Down & Dirty: Romantic Suspense Series (Dirty Deeds Book 3)

by AJ Nuest

  She flinched as Ben’s warm touch trailed over the alligator bumps. Frowned as his fingers curled around her hip and his thumb swept a slow, deliberate arc across the disfigured skin.

  Okay, this was new. Other than her and the orderlies who’d come in to change the bandages, she couldn’t recall a time anyone had ever purposely explored that spot. Of the dozen or so men she’d had sex with, they’d avoided the area like the plague. God forbid, they accidently brush her hip during foreplay. Those who did usually grimaced, and then hightailed it for the nearest bar of soap so they could disinfect their hands.

  Weird that Ben would have the exact opposite reaction. And even weirder still was how, with one simple brush of his fingers, it was almost as if he’d cleared some of the power that mutilated skin had always held over her away. Instead of prepping to spew the same canned apologies she kept loaded on her tongue or struggling with the awkward rush to cover herself, she actually felt the need to explain.

  Bizarre. When it came to the story of how she’d earned that ugly reminder, God knew, she’d never had trouble clamming up before.

  “It doesn’t hurt.” If that’s what he was thinking. A visual of his skeptical scowl appeared front and center, and she nearly snorted. “I spent about a month in the hospital, but by the time it healed over, most of the nerves were dead.” Leaving her a death wish of her own and, what she’d been told, was a super human threshold for pain.

  His hand disappeared from her waist. The grating rasp of a zipper disrupted the quiet, and she dropped her gaze to the top of Ben’s head as he flipped open the sides of that ginormous camouflage backpack he’d pulled out of the linen closet.

  Holy shit. He removed a package of sterilized gauze pads and a warehouse-sized bottle of Wound Wash, and she snapped her eyes toward the swirling snow outside the six-sided porthole window as he sat up. The guy could’ve easily removed someone’s spleen with all the medical supplies stuffed inside that thing.

  “Wild shot in the dark here, but let me guess.” Cellophane crinkled. A plastic seal cracked. “You decided it was your job to rescue everyone and got hurt.”

  Dammit. Lowering her chin to her chest, she fisted her hand near her thigh. But there were things he didn’t understand. Embarrassing things she’d never admitted to anyone, up to and including Eden.

  Her father had been right when he’d repeatedly grilled her on how important it was they stay quiet. Everything in her world had been torn to shreds the day the authorities had stepped in.

  And yet, there was just something about dumping the difficulty of her childhood at Ben’s feet that made her uneasy. She smacked her lips only so her reluctance to speak could land right around the same place as shoving one of his classic double-standards back in his face.

  Over and over, she’d asked him to open up to her, all but begging him to tell her what he was hiding. While she wasn’t looking to guilt him into dropping to his knees so he could confess every dark secret he had, she had to admit this might be a prime opportunity to get them out of the rut they’d been stuck in since the beginning.

  If she gave him the truth like he deserved, then maybe, at some point down the road, he’d finally grow comfortable enough to give her the same in return.

  “My mom wasn’t…” There weren’t words. No matter how long or hard she’d scoured her brain there never had been. “Strong.”

  Yeah, that was laughable. Between her long bouts of staring catatonic at the wall, Tanner’s teenage years had been riddled with the violent outbursts of her mother’s slow degrade into crazy, and besides her and her dad, there hadn’t been anyone else around to look after the kids.

  But there had also been good times. To be fair, Tanner had to at least admit that, deep inside, she carried a few vague impressions of having fun.

  Laughter. Dancing in her father’s arms. Distant flashes of her mother’s smile that, whenever she tried to pinpoint when and where they’d come from, the images stuck like a phrase she couldn’t quite remember on the tip of her tongue.

  Ben’s hand reappeared at her side. “Okay, deep breath. This is gonna sting.”

  A cool compress dabbed her hip, gently prodding. Fire licked at her skin but, instead of shying away from the burn, Tanner put her shoulder into it and sighed.

  It didn’t matter. Good, bad or whatever memories she’d left behind, on some level, she’d known well before she’d even consciously realized it her mother’s condition wasn’t ever getting better.

  “By the time I’d reached my teens, she was…” Yet again, there were no words. Good grief, she was turning into Ben. “Unable.”

  An appropriate description as any, though unstable would’ve probably been closer to the mark.

  More wiping along her hip. Some rustling as he dug around inside the pack for whatever materials he needed next.

  “Looking back, I think she knew what was happening, and couldn’t stand the thought of admitting how sick she was or what would’ve happened if the doctors ever found out. Things weren’t great for us financially. My dad was out of work a lot and health insurance wasn’t something we could afford so, I don’t know… Their options were limited, I guess. And since I didn’t want to add any pressure to what was already a horrible situation, I did what I was told and stepped up to help out.”

  Cooking and cleaning, watching out for three little ones who spent most nights confused and afraid. Working part-time to help pay the bills. Making sure everyone got their homework done and stayed fed.

  Playing nurse if they got sick. Trips to the park whenever things got sketchy.

  “Sometimes, though, after I’d gone to bed, I could hear my parents arguing about it. Not that it ever did my dad any good.” And all the shouting? The desperation in her father’s voice and the constant pleading that had accented her mother’s wracking sobs? Those were things Tanner never would forget. “No matter what he said, she was adamant. Made him promise over and over he’d never stick her in one of those places.” Lifting her brow, Tanner shook her head. “Mental illness or not, Abigail Jones could be full of fight.”

  Ben’s deep grunt punctuated the rattle of a metal bead inside a can of aerosol spray. A fine mist covered her hip, and she shot that same shrewd brow to the side as his knees tightened around hers in a brief squeeze.

  Yeah, yeah. She’d inherited that specific character trait from her mother. Thankfully, the arguing gene was the only one she’d gotten, though the qualities she’d inherited from her dad certainly hadn’t made life any easier.

  Even today, she still wore the same haunted guilt that had stooped his shoulders whenever he’d looked at her. She still wept his same tears those few times she’d caught him crying over the burden of being trapped in such a difficult position.

  At every corner of her being, she understood his battle. In many ways, more so now then she had as a kid. “You know, it’s amazing to me what lengths people will go to at the thought of losing someone. Even after days without sleep, my dad refused to leave her. And whenever I asked him why, the only response he ever gave was that he loved her.”

  All movement ceased. Everything stilled except for the wind soughing through the trees. And while Ben’s silence seemed just as heavy as those first few seconds he’d looked at her scars, it was also different somehow. Definitely tense. Filled with the same undercurrent of his usual frustrated anger. Yet it held an element of controlled shock. As if she’d hit on something that defined him down to the basest level of his being.

  Shit. Tanner closed her eyes. She’d reminded him of something he would’ve much rather left forgotten. But despite the sharp cramp that knowledge sent spasming through her chest, maybe…in some sad, twisted way…recognizing Ben had experienced her same hardships was best.

  Greedy or not, she’d take his empathy. Whatever worked to help her get through the rest.

  “One night, my mom got out of bed and set the curtains on fire.” The image of three tear-stained faces formed against the white backdrop of the ba
throom wall, grubby with the smudges of damp ashes, one of the twins covering her ears from the loud roar.

  God, they’d probably changed so much by now, though the visual of how they’d huddled together on the street, terrified and homeless even as she’d told them she’d be right back, remained as clear to Tanner as the last time she’d looked in the mirror. “Did you know I have a kid brother and a set of twin sisters?”

  Not that Ben would unless he’d gone out of his way to do some digging. It wasn’t like she’d ever shared that information with anyone from Dirty Deeds.

  A long pause and then, “No.”

  “Well, I do.” At seven and five, they’d belonged to her. Had counted on her. And she’d left them. Too bitter…so goddamn heartbroken and lost, she’d given up even after she’d promised she’d never leave them and everything would be okay. “Bastian just turned fifteen, and Grace and Hope are twelve.”

  Regret slung its arm around her neck, lifelong pals that they’d become. Guilt and shame joined in with a high five, and she shifted her stance as they all fought for control. How was it even possible she’d let so much time slip past? Her hand to God, if it was the last thing she did, she was going to find them. She was going to get them back and spend the rest of her days doing whatever it took to earn their forgiveness.

  Ben’s hand slipped around the front of her thigh. Tingles lifted the hair at her nape as his thumb stroked a warm path along the back of her leg. But he didn’t speak, and in a rare occurrence she couldn’t begin to untangle, she didn’t need the man to say a damn thing.

  He wouldn’t see her as breakable. A tear toppled over her lashes and splashed her cheek. Once she spelled out her sob story, he wouldn’t see her as useless or feeble or weak.

  Self-absorbed was more accurate. Immature or even rude. But she’d made a deal with herself to never again run away from stuff that scared her, and she wasn’t about to pretend like she’d been given a different choice now.

  Things happened for a reason. She’d kept secrets throughout her whole life and knew exactly where they led. Whether he never found his voice or he spent the rest of his days explaining every obstacle he’d ever faced, she didn’t want to go there with Ben.

  “I didn’t think twice.” The second she’d sprung out of bed to find the room they shared engulfed in flames, she’d gotten her brother and sisters out of there as fast as she could. “I took care of them. Like I always had. And once I got everyone safely outside, I didn’t waste another second questioning if I should race back inside that burning building.”

  Ben’s fingers fell from her leg, and she gritted her teeth against the impulse to step out from the heat radiating off his thick thighs. How long would she have to wrestle the strain of all those grappling hands pulling at her body? How many years would she have to tune out the voices begging her to wait?

  “The neighbors had called the fire department, but they didn’t know, Ben. They didn’t have the first clue what she was like and I did. My mom could be challenging under the best of circumstances, and with the endless yelling and confusion, I worried my dad was having a hard time convincing her to leave.” Lifting her hand, Tanner scrubbed the moisture from her lashes. “It never dawned on me they’d crawled through a window. I swear to God, I just didn’t think.”

  Ben drew a breath so loud she could’ve been stone deaf and still picked up on his aggravation. The snip of a scissors, and she peeked over her shoulder to find him cutting into a package of Steri-Strips, chin lowered and his focus on his hands.

  No stitches. She faced forward. Lucky her.

  “I was halfway down the second-floor hallway when the roof collapsed.” Another nostril-flaring inhale from Ben, and she twisted to the side as he angled her hips for better reach. “I don’t remember much after that.” Screaming. Struggling for air. The sickly sweet stench of burning flesh. Knowing it was hers even as faint shouting and the pounding of her father’s footsteps echoed up the stairs. “I woke up in ICU a few days later but, by then, everything had already been decided. After all, who was I to pick and choose? Just a grief-stricken kid who knew nothing. No legal right to take care of anyone. No home or possessions to speak of.”

  She was supposed to concentrate on getting better. Should rest and leave the worrying up to the adults. It was unreal how sick and tired she’d become of the phrase. “My mom was admitted to a state-appointed facility, the kids were split up and stuck in foster care and my dad…”

  Tanner stared at her feet. But no tears fell. She’d already cried herself dry in the hospital, and once she’d busted out of there and fled the country, any more tears she might’ve shed were undeserved.

  “He’d come back to get me.” A soft smile curled her lips even though that expression didn’t belong within a ten-mile radius of her face. “Family first, right? And died from smoke inhalation a few days later in the room next to mine.”

  A slight tug as Ben applied the strips. Some additional shuffling through the backpack, and she glanced toward her hip as he taped a folded piece of gauze over the injury.

  “It’s why this case is so important to me.”

  He jerked his chin up and her knees gave at the razor-sharp misery in his eyes. Her legs met the inside of his thigh, and she gripped his shoulder for balance at the same time he reached up to steady the small of her back.

  Geez, she hadn’t just hit a nerve. She’d twined it around her finger and stripped the damn thing from his body.

  Her fingertips firmed as she searched Ben’s face, digging into the dense muscle sloping away from his neck. Casper, yes. He played a huge role in why Ben was so hell bent on protecting her. In why he refused to tell her how or even if they’d ever connected in the past.

  But this?

  She’d opened a wound. One as familiar to her as the raised roadmap she wore on her back. This was the real reason why Ben had shut down. Why he’d closed off his heart and made damn sure no one ever made it back in.

  Just like her, he wore a scar that remained as painful and raw to him as the day it occurred.

  She leaned in. “I promised to find them, Ben.”

  Understanding filtered through his gaze. His eyes slipped closed, and she slid her fingers into the thick short hair at his nape as he lowered his forehead to her hip.

  “I promised nothing would ever stop us from being a family.” Fulfilling that oath was one of the main reasons she’d joined Dirty Deeds. “But I can’t see that promise through until I have the means necessary, and if I gotta take on every gun runner in the world to earn whatever and however much it takes, then so be it. I walked away from them once.”

  The anguish built, crushing her lungs more than those torturous moments she’d spent pinned inside the raging inferno of her childhood home. Ben’s arm inched around her waist, and he tugged her closer even as she fought the urge to sink to the floor.

  “I walked away without a single look back.” Running her tongue along the edge of her teeth, she took a beat to get the gaping emptiness that mistake had left inside her under control. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I do it again.”

  In the quiet that followed, he shook his head, the silly cowlick riding the left side of his hairline whispering across her skin. One or two heartbeats passed before he eased away, and she moved her hand to between his shoulder blades as he lifted his gaze to hers.

  He pressed a soft kiss to the bandage, and her brows shot toward the ceiling even as his breath warmed the gauze and he muttered something she couldn’t quite catch. “Ben Archer, did you just kiss my ass?”

  He stood, the movement so abrupt she stutter-stepped to the side. Without so much as a croak, he turned and strode for the door. “When’s the last time you had a Tetanus shot?”

  Really? She narrowed her eyes. She’d just poured her heart out and that was all he had to say?

  He paused in the threshold, singeing her from head to toe with a slow look up and down.

  Uh, huh. She crossed her arms. Sob story or not
, she would’ve been an idiot to miss that agitated smolder in his gaze. “Last year. Eden insisted I have a full work-up and all my immunizations get boosted before I started my training.”

  One glance was all it had taken for her to know the guy was doing everything possible not to crack. Though whether she should be overjoyed or beyond terrified she’d led him to that yawning precipice remained to be seen.

  “Take as much time as you need.” He bumped his chin toward the linen closet, pivoted and disappeared from the room. “I’ll check the perimeter and get your stuff.”

  But if he was prepping to take a leap, there was no way in hell she’d be letting him down. She cared about Ben. In ways that were becoming more important to her by the second. She trusted his strength and will and goodness more than anyone else’s she could name. If she waited, ready to catch him… If she added the proper incentive and allowed him the space to open up on his terms, then maybe the hurts he carried would finally land them on common ground.

  No, whatever was coming wasn’t gonna be easy. She was sure of that. But she was a helluva lot stronger than she looked.

  The man had lost someone in a way that had him near breaking.

  Ben Archer had a lot to say.

  Chapter 13

  How in the hell had he gotten himself into this holy shit fix?

  Shouldering the door, Ben stepped inside the cabin, snow gusting around his ankles and tumbling onto the mat as he stomped his feet.

  She’d wrecked him, that’s how.

  He slammed the door and flicked the deadbolt, toeing off his boots as he released Tanner’s saddlebags to the floor. Despite his best efforts to sneak past the landmine that always came from personal attachments, the beautiful, heartbreaking woman had blown past his defenses and somehow staked out her own damn quadrant smack-dab in the center of his soul.

  Shrugging his jacket down his arms, he tossed it toward one of the frayed winged-back chairs facing the fireplace. His holster went next, and he gritted his teeth as the edge scraped his biceps, ribs protesting and muscles screaming as he shed the leather off his back. A swing of his sidearm over the chair, and he dropped it to the pile, muttering a curse as his cell tumbled from his breast pocket and bounced to a stop under the seat.