Against the Sky (7 page)

Jimmy's mouth thinned.

“Come on, Samantha, let's go home.” With a hand at her waist, Nick guided her out of the house.

Nick helped Samantha into his SUV for the drive down the hill to his house. It had started to rain. This time of year, rainy days were a given.

“What do you think really happened?” Samantha asked. “A fistfight wouldn't explain why he didn't come home all day.”

“Maybe he was afraid what his aunt would say when she saw his face, but that's hard to believe. Jimmy's usually the kind of kid who tackles trouble head-on.”

“Then what else could it be?”

Nick shook his head. “Worrying his aunt that way was really out of character.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “I don't know, it seemed like he was trying to brazen it out, putting up a tough front, but I got a feeling he was scared.”

“Of his aunt?”

Nick shook his head. “No.” He sighed. “Hell, he's a kid. Maybe I was reading the whole thing wrong. I'll talk to him in the morning, see if I can get him to open up.” He looked over at Samantha as he pulled into the driveway. “I've got a microwave. How about we heat up some of that chicken?”

“That sounds great. I'm really hungry.”

“Me, too.” But the kind of hunger tightening his groin had nothing to do with food and everything to do with Samantha Hollis. He tried not to remember the softness of her lips, her petite, feminine curves moving beneath him, how snug she felt when he was inside her.

He tried, but by the time he pulled the car into the garage and turned off the engine, helped Samantha down from the vehicle, he was hard as a frigging stone.

Samantha smiled as he led her up on the deck, through the mudroom, into the kitchen. “I imagine after all the excitement, we'll both get a good night's sleep.”

He cast her a thunderous look. “You really think so? Because I'll be lying there half the night aching for you, wishing you were in my bed instead of your own.”

Her eyes widened. “You said—”

“I know what I said, and I won't break my word. Doesn't mean I don't want you.” He leaned over and very softly kissed her, felt his erection stirring beneath his jeans. Samantha returned the kiss, making him even harder, then she pulled away.

“I-I'd better get the chicken out of the fridge and into the microwave.” She started walking toward the refrigerator, stopped and turned back. “I'm glad your friend is home safe.”

“Yeah, so am I.” It took superhuman effort to force his mind off sex and onto the conversation he needed to have with Jimmy in the morning. But the kid was important to him. The thought had him glancing at Samantha. Nick sighed and turned away.

 

 

Samantha couldn't sleep. Nick had said he'd be lying in bed, aching for her, wishing she were there with him. She hadn't thought she would be the one aching, unable to sleep.

How could she have forgotten the magnetic pull of the man, the aura of masculinity that had so effortlessly seduced her the first time?

Just looking at that lean-muscled body as he walked around the house made her want him, made her remember those long, purposeful strides that had attracted her before. And those eyes, as blue as a sky in summer. Eyes that should have been cool but instead seemed to burn with an inner heat.

He was the kind of man who touched easily and without conscious thought, the kind who made a woman feel protected and desired. She remembered the taste of him, the feel of his heavy weight pressing her down in the mattress, of his hard length moving inside her. She thought of the heat and the pleasure, and dampness settled in her core.

Clearly being pregnant didn't destroy a woman's sexual desires, or at least not at this early stage.

Samantha shifted beneath the sheet, the cool fabric abrading her nipples, which had peaked just thinking about Nick's mouth closing over them. Her womb clenched. She wanted Nick Brodie just as she had from the moment he had appeared in that Las Vegas hallway.

And yet she needed more from him now than just sexual gratification. She needed to know him, trust him. She had to think of the tiny being growing inside her that would one day become his child.

Samantha sighed into the darkness. She couldn't help thinking of how Nick had handled the situation last night with the boy, Jimmy Evans. Nick had been calm and collected, strong and steady for Mary, but under it all, she had sensed his deep concern.

Nick had been just as relieved as Mary when the boy had walked back into the house unharmed, except for a few cuts and bruises. His concern had surfaced when he had taken a stand with the boy, who clearly needed direction from an older male figure now that his father was gone.

So far Samantha had seen nothing in Nick Brodie's behavior that would lead her to believe he would be anything but a responsible parent.

Then again, few men were happy to have such a huge responsibility thrust upon them by a woman they barely knew.

Samantha heard movement in the bedroom next to hers. Nick was awake, just as he'd said. How long would she be able to resist the urge to go to him, offer him her body as she had before?

But a sexual relationship would change the dynamic between them, alter her perception in any number of ways. She needed time.

Samantha plumped her pillow, put it over her head, and tried not to wish Nick would storm through the door and demand a place in her bed.

The aluminum boat rocked as Nick pulled the cord on the motor and the small outboard engine sputtered to life. He grabbed the handle and began to steer the boat toward a different fishing hole, one that he and Jimmy favored. The lake was smooth as glass, just the frothy wake of the propellers behind them, and the occasional silver flash of a fish in the water ahead of them. A cool breeze whispered through the trees along the shore.

Sitting in the bow, rod and reel in hand, the boy had been quiet all morning. Nick hadn't pressed him, just let him ease into the quiet rhythm of two men fishing, relaxing and enjoying the day.

It was one of those crisp fall mornings that were golden in Alaska, the leaves brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow, the sky a cerulean blue, not a cloud in sight.

If it weren't for the serious expression on Jimmy's puffy, battered face, Nick might have wished he'd brought Samantha along.

He cut the engine, let the boat drift closer to shore, into a spot where the branches of the trees hung over the water, and rocks on the shoreline provided habitat for grayling or rainbow trout.

Jimmy cast his line into the water like a pro. He'd been fishing since he was a little boy. Nick cast his own line, let it sink into the water.

“How's your face?” he asked casually.

“It's okay.”

“How'd the other kid look?”

Jimmy just shrugged.

“What were you guys fighting about?”

Jimmy drilled him with a look. “You said we didn't have to talk.”

“We've always talked before. What's different this time?”

Jimmy just shook his head. His expression looked bleak, as if he carried the weight of the world on his thick shoulders.

“You know you can trust me, Jim. If you told me something in confidence, it would stay that way. I give you my word on that.”

Jimmy swallowed and glanced away. Nick noticed the hand that held the rod trembled.

“You're scaring me, buddy. We've been friends since I first started coming up here on weekends. If something's going on, you can count on me to help you. You can trust me. You can tell me anything, Jimmy.”

The boy looked up. Nick thought he caught the sheen of tears in the kid's dark eyes. “You're a cop. If I told you something bad, you'd have to tell the police.”

“I was a cop. I'm not a cop anymore. I'm your friend, Jim. Friends help each other.”

Jimmy glanced away. His voice came out little more than a whisper. “I told you once, but you didn't believe me.”

Christ.
Was this about his father's death? Had the kid told one of his friends, the kid made fun of him and they got into a fight? Maybe seeing a shrink really was the answer.

“If you told one of the kids you thought your dad was murdered, I can see where that could be a problem. Kids can be cruel sometimes. If one of them made fun of you—”

The boy seemed not to hear him, just stared at him with such desolation, Nick felt a clutch in his chest.

“If I tell you what happened, they'll kill her, Nick. They'll kill us both. I can't talk about it. I can't tell you anything, okay? If you're my friend you won't ask any more questions.”

Nick's pulse began to slow into a rhythm he recognized only too well. All his cop instincts were suddenly kicking in, his brain analyzing the situation, searching for clues, trying to sort out the facts.

“Okay, I won't ask. I'll start by promising you again that you can trust me to keep this between the two of us—at least until we can find a way to get all of it sorted out. You don't have to tell me anything. I'll just make a few guesses, see if I'm on the right track, okay?”

“Maybe we should go back,” Jimmy said nervously, glancing toward the shore.

Nick pulled the cord and started the motor, headed the boat farther out into the lake where no one could possibly hear them. He shut off the engine and casually cast his line into the water, the buzz of the reel a friendly, familiar sound.

“Grayling are good eating,” he said. “Be nice to take some home to your aunt for supper.”

A shudder rippled through Jimmy. He looked back at the shore, then cast his line into the water on the opposite side of the boat.

“Yesterday morning you came to see me,” Nick said easily, keeping his attention on his rod and reel. “You had something you wanted to tell me.”

“I just . . . I wanted to talk to you.”

“About?”

“I thought . . . I was hoping you would change your mind about helping me.”

“Help you look into what happened to your dad?”

Jimmy nodded.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don't know . . . I . . . I've been riding the bus into town, getting off at my dad's office. I thought if I saw the man Dad was arguing with that night in the study, I could get his name. Maybe I could figure out what they were fighting about, see if that was the reason Dad got killed.”

“That's what you came over to tell me? That you're still convinced your father was murdered?”

He swallowed. “I figured the man must be a client or someone who worked with my dad at the office. I was watching the parking lot a couple of days a week, but I never saw him.”

“Something happened yesterday,” Nick said, careful to keep his tone even. “Something that had to do with your father.”

Jimmy's head came up and fear flashed in his eyes. “I'm scared, Nick. I don't want to say anything. I don't want anything to happen to Aunt Mary.”

Jesus.
As much as he wanted to believe the kid was just imagining things, one look at his battered face, the terror he couldn't quite hide, and Nick had a very bad feeling Jimmy had stumbled onto something that put him in serious danger.

“Did they come after you?” he asked gently. “Threaten you? Threaten to hurt your aunt?”

Staring into the bottom of the boat as if it held a world of answers, Jimmy finally glanced up, his black eyes filled with turbulent emotion. “These two guys drove up beside me on the road near the bus stop. They told me to get in the car, but I wouldn't. We had a fight. They tied me up and put tape over my mouth, then drove me around in the trunk of their ratty old car. I thought they were going to kill me.”

“Christ, Jimmy.”

The boy stared into Nick's face. “They said they'd . . . do things to Mary, you know? Then kill us both and throw us in the lake.” He swallowed, tears welling an instant before he blinked them away. “They'll do it, Nick. If you tell anyone, they'll kill us.”

 

 

Samantha finished checking her e-mail on the laptop she'd brought with her and set up in her bedroom. Her mom had sent a message, asking if she was enjoying her trip to the wilds of Alaska. Samantha wrote back that the scenery was beautiful and it was an interesting place.

She hadn't told anyone in her family the real reason for her trip—that she was pregnant by a man she barely knew and was there to decide the best way to handle it. She just said she had a friend who had invited her up for a couple of weeks and she had decided to accept the invitation.

So far her mom hadn't pressed the issue.

There were a couple of business e-mails. Samantha answered them and also the one from Abby.

Samantha replied, Doing fine so far. Nick seems like the guy I met in Vegas. Still figuring things out. Sam

P.S. No man is perfect—as we both know very well. A not-so-veiled reference to some of the men Abby had dated and the rat-bastard Justin Chapman III Samantha had been engaged to marry.

The reply came right back.
LOL.
But I haven't given up yet. Keep me posted. Ab.

Samantha closed down the machine and went into the kitchen. Nick's house was neat and clean, the leather sofa and chairs and big-screen TV were exactly what she would have expected. The place was a little stark, no throw rugs, no curtains at the kitchen window, typically male, which Nick most certainly was.

She checked the clock up on the wall above the doorway. Nick had said he and Jimmy would be back before lunch. To keep herself occupied, she went into the pantry and pulled out what she needed to make the guys a meal.

She was just cleaning up when Nick walked through the back door, Jimmy right behind him. Both of them looked tired, and though they had fished all morning, neither of them looked the least bit relaxed.

“Catch anything?” Samantha asked, injecting a bright note into her voice.

Jimmy just shook his head.

“Nothing biting,” Nick said mildly, but she could read the worry in his face. “We'll have better luck next time.”

“I made chicken salad sandwiches from the leftovers last night. There's plenty for all of us. Plus I made some potato soup, and there's leftover peach cobbler I heated up.”

“Sounds great,” Nick said with a little more enthusiasm. He and Jimmy both shrugged out of their jackets and draped them over the backs of the kitchen chairs.

“Sit down and I'll bring the plates over.”

Jimmy sat. Nick crossed the kitchen and walked up behind her, slid his arms around her waist and eased her back against his chest. “I'm starting to feel guilty. I didn't ask you up here to do housework.”

“I like cooking. It's liking fishing, I guess. It relaxes me.” She smiled. “I'm not high on cleaning, but that's another subject.”

Nick flicked a glance at Jimmy, who seemed to understand. “Okay, you cooked, we'll clean.”

“Fair enough.” She went to work as Nick returned to the table, the two of them sitting side by side, Jimmy tall for twelve but way shorter than Nick's six-foot-two-inch frame. The boy's eye was still swollen and he didn't seem any happier than he had been when he had come home late last night. Samantha wondered if Nick had made any progress with him.

Samantha served the plates and they all ate together. Jimmy started slowly, just picking at his food. But he must have liked what she'd made because he began wolfing it down as if he hadn't eaten in days.

“Take it easy, buddy,” Nick said. “It's not going to escape.”

“I didn't have breakfast,” Jimmy grumbled with a meaningful glance at Nick, who had roused him out of bed at six. “I wasn't hungry.”

Their eyes met and something passed between them. “Go ahead then,” Nick said. “A growing boy's gotta eat.”

“Besides,” Samantha added, “I like it when someone appreciates my cooking.”

For the first time, Jimmy smiled. He looked like a little boy instead of a sullen preteen. Remembering that he was grieving for his father, Samantha's heart went out to him.

“Aunt Mary tries real hard,” he said, talking around his last bite of chicken salad sandwich, “but she's not a very good cook.”

“Maybe I can give her some pointers while I'm here,” Samantha said.

Jimmy picked up his fork and shoveled in a bite of cobbler. “That'd be great.”

After they finished their lunch and dessert, the guys cleaned up the dirty dishes as promised, and Nick walked Jimmy outside. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she saw Nick clamp a hand on the boy's shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. He waved as the kid started up the hill toward home.

Samantha took it as a good sign—until Nick walked back into the house, the scowl once more on his face.

“If that look is any indication, the fishing trip didn't go too well.”

“Jimmy doesn't need a shrink. It might help him get over losing his dad, but that isn't the problem.”

“Then what is?”

Nick just shook his head. “It's a confidence I'm afraid I can't share. It's the only way he'd talk to me.”

“Too bad. I might have been able to help.”

Nick walked up behind her, slid his arms around her waist. “That's not the kind of help I need.” He nipped the side of her neck. “What I need is you.”

Ignoring the rush of warmth, she turned out of his embrace. “It's too soon, Nick.”

He sighed. “I know. Sorry. Listen, I've got something I need to do in my office. Can you entertain yourself for a while?”

“Sure. I've got a good book. What about supper? I was hoping you'd bring home some fish, but since you didn't . . .”

“There's frozen trout in the freezer. Would that work?”

“You bet. Fried or baked?”

Nick grinned. “Fried. Definitely.”

Samantha's stomach lifted at the sight of that grin. Oh, boy, she was in trouble.

“You . . . ahh . . . wouldn't know how to make hush puppies, would you?” Nick asked. “My grandmother used to make them when we visited her in Texas.”

“I know how to make them. Consider it done.”

Nick cocked a sleek black eyebrow. “I know your plan,” he teased. “You're trying to make me fall in love with you by cooking all my favorite meals.”

Her smile slid away. “That isn't my plan. I just like to cook.”

“Hey, I was kidding.” Tugging her back into his arms, he kissed her, softly at first, then deeper. A flood of heat shot all the way to her toes. When Nick deepened the kiss, she leaned into him, gave herself up to the need pouring through her. She felt lost when Nick pulled away.

“I . . . ahh . . . really need to do this,” he said.

“Sure.” She smiled, worked to bring her speeding heart under control. “I think I'll sit out on the deck for a while.”

“Good day for it. I won't be too long.” Nick disappeared into his bedroom and Samantha took the novel she'd been reading on the plane out on the deck. It was chilly, but nothing more than she was used to in San Francisco. And from where she sat, she could see a tiny creek running behind the house. On the opposite side, the mountain rose sharply, forested and beautiful. A hawk soared out over the trees.