by Julie Miller
“My God.”
“He put me on the team despite the fact I'm not an advocate of capital punishment. He wanted the best, he said. I threatened to leave then, but he convinced me that I had the perfect attitude for the project. Who better to find a kind way to end another person's life?”
Brodie leaned forward and closed his hand over her shoulder. “I can't imagine you trying to hurt anybody.”
BJ started to smile. Instead, her gaze lighted on the newest scar near his left elbow. She pushed her chair back and stood, still not trusting her instincts toward blind faith in Brodie.
“Damon came up with the original design. I refined it. Theoretically, it works by charging the ions in the chamber's atmosphere, overloading the brain with electrical impulses. Eventually it shuts down and you die quietly in your sleep. It's painless.”
“But the victim still dies.”
She nodded, hugging herself and staring at the painful memories erected in cold steel and glass. “I couldn't be a part of it. I never wanted my work to be used in that way. I had to leave.”
“BJ.”
Suddenly nothing mattered but the need to have Brodie make her feel safe once more. She turned and walked willingly into Brodie's waiting arms. She pressed her face against the warm pulse in his neck, burrowing in the iron strength that protected her.
BJ wrapped her arms around his waist and linked her fingers behind his back, drawing even closer. “I know it hurt Damon at the time, but he came around. After a while, he realized that our relationship had become personal, not just professional.”
Brodie's lips whispered against her hair. “Shh, sweetheart. He's not going to hurt you again.”
The husky promise made BJ curious. “You do know him, don't you?”
Brodie loosened his hold and pulled away. His bent, twisted features hovered inches from her face. “I meant that as a vow that no one would hurt you again.”
She placed gentle, caring fingers on the scar beside his straight mouth, wondering what horrible event had left that mark on him, and if it had healed as quickly as his arm or if he had suffered in pain.
“You're old-fashioned and gallant, Brodie Maxwell, but I don't want any promises like that. No matter what you say to the contrary, you can be hurt. I hurt you last night, and I'm sorry. I don't want you to make any promise that could hurt you again.”
With a tender boldness, she pressed her mouth to that scar. Brodie closed his eyes and accepted her caress, allowing BJ the freedom to explore his craggy facade. BJ knew a strange, feminine power as this huge mountain of a man sat docilely before her, letting her kiss and caress each harsh mark on his face and neck.
She touched the scar on his brow, teased the bumpy ridge of his nose. She tasted the clean spice of his skin, blemished by unknown horrors.
When she reached the tiny nick on his chin, a primitive, incoherent growl rumbled in his throat. Like an ancient mating call, the sound triggered BJ's triumphant, husky response.
By mutual consent, Brodie angled his neck and moved his mouth over hers, hungrily taking her eager offering. BJ parted her lips, seeking more. His tongue darted and danced with hers, eliciting a joyous moan in her throat when they twisted and joined.
Brodie slid his hands down her ribs, cupping her bottom and pulling her flush against the vee of his legs. BJ spread her fingers along the nape of his neck, rubbing her palms against the prickly provocation of his hair.
A heaviness like molten lead pooled at the heart of her womanhood. Striving for release from the erotic pressure, she rubbed her breasts against him and rotated her hips.
But hands stronger than her feverish need cinched her by the waist and pushed her away from the rock wall of Brodie's body. Brodie tore his mouth away, resting his forehead against hers, panting with the same uneven breath as she.
“God, woman, you don't know your own strength.”
“Me?”
“Don't sound so incredulous.” He lifted his head, clasped her jaw in his hands, and planted a firm, hot, dismissive kiss on her lips. “But this is hardly the place to succumb to your spell.”
BJ giggled with a lighthearted remnant of ignited passion. “I thought you were the one weaving the magic.”
Could that really be her own voice sounding so vampish and flirty?
Brodie took her by the hand and led her quickly out of the research area, down the elevator, and out to his Explorer. “Ride with me. We'll pick up your truck later.”
BJ still tingled with the power of their kiss, but she couldn't ignore the strange events unfolding around them. “I'm willing to listen with an open mind today. You said you could explain about last night?”
Brodie carried her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I can try.”
Chapter Six
“Do you have the power to cure everybody?”
“No, it's not like that.”
Brodie pushed the door open from behind BJ and followed her into the house. Like a child who repeatedly asks why, BJ rattled off question after question. Thus far, he had managed to put off giving her any concrete answers, choosing instead to wait until they returned to BJ's territory. What he had to tell her would sound incredible enough. He wanted her to have the security of her own space around her to soften the shock and encourage her to understand.
She had already given him the precious gift of her acceptance: pulling him to her side and acknowledging him as someone important when she introduced him to that crowd of intellectual researchers, touching him with her mouth and hands in the most forgiving, mind-numbing act of healing he had ever experienced. Letting him touch her. And, if he wasn't too far out of practice to interpret the signs correctly, liking his touch.
For years Brodie had avoided getting involved with a woman. The risk was simply too great. Clarinda had suffered because of him. Zora. Lynelle. Jane.
He was responsible for all their suffering.
So he removed himself from society and settled in a remote part of the Ozark Mountains, living off a legacy from the past.
But removing himself from society meant removing himself from women. He denied himself their kindness, their caring, their generous passion. Their beautiful, soul-brightening smiles.
Until he’d walked through the front door of LadyTech headquarters, he had denied those needs. Until he met BJ.
After a few days in BJ's quirky, unsophisticated, brilliant, surprisingly sexy company, he admitted how much he craved a woman's touch in his life. How much he craved her touch.
All the more reason to proceed slowly, carefully. He understood clearly the meaning of the note that had frightened BJ last night. There was no changing his future. But maybe, if he stayed in control and moved cautiously, just maybe, he could cheat fate just a little bit.
“It's close to noon. We ought to have some lunch.”
BJ turned her perceptive, expressive eyes up to him. “This is really hard for you to talk about, isn't it?”
He wished he could give her a reassuring smile. “Yeah.”
She provided the smile instead. “I don't think a bologna sandwich will change what you have to say.”
“No.”
She patted his arm—a light, familiar, everyday pat that made his heart flip-flop. “I'll fix us something to eat. I should let Duke out anyway. Don't worry, I'll put the little beastie out back where he can't hurt you.”
Brodie watched her walk into the kitchen. He wondered if she had any clue how enticing he found her tomboyish attire. The snug fit of her knee-length denims revealed just enough curves to force him to imagine the feminine charms hidden beneath her oversized shirt.
And more than a little male ego swelled with the private knowledge of just how seductive she could make a man-sized sports jersey look.
Brodie realized how quickly he was losing his resolve to move slowly, to talk first, to gain trust and understanding before he and BJ moved on to anything else. Needing physical activity to douse his growing need, he launched hi
mself into the task of straightening BJ's front room.
The furniture looked dusted and the big area rug on the hardwood floor had been vacuumed. But BJ had accumulated an amazing amount of stuff. Surely it made sense to store the jigsaw puzzles in the antique armoire. And move the models to a display area on a bookshelf. Set the handsewn dolls on their chairs beside the dollhouse.
“My, aren't you the brave soul.”
He straightened from his work and accepted the plate of sandwiches, chips, and sliced cantaloupe from BJ. “You're not offended, I hope.”
“Are you kidding? It's hard enough to find a housekeeper who's willing to clean around my collections. If you want to volunteer for the job, I won't stop you.”
Brodie speculated on whether a subconscious part of him had influenced his domestic endeavor. He had cleared the sofa, but not the chairs, leaving only one alternative for a seating arrangement. Side by side on the sofa.
They spent several minutes in companionable silence, taking the edge off their hunger with the plain, but filling meal. Brodie was glad to see BJ's healthy appetite since he couldn't remember if she had eaten anything substantial since the pizza two nights ago.
She must have sensed him watching her, because she looked up. She didn't appear self- conscious, only curious. “So, when are you going to tell me all about these secret powers you possess?”
Brodie was literally saved by the bell. The telephone rang. BJ frowned toward the kitchen where the nearest land-line phone was located. She probably had some fancy answering machine she had designed to take care of it for her.
But she surprised him by setting her plate down. “I'd better get that. It's probably Emma wondering where I am. I told her I'd stop in the office today. She's such a worrywart, bless her heart. Wonder why she didn’t call my cell, though. At any rate, excuse me.”
“Sure.”
He used the temporary reprieve to try and come up with the best way to explain everything. Finally, he decided there was no good way to do it. He'd just let the conversation begin and hope he didn't botch it too badly.
BJ rode an emotional high, enjoying the simple companionship Brodie shared with her this morning nearly as much as she had thrilled to his embrace. They had hurdled some barrier together in that tiny cubicle at the Morrisey Institute. She had touched the soul of a man and he had awakened the heart of a woman.
She felt good enough to take the day off and devote her time to Brodie. That would shock Em, she thought. Emma of the common sense and caring nature who only criticized BJ about one thing, working too much.
BJ smiled as she picked up the receiver and relaxed against the kitchen counter. “This is BJ.”
A voice distinctly different from Emma's answered. “Bridget. Rick Chambers.”
BJ's mood did a nosedive. She tensed, psyching herself up for another confrontation. “What's up?”
“We had an appointment today. You didn't come in, so I thought I'd check on you. I heard about that accident last night. Good thing your bodyguard was there to save you.”
“Thanks for your concern. But I don't think I'll be –“
BJ suddenly went blank, losing her train of thought. She shook her head, feeling foggy and light-headed. The sunshine streaming through the window over the sink stung her eyes. She bent forward, shading her eyes with the palm of her hand.
“Beej? You still there?”
Where did that voice come from? She straightened, looking around, blinking in the brightness.
The moment she knew, she also knew it was too late. Her breath caught in her throat, strangling her. No! Not now!
The words couldn't get past the constriction in her throat. An ominous shadow, cold and frightening, seeped into the corners of her consciousness. Fight it, BJ! Fight!
“Beej, is something wrong?”
Her fingers clenched the plastic stick in her fingers, squeezing until either it or the bones in her hand might snap. An episode. Think. Brodie.
The membrane beneath her skull throbbed with the effort to push the dark presence from her mind. She panted out loud, trying to catch her breath. No. Not Brodie. The phone. Rick. Remember. You have to…
In a last desperate burst of conscious thought, BJ snatched at the notepad beside the phone, pulling the whole thing off the wall as she ripped a sheet and wadded it in her hand. Fight this.
Clutching a pencil in her dysfunctional fist, she scratched on a corner of the paper, pressing down harder and harder.
The lead snapped the same instant her head cleared. BJ blinked rapidly, focusing on the wall of tiles behind the toaster, wondering why she was in the kitchen with the top half of her body sprawled on the counter.
“Beej! Answer me!” A frantic male voice shouted in her ear. She looked dumbly around for the man speaking to her, then realized the sound came from the receiver on her shoulder. She steadied herself with a cleansing breath before picking up the phone and speaking.
“Rick?” The fairly normal tone of her voice surprised her.
“Damn it, Beej, you scared me. Why didn't you answer?”
“A twinge of a headache all of a sudden, that's all. It was nothing, really. Nothing.”
“What about our discussion?”
Brodie. She had to find Brodie.
The man on the phone ceased to be relevant. “Rick, I've got company and can't really talk right now. I'll catch you later.”
“Beej—”
She placed the receiver back in its cradle. In a self-conscious, ego-boosting gesture, she fluffed the curls on her forehead and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
“Brodie?” She returned to the living room and found him working with her doll collection again, brushing some dust from a doll that sat atop her curio cabinet.
He kept the doll in his hands. “Was that Emma?”
He had a broad, tapering back, even more inviting than the opposite side of the man. She curled her fingers into fists, controlling the urge to touch him. They needed to talk first.
“Rick Chambers.”
The wry inflection in her voice turned him around. “Did he threaten you again?”
“No.” She put her hands up in a conciliatory gesture, wanting to curb his temper before it started. “I put him off until tomorrow. For now, it's just you and me.”
His eyes narrowed quizzically, studying her. “You all right?”
BJ waved her hands and turned to get the last couple of chips off her plate. “It's nothing. Rick's call kind of spoiled my mood, that's all.”
She heard the hesitation in his movements behind her. But whatever he was about to say changed when she turned around again. Brodie gave the handmade doll another look. “This guy must be one of your favorites since he has the place of honor up here.”
The doll with a woolly lion's mane, felt fangs, painted face, and a tunic of mallard blue silk, was indeed her favorite. “The lady who made him copied the illustration out of a favorite childhood storybook of mine, Beauty and the Beast, are you familiar with the fairy tale?”
The look he gave her over his shoulder blended disbelief with a bit of wounded anger at her question. BJ chomped on her potato chip to drown out her regretful thoughts. She hadn't meant anything by the remark, but obviously Brodie questioned her motives.
She matched his silence, watching him replace the doll on the top of the curio cabinet. Change the topic.
Her eyes dropped to the tan leather sheath hanging from his belt, pointing a suggestive line down to the tight arch of his buttocks. BJ swallowed hard. Not that topic.
“You must do some collecting yourself.” She mentioned the first thing that came to mind. “That knife on your belt looks like an antique.”
Brodie's hand seemed to automatically move to the knife's handle, as though her words were some kind of attack. She got up and crossed the floor. He relaxed as she moved closer. “Do you mind if I take a look at it?”
“No.” His chest muscles flexed invitingly when he reached behind him to un
do the knife. He held it at both ends, laying it horizontally across her outstretched hands.
“It looks positively medieval.”
“Thirteenth century.”
“Wow.” BJ studied the long narrow blade and leather-wrapped handle.
Brodie pointed to the crosspiece. “I reinforced the handle and replaced the original blade with steel.”
“You don't carry a gun?”
“I own one,” he reassured her. “I keep it in the glove compartment of my car unless I need it for a particular case. But I prefer the dagger. It's quiet. Takes up less space.”
“And you won't accidentally shoot yourself in the foot.” BJ laughed alone at her additional reasoning. Brodie never laughed. He never so much as smiled. Maybe the injuries that had scarred his face also caused nerve damage. Maybe he couldn't smile.
BJ carried the knife to the sofa, turning it over to look at the small carvings etched into the blade. The markings continued beneath the newly wrapped leather handle. She wondered what they might represent.
“Did you do these?”
His shoulders stiffened and straightened. He spoke to her, but his eyes looked to a faraway place, a place beyond her home and this time.
“Brodie?”
“Yes. I carved them. Sort of a gruesome reminder of some of my past mistakes.”
She wanted to ask what kind of mistakes he had made. She would assume “mistake” meant people he had used the knife against, maybe even killed. Except that the drawings were of beautiful, upbeat images. A rose bouquet. A sunburst.
Brodie picked up their empty plates, ignoring her curiosity. She had pushed too hard. He was escaping again.
He's escaping.
A tiny pinprick of pain twitched behind her eyes.
Slowly, silently, she rose to her feet and followed Brodie into the kitchen. She paused in the archway, not wanting to reveal her presence yet. Brodie grabbed the edge of the sink and stooped over, his shoulders sagging with the weight of a huge, unseen burden.
BJ started forward, her fingers outstretched toward his lonely, weary back. Poor Brodie. So out of place. He doesn't belong here.