by Layne, Lyssa
Christine smiled at the Norman Rockwell look he gave her. “You’re amazing. And yes, you’re right.”
She spent the next fifteen minutes filling him in on the details she was certain Brad had eliminated from his version, including the fact that his time was almost up. If they didn’t get a confession in the next day or so, he’d end up behind bars.
“I’d like to thank you for filling in the holes, and I’d be much obliged if Brad didn’t know we had this conversation.”
“Well, I haven’t asked my questions, so don’t be too thankful, yet.”
“Shoot.” He settled back and propped a booted foot across the opposite knee.
“I sense something in Brad. Something that makes me think he has some emotional scars that are too deep for me to reach. He’s not like anyone I’ve dated, not that my experience counts for anything. I’ve only seriously dated one other man.”
Christine took a sip of coffee, and proceeded cautiously. “From the second we met, I felt a connection to him. I know he’s attracted to me as much as I am to him. I just don’t know why he tries pushing me away?”
Brady slowly nodded. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, I see.”
“What?” Christine leaned forward and set her cup on the coffee table.
“I’m guessin’ Brad didn’t tell you much about his family?”
“Other than you and Nick, I didn’t think there was any?”
“In his eyes, that’s about as true as it gets. In reality, he still has a mother out there, somewhere. If Brad knew I was telling you this he’d probably never speak to me again, so I’m going trust you with this information. And only because I truly believe you love him.”
“I do, but if you tell him I admitted it, I’ll deny it.” She grinned.
Brady chuckled. “Looks like we're on the same side.”
Christine breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as if the silver lining were in her grasp.
Brady sat back in his chair in front of the fireplace.
The look in his eyes grew distant as if he were going back in time.
“My son Ben, God love him, didn’t turn out to be the man we hoped. When he was nineteen, he got Brad’s momma in the family way. And for a while Jean and I were grateful that he did the right thing and married Amy. Unfortunately things didn’t go their way. Ben had a hard time keeping a job and jobs weren’t too easy to come by. Amy worked days after Brad was born while Ben worked nights.”
Christine feared the memories Brady was reliving. She could hear his breathing speed up, as well as a mist filling his eyes. The years hadn’t been kind to him. She reached out covering his hand with hers.
“When things got too tough for Ben, he made a really dumb decision. He got himself mixed up with the wrong crowd. Ben started staying out all night, coming home drunk, and even started hitting Amy. Then one night after she threatened to leave him, he ended up robbing a liquor store and the clerk was killed.”
“Oh my God.” Christine hung her head, imagining how this must have felt to Brad. “How old was Brad when his father went to jail?”
“Brad was seven. When his trial came up eighteen months later, he was given twenty-five years for robbery resulting in a death. As soon as the kids at school found out Brad started getting harassed.” Brady stared at a stain on the rug.
Her heart grieved for the poor defenseless child Brad had been. Tears filled her eyes as she visualized him coming home each day, downcast from the kids teasing and bullying him.
“About three years into the sentence, Ben was killed in a gang war on the cell block. San Quentin was notorious for that kind of reputation. Anyway, about a year and a half later, Amy started drinking to block out the memories. The next thing we knew, she dropped Brad off for a weekend visit and never came back.”
Nothing could stop the tears now. They cascaded down her cheeks. She squeezed Brady’s hand lending him her strength to finish.
“That was the summer before he started Jr. High School. Thanks to the media frenzy to get a good story, everyone at his new school had heard about his father and mother. Now, I don’t know about you, but that’s not an easy thing to live down. Jean and I tried to give that boy all the love he deserved, but no matter what we did, it wasn’t enough to hide the scars from two very selfish parents. To this day, Brad blames himself for his father’s death and his mother running off.”
Christine's mouth dropped open. “That’s ridiculous!” This was too much, too hard to believe. “He was a boy and what happened wasn't his fault.”
“I know. How do you reason with a child who doesn’t understand he was the painful pawn in a game between his mom and dad?”
“What do you mean—a game?”
“Ben loved showing his pretty wife off. Until she spoke up about how he treated her. I really do believe Amy loved Ben, but they were both too young to be parents. Now I’m not sayin’ I’m sorry they had him, on the contrary, I almost feel like I came out on top, because the boy came to stay with us. I’m sure he was hurt and disappointed to be stuck with a couple of old fogies, but we sure treasured our time with him.”
“You have to know Brad loves you with all his heart.”
“I know that, sure as the ornery squirrel out in that pine tree will raid the birdfeeder.” He shook his head in dismay. “But even ole' Gramps can’t make up for all the wrongs done to that boy.”
“It certainly explains his disdain for the media, and why he so eagerly came to my defense at my opening.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“If Brad’s grandmother hadn’t died so soon after that he might have stood a chance. If Jean had been here, she’d have known how to deal with the boy. Me, I obviously did something wrong when it comes to my own son, so what could I hope to do for my grandson?”
“You can’t believe that? Ben made his own choices, not because of you, not because of Amy, and not because of Brad. He made those decisions because to him, they were the easy way out. Whatever you do, please don’t blame yourself for what happened to Ben or Brad. If it weren’t for what you and Jean meant to him, I seriously doubt he’d have gone into law enforcement.”
“It must be a family trait, because Brad blames himself for all the wrong not just in his life but in those around him as well. Darlin’, that’s why you have to stick with him. He needs a smart female to understand what he’s been through and show him he’s still worth loving.” Brady leaned toward Christine, and brushed away the fallen tears with his thumb.
By the time they finished their talk, the jeep was pulling up the road.
Christine rushed to her room. She didn’t want Brad to see any traces of crying on her face.
When she came returned, her face hid the emotions tearing her heart apart. She wanted a future with Brad. And nothing was going to keep that from happening. They’d both been through way too much to allow something as special as what they had to get away.
Tomorrow would be soon enough for a serious talk. Christine squared her shoulders and lifted her chin then went out to meet Brad and Joe.
***
Jaime Geiger jumped at the knock to his door. He squinted through the peephole. After making sure it was safe to answer, he unlocked the door. Unexpectedly, Jaime went flying back as then the door burst open on him. He landed hard on his side with a grunt, pain exploded in his head as it made contact with the hard wood floor.
“Shit—what the hell—” He froze in mid-sentence. The unmistakable cold hard feel of a gun pressed into the back of his neck. He couldn't control the shiver that raced through him as the barrel pressed harder into his flesh. Damned if he didn't almost piss his pants. What was going on?
“Punk you made your last mistake. You missed Maxwell and shot Marty. You missed Maxwell and got the girl. You miss Maxwell and got the queer. Seems like you have a problem hitting our targets. And here I thought you wanted Maxwell dead—guess I was wrong.”
“Come on now, don't get crazy. I'll make sure they're all dead before the day is o
ver.” Jamie made a hell of a promise to the man who hired him. He couldn't even hit the john when he had to take a whiz. But one thing was sure, he didn't want to die. Not here. Not like this. Except that he knew the only reason he was alive until now was because they needed him. Someone expendable.
The gun moved to his carotid artery. What was the guy trying to do, give him a heart attack? He was scared stupid, for Christ's sake. He closed his eyes and prayed. The familiar voice sounded angry, disgusted—deadly. Time to bull shit. But before he could say a word the gun pressed deeper into his neck.
“I helped you gain access to him on three occasions, and you’ve failed to come through. You know what that tells me, Jaime?”
“N-no.” Hell, the traitor acted like he got off that he was scared shitless.
“You’re a liability I can’t chance keeping around.”
“I won’t tell anyone who hired me. I don’t want to go back into the joint.” Jaime grunted.
The man leaned more pressure on his back and yanked his head up by his hair.
“Jesus, man. Take it easy.” He squirmed. If this guy didn't let up, pissing his pants wasn't the only thing he was going to do. What the hell had he gotten himself into in the name of revenge? The man rolled him over. Jaime's blood ran cold at the sight of dead eyes.
“Say your good-byes to this world and hello to your brother, because you’re about to join him,” the man growled.
“No, man. Hey, don't do this. Give me another chance. I'll make it good—” Jaime held his hand in front of him as if that alone would save him.
“Sorry, pal. Too much at stake here.”
The man released the safety.
Jaime began to beg for his life. “Please, don’t do this. I’ll get him, I pro—” but the attacker was simply too strong for him. All those drugs he'd taken for years. He couldn't fight off a school girl like this. “Jesus, God, help me!” Jaime cried out as his mouth was pried open and the gun shoved in it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm—“
The attacker pulled the trigger.
Jaime went still.
The mastermind behind the killings pulled out a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped his gun clean, then covering the barrel with the handkerchief, he placed the gun in Jaime’s hand then put the end of the barrel in Jaime’s mouth. The stupid cops would think the thug off’ed himself. They’d never figure out the connection.
And that idiot cop, Dean Fletcher, was almost as stupid and Jaime. So easy to manipulate.
He walked to the door, took one last look at his handy work, then wiped the doorknob on his way out to the street and his car. He had an appointment in half an hour at the Mayor’s office.
This wasn’t how he'd planned things to happen, but it couldn’t be helped. Jaime was expendable. Just a dumb punk kid, too stupid to know he’d been used. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about the kid squealing on him.
Rodriguez was an accident, he jumped in front of Maxwell a fraction of a second before the bullet would have hit the detective, according to Jaime. Now with the kid out of the way, that left two more to deal with, Maxwell and his gimpy girlfriend. He couldn’t take any chances until he knew for certain he wasn’t in any of those pictures. His career would be ruined if he was seen with a criminal on the streets. Damned photographer and her stupid, goody-goody stories.
He jabbed the key into the ignition and twisted. The engine came to life. He pulled out into the stream of traffic, caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. Thanks to Jaime and his inept ways, he'd have to figure out another way to get Maxwell and his friend.
He laughed low, it would be great to make Maxwell feel the pain.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Christine and Gramps hobbled off to bed by nine-thirty, figuring Joe and Brad would talk late into the night. Between her exhaustion from dealing with the life-threatening situation, and having no control, she couldn’t wait to lay her head on the pillow.
She made her way to her room at the end of the hall on the ground floor. Brad, Brady, and Joe would sleep in the upstairs bedrooms. Brad back in his old room, sharing it with Joe. The thought of Gramps sleeping in the same bed he'd shared on his wedding night, was something she would have wished for herself.
Someday. Maybe.
The strain of it all pressed in on her. She needed to relax, but would she be able to sleep. People were trying to kill her, Brad, and now even Jared. When would they be safe? When would the truth come out? She was tired of being scared, nervous, looking over her shoulder. How did Brad deal with this every day of his life. No telling what the morning would bring.
She heard the murmurs of voice above and prayed that Brad and Joe would come up with a plan, one guaranteed to keep them all safe.
First thing after breakfast the next morning, Christine guessed Joe's intentions when he'd asked Brady to show him around town. She'd bet he hoped leaving her alone with Brad would allow them time to talk out their differences.
She made plans and packed a picnic basket full to the brim with food to loosen Brad's lips and give him a chance to open his heart to her. If that didn't work she'd have to go to the proverbial Plan B. Whatever that was.
“I’m ready to go,” she announced, shortly after Joe and Brady drove off.
Brad raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, did I miss something? Are we going somewhere?”
“We are, after you find us a nice blanket to sit on. We’re going on a picnic and leave the world behind.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“You’re the one who said Captain Roberts would be serving the arrest warrant, so I figure we ought to be safe enough. Joe’s given us the perfect opportunity and in this backdrop, we’d be stupid not to take advantage of it. Besides, didn’t I hear a river somewhere near? I want to explore.”
“Good ears.” Brad went to the hall closet, and drew a thick patchwork quilt from the shelf above. Tucking it under his arm, he took the basket from Chris and escorted her through the kitchen and out the back door.
“Yeah, there’s a river back behind the house. Gramps likes to fish and hasn’t been able to get around too well with his arthritis. So, before I moved away, Nick and I cleared a path to the river making it safe for him to still enjoy his fishing.”
They took a slow, silent, casual stroll down along the dirt pathway leading directly to the river. Chris tucked her arm in his.
The scenic beauty was amazing, birds singing happily, squirrels chattering and romping in fragrant pines, surrounded by the majestic mountains all around them. She was glad she'd worn a sweater against the slight chill in the air.
Brad watched her and smiling.
Was he renewing his appreciation of this gorgeous place through the eyes of a newcomer?
She loved the feel of soft pine needles cushioning each step then squealed in delight as a red fox ran across the path fifty feet ahead of them.
Brad's soft husky laugh warmed her.
Around the bend the river fed into a whirling pool of water.
She pointed to the ripples caused by fish surfacing for insects.
Brad guided her toward the large oak ten feet from the water’s edge. He shook out the blanket and helped lower her to the ground. Words weren’t necessary.
Chris laid out the food, relaxing as the atmosphere washed away all her fears. She sat with her good leg tucked under her, aware of him watching as she lifted a nectarine to her mouth, taking a bite. She giggled and grabbed a napkin as juice trickled down her chin.
Brad fought the urge to lick the nectar from her. He had to look away as she continued eating unaware of how tantalizing a picture she created.
Christine finished her piece of fruit, leaned over and dug a hole in the ground burying the seed. “There, now twenty years from now, Brady will be able to find nectarines while he’s fishing.”
Why did that sound so good to him?
She leaned back on the blanket, closing her eyes, which were shaded from the sun by the wind fanning the branch
es of a mature oak. Light flashed and blinked through the branches, the breeze, rustling loose strands of hair in front of her beautiful face.
The rise and fall of her breasts were as intoxicating as the fragrance of the wildflowers filling the air. He gave her five painfully long minutes for her to realize a single drop of juice had trailed from her chin to her neck. He couldn’t prolong his patience any longer and leaned over, lowered his head, and licked the drop of nectar from her neck. His tongue followed the trail all the way to her chin.
Her head slowly rolled until she was facing him, but her eyes remained closed. He dropped the next kiss directly to her luscious lips, outlined her mouth with his tongue, and savored the flavor, which drew a sigh deep within her throat.
She tenderly touched the back of his neck and pulled him closer.
He stretched his long legs, adjusted his body and hers until they were one, chest to breasts, hips to hips, thighs to thighs. He needed her, needed the length of her touching him, and craved her warmth, her gentle caress.
Brad reached up and pushed a strand of hair from her face. His fingers gently stroked her arm, then moved to her hip, traveled up her side. He caught the intake of her breath as his hand neared her breast. He scanned her beautiful face, kissed her closed eyelids, her perfectly arched brows, sweet cheeks and faintly dimpled chin, treasuring the journey.
She slowly opened her eyes and he gazed into the deep cinnamon orbs, the pleading look that asked for more.
He lowered his head to steal a kiss from her, stunned by her quick movement away from him.
She sat up and gave him a tantalizing smile.
“I don’t know about you, but that water is just too inviting to ignore. Will you join me for a swim?”
At a time like this? Floored by her question, Brad sat back. “You go ahead, I’ll just watch.”
