Brothers in Blue: The Complete Trilogy: Brothers in Blue Boxed Set - Books 1-3

by Jeanne St. James

  A tough call and he understood the dilemma. Though he felt sorry he put his brother in that situation. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “I realize that. That’s the scary part.” Max scrubbed a hand over his short hair. He blew out a ragged breath and began to pace the tiny room that only had an empty desk and two chairs in it. It took Max only a couple strides before he had to turn and head the other direction.

  “I can’t let this go, baby brother. I can’t.”

  Matt nodded. “I know.”

  “Hell, you’re already on probation. I can fire your ass right this second.”

  His eyes tracked Max as he moved like a caged lion. “I know. I’ll understand if you do.”

  “I don’t want to do that.”

  He swallowed back bile. The whole situation was already bad, but it was made worse by Max having to make difficult decisions about his own family. “I know.”

  Max stopped suddenly in the center of the room, turned on him, crossing his arms over his chest. A mirror image of Matt’s own eyes studied him. “Did this happen because it involved the doc?”

  Matt dropped his gaze and stared at this brother’s boots. “I’m not sure.”

  “You’ve got five days on the street. Five. We’ll be having a deep discussion before you go back on patrol. During those five days, you must go to the therapist every day. I’m going to ask for a detailed report and you will give him permission to give it to me.”

  Matt’s nostrils flared and he sucked in air. He hated going to therapy. He didn’t want to “share” his feelings. He didn’t want to take medication. He didn’t want anyone trying to fix his broken brain, fiddling around in his mind.

  Matt closed his eyes. Of course, he wanted to be better. He didn’t want to lose control. He didn’t want to black out. He didn’t want to have flashbacks.

  No one in their right mind would.

  He opened his eyes and looked at his oldest brother. His boss. And then he simply said, “Okay.”

  Even though it shouldn’t have felt like defeat. It did.

  “Brother or not, if this happens again, you’re fired,” Max warned. “No second chance. I should take your gun and badge right now, but…” He shook head. “I’ll leave your dignity intact by allowing you to keep them until you get back to station. When you get there, leave your stuff in your locker. Put your locker key on my desk and go the hell home.” He sighed. “I’ll stay here and try to clean up the mess you made.” Max yanked the door open and said, “Let’s go.”

  Matt followed him out into the hallway and saw Leah talking in a low voice to Carly. She jotted something in her notebook, so most likely she was questioning Carly on what occurred. Both looked up and at him with concern. His fingers clenched into fists automatically at the sight of Carly pressing a square white cotton pad to her bloody lip.

  He was a fucking monster. Tonight proved it. The best thing Carly could do for herself was to stay out of his life.

  He hadn’t wanted their relationship to be more than sex for this exact reason. And his blacking out when she got hurt made him realize it may be developing into something else.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  11

  It had been days since that night at the hospital and she couldn’t help but grow concerned since there was still no sign of Matt. All right, not just concerned, a little freaked out. She worried he’d do something rash. Like hurt himself. Or worse.

  After the first twenty-four hours, she contacted Max, who then told her about his five-day suspension. However, his older brother hadn’t seen him either. He told her at that point he wasn’t concerned and that Matt was probably holed up in “that goddamn tent of his.”

  When Carly didn’t see hide nor hair of him on day two, her worry went into warp speed. No use of the kitchen, no use of the bathroom. He could be either in his tent dead…or he simply disappeared.

  The first option scared the shit out of her.

  So, she called his parents. She called Marc, Amanda, and even stopped by Teddy’s salon. No one had seen him.

  She even went back to the police department to talk to Max a second time, who simply stated “he’ll turn up eventually,” causing Carly to shoot him a nasty glare and stomp out in frustration.

  Now three days after her last visit with Max, Matt still hadn’t returned. She stood over the kitchen sink, staring out of the window at the sand-colored monstrosity in the middle of the yard.

  She didn’t want to invade his privacy. She wasn’t family. Not even his girlfriend. She really had no right to go into his tent. However, she had to put her mind at ease that he wasn’t in there. Or maybe he left a clue to where he went.

  Something. Anything.

  Although, she feared what she might find. She could call one of his brothers to come over to check the tent. She could call Manning Grove PD and have them do a welfare check. But again, Max just might squash that, thinking she worried over nothing.

  Or she could just take the matter into her own hands, and screw what anyone else thought.

  Before she could change her mind, she dug through the kitchen junk drawer and snagged a flashlight, switching it on to make sure it worked. Even though it was daylight, she wasn’t sure if he had any lighting inside. She doubted there was any electricity at all in there since not even an extension cord ran to the tent.

  After blowing out a nervous breath, she strode with determination out of the house to the front entrance of the canvas tent. Staring at it for a few moments, she tried to work up the needed courage to just go in and deal with whatever she might find. Her heart pounded hard enough she could feel it in her throat.

  She was a doctor; she could do this.

  Doctor or not, she’d never found one of her lovers dead.

  And she never wanted to.

  She sniffed the air, making sure she smelled nothing funky first. Only the odd odor of canvas hit her, but her stomach still did a little flip as she stared at the metal zipper tab.

  “Fuck it,” burst from her as she reached for the tab and unzipped it enough for her to peek inside.

  Dark as hell. Which is what she suspected. She sniffed again. Nothing smelled as if decaying, which was a good sign and a bit of a relief.

  Shining the flashlight quickly around the interior, the light bounced off a few things, but that was it.

  Without unzipping the whole flap, she slipped through the opening. A myriad of emotions ran through her. Guilt for trespassing into his private domain, relief of not finding a body, fear she still didn’t know where he was. As well as shock on how he lived in his so-called “quarters.”

  Besides a foot locker, some lanterns, a green cot with a sleeping bag, the rest of the over-sized tent appeared empty, even though it was large enough to fit a small Boy Scout troop if the cots were lined up just right.

  A couple of compact collapsible tables were set up near his cot. One held a small battery-operated radio, the other a few books, though she couldn’t imagine reading in the dim interior. Some shoes were lined up along the one canvas wall like good little soldiers.

  It was all very minimalistic. Extremely orderly. Neat. Precise.

  Even the books appeared stacked perfectly and in alphabetical order.

  She pointed the beam of the flashlight into the corners just to make sure she didn’t miss anything. She saw no sign of where he could have gone. No indication of when he was here last.

  Nothing.

  With a sigh, she sank onto his cot and the feeling of dread remained inside her. She leaned over to brush her fingers over the spines of the books, reading the titles. The pile included a couple of autobiographies as well as three works of fiction from authors she’d never heard of. He probably never dog-eared the corners of the pages to keep his place. One shifted out of alignment and she quickly lined it back up.

  Did he have the OCD before the PTSD? Or had it been caused by the trauma he’d been through?

  She couldn’t even imagine being in his h
ead and was certain it had to be overwhelming at times. If not all the time.

  Her eyes burned at the thought that she didn’t know how to help him. And there may never be a way to help. It was possible he would never get better.

  How can you see the tragedy you’ve seen year after year, war-torn country after country, and simply forget it? Not relive it over and over. Not have it affect your dreams, your sleep patterns.

  You couldn’t.

  Even in the dark of night, with just the reflection of the moon and the distant street lights, something felt different. He stood outside his quarters studying the tent flap carefully. He didn’t leave it like this because he knew better than to leave as little as an inch of the zipper open. Mice didn’t even need that much room to get in. And rodents could wreak havoc in a short period of time.

  Someone had been in here. He should have padlocked the flap. But he thought everyone in his family would have respected his privacy. They knew how important it was to him.

  Now, he could only think of the chaos that would greet him inside.

  Did they touch things? Go through his locker? Dig through his clothes?

  His chest tightened and his fingers clenched into fists. He blew out a ragged breath and unzipped the flap to step inside.

  He paused, letting his eyes adjust before heading over to one of the handheld lanterns and turning it on. Raising his arm, he swung the light toward the area when his belongings were.

  A noticeable indentation in his sleeping bag where someone had sat made his heart race. His gaze raked the folding tables to see what else appeared disturbed. Whoever had been in the tent had touched his books. He realigned them before inspecting his foot locker. Everything inside remained in place. His boots also remained in order.

  After one more glance around, he shut off the lantern and secured the tent. He headed toward the house with determination.

  Moments later, Matt quietly settled himself into the chair tucked in the corner of the master bedroom. Buried under the covers, only part of Carly’s face and mane of blonde hair appeared visible. Her breathing sounded soft and steady.

  He envied how she could sleep like the dead. She probably had dreams of puppy dogs and kittens. Unlike his…

  Explosions. Missing limbs. Dirty children’s faces streaked with muddy tears. Arms reaching out for assistance. Confused expressions, not knowing whether they could trust the men in uniform. The strangers with guns.

  And they thought he was broken. How about all those victims of war? All the innocents getting caught up in greed and political bullshit. How were those young lives supposed to live with the death and destruction they’d seen? They were the true broken. The ones scarred forever.

  He brushed a hand slowly back and forth over his crew cut, watching Carly sleep peacefully. He should be angry with her for violating his privacy, for invading his space. But, surprisingly, he wasn’t. Maybe it was a sign the therapy was working. Though he wondered if he would have reacted any differently if it had been anyone but Carly.

  Possibly.

  His gaze slid along her unmistakable curves covered by the patchwork quilt.

  The pull he felt when he looked at her, or even thought about her, was strong. Scarily so. He didn’t need any attachments. Especially with a woman who wanted to have children.

  He barely gripped sanity by his fingernails now, he didn’t need the complications a relationship would bring. Not that Carly was a—what he considered—typical female. She was tough, demanding. Sexy as fuck. Especially when she barked out orders.

  He sucked in a breath and his cock shifted in his pants.

  If he would be with anyone, it would be someone like her. But without the kid issue.

  Fuck.

  He rubbed his temples. Why the hell was he even thinking like this?

  Carly shifted in her sleep, turning her face toward him and flinging a bare arm over her head. Then her eyes opened slowly. She blinked twice and gasped, sitting straight up in bed. The quilt and sheet fell around her and she was totally, gloriously naked.

  “Matt,” she whispered shakily and quickly gathered the bedding up to her chest.

  “Don’t. Let me see you.”

  She hesitated for only a moment before letting them go, allowing them to pool back around her curvy hips.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, her voice rough from sleep.

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about that.

  “I was worried.”

  “I’m sorry.” And those two words didn’t even cover the half of it.

  “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m sure your family will be relieved.”

  “They were worried?” If so, it surprised him.

  When she hesitated, he realized the truth. No, they weren’t concerned. They were used to his odd behavior. She was only trying to be nice. “You don’t need to

  worry about me. I’ve survived the last thirty-one years. I’m sure I’ll survive at least thirty-one more.”

  “Well, after what happened at the—”

  He interrupted her. “Yeah. I don’t want to talk about that.” He’d already hashed it out over and over with the therapist during the past few days. If he had to talk about that evening one more time, he’d—

  When Carly extended her hand out to him his thoughts disintegrated into thin air. That’s what this woman could do to him. Make him forget. Forget the meltdown at the hospital. Forget the therapy. Forget the war. Forget that she entered his quarters without his permission.

  Now his only mission was to sink deep inside her, bury himself in her wet heat.

  He stood up, methodically stripping himself of his boots and his clothes. He didn’t miss her impatient sigh, but she also didn’t stop him from doing what he needed to do. He didn’t want to be distracted by disorganization, instead he wanted to concentrate on the woman in front of him. And he could only do that if chaos didn’t lurk nearby.

  When his boots were tucked neatly under the chair behind him and his clothes stacked carefully on the seat, he moved to the edge of the bed, his gaze roaming her body. Her full breasts with their hard peaks, her sweetly curved lips, the soft roundness of her hips barely visible under the bedding.

  “Do you want me?” he asked her. He knew the answer. Her parted lips, her pebbled nipples told him so. But he needed to hear it.

  “I not only want you, Matt. I need you.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about her words. Without opening them, he asked, “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  He opened his eyes to study her face. “You shouldn’t want me or need me, Carly.”

  “And I’ll ask again… Why not?”

  He whispered, “Because I’m no good.”

  Her eyes changed from heated to sad, disappointed. “Untrue.”

  “You haven’t known me long enough to come to that conclusion.”

  “I know it because I feel it…” She placed her palm over her heart. “Here.”

  “Your instinct can be wrong.”

  “A woman’s intuition is never wrong. Sometimes, though, we make the mistake of not listening to it.”

  “Which could be a deadly mistake.”

  “Not in this case.”

  He climbed onto the bed and moved closer. Not quite touching her but close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, to pick up her scent of arousal.

  She wanted him.

  He straddled her legs while on his hands and knees, coming face to face with her. Her expression no longer appeared sad as they stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first one to break the connection.

  “I’m no good,” he repeated.

  “Bullshit.” The curse was soft, almost a sigh.

  He leaned in until his lips were a hair’s breadth from hers. “I can’t be fixed.”

  “Says who? You are the only one who believes that.”

  As she breathed out, he breathed her in. “It could be dangerous.”

  “
I’m not afraid.”

  “You should be.”

  A determined look crossed her face. “I refuse to be.”

  He crushed his mouth to hers, parting her lips with his tongue. He explored inside, along the edges of her teeth, traced her lips, tangled with her tongue. She groaned into his mouth, wrapping her fingers along the sides of his face, pulling him closer.

  He shifted to straddle her lap, digging his hands into her hair, gripping the long strands tightly, taking control. With a tilt of his head, he sealed their mouths together tighter. He invaded her and she accepted him completely. The grip on his face kept him close, even when he broke off the kiss.

  As both of them fought for breath, he tamped down his surprise at the intense emotions running through him. He pushed them aside; he didn’t want to explore what they were. Not now.

  However, it wasn’t only he that had to be worried about being dangerous, out of control. She was dangerous too. He feared she could suck him in and he may never be able to escape. Like quicksand.

  “Matt.”

  He opened his eyes, which, until then, he hadn’t realized he closed.

  “Get out of your head.”

  Her command made him smile. With a quick kiss to her lips, he moved off her and pulled the bedding away to expose those long legs of hers. He drew a ragged breath in his impatience to have those limbs wrapped around him.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “For you to fuck me.”

  “You gotta be more specific than that,” he said, repeating the same demand as the time he fucked her in the sunroom.

  The corners of her lips curved. “Hard.”

  So did his. “And?”

  “Deep.”

  “How can I fuck you when you’re still sitting up?”

  She quickly slid down the bed onto her back, then turned her head toward him and grinned. “Better?”

  Her sultry smile shot lightning through him. A sharp ache landed in his chest. With flared nostrils, he sucked in badly needed oxygen. He found his control suddenly, but definitely, shaken. The drowning need to protect her, to make her his, became too much.