Blood and Bone

by Dawn Brown

  He opened his arms wide. “Well, here’s your answer. Take a good look.”

  She stepped back, eyes round, mouth tight. Her reaction both pleased and infuriated him.

  “I guess you wanted to know the same things about Julia?”

  She didn’t reply, but her gaze held his, her eyes boring into him. She could probably see his black, twisted soul.

  “Compared to her, I’m the picture of well adjusted. Let’s see…three suicide attempts…I imagine she’ll eventually get it right. Five bouts of rehab to get her off the pills and booze. She’s been in the Caribbean since March. When, and if, she makes it back, I figure she’ll be ready for round six. That’s what it’s like for Julia to survive. Shouldn’t you be taping this, or at least writing it down?”

  Shayne’s eyes darkened to the color of onyx. He’d pissed her off. Good. Why should he be the only one?

  “Did you know she agreed to speak to me, that we were to meet back in March?” Shayne asked, her tone still soft, but clinical, as if she were interviewing him. “She never showed.”

  Dark anger swelled inside his head like a gathering storm. “Yeah, well that’s Julia. She wouldn’t have told you anything, you know. She doesn’t talk about what happened that night. Any attempt to make her sends her into hysterics. But I guess that wouldn’t matter to someone like you.”

  Pain flashed across her face. Yeah, well, the truth hurts. But was it the truth? Aside from that first phone call, she’d been completely up front with him. Provided, of course, she was being honest about her book and Anderson’s guilt. He still wasn’t sure.

  The dark pleasure surging through his veins shriveled. Exhaustion washed over him like a wave.

  “You need to leave,” Shayne said. Her eyes glittered like black ice. “As for where you stand on participating with the book, I understand. I will make no effort to contact you, or your sister, again.”

  “Wait.” With his fury easing, something entirely too close to shame pulled at his conscience. “I’m sorry I went off—”

  “Get out, Des.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but Shayne turned her back on him. Without a backward glance, she strode into the bedroom, flicking off the lamp and throwing the room into darkness as she went. She slammed the door shut, the windows rattling with the impact.

  Alone in the dark, Des dropped onto the couch with a sigh. What a fucking mess.

  Shayne stripped off her clothes and kicked them into a pile behind the door. Her body trembled with pent-up fury. But who was she angrier with? Des or herself? She couldn’t decide.

  Had she not told herself to remember who he was and what he meant to her book? One stupid kiss and she’d developed romantic schoolgirl fantasies. He hadn’t, though. While she’d been talking herself out of an attraction, he’d been convinced she was a lying, manipulative bitch.

  A painful lump lodged in her throat. He barely knew her, so his assumption she would use his father’s unsubstantiated claims to make a few bucks really shouldn’t bother her, but it did.

  “The hell with it,” she muttered, stalking over to the dresser and yanking a pair of striped pajama bottoms and a tank top from the drawer. Maybe all of this was for the best, anyway. She shimmied into the pants and tugged the shirt over her head. She should be focusing on her book. Des was a distraction she couldn’t afford.

  She flopped back onto the bed. The tension in her shoulders eased almost the moment her head landed on the pillow. She lay there for a moment, listening for any sign of life from the other room. Nothing.

  Had Des left? She hadn’t heard the front door or his car. But would she have even noticed while she’d been storming around the bedroom? He must have gone. Why would he stay?

  A shrill clatter from the other room shattered the quiet. Shayne jumped off her bed and yanked open the door. The living room was dark, just as she’d left it, except for the heavy gold drape blowing out from the window like a brocade ghost and revealing a jagged hole in the glass.

  What the hell?

  Men’s disembodied voices drifted to her on the cool breeze, but were drowned out by a car engine revving. Bright, white light spilled through the gap in the curtains, making her squint.

  “Wake up bitch, you got company.” A man’s voice rose from the darkness outside, mingling with the loud guffaws of at least two other men.

  Her gaze darted around the darkened living room. Des must have gone. There was no sign of him.

  “Shit,” she whispered, frozen where she stood. Her wide stare fixed on a man’s huge silhouette moving before the headlights. His shadow stretched across the floor and up the far wall like a horror movie monster.

  Her heart pounded against her chest so hard she could taste it.

  “Hey, girlie, come on out and play.” The same man spoke, and again laughter followed.

  Her breath came fast and shallow. She was in some serious trouble. Alone, isolated, if those men came inside… Her head swam. She couldn’t seem to drag in enough air.

  Squatting on the floor, she dropped her head forward, squeezed her eyes shut. She had to pull it together. Caught like a literal deer in headlights and hyperventilating on the floor wasn’t going to save her.

  She had to do something before they came in. Call for help. Find something to use as a weapon. Something.

  Her cell phone was in her bag by the door. She could make her way over there, then to the kitchen for a knife. She just had to take that first step into the living room that would leave her exposed and visible to the men outside.

  “Not coming out?” the man called, his voice filled with malignant humor. “Maybe I ought to come in.”

  More laughter drifted through the hole in the window, and more mumbled discussion from at least two, maybe three, distinct voices.

  She couldn’t wait any longer. On her hands and knees, she crawled across the floor.

  As she crept in front of the window, an arm shot out from nowhere, wrapped around her waist and jerked her sideways behind the couch. A scream bubbled up the back of her throat, and a hand slapped over her mouth.

  Chapter Eight

  “On the surface they were a happy family, but beneath the veneer nothing was as it seemed. No one knew of the campaign of terror being waged against them.”

  —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds

  Panic burst in her brain like a flash flood. The pounding rush swept clear thinking and inhibitions away, leaving only the primal desire for survival in its wake. With her free hand, Shayne swung out. She caught her assailant in the side of the head. He let out an airy grunt, but his hold on her wrist didn’t loosen. Instead, he jerked her to the floor and rolled on top of her, his length pinning her down.

  No. No. NO!

  She rocked and wriggled, struggling to dislodge him, but it was like fighting a stone slab. The hand gripping her wrist pressed her arm to the rough wood floor, and the weight of his chest wedged her free hand between their bodies.

  “Shayne.” Whispered breath tickled beneath her ear. “It’s me. It’s Des.” Relief washed over her. “I’m going to let you go, okay?”

  When she nodded, he eased his hand away from her mouth, released her wrist and sat up. Her arm ached where he’d been holding her, but she barely noticed. She’d never been so glad to see anyone. As she pushed herself up, he slid his arm around her shoulders and helped her.

  “You’re still here,” she murmured. “Were you hit with anything?”

  “No, I’m fine.” His voice was little more than a breath against her skin. She shivered and he tightened his arm around her, drawing her closer. “I’m sorry if I—”

  “Where are you, girlie? Why don’t you come on out?” the man outside called, his voice laced with dark merriment. “Tell you what, I’ll come in. We’ll have us a hell of a good time.”

  His cronies jeered and guffawed. Her stomach slid to her feet. Des’s body stiffened against her. Tucked in the shadows out of the glare of headlights, she could only see t
he outline of his profile, his expression hidden.

  “I’m starting to think you don’t like me,” the man continued. “You hear me? Do you, bitch?”

  Her knees and back ached from the awkward, hunched position she was frozen in. “We can’t sit like this forever. My cell phone’s in my bag on the table. Maybe I can crawl around the couch and grab it.”

  “Wait. They’re warning you.” Des’s lips brushed her ear, and her skin tingled. “If they were actually going to come in, they would have waited until you were asleep.”

  “You can’t know that.” Unless… “Do you know who they are?”

  He shook his head, but she wasn’t sure she believed him.

  “Well, that’s fine,” the man yelled. “I can take a hint. The question is, can you? You need to get your pretty little ass out of town, and don’t come back.”

  Who was this guy? How did he tie into her book? Hudson’s granitelike face peering through her car window flashed through her head, but the man outside didn’t sound like him. Tic maybe? But why would he be trying to scare her into leaving town?

  “If you’re not gone by tomorrow,” the man shouted, “I’m going to think it’s ’cause you do like me, and I’ll be back.”

  More laughter.

  She tried to swallow, but couldn’t, her mouth too dry. Des crushed her to his chest, his body heat and the strength of his arms reassuring.

  Low voices, the words unintelligible, drifted in from outside, followed by the hollow thuds of car doors opening and closing. Engines revved and the brilliant light spilling through the gap in the curtains swept across the room then disappeared.

  For a long moment, she and Des stayed where they were. The distant hush of the wind in the leaves, mixed with their own ragged breaths, the only sounds in an otherwise quiet night.

  “You can let go of me,” Des said softly.

  She looked down at the corner of his shirt locked in her white-knuckled grip. Heat crept into her face and she released the fabric immediately. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” He stood and held out his hand. She took it, letting him help her up.

  Her rubbery legs shook badly, and she locked her aching knees to keep from crumbling back to the floor. She had to pull herself together. She didn’t want to make a fool out of herself, especially now that the men had gone and the threat was over.

  She drew in a quivering breath and let it out slowly. A dry click in the darkness, followed by a flood of electric light, made her jump. She pressed her hand to her chest and turned to Des, standing next to the lamp.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Her face burned hotter. She hated his seeing her so wobbly, but when she met his gaze, he looked as shaken as she felt.

  “Didn’t mean to give you a scare before.” A faint smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “You know, I never thought there’d be anyone less popular than me in this town—until you came along.”

  “Glad I could help.” She made her way to the couch, let her trembling legs give out and sank into the cushion. Absently, she rubbed her sore wrist.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “Not badly. Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

  “I tried, but you were punching me in the head at the time.” He flopped down next to her.

  “I tend to react that way when someone jumps me.”

  “I had to get your attention.”

  She snorted. “You did that.”

  “And I didn’t want the idiots outside to see you.”

  The mere mention of those men and her stomach dropped. Who were they? And why were they so intent to see her leave town? They had to be connected to Gwendolyn’s family. To Des’s family.

  Was it a coincidence he had been here at the same time? He’d told her he’d purposely parked his car where it couldn’t be seen if anyone he knew drove by. Those men wouldn’t have known he was here. Still, what was he doing here in the first place?

  “You don’t know who those men were?” she asked again.

  He shook his head, but his gaze stayed fixed on the window. “No, I don’t.”

  Did she believe him? Could she?

  A cool wind blew the heavy drapes away from the broken window. Goose bumps raced up her bare arms. The lamplight glittered off the jagged shards of glass scattered across the floor. A rock the size of a football sat between the couch and the coffee table.

  “You were lucky you didn’t get hit.” Shayne wrapped her arms around her middle, suddenly freezing. “Why were you still here?”

  “After you kicked me out, you mean? Not that I didn’t deserve it.”

  He had deserved it, but it was hard to stay angry with the man after he’d stuck by her while some psycho smashed her window and screamed threats at her. “Why didn’t you leave?”

  “I shouldn’t have said those things to you before. I was wrong and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to go until I told you.” Des leaned closer and pushed her hair back from her face. His fingers lightly brushed her cheek, leaving invisible trails of heat on her skin. “Are you okay? You’re pale.”

  She wasn’t okay, not really. The adrenaline that had been surging inside her was dissipating, leaving her shaken, jittery and cold to her soul. She couldn’t have stemmed the shivers moving through her if she’d had a gun to her head. She wanted Des’s strong arms around her again, crushing her to his chest, wrapping her in his warmth. And with him so close, the temptation was simply too much.

  She stood abruptly and cleared her throat. “I’m okay, just freezing. I’ll throw on a sweater, then call the police.”

  She hurried toward her bedroom, but something sharp stabbed the bottom of her foot. Pain zinged from her heel up her calf. She sucked in her breath, then released it in a string of curses.

  “What is it?” Des asked, standing.

  She balanced on one foot and lifted the other. Blood dribbled down the two inches of exposed glass lodged in her foot. “I have a hunk of window in my heel.”

  He frowned and held his hand out to her. “That looks bad. Come here and sit down.”

  He gripped her elbow and helped her limp to the couch. She flopped onto the cushion, a sharp throb pulsating in her heel. Holding her breath, she lifted her injured foot and inspected the damage. The jagged shard jutted from her flesh. Oozing blood smeared her skin. She tugged gently on the glass, sending fresh spikes of pain shooting up her leg again.

  “Let me have a look,” Des said as he sat on the coffee table in front of her. He gripped her foot and she gasped.

  “Damn it. Be careful, it hurts.”

  Cupping her heel in one hand, he gently probed the bottom of her foot with the other, his touch was warm and cautious. “This is in pretty deep. Is your car locked?”

  She nodded. “The keys are in my purse.”

  He stood, gingerly set her foot down, grabbed her purse from the table and rooted through it. “Will I find any embarrassing feminine products?”

  She widened her eyes with feigned innocence. “Like what?”

  The telltale jingle of her car keys filled the quiet. “Ha. Got ’em. Be right back.”

  He disappeared outside, was gone barely a minute before the door clattered open. Des strode toward her, the first aid kit tucked under his arm. “I bet your father would be happy to know you’ve gotten so much use out of this.”

  “I’m sure he’d be gloating. After all, there’s nothing he enjoys more than telling me ‘I told you so’.”

  She reached for the kit, but he held it just beyond her grasp as he sat on the coffee table across from her.

  “I can take care of myself,” she told him.

  “I’m sure you can, but I owe you one.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Don’t you be ridiculous. Besides, your hands are still shaking.”

  She closed her fingers into fists. Her injury provided a slight distraction from the evening’s events, but not enough for her to feel entirely normal again. She sighed. “Fi
ne.”

  Des gripped her heel tightly, with quick fingers pulled out the glass and pressed a gauze pad against the wound to stem the bleeding. Fresh pain soared up her leg, before settling into a dull throb.

  “Your foot’s really bleeding.” He lifted the gauze. She tried to pull her foot away, but his hold tightened, and he grinned. “I still need to clean the cut and bandage you up.”

  She glared while he opened the antiseptic pad’s foil package. The same brand he’d complained hurt when she’d used it on his face. “Remember, I could have left you at the side of the road last night.”

  “Duly noted.” He applied the damp wipe to her oozing injury. Stinging flames licked at her nerve endings.

  “Sadist,” she hissed. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip and waited for him to finish. At last, the pain receded. When she opened her eyes, he was carefully applying a bandage.

  “All done.” He bent his head and pressed his lips to the arch of her foot in a feathery kiss. A delicious tingle rippled over her skin. He peered up at her, those smoky eyes watching her through the hair that had fallen into his face.

  She forgot the pain in her foot and a new ache settled low and deep inside her.

  He eased off the table until he was kneeling on the floor between her legs, his gaze never wavering from hers. Her breath caught in her throat. His hands rested lightly on her knees, then slid slowly up her outer thighs as he leaned closer. The heat from his palms seeped through the thin cotton of her pajamas, burning away the last of her nerves.

  A shiver slid over her, bringing with it gnawing need.

  Wrong. Letting him touch her this way was wrong for so many reasons. Her book. His family. He was seven years younger than her and—

  He pressed his lips to her throat. The damp heat of his mouth shot an invisible current directly to her core. She closed her eyes and bit back the moan swelling in her throat. Oh God, she wanted him. Maybe just one kiss, then she’d put a stop to all this craziness.

  With her heart beating double time, she cupped both sides of his face and lifted his head. Stubble scraped her palms. He smelled good. Clean, spicy and male. She touched her mouth to his in a slow, drawing kiss. His lips parted and she met his tongue with her own, tasting him, sweeping the contours of his mouth.