by Tee O'Fallon
With each clash of their hips, his gaze was drawn to Tess’s khaki shorts and the sleekest, smoothest, prettiest sun-kissed legs he’d ever seen. A snug green tank top that he guessed would match her eyes perfectly contrasted with the orange, red, and yellow scarf drawn through her belt loops. As she danced and swayed, sunlight pouring through the window glinted off the purple polish on her toes and fingers, and the long, beaded earrings.
Slurping drew his attention to the kitchen floor by the cooktop. Tiger eagerly licked up what looked like a mixture of scrambled eggs and melted cheddar that had fallen onto his once-clean floor. He opened his mouth, about to say something along the lines of what the hell?, but stopped and instead crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb.
“Sweet Caroline, good times never seemed so good,” they shouted so loudly he cringed, although in reality they were pretty good at holding a tune, and he was… What?
Envious.
They were having fun, something he and his sister had never been able to do as kids. There’d never been music or laughter in his family’s kitchen. If he and Maggie had ever been caught doing the karaoke thing, they would have gotten their asses paddled so hard they wouldn’t have been able to sit for a week.
Excited by all the noise, Tiger barked, insinuating himself between Tess’s and Jesse’s legs. She turned to give the dog a pat on his head when she caught sight of Eric. Her eyes went wide, confirming his thoughts on the color of her shirt, then she grabbed the phone and turned off the music.
Jesse ruffled Tiger’s ears, which his dog seemed to love, judging by the way he leaned into the kid’s hand and groaned.
“I’m sorry. I hope we didn’t—” Tess gasped.
“Holy shit, dude,” Jesse whispered.
Eric pushed from the door with one singular thought singing in his head—caffeine—then reached for the clean mug she’d set on the counter and poured a cup. Tilting the mug, he downed half of it before coming up for air. When he turned, Tess and Jesse were staring at him. More specifically, at his chest.
While he’d been drowning in caffeine, Tess had come closer and now stood only inches away. She smelled like the honeysuckle shampoo his sister had left behind in the guest bathroom.
With her mouth half open, she touched her fingers to his left pec, grazing one of his scars. Her fingers were warm and gentle, and his pectoral muscle twitched as if it had a life of its own. She dropped her hand, her green eyes soft and brimming with compassion.
Compassion he didn’t want, but it was his own damn fault for waltzing down here without putting on a shirt. Something else he’d have to get in the habit of doing.
“My god, Eric.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What happened to you? How did you get all those scars?”
“Dude, you look like you got peppered with shrapnel, and that one on your back…” Jesse whistled. “That musta hurt like a bitch.”
It had. Not nearly as much as losing his friends.
The scars all over his torso weren’t raised and red anymore, and they were gradually fading, day by day. The pain of losing his friends, however, would always be there. Along with the survivor’s guilt that shadowed him every day of his life.
“I got hurt a few years ago.” He picked up the coffeepot and topped off his mug, so not wanting to get into the details that were, in reality, gory as hell.
“Hurt how?” Tess’s gaze once again roamed his body. Though her expression was sympathetic, knowing she was staring at his half-naked body began to stir something inside him that shouldn’t be stirred.
Clearing his throat, he pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Tiger’s claws clicked on the tile as he came and rested his muzzle on Eric’s thigh, reminding him that he still hadn’t fed his dog.
“Eric?” Tess sat beside him. “How did this happen?”
“There was an explosion.” He took another long swig of coffee. “I got hit with some flying metal and broke a few bones.” In truth, he’d been blown clear off his feet and thrown against a metal sign that embedded itself in his back. Pieces of shrapnel from the G-ride had flown at his chest and legs, cutting deeply into muscles and tendons and nearly severing his femoral artery.
“How long ago was this? Where did it happen?” she asked.
A chair scraped on the floor as Jesse sat across from him.
“About three years ago, while I was assigned to the Birmingham office.” After that, the ATF had force-transferred him to Massachusetts, fearing he’d go rogue and get himself killed seeking retribution.
They were right. That transfer had probably saved his life.
“You were in Alabama?” Jesse rested his forearms on the table.
“I worked there for nine years. It was my first duty station.” He would have stayed there, if only his entire world hadn’t exploded. Literally.
Tess and Jesse exchanged one of those looks he’d seen before, the same kind that had his gut worrying they were keeping something from him. Something important. Or it could be nothing more than surprise that he’d lived in the same state they’d grown up in. Maybe his cop brain was sending him suspicious signals over issues that didn’t actually exist.
A flash of color—something other than Tess—caught his attention on the window ledge. Flowers. How had he missed them? Stupid question. The second Tess had touched his bare skin, his highly tuned skills of observation had gone down the shitter.
Somewhere, she’d procured a vase he didn’t even know he owned—albeit, a black one—and filled it with a big bundle of the pink, orange, and yellow flowers from the beds in front of his house. They matched the colors of the sash around her tiny waist.
As if knowing the direction of his thoughts, she swept her arm out to encompass the entire kitchen. “All this black was driving me crazy. I promise, I only cut a few stalks, so you’ll hardly notice them missing from the flowerbeds.”
“What’s wrong with black?” he growled.
“Nothing. But everything is black.” She began pointing things out around the room. “The dishes, the cups, the floor, the counter.” With every move, the long strands of beads dangling from her earlobes clicked and clacked.
“So?”
Jesse made a smirking sound. “I am stayin’ outta your little love spat. Can I take Tiger outside?”
Hearing his name, Tiger raised his head from where he’d been resting it on Eric’s thigh. Pointed ears twitched hopefully.
“Yeah, sure.” He’d gotten so involved in their little “spat” he’d forgotten his dog needed to do his morning stuff.
Tiger’s tail wagged as he trotted out the door behind Jesse, leaving him and Tess alone.
Her face brightened. “I have an idea.”
Uh-oh. He crossed his arms. “We are not going to the paint store.”
Rolling her eyes, she uttered an exasperated sound. “We’re going into Flemington, right?”
“Yeah?” He narrowed his eyes, immediately suspicious.
“Have you ever heard of Stangl?” she asked.
“You mean, Casey Stengl, the baseball player?”
“Who?” She gave him a blank look then waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “No. The dishware, silly.”
“Silly?” He grunted. “No one’s called me ‘silly’ since I was eight.”
She ignored his question and kept right on going. “Stangl is a line of beautiful, colorful antique dishware that was only produced in two cities in the entire country. Trenton and—wait for it—Flemington.” The smile that lit her face washed over him like the hot summer sun. “I’m looking for a new piece, and I’m sure we can find some in town. Don’t worry, I’ll take it home with me, so the color won’t scramble your brain. Speaking of which, can I get you some eggs? I made plenty.” She went to the cooktop and scraped a mountain of cheesy eggs on a plate, piling a load of bacon next to it.
“Thanks,” he said as she set the plate in front of him. “It looks great.” And it did. She wasn’t kidding about her culinary skills.
The phone next to his plate—her phone—rang. He’d been about to shove a forkful of eggs into his mouth when she picked it up, and her delicate jaw clenched. Her hand trembled then the phone slipped from her grasp and hit the tile with a clunk.
Lunging for it, she pressed the side button, silencing the ring. She hastily covered the screen with her hand, but not before he’d gotten a quick partial glimpse at the number.
An Alabama number.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?”
“No.” She smiled overly brightly. “Probably a telemarketer. They call all the time.”
Liar. He set down the fork. Didn’t have to be Elliot Ness to see how much that call had spooked her.
“Tess?” Hairs on the back of his neck prickled the way they always did when something was royally off. “What’s wrong? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“Everything’s fine.” She gave him another tight smile, but there was no missing the fear in her eyes. “I’ll tell Jesse we’re going into town soon.”
With every bead on her body clacking, she yanked open the sliding glass door to the backyard, closed it behind her, then ran to where Jesse played with Tiger. Eric couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their body language spoke volumes.
Whatever she said had Jesse yanking his phone from his back pocket. He punched in what Eric assumed was his passcode then handed the phone to his sister. Tess tapped several times on the screen then returned the phone to her brother. Her chest heaved, as if she’d just made a sigh of relief.
Any appetite he might have had vanished. His original intentions behind letting Tess and Jesse stay with him truly had been altruistic, to keep the kid out of jail as long as possible. Now, it served another purpose: allowing him to keep an eye on the boy.
And, dammit, Tess.
Chapter Eight
Tess glanced at Eric’s handsome profile, feeling silly at the twinge of disappointment she’d experienced the night before at his adamant resolve never to get married or have kids. It wasn’t as if she had designs on him or anything.
With every twist and turn of the winding road, thick muscles in his forearms flexed and rippled, calling attention to the smattering of light scars she’d barely noticed when they knew each other in Springfield. Until today, she’d never seen him without a shirt on.
When he’d walked into the kitchen, she couldn’t help but notice all that golden-tanned skin covering his broad chest and muscled shoulders. Then she’d gotten an eyeful of his scars, horrified by the pain he must have endured from whatever terrible thing had done that to his body.
Focus on something else.
“How far is it to Flemington?” she asked.
“We’re in Flemington.” He slowed the Chevy Tahoe—his personal vehicle—as they neared a stop sign. “I live on the outskirts of town.”
“Didn’t know New Jersey had so many trees,” Jesse said from the seat behind them. “Figured it only had factories, oil refineries, and smokestacks puking out pollution.”
Eric laughed, a deep rumbly sound she was coming to enjoy. “We’ve got those, too, but this is God’s country here in western Jersey. It’s a well-kept secret.”
It’s not the only well-kept secret.
After the phone call she’d received that morning, she again questioned the wisdom of keeping things from Eric, because the number that had popped up on her screen—
Was my stepfather’s.
It had been ten years since she’d seen his number. Thinking about it twisted her stomach into a knot so tight it actually hurt.
The man was pure evil.
Being a boy, Jesse had been of value to him, but she’d practically been a slave. If she hadn’t escaped, the horrible things that would have happened to her on her eighteenth birthday…
This is the right decision.
If they told Eric everything, he’d be obligated to inform the prosecutor, and the government would demand even more of her and Jesse’s cooperation. There was no telling where it would end. Their names might become public, and if he ever found out about Jesse’s arrest, there would be consequences. Like Jesse said, their stepfather would surely kill him, and neither of them wanted to go into witness protection.
As Eric turned onto yet another back road lined with more trees than she could count, she shuddered.
“Cold?” Without waiting for an answer, he adjusted the vent away from her. “Better?”
She nodded. Not by a long shot. It would never be better, and now things were worse. Her world was about to tilt on its axis. There was no way her stepfather could have gotten her number unless Jesse had given it to him, but her brother swore he hadn’t done that, and she believed him. Unfortunately, he’d also confirmed something else.
Their stepfather paid the bills for Jesse’s phone, which meant he had access to her brother’s toll records and could see every number he called. Including hers. Then it had hit her—the absolute horror of her mistake.
Since their stepfather had access to Jesse’s cell phone account, he could log into it from any computer and track the phone’s location using a locator app most cell phones came pre-installed with. She never would have known about the app until she’d lost her phone and Nick had helped her find it using that same app. The only way to block someone from tracking Jesse’s phone was to either power it off or deactivate location services.
Since Eric had warned Jesse to leave the phone on at all times, shutting it off wasn’t an option, so she’d deactivated location services. But that had been less than an hour ago.
She tightened her arms around her waist. Was I too late?
Ditching the phone entirely would have been the best course of action, but they couldn’t risk it. The controlled delivery had to happen, or her brother wouldn’t stand a chance of working off the charges. That phone’s number was the same one Jesse’s New Jersey contact would be calling him back on, and she didn’t have the money to buy Jesse a new phone and have the number transferred. Nor could she reasonably explain to Eric why she’d done that.
Although she’d altered the settings on her brother’s phone as quickly as possible, what if their stepfather had already tracked it when Jesse had been in the federal courthouse?
What if he tracked it to Eric’s house? In which case, was Eric in danger? Were they all in danger?
There’d been no voicemail message on her phone. Her stepfather never left messages. If anyone wanted to speak with him, they always had to do it in person.
To stop her hands from shaking again, she clasped her arms tighter around her body. Fear of seeing that man again could do that to her, and he was a thousand miles away. She’d worked so hard to put that part of her life behind her. Only now was she finally starting to become the person she wanted to be and have hope of finding the kind of life she’d always dreamed of.
Five minutes later, they turned onto Main Street and she sat up straighter to take it all in.
On their right was the most beautiful stone church she’d ever seen. Immediately after that, perched in a triangular patch of grass surrounded by low black fencing was a memorial—Soldiers Monument—complete with an old black cannon. As they continued into the heart of the town, her somber mood fled, replaced by burgeoning excitement.
Both sides of the streets were lined with antique stores and every kind of novelty shop a girl could ask for. Collectibles and crafts of all kinds. Homemade ice cream and fudge. Cute little restaurants and a brewery. The sidewalk bustled with people, and she couldn’t wait to get out and walk into each and every store. This was exactly the kind of town she imagined opening her own place in one day. It made her blood sizzle with anticipation.
Eric parallel parked in front of the old Hunterdon County Courthouse, a magnificent yellow building with enormous white columns. Across from the courthouse was an equally impressive four-story red brick building with elaborate green-and-cream gingerbread railings and covered porches. The Union Hotel.
Eric finishe
d parking then pointed to the courthouse. “That’s where Bruno Hauptmann was tried and convicted for his role in the Lindbergh baby kidnapping. And that,” he added, pointing across the street to the hotel, “is where all the reporters and onlookers stayed during the trial.”
“This place is beautiful.” Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she jumped out of the Tahoe and did a three-sixty. The temperature was warm, but not too warm, and she was eager to start exploring.
“The grocery store and mainstream clothing stores are in the newer part of town,” Eric said as he and Jesse joined her on the sidewalk. “But the best restaurants are here on Main Street. We can grab an early lunch and beat the tourists.”
“I have a better idea.” She clapped her hands together. “Do you mind if we go antiquing first? I don’t mean to buy anything. I just like to look and imagine what it would be like to decorate a beautiful old Victorian house.”
Jesse groaned. Eric didn’t say a word, but it was obvious from the slight twist of his lips that he wasn’t any happier at the prospect of antiquing than her brother was.
She parked her fists on her hips, glaring at Eric. “Did you just roll your eyes out loud?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Okay, you got me. I’d rather be watching The Knitting Channel.”
“Why don’t you like antiquing?” she asked.
He wrinkled his nose. “Everything is old and dirty.”
“Not everything.” She shook her head. “Antiques have history, a past, a story to tell. I bet I can change your mind about antiques.”
“Once again, is everything an argument with you?”
She sighed. “Once again, we are not arguing. We’re conversing.”
“That’s what this is?” Now, it was Eric’s turn to plant his fists on his hips, and as he did, several young women walking by twisted their necks to check him out.
Jesse snickered.
“What’s your problem?” Eric glowered at her brother.
“I don’t have a problem.” He shrugged. “Aside from you arresting my ass.”
“Yeah, well, whose fault was that?”