The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  “You’re welcome and to ask you to dinner.”

  Music drifted down the stairwell, notes and scales stringed through the air, muted, yet still discernible. His gaze rose to the ceiling. The moment was broken.

  “I take it the young musician is practicing?” His hands went to his pockets and he rocked slightly back onto his heels. The movement made him seem nervous, but she knew that wasn’t right. Men like Gavin oozed charm and confidence and girls tended to stutter and stare. Not her. But she might if she fell for the charming sort—which she didn’t.

  “Umm . . . Yes, as a matter of fact, he is. Wanted to polish up an Irish reel he learned today.”

  “Cool. I bet Mom has some reels, if he’s into that. Mom’s from Ireland.”

  Another silence stretched. She was so damn out of practice at this. And what was this? She’d had friends to dinner before. Herbs wafted and scented the air. Dinner!

  “I know you asked to go out, and thanks for that, but would you like to stay for dinner?” He just stared at her. Without taking a breath, she hurried on. “It’s nothing fancy, just baked chicken, rice and salad. But you’re more than welcome to join us if you’d like.” Deep breath.

  There was his smile, full and charming and completely disconcerting. Damn the man, what was he up to? “I’d love to.”

  Taylor tossed the mail on the entry table. One letter fluttered to the floor and they both leaned down to pick it up. Gavin reached it first, then handed it to her. She almost didn’t look at it, but gave a quick glance anyway.

  The pleasantness popped.

  For a moment all she could do was stare at that letter with her son’s name printed neatly on the outside with the exception of the last name. This letter was addressed to Ryan Fisher. The return address was Valleyview, Gatesville, Texas. Damn the woman!

  Rage rolled through her. That Nina would even try to send another letter. Why couldn’t she just leave them the hell alone? But then, the fear slithered in. Had she found them? Would the phone calls be next?

  Taylor stood, the flower forgotten, as was Gavin. All she saw was that letter and her mind simply froze on it. She closed her eyes.

  “Taylor?”

  When she opened them, the first thing that registered was the little black stamped hand with the forefinger pointing to: forward.

  Forward. Relief huffed out on a whoosh.

  “Damn Charles, too,” she mumbled.

  “Are you all right? You’re kind of pale.” Gavin’s voice pulled her back to where she was and what was going on.

  “Oh, uh—yeah. I’m—I’m fine,” she lied. Another sigh had her running her hand through her hair. She tried a small smile. “Sorry.”

  His look was rueful. “Don’t apologize. Come on, you look like you could use a drink of something, or sit down.”

  “My tea’s in the kitchen. I’ll get you a glass, too.” She walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. A look back showed her Gavin carried her flower. Had she handed it to him? No, probably dropped it.

  “Do you like your tea sweet?” she asked, as he stepped into the kitchen.

  “That’s fine.” He held the flower out to her. “You dropped this.”

  She took it. “I’ll put it in some water. Please, have a seat.”

  Wood scraped on wood as he pulled a chair out and sat in it. He moved with remarkable ease for such a large man. She carefully put the flower in a blue vase with water and set it in the windowsill by her herbs.

  Finally, she gave him a glass of tea. The letter was lying between them on the table. She lowered herself into the chair thinking they could talk about something, but her gaze magnetized to the white envelope.

  “Are you going to give it to him?” Gavin asked.

  It was an impertinent question, but she didn’t care. She needed someone to talk to, and Gavin was the nearest thing she had to a friend. Nearest thing? He was her only friend. Over the few weeks or so they had talked just about every night on the phone. Sometimes just for a few minutes and other times they could talk for hours. Yes, he was her friend, and the niggling suspicion that he was becoming something more kept creeping up on her. Whichever, it didn’t matter. She just wanted someone who cared to talk to, someone to listen. And she already knew Gavin listened to her, though he often aggravated the hell out of her.

  Leaning up on her elbows, she shook her head, then reached for the offensive correspondence. “No. I don’t even want to read it, but I will later to see what sort of poison the woman is spewing.”

  “It is addressed to him. Though what’s with the last name?”

  “What’s with the questions?” Taylor closed her eyes. With half an ear she still heard the notes descending from above. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, opening her eyes back up.

  “I’m prying,” he stated. “You just looked like you could use someone to talk to.”

  Taylor could use someone to talk to, but she wasn’t used to sharing this sort of thing with a guy. Charles had never wanted to know, and then he was gone, and never cared, so it didn’t matter. Taylor had dealt with Nina’s threats and harassment alone.

  Alone. Sometimes she got tired of handling things alone. Single parenting was not, by any means, easy. She and Gavin already talked about work, dreams and Ryan. So why in the world couldn’t she share this with him, too? Taking a deep breath and a chance, Taylor followed her gut. “Fisher is his biological name. Nina, his biological mother, is in prison for the attempted murder of her son, several counts of child neglect and abuse, kidnapping and possession of narcotics with the intent on distribution.”

  Heavy silence settled between them. His eyes, always dark, lightened around the edges, and even as that fascinating fact registered, so did the muscle bunching in his jaw. “No wonder you went pale.”

  “Yeah, well. For months we got letters in Austin. A few times, phone calls. Then, after we moved out and Charles moved back into the house, I asked him not to forward anything but bills.” Her mouth settled in a frown. “I see he listened,” she said more to herself than to Gavin.

  “You going to tell Ryan?”

  She vehemently shook her head. Music, fast and flighty, danced from Ryan’s room. Still, Taylor softened her voice to almost a whisper. “Do you have any idea what the simple sight of this would do to him?”

  Gavin stared at her.

  Taylor continued, “He still has nightmares. I know he had one last night, but he doesn’t talk about it. He never talks about any of it. Dr. Petropolis tells me to be patient, that he’s writing about it, which is better than completely bottling it up, and he’s talked to her some.” Taylor jabbed a finger at the tabletop. “But no, I’m not going to tell Ryan that she wrote him another letter, let alone let him read the thing. You have no idea what kind of woman she is. The obscene things she says, or the threats she issues. Absolutely not. No, he will never know.”

  Gavin still sat, staring at her, as though he expected her to say something else. “Dr. Petropolis is his child psychologist?”

  “Yes.”

  His gaze was starting to unnerve her.

  “What?” she asked. “You think that’s harsh of me? Cruel of me? To deny a mother her son?” Damn it. Why was she doing this? Just because Charles had said those very words didn’t mean Gavin thought that way. Why was she taking this out on him? On another silent curse, Taylor got up. They needed another plate, didn’t they? He said he’d stay for dinner.

  She grabbed a plate, silverware, and a napkin. After she placed it all in front of him, slightly askew and jumbled, her mind on at least the menial task of his place setting, she turned to walk back to the counter.

  His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

  “Taylor.” His voice was still gentle, just as his fingers were. Yet she caught the edge to both. “Sit down.”

  Too flustered and upset to argue, she sat.

  “Do you think you’re being harsh?” He withdrew his hand from her wrist.

  “No,” she immediately answered
. “That woman is no mother to him. She never was. She’s scarred him and hurt him too many times to count. Damn near killed him the last time.” Her voice was shaking and so were her hands. Taylor fisted them and put them in her lap, took a deep breath and tried to rein in her emotions. “I’m sorry. I really am. I swiped at you. I shouldn’t have.”

  “You always swipe at me. I’m getting used to it.”

  She just looked at him.

  “It’s okay. Better to get it out than to leave it bottled up. Can I ask you a question though?” It was his turn to lean up on his elbows.

  “If you’re certain you want to hear the answer. Or dare another swipe.”

  One eyebrow cocked. “Why did you ask me if I thought you were harsh or cruel? A hard-ass maybe. Driven, definitely, and sometimes narrow-minded. Harsh and cruel—no.”

  Taylor licked her lips. How to answer the man? “You know how to compliment, don’t you?”

  Both brows rose. “I keep in practice. So . . . back to the topic at hand. The reason you asked me?”

  Taylor sighed. “Charles.”

  “What do I have to do with the ex?”

  “Charles told me that when I asked him not to forward her mail, or let her know where we’d moved to.”

  The downturn of the corner of his mouth and the narrowing of his gaze told her before his words what he thought of that. “You know, I really don’t think I like your ex at all, and find I like even less being lumped in any form or fashion with him.”

  “But you both have so much in common.”

  His eyes hardened. “Really?”

  “Hmm . . .” She took a drink. “Both handsome, charming and successful men.”

  “Those are usually sought-after qualities.”

  “You mean a beautiful, successful, charming woman like Miss O’Hara is fine with you?”

  He took a deep breath. “You make my head spin.”

  “Aww . . .”

  “Like when I have a hangover.”

  She smiled. “There you go with those compliments again.”

  He shifted closer to her, his voice lowering, his gaze trapping her. “Not all men are the same.”

  “Maybe not.” She shrugged.

  For one long moment, he stared at her, a faint frown between his brows, the corner of his mouth pulled tight. Very quietly, he said, “The man was an idiot to let you and Ryan go.”

  What did she say to that? Taylor swallowed. Clearing her throat, she picked at the tabletop with her fingernail. “Glad you noticed.” She raised her eyes back to him. “I’m sorry. You’re really nothing like Charles.”

  Silence stretched, then, “Are you going to open the letter?”

  The envelope lay there, pulling at her, begging to be opened. She shook her head. “No, I’ll just throw it away. Or read it later.”

  Gavin tsked, and gave her a small half smile. “Neither of those is smart. One because she might have mentioned something in there that could lead to her getting into trouble when pointed out to the correct authorities. And two, I hate to think of dealing with it alone when the mere sight of the letter upsets you. Why read it and brood by yourself when you can read and unload on me, then get a good night’s sleep?”

  She could read it. What he said made sense. Well, the first part anyway. She wasn’t exactly sure how to take the second half.

  Taylor sighed and ripped the letter open.

  Dear Ryan,

  How is your new life? Must be nice to get to choose a new family, a new mom. Though, you should know that no one can be a mother to you like I can. Only I know the real you. No one else does. No one. I try not to think of you too often with Mrs. Shepard. Nope, don’t like to go there. I only get mad. And you know what happens when I’m mad.

  I’m in a class for my drug addiction and to help me control my anger. I’m finding a new me. That’s what we’re supposed to do anyway. New me. New you. Who knows what the future holds. When I get out, we’ll be together again.

  I hope your arm has healed up real good. Hate for you to be deformed or something. That would suck if you looked weird. How’s the cut on your face? You know, you can’t really blame me for that. That little spill was your fault. If you hadn’t jerked away none of it would have happened. Better yet, if you hadn’t been listening to what you shouldn’t have, none of it would have happened. Did it leave a scar? I hope so. That way you will always remember to mind your mother.

  You know I’ll be up for parole in a few years. After I get a job, you can live with me. They took you away and I promise, if it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll get you back. You are mine.

  Well, it’s lights out in a few minutes, I hope you get this. You can write me back if you want. You should write your mother, you know. I haven’t heard from you yet, and I’m hoping that’s HER fault and not yours. Would love to hear from you, just don’t talk to me about that Shepard bitch. Don’t wanna hear about her. And remember no matter where you go, no matter what you do. You’ll always be mine. As that old saying goes, blood is thicker than water, or in your case—ink. Ha ha.

  Love, Mom

  No way in hell was Ryan going to read this. Taylor could only shake her head as the words stared back up at her, reminding her of the woman in the courtroom screaming obscenities. Of the monitors bleeping in the hospital. Of Ryan screaming out in the night or flinching away from offered love because he didn’t know that love didn’t hurt. Not real love.

  “You okay?” Gavin’s deep voice pulled her back.

  Deep breath. Anger pumped through her. “Yeah, I am.” She looked up into his dark eyes filled with concern. Whatever was between them was easy and comfortable, in a strange complex way.

  Well, most of the time. Gavin could be patient and soothing, something she admitted was all too foreign to her. Yet, he also pushed all her buttons and made her want to either strangle him or kiss him. Another foreign thing.

  Maybe she didn’t know as much about love as she thought. She had loved her parents, but that was so long ago she couldn’t remember exactly how that was. But she knew what love with Ryan felt like. She wondered what mutual love between man and woman would be like. Between friends. What difference did it make? Love is love is love.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said.

  Taylor laid the letter back on the table, caught his quick glance at it before he looked back up to her. His hand came up and grasped hers. She liked this, sitting here talking about things that bothered her with her hand clasped in his. The smells of dinner mixed with his spicy cologne. It felt right, and that worried her.

  “Talk to me.” His quiet voice was cajoling and persuading, no impatience, no teasing jibe.

  “Why?” What if Charles had been right and she simply wasn’t made to be a wife? No. She was not going to give that man credit for anything. Wife? Where had that thought come from and what difference did it make?

  A cocky grin danced up to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “Because you can’t resist me?”

  Taylor only shook her head at him. “You don’t want to know.” With barely a moment’s hesitation, she handed the letter out to him. “Want to read it?”

  Did he want to read it?

  Hell yeah, but then again he wanted to know what Taylor had been thinking just a moment ago. There had been a look in her eyes that he thought he read wrong. Surely he must have, pain and confusion, mixed with hope. Gavin didn’t know what to think. He’d come over to ask Taylor out for dinner or drinks, but was sitting here at her table in this cozy blue and yellow kitchen.

  “Do you want me to?” Gavin didn’t want to pry, he just wanted to understand.

  “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  Still looking in her light brown eyes, Gavin reached out and picked up the letter. He saw her glance towards the oven.

  “I should finish dinner.” Taylor stood up and went to the counter.

  Before he started the letter, he asked, “What can I do?”

  “Nothing.” She turned and gave hi
m a smile, though her dimples were faint and it didn’t come close to reaching her eyes.

  Gavin scanned through the letter. Disbelief, bafflement, and rage mixed his emotions.

  “What does she mean by his arm healing and a scar?” Gavin had a sinking feeling. He’d noticed the shiny pink scar marring the upper left portion of Ryan’s face. He glanced up at Taylor, momentarily lost in her simple grace. She moved fluidly, and she was only dumping broccoli into a steamer. For some reason that Gavin didn’t care to contemplate right now, he could just sit and watch her do the ordinary or the extraordinary. Taylor dusted off her hands on a dish towel.

  “That . . .” Her mouth frowned, and still her dimples winked at him.

  Those damn dimples would be the end of him.

  “Well, that would be why she’s in prison basically. The shortened version is that the adoption was halted two days short of completion and then a judge gave her one last chance. Nina took off with Ryan.” She leaned against the counter and gave the towel she was twisting her undivided attention.

  “For how long?” he asked.

  “I didn’t see or hear from him for almost three days. Those were the worst days I’ve ever had. Then the hospital called at three a.m. Seems something had happened, though no one knows exactly what. Ryan’s arm was broken, his shoulder dislocated, two cracked ribs and his face was lashed open where he either fell or was thrown through a plate glass window. Nina was tripping really well. Apparently had spent days on speed, to the point the police said she was hallucinating.”

  “God.” Gavin couldn’t imagine.

  “Yeah.” She turned and tossed the towel on the countertop. Steam rose from a pot on the stove and she dumped the rice in.

  “Were you alone? Had the divorce gone through yet?” And why did he care? Like that would make it any easier.

  Taylor looked back at him over her shoulder. “No, it hadn’t. Though for the first question, I might as well have been. Charles couldn’t have cared less. Trash and riffraff was what he considered Ryan and Nina and I guess me, too. I don’t know, don’t really care. He stuck with me long enough for the adoption to be finalized and then another month after that before the divorce. He couldn’t wait to get on with that curvaceous secretary of his. Of course the rumor was that who could blame him? What man would want a wife who . . .” She stopped. “Well, somehow it got placed all at my feet.”