Free Dying for a Living (A Jesse Sullivan Novel) by Kory M. Shrum

Sullivan. The FBRD screened us for any conflicts of interest that would put your safety at risk.”
    “That doesn’t answer my question,” I said.
    “Just because the Church is united, don’t go lumping us all in one basket, okay?”
    “Fair enough,” Ally said on my behalf before I could bitch about being reprimanded like a child. I was pretty sure I had every right to be cautious at this point.
    Gaul caught me staring at the back of his head and glared at me through the rearview mirror. “Maybe you’d prefer I lead the press straight to your house?”
    Eventually, my trust was rewarded because I did recognize the roads once we crossed Harding Place. We passed a Waffle House reeking of sweet syrup and fried goodness. My stomach growled. It would be interesting to see if I could eat with my neck wound. It hurt now just to swallow my own spit. They’d given me a prescription for painkillers that I was going to need—no question.
    Just before the back door locks and the scent of leather drove me into a claustrophobic mania, we were home. The cops got out of the car slowly, looking around the neighborhood before letting us out of the backseat.
    “I’ll get the door.” Ally moved out of the way. “Then we’ll get you into the bath.” She understood that every moment that I wasn’t in hot water or on a massage table added to my misery.
    Ally’s keys jangled in the door, creaked open and then our little group filed into the foyer. Several clicks from her heels echoed over the hardwood before she kicked her shoes off. The cops didn’t take off their shoes, but that was okay. At least they wiped their feet on the rug. My one salvaged blue sneaker hit the floor with a thud.
    Officer Jeffers stopped me on the stairs. “I’d prefer you wait outside until we search the house.”
    “I’m cold,” I said, quietly. Now that I was finally home and felt kind of safe, my adrenaline crashed. I broke into shivers.
    “Check the bathroom,” Ally told Gaul.
    “It can wait,” he said.
    “No,” Ally said, flatly. “She needs hot water.”
    He stared at us coldly as if he considered refusing the request. Lucky for me, Officer Jeffers followed and took the lead at the top of the stairs. “Which way is the bathroom?”
    Ally nodded toward the master bedroom on the right. Then, we waited for a long moment before he reappeared in the doorway.
    “Go ahead,” he said to us. “But don’t leave her alone.”
    By the time the bathroom door closed behind me, I could barely move.
    “Do you need help getting in?” she said, rolling up her sleeves before I could answer.
    I had a hard time pulling the shirt over my head. My back and shoulder muscles didn’t want to flex that way. Or at least they wouldn’t for a few hours still, and I hesitated to let Ally help me. When I didn’t move, her hands went to her hips and she tilted her head sympathetically to one side.
    “I promise I won’t look at the scar,” she said, because I’d already cradled my chest bashfully. Ally’s seen it all, sure, but seeing it in full daylight and at night under my covers was different.
    Reluctantly, I let her undress me. She slipped her arms under mine and helped me into the water. She flinched at the sight of my bruises, and she must’ve seen my insecurity from a mile away.
    “Before you even ask, no, you’re not disfigured. No, you’re not a freak. Yes, I think you’re beautiful. It just upsets me that she hurt you.”
    “We do this a lot, huh?” I asked.
    Her smile was patient as she checked the water temperature herself, by trailing her fingers over its surface. She added bath soap and bubble mix. “Get in.”
    I slid down into the water and immediately felt a hundred times better. My muscles, thirsty for the heat, drank it down. Even after each of my muscles relaxed, one-by-one, I couldn’t stop frowning.
    Ally put a clump of bubbles on my nose. “Don’t worry, okay. It’ll work out.”
    “Yeah, I’ll work it out. In jail.