v Ashley - Golden Trail

“Not a problem.”

Her eyes slid to the side and he watched her thinking.

He should say goodnight and get the fuck out of there. They didn’t need to go where they were heading tonight. They needed to stay focused. Both of them. They had what they had and then it went bad. That was a long time ago. He couldn’t get caught in the memories. The good times then and the way he was finding she was now didn’t change the fact that she’d turned her back and walked away and didn’t explain why. She’d torn out his heart and shattered his world. He didn’t see video of her taking it from the front and back but that would almost make it better, at least that was a reason.

“Even with all the dramas,” she broke into his thoughts, “it was a nice night, Layne.”

“Yep,” he agreed, finally got smart and drew a line under it, “later, Roc.”

Her face changed and he blocked reading it before she cleared her expression and nodded. “’Night, Layne.”

He turned and walked away, hearing the door click behind him and thinking any other night spent like that with any other woman, he would not be walking away, at least not until after breakfast.

But Raquel Merrick Astley was not any other woman.

He jogged down the stairs, walked to his truck and went home to his boys.

Layne was barely out of the shower, just beginning to towel off, when he heard the doorbell.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He was late. He was taking Rocky to Swank’s tonight, he’d been working the new case all day, he got caught up in it and he was late.

With drops of water still on his shoulders and chest, he wrapped the towel around his waist and strode swiftly out of his room and down the stairs. He went straight to the door, opened it, barely looking at her but the storm door was already opening and he smelled her perfume. He turned, saying, “Runnin’ late, Roc, come in and get yourself a beer. I’ll be down soon’s I can.”

Then he headed straight back up the stairs, hearing her heels on his wood floors and not noticing she didn’t say a word.

It had been two weeks since they’d put their plan into action and he was playing it smart. This was helped by the fact that her apartment was vacant and she was good to move in right away so she did. She spent her evenings shopping for shit for her house and Layne was dedicated to the cause of bringing down Rutledge but not so dedicated he’d go shopping.

They spent time together but not much. She was shopping and he was working this case. It wouldn’t take him long but it required time, planning, equipment and a shitload of field work. This was good. He’d been climbing the walls while recuperating. Being back out in the field felt fucking great.

The Sunday after their night that ended in pizza, beer and heartfelt conversation, Rocky came over with Merry and they ran the Rutledge case down for her. Then they watched football on TV. Then Merry left and Rocky stayed so Natalie Ulrich could see her car in his drive and know she was alone with him in his house. The boys came home from doing whatever it was they were doing and he got them down to homework and walked Rocky out to the car. He didn’t play make out because that was playing with fire. He just touched his lips to hers, opened the car door for her and stood in his drive watching her drive away. Then he went inside.

They’d had dinner together at Frank’s and coffees together at Mimi’s. She went to both subsequent Friday games with him, one away, the next one, last night, at home. She went with him but she sat with her Dad at the away game, Josie Judd and the girl posse at the home game, hanging with Layne, and, for show, on him, only at halftime. He didn’t know why she didn’t stand with him by the field, if it was because she felt responsible for what happened to Tripp or if she was giving him space. He also didn’t ask.

She’d started working Rutledge. She was breaking him in but Layne was too busy to be there so Merry was covering her. She’d gone three times to the Station on the pretence she needed to talk to or was meeting Merry. Merry made himself busy with bullshit work so she could wander over to Rutledge and strike up conversations. Only once was Layne close enough to go in and see her in action. When he topped the steps to the bullpen, she was sitting by Rutledge’s desk and they were both laughing though Rutledge was staring at her tits while he was laughing.

Seeing that, Layne had walked right up and claimed her, giving Rutledge a cursory greeting and that was when they went to Mimi’s for a quick coffee.

Other than that, if they were alone and no eyes were on them, he was friendly but kept his distance. He made it clear the getting to know you again part of their operation was done, they needed to focus and, thank fuck, Raquel read him and went with it, returning the favor.

The problem was, when they weren’t alone, and eyes were on them, he was forced to be far friendlier and there was not even a hint of distance. Rocky was just as friendly back. This was extremely bad because it always felt extremely good.

Now, he was taking her to Swank’s.

Swank’s was Jarrod Astley’s favorite restaurant in Indianapolis, intel Layne had learned from Merry’s e-mailed report of all things he knew about Astley. Apparently, Rocky took Astley there for his birthday every year and Astley took Rocky there to be seen in the exclusive hotspot as often as he liked which, even though you couldn’t get out of there without spending at least a hundred dollars a head, was often.

Layne had made time to swing by the restaurant so he could chat up the hostess. He found out promptly that she knew Dr. Astley. She also knew Dr. Astley had recently made a reservation, she knew the date and she knew the time and Layne convinced her to share that information with him. Then he made a reservation for two, half an hour after Astley was to get there, gave the hostess a fifty and asked her to make certain he was seated close to Astley. After he smiled at her, she promised he would be.

Layne learned from the intel on Astley that getting into his face made it even better he had a time-consuming case because that fifty he’d slipped the waitress was only the beginning. Astley made a lot of money, even more than Layne reckoned he did (and Layne knew this because he ran every search and report he could on the doc) and Astley wasn’t saving for a rainy day. He lived large. Swank’s was named that for a reason. The place was trendy and expensive and, the time Layne visited the hostess, packed. In Indy, it was the place to see and be seen.

Astley also came from money, he wasn’t the elite of the elite but he was from the upper class, albeit the middle upper class. He had a trust fund that he didn’t dip into much since he didn’t have to and he stood to inherit a whack, even sharing it with a brother and sister, when his mother eventually passed away

Taking his mind off Astley, Layne stood at the sink in his bathroom, shaved, slapped on aftershave and ran a comb through his hair. Then he went to the closet and pulled clothes off hangers.

Melody lived in LA and she worked retail, a fancy-ass store that, from what Layne had learned from Astley’s credit card statements, Jarrod Astley would cream his pants over.  Melody liked dressing Layne and she got a great discount so whenever he saw her she always had bags of shit to give him. Even though he rarely wore the shit she bought, he didn’t throw it away but most of it had never touched his skin.

He put on a pair of slacks, shrugged on a shirt, buttoned it, grabbed the jacket off a hanger, went to his bedroom and pulled on his socks and boots. He shoved his wallet in the inside pocket of the jacket and shrugged that on as he walked downstairs.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rocky sitting at the island as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, tagging his keys and cell off the counter as he walked to the utility room door.

“Ready?” he asked, stopped, turned to her and froze.

“Yeah,” she replied, her back to him, she was moving, doing something, he didn’t know what, because he couldn’t force his mind to think.

Her back was bare. Completely. There were only thin black straps that curled over her shoulders and stopped at the back of her pits and her lower body was hidden by the island but what he could see of her back it was completely bare.

And her hair was down, down in a sleek, gleaming fall that went to beyond her shoulder blades but, with her movements, was now gliding around the skin of her back and shoulders. That skin disappeared when she pulled up a black coat and settled it on her shoulders. Turning to the island, with one hand she pulled the thick length of her hair free of her coat and with the other hand she grabbed a little, shiny, deep purple purse and a deep purple scarf in some slithery material. Then he heard her heels on the tiles, she rounded the island and he saw her from the front.

The black coat went to her knees but she hadn’t buttoned it and, as she moved, the coat went back and showed the entirety of the dress. The top front of the dress was straight above her breasts, the middle loose and partially draping, but at her hips and thighs the dress clung, as in clung. It was so formfitting it left nothing to the imagination. And it was short. It wasn’t short-short but it came to just below the tops of her thighs. Her long legs went forever under that skirt, they were bare but looked shiny in a sexy way and she was wearing purple, spike-heeled sandals with a fuckload of thin straps that were so damned sexy, just looking at those shoes made him start to get hard.