My breathing escalated.
“You all right, there?” Cam asked.
I nodded, trying to ignore the ringing in my ears.
I was not all right.
My bat sat next to my desk. I needed it. Stupid to put so much faith in a metal cylinder, but then, nothing about my brain’s reaction to these past few years was logical. Normal.
I would never be normal.
“I like this one, and it could work for my concert, but I still want the one you showed me earlier.”
“Two guitars?” I managed to stutter.
He winked all slow and devastating to my crumbling composure. “I’m betting you’ll give me a good repeat-customer discount.”
My lips seemed to swell and my throat dried out faster than the Mojave Desert.
“I guess we’ll have to. So, what did you like specifically?”
Cam’s eyes scanned my face and his nostrils flared.
I folded my arms over my chest, ignoring the hammering beat there. “About the instrument.”
“The resonance was interesting. Seemed to match well with my voice. Like you said. I’d like a different fretboard. Something a bit wider.”
I nodded, flipping back to the page in my notebook and writing it down. “Anything else?”
“If I’m getting two, then I’d like this one to be flashy. More like those instruments you made for Asher Smith and Hayden Crewe.”
I couldn’t help but smile a little at that. Cam definitely understood the need for showmanship. “I used nickel on Asher’s pickguard. We came up with a cool design for it. Pewter inlays in the shape of cats on Hayden’s, along with a deep coffee stain.”
“Coffee stain?” Cam asked, confusion settling into his eyes.
I shrugged. “For his wife. I didn’t need to know the details.”
“Right.” Cam drew out the word.
“So—wider fretboard, metal pickguard. Some interesting design for the frets.” I met his gaze. “Any ideas what you’d like?”
“Airplanes.”
I blinked up at him, surprised. His face paled and his lips thinned. Clearly not something he’d intended to say.
“Okay.” I made note. “Type?”
“Jet,” he rasped. “I’ll get you the model my…a relative flew. Died in an accident involving one when I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”
I tapped the pen to the paper. “You’ll have to look at these every day,” I said. I often cautioned my buyers about the strange initial ideas they came up with, trying to steer them away from fads or designs they’d later regret.
“I get it. But this guy…one of the reasons I want them is because…” Cam glanced away. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “His name’s on my birth certificate. I think he’s my father.”
“You think?” the words popped out before I could control my runaway mouth.
He cleared his throat, looking almost as uncomfortable as I felt. “I’ll just head to the washroom then let you get out of here.”
“Why don’t we set up another appointment for tomorrow and we can finish discussing the details then? It can be by phone.”
“Yeah, sure.” He stood and winced, bending down to rub his calf muscle. “Tomorrow afternoon. Phone conference. That’ll work. I…ah…I’m going to be tied up.”
He didn’t lie well, but I let that slide. I watched him walk away, wondering if I should have pushed further. The pain in his eyes, the flat line of his lips made me want to comfort him. A man I didn’t really know.
And a client.
As promised, Cam called the next afternoon. He seemed more hesitant but I didn’t push, assuming he was embarrassed by what he’d told me the night before.
I made some more notes based on his preferences.
“If possible, would you be able to stop by Friday? I’d like to show you the design I’m building in the woods you’ve said you’re interested in. Once we have those finalized, I can start on the finish-out.”
“Sure,” he said without any enthusiasm. “What time works?”
“I’m here all day, but after lunch would be best. That will give me time to finish the initial pickguard design and draw up your fret inlays.”
“I’m in the studio until five. After that okay?”
So much for dinner and my evening run. “I’ll make it work,” I said.
“See you then.” Cam hung up.
Pop-pop looked up from his bench when I wandered into the workshop. “You all right there, Jenna-dove?”
I wasn’t sure, so I smiled and nodded, giving my Pop-pop the response he deserved. In fact, I was still shaken from my run-in with Ben. My wrist still ached and now Cam didn’t want to spend time with me.
Friday morning dragged. I struggled to get the concepts I wanted down on paper—the first step to creating an intricate design.
After lunch, I pulled out the hammered silver I’d decided to use for Cam’s pickguard and set about cutting it down to size, ignoring my grandfather’s searching looks and my heavy heart.
Much later, after Pop-pop packed up his desk and left for the evening, a sound in the front caused me to frown. I picked up my bat as I stepped forward, expecting to see Cam there. Instead, I stared at foam and bits of bottle glass sliding down the spider-webbed glass of the front door.
“Come on out, Jen. It’s time to party.”
The shadow loomed—taller, broader, the biggest asshole I ever had the misfortune to meet.
Ben.
I swallowed hard and eased behind the counter, pressing the panic button Pop-pop had installed along with all those cameras.
What the hell was wrong with this guy? Why, after all these years, was Ben bothering me like this again?
I heard Cam’s uneven tread behind me, felt the heat from his body just before his hand dropped onto my shoulder. I started, turning with the bat raised to strike.
“Whoa there, slugger.”
I lowered the bat, my heart pounding so loud I could barely hear Cam’s response. “How’d you get in here?” I asked.
“You didn’t lock the back door,” Cam said.
My eyes widened and I bolted around Cam, who caught me by the waist. “It’s locked now. Please tell me the front door is locked.”
I nodded. “I never unlocked it this morning. We weren’t expecting any clients today except you.”
“Good.”
I turned, catching Ben’s narrowed eyes. I shrank back, cowering into Cam, who cursed softly.
“My security detail is out there. I don’t want them messed up in this.”
Ben drew his arm back and threw another bottle against the door, then another and another. I shuddered, hating the sound of glass as it tinkled onto the pavement outside.
Cam brought me closer to him, and I pressed my cheek to Cam’s shoulder, a sharp whimper clawing up my throat as I stared at the boy who’d made my life pure hell for years.
Ben planned to hurt me—the promise gleamed in his eyes. I gripped my bat. It kept me safe.
His cell phone pressed to his ear, Cam guarded me. “You boys on this? There’s another one in the car? Hell, yes, I’m glad you called the police. This here’s personal, and the young buck is more than a little angry. All right. Well, don’t get involved unless you have to.”
Another beer bottle slammed against the fissured glass of the front door. I tensed, preparing to move forward—to do what, I had no clue, but watching this horror show proved more than I could handle.
“Stay back,” Cam barked, dropping his arm to wrap it around me. His cell phone pressed into my hip.
I stopped moving, the authority in his tone not to be ignored. Sirens shrieked into the parking lot.
“You think the cops are going stop me?” Ben snarled. “You owe me, Jenna. You destroyed my life and now I’m going to destroy yours.”
He slammed his fist against the glass. He flattened his palms there when the police pressed a gun to his back, his possessive, angry eyes never leaving mine. Once he was cuffed and
hauled back, I dropped to the ground, my knees giving out as blackness tinged the edge of my vision.
6
Cam
Jenna’s breath heaved in harsh gasps, and then she grunted. I refused to offer her comfort until the scumbag and his scumbag friend were in the police cruiser.
Another officer made a motion for me to unlock the door. I nodded but turned on my good heel and made my way back to the counter, my heart rate picking back up when I didn’t see Jenna.
She’d slid to the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tight around her knees. Might explain the grunt I heard. Her fingers were white where she gripped the bat.
My calf flared with pain as I knelt beside her, causing me to grit my teeth and hold my breath. I blew out an unsteady breath and touched the crown of her head with trembling fingers. “Jenna?”
“He’s wrong, he’s wrong, he’s wrong.”
The words jumbled together, a litany or maybe a prayer.
“Jenna. Will you look at me? Please.”
Slowly she raised her eyes, the bright golden strands of her hair catching in the overhead lights. Lord, she was lovely. Even wide-eyed with shock and paler than milk custard. My heart slammed against my ribs as I took her in.
I dug into my pocket and pulled out a Werther’s. I unwrapped it with hands that shook. Adrenaline dump more than likely. Before she could protest, I popped the candy between her too-pale lips.
I found another and shoved it in my own mouth.
“Makes everything better.”
“That’s what Lupin said,” Jenna said, chewing her candy slowly.
My blank look caused her to elaborate. “In the Harry Potter books. Harry’s teacher gives him chocolate when Harry’s overcome by bad memories.”
I glanced down at the wrapper, clamped in my fist. “Seems like the character knew a thing or three about psychology. Let’s get you up.”
She sucked in a breath, then another. Her hands trembled, but she placed them on the floor and started to rise. Pride slammed into my chest and some other emotion clogged my throat as she rose, shaky, but unaided.
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m going to open the door now. To let the officers and my guards in.” I waited until the panic slid from her eyes and she nodded.
“Quite a domestic out there,” the officer said. His sewn-on tag read Briggs.
“Shook her up,” I said, raising my chin toward Jenna at the other end of the store, one of her hands flattened against the wall behind her, the other arm clutched around the bat.
My two bodyguards flanked the officer, looking both intimidating and scared as hell. After assuring themselves of my safety, they turned around to watch the other officer shoving the boy who’d assaulted the shop into the back of a squad car. Another officer spoke to the boy—Robbie, I heard the officer call him. Jenna’d mentioned that name. Her ex-boyfriend. Robbie gesticulated toward Ben, then Jenna, his face heavy with a scowl.
Jenna stepped away from the wall and walked forward, her hips swaying in a natural rhythm that got my blood pumping for a different reason.
“You have a problem here, miss?”
“My name’s Jenna Olsen.” She held out her free hand, the tremors almost invisible, the bat clutched to her chest. “Yes, we did. We have surveillance cameras. I’m sure most of this was caught on one of those.”
The officer nodded and made note. “We’re going to need a statement so you can press charges.”
Jenna’s eyes darkened and her mouth pulled down. I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “We’ll both do so. That man needs to be stopped before he hurts someone.” More, I thought. Ben hurt Jenna a few days ago with his hands, then again tonight with his ugly words. If she’d been there, within reach, he would have given her much more than a bruised wrist. Of that I had no doubt.
Anger surged as I considered that boy manhandling Jenna—or any woman for that matter.
“Did you know the perpetrator?” The officer’s pencil was poised over his notebook.
Jenna nodded. “He’s my…he was my…friend.” Her voice sounded strangled. Interesting.
I laid my hand on the back of her neck and squeezed. The muscles there eased.
“We hadn’t seen or spoken in about six years.” Her shoulder trembled.
“Ben was in here the other morning, belittling her then.” My rage rose, boiling too close to the surface. I swallowed, trying to force the anger back into a tight box where the emotion couldn’t hurt anyone.
After seeing the madness unleashed during my tours of duty, I’d managed to be extra cautious about losing my temper. The little piece of excrement Ben crossed the line to out-of-control.
“He said…well, he wanted to scare me. He did scare me,” Jenna rasped.
“Why would he want to do that?”
Jenna’s brows pulled in tight. Her eyes darted toward me but then she dropped her gaze to her feet and shook her head. Her hair parted in its ponytail, splitting along the back of her neck and showing a flash of delicate pink skin.
“He’s been let go of his ball team,” Jenna murmured. “He didn’t use to take rejection well. Maybe that caused his desire to destroy my property.”
“Could be I pissed him off the other day.” I rubbed my hand on the back of my neck, wishing I’d played that scene better. “He grabbed Jenna, tried to force her closer, and I suggested he step back and out. Seemed like Ben brought some reinforcements to lay down the law with Jenna, here.”
“That how you see it?” Officer Briggs asked Jenna.
She shrugged.
“Is this the first time he’s come in?” Officer Briggs asked.
She cleared her throat. “Like I said, I haven’t seen Ben in years.”
“So. What’s your story? Why are you here?” the officer asked, turning toward me.
“Camden is my client. We were finalizing the details I need to make his new instrument.”
I’d never heard Jenna so serious. She’d been unsure, a little sassy at times, but this was her in an emotional place she didn’t belong. Like she was going over her every action to verify her responses.
Briggs raised his eyebrows. “At seven-thirty at night? Kinda late for that, huh?”
Irritation laced with the adrenaline still pumping through my system—I’d wanted to rip that little runt Ben apart, then claim Jenna as my own. Like a primitive ancestor with no actual thought for her feelings. That made me no better than Ben on some level. Not a realization that sat straight in my gut.
“Not really, considering she’s doing a rush job for me. And I had appointments all day with my manager about my upcoming show. I didn’t arrive until after six—my first free minutes to visit.”
“Right. Okay. Er, you plan to give a statement, Mr. Grace?”
I wasn’t surprised the officer knew who I was. Hell, most of the world knew me. My presence here during the break-in increased the likelihood of media attention, and it probably wouldn’t be the most positive for Jenna.
Mr. Olsen ran into the building, elbowing the second officer out of the way in his haste to get to Jenna.
“You hurt, Jenna-dove?”
She shook her head. “I had my bat.”
The older man snorted. “Bet Ben carried a pistol.”
“Licensed,” the officer said. “And still holstered.”
Jenna’s face turned whiter, if that was possible. Her hand settled on the top of her baseball bat, clutching it like it was a lifeline.
“I’m fine.” Her eyes met mine over the top of her grandfather’s head and she mouthed the words thank you.
Yep. Still had a thing for damsels in distress. I was getting too old for these moments. Too jaded, too, because they kept happening. Did I search for them or did these gals find me?
Didn’t matter because my name linked to Jenna wouldn’t do either of us any good. I should distance myself from this guitar-making siren pronto.
Her
grandfather shuffled nearer to me, his face florid from too much exertion or fear. I didn’t know, but the redness worried me.
“I thank my lucky stars you were here. Jenna’s had it rough these last few years.” He rubbed his hand over his face, fingers shaking. “If anyone deserves something good, it’s that young lady.” He looked up into my eyes. “The guitar’s on me. Any other one you want—ever—you let me know.”
This time, my face flushed. “Oh, no. No way! I can’t accept—”
“Jenna’s the youngest of my only son’s children. I love them all, including my daughter-in-law who’ll rush in here any minute, I’m sure. That said, Jenna’s always been special, lively and fun. My special girl. You probably saved her life tonight.” He laid his hand on my shoulder and squeezed the way my father used to. Back when he was proud of me. “A guitar…hell, five thousand guitars, don’t mean near so much to me as my granddaughter, Camden.”
I pressed my lips together, tight, trying to ease the sting in my eyes and the lump in my throat. I dipped my head in understanding. “I want two. But I’ll pay for the second—”
“Then, you’ll have them both. No charge.”
A tall, lean lady with hair as blond as Jenna’s, though now threaded with silver, barreled in the door. “Jenna!” she cried, her voice cracking.
“Here, Mom.” Jenna placed her hand on the counter and teetered for a moment. Her other hand still held the bat. Her mother sped over to her, wool suit coat flapping around her hips.
“Oh, baby. I was so scared.”
Jenna’s mother enveloped her in a hug, her cheek pressed tight to her daughter’s. She kept murmuring words as she petted Jenna’s head, touched her shoulder, her back.
“Why can’t that piece of scum leave you alone?” Mrs. Olsen asked, her voice unsteady. “He hurt you in high school, and he’s hurting you now.”
“Hurt her in high school, how?” Officer Briggs asked.
Deep in the Heart: An Austin After Dark Book Page 5