For All We Know (One Strike Away Book 3)

by Mary J. Williams

  And Travis was more than happy to comply.

  "Shirt. Off. Now."

  In a flash, Travis sent his shirt flying. The night did nothing to cool the heat of Delaney's eager touch.

  "You next."

  Delaney raised her arms. He couldn't resist smoothing his hands up her back as he raised the cloth inch by inch. She sighed with pleasure, and the sound was like a high-octane aphrodisiac.

  Shirt. Bra. Half-naked Delaney. Her skin, like alabaster, shimmered in the moonlight. Smooth. Soft. Travis couldn't get enough.

  "Kiss me." Delaney wiggled her eyebrows. She ran a finger down her throat, stopping at the slope of her breast. "Here."

  Travis was more than happy to let Delaney drive the action—for now. Especially when she steered him in all the right directions.

  Delaney gasped.

  "I didn't tell you to use your tongue."

  "Any objection?" Travis punctuated his question by lapping at her nipple.

  "Nope." She threaded her fingers through his hair, the tips contracting when his teeth joined the fun. "Please, carry on."

  An excellent multitasker, Travis disposed of the rest of his clothing in quick order. Delaney's followed. She had the legs of a dancer. Long, lean, shapely. He wanted them wrapped around him, urging him on.

  "Please."

  Delaney sounded desperate. And Travis was right there with her. He fumbled with his jeans, letting out a sigh of relief when he found the condom on the first try.

  "Better than your dream?" he inquired, settling between her spectacular legs.

  Licking her lips, Delaney frowned, her eyes a sparkling amethyst.

  "What dream?" she sighed.

  "Mm. Good answer."

  Travis entered her with one push. The glide easy. Their bodies were made for each other. A perfect fit.

  Breathing heavily, Travis watched the emotions race over Delaney's face. Marveled as the color of her irises deepened. She arched her neck, air bursting from her lungs. So close. He could tell by the flush of her skin, the tightening of her legs as they twined around his.

  "Now," Travis said, needing her to fall with him.

  "Now!" Delaney called out.

  Reaching up, up, up. Then bursting through. Skyrockets. Travis was certain he saw a whole rainbow of colors. Over and over they fell. Tumbling down, the descent much slower than the rise.

  Travis collapsed, rolling to the side, keeping Delaney safely tucked in his arms.

  He felt Delaney's lips graze his chest before she snuggled close. Limp, but satisfied.

  The stars and the moon blanketed them. Somehow, the light seemed brighter. More intense. As if, after serving as witness to something beautiful, the sky wanted to show its approval.

  "Are you cold," Travis asked.

  "No. Just right. Practically perfect."

  Travis rested his hand on Delaney's hip. Practically perfect. He liked that. They might never reach perfection. He didn't care. But wouldn't they have fun trying? Over and over and over again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  "ARE YOU SURE about this?"

  "Positive."

  "I don't want to abuse your trust."

  "I don't think you could." Travis kissed Delaney before sitting on the chair placed in the middle of the back deck. "Besides, you trusted me."

  The situation was completely different, as Travis knew. He chopped off her hair in a show of unified defiance. She hadn't cared about how the end product looked.

  "How much do you usually pay for a haircut?" she asked, settling a towel around his shoulders.

  "From anybody else, I would find a question about how much I pay for anything extremely rude."

  "How much?" Delaney prodded, unconcerned. Her curiosity was piqued.

  "Five hundred."

  "Dollars! Who are you? JLo?"

  "Some of my teammates pay double. Of course, they get highlights put in and deep-scalp treatments."

  "For the love of…" And men complained that women were vain. "Too much money, too few brains."

  "You have the scissors. I don't argue with anybody wielding a deadly weapon."

  "You don't argue because you know I'm right."

  Last night in bed, Travis mentioned he needed a haircut. Delaney didn't agree. She liked the way the ends curled around her fingers as if they didn't want to let her go. But she'd admit his hair was a bit on the shaggy side. Some shaping and an inch or two shorter.

  Travis wasn't thrilled at the idea going to a local salon—or barbershop. Delaney's mistake was teasingly offering to do the job herself. Once she'd put the idea in his head, he was like a dog with a bone. Good luck getting the thing away from him.

  "You'll want to look your best since today is Election Day. Don't you want somebody with a little more experience?"

  Or with any experience at all?

  Between Delaney's junior and senior years of college, she had a job sweeping up hair at a beauty parlor—the down-to-earth owner of Ms. Jones' Clip, Snip, and Color didn't consider her place highbrow enough to be called a salon. When things were slow, Ms. Jones would give Delaney lessons using an old wig.

  Delaney quickly discovered that hairdressing wasn't her calling.

  "First. I'm not the one running for office. Second. I have complete faith in you. Besides, hair grows back."

  "Ears don't," Delaney muttered.

  Travis laughed. He actually laughed. Delaney didn't know if that was a good sign for her nerves, or not.

  "My advice? At the first sign of blood, stop cutting."

  Breathing in, Delaney, took a lock of damp hair and snipped. Then another. And another. As hair piled up at her feet, her confidence grew. She went a little shorter than planned because she had to even out one side then the other.

  And, she might have finished sooner if Travis had kept his hands to himself—though she did like that he couldn't stop himself from touching her.

  Not bad, Delaney decided, standing back to admire her work. Not bad at all. She wouldn't turn in her psychiatry license anytime soon. Still, in a pinch, she knew she could cut hair, be proud of the end results—and not draw even a fleck of blood.

  "Want to look?"

  Delaney held out a mirror.

  "And you said you didn't know what you were doing." Travis admired her handiwork. "I'd pay you five hundred without blinking."

  "Stop exaggerating." Though Delaney was pleased by his response. "You have great hair, and I didn't cut off anything vital. Let's stop there."

  Taking the towel, she shook the excess hair into the garbage. She picked up a broom and swept up the rest. As usual, Travis was more hindrance than help in the clean-up department. However, when his arms wrapped around her, his chest pressed against her back, she could have happily labored away for hours.

  "Add a kiss to the cut. You could double your fee."

  "I could get rich. Should I advertise my services to the public?"

  "Private." Travis tossed aside the broom, twirling her to face him. "Just you and me."

  When Travis kissed her, the world ceased to exist. Delaney wanted to believe in forever. Though she'd asked him not to make any promises, he told her how he felt again and again. Every look. Every touch. They were all her dreams come true.

  Unwanted doubts kept creeping into Delaney's thoughts. Would Travis be happy if he gave up his bachelor ways? To exchange a different woman every night for only one? She wanted him to be sure. But how?

  Delaney had an idea. And she knew Travis wouldn't approve. In fact, she was almost certain he'd blow his top.

  To truly know if they belonged together, Delaney had to set Travis free.

  "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN." Pete tapped on the microphone. The crowded lodge—courtesy of the Elks—quieted to a low buzz of anticipation. All evening, they had monitored the election results. The excitement had built with the news of the first returns.

  All Pete's
supporters needed to celebrate were the words they knew were coming.

  "I just received a phone call from my worthy opponent."

  "Boo! Down with Detwiler. Hayes all the way."

  "Don't you love how politics brings out the best in people?" Travis said to Delaney. They stood to one side of the stage, watching with pride as what had become the inevitable played out.

  "Horace Detwiler has conceded the election." Pete paused, hugging a beaming, teary Candice close. "We won!"

  The eruption could have rivaled a volcano—a small, jubilant one.

  A server with a tray of champagne passed by, Travis snagging a couple glasses.

  "To Pete."

  "To a new and better Green Hills."

  Just before Pete made his announcement, word had come down concerning another hotly contested race. A new sheriff was in town. The job one Brill family member or another had a strangle hold on for what seemed like forever, was now in the hands of Tonya Hernandez—a fellow graduate of the local high school who believed she could make a difference.

  The Brills' iron grip had been broken. A new generation with no old-boy ties was now in charge.

  "Dad once told me that change could happen if good men—and women—were willing to put up a fight." Travis' voice thickened with emotion. "I wish he was here to see Pete and Tonya and all these people prove him right."

  "Don't leave yourself out. Your dad would be proud of how much you did to help Pete win."

  Delaney hoped—wanted to believe—Travis' father could see the man his son had become. She hoped her mother was up there with Alan Forsythe. Finally free. Finally at peace.

  "We helped. Everybody in this room did their part." Travis tipped her chin up a few inches for a lingering kiss. "But Pete is the miracle worker. He made this town believe in him and a better future."

  "Go on and congratulate him." Delaney pushed Travis toward the stage.

  "Aren't you coming?"

  "I'll be along as soon as I use the bathroom. Hopefully, everybody is too busy celebrating to wait in line to take a pee."

  "Maybe I should go with you?"

  "Because…?" As far as Delaney was concerned, what she had to do was best done with as much privacy as possible.

  "The Brills lost a lot of their power today. They're wounded, but they aren't dead yet. If they—Munch in particular—decide to lash out in frustration, you could be a target."

  Delaney was used to keeping her guard up. Even in Hawaii, she'd worried that Munch might try something. Slowly, she relaxed. But she was always aware of her surroundings—especially since her return to Green Hills.

  "I'm surrounded by hundreds of people. I don't think the Brills would have the balls to try anything."

  "Del—"

  "However." Because she understood—and appreciated—Travis' concern, she wanted to reassure him. "I will be careful. Always."

  The line for the ladies' room was long—surprise, surprise. The men's room—naturally—not so much. Resigned, Delaney took her place.

  "I need to talk to you."

  Cletus Brill grabbed her arm. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath reeked of whiskey—both fresh and stale.

  "Take you hand off me, Cletus."

  "I got something to say."

  The fact that he'd been drinking was obvious, but Delaney didn't think Cletus was drunk. His speech wasn't slurred, and he seemed steady on his feet. He hadn't aged well. She estimated his age to be near forty. He looked ten years older. At least.

  "Then talk."

  "In private."

  Maybe Cletus wasn't drunk. However, the man was downright crazy if he thought Delaney would go anyplace with him.

  "Go home, Cletus."

  "Please." Tears filled his eyes. "I've been living in hell for so long. I need some peace. I need to confess."

  "About what?"

  "What we did to Travis Forsythe's daddy."

  TRAVIS LOOKED AROUND the room. He'd decided to give Delaney ten minutes. The minute hand on his watch just passed fifteen. Heading toward the bathroom, he knew she'd tease him for worrying too much. But he didn't care.

  If anything happened to Delaney, his life wouldn't be worth living.

  The bathrooms were on the other side of the hall. Getting there became an exercise in frustration. The party was in full swing. Dancing. Drinking. A few people had lost all inhibitions, making out like rabbits right in front of anybody who cared to notice.

  Travis had barely dodged, pushed, and maneuvered halfway to his destination when he heard his name.

  "Travis."

  "Delaney." He held her close. "Thank goodness. I felt like a salmon swimming upstream."

  "Travis." Delaney held him tight for a second longer. When she touched his cheek, her eyes were the color of muted violets. "Come with me. You need to hear something."

  Puzzled, Travis followed her, hands linked, to a door hidden by a bank of sound equipment. His confusion didn't clear when he saw who was waiting for them.

  Pete. Sheriff Tonya Hernandez. And— Son of a bitch. Why would Delaney take him to see Cletus Brill?

  "Don't look at me," Pete said. He'd long ago lost his suit jacket. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, tie slightly askew, a slight trace of his wife's lipstick clinging to the corner of his mouth. "Delaney said we had to be here. So, here we are."

  Tonya Hernandez wasn't an imposing woman—at first glance. But the ex-Army staff sergeant had a demeanor that could cut a person twice her size to his knees with a single glance.

  "I was dancing with my husband—something we don't get to do very often." The new sheriff shot a look Delaney's way that said, whatever this is, it better be good.

  "I appreciate you coming so quickly. I know tonight is for celebrating. But Cletus Brill has some information all of you need to hear." Delaney squeezed Travis' hand. "About the murder of Alan Forsythe."

  Travis stiffened. What the hell? Murder? Delaney nodded, her expression filled with concern and sadness.

  "Cletus? Tell everybody what you told me."

  "I—" Cletus' gaze darted around the room, looking everywhere except at Travis.

  "Say what you have to say. I won't hurt you," Travis assured the profusely sweating man. Not right away.

  "The day your daddy…" Cletus swallowed hard, wiping his upper lip. "That day, me and Myron were late. I guess we always were. We'd been drinking—not your daddy. He never. He was a good man."

  "I thought you were here to tell me something I don't know."

  Hearing Cletus Brill praise his father seemed like a sick joke. The Brill twins had been at the forefront of tearing down Alan Forsythe's reputation, spreading lies as fast as wildfire. Now? Eleven years later, Cletus had changed his tune? Fuck that.

  "Go on, Cletus," Delaney urged, in a calm, soothing voice. Doctor mode, Travis supposed. "You finally want to tell the truth so you can find some peace of mind. Remember?"

  "Right. Right." Cletus took a seat, the plastic chair groaning under his considerable bulk. "Myron said it would be a joke. A huge laugh. Shock Mr. Forsythe. That's all. We'd flip the electricity on."

  "Oh, my Lord," Tonya Hernandez gasped.

  "A little shock. That's what Myron said. I swear I didn't know your daddy would die. I swear. I swear."

  Head in hands, Cletus repeated the words over and over, his tears hitting the floor.

  "Travis. Don't."

  Delaney must have felt his muscles tense—bunched—ready to spring. Ready to destroy what was left—the hollowed-out shell—of Cletus Brill. Travis' instincts told him to act. His free hand formed a fist. His blood ran hot with the need for revenge.

  Then what? Travis felt as much as heard his father's voice. At best, he'd feel a temporary satisfaction. Drawing blood wouldn't bring Alan Forsythe back. Or dull the pain. The truth hurt—like a sucker punch to the gut.

  At least he knew. And so would everybody else. Travis would make certain.


  "What about Myron?" Once he could take a steady breath, Travis needed details. "Did he know my father would die?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?" Pete asked. "What possible reason could your brother have to kill Alan Forsythe?"

  "Uncle Munch asked him to."

  Delaney gasped, her eyes wide with horror, she looked at Travis. I didn't know, she mouthed. When she tried to pull her hand away, Travis held tight.

  "Wipe that guilt from your face, Del."

  "But—"

  "Not. Your. Fault."

  Travis wouldn't let Delaney take on an ounce of the burden. Munch Brill was a monster. And he'd pay.

  "You need to arrest Brill. Immediately."

  "I don't have the authority," Tonya said. "Until I'm sworn in, Sheriff Brill is in charge."

  "So, we have to wait until January?"

  Travis could live with Brill behind bars. But if the bastard was allowed to breathe free air one more day. Or worse, skip town? He didn't know what he'd do.

  Though he wasn't an expert criminal, Travis didn't think he'd have too much trouble figuring out where to hide Munch's body.

  "Are you willing to make a formal statement?" Pete asked Cletus.

  "Yes. Whatever. I'll do whatever you want."

  "The timing could be tricky." Tonya frowned, considering their options. "If we can catch all the players in one place, they won't be able to circle the wagons in time. The sheriff won't have any option but to arrest Munch."

  "They'll be licking their wounds." Travis wanted in. Tonight would be the end. The final chapter. He wanted to be there when Taps sounded for Munch Brill. "Dewey's?"

  "Cletus?" Pete asked.

  Nodding, Cletus wiped at his wet cheeks. "They're all at Dewey's."

  "I'll call in the officers I know we can trust." Tonya was already on her phone. "In the meantime, we get Cletus' statement on record. Signed and sealed. Delivering will be a pleasure."

  The next hour felt like ten. Finally, Pete and Tonya agreed they had what they needed. A notarized document and the manpower to make their move.

  "Before you ask, you can't come," Pete told Travis. "We have to do this by the book."

  "Fine."

  "Really?" Pete looked skeptical.