Prather gave a restless, jerky shrug. “And how is that insulting?”
Gently, using the same tone he used when explaining something to a five-year-old, Nielson said, “She’s blind, Prather. She can’t see, but she’s not mentally challenged, she’s not helpless. She has a rather demanding, chaotic career, which she manages to handle without a companion, she’s lived on her own here for quite a while, and I do believe I’ve heard she’s a college graduate—that doesn’t sound to me like somebody who needs to be on the receiving end of companion services.”
Prather just blinked.
He really didn’t get it.
Rising from his chair, Nielson leaned over his desk, hands braced on the surface. “You don’t get it. I can’t make you get it, even if I paint it on a billboard. Yet you seem to think she’s the one who needs assistance,” he muttered, disgusted. Why in the hell did he have to continue putting up with this?
THE STORY WASN’T MOVING, AND HADN’T BEEN FOR about the past week.
Plain and simple.
Law tried to figure out if the problem was the story, or him. He had too much shit on his mind, there was no doubt about that. Maybe that’s all it was, and he certainly hoped that was at least part of it, because he’d spent the past six months working on the current book and if it turned out the book was the damn problem, then he had a major damn problem, because there was no way he could start from scratch and still meet his deadline.
Law didn’t miss deadlines.
Period.
Blowing out a breath, he stared up at the ceiling, absently throwing an old baseball up, catching it, and then tossing it up again. Over and over.
He let his mind drift and hoped that it would settle on whatever was blocking him.
And to no surprise, it wasn’t the book.
He found his thoughts torn between two women—two women who meant a lot to him. Lena, a woman he adored, and Hope, one of his dearest friends. Worry for the two of them ate at him.
Hope should be here by now and she wasn’t—she’d said she’d be here within the week and that was six days ago. She was stalling, he knew that, and he even understood.
She had given him her word and she wasn’t here.
Hope didn’t break promises.
He’d have to call her if she didn’t show by nightfall, because this worry just wasn’t going to go away. He knew she was a grown woman and if she’d decided not to come, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. But … shit, what if that bastard ex of hers had tracked her down?
Hope insisted it wasn’t likely, but Law knew all about obsessions, and Joey had one major, hard-on obsession for his ex-wife. She’d walked away from him and Joey hadn’t ever been one to handle people walking away well.
And Lena.
Lena. Ezra. Shit. Not that he’d seen anything to say otherwise, but Law knew it was only a matter of time before the cop decided to forget the “just friends” bit. He could tell by the way Ezra looked at her that he didn’t think friendly thoughts about Lena.
Jealousy ate at him, but the part of him that wanted, needed to see her happy … well, his gut told him the cop might be able to do that for her.
Aside from the jealousy, though, there was worry, and he couldn’t deal with worry as easily as he handled jealousy.
Law was, by nature, the suspicious type. Even when he’d been a kid. He’d had conspiracy theories running wild in his head before he even understood the concept.
It was probably why he did so well writing suspenses. He was one of those who always saw the sedan in his mirror as one that might be following him and even when he wasn’t speeding, he always watched the cop cars in his rearview mirrors, certain they’d turn around and pull him over for something.
Conspiracy theorists R us. He was a card-carrying member. Or at least, he might have been, but he was a little too normal for most of the conspiracy theorists—they drove him bonkers.
Sometimes, actually, all too often, his imagination got a little carried away.
But something hadn’t felt right in the woods by her place when they’d been out there earlier in the week.
He couldn’t figure out the right way to describe it, but something hadn’t felt … right.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
The right kind of atmosphere for a woman, hell, anybody to scream desperately for help.
Not that they’d found anything. At all.
And King had looked … and looked. And looked.
Abruptly, Law straightened in his seat and bent over his computer. Pulling up the browser, he went to BING and keyed in Kentucky + Missing Persons + females.
Then his eyes widened as he saw all the names.
Whoa.
Okay, so this was local and fairly recent.
“Let’s try giving it a few days.”
That cut down on some of the results. But still so many …
Absently, he clicked on one. It was a woman, but her disappearance was too far back, he figured. Carly Watson. Missing for six months. Long time. More than likely, if she was still alive, she was just living the good life under a different name.
It happened sometimes, he knew. He’d even written a book about a woman who’d gone and done just that—it hadn’t been published yet, but he’d started it after he’d done the research on how Hope might be able to “disappear,” if that was what she’d wanted.
Closing out the page on the article on Carly Watson, he went back to the search results. Needed to narrow it down more, he figured. Wondered if he could do it by location …
The doorbell rang.
He rose, padding on bare feet across the polished hardwood floors. He had hopes that it would be Hope, but still, he wasn’t exactly expecting it to be her.
That made it a double surprise when he opened the door to see her standing there.
A slow, hesitant smile curled her lips and she went to hold out a hand.
“A handshake, Hope?” he asked.
When he held out his arms, she launched herself at him.
Though they had kept in contact, it had been years since they’d seen each other and Hope wasn’t sure how she’d feel when she saw Law.
But the moment his hazel eyes met hers, all the fear, all the nerves and anxiety melted away. As his arms closed around her, she settled against his chest and let herself breathe.
She felt … safe.
She hadn’t felt safe when a man touched her in a good long while, and she hadn’t realized it could still happen. But it could.
Pressed against Law’s chest, his hand gently cradling the back of her head, she sighed and tension she’d held in check for years slowly began to drain out of her body.
Suddenly, she was no longer questioning why she’d come. She remembered now.
Because it was Law.
Because this was her dearest friend and this was the one person on God’s green earth she knew she could trust. Sniffling, she squeezed her eyes closed against the tears that threatened.
“You took long enough,” he said teasingly.
“Yeah … yeah, I think maybe I took too long,” she said, her voice hoarse and rough.
A couple hours later, they sat down in front of a huge flat-screen TV with Lord of the Rings playing. There was a half-eaten pizza in front of them. Law had a beer, she was drinking a Diet Coke and she felt … almost normal. With their backs braced against the couch, she tried to focus on the movie, but she couldn’t.
Her mind wouldn’t settle.
It felt odd, she realized, being in a house, being with another person—a friend. For the past two years, the only people she’d let herself be around had been strangers—safer that way, she had thought.
Easier.
But maybe she hadn’t needed to stay away from Law. Maybe she did … hell, she didn’t know. She’d needed to get away from Joey, and maybe she’d needed the time to stand on her own two feet. If she’d run straight here, straight to Law, he would have taken care of her and
was that really what she’d needed?
“You’re thinking awful hard about something,” he said softly, tugging on her hair.
She rested her head on his arm. “Yeah.”
He smelled like books. Books and grass and a guy who liked to spend as much time outside as he did inside. Looking up, she studied his face and found the boy she remembered from high school lingering in the faint smile on his face.
That teasing, gentle smile wasn’t much different, although his eyes were. Older. Wiser. More tired. Sadder.
How much of that was because of her? she wondered with not a little guilt. Grimacing, she reached up and traced the shadows under his eyes. “You’re not sleeping well.”
“I’m fighting with a book. Never sleep well when I’m doing that.”
“You fight with them a lot?” she asked.
“Almost every damn one of them,” he said, grinning now. “But that’s the job.”
“Is it what you expected? The writing?”
“Hell, no.” He kissed her forehead. He wrapped a friendly arm around her shoulders and hugged. “It’s a hell of a lot harder, and I spend half the day questioning my sanity … on the bad days, at least. When we were in school, I had this crazy idea that if I just sold the book—never thought past selling the one book—all I had to do was that and everything would be easy.”
“So it’s not easy?”
Law laughed. “Hell, no. And it’s never just the one book. I never thought past anything other than writing, and they don’t tell you about the other shit. You have to figure that out the hard way.”
“What other shit?”
He slanted a grin at her. “I’ll tell you about that later. Because some of that other shit is why you’re here. I don’t want to scare you off just yet.”
“Like I’ve got a whole lot of choice.” She gave him a wry smile. “I’m just about out of cash, almost out of gas, and not a lot of choices.”
“Gee, so you’re here now because you’re out of options,” Law said, giving her a forlorn look. “Thanks.”
She poked him in the ribs. “I’m here because it’s you. And you know it.”
He grinned down at her and she smiled back.
It felt strange.
She’d forgotten, she realized. Forgotten what it felt like to be with somebody whom she could actually tease, somebody she could actually smile with, laugh with. She’d forgotten what it was like to just … be.
Reaching out, she grabbed his hand.
“Law, thank you.”
To her surprise, he blushed.
Friends, Ezra reminded himself as he showered that morning.
He was going to Lena’s. Was going to ask her out for lunch. Not exactly a date. Just a nice, friendly meal. He owed her that, after she’d cooked dinner for him the other day. They didn’t even need to call it a date, right?
It was just a friendly meal.
Ezra had spent the past week being friendly with Lena, and actually, it wasn’t hard.
She was easy to talk with, she made him laugh, and she could cook like nothing else.
The hard part came when he had to restrain himself … when she smiled at him and he found himself remembering the way her mouth felt against his, the way she tasted. The hard part came when his hands itched to touch her and he knew he couldn’t.
“Friends,” he muttered. “Stop thinking about touching her, tasting her …”
Which was impossible, especially considering that his cock ached like a bad tooth. Groaning, he slumped against the tiled wall and reached down, closed his fist around his length and stroked. Pictured her mouth. His cock jerked. Stroked harder. Remembered her taste, the way she’d moved against him.
The hot water beat down on him as he pumped his fist up and down, picturing Lena’s face in his mind, her body moving against his—her long, slender torso, those sleek, subtle curves.
Her mouth, fuck. Her mouth, pressed against his, moving against his. The taste of her, the feel …
With a harsh groan, he came.
As the water washed the evidence away, he stared up at the ceiling. “This friends-only shit is not working.”
He couldn’t get her out of his mind, out of his thoughts. Scowling, he finished up his shower and climbed out, drying off with a towel and slinging it over his shoulders. When he opened the medicine cabinet, the box of Trojans sitting there all but mocked him.
Swearing, he grabbed his razor and slammed the door shut so hard, it was a wonder the glass didn’t break.
Friends. “My ass,” he muttered.
Twenty minutes later, he was heading out to the car, a weird mix of excitement and dread curling through him. He wanted, needed to see her, but at the same time, he knew it was going to strain his … ah … patience. Already, his skin was humming, his heart racing at the thought of seeing her.
Abruptly, he climbed out of the car and headed back to the house, jogging up the stairs as quick as his right leg would let him. Opening the medicine cabinet, he stared at the box of Trojans, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
“Shit,” he muttered. Then he grabbed the box. “The Boy Scout motto … be prepared.”
Even if it was just driven by wishful thinking. On his way back out, he opened the box and tore packets off the strip, tucking them into his wallet. The rest, he threw into his glove box.
Her house was only a couple miles out from his and he used those few minutes to try to talk himself down.
It wasn’t happening, though.
Every time he saw her, every time he talked to her, he wanted her more, liked her more.
Needed her more.
Stopping in front of the house, he turned off the car and sat there a few minutes, studying it.
The house itself was painted a fresh, gleaming white, the shutters a dark red that matched the front door. There were window boxes with flowers in front of the windows on the porch, and a swing at the far end. He climbed out of his car and pocketed the keys.
Lunch.
They’d do lunch. And if there was an … opening, he’d see if maybe she was open to pursuing something beyond friendship. He’d apologize for how he’d screwed things up, and they could see where things went from there.
He mounted the steps and knocked on the door, jamming his hands in his pockets, feeling as nervous as a damned teenager on his first date.
She opened the door, keeping the chain in place. “Yes?”
“Uh …” Oh, wow, slick. Don’t you sound all suave? He swallowed and then tried again. “Hey, Lena. It’s—”
The door opened a fraction more. “Ezra,” she said, stepping around so he could see her through the narrow opening.
“Yeah.” He smiled a little.
Lena’s lips curled upward and she murmured, “So … what are you doing back out here? I didn’t forget about something, did I?”
Mentally, he rehearsed the invitation to lunch. A nice, easy friendly meal.
Mentally, he reminded himself they were supposed to be friends. Just friends, and they could share a meal, right? He owed her a meal, anyway.
Shit, screw that sideways. He had no problem being friends with Lena, but he wanted … hell, he needed more than that.
He hadn’t had this sort of personal attraction—so hard, so strong, so instantaneous—to a woman in a long time. Shit, what he’d felt for Mac had paled in comparison. Mac had been a friend, yeah. A lover. He’d loved her … in a way. He’d been attracted. But nothing like this.
He didn’t think he’d ever had a woman hit him over the head quite the way Lena had.
Instead of lying, instead of hedging, he just stared at her. “Ah, well, I’d kind of planned on seeing if you wanted to go out, maybe get a bite to eat,” he finally said, even though right then, he wasn’t at all hungry.
Not for food, anyway.
“Kind of planned?” she echoed.
“Yeah. Friends do meals, right?”
She laughed. It was a low, quiet sound, sexy as all get-out. “
Sure, Ezra. Friends do meals.” Then the door closed, briefly. He heard the metal links of the chain clink and then the door opened.
Sucker-punch, right to the solar plexus. She wore a pair of black cotton pants that rode low on her hips and a skinny-strapped tank top that didn’t quite reach the waistband of those pants, leaving several inches exposed. He found himself staring at her navel and fantasizing about going to his knees in front of her and tracing it with his tongue and then going lower, lower … lower …
His cock twitched and he groaned inwardly. Fuck, he wasn’t entirely certain he could manage a normal conversation—not considering that the longer he looked at her, the more turned-on he got.
He cleared his throat, reminded himself that he wasn’t a pig—not normally, not really. But then he noticed something else. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Oh, hell.
“You’re staring at me again, aren’t you?” Lena asked.
Jerking his gaze upward, he saw a faint blush settle on her cheeks. “Yes, ma’am. I’m definitely staring at you again.” Staring, fantasizing, and getting harder by the second.
Trying to distract himself, he studied the door and then looked at her. “You know, not that I really want you to leave me standing on the porch or anything, but you might want to think about being more careful who you open that door for.”
“I’m not too worried about opening it for you. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve been here,” she said, shrugging. “Besides, Puck likes you.”
Ezra glanced at the dog at her side, smiling a little. “He tell you that?”
The small smile on her lips widened. “Sort of. His tail started wagging when you spoke. That’s a glowing recommendation from him.”
“Still … you should be careful.”
Lena smirked. “Yeah, I should. Especially since God knows if I try to call nine-one-one, they may just hang up on me. Or worse, my luck, they’d send Prather out here.”
“Eh, don’t feel bad. I don’t think it’s a personal thing—the way he acted toward you. I think he’s just an ass with everybody,” Ezra said, tucking his hands inside his back pockets. “The reason I was out there that day was because I had some kids joyriding on my property—they did some damage and Prather kept telling me I really shouldn’t file a complaint against the mayor’s son.”
If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense Page 15
