by Shayla Black
Then Brea headed for her little white Toyota. One-Mile already knew the make, model, license plate, and VIN, so he wasn’t surprised when she hopped into the vehicle and pulled out of the lot. She drove right past him without so much as a glance in his direction. No surprise she didn’t take stock of her surroundings. Why should she? She probably didn’t have a care in the world, much less any enemies. She’d certainly never made her living by her gun, and he doubted anything ever happened in this sleepy town.
He was about to blow through Brea Bell’s life and change it forever.
One-Mile turned his Jeep over and followed her down the road, then out of Sunset, south on I-49 toward Lafayette. On the outskirts of town, she pulled off. He followed at a discreet distance, though it wouldn’t have mattered. She only looked in the rearview mirror when she changed lanes.
“Where are you going?” he mused aloud when she putt-putted down a bumpy two-lane road and pulled into an overwhelmingly brown strip mall that had seen better decades.
Was she stopping in for donuts? Or meeting someone, like Bryant, at the diner on the corner for lunch?
One-Mile pulled in and parked on the far side of the lot, near a barber shop, then watched as she bypassed all of those establishments in favor of the beauty supply on the end. She exited her car and locked it, then fished her phone out of her purse as she crossed the lot, not paying a lick of attention to her surroundings.
As long as he was around, she could have her head in the clouds. He’d keep her safe. But he’d be damned if he set foot in the foreign territory dominated by hair dye and nail polish. He’d rather clean a loaded gun.
As she disappeared inside, he rolled down his window, cut off his engine, then turned up Fall Out Boy. He tapped his thumb against his steering wheel to the beat of the music and stared at the glass door. As “Centuries” faded out and Radiohead’s “Creep” filled his ears instead, he had to smile. Yeah, he felt a bit like a creep following Brea just to get a few minutes alone with her. All he needed now was Sting crooning “Every Breath You Take” to feel like a full-on stalker.
At somewhere near the ten-minute mark, instinct poked him between the shoulder blades. He rolled up his windows, then hopped from his Jeep. He’d no more navigated the lot and positioned himself against her car door, ankles crossed and arms folded over his chest, when she stepped out of the shop. Halfway across the lot, she looked up from the contents of her bag. Her gaze found his feet. He watched it climb his legs, his torso, his shoulders…and finally settle on his face.
As recognition dawned, Brea stopped where she stood. The bag fell from her fingers and onto the roasting asphalt. Surprise flared across her face. “Pierce.”
He could imagine her whispering to him just like that when he shocked her in bed. The thought made him harder. “Brea.”
“Did you…follow me here?” She scrambled to recover her purchases, looking anywhere but at him.
He debated on the best way to answer. But why lie? “Yeah. You knew I was coming for you. Can we talk?”
She looked around as if she was expecting someone. One of her girlfriends? Or a rescuer, maybe Bryant?
“I-I have to go.”
“Five minutes.”
She shook her head. “I can’t stay. The heat… It’s oppressive.”
One-Mile couldn’t argue. Since moving here, he’d quickly discovered that summer in Louisiana was like the crotch pit of hell. Today was particularly sweltering. But he also didn’t think the sudden flush of her cheeks had much to do with the temperature. “Then let me take you to lunch. There’s an air-conditioned diner right there.”
“I can’t.”
“Is your father expecting you home?”
Brea frowned. “How would you know that?”
He ventured closer. “After last night, I learned more about you.”
“You snooped?”
“Researched,” he corrected.
“Why?”
“You want me to spell it out for you, pretty girl?”
“Please.”
Her prim response did something perverse to his libido. He crooked his finger at her. “Come here, and I will.”
She backed away with wide eyes. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“Because?”
“Cutter made me promise I wouldn’t.”
One-Mile couldn’t keep the cynical smirk off his face. So the good guy was afraid the bad boy would steal his woman? He ought to be. But One-Mile refused to make Bryant’s tactical mistake and put Brea in the middle.
“I’m just looking for conversation.”
Her eyes softened with regret. “I’m sorry.”
Because she was the kind of woman who always kept her word. As much as her pushback frustrated One-Mile, he admired her conviction. “How about a little help, then? I moved here a few months back, and I don’t know much about this corner of the state. You’ve lived around here your whole life. Insider information would be helpful.”
“You didn’t ‘research’ me and follow me here so I could be your walking Yelp.”
He grinned. Brea might be sweet but that didn’t mean she wasn’t sharp.
“No. But I won’t ask you for anything more. And regardless of what Bryant might have said, I would never hurt you.”
Her full, rosy lips pursed. His cock jerked. The things he’d love to do to her mouth…
“What do you really want, Mr. Walker? Say it.”
Since she’d asked for the truth… “You. Naked. Under me. Crying out in pleasure.”
She sucked in a shuddering breath. “Why me? Why not the bartender you…connected with last weekend?”
Cutter would only tell her about that forgettable twenty minutes if he’d noticed, as One-Mile himself had, that Brea was attracted to him.
“Tell me you don’t feel the pull between us.”
Brea cut her gaze away and sank her teeth into that plush bottom lip.
“You do. I know you do.” He edged closer. “Look at me.”
She didn’t. “I really need to go. Please don’t follow me again. And don’t pursue me. This”—she gestured between them—“won’t work.”
“Why?”
“We’re different.”
“Opposites attract.”
She shook her head. “Too different.”
“Meaning?”
“Sex could never be casual for me.”
One-Mile believed that. “I suspect that, with you, sex would be anything but casual to me.”
Brea sucked in a shaky breath. “Stop.”
“What, trying to show you the options Cutter told you to ignore?”
Finally, she whipped an annoyed glare his way. “He doesn’t tell me what to think.”
“Good. You’re smart enough to make up your own mind.” He cocked his head. “Let me ask you a question.”
“I’ve said no in every polite way possible, and we’re done with this conversation, do you hear me?”
He did, but she wasn’t listening to him, either. “Are you afraid of losing your boyfriend? Or worried you’ll figure out he isn’t flipping your switch and I can?”
“I’m not dignifying that question with an answer. Goodbye, Mr. Walker.”
When she tried to walk around him, he planted himself in front of her again. “Tell me the truth, and I’ll let you go.”
She flashed him a surprisingly fierce expression. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“You don’t owe me anything. But you owe it to yourself to be honest.”
Then, because he couldn’t stay in her way without pissing her off, One-Mile stepped aside, leaving her a straight path to her car. He’d rather stay and talk, even with the stifling midday sun beating down and the beads of sweat rolling down his back. But he’d given Brea food for thought. Hopefully, she’d thoroughly chew on it until he found another opportunity to talk to her.
She flashed him a wary glance, then made a beeline for her compact. As soon as she reached the door and gave the handle a tug, her pho
ne rang, its chime clanging like church bells. She ripped into her purse for the device as she settled into the passenger’s seat. “Hi, Daddy.”
Her father. The preacher. Her only parent. Besides Cutter Bryant, he might be a major stumbling block…
“What?” Brea breathed in shock. “Oh, my gosh. How long ago? Where are they taking him?”
One-Mile’s radar went off. Something was wrong.
“University. Yes, I-I know where that is. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Did the paramedics say anything else?”
Shit. Had someone called an ambulance for her father?
“Okay. Th-thank you for letting me know.” Brea turned and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears leaked from their corners. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
She ended the call, visibly shaking as she tried to shove her phone back in her purse and set it in the passenger’s seat. The thin strap snagged on the lace trim at her shoulder. When she nudged, the leather stubbornly resisted. Finally, she ignored the bag altogether and tried—twice—to insert her key in the ignition. But her fingers shook. Her keys jingled. She huffed in frustration.
One-Mile hated seeing her rattled.
He knelt in the open car door. “Hey. What’s going on? I can help.”
She looked a split second from bawling. “My d-dad collapsed at the church shortly after I left. Th-they think it’s his heart. I have to go.”
Third time was the charm because she finally managed to stick the key into the ignition, but her purse strap was still stuck. She grabbed at it with impatient fingers and yanked. The strap finally flopped off her shoulder but clung to the crook of her elbow. The bag itself fell to the passenger floorboard, dragging her forearm with it. The more she struggled, the more she looked ready to scream.
Touching her now was risky, but he’d rather she tell him to fuck off forever than have an accident in the twenty minutes it would take her to reach the hospital.
“Brea.” He wrapped his hand around her fingers, still clutching the keys, and gave them a squeeze. “You’re in no shape to drive. Let me take you.”
She opened her mouth, an automatic refusal seemingly perched there. Instead, she pressed her lips together again. “You’re right.”
Relieved that she’d acquiesced, he helped her from the car, reaching in after her to retrieve her purse. He took the keys from her grasp, locked the compact, and guided her to his Jeep.
Once he had her buckled in and they were heading down the road, he slipped into problem-solving mode. “Has your father had any problems with his heart in the past?”
“No.” And she looked completely stunned by the fact he was dealing with it now. “He’s had high blood pressure for a few years, but he’s controlled it with medication. I’ve tried to keep him on a heart-healthy diet, but he loves fried chicken and beignets and…” She shook her head as tears started streaming down her face. “The doctor told him his weight has been creeping up for a while, and he’s more sedentary than he should be. I’ve encouraged him to walk with me or try one of my spin classes. Something. But lately he’s been so busy and preoccupied. I thought it would pass. I should have insisted.”
“You can’t blame yourself. He’s a grown-ass man, and you’ve gone above and beyond.”
“No.” She closed her eyes as guilty fear closed up her expression. “I do the grocery shopping, and I’ve indulged him more than I should, telling myself that once the summer cookouts were over and pieces of peach pie weren’t so easy to come by that I’d make sure he ate healthier. But what if it’s too late?”
One-Mile both understood and hated how much she worried, but her ability to love with her whole heart was obvious. Her body pinged with anxious devotion. The way she willed herself to be at her father’s side this instant confirmed it.
He’d never had anyone love him like that. And he wanted it.
One hand gripped the wheel. The other he curled around hers. He was surprised—and thrilled as hell—when she grabbed his in return and squeezed.
“Wait and see what the doctors say.”
She turned to him with big doe eyes that melted him. “I’m afraid.”
“I know. But I’m here, whatever you need.”
More tears fell down her cheeks. “He’s all I’ve got. My mother died shortly after I was born.”
“I read that last night. I’m sorry.” He didn’t know how any woman died in this day and age as a result of childbirth, and he wished like hell Brea hadn’t lost her mom when she’d come into the world. Growing up without a mom sucked; he should know.
“I’ll be all alone if…”
She didn’t finish that sentence. One-Mile was glad for a lot of reasons, mostly because she didn’t need to borrow more worry by assuming Reverend Bell would kick the bucket. But how interesting that she hadn’t included Bryant in her someone-she’s-got category…
“You won’t. How old is your father?”
“Not quite fifty. He’s still so young…”
For this kind of serious heart shit? “Yeah. That will work in his favor. And he’s got you.”
She tried to accept his words with a nod. “Along with his congregation. And God. The power of prayer is strong. I’ve seen it work. I need to pray for him and ask his parishioners to do the same.”
“Absolutely.” If that made her feel better, she should.
Brea nodded, then bowed her head. Her soft lips moved in silence. One-Mile couldn’t resist sliding his gaze over her profile, sweeping from her crown, down the slope of her nose, past the stubborn point of her chin, and over the sweet swells of her breasts with his stare.
He wasn’t proud of how hard that made him, but Brea flipped every one of his switches. He couldn’t give up the chance to visually drink her in.
Suddenly, her lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. “I feel better.”
“Good.” Prayer had never done squat for him, but if it centered her, then he was in favor.
“I should make some phone calls.”
“Sure. We’ve got another ten minutes before we get there.”
Absently, she nodded, then ripped into her purse to grab her phone. She called back the woman who had informed her of her father’s collapse in the church. Jennifer Collins, the kind widow, had apparently agreed to ring some of the other long-time church members and start a prayer chain before coming to the hospital to start a vigil with Brea. Then she reached out to the associate pastor and asked him to field whatever community issues came her father’s way for the foreseeable future. Finally, she dialed someone who wasn’t answering the phone.
“That man…” She huffed in frustration.
“Cutter?” One-Mile ventured.
“He only answers about half the time. I swear I don’t know what he’s doing the other half.”
Probably saving the world. That’s who Cutter was and that was their job. But as far as One-Mile knew, there were no pressing cases at the moment, so he had to wonder if maybe Cutter was doing someone else. Cheating didn’t seem like the overgrown Boy Scout’s thing, but if he wasn’t being faithful to Brea, One-Mile would have even less compunction about stealing her from the bastard.
He didn’t offer up that commentary, however, just watched her dial someone else.
“Hi, Mama Sweeney. You seen Cutter today? He wasn’t in church.”
There was a long pause, then One-Mile heard the other woman speak, though he couldn’t decipher her words.
But Brea’s face fell. “Oh. Well…um, if you see him anytime soon, can you ask him to call me? It’s urgent. Daddy’s had an episode with his heart. I’m on my way to the emergency room at University Hospital right now.”
From what he could tell, the woman on the other end of the line conveyed an appropriate amount of shock and worry, before promising to have Cutter call her as soon as he turned up.
Brea ended the conversation, looking tight-lipped. One-Mile bit back a million questions. Fuck Brea being none of his business. Right now, she felt alone in the w
orld, and he intended to take care of her, hoist as much of her responsibility as she’d allow onto his shoulders. But she seemed a million miles away.
“You okay?” he asked as he exited the highway.
“Fine.”
But she wasn’t. Her mood had taken another downturn after she’d talked to Mama Sweeney, whoever that was.
One-Mile squeezed her hand. “If you need to talk, pretty girl, I’m listening.”
She turned to him with a wrenching smile that nearly broke his heart. “Thank you.”
But she didn’t share her thoughts or give him her troubles, just sat taut and mute until they reached the emergency room.
The instant he parked his Jeep near the door, she shoved off her seat belt, grabbed her purse, and dashed toward the hospital. One-Mile jumped from the vehicle and ran after her, locking the doors behind him with a click of his fob. By the time he caught up to her, she’d already spoken to an attendant, who went to fetch someone who could tell her about her father’s condition.
She clutched her hands together, looking as if she waited for the verbal equivalent of a mortal body blow.
Normally, he didn’t think too much about other people’s problems. Everyone had shit to deal with, and he didn’t expect anyone to listen to him whine about his. But it ripped him up to see sweet Brea hurting this much.
“Take a deep breath,” he encouraged as he slipped his arm around her petite shoulders.
It was impossible not to notice that she fit perfectly against him, her delicate frame just the right height to hold close.
“What if Daddy is—”
“Don’t borrow trouble. Let’s wait for someone to give us the update. In the meantime, stay strong.”
“I’m trying. But when I imagine life without him, I don’t feel strong…” She buried her face in his chest and began to sob softly.
Brea had sought him for comfort? Granted, everyone else here was a complete stranger. But to draw solace from him, she had to trust him on some gut level she hadn’t yet admitted to herself.
Tamping down his triumph, One-Mile wrapped both arms around her and held her tight against him. “I got you for as long as you need.”
That didn’t turn out to be long at all. The doctor, a forty-something no-nonsense woman, came bustling down the hall moments later. “Ms. Bell?”