“Not here you're not,” Reid said.
Brynne and Evie both hit him with a who-the-fuck-left-you-in-charge scowl. As if that ever worked on him.
“No way,” he said. “Not until we figure out what's going on with this Nelson thing. Brynne, you shouldn't even be in this shop alone. The place got robbed last night.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” she said, heavy on the sarcasm. “And I did ask Jules to come in early so I wouldn't be alone. I'm not an idiot, Reid.”
“Never said you were. Making a point is all.”
“Anyway,” Evie said, “we can hang out at Mom’s tonight.”
Now his sister was thinking straight. Brynne would be safe at Mom's. With the security patrols and cameras they'd put in after Grif's daughter got kidnapped last month, no one unauthorized stepped onto that property without Reid knowing. “Yeah,” he said. “Perfect.”
Brynne went back to Evie. “I need to visit Nelson later, but after that, I could.”
“Poor Nelson! I can't even believe it. It was all over the news last night.” Evie lifted her hands from the keyboard. “Okay, Jonah, I'm in. Yay, me. What are we looking for?”
“Reginald Proman,” Brynne said.
Reid held out his hand. “Really? You too, now?”
“Well, she's in. Why not?”
Again, Evie sent her fingers flying and despite himself, Reid was impressed. His kid sister. Go figure.
“Ooh,” she said, “there he is. Reginald Proman. Suspended license.”
“Okay.” Jonah waved her off. “Get out of there, Evie. I'm up. Next one, I need to do.”
Their baby sister made a pouty face. Too cute, she was. “Forget it,” Reid said, “you shouldn't be doing this shit anyway.”
He huddled up behind Jonah, looking over his shoulder as he punched in more mumbo-jumbo code. “Where you going now?”
“If our Reggie is on a suspended license, he might also have a criminal record. Doing a little snooping in Maggie's database.”
“Well, shit. She'll kill you.”
“Will you tell her? “
“Hell no.”
Brynne and Evie started gabbing at warp speed about Nelson and his injuries. Why did women chatter like that?
Just bizarre.
On Brynne's computer screen, a report popped up.
“Bingo,” Jonah said.
“Rap sheet?”
“Yep.”
Reid leaned in, read the report. Brynne scooted next to him and he gave her room to squeeze in, their bodies wicked close as her hip connected with his crotch. Yeah, he liked that. Too bad they had clothes on. And, yowzer, the visions that brought to the front of his brain.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Well, sweet cheeks, Nelson has a friend who likes to dabble in gang-related activity.”
* * *
“Well,” Brynne said, “that's insane.”
She nudged Reid from in front of her laptop and reread the rap sheet of Reginald “Reggie” Proman. Birthdate October 31, 1990. Two years older than she was. Same age as Nelson. Three arrests. One for selling an illegal firearm, one for auto theft, and one for painting gang graffiti on a city building. Idiot.
According to the report, he lived in Asheville. Could he have originally been from Steele Ridge? She didn't recognize the name, but that didn't mean anything. Reggie would have been two years ahead of her.
“Anyone recognize him?” Reid asked.
Brynne shook her head. “I'm wondering if he ever lived here. Maybe that's how Nelson knows him.”
“I've never heard of him,” Evie said.
They all turned to Jonah. He was closest in age to Reggie and, if Reggie had lived in Steele Ridge, Jonah probably would have known him.
But Jonah swung his head back and forth. “Nope. Never heard of him.”
“Can we find a work history for him?” Brynne asked. “Maybe he and Nelson work—or worked—together at some point.”
Evie looked up, her serenely beautiful eyes hopeful.
Jonah's mouth quirked. “What do you think, Squirt?”
“State income tax records. Let me do it. Please.”
“Holy shit,” Reid said. “I can't believe you're teaching our sister to break the law.”
“I'm not teaching her to break the law. It's research.”
But Reid was having none of it. He stepped in front of Evie, blocking her from the laptop. “No way. You wanna do this crap, do it when I'm not standing here. Really, you shouldn't be doing it all. Jonah knows better.”
Reid's cheeks hollowed out. Carved rock. Hard and unyielding, and a muscle in his jaw throbbed.
Whatever was going on with him and Jonah and this hacking thing had the man ready to burst. Maybe it was simply wanting to protect his little sister, but somehow it seemed like more. Something festering.
And after all he'd done for her in the past day, the least she could do is help him get his way.
“Um, Evie,” Brynne said, “could you let Jonah do it? I need to talk to you.”
She latched on to Evie, dragged her to the stockroom. “We'll be right back! Girl talk.”
What they'd talk about when they got there, she'd wing.
She opened the stockroom door, shoved Evie through. Her friend whirled back amid the shelves loaded with her inventory. “Are you okay?”
Was she? It had been a rough twelve hours and yes, she'd been pushing through. Painting on her get-it-done persona, but…
“I'm…I don't know.”
“Is it Nelson? That had to be horrible.”
Brynne flapped her arms. “I just…I don't know. Needed a second. This is cray-cray.”
“Sure is. And believe me, with Reid in the middle of it, it'll only get crazier. Our mama says he's a magnet for chaos.”
At that, Brynne smiled. “That's funny. He does love to get into everyone's business.”
“Yeah, he goes all HAM on everything.”
HAM—hard as a motherfucker. The first time Brynne had heard that, she'd cracked up. Being in New York, surrounded by older people, she'd lost touch with the slang of people her own age. Somehow, at twenty-four, she felt…old.
How had that happened? Most women her age were out at clubs, hooking up, searching for husbands. Her? She'd already had a husband and was in no hurry for a new one.
The life she had now? Hanging with Nelson and Evie and Randi? They were great friends. Reliable, kind, and loving. Always there to lend a hand. But something wasn't quite right. A void somewhere.
If Brynne went ahead with her plan to swear off men, that's all she'd have. No passion, no handholding or naked spooning at night. No intimacy that made her insides turn gooey.
The idea of that, years of loneliness, froze her lungs and she lunged forward, wrapped Evie in a crushing hug.
“Whoa.” Evie squeezed back. “Girl, you're all right. I'm here.”
Brynne squeezed her eyes closed, forced herself to breathe as visions of herself at sixty and alone filled her head. Can't do it. What kind of life would she have all alone like that? “I think I want to have sex with your brother.”
“Jonah?”
Brynne laughed. Evie had multiple brothers. “No. The loudmouth.”
A long snort flew from Evie. “Oh. Well, that's no big deal. All the girls at school want to have sex with him, too. When he comes to visit, they line the hallway and watch him. He loves it.”
Brynne backed up. “They really do that?”
“Oh, yeah. It has a major ick factor. He never does anything, though. He just says hello and keeps walking. I think he knows it embarrasses me. He's a jerk sometimes with getting on me all the time, but he's sweet, too. Like, taking-care-of-people sweet. You know?”
Yes. She did know. Since yesterday afternoon, Reid Steele had added Brynne to his list of folks to watch over.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being a good friend. I love you.”
“Hey!” Reid hollered
from outside. “You two about finished? Got shit to do here.”
Evie stretched her mouth open and scrunched her nose. “He's such a jerk.”
“Coming!” Brynne gave her hair a flip over her shoulder, took a long pull of air—big girl panty time—and strode into the hallway.
The two men still stood behind her desk, Jonah banging away on her laptop while Reid stood to his side. When her heels clapped against the hardwood, he glanced up, his eyes steady on her, creating all kinds of flashing heat.
“Sorry,” she said.
Still with that hungry gaze on her, Reid nodded. “No problem. You all right?”
“I'm great. Did you find anything?”
“No,” Jonah said. “Reggie Proman can't hold a job. Mostly fast food or laborer stuff.”
Again she squeezed next to Reid, let the heat from his extremely hard body work her hormones into an uproar. “If he has an arrest record, he might find it difficult to get work.”
“True.”
Reid poked a finger at the laptop. “You know what I think?”
Oh-boy.
“Here we go,” Jonah said.
“I think your buddy Nelson might be awake by now. I say we go ask him.”
9
Brynne closed the shop.
Her part-timer couldn't get there until two and the curiosity over this gang connection drove Brynne to make a decision she normally wouldn't. Closing the shop meant possible lost sales. But it had been slow all morning and the weekend traffic hadn't yet picked up. An hour wouldn't break her.
Jonah, bless his generous heart, had gone down to the Triple B for lunch and promised Brynne he'd go back to the shop at two and stay there with her employee until Brynne and Reid returned.
These Steele boys. Something else. The women of Steele Ridge needed to get to work and snatch them up.
Although the Steeles had a stake in this tragedy. With all they'd invested into the town—time, money, their family name—they couldn't have people gunned down in the street and businesses broken into.
What they all needed was answers. And if she could get those answers from Nelson, maybe it would help solve the shooting.
The main entrance doors to the hospital slid open, and Reid once again set his hand on Brynne's lower back, ushering her in.
And, wow, that felt good. A man touching her. A man like Reid. One with big shoulders and a killer body and a never-quit attitude that made her feel…well…small.
In a good way. In a protected way.
Her husband never made her feel that. He wanted her to feel small in different ways. In helpless, controlled ways.
Not Reid. He didn't need to make women feel inferior to build his own power.
They reached the elevator that would ferry them up to the intensive care unit where, hopefully, if the morning had gone according to plan, Nelson had been taken off the vent. Even if he was still in ICU, off the vent, he'd be able to talk and she could ask him about Reggie Proman.
They stepped into the elevator and the doors whooshed closed. “Maggie won't be happy with us.”
“Nope,” Reid said. “I'll take care of it. Right now, we're on a fishing expedition. When we're done here, we'll take her the phone and any info we have on Proman.” He looked down and grinned. “We'll leave out the part about hacking into her system.”
Brynne snorted. “That might upset her.”
“Ya think?”
The door slid open again. A sign hanging from the ceiling directed them to ICU and they made a right and strode through another set of double doors.
In the hallway stood Nelson's father. Next to him, seated on a rolling desk chair—what the heck?—was Nelson's mother, her head down, her hands twisting in her lap.
Something was wrong. The body language of these people she'd known almost her whole life indicated it.
Brynne picked up her pace, the hallway stretching out in front of her like something out of a horror flick. The faster she moved, the longer the corridor became. Clip, clip, clip, her heels smacked the cheap flooring and echoed against the walls. Blasted five-inch heels.
Get there.
Beside her, Reid's long legs kept perfect time, barely working to keep up. He'd sensed it, too. The negative vibe of the Marshes’ body language.
“Whatever it is,” he said, “you can handle it. I know you can.”
Nelson's mom gave up on staring at her hands and lifted her head. She spoke to her husband, who stood beside her and patted her shoulder in response to whatever she'd said.
The sound of Brynne's heels drew her gaze left and her eyes, even from twenty-feet away, were…
Stricken.
Destroyed.
No. No, no, no. A weird cramp moved up Brynne's calf, but she kept moving, closing the space between her and Nelson's parents. Clip-clip-clip. Damned shoes.
She held her hands out, reaching for Mrs. Marsh. The older woman stayed seated but gripped Brynne's hands, squeezing so hard she hit bone and her eyes—God—her eyes were worse close up. Red and swollen and tortured.
Mrs. Marsh dropped her hands again. “Oh, Brynne.”
Again, Mr. Marsh patted his wife's shoulder, but she went back to twisting her hands.
“Brynne,” Mr. Marsh said. “I'm so sorry. Nelson is…He passed on.”
Did he say…wait. Brynne craned her neck, moving closer, drawn in because what she thought she'd heard was that Nelson was…
No.
An enormous wave of cold radiated from her core. She shivered against the onslaught and her body rocked forward, then back. Forward and back, forward and back. Still standing behind her, Reid grabbed hold of her, his big hands wrapping around her biceps.
“I got you,” he said.
But Brynne shook her head. “No. Nuh-uh. They said…”
Mrs. Marsh grabbed her hand again. “It was a…a blood clot.”
Blood clot. The doctors had warned them about that. That the clot could break free and move to the lungs. A common occurrence, they'd said.
Common occurrence.
Brynne took it in. Tasted the nasty bile that came with it and swallowed.
Nelson was dead. Her childhood friend. Her best friend. The one who had gotten her through her divorce.
“He's…”
Her eyes went to Mr. Marsh, hoping, praying to whatever God would listen, that Nelson's father would tell her something else. Late April Fools’. Just kidding, hon. Ha, ha.
But no. He stood beside his wife, that damned hand patting away at her shoulder—pat, pat, pat—and she wanted to smack it away. Just make it stop. Because if she could make that patting stop, maybe, just maybe all of this would be her imagination. Some twisted tale spinning inside her mind.
“He made it through surgery, though. They said the vent would help.”
Mr. Marsh shook his head. None of that. No way. Brynne went back to Mrs. Marsh and her twisting hands, but the woman wouldn't look at her. “I'm sorry, Brynne. I'm so sorry.”
Get out.
She had to leave. Had to get out of this damned hospital with its disgusting closed-in air that reeked of illness and death and heartbreak.
She spun away, out of Reid's grasp, wobbling on the stupid heels. She headed for the door. Any door that would take her out of here. Away from it.
The loss.
Oh my God.
“Brynne,” Reid said, “honey, hang on.”
“I have to go.”
The bright red exit sign at the end of the hallway flashed and she burst into the stairwell.
“Brynne, we're six flights up.”
She bounded down the stairs, sucked in more stale, disgusting air, felt it close in around her as the cramped space—worse in here—wrapped its nasty, strangling grip around her throat and squeezed.
She kept going, Reid hot on her heels, his voice breaking through, but his words unclear. Jumbled.
“I have to go, Reid.”
Another flight of stairs gone and a bead of sweat dripped down h
er back from the effort.
Or the heartbreak.
She wasn't sure. She hit the landing. Fourth floor. According to the giant blue number four on the door.
Three more flights of nasty, suffocating air. Oh my God. She'd die in here. Just like Nelson. Her lungs wouldn't survive this.
Midway to the next landing, she released a breath, a huge gasp, and—God—it was awful. That taste.
The death.
The pale orange walls shifted and curled in, and Brynne reached out, but the closer she got, the farther they were from her reach.
Can't do it. She stopped at the landing between floors and the wall was right there. She touched it—yes!—and rested her hands against it, let the cement surface cool her sweaty palms as she stared at the pukey paint. Smack! She slammed her open palm against it. Then did it again. A huge burst of energy firing through her arms. Smack, smack, smack.
Behind her, Reid latched on, grabbed her wrists. “Don't,” he said. “You'll hurt yourself.”
She tugged, tried to free her hands. “Let me go.”
“No.”
She struggled against his grip.
Too strong. She looked up at him, their gazes connecting and…
What was the point? Why spend all her energy fighting a man? Nelson would still be gone and the loss would still be devastating.
Slowly, she moved forward, her body propelling itself closer to Reid. Closer to all his massiveness that she could curl into. Taking his cue, he took a tiny step forward and she rested her forehead in the center of his chest, into safety, and breathed in the clean, fragrant scent of his laundry soap. Clean air. Breathe.
“Ah, Brynne, I'm sorry.”
“He saved me,” she said. “When my life fell apart, he saved me. I couldn't save him, Reid. How is that fair?”
“It's not fair.”
With his military career, he knew all about the loss of friends.
“You're grieving,” he said. “Give it a minute. There's no place we need to be.”
We. There's no place we need to be.
She looked up again, into his eyes that had turned stormy. The color of the Atlantic during a hurricane and he held her, pulled her close, ran his hand over her hair, gently stroking while she held on. Held on to rock-solid Reid Steele.
Living Fast: Steele Ridge Series Page 12