Second Chance for Love

by April Zyon

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2014 April Zyon

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-101-1

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Brieanna Robertson

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Karen and Elle, you ladies rock. Thank you for taking the time to read this book before I submitted it.

  To Moira, you my lady are a true wonder. I would be lost without you to keep me sane at all times of the night.

  And to Brieanna, you are amazeballs. Thank you for being my editor.

  SECOND CHANCE FOR LOVE

  Massey, TX 5

  April Zyon

  Copyright © 2014

  Prologue

  Mercy looked through the files on her desk and once more pulled at her hair. A nervous habit, but one she was starting to use more and more as the day passed. “I know it’s here somewhere,” she mumbled as she rifled through the paperwork until she finally held up a paper and yelled, “Eureka!”

  Praise God she had found the freaking prenuptial! She kissed the piece of paper and held it close. “Thank you, Daddy, for making him sign it.” Even now, from the grave, her father was watching over her. She moved away from the box that she had been looking through and to the fax machine. She quickly punched in the number and faxed the document to her attorney.

  Pacing back and forth, Mercy chewed her nails until her phone rang once more. “Mr. Bryant?” she asked when she saw the caller ID.

  “I received the fax,” the older man on the other side of the line said. “We will begin immediately. Thankfully, he couldn’t pull the files from San Antonio. It was very smart on your father’s part to have it filed in Massey as well as San Antonio.”

  “Yes, he was a very smart man.” Mercy looked at her watch and then out the window. “Will you be able to get everything moving as it should?”

  “Of course. It should be over and done with before you know it,” he assured her before disconnecting the line.

  Mercy sat down on her bed and smiled. “Thank God. Finally, I will be out of this freaking farce of a marriage.” She thought about her hopefully soon-to-be ex and shook her head. “Why in the hell did I fall for his games?” She knew why. She had just lost her mother and her twin had gone on another bender. She hadn’t been seen nor heard from her. Then, in walked Malcolm Howe. He had been attractive, attentive, and he was older and mysterious. Malcolm had swept her off of her feet, and she had allowed it to happen.

  Rubbing her temples, Mercy shook her head. She should have known better. She really should have. She should have listened to Gwen Baker and not let the asshole into her life, but she stupidly had. Because at that moment in time, she had been alone, save for her father, but he had been crestfallen as well, and she hadn’t been able to continue to live in that misery. Her sister had been off doing God only knew what, her mother was dead, and she was alone—and lonely.

  So she allowed Mal to come into her life and take over. And he had. He had done everything, telling her how she could dress to what she made for dinner for them. The one and only saving grace had been her father forcing him to sign a prenuptial agreement. Too bad her father hadn’t lived long after her marriage.

  “At least it will be over soon.” Mercy tempted fate with her statement, and lay back on the bed to curl up for a nap.

  ****

  Five years later

  “Thank you, Mr. Bryant.” Mercy gave the attorney a hug. “For everything.” She nodded at the man who had been her father’s attorney and even her grandfather’s for a short time.

  “Of course, Mercy. I’m just happy that it’s finally over.”

  Mercy felt her heart fall to the floor. She had only been married for seventy-two days and it took her more than five years to get a dissolution of marriage because of the fight that Malcolm and his lawyers put up. She wanted more than a divorce because, to her, the monster that had been Malcolm Howe didn’t even deserve to claim her as an ex-wife. He was just very lucky she didn’t tell everything she knew about him. Sadly, when Mercy had married Malcolm Howe, she had fallen for the façade that he showed everyone. The man and the myth, she found, were two completely different beings. No, Mercy knew from experience that Malcolm Howe was two different people. One, the face of the man that he showed the people to stay in power, and then there was the evil man who had a penchant for hurting small animals and Mercy. He was a man that had vices of drinking and was utterly vicious when he was on a drunken bender. He also liked things that no man ever should—teenage girls and boys.

  For just a moment, Mercy began to think about when she had met Malcolm Howe. She went back to that moment in time and felt herself falling into a lie. Mal had been sweet, caring, and just what she had needed. He seemed to have all of the qualities in a man that she had always loved, qualities that a certain man she had crushed on all through high school had as well.

  No, no, she couldn’t think about that. She couldn’t think of times long gone. She focused once more on the past that she had lived and became immediately sad.

  “Hey, no sad face,” Mr. Bryant told her. “It’s a happy day. Now, go home. Or better yet, go for a drink and celebrate. You deserve it, you know,” he assured her with a smile. “It’s finally over, kiddo. We did it.” He gave her another hug. “Your daddy would be happy as a clam right now, knowing that you stood your ground like you did. Good job, kiddo. Good for you for not giving up. I hate that he passed just after you had married Malcolm. I don’t think that Howe boy would have done half the shit he did if your daddy had been alive.”

  “Malcolm Howe didn’t deserve anything,” Mercy whispered, and squeezed Mr. Alexander Bryant once more. “Thank you. For everything. How long until I will have my name back?”

  “Give the courts a week or so to process everything and then I will pick up the paperwork for you myself. From there you can apply for a new social security card under your maiden name, as well as change your driver’s license and teaching license.”

  That made her ill. “I still can’t believe that he had that changed.” Her teaching license, something she had been so proud of achieving, and the asshole mayor, aka her ex-husband, used his position within the community to make changes to her life that she would be picking up after for a long, long time.

  “Hey, none of that.” Alexander Bryant cupped her face in his hands. Making her look up at him, he shook his head. “I mean it, none of that, kiddo. What’s done is done. Now it’s just time to move on with life. Make sure that the past stays in the past and look for the future.” He beamed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me? I’m supposed to meet Kristin Hollister for tea, and no, it’s nothing more than she needed a friend.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t going to say anything,” Mercy teased with a laugh. “She’s a wonderful woman and her kids are fantastic as well.”

  “That’s right, Gwen Baker was your best friend through high school. You, she, and Megan were thick as thieves back in the day.” He laughed. “Rhys is good for Gwen. He makes her look up from time to time so that she doesn’t always have her nose to the grindstone.”

  “Yeah, he’s a good guy. Why aren’t there anymore good guys out there? Seems that they are all taken.” She gave a sad smile. There was one good guy that sh
e thought of. The major reason she had married Malcolm Howe was because the man she had secretly been crushing on all her life had married his high school sweetheart, a harridan of a woman that Mercy wouldn’t spit on if she were on fire. But, c’est la vie.

  Once again, Mercy found her mind turning back to Brant Carver. It had begun when Mercy was ten. She had been riding on her horse with her twin and ran across Brant and Martin Carver. She thought of how much fun she had anytime they ran into each other—or had before Brant and his ex had begun to date.

  “Hey, don’t go thinking like that, kiddo. Go. Enjoy your new freedom and get out of here.”

  “See you later. Just shoot me the bill so that I can settle up with you?” She didn’t let on that her mind had gone to another man altogether, a man that she hadn’t seen in far too long.

  “Of course, but worry about that later. For now, enjoy being young and free.”

  “You do have a way with words,” Mercy said with a laugh, and headed off toward her Chevy Malibu. Mercy knew just where she was going to go. Since it was summer vacation, tonight was a good night to go to The Shanty and kick her boots up with a dance, drinks, and laughter.

  Fishing her phone out, Mercy sent Gwen and Megan a text message asking them to meet her there to celebrate her victory in the courts. She was beyond happy, and it was time to live again.

  Chapter One

  “Come on, Brant. It’s a holiday, not like it’s a prison term.”

  Turning a glare on his youngest brother, one that had made grown men piss their pants in the past, he growled. The little shit didn’t even flinch, just smirked at him. Joshua Carver, youngest male of the Carver family, was a pain in his ass and always had been. He loved the kid, but damn if he didn’t wish he’d smothered him when he was little.

  “It’s a forced holiday, not something I wanted. If I’d wanted a holiday in the midst of my biggest fucking case, I’d have taken it. The fucking brass seem to think that I’m an idiot and don’t see what they are doing,” Brant practically snarled out.

  “So, what are they doing?” Joshua asked.

  He had to look carefully at his brother, but all he saw was an honest inquiry to the trouble. Shit. He’d been too long undercover if he had to see if his own baby brother was yanking his chain. Maybe the brass was right. Maybe he did need a break. Nah, he thought a moment later, they just wanted him out of the way.

  “The director’s brat was transferred into the main office two weeks ago. The kid’s been working in various field offices to gain experience. In reality, he’s been making waves, and had numerous reports written up on him. Those are permanent parts of your records, unless of course your daddy is the Director of the DEA.”

  “So his old man had them wiped?” Joshua asked. He carried two mugs of steaming black coffee to the table and handed one to Brant. Accepting it gratefully, Brant took a sip and let out a happy sigh.

  “No, they can’t be wiped once they are in the system, but they can be buried. His old man slapped a “classified” notation on them with some bullshit security level that means only the Directors of the agencies, DEA, FBI, etcetera, can open them. That or the President of the United States, of course.”

  “Of course,” Joshua parroted, rolling his eyes.

  Pretty much how Brant felt on the situation.

  “So, the big boss gets his kid back under his thumb to keep him in line after all these reports are filed on the shit. What’s that got to do with you being forced out mid-operation to take a vacation? I mean, you look like you could do with a couple days to decompress, but not a month, bro.”

  “It’s a big case, huge, headline making,” Brant said. He saw it click for his brother a moment later, Joshua’s eyes going huge. “Exactly. If the little shit makes a name for himself off my hard work, and eight years of undercover work, blood, sweat, and frustration, then all that bad stuff just vanishes from everyone’s thoughts. He’ll be known for taking down one of the biggest cartels around. He can ride that at a desk in any office anywhere in the world, and literally never have to do an ounce of work again until he retires.”

  “Fucking hell, what a load of bullshit!” Joshua got up from his chair, and paced to the counter before spinning to look at him. “So this little piss ant is going to get all the credit for the last decade of your life? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Eight years,” he said. Chuckling at the glare he got, Brant shrugged. “I have no say on it, bro. I might be top dog in the field, but when it comes to office politics, I’m just the fodder they throw into the path of the drug cartels to slow them down and to make good headlines so the brass can shine.”

  “Shit,” Joshua muttered. He had his hands braced on his hips as he glared at up at the ceiling, shaking his head slightly. “So, and this may be nothing more than my head doing its thing, but what happens if the kid fucks up the whole thing? Like, he goes in and the cartel ends up killing him?”

  “Then his daddy will know he should have listened to the fodder when he said the kid was too cocky, too green, and will die. The only good thing is that my name’s been removed from everything on the case except for some initial work at the beginning. The boss’s brat’s name’s on everything now. Which means, when he fails, and he will, then Daddy can’t save his ass ever again. He’ll be blackballed at best, dead at worst. If he lives through this, he’ll be lucky to get a job flipping burgers at some truck stop in the backwoods of Croatia.”

  Joshua was frowning at him. “How do you know your name’s been wiped off everything?”

  “Because I made sure it was. If they want to take my op away, fine. If they are going to pass it off as someone else’s then I don’t want any association with it. If he crashes and burns, he will crash and burn alone. Plus, if the kid fucks this up even half as bad as I think he will, then his daddy will be forced out too for shaming the agency. I also made sure that all the other agents on the case had the little shit’s name on their documentation too. No one is throwing this back on me when the kid gets killed. Not that I’m hoping he does, but he’s too full of himself to see where the threat will be coming from.”

  “Fuck,” Joshua said. Shooting him a glare, he shook his blond head.

  “Nothing to be done about it,” Brant said. He knew better than to keep beating a dead horse. He was pissed, would be for a good fucking long time, but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it when the Director of the DEA said he was out. Not like he could go whining to the President of the United States about the director favoring his snotty-nosed little turd of a son.

  “Well, we’re not going to fucking sit here and bitch about it. Let’s head over to The Shanty. We can drink a little, flirt with the ladies, and then drink some more. I’ll get Ali to come and rescue our drunken hides at some point. She’ll do it. She’ll give me grief, but when I lay this on her, she’ll fully understand.”

  Get drunk without having to worry about someone trying to kill him? What a novel concept. Brant hadn’t had a night out on the town in too long. A few trips during his time in the Rangers with the other guys, but that had been a rarity.

  The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. “Fuck yeah, why not? I haven’t had a good night out drinking in forever. Be nice to have to be poured into my bed for once instead of pouring someone else into theirs.”

  Getting to his feet, he went over to his brother. “If you wake me up at the fucking butt crack of dawn tomorrow, I will kill you. I will snap your little neck and bury your body out in the middle of fucking nowhere. No one will be able to prove I did it. Ever. We clear?”

  Joshua was laughing at him and just shrugged. “At least you don’t have to be up before dawn. I do, so I’m going to stop drinking as soon as the room starts spinning. If I drink any more than that, I’ll be hurting all day tomorrow. To ease your mind, big brother, I won’t be waking you up.”

  “Good enough for me. Let’s go,” Brant said. He checked his pockets for his wallet and keys, in case he needed to be the
one to let them back into the house. His hand brushed over the small of his back and he had to hide the flinch. He didn’t have a weapon on him. He fucking felt naked without it, but he couldn’t go around carrying it on him while he was on vacation. Not that he didn’t have his service weapon with him. It was just packed away, out of sight and out of mind.

  Mostly. Sighing, he scrubbed a hand through his short, dark blond hair. “First round’s on me,” he told Joshua.

  “Hot damn.” His brother smirked. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.”

  Laughing softly, he followed Josh out of the house and to the truck. It was going to be good to get out, see some of the folks he’d grown up with, and just relax for a couple of hours. He’d likely regret it tomorrow, but that was tomorrow and this was today. Fuck tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  Mercy took another drink of the too sweet rum and Coke and winced. Good lord, it had been years since she had done any sort of drinking, and even then it hadn’t held appeal to her. Another song came on and Mercy laughed. Gwen might not be showing up for another hour, but she could damn well have a good time while she was here.

  Finishing off her drink, Mercy shoved her hat onto her dark hair and headed out to the line that had formed so that they could boot scoot and boogie for the duration of the song in a line dance that was made to make people smile.

  “Well, hot damn,” a familiar voice said close by. “Howdy, Mercy, how’s it going, girl?” When she turned, she saw Joshua Carver, two long necks in hand, standing next to her.

  Mercy gave Josh a hug, moving out of the dancing line as she did so. “I’m good, Joshua. How about you? How are you taking to married life? And where is she?” She had heard about the wedding between Alison and Joshua via Gwen, she hadn’t been a part of it because she had her own issues she had been dealing with, and weddings were not something she’d sought out during that time.