Tracked by Trouble (Bad Boys Need Love, Too #3)

by Calinda B

  Zed’s gut bubbled with shame, revulsion and rage. In a few brief minutes, he’d been coldcocked, figured out the way a surgeon could assess a gaping wound. And found to be lacking.

  “I asked you if you had something to say to me,” Mitch challenged.

  “Not really, no,” Zed said, not wanting to rise to the bait.

  “Bitch,” Mitch muttered.

  “What did you say to me?”

  “I called you a bitch.”

  “You don’t get to talk like that to me. I came here in goodwill, seeking help. You’re acting like my brother. You’re nothing but a hard-ass prick. I don’t see what Jace saw in you.” Zed shoved his chair away from the table. “I’m out of here,” he raged, ready to bolt from the room.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Want to bet?”

  Mitch stood, towering over Zed, appearing at least twice as wide, ten times as solid. “You don’t get to leave until I say we’re done.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me. What’s a fucking criminal going to do to help me?” Zed took a step toward the door. He didn’t know what he expected out of coming here, but it sure wasn’t this bullshit.

  Mitch blocked Zed’s pathway. “You want to leave, you have to get around me.”

  “Get the fuck out of my way, Jamison.” Zed put out his hands and shoved the guy’s chest. His hands met a solid wall of flesh, like trying to move a steel gun safe.

  In a flash, Mitch somehow spun Zed around and pinned him to the door, his hand around Zed’s neck in a chokehold. A strange feeling of panic pulsed through Zed’s veins. His heart began to race.

  “What are you going to do to me, you little bitch?” Mitch glared at him, his gaze unflinching.

  Zed stood, paralyzed, his vision going black. Fragments of memory catapulted through his brain like lightning flashes. Lawson’s hand around his neck in the bathroom. Lawson holding a gun to his head in the hotel room.

  Him escaping the room, stumbling down the hall, finding the elevator and taking it to the lobby, then finding the elevator to the garage. Him sitting in his truck, numb. And then the door to the parking garage opened, banged shut with a metallic clang and his side window exploding into fragments, and fetid, sour breath in his face from…from…Lawson? Isn’t he up in his room screwing Nora?

  “Son. Son. Zed. Wake up, son. Zed. Come on, Farrell, wake up. Come on. I may have pushed you too hard. Come back. Son. Son.”

  Zed blinked, cleared his gaze, blinked some more. That prick Mitch crouched before him and he sat on the kitchen floor. How he got from there to here was a mystery.

  Mitch reached his hand out to Zed.

  Zed angrily refused to take it, scrambling to his feet instead. “What the fuck happened? Did you hit me? Were you trying to strangle me, like my brother did in San Diego? Was this some sort of tough love initiation you learned in prison? Huh? Was it?”

  “No, man, I’m sorry. I was going for a reaction of some kind.”

  “Mission accomplished.” Zed felt a fury rolling through his gut. “What an asshole! This wasn’t what I expected when I agreed to come here. I didn’t come to be bullied. Had enough of that in my life.”

  “Yeah, I get that. I’m sorry, man. I wanted to prove a point. To see what you’d do if you were pushed.”

  “Yeah? And did you get the reaction you hoped for? I didn’t.” Zed shook with anger.

  “It’s true, you’re one pissed off male.”

  “How could you sense that from a simple greeting? Huh?”

  “It’s rolling off you, boy. You’ve let yourself be bullied by that brother of yours. But you need to find a way to be smart with your rage. Working out at a gym won’t help. That’s Savage’s path. No,” Mitch said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You need something different.”

  “What, are you some psychic now, able to see into the hearts of damaged souls like myself?”

  “Come. Sit. Let’s sort this out.” He strode across the small kitchen and settled in the wooden chair.

  “I’m not sure if I want to sort things out with you, Jamison.”

  “Yeah, I get it. I pushed too hard. But let’s sit a spell and see if we can sort things. Come to an understanding of where I was coming from. You don’t like it, you leave, no hard feelings.”

  “Maybe not for you,” Zed said. He stood stiffly, arms crossed over his chest.

  Mitch inclined his head toward the chair opposite him, looking anything but threatening.

  Zed stepped across the floor like a sulky teen and sat.

  “I needed to see if there’s fire in your belly. There is. That’s good. But if you come at your brother in defensiveness and reactivity, the way you came at me, you’re dead.”

  Zed shuddered and swallowed hard. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “He’s retiring soon, am I right?”

  “Yeah. And supposedly moving back home to help my mom. I’ll believe it when I see it. He only believes in taking care of his own needs. He’s all about the glory.”

  “What’s your bro’s name? Savage told me but I don’t remember.”

  “Lawson. I call him Lawless sometimes.”

  Mitch nodded, stroking his goatee. “Lawson’s a trained sniper. A combat militant. All that means is he’s ready, more than capable and sanctified to kill. Only he crossed a line. He chose to do something immoral and took the life of one of his own soldiers. That’s murder. When you cross a line like that, you can do it again. It’s like you give yourself permission to be immoral. Then when you overheard him, he threatened you with murder. That’s what I mean. They have a saying in prison—once you’ve committed murder and gotten away with it, you’ll do it again.”

  Prickles of fear danced up and down Zed’s body. He gripped the mug in front of him, as if it could keep him secure.

  Mitch scanned Zed up and down. “You look like you’re in good shape but you’re no trained assassin.”

  Zed turned away from the guy, staring blankly at a picture of red tomatoes on the wall. “So, you’re saying there’s nothing I can do except hope I dodge the bullet? Sometimes I feel that’s all my life consists of—dodging bullets.”

  “Yeah, I hear that.” Mitch drummed his fingers on the table. “You passed out on the floor back there. Where’d you go? What happened?”

  “You mean when you tried to kill me?” Zed snarled.

  “I told you, I may have pushed too hard.”

  “May have?” Zed’s eyebrows launched up to his hairline. “May have? Fuck that, Jamison, you did push too hard.”

  Mitch put his palms up. “I apologize. My methods are what they are. So tell me what happened.”

  Zed glanced at the guy, unease and wariness competing with trust. “You put your hand around my neck like Lawson did in San Diego. I started remembering more to the story. There are a lot of blank holes. This time I heard the door to the parking garage slam shut, my side window blew out, spraying glass all over me and…” Zed shook his head. “That’s all I got. Someone breathing in my face. Some sour, whiskey soaked breath. I don’t know if it was Lawson’s or the other marine he was with or…” He shrugged.

  “You might need more help than I can give. Sounds like you have some sort of dissociate amnesia. That happens when you’ve experienced trauma like you experienced.” He took a sip of his coffee.

  An icy chill washed through Zed. “What do you mean?” His pulse began to race, amped up as if heading toward the finish line.

  “Easy, boy. This is serious stuff. You’ve got yourself in a conundrum, through no fault of your own. I like you. Don’t want harm to come to you. When I started to get straight, I got me a good woman who believed in me and I began to fight for the unprotected. I began to stand up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves. I’ll do the same for you if you’ll let me, but only until you can find your smarts and stand up for yourself.”

  Zed turned to gaze into tawny-colored eyes, the color of whiskey left overnight in the glass next to the bedstan
d. Wisdom and hard won compassion stared back at him. “You don’t get to mess me up or call me my brother’s bitch. And don’t you ever lay your hands on me like that again,” Zed said with quiet, fierce intensity.

  “Understood. I think we’re square now. I get where you’re coming from, and I hope you get where I’m coming from. I like to find the edges right from the get go. Makes no sense to pussyfoot around the issues.” Mitch fished around in his pocket and pulled out a white business card. “You passed the test.”

  “Whoopee. What did I win?” Zed said with a scowl.

  Mitch placed the card on the table and slid it toward Zed with one finger. “This here’s a private number. Call it anytime, day or night. If I’m not on my motorcycle, on the road, I’ll answer.”

  Zed hesitated before picking up the card, certain once he touched it a commitment would be made. “What if I don’t want to take it?”

  Mitch shrugged. “I didn’t do my job correctly then. I’ll have to contemplate my actions and see where I went wrong. People walk through my door for a reason. I aim to listen to my heart and do what’s right. I may have blown it today. Too much, too soon. I thought you could take it. I thought you were ready. You’re tougher than you think you are.”

  He listens to his heart? Zed thought. Is he for real? The card sat between them as Zed considered whether or not he wanted what this scary dude had to offer.

  “You have a good woman?” Mitch asked.

  “No. Maybe. I started seeing someone recently. It’s already going down differently. She says she’s in it for more than sex.” A small half smile appeared on Zed’s face. “She makes me feel…I dunno, I feel different around her. I like her a lot. But I’m scared to tell her about my brother. Seems like a deal breaker to me.”

  Mitch nodded sagely. “Yeah. Imagine telling the gorgeous woman across from you—the one you’re aching to be with, imagine telling that fine woman you’re a convicted felon. And convincing her you’ve changed your life around.”

  Zed let out a short laugh. “When you put it like that, telling Beck my brother’s a murderer doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Feel it out. Don’t blurt it out until you’re ready. You should’ve seen me. I had two agendas with my woman. One, tell her I’m a felon, and two, ask her to marry me. She ran at the first one. Got mad at me because she said she’d already fallen in love with me. I thought I’d lost her for good. She came around, saw I meant what I said about changing and…” He shrugged. “Here we are.”

  “How’d she deal with the proposal?”

  Mitch laughed. “Still working on it. We’ve been together for years. Moved in together, right here in this fine house, once she learned to trust me. I love her and her kids to pieces. There’s no rush. She’s not going anywhere, I’m not going anywhere.” Mitch picked up the business card and extended it to Zed with two fingers. “So, that’s my story in a nutshell. Are you in or are you out?”

  “Yeah, okay, give it here.” He took the card from Mitch, took out his wallet, and tucked it inside the folds. “You’re right next to a condom.” He chuckled.

  Mitch laughed. “I can’t help you with that, man, you’re on your own. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Chapter 16

  Zed mulled over the meeting with the psycho ex-con, Mitch. He called Beck on the way to the bar where they were to meet. “New plan. Can you meet me at the marina? I need fresh air and open space, not a stuffy bar.”

  “Sure,” she said. “No problem. I’m running late so I’ll just hook a U-turn and head toward the water.”

  The second he hung up, his phone rang again.

  “Guess what?” his mother said, in a chirpy, cheery voice as soon as he answered.

  “Tell me. I’m not in the mood for guessing.”

  “Your brother’s retirement kicked in sooner than later. He injured himself on the battle field so…”

  “Didn’t die, huh?” Shit. The sentiment slipped out before he could filter it. “Sorry, he what?”

  “What did you say?”

  Shit, shit, shit. Forget I said the first part. “I asked you what you said.”

  “Which part?”

  “Repeat what you said.” Panic rolled through him like a sudden storm.

  “You heard me. Your brother’s coming home. He also said he’s going to compete in the triathlon. When I told him about it and how you’re in it, he said he simply had to participate. Isn’t that wonderful? Rickie will have two uncles competing to save Murphy.”

  Zed’s head fell back on the headrest. Fuck. He’s going to try to kill me in the competition.

  “I’m sure you’ll be in different classes or levels or whatever they have in those kinds of races. You don’t need to worry, Zed.”

  “What would I be worried about?” The words burst from his lungs like angry hornets. The fact that he threatened my life and he’ll have a good chance to off me now? That trumps whether or not he wins the fucking race.

  “Zed,” his mom said in her “poor Zed” voice.

  “Zed, what? Honestly, Ma, did you call me to gloat? To let me know that Rickie now has a relative in the race who stands a chance of winning? Not like your son who tries hard but never makes it in your eyes?” Stunned silence met his ears. Zed expected it to fall any second and shatter into broken bits of ice in his lap. Crap, is this the result of my meeting with Mitch? Now I blurt things out without thought of consequences? “Sorry, Ma, I’m, uh, a little tense. I just got out of a meeting, and uh…”

  His mom sniffled in his ear.

  Shit. I made her cry. “Look, you called at a bad time. I’m sure you’re thrilled Lawson’s coming back so soon.”

  “Why can’t you be more like your brother? Why do you have to be so sensitive?”

  You mean, why do I give a shit…about anything? Now it was his turn to breathe ice crystals through the phone.

  “I’m sorry, Zed. I know you try.”

  There it is again…the try word. Zed’s jaw clenched, as tightly as if it were in one of the clamps he used to glue wood together. “Ma…” he said, carefully choosing his words, “have you looked at me lately? Have you seen or heard any of the things I’ve done? The Farm is thriving…because of me. I have two patents pending on a soil boost that knocks the socks off of any other product on the market.

  “I have a home to be proud of…I’m designing it, not Lawson. It’s my hard work being put into the place. And you have a show worthy yard and garden because of me.” Zed’s body shook from saying things he’d never said to his mother. He never stuck up for himself. His breath lodged in his throat as he waited for her response.

  “I love my yard,” his mother finally said.

  Well, at least she heard one of the four things I said. Zed gripped the phone like a hammer.

  “But…”

  Here it comes.

  “I didn’t call to talk about you. I called to give you the news.”

  Kill shot. “Thanks. Duty done. I’ve gotta go.”

  “Don’t you want to hear the rest?”

  “Not really, no.” His eyes landed on beautiful Beck, leaning against her red Mustang, arms crossed, legs crossed, a grin as wide as the horizon on her face. “Someone’s waiting for me.” Someone who gives a shit. “You can tell me later. Or better yet, tell Caitlin and she can fill me in.”

  “What’s gotten into you? You behaved horribly at the party. Why do you feel the need to fight with your brother? What’s he ever done to you?”

  “Will you please stop with summaries of me and my behavior?” He tried to gentle his voice. “For a few years, I might have gotten around and you heard about my party exploits, it’s true. But Lawson’s no saint, guaranteed.”

  “No one’s a saint, dear.” And as if he’d given her the green light to start chatting about his brother, her mouth went into overdrive, talking about Lawson this and Lawson that.

  He didn’t even register, focused on Beck’s expression. She seemed to welcome him. She seemed to
like him, as is. “Gotta go, Ma,” he said again. “I’ll talk to you.” Not even hearing her splutters, he hung up the phone.

  He slid from the truck seat, striding to where Beck stood.

  “Hey, cowboy,” she said with that saucy smile of hers. “Let go of the hay bale.”

  “What?”

  She chuckled. “Sorry, I had this image of you when you came to the parking lot of Tapt’s to get your truck. I pictured you as one of those handsome, burly cowboys who toss bales of hay like they’re cotton puffs.”

  “Should I say thanks?” Zed cocked his head to the side, uncertain. He couldn’t recall being called burly before.

  “Oh, yes. It’s a very sexy image. It conjures all kinds of fantasies for me.”

  Damn, Zed thought, his recent conversation blowing into the breeze billowing off the water.

  “But what’s bugging you? You do seem to be carrying a heavy load.”

  “Family bullshit. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are you sure? I’m a good listener.”

  “Thanks, honey, but no. It’s nothing but bullshit. I’d rather focus on you. I’d rather…” not feel like Waldo around you.

  “When you call me ‘honey,’ Zed Farrell…” The look in her eyes dripped wicked, sinful torture.

  “Yeah? What happens…Beck honey?” A smile played at the corners of his mouth, wiping Waldo from his mind.

  She made a sound like an explosion, splaying the fingers of both hands by her head, her eyes glittering like fireworks. “That’s what my insides do.”

  He smiled. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  “It’s a very good thing. I’ll give you a taste if you like.”

  “Oh, I’d like that very much.”

  “Then get over here.”

  In two quick steps he stood in front of her. “I come when you call, honey.”

  Her delightful laugh rose from her throat, beckoning for him to let go. “I’ll remember that.” Once again, she grabbed the lapels of his light jacket, pulling him down toward her.

  His mind spun into one mushed up wad of driving lust, as hungry lips met even hungrier lips. Lawson? Who’s Lawson, he quipped in his mind before strengthening his hold on her. This woman seemed to surrender to him, to melt in his arms like chocolate on his tongue. “Damn, Beck honey,” he said, once he’d wrested himself away.