His body stiffened. That was all—no excuses. No explanation.
She wiggled backward on the seat, letting her hands fall to grip the sides. She had to get off this bike and away from him.
He eased up on the throttle. Pulling over to the side of the empty roadway, he cut the engine. Before the Harley could let out a final purr, Huntley was off the bike and running.
Not for long. His chest slammed into her back as he wrapped his arms around her and hauled her off her feet. Damn it. He was far too fast for his size. She kicked backward and was rewarded by his grunt and then him dropping her.
This time, she took off as if the devil were on her heels. And he was. He so was—she found out as he hooked his arm around her ribcage and tackled her to the ground. Though at the last second, he twisted to take the brunt of the fall.
“Let me go, you jerk. You liar.”
He rolled, pinning her down with his big body into the earth. “Shhh.” His lips moved against her ear. Lightly, he ran a thumb across her cheek, brushing away her goddamned tears. Holy crap, was she crying?
“Relax,” he whispered, so gently. So deceptively. “It’s the adrenaline rush kicking in, messing with your head.”
She stiffened. An adrenaline rush? What a crock of bullshit. It was pretty damn obvious who’d been messing with her head. She was about to snarl a sharp retort, but he cut her off.
“I’m taking you somewhere safe. No one is going to hurt you.”
You. You hurt me.
But the fact that Stefan wanted to hurt Bracken overshadowed everything else. “Stefan wants to kill you, Bracken.” Her breath hitched but she forced the words out. “I overheard him telling that Russian. Sergei was supposed to hurt you then take you to Vegas. Kill you there, then set you up to take the blame for a drug deal gone bad. They were going to steal some vans off some gang members called the Mayhem. Stefan told him to kill them all and bring the drugs back to the Warehouse. Oh my god. You’ve been investigating a drug deal. And your partner turns out to be the dealer?”
He nodded, his expression grave, then pulled himself up on his elbows and stared down at her. “Listen, Huntley, I’m sorry I dragged you into this. Believe me, I’m going to get you out of this fucked-up mess.”
He clenched his jaw tight. She could feel the anger reverberating off of him. His friend had betrayed him, had put a hit out on him. She let out a long exhalation. Lies were one thing but setting out to physically harm someone was an entirely different matter.
“You can let me up now.” She moved beneath him, thinking he’d listen.
She thought wrong.
Something flashed across his face. Sorrow? Regret? Compassion? Leaning in, he brushed his lips against hers. “I couldn’t tell you. I warned you...”
Oh my god. She bucked up against him. “Get off me.”
His hips flexed and he anchored her back down. “Not until this is settled.”
She closed her eyes. Exasperated. Frustrated. And pissed as all hell. “You used me. You lied to me. Now move it.”
He kissed her lightly. Once. Twice. A third time. “Shhh. I was working a case, honey. Tying up loose ends on one fucking long year. I couldn’t tell you. Too risky for you.”
“So I’m supposed to accept that? In the name of justice or whatever? Am I supposed to thank you for training me too? Thank you for fucking me?” She winced at her hard tone, squeezing her eyes tighter. Not wanting him to confirm the truth. Not wanting her heart to break further.
Time stood suspended until she couldn’t take it any longer and opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, intently, as if he’d spent the past seconds memorizing every line on her face. “For the record,” he told her, “what’s between us is the purest, most honest thing that’s ever graced my fucked up life. More precious than anything else, Creampuff. God’s truth.” His lips brushed against hers, light as a feather, then he rolled to his feet.
“Let’s get to Tahoe before daybreak.”
Still stunned by both his words and the way he’d looked at her, his blue eyes shining like she mattered. Like he cared deeply—as deeply as a big brute like him could care. He didn’t give her time to dwell on it though. After the night they’d had, perhaps it was for the best.
She clambered onto her feet, wiped the dust off her backside and headed back toward the bike. And him.
* * *
Sunlight warmed Huntley’s cheeks, rousing her from a deep sleep. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light, then to her surroundings. Sitting up in the queen-sized bed, she looked around the room Bracken had ushered her to in the early morning hours.
Oh my word. No way would she have forgotten something this gorgeous. This revealing. If Bracken’s apartment was as bland as a mortuary, his cabin—well, this part of it, anyway—beamed with personality.
The wooden floorboards held traces of tangerine mixed with the stark paleness of sandalwood. They were warm and inviting, as was the fluffy white throw rug that covered a good portion of the floor. The room was accented in white—the bedspread, the two small pillows on the leather chair by the window, a throw tossed across its back. So feminine. So pure. Such a complete contrast to the man she knew.
A tall bureau with a matching mirror over it sat against the one wall. She squinted, noticing the complicated pattern painstakingly carved into the wood, swirling lines looping around the drawers, each ending with perfectly etched roses. The mirror had smaller, yet just as delicate, rosebuds, too, one perfectly positioned on each side. Both pieces of furniture had to have cost a pretty penny. That, or someone had put a hell of a lot of time into making them.
A small corner desk was neatly organized, with a few file folders tucked away between the slots in the hutch, and a cup with a Nevada State Police logo filled with pencils and pens perched on top of it.
The latter was a jarring reminder of Bracken’s real identity.
And if the cup didn’t give it away, the plaques lining the walls sure did. She scrambled out of bed, and moved closer so she could read the engravings. Award of Merit: Bracken Kelly. Honorable Service Award: Bracken Kelly. In Recognition Of Outstanding Excellence: Bracken Kelly. On and on she read, slowly stepping around the room, each plaque as surprising as they were alarming. Each one revealing something about Bracken. Honor. Service. Loyalty. Commitment. And duty. That word seemed to be prevalent.
Bracken was one hell of a badass cop.
Ironically, that was the least surprising thing of all.
Her gaze shifted to the desk, and to the two shoeboxes that sat there. With a heavy heart, she tore off their lids and inventoried the items inside. Her mama’s letters. Her mama’s diary. Bracken had returned them in the dark of night. An apology? An uncharacteristically kind gesture, nevertheless. Reminding her how very little she actually knew of him.
Carefully, she set the lids back into place. That’s when she noticed the note pad sticking out from beneath them. A letter.
Dear Bracken,
Thank you for letting the Ultimate American Fiancé and I take over your beautiful cabin. The views, the warmth of the place, the hot tub—Caden demanded I add that last bit—are all wonderful. And I have to admit, your brother in the hot tub is pretty darn spectacular.
But aren’t you a man full of surprises? Did you really create these jaw-dropping pieces of furniture? Now I’ve got your number, Bracken. How you hide behind your rough manners. How you are the last person to show people the goodness inside you. Maybe it’s a cop thing—I don’t know.
With that said, I’ve taken the liberty of hanging up the box full of plaques collecting dust in the hallway closet. Caden thought you’d be “pissed to high heaven” but, as usual, I ignored his warning and did as I pleased.
My way of thanking you. For everything. Your lovely cabin is full of warmth and love. I thought I’d add
a bit more.
We are so proud of you. Even if at times you scare the bejesus out of me.
With love,
Sophie (and Caden)
Huntley blinked, fighting back the tears that welled in her eyes. So, Bracken had family. People who cared deeply about him. Loved him. A relief, in a way, knowing he wasn’t so alone. That she wasn’t the sole person on the planet who was confounded by him.
He’d been gentle with her earlier. Holding her in his arms as he questioned her about what she’d overheard. Placing kisses on the top of her head as the warmth of his body comforted her. Murmuring loving words. Reinforcing what he’d told her earlier, making her believe that not all of what had happened between them had been a lie.
Biker. Cop. Fighter. A rough and tumble brawler who’d lied to her out of necessity.
A man who cared about her.
Funny how in the light of day things became clearer.
She glanced back at the letter, and burst out laughing at the last scribbled lines, clearly written by his brother Caden:
Your ball-busting ways, your bad temper and ugly personality make you the perfect brother. All joking aside, I’m fucking proud of you, bro. Why’d you keep this shit a secret? Don’t be too pissed at Sophie. I love this infuriating woman, after all.
She swallowed hard, suddenly missing her brothers, her father. Her mother. Feeling disconnected, yet at the same time, happy for Bracken. She’d imagined a loner. Without family, and with few friends.
Turns out, she fit that bill perfectly. Who did Huntley have to lean on? Confide in. Watch over her without stifling her?
Bracken.
Bracken? The note, the plaques. His returning of her shoeboxes. The careful way he’d created these exquisite pieces of furniture. His kindness in the early morning hour.
Today, she’d discover the truth of the matter. Leave no stone unturned. Figure out the course of her future by dealing with her past.
She ran a finger over Sophie and Caden’s words.
Maybe it was time to reconnect. Hang up her own invisible plaques. Lay it all out on the table. Then move forward.
She knew just the place to start.
Chapter Nineteen
Bracken found himself listening for her. The slightest noise, something to break the stillness. Something to break the solitude he no longer craved. But the spacious cabin was at rest with no indication that she was up and about.
Frowning, he pulled on his sweatpants, not really wanting to wake her, not after the bullshit they’d been through. Yet needing to see her, talk to her, hold her in his arms and know she was safe.
Jesus. Next he’d be galloping into her room on a big fucking white horse.
Hell, he’d put her in the middle of this bullshit and he’d be damned if he didn’t pull her back out. His cabin was secure, no one except his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law knew of its existence. She’d be safe here, within his paradise, able to catch her breath and focus on her training while Bracken strategized. Numbnuts was about to feel the consequences of screwing Bracken over.
Bracken figured he’d been feeding I.A. bullshit all along. Sneaky behind-the-scenes crap, maneuvering Bracken into place, setting him up to take the fall.
Just like the heroin. Just like Flagstaff.
So much for goddamned teamwork.
All trails led back to Stefan. The squad’s late arrival. The massacre. Pres being silenced. Numbnuts with the heroin and Bracken with the blame.
Greedy bastard. It looked like he was attempting an encore performance, too, with a bigger shipment and more of a payout. With those pencil pushers back at headquarters playing target practice using Bracken’s face instead of connecting the dots to the real perp.
Bracken wasn’t about to clue them in. They’d find out soon enough. Numbnuts was about to encounter one motherfucker of a roadblock. And, with luck, he’d have no inkling it was coming.
But beforehand, he’d take a few days off. Maybe his hands would even stop twitching.
He laced his running shoes before setting out to wake her. With the idea that they’d hit the mountain trails and resume their training while he processed what had gone down. Restore a sense of normalcy in her world—his world. His shoulders relaxed at the idea. His coming up for air, his breathing in her freshness while his jaded world reeked of bullshit would be just the break he needed.
A good idea...until he walked into the living area and lost his fucking mind.
Huntley was curled up on his couch, stooped over, gasping for breath as she clutched her chest. At the sight of her, his heart went ballistic, trapped itself in his throat and cut off circulation to his brain. Slowing his reaction time. Fuck, he’d get them killed yet.
He grabbed his spare gun out of a kitchen drawer and scanned the open floor plan. He raised his arms, poised to shoot.
“No,” he heard her gasp weakly.
Fuck. Dropping his arms, he closed the distance between them and crouched to his knees before her.
“No one’s here?” he demanded, already knowing the answer.
He caught her nod, then noticed the letters scattered across the couch. The two empty shoeboxes, which he’d set on the desk the night before. The diary on the floor. His eyes narrowed on her face. Her tears.
“What’s going on?”
Whatever it was was bad. Huntley rocked back and forth, her arms cuddling her knees like a child searching for warmth. And comfort.
Without thinking, he scooped her up, replaced her position on the couch, bringing her onto his lap and back against his chest. “Huntley. Talk. What the fu... What’s wrong, darling?”
“I’m not your darling.”
Always a fighter, his gal. A good sign. But seeing the pain on Huntley’s beautiful face, that he couldn’t bear. “Tell me why you’re shaking like a leaf, Creampuff. Is it that asshole, your ex? I meant what I said, you know. As soon as I figure out my own bullshit, he’s going to jail for breaking and entering, extortion...”
“...murder.”
“You think your ex killed your mother?” he asked softly.
“His father did. It’s all there.” She waved her hand toward the diary. “Mama’s notes about Mr. Harding. All dated. His stalking her. His attempts to bribe her. His demands for favors. It looks like my mother had found out the Hardings were sabotaging Wittaker Fine Smokes. Years ago, we’d had our first warehouse fire. A series of disasters followed, highly skilled employees being lured away by higher salaries or injured outside the job so they could no longer work. She has the dates of his threats and the messes that came afterward. Two days before she was murdered, she wrote how he’d threatened her.”
Bracken scowled. “You think Robert knows this? That his father did it?”
“You have enough to deal with without me dragging you deeper into my problems, Bracken.”
“Your brother had said someone broke into your house in Savannah and stolen what he could find.” He paused, and let a stream of curses fly. “Yeah, it’s too much of a freakin’ coincidence.” He ran a hand across his jaw. “I’m going to arrest him for breaking into your apartment. Lock him up until the Savannah PD get back on board. They’ll want to question him about his father and his own actions. We’ll head over to the Tahoe precinct. While I fill out the paperwork, we’ll get some rookie to copy and fax the diary to Georgia. Reopen your mother’s case. Pronto.”
She raised her head and her tear-filled eyes met his own, all the pain and suffering and distrust welled up, her pain becoming his pain. Deep and heart-shattering. He’d do anything to ease her troubles. Anything.
Even tell her he loved her.
Wham. Bam. Boom. There it was. He blinked, the realization catching him off-guard. He loved Huntley, wholeheartedly.
She stooped over and picked up
the diary, unaware of the fragile man devouring her with his eyes like a love-starved boy. Two broken people, perhaps. But they were fighters, even with shit-loads of baggage and thick walls of distrust. Add on criminals coming out of the woodwork for a chance at silencing them. And all Bracken wanted to do was gather her in his arms. Whisper how he loved her. Use his body, his heart, his jaded soul to swap her pain for pleasure.
“We’ll get through this together. Anyone and everyone involved in your mother’s murder will be thrown in jail,” he quietly promised her. “I said I’d help you and I meant it.”
She straightened, paper crackling beneath her fingers as her grip tightened around the love letters. Weighing his words as she carefully studied him.
Man alive, how he loved her.
“Okay.”
“Okay? Nothing else?” Jesus. What was he asking her, exactly?
“Nope.”
Disappointed, he rolled off the couch and up onto his feet. “I need to make some phone calls first. Shit, it’s been a hell of a twenty-four hours. No time to think, work everything out.”
“I’ll change.”
He couldn’t bear the sadness in her voice. With both hands, he grabbed hold of what she offered and snatched it in tight. “I won’t let you down, Huntley. Do you believe me?” His voice sounded raw, fragile to his ears. Weak—and for the first time in his life, he understood that without allowing yourself to bleed from the heart, you never fully live.
“Those plaques on the wall say it all, Bracken.”
He frowned in confusion. What the hell? Plaques?
She gave him a puzzled look then stalked over to the bedroom he used as a den. Glancing over her shoulder, she told him, “Come and see.”
The tightness in her stance seemed to lessen. He hoped in time, with closure, her pain would too. Still, he scowled. See what? After the last twenty-four hours, nothing more could surprise him. In a few long strides, he entered the room and stopped short next to her.
Out for the Count Page 27