by Brenda Novak
Eve breathed a sigh of relief at finally learning who Scarlet was. So she wasn’t Rex’s sister or his girlfriend. Now the fact that Dennis hadn’t recognized her name made sense. She wished that didn’t please her as much as it did, but...
“Whatever trouble he’s in now is his trouble, not Scarlet’s,” Dylan added. “But he claims that trouble doesn’t involve the police.”
“He’s told me the same thing.” Setting her purse aside, Eve removed her coat. “Do you believe him?”
“I do,” Dylan said.
“Why?” she challenged. “When he’s told so many lies?”
“If you’ll remember, he didn’t volunteer those lies. He didn’t really want to say anything. We forced those answers out of him. And he didn’t need to call me back if he was just going to offer up more of the same. He seemed sort of...resigned, if you want the truth.”
Eve wished she had talked to him. “Did he say anything about me?”
“Not directly. But that whole call was about you.”
“Yet I wasn’t mentioned,” she said as she sat down on a kitchen chair.
“He wouldn’t have bothered if he didn’t care about you.” Dylan helped Cheyenne with her coat and put it on top of his. “That’s why we’re here. I don’t think he wanted to leave Whiskey Creek, and I felt you should know that.”
What Dylan had said soothed her wounded pride—but it also made her want Rex back. “Is he safe?”
Dylan frowned. “I got the impression he doesn’t think so.”
Suddenly as cold as if she was still standing outside, Eve clasped her hands in her lap. “He would know, wouldn’t he?”
“I’m guessing he would.” Dylan’s response was grudging. Eve could tell he didn’t really want to think about that aspect.
“Is there anything we can do?” she asked.
He sat across from her and stretched out his legs. “Stay out of the line of fire, I guess. He doesn’t want to bring whatever danger he’s in to Whiskey Creek. And I can’t say I’d like to see that myself.”
But if he wasn’t safe, who was going to help him? “You’re saying we just let it go, let him handle whatever it is on his own?”
Dylan shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see any other way.”
As she sat there, looking at Cheyenne’s swollen belly, she could understand why Dylan might choose to play it safe. Eve knew she could be carrying a child herself. She didn’t want to see anyone hurt—but that included Rex.
* * *
Rex had nearly shot his neighbor. Never had he imagined that Leigh Dresden, half of the couple who lived next door, would show up on his doorstep at one in the morning, in the worst storm to hit San Francisco so far this winter. It wouldn’t have been such a close call if she hadn’t covered the peephole with her finger as a friendly joke. But he could see why she wouldn’t expect something like that to put her in danger. And he was pretty sure Leigh didn’t know what the hell she was doing. From her giddy laughter, and the way she swayed on her feet, she’d had too much to drink. Maybe that was why she’d braved the wind and the rain to show up with a platter of decorated sugar cookies. She’d covered them with plastic wrap, which revealed some presence of mind, but she wasn’t even wearing a coat. And this kind of behavior wasn’t like her. She had two kids, two little boys, and had always seemed so circumspect and devoted.
“Made you these,” she said, slurring her words enough to add further proof to his “she’s drunk” observation.
He could feel the weight of his gun in his right hand. He’d turned on the porch light, but he hadn’t turned on the light in the entry, so he was standing in shadow. From what he could tell, she hadn’t yet noticed that he was holding a pistol. She was too busy looking at his face—and smiling.
“That’s nice of you.” He hid the gun behind his back. “What made you do that in the middle of the night?”
She stood on her tiptoes and glanced over his shoulder into his house, apparently curious as to what she’d find there. “I thought you might like them. You seem so isolated and remote over here, you know? I never see you bring anyone home. You never entertain friends or...or anything.”
“You’ve been watching me that closely?”
Her laugh sounded slightly nervous, as if that question had brought a moment of clarity. “Things have changed since Marcus and I split.”
The breakup was news to him. “You and your husband are no longer together?”
She gave him a funny look. “No. We haven’t been for six months. He decided he preferred the eighteen-year-old bimbo he met at the gym.”
Rex rubbed his free hand over his chin. “I’m sorry about that. I guess I’m a little behind on neighborhood gossip.”
“I guess so,” she said. “I didn’t think anyone had missed hearing that story.” She laughed again but then sadness wiped the smile from her face. He was bringing her to the house. It was Ben, across the street, who told me what was going on.”
“Ouch.”
She looked sullen, but then managed another smile. “Anyway, I saw that all your lights were on, and I know you’re usually up late, and...” She gestured sloppily. “I couldn’t sleep, so...I thought I’d walk over to see if you’d like a cookie.” She seemed to focus on his mouth. “Or...maybe you’d like to come over for a drink and then have a cookie. We’ve lived thirty feet apart for two years and yet we barely know each other.”
And she thought now was the time to get acquainted?
“Where are your kids?”
“They’re home, asleep.” She lowered her voice and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “They won’t bother us.”
She obviously wanted more than conversation. Rex wasn’t interested. But he couldn’t send her away and have her fall and get hurt or run into a member of The Crew on her way home. So he shoved his gun back into his waistband and pulled his shirt down, shielding that action with his body. “I’m afraid I was just getting ready for bed, so we’ll have to have a drink another time,” he said as he took the cookies and set them aside. “But, here, let me walk you home.”
She slid her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder almost as soon as he stepped outside. He hadn’t grabbed a coat. Although it was freezing, he’d been too nervous about a woman standing on his front stoop when he was expecting to be attacked. He just wanted to get her home safely, but she was so drunk she could hardly walk. Her lack of coordination and the wind fighting them at every step made progress slower than he’d planned.
“Don’t you ever get lonely?” she asked wistfully, blinking as she turned her face up to his.
He thought of Eve. The only time he hadn’t been lonely was recently, when he was with her. “Yes,” he said.
Her smile broadened and her gaze returned to his lips. “Then why aren’t you more sociable?”
“I’m busy.”
“A man’s got to have some downtime. You have to eat and sleep and do...other things occasionally.”
They’d finally reached her doorstep. She didn’t seem troubled by the weather, but he didn’t enjoy getting soaked. “Here you are. You’d better go inside before you catch a cold.”
“Come in with me,” she said with a pout, and opened the door to tug him through it.
“Leigh, I’m sorry.” He let her pull him inside but stood in the entry. “I’ve got to get back.”
She closed the door behind him and lifted his hand to her breast. “Why? You won’t find anything over there like you’ll find here.”
“I’m sorry, Leigh,” he said again, removing his hand. “But I’m in a relationship with someone else.” He almost couldn’t believe those words had come out of his mouth. He and Eve weren’t in a “relationship.” He couldn’t offer her anything. And yet...she might be pregnant with his child.
His neighbor linked her arms around his neck. “You never bring anyone home,” she responded, jutting out her bottom lip. “I know. I’ve been watching you since my husband left.”
“
She lives somewhere else.”
“In another state?”
“There’s no need for you to worry about that.” He gently extricated himself. It was clear she was going through a difficult time. Christmas probably brought back a lot of memories of when she was with her husband, and yet she had to put on a happy face for her kids. He could see why she might get drunk and seek comfort and pleasure where she could find it.
But just as he stepped away and started to open the door, he saw a car drive by—going very slow—and stop at his house.
Quickly closing the door again, he drew the dead bolt.
“What is it?” Leigh asked.
He didn’t answer. He hurried over to the window, where he watched four men get out. From the way they stalked purposefully to the house, sheltering something under their jackets, he guessed they were carrying guns.
21
Banging on the door woke Eve from a restless sleep. She sat up, wondering if she’d imagined the noise—or mistaken it for something in one of the many dream sequences she’d been having.
Then it came again. Solid and distinct. Someone wanted to rouse her. It couldn’t be her parents, could it? It wasn’t even six in the morning!
Slightly anxious—she’d had such a bad night already—she grabbed her robe and her cell phone and crept out to the living room. The sun hadn’t yet made its appearance. Maybe it wouldn’t make much of one today. Judging by the wind howling through the eaves, the weather hadn’t cleared since the previous night, when Dylan and Cheyenne had paid her a visit. She wasn’t sure if it was still snowing, but the storm certainly wasn’t over.
She went to the window and peered out. The snow had stopped but she could see no car in her drive.
“Who is it?” she called, her finger hovering over the send button for 9-1-1.
“It’s me,” came the response.
Eve’s heart nearly dropped to her knees. Brent! No, Rex. She had to get used to his real name—but first she needed to confirm it.
“Rex?”
“Yeah.”
She managed a slight smile after she opened the door. “It’s nice to finally meet the real you.”
“I’m sorry, Eve. I’ve tried to stay out of your life.”
He was pale and drawn, much paler than she’d ever seen him. She wondered if he was sick but figured it was exhaustion. His hair had been whipped around and was noticeably tangled, he had more beard growth than usual and his eyes were bloodshot. “I don’t want you out of my life,” she said, and pulled him inside, where it was warm.
“I can’t stay,” he told her. But she ignored that. He needed sleep and good food and a little TLC before they even considered anything else.
“You look like you haven’t been to bed tonight.”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet? It’s nearly morning!”
She began to lead him to her bedroom, but he pulled back. “You’d be smarter to send me away. It should be safe for you now—for both of us—or I wouldn’t be here. But at some point they’ll find me again.”
They. She didn’t know who “they” were. And she didn’t know what he might have done, if anything, to cause the danger he was in. But she didn’t dare ask him. Not right now. There was something ragged about him, something watchful and defensive, that made her heart ache.
“We’ll talk about that later,” she said. “After you’ve had a chance to rest.”
“When do you leave for work?”
“I have to be there by nine, so if I’m gone when you wake up, just make yourself at home and shower, eat, whatever. Do you need to borrow my car?”
“No. I have a rental. It’s parked down the road half a mile or so. I didn’t want your parents to see it and wonder what was going on.”
“And your bags?”
“I don’t have much, but what I do have is in the car.”
He let her strip off his shirt. But when she started to unbutton his jeans, he stopped her, and she realized it was because he had a gun.
She froze as he removed it, but he didn’t immediately set it aside. He paused, as if he thought the sight of it might upset her enough that she wouldn’t want him to stay. “It’s for self-defense, Eve,” he said. “I would never hurt you. You believe that, don’t you?”
She did. It wasn’t as though he was threatening her with it. But there were other reasons he possessed such a deadly weapon, and they scared her. “Have you ever had to use it?”
She’d known he was in trouble, and that it was serious trouble, but a handgun? That brought the reality home. He was talking life and death!
Instead of answering, he slid the weapon back into his waistband. “I shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t be including you in my problems.”
Part of her, the part that recited what her parents and her friends would most likely say, told her she should let him go. But the other part, the part that cared about him and felt his exhaustion and his pain, couldn’t bear the thought of his leaving without the rest and comfort he needed.
“Don’t go,” she said. “I admit it’s a leap of faith for me to have a gun in the house, but...put it down and come to bed. I want you beside me. I want to hear your heart beating and know you’re with me, solid and safe.”
When he hesitated, she reached for the gun, but he guided her hand away and put it on the nightstand himself. Then Eve took off her nightgown. It wasn’t because she wanted to make love. She didn’t feel he was emotionally capable of that right now. She wasn’t sure she was. But she craved the feel of his skin against hers and, when she crawled in with him, he seemed just as eager to be close.
“I love the way you smell,” he murmured as he gathered her to him.
She liked a lot more than that about him. She couldn’t say why. She didn’t know him all that well—not to mention that what he’d originally told her wasn’t true. But she felt satisfied when she was with him in a way she’d never been satisfied before. It was almost as if something had been missing in her life, and he provided it. “I’m glad you came back,” she said, and shifted to press her lips to his temple.
He seemed to drop off almost instantly but Eve didn’t. She didn’t want to sleep. She knew these minutes were numbered, that she’d be lucky if he stayed more than a day or two. So she lay there, listening to him breathe and memorizing the features of his gorgeous face as the sun came up. She wanted to store every detail in her memory, since memories were probably all she’d ever have.
Unless he’d given her a baby...
* * *
When Rex woke up, the house was quiet. Eve had to be at work. He lifted his head to gaze around the empty bedroom, with all its feminine frills, then fell back onto the pillow when he remembered how badly The Crew had shot up his house and Land Rover last night. They’d assumed he was at home.
He needed to shower so he could run his errands and, when she returned from work, have her take him to the airport. He had to get out of California as soon as possible. He also needed to figure out how he was going to sell his business and his house and then rebuild his life. He knew he should be grateful that he’d survived the night, that his neighbor had given him reason to leave his house at that precise moment. But it was difficult to face the destruction of everything he’d built—especially since he’d thought he’d finally reached a point where this wouldn’t happen again. Until the final message from Mona, he’d believed that as long as he was careful, the past would continue to fade away.
He shouldn’t have assumed he was clear of it. Then maybe the disappointment wouldn’t taste quite so bitter. He’d never escape The Crew entirely. Which was why he couldn’t linger in Whiskey Creek.
A noise at the front door made him sit up. Although he saw no way The Crew could have traced him to Whiskey Creek, he was rattled enough by what had taken place to grab his gun.
“Don’t worry, it’s just me!” Eve called out. “I’ve brought you some lunch!”
He noted the caution she’d used because she kne
w he was armed.
“I’m still in bed,” he called back, and placed his Glock in her top drawer so she wouldn’t have to see it the second she walked into the room.
She appeared in the doorway, looking as beautiful as ever in a fitted gray dress with black trim and black stockings. “Good. I hope you slept well. You needed it.” She smiled at him. “You hungry?”
“Starving.” He let his gaze range over her, starting with her dark hair and those pretty cornflower-blue eyes and moving over her slender figure. “But maybe we could have dessert first.”
Instead of capitulating, she raised an eyebrow. “I sense some avoidance going on here. Some more avoidance, I should say.”
He grimaced. “Does that mean you want to talk?”
“What do you think?”
“We have very limited time. Why waste it?”
“Finding out what’s going on wouldn’t be a waste to me.” She came over to sit beside him on the bed. “Are you going to trust me enough to tell me?”
He was so used to hiding his past, his true identity and so many of the events that had shaped him. It felt strange to even consider opening up. And yet all those secrets created such a heavy burden. She was the first woman since Laurel to know even this much about him, little though that was.
“What’s the use of keeping me in the dark?” she prodded, as if she understood the battle he was waging in his head. “Why not let me know the real you?”
With a sigh, he shoved the pillows against the backboard to give his spine some support. “My real name is Rex McCready. That’s the name I was born with. Since then I’ve been Perry Smith, Jackson Perry, Taylor Jackson—” He’d started to tick them off on his fingers, but she interrupted.
“And Brent Taylor. I think I see a pattern here,” she said with a wry smile.
“I figured it would be easier to remember my own name if at least part of it was familiar.”
She nodded, encouraging him to continue. He grimaced again. “Sometimes even I don’t know who I am.”