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Justice(83)

By:Jennifer Harlow


I don’t stop for an hour and wouldn’t except we need gas. I get us some coffee too. Justin is slumped against the door snoozing when I return. He passed out about ten minutes into the drive, much to my relief. I wave at the black BMW that’s been tailing us. Hope they’re enjoying the ride too. When I shut the door, Justin stirs and mumbles, “Rebecca.” I have the strongest urge to run my hand through his blonde hair and kiss his forehead like Pop used to with me. I restrain myself and start the car.

Halfway back Justin wakes, opting for more booze instead of cold coffee. “Where are we?”

“Almost home.”

“No. It’s a fucking crypt.”

“Justin, we’ve been driving for almost two hours. Where—”

“The Falls. I dreamt she was at The Falls.”

It’s almost full dark by the time we reach the park. I pull into the parking lot deep in the forest. I’m not big on nature, so I’ve only been here a few times on school field trips and with the occasional boyfriend. There’s no one around, because the park is closed now, but that’s not stopping me now. I park the car right at the edge of the tree line and Justin jumps out, sort of falling against the door. He is so drunk. My attention swings to the car coming into view. The BMW rolls up, blinding me with its headlights. When I turn back, Justin’s gone. Crap.

“Justin!” I shout. As the guards climb out of their car, I ask, “Did you see which way he went?”

“No, ma’am,” Bryan answers.

“Shit. Do you have a flashlight?” Geoff reaches into the glove compartment and tosses one to me. “Okay, stay here.”

“Ma’am, I don’t think—” Geoff says.

“Just stay here. That’s an order.” I grab my purse and run down the path, which I really hope he took. I’m in a dress, high heeled boots, and my Kevlar coat, so not proper hiking attire. The path is fairly easy to follow, but the trees scratching in the wind and haunting hoot of an owl ratchets up the fear factor. I kind of wish I had my guards with me to protect me from raccoons or whatever, but they’ll just aggravate the situation. I call out for Justin twice. No answer.

As the roar of The Falls gets closer, I begin to find clothes along the path. One shoe, then another. A sock hangs on a branch with its mate a few paces away. Coat, tie, and shirt in succession as I continue on. The pants appear right at the edge of the woods where the trees open onto a small clearing that overlooks the waterfall. It’s sixty yards away with a large lagoon blocked off by railings and “No Swimming” signs. Hanging from one of them is Justin’s underwear. Oh, boy.

I approach the railing and in the distance see a white silhouette gliding back and forth in the black lagoon toward the side of the fall. There’s a reason it’s cordoned off. Rocks and trees tend to fall from the cliffs above. “Justin!” I shout. “Get out of there!” He either can’t hear or just won’t listen. I scream again with the same result. “Justin, I am not coming in there after you! You have thirty seconds before I call in the goons and have them drag your naked butt out of there! Then I’ll tell everyone about it! Get out!”

That captures his attention. He turns around and begins swimming toward me. “Come swimming with me, Jo,” he pleads. He stops half-way to the shore. “It feels nice.”

“Hell, no. Come on, it’s not safe in there.”

“I am invincible!” he shouts.

“You are drunk! Please get out of there before you drown!”

“You know, that might actually kill me.”

“Duh!” I snatch his briefs off the sign, hanging them by my index finger. “Ten seconds before I call Geoff and Bryan. Nine, eight, seven…”

He swims as fast as he can back, reaching the shore at two. As he climbs out I turn my back and hold out his underwear behind me. Twenty years and I’ve never seen him naked and vice versa. In a towel, yes. Him shirtless, lots. Never naked. He takes the underpants, putting them on, I hope. “And you’re supposed to be the fun one,” he says.

I wait three seconds then turn around. The sight before me takes my breath away. I’d forgotten how perfect he is. Not an ounce of fat on his lean body. Sculpted pecs, six pack, toned arms and legs. He slicks back his wet hair, showing me that body. I know I’m staring, so I look down and hand him his pants and shirt. “Here.”

He attempts to put on the pants, but can’t stay steady. I lean down just inches from that bulge, helping him with both legs and pulling the pants up. I can feel him watching me and become self-conscious. I don’t dare look up. As I button the pants, my fingers accidently—I swear—brush up against his cold stomach. I can see the goose pimples rise and fall with every one of his deep breaths. Too much. This is too much. This is too intimate. This is wrong. I try to step away, but he takes my hands in his. “Jo.”