Line of Fire

by Jo Davis

  “Like I’m such a catch that he’d kill for me?—Wait. Oh, no way.” Her eyes widened as she recalled her earlier visit with Forrest. “Tonight he asked about buying the property Shane and I inherited from our parents. You don’t think . . .”

  Tommy was silent for a moment. “It’s possible he covets your real estate as a way to pad the income from his other dealings. If he can snag you as well, it’s a bonus.”

  Freaking unreal. “His other dealings being, what?”

  “An insurance scam. They buy low, destroy their holdings, and collect the cash.”

  “Okay. Except, wouldn’t the insurance company catch on?”

  Tommy shook his head. “Not if they insured with various companies, under different corporate names. Let me ask you something again—how did you and Prescott meet?”

  “At a charity event sponsored by the Sugarland Police Department a few months ago. Shane said Forrest insisted on an introduction. I had no idea who he was.” Oh, that sounded bad, in light of what Tommy had overheard. And in looking back over her relationship with Forrest, too.

  “That’s right.” After a long moment, Tommy drew the conclusion for them both. “If he courted you and won, he wouldn’t have to purchase the property. He’d also inherit if anything happened to you and Shane.”

  Her stomach lurched. “I can’t fathom he’d go that far.”

  “Baby, I heard Prescott say outright that if it came down to another person and himself, he’d choose himself. He does not have a problem with killing.”

  She thought she might be sick.

  Tommy continued. “We need a plan. Are you off tomorrow?”

  “I’m supposed to work, but I haven’t called in sick in ages. I could do that.”

  “Good. Let’s talk to your brother first thing and tell him all of this. See whether he has any ideas about what to do next.”

  “And the rest of the day?”

  He rolled her underneath him and ground his revived erection between her thighs.

  “Answer your question?”

  17

  Tommy’s cell phone rang and he stretched, letting out a groan. Whoever was calling was darned persistent. Second call in ten minutes.

  “Mmm, you going to answer that?”

  “Let’s see—warm woman or phone? Let me think.”

  She giggled. “Could be important.”

  “Better be.” He answered, unprepared for the voice on the other end.

  “Son, where have you been?”

  “Hey, Mom. I—”

  “Your dad and I are so worried about you! You don’t call, you hardly answer your phone.” Boy, she was upset, not that he could blame her. “It’s not right for you to keep yourself holed up in that apartment all alone. I’m coming over to get you, and you’re going to come home and let me make you some breakfast.”

  “Mom—” He glanced at Shea to see her stifling a laugh, and stuck his tongue out at her.

  “You’re going to get out of there and stop moping. I mean it, Thomas Wayne! I’ll be there in ten.”

  “Wait, Mom! I’m not at home.”

  “Oh.” A pause, then, “Well, where are you?”

  His face heated. “Mom, there are some things a guy does not want to discuss with his mother.”

  “What! You mean you’re already running around with another woman right after you broke up with that beautiful girl?” She sounded indignant. “How could you?”

  Lord have mercy. “I’m not running around on Shea. We got back together.” He held the phone away from his ear slightly, to soften the piercing squeal of joy.

  “Oh! Honey, that’s wonderful! Bring her over, son. We’ll have brunch and mimosas.”

  “When? Now?”

  “Of course now. What else do you have to do?”

  “Well, we . . .” Have to see Shea’s brother because the city manager is a fraudulent asshole and wants me dead.

  Um, maybe not.

  “Well?”

  He held the phone to his chest and whispered to Shea, “Brunch at my parents’ house?”

  She kissed his cheek. “Sure, sounds nice.”

  “Okay, we’ll be there. What time?”

  “Around ten thirty. Bring your appetite!”

  “You bet. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, sweetheart.”

  He hung up to see Shea smiling at him. “You don’t mind? Once she found out I wasn’t cheating on you and that we were back together, there was no stopping her.”

  “I think it’s great. I’d love to get to know your folks better.”

  “Well, you’re going to get your chance. She wants us there around ten thirty, so that gives us about an hour to get ready.”

  “No nooky?”

  “Who said that? Let’s don’t be hasty.”

  “Ooh, shower nooky?”

  She looked so cute sitting there naked with her curly brown hair wild around her face, talking about nooky, he had to laugh.

  “I think that can be arranged.”

  In the bathroom, Tommy turned on the water and they let it heat up, while raising the temperature in other places. He pulled her back to his front and nibbled her neck, reached around her to tweak her nipples.

  “Damn, this is hard to do one-handed,” he complained.

  “I don’t know, you’re doing a pretty good job.” She wiggled her bottom against his groin.

  His semihard erection came fully awake, ready to play. “Why don’t we continue this under the nice, hot spray?”

  After helping him unwrap his hand, she led him into the stall and closed the door behind him. He leered at her, just over a hundred pounds of wet, willing woman. All his.

  “I want to soap you up.” He grabbed a bottle of shower gel from a hanging rack and thumbed it open.

  Since it was easiest, he dribbled the fruity gel all over her back and his front, making certain he could get them nice and slick. She didn’t offer to help, which he appreciated. It might be stupid to be concerned about such a small task, but he wanted to feel like he could do things without assistance.

  He could damned sure make love to his lady.

  Replacing the gel on the rack, he began to soap her back, admiring the glide of the bubbles over her skin. She had such a pretty back, slender, dipping down to flared hips. She had two little dimples over her butt, and he grinned.

  His soapy hand wandered over her bottom, slid into the cleft between her ass cheeks. He liked the way she spread her legs, poked her rear out for him with a soft moan. A lot.

  Reaching farther, he soaped her folds, making sure to graze the tiny clit. Rubbed until she silently begged, body open for him.

  “Brace your hands on the tile, baby.”

  She did, and he slid into her from behind. Sank his cock into her sweet channel, slow and easy, all the way to the hilt.

  “Love you,” he whispered. “Never giving you up again.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He fucked her with easy strokes, setting off the sparks one by one. Kindling them to flames that consumed them both, and before he knew it, he was thrusting faster, deeper.

  “Oh, yes,” he hissed. “That’s it.”

  Her little cries tipped him over the edge, and her convulsing around him was like nothing he’d ever felt with any woman. Heaven, pure and simple.

  With a hoarse shout, he erupted, spasming as she milked every drop from his body. They remained connected for a moment, coming down, totally blissed out.

  “Damn, girl, what you do to me.”

  “I can say the same to you, stud.”

  The endearment made him blush and pleased him at the same time. What guy didn’t like to be his woman’s stud?

  With regret, he pulled out and they finished their shower, hurrying since they’d spent longer in there than they’d intended. Even though it was so darned much fun.

  They dressed casually in shorts and T-shirts, and he thought it was funny that Shea was so concerned with her appearance.

  �
�Relax. Mom and Dad already adore you. I think they just want to see me happy, that’s all.”

  “I can certainly understand that. I’m assuming you’re invoking the Dome of Silence rule on the whole Prescott situation?”

  “God, yes. I don’t even want to think about how badly they’d wig out if they knew.”

  “You got it. But you’ll have to tell them sooner or later.”

  “I know. I’m hoping for later. Much later.”

  Shea had to admit she was a bit nervous about officially meeting Tommy’s parents. The hospital didn’t really count as an ideal place to socialize, and they’d all been sick with worry over Tommy at the time.

  She was feeling just the teensiest bit guilty, too, about what they’d done by his parents’ pool. Best not to dwell on that too much.

  Tommy led the way to the front door and rang the bell, giving her an encouraging smile. “You’re safe. They’ve never buried a single one of my dates in the basement. Yet.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Bethany Skyler flung open the door, and Shea was immediately crushed in the woman’s enthusiastic embrace.

  “Shea, it’s so good to see you again, and under much better circumstances!”

  “You, too, Mrs. Skyler.”

  “Beth, please.” The pretty older woman turned her happiness on her son and gave him just as strong a hug. “And you! Sneaky devil, not even telling us you two had reconciled.”

  “I haven’t had a chance, because it just happened.”

  “Well, in that case I’ll give you a break. Come in. Your father is in the kitchen pretending to help when he’s really just snacking on everything.”

  Tommy laughed. “Sounds like Dad.”

  They found Don in the kitchen, popping a strawberry into his mouth, and Beth fussed at him to stay out of the food until it was served.

  “What?” he said innocently around a mouthful of berry. “Someone’s got to make sure it tastes okay. Hi, Shea, good to see you. Son.”

  They greeted him with hugs and then Beth waved them to the breakfast nook. “I was going to set up outside, but it’s already too blasted hot. I hope inside is okay.”

  Shea exchanged a look with Tommy and saw him struggling not to laugh. The last thing either of them wanted to do was brunch with his parents right on top of the scene of the crime, for God’s sake. It was kind of funny, and she almost giggled, too.

  They took a seat at the table situated in an alcove, surrounded by plants. “Your home is lovely, Beth. Thank you for having me here.”

  “Oh, thank you. Our house has needed a beautiful young lady to brighten it up for some time. Would you like a mimosa, dear? It’s champagne and orange juice, perfect for brunch.”

  “I’d love one.”

  Beth fetched the drinks while Don brought in a fruit tray. After setting it on the table, he went back into the kitchen.

  “I hope they didn’t go to all this trouble for me,” she told Tommy. “This is so nice.”

  “No, my mom enjoys this kind of stuff. She used to entertain more, but hasn’t done it in a while.”

  She figured she knew why, but didn’t bring it up. It was hard not knowing how careful she needed to be around his parents regarding the subject of his older brother.

  Beth brought the drinks and his dad made two trips, bringing plates and silverware, and a quiche that looked and smelled wonderful.

  “Might as well dig in,” Don said jovially. “She made enough to feed us and the neighbors.”

  “I invited them to join us, but they couldn’t come. Didn’t say why, either.” Beth shrugged. “More for us.”

  Tommy tried to hide his laugh with a cough. “Yeah, their loss.”

  “Are you keeping up with your physical therapy, son?” Don sounded concerned, as though he worried Tommy might blow it off.

  “I wasn’t, but I am now.”

  His dad nodded. “Good. How often?”

  “I’ll start going three times a week and they’ll have me doing exercises, for all the good it’ll do.”

  This prompted a frown from Don. “Why do you say that?”

  “Are you kidding? I can’t even perform the simplest task with the damned thing. Might as well have lost it.”

  “Tommy!” his mother scolded, taken aback. “Don’t say things like that.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just that it feels really useless right now. Why drag around a part of me that won’t work the way it’s supposed to?”

  “At least you have your hand. So many others have nothing.”

  Tommy gave his mother a sharp look. “I know, Mom. You don’t have to tell me that.”

  Tension hung in the air, what Beth didn’t say coming through so loud even Shea could hear it—your brother is gone and you’re still alive, so be grateful. Thankfully, his mother dropped the subject. Tommy wasn’t yet in the place where he wanted to hear how grateful he should be, and Shea understood that.

  Shea sipped her mimosa and took a bite of her quiche, which was filled with ham and cheese, just the way she liked it. “This is fantastic. Do you cook often?”

  “Oh, I used to do a lot of catering, but not so much anymore.”

  “If you enjoy doing that, you should get back into it,” she said. “No sense wasting such a God-given talent.”

  Don laid his hand on top of Beth’s. “That’s what I’ve been telling her, too. We’ve all been stuck in a holding pattern for the past three years.”

  An uncomfortable silence ensued, and Shea scrambled to fill it. “What do you do, Don?”

  “I’m a PI—private investigator. I used to be a cop in Nashville, but the stress was too much for my family. Gave it up to take pictures of old goats cheating on their wives.”

  Beth and Tommy chuckled and Shea smiled. Nobody would ever come close to calling Don an old goat, nor could she see him cheating on Beth. A very handsome man still in his forties, Don was clearly devoted to his wife and remaining son.

  “Sounds interesting. Does it ever get dangerous?”

  Don shook his head. “I’ve been fortunate. The worst I’ve ever had happen is I got caught by a cheating husband when I was snapping pictures of him checking into a hotel with his sweet young thing.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “He threatened to sue me, but changed his tune when I pointed out that paying two sets of legal fees—suing me and paying out the nose for his divorce—wasn’t a good plan when he was sure to lose both cases, therefore costing him more money.”

  “You must enjoy being your own boss,” she put in.

  “Definitely. I set my own hours, and there’s nobody riding my butt if I don’t feel like opening up shop tomorrow.”

  “Except the bill collectors, dear,” Beth said fondly.

  “Well, there’s that.”

  They finished eating, making small talk. Shea noted that Tommy seemed a bit subdued, even though he interjected in all the right places. She knew he still had some trouble managing his fork with his left hand, but she didn’t think that was the problem. Or not the whole problem, anyway.

  Once they’d finished, Shea offered to help clean up, but Beth ordered her to sit while she and Don took care of the dishes.

  “There’s not much. Just enjoy yourselves. Sit out in the living room if you’d like.”

  “Come on,” Tommy said, reaching for her hand.

  Taking his mother’s suggestion, he led her into the living room, but didn’t sit. Instead, he wandered slowly over to the fireplace mantel, where several framed snapshots rested. He stared at one of them, a photo of Tommy and another young man wrestling in the grass, a football lying nearby. The pair wore huge smiles for the camera, and the love radiating from the picture took her breath away.

  Tommy’s finger traced the frame. “She doesn’t see me,” he said sadly.

  “Your mom?”

  “Yeah. It’s like . . . because Donny’s gone, I ought to be thankful for every breath I take, every opportunity that comes my way. A
nd I am, but not because he’s gone, because he lived. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, I think so.” It made her heart hurt for him.

  “She rubs him in my face at every turn. I should be this because Donny can’t, I should feel this way because Donny can’t. Not in so many words, but it’s there, all the time. She doesn’t see me.” His voice was rife with pain.

  “Oh, honey.” She laid her hand on his arm, trying to think of what to say, but was spared from replying.

  “I had no idea you felt that way.”

  Beth stood just inside the room, face white. She was wringing her hands, eyes filled with tears, appearing torn between fleeing the room and running to her son.

  Taking a deep breath, Tommy turned to face his mother. “I can’t help the way I feel, but I do. I’m not Donny, and I could never hope to be. I’m my own person, so stop measuring me against the man he was.”

  Beth walked right up to her son and cupped his face in her hands. “Are you so sure it’s me who’s been doing that?”

  Tommy’s blue eyes were moist. “I . . . you never understand me.”

  “I understand more than you think, baby boy,” she whispered. “I see you. Never think I don’t. I’ve never measured you against your brother, and I never will. But I think you’ve done a number on yourself in that regard.”

  He swallowed hard. “You don’t believe I had help? I gave up my dreams of playing for the NFL because that wasn’t good enough. Wasn’t heroic enough for you and Dad.”

  “Why would you think that?” she asked, agonized. “I would’ve been proud to have my son play for the NFL. I’d be just as proud if you had decided to become an accountant or a construction worker. I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

  He gave a bitter laughed. “You really don’t, do you? After I came home, even after we buried him, all I heard was how brave Donny was, how heroic to die serving his country. What a wonderful person he was. And he was, but what about me?”

  His plaintive cry echoed in the room, and his mother gaped at him, hand going to her throat.

  “I don’t . . .”

  “No, you don’t! That’s the whole point! I waited for you to tell me that you loved me just as much, that you were proud of me for who I am. Dad told me, but you never did,” he said, voice breaking. “I started to question my life, my purpose, and I needed you. And when I mentioned I might not go back to school, do you remember what you said?”