by Alison Kent
“Why?”
At that he looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Unless you have somewhere you have to be tonight. It’s late. You’re tired. I can fry some chicken. Mash some potatoes. It’s Army’s favorite dinner,” she said, her voice breaking, her lips trembling as she attempted a smile. “You could sleep in his bed.”
What if I want to sleep in yours? He thought it. He didn’t say it. “You don’t even know me.”
“You stepped in when you saw the need. That tells me the kind of man you are.”
“It doesn’t really. Not really,” he said, because that was the truth.
“You’re not kind? You’re not helpful?” Her expression sliced through him, a blade slipping through emotional scar tissue as if the damage didn’t even exist. “You’re not good?”
If she had any idea of the things he’d done in the name of righting wrongs. “Annie—”
“Kyle.” She stood, reaching a hand toward him before dropping it to her side. “Stay. Please.”
“I can’t.” The words nearly choked him.
“I’d feel better if you did.”
He frowned. What had he missed? “You said they weren’t going to hurt you.”
“I’d feel better about you.”
“I’m fine,” he said, so close to giving in, to saying yes... to hoping.
She laughed, the sound soft and sweet and lighthearted that rang in Kyle’s blood. “For someone who got the crap kicked out of them and looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks maybe.”
Right. “I don’t really sleep.”
“See? I’ll bet if you went to bed with a belly full of cream gravy and biscuits you would.”
He said okay because being here would make what he had to do easier. But remained unmoving because he didn’t know where to go next. And he wasn’t sure if that uncertainty was purely physical or an emotional battering ram.
Annie solved the problem for him by grabbing a towel and washcloth from the stack folded on top of the dryer in the kitchen’s corner. “Here. Shower’s first door on the left down the hall. You can finish cleaning off the blood and... the rest.”
“Sorry about the smell.”
“That’s what soap’s for,” she said, and her smile nearly flattened him.
Chapter Four
VINCE’S THREAT NEVER far from her mind, Annie did her best to set about cooking as if the day was completely normal. As if there wasn’t a strange man in her shower. As if he hadn’t taken a beating to rescue her. As if Army hadn’t been snatched by his own father on his walk to the washateria after school.
He did it every day. Usually with Enrique Gama. Que’s parents owned the washateria and the pawn shop next door. The boys played in the field out back or in the playroom in the rear of the shop until it was time to go home. Then Army would sit at the table and play while Annie cooked. It was their time to talk. It was a good life for a kid. She was happy about that.
It just wasn’t the life she thought she’d be living when she’d left home to marry Vince.
She’d been so stupid. Stupid and gullible and naive. She never should’ve married him. But she hadn’t known to know better. It wasn’t like she could talk to her mother about boys, about sex, about a future away from Markit. Her father wouldn’t allow it. And she’d been forbidden from speaking to the school counselor. If she wanted to talk, she talked to him.
Being backhanded across the face the first time she tried ended that option.
He’d denied her access to outlets that would’ve shown her the way out, that things weren’t hopeless, that she wasn’t stuck in a life forced on her, an only child of religious zealots.
Even now she wasn’t stuck. Hopefully one day she’d get back to nursing. For now, she was working on her business degree online and would move herself and Army to Houston or San Antonio as soon as she had the means to better support them. Then again, as soon as she had Army back, she might just take off—
“I need my clean clothes.”
At the sound of Kyle’s voice, she turned. Big mistake. She should’ve reached into the dryer for his things and handed them to him without looking because he was wearing only a towel. And not one of her better ones. It hugged and molded and left nothing to the imagination.
Her skin heated, a flush blooming in her cheeks, warming her neck, her breasts. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. He was... beautiful. So beautiful. And that towel, bulging there... She brought her gaze swiftly to his which didn’t help at all.
His hair was wet and matted to his head, his face still covered in scruff because he hadn’t had his razor and she hadn’t offered him one. His feet were bare and large and his legs long and dark with hair and his chest was the stuff of fantasies with the perfect trail of hair bisecting his six-pack abs and... and... and... everything. Oh, every little thing.
“Um, are they dry?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. You startled me. Let me get them.” Forcing herself to breathe, she set the lunch bag of fry flour on the counter and washed her hands. Then she dug everything out of the dryer in a big ball she shoved against his chest, biting her tongue instead of asking about the scythe-curved scar that ran from his clavicle to his breastbone.
He smelled like her soap and her shampoo and she wanted to bury her face against him. It had been so long since she’d felt a man’s arms around her, since she’d had shoulders this broad to lean against. And she’d never felt this fizzy and fluttery and stupidly weak ever.
Not ever.
Swiftly, she spun away and returned to prepping the chicken. “Supper will be ready in an hour. There’s a TV in the living room.”
“I was thinking I’d walk back for my truck,” he said, pulling a T-shirt and boxer briefs out of the wad in his arms. The underwear was black.
She pictured the fabric hugging his ass. “I can take you later if you want to wait.”
“I’d actually kind of like the walk. It’ll help to work out the kinks. And I need a couple of things from my truck.”
An hour would give her time to finish cooking and compose herself and maybe figure out what to do about getting Army back. She wouldn’t think of Kyle at all while he was gone. She wouldn’t think about him even once. There. Better.
“Everything will be warm when you get back,” she said, but she was talking to herself. The only evidence he’d been there at all was the water on the floor.
THE WALK TO HIS TRUCK gave Kyle time to think. The air was dry. The sun was hot. The edge of the road uneven. He got a few looks from residents tending yards as brown as Annie’s. He had no idea if word of the fight had traveled the Markit grapevine but figured it had.
He wondered if word of the kidnapping had gone viral too. Then he wondered what the town’s residents thought of Annie. If others, like the guy from the pawn shop, were on her side. Or if her ex and his partners had the town as well as the law under their thumb.
None of that made a difference to what he was going to do.
He just wondered.
Because of Annie.
Since her ex’s business dealings were local, the boy was probably close. And if Vince’s back made mobility an issue—that and his generally being a selfish dick—best bet was he’d stashed him with the grandparents. Army would be taken care of and Vince wouldn’t be bothered. Once Kyle verified Annie’s son was there, he was looking at an easy snatch.
Residences always were.
He had the gear he’d need in the compartment of his truck where he kept things that needed to remain out of sight. A routine traffic stop or a more thorough search wouldn’t reveal his night-vision goggles or listening device. Neither was illegal to possess, but those weren’t the only pieces he carried. Even a sniffer dog would miss his munitions.
Location and equipment were covered, and if he was wrong about the first, he had items in the second that would get Vince to talk. But he wanted to do this the easy way.
For Annie’s sake.
Now all he needed
to do was check in with the boss and set up plans for post-extraction. He clicked the fob to unlock the gleaming black crew-cab pickup and climbed behind the wheel. A hidden switch triggered a slot beneath the steering column which ejected an encrypted phone.
It was used only for team business. He sent a text to Asa.
Waylaid. New op. Simple. Day, two max.
While waiting for a response, he studied the layout of the pawn shop, washateria, and pharmacy. The two businesses flanking the washateria had security cameras. He texted that info to Nate who handled the team’s security and tech. He’d wipe the feeds remotely or send someone to destroy any hard evidence of the afternoon’s altercation.
Before heading back to Annie’s, he’d swing by her ex-in-laws’ estate and check the security there. He’d also make a run by the warehouse where Annie said Vince spent most of his time. He’d have Nate dig up photos and pull the interior specs on that building too.
His phone buzzed. Asa.
Z is concerned.
Kyle wasn’t surprised. His showing at the compound hadn’t been up to Ezra’s standards. Or his own, really. His internal turmoil had gotten in the way of what his body could do. He knew that. Ezra knew that. Funny how he hadn’t entertained any of the destructive thoughts he’d brought to the compound since leaving.
Or at least since Annie.
Yeah, he’d thought of the past but fleetingly. He hadn’t turned the bad times over and over, looking for where he’d gone wrong, what he could’ve done better. It had been a factual examination of events. Straightforward. And then he’d moved on, staying in the here and now.
With Annie.
No need. All is well. Present company helping.
He paused, then backspaced and deleted the reference to Annie. He wasn’t ready to bring her into the complications of his life. One he hadn’t chosen but one for which he would never cease being grateful. Maybe rescuing Army was his chance to pay forward what the Bruces had done for him. Sure, that was part of the work, but the missions Asa handed out weren’t personal. When he’d stepped in to help Annie, he’d made his investment more than the job.
And he hadn’t thought twice about what it would cost him.
THE ONLY THING THAT could’ve made supper any better would’ve been to have Army sitting in his chair and peeling the coating off his drumsticks to save for last. The thought doused some of the pleasure in Annie’s smile, pleasure at Kyle devouring her home cooking. She wanted to take credit for his appetite, but it was just fried chicken, and he’d had a rough day.
He’d been gone almost the entire hour. Once or twice she’d wondered if he might not come back. Then she’d remembered his clean clothes she’d folded and left in his duffel on the floor in front of the dryer.
It had helped. A little. “How long has it been since your last meal?”
“The last time I ate? Or the last time I ate like this?”
His words brought a soft laugh and the return of her smile, though it was still bittersweet. Army should be here. Army would love Kyle. “What do you usually eat?”
He took a moment to respond, almost as if unsure how to answer. “I live above a diner so most of the time I eat there.”
“You don’t cook?”
“I can. I don’t. It’s no fun, for one.”
“Especially if you have a diner downstairs,” she said, swirling a bite of biscuit through the gravy on her plate. “They usually have amazing food.”
“The burgers are incredible,” he said, nodding as he pulled a chunk of chicken thigh from the bone. “And the fries. But I try not to eat them too often.”
“What do you usually eat?”
“Salad, vegetables. Fish or chicken. It gets boring but I think of it as fuel.”
“Instead of eating your emotions?” she asked, glancing toward the chocolate sheet cake sitting on the counter.
“Pretty sure that’s what I’m doing now,” he said with a huff.
Shivers coursed through her at the gritty sound. He was so out of her league; her response to him made no sense. “Glad to be of service.”
“I’m ignoring the cake, by the way.”
“Good. That means more for my emotions,” she said, wondering if talking about food was as pointless as talking about the weather to avoid what needed to be said.
As if he’d come to the same conclusion, Kyle asked, “Can you think of any other place Army might be? Would Vince have access to any of the Claude properties now that he’s not working?”
“I honestly don’t know. I hadn’t seen him in months until today. And we don’t talk.”
“Where does he live?”
“I don’t know that either. Last time I drove by the house where we’d lived it was for sale. Obviously, he’s not living with his parents.” Reaching for her iced tea, she added, “If I had to guess, I’d say the warehouse. Beds, broads, booze. Home sweet home.”
Frowning, Kyle stabbed his fork through a pile of cut green beans. “How far does his criminal empire stretch?”
Ugh. She was no help at all. “I know he works for someone else and that around here he’s big man on campus. But that’s it.” A memory flashed, the surprise of Vince speaking Spanish. “Oh. He’s got ties to South America. I overheard a couple of phone calls but didn’t think much about them. At the time, I figured they were related to real estate.”
Kyle studied her face for a long moment, his expression so intense she could almost see the gears whirring. “Why stick around here?”
That wasn’t what she’d expected. “Him? Or me?”
“You. You mentioned taking Army and disappearing.”
That was easy. “I can’t afford to leave. I barely make it with two part-time jobs.”
“What about child support?”
Was he kidding? “The judge was a crony of Vince’s. He made sure I only got enough to feed and clothe my son. Not enough to leave on. And Vince maybe pays me three times a year. The court doesn’t care about that either. And forget affording an attorney.”
“Pro bono?”
“I could hire one of the bigshot lawyers to the stars but here?” She shook her head. “Here they will lose. I will lose. Because of who Vince is. And sadly, because of who I am.”
“Who are you?” he asked, his curiosity coming on the heels of her wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.
She rallied quickly. “The woman who divorced Vincent Claude.” Best not to mention the public displays of abuse her father had inflicted on her and her mother. “No amount of scrubbing will get rid of that stain.”
“But you’d leave. If you could.”
“In a heartbeat.”
“No question?”
“No question.”
He scooped up one more bite of potatoes and gravy, then set his spoon on the edge of his plate. His wrists resting on the table’s edge, he held her gaze. “I want to say I’m glad Army’s with his dad, but I know that’s not much comfort from what you say.”
“His father won’t hurt him. Not physically. Neither would his grandparents.”
“You think that’s where he is?”
“It’s where I’m going to look first,” she said, not sure when she’d come to the decision to defy Vince. “Vince is lazy. He doesn’t have it in him to entertain a six-year-old.”
“Would Vince risk leaving Army with his parents knowing you could get him?”
“I’m not welcome at their home. I’m not allowed through the gate. They won’t open it for me.”
Nodding as he digested her words, Kyle sat back. “Odds are he’s there then.”
“Uh-uh. No way,” she said, getting up to gather the dishes. “I’m not going to have you putting yourself in danger on my account.”
“What about on Army’s?”
“No, Kyle.” The dishes clattered in the sink. “This isn’t your fight.”
He pointed to his jaw, shrugged with his taped-up shoulder. “I’d say it is, though that’s on me for butting in. And Army can’t fig
ht for himself.”
The idea that he was thinking of Army, of doing this for her...
She started shaking, her hands as she opened the silverware drawer, her knees as she returned to the table. Her voice as she said to him, “Have some cake. Eat that emotion. Don’t put yourself in more danger.”
She went back for plates and the cake slicer, handing them to him. He cut a large piece and set it in front of her. Then he cut himself a sliver.
She wanted to laugh almost as much as she wanted to cry. “So you’re putting me in a food coma but not yourself?”
“I need my wits about me.”
“Kyle—”
“Eat your cake, Annie,” he said, his tone low and even. And comforting. “Dishes are on me.”
Chapter Five
KYLE HAD BEEN BRACING for the knock on the door since Annie had closed it and left him to sleep. He hadn’t even tried. He hadn’t undressed. He hadn’t gotten into bed.
He was wound up after the week at the compound, wound up after the afternoon’s altercation, wound up over the woman who’d decided he needed a home-cooked meal and clean, fresh sheets to go with his clean, fresh body and neatly folded clothes.
She was a caretaker, a fiddler, messing with this or that to make it better, straightening, adjusting. She was no doubt an amazing mom. And his hatred for Vince doubled.
Her comment about who she was, washing away that stain... He didn’t believe for a moment it was about divorcing Vince. Maybe in part, but there was something else, something she carried close. He recognized the signs of insecurity, of self-doubt.
He wanted to know about hers. But now that she’d knocked, it could wait. He wasn’t sure if he should call out for her to come in, or if he should answer it, turn the knob, open the door, reach for her, and pull her with him into the dark.
Another knock, this one softer, and an equally soft, “Kyle?”
