by Dawn Brown
She’d nearly finished in the kitchen when a banging at the front door interrupted her. She set the box of pasta she’d been holding down on the counter. Her stomach tightened. She blamed Des. After all, he’d been the one to claim the police wouldn’t help.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched across the living room to the front door. Her skin tingled from the weight of Des’s gaze. Yeah, well, let him stare. She was about to feed him a large helping of crow.
She turned the knob and yanked open the wooden door. A tall man dressed in a uniform nodded as she opened the screen door.
“I’m Constable Avery. I understand you had some trouble tonight,” he said, his deep voice oddly affected.
“Yes. Please come in.”
Avery swaggered through the door like John Wayne down a dusty road at high noon but froze the minute he spotted Des on the couch. Some of the puff left his chest and his small eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing here, Anderson?”
“Long story,” Des muttered, slouching down and closing his eyes. Apparently, he planned to nap through the conversation.
“Well, Miss, let’s hear it.”
Avery’s sharp tone caught her off guard and she stuttered a little as she explained what had happened. He folded his arms over his barrel chest and nodded.
“Did you want to write any of this down?” Shayne asked when she’d finished. Des snorted from behind her.
Avery ignored the question. “Let’s see the car.”
With a sinking feeling, Shayne led Avery outside. The rain had stopped and stars peeked out between the black clouds in the night sky.
Avery inspected the damage, shining the beam of his flashlight on the dent first, then the shattered headlight. “Looks like you got quite a mess here.”
“Yes, it does,” Shayne agreed, struggling to keep her annoyance in check.
Avery straightened and started back to the house. She fell into step beside him, her jaw sore from gritting her teeth.
“You see any of this Anderson?” Avery asked once inside.
“Just the aftermath,” Des told him without opening his eyes.
“Well, I’ll speak to Hudson, but with no witnesses…” Avery shrugged, his expression smug, tone patronizing.
“The man vandalized my property and threatened me.” Her temples throbbed with impotent anger. She glanced at Des. A faint sardonic smile curved the corners of his mouth.
“I’ll do what I can.”
Sure, you will.
Avery returned his attention to Des. “What happened to you?”
“A completely unrelated incident,” Des said.
“Would you like to tell me about it?”
“Nope.”
“I suppose I’m done here.”
“Done?” Shayne threw her arms in the air. “What did you do? Are you even going to file a report?”
“Young lady, if you’re worried about someone threatening you, maybe you ought to be more careful traveling alone at night.” Avery pushed past the screen door and left.
Des sat up and met her gaze. “Would you hate me if I said ‘I told you so’?”
Shayne looked away from the dark road, lit only by her remaining headlight, and turned to Des sitting next to her. Staring out the window at the night surrounding them, he didn’t notice. She returned her attention to the road.
“How did you know Avery would act that way?” she asked.
“A similar experience,” he replied without looking at her.
“Hudson?”
He shook his head and his voice hardened. “No. Someone else.”
“What happened?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just keep in mind, Avery doesn’t like to rock the boat for anyone, but especially not for people just passing through.”
She glanced at him again. “Are you just passing through?”
“God, I hope so,” he muttered.
“How long have been in Dark Water?”
He turned away from the window but didn’t speak. Her gaze shifted to his intense features then back to the road. He probably thought she was digging up information for her book. Her face flushed. She was getting awfully tired of being viewed as some manipulative liar who would use any situation to get what she wanted.
“Six months. I came back in March.”
His reply surprised her. “Did you want to come back?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “No.”
“Why did you?”
“Turn there,” he said without answering.
She pulled into the nearly empty parking lot and stopped the car. When she looked over at him, his expression was pensive.
Nothing about him was what she’d expected. His personality was a fascinating contradiction. Laid back and unaffected one moment, uncomfortable and defensive the next, yet beneath it all he seemed so unhappy.
The urge to brush the hair back from his face caught her off guard. She locked her fingers around the steering wheel until her knuckles whitened.
His ugly station wagon was the only car left in the lot—not at the bottom of the river as he’d predicted.
“Doesn’t look like they did any damage,” she said.
“No.” His tone was flat and his features bland. “Looks as bad as always.”
She waited for him to get out, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed forward on the ancient car. Only the hum of the car’s engine made any noise.
“Thanks for not leaving me on the side of the road,” he said at last.
“No problem.”
With a curt nod, he grabbed the handle and popped the door open, but instead of climbing out, he hesitated.
“The hell with it,” he muttered, turning until his face was mere inches from hers.
Her breath caught. Her heart stuttered in her chest. What was he doing? If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was going to kiss her.
He cupped her cheek with one hand, while the other gripped her hip. A slow tingle spread over her flesh. His scent, fresh and clean from the shower, teased her senses.
This was crazy. She started to tell him, but before she could utter a word, his mouth covered hers.
Chapter Five
“Heddra Grey ruled her family like a tyrannical dictator, using any means possible to bend them to her will and maintain her control.”
—excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds
Shayne’s head spun as Des’s mouth, rough and hungry, moved over hers. His hand at her cheek raked through her hair, grasping the strands in his fist as if to keep her from moving away.
He needn't have worried.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Craving the feel of him pressed against her, she arched forward, but the seat belt held her in place, driving her half-crazy with frustration. His hand at her hip slid under her backside, gripping and kneading, as his tongue darted into her mouth, tasting her, letting her taste him.
Heat pooled low in her belly, making her wet. God, she wanted him. The force of her need slammed into her like a truck, leaving her weak.
She nipped at his lower lip and he drew back with a sharp hiss. The memory of his battered face had the same effect as a bucket of ice water.
“I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her arms back to her sides. “I forgot your mouth.”
“I don’t care,” he growled, lowering his head and trailing nibbling kisses along her jaw line.
Her skin tingled where his lips touched. If they didn’t stop now, she’d tear off his clothes and take him right there in the passenger seat, battered or not.
What was wrong with her?
“We have to stop.” She pressed against his chest with the flats of both hands.
When he lifted his head, his eyes, dark like a storm at sea, held hers. “Why?”
“Aside from the book I’m writing about your father—” the mere mention of the book had Des back in his seat, “—I just got divorced. You’d be a rebound.”
That smirk sh
e was becoming all too familiar with curved his mouth, and he leaned forward, his lips nearly brushing hers. “Rebound, huh?”
Would he kiss her again? A tiny thrill pulled tightly in her belly.
“That’s right.” Her voice was hoarse.
“We’ll see,” he murmured instead.
Des left the car and sauntered across the empty lot, then slid behind the wheel of the station wagon. The engine roared to life and he honked once before pulling out onto the road and driving away.
With his car out of sight, Shayne rested her forehead against the steering wheel, closed her eyes and released a slow breath.
What had she been thinking? Obviously, she hadn’t been, that was the problem.
His image lingered behind her closed lids as if burned onto her retinas. His too-long hair falling away from his face, high forehead, straight nose, and square chin.
So he was extremely attractive with a certain cynical charm, that still didn’t explain her making out with him in her car like a horny teenager. She knew better.
Maybe she hadn’t been that far off calling Des a rebound. God knew her ego had taken a beating when Travis hooked up with Sandy so fast. She couldn’t deny the painful surprise at finding herself replaced, as though all she’d ever been to Travis was a walking uterus—and a defective one, at that. No doubt the attentions of an attractive, younger man assuaged her wounded self-esteem.
She sat up and opened her eyes. She could analyze the situation until the sun came up—which coincidentally was less than an hour away—but the bottom line was she had a book to write. Whatever strange attraction she was experiencing was completely inappropriate. Des was a source for a story, nothing more. She needed him to help her find Julia at the very least, and in a best-case scenario, to agree to an interview himself. She couldn’t afford to blur the line between them because she was flattered, or because he was a damned good kisser.
From this point forward, her behavior where Des was concerned would be nothing less than perfectly professional.
By the time Des arrived home, the sun’s first rays had started to brighten the eastern sky, and his mood had improved considerably. So much so, he was whistling. Sure, his body throbbed like he’d gone ten rounds with a fleet of sumo wrestlers, but aside from that, he felt pretty damned good.
Shayne wanted him. Maybe as badly as he wanted her. The knowledge filled him with a heady sense of triumph. Rebound? He grinned. Not when she’d kissed him like that.
He shoved his key into the lock of the garage apartment he rented, but found the door open. His good mood evaporated. If those assholes had broken into his apartment… He’d never considered the possibility before. The old widow he rented from was better than any alarm system he could buy. Nothing happened in this neighborhood Rose didn’t know about.
He pushed open the door and entered the small square kitchen. If there had been anyone in the apartment, they’d been extremely careful. The dishes piled in the sink were as he’d left them. Nothing appeared broken or out of place.
If those idiots had broken in, they wouldn’t have been careful and they certainly wouldn’t have left anything in his apartment intact. So who had been there?
Des climbed the steep stairs to the loft, but froze at the top. Hudson sat on the swivel chair behind his desk.
“I would have picked up the place if I’d known you were stopping by,” Des said, jamming his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.
Hudson watched him with small black eyes. “Now why don’t I believe you?”
“I’m surprised to find you here. Did you run out of defenseless women to terrorize on deserted roads?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to call them back. If Hudson knew about his visit with Shayne, Heddi would too.
The big man’s face remained stoic, as if he hadn’t heard Des. Between his robotic features and a physique like Frankenstein’s monster, it was easy to believe he was as thick in the head as everywhere else, but Des knew better. Hudson never missed a beat.
He stood, his huge square frame filling the room. “She wants to see you.”
Des tensed. “It’s five a.m.”
“Now.”
“My next payment isn’t due for another two weeks.”
“She wants to see you on another matter.”
His stomach churned sickly. Please, not Julia. Not again.
Despite his pounding heart, he cocked his head and tried to appear nonchalant. “Is Heddi interested in acquiring some property?”
“Now!” Hudson’s voice exploded like a thunderclap. “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“It’s. Five. A. M.” He enunciated every word, as if speaking to the insanely dim-witted. “She’s not even awake.”
“You can wait for her at the house.”
Des sighed through gritted teeth. Exhausted and sore all over, the last thing he wanted was to be dragged in front of Heddi, but he had to go. Arguing with Hudson was about as effective as arguing with the wall.
“I want to change first.” Des went to the dresser at the far end of the long room.
“Stop stalling.”
“You might jump at her every command,” Des snapped, yanking open a drawer, “but I’ll be damned if I’m going to.” He pulled out a pair of clean jeans and a new shirt.
Hudson snorted. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Tension gripped Des’s aching muscles, and a dull pain throbbed behind his eyes. “She can wait ten minutes more for me to change.”
“Fine, make it quick.”
When Hudson made no effort to leave, Des yanked open his shirt. “Are you going to stand there and watch?”
Hudson gave him a last measuring stare, perhaps taking in the bruised flesh, then smirked. “Don’t look so down. She has a job for you. One small job and all debts will be wiped clean.”
“What do you mean?” Des asked, refusing to acknowledge the tiny kernel of hope expanding inside him.
“What I said. You do this for her, and she’ll forget the money you owe.”
What could Heddi possibly need from him so badly she would be willing to forget the money? To let him go. A kidney? No, he had two of those. One wouldn’t be worth it for her. Lung? Liver? Heart? Not likely, he doubted she had one to begin with.
Internal organs be damned. He would give his grandmother whatever she wanted if it meant he could finally be free.
Hudson ignored him for the twenty minutes it took to drive to the large Georgian-style house Des had come to despise over the years. The original family homestead dated back to 1860, but his Grey ancestors had soon replaced the original log cabin with the brick monstrosity before him.
His great-grandfather had amassed his fortune with a sawmill, exploiting the area’s resources and using the money to buy business after business, until he’d owned nearly half the town. A tradition his grandmother had maintained and expanded upon.
Hudson parked in front of the house, climbed out of the car and started up the stone steps to the door without a backward glance to see if Des was behind him. Why would he? Hudson knew he’d follow him like a well-trained dog. He had no other choice.
Inside, the foyer was dark and silent despite the sunny brilliance outdoors, the oppressive atmosphere like that of a tomb. Bleak emptiness combined with the sensation that he wasn’t alone. Somewhere down the dark hallways his corpse-like grandmother waited.
He followed Hudson to the parlor, but stopped short in the doorway.
“Jesus,” Des muttered. Someone had been redecorating. The period antiques that had once filled the room to the point of clutter were gone, replaced with a rose leather sofa and brass tables with glass tops. The room had been painted the same putrid pink and a wallpaper border had been added beneath the wide crown molding. “Who did this?”
“Vivian,” Hudson replied.
“And she lives to tell? She’s not buried somewhere in the woods?”
Hudson scowled and turned away. “I’ll see if she’s ready for
you.”
Once alone, Des moved to the window. The steady tick of an old cuckoo clock on the wall behind him—one of the few surviving antiques—filled the room and throbbed in time with his head. The ibuprofen was wearing off. He wanted to go to bed.
Outside, sunlight spilled over the emerald lawn. His gaze followed the cobbled drive to the line of trees hiding the road from view. If he squinted, he could imagine he saw, through the tangled branches, the sun glinting off the cars as they sped past.
As a child, he’d stood in this window for hours, hoping some passing car would turn up the drive and take him from this place. Back then, he’d sensed instinctively he didn’t belong here. And even now, as an adult, a desperate smothering settled over him whenever he entered this room.
“She’s waiting for you in the library,” Hudson’s voice broke into his thoughts.
Des nodded and walked out, leaving his grandmother’s henchman in the room he hated. Exhaustion seeped into his extremities, and his body ached, especially his head. He could almost feel his skull expand and contract like a cartoon character struck with an anvil.
I’m Wile E. Coyote, super genius, time for another round with Road Runner.
A round that would undoubtedly end with his sliding face-first down a rock wall and the old woman’s watching with smug satisfaction.
Beep! Beep!
Des walked down the hall. His footfalls on the wood floor were too loud in the unnatural quiet. God, he hated this place.
The library was tucked away at the back of the house. Dark wooden bookshelves lined the walls, filled with dusty volumes he was sure no one bothered to read. In one corner, there was an ancient rolltop desk and an assortment of chairs from various periods in history sporadically placed about the room.
Heddi waited for him, stretched out on a faded chaise. A ruby-colored blanket draped over her lower half, the outline of her bony legs almost invisible amongst the folds in the fabric.
She pretended not to notice him, gazing through the picture window at the meticulously-landscaped outdoors. One of the games she played before striking to encourage her prey to lower their guard. But Des had been struck far too many times to fall for it.
