by Tee O'Fallon
“Hey, buddy,” he said to Tiger as he stepped into a pair of worn jeans. His dog blew out a loud breath through his nose. “My thoughts exactly. This is gonna be interesting.” When he knelt by the dog bed, Tiger flopped on his side, allowing Eric to give his belly a good scratching, a ritual that soothed both of them, and God knew he needed soothing.
Considering she was a walking, talking bundle of energy, it was ironic that Tess was into all that chi stuff. He still couldn’t believe he’d argued with her about crystals and life force essence, but he had to admit it was one of the most interesting conversations he’d had in ages. Maybe she was right about it being a conversation and not an argument. Even though he thought all that stuff was nonsense, he’d enjoyed it because he liked talking with her. Always had.
Back in Springfield, when they’d been working together to help Nick and Andi figure out the identity of a gun dealer, there was no denying he’d been attracted to her physically. What man wouldn’t be? Still, he’d never asked her out, and he was thankful for that. He only would have hurt her in the end.
Tiger’s hind legs jerked as Eric found a nerve. He stood and yanked a blue T-shirt over his head. A crack of lightning, followed by a distant rumble of thunder, drew him to the window where a huge thundercloud obliterated the late evening sun.
This weekend was the calm before the storm. Once the lab report came back on Monday, his life would be filled with 24/7 surveillance on those drums. He really hoped Jesse was telling the truth, that he wasn’t up to his eyeballs in sovereign citizen shit. He liked the kid, and he didn’t like most people he’d arrested.
“Let’s get you fed, boy.”
Tiger shot from the bed, leading the way out of the room. Halfway down the stairs, he picked up on the sounds of low voices and the aroma of cooking food.
Tess and Jesse sat at his kitchen table. Their heads lifted and their conversation instantly ceased, as if someone had pulled a plug on a radio. Two sets of wide green eyes stared at him. Brother and sister exchanged a brief look that twisted his guts. Whatever they’d been discussing, it was obvious they didn’t want him to hear it and were worried that he had.
If the kid was lying after all… And what about Tess?
“Hungry?” Her face brightened, as if to change the subject.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Narrowing his gaze, he went to the refrigerator and pulled out Tiger’s special blend of meat and chicken. “You didn’t have to cook.”
Tiger blinked up at him, his tail thumping on the floor as he waited impatiently for his dinner.
“I did, and I don’t mind.” Tess went to the cooktop to stir whatever was bubbling away in the large cast-iron pot. “Since I can’t pay you, the least I can do is cook. I learned a few things at the Café, and I have to say for a non-chef, my culinary skills aren’t half bad.”
“Whatever it is, it smells good.” He glanced at Jesse. The boy’s gaze was riveted to Tiger. “Wanna feed him?” It cracked him up how crazy the kid was about his K-9.
Jesse grinned. “Yeah.”
As he showed him how to mix Tiger’s dinner of organic kibble and prepared meat and chicken, Tess caught his eye, mouthing the words thank you as she flicked her gaze to her brother, then back to his. She gave him a cute, shy smile then turned back to the pots on the stove, but not before giving him a glimpse of the pretty pink blush staining her cheeks. He couldn’t be sure if he’d been responsible for that, or whether standing over a simmering pot had done it. Either way, pink really was her color.
When Tiger’s dinner was ready, Eric pointed to a corner of the kitchen. Jesse set the bowl on the floor then watched Tiger chow down.
“What’s for dinner?” Eric hitched his chin to the two pots on the cooktop.
“Spaghetti with meat sauce.” She opened an overhead cabinet then parked her hands on her hips as she stared up at the plates on the middle shelf. “I’m sautéing some veggies on the side.”
“I’m not really hungry, sis.” Jesse yawned. “I’m hittin’ the hay. Thanks again, Eric. For a fed, you might not be such a douche after all.”
“Yeah.” Eric snorted. “Go figure.”
“Jesse!” Tess admonished, glaring at her brother. “That’s no way to talk to our host.” As Jesse left the kitchen, the smooth skin between her brows creased. “I hope he’s okay.”
“He’s probably just beat.”
She stared after him. “I hope you’re right.”
“Can I get you a beer?” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out two microbrews. “I don’t have any wine.”
“Beer is fine.” She rose on her tiptoes, stretching her arms toward the black dinner plates. The movement tightened her shirt across her back, and the colorful tie-dye skirt. His kitchen was black, white, and gray like the rest of his house, but her presence made the room come alive.
It was obvious she was way too short to reach the plates. He set the beers on the counter then came behind her. “I’ve got this.” He reached over her head and pulled two plates from the top of the stack. When his chest contacted her back, she startled then spun, grabbing onto his waist to steady herself.
Her breasts grazed his abs, sending tingles all the way down to his bare feet. Roses and oranges invaded his nose, and he breathed deeper, taking more of her scent into his lungs. Her lips parted, and—
Move along. Nothing to see here.
His feet wouldn’t cooperate.
Quit thinking with your dick, moron.
A quick roll in the hay wasn’t what either of them needed.
Another flash of lightning lit the sky, followed immediately by a crack of thunder. Less than a second later, sheets of rain pelted the kitchen window and glass door to the backyard.
The cooktop’s timer buzzed, and he stepped back as she pushed gently at his waist.
“Um,” she mumbled, averting her eyes from his. “I need to strain the pasta.”
Right. Strain the pasta. “I’ll get those beers.”
Minutes later, they were seated at the table, digging into the meal she’d prepared. “This is good.” He shoved another forkful of the meat sauce-laden pasta into his mouth.
“Thank you.” She twirled spaghetti with her fork, but hers didn’t have any meat sauce on it, only vegetables.
He chewed then swallowed. “You don’t eat meat?”
“Nope.” She popped a chunk of zucchini into her mouth.
“Why not?” He loaded his fork with more pasta.
She finished chewing then dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “I grew up in a rural, wooded area and learned how to shoot and hunt when I was a little girl. Something changed, then I couldn’t stand the idea of hunting anything. It made me sick to my stomach.”
“Never would have pegged you for a hunter.” Never in a million years. Although her long mop of curly red hair probably satisfied the requisite square inches of hunter orange. “What changed?”
The fork froze halfway to her mouth. “It just…didn’t sit well with me anymore.”
“I could see how that would happen. Hunting isn’t for everyone.” Aside from condiments, there was very little in his refrigerator and freezer that a vegetarian or a vegan could survive on. “Tiger and I eat mostly steak and chicken. Guess we should go shopping tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a brief smile, then lifted her glass and took a dainty sip. “And thank you again for being nice to Jesse. He never had a good role model growing up.”
“What about your father?” Her past intrigued him. He already knew she and her brother were from Alabama, but whereas Jesse’s southern twang was obvious, hers was nonexistent.
She set down the beer and sighed. “When Jesse was two years old, our father left for work and never came home. He just disappeared.”
“Did you file a missing person’s report?”
“My mother did.” Her brows furrowed. “She looked for him everywhere. She even hired a private investigator to find him, but it was like someone erased him from the face of
the earth. We never saw or heard from him again.”
Hmm. Most people didn’t disappear without a trace. “I’m sorry.”
She twirled more spaghetti around on her plate but didn’t eat it. “It took a long time to stop thinking about him every day.”
“Your mother never remarried?” Not that he was a fan of marriage, but widows often remarried, if for no other reason than so their children would have a father.
“She did.” Tess nodded, but her tone had taken on a distinctly unhappy note. “Six months later. But he wasn’t a good role model for Jesse. He was…” Her lips twisted.
“An asshole?” Eric supplied. No one knew more about asshole fathers than he did.
“Exactly.” She laughed, and he was glad for the reversal in her mood. He didn’t like it when she was upset. It made him feel like he wanted to wipe away whatever caused her pain. “You’re good with Jesse, and he needs that. Your father must have been a good man.”
He nearly choked on the sip of beer he’d just taken. “Hardly. He was a total asshole, too.” And that was being polite.
“Really?” Her brows shot up. “I’m surprised by that.”
“Why?” He set down his beer, recalling all the times his father yelled at him and all the times he belittled Eric’s chosen profession. “Not everyone is lucky enough to have good parents.”
“I know that.” A shadow clouded her eyes, leaving him wondering just how much of an asshole her stepfather really was. “The way you are with my brother, I would have guessed that your father treated you with the same kind of respect and courtesy you’ve been showing Jesse, especially under the circumstances. It takes a good man to do that.”
“Coming from you, that’s high praise.” Normally, he didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought about him.
“Just calling things as I see them.” She stabbed her fork into a hunk of carrot. “How did you become an ATF agent?”
“I have to give my asshole father credit for that.” He was still proud of having stood up to his father and everything the sonofabitch represented. “When I was twelve, he was forced to take me to work with him on take-your-kid-to-work day. He’s a big shot defense attorney. The last thing he wanted was me hanging on his shirttails all day, but my mother made him do it anyway. In fact, they had one of their classic, and all too frequent, shouting matches over it that ended with pieces of half a dozen broken—and very expensive—crystal vases littering the parquet dining room floor. Most of the time, Maggie—my sister—and I hid in our rooms to get away from all the shouting.”
She hissed in a breath. “I see where your need for peace and quiet comes from.”
“Exactly.”
“Are your parents still together?”
“They are.” He nodded. “I don’t understand why my mother stays with him. Maybe money, insecurity, fear of being alone. I couldn’t wait to get out of there, and neither could my sister. We both swore never to get married, so we don’t wind up like them.”
“You don’t want marriage or kids ever?” she asked, and something about her expression made him feel he was defective. He was thirty-five years old and still didn’t want what most men his age did.
“Nope.” He took a long slug of beer. “Tiger and I are confirmed bachelors.”
She smiled, although it seemed more out of sympathy, which didn’t sit well with him. “So, how did take-your-kid-to-work day go?”
“I was reading a book in the waiting room where he’d dumped me,” he continued, “when a guy came in to drop off some documents. Dad was on the phone, so the guy sat next to me and struck up a conversation. Turned out he was an ATF agent, and he was there to serve my father with a federal grand jury subpoena for one of his clients. After the agent served the subpoena, my dad cursed the guy out, screaming at the top of his lungs that the ATF was the bane of his very existence.”
“Was that true?” Tess asked.
“Yeah, it was.” He chuckled. “My dad specialized in ATF defendants, and he was sick and tired of getting served all the time and having to deal with the Big G—the federal government.”
“So,” she said, “you decided to become exactly what your father hated most.”
“Yup.” He downed the last of his beer. Since then, he’d also strived even harder not to be the asshole his father was. “And I’m good at it.”
Her expression sobered. “I’m sure you are.”
Tiger’s snores floated in from the living room where he’d flopped down after filling his belly.
“That dog takes his sleep seriously.” She sipped at her beer.
“He’s as intense as a K-9 gets, but when he nods off, it’s the sleep of the living dead.”
Tess glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late.” She rose and began clearing away dishes.
He rounded the table, gently clasping her arm when she reached for their beer bottles. “I’ve got this. You cooked. I clean. Tomorrow, I’ll take you and Jesse into Flemington to shop for whatever you need.”
“Thank you.” Briefly, she rested her hand on his where he still held her. “For everything.”
“You’re welcome.” He watched her leave, not moving until he heard her bedroom door close.
Now, it was his turn to glance at the clock. It really was late, and it surprised him that they’d been talking for over an hour. Not that talking with a woman over dinner was bizarre or anything. He’d taken lots of women on dinner dates, but not once in his own home. Yet here he was, cleaning up after the dinner she’d cooked for him.
Twenty minutes later, he turned the lights out in the kitchen, satisfied that every surface, including the cooktop, the counters, and the table, was spotless. Not wanting to wake Jesse, whose room was at the top of the stairs, he leaned down and whispered to his snoring dog. “Tiger.” Tiger didn’t wake, but his legs began twitching, as if he was running in his sleep.
Eric made a hmmphing sound in the back of his throat. Any other night, he’d have shouted at Tiger to get his furry butt upstairs. Funny how Tess and her brother had been staying with him for only a few hours, and already he was changing his habits to accommodate their needs. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother him. More shocking was that their presence in his personal space wasn’t freaking him out the way he’d anticipated.
Gently, he nudged Tiger’s belly with his bare foot.
His dog bolted to his feet, uttering a gruff snort. He yawned then arched his back as he stretched. Eric patted Tiger’s head, then led the way upstairs, turning off the downstairs lights.
After they’d passed Jesse’s door, he touched his fingers to one of the framed photos on the wall, the one of him and his three friends. Someone had snapped it at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center. Years had passed, yet he still struggled with the guilt that was as raw as if the explosion had happened only yesterday.
Because they’re dead and I’m not.
“I’ll get him, guys,” he whispered. “I’m so close I can taste it.”
I swear I’ll make him pay for what he’s done.
Chapter Seven
Eric woke in a cold sweat. He’d been having a nightmare, one in which he was reliving the very moment his friends died. Not surprising, really, given what he suspected was going on with those drums.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he threw the sheet off his damp body and sat on the edge of the bed. Shouting came from somewhere in the house, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.
His bedroom door was open. Fresh scratch marks gouged the paint by the knob. More shouting, only it wasn’t fighting. It was laughter, and music, and pots banging and clattering in the kitchen. Holy hell, what have I gotten myself into?
Groaning, he pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to rub away the murky cloud that had parked itself front and center in his brain. After getting into bed, sleep hadn’t come, so he’d stayed up late and hashed out a draft ops plan for the controlled delivery on Monday. His body craved more sleep.
Tess’s
high-pitched, bubbly voice somehow managed to climb the stairs, float into his room, and hit him upside the head. The music and pot-banging intensified.
So much for peace and quiet.
Pushing from the bed, he grimaced and began his ritual morning stretch. Achy joints popped. Tight muscles and tendons screamed in protest as they always did. Cutting his stretch short, he stalked to the door, about to head downstairs, but stopped. He’d forgotten he was butt-ass naked. That was how he’d slept since the day he’d moved out of his parents’ home. Initially, it had started out as an act of defiance that would have driven his straight-laced, by-the-book parents up the wall. Later, he’d come to love the feel of cool cotton sheets on his bare skin. Guess he’d also have to forgo drinking his first cup of coffee wearing nothing but a smile.
He grabbed a pair of black sweats draped over a chair and shoved his legs into them. In the hallway, he stopped at Tess’s bedroom. As promised, she’d kept the door closed. On a hunch, he eased it open and—
Instant headache.
While he’d been sleeping, Typhoon Tess had blown through the room. Yesterday’s brightly colored clothes hung off the chaise lounge. More clothes were draped over the bed, some littering the floor. Through the open bathroom door, he glimpsed the counter littered with jars and tubes of all shapes and sizes.
Fucking. Chaos. How the hell did all that shit fit into one little bag?
Shaking his head, he shut the door and padded down the stairs. With every step, the fracas grew louder, threatening to annihilate what was left of his sanity. He paused at the kitchen doorway.
Tess and Jesse had their backs to him, her arm around her brother’s waist and her brother’s around her shoulder. They were bumping hips and singing along to Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” blaring from a cell phone perched on the kitchen table. It was a song his friend, Nick, loved to play on the piano.