Page 51 of One In Vermillion

I pushed farther into her again and she said, “Oh, God,yes,” and moved under me.

I stopped for a minute to get a grip on her and on myself, and she pressed closer. “This is a great house,” I said, trying to breathe and not come yet.

“You are a great fuck,” she said, and flexed herself even harder against my hips, and I thought,I can’t lose this,and moved inside her again to make sure she felt the same way until I could feel her shuddering, her breath coming in those little gasps that meant she was going to scream in a minute, so I let go, too, felt the hot rush I always got with her, bone-deep, and we came together, locked together, belonging together.

After a minute, I slid out of her and put my forehead on her breasts and held on while I tried to get my breath back. As long as I was holding her, the world made sense. I really couldn’t lose her. If she wanted this house, I wanted this house, too.

When we were both calm again, my arms around her, my cheek against her hair now, I whispered in her ear, “The deck has excellent fields of fire, but we’ll have to work on your emergency rally point.”

She started laughing, and then I couldn’t help myself, I laughed, too, and I knew this place would be hers.

And maybe, if I was careful, mine, too.

THURSDAY

CHAPTER 22

At seven the previous evening, after our open-air sex, Vince and I had gone to JB’s for Jill’s newest addition, deep fried chicken sandwiches, and done a lot of smiling at each other, which probably made everybody who saw us want to barf. Then we went back to the Shady Rest and hit that soaking tub and talked about the house and the Big Chef until that degenerated into a lot of soapy foreplay, which is when we hit that great bed and made love again.

And this morning I woke up seeing the world differently.

It felt like a partition had come down. I wasn’t hiding how I felt about anything anymore, wasn’t accepting things I didn’t want to accept to make other people happy, and it felt like Vince was all in this time, in a way he hadn’t been before. It wasn’t about planning the rest of our lives or exchanging rings or anything like that, it was just us. We’d changed, we were closer in a way I’d never even thought of. I wasn’t going to live with him, and it didn’t matter because we were together. Committed. That was terrifying. But it was also so good that I grabbed him before he left in the morning and dragged him back to bed, just to get more of that sure feeling.

Vince went to work smiling, and I put on my “It’s Fine, I’m Fine, Everything Is Fine” tee, for once not ironically, and made it to the Pink House in time to run my five, putting “My Life Would Suck Without You” on replay because I was giddy, infatuated with a hot cop and home ownership. I took Peri to swimming, and watched to make sure Cash didn’t show up to look at her again, relieved when he didn’t, and came back in time to tell Anemone about the cottage, emphasizing how awful it was, and to tell her I still hadn’t done squat on the copy edits. She didn’t seem concerned, I think because she had so much else to be concerned about: the town council was screwing with the levee permissions, George was depressed about losing police chief and getting stuck with the council presidency, Margot was aimless and foggy and depressed and sleeping a lot, and Faye was a pain in the ass, trying to take back control of the Pink House through sheer audacity. Marianne made amazing brisket sandwiches and homemade potato chips for lunch, which I felt was an excess of homemaker zeal—you can buy perfectly good chips in bags—until I tasted them. Then I said, “Marianne, you’re a genius,” and she said, “I know,” and we had ice cream with sprinkles for dessert which helped reassure Peri that things were fine. She was looking a little tense, and I wasn’t sure if it was her mama being out of it, or if she’d caught sight of Cash watching her through that glass door at the pool the other day, but she seemed to relax some after the ice cream. I’m not a fan of sprinkles, but I can eat them to keep the kid happy.

Then I went out to the factory where I found that Cash’s minions had cleaned up Cleve’s office—I can’t help it, whenever I think of Cash’s minions, I think of those little yellow guys, who are so much more fun than his actual guys who are grim and move around in heavy gear looking predatory and never say ‘banana’—and moved all the papers in there. About twenty boxes. I started sorting, and by noon I’d made some real inroads and discovered absolutely nothing of interest, but even while I noted what were invoices and what were orders and what were inventories as I sorted everything into chronological piles, all I could really think about was the house.

There was no sign of Cash, so that was good.

But a room of my own. That was intoxicating. And terrifying, but still.

So, I took a break and googled for a microwave.

CHAPTER 23

I drove to the Big Chef to get changed, but once I got there, I stared at the Keurig for several moments, then headed out, calling in to Steve Crider that I was investigating and wouldn’t be in for a few hours. Steve, who was a good guy, didn’t ask what I was investigating, but he now had an answer for Bartlett.

I went to Home Depot which was quite a ways up Route 52, far enough to be in the suburbs of Cincinnati. I meandered the aisles, seeing lots of things that Liz was going to need, but she had to have a plan first. And anything other than essentials for safety had to be her choice. One thing that was essential, though, was a door. The one she had didn’t even lock and a huff and a puff from a big bad wolf could blow it down. Or Cash. That was unacceptable. Sort of like needing lug nuts. I’d measured it before we left for the Shady Rest and I remembered the one she’d talked about, so I bought one like it, pretty sure I wasn’t overstepping. No more blue bedroom mistakes.

I purchased a couple of other items and made sure to put the receipt in my wallet in case Liz demanded it so she could pay for the door. Not that there wouldn’t be an argument before I forked it over. But I would fork it over if she insisted. I figure a secure door is a pretty good housewarming present. Plus, I got my veteran’s 10% discount. I’d have to tell her about that so she could save some money on whatever materials she needed.

I’m a thoughtful guy.

I loaded the door in the back of the Gladiator and went directly back to her place. As I drove, I thought about how useful the Gladiator is since it has that cargo bay for things like doors. I decided that was not something I would bring up with Liz, who had once made a snide comment about my winch.

The old door was easily removed, but I put it to the side on the front porch. Maybe she had an emotional attachment to it and wanted to keep it. Maybe she’d hate the new, secure door. In which case, I had the receipt and could return it. I was approaching this like a good Ranger, planning for all contingencies. I still needed an emergency rally point, though.

I mounted the new door, much heavier, stouter, with multiple locks. I redid the frame to accept the locks. I left the keys on the kitchen counter and the door unlocked since there wasn’t really anything to steal inside yet, except maybe the keys.

Then I drove down the drive to where it met the dirt road that was the main thoroughfare here. Not exactly heavily traveled. Nevertheless, given it was Over-the-Hill, and being the dour pragmatist that I am, I took the

PRIVATE PROPERTY

NO TRESPASSING

sign I’d bought and attached it to a stake, which I pounded in the ground next to her drive. I used a black marker and wrote at the bottom:

By Order of Vince Cooper

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