by Julie Miller
“You ugly bitch.”
The instant Tony bent down to retrieve the necklace, Brooke slipped to the side, wrapped her fingers around the door handle and jerked it open, smacking Tony’s shoulder and knocking him on his backside.
The moment he took to curse was the moment she took to snatch up the necklace and dive into the front seat and close the door behind her. With the hem of her skirt caught inside the door, she twisted around to turn the key in the ignition. “Come on. Come on!”
An explosion of sound roared beside her ear and shook the car. Brooke screamed.
“Help us!” Peggy shouted into the phone.
Horns honked around them. The sirens grew louder. Someone was trying to help.
“Give me the damn key!”
Brooke watched Tony’s face redden through the spider web of splintering cracks at her side window. He raised the heavy pot and drew it back to strike again.
“Start the car!” Louise yelled.
His aim was off with the second blow. This time he hit more metal than glass and the pot shattered.
“Brooke!”
“I need that key!”
The entire car rocked as Tony lowered his shoulder to the frame and shoved.
Peggy dropped the phone and grabbed on to the dashboard and door as the car leaned toward a forty-five degree angle. “He’s going to tip us over!”
Louise slid across the back seat. “Hold on!”
Brooke yanked her skirt up to her thighs and freed her leg to stomp on the clutch. She turned the key and the engine roared to life. She reached for the gearshift.
But it was too late.
Tony bellowed in triumph as the tiny car flipped onto its side. Someone screamed. More glass shattered. The silk skirt ripped as gravity dragged Brooke over the center console.
She tried to tear her skirt the rest of the way to free herself and find her feet so she could move. “Peggy?” Her aunt was holding her head. Blood seeped between her fingers. “Louise, are you all right back there?”
“I’m fine. Peggy’s hurt.”
The car door opened above them. Brooke tumbled back into Peggy. Her aunt groaned. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
A shadow fell over them. “You’ll be sorry. Now give me the damn key.”
“On the ground, Fierro!” Tony froze in the opening above her. “I said, get on the ground!”
Atticus?
A black steel gun pressed into Tony’s temple.
“On the ground. Now.”
Deeply pitched. Perfectly articulated. Absolutely deadly with intent.
Fear gave way to pure, unadulterated relief. “Atticus?”
“Are you all right, Brooke?” She still couldn’t see his face, but his voice was clear and wonderful to hear.
“I’m fine.” Feeling safe enough to think about something beyond survival for the moment, Brooke braced herself off of Peggy and peeled off her own tattered blouse. “But Peggy’s hurt. She hit her head. We need an ambulance.”
Tony had lost a contact sometime during the skirmish, and one colorless, albino eye glared down at her before he raised his hands and climbed off the car. Brooke quickly shifted her attention to her injured aunt, balling up her blouse and pressing it to the gash at Peggy’s temple.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t see Tony for what he was,” Brooke apologized.
Louise huddled behind her, rubbing Brooke’s back and gently smoothing the hair off her sister’s forehead. “It’s not your fault, dear. We liked him, too. It’s a good person who expects the best in others.”
Brooke shook her head. “Only naive idiots think that way.”
Peggy blinked her eyes open. “This isn’t your fault. You wanted to help him. We all did. It’s not…” Her eyes squeezed shut as she groaned in pain.
“Atticus!”
He was at the open door, reaching down for her as she scrambled to her feet. “I’m right here, honey. Come on.”
His eyes were lined with some strange emotion that left his eyes dark, like steel. But the no-nonsense grip on her hand was familiar. His easy, comforting strength was the same as he lifted her from the car and down onto the pavement beside him.
She caught a glimpse of Tony Fierro, facedown on the asphalt, with Kevin Grove’s knee in his back while the big detective handcuffed him. She almost got a full look at the circle of onlookers crowding around the two SUVs with flashing lights blocking off the scene. But almost as soon as she became aware of the hot sun on her bare shoulders and back, Atticus was wrapping his suit jacket around her and tucking her up against his chest.
“Did he hurt you?” She felt his lips in the crown of her hair, against her cheek, her neck as he bent his head to her shoulder and hugged her close. Brooke snuck her arms around his waist and held on just as tight. “Honey? Are you hurt?”
When she didn’t answer, his hands began to squeeze, to move, to push her away as they roamed over her from hair to waist, inspecting her for injury.
“I’m fine.” Brooke caught his hands and stopped his search. She looked up into the grim set of his face and laid a palm against his cheek, sensing something barely controlled inside him that needed to be gentled. “Maybe a few scrapes and bruises, but I’m all right.” She turned her face back to the car, feeling the anxiety curdling in her stomach again. “But Peggy…”
He nodded, pulled her hand from his face and kissed her palm. “I’ll take care of her.”
Finding as much comfort in that promise as she had in the circle of his strength and warmth, Brooke slipped her arms into the sleeves of his jacket and clutched it together at her throat. She watched him stride back to the car, his gun tucked in at the back of his waist, his movements quick and confident as he climbed down into the overturned car. With the assistance of a couple of nursery employees, he helped Louise climb out, and then carefully lifted Peggy to safety. He carried Peggy to the front seat of his SUV and covered her with a blanket.
In only a matter of minutes, it seemed, Detective Grove was driving off with a sulking, cursing Tony Fierro locked in the backseat. An ambulance had arrived and Peggy was strapped onto a gurney while Louise and Brooke held her hands. The EMT’s report was reassuring. Possibly a concussion. But a few stitches and a night of observation at the hospital were probably all the treatment she would require.
“I love you, sweetie.” Peggy was smiling as she was loaded into the ambulance and Louise climbed in beside her. “I’ve got hardheaded Hansford genes. I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will. I love you both.”
The instant Brooke stepped back, Atticus was there, standing behind her. One hand took hold of hers while the other rested protectively, possessively, at her shoulder. Brooke smiled and turned, seeking his full embrace. “How did you and Detective Grove find us so fast?”
His arms folded around her, welcoming her. “You weren’t where you were supposed to be. You didn’t show up at the bank at one, so we came looking for you. McCarthy told us you were here.”
Before the EMTs closed the doors, Brooke snuggled close, blushing against Atticus’s steady heartbeat as she listened to her dear aunts’ familiar chatter. “He reminds me of that British diplomat I went out with that time I visited Leo in Sarajevo. Cultured. Take charge. Completely devastating. I definitely like Detective Kincaid better than that other friend of hers.”
“Hush, Louise. Apparently, Brooke does, too.”
WITH PEGGY napping and Louise unpacking her overnight bag on the guest bed in the hospital room beside her, Brooke finally slipped out of the room and dragged herself down to the waiting room at the end of the hall. Atticus stood up as soon as she entered, and the crick of mild whiplash in her neck seemed instantly to improve.
“How’s Peggy?” Despite the loosened tie and collar that indicated he’d been working, she felt like a frump again, sporting a shapeless green hospital shirt while he still wore his suit. The tailored cut of his jacket fitted his broad shoulders better than they’d draped over hers, but she missed the w
armth and scent of him around her.
“Resting comfortably. The forms are all complete and there’s nothing more I can do until the doctor checks her out in the morning.” In spite of her fatigue, Brooke couldn’t help but smile. “Besides, you’d think Louise was the practical, down-to-earth sister, the way she’s stepping up to take care of Aunt Peg. They don’t need me underfoot right now.”
“You never know what a person can do until they’re called upon to do it.” Atticus plucked a tendril of hair from the temple of her glasses and brushed it behind her ear. “Like a woman taking on a man who weighs twice as much as she does, with nothing more than guts to protect herself with.”
His compliment warmed her as much as his gentle touch. “It was a good thing we could lock ourselves in the car.”
“Good thing, hell.” He curled his fingers into his palm and pulled away. “I saw that car go over when I pulled into the parking lot. I thought…” He took a moment to button his collar, straighten his tie and bury the thought. “Cars are usually Holden’s thing, but next time you go shopping for one, I’m going with you to make sure you choose something heavy enough that not even a superhero can get to you inside.”
“Superhero?” Brooke pressed her lips together to hide her smile. Perhaps Atticus had had as good a fright as she had. But it was a secret she’d let him keep. “I’m just glad you came along when you did. Once Tony got the door open, I kind of ran out of ideas.” The image of his red, angry face, so determined to take something from her, wiped away the urge to smile. The hospital really did have its air conditioning cranked on high this afternoon. “Tony’s locked up, right?”
Atticus must have noticed the goose bumps on her arms, or the way she couldn’t quite hug herself tightly enough to stay warm. He reached out and rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “I doubt he’ll ever be a free man again. Grove booked him on assault and battery, and is questioning him about Dad’s murder. He claims he has a track record of sexual harassment, but that somebody set him up to make it look as though he was stalking you. I just got off the phone with Grove. Fierro still won’t say boo about his expunged record, and he claims he doesn’t even know who my father was. He’s not talking.”
Brooke pulled her necklace from the V-neck of her shirt. “He may not have to once we find out what secrets this key unlocks.”
“Grove was anxious for answers about that, too. I was glad to have the backup this afternoon.” But maybe not so glad that she’d told Detective Grove just how involved she and Atticus had been in investigating John Kincaid’s murder? She worried her lip between her teeth and let him keep talking. “I’ll drive you home to get cleaned up and get a change of clothes. I made arrangements to have your car towed to a repair shop. The nursery will deliver your purchases tomorrow morning. And I called Major Taylor and advised him that you’d be gone for the rest of the day.”
“No.” If they were going to risk his badge and her life, then they were going to go all the way. “Take me to the bank first. They’ll still be open for another half hour.” Brooke held up the key. “Tony nearly killed us for this— I want to find out why it’s so important.”
“SHOOT.” Brooke’s weary sigh whispered against Atticus’s eardrums like a mournful cry. “It’s just not working.”
Still, she somehow found the energy to look over to the foot of the unfinished stairs where he was pacing and brighten the entire place with one of her smiles.
“How did it go with Edward?” Brooke asked.
No way in hell was he going to let her wind up like the dead woman in the photograph Major Taylor had had Marcus Henry send to his phone after hearing of the attack at the nursery parking lot. Tony Fierro was a lucky man that Atticus and Kevin Grove had gotten to him before he’d seen the message that bastard had put in her e-mail to terrorize her. He wouldn’t have settled for handcuffing him.
“It went.” Atticus tore himself away from thoughts of retribution and hung up the phone after talking to his oldest brother. “Ed’s on his way to Mom’s.”
It hadn’t been easy, but he’d finally convinced him to drive over to their mother’s house to stay the night. He’d already recruited Holden to camp out at the hospital with Peggy and Louise, and Sawyer had his own family to watch.
Nobody he cared about was going to be alone tonight.
Before he walked through the door of Brooke’s home this evening, Truman McCarthy had handed him two listening devices that he’d found hooked into the house’s wiring so that someone could eavesdrop on Brooke and her aunts. Pretty sophisticated technology—in the same unusual, hard-to-track and very pricey range of disintegrating bullets. Whatever Tony Fierro had been after, someone else was after, too. They thought Brooke had what they wanted, so that put her in danger—and that meant Atticus wasn’t going anywhere.
And if there was a connection between dissolving bullets, violent ex-cons and encrypted disks, then Brooke might not be the only one in danger. With Holden, Sawyer and him all on unofficial duty, he had to turn to big brother to make sure their mother stayed safe as well.
Grief and guilt and alcohol had taken Edward Kincaid to a very dark place. But all four sons loved their mother, and with John Kincaid gone, they couldn’t trust anyone else to protect her the way their father would have. At least, that was the argument he had used. And despite some well-chosen expletives about how Atticus could talk his ear off, the argument had worked.
All of Atticus’s family was safe for now. All he had to worry about tonight was the klutzy brainiac with the killer legs who seemed almost more determined than he was to uncover whatever was written on that disk.
“That’s good. I know you were worried about her. I think it’s good for Edward, too, not to be alone so much.”
“Yeah.” He crossed the room and dropped his phone into the pocket of his discarded jacket on the granite-top island where he’d removed his tie, badge and holster. “I don’t think he can stand the thought of losing anyone else. He may make for lousy company, but he’ll take care of Mom well enough.”
Looking wearied by even that brief conversation, Brooke set her glasses on the makeshift table he’d made for her out of an unfinished door and two sawhorses. She leaned back in the metal folding chair and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. The night was black outside the locked church windows. The air inside was still and stifling. And she’d been staring at the screen of her laptop computer for three hours straight.
He felt like enough of a heel, allowing her to set up a mini-office in the middle of the construction zone she lived in, and work all evening. But one thing he was learning about Brooke Hansford was that shy didn’t mean weak, and it didn’t mean she couldn’t be stubborn as hell.
He’d admire that tenacity in any partner he worked with. He admired it in her.
But enough was enough. For now. She’d showered and changed into a paint-stained tank top and cut-off shorts. And with her damp hair curling up around her shoulders, she looked young and fragile. And though one part of him was fighting the temptation brought on by seeing so much creamy skin exposed by the modest outfit, another part of him was hating the bruises forming purple and red marks at her collarbone and dappling across her back, arms and legs. He should have gotten there sooner today. He never should have let Tony Fierro put his hands on her.
“Why don’t you take a break?” he suggested, needing a break himself from the guilt and worry eating him up inside. “Rest your eyes and clear your head. I can make you a fresh glass of iced tea.”
“No, thanks.” It wasn’t that she’d drunk enough tea, but that she refused to give up trying to crack the encryption code on the disk they’d found in his father’s secret lockbox. “Who’d have thought? As much as your dad loathed computers, he knew enough to create several layers of security on this disk. Every time I get through one code, another one springs up to take its place.” She leaned forward, probably so she could read the screen without her glasses. “It’s too complicated—as
if the code itself is some kind of diversion.”
Atticus pulled up one of the stools from the kitchen area and sat beside her. “Could it be something simpler? A single name or number?”
“I thought that might be the case, too.” Her shoulders lifted with another sigh, then hitched. Her fingers went to her neck to massage the ache she must be feeling there. Before he could judge whether it was a wise idea or not, Atticus moved behind her and placed his hands there instead.
Her skin was warm to the touch, and every bit as velvety smooth as it looked. She tensed at the unexpected touch, but Atticus wasn’t sure he had the strength to pull away. Just the simple touch of his fingertips to her shoulders sent a warm sluice of heat from the point of contact to the roiling worries inside him, taking the edge off those sharp emotions. “Is this okay?” he asked.
Brooke hesitated, then nodded. When she closed her eyes and leaned back into his massage, the turbulence inside him seemed to relax as well.
He barely pressed into her muscles as he moved along her neck and down her arms, not wanting to aggravate any minor injury. Instead, he simply stroked and rubbed, relying on the friction between them to create a soothing heat.
A minute or two passed and he felt her begin to loosen up before she spoke again. “I’ve tried his name, your mother’s name, your brothers’, his street address and birth date. The disk just throws up another wall and won’t let me in.”
“It’ll come to you, honey. Between the two of us, we’ll figure out what Dad had to say.”
She blinked her eyes open, revealing their clear, verdant beauty. But just as he was struck by the glimpse of their tranquil loveliness, she pulled away from him and reached for her glasses.
“I can’t quit now. Your dad was counting on me to figure it out. You’re counting on me. I don’t want to disappoint either of you.”
“Hey.” He lifted her fingers from the keyboard and clicked on the icon to eject the disk. “I think I’m speaking for Dad as well as myself when I say that there is no way in hell you could ever disappoint us.”
