Turning Point (The Kathleen Turner Series)

by Snow, Tiffany

  Also by Tiffany Snow

  No Turning Back, The Kathleen Turner Series

  Turn to Me, The Kathleen Turner Series

  Blank Slate

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2013 Tiffany Snow

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Amazon Publishing

  P.O. Box 400818 Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN-13: 9781611099836

  ISBN-10: 1611099838

  For Nikki.

  I couldn’t have done this without you.

  Thank you for letting these characters become as real to you as they are to me.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sneak Peek: Out of Turn

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  Someone was following me.

  The streets of downtown Indianapolis were busy this Friday night. Even though it was the second week of February, after two months of nothing but cold, snow, and ice, a spell of unseasonably warm weather had brought the residents of Indy and the surrounding suburbs out in droves.

  Laughter and gaiety surrounded me as I hurried through the crowds oozing down Capitol Avenue. My pulse beat quicker and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I chanced a quick glance behind me, but saw no one paying the least bit of attention to me.

  I knew he was back there. Just because I couldn’t see him didn’t mean he couldn’t see me.

  He’d been following me for several blocks, always staying just out of sight when I turned around, and I’d caught only glimpses of an arm, a shoulder. But he was getting closer. I could feel it.

  A group of men were strolling in front of me. An idea struck and I eased my way in front of them. My height—or lack thereof—had its advantages, I thought, as I slipped past them into an alley. Hopefully, they’d concealed my movements long enough to lose the man following me.

  Unable to withstand the temptation, I stopped and peered behind me. When no figure stepped into the alley, I slumped against the brick wall at my back, releasing a pent-up breath.

  “Nice move, princess. You almost lost me.”

  I gasped, jerking around.

  “Damn it, Kade! You scared me to death!”

  Kade Dennon, former FBI agent and current gun-for-hire, was completely unfazed by my outburst, the smirk I knew all too well curving his lips.

  “It was a good thought.” He crossed his arms and leisurely leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Use your weaknesses to your advantage. Being short doesn’t have to be a detriment.”

  “I’m not short,” I groused. “I’m”—I searched for a more palatable word—“petite.”

  “Whatever,” he said with a snort. “Let’s try again. I’ll give you a sixty-second head start. Go.” He looked down at his watch, timing me.

  “Wait.” I held up my hand. “It’s getting late and I have a date with Blane tonight. Can we call it good for now?”

  Blue eyes framed in lush, dark lashes and topped by wickedly arched brows peered at me. It didn’t matter how often I saw him, Kade’s dark beauty never failed to take my breath away. His square jaw, roughened with a day or two’s growth of stubble, tightened. Black hair—which I knew from experience was soft to the touch—fell over his brow. I likened him to a fallen angel, and the description had never been more apt, clad as he was in his customary dark jeans, black shirt, and black leather jacket. I also knew a gun was holstered at his hip, and somewhere on his person was concealed another, as well as a wickedly sharp knife.

  “Fine,” he finally said, the word clipped. “But your wake-up call tomorrow is six a.m.”

  “On a Saturday?” I protested.

  “And no coffee beforehand,” he ordered. “I don’t want you puking on me.”

  I didn’t have a chance to reply before he was gone. With an ease I envied, he’d slipped into the crowd and disappeared.

  I sighed in defeat as I trudged to my car parked a few blocks away, wondering if this was ever going to work.

  Kade had shown up at my door a couple of weeks ago, declaring that if I was going to be of any worth as an investigator, I needed to be trained.

  Well, that’s putting it more delicately. His exact words had been, “You need to be trained before you really fuck something up, end up dead, or both.”

  How could I say no?

  In truth, I’d been excited and nervous about my new job as investigator for the law firm of Kirk and Trent. I’d worked there as a runner, delivering documents, until Kade had given me an abrupt promotion right before Christmas. I guess you could call him a silent partner in the firm.

  So far, the training had included time at the firing range with my new gun (courtesy of Kade), daily early morning runs (also courtesy of Kade), self-defense classes with a Marine, and these impromptu lessons that had no name. I ached all over from hitting the mat too many times in the self-defense lessons, dreaded the morning runs like a condemned man awaiting execution, and had only done so-so on what I privately thought of as the “cloak-and-dagger” training. The only place I’d held my own was the firing range.

  Not for the first time I wondered if this was a job I could actually do.

  I unlocked the door and climbed inside my black Lexus SUV, a company car paid for by the firm. Twenty minutes later, I was back at my apartment.

  I lived on the top floor of a two-story apartment building near downtown, in a neighborhood where people didn’t walk their dogs after dark, at least not alone. When I’d first moved to Indianapolis almost a year ago, this had been the best I could afford. Even then I’d had to work two jobs just to make rent and pay the bills—I was a runner for the law firm during the day and bartender at night at The Drop. Luckily, my new promotion meant an increase in salary and I’d been able to quit the bartending gig.

  I hurriedly showered, pinning my long strawberry blonde hair up so it wouldn’t get wet. There wasn’t enough time for me to blow it dry before Blane arrived.

  My heart beat a little faster as I thought of Blane, anticipation making my stomach flutter. Blane Kirk: high-powered lawyer, former Navy SEAL, rich playboy, my ex-boyfriend. One of those labels didn’t seem to fit with the others. Our introduction had been less than what romance novels were made of, consisting as it had of my tripping and falling face-first into his lap during a client meeting. I still cringed when I thought about it.

  We’d broken up before Christmas, after I’d found him in a clutch with his former girlfriend, Kandi-with-an-i. What I hadn’t known then—what Blane didn’t tell me until later—was that he’d suspected her of being the leak behind repeated attempts on my life. He’d thought that by breaking up with me and dating her, he’d be able to keep me safe. That hadn’t worked out so well.

  Si
nce then, Blane had been “courting” me, for lack of a better word, in an attempt to win me back. I’d been leery of jumping back into a relationship, even though I knew I was in love with him. His list of ex-girlfriends was as long as my arm—both my arms, actually—and I had no interest in having my heart broken a second time.

  Yet those reservations hadn’t stopped me from going out with him, spending time with him, kissing him. It seemed no matter my resolve, I was helpless when it came to Blane.

  My phone rang just as I was checking the clock; Blane was a few minutes late, which was unlike him.

  “Hello?”

  “Kat, it’s me,” Blane said.

  Kat. That’s me. At least, that’s what Blane calls me. My full name is Kathleen Turner and, yes, I was named that on purpose. My father, Ted Turner, and my grandmother, Tina Turner, were only too happy to pass on the family tradition of naming a kid after a famous Turner. Since I had no brothers, it was up to my only cousin to carry on the dubious honor. Not that I knew if he would, since I hadn’t heard from him in years.

  “Hey,” I said, sinking down onto my leather couch. If he was calling rather than knocking at my door, it couldn’t be good news.

  “I’m sorry, Kat, but I’m going to have to cancel our date.”

  I held in a sigh. “That’s okay,” I replied, keeping my tone light. No need for him to know how disappointed I was.

  “I have to leave town for a few days. Something’s come up.”

  A slight stiffness to his words made me frown, a hint of worry creeping in.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Absolutely,” he said easily. “I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, wondering if I had imagined something that wasn’t there.

  A few moments later, we’d disconnected, and I was left thinking about what would make Blane leave town on a Friday night. I’d been too taken aback to ask where he was going, and now I mentally kicked myself.

  I changed into an old T-shirt, baked a frozen cheese pizza, and ate it while watching the latest episode I’d recorded of Dancing with the Stars. Not exactly the evening I’d planned.

  Finding some rocky road ice cream buried in the back of my freezer, I scraped the carton clean, absentmindedly licking the spoon as I thought about Blane. I’d moved out of his house and back into my apartment two weeks after Christmas. My excuse for temporarily living with him—the fact that I’d been shot in the leg by a psychopath—was no longer viable. The physical and emotional wounds had healed well enough by then.

  But I hadn’t wanted to leave.

  It was nice, living with Blane. I loved that he was the first and last person I saw every day. He was true to his word, giving me space and not pressuring me, though he had no compunction against using the explosive chemistry between us to tease and torture me. Each night he would kiss me before leaving me alone in my bedroom, and his kisses weren’t chaste and sweet. They were hot, skilled, and demanding—always leaving me wanting more—which, of course, was his intention.

  It was during one of these heated encounters that I had abruptly decided I needed to go back home. I couldn’t think around Blane. Everything I wanted and felt was confused when his arms were around me, when he was touching me, kissing me. What did it mean, this pseudo-relationship and my living with him?

  “Wait… stop,” I’d said breathlessly, wrenching my lips from his.

  That didn’t deter him. His mouth trailed a scorching path across my jaw and down my neck.

  “Blane—”

  Blane kissed his name from my lips. I became lost in his touch again for who knows how long.

  “I should go back home,” I blurted.

  Blane’s entire body went still. I could feel his heartbeat racing as he pressed against me. Or maybe that was mine. He raised his head, his green eyes glittering in the semidarkness of the bedroom.

  “You want to go back to your apartment.” It didn’t come out as a question, but rather a statement.

  Nervous butterflies danced in my stomach. “It’s not that I want to,” I stammered. “But maybe it would be for the best.”

  Blane didn’t say anything for a moment, and the silence seemed oppressive. I couldn’t hold his penetrating gaze, so I stared at the white linen of his shirt.

  “I’ll take you home in the morning,” he finally said.

  When I looked back up, I couldn’t read anything from his face. Before I’d even realized what was happening, he’d placed a kiss on my forehead and disappeared out the door.

  I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time. I didn’t know what had happened, what Blane wanted from me. Had he expected that I’d just continue living with him?

  That just wasn’t me.

  Then I heard the sound of the piano downstairs.

  Glancing at the clock, I pulled on a matching white robe to cover my nightgown. It was after one. Padding downstairs on bare feet, I followed the sound to the library. Inside, there wasn’t a single lamp burning. The only light was filtering through the windows from the streetlamps outside.

  Blane sat at the piano with his back to me, his hands moving furiously over the keys. Music filled the room as though it were a living thing. I watched in silent awe. I’d never seen him play like this before. His careful control was gone; only passion remained.

  I don’t know how much time passed before he suddenly stopped and turned around, startling me. I’d moved closer without even realizing, so engrossed in the music had I been. Now I stood mere feet from him.

  He was disheveled, his dark-blond hair tousled, the neck of his shirt open, and his sleeves carelessly pushed up. Blane was almost always impeccably dressed, every inch of him screaming “powerful attorney.” Seeing him with his armor off and guard down was a rare thing.

  The overwhelming silence in the library and Blane’s seemingly accusing look made me feel as though I’d rudely intruded on a private moment.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said softly, taking a step back. “I heard music…”

  “That’s all right,” he replied, his voice a soft rasp. “I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

  Since he didn’t seem angry, I halted my retreat. Cautiously, I asked, “What were you playing?”

  “Rachmaninoff.”

  I nodded as if that meant something to me, though I would have been hard-pressed to even repeat the name he’d just said.

  “It was beautiful,” I said sincerely. “But why are you playing at this time of night, Blane? What’s wrong?”

  He didn’t answer for several moments and I held my breath. Finally, he glanced away. “Nothing’s wrong, Kat. Let me help you back upstairs.”

  My breath came out in a huff as frustration reared inside me. I pressed my lips firmly together to keep from saying the words on the tip of my tongue. It seemed a recurring theme: Just when I thought Blane might open up to me, really open up, he pushed me away.

  The next morning, he took me home.

  For all that we’d been through together, Blane kept an emotional distance from me. He’d done so much—even put himself in mortal danger for me—but I didn’t know if it was because of me, or simply because that’s who he was. And he’d never said.

  Since I’d moved out, we’d been dating. It was a combination of nice, sweet, and frustrating all at the same time. We were getting to know each other better, but it still seemed like Blane kept me at arm’s length. Except when he was kissing me.

  I fell asleep thinking about him and wondering where he’d gone, what he hadn’t told me, and when he’d call.

  The covers were ripped from my body and I jerked upright, barely stifling a shriek. Kade was standing in my bedroom, the corner of my blanket in his hand.

  “You’re late,” he said.

  I flopped back onto the mattress with a groan, turning so my back was to him, and buried my head in the pillow. “Go away,” I mumbled. “It’s still dark outside.”

  He didn’t respond, and for a blessed moment, I th
ought perhaps he’d heeded me.

  “Black’s my favorite color. How’d you know?”

  It took a moment for my sleep-fogged brain to process what he had just said. The cold air brushing my backside brought things abruptly into focus.

  “Kade!”

  I shot up and yanked down the T-shirt that had ridden up to my waist overnight, exposing the black lace of my underwear.

  His eyes drifted slowly over me, from my sleep-tousled hair, down my chest to my bare thighs.

  “Five minutes,” he said, abruptly turning and leaving the room. The door shut behind him.

  I blew out a breath and pushed a hand through my hair, calming my suddenly pounding heart. Kade and I hadn’t spoken of what lay between us, not since he’d told me that he cared about me. I’d hurt him that night. Not that I’d wanted to, but there’d been nothing I could say that wouldn’t drive a wedge between him and Blane—his half brother.

  I just knew I liked seeing him turn up on my doorstep, even if that meant getting up at the crack of dawn to go running through the streets of downtown Indianapolis.

  Dragging myself from the warm confines of the bed, I hurried into the bathroom. Ten minutes later I was dressed in layers, with my hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  “Ready,” I said as I laced up my shoes. Kade was waiting impatiently with arms crossed in my living room.

  “It’s about time,” he grumbled, heading for the door. I stuck my tongue out at his back.

  “I saw that,” he said warningly, his back still turned. He held the door open for me.

  “You did not,” I said with a laugh, smacking him on the arm as I passed by.

  “Ah, so you did mock me,” he said, following me down the stairs. “You should practice lying, princess. You don’t have a deceitful bone in your body.”

  Kade started running as soon as we hit the pavement. He went at a pace I could keep up with, at least for a little while.

  “I can lie,” I protested, my breath coming out in puffs of cold as we ran.

  “Please.” Kade rolled his eyes. He wasn’t even breathing hard. “I don’t think I’ll be taking you to Vegas anytime soon.”