Helen nodded. “I promise. I’m going to get better.”
“Well, all right then,” Davy said. “I’m hungry. What’s for tea?”
“How about chips and egg?” David asked as he stood. “I’ll make it. Let’s give Mummy a chance to rest.”
“You are going to make chips?” Davy asked, his expression dubious.
“I most certainly will. And they will be splendid.”
“Okay,” Davy replied, his tone betraying a total lack of confidence in David’s cooking ability.
David planted a kiss on Helen’s forehead. “I’ll call you when tea is ready. Take a moment for yourself.”
“Thank you,” Helen said softly. “I do love you so.”
David smiled into her eyes and escorted Davy from the room.
Chapter 43
June 2015
London, England
Jo closed her eyes as she slid lower into the heavenly embrace of the hot water. She’d perfumed her bath with a fragrant oil and lit a few candles. Normally, she found taking a long, hot bath soothing, but today the ritual failed to relax her, try as she might to let go of the tension that had been building up inside her since leaving Quinn’s house. She’d put it all on the line when she’d proposed that Gabe come away with her, even if only for a few hours. She hadn’t expected him to jump at her offer, but she’d meant to plant a seed in his mind, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she was there for the taking. Quinn, in her staggering naiveté, would probably allow Gabe to go off with Jo if she thought she was being a supportive wife and helping him with his project. What a fool! Jo thought, her lip curling with derision. Quinn seemed to trust Gabe implicitly. He was a man, after all, and all men were led by their cocks. It was like an antenna that picked up the subtlest of signals.
Maybe Gabe’s antenna is broken, Jo thought angrily. Gabe’s reaction had been underwhelming, to say the least. He’d politely fobbed her off, doing that passive-aggressive thing where people said something sounded great, while at the same time making it clear they had no interest in pursuing whatever had just been proposed. Was he really so devoted to Quinn that he didn’t dare entertain the possibility of a hot fling? God, it wasn’t as if she were asking him to leave his wife. For starters, she wanted to fuck him. Badly. Once she got past the hurdle of breaking down his ridiculous moral inflexibility, she’d decide where she wanted the relationship to go. And it would be her decision; it always was. Gabe would do whatever she wanted once she had him firmly in hand. Jo chuckled at the thought. Yes, she would like to have him in hand, and in her mouth, and in every other orifice in her body. She felt a pleasant warmth between her legs that had nothing to do with the hot water lapping at her tender parts. She extended a hand from the tub and reached for her mobile.
“You up for a shag, Timmy?” she purred when Tim answered the phone. “You get a special bonus if you get here before I get out of the tub.”
“I wish every call I get was this exciting,” Tim replied with a throaty laugh. “I’ll be there in twenty. Keep that water hot for me. I’m coming in. Do I get to choose the bonus?” he asked, his voice silky and suggestive.
“What would you like?”
“I’ve always fancied having a little photoshoot. Stephanie won’t let me anywhere near her with a camera. She’s too shy, but I know you’re not.”
Jo laughed. “You can take all the photos you want, but on one condition. My face is not to appear in the pictures, not in all of them, anyway. Everything else is fair game.”
“Deal,” Tim replied. “It’s not your face I’m after.”
“I didn’t think so. Hurry, darling, the water’s getting cold,” she moaned, and ended the call.
Jo sighed and leaned back against the cool porcelain tub. The thought of Tim taking photos of her excited her. He was right, she wasn’t shy, and she’d give him a session he’d never forget. He could even get in on the action, if he liked taking selfies. Jo slid a hand down her body and shivered with pleasure. No one said she couldn’t start without him.
Chapter 44
Brett ordered a beer and took a seat at a corner table where he had a good view of the door. Jo was late, but he didn’t mind. It’d been more than a year since he’d been out at a bar, and even longer since he’d had a beer. He had been pleasantly surprised to hear from someone at his hostel that the legal drinking age in the U.K. was eighteen, not twenty-one, like at home, so he could legitimately have a drink and not feel like a nun in a whorehouse when he met Jo at the bar. The place was loud and trendy, with lots of well-dressed millennials sipping on craft beers and expensive-looking cocktails. Music was thumping over the loudspeakers. He didn’t recognize any of the songs but enjoyed listening to something new. He leaned back against the faux-leather banquette and took a slow sip. After a year of not drinking anything but milk, coffee, and juice, he was afraid to get drunk too quickly.
A slow smile spread across Brett’s face when he saw Jo enter the bar. He’d recognize her anywhere. Her dark hair hung loose around her shoulders and she wore tight jeans and a lacy top that did little to disguise the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. She nodded to a few people she knew and exchanged a few words with the bartender before scanning the place with her dark gaze. Having spotted Brett, she made her way to the table and slid into a seat across from him.
“Well, hello there, little brother,” she said, smiling at him. She wore dark-red lipstick that accentuated her dark coloring and made her look a little Goth. She looked even more like his dad in person, but that didn’t prevent her from being sexy as hell. “You look different than I expected. Older,” she said. “Stronger.”
Brett met her inquisitive gaze. There was truth in what she said. He had yet to leave his teen years behind, but prison had stripped away the last remnants of childhood, leaving in its stead a world-wary young man. His sculpted biceps were clearly visible beneath the cotton of his shirt and his chest and shoulders were broader than they had been in the pictures she must have seen.
“Well, I had to grow up fast,” Brett replied.
“Why’s that?” Her head was tilted to the side and her eyes were sparkling with amusement.
Brett was sure she knew the answer to her question already, but she clearly wanted him to talk about prison, so he replied. “I got jumped a few times in the first few months. Other inmates don’t like guys who try to kill pregnant women and unborn babies. I got hammered. After that, I needed a way to defend myself. Not that working out a few times a week would save my ass. If someone wanted to stick a shiv between my ribs, they would’ve done it by now.”
Jo nodded. “You’re right about that.” She looked like she was about to say something else when a server came by the table. “Shot of tequila,” Jo said.
“I’m good with my beer,” Brett said. He had half a bottle left, and he intended to nurse it for a while yet.
“Oh, come on. Aren’t Americans always drinking tequila? Show me what you’re made of.”
Brett shrugged. “All right. I’ll have a shot.”
“Bring eight,” Jo instructed the server and turned back to Brett. “Quinn said you came by.”
Brett nodded. “Yeah, I did. I only wanted to talk to her, but she got really scared.”
“And that surprises you?” Jo asked, smiling at him as if he’d just told her some great joke.
“No,” Brett replied. He didn’t want to sound defensive, but Jo was goading him, and he felt the need to explain. “I really am sorry. When Quinn was going to out me, I panicked and made the worst possible decision. If I’d explained, Quinn would have listened to me. She might not have understood or agreed, but she would have listened. They think I ran off to Texas to make sure no one found her, but I left because I was so scared. Once I had a chance to think, I realized there was no going back. If I let her out of that tomb, she’d tell everyone what happened, what I tried to do. I ran because I was terrified and sorry for what I’d done. When my dad caught up with me, I was too afraid to t
ell him the truth, especially since I thought it was too late to save Quinn and the baby. I hoped he’d kill me, so I wouldn’t have to live with the guilt.”
“But you’re alive and so is she. Lucky for us all,” Jo remarked sarcastically. “Did they beat your white supremacist notions out of your head in jail?”
“I’m not a white supremacist,” Brett snapped. “Look, you have no idea what it’s like to grow up in the South. It’s not like here. Some conflicts are alive and well, and there’s still a clear divide.”
“So, are you still a raging racist now that you know you’re part black?” Jo taunted him.
“I was never a raging racist, but I needed time to make peace with that part of my heritage. I wasn’t ready to tell the world.”
“And now you are?”
“I guess,” Brett replied. He was glad to see the server, who brought a tray of shot glasses and set them on the table between them.
Jo picked up a glass and held it up. “Salute,” she said before tossing it back.
Brett did his own shot. The alcohol burned his throat. He’d tried tequila only once before, at a friend’s party, and wasn’t really a fan, but Jo seemed to like it.
“Come on, let’s do another.”
“You go ahead,” Brett said. “I need a minute.”
“Milksop,” Jo said, grinning at him. She downed another shot and licked her lips. “So, what now? Will you go back to New Orleans?”
“Not yet. I want to try to speak to Quinn again. Maybe I’ll call her husband. He’d probably like to strangle me with his bare hands, but Gabe’s a good guy, or so my dad tells me every chance he gets. If Gabe will speak to me, then maybe I’ll have a chance with Quinn. I only want to make amends.”
“And you think you can really make amends for trying to kill her?” Jo asked. She picked up another shot glass and downed it.
“No, but I still have to tell her how sorry I am, and that she has nothing to fear from me. Ever.”
Brett took a sip of his beer. He wished he’d never agreed to meet Jo. He could understand her attitude toward him, and he didn’t blame her for wanting to hurt him on Quinn’s behalf, but he’d hoped she’d at least listen to what he had to say. She was acting like both judge and jury on a case that had already been closed. He’d served his time and paid the price.
He didn’t tell her how severely he’d been beaten, or how scared he’d been for the past year. No words could describe the terror he’d felt every time he walked into the showers. Was there any feeling in the world worse than being naked and defenseless against guys who were twice your size and took pleasure in meting out justice? And what right did they have to judge him? It wasn’t as if they were there for tax evasion, or some other white-collar crime. Most of the other inmates were violent criminals, men who’d maimed and killed, mostly for money. Was he so different because the person he’d tried to kill was his pregnant sister? They didn’t give a shit about Quinn, they just craved violence, and he’d been an easy target since he’d had no one to protect him.
Jo suddenly smiled, her eyes sparkling dangerously. “She kind of brought it on herself though, didn’t she? She can be a self-righteous bitch.”
Brett tilted his head to the side. It was his turn to study Jo. “She didn’t deserve what I did to her,” he replied cautiously. “She was just excited about finding out the truth about our ancestors.”
“And the psychic gift we all share,” Jo added, watching Brett for a reaction.
“You have it too?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t exploit mine the way Quinn does. For the most part, I ignore it. Why would I want to get embroiled in someone else’s life, especially once they are dead? But, I guess, for Quinn, there’s money to be made. Her ability has made her a star. She’s a household name, for God’s sake.”
“She’s good at what she does,” Brett protested.
“Yeah, but the ability to see into the past gives her an edge other archeologists don’t have. She’s not constructing a story around her findings. She’s using the findings to support the facts.”
“Look, what does it matter?” Brett asked. “People enjoy the show, and she’s not hurting anyone.”
“She’s pulling the wool over their eyes. Everyone thinks the narrative is based on hard evidence, when in fact, it’s based entirely on the visions of one super-ambitious woman.”
“You don’t like her much, do you?” Brett asked, confused by Jo’s attitude toward Quinn. According to their father, Jo and Quinn were basking in the glow of mutual admiration, but the glint in Jo’s eyes when she spoke about Quinn and the contemptuous half-smile told another story.
Jo shrugged. “She’s a hard act to follow.”
“You don’t need to follow her,” Brett replied. “She was ready to move mountains to help you. She would’ve gone to Afghanistan herself if Gabe hadn’t talked some sense into her.”
“That’s what martyrs do, isn’t it? A bit self-serving, if you ask me.” Jo picked up another shot and waited until Brett reached for one as well. He didn’t want it but felt like she was going to belittle him if he didn’t drink with her.
“St. Quinn,” Jo said, raising her drink. Brett didn’t join in the toast. He was beginning to understand what was irritating Jo. Quinn made her feel threatened, and sadly lacking in whatever it was that made a person feel truly special. He wasn’t sure why she was showing him this side of herself, but maybe it was because she’d assumed they were kindred spirits.
“I liked Quinn when I met her in New Orleans. She was cool,” Brett said.
“Cooler than me?” Jo asked, teasing him. She was eyeing the last two shots on the table.
Brett didn’t answer. “Do you plan to stick around?” he asked instead.
“Where?”
“In Quinn’s life. Do you want to be a sister to her?”
Jo thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know. She’s a bit sanctimonious for my taste. Gabe, on the other hand, is just the right combination of beauty and brains.”
“What, you got the hots for him or something?” Brett asked.
Jo laughed. “Can’t I pay my brother-in-law a compliment?”
“I don’t know. Can you?” Brett asked. He wasn’t sure if she was drunk, but her thinking didn’t appear to be impaired.
“Gabe is hot,” Jo said, picking up a shot glass. “I’m simply stating a fact. Come on, join me.”
“I’m done. Thanks. You go ahead.”
Jo tossed back the shot, then picked up the last full glass and drained it as well. “So, what’d you do today besides harass our sister?”
“I went to the Tower of London. It was really cool. What did you do?” he asked, wondering how Jo spent her time when at home.
“I had a friend over. He took some photos of me.”
“Like a headshot?” Brett asked.
“Not exactly.” She took out her phone and showed him a picture. In it, she was sitting on a bed with her back to the camera. She was nude. Her back was arched, her head thrown back, and her hands in her hair. Brett could make out the curve of her breast, but his gaze strayed to her very fine ass and he quickly looked away, afraid he’d see more than he bargained for. “Want to see a few more?” Jo asked, chuckling naughtily. “They’re not as tame as this one.”
“I would, if you weren’t my sister,” Brett replied. He felt like a twelve-year-old boy whose mother had just caught him whacking off. Jo knew he was turned on by the picture; she’d wanted him to be. What was she playing at?
“So, how long are you staying in London? Want me to show you round?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Brett replied. He wanted nothing more than to go back to the hostel and crash. He was tired and done with this conversation.
“What will you do when you go back home?” Jo asked.
“Dad wants me to go to college. I think I’d like that, but not in Louisiana. People will recognize my name from the news. Maybe I’ll go to New York or Boston, or even Calif
ornia. That’d be cool. I need a new start,” he added wistfully.
“But not before you make amends to Quinn?”
“Not before I make amends to Quinn,” Brett agreed.
“Well, good luck with that. Ring me if you need anything. I’ll be around for a few weeks.”
“Will do. It was interesting meeting you, Jo.”
“Likewise.”
Chapter 45
Brett remained at the bar for a while longer after Jo had gone, nursing the rest of his beer and going over their meeting in his mind. He’d heard a lot about her from his dad, but the Jo he’d encountered was much sharper around the edges, and much nastier. In prison, his gut instinct had saved him more than once, and he’d learned to trust his assessment of people. Jo was bitterly jealous of Quinn. She was like a catty high school girl who’d do anything in her power to take down a rival. He had no reason to think that Jo would act on her petty rivalry, but he’d hate to see Quinn hurt again.
He hadn’t told anyone, not even his parents, but he’d found God in prison. Speaking regularly to the prison chaplain had helped him to finally come to terms with what he’d done and his reasons for doing it and to find the courage to ask for forgiveness. He’d promised himself that if he got out of prison alive, he’d not only apologize to Quinn but do everything in his power to somehow make it up to her. She’d never have to know, but he’d know, and that would relieve some of his guilt. He’d seen a picture of Alex on Seth’s phone and he’d been sick with remorse. For the remainder of his days, he’d have to live with the knowledge that he’d almost killed that adorable little kid, his own nephew. He didn’t suppose he’d ever get to meet Alex, or Emma, but he wished them nothing but happiness. Maybe someday he’d be blessed enough to have a family of his own, and he hoped he would be worthy of them.
Brett finished the beer and headed back to the hostel. He had enough money to hang around London for several weeks, if he chose to, so he’d take his time. He’d try to speak to Quinn again, this time without alarming her. He would try approaching Gabe if that didn’t work. If Gabe didn’t kill him on the spot, maybe he’d hear him out and agree to facilitate a supervised meeting. Brett didn’t expect Quinn to ever forgive him, but he needed to tell her that he’d made peace with his heritage and that, in his estimation, she’d made him a better person. And that he’d do anything, anything at all, to make amends.
The Broken (Echoes from the Past Book 8) Page 22