by Sandra Owens
“Hemingway never growls,” Madison said, jogging alongside her.
“Tell him that.” Lauren kept her hold on the cop’s hand, pulling him up the stairs with her. She prayed she was wrong, that her imagination was working overtime.
When they reached her room, she glanced at the officer. “I’m Lauren.” She nodded at Madison. “That’s my friend, Madison. I swear I didn’t leave my closet door open.”
“I’m David Markham. You two stay here while I check out the apartment.”
“Oh my God, he really is growling,” Madison said, her gaze on a still prowling Hemingway.
“Told you.”
David Markham returned a few minutes later. “Whoever was here is gone. The window in the second bedroom was jimmied open. Take a look around, tell me if there’s anything you’re missing.”
Thank God he believed her. She went to her closet, skimming her fingers across the tops of the hangers. “These aren’t straight. Someone riffled through my clothes.”
“I’m calling Alex.” Madison pulled her phone from her pocket as she walked into the hallway.
“I don’t see anything missing in here, but look.” She touched the shoebox holding the photos of her and Court during spring break. “It’s crooked. I would’ve never put it away like that.”
A chill raced down her spine. There was only one person she could think of who would have a reason to go through her things, but what had he been looking for?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Court gripped the iron rail of his balcony, his gaze locked on the horizon. Maybe he should buy a boat and sail away. Get lost on some Caribbean island, drink rum cocktails, own nothing more than his boat and a pair of shorts and flip-flops, and do nothing more than watch his skin turn leathery under a blazing island sun. Someplace he could forget about a woman with pink-tipped spiked hair. She’d left him once and seemed determined to do it again.
That was what women did. They left without a word of explanation, be they mothers or lovers. His mother had walked down a dusty road one day without a backward glance, without giving her three young sons a reason for leaving them in the hands of a mean drunk.
He knew why, though. She’d been pregnant with another man’s baby. Had she gone to meet the man? Was she living with him all this time, loving her new family? Her sons forgotten about?
It had only been because he’d been hiding behind the living room couch that he’d heard the fight between his parents the morning she left. Even all these years later, he could still remember it word for word.
He’d torn his jeans when he’d caught the fabric on a nail while doing his chores. He knew he was in trouble. His father was going to be furious. Money didn’t grow on trees. Hadn’t the old man said that a billion times? And when their father was angry, it meant a beating. So he was delaying the inevitable, hiding for as long as he could get away with it.
“That baby’s not mine, Wanda. Who you been fucking?”
The word didn’t shock Court. His father used it all the time. What did shock him was that his mother was going to have another baby. They didn’t have enough food as it was, so another mouth to feed would mean less for him, Nate, and Alex. He hated the new baby already.
“It is yours. You know it is.”
“I don’t know no such thing. Women cain’t be trusted. Who’s the daddy? You better tell me if you know what’s good for you.”
That made Court mad. His mother could too be trusted.
“You, Gordon. You’re the daddy. When would I have met someone? I never go anywhere, and you know it.”
Now she was crying. Court wished he were bigger so he could make his father leave her alone.
“I told you we weren’t having any more brats. I’ve been careful, always wearing a rubber. That baby in your belly ain’t mine.”
At the sound of his father’s fist hitting her—a sound he and his brothers knew all too well—Court put his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut against the stinging tears.
“We ain’t having no more brats I have to feed.”
As his father beat on his mother, Court bit down on his bottom lip to keep from yelling at his old man to stop hurting her. If his father knew he was behind the couch, he’d make sure Court was sorry for not only tearing his pants, but also hiding like a coward.
“Stop it, Gordon. You’re going to kill the baby. Not my stomach. God, please stop.”
“I aim to kill it right out of you.”
“You’re . . . you’re right. It’s not yours. Stop and I’ll tell you.”
“I knew it. You disgust me, wife. You’re a fucking whore. I can’t stand to look at you right now, but this ain’t finished.”
At hearing his father’s footsteps recede, and then his father’s truck start up and tear off down the road, Court felt like he could breathe again. Maybe he could hide his torn pants and the old man would never know.
“I can’t let him kill the baby,” she said, the pain he heard in her voice making him want to cover his ears.
At first, he thought she was talking to him, but then he realized she was talking to herself. It also sank in that she’d admitted the baby was another man’s. He knew how babies got in a mother’s stomach. The walls in their two-bedroom house were thin, and they could hear their father’s grunts and the bed hitting the wall at night. Sometimes, when the old man was drunk—which was more often than not—he didn’t even bother shutting the door.
Court didn’t want his mother to be a whore, but he’d heard her admit that the baby had a different daddy. As he stayed hidden, waiting for her to leave the room, he thought about all that he’d heard and what he was going to do about it. What could he do? He was only nine, not old enough or big enough to take on his father. But for the first time in his short life, he sided with the old man. One thing he’d never do was tell Nate and Alex what he’d heard. Nope. It was bad enough he knew the truth. He didn’t want his brothers to know their mother was having another man’s baby. It would stay his secret.
As soon as she left the living room, he scrambled out of his hiding place, ran to the room he shared with his brothers, and changed his pants. Thirty minutes later, his world was turned upside down again when his mother gathered her sons together, told them she loved them, and then walked down the dirt road, out of their lives forever, carrying her meager belongings in a garbage bag. Even then, he’d kept his secret.
He’d refused to think of that day throughout his life. Remembering it now, he had the sickening feeling his nine-year-old self had gotten it all wrong. Had she said the baby was some other man’s just to get his father to stop hitting her? So she wouldn’t miscarry?
Until the day he’d overheard the fight between his mother and father, he’d thought of her as a good person. She’d protected them as best she could, had seen that they were fed and clothed with what little money her husband had given her. Hell, she barely ate so there would be more food for her boys. That he remembered. And she’d spoken the truth when she’d said she never left the piece of dirt they called home because their father never allowed her to unless he was with her.
All these years, he’d thought the worst of her, and he’d been wrong. So damn wrong. As a grown man, he could see it now. She’d tried to protect the baby the only way she knew how. As he stared out at the ocean, he apologized to his mother for allowing himself to believe his father’s lies.
Where was she now? What about the baby? Did she have it? Lose it after the beating? What if she didn’t have any money and was living on welfare? She had three sons in a position to take care of her. Shame on them if that were the case and they’d not done their best to locate her.
Although as a boy he’d resented her for leaving them to the volatile whims of their father, still did a little, he understood now that she’d left to protect the life of her baby. Did they have a sister or brother out there somewhere?
Anytime the subject of their mother came up, Nate would shut it down, refusing to talk about her. W
hy was that? It could be as simple as he, too, resented her for leaving, or it was possible Nate knew more than he’d ever told him and Alex.
What Court did know was that he hadn’t a clue what to do about Lauren. He had been wrong not only about his mother, but apparently about Lauren, too. If he hadn’t been so hurt, he would have questioned her abrupt change of heart when she broke off their relationship.
He hadn’t fought for her, and he should have. Ever since she’d walked back into his life, he’d vacillated from wanting her to not wanting her from one minute to the next. That wasn’t quite true. He always wanted her—he just didn’t like that he did.
She was adamant about leaving, though, and he just couldn’t go there again. If that was what she was determined to do, he’d keep his promise, teach her what he could in the few days they had, and then put her on a damn plane.
“Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
He glanced back at Alex. “Didn’t hear it. I think it’s on the coffee table.”
“It was.” Alex tossed it to him. “Someone broke into Lauren’s apartment.”
The hell? “Is she there?” he asked as he headed for the door.
Alex jogged alongside him. “Yeah. Madison and David Markham are with her. I’ll drive.”
He shouldn’t have let her leave his side. If anything had happened to her—
“Stop blaming yourself, bro. She’s fine.”
“It had to have been Peter. I should have considered the possibility he’d do something like this.”
“We all should have.”
Maybe true, but she was his responsibility to protect. Driving fast, Alex had them at the bookstore in ten minutes. Court took the stairs to her apartment two at a time. As soon as he walked into the room, Lauren stepped next to him, as if she needed to be close to him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her next to his side.
“You okay?” he asked. A shudder passed through her body, one he could feel. If he found out it was Peter who’d broken into her apartment, he’d make the man sorry, that was for damn sure.
“It’s so creepy knowing someone went through my things.”
“I’m just glad you didn’t walk in on him.” He glanced at David. “We’ll take it from here.” The last thing they needed was the police department getting involved.
“I’ll report that it was a false alarm. Your favors are adding up, dude.”
“Add it to my tab.”
David snorted. “Trust me, I will.”
After David left, Court glanced at his brother. “Why don’t you and Madison wait for us downstairs. Oh, and call for a team to come dust for fingerprints. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” Probably not, but it was worth a try.
“Do you think it was Peter?” Lauren asked when they were alone.
He let go of her and perched on the edge of the bed. “Do you?”
“Who else would it be?” She looked around. “I don’t think I can sleep in this room again, knowing someone was in here going through my things. But then I guess that doesn’t matter since I’m leaving in a few days.”
That remained to be seen. “Why don’t you go through everything, make sure nothing’s missing.” He watched her check her dresser drawers, and then she went to the closet. She bent over, and his eyes were immediately drawn to her ass. If ever a woman was made to wear skinny jeans, it was Lauren, with her long legs and perfectly curved bottom. Even her feet were sexy, and he smiled at the combination of blue toenail polish and sparkly flip-flops.
“Stop staring at my butt.” She stood, glancing over her shoulder.
“That’s not possible. It’s one of my favorite things to look at.” He grinned. “How’d you know what I was looking at?”
“I can feel you doing it. I’ve always been aware of your attention on me.”
He held her gaze, wondering if she realized what she’d just admitted. How could she even consider leaving, walking away from what they had? As if coming out of a trance, she gave a little shake of her head. Resuming her search of the closet, she pulled down a shoebox from the shelf. She opened the lid, frowning as she stared at the contents.
“What’s wrong?”
Her gaze still on the box, she sat next to him. “There’s a picture missing.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
He glanced into the box, stilling when he saw photos of the two of them during spring break. “You kept all these?” He picked one up. It was one he remembered taking of her.
They were going out to dinner their last night together and had walked down to the beach to watch the sun set. She’d worn a white sundress, looking like an angel as the breeze blew the skirt around her knees. There was such joy on her face as she smiled for the camera.
“Love you,” she’d said, right before he snapped the picture.
He’d looked into those golden-brown eyes, his heart beating crazily in his chest. It was the moment he’d known. Her, she’s the one, his heart, his body, his soul had said. There hadn’t been a sliver of doubt as he closed the distance between them, pulled her into his arms, and said, “You own me, Gorgeous Girl,” before claiming her mouth in a kiss that had almost brought him to his knees.
“You should have told me,” he said, still angry that she hadn’t trusted him enough to believe he could have protected her.
“I thought I was doing the right thing.”
At least she hadn’t pretended not to understand. “It’s not like we ever made a promise that we’d see each other again. You know, said love words and all that.” He tilted his head as he eyed her. “Oh wait, we did do all that, didn’t we? If you’d really loved me, you would have trusted me.”
The woman made him crazy. His brain was the equivalent of scrambled eggs around her. He swiped a hand through his hair. “I can’t even think straight anymore. Do you have any idea how it makes me feel to know that you let a man beat you within an inch of your life just to protect me?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Get over it.” Lauren stood, backing away from him. He was starting to sound like a record stuck on the same words, over and over and over. Why couldn’t he understand she had as much right to protect him as he did to protect her? Stephan had hurt her horribly that day, but she’d been proud—still was—that she’d not once uttered Court’s name during her ex-husband’s assault. She refused to let Court take that away from her.
“Get over it?” He stalked toward her. “I’ll have nightmares until the day I die after seeing those photos of you beaten so badly I could hardly recognize you. Because of me, Lauren. You tell me. How am I supposed to get over that?”
She didn’t have an answer.
“Nothing to say?” Using his body, he backed her up against the wall.
“You want me to say something? How about this? Go to hell, Court.” Black eyes glittered with fury as they snared hers. She’d poked the tiger, and now the tiger was pissed. She didn’t care. She’d done what she had believed was the right thing, and she’d do it again under the same circumstances. If he couldn’t accept that, it was his problem.
“You don’t have a clue, do you G.G.?”
Somehow, she’d lost the thread of the conversation. “A clue?” The way he was looking at her—heat simmering in those beautiful black eyes—turned her knees to jelly. She pressed her back hard against the wall to stay upright.
“Yeah. It’s just this.” He put his hands on the wall, caging her, staring down at her. “Send me to hell all you want, but I’ll always fight my way back to you.” He put his mouth next to her ear. “You’re a witch, Lauren, casting your magic spells on me until I don’t know up from down. But you’re my witch. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Does that mean you’re mine?” He wasn’t the only one confused, considering the number he was doing on her.
“I’ve always been yours. How do you not know that?”
She’d known it for six glorious days, until he couldn’t be hers anymore. But not
hing had changed. She was still leaving.
He tsked. “Not going to answer? Fine, I don’t feel like talking either.” He covered her mouth with his.
God help her, she couldn’t resist him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, moaning when he pressed against her. His answering moan brought her to her senses. Another few minutes, and she’d agree to anything he asked.
“Stop.” She put her hands on his chest. “Stop, Court.”
He lifted his head. “I’d rather kiss you. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t like kissing me. Tell me you don’t feel the connection between us. Look at me and say the words, Lauren.”
She couldn’t. “This is a ridiculous conversation.”
“Only because you’re making it ridiculous.” He returned to the bed and sat. Picking up the shoebox, he flipped through the photos. “I remember every moment that each of these were taken. Do you?”
“Please don’t do this,” she whispered. He was killing her. How could she possibly forget one minute with him?
“Why not? Do you wish you’d never met me?” Not giving her time to answer, he said, “Where’s the selfie we took right before I kissed you good-bye the morning you left?”
He remembered that? “Gone. It was on top.”
“Are you sure?” He flipped through the photos again.
“I had them out not long ago. That was the last one I put back. It was my favorite.” They’d been so happy then, never dreaming how much time would pass before they saw each other again.
He peered up at her. “Why were you looking at them?”
“I don’t know.” She sat next to him. “I’ve been thinking about that week a lot lately.”
“Me, too,” he said softly. “I’m curious about something. The first time I saw you, there was a sparkle in your eyes. You were happy. I would think that most people coming out of a bad marriage would struggle—”
“To find happiness again?” He nodded. “I was married to a man I grew to hate for the two most miserable years of my life. I promised myself the day my divorce was final that he would no longer steal my joy. Going to spring break had been a spur-of-the moment decision. I was finally free, and I wanted to go have fun.”