Page 12 of Copper

Lucy snorts a laugh and sniffs. “We talked. I showed up at her door when I hadn’t seen Beck for a couple weeks. The suspense was killing me. I suddenly couldn’t track his phone, and I couldn’t sleep since I was just awake every night, wondering when he would show up and blame me for whatever kept him away. I went to her house, knocked on the door, and asked if she knew anything. I did it when her husband was at work. I didn’t want to start trouble there.”

“Why not? You could have caused issues for the woman that was Beck’s side piece. That had to hurt.”

She clenches her fists and chews on the inside of her cheek before answering. “Call it intuition, but I don’t think it turned out too happy for her. Just a hunch I had. I waited until her husband left for work and knocked on the door. I introduced myself, and I could tell she was scared I was there to hurt her or something. Something in her eyes told me he hurt her when he didn’t get his way with her too. She was scared of me. Of anything to do with him. Anyway, she fell for him the same way I did. He was charming at first and then started with a dirty look and a random shove. Eventually, he moved to a slap or a harder push. It progressed with her from there.”

I make a mental note to pay the girlfriend a visit. Lucy’s not a policewoman and not used to people lying to her. Maybe I can talk to the woman and learn something new. “Who is this woman? A coworker of Beck’s?”

Lucy shakes her head. “Jalen Quarry is Ellen’s husband.” I make a mental note of the name. “Jalen worked with Beck.”

I laugh and shake my head. “A wife beater, the cousin of a motorcycle club president with questionable ties to the mafia, and someone who likes diddling his coworker’s wife. This just keeps getting better. Let me guess. They met at the company Christmas party and tickled each other’s tinsel?”

Lucy smiles a crooked, close-lipped grin. “Probably something like that.” Her smile slips away. "Not to be a drag about the police, but they said that the fact that he had a girlfriend and our marriage wasn't the best was the reason they weren’t going to throw up road flares for him."

"That's unusual. You reported it to Chicago?"

She nods. "Yeah, they posted the missing person report around on social media. I filled out a form and provided a picture. Those were the beat cops. I don’t think it ever moved up the chain. Present company excluded, but I don’t have a high respect for the profession after all that was pushed under the rug when it was obvious I was being knocked around. Not one of them helped me, even if a doctor’s eyebrows were raised enough to report it. Beck also told anyone who would listen that I was clingy and he couldn’t wait to get away from me someday. I’m sure that didn’t help with motivation."

Clingy? I'd sell my soul to the highest bidder to have Lucy cling to me like plastic wrap.

“But we have a hot night ahead of us, right?” She grips her purse tighter under her armpit and smiles. “You ready, Sheriff Dwyer?” She slides her hand in mine, and all thoughts of her dick ex-husband and his girlfriend are gone. All that matters is Lucy and the fact that I have one night to dig up something on Murphy Beckett and impress this woman for the second time in my life.

I wait as she locks the door, and I check the lock for her – my small gesture to let her know I take her safety seriously. I walk her to the passenger door of my car and wait as she adjusts her dress, reminding me of the time I drove her to senior prom. “Let’s go save some turtles, gorgeous,” I say, closing the door.

Chapter 7

Lucy

Aaron’ssmellremindsmeof hard and dirty sex – the kind we had when we were dating. Every time I’m next to him, I think about the way his body used to move over mine and the way he sounded when he came next to my ear. Does he still moan into a woman’s neck when he finishes inside of her? Would he still grip my throat the way I liked? Aaron was the filthiest talker that I’ve ever been with. Beck only called me a dirty cunt in bed and made it sound like he was doing me a favor or that I wasn’t desirable.

Aaron Dwyer was the only man that ever fucked me dirty but didn’t make me feel like I was a pity fuck.

Chills move up my spine every time he touches me on the car ride. There must be something weird about the walls of the club because my hair doesn’t stand up on end when he touches me at work. He rests his hand on my thigh on the ride to the gala, and I trace the veins in the back of his hand with my fingertip as he drives. It’s the same way I used to ride next to him when we were teens. This time, we’re not in Aaron’s first car on the way to a date with our friends or sneaking out of the house after midnight for a summer joyride followed by skinny dipping.

He chats about his kids, work, and what he hopes to find out from Murphy tonight. I’m to make small talk while he butters up Murphy to make him comfortable. We’re to notice who he talks to at the gala and watch for any envelopes or papers being exchanged, but we shouldn’t ask specific questions about any questionable business deals or the mafia. Aaron prefers to have a friendly relationship with Murphy and find out who else he sucks up to and not go in guns blazing.

I check out his profile as he talks. His jaw is stronger than when we dated before. Perhaps it’s because he’s leaner and more muscular now. His face is more relaxed than when he was young. Like he’s on vacation. Is he really that comfortable around me?

I wish I could say the same. Since Beck went missing, I’m nervous when I talk to anyone, especially the police. It’s the definition of irony that I have the county sheriff in my life. If there’s one thing I want to avoid, it’s all this mafia connection bullshit and police entanglement. I don’t trust the police as a general rule. When I reported abuse in the past, they glossed over it. Maybe Beck had more connections than I thought.

But here I am with the fucking sheriff. I imagine waking up next to him and going to Home Depot every weekend before tackling some landscaping project together around the house. I fantasize about long, lazy Sundays in a hammock out back with Aaron Dwyer’s dog at our feet.

I couldn’t say no to him about tonight. Sitting next to him in the front seat of the car, I inhale deeply. I’ve missed this smell for over a decade, and I want to memorize it in case I never get to sit next to him again.

He prattles on about something cute Ruby said this morning, and my chin quivers with emotion. How did I let him go so easily all those years ago? Why didn’t we both fight for our relationship? How did I end up with Beck who is the complete opposite of Aaron?

I am, without a doubt, one hundred percent still in love with Aaron Dwyer, and I will destroy anyone who hurts him without blinking an eye. Shame roils through my stomach at the idea of Aaron finding a nice woman who teaches kindergarten or works as a librarian. That’s what he deserves, but I feel sick when I think about him being happy with anyone but me ever again.

We arrive at the convention center and pull into the parking attendant station. Aaron gets out of the car as the valet opens my door. Without hesitation, Aaron’s at my side, taking my hand as I get out of the car. “Did I mention you look gorgeous tonight?” he asks.

“You did.”

He pats my hand on his arm and smirks like he’s the luckiest man in the world. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that before we enter this hornet’s nest.”

***

“Sheriff Dwyer,” a man I recognize as an alderman in our small suburb says immediately as Aaron walks through the door. Aaron stops to talk to the man and shakes his hand as I take in the surroundings. I hope he doesn’t get stopped like this every few feet. We’ll never learn anything tonight.

The convention center is draped in seafoam green and blue decorations. Decorative turtles hang from the ceiling, and carefully placed lights make the walls look like we’re under a lake or river. Light music comes through overhead speakers, and several women and men stand at points around the room. They must be organizers or on some kind of board because they shake hands and greet everyone on the way to the bar or dining room. Waitresses circle the room with glasses of champagne and appetizers. One woman stops in front of me, and I grab a cracker with some type of dip across the top. I let out a chuckle at the thought that we’re here to protect turtles and this may be some type of seafood spread, but I close my lips and fight the smile. Maybe it’s just a bean dip.

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