Mystic Hearts

by Cait Jarrod

  She fell into his brotherly embrace. “Good to see you.”

  “You, too.” He gave her a tight squeeze and sat next to her. “I hope you’re not upset with me about Halloween.”

  “Why would I be upset? You needed someone to watch the place, so I did.”

  His groan and slight nod plunged what Larry had said into her mind. I think we’re victims of a matchmaking scheme. She’d have to thank Paul later. For now, she winked.

  His dimples grew deeper and his eyes brightened. “Time for a toast.” He topped off Celine and Charlene’s drinks and filled a glass for himself and eyed Pamela holding a water glass. “To the future.”

  They clicked their glasses and sipped.

  All eyes turned on Pamela. For a long moment, no one said a word. Charlene knew what was on everyone’s mind, the same thing that nagged at her since she saw the water glass sitting in front of Pamela. Either she was pregnant, or they were trying.

  “How’d the competition go?” Pamela asked Paul, breaking the silence. “You’ve been in so many I can’t remember which one you were just in.”

  He chuckled. “I can’t either.”

  “Do you ever see the girl you used to love to race against?” Celine asked.

  Paul’s eyes widened before shaking his head.

  “Niki,” Pamela interjected. “That’s been years ago. Whatever happened to her?”

  “Subject change,” Paul said, his voice suddenly withdrawn and expression impassive.

  She, Celine, and Pamela exchanged glances with one another before focusing back on Paul staring at his empty glass.

  Another subject she wouldn’t inquire about. When he was ready to talk, he would.

  “There they are,” Jake said, stepping over the fence. A familiar guy with long hair pulled into a ponytail and piercing brown eyes trailed him.

  “Hey, everyone, this is Quigley Collins. You know my wife, Pamela.” Jake pointed to each of them as he spoke. “And you met Charlene earlier today.” He patted Paul on the back. “My brother, Paul England…and this is Celine Marx.”

  “Nice to meet everyone.”

  “Quigley joined the Old Town Detective Agency a few days ago.” Jake kissed Pamela’s cheek and positioned a chair between her and Charlene.

  Quigley sat on Charlene’s other side, nudging Paul toward Celine.

  “How are you feeling?” Jake asked his wife.

  Pamela sent him the cold glare she’d given Charlene earlier and she could have sworn Pamela hushed him under her breath. “I’m good.”

  “Tell them,” Jake urged.

  “But not everyone’s here.”

  The extra glasses on the table made sense now, but who was Pamela expecting?

  Jake waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Go for it.”

  She smiled and her face lit up like the morning star. “Jake and I have an announcement.”

  Charlene’s eyes widened, excitement rushing through her that her friend would confide why she was drinking water.

  “I’m pregnant,” Pamela’s words escaped on a shrill squeak.

  Celine screeched, jumped up, and hugged Pamela. As soon as Celine walked away, Charlene hugged her. Paul was next.

  “I see you told everyone,” Steve said, joining them.

  Larry followed, his gaze landing on Charlene. A small, knowing smile creased the corners of his mouth. Like earlier, he wore dress khakis. Instead of a button-down shirt, he donned a polo. The combination of the deep, rich burgundy color making his eyes pop and the cotton fabric pulling at the seams across his broad shoulders sent Charlene’s heart into sudden palpitations. Her mouth watered to have his eyes on her, naked, and her hand itched to touch every muscle concealed from view.

  Her expression must have given away her thoughts, for he tilted his head. The tender, sweet way he gazed at her with longing, appreciation, caring, hitched up her libido and sent a surge of want through her veins that pooled in her nether regions.

  Not long ago, she debated if Larry looked at other women the way he had her that day he saved her and Henry on the mountain. Knowing Larry the way she did now, she knew he wasn’t the type of guy to have wanderlust on his mind.

  After the greetings to the new arrivals died down, Charlene was barely able to retain her giddiness toward Larry. “Hi.”

  “Hey, there.” Larry pulled up a chair.

  Wishing they could be somewhere private, she settled for scooting her chair over to make room for him between her and Quigley.

  “Steve knew before me?” Celine’s agitation broke through Charlene’s sexual fog.

  Paul chuckled. “Hell, he knew before me and I’m the uncle.”

  “Who’s never home,” Jake said.

  “Touché.” Paul accepted another pitcher of margaritas from a waitress Charlene didn’t recognize.

  “He’s my best friend,” Pamela said as soon as the young girl left, then smiled at Jake, “After you, of course.”

  He winked.

  “Ever heard of girl code?” Celine pressed her lips together, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I can’t be mad. I’m too happy for you.”

  “We’re all uncles and aunts,” Steve said. “Again.” He grinned at Charlene. “Henry’s the first nephew.”

  Her heart warmed that they included Henry into the mix.

  “When’s the due date?” Paul asked, filling the glasses for the newcomers.

  “July tenth.” Jake grinned and rubbed Pamela’s stomach.

  “Here ya go,” Jackson said, stepping onto the patio. His dark eyes perused the group as he grasped the handles of two margaritas pitchers in one hand, and two pitchers of beer in the other. “I figured the guys might want a cold one.” He sat them in the center of the rectangle table.

  The position bunched his biceps and they were some tremendous muscles. Charlene glanced over at Celine, sitting at the opposite end of the table, to see her take on Jackson. She all but drooled. Charlene flicked her gaze to Steve.

  He eyed Celine and stuck out his hand to Jackson. “Hey, Jacks, are you home long?” Steve asked in a cool, controlled tone, as if he hadn’t noticed his girlfriend in awe over another man. Pamela was right. There wouldn’t be a happily ever after for Steve and Celine. For some odd reason, the thought saddened her.

  Larry rested his hand on Charlene’s thigh and squeezed.

  She smiled, covered his hand with hers. Curiosity over how the conversation would play out had her returning her attention to the end of the table.

  “No, I’m heading out in a few days,” Jackson was saying.

  Jake pointed. “Jacks, this is Quig—”

  “We’ve met,” Jackson interrupted, his words curt, and his scowl clipped. “Later.”

  All eyes focused on Quigley as Jackson disappeared inside the cafe.

  Quigley shrugged. “The guy’s an ass.”

  Jake’s eyebrow arched and he leveled an eye on Quigley. “You do know this is Pamela’s café?”

  Quigley lifted his hand, palm forward. “I meant no disrespect. Jackson and I have a history. Enough said.”

  Sitting between Larry and Jake, her thighs touching one of theirs, she physically felt Larry and Jake’s tension. What shocked her was the tension radiating through the air from the other end of the table. Paul and Steve bristled and glared at the younger guy.

  Charlene didn’t know what was happening, and given the shocked faces on Celine and Pamela, they didn’t either.

  Jackson reappeared, stopped between the dining room and patio, arms crossed, shoulders squared. A Marine to the core, his presence gave her a chill. “Collins, a word.” His tone didn’t give any room for discussion.

  Quigley rose without question, followed Jackson to the sidewalk, and stepped out of sight around the corner.

  “Bad juju,” Steve said. “Probably unresolved shit from the war.”

  Larry cleared his throat. “Jackson was the pilot when Quigley had the drop that went bad.”

  “Oh, no,” Pamela gasped.
“How do you know?”

  “I saw the brief right after it happened,” Larry said. “No one’s fault.”

  “That’s terrible.” Celine placed a hand covered her mouth.

  Before Charlene could digest what was said, tires squealed on the street, just in front of the outdoor patio, followed by a loud pop.

  Her heart slammed into her chest and lodged in her throat. Her breathing quickened. Sweat pebbled on her forehead as awareness struck.

  Someone shot at them.

  Mouth wide and frozen in place, Charlene scanned the sidewalks and street. Pedestrians raced away. A few cars parked on the other side of the street. The road itself was empty. Why would someone shoot at them?

  “What the hell!” Jake yelled, jerking her attention to her friends.

  “Is everyone okay?” Charlene asked, seeking out the faces of the BOFs.

  No one answered. All eyes stared, wide eyed, in the direction of approaching vehicles, and everything went into slow motion as if each act was freeze-framed. Two motorcycles passed, the drivers wearing brown leather jackets. The shadows the streetlights caused prevented Charlene from seeing what was stitched on their backs.

  “No!” Pamela’s raised voice sounded like she was petrified, her body vibrating from jerking her head back and forth.

  A fury of activity simultaneously unleashed.

  “Son of a bitch!” Steve yelled, taking off, his gun in his hand. Paul ran after him.

  “Go to the left, I’ll cover the next street,” Jackson instructed Quigley.

  “On it, Major,” Quigley responded, jogging after Jackson.

  “Everyone in the back,” Larry ordered, his voice calm and controlled.

  Heart booming in her ears, Charlene bolted out of her chair and followed Pamela and Celine inside.

  Another shot reverberated through the air. Tires squealed.

  Nausea landed in the pit of Charlene’s stomach as the long tentacles of fear played down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder.

  The dark colored car that parked across the street sped away.

  “Man down!” Jake’s voice boomed, dragging Charlene’s gaze to him kneeling at the spot they just vacated.

  Larry stretched out on the floor, eyes closed. Fear mixed with adrenaline shot through Charlene’s veins. “L-a-r-r-y!” Ignoring people telling her stay inside The Memory Café, she rushed over to him lying on the patio floor. “Sweetheart, wake up!”

  “I’m okay,” Larry said.

  “Larry,” she cried, tears blinding her vision and her ears ringing. They’d just found each other. This wasn’t fair.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Psst, Charlene, really I’m okay,” Larry said, his voice muffled.

  Charlene’s pinched face relaxed. She cradled his head in her lap, leaned over him and ran her hands over his stomach and chest, her breasts pressed against his forehead and head. A great position to stay in all night and day, but the customers inside The Memory Café may not appreciate his and Charlene’s intimacy.

  “Really?” She stretched further, her hands nearing the edge of his pants and dangerously close to triggering his hardening erection to spring into action. “I’m bruised where the bullet hit my vest.”

  “Are you sure? You’re not just saying that?”

  “As much as I like this position?” he chuckled. “Trust me, I love it, but I need to sit up.”

  “Oh, um...sorry.” She removed her breasts from his forehead.

  The evening air drifted across his face. He rose to a sitting position and twisted. The grief in her eyes gripped his heart. “I’m not just saying that,” he said, stroking her hair out of her face and wiping an escaped tear with the pad of his thumb from her cheek. “And never apologize for putting any part of you in the vicinity of my face.” He cupped her jaw and grinned.

  She grasped his wrist, holding him to her. “When you didn’t move,” she sucked in a breath, “you scared me.”

  “The impacted of the bullet knocked me out momentarily.”

  “Don’t do it again.”

  Emotions coursed through him. They were so overwhelming, so intense, words couldn’t describe what he felt. He closed his mouth over hers and released every bit of the passions racing through his veins into their joining until their panting grew into groans. He greedily swallowed her sounds of ecstasy and dove for more.

  Someone cleared their throat from behind and a hand patted his back. “Glad you’re okay.” Mischief colored Jackson’s voice, cracking the dreamlike layer Larry had wrapped around him and Charlene and making him realize they weren’t alone.

  He eased back from Charlene’s flushed face and looked at Jackson and Quigley, both with hands on their hips, composed as if they hadn’t just sprinted a few blocks. “I didn’t hear you approach.”

  Jackson chuckled. “No, I don’t imagine you did.”

  Larry focused back on Charlene. She was pretty and sweet. He longed to hold her in his arms—so much so, he ached. Thoughts pinged around in his skull as he figured out a way to relay his feelings without the others reading between the lines more than they already had by him devouring her with his lips.. Then one line, which he said to her when he first let her know what he wanted, came to mind. He kissed the tip of her nose and whispered their inside joke, “Kick-off later?”

  Charlene smiled, the dark gloom on her face moments ago disappearing, and the corners of her mouth twitched. “You bet.”

  He waggled his eyebrows and winked before turning his attention to Jackson. “Give me a hand.”

  Jackson grabbed his hand, and underneath his elbow, and tugged. The bruise on the outside of Larry’s chest smarted. Another inch, the bullet would have hit the muscle in his shoulder and landed him in the ER. He was lucky, or had the shooter known he wore a vest?

  “Here you go,” Marge sung, approaching with her arms full of towels and bandages. Celine followed with a stack of plastic drinking glasses and a pitcher of water.

  “Thanks, Marge, but Larry’s okay,” Charlene said. “He’s not bleeding and won’t need the bandages, but I will take a towel.” Marge handed one to her and Charlene wiped the sweat from her brow.

  Larry groaned. He hoped her overheated body came from their connection and not from him getting shot. The idea of him causing her any kind of pain, his fault or not, ate at him.

  “Did you see the driver?” Larry asked Jackson and stretched out a hand to Charlene and helped her to her feet. She stood and shifted to move out of the way, and he tightened his grip, keeping her beside him.

  “I didn’t.”

  “If I can be of any help, dear, let me know,” Marge interrupted and walked inside the café.

  “Thank you,” Charlene called after Marge and then accepted two glasses of water from Celine. “Thanks.”

  Celine touched Charlene’s shoulder. “I’m going to help Pamela take care of the customers.”

  Charlene nodded and gave a glass to Larry.

  “Let’s move.” Quigley waved his hands, herding them inside the café like a flock of geese before closing the French doors and locking them.

  They went to the far right corner and pulled out a couple of chairs. Thanks to Pamela, the patrons were paying their bills and clearing out of the restaurant. The group chose a table in the far right corner, free of dirty dishes. Larry pulled out a chair for Charlene.

  “I should help Pamela,” Charlene said.

  “Nonsense,” Pamela said from a few tables over and picked up a rectangle tub full of dishes. “Take care of Larry. There’s not much left for us to do.”

  Charlene slid into the chair next to Larry as Pamela and Celine disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Did you get eyes on the license plate?” Larry asked, motioning to a chair for Jackson to sit down and one for Quigley.

  Jackson refused the chair Larry motioned to and remained standing, arms folded, feet a shoulder width apart. The man had the military bug bad. Quigley stood beside him.

  “By the time I r
eached the corner,” Jackson said, “the car turned again. I glimpsed the rear tail lights, possible muscle car.”

  “A Challenger, early seventies,” Quigley added, joining Jackson.

  Whatever hard feelings existed between Jackson and Quigley earlier, they shoved it aside and worked together.

  Paul pushed through the main entrance of the café, held the door open for Steve, and then locked it.

  “Anything?” Larry asked.

  “I got nothing.” Steve dragged a chair along the tile floor, flopped down, and sucked in air. “Give me a sec.”

  “The driver wore a cap,” Paul said, barely winded, propping his back against the wall.

  Elbows on knees, Steve pinned Paul with a scowl. “I get how these two guys aren’t tired.” Steve tilted his head toward Quigley and Jackson standing off to the side. “They do vigorous KPs every day, but you? You exercise to prepare for competitions, but I’ve never once heard you speak of running in a race. How are you not out of breath?”

  “I’m a natural.”

  “Bullshit. I train my ass off and still suck air when I sprint,” Steve voiced, the undertone bitter.

  “You need to train for triathlons,” Paul said, his posture easygoing.

  A rattle sounded at the front door, followed by Jake grumbling as he passed through the foyer to the main area of the café. “I’m too old for this shit.” He wheezed, pocked his keys, and slumped into a chair next to Larry. “I need to jog on a daily basis.”

  “Tell me about it. Ever since I started collecting intel, I don’t have as much physical activity.”

  “There’s one way to keep your body fit.” Quigley smirked.

  Jackson nailed him with a glare. “Hey, a lady’s present.”

  “No worries.” Charlene smiled and pulled out her cell.

  “Everything okay?” Larry asked, bumping shoulders with her.

  “Yes. I’m texting Mom and Henry to let them know everyone is okay, just in case they hear about it. The rumor mill runs rampant.”

  “Good idea.” Charlene’s loyalty to her son and mom was admirable, one of his favorite traits.

  “Where’d you end up?” Jackson asked Jake.