Safe (Law & Order)

by Shara Azod

  Safe

  by

  Shara Azod and

  RaeLynn Blue

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright© 2009 Safe-Shara Azod & RaeLynn Blue Cover Artist: Shara Azod

  Editor: Jennifer Puckett

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any ebooks away.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  “Don’t look at me, Quent. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  It took a hell of an effort, but Quentin managed to swallow the rage he felt

  boiling deep in his gut. There was no place for anger right now. Briony needed him. His

  hands shook as he gently pushed the hair out of her face. The bastard had really done a

  job on her; the bruises purple, black and red against the deep russet skin. One eye was

  grotesquely enlarged, swollen completely shut, bandaged now to help it heal. Her

  bottom lip had been split, her entire right arm encased in a cast. And yet, to him she

  was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  He was going to kill Bobby Ray. Brother or not, that little bastard was going to

  pay for what he had done to Briony. And all she had ever done was love the worthless

  piece of shit. At least she had at the beginning. Quentin had watched the light slowly

  dim whenever she looked at her husband, his brother, over the three years since their

  wedding. Quentin hadn’t believed Bobby Ray was fool enough to hit her though. How

  wrong he had been.

  Bobby Ray had always been an underachiever. How he had gotten a woman like

  Briony to marry him, Quentin would never know. While their parents had been alive,

  Bobby Ray had at least made a show of being a good husband. Their parents had loved

  Briony to death. Since the car accident that had taken their parents from them, Bobby

  Ray had let it all hang out.

  Briony had made excuses, saying Bobby Ray was heartbroken, that he would

  come around after he dealt with his grief. Quentin had known the truth. Bobby was just being the Bobby he had been before Briony. There was nothing to hold him back now.

  Their parents had left Bobby and his wife the modest home they worked their lives to

  pay off, along with their life savings. Quentin hadn’t needed it and Lord knows Bobby

  was always in need. Taking the advice Quentin had given them, they left it all in

  Briony’s name, which is probably what had brought this on.

  “Do you know where he is, Bri?” Damn it hurt to talk. His throat was so dry the

  effort it took to force the words out grated against the soft tissue of his throat. He had to

  find his brother – find him and kill him. No one had a right to do this to any woman.

  Quentin was going to make damn sure no man carrying the name of Beauchamp ever

  did again.

  “He owed some men money,” her usually gentle, lyrical voice was painful to

  hear. It sounded so broken.

  Quentin’s fists clenched and unclenched sporadically by his side. He wanted to

  pull her into his arms, kiss away all her hurts, swear to her no one would ever hurt her

  again, but he couldn’t. It would probably hurt her, and then she would know the secret

  he had worked so damn hard to hide for the last three years.

  He was completely, irrevocably in love with his sister-in-law.

  He had tried to fight it. He had tried to choke back the jealously that swarmed

  him whenever he saw his shiftless brother with the woman he knew damn well Bobby

  Ray didn’t deserve. There was no controlling his wayward thoughts anymore than he

  could control the raging erection he seemed to develop when he was anywhere near

  her. Her smile sent his heart racing like a fucking schoolboy; a casual touch of her hand had his shaft crying precum. Everything about her, everything she did, and it was like a

  magnet, pulling him in until there was no hope of escaping.

  His cock wasn’t hard now. Instead, he felt every bit as battered as she looked.

  There was nothing hot about feeling helpless. Powerless. Collecting her in his arms was

  out of the question. All he could do was be there for her and pray. Lord, she looked so

  battered, and all because of his no good swamp rat of a brother. It was sometimes hard

  to believe they came from the same parents. Lola and Mitch Beauchamp were honest,

  hard-working people. They worked their fingers to the bone to put their sons through

  college. But Bobby Ray had dropped out in his first semester. Caught up in a life of

  drugs and gambling, he would disappear to New Orleans for days at a time, showing

  up when he needed money.

  Then he brought home Briony James.

  Baton Rouge may have been the capital city of Louisiana, but interracial

  relationships were not easily accepted. It had been a shock that Bobby Ray had married

  an African American woman, but Lola and Mitch never batted an eyelash. They had

  seen the same things Quentin had the first time they laid eyes on Briony. She was a

  sweet and gentle soul. She always had a smile for everyone. She never raised her voice,

  and she never complained even when Bobby Ray moved them into a dilapidated

  mobile home. She just rolled up her sleeves and made it a real home. She worked two

  jobs when Bobby ran through the money. And never once did she say a word. His

  parents knew that Briony was way too good for Bobby Ray. Hell, his mother, a devout

  Catholic, tried to get Briony to leave Bobby Ray on more than one occasion. Not because he hit her, Quentin would have killed him long before now, if he had. Mitch would

  have skinned his youngest son alive had he had any inkling Bobby Ray was physically

  abusing Briony before Quentin could even think about it though. Briony stayed with

  Bobby even after finding out the type of man he really was, which baffled everyone. He

  suspected it was not because she loved him, but because she had made a vow.

  That was what killed Quentin most of all. He felt the heat that arced between

  them whenever they were in the same room, and he knew damn well she did too, but

  Briony was faithful to a fault. Would he have taken his brother’s wife and run off with

  her? Hell yes! In a heartbeat! But knowing she wouldn’t want him to do anything of the

  sort kept his offer in his mouth.

  “Please don’t hurt him too bad, Quent,” Briony pleaded drowsily.

  He had to smile at that. She knew him better than his own partner did. Right this

  second, Special Agent Tomas Richards was pacing outside the door next to the local cop

  Quentin had pulled some strings to get stationed outside Briony’s door, wondering

  what he was going to d
o. Tomas Richards had been Quentin’s partner for seven years,

  almost from the time he joined the FBI. The man knew almost everything about him,

  but she knew him better.

  “He has never hit me before.” She was almost asleep now, the drugs finally

  working their magic. He was glad for that. It tore him to shreds to see her in pain. “He

  was desperate. Don’t hurt him too bad.”

  She didn’t ask him not to hurt Bobby at all, Quentin noted. Because she knew

  that was something he couldn’t do. This would not pass. Bobby needed to be reminded that if he ever even thought about putting his hands on her again there would be hell to

  pay. And she wasn’t staying with the jackass, either. Quentin would drag her kicking

  and screaming far from his brother. He would do anything to keep her safe.

  He waited patiently until she had fallen completely asleep before placing a

  tender kiss on her brow and quietly leaving the hospital room. He didn’t have to say a

  word to Richards; his partner fell into step beside him. They didn’t speak, not even on

  the drive to the house that used to belong to his parents. Briony had redecorated – a

  nice update from the fifties décor, but the place still felt like home. He wanted her to

  work her magic on his home, the white and beige house in a new development that was

  mostly empty houses. He hadn’t bought much but a cheap couch and a big comfortable

  bed. How many times had he lain in that bed at night, dick in hand, feverishly

  dreaming of the one woman he could never have? There was only one picture in the

  entire place, right next to that big ole’ bed. Briony’s picture.

  He should have felt shame, remorse, something to indicate the wrongness of

  staring at that picture, his cock thick and heavy. His hand became her warm, wet pussy

  in his delirious mind. His own groans of tormented pleasure morphed into the sexy,

  sweet sighs he wanted so much to inspire. And there had been no guilt as he stroked

  himself off. Only bitterness that he hadn’t seen her first.

  There had been a time when he loved his little brother, but Bobby Ray had a way

  of killing the love people had for him. He used and manipulated people. He lied, he

  stole, and Quentin had still loved him through all of it. But watching Briony whither a

  little bit at a time, seeing her natural love for life die slowly, that had been the final nail in the coffin. Those slightly tilted, soul-deep brown eyes used to brim with an inner

  light any sane man would want to foster, to see it burn brighter had been clouded with

  sadness for far too long. Bobby had been snuffing out any joy she might have had, and

  Quentin wanted to put his fist in his face just for that. But he had stopped himself

  because Briony wouldn’t have wanted that.

  The yard in front of the house was fast becoming overgrown with weeds.

  Quentin had caught Briony out here cutting the grass once. Since then, he had tried to

  come by to do it himself at least once a week. The current state it was in gave testament

  to the fact he hadn’t been around for a couple of weeks. A case he and Richards had

  been working on had taken up the majority of his time. He had been able to call Briony

  a few times a week to make sure she was okay, but that was about it.

  The call from the hospital earlier today had stopped his heart. He had just

  wrapped up the case and had planned on coming by after a few hours of sleep. If he

  had only come by earlier….

  “Door’s open,” Richard’s muttered, his weapon coming out of his shoulder

  holster before approaching the opened door.

  Quentin went on high alert, pulling his own weapon before following his

  partner. He saw the twisted booted foot before Richards, and he knew.

  Fuck.

  Bobby had been left right near the front door, one bullet right between the eyes.

  It had been a clean shot, up close. Bobby had known his assailants. The chain remained attached to the door, not torn off, as it would’ve been if they’d charged through the

  door. That meant Bobby had willingly let his murder inside.

  The place was in shambles, everything had been ripped apart. Cabinets had been

  thrown off their hinges, dishes smashed on the floor. No room had been left untouched;

  they even tore apart the bathroom. By the look of things, whatever they had been

  looking for hadn’t been found.

  “Have any idea who did this?” Richards asked, not bothering to offer comfort

  Quentin didn’t want or need.

  “Not off hand. Briony said something about Bobby needing money. She

  wouldn’t give him any, so he beat her. None of the low-lives he usually hung with

  would have the balls to do this.”

  “Looks like your little brother moved on to a new set of friends.”

  “Yeah, looks like it.” He should feel something other than pity. Bobby Ray was

  his brother for crying out loud!

  The truth was, Quentin had been an agent long enough to know this was where

  his brother had been headed for some time now. Poor, sorry bastard. He was just glad

  his parents didn’t live to see it. He couldn’t manage to work up any grief himself. He

  was only sorry he hadn’t gotten to beat his brother’s ass before he died.

  “I’ll call the locals,” Richards offered. “You need to start thinking about your

  sister-in-law. If they didn’t find what they were looking for, chances are they will come

  looking for her thinking she might have the money or whatever it was.” They had killed Bobby Ray outright, so whatever they were after, they didn’t

  believe Bobby could have come up with it. That could mean a host of things where

  Briony was concerned. Either they wouldn’t bother because they had their revenge on

  the person who had wronged them, or they would want to collect from her. Quentin’s

  gut told him it was the latter. Criminals rarely took the easy way out.

  It occurred to him that he should be looking to find the men that murdered his

  brother. He should want vengeance of some sort. He should be sad, mournful. Quentin

  was pissed that once again Bobby Ray had managed to fuck up Briony’s life. But more

  than anything, he felt relieved. Chapter Two

  “You sure?” Briony asked, aware of her lips slurring of the “s” in sure.

  She was so numb; she couldn’t feel her hands, or her legs. Now she thought she also

  wasn’t hearing quite right. It sounded like Quentin said Bobby Ray was dead. That

  couldn’t be right. The morphine left her feeling sluggish, but maybe it also messed with

  her memory, her hearing, heck, maybe her comprehension, because nothing Quentin

  had said made sense.

  She lay back against the flat pillow and yanked the scratchy sheet and threadbare

  blanket further up. Her nipples pebbled beneath her hospital gown and she wanted to

  fold her arms over their pointy tips, to hide them from Quentin’s sexy eyes. Her hunky

  brother-in-law leaned against the hospital bedrail on her left. He stayed on her left so

  she could see him. Her right eye’s bandage kept that side of the room in darkness. A

  blind spot. He did little things like that all the time. See? That proved she hadn’t heard

  him right. She would never think of her brother-in-law in a sexual way when her

  husband was dead somewhere. Right?

  He was close enough for her to feel his body’s warmth, inhale his scent. She

  always loved
the way he smelled; woody, wonderful, masculine, marvelous all rolled

  up in one hell of a package. Despite the dull ache shimmering across her body, one very

  real throb had nothing to do with pain, and everything to do with Quentin’s proximity.

  Her clit acted as a Quentin radar. When he came closer it pulsated more, and when he

  moved away, it decreased its frenzy. His allure hadn’t lessened now because of the subject manner, if she wasn’t

  hallucinating that is. Did he say someone was dead? Bobby Ray? Her husband? That

  couldn’t be right. She knew Quentin had been angry with his brother, but death? He

  would have never killed him.

  “What did you say?” she asked again, unable to keep out the disbelief from

  ringing through each word. “It sounded like you said Bobby Ray is dead.”

  “Dead. Yeah,” he replied, gorgeous cerulean eyes burrowing into hers, making

  her feel exposed and very, very raw. “He’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  Stupid questions. Quentin wouldn’t be here telling her the news if he hadn’t

  checked and double checked.

  “Dead?” she squeaked.

  He nodded.

  Dead. She tore her eyes from Quentin’s and shivered. The paper-thin hospital

  gown did nothing to comfort her, to stave off the icy realization spilling over her. It

  found a home in her awareness, shooting through the light shawl of morphine-induced

  contentment. Relief, grief, and a strange pinch of hurt whirled in her chest and she tried

  to hug herself against the rising tide of disbelief. She moved her arm to do just that, but

  the jolt of her cast made her yelp.

  “Bri, you all right?” Quentin bolted upright. Searching the area for the nurse, and

  finding none, he scowled. He mumbled something about nurses, but she missed it. “I’m, I’m,” she stammered, words failing her again. She wasn’t fine, and she

  wouldn’t lie to him. Maybe someone else, but not to Quentin. Never to him. Nothing

  would be the same. She hadn’t loved her husband, not anymore, but she hadn’t wished

  death on him. Maybe a little hurt, but not death. A widow at the age of twenty-five,

  Briony couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept. As much as she wished she were

  free, this was never something she had contemplated.

  A widow.

  Quentin stood there, the muscle in his jaw beating rapid against his tanned skin.