by Lori Foster
The phone rang.
Shay moaned, easing away from him the tiniest bit. Her eyes were heavy with desire, her lips rosy and damp from his kiss. “Ignore it,” she whispered against his mouth.
“You know I can’t.” But God, he wanted to.
“It’s no one.” Her nose touched his throat; she inhaled, nuzzled. “For two days now it’s been ringing and there’s never anyone there.”
Alarm jerked Bryan out of the sensual haze. Scowling, he set Shay away from him, strode the two steps to the kitchen wall phone and snatched it up. “Hello?”
A split second later, the kitchen window exploded and something hit the wall beside his head.
“Down.” The phone dropped from his hand and he tackled Shay to the hard floor. She gave a startled “oof” and started to fight him, but Bryan was already over her, pinning her with his bigger body in an effort to shield her.
Only Shay didn’t want to be shielded. Like a crazy woman, she pushed against him, making it hard to control her. “Damn it, Shay, hold still.”
He tightened his hold and dropped all his weight on her. Her gasping breaths pelted his ear, her fingers bit into the muscles in his shoulders.
“Bryan.”
The agonized panic in her tone sank into him and he allowed her to push his face back, her hands moving over him in a frantic search. Voice shaking, eyes wild, she wailed, “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” he said, but then he saw the streaks of crimson red on her cheek and in her fair hair. What the hell?
“Hold still.” He touched one smeared drip near her temple and tested it between his fingers. “Paint.”
Confused, Bryan swiped his hand over the side of his own face. He was soaked, though he hadn’t realized it until that moment. When the window had shattered, his instincts had kicked in, and his focus had been on protecting Shay.
His palm came away smeared with splotches of bright red. In his rush to protect Shay, he hadn’t even felt the splatter.
Shay was nearly sobbing, and he gently shook her. “It’s not blood, Shay. It’s paint. Just paint.”
She went still, her eyes unfocused on his face. “Paint?”
“That’s right. Probably from a paintball gun. Someone’s idea of a sick joke.” He levered away from her. “Don’t move.”
“Wait!” She sounded breathless and still far too anxious.
Bryan looked at the wall where the receiver hung from the wall unit phone, swinging like a victim of the hangman’s noose. From a single deep dent in the plaster, an obscene red spiderweb of paint spread out.
Right next to where his head had been.
If the paintball had hit him, it sure as hell wouldn’t have tickled.
He looked down at Shay. She was pale, her breathing shallow. Frowning, he scooted to the side of her. “Hey, you okay?”
Unmindful of the messy paint, she threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. She didn’t cry, but her hold was choking. “I thought—”
“Shhh,” Bryan whispered. “I know. I’m sorry.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, anxious to investigate outside, but just as anxious to calm Shay. “Did I hurt you when I knocked you down?”
She drew a deep, calming breath, visibly pulling herself together. “Just a little.” Her hands touched his face again, as if she had to make sure, one more time, that he wasn’t wounded.
Bryan was leveled by her concern. And he didn’t have time to be leveled, damn it.
Tucking Shay close, he moved nearer to the wall, away from the broken glass and the view through the window. If anything else was shot in, he didn’t want to chance her being hurt. “Stay put while I check it out.”
He’d barely moved more than an inch before she snatched him back. “Are you nuts?”
“It’s okay,” he said, now impatient. “I know what I’m doing.”
With a hand fisted in his shirt, she shoved her face close to his. “You’re a preacher, Bryan, not a one-man SWAT team! Let’s just wait for the cops.”
“There won’t be any cops. There was no gunshot, no screams.”
“Then let’s just wait here, where it’s safe, until someone comes by.”
“Knock it off, Shay.” He pried her fingers loose. “I’ll be okay. And I mean it, don’t you move a single inch.”
Indignation replaced her fear. “You’re not my boss.”
“Shay…” Time ticked by, and with it, the chance to find clues.
Her eyes narrowed. “I have many faults, but stupidity isn’t one of them. I’m not budging till I know it’s clear—and you shouldn’t, either.”
“We won’t know if it’s clear until I take a look.” Bryan used the sink counter for leverage and slowly pulled himself upward. Glass crunched beneath his boots. The sink was filled with more glass, and the countertop glistened with it. He had to be careful not to cut his fingers.
At an angle, he glanced through the shattered window. It looked clear. Whoever had fired through it was likely gone by now.
But he had to be certain. He went back to Shay, cupped her face and tilted up her chin so she looked at him. “Be right back. Don’t move.”
“Idiot.”
Exasperated, he started to move, but Shay clutched him again. “I’m going to be so mad at you if you get hurt.”
That almost had him smiling. “I’ll be fine. You have my word.”
“And a preacher wouldn’t lie.”
Bryan shook his head. He wasn’t a preacher, but he was a damn fine hunter. In a crouch, he left the kitchen and went into the living room.
Barb stood at the top of the stairs, her hands clasped on the railing. She jumped when she saw him. “What the hell happened? I heard a crash.”
“Someone shot out the kitchen window.”
“What!”
“Paintball gun, not real bullets. Stay up there while I check things out.”
“That ain’t no problem! I’m plunking my moneymaker right here on the top step and I’m not budging.”
At least she didn’t argue like Shay. Using the curtain for concealment, Bryan peeked out at the main yard. From this window, he had a better view of the street, but there was no one there. For as far as he could see, the area was clear.
Slowly, as silent as possible, he opened all the locks and ducked outside, then into the bushes. He kept moving, making himself a difficult target in case he missed the obvious and someone lurked within range. In this particular area, people stayed up late and slept late. Most of the houses were still quiet and dark.
He strained to hear the sound of a car, footsteps, anything. All he detected was birds and the street traffic a few blocks away.
After scanning the area, he stepped out onto the roadway. He was good at what he did, but he couldn’t fight ghosts. There were no clues left behind. Just as Bruce had said, the day was sunny, so the ground was dry. There were no footprints to track. Nothing.
Disgust gripped him. He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and put in a call to the police. As usual, they were plenty busy, but someone would drop by soon.
Next, he called Bruce. Rather than answer, his brother stepped out of an alley adjacent to the safe house. “You okay?”
Bryan actually jumped, then cursed. “Goddamnit, what are you doing skulking around out here?”
“Skulking, what else?”
“I didn’t see you.”
“So maybe I have just enough of you in me to be good at not being seen.”
“A scary thought.” Bryan folded the phone and tucked it away. “I don’t want you to be anything like me.”
“Too late.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Bruce stepped forward, his gaze on the paint smeared over Bryan’s face and in his hair. “I wanted to make sure you kept your word about visiting with the women.” With his own hair disheveled and his tattered collar turned up, he looked like every other hobo in the area.
“It’s not blood.”
Bruce nodded.
“I know. I heard what you told the police. Funny, I was right there, hanging out in the abandoned building, but after I watched you go in, I stopped paying attention.” He sounded disgusted with himself.
“You’d have heard a car, right?”
“I suppose so. I heard you talking on the phone.” He propped his hands on his hips. “Is everyone okay?”
“It was a fucking paintball. Can you believe that? Not a bullet. Not something the police will take seriously.” Bryan pressed his fist to his forehead, undecided on what to do next. “If the damn thing had hit me, there’d be a dent in my head instead of the wall. But they’re not supposed to be lethal. Hell, kids play with the things.”
“A warning, maybe?”
“Maybe.” His eyes narrowed. “Against you. I guess since beating the hell out of you didn’t work, they’re stepping it up a notch.”
“If it was the same guy. But Bryan, you know as well as I do that random acts of violence aren’t uncommon around here.”
“No, it was the same guy. I feel it.”
“Then I should—”
Shay’s anxious voice cut through the hush of their conversation. “Bryan?”
Bruce faded back, but he was smiling and he mimicked, “Bryan?” without actually making a sound.
Bryan turned to glare at Shay. “I told you to stay put.”
“And I told you that you weren’t my boss. Besides, I figured if you could stand in the middle of the street talking, it must be safe.” She shielded her eyes from the bright morning sun. “You got a call.”
As she spoke, she stared toward the alley Bruce had just slipped into. Bryan could see her frown of curiosity.
He jogged back to the house. “Is it the cops? I talked with them already.”
Her lips rolled in and she shook her head. “I don’t think so. He said he’d call right back, that I better get you and you better not make him wait.”
After digesting that, Bryan grabbed her arm and pulled her back inside the house with him. “How the hell did he call? I left the phone off the hook.”
Barb stood at the bottom of the stairs, her arms crossed tight. “I hung it up.” And then, with enough belligerence to hide her worry, “There’s paint and glass all over the kitchen. How am I supposed to clean that up?”
“I’ll take care of it.” He didn’t want anyone cleaning it until he could show it to the cops.
Shay asked, “Who were you talking to outside?”
“Just a bystander. He didn’t hear a car, so whoever shot in must have been on foot. If I’d gotten out here sooner, I might have caught him.” He said that with a glare at her, since she’d kept him inside with her worry.
The phone rang again, forestalling Shay’s reply.
Staying out of the way of the window, Bryan reached into the kitchen and snatched up the receiver. He already knew who it’d be. “What?”
His abrupt tone caused a slight pause before the caller growled, “That could be your brains all over the wall.”
“Not likely, asshole.” Deliberately taunting, Bryan added, “Your aim sucks.”
“I missed on purpose!”
Bryan laughed. “Everyone who misses says that.”
With a snarl, the man warned, “Close up shop, Preacher. Get the hell out of my town. And leave my girls alone.” The line went dead.
Girls? More than one? Squeezing the receiver so hard that his knuckles ached, Bryan turned—and came face-to-face with Shay and Barb. They wore identical expressions of dumbfounded surprise.
Shay cleared her throat. “Asshole?” she asked.
“You egged him on,” Barb added. “Are you nuts?”
“Exactly.” Shay nodded. “That’s what I asked him earlier.”
It wasn’t easy, but Bryan swallowed down his irritation. He kept forgetting that he wasn’t a bounty hunter right now, he was a preacher, but the game kept getting harder and harder to play. He started to make up excuses. Then a new thought intruded. “Ah, hell. Patti, Morganna and Amy are out there.”
Shay stiffened. “Do you think they’re in danger?”
“He can’t know where they are,” Barb reasoned.
“He knew I was here.” Bryan started for the living room, and Shay jogged to keep up with him.
“But you answered the phone,” Shay reasoned. “Maybe that’s all he was doing, waiting for you to answer. For a couple of days now, we’ve been getting empty calls.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think anything of it.”
“It could be coincidence, or planned just for me, but I’m not chancing it.” He jerked the front door open. “Give me the addresses for where they were going.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Like hell. He wasn’t about to risk her more than he already had just by association. “I need you to stay here and talk with the police.”
“Barb can do that.” She turned to Barb for verification.
Barb nodded. “’Course I can. Go on.” She shooed them away. “Make sure the others are okay.”
Bryan wanted to argue, but Shay looked pretty damn set in her decision, and time was again ticking away. Shit, shit, shit. “All right. But do everything I tell you.”
Shay saluted smartly. “Yes, sir.”
Bryan took her arm again and they jogged to the apartment lot three buildings down, where he’d left the wagon parked. When he reached it, his fury exploded. No way could he hold the anger in.
“Son of a bitch.”
Shay was too busy staring at the slashed tires to react to his curses. “Should we take the bus?”
“No.” He rubbed his head again, more rigid by the moment. “I’ll call in a few favors.”
“What type of favors are owed a preacher?”
“The best kind.” He dialed from his cell phone, turned his back on Shay so she couldn’t listen in, and less than a minute later, he’d arranged for all three women to be picked up by men he trusted. He knew Shay was bursting with questions, but he kept her busy calling the establishments where they’d gone, to tell the women what had happened.
Bryan listened as she spoke with the proprietors, and was reminded yet again that she knew all of them personally. She had that easy familiar way of speaking with them that only came through long-standing relationships.
Hopefully those relationships were based on friendship, and not on something more intimate.
Even as he thought that, he knew it shouldn’t matter to him.
But it did.
When she’d finished and they were assured the women would be kept safe, they started back to the house.
“All right, Bryan.”
He kept his gaze on the area, watching for any sign of trouble. “All right, what?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she demanded. “What’s going on? Who wants to hurt you? And what kind of life did you lead before becoming a preacher?”
Bryan kept his gaze on the surrounding area, watching for any sign of trouble. “You insinuating something, Shay?”
“I’m trying to understand, not judge.”
No, Shay wouldn’t judge him.
She pursed her mouth in thought. “I think that before you became a preacher, you led a…colorful life, and it comes through in your language whenever you get PO’d.”
“PO’d?” He grinned. “You mean when I’m royally pissed, don’t you?” And then, to cut her off before she got started dissecting him, “If we’re going into our pasts, let’s start with yours instead. I have plenty of questions already piled up.”
Her eyebrows drew down and she quickly ducked her head. Not a single peep escaped her.
“Shay?” he taunted.
“Oh, look.” Her expression was falsely bright. “The police are just pulling up. We should go talk to them.”
Bryan caught her hand and pulled her to a halt. His hold was unyielding, but his thumb brushed her knuckles and he kept his tone gentle. “You have to tell me sooner or later.”
“I know.” And with a hopeful wince: “Can I opt for later?”
The officers were at the front door, waiting with Barb, who promptly pointed him out. Bryan gave up. “All right. But we will talk later. And…Shay? Whatever you tell me…it won’t matter.” At least, he hoped it wouldn’t.
Shay didn’t answer. She strode ahead, taking charge as usual. She invited the officers in and offered to make fresh coffee. Barb, who usually ran the show, just got out of her way. Bryan knew how Barb felt. Once Shay got started, there was no stopping her.
Soon he’d get her started on explanations.
Chapter Eight
Bruce let himself into his cramped, dirty little apartment and promptly relocked the door. Contrary to his brother’s perceptions, he wasn’t an idiot. He had to be careful and on the lookout—for himself and Bryan.
He hated the apartment, but it suited his disguise as one of the more impoverished denizens. He was able to stay close, keeping tabs on his women and on his brother. God understood his concern where Bryan was concerned.
But Bryan wouldn’t.
No way was he going to leave his brother’s back unprotected. Sure, someone had gotten to him. It happened to the best of them. But he wasn’t helpless—not by a long shot.
Bryan wouldn’t accept that. He was a protector by nature, as pure in his motives as Bruce could ever be. Not that he’d ever acknowledge any heroic, protective tendencies. Bryan preferred to see himself as the black sheep in a family of snowy white lambs.
Bruce laughed quietly to himself. His brother was really something else. Something good.
And Shay. He shook his head. She had Bryan going in circles, and when it all came out in the end, he had no doubt that Bryan would blow his stack. He just hoped Shay had enough fortitude to carry through on her mission.
Yes, he knew her. Not personally, but he’d followed her work in the papers, admired her from afar. She was a remarkable, very giving person, and she’d gotten a bum rap in a situation that wasn’t her fault.
Unfortunately, once the media labeled you, no one retrenched. It didn’t matter what information was later presented; the ugliest slant was the one that stuck, because it sold the most papers.
