Reckless Road

by Feehan, Christine

  “What the hell is making that ticking noise?” Maestro demanded, his gaze swinging suspiciously toward Player. “I hear it every once in a while, mostly in the middle of the night, a clock ticking so damn loud I can’t think. I want to smash the damn thing. Tell me I’m not crazy and everyone else can hear it.”

  Zyah blinked rapidly, trying to rid herself of the shimmering sight of the large White Rabbit thumping his foot on the top of a table behind Maestro. The rabbit was dressed in a suit, and he pulled out a gold pocket watch, shaking his head and glaring at Player. She was fairly sure that rabbit was still an illusion in Player’s mind, but in another minute, it would escape into the room with the others.

  Her grandmother spoke softly to Maestro, reassuring him he hadn’t suddenly gone insane; she heard the sound of the clock as well but she had no idea where the timepiece was. He was welcome to look for it. Jonas chimed in and said maybe a battery was low, and the clock went off now and then somewhere in the house.

  In sheer desperation, Zyah put one hand around the nape of Player’s neck and with the other turned his head so he had no choice but to look at her again.

  “Baby,” she whispered softly, using her most intimate voice, opening her mind to his, allowing her healing warmth to flow into him. “I said you forgot to say hello to me. I missed you while I was at work.” She framed his face with both hands and brought her lips to his, just rubbing gently. Exchanging breath. Breathing herself into him.

  It was supposed to be just a brief moment, to bring him back. To get rid of the White Rabbit and his pocket watch. To remove all the bombs from Player’s head. Just one small opening between them, but she had already poured too much of herself into his mind, given him so many pieces of her soul, that the moment she opened that conduit between them and her lips brushed his, the sheer intimacy between them became so much more. Raw sexual need swept through her veins like a tidal wave poured from her mind into his. There was no way her brain and her lips weren’t communicating her desire for him, no matter how hard she tried to tamp it down in front of the others. She’d wanted to save him, save them all, but there was no way to touch his mind without giving him everything.

  His hands came up, sliding up her arms to capture her face, tilting her head to the exact angle he wanted, and he simply took over the way he did. Their chemistry erupted and exploded beyond anything she could have imagined. They weren’t in bed. They were in her grandmother’s parlor, but it didn’t matter. He swept her away, just as he had that first night. Just as he had the week before. It was the same, so hot, so unexpected, as if they’d melted together, her arms winding around his neck because she couldn’t do anything else.

  “Seriously, Player?” Maestro snapped and slid his hip off the sideboard in disgust.

  Player was the one to lift his head, his hands sliding from where they cupped her face to her shoulders, pulling her closer, then threading his fingers through one of her hands to bring it to his hip. He angled his body slightly, toward the others in the room, as if he was far more aware of them than he had been.

  Jonas swung his gaze from Maestro to Player as if really noticing him for the first time. Anyone knowing Jonas knew better. “How exactly did you get hurt, Player?”

  Zyah leaned her head against Player’s shoulder and answered for him. “In the garage. He jumped over the hood of my car . . .” She frowned, looking at Player. “Who knows what he was doing? It just happened very fast. It terrified me.”

  She tilted her face toward his, and Player obliged her, kissing her again. This time it was slow and gentle, the burn smoldering, spreading fire through her veins until she wanted to cry. Until she couldn’t think straight and there was no holding herself safe from him. Once again, it was Player who broke the kiss, as if he sensed she was losing too much of herself in the exchange or that, like her, he was giving too much of himself away.

  She couldn’t speak a single word. Not one. There was no way to get her mind and mouth to coordinate, but Player didn’t seem to have the same problem—but then he never did. He tucked her closer to him and she didn’t have the strength to pull away.

  “Why are you here, Jonas?” he asked, threading his fingers through Zyah’s and bringing her hand to his chest, rubbing her knuckles back and forth almost absently over his heart, although she didn’t think he did anything without a reason.

  Zyah expected the worst was coming. The sheriff hadn’t come there for tea. She wanted to reach out to her grandmother as well. They’d had another good week. Player had been good for her grandmother. Torpedo Ink had. They’d all come to visit, one by one, just as they said they would. Each of the club members had brought Anat a small gift and made her laugh.

  Zyah was more than grateful. Anat might not be able to do physical therapy on her leg yet, but she still had work on her arm, and therapy on her arm was fun now, not so demanding and painful with Player there, according to her grandmother. He played his guitar and sang to her. He made the time go by faster.

  Zyah was a little jealous that she had never heard him sing or play. She knew he was in the Torpedo Ink band, and he had a voice that could move over her skin like the touch of his fingers, but she thought if he sang, the notes would dance over and through her. She wanted to experience the sensation—and yet he never sang to her.

  Jonas Harrington sighed. “Fisherman pulled a couple of bodies just off of Pudding Creek sixteen days ago. Both men had died from gunshot wounds. Both were head shots, although neither died immediately. The shooter was on the ground, most likely lying down when he or she took the shots.”

  Player frowned. He exchanged a look with Maestro and then Zyah. She had tightened her fingers around his until her knuckles were white. He raised her hand to his mouth and brushed kisses over her knuckles before turning her wrist so he could pull the tips of her fingers into the heated cavern of his mouth. His mouth was hot. So hot her fingers caught fire. The flames seemed to spread out of control, rushing up her arm to her shoulder and neck. Heat took her fast, color turning her neck and face a soft pink she couldn’t control.

  “What has that to do with any of us?” Anat asked.

  “One of them had a ring on his finger, Anat,” Jonas said, his voice very gentle. “It was among the items listed as taken in the robbery of your home. One of the men had broken ribs. His cheekbone was broken as if he’d been in a fight. His opponent had to have been a very experienced fighter. Nearly five weeks ago, there were reports of a disturbance in a neighborhood close to yours, a vehicle taking off, sideswiping a fence just two blocks down, hitting a parked car before disappearing.”

  Maestro frowned at him. “Surely you were able to get paint from the fence and the car that was hit.”

  Player’s eyebrow shot up. “Two blocks down, Jonas? That’s pretty thin.”

  “Was it my husband’s ring?” Anat asked.

  “I believe so,” Jonas confirmed, ignoring Maestro and Player. “The autopsies revealed that both men were alive for at least a few days before they succumbed to the bullet wounds. We checked with hospitals, clinics, local doctors and nurses, and no one remembered treating either of the men. Regardless, they would have had to report gunshot wounds.”

  “I certainly didn’t beat these men up or shoot them,” Anat declared firmly. “Although had they come into my house again, I might have, especially if I’d known they had my husband’s ring.” She made a face at Zyah. “My granddaughter has forbidden me to have a gun.”

  “That’s because you might shoot me when I come in late at night. You’re just a little bit bloodthirsty, Mama Anat.”

  Maestro laughed. “She always says that, and I don’t believe her. Zyah’s more likely to shoot someone than you are, Anat. My money’s on her, Jonas. Arrest Zyah.”

  “If he arrests Zyah, you’ll be running the store all by yourself,” Player pointed out. “Czar will be so pissed he’ll have you not only running the place but stocking it too.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think that one through. Zyah
might mouth off, but she really couldn’t shoot anyone,” Maestro hastily backtracked. “She’s too sweet. Doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.”

  Raw passion had brought Player full force back to the present, all faculties functioning, but it was knowing Zyah was terribly upset that kept him from allowing his mind to retreat from the terrible pounding in his head. He couldn’t stand having her feel as if she were stripped completely naked and left alone and unprotected—completely and utterly vulnerable. He might know she had seen things too terrible for anyone to know about him, things he might kill someone else for knowing, but he wasn’t leaving her to face whatever was going on alone.

  “Player, do you have anything to say?” Jonas prompted. He pulled out two photographs and, shielding Anat from seeing the grisly sight of the remains, he shoved them under Player’s nose. “You ever see these men before? The photographs won’t help, but the artist’s sketches might bring back a memory.”

  Player forced himself to look. He gripped Zyah’s hand to keep himself anchored in the present. His brain would take one look at dead bodies pulled from the sea and have a field day with that whacked-out, fucked-up shit. If Jonas was going for shock value, he was on the right track. The pictures were truly gruesome. The remains had been in the sea for a couple of weeks, enough time for fish to find them. Waves had smashed the bodies against rocks, the shore, rolling them in sand. Crabs and other small creatures had invaded. There wasn’t much to tell from the actual photographs, but a sketch artist had drawn the faces from bone structure, and the drawings were clipped to the photographs.

  Zyah closed her eyes and pressed into Player’s shoulder as if for comfort. He glared at Jonas. “Take those things away. Get them away from Zyah.” He wrapped his arms around her, anger stirring in him. “I’ve never seen either man.” He hadn’t. Not their faces. He wouldn’t recognize them if he saw them on the street. He’d know them as enemies, because they’d feel that way to him, but he wouldn’t physically recognize them. “There was no need to shove them under her nose like that.”

  “But I have seen them,” Zyah said. She kept one hand over her mouth, muffling her voice. “They came into the store a few weeks ago. Inez was still training me; she might remember. They had another man with them. They laughed a lot and bought tons of groceries as if they were staying for a long while. I asked if they were local or just vacationing. That’s pretty standard for me. The man with the very angular face answered me.”

  Jonas took the photographs from Player and passed them to Maestro. “Were they local, Zyah?” he prompted.

  “No. They said they were on business but . . .” She trailed off and looked up at Player as if he would be able to help her out.

  Player cupped the side of her face with one hand, his thumb sliding over her cheek and the fine bones that gave her such a classic, beautiful look. “What is it, baby?”

  “They laughed when they said it. I know this will sound silly, but sometimes I get a feeling when people are talking and I just know things. They were talking about very unpleasant business, and I had a bad feeling it had something to do with me or someone I knew. Even, possibly, the store. I took a good look at their faces because I wanted to remember them.”

  There was a small silence. Player leaned over her to reach the cup of tea. “Drink this, Zyah. Is there honey in it, Jonas? She likes honey in her tea, and that will help with the shock.”

  “I’m not in shock. It’s just that those pictures were awful.”

  Again, she pressed into him. Player could feel her vulnerability and knew she would detest that the others would see her that way. He glanced up at Maestro, who immediately took the teacup from Zyah’s trembling hand and added two teaspoons of honey off the tray, keeping his body between Zyah and the two cops. He took his time stirring the tea until Player nodded, and then he handed back the cup.

  “Ms. Gamal,” Jonas said, addressing Zyah’s grandmother. “Anat,” he hastily corrected himself. “There are a traveling band of robbers who target smaller towns and retired people, particularly ones who are grouped together. They seem to have inside information on those living in the town. They rob and beat up the occupants of several of the homes and leave quickly. When they go, a body is usually discovered a few days later, one suspected to be the local informer. That person is a member of the family or a trusted neighbor of one of those robbed. The point is, the band hits fast, robs quickly and is gone. They don’t stick around. So, the question is, why are they staying here? They’ve hit four homes. They came back to your home twice, and perhaps a third time.”

  Anat shook her head. “What do you mean, four? I know of only three, counting me. Phillis and Benjamin and Gabe and Harmony both got robbed. Who else?”

  “Last night Lauren and Sean Barbery were robbed. Fortunately, a neighbor heard Lauren screaming and called it in fast. Jackson was able to get there before too much damage was done. But it doesn’t explain why these thieves haven’t moved on. They’ve never stayed so long in one place. And they’ve never hit a home more than once. Have they come back to your house again, Anat? After the second time? What are they looking for?”

  Player could feel anger rushing through Zyah. He put his hand gently over hers. “Are you implying that Anat somehow knows these people, Harrington? How could she possibly answer that? Is she psychic? Are you psychic, Anat?”

  “No, I’m not, Player, but I suppose Jonas thinks these people tried to rob me more than once.”

  “You know they did,” Jonas said. “They came here when Inez and Frank were here. I think they came back a month ago and met up with Torpedo Ink. I can’t prove it, but I think it happened and they got the worse end of the fight. If that’s true and they still haven’t left town, what is keeping them here? What do you have that they want?”

  “Blame it on the bikers,” Maestro groused. “We’ve got broad shoulders. We can take it. But you know what? I’m friends with Hannah, your wife, and she isn’t going to like you harassing us. And she likes Blythe. They’re cousins. Did you know that? Cousins. As in family. Which makes us family.”

  Player tucked Zyah’s hand over his thigh and let Maestro take Jonas’s attention away from the two of them. Especially away from his head. If the two cops insisted on looking at what was under the bandages, he could be in trouble. His brain might be healed, but the outside flesh still looked as if a bullet had fucked him up. And Deveau hadn’t taken his eyes off him. That was the trouble with Jackson. He was too good at his job.

  “If you’re family, Maestro, you’ve got to be at least ten billion times removed,” Jonas snapped. “I’m investigating a murder, so let me get on with it.”

  “How do you know it’s a murder? It could have been self-defense. Or suicide. Isn’t that jumping to conclusions? What kind of sheriff jumps to conclusions? You might be family, but you still have to do a decent job if you want to be reelected,” Maestro pointed out in his most pious voice.

  Zyah laughed. Anat joined her. Player couldn’t help smiling. Maestro had given him enough time to orient himself firmly in the present, to know what was going on and how best to do damage control. Zyah had done her best to protect him. She knew damn well he’d shot both those men—and that he’d been the one to kill them. She’d taken that fact fairly calmly, just like she’d taken everything else about him.

  He couldn’t help himself, he had to indulge. He had managed to be sitting right next to her, thigh to thigh, her body tucked under his shoulder, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. He wrapped a length of her thick, dark hair around his hand and closed his fingers, making a fist around it. Pure silk. He fucking loved her hair. He loved lying in bed with her, all that long hair sliding over his chest because he deliberately refused to wear a shirt, knowing she’d lie with him at night after his nightmares and he’d feel the silk of her hair and the satin of her skin, see the sweep of her long lashes.

  “Are you paying attention, Player?” Jonas demanded.

  “Not real
ly,” Player admitted. “I was looking at my woman. She’s fuckin’ beautiful. You, on the other hand, don’t do much for me.” He held up one hand in surrender. “Please restate, and I’ll pay attention.”

  “The sheriff seems to think I’m holding out on him,” Anat explained. “I don’t have any more jewelry to steal, Jonas. There’s not one more valuable item here in this house. I do have a safe, but it’s empty. I haven’t ever used it. I bought it with the idea I’d keep cash in it, but I just never did. Maybe they know about that and think there’s something of value in it. You can have it if you’d like. Make a show of taking it out. Pretend it’s very heavy, as if I have gold bars in it and you’re taking them to a bank for me.”

  Jonas glanced at Jackson Deveau, and Player caught the nearly imperceptible nod the deputy gave the sheriff. Torpedo Ink had long suspected Jackson was a human lie detector, and Player was certain he’d just had confirmation. Deveau had just assured Jonas that Anat was telling the truth.

  “I’m just trying to make certain you’re safe, Anat. I don’t understand why they keep coming here. Is it possible you talked about something expensive you owned when you were at lunch with friends? Remember, these thieves have an in with someone who knows all of you. You belong to the Red Hat Society. All of you have fun together, and you talk. Could you have brought up something of value you have in your home to them?” Jonas asked.

  Player had to admit, that was a good question. He exchanged a quick look with Zyah. It was true the thieves had returned three times. They’d made a grab for Anat’s granddaughter. The why of it was a good question. Anat didn’t know they’d done that, but they had.