by Skye Jordan
Turning back toward the bar, the glow from the warehouse lights drew her gaze, and a familiar tug made her belly ache. She wished she could wander over and say hi. Wished they could talk about their days over a beer. Wished she could ask him to dinner.
Wished one or both of them were normal. With a normal family.
She took one more look at the soft glow against the sky, sighed, and stepped onto the porch to start her work on the hundred-year-old stairway banister.
An hour later, sitting on the bottom stair leading to the second floor, Delaney lifted the piece of salvaged maple she’d picked up at Reclaimed Wild Wood in town; held it beside the banister she’d stripped, sanded, and stained to match; and shone her work light on them, looking at the two from different angles.
And smiled. “Perfect.”
She set the light down, pulled out her phone, and dialed. While she waited for the answering machine to pick up, she imagined the bar floored in this light, bright, gorgeous, variegated maple. It would be unexpected. A shocker. Once she put in all the other finishes, this place was going to be a showstopper.
That strange sense of pride welled again. But this time she smiled. She deserved to smile. This was going to be incredibly special. She didn’t even care if anyone else thought it was special or not. It was special to her. Somehow, in some way, it quieted a very pained piece of her heart.
“Hello?”
Bruce’s voice startled Delaney out of her thoughts, and her smile fell. “Oh, hey, Bruce. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t expect you to pick up. I just wanted to leave a message.”
“No problem. I answer when I can. I’m in the workshop. Who’s this?”
“Delaney.”
“How’d that maple work out?”
“Perfect.” She smiled again, then grew suddenly worried and nervous and closed her eyes, hoping . . . “That’s why I’m calling. I know we talked about this, but before I buy five thousand square feet of this stuff, I just need you to verify its origination.”
“All done. I even have a signed statement of authentication, which is about as good as we can get in these situations.”
Delaney did a silent little cheer and dance. “That’s all I need. Hold that five thousand for me. I’ll be in tomorrow. And, Bruce? Can you keep this purchase between us for now?”
She hadn’t explained why she wanted the wood or what made it special for this renovation, so when he paused and gave her that confused, “Uh, sure,” she wasn’t surprised.
“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
Delaney disconnected and held up the wood again, happy with the color match.
Tires on the gravel brought her gaze up, just as headlights swept across the front of the building. But the vehicle was out of sight, and her heart hitched with the hope of seeing Ethan. Then dropped at the thought of starting yet another argument.
She set down the wood and recapped her stain and mineral spirits. By the time she was putting away her rags and sandpaper, footsteps sounded on the porch. Heavy footsteps. Footsteps of a big man wearing big, hard-soled boots. Not the kind she’d seen Ethan wear.
The hair on the back of Delaney’s neck prickled and gooseflesh rose on her arms. Instinct had her reaching for a hammer and pushing to her feet as the door opened.
But when Austin filled the doorway, in a pristine navy uniform shoulders to toes, a thick gun belt hanging low on his hips, Delaney knew the hammer wouldn’t do any good. The only thing that would help her with a man like Austin was what she’d learned as a troubled teen.
So she dug up that cunning little street kid, who’d gotten a lot of polish over the years.
“Good evening, Deputy.” Twirling the hammer, she wandered to the nearest toolbox, set it inside, and closed the lid. “I expected your visit a few days ago.”
“You’re not that important in my world.”
“Good to hear. What can I do for you?”
“You can get out of town like I told you to last week.”
She turned to face him, crossed her arms, and leaned her back against the bar. “That would be the same time I explained that I’m here because—”
“I don’t give a damn why you’re here.”
He advanced, stepping into her personal space. Everything from the superior look in his dark eyes to his arrogant posture screamed he had a serious self-confidence issue. His bullying only confirmed it.
“If you were looking for allies in this town,” he said, voice dripping with contempt, “you are definitely fucking the wrong brother. Ethan’s always been the pussy of the family.”
Shock stung Delaney’s stomach, and she had to use all her skills not to show it. Her insides rattled with betrayal, tension, fear, but she reminded herself that Austin couldn’t see any of that. He could see only what she showed him.
“But he’s my brother, so the fact that you’re fucking with his head really pisses me off. Me, on the other hand . . .” His index finger scooped beneath both her tank and her bra strap, and Delaney’s throat tightened. “I have all the pull, all the power, and no one can fuck with my head.” His gaze lifted to hers. “So stop doing my pussy of a brother, start doing me, and not only will you get a taste of what a real man can give you but things might even start going your way.”
“I’m not fucking either of you.” She rocked her shoulder to knock his hand away, and his expression froze. His eyes went dark. She’d just stepped into the danger zone. It was all or nothing now. So she drew a breath and used all her strength for her final demand. “Get. Out.”
Austin’s hand whipped up, and Delaney flinched for a strike. But instead of hitting her, he planted his hands on the bar, trapping her there.
Alarm swamped her brain, but she did her best to stay calm and think smart. He was way too big, too strong to fight. And none of her tools would win against a gun.
“You don’t tell me to get out. I’m the authority here. I’m the cop. You do what I say. Do you get that, Hart? You do what I say.”
Desperation tipped back into panic. And Delaney slipped into that zone she’d used as a kid, that steely place inside herself—a place where she was quiet, stable, and intently focused. A place she’d visited when her father had gone into drunken tirades and grown violent. A place that brought her an immense amount of inner strength and personal power.
But only temporarily.
“I’m not doing anything wrong. And I’m not making any trouble—”
“Your mere presence is trouble.” He smacked the bar, making Delaney jump. Then he bent until his face was directly in front of hers, but his eyes were focused on her mouth, and a lecherous little grin tipped the corners of his lips. “What are you willing to do to make me forget about all the nasty ripples you’re causing around here, Hart?”
She pulled in a shaky breath. “I’m willing to warn you that you’re being taped right now.”
His eyes shot up and latched on to hers, hot with irritation.
“I’m willing to tell you that the video and audio equipment monitoring the property, inside and out, is the hottest technology on the market and can record sounds down to ten decibels, which means it’s recording our every word.”
Fury leaped in his dark eyes. His jaw turned to stone. His nostrils flared. Color rushed to his cheeks. Delaney fisted her hands to keep from shoving him back.
Austin’s gaze darted up and around the ceiling. He straightened and stepped away, searching for the video equipment Trace had installed even when Delaney had insisted they didn’t need it. Trace had installed it to protect against the common crimes of vandalism and theft on a construction site, not assault. And Delaney was intensely clear on the fact that the equipment guaranteed little safety in this moment.
She pulled in a deep gulp of air and stole glances toward all the exits, but no direct route existed. And Austin still had his gun, which he might just be crazy enough to use. So she stuck with what was working.
“Don’t bother. You won’t find them.
Do you know how small they make these cameras now? The technology is—”
He swiveled back to her, lunged, and pinned her to the bar by the arms. Pain shot up her spine. Ethan was just as tall as Austin, just as big, just as built if you took away Austin’s Kevlar vest. But Austin’s menace made him seem ten times as imposing.
Hysteria bubbled around the edges of Delaney’s mind. She was a millimeter away from unraveling and going batshit crazy on him. But she knew that could earn her a spot in the local graveyard and Austin some kind of Deputy of the Month award.
“Them? How many? Where are they?” he demanded. “Tell me. Right now.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Her stomach spiraled with acid. “They’re web based. The feed is automatically saved directly to a server. You can’t even find it, let alone kill it.”
The heat of rage glowing in his eyes turned cold and hard in a way that shivered over her shoulders and clearly translated to, But I can kill you.
“The video is viewed by a security company daily,” she added. “You’re in Technicolor and Dolby, Deputy. If anything happens to me, now or in the future, cops at a higher pay grade than yours will be coming for you.”
Austin released her. “You fucking bitch.”
“A smart fucking bitch.” Residual terror made her shake uncontrollably. She straightened and forced herself to maintain a show of strength. “Since I’ve got your ass on a skewer, let me tell you how this is going to go.
“You’re going to leave me the hell alone for the rest of my time in town, and that feed, the one of you blackmailing me then threatening me, stays our secret. If you don’t, tonight’s footage goes viral. And I mean viral—the sheriff’s department, the state department, the mayor, the media. Anyone who will watch or listen. I imagine your father will have to drop out of the mayoral race when the public sees his son abusing his authority and the rights granted to every America citizen under the Constitution.”
When he opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off with, “If you doubt for a second that I’ll expose you for the narcissistic, misogynistic bastard that you are, go ahead, Deputy.” She was so panic stricken, she wobbled on the razor’s edge of insanity. “Push your luck. Try me.”
Ethan crumpled the scratch paper into a ball and pitched it against the warehouse wall. “Goddammit.”
Exhaling, he slumped on the stool and tapped his pencil on the workbench, letting his gaze blur over the empty kettle that should have something brewing in it. But there wasn’t any point in doing all that work to keep his brand alive or his customers happy if there wasn’t going to be any brewery.
No. He’d worked too long and too hard for this. Pops was depending on him to pull through.
Ethan dragged the notebook in front of him again, raked one hand into his hair, and started scribbling with the other, jotting all the locations of his cash and where he could get more.
“Savings . . . checking . . . retirement . . . IRA . . . CDs . . .”
He could sell his personal truck and just drive the work truck. If he pulled all the crap around his house together and sold it on Craigslist, he’d make a few hundred. Now that he wasn’t wasting his free time doing charity work to bring in money for his father’s campaign, he could pick up odd jobs on the weekend. Easy tile, masonry, or carpentry gigs. Handyman stuff. He could make a couple thousand a month—
No. He scratched that idea off the list. He made more money off his beer.
His mind circled back to his house, and he reconsidered the renovation and refinancing to pull some money out. If he could focus his free time on the upgrades, he could have it ready for appraisal in maybe three, four months. He could get fifty grand there.
But after adding that to the equation, Ethan still didn’t have enough to pull this damn brewpub off.
“Jeeeezus.” He closed his eyes, let his hand slide from his hair to rub his forehead, then pushed it back in and refocused. “What if I doubled production?”
He jotted the numbers that would result if he did nothing but work and produce beer with a little renovation here and a little sleep there.
Then threw the pencil down and covered his face with both hands.
His head throbbed. His heart ached. He was so goddamned . . . unhappy.
Unhappy?
What a stupid thought. He didn’t even know what “happy” was anymore. He hadn’t been “happy” a day since Ian died.
A memory flashed in his head. One of Delaney lying atop him in one of those languid moments they’d shared in bed. Of her head resting on one hand, her hair falling like a fiery waterfall, her other hand combing through his damp hair. Of the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, and the way she listened to everything he said as if he were the only man in the world.
He was wrong. He had been happy.
He’d been happy in those stolen moments with her.
His shoulders softened, his breath released in a slow stream, and he let his forehead fall to his forearms on the workbench.
How do I get her back?
And how do I keep her?
Suddenly it was all he wanted.
“What a mess.”
His murmur was punctuated by the scrape of his warehouse door opening, turning his mood from defeated to feral. This misery sure as shit didn’t want any goddamned company.
He lifted his head, ready to tell whoever had walked in to get the hell out, but his words froze when his eyes settled on Delaney.
She was scanning the warehouse, which made Ethan realize it was darker than usual inside. He’d turned on only one light.
“Ethan Hayes,” she yelled, her voice an eerie blend of fury and . . . fear? “I know you’re here. Get your butt out—”
“Delaney.” He spoke softly, but she still jumped and backed away. The look on her face pumped ice into Ethan’s heart and pushed him to his feet. “I’m right here.”
She bumped into the corner of a workbench, reached out to steady herself, and knocked a box of just-cleaned bottles to the floor. Ethan bolted off his stool as her shriek was swallowed by the smash of breaking glass. Delaney stumbled to avoid the shards and rolling half bottles and pitched sideways, right into Ethan’s arms.
“Whoa.” He held her to him and lifted her off her feet to step back and out of the mess before he set her down. That’s when he realized how badly she was shaking. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“No.” Her hands pried at his arms, and she pulled away. She turned on him, and her expression was a mess of raw, painful emotions he’d never seen before. “It’s not okay. You told Austin—” Her words cut off, and she tried again, her face twisted in a sick kind of agony. “You told Austin we slept together?”
“What? No. Never. I would never—”
“He knows, Ethan.” She was breathing hard, and when she lifted her hand to her face, Ethan realized there were tears glistening there. “I sure as hell didn’t tell him, so tell me how he knows.”
Ethan lifted his hands out to the side. “Are you sure he knows?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Her edge of hysteria confirmed it for Ethan. He narrowed his eyes, and the first stirrings of rage bubbled low in his gut. “When did you talk to him?”
“Just now.” She jerked a hand toward her property. “He came to the bar.”
With his heart in his throat, Ethan closed the distance between them and slid his hands down her arms, holding her gently but firmly even when she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Delaney,” he said softly, seriously. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she said softly. “But he would have . . .”
His gut tightened. His stomach folded. And he bit out a curse as he dragged her close and wrapped her in his arms. She kept her head bent, her arms crossed, but she didn’t push back.
Ethan squeezed his eyes tight, trying to force away the image of Austin with his hands on Delaney. “How did you get rid of him?”
“Told him there were security cameras. Cameras to dirty cops are
like sunlight to vampires.”
He frowned. “Are there? Cameras?”
“Yes. Trace installed them for theft.”
She lifted her head and looked at him with watery blue eyes. “Why would you tell Austin, of all people? We understood each other. We were on the same page. I trusted you. I ended things between us for you.”
Her tear-filled voice tore at his heart. To see such a strong woman reduced to such turmoil and fear killed him.
“You know I didn’t tell Austin,” he said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Otherwise I’d be rolling on the floor with my nuts in my throat.”
Her head bowed again, her body softened, and a breath stuttered past her lips.
“You just needed to hear it from me.” He lifted a hand and stroked her hair.
Delaney pressed her face into his chest. “Asshole shouldn’t have a badge,” she muttered, slowly unwinding from the coiled state she’d come in. “Should never be allowed to carry a gun.”
With her posture easing, Ethan was able to cocoon her in his arms. He pressed his face to her hair, closed his eyes, and breathed her in. Then sighed. “I’ve missed you.”
She exhaled and leaned into him. “This situation is so messed up.”
“It is, and it wears me out. Come sit with me.”
He uncurled long enough to guide her to the sofa in the unit by way of the front door, which he locked before sinking onto the velour and pulling her onto his lap.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face to his neck. “I shouldn’t stay.”
He pressed a kiss to her head and smoothed her hair off her face. He didn’t agree or disagree. He just soaked in the feel of her weight against him, her warmth, her sexy, salty, musky scent, and enjoyed her for as long as she let him.
“I know I asked you this before,” she said after several long, quiet minutes, “but how did you come out of that family so great?”
“Probably my mom. She’s nothing like them. If you took them out of the picture, you’d like her.” More silence. “I hear Avery’s coming for a visit.”
