Risk of a Lifetime

by Claudia Shelton

  She sucked in her breath and eased out of the wheelchair. How was she ever going to spend even one night alone in that house with him without slipping up?

  Chapter Five

  After the days spent recuperating in the hospital and at home, Marcy’s insides still felt jumbled from the surgery. Plus the incision hurt more than she wanted to admit, even though she’d always been a quick healer. Really, she’d have been fine at home by herself, but JB had insisted she might need help. The doctor agreed. Her mother agreed. And even her sister agreed.

  Four against one, she hadn’t stood a chance of being alone, but she’d laid out her ground rules the moment the two of them walked in the house. JB had his room. She had hers. Yes, he could cook meals for her. Yes, he could do the laundry. Yes, he could pick up her medicine and groceries and even help her straighten her clothes. But helping her bathe or tucking her in bed at night was off-limits.

  He’d agreed. Hadn’t stopped him from looking sexy as hell in a tight, black, muscle T-shirt as he brought her a bowl of soup. Nothing unusual, just what he used to wear. Then her senses had perked up real fast to his clean, male scent every morning. And the thought of him in the shower had stripped her composure to its limit.

  But her tipping point had been yesterday afternoon as she’d watched him clean her car. Damn. She’d never realized how many positions a person had to use to reach all that pesky dirt. Of course, he’d caught her looking, grinned, then turned around and ignored her as he finished the car. She knew, because she hadn’t been able to tear herself away from the window.

  This had to end before she ripped her clothes off and said “take me now.” Or before she made a slip up and confessed everything she’d made her sister promise not to reveal. Which would be worse, she wasn’t sure. Of course, not once had he looked at her like a man even the least bit interested in taking up where they left off. Good. She wasn’t, either. She wanted him out of Crayton for good.

  Evidently, her talk with him last night had finally convinced him that cabin fever was setting in, and she needed to get out before her pleasant attitude got the better of her. He’d laughed. Said he’d think on it. This morning, he’d relented, and now here they were parked in front of her counseling office.

  She winced as JB lifted her down from his truck. Even the mere feel of his hands around her waist made her core quiver with what-ifs. Anticipation. No…no need for anticipation. What-ifs weren’t going to happen…not now…not ever again. She had her own life now, and as soon as she got everything straightened out, she might just take up the dinner offer from the high school math teacher in the next town over. He’d been asking her out for the past six months, and truth be told, he wasn’t half bad—for someone who didn’t like fishing, hunting, or anything that involved being in the sun.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into bringing you to your office.” JB placed her on her feet like a fragile piece of crystal. “You get one hour. No more. Then I’m taking you home where you still ought to be.”

  “Two.”

  His expression said he wasn’t happy, but he’d give her two hours.

  After allowing him to open the front door and carry her briefcase, she brushed past him, knowing full well he could have given her more space in the doorway. The room smelled musty, felt close, and for an instant, she realized this outing might not have been the best idea. But she’d e-mailed her clients to let them know they could reach her at the office today. So, like it or not, she’d stay.

  He wandered from the front room to her consultation area to a small private office in the rear. He looked in the direction of the turquoise sofa and quirked the side of his mouth. “See you’ve still got that same squeaky make-out spot.”

  She didn’t favor him with a reply, but a bitterly cold Valentine’s Day with the two of them making enough heat on that sofa to start a fire flooded her memory. That had been the first of many afternoon memories. She felt herself smile, then flattened it out. “Are you satisfied there’s no one here? I’m not a child, you know. You seem to forget I took care of myself for the past few years.”

  His jaw worked into the same clench he used to block his feelings every time something inched close to the truth. Turning toward the front door, he inspected each closet along the way. “Two hours at the most. I’ll check back sooner. You got your phone turned on?”

  She patted her hip pocket and nodded, then shoved him toward the door.

  “Lock up behind me,” he said.

  “I still don’t know why you think someone was shooting at me. Leon’s the one with a million enemies, not me.” Doing what he said was not going to happen. She needed to make a point and make it now, that she was her own woman. “My office is open for as long as I stay.”

  “Don’t argue with me on this. Besides, I’ll be out of your hair soon, so humor me on this while I’m here.” As he stepped outside, he motioned to the button he’d drilled into the brick the first day she’d opened her business five years ago. “They can use the buzzer.”

  That had been a day filled with dreams for their future. Seemed like a long time ago. Even longer, the two of them had been Crayton’s high school sweethearts. The state football star and the cheerleader. After graduation, they’d been Crayton’s dream couple. They lived together through college before inviting half the town to their wedding.

  Later on, the town had watched them flounder. By then, he was a Crayton deputy, and she the county’s only marriage counselor, but he wanted to join the FBI. Knowing he’d never leave of his own accord or follow his dream without her, she’d shoved him out the door with more than a few unkind words.

  All because she had freaked out every time he got the least bit hurt. And then, when he’d ended up shot, her resolve had broken. He’d healed fast. Walked it off like the wound was nothing more than a scratch from falling off a bike. Put on the badge and gun and headed back to work in less than a week. She’d been the one who needed longer to heal.

  The memory of her father being killed in the line of duty with the FBI had stepped in front of her like a roadblock before a blast zone. She had refused to face the possibility of living through the same pain she’d seen her mother experience the day she opened the door to the news. She and her sister had stood beside their mom at the grave, walked beside her into an empty house, and moved back to Sadie’s hometown of Crayton.

  But, that hadn’t been the worst part. That came as Marcy lay in bed at night listening to her mother cry after she thought everyone was asleep. One night, she’d edged to the corner of the living room doorway and seen her mother curled up in the seat of her dad’s chair. Looking just like a baby being held and rocked by a loved one. She’d been quietly sobbing with her cheek pressed against the back of the seat. Marcy’d run from the scene. Hidden under her covers to silence the emotion she’d witnessed.

  Looking back, JB’s chair had been her own breaking point. He’d left for an undercover assignment, and she’d panicked. Curled up in his chair, sobbing because he wasn’t there and she was afraid for him and she was…afraid for herself. Emotions were too hard to handle, so she’d shut them out. Steeled herself to the fact she could never allow herself to go through what her mother had gone through.

  Sure, eventually her mama had married Truman, a real estate investor. He might be away on business trips a month or so at a time, but otherwise, they all lived a normal life in Crayton. He called her and Betsy “his girls.” Made life safe for them. Made Sadie happy.

  But, in her thinking, a good counselor knew her own limits. She was a good counselor. And painful emotion was her limit. Her own self-evaluation told her she’d never be able to move forward if something happened to JB. Better to have kicked him out and known he was alive than chance loving him and then losing him forever. That was too scary. Too outside her box to even consider.

  He pecked on the glass in the outside door. “Hey. Stop your daydreaming. What are you thinking about?”

  “How damn annoying you can be.”
She tilted her head, smiled sugar-sweet, and tapped in return.

  His expression conveyed he wasn’t amused.

  Eyes half-lidded, he lifted his chin. Sometimes she really liked that look, used to know where the rest of the evening was headed. Other times, the expression meant he was set in his ways, and nothing or no one would change his mind. That was this time. He didn’t smile, just motioned to flip the deadbolt. Evidently, he wouldn’t leave until she complied. Fine. The minute he drove away, she’d undo the lock.

  She flipped the handle then rolled her eyes at him. “Satisfied?”

  “For the moment.” The corners of his mouth edged up a bit as he shifted from one foot to the other. For an instant, she thought he’d ask her to reopen the door. Come back in and…what?

  His gaze swept over her, slowing at spots on her body that used to drive him crazy. Her insides quavered as her fingers inched toward the lock. It would be so easy to open the door. To fall against the man she craved and drag him to the sofa…if they made it that far. There’d never been any man in her bed but JB. And he knew every little touch that made her happy. She knew his, too.

  “Maybe I should hang around.” His eyes held a question.

  “No!” She shook her head. The sooner she got him out of there, the less likelihood she would make a fool of herself. She pointed at his truck. “Go.”

  “Okay.” He eased away from the door. “I’ll be back. You’ve got my number if you need me.”

  The FBI seemed to have instilled a no-nonsense attitude in him. A new intensity filtered through his shoulders, into his eyes at times. Or he used a tone that stopped refusals most times. Not with her, but with others. What else had he learned? Done? Had there been other women? After all, he’d signed the divorce papers. Maybe he’d even— No. She wouldn’t let her imagination go there.

  “Please leave so I can get to work,” she said.

  Grudgingly, he walked to his truck and drove off.

  She smiled at the retreating vehicle as she unlocked the door again. Halfway down the hall to her office, the phone rang. Once. She checked the caller ID. Nothing. Five minutes later, the phone rang again.

  “Hello. Marcy Bradley’s office.”

  No one answered.

  “Look, I’ve got more to do than play answer the phone today, so stop calling.”

  Heart racing, she felt gripped by a cold nausea as she hung up. She flattened her back to the wall, palms plastered against the paint. Panicked, she glanced up and down the hallway again and again and again. There’d never been a time she hadn’t felt safe in her office. This was just anxiety raising its ugly head because of the robbery and everything else the past few days. She walked back to the front door and reset the deadbolt, then stumbled to the bathroom and splashed water on her face.

  JB was right. People could ring the damn bell today.

  Forty-five minutes passed, and the only call had been from her secretary wanting to know if she should come into the office. Marcy declined her offer. She phoned Cross’s Tattoo Parlor next door to let them know she was in the office, see how they were doing. The answering machine picked up with a message saying the shop was closed for a week of vacation.

  Once the mail arrived, she reviewed the monthly bank statements. Not good. Neither was the line-up for future appointments. Her shoulders slumped. No matter how much she cared for her clients, her marriage counseling business wasn’t working. Before she and JB split up, her client list paid the bills and grew their savings. Now, she barely paid her office and personal bills each month. Guess people trying to hold their marriage together didn’t put much confidence in a counselor who couldn’t do the same for her own.

  The phone rang, causing her to jump. JB’s cell number showed up on the caller ID display. A glance at the clock showed 10:33. He’d given her one hour and five minutes before he called.

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she had his number programmed into her office landline phone. “Hello. Marcy Bradley’s office. May I help you?”

  “Hey.” JB’s words came through the same way he always started their calls. “You doing okay?”

  “Of course.” Why couldn’t she admit she felt less than okay? Felt like a failure. Felt like she’d lost control of her world in that bank lobby and couldn’t find her new center. “Of course, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Doesn’t sound like it. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m tired, that’s all. Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.” She doodled a tree on her notepad. A heart. Damn. She scribbled through the heart hard and fast. Control, she needed to stay in control of her emotions.

  “Yes, you can take care of yourself. Yes, you have taken care of yourself. And, yes, I’ve been a…a…” His heavy sigh growled with release. “Well, I’m here now, so let me help you.”

  She could refuse, but he sounded genuine. In fact, that was the closest she’d ever heard him come to saying he was sorry about anything. Except in the letter where he mentioned not being good enough for her. Of course, he was good enough for her…for anybody. That wasn’t the problem.

  Might as well let him come pick her up. Being out of the house and in her office hadn’t made her feel any better. Nothing would make her feel better until he left town. “Maybe you’re right. I’m ready to go home whenever you get here.”

  “I’m just a few minutes away. Wait inside, and I’ll load the boxes you wanted to take home.”

  “Ring the buzzer when you get here.”

  Call ended, she shoved her paperwork in the briefcase before heading to the reception area. She’d work from home tomorrow, give herself a few more days to get her strength back. Her forehead felt warm against the palm of her hand. Hair a little damp across the hairline. Guess she should have turned the air conditioning on.

  She figured she’d have just enough time for a cold root beer from Pete’s Soda Fountain and Deli across the street before JB arrived. Stepping outside, the autumn breeze wafted through the leaves of gold and red and caressed her cheeks. Fall had turned out beautiful this year. Of course, cold weather would drop in without warning soon enough.

  Entering the deli, she waved to the proprietor, old papa Pete Patrellie. He and his family were a town staple. From halfway across the store, the soda fountain beckoned to the sound of oldies music. She liked having her office in this area of town. The tattoo parlor, bakery, flower shop, Pete’s, and her own office made up a tight little market district.

  “What can I do for you today, Ms. Bradley?”

  “Two large root beers to go.” Much as she hated to do anything nice to encourage JB to stick around, she couldn’t imagine getting herself a drink and ignoring him.

  “Drinking heavy, are you?” The fizz of the foam as it filled the cup sounded the same now as it had when she was ten years old. She loved this shop not only for its nostalgic red, white, and black counter and stools but for Pete himself.

  “Nope.” She smiled and laid a five on the counter. “Guess you heard JB’s in town for a while.”

  Noncommittal, Pete nodded.

  “Well, he’s been acting like a mother hen the past few days. Today he’s chauffeuring me around.”

  Pete tightened the lids on the cups and poked the striped bendy-straws in the tops. “Seems like yesterday the two of you would come in after high school. Just like clockwork, you’d go sit at the last booth in the back of the store and huddle over one root beer float for the two of you. You ever think about those days? Laughing as your foreheads bumped and—”

  A roar like two jet planes crashing into each other rattled the air. The building shook. Pete’s front window shattered. Bits of glass prickled her skin. She reactively flung her arm across her face and turned away. She turned back as the rain of glass pinged onto the floor. Fluorescent orange and red flames roared into the sky from the rubble of what used to be her office. Used to be the adjoining tattoo parlor.

  Pete edged up from behind the wooden counter, holding his arm where a
n ominous chunk of wood lodged. His wife ran from the back room to help her husband.

  “You okay, Marcy?” he shouted.

  She nodded, picked up the two empty cups of root beer from the floor, and shivered. Shivered again harder. Her face grew clammy. The cups fell from her hands. Numb and on auto-pilot, she stumbled toward the scene. Toward what used to be her front door.

  JB’s truck did a 180 as it screeched to a stop, and he bolted for the shifting mass of destruction. The sight of him running straight toward the dust-settling pile of rubble shook her back to the moment.

  “Marcy! Where are you?” He raced across the debris as if he didn’t see or hear or feel the heat while he side-stepped the spot fires. “Marcy? Marcy!”

  “Nooooo, JB!” She charged after him across the shattered bricks, the shards of glass, the chunks of asphalt and concrete littering the street. “Stop. I’m here. I’m here!”

  He disappeared in to the section of her office that was still standing. A moment later, a second blast rocked her world.

  Chapter Six

  JB barreled toward the flames. “Marcy!”

  His lungs filled with the acrid smoke, choking his senses. Heat crushed his movements and singed the hair on his arms. And the few angry, lingering flames beckoned him to test his strength. Resolve pressed him forward.

  Find her. Find her. Don’t stop, find her.

  A secondary explosion blew on the far side of the building. He flattened to the ground, covering his head with his arms. A rain of fragments dropped down. A couple of larger chunks found him as a target. No chance. There was no chance Marcy might have survived the second bomb.

  His heart broke. His agonizing shouts mixed with the hiss and crackle of the settling debris. He stumbled to retrace his steps.

  Sirens screamed closer. Blue sky merged with murky heat waves. Burning coughs racked his lungs. He collapsed to his knees in the debris. Marcy was gone. Enfolding his head with his arms, he rocked back and forth.