by Brenda Novak
“Then it wouldn’t be that big a deal if I confiscated your weapon.”
“Sorry. You had your chance earlier.”
His eyebrows shot up at her refusal. “If I decide to take it, you won’t have any choice.”
Frustrated with herself for crying, and for letting him see it, which was worse, she wiped her cheeks and threw back her shoulders. “Then you’ll just have to do what you have to do.”
Chuckling without humor, he shook his head. “Why does everything have to be so difficult with you?”
“It won’t be difficult if you keep your distance.”
He grabbed his shirt and yanked it on, but he didn’t insist she hand over her gun—thank God. “Give me his name.”
“Whose name?”
“Your bastard ex-husband’s.”
“No.”
“I already have his initials. TH, right? That’s what’s on your arm. Or maybe it’s FH. Tell me the rest. Let me check him out, see what he’s done and where he’s at. Maybe I can put your mind at rest.”
“No one can put my mind at rest. This is over. I have to get back to my children,” she said, and walked out.
No one can put my mind at rest. What did she mean by that? And why was she so damn secretive about her past?
The whole ride home, Myles wondered about those two questions. He could feel Vivian on the back of his bike, trying not to touch him, and it upset him—enough that he took the turns a little more sharply than usual just to make her cling to his waist. He hated that they’d argued, that the night hadn’t brought either of them the satisfaction they craved. But he couldn’t say this came as a surprise. She’d warned him not to get involved with her. Hell, he’d even warned himself.
You deserve this, asshole. He knew it was true. He’d dived in with his eyes wide open. But he’d said no last night and walked the floor for hours because of it, which hadn’t felt a heck of a lot better. Problem was, there didn’t seem to be any way to win with this woman. He wanted someone he should leave alone.
Shit… He’d been telling the truth when he said he was angry. He was angry—at her because she couldn’t make what they were feeling as simple as he wanted it to be, at himself for not being able to avoid getting tripped up by desire and at her ex-husband because he had to be the reason she was so afraid to trust.
Tonight had changed one thing, though. Myles was going to find out what really happened in Vivian’s past. Maybe she wouldn’t tell him her ex’s name, but he could start with hers and backtrack from there. He wanted to find the man who’d damaged her life, to hear what that man had to say for himself. Curiosity was quickly turning into a driving compulsion to reach the truth.
When he pulled into his driveway, Vivian hopped off the bike and removed her helmet. He got the impression that she would’ve put it on the ground and dashed off to her house with barely a goodbye if she could get away with it. But she had to collect her children.
He removed his own helmet. “You coming in? Or do you want me to carry the kids over?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “If they’re asleep, maybe we could leave them until morning. Would that be possible?”
This surprised him. She never let her children spend much time at his place, used any excuse she could to drag them away. “That’s fine.”
“They might get you up early…?.”
Leaning the bike to one side, he lowered the kickstand and got off. “Won’t bother me. I have to get up early, anyway.”
She scanned the street, then studied his house, which was dark except for the porch light glowing over the stoop like a full moon. “I’m sure they’re asleep.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“And they’ll be safe here.”
They were back to her obsession with safety. “I won’t let anything happen to them.” He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, either, but he knew she wouldn’t believe him.
“If they wake up and want me—”
He lifted the garage door and put the helmets away before rolling the bike inside. “They’ll be fine. I know where to find you if they need you.”
With a nod, she took off the jacket he’d lent her and gave it back to him. “Okay. Thanks. Bring them over as soon as you get up, no matter what time it is. I don’t want to put you out.”
He wished she’d stay over, too. Maybe then they could arrive at a sense of closure about tonight. They seemed to have so much unfinished business. But even if he could talk her into it, which he doubted, he wasn’t ready to sleep with another woman in the house where he’d lived with Amber Rose. That would be too strange, something he wouldn’t risk with Marley home, anyway. And yet it felt odd when Vivian thanked him politely and edged away as if they hadn’t made love several times.
“Hey!” he called.
She stopped at the edge of the grass. “Yes?”
“You might as well tell me, you know.”
“Tell you what?”
He scratched his neck to make his words seem more casual, less like a threat. “About whatever it is that has you so scared.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“You’re even afraid for your kids.”
“Having them stay with you tonight is for practical reasons, that’s all.”
“That’s not all.”
She didn’t reply. She just kept walking.
“I’m going to find out,” he called after her, but she didn’t turn around again.
11
Now she’d done it. She’d made the sheriff so determined to learn more about her that he might actually dedicate some time and resources to it. Which was the last thing she needed…
How was she going to get him to back off?
The obvious answer would be to move out of state without a forwarding address. But that wasn’t any more appealing now than it’d been before. She didn’t want to live anywhere else. She had her kids in a place she loved; she had a business that was beginning to thrive—or soon would be. She deserved to be able to stay here, to continue building her life, didn’t she?
Even if she didn’t, she wasn’t leaving.
That meant she had to do something about the sheriff.
Or maybe not. What if she simply avoided him for a while? There wasn’t any way he could find out who she really was. He had her ex-husband’s initials. So what? That wasn’t enough to go on. He wasn’t like The Crew, who knew Virgil and Rex so well and were familiar with her background—who’d been tracking her for four years. If Myles tried to dig up any details about her past, it would only lead to one dead end after another, because he didn’t know what to look for. Besides, he had Pat’s murder investigation to worry about, which was much more important than filling in the details of her past—
She froze as she reached her house. The front door stood slightly ajar.
She’d locked it; she was absolutely certain of that. Had Jake or Mia come home for a toy or a treat?
They were asleep, so she couldn’t ask. And since she’d already parted company with Sheriff King, she planned to do everything she could to avoid further interaction. Hopefully, time would take care of the mistakes she’d made, allow all those confusing emotions she’d stirred up to dissipate so their relationship could return to what it had been before, what it had to remain.
Besides, if The Crew was waiting inside, Vivian couldn’t think of a better time to confront them. At least her children weren’t with her. No other innocent bystanders could be hurt. It was just her—and them. And she had a gun.
Come on, you bastards. I’m done. Let’s finish this here and now.
Taking the Sig from her waistband, she removed the safety and crept silently across the porch. She imagined the sheriff hearing a series of gunshots, knew he’d come running, but by the time he showed up, whatever was going to happen could well be over. Either the men who were trying to kill her would be dead, or she would, at which point she hoped The Crew would flee without hurting anyone else.
If only her shooting skills weren’t quite so rusty. Could she hit a man? Especially one who might be moving? And, if so, could she fire fast enough and absorb the recoil of each shot in time to aim and shoot again?
They did it all the time in the movies. But this wasn’t a movie. She could be confronting three or four men, maybe more. The one called Ink still appeared in her nightmares. She’d seen what he could do, what they could all do. They killed with no remorse.
But Ink was in prison, and he was the one who frightened her most. She wouldn’t have to deal with him.
Calm down. If she could pull this off, she’d be doing Virgil and his wife and son, even the new baby, a huge favor. She’d be freeing the people she loved, including—and perhaps most of all—her own children. That made it worth the risk, didn’t it? She was so tired of running, so tired of living in fear that someone she loved would be hurt.
Besides, she no longer wanted to be the person The Crew had twisted her into: Trying to reach you is like…grasping at smoke!
She hadn’t chosen to be that way…?.
The door creaked as she gave it a gentle push.
Moonlight streamed across her living room floor in elongated squares. The landlord she’d just bought the house from hadn’t provided blinds for the old heavy-paned windows. Not in the front rooms. And she’d never gone to the expense of getting them herself. Her neighbors weren’t close enough to be able to see in, and thanks to the bears there weren’t many people walking around the lake after dark. With all her family’s other needs, blinds hadn’t seemed like a high priority, not when she did the majority of her work in the basement once the kids went to sleep. That was where she had her work-room.
The rattle of her own breathing spooked her. Holding her breath, she slipped through the door, then paused to listen. If there were people in her house, they weren’t ransacking the dressers and cupboards. She couldn’t hear a sound…?.
Maybe The Crew had come and gone. Or maybe they hadn’t come at all, and she was worked up over nothing.
She was just beginning to chide herself for being paranoid, when she spotted two footprints on the hardwood floor framed by one of those ethereal-looking squares. Someone had come in, and it wasn’t her children. Those footprints were too large. They had to belong to a man. And they were fresh. As meticulous as she was about keeping this wood floor polished, she would’ve noticed them earlier.
A hard lump formed in the pit of her stomach. Was her intruder alone?
Fortunately, she saw only one set of prints. But that wasn’t conclusive. Maybe his companions wore different kinds of shoes, ones with soles that didn’t pick up enough dust to stick to the polish.
A bead of sweat rolled from her hairline. This was it, all right. She’d soon come face-to-face with the end, one way or another.
Praying she’d survive, she swallowed hard and forced her legs to carry her forward. The adrenaline that was supposed to come in so handy during a fight was actually sapping her strength, making her light-headed. With her heart chugging a mile a minute, and her body slick with sweat, she couldn’t even hold the gun steady.
But she so badly wanted this to be over that she didn’t give up and turn around. Eyes as wide as possible, so she could take in every bit of light, she made herself move farther inside. She studied the darker recesses, searching for any indication of where her visitor had gone.
The footsteps led to the kitchen. At least, they seemed to. Was someone waiting for her?
Swinging doors, which she’d almost removed a million times because she thought they were so ugly, kept her from being able to see what lay beyond. But she was more familiar with the layout of the house than anyone else. That gave her an advantage.
She did what she could to steel herself for the worst, then quietly pushed through.
The kitchen was darker, and she blinked several times so her eyes could adjust. Then she saw it. A shadow. Outside. Moving fast.
Hoping to catch a glimpse, she rushed to the windows only to realize it was Marley’s cat, who made himself at home in both yards. But just as she sagged in relief, she heard a creak.
Chills rippled down her spine as she whirled, ready to defend herself, but she didn’t get off a single shot before a pair of strong hands wrenched the gun from her grasp.
A child’s voice interrupted Myles’s sleep. Positive that he’d only gotten to bed a few minutes ago, he didn’t want to open his eyes, but when he did he saw a change in the color of night that indicated it’d been hours. He also saw a little boy’s face a few inches above his own.
“You awake yet, Sheriff King?”
He was now, not that he was very happy about it. “What time is it?” he croaked.
“Morning time.”
Looking for something a bit more specific, he rolled over to check his alarm clock, which confirmed his initial suspicion. It was barely five. Damn, when he’d told Vivian he wouldn’t mind if her children woke him early, he hadn’t been referring to predawn hours.
“Jake, buddy, I’m really tired.” He cleared his throat in an effort to speak in his normal voice. “You need to go back to bed, okay?”
No response.
“Okay?” Myles prodded.
The boy slouched onto the edge of the bed. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid it’ll be too late.”
He sounded so dejected that Myles had to ask, “Too late for what?”
“For the fish! They’ll go bad, won’t they?”
“What fish?” he asked. Then the memory of Vivian’s son asking him to gut some trout right before he took Vivian out last night helped him make sense of the boy’s words. He’d put Jake off, said he’d do it first thing in the morning. But he’d never dreamed he’d have to fulfill that promise before the crack of dawn.
“You think another hour’s going to make a difference?” he mumbled, burying his head beneath his pillow.
“I’m afraid it’s already too late. Aren’t you supposed to gut them right away?”
The answer to that question was yes. They would be inedible if it didn’t happen soon. And it was the boy’s first catch. Myles didn’t want to ruin that for him. He also felt a little guilty for procrastinating just because he’d hoped to get lucky with the kid’s mother and didn’t want to smell like fish guts. “That’s true. How many are there?”
“Three,” he said proudly.
“Not bad.” Myles pulled his head out from under the pillow. “And you put them…where, exactly?”
“In Nana’s cooler.”
“Which is…”
“On your back porch.”
Of course. He was all prepared. Myles had to drag his tired ass out of bed. He planned to, but when he didn’t move quickly enough, Jake leaned closer. “I’ll give you one if you help me. You could have it for dinner.”
That was just too damn cute. Myles couldn’t hold out any longer, no matter how reluctant he was to start his day after another short night. “Fine.” He motioned to the jeans he’d tossed over a chair. “Hand me my pants.”
Jake hurried to do as he asked. “How tall are you?” he asked as Myles climbed out of bed.
“Six-two.” He accepted his pants. “You?”
“Dunno,” he replied with a shrug.
“We can measure you when we go downstairs, if you want.”
The boy’s gaze slid around the room, over Myles’s gun, the uniform hanging from the open closet door, the electric razor Myles had left on the dresser, some outdoor magazines that passed the time when Myles got bored with the big-screen TV. Even the wallet and change on the nightstand seemed to interest him.
“I like your bedroom,” he said when he’d surveyed it all.
“You do?” Myles was tempted to laugh but didn’t want to embarrass the kid. He hadn’t really looked at his surroundings since he’d boxed up Amber Rose’s things and carried it all to the attic. She used to take great pride in their home, decorated every room, b
ut he only cared about functional, not beauty. Especially now that she was gone. She’d taken the joy she’d brought to such activities with her. “What does your room look like?”
“It’s got some stupid football stuff painted on the walls.”
Myles felt his eyebrows go up. “Football’s cool, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah. I love it. Every guy likes football, right?”
Guy? Myles stifled another laugh. Vivian’s son was something else.
“It’s just that it has bears with helmets, stuff like that,” he explained. “It’s for babies.”
And he definitely didn’t view himself as a baby. “I see. Maybe your mother will let you paint over it. Have you asked her?” He reached for a clean T-shirt. “I could help.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
He seemed hopeful for a few seconds, then his shoulders slumped. “I don’t think she’ll let us. She always tells me not to bother you. She says you’re too busy. Even if you tell her you’re not, I don’t know if she’ll believe you. And she says paint costs money.”
Sidestepping Vivian’s reluctance to include him, he tackled the money issue instead. “It can get expensive with all the rollers and stuff.”
“Yeah, it’s just…I hate those bears.” He edged closer to the dresser. “But I probably wouldn’t care about them if I had a TV like this.”
The kid was nine going on nineteen; he wanted to be a grown man more than any boy Myles had ever known. What was his hurry? Was it that he felt he had to take his father’s place? “Maybe you’ll be able to get one when you’re older,” he said, digging his shoes out from under the bed.
“How tall do you think I’ll be when I’m all grown up?”
“Hard to guess.” Myles sat down so he could tie his laces. “Are you big for your age?”
“Not really.” He seemed disappointed.
“Well, everyone grows at a different rate. And you don’t have to be big to be tough.”
“Football players are big.”
“Fishermen don’t have to be.”
He seemed to consider this. “I guess that’s true. Hunters don’t have to be big, either.”
“No. Anyway, you should be plenty tall. Your mother’s got some height.”