Jordan nodded.
“You want to tell me about it?”
This time she shook her head. If Mom heard her talk about the dream again, she’d get it for sure.
“Open your eyes, Jordan,” a voice said. A pungent, antiseptic smell overtook the sage. She felt a touch on her shoulder. “Come on, open your eyes. Jordan? Jordan?”
“Jordan, open your eyes,” Dad said. “I know you’re tired, but A Christmas Story is starting.”
She was tired and couldn’t care less about the stupid movie. She closed her eyes, needing to rest, just for a little while.
Violent pounding slammed against the front door. Recognizing the sound, Jordan bolted upright. She grabbed for her dad’s arm. Too late. He was already sprinting from the bedroom.
Screaming. Cursing. The front door burst open, and a blast of exploding wood vibrated through the tiny house.
She should have told Dad everything. Now it was too late to save him. To save them all.
She knew what was next. Because she’d seen it just the night before.
In her dream.
The blood pressure machine sounded two shrill beeps.
A hand touched her arm. Then she heard a man’s voice.
“Jordan. Jordan, wake up.”
She clawed her way back to consciousness and opened her eyes. Fluorescent lights blinded her. The room whirled like one of those sickening, spinning carnival rides. Squeezing her eyes tight, she fought the urge to throw up.
Fingers moved over her hair and stroked her cheek. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. A little knock on the head, that’s all.” The deep rasp of the voice, silky and sure, calmed her like a warm blanket. Comfort spread in all directions.
Briefly, an image of her father smoothing back her hair and holding her after a nightmare centered in her mind. He’d been her hero at one time, quick and skillful at easing her fears. Too bad he hadn’t been nearly as noble when it came to the rest of his life. But she’d moved past her daddy issues long ago. Plus, the son of a bitch was dead. So who the hell was stroking her cheek?
She pushed away the hand touching her. The last thing she needed was someone’s pathetic attempt at comfort. Especially when she’d been reliving that night again. The night daddy dearest had made them all pay for his mistakes.
Keeping her eyes squeezed tight, she drew in a few deep breaths. Sometimes a little air could bridge the gap between the dreams and reality. After a few seconds, she remembered where she was and what was going on. She had a vague recollection of doctors, a scan, stitches.
Her father could always smooth away all the rough edges after a dream. But he was gone. Dead.
So who was here with her?
“The nurse should be here in a minute.”
Finally, she dared to open her eyes. It was the guy from Buck’s. The one she’d dubbed “cowboy.” The last thing she needed was for him to see the after-effects of a dream, particularly that dream. Thank God she woke before the worst of it.
She lightly rubbed the bandage on her head.
“Seven stitches,” he said. “Could’ve been worse. After they scanned your head and knew everything was okay, they gave you a little something to take the edge off the back pain. It must have made you tired.” He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand.
It might have been an innocent gesture, but it didn’t feel that way. Every sensation dulled except where their skin touched. Like a shock from a live wire, a current buzzed from his body into hers. She inhaled sharply and looked at him.
His gaze held her captive.
For several long, mesmerizing moments, she floundered, trapped in his cool, steel-colored stare. If she hadn’t been caught in the dregs of the pain medicine, she’d have had the good sense to look away. When noise drifted in from the hall, she jerked her hand back as if she had been scalded.
The odd jolt intensified the thump in her head, and it took a few seconds for speech to return. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.”
But she very clearly remembered the sinful blue jeans and the dark hair that curled just over his collar. The way his thick chest filled out a plain, white tee would forever be seared in her mind. But his name...his name escaped her.
“I’m Tyler McGee. Everyone calls me Ty. And as far as the nurses are concerned, I’m your big brother.”
“I don’t have a brother.”
He shrugged and smiled. “You do now.”
She eyed him from top to bottom and back up again, decided it was most likely the killer smile, rather than the lie, that had gained him access to her room.
His grin grew wider. He looked amused at her thorough inspection.
Why had she studied him as though he was the main course at dinner? Her cheeks flushed hot. “Well, Ty, thanks for everything, but I can manage from here.”
Leaning against a countertop, he folded his arms. “Yeah, you’re in great shape. You plan on jogging home with your head injury or just taking it slow and hitchhiking?”
Ah, yes. Now she remembered. He was truly as handsome as the devil but also as cocky. He’d probably only said about ten sentences before she passed out, but if her memory was coming back accurately, most of them were condescending.
“I’ll call a cab,” she snapped.
He chuckled. “In Titus? Sweetheart, where are you from? It sure isn’t around here.”
He strode to the bed, then leaned in close as though he was letting her in on a dangerous secret. “In case you haven’t noticed, Titus isn’t exactly a thriving metropolis. We don’t have taxi service or buses. The closest thing to public transportation is Dan the Scooter Man. He makes a fortune driving people home from the bars. You want his number?”
The laughter and amusement in his ridiculously beautiful eyes could’ve been contagious, except he was laughing at her. “I’d prefer Dan’s scooter over being driven home by someone who thinks I’m an idiot. It’s your fault I’m here anyway. Some things are a little foggy, but I seem to remember saying no hospitals.”
“You scared the hell out of me.” Frustration jumped in his voice. “You passed out behind Buck’s. What did you want me to do with you? Leave you under the picnic table?”
He had a point. Didn’t mean she had to like it. “I’ll call Buck; he’s been really nice to me. He’ll send someone, so you can go.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky, and Lewis will be available.” He was quick with the comeback, but all his amusement had faded. Irritation and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a bit of anger swept across his handsome face. He leaned against the edge of her bed and picked up her hand again.
She was prepared this time. Just because the man had the eyes of a god did not mean Jordan Delany would get stupid.
He held on tight when she attempted to jerk away and silenced her with one finger on her lips.
“Jordan,” he said, apology unmistakable in his voice, “I was only yanking your chain, honey. But I’m sorry, because I know you don’t feel well. I’ll drive you. You wouldn’t rather have a stranger from the bar take you home instead of me, would you?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I hate to point out the obvious, cowboy, but you are a stranger from a bar.”
“But I’m the stranger who brought you to a hospital when you were completely at my mercy. I could’ve taken you to some remote cabin and chopped you into little pieces. Don’t I get any points for not doing that?”
The man’s smile just killed her.
“Look, I’m here. I’m not doing anything else. You may not believe me, but I used to be a cop over in Longdale. I’ll take you home unless you’re truly worried about me being some kind of axe-carrying murderer. If that’s the case, I’ll call one of my buddies, a policeman, to give you a ride home.”
“You were a cop?” Well now, wasn’t that interesting? Maybe she’d let Mr. Tall, Dark, and Arrogant take her home after all. An ex-cop probably had several solid nuggets of information tucked away about the good people of Titus. Tyler McGee could be a connec
tion worth exploring.
A nurse walked into the room. “Miss Brooks, Dr. Yew would like to admit you for observation. Your wound was fairly minor and shouldn’t cause any problems, but we never take chances with head injuries.”
Great. A hospital admission meant paperwork and explanation. It was bad enough being brought to the ER. What kind of idiot got knocked in the head like this? She’d held her own with murderers, drug traffickers, thieves, and addicts, but drunk Lewis had smoked her. It was embarrassing.
She could blow off stitches, but a stint in the hospital would have to be reported. “Well, I’m feeling much better, so I think I’ll just get dressed and go home.”
“If you do, it’ll be against medical advice,” the nurse told her. “You’ll need someone with you for twenty-four hours, at least.”
“Oh, my brother can do that.” She smiled at Ty. “Right, big brother?”
The smugness drained from his face, and his eyes opened wide. “Ah...well... Is she going to be okay? What do I need to—”
“I’m fine.” She had to stop him before anything really stupid rolled out of his mouth. Apparently he wasn’t a crazed killer. Honestly, the man couldn’t even lie himself out of a hospital room. “You don’t need to do anything.” She turned to the nurse. “Please get my paperwork, so I can leave.”
The nurse looked back and forth between them, then turned and left.
Jordan tugged off the blood pressure cuff and tossed back the blanket. “Could you turn around? I’m in a hospital gown here.”
“Turn around? You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s the most clothes I’ve seen you in.”
She glared.
“All right, all right.” He turned away.
“You suck at lying.” The ground shifted side to side as she slid to her feet. She grabbed the bed’s side rail to keep from falling.
“Some women might consider that a good thing.” He peeked over his shoulder and whipped around, steadying her with his hands on her hips. “Are you kidding me? Damn, woman, you ever been tested for a balance problem? Inner ear issues, maybe?”
“Shut up, cowboy,” she snapped. “It’s been a hell of a night.”
“Tell me about it.” He chuckled. “You certainly didn’t have any problems ripping off a convincing lie.” His hold relaxed, but his fingers lingered on her hips. “Seems to me like you’ve had a lot of practice at it.”
***
The success or failure of undercover work rested solely on a cop’s ability to become someone else, to completely morph into an alien persona. And sometimes, particularly in a small town like Titus, the living arrangements could prove as tricky as the new identity. Everything had to fit.
As such, Jordan’s driver’s license now read Jordan Brooks rather than Jordan Delany.
Her cover was a college student waiting tables at Buck’s. Of course college students didn’t typically own homes or drive expensive cars. She had no problem with the four-year-old Accord. She also didn’t care that her wardrobe had been overhauled for a younger, sexier appearance. And bravely she’d endured the sting of the piercing in her navel.
What had come as a shock was the apartment. Turned out that furnished living arrangements—available in Titus and conducive to her cover—weren’t all that plentiful. The result was an odd little place in a small complex that leaned toward the lower end of the income spectrum. The place wasn’t fancy, but it worked.
“You still with me?” Ty asked, pulling into her parking lot. “You look tired.”
“Yeah.” Jordan forced a smile. She was tired, but rest wasn’t going to come easy tonight. Her back had been hurting, and the hospital had offered her a mild pain reliever. She should have known better than to take it; even a simple aspirin tended to screw with her dreams. And true to form, she hadn’t even made it out of the hospital before the ugliness began. “Ty, thanks for the ride and the trip to the ER and the shirt. If I see you in Buck’s, your next couple of drinks will be on me. Good night.”
She opened the door to make a clean getaway.
He turned the engine off and was on her side of the truck easing her out before she had a chance to protest.
“Look, I appreciate everything, including letting me stop by Buck’s to get my purse and keys. You’ve been more than generous, but I’ve got it from here. Good night.”
There. That should settle it. Even Mr. Arrogant couldn’t have missed that subtle goodbye. Or so she thought. Damned if he didn’t cuff a hand around her arm as though she’d melt to the ground at any moment.
She stopped at the flight of stairs that led to her apartment on the second floor. Was it possible that the number of steps had doubled since that morning?
Before her brain could process the move, Ty swept her up.
“Put your arms around my neck.”
He left her no choice but to grab hold. With her head so close to his chest and her arms locked around him, it was impossible not to breathe him in. God, he smelled good. A shocking tightening of muscles clenched low in her stomach.
She trembled as he put her down at the top of the stairs.
“Ty, really, I know I owe you big for all you’ve done”—she put her key in the deadbolt, but didn’t turn it—“but you need to go.”
He laid his hand on top of hers and twisted the key, then pushed the door open and stepped inside. “You’re gonna owe me bigger by tomorrow. If I can’t leave you alone for twenty-four hours, you better have cable. Or some other way to keep me entertained.”
Jordan heard the suggestive grin in his voice. She flipped on the lights.
After another five or six steps inside the door, he stopped abruptly, as if he’d hit an invisible brick wall. He looked around the one-bedroom apartment in much the same way she had when she first stepped inside.
A ninety-two-year-old woman had passed away a few weeks earlier. The apartment manager offered the place fully furnished, claiming the older woman’s family didn’t want her personal items. It didn’t take long for Jordan to figure out why. The apartment’s color scheme was avocado green and burnt orange. The colors had apparently been popular decades ago, and this place had never progressed with the times.
The television looked like an antique. So did the mattress and the giant, rust-colored couch. But at least the couch was comfortable—if you could get past the smell of Pine-Sol and pot roast. Despite the mildly strange aroma, she slept on it most nights to avoid the lumps and broken springs of the mattress.
The old woman had also collected roosters. Big roosters. Little roosters. Rooster clocks. Rooster canisters. Rooster bookends. Rooster coasters.
Jordan had died and gone to rooster hell.
To steady herself, she put a hand against a wall and kicked off her shoes. She shrugged out of the jacket he’d put around her. “You’re probably a nice guy, and I get that you feel some sort of misguided responsibility for bringing me home, but I’m not comfortable having you stay here. I just need to rest.”
Turning toward him, she caught his gaze traveling up her body. His intense stare scorched her as effectively as a branding iron. From her ankles to her eyes, her skin flushed hot.
For several long heartbeats, silent heat radiated between them. It was entirely possible that her breathing had stopped altogether. Just when she thought her legs might give out, he whipped his head in the opposite direction, turning his interest to a rooster cuckoo clock hanging on the wall.
He scratched his forehead and turned back to her. The sexy mischief in his eyes made her stomach tumble again. “Look, the nurse said someone needs to be here to check on you. I know you’re uncomfortable having a man you don’t know well in your...um...place.”
He poked his tongue at his cheek, no doubt trying to control his amusement as he took in the crappy furnishings. “But I’m not comfortable being the guy who took you to the ER and ignored very specific instructions not to leave you alone.”
The jerk was all but laughing at her, or at least her roosters. It would
never have been the kind of place featured in Better Homes and Gardens, but it was spotless and functional. Mostly. He didn’t need to be rude.
“I hate to break it to you, cowboy, but you staying here was never in the cards. I only told the nurse that so she wouldn’t give me any trouble about leaving the hospital.”
“You put it in the cards when you said I’d take care of you. If something happens, I’m responsible. It’ll take someone in town about two minutes to finger me as the guy who took you home. If you have a girlfriend you can call to come over, then I’ll go.” He plopped down on her couch. “Otherwise, I’m staying.”
Man, she wanted to stick a pin in his over-inflated ego. No, she didn’t have a girlfriend to call, nor did she want one while she was on a job. Bahan was enough of a pain in the ass.
“Fine,” she said. “Suit yourself. But if you’re staying”—she gestured to the kitchen—“I need coffee.”
Half an hour later, they sat on opposite ends of the sofa sipping coffee, but Ty’s voice had lost most of the good-natured charm it held earlier. Perfect. With exhaustion closing in on both of them, it wouldn’t be long until she convinced him to leave.
“You’ve been really nice, but I’m fine. Go home and get some rest. Don’t you have to work or something?”
He exhaled. “This is not the most flattering admission, but I’m in between careers right now. When I was a cop in Longdale, my chief and I didn’t see eye to eye. Long story, but I’m moving on.”
She glanced at him. Mr. Controlling had walked out on a police career with no backup plan? Must’ve been one hell of a fight with his chief. Or he was lying. She let the silence hang between them. When he didn’t speak, she said, “Sorry. I know it can be frustrating, especially financially, being unemployed.”
“Well, I’m good there. My whole family lives in town, so I’m not planning on living out of a cardboard box anytime soon.” He grinned, but his finger tapped nervously on the arm of the sofa. “I’ll always have a roof over my head. But to answer your question, I don’t have anywhere to be. How ’bout you? What do you do when you’re not serving drinks?”
Dream Huntress Page 3
