by Lori Foster
“Honey, someone’s got to do it.” Dawn threw another stack of newspapers into a large cardboard box. “Know what I think? I think you should jump his bones.”
“Jump him, huh? Somehow I don’t think that’ll work.”
“It’s all in how you do it. Lead with your mouth.” Dawn pursed her lips with exaggerated intent. “Kiss first, talk later. And by talk, I mean you talk. Tell him you love him, that you miss him, and if he starts to interrupt, kiss him like no woman has ever kissed him before.”
Shay crossed her arms around her middle. That sounded so wonderful. Like an addict, she craved Bryan’s touch. A kiss from him, even a small one, would make her feel so much better.
“Do it,” Dawn said, “the very next chance you get. Don’t let him walk away or give you one of his holier-than-thou looks. Plaster your lips on and don’t let go.” She lifted the box filled with papers and headed out. The bedroom door was closed, so she balanced the box on one hip and tried to open it. It didn’t budge. “Damn old wood. Everything in this house is too tight.”
“Including the windows,” Shay agreed. “We’ll need to have them planed a bit so they’re easier to open before anyone moves in.”
“I’ll add it to the to-do list in just a minute.” Dawn set the box down and gripped the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn. “Did you lock this?”
Frowning, Shay started toward her. “No, of course not. Amy just left, and it was open then.” All of the doors, even the interior ones, had locks with skeleton keys. The house was old enough to be called quaint despite the problems wrought of age. Crystal doorknobs, high ceilings, and an excess of intricate moldings made the house special.
Even after the incident with the reporter, Shay was determined to make a go of the safe house. The house had been empty, so she’d gotten immediate occupancy.
But after the first article, accompanied by a set of photos, had run in the paper, she’d almost regretted her decision. The article portrayed Shay in the worst possible light. Nothing new in that, but this time they involved Bryan. The heading read: Preacher Bruce Kelly, Newest Conquest of the Crown Princess? Shay felt so guilty. Bryan Bruce Kelly was a special kind of a preacher, and a wonderful man. Yet the papers made him sound like a fool, falling for an evil woman. He’d worked far too hard to be dragged down into her bad press.
It wasn’t easy to stick to her guns, but Shay wasn’t a quitter. She couldn’t quit. So instead, she’d begun working to make the house habitable.
Shay tried the door. “The key’s gone.”
Dawn suddenly clutched at her arm. “Wait. Do you smell something?”
Shay sniffed the air and froze. “Smoke.” She hated to think beyond the most obvious of explanations. “Maybe someone’s burning something outside.”
“And we smell it in here with all the windows closed? No.” Dawn headed for the window and started trying to tug it up. Of course it stuck. “Someone set a fire.”
“But we’re…”
“Inside. I know.” She glanced at Shay over her shoulder, her black eyes solemn with fear and understanding. “Maybe Freddie wasn’t the guy hassling the safe house. Maybe it was someone else—and that someone else doesn’t want another haven in the area.”
“That’s reaching.” But Shay saw the smoke begin to billow in under the door. “Oh, God.” She tried adding her strength to Dawn’s but the window was too old and warped to open.
“What are we going to do?”
Her eyes stung and her throat burned. The room quickly filled with more smoke, telling them that the fire was close, probably right out in the hall. They could hear the sounds of wood splintering, the crackle of fire. “Move.”
Dawn stepped to the side and Shay hefted the box of newspapers through the window. The glass shattered, allowing fresh air in. Being the smaller of the two, Dawn scampered up and over the high sill with Shay’s support.
She moved carefully because of the broken shards of glass still embedded in the wood. The bushes outside were as aged as the house, a thick, twining tangle of evergreen branches that scratched and tore.
Cursing, her arms already covered in small bloody scrapes, Dawn reached in for Shay’s hand—and the door leading to the bedroom collapsed inward.
Flames entered with a threatening whoosh.
Dawn screamed.
And Shay landed face-first in the prickly bushes.
“You’re being cruel, when I never thought you could be.”
Bryan did his best to ignore Bruce. His brother had become a real pain in the ass, singing Shay’s praises while insulting him with great verve. Bruce could like Shay all he wanted. She hadn’t lied to him. Hadn’t slept with him.
But she thought she had.
Bryan groaned. In the back of his mind, he knew he was no better than Shay. He’d lied, too. Okay, so his reasons were more valid. But hell, he didn’t know what reasons she had.
She hadn’t offered them.
He hadn’t asked.
He didn’t want to get near enough to her to ask. If he did, he’d hold her and kiss her again. He’d be lost.
“Go away, Bruce.”
“Ha! You’re the one who should go away. I’m back at the safe house now, or at least I am when you’re not wandering around there like a lost soul. And why are you still hanging around, anyway?”
Bryan rubbed the back of his neck. He and his brother had switched back to their legitimate places, with Bruce as the preacher and Bryan…not sure what to do. But Bruce was right. The apartment sucked.
He strode to the tiny kitchen and got out a long-neck beer. “I can’t leave yet. Something doesn’t feel right.”
He knew Freddie was scum. He knew he’d tried to grab Amy and that he’d socked Morganna, but the rest…he couldn’t be sure. Someone had followed Shay that day, but was it to get Leigh? Someone had fired into the safe house, making a mess with a paintball. But how would that have helped Freddie’s cause?
Freddie denied it all, and for some reason Bryan half believed him. Probably because his instincts said it wasn’t over. And until he knew it was over, he wasn’t budging.
He wouldn’t leave Bruce alone to maybe get jumped again. He wouldn’t leave the women alone to possibly be hassled. And Shay…damn it, she was just down the street.
More alone than any of them.
“No kidding?” Bruce dropped down into a kitchen chair. “Did Jamie tell you something to make you uncertain?”
Bryan scowled. “No. I haven’t talked to him,” he lied.
“Maybe you should.”
Fed up, Bryan took a long draw on the beer. “You’re a preacher. No way do you believe in voodoo.”
Bruce shrugged. “God works in mysterious ways. That’s what I believe.” He eyed Bryan. “You want to know what I think feels wrong?”
“No.”
“Could be the way you abandoned Shay to the wolves.”
Bryan hated melodramatic crap. Almost as much as he hated self-doubt and guilt. “What wolves?”
“Those hideous reporters who are forever trying to discredit her.”
Bryan leaned against the sink. If he sat down, Bruce would take away his beer. “She’s well acquainted with them. And besides, she discredits herself.”
“Yeah? How’d she do that? If you’re talking about that past scandal, I followed along. Shay wasn’t responsible for what almost happened to that young girl.”
“Of course she was. She was in charge.”
“Ah. Then I’m responsible for Amy almost getting grabbed? Or Morganna’s black eye?”
“No.” Bryan stared at the far wall, accepting the truth. “I am.”
“You’re too smart to be a self-righteous martyr, Bryan. No one can be everywhere at once. We all need to rely on others at times. That’s Shay’s biggest crime—trusting the wrong people. Believe me, she’s more than paid for that. Or haven’t you noticed how the papers have crucified her?”
“I noticed.” Now that he knew her, it made him sick to think of
the hurt she must feel. “But that doesn’t explain what she did at the safe house.”
“Yeah? What’d she do? Was she hateful to the ladies?”
Bryan tried to ignore him.
“Or do you mean getting them jobs they love, helping them grow as people and gain new self-esteem and respect? Giving them friendship?” He snorted rudely. “Yeah, what a bitch.”
Bryan’s head snapped up, both out of shock at hearing his brother curse, and raw anger at what he’d just called Shay. “Shut up.”
“Your mean tone doesn’t work on me. Save it for some poor woman like Shay. God knows you must intimidate her.”
“You’re going too far, Bruce.”
“You went too far when you walked away from her, as if she didn’t even exist.”
“She’s rich enough to buy this whole damn street!”
“And that’s a crime? No, wait. You mean she can buy understanding? Sympathy?” He raised a brow and stared at Bryan. “A new man?”
“You don’t understand.”
“So explain it to me.” Bruce leaned forward. “I’m dying to understand.”
Bryan wasn’t in the habit of baring his soul. But his brother deserved some type of explanation, ugly as it might be. Strangling on the words, he rasped, “I told her about Megan.”
Bruce couldn’t hide his surprise, but it was quickly masked with consideration. “Maybe,” he said in a less forceful voice, “you should have told her about yourself instead.”
Bryan deliberately misunderstood. “You know I couldn’t. I was supposed to be you.”
“So what? I want you to have her. God wants you to have her.”
Bryan took another long swig of his beer. “Yeah? Did God want me to fuck her, too? Because I did—when I knew damn well I shouldn’t have.”
Disgusted, Bruce rubbed his forehead. “You made love to her, you idiot. There are differences between the two.”
“How would you know?” Bryan crossed his arms and tried to steer the conversation in a new direction. “You haven’t been laid in too many years to count.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Bruce tried for his most solemn, serious expression. “Come on, Bryan. I know you, and you’re in love. Just accept it.”
Bryan snorted.
As if that one rude sound was the straw that broke the camel’s back, Bruce pushed to his feet. “Fine,” he all but shouted. “Be an idiot. Stay here and drink beer. Drink a whole case of beer for all I care. Drown your sorrows if you think that’ll make you happy.” He turned his back on Bryan and muttered, “Me, I’ve got better things to do.”
“I never get drunk and you know it.” But Bruce wasn’t listening anymore. His passive, tree-hugging, God-loving brother all but heaved with anger as he stormed out.
Bryan trailed him. “Where are you going?”
“None of your business.”
Bryan followed him all the way to the door, through the door, and to the top of the stairs. “Men of God shouldn’t stomp.”
Bruce turned on the second step, poked Bryan hard in the shoulder, and snarled, “I’m going to do what you should have done.”
Uh-oh. He was almost afraid to ask. “And that is?”
“I’m going to tell Shay everything.” And with a look of contempt, he said, “Since you’re too cowardly to do it.”
Sheer stunned surprise kept Bryan’s feet glued to the spot. He went mute. His brain staggered. His eyes watched his brother depart, but he couldn’t get the rest of his body to do a damn thing.
No, Bruce wouldn’t do that.
He couldn’t do that.
Bruce was completely out of sight when Bryan realized that, yes, his brother could and would do just as he’d said. Preachers didn’t lie.
How would Shay react?
He had to see for himself. He ducked back into the apartment just long enough to grab his gun, a hat and reflective sunglasses. On Bryan’s insistence, they still hadn’t told anyone that they were brothers. Now that Bruce had shaved and gotten his hair cut—which had forced Bryan to get a haircut, too—they had to be extra careful. It fell on Bryan to don the disguise, and he chose an old favorite: baseball cap and glasses. They worked as well as anything, as long as one didn’t look too closely.
Bryan missed the women and he worried about them, so he talked Bruce into letting him make rounds every now and then. It had been awkward a few times, especially with Shay. Bruce tried to show her compassion. Bryan just tried to avoid her.
But now, with Bruce on the loose, avoiding Shay was no longer an option.
Bruce was determined to teach his bullheaded brother a lesson. He’d act in his best interests whether Bryan liked it or not. And helping him to reconcile with Shay was in everyone’s best interest.
Regardless of the pretty front, Shay was sad enough to break his heart. She smiled with the women, protecting them from her hurt, but Bruce saw through her. Had she spent her life protecting others? Probably. She was that kind of woman. The kind of bighearted, sweet, wonderful woman that his brother deserved.
And Bryan had told her about Megan. Bruce couldn’t get over the shock of that. Bryan never talked about his wife.
Yet he’d told Shay.
Whether Bryan wanted to admit it or not, that meant something. A lot. It meant he trusted her on a gut level. And to a man who trusted only a handful of people, a man who lived by his instincts, that should have been all the convincing Bryan needed. But love was strange. It distorted your perspective and played havoc with your logic. Bryan needed someone more levelheaded making his decisions for him right now.
Bruce nominated himself.
Determination rode him so hard that he was practically jogging to the building Shay had bought. It was only a few blocks away and he was more than healthy enough to jog there. He was going over all his righteous statements, working and reworking the explanations in his head in order to deliver them with the best effect.
Then he saw the smoke in the sky and the fire engines parked out front, and his blood ran cold.
Dear God, a fire!
Without really thinking about it, Bruce launched into a dead-run. Panic pushed him, and he skidded to a halt in the front lawn, in the middle of the chaos. The stench was awful. Charred wood littered the area. Hoses were being rewound. Conversation buzzed in high excitement. Neighbors loitered everywhere, gossiping, watching, getting in the way.
It took Bruce a moment to realize the fire was out, that most of the people working were now cleaning up the area, making certain it was safe.
Fire had done major damage to the front of the house, leaving the wooden porch black and bubbled. Fear immobilized Bruce for only a moment. Silently reciting his prayers, he grabbed the nearest fireman. “I’m a close friend.” His heart thudded hard, almost hurting. He swallowed. “Was anyone hurt?”
The fireman patted his shoulder. “Take it easy. Two women were inside, but they’re okay. Just a little singed and croaky from inhaling the smoke. Lucky for them, they got out through a window.” He pointed past an EMS vehicle. “They’re waiting in the minivan there at the curb, just staying out of the mob.”
His knees felt like rubber. Shay was okay. Bruce sent some gratitude heavenward, thanked the fireman, and hurried to the passenger door of the minivan. Shay sat with a small, dark woman, talking quietly with her. They both seemed subdued. They had the engine on, probably to run the air-conditioning since there wasn’t much fresh air to be found after the fire.
Bruce tapped on the window.
Shay lifted her head—and stared. Pale, singed hair hung limp around her scratched face. Ruined makeup mingled with black soot. She was scratched, maybe bruised. Her eyes had watered and were red and now, while she looked at him, her mouth trembled.
Bruce realized the awkwardness of his timing. Blast Bryan, he should be the one here now. “Could I speak with you a moment?”
Galvanized by his request, the woman in the driver’s seat all but leaped out of the van. She circled the hood, stopped
in front of Bruce, tangled a fist in the front of his shirt and drew his head down to hers. “She’s had a bad day, Preacher, you got me?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Make her cry again and I’ll get ya.”
Bruce pulled back in surprise. “No, of course I wouldn’t…” But obviously Bryan already had. He swallowed and said, “Thank you.”
Shay rolled down the window. She was breathing hard, her eyes wide. “Dawn?”
“There are some cute firemen who look like they could use some company.” She winked. “If you need me, just honk.” And with that, Dawn sauntered away.
Shay bit her bottom lip with visible uncertainty before sliding across the seat to make room.
Bracing himself, Bruce opened the door and climbed in. He closed the door behind him and rolled the window up again to give them a sense of privacy. Where to start? What to say? Her face looked ravaged from lack of sleep, unhappiness, and the scratches from the bushes. His heart turned over. “Shay, are you okay—”
From one second to the next, she launched herself at him. Her arms went around his neck and she squeezed him so tight he couldn’t breathe.
Disconcerted by the gesture, Bruce patted her back with ineffectual sympathy. “Shay…”
Her lips touched his throat, his jaw, and then they were plastered to his. Bruce, stunned stupid, got the first French kiss he’d had in years.
Wow, he’d forgotten how nice a woman’s tongue felt. It was wet and hot—no. This was Bryan’s woman. And he was a man of high moral beliefs. He didn’t…ho boy, she had a talented tongue.
“No.” He pried her loose, attempting to hold her back the length of his arms. Two deep breaths and a few prayers later, he rasped out, “Please, Shay, let me explain, okay? You need to listen to me…”
“Explain later.” She slipped her hot little hands inside his shirt and stroked the bare skin of his chest.
Shamefully, Bruce felt his body reacting and almost panicked. “Shay!”
“I need you. Please don’t push me away. Not anymore. Not after all I’ve been through.”
He would kick Bryan’s butt for this. “No, I wouldn’t. I mean, Bryan wouldn’t. But I—”