They were evenly matched, yet each man was determined to win.
But then it sounded as if the whole earth had exploded around them, and simultaneously, they fell back, startled.
Brad twisted around, staring in stunned surprise at Wendy. She was sitting on the ground, with the shotgun resting in her lap.
“Stop it!” she insisted, gasping for breath. “Both of you, do you hear me, stop!”
Panting, Brad stared over at the man who had attacked him.
The Indian was stretched out on the ground, pushing up on an elbow—and panting from exertion.
Brad stared back at Wendy. “Who the hell is this?”
“Who the hell am I?” the man retorted, his voice sounding much like a growl emanating from the back of his throat. “Who the hell is this guy?” he demanded of Wendy.
Brad pushed himself to his feet, staring at Wendy, and then at the Indian, who wasn’t about to accept Brad’s vantage point. He stood, too, placing his hands on his hips. The hostility between them still seemed to crackle in the air.
“Wendy! Who is this?” the Indian demanded.
Leaning against the shotgun, Wendy came to her feet. She hurried over to position herself between the two men. They barely seemed to notice that she was there. Their eyes were locked and she could feel the hatred that radiated from the two of them, spilling over to her. What was it with these two? Men! Let’s Punch Each Other Out First seemed to be their motto.
“Brad McKenna, this is Eric Hawk. Eric, this is Brad McKenna.”
“So who is Brad McKenna?” Eric said flatly, maintaining his wary glare at Brad.
“Eric! He’s a friend of mine.”
Brad spun on Wendy. “Hawk? I thought you said that your husband was dead.”
Wendy saw Eric’s jaw clamping even more tightly and the line of his mouth drawing into a grim scowl. “Leif is dead. Eric is my brother-in-law.”
Brad kept staring at the other man, wondering why the hell it was taking him so long to assimilate it all. “He’s an Indian. You were married to an Indian?”
“Well, Wendy, this is one bright boy you’ve got here,” Eric drawled sarcastically.
“What’s it to you?” Brad returned.
Fists were going to start flying again, Wendy thought in dismay. She placed a hand on each of the masculine chests, as if she could push the men apart.
“I mean it, stop it! Or both of you can get the hell off my property right now!”
They both gave her a wounded look.
She breathed a little more easily. For another long moment she waited, watching them both warily. They still stared at one another with open hostility, but at least they were silent.
“Shall we go in? Are the two of you capable of behaving decently to one another?”
Brad shrugged and inclined his head accusingly toward Eric. “He was the one stalking around the house as if he were out on a scalping party.”
“Brad!” Wendy snapped.
“What was I supposed to think?” Eric asked her innocently.
“Well, Eric, you could have knocked,” Wendy insisted.
Eric wasn’t going to accept the blame any more than Brad intended to. “I saw Muscle Man here slinking around the windows. I was afraid for you, Wendy.”
“Okay, okay!” She turned away from the two men and started toward the house. “You want to beat each other up? Fine—go to it. Tear each other apart. Just don’t come here for ice packs when you’re done!” She swung around and retrieved the shotgun, mumbling to herself. “Honest to God, but they deserve one another!”
Wendy stormed back into the house. Brad surveyed the man he’d been wrestling. They were almost exactly the same height, and had similar builds. A real even match. He could feel his left eye puffing up; the other man had a trickle of blood coming from his lip down his chin.
“Leif and Eric?” he heard himself query.
For a moment, the other man was silent. Then he cast his head back and laughed, and Brad felt a smile creasing his own features. “Well, I don’t know who you are yet, and I’m still damned curious. Wendy seems willing enough to defend you, so I guess you’re all right, but it doesn’t seem that she’s told you very much about herself.”
Brad shrugged. “No. I guess she hasn’t,” he admitted. “You are an Indian, right?”
Eric grinned. “Seminole through and through.”
“Leif and Eric?”
“Mom is Norwegian.”
“Of course.” Brad lifted his shoulders. “Norse Seminoles. Why the hell not.” Suddenly it was as if the hostility had disappeared, dissipated into the evening sky. He liked the man with the sharp features, strange green eyes and rueful smile. And he felt the same respect in return. “Want to go in?”
“Yeah, I guess we should.”
Eric led the way. Another little tremor seized Brad as he realized that Wendy’s brother-in-law was very comfortable in her home. Eric hopped up on the counter, smiling at Wendy as she soaked pieces of fish fillet in batter before dropping them into a skillet.
Wendy kept her lips pursed in disapproval. “Are you staying for dinner?” she asked.
Eric cast a glance Brad’s way. “Am I welcome?”
“We’ve plenty of fish,” Wendy said.
Brad kept silent. He’d been worried about being alone with Wendy, but now that their privacy had been taken away, he wanted it back.
Eric watched Brad, and his grin deepened. “Well, Wendy, you know how I just love your Cajun catfish.”
Wendy nodded, her eyes on her task. “Eric, would you fix yourself and Brad a drink?”
“Sure.” He slid off the counter and turned to Brad. “Name your poison.”
“Jack Black on the rocks, if it’s available.”
“You got it. Wendy? A glass of wine?”
Wendy dropped a fillet into the sizzling oil, then looked over at her brother-in-law. “Tonight? Nooo... I think I’ll have bourbon, too, please.”
“Your wish is my command, Wendy. You know that.” He looked at her so innocently.
At this point in her life, Eric was probably her closest friend. When Leif died, Eric had mourned beside her. No one could understand her grief more than Eric, because the two of them had suffered a loss together. For the longest time, they had been each other’s only salvation.
It had all happened two years ago, but she knew that seeing her with another man like this had to open old wounds for him. But then again, Eric had always encouraged her to get back out in the world again.
That had been before he had actually found a strange man in her house.
Eric handed her a Jack Black on the rocks. She sipped it quickly, savoring the sweet, burning sensation.
Brad lifted his glass to hers. “Cheers.”
She nodded and started to take another sip.
Oh, what the heck! she thought. Wendy cast back her head and swallowed the entire contents of the glass. Dinner threatened to be a long and nerve-racking affair.
* * *
In the end, it really wasn’t so bad. Brad remained silent at the beginning, adding a bit to Wendy’s uneasiness. But Eric talked about the family and Wendy was grateful that he kept to easy topics. After a few minutes, he even included Brad in the conversation. She told Eric that Brad had caught the fish and that she hadn’t been able to hook anything. Then the two men entered into an enthusiastic discussion on fishing.
However, things were bound to get sticky. They did so when dinner was over, when Wendy started to rinse the plates and load the dishwasher.
Both men went to make coffee. This time, Eric deferred to Brad, but they were both scrutinizing each other suspiciously. Sensing the tension, Wendy decided to serve some brandy and Tia Maria along with their coffee. Just as she gripped the bran
dy bottle, Eric asked Brad what he did for a living.
The bottle slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. The glass bottle shattered, and the sticky liquid flew everywhere.
Both men stared at her. Wendy smiled weakly. “Slippery fingers, I suppose.” She knelt to start mopping up the spill.
“Let me help you,” Brad said, hunching down before her. She cut her finger on a piece of glass and absently sucked upon the wound as she stared at him in a growing panic.
“Wendy—” Brad frowned at the state of her finger.
“Did you cut yourself?” Eric demanded, concerned.
“No, I—”
“Yes, she did,” Brad said. He helped her to her feet, sticking her hand under the running water at the sink. It wasn’t serious, but Brad started muttering about antiseptic and Eric said he’d get some peroxide and Band-Aids.
“Brad,” Wendy murmured. His arm was around her as he held her hand beneath the faucet. She smiled slightly, admiring the planes of his face, noticing the concern he showed. She was surrounded by the heat of him, and the subtle male scent that suddenly seemed to tease her mercilessly.
“Hmm?” He was still concerned about her cut.
“What do I tell Eric?”
He looked into her eyes, understanding her question. “Do you trust him?”
“Of course. I’d trust him with my life.”
“That’s all that matters,” Brad said softly. Then he shrugged. “Tell him. Tell him the truth.”
He finished speaking just as Eric returned to the kitchen. “Just peroxide—it won’t hurt,” Eric told Wendy, taking her hand. Brad backed away while Eric cleaned and bandaged her cut with a tender care that probably outweighed the seriousness of the situation. Brad bent down and picked up the rest of the broken bottle, soaking up the spilled brandy with paper towels.
When Brad finished rinsing his hands, Eric confronted him again. “Well? Did you decide whether to tell me what you’re whispering about or not? Wendy, I hope you didn’t cut your finger just for my benefit.”
“No!” she gasped quickly.
“DEA,” Brad told Eric.
Without flinching, Eric kept his eyes on Brad, then nodded. They all stood in silence for a moment. “I thought you had to be with some branch of law enforcement,” he murmured.
“Yeah?”
“Well, you were ready for me, and I’m pretty good at stealth. It’s that ‘Tonto’ blood in me, you know.”
Brad laughed and clapped Eric on the back.
Wendy decided that they were both crazy. She turned around and started to pour coffee.
“You’re involved in that Michaelson deal that went bad?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re hiding out here?”
Wendy had been dropping shots of Tia Maria into the coffee. Now she tightened her trembling fingers and set the bottle down. She didn’t need any more alcohol on the floor.
“Yes,” Brad said at last.
Noticing Wendy’s hesitation, Eric grabbed the Tia Maria bottle and added another shot to each of the coffee cups. He took a sip of his coffee, then muttered, “That’s dangerous for Wendy. She shouldn’t be so involved in this sordid business.”
“Eric—” Wendy tried to interrupt him.
“Where did you meet? How did you meet?” Eric probed.
“Eric!” Wendy protested again. She loved her brother-in-law. And it had been nice to have him care for her, to be protective. It had been nice to know that he had been close, that there was still someone out there who loved her enough to risk life and limb for her. But he was prying into dangerous territory.
“It’s all right, Wendy,” Brad said. “Michaelson chased me out on Alligator Alley. My car blew a gasket or something after I’d taken a side road. One of his bullets nicked me in the forehead—Wendy found me facedown in the mud.”
Eric nodded slowly.
“Couldn’t we have coffee in the living room?” Wendy murmured. When they both ignored her, she decided to ignore them. She took her coffee cup into the living room and considered turning the television on. Tonight, some soothing music might be a better bet. She turned on the system that Leif had so painstakingly set up and slipped in a Beatles disc. As music filled the room, Wendy sat on the couch and closed her eyes, warming her hands with her cup.
Despite the music she could still hear them talking in the kitchen, their words growing louder.
“Excuse me!” she called. “This is my house, you know. I am the hostess, you are the guests. Want to come on out here and behave?”
They both appeared, slowly. Although they apparently hadn’t been able to restrain their anger in the kitchen, now they had nothing to say.
Brad wandered over to the far side of the room, studying the titles of the books that lined the shelves. With a grimace, Eric sat down beside her on the couch.
At length, he sighed. “Wendy, it’s dangerous—”
“He’s right. I think I should go,” Brad interrupted.
“Dammit!” Wendy exploded. She slammed her cup onto the butcher-block side table and flew to her feet, spinning around to face Eric, then Brad, then Eric again.
“Eric, if you really love me, trust me enough to know that I’m not a fool. And no one knows better than you do how deeply hidden we are here!” She turned back to Brad. “If I didn’t feel that I could safely help you, I’d never have asked you here. I’m a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions. Don’t try to run my life—behind my back!”
Brad picked up the TV guide and began to idly leaf through it. He cleared his throat. “Wendy—”
“It wasn’t behind your back,” Eric said.
She glared at them both. “Oh, hell!” she groaned, falling back onto the couch in mock defeat.
“This is great,” Brad said, suddenly changing the subject. “Do you get TV out here?”
She smiled slowly. “Yes, I have satellite TV.”
“Ten o’clock, No Way Out is on! I’ve been trying to see that movie for over a year.”
Wendy got up and turned off the Beatles disc. “Go ahead, turn on the television.”
Eric rose. “Got any microwave popcorn, Wendy?”
“In the top cabinet over the stove.”
Brad turned on the television; Eric went into the kitchen and found the popcorn. By ten-fifteen they were huddled together on the couch with Wendy in the middle, crunching away on popcorn.
It was strange, Wendy thought. Very strange.
But then, she thought that it was nice, too. It was as if they had all known each other for ages. Considering their precipitous introduction, Brad and Eric seemed to be getting along very well.
When the movie ended, Wendy yawned. Brad stood and stretched, picking up the popcorn bowl.
Slightly uneasy, Eric stared at Brad.
Wendy lowered her head. Although Eric knew that Brad was staying here, she sensed her brother-in-law’s reluctance to depart, leaving this stranger behind. “Do you have to work tomorrow?” she asked him.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Do you need me?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s probably better if you just lie low. I’ll drop by again in a few days.”
“How did you get here?” Brad asked Eric, baffled.
Eric laughed and winked at Wendy. “You’ve got to show him where the stones are.”
“The what?”
Wendy grinned. “There’s a place in the canal where Leif set boulders into the water. The depth there is only about a foot—in the dry season, you can see them. Eric drove here—his car is right behind the saw grass.”
“I see.” With good grace, Brad grinned. The two men shook hands. Wendy felt that Brad sensed Eric’s discomfort. “Well, I’m going to call it a day. We
ndy, Eric, thank you both.”
“Take care,” Eric warned him softly. Brad nodded, strode into the guest room and closed the door.
“I’ll walk you out?” Wendy said to her brother-in-law.
He set an arm around her shoulder and ruffled her hair. “Sure.”
Outside in the darkness, Eric said, “I like him, Wendy. I mean, not that it matters. You’re a mature woman, and you have the right to make your own decisions. But I have to admit, I like him.”
Her lips trembled when she tried to smile. “Eric, nothing has hap—”
“Wendy, don’t encourage me to act like a surrogate parent. I know you’ve needed to get out. Hell, I’ve been out. I’ve been out a lot,” he said bitterly.
Yes, he had, Wendy thought, but she didn’t voice her agreement. They’d had their different ways of coping with the pain after the horrible night when her husband and his wife had been killed together. For Wendy, it had been a complete withdrawal. For Eric, it had been a near fall into a world of reckless delusion.
But they had both survived, she thought.
“Good night, Wendy. I’ll tell the folks hi—”
“I’ll be in to see everyone soon.” She paused. “Think I can bring Brad to the folks?”
“Yes, I think you can.”
She smiled at Eric. The breeze picked up his sleek raven hair and moved it in the darkness, and for a moment, her heart caught in her throat as he reminded her of Leif. He kissed her on the forehead, and then he disappeared in the night.
Wendy went back into the house, locking the door behind her. When she reached the guest-room door, she knocked lightly.
“Yes?” Brad responded after a moment.
Wendy pushed the door open. Brad was still in jeans, but he had taken off his shirt. The room was dark, but light seeped in from the hallway. It gleamed bronze upon his bare shoulders while his features remained hidden in shadows.
“I wanted to thank you,” she said.
She could sense his confusion. “For what?”
Angel of Mercy & Standoff at Mustang Ridge Page 8