Page 74 of Jagger
She smiled then, that sweet smile that I loved, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
“I promise, someday, when you ask, I’ll say yes,” she whispered.
We spent the night making love. There was no other way to describe the connection I felt, with each touch demonstrating the love we had for each other. The incredible passion we always had was still there, it was just layered with an intense emotion that I’d never felt before. This woman was mine. My Ol’ Lady, my wife, and maybe even one day, the mother of my children.
Chapter 23
Molly
It was hard to return to the real world of kindergarteners, lesson plans and parent drop-off lines the next morning. I wanted to stay with Cole, in the little bubble we’d created for ourselves the night before. I was still a little stunned at the speed with which it had happened, and I had to admit, part of me was relieved he hadn’t officially proposed just yet. For some reason, I was afraid that would jinx what we had together. I was probably being silly, but I couldn’t help how I felt.
We had agreed to stay at my place tonight. I needed to water my plants and collect my mail, and Jagger wanted me to start packing up my things“just to make it easier when I was ready to move in with him.”I’d offered to make lasagna for dinner, which he enthusiastically agreed to.
I hurried out to Cole’s Charger, which he’d offered to let me drive until I received the payout from my insurance agency. As I started the car, I took a few seconds to appreciate the powerful engine. It beat the heck out of my Honda Civic, which was now consigned to the local junkyard.
I synced my phone to the car’s hands-free feature, and called Cole as I pulled out of the lot. It only rang once before he answered.
“Hey, Angel. Everything OK?”
“Yes, everything’s fine, other than the fact that I would have rather spent the day with you. I just left for the day and need to stop at the grocery to buy a couple of things for the lasagna. Are you still planning to be at my place around six?”
“I actually just wrapped things up here at the bar, so I’m heading out in a minute myself. Why don’t you let me stop at the store on my way? That way, you can go home and relax for a little bit.”
“You’re a good man, Cole Morgan. Just for that, I’ll even make a batch of brownies for dessert.”
“Can’t wait, Angel. I’m getting the better end of the deal, for sure. Send me a quick text with what you need, and I’ll see you in about thirty minutes or so.”
We said our goodbyes, and when I stopped for a red light a moment later, I sent Cole the list of things I needed to make the lasagna I’d promised him.
As I pulled into my apartment parking lot, I saw the front door to the building was propped open again. Judging by the small moving van parked at the curb, someone new was moving in. I had to dodge a couple of boxes stacked in the lobby on my way to the bank of mailboxes, then had to wait as two men maneuvered a large dresser up the flight of stairs. From the look of it, the new neighbors were moving into the empty apartment just down the hall from me.
I trudged up the stairs behind them, then unlocked my apartment door and quickly keyed in the code to disable the alarm system. I took a second to flick through the mail, before tossing it onto the table in the entryway. I set my purse, messenger bag, and lunch tote on the dining table, then wandered down the short hallway toward my bedroom. I’d worn a pair of high-heeled pumps today, and my feet were killing me. I crossed over to my closet and slipped off my shoes with a sigh of relief. After grabbing a T-shirt and my favorite pair of leggings off the hangers, I quickly changed out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable.
Ten minutes later, I was in the middle of chopping up a cucumber to add to our salad when I heard a knock at the door. I set down the knife and quickly tore a paper towel from the roll next to the sink to wipe my hands. The knock sounded again as I rounded the island and headed toward the door. I glanced out the peephole and could just make out the top of a woman’s head. She appeared to be looking down at something in her hands. Ugh, she was probably a door-to-door salesperson who had gotten into the building through the propped-open door downstairs.
“Yes, may I help you?” I asked as I opened the door just a crack, intending to send her on her way with a quick but polite“Sorry, not interested”.
“Uh, yeah, I uh, think some of your mail was delivered to my mailbox by mistake,” the woman muttered, eyes still cast downward. Ah, she must be the new neighbor. I glanced at the envelope she was holding, and smiled as I opened the door wider. I held out my hand, assuming she was going to hand me the mail.
“Thank you, I appreciate you bringing – “
My words were cut off when she lunged forward and pushed me, hard. I was so caught off-guard that I lost my grip on the doorknob and stumbled backward, falling to the floor just inside the entry. Before I could even scream, she was standing over me with a gun pointed directly at my face. I stared in horror as I realized it was Monica Laskey. I was hardly able to comprehend that she was here, instead of in jail. She was here, in my apartment, with agunshoved in my face.
“Don’t make a sound,” she snarled at me, waving the gun in the direction of the couch. “Get over there and sit down and don’t even think about doing anything stupid, or I swear to God I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off.”
I dimly registered my front door swinging closed behind her as I carefully stood, backing up until I felt the couch against the back of my legs. I dropped down onto the cushion, not daring to take my eyes off her for even a moment. My heart was racing, and I tried to control both my breathing and my urge to scream for help. I was fairly sure I would be shot for my trouble.
I had only met her once before, at the parent orientation event we’d held just before the school year started. I had a vague recollection of a rather tired-looking brunette, about my height and very slender. This woman was barely recognizable as the same person. She had gone from looking a bit tired, to looking like she hadn’t slept in days, and she was so thin she looked sickly. Her hair was a dirty, stringy mess, and her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, standing out starkly against the pallor of her skin.
I watched as her eyes darted around the room, before landing on my purse on the dining table. Keeping the gun trained on me, she sidled over until she was next to the table, then grabbed the purse with her free hand. She stalked over and dumped the contents onto my coffee table, then tossed the purse aside. She snatched up my wallet, and I held my breath as the gun she still clutched in her other hand, wobbled precariously. She finally got the wallet opened one-handed, and pulled out the thirty or so dollars I had in there.
“What’s the PIN for your debit card?”
I drew a complete blank at her question. For a moment, I was completely unable to remember the four-digit code that I’d used almost daily for years now. Sheer terror would do that to a person, apparently.
“What’s the fuckin’ PIN, bitch?”She raised the hand holding the gun and I ducked my head instinctively. Pain blossomed along my left temple as the butt of the gun connected with the side of my skull. I raised my arms up and curled them over my head, listening dazedly as she laughed at my feeble attempt to protect myself.
“You pathetic little bitch,” she snorted harshly. “Listen, I need money to get the fuck outta this city. Now, last chance. What’s your fuckin’ PIN?”
