“Thank you.” He dropped a soft kiss on her crown. “But helping out one woman isn’t enough. We get new strangers—strangers who drink too much—every week in season.”
Carlos nodded enthusiastically. “If you’re going where I think you’re going with this, I like it.”
“Well, I’d like to teach a self-defense class. I’m qualified in several martial arts.”
“Your ability isn’t in question. That’s a lot to take on by yourself, though.”
“You just don’t want me sloughing off any of my shifts here.” Flynn grinned. Sierra had never heard him tease Carlos before. From the astonishment blanking their boss’s face, he hadn’t, either.
“True . . .” his voice trailed off, eyes still pinched together a little.
Flynn let go of Sierra to tick off two fingers. “Rafe and Kellan aren’t up to my speed, but they know their stuff. They could help out.”
One of Sierra’s tables, a big one full of couples, paused on their way out the door. “We left your tip on the table, but we want to give you something, too.” A middle-aged woman with white-blonde hair tucked a folded bill into Flynn’s palm.
“I can’t accept payment for doing the right thing.” Flynn tried to pass it back, but the woman closed his hand around it.
Her husband said, “Consider it blood money. We feel guilty as hell that we sat there, frozen in shock. Guilty that we didn’t do anything to help. Thanks for being the good guy.”
They filed out the door. Flynn unfolded the bill and his eyes bugged wide to see it was a hundred. “Those people need their heads examined,” he muttered.
“You did a good thing, Flynn. Why won’t you take the reward you deserve?” Sierra asked.
The hollowness of his laugh shocked her. “I don’t deserve any reward. Trust me. I just want the opportunity to try to help more people. To make Bandon safer, so something like this doesn’t happen again. Yeah—I need to do the class.”
“I can help with logistics. Finding a place, getting the word out. I’ll draw you one heck of a flyer.”
“I’ll bet you will. Just don’t put me on it. No men at all. More like a Wonder Woman approach. How kick-ass a woman will feel after learning to defend herself.”
That sounded about right. The less time and attention Sierra was giving to her fears, the better she was feeling.
Carlos cleared his throat. “Madalena would offer you a space at her school. Probably for free. Lemme talk to her.”
Flynn pushed back from the offer with half-outstretched arms. “It doesn’t have to be free—”
A sharply jabbed finger cut him off. “Yes, it does. Because the class itself should be free, so you can’t have overhead to worry about.”
“Okay. No overhead sounds good, especially if this is just a pipe dream that doesn’t play out.” Bending down a little, lowering his voice, Flynn asked, “Do you really think anyone would want to come?”
“I do.” The forcefulness of Sierra’s answer surprised her. “Can I be in it?”
“Of course. You’re my number one priority to keep safe.”
Sirens whooped outside. Red and blue lights arced through the window, painting colored shadows on Carlos’s face. “We should go talk to them. Shouldn’t take long. Fifty witnesses saw him manhandle Rosalie, even if she won’t talk. You’ll be in the clear, Flynn. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I’ll be right back.” One hand on her neck—the one with knuckles still oozing blood—Flynn pulled her close for a kiss. Then immediately arched back. “You okay? Your pulse is beating crazy fast.”
Adrenaline from fear, shock, and then relief still coursed through her. Along with a little bit of excitement from the way Flynn used his body. It just gave Sierra chills. “I’m fine. Truly. I can’t think of anyplace I’d feel safer.”
On her way back to hold down the bar, Sierra mulled her oddly intense reaction to Flynn’s idea. It had resonated down to her bones, like the vibrations when a giant church bell rang. A self-defense class sounded perfect. It’d be a perfect piece in her take back her life initiative.
She’d run from Rick because she’d had no idea how to defend herself. In hindsight, that was still probably the smartest course of action. But Sierra didn’t like how it’d been her only option at the time. It wasn’t just Rick, either. She’d been rolled more than a few times at foster homes, even in high school.
No more.
Sierra slapped her palm against the side of the cash register, just to hear the thump of affirmation. Okay, it was more of a sting than a sound, but it felt right.
No more caving to bullies. Watching Rosalie tonight try to dismiss what Leather Guy had done, how badly he’d treated her? That, she decided, was her tipping point. She’d let Rick make her a victim. Her fear kept her one. Her lies and secrecy had turned into their own weird little prison. Taking back her life meant breaking out.
That was it. Sierra wouldn’t, couldn’t keep the truth, her truth, from Flynn anymore. It’d be a big leap of faith. Especially since her last boyfriend hadn’t turned out to be who she’d thought at all.
It wouldn’t be that way with Flynn.
Trusting Flynn meant literally trusting him with her life. It was time. She hated lying to him, hated not revealing her true self. And if she couldn’t do that, what good was it all? What point was there in running away?
It wasn’t just about escaping a bad life.
It was about starting a good one.
Chapter Eleven
Flynn had thought that going into WITSEC would keep him out of jail. But he’d logged more hours over the last seven months inside jails than he could begin to count. Sure, his black cargo shorts and sandals were better than wearing an orange jumpsuit and sneakers with no laces. Still weird, though.
“I don’t get nervous anymore.”
Kellan groaned. “If this is yet another retelling of how the Mighty Flynn Maguire coldcocked the scum of the earth two days ago with nary a shaking finger or loose bowel, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Loose . . . you mean being so scared he’d shit his pants?” Rafe unsuccessfully tried not to smile. Even wiped his palm across his mouth, but the stupid grin came back anyway. “Dude, that’s insulting. Funny as hell, but still insulting.”
Flynn kicked out a chair and sat down, hoping Delaney showed up soon so he wouldn’t have to listen to Kellan bitch much longer. For God’s sake, had he sounded as pissy at the world as Kellan did? Been as annoying? No wonder Rafe had ordered him to pull himself together.
Not that he could’ve even figured out where to begin without Sierra.
Kellan didn’t have his own Sierra. Just an unending hard-on for their government handler. So Flynn would go easy on him. Calmly, he said, “Look, I haven’t been the one boring you with the story. Don’t blame me.”
“No, just everyone else in this freaking town.” Kellan paced the length of the conference room. At least, they were calling it that because they didn’t deserve to be in an interrogation room. The door was unlocked. “The guys at the plant wouldn’t stop talking about The Legend of Flynn Maguire. At Coffee & 3 Leaves, Norah was mentioning making a drink with your name.”
“Nice. I hope it’s a triple-shot espresso with a shake of cinnamon.” Delaney couldn’t pitch a hissy fit over that hint of notoriety. Could she? Maybe he’d ask Norah to just use his first name . . .
His brother’s work boots drummed another path down the concrete floor. “It’s like being in high school all over again. I’m left to trail in your glorious wakes. Being the third brother is not as glamorous and fun as I’d hoped.”
Rafe half leaned, half sat on the edge of the table with his arms crossed. He wore black jeans, a black tee, and a massive smirk. “Nothing about our lives is as glamorous or fun as you hoped. Hell, nothing could be. Did you want to be a celebrity attorney and get movie stars off with a warning when they’re caught peeing in public? Hope to get some front row Bulls tickets out of it?”
Instead of m
outhing off again, Kellan stilled. His voice dropped—along with his head. “I hoped I’d get the chance to forge my own path. I was starting to, anyway. But now we’re all lumped together again, starting from square one. You and Flynn are freaking heroes to this town. You keep saving people.”
Kellan may have chilled out, but his words lit a fire under Rafe. He popped off the table, rigid as if about to get a prostate exam. “Sorry that our kiboshing criminal acts is bugging you. Next time I see a burglar, I’ll text you to hurry over, and then go grab a hot dog while I wait for you to show.”
Now they were toe to toe. Both with bunched fists. Flynn was damned if he’d let his brothers start a fight in the jail that would automatically get them tossed behind bars.
Man, was this transition ever going to get easier? For all of them? At the same time?
Was that too much to fucking ask?
He pounded his fist on the table to get their attention. “Hey! Simmer down. Let’s not mix it up with a sheriff ten feet away. Of course K’s feeling left out. We told him that we’ve been doing this huge, secret thing behind his back for more than a dozen years. Of course he’s upset. But can we put a pin in that for now, given where we are? Do the whole group therapy thing another day?”
His outburst turned Kellan’s sullen sneer into a bona fide grin. “Flynn’s being the calm and reasonable one? You dog, you slept with Sierra, didn’t you?”
Yet another thing he refused to discuss inside a jail. Sierra was too innocent to even be brought up in conversation in this place.
Spreading his fingers wide as if grasping for calm, Flynn said, “To get back to my original point. I’m not nervous anymore. When I’m in here,” he rushed through to the rest of it, gesturing at the one-way glass, “surrounded by handcuffs and cells and guys in uniforms that used to break me into a cold sweat. Now it seems . . . ordinary.”
“Yeah.” Rafe shifted back from Kellan. Crisis averted. He turned in a slow circle, hands tucked in his back pockets. “Not scary, either. For years we worried about getting dragged in to meet with cops. Now it’s just a break in our routine.”
“Does that mean we’ve turned into good guys?”
Rafe grunted his dismissal of the idea. “Not unless the floor dropped out of heaven and everyone better than us is suddenly down in hell.”
“Can we get back to my question?” Kellan elbowed Flynn as he sat down next to him. “About sex?”
“Don’t you ever think of anything else, Mr. Maguire?” Delaney’s frown was the first thing Flynn saw. The rest of her body, dressed in a formfitting black dress that showed off all sorts of sexy, was just along for the ride. She looked pissed. Of course, she always looked that way when Kellan baited her. The only difference was that this time he hadn’t known she was in the doorway.
Kellan rose from his seat. He always played the full gentleman card, even when stuck in a jail with their marshal. Or, more to the point, especially then. “I think about you all the time. But that’s all wrapped up in thoughts of sex, so I guess the answer is no.”
She closed the door behind her with a noticeable bang. Hard enough that the gust of air blew her blond hair into her face. Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe if you stimulated that big brain of yours, instead of just what’s in your pants, you’d find a job that suits you better than the cranberry plant.”
Man, that was cold.
Flynn’s mouth dropped open. A quick glance at Rafe showed his older brother in the same slack-jawed position. Kellan and Delaney had their routine, their shtick. He flirted with her outrageously. She shot him down every damned time. Never tolerant, always annoyed. But never mean.
Silence bounced around the room, as loud as a shout. Kellan froze halfway between standing and sitting. Then, slowly, he shifted into the wooden chair. “They say the brain is the biggest sexual organ. Thanks for noticing that mine is . . . oversized.”
Attaboy. They’d never had to get Kellan out of the principal’s office with a black eye. He always found a way to skewer with his words, and then get out. One sharp stab. Then he was gone before the other guy even figured out that Kellan had won.
Delaney, on the other hand, was definitely smart enough to know that he’d just turned her own words around on her. Before this escalated into a verbal bloodbath, Flynn figured he should step in.
“Marshal Evans. It’s always a rip-roaring good time hanging with you. But if we keep being seen coming into the police station, it’ll be suspicious. People will start to talk.”
“Then make friends with the sheriff,” she snarled. After pressing her palms flat to the door and taking a long breath, she pasted on a smile. “Apparently, Mateo paddle surfs. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Yeah, there was a whole lot to this West Coast lifestyle that still mystified Flynn. “I literally have no fucking idea.”
“Fine, then.” She threw up her hands. Bright red nails this time. Delaney’s cover for her trips to Bandon were “dates” with the sheriff. Her sexy outfits and full makeup were no hardship for the Maguire brothers. They were all grateful that their handler wasn’t a buzz-cut Fed in an off-the-rack navy suit. Rafe and Flynn just kept their mouths shut about it. “Golf. Didn’t I see in your files that you and Rafe golf?”
“We all do.” Flynn missed playing it. Didn’t love that the marshals knew their hobbies, though. “We also like deep-dish pizza, the playoffs of any and every sport, and hate nineties grunge music. Why do our files have random information that belongs on a dating profile?”
“Because Danny McGinty—and many of his high-level crew—participated in that charity golf tournament last summer.”
Rafe made a two-handed snap/fist thump combo. “Whistling Straits Pro-Am. Can’t believe we had to drag our asses past all those cows to Sheboygan for it. How’d that get on your radar?”
She sat down, across the table from them. “Because it’s in Wisconsin. Someplace that McGinty did not control. Which meant we were able to bug the clubhouse and the golf carts.”
Kellan perked up. All it ever took to get Kellan out of a funk was an interesting fact. “That’s underhanded. Strategic. Impressive.”
“Thank you, Counselor. So glad you approve of an investigation that took us five years, seven different agencies, and cost three undercover agents their lives.”
Flynn’s first thought was that he couldn’t wait to tell Sierra all about this icy war erupting between their marshal and Kellan.
Quickly followed by his second thought—the remembrance that he could not, in fact, tell Sierra anything about this meeting.
Shit.
Kellan didn’t snap back at Delaney’s response. If anything, he relaxed a little more. He really would’ve been one hell of a trial lawyer. “It was a compliment. And an olive branch. The rules of polite society require that you accept it as both.”
He needed popcorn for this. And maybe a beer. Watching his little brother put the marshal in her place was almost as fun as watching an MMA cage match.
Delaney lifted her hair off of the back of her neck. Then she shook her head a couple of times, as if trying to shake something off. “I’m sorry. I’m in a bad mood. Traffic down here from the Eugene Field Office was hideous. My air-conditioning’s on the fritz. And this dress means I have to wear a thigh holster, which just isn’t comfortable.”
Flynn ground his heel into the top of Kellan’s foot. Hard. Because he knew it’d take some serious pain to distract his little brother from making a joke about what ought to be between her thighs. “Let’s make this quick, then. You can get on with your pretend date and start throwing back some icy margaritas.”
“I can’t drink. You know I have to drive back to Eugene tonight.”
This time, Flynn landed a punch on Kellan’s thigh. Because he knew, he fucking knew that idiot was about to offer to let Delaney spend the night in his bed instead. Aside from not telling anyone they were ex-mobsters? The number one rule was to stay on the good side of their handler. No way was he letting Kellan’s blue
balls ruin that.
“Sorry. But you brought your car trouble to the right place. How about you let me tinker with it and see if I can’t fix that air-conditioning while you’re at dinner?”
Nice work, Rafe.
She slid her arms forward until she was almost half lying on the table. A big-ass smile slid onto her face, too. “Would you really? I’d pay you for it, of course. We can’t accept gifts from our protectees.”
“If you ‘forget’ your keys on the table when we’re done, nobody’s the wiser. I’ll just find them in a few hours and leave ’em at the front desk. If your car works better? You can chalk it up to the magical ocean air.”
Flynn cleared his throat. “What’d you haul us in for this time, Marshal? Because we’ve been on our best behavior. I’m building a float for the Cranberry Festival with a bunch of kids. It doesn’t get more fucking wholesome than that.”
“That sounds . . . I’m certain I should say it sounds lovely. But I’m having trouble forming that picture in my head.”
“Forget imagining it. Come in person. You can watch a float-design session. Or just come to the Festival in September. Stuff your face with cranberry pie and wash it down with one hell of a cranberry cocktail I’m dreaming up.”
Delaney shifted in her seat to face Rafe. “What’s up with your brother? He’s not being a stick in the mud. He’s downright . . . friendly. Has he been sampling the medicinal wares at that coffee and marijuana shop? I warned you to steer clear of it.”
Rafe held up his hands. “We only go for the coffee. Norah’s promised that she won’t ever ‘spice up’—her words, not mine—anything the Maguires order. We’re clean, Marshal.”
“Flynn’s high on life.” Kellan made a heart with his hands and held it up to one eye to look at Delaney through. “Or love, to be more specific. He’s got a girl.”
Both of her eyebrows shot upward. “Is she aware of this development? And willing? You know, there are rules in this state about locking women in the basement.”
“Very funny.” Flynn had come clean with the government on a lot of the aspects of his life—right down to telling them what size boxer briefs to stock his drawer with in their first relocation house. But no way would he let the marshal weigh in on what he had going with Sierra. It was, officially, none of her damn business.
Never Been Good Page 14
