Living Fast: Steele Ridge Series

by Adrienne Giordano

  And it wasn't just for sex.

  Crap.

  He couldn't do this anymore. This grieving for the life he'd left behind. It took too much energy, and worrying about being a washed-up Green Beret wasn't helping. He needed to leave it in the past and not be so freaking negative. He should just take that job in Georgia. Get back to action and try to recapture a miniscule piece of what he'd lost. Even if private security wouldn't put him back at the tip of the spear, he'd be able to travel. To get out of Steele Ridge.

  Except, the knee.

  And Brynne.

  He turned back to Jonah. “Can I think about it?”

  “Yeah. Don't leave my ass in the wind, though. If you don't want it, give me enough time before the build-out is done so I can find someone to run the place.”

  “I will. And if I decide it's not for me. I'll find someone. I've got all the contacts.”

  Evie's laugh—that adorable frickin' belly laugh—streamed back to him, followed by Brynne's laugh. On the other side of the screen door, his mom and Carlie Beth were teasing Grif about something. He couldn't think too hard about the women in his life. If he did that, he'd wind up stuck in the Ridge. Not happening.

  After lunch outside, the entire brood sat around the table, patting stuffed bellies and moaning about too much food.

  Did someone say dessert?

  Brynne sat next to Reid, something he didn't much give her a choice with, and while his mama told a story about Daddy running his car into a ditch when they were kids, Brynne quietly excused herself. Bathroom break.

  Finally. All afternoon he'd been trying to get a minute alone with her, but with his family? Forget it. Someone always had to butt in.

  He stood and held his hand out. “I'll…uh…show you where it is.”

  She looked over at him, a small smile playing on her decidedly unpainted lips. Au naturel, here we come.

  He couldn't wait to see her without all that crap on her face.

  For now, she had his number. Everyone at this table did, considering she'd spent the night in this house and knew exactly where the john was.

  Yes, he was a dog.

  No shock to anyone.

  They made their way into the house, down the hallway toward the powder room, but Reid grabbed her arm.

  “The upstairs one is bigger.”

  She halted, tugged her arm free, still grinning up at him. “I'm aware of that. I don't need a lot of room to pee. Here is fine.”

  He shrugged, opened the door and gave her a light shove, huddling in behind her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I promised I was going to try to do you. It'll be tight in here, but I'm always up for a challenge.”

  She burst out laughing and that weird collapse inside him happened again. “Damn, I love when you laugh.”

  And he was on her. Moving closer, dipping his head, expecting some kind of smart-ass comment. Nope. She pulled him closer.

  Well, hello, Brynnie. “You're not gonna lecture me about your crimes-against-men plan?”

  “No. I like kissing you. A lot.”

  Yes. Advantage, Steele. “Then I'd say we should do more of it. Don't you?”

  Someone banged on the door. “Hey!” Evie said from the other side. “The walls are not soundproof and I need to tinkle.”

  Reid swung the door open, smiled at his baby sister. “Well, come on in then.”

  Evie huffed out a breath. “You're an idiot, Reid. I'll go upstairs.”

  “What are y'all fighting about?”

  Reid poked his head out, spotted Mom entering the kitchen. “Nothing. Evie said I'm an idiot.”

  No answer.

  “Mom!”

  “You're not an idiot,” his mother said.

  With that response, he sure hoped she never had to convince a jury of it.

  Brynne swatted him on the butt. “Get out. I really need to pee.”

  “We'll finish this later.”

  “Absolutely.”

  He walked back to the kitchen where Mom was scraping plates. “I'll rinse and load 'em,” he said.

  “Thank you, baby.”

  Being on his own for so long, he never minded helping with chores. He'd gotten used to washing his own dishes. Plus, the military had taught him a certain sense of order, gave him a hint of OCD about things being stored in proper places.

  In combat, there were only so many things he could control. Keeping his personal space tidy was one of them. He'd enjoyed the discipline of it, the knowing where he and his things needed to be at all times. The sudden punch of loss, the not-so-subtle reminder that the life he'd loved was gone, blasted him square in the solar plexus.

  Dang.

  Leave it behind.

  He rinsed the first plate and set it in the dishwasher.

  “I like her,” Mom said. “Brynne.”

  Phew. In a lot of ways, Reid was a self-admitted mama's boy and the idea of his mother not liking a woman he brought to her didn't sit well. It had happened before and the sick feeling, the lack of approval from the first woman he'd ever loved, never went away,

  “I like her, too.”

  “She's a little young.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Not for me. She's been through enough that there's wisdom there.”

  “She's smart. Really smart. And easy to talk to.”

  Mom leaned against the counter and puckered her lips in that way that meant she was about to hit him with something. “Does spending time with Brynne impact the job in Georgia?”

  His mother. Always cutting to the quick. “Not sure yet. The job is there if I want it.”

  “You're not sure?”

  The clunk of the ancient doorknob on the powder room door sounded and a second later, Brynne entered the kitchen and eyed the small mountain of dirty dishes.

  “What can I do?”

  “We got it,” Reid said. “Have a seat.”

  “Absolutely not. I ate, I'll help clean.”

  “You know,” Mom said, “the potpourri you sent is in that cabinet right behind you. Dig it out for me and we'll test it in the kitchen. See if it'll get rid of the shrimp smell. If it works, I'll buy it by the truckload and use it in Jonah's running shoes.”

  “Ha!” Reid said. “Good one.”

  “I swear that boy's shoes could take out an entire nation.”

  Brynne froze. Just stood there staring at his mother like she'd stolen her prized pony, and the tension in the room built to a thick wall of unease.

  Holding a plate, Reid paused. “Everything okay?”

  She shook it off, opened the cabinet, gazing at the quart-sized bag of potpourri.

  Reid stuck the plate in the dishwasher, slapped off the faucet, quickly dried his hands, and touched her arm. “What's wrong? You sick?”

  “No. I just…”

  “What?”

  She looked up at him and tears bubbled up in her eyes. “The potpourri.”

  “What about it?”

  “I can't get any more of it.” She reached for the bag, held it in both hands for a second, her fingers tight around it as if afraid to let go.

  What the hell was up with this stuff?

  “Oh,” Mom said. “I thought you were testing it in the shop?”

  “I am. Was.” Again she shook her head. “I was testing it. For Nelson.”

  Nelson. Shit.

  Mom set the bowl she'd just scraped in the sink and spun to Brynne. “My dear girl, I'm so sorry.”

  “From the time we were kids, he loved chemistry. Wherever we went, he'd mix flavors. Ice cream, soda, whatever. He got into mixing scents, too. I told him he should start a side business. The aromatherapy market is huge and he had a gift for creating pleasant scents. And I own a store where he could test samples. We wrote a business plan. Not for us, for him. I just helped. He'd even invested in a label machine and packaging. Logos were his latest obsession. So many logos.”

  For a few seconds, she held the bag in front of her, her eyes ca
st downward, her lips dipping at the corners.

  “You should take that with you,” Mom said. “He'd want you to have it.”

  She let out a hard breath, handed Mom the bag. “Actually, he'd want you to have it. His intention was for people to experience it. So you should enjoy it. That would make him happy.”

  Reid couldn't stand it. The crackling in her voice, the tears. He hugged her, wrapped her up and squeezed while he kissed the top of her head. What the hell else could he do?

  “Baby, I'm sorry.”

  She pressed her forehead into his chest and let out a massive breath. “It's just…sad.”

  He wouldn't bother with the normal it'll-be-okay platitudes. Tragedy like this would never be okay. She'd learn to deal with it, to shut the pain away, but it would always be there, scratching, needling, tunneling its way to the surface.

  After a minute, Brynne stepped back. “Thank you for that. You're a great hugger.”

  “He is!” Mom said.

  There could be worse things to be known for.

  Brynne held the bag up. “Let's put this in a bowl. Nelson would want that.”

  14

  An hour later, Jonah had gone off to his meeting with the architect, and Grif, Carlie Beth, and Aubrey headed home. That left Brynne to enjoy a sunny afternoon with the rest of the Steele bunch.

  Her phone rang and she left the table to take the call. “Hi, Maggie.”

  “Hey, Brynne. I just stopped by the store. Your employee said you were off today.”

  Not wanting Jules, her part-timer to be alone, Brynne had called her backup, a college student only available on weekends.

  Someone wanted a phone they apparently thought Brynne had, and until they figured out what the obsession with this phone was, Brynne would stay clear. It would cost her a bundle to have two employees on, but she seemed to be the target and if she weren't at the store, her employees would be safe.

  “I decided to take the day off,” Brynne said. “What's up?”

  Somehow, she knew it wouldn't be good and steadied herself, staring up at a blazing blue sky that reminded her life could still be beautiful. Even during challenging times.

  “I wanted you to hear this from me,” Maggie said. “The man who attacked you was just released on bail.”

  Oh, no. “I see.”

  “I tried to hold him. I really did. The prosecutor didn't think we could make a case for no bail so we fought for a higher bond, hoping it would be too much for him to raise.”

  “He raised the money, huh?”

  “I'm sorry. We'll keep an eye on him. Make sure he stays away from you.”

  She swung back, found Reid still sitting at the table, but his eyes were on her. With him around, she'd be okay. Unless he decided to run off to Georgia. Don't be a fool and fall for this guy.

  “All right. Thank you. Maggie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I ask what his name is?”

  Maggie hesitated, then let out a long sigh. “Well, if I know my cousins, as soon as you hang up, they're going to hack into the county database and find out anyway so I'll just save them the unlawful access charge and tell you. His name is Dexter Sweet. They call him Dex.”

  “Does he have a criminal history?”

  “Mostly gang-related activity. Assault and theft.”

  “That's all you know about anyway.”

  “Correct.”

  “Okay, Maggie. Thanks for calling. I know you didn't have to.”

  “No prob. Call me if you need me.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  She tapped off, stowed her phone in her jacket pocket, and walked back to the table, where Reid reached a hand to her.

  She grabbed hold, took the quiet, steady comfort he offered, and reminded herself to be thankful. Outside of Evie, before this week she'd barely known these people, and now they'd welcomed her into their tight circle and helped her through the worst days she'd ever experienced. Even if Reid left town, she'd always be grateful for his family's support.

  “So,” she said, taking her seat again. “That was Maggie. The guy who…” what? Attacked her? Just the thought made her stomach flip. “The intruder was released on bail.”

  Reid made a noise in his throat. “Shit. But I'm not surprised.”

  “His name is Dexter Sweet. She figured one of you would hack into something to find it, so she told me.”

  Evie leaned forward, propped her chin in her hand. “Did she tell you anything else?”

  “He's been arrested before. Assault and theft. She didn't go into details.”

  “We need Jonah,” Reid said.

  Evie popped out of her chair. “I can do it.”

  “Eves,” Reid said. “No.”

  Already at the porch, Evie waved a hand over her head. “I won't even have to hack. We can just do an Internet search. For twenty-five bucks we can get whatever we need.”

  Britt cocked his head. “She's got a point there.”

  But Brynne didn't like it. Reid being involved was one thing. And Evie and Jonah had already done enough. “I don't want to drag you all into this.”

  Britt waved that away. “We live in this town. Our name is on this town. We're already in it.”

  Evie came back with her laptop, went to work, and in less than five minutes she provided them with Dexter Sweet's address and very spotty work history. And it hadn't even cost anything.

  Reid sat forward and stacked the plate and plastic cup still in front of him. “E-mail me that address.”

  “Why?” Britt asked.

  Ignoring him, Reid stood, grabbed the plate and cup, and made his way to the house.

  Evie held up her hands. “What should I do? Send him the address? He's scary when he's not yelling.”

  “He's all right,” Britt said. “Send me the address. Not him.”

  “Wait,” Brynne said. “You're not going after this guy, are you?”

  Britt pushed up from the table. “Not if I can help it. Reid might have other ideas.”

  * * *

  Reid dumped the plate in the sink and cup in the garbage and walked through the kitchen, down the long hallway to the basement door.

  Downstairs, he flipped on the light for the back corner where he kept his gun safe. Above him, boots—Britt, no doubt—clomped against the floorboards.

  Whatever. Reid entered the safe code, pulled open the door, and scanned his toys. For years, he'd been buying and selling weapons, upgrading his rifles, legally modifying here and there to make them suit his needs.

  He grabbed some extra ammo for his .45 and set it on top of the safe. The smaller and more concealable Sig Sauer 9mm might be a good backup gun. A knife also never hurt. He chose one with an assisted opening and, what the hell, added a flash bang to his arsenal.

  “What's up?”

  Britt. Mr. Responsible. Mr. Don't Get Hurt. Mr. I will lecture you until you shrivel and die.

  Terrific.

  Reid glanced back at him, at the set shoulders ready for battle. “Nothing. Grabbing some stuff.”

  “From the gun safe?”

  Uh, yeah. “Yes. From the gun safe. I like to play with my toys. Now leave.”

  “Why? So you can sneak out of here? Hunt down the guy who attacked Brynne? Good luck, little brother.”

  Acting from habit, Reid started with his knife and strapped it to his ankle, yanking his jeans over it. Maybe he'd grab the .22 for the other ankle. Couldn't hurt.

  “I'm talking to you,” Britt said.

  Reid did a quarter turn and propped his wrist over the safe door. “Yeah, I heard you. Don't worry about me. You do that too much. I'm a big boy.”

  “Who’s about to go off—alone—and probably do something stupid.”

  “I need answers.”

  “Clearly.”

  Here we go. When big brother got this way, Reid had learned it was best to confront it straightaway. Let him say his piece and move on. “Okay. Have at it.”

  “What?”

 
; “You know what. Give me the ten-minute lecture on getting my head on straight and not taking unnecessary risks. Go ahead. Unload on me and let me get on with what I need to.”

  Britt snorted, shook his head a little. Another one of his older-brother tricks to get Reid talking.

  “Reid, what's going on with you?”

  Aside from his life going down the toilet? Not a lot.

  “In regard to?”

  “Everything. Life. Brynne. You two got a thing going all of a sudden? Because she's barely divorced and…”

  Now the lecture about what a pig he was. Excellent. “Yeah, I know. Grif already told me. I'm an animal and she doesn't need a guy like me.”

  “Actually, if you'd shut the hell up and listen, I'd tell you the opposite. You're in a bad place. You're not done—emotionally speaking—with leaving the Army and now I see you getting involved with a woman whose divorce is baby fresh. Between the two of you, it's a train wreck.”

  Well, jim-dandy. Now Mr. Responsible was adding shrink to his list of talents.

  “Britt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I'm not talking to you about this.”

  “Why? Because you don't want to admit it?”

  Yes. Reid banged his forehead against the safe door. He could turn around, load one of his nine-millimeters and put a bullet in his head. It'd be a lot easier than this conversation.

  But Britt wouldn't go away. Not a chance. The guy was a total pain in the ass when it came to stuff like this. Reid supposed he should be grateful someone cared enough—loved him enough—to get into his business.

  “I like her,” Reid said.

  “I see that.”

  “Maybe I more than like her. And, yeah, I know she's coming off a bad deal with her ex, but she—” He waved his free hand. “I don't know. She gets me. Doesn't take everything I say too seriously. It's like she knows I'm a dumbass and doesn't mind.”

  “You're not a dumbass. Mostly.”

  “You know what I mean. She's…forgiving. I usually need a lot of forgiving.”

  “And what? Because of that, you're taking off, loaded down with weapons to do God knows what?”

  “I'm gonna find the guy. Talk to him.”

  “With a knife, a .22, and most likely your .45.”