by Lori Foster
They’d shared some very fine meals with Therman, but they couldn’t compare to a picnic with Mary.
“This is really all yours?” She kept looking around, admiring it much as he did.
Brodie pointed toward the creek. “You can just see Mom’s place through the trees.”
“Really?” She got to her feet, moving closer to where water trickled along in the shallow creek bed. “I do see it. Pretty.”
Sitting cross-legged, Brodie watched her. Because she’d left her sandals on the blanket, she walked with caution, picking her way.
And even that turned him on.
It’d be so easy to lure her back to the blanket, to strip her panties out from under her dress and show her again how much he enjoyed her.
Unfortunately, they had other things to deal with, too. “You want to tell me about Therman?”
Looking up at the treetops, she shaded her eyes and turned a circle. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Yeah.” And she was procrastinating, but he enjoyed the show too much to press her. He wondered if being here, seeing the land where he planned to build made her think of the house where she’d grown up. She wanted to level it, as if that would level her history, too. He knew, whether she realized it yet or not, that destroying a building wouldn’t destroy the memories. They’d always be there.
He hoped, eventually, they’d be at peace, though.
And then, with him, she could build new memories.
“Do you hear the birds?” Arms out, she turned her face up to the sunshine filtering through the leaves. “So many of them singing.”
“Blue jays, cardinals, crows, blackbirds, robins...” If she enjoyed birds, she needed to live here with him. Hell, now that he knew he loved her, he wanted them to plan a future together. “The house would go just about here, where we put the blanket. It’s a natural clearing so I wouldn’t have to cut down too many trees. My back porch would face the front of Mom’s house but with plenty of woods between us.” He pointed at a boulder on the edge of the creek. “I’d probably build a little footbridge right there.”
“That way the two of you could easily visit.”
He formed a picture in his mind. “We could sit out here, drinking coffee with her.”
If she caught the “we” part of that image, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she bent to gently touch a tiny yellow wildflower, then picked up an acorn. “It smells good out here.”
“Cooler, too, with all the shade.” Goddamn, the small talk was about to kill him.
She bounced the acorn in her hand. “I used to have a pretty good arm. Sometimes, when I didn’t feel like sitting in the trees, I’d practice throwing acorns instead. I always loved the woods anyway. They’re peaceful. But I’m not good with idle time, you know?”
“Yes.” He did know, because he wasn’t great with idle time, either.
“I’d pick a target, like maybe a knothole on a tree or a specific rock, and I’d keep throwing until my aim was true.” Casting him a sly glance, she asked, “Want to compete?”
Actually, he wanted to howl.
She couldn’t know how it affected him, thinking of her as that young girl, trying to occupy herself while her mother entertained men. In his mind he saw her with those big innocent blue eyes and the freckles she didn’t like, her hair crazy from her mother’s newest experiment, all alone in the fucking woods.
Pitching acorns.
He pushed to his feet. “You’re on.” Trying to keep his tone light, he said, “I have a fair aim myself.”
“Ah, but throwing an acorn is different from throwing a ball.”
To his surprise, she took a stance, barefoot there in the fallen pine needles, that damned dress closing tight around her hips and thighs as she drew back her arm...then let the acorn fly. And fly. It kept going, clearing a hole in the trees and soaring over the creek.
Brodie whistled. “I’m impressed.”
She looked around, found a few more and tossed one to him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
His first effort would have gone a lot farther, except he hit a tree. His second curved too much. He was laughing when he threw his third, with the help of her instruction, but at least it matched her effort.
“There you go.” Mary bounced on the balls of her feet, which made other parts bounce, too. “Good job.”
Brodie caught her upper arms and pulled her in for a kiss, holding her close until he felt the beating of her heart, until her breath sighed out and her smile softened. “Any other demonstrations of talents learned in the woods?”
“Hmm.” She glanced around. “Well, I’d show you my tree-climbing skills, but not in a dress. And if that creek was deeper, we could skinny-dip.” She bumped him with her hip. “I’m a good swimmer. I can skip a rock five times over the surface of a lake. Catch a crawdad in my bare hands.” She gave it a little more thought. “And I can make a mud man that looks something like the Pillsbury Doughboy.”
Brodie laughed. “You’re the whole package, a refined professional and a survivalist, too.” He hugged her. “The creek is deeper farther up, so don’t think I’ll let you forget about skinny-dipping.” He glanced at Howler, but the dog was busy watching a squirrel, so he picked up Mary and carried her back to the blanket. “Now.”
“Now, what?” She laughed as he went to his knees and lowered her to the ground.
“This.” He kissed her, at first light and easy, tugging on her bottom lip, licking her upper. When she made a small sound and tightened her hands on his shoulders, he sank in for more. Mouths open, tongues stroking, breaths hot and fast. “I will never get enough of you.”
At his murmured words, she pressed him back. Her wide eyes searched his face. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her because she relaxed. What she said, though, had nothing to do with his declaration.
“Therman thinks he knows who was following us.”
The switch took him off guard.
“It’s so nice here, and I was enjoying the time with you so much, I hated to get back to business.” Mary put a hand to his jaw. “But we do need to talk about it.”
What a confession, considering the woman was usually all about business. “I understand.” He stretched out on his side next to her, close enough that his thigh pressed hers, his groin to her hip. He rested one hand on her stomach. “You want to tell me now?”
“I think I have to.” She sighed. “Apparently Therman and this other man have each started a collection of weird artwork.”
“Most of Therman’s shit is weird.”
She conceded that. “This is weirder, though, because it’s done by a prisoner.”
Yeah, didn’t see that one coming. It took Brodie a second to say, “I assume this dude created the work before getting locked up?”
She shook her head. “No, actually, according to Therman, the most valuable pieces are straight from prison cells. Some are created on small canvases that got smuggled in. But Therman said he has a few pieces made from cigarette packs, one from a toilet paper roll and one...”
He prodded her. “Don’t leave me hanging.”
She wrinkled her nose. “With human hair and toenail clippings.”
“No fucking way. Like a kid’s macaroni art?”
She shrugged.
“Damn, that’s gross.”
“Agreed.” Despite the serious and bizarre subject matter, when Mary inhaled, his gaze went to her chest. He couldn’t imagine a moment when he wouldn’t want her, but God willing, the need would blunt with time. He wasn’t sure he could live with an urge this sharp.
“I didn’t ask for particulars, but Therman said the artist is locked up for murder.”
“And yet people buy his art?”
“Actually, they can’t. Not legitimately. The prisoner isn’t allowed to profit from it. From what I understand, he has a
rep who bribes a guard to sneak the stuff out. It’s hot on the black market.”
“And Therman, of course, wants it.”
“Along with several other collectors, yes.”
It sounded so sick. Brodie slid his arm around her, needing to hug her closer, needing to keep her safe. “Don’t get pissed, okay?”
She eyed him. “When people say that, it’s usually because they plan to do something guaranteed to piss off the other person.”
True enough. He did it anyway. “I don’t want you involved in acquiring that shit.” Before she could feel insulted, he added, “Hell, I don’t want to be involved.”
“I’m not crazy about it myself.” She turned toward him so they rested face-to-face. “Therman doesn’t see anything wrong with it, and neither does his competition.”
“Who’s the competition?” Knowing that would likely answer a lot of questions.
She waved a hand in dismissal. “These collectors use aliases online. Therman didn’t tell me the name he uses, but this other person goes by Assassin.”
Well, hell. Brodie worked his jaw. “That says a lot.”
“I had the same reaction, but then Therman told me some of the other names. How do you like The Prodigal, Bone Collector and Wraith? Those are his main competitors for this collection.”
“Grown men—and I assume women—playing masquerades. It’s absurd.” And so obviously dangerous.
“There’s a popular message board where most of the collectors find what they want. Soon, a new piece is supposed to be offered. It’s Therman’s theory that Assassin is trying to scare him off so he won’t bid on it, then he can claim it for his own collection without having to pay as much.”
“I say let him have it.”
“I said that as well.” Mary went to her back again, her gaze on the sky. “Therman was pretty upset. He gets obsessive about completing a collection.”
“So I gather. What was the final decision? Will he let it go?”
“He didn’t say he wouldn’t, but he didn’t say he would, either.” She closed her eyes. “I like my job, Brodie.”
Damn. He lightly traced the contours of her mouth. “I know.” Her lips drew him and he couldn’t resist tasting them again. Her mouth was so damned perfect...
“I don’t want it to be a problem between us.”
He promised, “No problem.” He wouldn’t let there be any problems, not with Mary. After one final press of his mouth to hers, he said, “How about I talk to Therman?”
One eye peeked opened and she said firmly, “With me.”
What could he do but agree? He gave a reluctant nod.
Through the quiet of the woods, they heard the sound of a car on gravel. Mary sat up with a frown. “Did someone follow us here?”
“No, that’s probably someone coming to visit Mom. Sound travels. Let me take a look.” As Brodie stood, he noticed that Howler was also on the alert.
He strode toward the creek to peer over. He couldn’t make out individual faces, but he recognized the car.
Gina had come to see his mother.
* * *
EVERY DAY, MAYBE every hour, his craving grew stronger, less manageable. Had his father known how he’d feel being caged like this? Did he not care?
Helton paced the seedy rented hotel room, the recklessness stirring from deep inside. He needed this fucking collection complete so he could get on with his life.
A life he no longer enjoyed.
His trip to Red Oak a few days ago... Ah, that had felt real. Intimidation. Manipulation. He flexed his hands, loosening and tightening his thick fingers. Now if only he could get in a brawl, bust a few heads. Then he’d feel like himself again.
He strode to the window and back again, his thoughts churning.
If all goes as planned, fighting won’t be necessary.
He wasn’t sure which he wanted more: success or failure.
One way or another, he’d complete his father’s beloved collection. If it came down to it, violence would be so rewarding—but his father had disapproved of that. He’d wanted Helton to change as he’d changed, to moderate his ways and accept the leash willingly.
Rubbing his temples, Helton thought back to when his father had been a hale, mean son of a bitch, powerful enough to live forever. Denying him had been easy.
Funny that it had taken his death to bring Helton to heel.
Needing a distraction before he punched a hole in the wall, he glared at his cell phone on the dresser.
And the damned thing buzzed.
Huh. But no, he wouldn’t pounce on it like an eager kid—he wasn’t that far gone yet. He waited until the third ring, then answered with a deliberately bored “News?”
Lem mimicked that tone, the self-contained prick. “The girl finally made a move.” He spoke as if informing Helton on the fucking weather.
“It’d be a big mistake,” Helton growled, “if you’re waiting for me to guess.” He didn’t yet let his shoulders relax. Would Brodie call or not? Would he get to crack some heads or would he have to return to the boring office?
“Sorry.” With new, crisp respect, Lem said, “She’s gone to his mother’s house.”
Helton’s brows dug furrows in his forehead and his shoulders clenched even more. “The fuck you say?” He’d been very clear with Blondie: go to Brodie, pitch the plan and then forget she’d ever met him.
He did not tell her to visit Rosalyn Crews.
In the three days since Helton had found her in the diner, Gina had gone to the bank and the salon. That was it. Lem and Todd took turns watching the girl, but she hadn’t gone anywhere near the Mustang Transport offices.
He’d started to think she’d been too wasted the morning he’d explained things to her. Maybe the coffee hadn’t sobered her at all. Maybe she’d passed out again after he’d left and completely forgotten his threats.
Of course, she’d kept the money. That’d been his clincher. Fuck it up and he’d come to reclaim what was his. He’d softly informed her that she didn’t want that, that if she was lucky she’d never lay eyes on him again.
At the time, she’d looked so horrified he thought she might faint. Not that he’d really hurt any woman.
He considered that the worst sort of cowardice.
But the girl didn’t know that. Hell, other than his victims, few did. Wasn’t like he’d announce a soft spot, right? To those who came into his realm, he was cold-blooded enough to eat puppies for breakfast.
No man with a brain would announce a weakness.
“We can follow her when she leaves,” Lem offered.
“Yeah, you do that.” When Helton had handed her the envelope of cash, she’d accepted it with wide eyes and obvious greed that overrode her fear. He’d walked away, confident that she’d follow his orders to the letter.
Now she finally made a move, but she’d gone to Rosalyn Crews.
He wouldn’t mind going to Ros as well, but that wasn’t the point. “Maybe Brodie is with his mother?”
“No, sorry.” Lem cleared his throat. “We caught sight of him having a picnic with Ms. Daniels.”
A surprised guffaw burst out. “A picnic? No fuck?” He hadn’t figured Brodie for a picnic type of man.
“Wait.” A note of excitement sounded in Lem’s voice. “Crews and Ms. Daniels just showed up. They’re at the house now, too.”
Maybe Gina was following instructions after all. That familiar satisfaction mixed with disappointment burned in Helton’s gut, sending him pacing around the room again.
The newest piece would go up for sale soon.
It’d be the last...ever. He’d seen to that.
Thanks to his contacts, there was one less artistic prick in the prison system. He’d just saved taxpayers a lot of coin by having the fuck gutted in the shower.
A fi
tting end for the man who’d murdered three women.
Helton continued to move, past the dingy little bathroom, around the bed, to the window and back again.
Plans were coming together. He’d already picked off the other two collectors. Without Therman Ritter’s money and means, they’d been easy to intimidate.
Now he needed this one last thing to end his obligation to his father. After that, if he chose to, he could sell the fucking empire, maybe buy a nightclub instead, get back to basics...and finally start to live again.
An abrupt decision filled him with purpose. He grabbed up his jacket from a chair, his wallet from the dresser. “I’m going to join you.”
Lem’s shocked silence preceded a strangled “Join me?”
“Yeah.” Saying it felt good. He could finally draw a deep breath. Instead of his muscles itching, they twitched with anticipation. “I’m twenty minutes away.” He’d left Red Oak but hadn’t gone far. He’d sensed this moment, craved it.
He needed to be in the thick of things. He needed to use his hands for more than pushing papers.
Finally he had his chance. “Tell me where to meet you.”
* * *
THE SENSE OF being watched grew with every step that brought them closer to Ros’s house. Mary didn’t know if she should share that with Brodie. It could be her imagination based on her uneasiness with this interruption.
She wanted to see Ros, true. The woman completely fascinated her. But with Gina there? The girl made no secret of wanting him so it was bound to be awkward.
Unfortunately, after spending much of her life under the microscope, she knew all about being watched—and it felt exactly like this.
Glancing around, she looked at the trees, the hillside. The main street in Red Oak wasn’t that far away as the crow flies. And Ros had a few neighbors, not close, but near enough to spy on Mary? Maybe.
The feeling intensified when she saw that Howler, too, kept looking off toward the nearest neighbor. All Mary could see was a barn...with an open loft window.
“What’s wrong?” Brodie’s hand tightened on hers.
