Overnight

by EC Sheedy

  “Anyone who knew you had a dog.”

  “Right. And Kurt’s hardly the only person who knows that. So that’s not the reason I’m going to talk to him.”

  “What is?”

  “That.” She pointed at the big house, easily visible from this side of the porch.

  Julius stiffened, murmured, “Son of a bitch.” The kid was at the back door of the house, looking at the cottage through a pair of binoculars. When he caught them looking his way, he scuttled inside. Like a crab going under a rock.

  “Now that’s creepy,” Deanne said.

  “How long has he been doing that?”

  “Never before—that I know of.”

  “We’re going up there. Now.” Julius tossed his coffee over the porch rail.

  “I said I’d talk to him, and I will. And really, Julius, you don’t have to worry about it.”

  Funny, but the last part of what she’d said—right as it was—didn’t sit well with him. His chest constricted when his thick head acknowledged that whatever or whoever might threaten Deanne did worry him—set his damn teeth on edge. And made no sense at all. “We’ll talk to him together.” He was bullying her, and he didn’t much like it. But there was no way he was letting her go up to the big house alone. No goddamn way.

  Her expression turned speculative. He swore she narrowed her eyes. “Why are you so…intense about this?”

  Damn good question. He gripped her arms and held her directly in front of him. “Call it instinct. People hire me for their protection. It’s my business.” Even as he said the words, he knew this compulsion to stand by Deanne, protect her, went beyond business. And that gnawed at him. If he’d kept his distance, no way would this be so…personal.

  “I didn’t hire you.” She looked at his hands on her arms. “If I had, I’d be putting those hands to better use.” She smiled then, as if at a secret joke, and put her palms to his chest. Her touch went to the soles of his feet. “And you know…if you have time to go up and see Kurt, that means you’re not in a hurry to leave. And if you’re not in a hurry to leave, that means we have time to go back to bed.”

  His breath snapped up his throat and tangled there.

  He pulled her to him, took her mouth and fell into his own need as if he’d been shoved off a cliff. Instantly and painfully hard, he held her away from him. His voice sounding hoarse and uneven when he said, “You…this—” he kissed her again, lost it again, “—isn’t what I expected, what I wanted.”

  “What do you want?” Her voice was a murmur, breathy and soft against his throat. “Tell me,” she urged, her words spilling heat into his ear. “Tell me what you want.”

  He couldn’t, so he kissed her again. Easier to deal with the hot craving of a throbbing erection, than the indecipherable messages in his brain—or the mad racing of a long-abandoned heart.

  Deanne pulled on her jeans, and yes, she was feeling smug. What woman wouldn’t be with well over six feet of satisfied male sprawled and dozing in her bed with only the edge of the sheet covering his spent sex. Staring at him like a lust-crazed groupie, she retracted her description. Not his sex. His cock, his singularly impressive cock—and all that came with it.

  Julius. A master in bed. Who knew?

  She felt herself redden, but it wasn’t embarrassment at her carnal thinking—it was heat generated by having had more sex in the past twenty-four hours than she’d had in the past two years. Realizing she was still staring, she got a grip, then tiptoed to her closet and pulled out her big white shirt.

  She was doing up the last button when she heard his low smoky voice. “You’re a whole lot of trouble, Deanne Moore. And a hell of a lot more than I bargained for.”

  When she looked at him, he pulled himself up and rested his head on the headboard. Dark, unshaven and mouthwateringly sexy, he lay casually, one knee bent, his arm resting on it, his gaze settled on her, fixedly, intently, with a slight furrowing of his brow as if his thoughts irritated him. Ignoring the urge to start unbuttoning and damn well leap on his beautiful bones…again, she padded over to the bed, and sat on its edge. “Since I’ve never caused anyone ‘trouble’ in my life, I kind of like the idea of that.”

  His lips tilted. She could die happy seeing that half smile of his. He reached out and touched her hair, twirling strands of it in his fingers. For a moment he seemed rapt by his action, as if he were considering making curls in her hair his life’s work. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  The comment, so from left field, hit her tummy like a punch. She didn’t know what he meant, not in her rational mind, but in her chest—her heart—she understood completely. He cared. “Julius—”

  He took her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed her palm, then he shook his head. “I’m not talking specifically about that kid next door. It’s more than that. I don’t want anything to happen to you—ever.”

  “Which means?”

  He looked away. “I don’t know. I’m going to have to think about it.”

  She touched his chin, made him face her. “You do a lot of that, don’t you?” I can’t stop my mouth and you can’t turn off your brain. “Thinking about things.”

  “So my partner keeps telling me.”

  “So doing something impulsive, feeling…rash, makes you uncomfortable?” God, she sounded like her therapist.

  “I’m never rash.”

  “You mean this is business as usual for you. You go on a first date with a woman, have hot, mad, crazy sex, stay the night, eat breakfast, sit on her porch and have more hot sex until—” she looked at her watch, “—noon?”

  He scratched his beard-shadowed chin, eyed her a time, then said, “Yes to the first two—minus the hot, mad, crazy. No to the rest.” He set his wrist on his bare knee, let his hand drop—perfectly relaxed. “That’s only happened with you.”

  “Really?” Oh, she actually squeaked that…asked for confirmation, used the one word that could best showcase every insecurity she’d ever wallowed in. She was hopeless. But she was happy, warm-all-over hopeless.

  “Really.” He confirmed, keeping his eyes on her, his own expression strangely thoughtful.

  Stop here, Deanne. Stop right here. But of course she didn’t. “And that…scares you.” As if anything could scare this towering hunk of masculinity—and as if he’d admit it.

  “It’s a bit like being scared, yes.” He paused, his expression serious but unreadable. “And a bit like something happening I hadn’t counted on.”

  The darkness in his expression puzzled her, so lightening things up seemed smart. “Like a woman who can’t keep her hands off you.”

  “Really?” He echoed her teenage-style response of moments ago and smiled—a megawatt smile that took her breath.

  “Are you fishing for a compliment, Mr. Zern?”

  He stroked her arm. “No. Knowing you lust after me will do for now.”

  She leaned in, kissed him, and when both of them threatened to drown in it, she pulled back. “Oh, I lust after you, all right.” She took a breath. “But for the moment, I’m going to ignore my raging hormones. And you and I are going to see my nosy little neighbor.”

  “A change of heart?”

  A heart turned inside out more like it. “Yes. But I have an ulterior motive.”

  “Which is?”

  She hesitated, but only a second. She wanted it; she’d ask for it. With bated breath. “I don’t want you to go. So, after we see him, you come back here and—”

  “And?”

  “Be rash. Spend the rest of the day with me…out of bed.”

  He studied her awhile, and she knew his male mind had flipped to fight or flight mode. She had a sudden image of him, sneakers afire, shooting out her front door. Maybe she had been too assertive, maybe—

  “Let me make a couple of calls,” he said.

  Relief flooded through her like smooth, liquid gold. “While you do that, I’ll look in on Samba and her pups, then it’s off to see the too-curious Kurt.”r />
  Julius stayed where he was, watched Deanne go through the open bedroom door. He heard her talking to Samba, cooing at the pups, while his gut tangled in sync with his thoughts. He was glad she was letting him go with her to see the kid. Not that he wouldn’t have gone anyway—on his own if need be. But it wasn’t Kurt who was first in his thoughts, it was how easily he’d agreed to stay, spend the day with her. That commitment was a burr in his brain.

  Julius Zern didn’t stay. Julius Zern didn’t make personal connections.

  He had his reasons, had thought things through, enough to know why he did what he did. Why he lived as he lived. Alone. Autopilot wasn’t one of his settings.

  He’d lost one family, three people he loved, and the grief had changed him. Forever. He accepted that. He closed his eyes against the memory, the sirens, the screams, their bodies on the sidewalk, the blood…He shut the memory down, but it was harder now, because Deanne had known them, remembered them, and brought them to life again.

  “Your mom, with her bright smile—so like Amanda’s. Your dad, always with papers in his hand, sitting by the pool with his iced tea…”

  When he’d finally picked up the pieces of his life after their deaths—after a few lost years of his own stumbling around Europe—he’d sorted himself out, made the decision never to forget, and to remain alone. There’d be no marriage. No kids. Ever. The world was too fucking shitty. Too dangerous. The risks too many, and too random. He’d chosen instead to tend the fortune his father had built, and offer protection to strangers, other people’s children. In that scenario, if he lost, he wouldn’t come apart. A shrink would have a field day with him, call it classic avoidance. He didn’t care. He’d thought it through and made it work.

  Yeah, you thought it all through, all right. Yet here you are, in Deanne’s bed, long after you should be gone—and promising to stay even longer.

  His hand, still resting on his knee, clenched, unclenched.

  You came here for sex, a few hours in the company of a beautiful woman with a great smile—and a great body. Hell, you didn’t even plan on overnight. So whatever the hell you’ve got yourself into, you better damn well get out of it. Fast.

  He swung his legs to the side of the bed, reached for his clothes.

  Whatever was keeping him here, he’d end it today. He’d see the kid, get a handle on what was going on—with luck scare the sap out of him—then make the necessary excuses. He’d be gone before this thing between him and Deanne got even crazier—before his dumb-ass cock did more damage to his usual high-functioning, self-protective brain than it already had.

  CHAPTER 15

  Settled in his tower, earphones on, mind in neutral, Kurt watched his disk defrag, and listened to Wet Vendetta singing something about zombie love—whatever the fuck that was. Didn’t matter anyway; the beat was solid, and all he wanted was enough blast pouring into his ears to flush out his brain.

  Rapping two pens on his keyboard, he picked up the rhythm. Maybe he should take up the drums. That’d be cool. Maybe get himself into a group.

  For the past hour at least, he’d put all thoughts of what he had to do on Friday night out of his mind. Thinking past it worked for him; he felt pretty good.

  Then he glanced out the window. Shit.

  He yanked off his headset and tossed it on his littered desktop. It clattered and horseshoed around a Coke can. He looked out again.

  Mr. Big Man and Deanne were coming his way. For sure.

  They couldn’t know about Friday. Could they? No way. No fucking way! Maybe she wanted to borrow something. Or something…

  His guesses ran out about the time they got to the broken, mashed fence. Zern took Deanne’s hand, helped her step over the fallen gate. Panic floated in Kurt’s throat, a spiked clump of hardening bile.

  His cell phone rang, and he grabbed it like it was some kind of lifeline, didn’t even check caller ID. “Hey,” he said, staring at the man and woman walking slowly across the field toward his back door; at least they weren’t in a hurry. That was a good sign.

  “You doing okay?”

  Kurt’s attention flipped to the voice on the phone. “Dad?”

  “No, it’s your uncle Felix from Potsdam.”

  “I don’t have an uncle Felix.”

  “Exactly. Of course it’s me, bonehead.”

  “Where are you? You were supposed to be home days ago.” Kurt damn near smiled, then all the thoughts and rages bottled up in him lined up at the back of his throat—directly behind Wheeler’s threat, keep your fucking mouth shut, douche bag, or you’re one dead nerd. But if his Dad came home…

  “I was, but things got crazy.”

  “How crazy can it get selling socks and jocks?”

  “Wiseass.” A pause. “It’s not work.”

  “What then?” Kurt asked, then heard his dad suck up a breath.

  “I found your mom.” Another pause. “She’s living with some guy, north of San Diego. Would you believe he’s got three fuckin’ kids.”

  Kurt took in some air of his own, but it turned to ice in his lungs. He didn’t know what was worse, his dad knowing where his mother was, or himself hearing she was shacked up with a brand-new family. Like this one never existed.

  “I’m going down there,” his dad said.

  Kurt stood abruptly, stepped away from his littered computer desk; the Coke can, entangled in his abandoned headset, hit the floor. Not caring, he watched its contents pool on the old scarred oak. “Don’t, Dad. Don’t go there. She doesn’t…want us.” And you’ll do something seriously stupid for sure.

  “She doesn’t know what she wants. That’s the way women are.”

  “What about that restraining-order thing? That’ll get you trouble. Big-time.” And I’ll end up visiting you through prison glass. Kurt rubbed his head so hard, he broke a zit—stained his right index finger with blood. He tasted the blood; it blended well with his gut-wrenching resentment. Blood and acid.

  They don’t give a shit, either of them—not Mom or Dad. All they care about is themselves—what they want, what they need. The sooner you get that processed through those bits and bytes you call a brain, the better off you’ll be.

  “A piece of paper,” Dad said. “Fuck it. Anyway, I didn’t call for your two bits of advice—just thought you should know what a piece of goods your mother is. And I wanted to let you know I’ll be gone a few days more. I put a few more bucks in your account, so you won’t starve. Anything else can wait until I get back. Right?”

  You mean things like my helping Wheeler rape and tape our renter for an Internet show or risk getting the fucking house burnt down—and me along with it…? “Right.”

  “Anything new with you?” his father asked, like he had to say something, like he wasn’t hot to get off the phone.

  Not that you fuckin’ care. “No.”

  “See you in a week then—maybe less. Hate to say it, because it pretty much gives you a free pass, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He laughed and hung up.

  The front doorbell rang. Had to be Zern and Deanne.

  Kurt’s day was getting better and better.

  Julius and Deanne had first knocked on the back door; when that brought no response, they moved to the front door and tried the bell. “He’s always in that turret—his computer’s there,” Deanne said, ringing the bell again.

  Giving him a perfect view of the house, Julius thought, but didn’t say. He’d leave his judgments until after a conversation with the boy.

  The front door opened, enough for Kurt to stick his head out. “What do you want?”

  “I want to talk to you, Kurt,” Deanne said. “Have you got a minute?” She played it perfectly, even to the point of adding a smile.

  “Why’s he here?” He flicked his chin Julius’s way.

  Deanne ignored the question, said, more firmly this time, “Either we come in or you come outside. Your call.”

  The glower on the kid’s face made slits of his eyes, but he opene
d the door. He looked like last week’s laundry. Julius and Deanne stepped in.

  Julius scanned the entry, and what he could see through the open doors of the rooms facing it. The house, grand in its day—now long past—was a mess. Dust dulled every surface, and it looked as if the kid ate, slept and changed clothes at random. Dishes, jeans, tees, even underwear, were strewn around every room Julius could see—and a rack load of jackets was humped over the bottom staircase newel.

  “I’m going to get a drink,” Kurt said. An announcement that clearly told them to follow him when he headed for the kitchen at the back of the house.

  The kitchen was worse than the foyer, and it came with a serious stink.

  “So…” Kurt walked directly to the fridge and pulled out a can of pop. “What’s the deal?” He looked at Deanne, popped the can’s tab.

  “I had a break-in last night. I was wondering if you knew anything about it.”

  “Me? Why would I know anything?” The kid was already sheet-white, but he went whiter.

  “You have a good view of my place from here. I thought you might’ve seen something.”

  “Nope.” He swigged half the can of pop down in one gulp. Didn’t meet her eyes, Julius noticed.

  “Heard something, maybe?” she asked.

  He shook a negative.

  “Not even Samba?” Deanne frowned. “She barked her head off because someone went near her pups. You didn’t hear that, either?”

  “Nope. Guess I was sleeping or something.”

  The three of them stood like pillars in the big kitchen, Kurt near the fridge, Deanne and Julius near the dirty kitchen table about eight feet from Kurt.

  Julius closed the distance. He had a major height advantage over the kid, and he decided to use it. Standing over him, leaving only inches between them, he said, “But you are missing a steak. Right?”

  A brief flare of panic lit his eyes. Bingo. But the boy rallied fast. “What steak? What’re you talking about?”

  “The steak I found this morning, halfway between this house and Deanne’s.”