"What about clothes?"
"Can Trina buy for her? Does she know what Bree likes?"
"My mother might be better at it," Jayson sighed.
"Then ask her. We'll need shoes, too. I can give your mother sizes, if she'll go out tomorrow."
"She'll be here tomorrow, if I tell her."
"True. Call your mother, Rome. I guess it can't hurt."
"She loves Breanne, and I'll tell her she needs some space. Mom won't push."
"Good. How does your mother feel about polyamory?"
"I haven't approached that subject, yet."
"Well, she may see things she might not understand, then."
"I'll make sure it's okay."
* * *
"Mom?"
"Honey, I didn't expect to hear from you again so soon."
"Mom, Bree's here. At the house. Hank brought her. She's sleeping in one of my bedrooms. The media is camped around her house and she needs clothes."
"I'll be on a plane tomorrow," Kathleen said immediately.
"I already arranged to have the jet pick you up at nine. Pack a bag if you want to stay."
"Of course I do. I want to talk to that poor girl."
"Mom, Hank says she's fragile. Give her some space, okay?"
"I know not to push. If she wants to tell me, that's fine. I'm not going to grill her."
"Good. Just act normal. I think that might help more than anything."
"I'll do my best. I just can't help but think about those photographs, though."
"I know. I can close my eyes and still see all that. It's horrible."
* * *
"Do we have a phone number yet?" Opal sat across from Bill at a restaurant near his office.
"I don't, but I can contact Hank Bell again," Bill nodded. "I think she'll talk to us. At least I hope she will. She sent notes, anyway, so that's a start."
"How did she live with that?" Opal shook her head.
"I don't know how she survived, or how she came out of that halfway sane."
"I figure there are plenty of emotional scars left behind," Opal snorted. "Do you think we'll ever get to work with her again?"
"I don't know. I worried about her before. I think I'd be more worried now."
"She's the best partner I've ever had," Opal nodded to the waitress, who set a burger basket in front of her.
"Thanks," Bill said as their waitress set grilled chicken in front of him. He waited until the waitress walked away before saying anything else. "I just worry that this book will do permanent damage. Look what happened today. That idiot reporter jumps all over her and she faints. I'm just glad Bell was there with her."
"I get the idea if the reporter hadn't badgered Hank Bell, Bree wouldn't have been there to begin with."
"You may be right. Let's face it, I don't stand a chance against that," Bill muttered.
"Bill, she cares about you. The note proves that. Don't go down without a fight. I think Hank was the reason she wasn't sleeping before. If that's the case, you've got a really good shot at this."
"Maybe we should plan a trip to San Francisco," Bill lifted an eyebrow at Opal as he cut into his chicken.
"Yeah. I kinda like it there."
* * *
Breanne's Journal
A cellphone ringtone woke me. John Mayer's Waiting for the World to Change played somewhere nearby, and I was at a loss to explain that. I didn't have that ringtone. Actually, I'd never downloaded any of those cool things—I always had one of the standards that came with the phone.
"Baby, your face is all scrunched up," Hank nuzzled my neck. My eyes popped open. We were in bed. Together. When had that happened?
"What?" I croaked. Yeah, my voice isn't the best when I wake up, and my hair probably looked like birds had nested in it.
"Better," Hank rumbled against my shoulder. "It's nearly noon. Kathleen Rome is out buying clothes for you and Trina is making lunch."
"Huh?" I attempted to slide away from Hank. He nuzzled his way toward my breasts and held onto me tighter when I tried to get away. "Why is Trina making lunch? Where the hell are we?"
"At Jayson's. Your house is surrounded by the media, right now."
"But what about your condo?" My mind was fuzzy, and the last memory I had was of Hank's mouth on mine. He'd kissed me for the first time, and I'd been unconscious during most of it.
"This is safer. Much safer. Plus, Trina, Kathleen and Jayson can help me keep an eye on you."
"Hank, I don't want to be mothered or smothered," I grumped, still trying to get away from him.
"Shh," Hank lowered his head and gripped a nipple in his teeth. Yeah, that got my attention right away. One of his hands wandered between my legs. "Oh, yeah. Yes. Yes, yes, yes," he breathed as his fingers made their way inside.
* * *
"That T-shirt doesn't do anything for you." Those were Trina's first words to me when I appeared in Jayson's kitchen. I hugged her for them. There was no where have you been, or how did you live through that or any other nonsense. It was just Trina, and I appreciated that more than I could say.
"I agree, olive green doesn't do a thing for me," I grinned at Trina after I hugged her. "It looks good on Hank, though."
"Hank would look good wearing burlap," Trina nodded. "Want lunch?"
"What do you have?" I lifted an eyebrow at Trina. She'd cut her hair since I'd seen her last, and added highlights. It looked good. I told her that as we put soup and sandwiches together.
"This soup is awesome," I muttered after my first bite. Trina had cooked vegetable soup for me, and it was exceptional.
We'd all settled around the kitchen island to eat—Hank beside me, Trina on the opposite side so we could talk. That's where Kathleen Rome and Dan, her driver/bodyguard, found us a few minutes later.
Trina and I got food set in front of Kathleen, who wanted to fuss about it but held back. Dan merely nodded his thanks and started eating. He'd carried a carload of bags into the house, so he was likely starving anyway.
"Breanne, we've missed you," Kathleen murmured after taking a few judicious sips of her soup. "Trina, this food is excellent, as always."
"My pleasure," Trina grinned at Kathleen.
"Bree, I bought everything I could think of. If any of it doesn't fit or you don't like it, we'll return it," Kathleen turned to me.
"I'm sure it'll be fine," I said, studying her face as she went back to her food. I thought about reading her, then quickly changed my mind. I didn't want to see horror, overwhelming sympathy or guilt there. It would make me uncomfortable. All I wanted was for things to be as they were—before that stupid book's release.
"We can wash what needs to be washed this afternoon," Trina said. "After you try it on." She lifted an eyebrow at me, tacitly telling me I would be trying on the clothes Kathleen bought.
"Fine," I said.
"It better be fine. Ms. Rome probably spent a fortune on you."
"You're right. Thank you, Kathleen. I have no manners, in addition to no brain cells, obviously." I offered Kathleen a wobbly smile.
"Don't even worry about it," Kathleen waved away my thanks, but her shoulders relaxed visibly.
Hank left in one of Jayson's many automobiles to check on the club after lunch, leaving me to try on clothes while Trina and Kathleen Rome passed judgment on the purchases. I was allowed to keep two-thirds of it. The rest was placed in a return pile, and Kathleen told me she'd already made arrangements with a sales associate at the high-end department store where she'd bought clothing and shoes for me.
"It won't be a problem—I told her they were gifts and that some of it would likely be returned. It happens often," Kathleen shrugged. "Dan will take it back tomorrow."
We washed clothing after that—what needed it, anyway. I wanted to hug Kathleen for thinking of jeans, socks, athletic shoes and pullovers, in addition to the dresses, slacks, blazers and heels. Trina washed jeans and pullovers for me, right after the underwear came out. I folded, Kathleen supervised and
Trina kept a conversation going.
Yes, it might seem stereotypical that Trina worked as Jayson's housekeeper, but she appreciated the fact that she could call him an ass to his face—when he was being an ass—and he'd laugh and agree with her. Jayson was an interesting paradox at times, and I just shook my head at all of it as Trina told us funny stories while clean clothes went into my borrowed closet.
"He really didn't know," Trina blinked dark eyes at me as we settled around the kitchen island for a before-dinner drink. "He growled at everybody for six months after that. Bree, it made him sick. Really."
"Yeah." I hunched my shoulders.
"Look, I know you don't want to talk about that. If you did, I would have heard about it before. I get that. If you need anything to get you through how people are gonna treat you now, just let me know. We can go to movies, shop on the Internet or just plain get drunk."
"The drunk thing doesn't sound bad," I gulped the wine I'd poured for myself.
"You can stay with me in Tahoe, if you need to get away," Kathleen offered. She'd accepted a glass of red wine—said it was better for her heart.
"I can't believe you cook meat, since you're vegetarian," Trina said when I rose to baste the game hens roasting in the oven.
"I cooked for Joyce's twins. They weren't vegetarian. Rice, pasta and beans is always cheaper. That's what I ate," I said, shutting the oven door and lowering the temperature.
"Breanne, do you know how horrible that sounds?" Kathleen's eyes were troubled.
"It suits me now," I shrugged. "I could change it, if I wanted. I don't want to."
"What's going on?" Jayson walked into the kitchen, followed by Hank.
"Cooking dinner," Kathleen rose to give Jayson a kiss on the cheek. "Breanne is cooking game hens for us."
"Bree?" Jayson turned a frown in my direction.
"I can cook it—I just don't eat it," I sighed. "I'm having a salad with fake chicken chunks and mashed potatoes with veggie gravy," I said.
"Are you mad at me?"
"No. Hank and your mother both say you didn't know. I believe them."
"Would you have believed me if I said the same thing first?"
"I hope so," I stared at my wineglass. "Although I feel the need to be really drunk right now."
"Bree, you're with friends. You don't have to get drunk unless you want to," Jayson said.
"Baby, don't be uncomfortable. We don't want you to feel that way," Hank pulled me off my barstool and hugged me.
* * *
"Packed? I found this military jet going our way," Bill grinned at Opal.
"Yeah. Two cases."
"Good. Let's go."
"I'm glad Hank asked us to come before we started begging," Opal nodded.
"We have a ride set up when we get there," Bill said. "They'll take us to Jayson Rome's place. I'm putting some discreet guards in place, too. They'll be watching that hill while Breanne's there. I don't want those snakes to get anywhere near her."
"You read those stupid websites too, didn't you?" Opal flipped long black hair over a shoulder and blinked once at Bill.
"Yeah. The conspiracy theorists are not only calling this a staged event, some are threatening Bree's life. They say she's an imposter and they're going hunting. Honestly, I have no idea where some of these fucked-up assholes come from. The truth is staring them in the face and they still don't believe it."
* * *
"Rome, we need to make room for two more," Hank said. He and Jayson had gone into Jayson's study after dinner, leaving Breanne, Trina and Kathleen in the kitchen. All three women were talking while Bree and Trina cleared things away and cleaned the kitchen.
"Which two?" Jayson lifted an eyebrow at Hank.
"Bill Jennings and another agent. Breanne knows both, and will likely be glad to see them. With Jennings here, keeping Bree safe will be much easier. He can chase the media away if he wants."
"How much danger might she be in?"
"Jennings says that death threats are showing up on those conspiracy websites. We don't have a clue how serious any of these are, or who is behind them. Bill told me he had people on it, but it's a low priority at the moment. Breanne isn't connected to national security, and while the FBI would normally handle this, Jennings has a close working relationship with the FBI Director. He'll get additional resources if it becomes necessary."
"Joyce Christian is still torturing Breanne—even from the grave. Sometimes, I want to strangle the old man."
"You'll have to stand in line," Hank growled.
"Does she seem more timid?" Jayson blinked at Hank. "Bree, that is?"
"In some ways, yes. PTSD can do that. That book was a big trigger."
"You have more experience with that than I do," Jayson raked fingers through his hair. "How's the funeral planning going?"
"All right so far. I've had a few calls from the media, since John's family won't talk to any of them."
"This is so tough," Jayson sighed. "Even with all the notoriety lately, the lifestyle still has to be hidden. Too many don't have a clue."
"They get the wrong kind of clues, usually," Hank rumbled.
* * *
Breanne's Journal
My whole body ached. The day had been long—and stressful. I didn't feel as if I could just be me anymore. My past had been blown open for everybody to dissect, and it put me on edge, no matter how nice the people around me were. The tension and stress made my body ache.
I climbed into bed after a hot shower. I had no idea whether Hank would show up—he and Jayson were talking in Jayson's study. It was after eleven; I was tired and wanted to read in bed. Unless I misted to my house to get it, I didn't have my tablet to read the novel I'd started.
With my back against a padded headboard, I hugged a pillow and contemplated going after the item in question. If Hank discovered I was gone, he'd likely go nuts. If I told him what I wanted, he'd do his best to talk me out of it. There wasn't any way to win the argument and I knew it. While I was busy silently debating the whole thing, Hank and Jayson walked into my bedroom. Without knocking, I might add.
"I want to go get my e-reader," I said, while Hank announced, "We're coming to bed with you—to talk," at exactly the same moment.
"What?" all three of us said in unison.
"Hank, no," I said. "No offense, Jayson, but that's just," I didn't finish.
"Uncomfortable?" Jayson lifted an eyebrow. Yes, he was eye candy, but when he stood next to Hank, well, there was no comparison. Not to me, anyway.
"We just want to keep an eye on you, that's all," Hank said. "And ask questions."
"Jayson," I flopped a hand down beside me. "We can talk some other time. I'm exhausted."
"Bree, we just want to take care of you. Make sure you're safe. That's all. Hank told me about your disappearing trick. And a couple of other things I'm having trouble believing."
"Hank?" I stared at Hank in hurt surprise. No, I hadn't told him not to say anything, and he'd blabbed to Jayson fucking Rome. "Get out. Both of you," I snapped. Sliding off the bed, I went looking for the expensive silk kimono robe Kathleen had purchased for me. I pulled it on angrily while Hank and Jayson watched.
"Breanne, you're overreacting. Jayson will keep that information to himself, I promise," Hank said.
"Really, Hank? Do you know what the Council will do if they figure out I not only exist, but wasn't officially made—at least in their eyes?"
"Breanne," Hank said, a dark eyebrow lifting in surprise.
"Bree, I know about vampires. And werewolves. Hank told me two years ago. Right after you disappeared. Showed me some, too. Don't worry, we kept our distance," Jayson explained.
"Hank, what the hell?" I stared at him in shock.
"Baby, I told you I've seen scary stuff. I was special ops in the military. I just happened to have medical training, too. Sometimes I went into difficult situations because of that training. Nobody suspected I was anything other than a medic."
"Uh-huh,
" I crossed arms over my chest and glared skeptically at Hank.
"Baby, we're not gonna hurt you. We've told you that often enough."
"Sure. And that entails both of you getting in bed with me—to talk?"
"If we feel like it," Jayson sat on the left side of the bed and patted the mattress. At least they were still dressed. If they'd shown up in underwear, I probably would have freaked.
"What about the way I feel about it?" I demanded.
"Bree, you'll sit between us. Jayson isn't a total pig. If he falls asleep, he snores less than I do."
"How do you know that?" I narrowed my eyes at Hank.
"Survival camps," Hank grinned. "We go twice a year."
"Are you kidding me?" I turned to stare at Jayson, who shrugged modestly.
"I taught Jayson how to shoot, too. We usually go to the shooting range on Saturday mornings."
"Guns, too?" I turned back to Hank.
"Baby, we're not gonna threaten you with those. What did that asshole sheriff do to you?"
I wanted to cry. Right then and there. I couldn't. Gus Fulton had threatened to kill me the last time I'd run away from Joyce, at age fourteen. He'd have done it, too, if I'd resisted—I'd read it in his face. After Joyce got done with me, dying from a bullet in my brain would have been preferable.
"I'm not talking about that." I stalked toward the bedroom door. I had no idea where I might go—I wasn't familiar with Jayson's house. All I'd seen was the kitchen, laundry, formal living, dining and my bedroom.
"No, don't go, let's talk about this," Hank said, gripping my arm. I'd had to walk past him to get to the door. I probably should have misted out instead.
"Hank, just let me go," I muttered.
"Come on, we won't force you to talk. Just let us hug on you for a while," Jayson had gotten off the bed and came to stand beside Hank, who pulled me against him. Jayson's breath was warm against my temple as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. I have no idea what might have happened next. No idea. Bill and Opal's images filled my vision; I screamed, grabbed Hank and Jayson and folded space.
* * *
A local agent had been waiting for Bill and Opal after a transfer flight from McClellan AFB. "Why are we going this direction?" Opal asked as they passed Daly City.
Blood Revolution (God Wars, #3) Page 5
