IN LOVE WITH MY BROTHER'S WIFE

EPISODE 4

"Don't move! Keep your hands where I can see them!"

The deputy’s shout echoed off the metal walls of the garage. He had his hand on his gun. His eyes were darting around, looking for a threat in the shadows.

I froze. My hands were raised, black with engine grease. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Sheriff Ford stood in the doorway, calm and heavy. He watched me. He was looking for a flinch. He was looking for guilt.

"Check the loft," Ford ordered the second deputy. "Check the vents. Check the tool chests."

"You don't have to do this," Sarah said. Her voice was shaking, but she stood tall. She stepped between me and Ford. "Jack didn't steal anything. He's been here all night."

"Then he won't mind us looking," Ford said. He walked over to the workbench. He picked up a wrench, turned it over in his hand, and dropped it. Clang.

I held my breath. The bag of money.

We had left it upstairs. In my apartment.

I closed my eyes for a second. I tried to remember where Sarah had put it. The table? The couch?

The laundry.

I remembered her walking in. She had looked at the mess. She had set the bag down on the chair, right on top of a pile of dirty mechanic’s coveralls.

Would the deputy look in my dirty laundry?

We heard heavy footsteps above our heads. Thump. Thump. Thump. The floorboards creaked.

"Nice place," the deputy yelled from upstairs. We heard the sound of drawers being ripped open. Books being thrown on the floor.

Sarah looked at me. Her eyes were terrified. She bit her lip so hard it turned white.

I wanted to reach out to her. I wanted to tell her it would be okay. But I couldn't move. If I moved, Ford would see the flash drive in my pocket. The drive with the video of the murder.

"So," Ford said, leaning against a boat hull. "You and Sarah. Spending a lot of time together."

"We're family," I said. My throat was dry.

"Family," Ford repeated. He looked at Sarah. He looked at her wet hair, her flushed cheeks. Then he looked at me. A nasty little smile touched his lips. "Danny’s only been gone twenty-four hours. You two are moving fast."

"Shut up," I snapped.

"Watch your tone, boy," Ford warned. His face hardened. "I know you, Jack. I know you've always been the shadow. The jealous one. Maybe you finally got tired of waiting for Danny's leftovers."

I saw red. My fists clenched. I took a step forward.

"Jack, no!" Sarah cried. She grabbed my arm.

Ford put his hand on his baton. He was waiting for me to swing. He wanted me to swing. Then he could arrest me for assault.

"Sheriff!"

The voice came from the top of the stairs.

The deputy came jogging down. He was holding something.

My stomach dropped. The money.

But it wasn't the money.

It was a small, clear plastic bag. Inside were white pills.

"Found this in the nightstand," the deputy said. He tossed the bag to Ford.

Ford caught it. He held it up to the light. "Oxycodone. No prescription label."

He looked at me. "Dealing drugs, Jack?"

"Those aren't mine," I said. And it was the truth. I didn't take pills. I dealt with pain the old fashioned way—I ignored it.

"Danny used them," Sarah whispered.

Ford looked at her. "Excuse me?"

"Danny," she said louder. "For his back. From the diving injury last year. He... he left them there."

It was a lie. Danny didn't have a back injury. But Sarah was quick. She was protecting me.

Ford stared at her. He weighed the bag in his hand. He looked at the pills, then at the drone on the bench, then at me.

"I can take you in for this," Ford said softly. "Possession of a controlled substance."

"Then do it," I challenged him. "Arrest me. But you won't find the money. Because I don't have it."

Ford stared at me for a long, tense minute. The silence stretched until it hummed.

Finally, he tossed the bag of pills back onto the workbench.

"I'm looking for fifty grand," Ford said. "Not a few painkillers."

He signaled to his deputies. "Let's go. We're done here."

One deputy grabbed the yellow drone.

"Hey!" I shouted. "That's my property."

"Evidence," Ford said. "We'll return it if it's clean."

He stopped at the door. He looked back at us. "Don't leave town, Jack. And Sarah? Be careful. The person who took that money... they aren't playing games."

The metal door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

We were alone.

For a full minute, neither of us moved. We just listened to the sound of the police cruiser driving away on the wet gravel.

Then, the adrenaline crashed.

My knees felt weak. I slumped against the workbench, exhaling a breath I felt like I'd been holding for an hour.

Sarah let out a sob. She covered her face with her hands.

"Hey," I said. "Hey, it's okay."

I stepped toward her. She looked up. Her face was streaked with tears and rain. She looked broken.

"They took the drone," she cried. "They took the only proof we had."

"Not all of it," I said. I patted my pocket. "I have the drive. I pulled it before they came in."

She stared at me. "You... you have it?"

"I have it."

She let out a sound—a laugh, a cry, a gasp—and threw herself at me.

It wasn't a polite hug. It was a collision.

She slammed into my chest, wrapping her arms around my neck. She buried her face in my shoulder. I felt her shaking against me.

My arms went around her waist instinctively. I pulled her tight. I lifted her slightly off the ground. She felt so small, so fragile, yet so warm.

"I thought they were going to take you," she whispered into my neck. Her breath was hot against my skin. "I thought I was going to be alone."

"I'm not going anywhere," I growled.

I held her. The smell of her—vanilla, rain, and fear—filled my head. It was intoxicating.

The fear was fading, replaced by something else. Something sharper.

We were alive. We had survived the storm, the chase, and the police. The blood was pounding in my veins.

Sarah pulled back slightly. She didn't let go. Her hands were still tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck. She looked up at me.

Her eyes were dark. Dilated. Her lips were parted.

The air in the garage changed. It got thick. Heavy.

"Jack," she breathed.

She looked at my mouth. Then back to my eyes.

I remembered what Ford had said. Waiting for Danny's leftovers.

I should push her away. I should be the good brother.

But I was done being good.

I moved my hand up her back. I felt the curve of her spine through her damp sweater. I cupped the back of her head, my fingers sliding into her wet hair.

"Sarah," I warned her. "If you don't step back..."

"I don't want to step back," she whispered.

She stood on her tiptoes. She pressed her body against mine. I could feel everything. The softness of her chest against my hard chest. The heat of her thighs against my jeans.

Something snapped inside me.

I lowered my head and captured her lips.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was desperate. It was hungry. It was three years of silence and longing pouring out all at once.

She gasped into my mouth, but she didn't pull away. She opened to me. Her tongue met mine, hot and eager. Her fingers dug into my shoulders, pulling me closer, as if she wanted to merge our bodies into one.

I walked her backward until she hit the workbench. I lifted her up, sitting her on the edge. I stepped between her legs.

She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me into the cradle of her hips. The friction was electric. A jolt of pleasure shot through me, straight to my groin.

I groaned, a low sound in my throat. I kissed her jaw, her neck, the sensitive spot behind her ear.

"Jack," she moaned. "Jack, please."

I didn't know what she was pleading for. For me to stop? Or for me to never stop?

My hands roamed over her body. I gripped her hips, kneading the flesh. She arched her back, pressing herself harder against me.

"This is wrong," I muttered against her skin. "He's your husband."

"He's gone," she whispered fiercely. She grabbed my face, forcing me to look at her. Her lips were swollen, red and wet. "He left me, Jack. He lied to me. You're the one who is here. You're the one who saved me."

She kissed me again. This time it was slower. Deeper. A promise.

I wanted her. God, I wanted her. I wanted to rip that sweater off. I wanted to take her right here on the greasy workbench, with the storm raging outside. I wanted to claim her in a way Danny never could.

My hand moved to the hem of her sweater. I slid my hand up, feeling the warm, smooth skin of her stomach. Her breath hitched.

Beep.

The sound was sharp and digital.

We froze.

Beep. Beep.

It wasn't the police. It wasn't the alarm.

It was the computer. My laptop.

I had left it running on the workbench behind her.

I pulled back, breathing hard. My forehead rested against hers. We were both panting, our hearts racing in sync.

"The computer," I rasped.

Sarah blinked, looking dazed. She slowly unwrapped her legs from my waist. She looked flushed, her eyes heavy with lust.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice thick.

I turned around. I looked at the screen.

The flash drive was still plugged in. A new window had popped up.

INCOMING TRANSMISSION. SOURCE: ENCRYPTED.

"Someone is messaging the drive," I said. "It has a built-in transmitter."

I clicked the window. Text appeared on the black screen, letter by letter. typing itself out in green.

YOU HAVE THE DRIVE. GOOD. BRING IT TO THE OLD CANNERY. MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE. OR SHE DIES.

I stared at the screen. "She dies?"

Sarah slid off the workbench. She fixed her sweater, her hands shaking. "Who dies?"

Then, a photo loaded on the screen below the text.

It was a picture of a woman. She was tied to a chair in a dark room. She looked terrified.

I squinted. I knew her.

"That's not me," Sarah said, confused.

"No," I said. "That's Maya."

"Who is Maya?"

"She's the bank teller," I said, the horror rising in my throat. "The one at First National. The one Danny... the one Danny used to flirt with."

The text on the screen flashed one last time.

THE THIRD DIVER IS WATCHING.

The screen went black.

I looked at Sarah. The lust was gone, replaced by cold, hard reality.

"We have to go," I said. "We have to save her."

"Jack," Sarah said. She reached out and took my hand. Her palm was hot. "What about us? What just happened?"

I squeezed her hand. I looked at her lips, then at her eyes.

"We survive first," I said. "We figure us out later."

She nodded. But the look in her eyes told me it wasn't over. We had crossed a line. And there was no going back.