by Jo Leigh
“I told you. This is not your problem,” T.J. said.
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Books by Jo Leigh
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Copyright
“I told you. This is not your problem,” T.J. said.
Kate straightened up to her full height. “Why don’t you go back where you came from? You’re not here to help Bobby. You’ve got your own agenda. Whatever it is you need to work out, do it on your own time. All you’re doing is making things worse.”
T.J. stared at her for a long moment and then finally blinked. “All right,” he said.
“All right, what?”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Talk? Or yell?”
The edge of his mouth quirked up in a slight smile. “You are one tough cookie, you know that?”
“I eat tough cookies for breakfast....”
Dear Reader,
There’s a nip in the air, now that fall is here, so why not curl up with a good book to keep warm? We’ve got six of them this month, right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments. Take Modean Moon’s From This Day Forward, for example. This Intimate Moments Extra title is a deeply emotional look at the break-up—and makeup—of a marriage. Your heart will ache along with heroine Ginnie Kendrick’s when she thinks she’s lost Neil forever, and your heart will soar along with hers, too, when at last she gets him back again.
The rest of the month is terrific, too. Jo Leigh is back with Everyday Hero. Who can resist a bad boy like T.J. Russo? Not Kate Dugan, that’s for sure! Then there’s Linda Randall Wisdom’s No More Mister Nice Guy. Jed Hawkins is definitely tough, but even a tough guy has a heart—as Shelby Carlisle can testify by the end of this compelling novel. Suzanne Brockmann’s TALL, DARK AND DANGEROUS miniseries continues with Forever Blue, about Lucy Tait and Blue McCoy, a hero as true blue as his name. Welcome Audra Adams to the line with Mommy’s Hero, and watch as the world’s cutest twin girls win over the recluse next door. Okay, their mom has something to do with his change of heart, too. Finally, greet our newest author, Roberta Tobeck. She’s part of our WOMEN TO WATCH new author promotion, and once you’ve read Under Cover of the Night, you’ll know why we’re so keen on her.
Enjoy—and come back next month for six more top-notch novels of romance the Intimate Moments way.
Leslie Wainger,
Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator
* * *
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
* * *
EVERYDAY HERO
JO LEIGH
Books by Jo Leigh
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Suspect #569
Hunted #659
Everyday Hero #740
JO LEIGH
is a relocated Texan who began her professional career in the motion-picture industry. After years of collaborative film efforts, she decided to strike out on the solitary road of novel writing. Much to her delight, she’s found enduring friendships, generous mentors and a thriving community of romance writers. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at: PO. Box 720361, Houston, TX 77272-0361.
To my nieces and nephews: Lena, Paulie,
Avigail, Rachel, Rami, Trysa, Sara, Yael,
Daviel, Jack and Breetel.
I love you all so much.
And to my wonderful critique partners who made
writing this a dream: Debbi Quattrone, Bonnie Tucker,
Kathleen McKeague, Kim Rangel and Jan Freed.
My heartfelt thanks.
Chapter 1
What the hell was he doing back here?
T.J. Russo grimaced as he looked around the town where he’d grown up. The trees were bigger and the streets were dirtier. The auto parts shop where he’d worked when he was fourteen was now a thrift store and he’d counted five new fast food drive-throughs. He parked his car by the youth center, in front of the entrance where everyone hung out. The building was even more worn down than the rest of the town. The once-white paint was dull and dirty, weeds stuck up between cracks in the paved entryway and two windows were no longer glass but boards covered with sprayed graffiti. It still reminded him of a prison.
And it still attracted a great deal of the teenage population of Harbor Bay. Thirty or so young men, dressed in a uniform of baggy jeans and baseball caps with the brim in back, milled around the front entrance. In his day it had been chinos and cigarettes rolled up in T-shirt sleeves. Half as many girls stood in small groups just near enough the boys to cause trouble. The females wore too much makeup and oversized bomber jackets, not the tight skirts and sweaters he remembered so fondly. Even so, there wasn’t that much difference between this gang of teenagers in the yard of the youth center and the gang he’d hung with twenty years ago. Same insolence. Same desperate need to belong. Same fear that this was all you’d ever get out of life no matter what you did or who you prayed to.
He didn’t want to get out of the car. He wanted to put it in gear and head straight back to Hollywood. Instead, he pushed open his door and stepped out. The cool air hit him and he remembered the only thing he’d ever liked about Harbor Bay. The ocean. Eleven blocks from his mother’s house. He’d gone to the beach a lot those last years. Before he’d been locked up.
A bus roared by and T.J. looked again at the group of teenage boys. He didn’t see Bobby, at least he didn’t recognize him. Just how lousy was that—his own damn half brother and he hadn’t seen him in nine years. Bobby had grown from a kid to a young man and T.J. hadn’t been around to see any of it.
He stepped up onto the curb and moved toward the gang. Rap music bombarded him from inside the building.
He knew the instant the group outside honed in on him. He didn’t see anyone look at him, he hadn’t expected to, but as he approached the front entrance he felt them check him out. He wondered how many of them had already guessed he was a cop.
A short, beefy Hispanic kid moved his shoulder. That’s all. Just eased his shoulder forward, keeping his hands in his pockets. He met T.J.’s eye with a cold stare and told him, without speaking a word, that he was carrying a gun.
That was another difference. They were all armed now. Not just with switchblades, but automatic rifles and highcaliber pistols. The stakes were life and death. And Bobby was right in the middle of it.
“You lost or something?”
It was the big one talking to him. He was their head man—the gang leader.
“I’m looking for Bobby Sarducci.”
“Don’t know no Bobby Sanduski, man.”
T.J. didn’t say a word. He stared at the big kid and moved in closer. He knew the type. Nothing at home but poverty and trouble. Nothing to look forward to but more of the same. The only place to feel like a man was with other boys who were in the same boat, all of them clinging to their sarcasm and their loaded weapons as if they were drowning.
“You tell Bobby his brother’s looking for him.”
“You deaf? Don’t know no Bobby.” The teenager’s eyes were black and cold and the warning in them was greater than the words. His thick Latino accent seemed exaggerated and fi
lled with scorn.
“Tell him I’ll be calling his mother. Tell him I’ll be looking for him.” He stood a foot away from the center of the crowd. No one looked over eighteen. T.J. didn’t want to start anything here. He wanted Bobby to know where to find him so he didn’t have to spend the next week hunting him down.
“Why don’t you go back where you came from, man?”
T.J. ignored the remark and skirted the edge of the group as he headed for the door. He knew every eye was on him. He also knew that five minutes from now, Bobby would know he was in town.
He went to the entrance of the center and looked inside. Kids were in there, too, but not as many as were behind him. The music pounded, the bass so loud he felt the vibrations in his feet. He took off his sunglasses and looked around.
Four pool tables, all busy, took up the most of right side of the room. Long tables and plastic folding chairs that made him think of school cafeterias dominated the left. Posters of hockey players and basketball stars were interspersed with anti-drug-and-crime messages. Magazine racks and bookcases lined the wall of the far side of the room— the empty side of the room.
No sign of his half brother. He walked around the periphery of the room, studying the teenagers, remembering all the afternoons he’d come to this place. There hadn’t been pool to play back then. No music, either. Excitement then had meant sneaking smokes in the alley.
But the feeling was the same. Nothing to do but hang out and try to make time with the girls. He didn’t see any adults around, which surprised him. Where were the nuns who used to run this place, who used to pray for all those little lost souls?
He’d almost reached the bookcases when he got the feeling something was wrong. Seriously wrong. There was no movement in the room. Everyone had grown still. The music seemed even more intrusive. He turned slightly and caught the gaze of a girl with teased hair. She stared at him blankly as she chewed a large wad of gum. Then she turned her head to look at the front entrance. The big kid, the leader of the pack, stood in the doorway. The others were behind him, all straining to get closer. T.J. sighed. It must really be boring around here if they needed to stir something up with a cop.
As the gang moved forward, the kids inside faded toward the walls. T.J. knew his gun was loaded in his shoulder holster, but he wouldn’t pull it unless he absolutely had to. Damn it. This town was nothing but bad news.
“Hey, po-lice man.”
T.J. didn’t move a muscle.
“Hey, why are you still here? Didn’t you believe me? You think I’m a liar?”
“Nope.”
“Then why are you in here? This ain’t no doughnut shop.”
The others laughed.
T.J. lifted the corners of his mouth.
The kid moved inside. The pack behind him stayed close on his heels. T.J. shifted so he faced the group head-on. He kept his hands loose and open. He didn’t want to hurt this boy.
“Why don’t you leave, man? Go shake down some jaywalkers.”
T.J. saw the teenager’s hands were by his sides, the fingers slightly curled. Something bulged in the pocket of his jacket. It couldn’t be a big weapon. Probably a .22. Small, but at this distance, the punk might get lucky. A .22 in the heart would kill you just as effectively as a .45.
“Why don’t we both take it outside,” he said, keeping his voice low and calm.
The kid didn’t respond. He just kept walking.
T.J. held his hands up. “Come on, Ace. Nobody wants trouble.”
The music stopped. The boy reached in his pocket.
T.J. went for his gun.
Then a woman stepped between them.
He grabbed her by the waist. She was lighter than he expected and he lifted her clear off her feet. She yelped. He turned, putting her down so she was nearly in back of him. With one step he blocked her from the line of fire. His hand was on his gun, but before he could pull it out she was beside him, then in front of him again.
“He doesn’t have a gun!” she shouted. “He’s unarmed.”
T.J. stopped, his hand resting on the butt of his pistol, and looked over her shoulder. The kid was staring at him. He held a cassette. No gun.
T.J. let his hand drop. He turned his attention to the woman. She was tall, nearly as tall as he was and she had long, thick, dark red hair.
“Who are you?” she asked. Her fists were on her hips, her feet planted firmly apart.
“I’m a cop.”
“Not a very bright cop,” she said, her voice low but filled with sarcasm.
“When you’ve been shot at as often as I have, then you can talk to me about how bright I am, okay?”
She stared at him. He watched the anger ease from her body, first from her shoulders, then down to her hands. Finally the crease in her brow disappeared.
“Okay,” she said. “I can see where you might have thought Danny had a gun. But I assure you, no one comes to this center with a weapon.”
“Hey, he could have killed me, man,” Danny whined.
The woman spun to face the boy. “You’re lucky he didn’t.”
“What!”
T.J. watched Danny’s theatrics for a moment, then turned his attention to the woman. She had to be almost six feet tall. Her body was slim and straight, her face dramatic. Her eyes were an astonishing green and her skin clear and tan. He wouldn’t call her beautiful, she was too powerful looking for that, but she was striking. She wore jeans—straight legged and tight. The denim showcased her behind and those long, long legs. Now that he looked, he could see she wasn’t quite as boyish as he’d previously thought. There were curves there, all right. Her green sweater was a bit loose and he could see the swell of her breasts. They were on the small side, nothing to call the paper about, but nice just the same.
“What are you trying to prove, Danny?” she said. “That you’re tough? You’re not tough. You’re just a punk. And one of these days you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Punk? Where did you hear that, on TV?” Danny’s voice was loud enough so all his friends could hear. “You watch all those cop shows so you’ll know how to be hip?” He turned his head briefly so he could see his crowd behind him.
T.J. wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face.
The woman moved closer to the teenager. Danny held his ground, but not for long. She kept coming at him, forcing him backward until his back hit the side of a pool table and he was stuck. His grin became a memory. She raised her right hand and poked him once in the chest. She leaned so close to his face that T.J. was sure the boy could feel her breath.
“Don’t screw with me,” she said, her voice even and dangerous. She poked him again. “You are no match for me, Arcola. Not in any street fight, not with any weapon. I simply will not tolerate rude behavior in my center, you got that?” She used her finger one more time. “You are a guest here and you will act like one. This is your last warning.”
The teenager wanted to strike back. T.J. could tell by the way his fists curled at his sides. He was desperate to get away from the woman. But something made him stay and take it, for now. She didn’t seem to notice the thin thread that held him back. When she was good and ready, she let him go.
Although T.J. admired her spunk, he wondered if she’d just bitten off more than she could chew. The Danny Arcolas of the world were dangerous. Young, foolish, with a reputation to uphold. It wasn’t a question of whether they would explode, only when. But right now, if he had to set odds, he would bet on the woman, double or nothing.
She looked at the crowd around them. “Show’s over,” she said. “If I don’t see some homework being done pretty soon, I’m going to kick all of you out of here and lock the doors.”
Danny smiled at the woman, his anger reined in for the moment, but when she turned her back, his smile faded, leaving behind a look of malice so tangible T.J. nearly went for his weapon again. The boy was armed. It didn’t matter that he’d had a cassette in his right pocket. Somewhere—his other pocket o
r behind his back—he had a gun and he was prepared to use it. Their eyes met and the look of hate focused in on T.J. He realized Danny wasn’t angry with the woman. His fury was directed at one target—him. T.J. knew if he came back here again looking for Bobby, Danny wouldn’t let a tall redhead stop him.
The teenager turned and moved slowly toward the exit. Most of the others left with him. Still, several kids stuck around, mostly to play pool. A small group did sit down, but no books made an appearance.
She turned from the boy and stared at T.J., no sign of the altercation marring her strong features.
“Do you have business here?” she asked.
“I’m looking for Bobby Sarducci.”
“What for?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s my brother.”
She looked surprised. “You’re his brother...?”
“Half brother,” T.J. said. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“So you’re Detective Russo.”
“He’s talked about me?”
She stared at him with a disapproving glint in her eye. But that was okay. They really were pretty eyes. Damn, she was a striking woman. He had the feeling if he told her that, she would strike him.
“No, he’s never said a word about you. But his mother has. She told me you haven’t been to see him in years.”
He noticed one of the girls, a blonde with thick, dark eyebrows, had stopped to listen. He took a step closer to the woman. “I’d rather not talk about my deficiencies as a brother right now, Miss, uh...”
“Kate Dugan. I run the place. My office is right over there.”
Kate led him toward the west side of the center. He followed close behind and she knew he was checking her out. She shouldn’t complain. She’d done some checking out herself.
