The Secret Life of Bryan

by Lori Foster

  Someone was out to hurt Bruce, someone vicious. Verbal threats had expanded to physical ones. The last attack had put Bruce in the hospital, and that had Bryan pissed. Really pissed.

  No one hurt his brother and got away with it.

  Soon, another attack would come. But instead of finding Bruce, the bastard would run into Bryan. And that would be the end of that. Bryan just had to wait, then he’d have him.

  Which meant he’d have to ignore, or at least tolerate, Shay’s invitations. He almost laughed at the irony. Could there be a worse man for this particular job? Since the death of his wife, what he did with women was either apprehend or fuck them. He couldn’t do either of those things now. No, he’d have to do the impossible. He’d have to get involved.

  Neck deep involved.

  The clock on the small table beside Bruce’s one guest chair told him time was ticking away. He’d give her twenty minutes to get dried off and changed, then they’d get the rules straight. In the meantime, he could check out a few things.

  Because he was soaked, he went to the closet where Bruce kept spare clothes. Pulling out the first shirt he came across, Bryan shoved his arms into the sleeves and quickly did up the buttons, then rolled the sleeves above his elbows.

  He dropped into the easy chair, pulled out his cell phone and punched in a series of numbers. He had respect in his field, favors owed him, and connections everywhere. What Shay wanted to keep private, he’d find out on his own.

  But the day was rife with frustration. The detective he had called had run a check that came up empty. Far as he could tell, they didn’t have a record on any tall blond hookers named Shay. Shelly and Sherry, Scarlet and Selma. But not Shay or Shaina. He checked with other bounty hunters, but no one on the run fit her description.

  Maybe she’d worked a different area, even a different state. Whatever—he’d uncover her secrets somehow. Bruce was the trusting sort. Too bad he wasn’t Bruce.

  For now, he’d follow the mundane routine of registering a new resident to the safe house. He’d play his brother. He’d keep his hands to himself.

  And eventually the game would end.

  When enough time had passed, Bryan left the privacy of the office. The short hall leading to the kitchen was empty, but he found Shay’s sodden purse set on the dryer. It had been emptied so that a comb, lipstick, sunglasses and other female items were scattered about, along with the contents of her wallet spread out to dry.

  Bryan didn’t hesitate to snoop. Hell, snooping was what he did.

  She had a few bills, a handful of change, a post office receipt, and a grocery list. No credit cards, no driver’s license, nothing that could ID her. Not that he was surprised. She really didn’t strike him as being stupid. Just brazen. And sexy.

  He checked out the receipt, but the rain had faded the ink and he couldn’t even make out the total or the location. A dead end.

  He laid the receipt back where he’d found it and took two long steps to knock lightly on the wall outside the swinging door to the kitchen.

  He called out, “You decent?” then wanted to kick his own ass.

  She was a hooker, for God’s sake; nothing decent about that.

  Shay pushed the door aside and smiled at him. “I was just getting ready to make tea. Would you like some?”

  He eyed her fresh appearance. Her damp hair had been combed and slightly curling ends now brushed the tops of her breasts. Her makeup, which had been smeared from the rain, was washed away. She looked young and happy, her blue eyes bright and full of wholesome welcome.

  He didn’t buy it.

  The tattered jeans she’d chosen from the box of donated goods were a little too short and way too tight, fitting her like a second skin. Oddly enough, she’d paired them with an oversized misshapen sweatshirt he assumed to be one of Bruce’s castoffs. So she wasn’t advertising her body right now. Maybe it was her off hours.

  She shifted under his gaze, and Bryan noticed her bare feet and painted pink toenails. Even dressed in ragged clothes, with all the artificial enticements stripped away, she looked incredibly beautiful.

  I’m a preacher, Bryan reminded himself. And not just any preacher, but his brother. What would his brother do in this situation?

  For sure, Bruce wouldn’t stare at her breasts, which rounded out the sweatshirt real nice. And he wouldn’t reach for her hips, thinking how it’d feel to hold her as she sank down onto him, lifted, sank…Damn it.

  Okay, he had it. Bruce would realize that she not only looked sexy enough to eat, but also sweet and innocent and carefree. She may have been just that once long ago, but not anymore. Now she sold herself to any slimy bastard with enough money in his hand, probably out of sheer desperation. Right.

  She was desperate and needy.

  He pitied her.

  He felt sorry for her….

  Until he looked beyond her and saw her dress, bra, and wispy little panties draped over the kitchen chairs to dry.

  Ah, shit. Not her panties.

  She’d definitely done that on purpose. Left those lacy little bits of nothing out just to provoke him. And that had to mean she wasn’t wearing any underclothes now at all.

  All women knew how to draw men in. Hookers would be especially good at it.

  But it wouldn’t work on Bryan. He was here for his brother, and no woman, regardless of her appeal or lack of underwear, would make him blow that.

  Bringing his attention back to her smiling face, he said, “Sure, sweetheart. Tea’d be great. Thanks.” Tea. Just thinking about it almost made his stomach turn. He’d rather have a beer, but Bruce didn’t drink, so there wouldn’t be any around even if he dared deviate from his brother’s habits.

  As he stepped into the small confines of the kitchen, she didn’t move. So, she wanted to tease? Fine. Two could play that game.

  He skimmed past her, holding her gaze, letting his chest brush her breasts oh so slowly until her breath caught and she moved back.

  He contained his smile of triumph. “Where’s Barb?” Barb he could handle. Barb was surly most of the time, outrageous the rest. Barb didn’t make him hot.

  Flushed, Shay leaned against the counter. “She said she had a slight headache. I sent her to put a cool cloth on her forehead. I hope that helps.”

  Apparently Shay took charge with ease. That didn’t surprise him. “Barb suffers from migraines.” Bryan lightly tossed the items from Bruce’s office onto the Formica table. The spare key made a clinking sound as it landed. The notepad and pen fell beside it. “She has a prescription but hates to use it since it makes her sleepy.”

  Shay’s gaze flickered to the table and back to his face. “She told me. She said she had to stay alert to fix you something to eat and to finish cleaning up afterward. But I told her I’d take care of it.”

  Giving her a direct, hard stare, Bryan said, “I’m thirty-five and I haven’t starved yet. I know how to feed myself.” And he wasn’t masochistic enough to want to spend his dinner with her.

  “But Barb said she cooks all your meals.”

  “Barb just likes to stay busy. It’s in her nature.”

  “She said you brought her here when she had nowhere else to go.”

  Bryan couldn’t hide his surprise. Bruce had told him all about Barb’s situation, but Barb wasn’t a person given to sharing confidences. So far, she’d commented on his body, told him it was a shame he didn’t share his “sweet self,” and she sneered or complained. She set out food, picked up around the place, joked and flattered, or insulted with glee. But she didn’t confide.

  Bruce said it was all a front, that Barb didn’t warm to people easily. Yet Shay had only been in the kitchen a few minutes and already she had Barb talking.

  As if Shay knew exactly what he was thinking, she smiled. “Barb’s been with you a little over a year now. Unlike the other women here, you pay her wages as a manager.”

  He propped his hands on his hips, annoyed. “She told you all that?”

  “Y
es. She feels indebted. Let her do her part to pay you back, Bryan. It would injure her pride to make her think she wasn’t needed.” As she spoke, the teapot began to whistle and Shay turned her back on him, preparing two cups of tea.

  Bryan stared at her ass.

  Bruce, or God, or both would probably strike him down for it. But…it was a really fine ass. And he wasn’t a preacher, automatically immune to such things.

  No, he was a bounty hunter, and he’d always been partial to a nice heart-shaped derriere. Hers was of special interest, though, because he could see the small rectangular outline of plastic cards in her back pocket—no doubt the IDs that were missing from her wallet.

  Nope, nothing dumb about her.

  After carrying the cups to the table, she pulled out a chair and sat. Or more like she sprawled, her body going boneless as she slumped in the seat, stretching out those neverending legs. And still she managed to look elegant and sexy.

  Bryan had never seen a woman so comfortable with herself and her surroundings, whatever her surroundings might be. He was already used to the hookers being immodest to the point of being lewd, almost unaware of their bodies, as if they no longer thought of them as their own or as private. Their attitudes carried over to him, and he was able to see them the same way. Not sexy, just very used to showing skin.

  But Shay was impossible to ignore. She just didn’t behave like he’d expected, like Bruce had predicted.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d think she had no idea how sexy she looked. But as a hooker, that wasn’t possible.

  He took his own seat. “This house wouldn’t run smoothly without Barb.”

  “I hope you tell her that. Often.”

  Her chiding tone grated on his nerves. His brother did what he could. Sometimes, to his own mind, it wasn’t enough, but Bryan knew that Bruce was as honorable and considerate as they came.

  He didn’t like anyone, especially this pushy bimbo, judging his brother. “Shay…”

  Teasing, whisper-soft, she replied, “Bryan?”

  The reprimand died on his tongue. I’m a preacher. I’m a preacher. Bruce would reassure her, not set her straight. Bruce would make her feel welcome. “You’re not like the other women here.”

  That made her laugh, but she quickly stifled the sound. “Sorry.” She rubbed away her smile. “How am I different, do you think?”

  She said it like a challenge, but then everything about her, from her smile to her openness, challenged him. You don’t seem wounded. You seem much too confident and sure of your actions. You’re too damned bossy. He couldn’t say it, of course. Bruce wouldn’t say it.

  “Well?”

  He had to tell her something, so he said, “You’re more relaxed than most of the women.” Then a thought struck him. “You haven’t been working long, have you?”

  “Since I was fourteen.”

  An invisible fist squeezed his larynx. He choked, wheezed in a breath, and choked some more. Fourteen! Holy shit.

  Brows raised at his reaction, she said, tongue in cheek, “Oh, you mean prostituting.”

  Feeling duped, he pondered the pleasure of putting her over his knee. She deserved it. But of course, his brother would have a cow if he did something so outrageous. Through his teeth, Bryan said, “Most of the women prefer to call it working.”

  “Really? I prefer to call it what it is.” Her eyes were serious, but her soft mouth still sported that teasing smile.

  He wanted to lick it away. When this damn switcheroo was over, he just might. “Have you been prostituting long?”

  “Actually, I’m fairly new.”

  He hadn’t realized how tight his stomach felt until she answered. He’d dealt with a lot of ugly shit in his life, most recently in Visitation, North Carolina, where he helped to save Joe Winston’s ass. A woman and two kids had blindsided him then, ruining his plan to use Winston as bait to get the fugitive he wanted.

  They’d found a soft side he hadn’t known he possessed. Now Shay did the same. It shouldn’t have mattered, but knowing she hadn’t been selling herself long filled him with immense relief.

  It also made sense, because a woman like her couldn’t be easily ignored. If she’d been around long, Bruce would have already found her and brought her to the shelter.

  And that thought really perturbed him.

  Bruce wasn’t like him. Bruce was a hell of a lot nicer and therefore more susceptible to female wiles. She would have had Bruce wrapped around her little finger in no time.

  With his own humorless smile, Bryan said, “I’m glad I happened along when I did, then.”

  “Happened along? I had the feeling you were patrolling the area.”

  “I watch out for trouble,” he told her. And for once, he gave the undiluted truth. He sought out criminals, brought them to justice—but usually with a nine-millimeter in hand. Not a Bible. “In this neighborhood, I can usually find it.”

  Hell, he’d found her, hadn’t he?

  “What kind of trouble?”

  A few truths about her newly chosen profession wouldn’t hurt. It might even set her back on the straight and narrow, where she’d be safer. “Sometimes the women refuse help because they’re supporting a boyfriend’s habit, or children, and they figure they can’t make enough in a conventional job, not with their backgrounds.”

  “Meaning?”

  He shrugged. “They lack acceptable work experience and education.” He hoped she would disclose her own reasoning for being here, but she disappointed him.

  “I like how you say that, how inoffensive it is. You go to great pains with your wording, don’t you?”

  Bruce did—and Bruce had coached him on what to say. Bryan studied her. She didn’t squirm, didn’t pose or posture herself—just remained lounged back in that stiff little kitchen chair, at her leisure, perfectly comfortable with the conversation, with the situation, with him and with herself.

  “Why would I want to insult or offend anyone?”

  “I don’t know.” And then with a crooked grin: “You have the look of someone who normally wouldn’t care.”

  That’s because normally he wouldn’t.

  “But you’re actually pretty good at this.” She took another sip of tea. “So go on. Some of the women refuse your help…?”

  Her prompt made him want to reach out and shake her. He wasn’t used to being led around verbally or otherwise. And he wasn’t comfortable giving control, even of a simple conversation, to someone else. Especially not a woman. Especially not a hooker. “They go back on the streets. Sometimes they end up hurt, beaten…”

  He drew a breath. In this, at least, he and Bruce were alike. Neither of them could stomach brutality against women or children.

  Their methods for dealing with it, though, varied by a mile. He told her Bruce’s method. “I try to watch out for them, see that they get help if they need it, when they need it. But it isn’t always possible. Some of the women’s pimps cause trouble. Sometimes I’m not there when I should be.”

  Avoiding his gaze, her eyes on her teacup, Shay said, “A person can’t be everywhere at once.” Then her lashes lifted and she caught him with her innocent gaze. “I think you could use some assistance here.”

  Didn’t he know it. Bruce left himself vulnerable far too many times. “That’s asking for the impossible. Most of society wants to write off this area and pretend the problems don’t exist. If they ignore it, it’ll go away. They’re not interested in finding solutions.”

  Shay nodded, very introspective for the moment. Then she leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table. “You said I seem different from the other women here. Well, you’re certainly unlike any preacher I’ve ever met.”

  Not good. Back up, Bryan. “Because I work in the field, instead of a church?”

  “Working in the field,” she repeated. “I like that. But no, I meant because you don’t preach about the evils of the flesh.”

  “No.” Their father preached, endlessly, on everything under
the sun. He was good at it, both effective and entertaining. People who would normally doze in the pews would be alert and engrossed when his dad got started.

  His sons didn’t seem to have the same charisma when it came to relating, though Bruce was certainly heads and tails ahead of Bryan, who, according to his dad, tried to communicate with grunts.

  Bryan grinned, thinking of how his dad and Bruce always harassed him about his lack of social skills. Then he caught Shay watching him and pulled himself back to the present.

  What was it Bruce always told him? Oh, yeah. In righteous tones, Bryan repeated, “These women won’t accept words, so instead I try to offer options. Maybe a few solutions.”

  “Like what?”

  Because he was familiar with Bruce’s operation, he could answer without hesitation. “Safety and physical comfort have to come before they can be spiritually content.”

  Shay reached out and touched him, her fingertips light against his wrist.

  Yeah, she was asking for it. But for the time being, he’d have to refuse her. He slowly pulled away.

  “What happened to you, Bryan? Why aren’t you in a nice little church somewhere?”

  If he hung out in a church, the roof would probably cave in. He snorted. “Why should I be?”

  She raised a brow.

  “Everyone deserves a safe place to go for spiritual guidance. It’s just that…” Damn it, Bruce, I’m going to kick your ass when I see you. He sighed, locked his jaw, and murmured, “I want to do more.”

  She stared at him, her expression rapt. “Why here? Why this cause?”

  Good question. Why couldn’t Bruce have taken in stray dogs, or assisted the elderly? Why did he have to enmesh himself in overly sexual floozies who all wanted to torment him, this one more than the others?

  He drummed up the last speech Bruce had given him. “There’s a lot of misery in the world. But this is in my own backyard. I want to change things and I can’t do that from a safe distance in a safe little church, with safe people. To put out a fire, you have to get close to the flames.”