02 Turn to Me - Kathleen Turner Read online

  His eyes on me made my cheeks burn, but before I could get uncomfortable, his mouth was on me, his tongue inside me, and my eyes slammed shut.

  Under his skilled lips and tongue, my body was soon convulsing, cries falling from my lips. In the corner of my mind that still retained a semblance of dignity, I noticed I sounded like a bad porn movie. I couldn’t help it, I started to giggle.

  “What’s so funny?” Blane asked, his mouth pressing against the skin of my abdomen as he moved upward. His fingers found the clasp on my bra and I arched my back so he could remove it.

  “Me,” I said, still laughing. “I make ridiculous noises.”

  “You sound fucking amazing,” he growled, abruptly cutting off my giggles as he thrust inside me.

  I moaned, raising my hips to meet his. I couldn’t touch him without losing my position, so my hands remained on the desk behind me.

  Blane’s mouth found my breast and his hands dug into my hips as he lifted me to a better angle, which I strongly agreed with judging by the moans and whimpers I couldn’t suppress.

  I didn’t care how I sounded, I just wanted it harder and faster and right there, and told him so. I teetered on the edge for a blissful moment, then felt Blane’s teeth close over my nipple. My scream was muffled by his hand over my mouth and I held on as his body pounded into mine, my thighs trembling with the aftershocks. He stiffened against me, his teeth marking me again as he made his own happy noises, which I must say, sounded much better than mine.

  We lay there for a moment, catching our breath, before I started to notice how hard the desk was and how chilly the air had become. I shivered and Blane pulled back, rearranging his clothes before lifting me down to stand on trembling legs.

  I found my bra and sweater and put them on while Blane found a tissue. He wiped gently at the wetness between my thighs while he kissed me, long and deep. I noticed with satisfaction that the aroma of sex hung in the room, obliterating any last traces of Kandi’s perfume from this morning.

  He released me with a touch to my cheek, our eyes meeting in a moment of perfectly attuned intimacy. I imagined I could see the same emotion in his eyes which was currently bubbling inside my chest, though neither of us said anything. I was afraid to put a name to it, though I knew what I felt.

  I broke eye contact and looked around for my skirt. I tugged it on over my bare skin, deciding against the idea of saying anything about what Blane had tucked into the pocket of his slacks. He unlocked the door while I dressed and tossed the tissue into the trash. I adjusted my clothes and pushed my feet back into my black flats, combing my fingers through my hair.

  “No!”

  The shout from Blane startled me and I jumped. My head jerked up in time to see him hurtling towards me. I stood in shock as he tackled me, his shoulder hitting my chest and knocking the air from my lungs. I hit the floor, him on top of me, and my head cracked painfully against a bookcase. I heard the shattering of glass, a loud bang, then everything went dark.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  I woke slowly, my head pounding. I could hear a voice, Blane’s voice, talking quietly. I listened as I took stock of my body. Everything ached and it took me a moment to remember why. Blane crashing into me and me crashing into the floor.

  “I need you,” I heard Blane say quietly. Then there was silence. “You know I wouldn’t ask otherwise.” I focused more intently on listening as his voice lowered even further. “I don’t ask much from you, you know that.”

  The sound of sirens made my eyes jerk open and I saw Blane sliding his cell phone back into his pocket. I painfully raised myself up to see I was laying on the couch outside Blane’s office that was tucked into a windowless corner. I groaned, clutching my head, and Blane was by my side in an instant.

  “I’m so sorry, Kat,” he said, sinking into a crouch in front of me. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “What happened?” I asked. Speaking made me wish I’d kept my mouth shut as another wave of pain crashed through my head.

  “You were targeted,” Blane said. I looked at him blankly. “Sighted, with a laser from the window,” he explained, “right here.” His finger pressed gently to my chest, directly over my heart. “You were just lucky I saw it in time. A few seconds later...” The words trailed off as he looked at me. My hands went cold as I realized what he was saying.

  “Someone watched us have sex?” I asked in disbelief, my voice a high screech that I immediately regretted as my head throbbed. I felt violated and humiliated. What sick pervert would do that?

  “I don’t think you’re focusing on the important part,” Blane said, his voice flat. “Someone tried to kill you.”

  His face was hard and devoid of expression, which I knew meant he was carefully controlling his anger. I swallowed.

  “Thanks for saving me,” I said reflexively. I thought I might be in shock, my mind not yet fully processing what had happened. At the moment, I was more pissed off that someone had been watching Blane and me together than the fact that they’d taken a shot at me.

  “It’s because of me that you needed saving in the first place,” Blane bit out angrily.

  I couldn’t answer because just then the stairwell doors crashed open to reveal a cadre of police, firemen and EMTs. Blane rose quickly to his feet, speaking with the police and pointing me out to the EMTs.

  I had to suffer through their exam, despite my protests that I was fine. Blane hovered nearby once he was through talking with the cops. They were in his office now, examining the floor for bullets.

  “You have a mild concussion,” one of the EMT guys said. “You should be admitted for observation overnight.”

  “No way,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll be fine.” I despised hospitals. I’d watched both my parents die in one. The antiseptic smell of a hospital, the constant noise, the endless hallways filled with doorways through which lay people who may or may not recover from whatever ailed them – all of it terrified me. I refused to go to a hospital.

  “If he says you need to go, you should probably go,” Blane interjected, seating himself next to me on the couch and taking my hand in his.

  “I’m fine,” I said adamantly. “I will not go to a hospital.”

  The EMT’s gaze met Blane’s, and with a shrug of his shoulders, he packed up his equipment. When he had walked away, Blane spoke.

  “Why won’t you go to the hospital?” he asked quietly. “I’ll take care of the cost, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I just...” I faltered for a moment. “I just hate hospitals, okay? They’re horrible. People go in and...they don’t come out.”

  He didn’t say anything and I looked away uncomfortably. He rose from the couch when a cop called his name. I got to my feet and followed, wanting to hear what they had to say.

  “We found these bullets in your office,” the cop said, handing a plastic baggie to Blane. “Looks like a .308 Win. Based on the trajectory, I'd say the shooter was on the roof of the building next door.”

  Blane inspected the bullets closely. “Those aren’t Winchesters,” he said. “They’re 7.62 NATOs.”

  “What’s significant about that?” I asked.

  Blane looked at me. “This type of bullet is typically used in MK-11s.”

  I still looked blankly at him.

  “MK-11s are sniper rifles and only issued to the military.”

  My eyes widened as I finally caught on. “So it was someone in the military shooting at me?”

  Blane nodded, his face a blank slate. “Maybe even the Navy.” He turned to the officer. “Did you find anything over there?” he asked, handing the baggie back to him.

  “Not a thing,” the cop said. “Whoever it was, he was careful to not leave evidence behind.”

  A few minutes later, everyone had cleared out except Blane and me. I dug in my purse until I found a bottle of painkillers, then swallowed three.

  “What happened to your arm?” Blane asked out of the blue.


  “What?”

  “Earlier,” he clarified, “I noticed your arm had bruises.” He motioned to my upper arm where James had grabbed me yesterday. “What happened?”

  This was so not the time for this, but I didn’t see any way I could avoid telling him.

  “I had a run in with James at the courthouse yesterday,” I confessed. “He was...agitated. Told me you were going down, that this case was going to make his career.”

  Blane had gone very still the moment I said James’ name. I could feel the anger practically vibrating through him.

  “Did he hit you again?” Blane’s voice was flat and cold.

  “No. No, he didn’t,” I said quickly. “He just grabbed me, shook me a little.” A dangerous light came into Blane’s eyes and I hurried to him. “You can’t do anything to James, Blane,” I said earnestly, tipping my head back so I could look him in the eye. “That’s what he wants. If he can get you removed from this case, he’ll win. No one else stands a chance against him.”

  Blane seemed unmoved by my argument.

  “Blane,” I pleaded. “Promise me you won’t go after him. Not until after this case is through. It would only cause more trouble and Kyle needs you.”

  Finally, to my relief, he reluctantly nodded. “But I am going to find out if he’s behind this,” Blane amended.

  “Fine,” I agreed, “just don’t put him in the hospital, okay?” Blane’s lips twitched and I quickly added, “Or the morgue.”

  Blane followed me home from the firm in his car.

  “I thought we were going to stay away from each other?” I’d reminded him when he told me of his intentions.

  “Fuck that,” he’d replied, scanning the parking lot as he walked me to my car. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  That made me feel warm and fuzzy inside, though I disliked the need for his protectiveness. I also realized I’d forgotten to warn him about Bacon Bits as we entered my apartment and the little dog flew at him, barking madly.

  “How did you get out?” I asked the excited dog, hurrying to my bedroom door. I’d been so sure I’d shut it securely this morning, but there it was, standing innocently open.

  “Why do you have Alisha’s dog?” Blane asked, following me.

  “She had to leave town for a few days,” I explained with a sigh, squatting down to pet Bits. He quieted immediately.

  Tigger suddenly appeared, rubbing against me, and I braced myself for the two animals to start fighting, but they seemed to have ironed out their differences. To my surprise, Tigger gave Bits a little nudge, then jogged away. Bits obediently trotted after him. Huh.

  “I’ll go get some dinner,” Blane said as I stood back up. The room tilted for a moment and I grabbed the counter to stay on my feet.

  “What’s wrong?” Blane asked urgently. He lifted my chin so he could look at my eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, brushing aside his concern. “Just stood up too fast, that’s all.”

  “You need to lie down,” Blane said, hooking an arm around my waist and guiding me to the bed.

  “I need to take the dog outside,” I protested.

  “I’ll do it. Just rest, okay?”

  I was suddenly too tired to argue. My head still hurt and last night’s tossing and turning was catching up to me. With Blane nearby, I felt the anxiety inside me ease. I felt safe.

  I let Blane push me gently down onto the bed. I kicked off my shoes and laid back while he pulled the quilt over me.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

  I smiled tiredly. “You have to tell him ‘go toodles, Bits, go toodles for momma,’” I said, pitching my voice high in imitation, “or else he won’t go.”

  Blane looked at me. “I’m not doing that,” he said flatly.

  “But then he’ll go on the bed,” I protested.

  “How about I just point my gun at him,” he deadpanned.

  I laughed, squirming further underneath the quilt as I watched Blane leave the room, Bits prancing after him, tongue lolling happily out the side of his mouth.

  When I woke, it was nearly nine o’clock. My headache was gone, thank goodness, and I was starving.

  I went to the bathroom and changed my clothes into flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, not bothering with a bra. I brushed the tangles from my hair, washed the makeup off my face and brushed my teeth. I felt much better after that and went in search of Blane.

  I found him on the couch. He’d changed into jeans and a t-shirt, some clothes he’d left here once before, and papers were scattered all over the couch and coffee table as he wrote on a legal pad. Tigger was curled behind him on the top of the couch while Bits lay at his feet. The scene made me smile.

  He must have sensed my presence because he looked up, a quick glance taking in my appearance.

  “You look like you feel better,” he said.

  “I do, thanks,” I replied. “Just hungry.”

  “There’s some Chinese in the fridge. Kung Pao. Your favorite.”

  My mouth watered just thinking about it. I grabbed the container and dumped some on a plate to heat in the microwave. When I got back to the living room, Blane had cleared a space next to him on the couch. I tucked my feet underneath me as I sat cross-legged beside him.

  “Thanks for dinner,” I said, after I’d swallowed a mouthful of fiery chicken.

  “No problem,” he said, his mouth tipping up at the corners.

  The television wasn’t turned on, but Blane had lit the lights on the Christmas tree. After I ate, I sat in comfortable silence with Blane as he worked. Tigger moved to my lap and I stroked his fur absently. So long as we didn’t talk about someone shooting at me yet again, and I didn’t mention the dead possum and blood on my car, it was a real sweet scene.

  I loved Christmas. It was my favorite time of the year. I could see the snow outside, the wan moonlight causing the ground to glisten. The smell of cedar and balsam permeated the apartment and the tree glowed brightly with all the lights and ornaments we’d hung on it. I found my spirits lifting in spite of the mess I was currently in.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What?” My attention jerked to Blane who was studying me, his pen poised over his legal pad.

  “You were humming something,” he said.

  “Oh,” I said, taken aback. “I’m sorry.” I hadn’t realized I’d been doing that and certainly hadn’t intended on disturbing him.

  “What was it?”

  I thought. “I don’t know. A Christmas carol, probably.” I shrugged my shoulders.

  “Will you sing it for me?” he asked.

  I ducked my head in embarrassment. “Of course not,” I said, “don’t be silly. Finish your work so we can go to bed. I’m tired.”

  Blane deliberately set aside his pad and pen and stacked his papers neatly next to his briefcase. Turning, he pulled me between his spread legs and I settled back against his chest with a sigh. With his arms around me, the night enveloping us, it didn’t seem like anything bad could happen.

  “Please.”

  Well, crap. I couldn’t resist him when he said that – not that I was that great at resisting him period. I wasn’t that great of a singer, apart from my ability to channel Britney Spears, but I gave it my best. Looking at the tree, I softly sang the first and second verses to Silent Night. It made me miss my mom, that song had been one of her favorites. She’d always said it set the right mood of reverence for Christmas and I agreed.

  “That was beautiful, Kat,” Blane said when the last note had trailed off into the darkness. His voice was rough.

  We sat in silence for a while, lost in our own thoughts. I kept thinking about Kyle and the case Blane was working.

  “Tell me,” I said into the quiet, “about when you were in the service. Did you have to shoot anyone?”

  Blane’s whole body stiffened and I could practically feel him pulling away from me.

  “W
hy do you want to know?” he asked.

  “I’m not judging you,” I said, twisting around so I could see his face. “I want to know what it was like for you, what you went through.”

  He studied me for a moment, as if deciding whether or not he was going to speak. I stayed silent, hoping he trusted me enough to open up to me.

  “It’s hard to explain,” he began. “Life is different, more basic, in war. Your point of view is focused only on yourself and the men you’re with, helping to keep each other alive. You see things, do things, that people who aren’t there can’t even imagine.”

  His eyes had taken on a faraway look and I wondered if he was seeing me or something else.

  “One time we were working with some marines,” Blane said after a pause. “They needed help clearing houses and marines aren’t trained for that sort of thing. I went in first, clearing the bottom floor and they came in behind me. One of them, it was his first time out, he was young, maybe nineteen, twenty. Name was Dillon. He got too complacent once the bottom floor was cleared. He didn’t realize that sometimes they would hide upstairs, waiting for us. He went up alone, careless, and the bastard hiding set off a grenade. Killed himself and blew a hole in my guy’s chest. By the time I got to him, he was nearly gone. He just kept asking me to call his mom. He wanted to say goodbye. He died in my arms.”

  My eyes were wide as I listened. Blane was right. I couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like.

  “It’s funny,” he said thoughtfully, “you don’t always remember the ones you saved. But you never forget the ones you couldn't.”

  There were no words I could say that would even begin to mean anything in light of what he’d just told me, so I didn’t try. Reaching up, I took his face in my hands until his eyes were once again focused on me.

  “You’re a good man, Blane Kirk,” I said. I pressed my lips firmly to his once, twice. His arms embraced me tightly as I laid my head on his shoulder.

  “Did you have any problems when you came back?” I asked. I’d heard about soldiers with PTSD and wondered if Blane had ever suffered from that.

  “It took a while to readjust,” he said. “It was months before I could pass trash on the road without thinking it was an IED about to blow. Being on constant alert over there, it’s hard to accept that you’re safe, that you don’t have to come awake at the slightest noise, reaching for your gun.” He paused. “Kade helped me through it.”