Reinstated Bond

  REINSTATED BOND

  by Holley Trent

  Copyright Holley Trent

  Published 11 January 2013

  All Rights Reserved.

  Reinstated Bond is a work of complete fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover images available at 123rf.com and stock.xchng.

  WARNING: this story contains adult situations including sex and strong language. It is not intended for consumption by minors (age of majority as specified by your territory of residence).

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Come on, Nicola. I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be. I took the file because I'm going to be a lot more gentle with Marilyn than Jeff or Lee would be. Just consider this a favor to her." Carter Aiken ran his palm over the day's worth of auburn stubble on his jaw and gave the green-eyed bruja what he hoped was a look of contrition.

  Nicola folded her arms over her chest. A muscle in her jaw twitched as she locked her unflinching gaze on him. "Right. A favor." She mumbled something guttural in Spanish.

  He took a tiny step back and braced himself.

  Nothing happened.

  He blew out a breath and shifted his weight.

  Nicola Skinner had been murmuring oaths at him for a decade, and the rumor around Chowan County was that she was some kind of witch. She'd always hated him, and him standing there in her laundry room's doorway wearing a bond enforcement badge probably didn't improve their relationship any. He was trying to snatch her daughter. His ex.

  "My family left El Salvador to get away from people like you."

  "Oh, come off it, Nicola. I'm just doing my job. I'm not picking on her. Marilyn missed an important court date and now the judge thinks she's a flight risk. Her bond got yanked. You were the cosignatory. You should care."

  Nicola mumbled some more, and he could feel his brows arching up to his hairline. Back in high school when he and Marilyn had been an item, Marilyn had always told him to ignore her mother. That she was just overprotective because of her own tumultuous childhood and that she didn't mean him any real harm.

  He wasn't so sure. Like most people living in the rural county, she probably had a shotgun propped up next to the door. Nicola's husband Harold was a long-haul trucker and frequently away from home. Harold would have made sure she kept it handy and that she knew how to use it.

  Carter took another step backward.

  "She's not here," she repeated, leaning against the washing machine and cocking her blonde head to the side as she squinted up at him.

  Get a grip, Aiken. She's five feet tall and over fifty.

  "I'm sorry to sound skeptical, Mrs. Skinner," he said, straightening up and puffing out his broad chest, "but I'm sure you understand why I need to take a look around. Her car is here and this is the boondocks. It's not like she's going to take off on foot down the highway."

  A wicked smile spread across her face. There was a loud creak at the far end of the ranch house followed by a slam, then a thud as something hit the ground. When Carter turned his head to the left, he saw a tan blur with dark wild hair and a shapely pair of stems darting into the neighboring cornfield.

  "Fuck."

  *

  Marilyn had been hiding out in the stalks as a stalling tactic since she was a child trying to flee bedtime. The field was actually owned by a farmer who lived down the road, but she was so lithe and careful gliding through the rows of tall cow corn, she rarely ever snapped a stem. The farmer never had been one to plant densely. Once she got inside and disappeared into the middle of the field, it was nearly impossible to catch up to her.

  She sat there in the stalks until dusk at which point she carefully stood and wiped the loamy soil off the seat of her short-shorts. Visibility was growing poor and the last thing she wanted was to have to be taken to the county hospital for snakebite treatment when she was trying her damndest to avoid arrest.

  She was innocent, but because everyone in Chowan County knew everyone else, she doubted she'd be afforded a fair, unbiased trial. She'd asked her lawyer to request a venue change but it had been denied and the judge had flat-out asserted that she was paranoid. Add that to her list of supposed crimes. The reason she was arrested in the first place was because her last boyfriend's house burned down. "Foul play," they'd said, and pointed to her because it had been a bad break-up.

  She hadn't even cared for her ex all that much, and the straw that broke her back was having his other girlfriend allude to Marilyn's supposed bedroom inadequacies.

  About six weeks past, Marilyn had been in Edenton, walking down Broad Street toward the hardware store. She was in search a new garden hose sprayer for her mother, and had paused to study a seasonal display in the craft store's window, when a ballsy little bitch named Amber Evans yelled from her parked Jeep: "Hey, Marilyn? Do you know what they say about a woman who can't ride?"

  Marilyn had stopped in her tracks and turned around to find the brazen strumpet leaning onto the track of her open Jeep window and resting her chin atop her folded hands. Amber was smiling sweetly behind her pink lip-gloss and blinking like a coquette.

  Marilyn sighed and took the bait. "What do they say, Amber?"

  Amber had sat up and let her smile to spread wider to show off all of her impressively triangular teeth. "They say if you can't ride, get off and walk."

  Marilyn had pulled the little preppy bitch right through her Jeep window and smashed her onto the ground between the parked cars.

  Before she could do any real damage to the minx, the hardware store owner ran outside, grabbed Marilyn around the waist, and hustled her inside the store. "No need to be getting yourself in trouble, Mar. He ain't worth it. Amber's had her hand in nearly every pair of boxer shorts in the county, mine excluded."

  And he wasn't worth it. Marilyn knew it. Still, the split had been so public that everyone in town had taken sides without even knowing what had preempted the break-up in the first place. It had been because he was screwing Amber, obviously, which eventually got spun into an accusation Marilyn hadn't been able to keep up with the insatiable dolt. The opposite had been true, actually, but she was a nice enough girl she'd kept trying new positions hoping they'd mitigate his "small stature." Didn't work. It'd been a year since she'd gotten off, except by her own hands.

  She blew out a breath and zoned back in to the present. After stepping out of her safe haven, she paused at the perimeter to allow her eyes a few moments to adjust to the change in light. She heard the clamor of chains being shifted followed by a long, deep yawn, and stalked off in the direction of Terry: the three-legged adopted pit bull.

  Terry turned himself around and around into a circle, barking cheerfully at her approach. She laughed and reached out a hand to scratch the pitiful beast between the ears. "Ready to go in, guy?"

  His response was a lick of her hand.

  "Why don't you finish that kibble in your bowl? Shit's too expensive to leave out for squirrels."

  Terry cocked his brindled head to the side and stared.

  "Fine. Let me get the key."

  She let herself into the garage and felt around in the dark atop the worktables where her father liked to take things apart. He let other people do the putting-back-together.

  No key. She could have sworn she left it there earlier…when she'd put Terry outside after lunch so he could keep watch on the yard. He wasn't much of a guard dog, and really was more of an oversized lap pet, but he was friendly and liked to bark whenever strangers pulled into the drive. She had been counting on that. Foolishly.

  "Shit, where is it?"

  "You mean this?" came a deep voice from the door.

  She yipped and wrenched herself around
to discover her only point of egress was blocked by six-feet two inches of buff brawn, cocky smile, and dark red hair that looked burgundy in the dim light.

  Carter crossed his arms over his broad chest let the key ring dangle from the fingers of his right hand.

  "Some freakin' guard dog…" she mumbled.

  "Oh, he's just a pussycat with lofty ambitions."

  "You gave him a treat, didn't you?"

  He shrugged. "Why don't you just come along with me and we'll handle this like civilized folks, Mar."

  She picked up a nearby socket wrench and tossed it in his direction.

  He dodged it easily.

  "Don't you Mar me, you prick!"

  "You didn't used to mind when I called you that."

  She grabbed a hand full of wing nuts and tossed them, too. They fell short.

  He didn't move other than to feign a yawn.

  "It was high school. That lovey-dovey shit was tolerable back then."

  A dangerously sexy grin that reminded her of one time under the bleachers crept across his face as he took a step into the garage. "So you do still love me?"

  She rolled her eyes. "You always did hear what you wanted to."

  Another step. "When you were sixteen you said you loved me all the time."

  She folded her arms over her chest and stuck out her chin. "Yeah? Well, I'm pretty sure you said it back. Didn't stop things from going all pear-shaped, did it?"

  Another step. "Aw, baby, don't be like that. It was high school. Guys do stupid shit in high school…"

  "And girls let them. Not anymore. You step back, Carter, or so help me I'll…" Her hands slapped the workstation behind her and felt around until one fist tightened around the handle of a hammer. "I'll knock you into Thursday."

  His laugh was deep and his smile even wider. He took another step, regardless of her new weapon of choice. "You wouldn't hurt me. It'd break your heart."

  "Too bad the feeling isn't mutual."

  "I don't want to hurt you, Mar. I'm just doing my job."

  "You proud of that job?" She took a horizontal swing in the vicinity of his chest.

  He leaned back to dodge it on one beat and grabbed her wrist with his free hand on the next. He tossed the padlock key onto the table and pinned her other arm behind her back.

  "You're hurting me."

  "I know how to do my job, baby. You're lying. You want to hold real still while I grab my cuffs, or do you wanna wrassle?"

  She growled and tried to wretch herself away from him, but his grip was too strong, his stance too steady. She sighed. He had always been an unmovable force. He'd actually weighed more back in high school when he was playing football, but had slimmed down to around one hundred seventy-five pounds after graduation. He was all muscle. Delightful, lean muscle that she could see flexed inside the sleeves his dark tee shirt. Nice, firm muscles that cinched nicely inside the waist of his belted jeans. She swallowed hard.

  "Like what you see, Mar?"

  Her gaze trailed up to his face, ruggedly handsome with square chin and cornflower blue eyes that she knew would look gray when it was dark. He'd grown his hair out since high school. The high and tight conservative shear of his younger days was replaced with hair down to his shoulders. She wanted to rake her hands through it, ask him if he brushed it a hundred times before going to bed each night, it was that silky. She didn't remember it being silky. She didn't remember a lot of things, maybe.

  He gave her a gentle nudge. "Do you?"

  She swallowed again and blinked. "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

  "I asked you if you like what you see." He loosened his grip on the hand he held behind her back and instead pinned both her arms between their two bodies as he crushed her front against his.

  She let out a little whimper at the feeling of an unsated cock against her belly.

  He twined his fingers in her curls and pulled her head back, tipping his face up to his. "Do you?"

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "God, I missed you, baby."

  His lips crushed hers, and she stood there in the dim garage, eyes wide, frozen in place while this near-God nipped at her lips and circled her tongue with his. She moaned and closed her eyes. Damn, the man could still kiss her boneless just like he did when he was eighteen. And just like she did when she was sixteen, standing under the bleachers at the middle school where they regularly met to neck, she hooked a leg around his, and ground her crotch against his thigh.

  Now it was his turn to moan, and he freed his vise-like grip and let his fingers trail down her back to grab her ass, drawing her even closer in that same way he always had--that same way that made her wonder if what they were doing was sex or not.

  Shit.

  Her eyelids sprang open. She unhooked her leg from around his and pulled back from his satiny lips. Before he could assess her strategy, she shifted her weight and kneed him in the baby-maker.

  "Sorry!" she said, genuinely meaning it as he hunched over, cradling his nuts in his hands. Her legs felt like gelatin, but she backed out of the garage, eyes still on her former love, until she was in the yard, then she darted into the cornfield once more.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "I'm going to wait right here until she comes back," Carter said as he edged his way past the bruja and into the Skinner laundry room. He passed into the den and plopped onto the old comfortable corduroy sofa that had been new when he had Marilyn were high school sweethearts. They'd come close to breaking it in once or twice, but Marilyn had a thing about keeping her panties on back then. Rumors in town were that she still did.

  He put his booted feet on the coffee table and crossed his arms over his chest. "Comfy."

  Nicola narrowed her eyes to slits and let out a low, fast tirade of incomprehensible Spanish. The two years of Spanish he had been forced to take in high school had obviously ill-prepared him for the sharp tongue of a native speaker. Hell, he wasn't even sure it was Spanish. He should have recognized at least a couple of words.

  He held firm. He wouldn't let the little witch scare him off this time. He cocked one brow up at her, daring her.

  She ground her teeth and stomped off into the adjoining kitchen where she thrashed pots and pans around.

  He picked up the television remote and clicked on the set, scrolling through the stations and finally landing on the prep sports score recap. He settled into the sagging sofa and laced his fingers behind his head. Oh yeah, he could wait all night.

  When the sounds of sizzles and pops erupted from the neighboring room, he sat up and sniffed the air. That little witch…

  He sniffed again.

  No way. Fried chicken?

  He was on his feet as if compelled by some external supernatural force and leaned against the kitchen doorframe before he could stop himself.

  She stood in front of the stove with one hand on her narrow hips and the other holding a long fork. She gave him peaceful eyes as she turned golden fried chicken over in a deep cast iron pan.

  "The rumors are true. You are an evil human being," he said.

  She shrugged. "No use wasting good chicken. I took it out this morning for Marilyn."

  He swallowed. "What'cha got to go with it?"

  "All of her favorites." She peeked under pot lids and drew the escaping steam to her face with the fanning of her free hand.

  He swallowed again. "Gravy, too?"

  "Mm-hmm." She turned her back to him and started removing crispy chicken parts from the hot oil and laying them on a rack nearby to drain.

  "So, you're gonna eat all that by yourself, huh?"

  She shrugged. "Maybe give the rest to Terry. He likes mashed potatoes. Oh!" She snapped her fingers, put down her fork, and turned the chicken pan down low. She whisked past him, through the den, and out the laundry room.

  He heard her light footsteps across the deck planks and then the sound of her stomping down the steps.

  He stood frozen, stomach growling. He'd been stalking Marilyn all day without regard
to his next meal and the error had finally caught up to him. Certainly Nicola wouldn't notice just one piece of chicken missing. There was a goddamned mountain of it. No way that little witch was going to put it all away alone. His feet started moving of their own volition again. He poised his hand over the rack, right over one crispy boneless breast and licked his lips. He had never seen anything more succulent. The rising steam coming off it, the slight sheen of the golden-brown coating as grease drained off, that little crispy nub at the end that just begged to be ripped off and tossed into his mouth.

  Jesus!

  He grabbed it and nearly dropped the damned thing it was so hot. "Shit. Shit."

  "Such an idiot," Nicola said, returning to the room with Terry in tow. She rolled those spring green eyes and got a plate down from the cabinet to thrust at him. "Here."

  He dropped the chicken on the plate and took it from her. She got tongs and heaped on another big breast piece and a drumstick. Then she shoved serving spoons into the mashed potatoes, sweet corn, and glazed carrots before removing a stretch of plastic wrap from the gravy boat. "Have at it," she said before grabbing a can opener and a tin of prescription dog food.

  He didn't need to be told twice. He heaped his plate high, drizzled gravy over nearly everydamnthing, and accepted the fork she thrust at him. He took Mr. Skinner's seat at the table and tucked in, nearly dying from bliss at the little witch's adept use of spices.

  Terry nosed his bowl close to Carter's foot and lay on the floor, putting snout to food in much the same manner Carter figured he must look.

  Oh well. He found it hard to care.

  In fact, he was halfway through the mountainous pile in front of him when he heard a car door slam just off the deck, the start of an ignition, then the squeal of tires as the driver pressed foot to accelerator.

  He gave Nicola a cool look.

  She smiled and drizzled gravy over her potatoes. "Might as well finish. Be a shame to let good food go to waste."

  *

  "Blech."

  Marilyn tossed her backpack onto the questionable bedspread and tiptoed around the bed, being very careful not to touch anything in the motel room more than necessary. That would certainly make sleeping difficult. She wasn't even sure if she would stay, the room was just that disgusting. She wasn't an expert on seedy motel rooms by any stretch of the imagination, but she was pretty sure the carpet wasn't supposed to squish with each step.