by Kenner, J.
And right there in the middle of the paint, he saw the message, drawn with the end of his broom that had been tossed aside at the edge of the spill: She’s Mine.
* * *
She’s Mine.
The words rang through Taylor, filling her head, making her dizzy. She wanted to sink to the floor, but Landon ordered her to stay behind him as he checked every room, every closet, every nook and cranny of his house.
It was a darling house, too. Charming and comfortable.
And now it was violated. All because of her.
When they finished checking the place, he sat her at the kitchen table and made her a cup of cocoa. She held the mug in two hands and sipped. It didn’t make her feel better. Right then, she didn’t feel anything.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You didn’t do this,” he countered, taking a seat across from her. “And in a way this is good.”
She laughed at that, the sound almost hysterical. “Yeah, it’s super terrific.”
He took her hand, and she held on tight, needing that connection. “It means he’s watching. And if he’s watching, we can find him. We just have to be looking in the right direction.”
“Are we?”
He met her eyes, his hard and determined. “We will be.”
“I hate that this—”
“No.” His word was firm, and the hand holding hers even more so. “No more thinking like that.” He drew a breath. “Come on. We’re going to go stay somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Where else does a thirty-six year old man go when he has to vacate his house?” He grinned. “That’s right, baby. I’m taking you home to meet the parents.”
Chapter Eleven
“Your parents are amazing,” Taylor said, after she’d been thoroughly welcomed by Gayle and Harvey Bartlett.
She’d grilled Landon on the way over, making sure there was no way that the trouble that seemed to be following her like Pigpen’s dust wouldn’t soil their life. He’d assured her that their home was isolated and gated, with excellent security. Moreover, because they’d never formally adopted him, Beau would have to dig deep to find the connection between Landon and the Bartletts.
With that reassurance, she’d let herself relax. And the fact that they’d decided to introduce her as Landon’s girlfriend and not as a woman in jeopardy meant that there was no talk about Beau or all the shit he’d pulled. Which had gone a long way to making the evening with the Bartletts relaxed and drama free.
Now, Harvey was mixing drinks at a gorgeous oak bar that filled their first floor game room while Gayle slipped off to the kitchen to put together “just a few things to snack on.”
“That means another dinner,” Landon said, exchanging a knowing look with his father.
“My Gayle isn’t happy unless everyone around her is well-fed.”
“That’s okay by me,” Taylor admitted. She went through phases where she tried to avoid carbs, but mostly she just liked to eat. “Especially after sampling her talent at dinner. That was the best lasagna I’ve ever had.”
“It’s her go-to meal for when we have unexpected guests.” He winked. “And unexpected doesn’t mean unwelcome.”
“Thanks again for letting us crash here,” Landon said, then launched into their planned story. “I wasn’t thinking when I told Taylor she could stay at my place tonight while hers is being fumigated. But since I’d just varnished the floors, that wasn’t going to work.”
“Are you kidding? You’re always welcome. Besides, it might have been weeks before you dropped by to introduce your young lady to us.” He flashed a wide smile at Taylor. “And that would have been a shame.”
He crossed to her then with a highball glass. “It’s an Old Fashioned. My favorite. Too sweet for some, but you tell me if you want something else.”
“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll love it.” She’d had the whiskey-based drink before, and it was one of her favorites. Now, she took a sip with pleasure as she watched Harvey pass Landon his drink.
The two men couldn’t be more dissimilar. They were both tall, but Harvey was as pale as Landon was dark. And whereas Landon’s body was a solid block of muscle, Harvey seemed to be genetically related to the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz. His skinny limbs weren’t the only similarity either. He had unruly hay-colored hair that stuck out in all directions. Not to mention the kind of personality that meant you couldn’t help but like the man.
God knew Taylor had liked him instantly.
And if Harvey and Landon were different, Harvey and his wife were definitely proof that opposites attract.
A beautiful black woman in her early sixties, Gayle Bartlett had the kind of curves that rivaled Marilyn Monroe. She moved with such grace she almost seemed to float. And she had the same kind eyes as Landon, though there wasn’t the slightest genetic connection between them.
What she and her husband shared, however, was an obvious love for their son along with warm and welcoming personalities.
Between snacks and conversation, the evening passed easily, and by the time the Bartletts said goodnight and headed off to the master suite, Taylor felt completely at home.
“Do you think they’d adopt me?” she asked.
“Then you’d sort of be my sister,” Landon said, pulling her into his lap. “I don’t think I like that idea.” He kissed her then, in what was definitely not a sisterly fashion.
“Mmm. Good point.” She leaned against him and sighed. “Thank you for bringing me here. Today wasn’t the best. You made it better.”
“Come on,” he said, standing up with her still curled in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her to his bedroom, still decorated as it had been when he was a teen.
“Martial arts. Baseball. Marvel comics,” she said, glancing at his walls.
“What can I say? I was a pretty cool kid.”
“And an incredible man.”
He put her on the bed, then told her to relax. Slowly, he undressed her, and though she tried to touch him, he insisted that she stay perfectly still. “Tonight’s about you,” he said, then proceeded to caress her bare skin. The touch of his hands—roughened by all the work he’d been doing on his apartment—made her squirm and roused her senses. Silently, she spread her legs, then sighed with pleasure when he took the hint, his fingers teasing and playing with her, making her crave a more intimate touch.
“Please,” she murmured, but he said nothing. Instead, he moved between her legs, his body hard above hers. He kissed her mouth, nipping at her lower lip before trailing kisses down, lower and lower, until the muscles of her abdomen were quivering in anticipation and her sex was throbbing with desire.
And then, thank God, his mouth closed over her, his tongue laving her core as she arched up, electricity zipping through her, firing her senses and sending her spiraling over—the speed and intensity of the orgasm completely unexpected.
“Oh, God,” she sighed. “I didn’t—that was incredible.”
He slid up her body, then kissed her gently. “Someone needed some stress relief.”
“Mmmm. Someone did.” Exhaustion weighed heavily on her. She wanted to return the favor, but she could barely keep her eyes open. It had been such a day.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
And since she knew he did, she closed her eyes and let herself fall into the dark.
* * *
It was past midnight when Taylor woke with a start, her scream caught in her throat.
The dream had been horrible. Beau finding them. Taking her. Torturing the Bartletts.
And then, while she watched, killing Landon.
What the hell had she brought with her?
She knew better. She knew what Beau was capable of. And she damn sure knew that she should have gotten the hell out of Dodge the moment she’d caught even the slightest whiff that Beau was on her tail.
She hadn’t. She’d stayed.
And
she was going to bring hell down on so many people she cared about. People she loved.
Loved.
She closed her eyes, Landon’s image filling her mind.
Did she love him? Could she after so little time?
She told herself it was impossible, but her heart said otherwise. He’d gotten inside her. Made a place for himself. She wanted him. More than that, she needed him. And if that wasn’t love, she wasn’t sure what was.
In the end, though, that didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to put him at risk. Not when she knew how to fix it. To make it all go away.
Quietly, she slipped out of bed. Silent tears streamed down her face as she dressed, then padded from the room.
It was easy to get outside, and she started walking down the long drive to the gate at the end of the property. The lovely limestone house stood on five acres outside of Dripping Springs, a town just southwest of Austin. The property was gated, with excellent security, but she knew that anyone inside could get out without triggering an alarm. That was her plan. Walk out, call an Uber, and get her ass to South Austin to find Dominic.
She glanced at her phone and flipped through her texts until she reached the one from yesterday. She’d sent it as a precaution. A safety net.
But now it was time to use it.
Taylor: It’s E. Are you still in the business?
Dominic: I’m in. Talk in person. You remember the address?
Taylor: Yes. Will be there if and when.
Satisfied, she nodded to herself. She’d see Dominic, he’d help her. And by tomorrow night, she’d be long gone.
No more Landon.
No more friends.
Tears pricked her eyes again as she paused on the path, just a few yards shy of the pedestrian gate.
Was this really the way?
Could she really do this? Leave Landon behind?
More important, did she want to?
The answer filled her head, loud and resolute. Hell no.
She froze, her heart pounding wildly. Because that was the real issue, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to run anymore. She wanted to stay here, with the friends she’d made, living the life she’d built.
She wanted Landon. His friendship. His laughter. His touches.
And, yes, she wanted more. Or at least she wanted the chance for what already existed between them to grow into more.
But she’d never get that chance if she ran away.
And maybe—just maybe—he could help her to end this once and for all.
Slowly, she started to turn around. She was still terrified, but she was more resolved, and one step at a time she started back toward the house.
At first, she watched her feet as she walked, unsure of her footing in the dark. Then she lifted her head and saw something moving in front of her. A shadow.
She froze, and was about to turn and run when she realized it was Landon. Jogging through the night toward her. Moving like a silent shadow over the crushed granite drive until he was right in front of her, his breath coming hard.
“You were leaving,” he said. “But now you’re not?”
“I’m not. I—I changed my mind.”
He studied her face. “Why?”
She drew a breath. “A lot of reasons,” she admitted. “But the only one that matters is you.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “I like that answer.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said.
He laughed. “I assumed as much.”
“I was going to walk out the gate and keep on going.”
His eyes locked on hers. “I assumed that as well.”
Her mouth was dry, and she licked her lips. “You came after me.”
Gently, he reached out, then traced her lower lip with his thumb. Then he held up his own phone and showed her the little dot that represented her. “I would have come a hell of a lot further than the property line.”
“Why?” The question was barely a whisper.
“I think you know why.” He stepped closer, and the air between them felt charged with possibility. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t you think it’s time we finally talked?”
There was an ironic twist to her smile. “If by talk, you mean that it’s time for me to come clean, then yeah. It’s time. I just—”
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said. Because how could she tell him that her greatest fear was that once he knew the truth about her, he’d no longer want her anymore?
Chapter Twelve
They didn’t go inside. Instead, they sat on a cushioned swing in the yard, far enough away from the house so as to not be in the glow of any ambient light. The night was moonless, and the dark surrounded them like a blanket as the stars blinked down, distant witnesses to the story she had to tell.
He sat properly, his feet on the ground so that he could push them, making the swing rock in a soothing rhythm. She sat with her back to the armrest and her bare feet on his lap. He rested a hand on her ankle, and she focused on that point of connection. She needed his touch to tell the story, and though she was ready to share, she was also grateful that his face was half-hidden in the shadows of the night. Somehow, it was easier to talk to the dark.
“I never lied,” she began. “But I never really told the truth either.”
She paused, giving him a chance to comment or ask her a question. He remained silent though, and she understood that was how this would work. She’d tell the story from start to finish. And only then would the floor be his.
After taking a long, deep breath, she began again. “It is Beau who’s after me, but I really did think for a while that it could be Reggie—I wasn’t pulling your chain. But I thought so because of the theater references. And, well, because I knew the alternative, and couldn’t believe that after so many years he’d found me.”
She cleared her throat. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Anyway, once we talked to Reggie, it was clear that Beau had found me. And when I told you he was a creepy ex, that was mostly true, too. He’s definitely creepy. And he’s sort of an ex. But not the way you think.” She paused, looking into the darkness. “Landon?”
She knew he was being quiet so she could get it all out. But she needed to hear his voice.
Gently, he squeezed the top of her foot. “I’m here, baby. I’m listening. Tell it however makes it easiest.”
“He—I—my mother left when I was fifteen. My father abused her. I grew up hearing her cry. Hearing the lash of his belt against her skin.” She heard her voice crack and paused to take a deep breath. “But she fought back in her own way. She saved money. From the very first day he hit her, she started hiding money away. And the day she left, she gave me what she’d saved up. Nine thousand, six hundred and fourteen dollars and thirty-seven cents. It was in cash—in a metal lockbox—and she showed me how to pull up the kitchen tile to get to the place where she’d hidden it. Then she left.”
“For where?”
“I don’t know. And she never came back.” Her hands were on her thighs, and now she dug her nails into her legs. That had been the worst part—that her mother had said she’d loved her. But she’d left and hadn’t once looked back. As if that stupid cashbox was a substitute for having her mother with her. As if those dollars could magically keep her safe from her father.
She’d learned a lesson though. The words I love you didn’t mean shit. Her father had said them. Her mother had said them. And even though those two were polar opposites, they’d both been lying when those words left their mouths. Real love wouldn’t have allowed her mother to walk away like that.
And as for her father … well, Dale Tucker wouldn’t know love if it bit him on the ass.
“She just left me with him.” Her voice was a whisper. “Even though she knew what he’d do. What he was capable of.”
“Did he … hurt you?”
She shook her head, then voiced the word when she
remembered that she was lost in the dark. “No. Not like you mean. But he was not a good man. He dealt drugs. He dealt weapons. I’m pretty sure he ran hookers. And he double-crossed his business partner. Not that the business was legitimate.”
Memories started flooding back, and she hugged herself, trying to keep them at bay. It was no use. The past rushed up, making her stomach churn as she pulled the pieces out to share with Landon. “It was drug money, and the partner was Beau.”
“Go on.” She heard the tight edge in his voice and was certain that he believed that Beau had killed her father. But it was so much worse than that.
“My dad—he refused to give the money back. And the truth was that Beau didn’t care about the money. He had plenty of money. But he saw an opportunity to get something he did want.”
“What?” Landon asked.
“Me.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “He’d always watched me. From the time I was ten years old he’d told my mother that he was going to have a piece of me. And on that day, he told my dad that he could keep the money. So long as my dad gave him me. And my father said yes.”
“Taylor, I can’t even—”
“I ran,” she blurted. “I was barely sixteen, but I took the money myself, along with what my mom had given me, and I ran to Austin.” She drew a breath. “There are people—you know—who can fix paperwork. Give you a life. I’d been around my dad long enough to know how to find them. So that’s what I did. Little Eulalie Tucker became Taylor D’Angelo. I got a driver’s license. I manufactured parents. I enrolled in high school. And I tried so damn hard to kill off that old life.”
Warm tears streaked down her cheeks. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I’ve kept that secret for over eight years now. And the money’s drug money. And I stole it. I knew it was tainted, and I took it. Worse, I spent some of it. Not much. But I used it to pay for some college. Some other stuff. Mostly, though, I used my mom’s money and what I’ve earned. Most of the stash I still have.”