“Your friend Serena here has had a few drinks.”
“Yeah, I see that,” he said without taking his gaze off Faith.
“Yeahhh, so. It appears she drove herself here. Drunk.”
Serena’s head whipped around to glare at Faith. Apparently she wasn’t so out of it she missed the reference to herself. “I’m not drunk!” she protested.
North sighed and dropped his head back briefly to look skyward. “Christ, Serena.”
“North,” she whined. “Don’t be mad at me!” She turned to glare at Faith as though she were the one responsible for loverboy being annoyed with her.
“Sorry if she disturbed you.” He turned Serena in the direction of his door, guiding her away from Faith. “I got this now.”
Something snapped inside her. Her temper finally let loose. “Do you?” she called after his back. “Do you got this?”
Because clearly there were other things he did not get. Since the day she moved in there were several things he did not get.
He stopped and turned to face her. “Do you have something to say?”
It was almost laughable. He posed the question mildly. Only she felt like a line had been drawn in the sand. Actually that had happened some time ago. He simply didn’t realize it. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care.
“Norrrrrth!” Serena whined his name.
He turned around briefly to snap, “Go inside, Serena.”
She gave a huff and then disappeared inside his house.
He faced Faith again. “You were saying?”
Yes. She was saying. She was saying something. Exactly what she couldn’t put into words when he stared at her with such a steely gaze.
She sucked in a sharp breath and forged ahead. “For days I have wanted to introduce myself to you. It seems we are well past friendly introductions now though.” She swallowed, fighting against the golf-ball-size lump in her throat. “Aren’t we?”
He stared at her for a long moment, not responding.
“Hello?” she growled. “Are you listening to me?”
Finally he came to himself as if shaking off a daze. “I’m sorry. I was mesmerized by that green shit all over your face.”
Ohhh. As if she needed the reminder of how terrible she looked in front of him.
She mustered as much composure as she could and pointed at the door to his house. “I would appreciate it if you had a talk with your friend.” Now would be the perfect moment to insert that his friend needed to control the volume of her orgasms. The perfect moment. And the worst moment.
He arched dark eyebrows over deeply set eyes, waiting for her to finish.
She inhaled. “I realize your booty call is important to you. God knows it’s been a couple days.” Yes. Those words had come out of her mouth.
Something like humor glinted in his eyes. “Keeping track, are we?”
“Hard not to. Our walls aren’t very thick, you know?”
“Apparently not.”
She waved back to his house where Serena waited. “Driving drunk, as she so obviously did, not only put her life in danger but countless others, too. I’d appreciate it if you would emphasize that point to her. For everyone.” Not the outrageous things she had thought to say, but no less important, no less true. She had grown up her whole life surrounded by law enforcement. She had heard the stories. She’d seen the look on her father’s face the morning after he had to scrape some poor soul off the highway because some idiot decided to get behind the wheel of a car after he had one too many drinks.
He waited a moment before replying, still looking at her, still assessing, still making her feel like a bug squashed beneath his shoe. “I’ll do that.”
She tried to read him, to see if he was mocking her, but she only sensed that he was being honest in his reply.
She gave a nod. “Thank you.”
Still clinging to the scraps of her dignity, she spun around on her bare feet, feeling the bun on top of her head start to slip.
She fled inside her house and slammed the door behind her before her hair took a complete tumble. She fell against the door, her back flat against its surface, her chest heaving as though she had just completed a marathon.
She finally got to meet him. They finally had a conversation. Unfortunately it went nothing as she had anticipated. She closed her eyes in a weary blink. A deep heaviness settled in her stomach and she knew this wasn’t over between them.
As if there were any doubts to that thought, something crashed next door that sounded suspiciously like a lamp, followed by Serena’s shrill, drunken laughter.
Faith strained to listen, stepping into her kitchen area and jerking as several thwacks hit the wall beside her table.
Stepping forward she pounded back on the wall. “Keep it down!” She was done playing nice. So what if she sounded like some old prude. She wasn’t in college anymore. She didn’t have to put up with loud neighbors anymore.
She heard the deep muted tones of North’s voice, his words a distinctive rumble. Great. Now she would hear their shenanigans all night. She winced at that idea. The notion of North having sex with an inebriated woman seemed wrong. She wanted to think better of him for some reason. Which was very strange. Serena clearly wanted some action. That was why she came here. She had said as much. Serena’s hands making a direct beeline for his junk left little doubt of that.
What was so disappointing was that North Callaghan was likely prepared to give it to her.
Snorting with disgust, Faith pushed away from the door and headed upstairs. She climbed into her bed and settled back on her pillow, hoping to fall back asleep so that she would not have to endure the sounds of marathon sex coming through the walls again.
For once, her wish came true, and she fell fast asleep, sparing herself the sounds of whatever was happening next door.
She had green shit all over her face. He had no idea what it was. Clearly some part of a beauty regime that women felt necessary. Women like her. Women not for him. Women who cared about skin care and had careers and dated men with careers. Not felons who worked in garages and fooled themselves into believing they were artists. She would never get her pristine hands dirty with someone like him.
He dropped his head back against the flat expanse of his front door and released a mirthless laugh at the memory of her green face. He still didn’t know what she looked like underneath that mask. Unbelievable. He was dying to know, dying to see her for himself. It was messed up. He lived next door to her. He knew it was as simple as knocking on her door and playing the role of nice neighbor. Introducing himself properly. Apologizing for whatever he had done. He grimaced. He could start with apologizing for his drunk friend showing up at her door in the middle of the night.
He could be charming if he decided to. There had been a time in his life when he had been a well-liked guy. Affable. Full of smiles. Teachers had loved him. Coaches had only ever praised him—not just for his athleticism but also his positive attitude. Parents had wanted their daughters to date him. North Callaghan had been a name that meant something, that held value. He’d been a prince in his corner of the world—Sweet Hill, Texas. Granted, it was a small corner of the world . . . but he’d been a prince nonetheless.
If he pretended to be that guy again, if he channeled him from the grave, he could probably smooth things over with Faith Walters.
She had stood toe-to-toe with him, her eyes flashing under the light of the porch, ready to take him on. Ready to let him know just how little she thought of him.
Crazy as it seemed, that just made him want to engage with her further. But as himself. As the guy he was now, not the ghost of the boy he had once been. Which was the complete opposite of what he had planned to do. Pretend she didn’t exist, pretend the house next door to his was still vacant. Locking horns with her was not the plan.
One thing for certain: she was unlike any woman he had ever met. He couldn’t remember conversing with another woman for any length of time without sex as the end
result.
Not that he “met” many women. They weren’t exactly plentiful where he worked. Of course his sister-in-law had suggested setting him up on a few dates. He winced at that idea.
He glanced to where he had deposited Serena’s drunk ass on the couch. She was getting to be too much trouble. It was one thing to have a convenient fuck every now and then, but when it stopped being convenient . . .
There was also the not-so-minor fact that when he stared at her, he felt nothing. Not the slightest arousal. Even a hot mess, she was undeniably attractive. Her skirt rode up to reveal an enticing view of her black-thong-clad backside. He knew that body. Had felt it under him, above him, countless times. She was a great lay. And he felt nothing.
Christ.
It couldn’t be any clearer. They were done. It was no longer fun. Sex with Serena—hell, with anyone lately—hardly took the edge off anymore. He didn’t know what could, but he had to find it. The idea of not finding anything to ease the pressure, to dull the pain, to distract . . . it was unthinkable.
Serena lifted her head from the couch. He grimaced at the large drool stain she’d left on his cushion.
“North!” Her bleary gaze fastened on him. “C’mere! Why aren’t you naked yet!”
He approached the couch. “Shh. You don’t need to shout.”
Not that he had ever cared before. Suddenly he was very conscious of the woman living next door to him.
Serena popped up and started shrugging out of her clothes, her movements determined.
He grabbed hold of her hands. “Not tonight, Serena.”
She wrenched away and collided with the lamp on the side table, sending it crashing to the floor. She gawked at the wreckage for a moment before bursting into laughter.
“Shit,” he grumbled as he moved to pick it up and set it back on the table. It listed to the side, the shade mangled. This was stupid.
He glanced back to find Serena topless and squeezing her tits like she was working the stage at Joe’s Cabaret. “Come on, baby,” she called, her voice loud enough to be heard down the block. “You know you want to play with the girls.”
His gaze drifted to the wall as though he could see through it to the woman undoubtedly listening on the other side.
He sighed, feeling suddenly far older than his years. Serena was fine as long as she wasn’t drinking. Fortunately, this was only the second time he had to deal with her like this. But he was thinking two times was two too many.
He snatched up Serena’s shirt and pushed it at her to take. “C’mon. Get dressed.”
She grabbed the shirt and tossed it across the room with a cowgirl yell. Hopping to her feet, she wobbled unsteadily on the couch cushions, her arms jerking wildly at her sides in an effort to balance herself. Her lack of balance didn’t stop her from bouncing like it was a trampoline.
“You’re going to fall and break your neck,” he snapped.
She continued to bounce, her hand slapping the wall with every jump. “C’mon, North! This is fun!”
“I’m going to pass.”
Thump! Thump! “Keep it down!” Faith Walters’s voice carried through the wall, her agitation coming through loud and clear.
“Serena,” he snapped. He caught her hand and tugged her down from the couch. She decided to accommodate him by launching herself in his arms. He caught her neatly.
“Aren’t you strong? Like a fucking tank,” she gushed, pushing her giant breasts against his chest, her hands snaking over his shoulders. “Speaking of fucking, take me up upstairs.”
He sighed. There was no sense talking to her when she was in this condition. He’d let her down in the morning. Be as kind as he could, but there would be no confusion. They were done. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any drama. They weren’t a couple. This wasn’t a breakup, after all.
He carried her upstairs and deposited her on the bed. She rolled onto her back on his mattress, stretching like a cat. Her eyelids drooped to half-mast over her glassy gaze. She extended one hand up to him, inviting him to join her.
“I’ll be right back,” he lied.
Turning, he marched back downstairs and helped himself to a beer, confident that she was close to passing out. Leaning against the counter, he waited, staring hard at the living room wall, wondering what Faith Walters was doing now.
For some reason it bothered him that she thought he was in here banging a drunk woman. And that was senseless. Stupid even. Why should he care what she thought of him?
Whatever the case, it didn’t stop him from thinking about her. From wondering. Did she go back to bed? Did she sleep in that green mask? Did she fuck wearing it, too? Shaking his head, he released a little laugh.
He didn’t think she was married. There hadn’t been any evidence of a husband or live-in boyfriend. She appeared to live alone. Meaning she wasn’t getting any. At least not recently.
Well, maybe she should. Maybe that would help loosen that stick up her ass. Maybe then she wouldn’t care about what sounds she heard coming from his house at night. He took a pull of beer and wondered why he was suddenly so interested in Faith Walters’s sex life.
He let another ten minutes pass before he headed back upstairs. As suspected, Serena was asleep, sprawled across his bed, fresh drool falling. Grabbing the top blanket on the bed, he gave it a yank and took it with him as he headed back downstairs. He didn’t feel like sharing a bed tonight.
He dropped down on the couch, rested an arm over his forehead and pulled the blanket up to his waist. Rolling his head sideways, he stared at the wall until he fell asleep.
SEVEN
Faith woke the next morning feeling resolved, if not rested.
A sudden shout from outside and the slam of a door didn’t even faze her.
Of course. Why wouldn’t last night’s drama carry over into the morning?
Bowl of cereal in hand, Faith moved to her kitchen window and watched the redhead storm out and jump in her car. Serena took off with tires squealing. Apparently last night’s fun didn’t extend into the morning hours. Shrugging, Faith moved back into the kitchen. She rinsed off her bowl, spoon, and set them inside the dishwasher.
She was done. She would leave no more notes asking North Callaghan for anything. She was a Walters. That meant she had resources. Normally, she didn’t like to pull strings, but it was time. Time to cast her principles aside for a greater purpose.
The next time she wanted to communicate with North Callaghan, she would not rely on notes. She would not beat on walls. She would not knock on his door just to have it go unanswered.
She would be heard. She’d pick up the phone and call him directly.
So if her resources happened to involve calling Doris, her brother’s dispatcher, on her way to work, no one needed to know. She would be happy to help Faith. Doris had been sneaking her candy from her desk drawer ever since Faith was three years old and Doris worked dispatch for her father.
When her cell phone rang midmorning as she was coming out of a meeting, she identified Doris’s name as the caller. She reached for the pen on her desk, ready to copy down North’s phone number. “Hey, Doris,” she greeted. “Were you able to get me that—”
Doris cut right to the chase. “Why do you want this guy’s number?”
“Uhh . . .” She hadn’t bothered to explain why to Doris. They’d both been in a hurry this morning and it just hadn’t seemed necessary. Asking Doris to keep it under wraps and not mention the request to her brother hadn’t seemed a big deal either. Doris understood Hale’s tendency to interfere and she was totally in Faith’s corner.
“Tell me you’re not dating this guy, Faith.”
“No!”
“Whew. That’s a relief. Your brother wouldn’t like that.”
“Why, Doris? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s got a record, Faith. His rap sheet is ugly. This isn’t the kind of person you need to be around. Who is he to you, Faith?”
North Callaghan was a criminal? Hadn�
��t she thought that beautiful body a weapon? The type honed not in a gym but rather on a battlefield?
“Um.” Now probably wasn’t the time to tell her they were neighbors. “No one, Doris. I just wanted his number.”
Doris sighed, accepting that Faith wasn’t going to give her the full story. “Okay. Just be careful, Faith.”
Faith nodded, jotting down the numbers Doris recited and vowing not to ask Doris the particulars of North’s record. It conveyed a level of interest she did not want to project. From here on out, she would do her own digging.
And it was time she learned everything she could about North Callaghan.
All day Faith stared at those digits scrawled on the slip of paper on her desk, not getting nearly enough work done. She finally caved and typed them into her phone for safekeeping. Under contacts, she hesitated and then typed in Asshole Neighbor.
She giggled, pleased with herself. That kept things in perspective.
Okay. So she lived next door to a felon, but he’d served his time. She had no reason to be scared of him. He’d roused several emotions in her since she moved in, but fear wasn’t one of them.
He’d been out for two years and he had lived a clean, crime-free life since his release. It wasn’t as though he was a pedophile or rapist.
No, just a convicted murderer.
She winced. She wasn’t a fool. Even though she had discovered all she could about North Callaghan and his crime, she knew living next door to him wasn’t an ideal situation. Her brother or father could not find out. They’d have a U-Haul in front of her house before she could blink.
She didn’t want to move. She wasn’t going to.
North Callaghan had been convicted of killing his cousin’s alleged rapist. Alleged was a kind characterization. All the media she uncovered did not paint a favorable picture of Mason Leary. He and his family had waged a strong campaign to prove his innocence, hiring fancy lawyers out of Lubbock, but she’d read Katie Callaghan’s testimony and the testimony of the doctor who attended her when she was admitted into the hospital. No female would want to be hurt in that manner.
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