this! You son of a bitch!” I pushed at it with my hand. When that didn’t work, I put my fist through it, opening the hole even more. The next one did the same. The damn glass finally crumbled into a million pieces, falling onto the ground and into the truck.

“This is all your fault! I was protected! You bastard!” Glass crunched under my boots as I moved to the back of the truck, swinging, smashing the tail light. Broken plastic fell to the asphalt. My stomach churned, but I kept going. The last light cover cracked, falling to the parking lot. My bat cracked with the impact. I felt the handle press back and bite into my hand.

I ignored the pain and moved to the driver’s side of the truck. The windows taunted me. I pulled back, readied myself, and swung as hard as I could, over and over until the glass started to crumple into a pile in the window frame and on the ground. I was breathing hard. My chest pounded, aching with the exertion I’d used to destroy his truck.

A sob broke free as I swung, breaking the last of the glass free of the window.

“Stella Grace! What the fuck are you doing?” I turned, glaring at the big asshole stalking my way.

“Don’t you snarl at me, Tracey Everette Daniels!” The look he gave me was one of pure rage.

Fine!This was his fault anyway, guess he was going to be next!

Chapter 3

Tracey

I was enjoyinga few beers in the bar with some of the gang, trying to relax, and waiting for Stella to come in so we could talk. She thought this was a business meeting, but it wasn’t. It was something much more important…and long overdue. I’d been putting it off, not wanting to rush her or make her feel like she had to say yes.

The ring in my pocket had been there for a few days now. I’d been trying to find the right moment to pop the question.

I’d asked her father, Wayne, for his permission weeks ago. I wanted to do this by the book—the right way. I’d faced down hardened criminals and never broken a sweat. However, talking to Wayne, asking him to trust me with his little girl for eternity, that was hard. He’d given me a similar talk to what I was sure every guy at this table had gotten from their wife’s father. You know the one I mean. The ‘if you hurt my daughter, I will kill you’ talk.

I’d also talked with her brothers. Believe it or not, Carter had been the hardest sell. He was fiercely protective of his sissy. I loved that about him and the others. They looked out for her as hard as she did for them.

I’d felt a little uneasy when I’d walked away that night. Not because of what was said, but the tears her old man had shown me. Stella was his only daughter, his little piece of Grace, and he wanted her to be happy. He’d said more than once that she needed a man who could understand her, love her, and be there to rein in her crazy.

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