Heat (Tortured Heroes Book 2)

by Jayne Blue

  It didn’t. It had been at least five years since I’d been back in town. Maybe two since I’d seen R.J. We spent a good portion of our teenage years stealing shots and cigarettes just like this. The only difference was we were both old enough for it not to be a crime and this was a funeral home, not the high school parking lot.

  R.J. went bald in his twenties and now shaved his head. It was tanned and freckled. He had keen gray eyes and a pointed jaw that gave him a devilish quality. R.J. accentuated that by sporting a goatee and thin mustache. His laughing eyes were permanently creased now, but thank God he was here. He knew. I didn’t have to explain to him who the real Mannings were. He was there when I buried my mother and sister after a drunk driver clipped the side of their van and sent them head on into a semi. If memory served, R.J. had brought a hell of a lot of cigarettes and booze that day too ... except they were Camels and Jägermeister.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said, toying with the idea of downing more of R.J.’s bourbon.

  “Are you kidding?” he said. “This is the most exciting thing to happen to Lake Bliss since they put up a cast of The Real World in Sea Scape Towers.”

  I laughed and took another shot because the hell with it. “They still call it Sea Scape? It’s on fucking Lake Michigan!”

  “Yeah,” R.J. said. “It was a shitty season anyway.”

  R.J. took the flask away from me then and caught up with me. When he finished, we each did another shot to kill the thing and it was enough to make my head good and light. It occurred to me that later tonight the thing to do was to get good and properly shit-faced.

  “You really holding up okay, man?” R.J. said, grinding out the butt of his cigarette under his heel.

  “Yeah,” I answered. “I just hate these things no matter who’s in that box.”

  R.J. nodded. “Still, I think people are expecting you to be in there with Seth. Put up a family front and all.”

  My nicotine craving started to rear its head and I had the momentary urge to punch a dent into the dumpster in front of us. R.J. must have sensed it.

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me. You know that. Seth can still be a dickhead. I get it. But ... he is the one who really lost his mother today. You’re gonna have to talk to him.”

  “Yep,” I said through clenched teeth. “He’s not even here yet. He’s the only real family she’s got left, I think. Everybody’s in there looking at me like I’m supposed to be in charge of this thing.”

  “Yeah,” R.J. said after lighting up again. “A lot of ’em in there were more friends with your dad, maybe.”

  I shook my head. I lost my father over ten years ago, though he’d only been dead for seven of them. In the years before that, dementia had eaten away at his memory to the point he hadn’t known who I was. It didn’t have to get that bad. Miranda insisted I upset him when I came. He knew he should know me but when he couldn’t remember, he got too agitated, she said. I fought her on it to the tune of about a hundred thousand dollars but it’s very difficult to win a court battle with a sitting federal judge, it seems. They look out for their own.

  R.J. stiffened when the next mourners came out of the building in front of us. One woman wore a flowing blue cape and pushed an ancient man in a wheelchair. The man was frail and gaunt with only a wisp of white hair at the crown of his head. But he had keen blue eyes that took in everything through his famously crooked glasses.

  “Wow,” R.J. said when they’d crossed out of earshot. “Is that ...”

  I handed the empty flask back to him as I nodded. “Justice ‘Ironsides’ Forsyth himself,” I answered. “Oldest and almost deadest Supreme Court Justice in the wrinkly flesh. Rumor was Miranda was on a short list to be his replacement.”

  R.J. ran a hand through his hair as he pushed himself off the brick wall. “How do you know that? They didn’t say anything about that in her obituary.”

  I smiled. “I’m on the board of a couple of political action committees. Those people gossip more than high school girls.”

  “Jack Manning, International Man of Mystery,” R.J. said. “How the hell do you make your living these days?”

  “What’s the rumor?” I asked.

  R.J. smiled. “Drug dealer?”

  “Nope.”

  “Pimp.”

  “Not exactly.”

  I would have liked to continue to yank R.J.’s chain. I had forgotten how much I missed doing it. But we stopped short when a black stretch limo rounded the corner of the building.

  “Come on, Jack,” he said. “That’s gotta be Seth. Leave it to him to be late to his own mother’s funeral.”

  I walked back into the lobby of the funeral parlor just before Seth got out of his car. “For fuck’s sake,” I murmured to R.J. behind me. Seth actually made his driver come around and open the door for him.

  “Cut him some slack,” R.J. whispered. “You can handle it for one day.”

  I turned and shot R.J. a look but he wouldn’t back down. Fine, I thought. One day. Then as soon as I talked to my father’s ex-lawyer – who also happened to be R.J’s father – I’d charter the next plane the hell out of Lake Bliss, Illinois.

  Seth.

  He stepped out of his limo while smoothing down the front of his black three-piece suit. He looked slicker than the last time I saw him. More confident. I suppose women found Seth attractive now. He was tall, lanky, with a thick mass of blond curls that he was currently brushing back with a manicured hand. But to me he’d always be a gawky, pimply teenager who followed behind me like an overgrown Labrador Retriever. We were nothing alike. Not physically, not in personality. Yet, I had to stand here again and let people call him my brother.

  He saw me. His eyes narrowed for just an instant then widened as he rushed over opening his arms. I slapped him on the back and shook his hand. Cut him some slack. Just for one day.

  “Sorry, Seth. I really am,” I told him. I’d told him the same thing on the phone three days ago when he called to break the news of Miranda’s untimely demise. She died in her sleep. A stroke or a heart attack. Never knew what hit her. Seth had been calmer than I would have guessed. There’d been a hitch in his voice but he had been way more unglued seven years ago when my father died.

  “I’m really glad you came out,” he said. “I don’t even know where to start with half of this. If it weren’t for Mom’s staff I would have been lost. I should introduce you to some of them.”

  “Later, Seth,” I said. “You need to get in there. People have been lined up looking for someone to console. Justice Forsyth was here but already had to leave.” I was going to say more. Remind him he needed to call Forsyth’s office and thank him, then I remembered Seth was a grown-ass man and it was time for him to start figuring this out. I had no intention of stepping in where Miranda left off.

  “Right,” he said. There was still something off about him and I chalked it up to the fact that he was about to walk in to a room where he’d find his mother in a casket. R.J. was right. Cut him some slack. Seth was thirty-six years old. I had been sixteen when I had to walk into that room and see my own mother lying there. My guess was it’s the same no matter how old you are.

  “Come on,” I said, slapping him on the back again, because I’m not a complete asshole. “We’ll go in together.”

  We started to walk and Seth stopped up short when we heard a woman’s voice calling his name in a low but urgent tone. “Wait. Oh, hell, I’m sorry.”

  I turned to place the source of the voice.

  She was small. Couldn’t be more than five foot three. She was beautiful, but stood with a fierceness – her back rod straight, her chin jutting up. Her thick black hair hung in a straight sheath around her shoulders. She had pale green eyes rimmed with dark lashes and soft, full lips painted in rose. She took a step forward and extended her hand toward mine.

  “You must be Jack,” she said. Her voice was feminine, but deep, with a smoky quality I normally heard from women much older. I couldn’t
place her age and I was usually very good at this. Twenty-five? Thirty-five?

  “I must be,” I said, taking her offered hand. She shook mine with a firm grip and I couldn’t stop staring. She was working something out behind those almond-shaped eyes of hers. She darted them between Seth and me and back again. She settled on Seth and her luscious lips curved into a smile.

  “I’m Tora,” she said, letting go of my hand; she gripped a small black clutch purse in front of her, her body hidden behind a long black trench coat. “Tora Blake.” Tora, I thought, testing the sound of her name in my head. Tora.

  “Nice to meet you, Tora,” I said. “Are you a friend of Seth’s?” I jabbed an elbow into Seth’s side, hoping to jar him out of whatever ill-mannered stupor had overcome him.

  “She is,” he chimed in. “She’s mine.”

  Tora tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled again, but I saw the slightest flinch when Seth said the word mine. She took a step forward and put a quick kiss on Seth’s cheek while patting him on the arm. “I think he means to say I’m his fiancé.”

  It felt like my heart and my dick went straight down to my shoes. Seth had a fiancé? And she looked like her? I took a quick check behind me. This seemed like the kind of intel R.J. should have disclosed. It seemed like the kind of thing Seth should have disclosed.

  “Well,” I said, shooting her a friendly wink. “Congratulations. I’m sorry we’ve had to meet for the first time under these circumstances. Seth, I really think you need to get in there.”

  Tora smiled and stepped forward, taking Seth’s hand. They walked in together, making their way toward Miranda’s casket. The crowd parted and the murmuring died down. I know it was partly out of respect for Seth, Miranda’s true son. But I knew most of the people in that room had their eyes on the marvel that was Tora Blake.

  I found R.J. quickly enough and jabbed him in the ribs. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about her?”

  R.J. shook his head. “Uh, didn’t occur to me that Seth hadn’t.”

  “How did he? When did he ...”

  “Score a knockout like that? Believe me, I’m not sure. She’s sweet as hell too.”

  She unsettled me. Deeply. Seth’s driver had made his way behind them and quietly tapped Tora on the shoulder. She smiled up at him and peeled off her coat. He draped it across his arm and blended back into the crowd.

  She wore a bright blue dress with a silver zipper in the back that went all the way down over the curve of her perfect round ass, making the fabric hug her tight. She turned, shook hands, leaned in for quick, meaningless hugs and I couldn’t stop staring at her pert breasts, straining against the fabric of that dress. It was cut square across the top of them; they were barely contained. Why the hell did she wear something like that to something like this?

  Good God, I thought. I needed to get a grip, find a woman. She was with Seth?

  “I know what you mean, buddy,” R.J. said at my side, though I hadn’t voiced any of my thoughts. Clearly he was having some version of the same ones. “We’ve all been thinking it since the moment he brought her around.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “When was that?”

  “What is this, March?” R.J. answered. “Not that long ago, really. Right before the holidays Miranda had her annual pre-Christmas fundraiser gala. Seth brought her to that.”

  “Any idea what Miranda’s take on her was?” I was dying to know. Miranda had a long history of cock blocking Seth. No one was ever good enough for him. She’d been grooming him for political office. She wanted him with future First Lady material. It would never happen, I knew. Seth was impetuous. Not overtly bright but that alone wouldn’t preclude it. But he wasn’t cut out for politics. He’d always gone along with whatever Miranda wanted. Law School (took him three tries to pass the bar), and then she crowbarred him in to a job at her former law firm. I wondered what would happen now that she wasn’t around to smooth things over for him. A part of me felt a little sorry for him. He had no idea how much his life would change.

  R.J. shook his head. “She was working as a secretary or file girl or something. When Miranda found out he tapped it, she went ape shit and pulled some strings to get Tora fired. It backfired though because they’re still a thing. He’s pushing for a quickie wedding. I don’t know, maybe she’s knocked up.”

  Seth and Tora had made their way to Miranda’s casket. Seth’s shoulders shook but he managed to steady himself with a hand just above Tora’s ass as they took their place on the kneeler.

  “I need some air,” I told R.J. “I really need to get the hell out of here. Any chance I can do that without looking like a dick?”

  “Not really,” R.J. said. “But why don’t you go hang out in Beauchamp’s private office. Third door on the left down the hall. There’s a study in there. Fireplace. Big comfy couch. Think he’s even got a beer-stocked fridge. I’d go with you but my folks just pulled up. Go chill out for a little while and I’ll come find you. You should say hi to them.”

  “You’re a good man.” I punched R.J. in the arm. “No matter what anyone else says.”

  Beauchamp’s private office was as good as R.J. promised. Clearly he used it as a sanctuary away from Mrs. Beauchamp. The place was lined with stocked bookshelves; he had an ornate wooden desk with a banker’s lamp on it and a small cube of a fridge. At the center of the room was a large fireplace surrounded by plush recliners and a long couch. I plopped down on the couch in front of the fireplace and jammed my thumbs against my eyelids. I had the makings of a bitch of a headache. I hated this place. Hated funerals in general. Hated coming back to Lake Bliss.

  I cracked one of Beauchamp’s beers. Mixed with my earlier shot of bourbon, I was good and buzzed and started drifting off after about two minutes. I had a fleeting thought that I hoped R.J. kept his word and came after me. I was comfortable enough now I might sleep through to the morning.

  I might have. But later, something crashing into Beauchamp’s desk jarring me awake. I would have got up, announced my presence ... I swear I would have. But the voices I heard made me freeze.

  “Seth,” Tora whispered, her voice a sultry tease. “Not now. Not here.”

  Seth made a noise that sounded like a dog’s growl. “Come on, baby, tell me you did what I asked. Let me feel.”

  “Seth!” she whisper-shouted. More fumbling, the ruffling of clothes.

  Seth growled again. “That’s my sexy little whore,” he said. “No panties for you, ever. Got it? Now suck me off.”

  Jesus. Now I really wanted the hell out of here. Hot as I thought Tora was, the idea that she went down on Seth, that she did anything with Seth, made me realize there was something wrong with her.

  “Not now,” she said. More fumbling.

  Dammit, I couldn’t help myself. I edged up on the couch as much as I dared. I was able to peek one eye over the top. Seth had Tora perched on the edge of Beauchamp’s desk with her legs wrapped around his waist. She kissed him, but something was off. Tora’s eyes drifted to a point over his shoulder as she kissed him. When Seth pressed against her harder, she spread her legs even wider, pulled him close to her.

  But I saw her eyes. When she didn’t realize anyone was watching, she looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but here. While Seth was clearly in it to win it, Tora Blake was about to fake it.