Fleeting Moments (13 page)

“Have you told him that, love?” Dad asks.

“I have, but things are complicated. Plus, he just keeps getting angry and demanding I get help.”

“Have you thought of speaking to someone?” Mom says carefully.

I give her a look. “Yes, Mom. I finally booked myself in to see someone next week, but honestly, I’m doing okay.”

“The nightmares?” Dad asks.

I shrug. “Some nights it’s fine—others it isn’t.”

“And the . . . man.”

Dad shoots Mom a look, and my heart breaks at the expressions on their faces. The concern. The worry.

“I’ve let that go,” I say, and it pains me to do it because I so badly wish they knew that Heath was a real thing.

“I’m happy to hear that. Let’s get you some tea!” Mom leaps up and rushes into the kitchen.

My dad squeezes my hand.

I squeeze back and we sit in silence. My phone is vibrating in my purse, and I decide I had better answer it, otherwise I’m not going to have a pleasant night with my family. “I’m just going to see who keeps calling.”

I stand and disappear into the office at the front of the house and pull out the phone just as the screen flashes with Heath’s name again.

“Hello,” I mumble.

“I don’t do being ignored well.” His voice is gruff and sexy, and I’m not sorry.

“Not a nice feeling, is it?” I throw back, lightly.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“I don’t want you at the stadium because I’m not a hundred percent sure it’s safe. I’m not trying to control you.”

“But you are,” I snap. “You are, Heath. You refuse to tell me what’s going on here, you refuse to make contact—you refuse to give me a damned thing. I live every day wondering what the hell kind of lie I’m living in. I’m hanging onto threads of you. I’m . . . I’m so damned tired of it. I know you’re working something dangerous and you can’t tell me about it, but you left me in that house like a crazy person this morning. I hate feeling the way I feel. Like I have to lie. Like I have to feed the idea that I’ve lost my mind. So I don’t care if it’s dangerous—I’m going. I’m going because I need to go, and there isn’t a single thing you can do about that.”

He goes silent for a second, then sighs. “Five minutes.”

“What?”

“Five.”

He hangs up and I stare down at my phone, confused. What the hell does that mean?

“Lucy!” Mom calls.

I sigh.

“Coming.”

I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

T
he pounding at the door shocks all of us, but mostly me.

I’ve just sat down, tea in hand, when it rings out. Dad looks to me, and I shrug. My heart pounds, but I don’t want to believe it could be who I wish it were on the other side. Mom walks over, wiping her hands again, then she opens it and gasps. “Oh my.”

“Hi there, you must be Lucy’s mom. I’m Heath.”

My hands tremble so much I have to put my cup down on the table next to me. He’s here. He’s. Here. I turn slowly, my dad does too, and I see Mom step aside and Heath enter. My heart hurts just looking at him. He’s wearing all black—his jeans, his tee, his boots. His dark hair is messy, falling over his forehead, and his silver eyes pin mine and hold. I can’t breathe. I can’t . . .
breathe
.

“Heath?” Dad says, standing. “As in . . .”

“The man who was with her at the stadium, yeah.”

I can’t move.

Dad looks to me, Mom looks to me, but my eyes are on him. I launch out of the chair and run towards him, knocking one of my mother’s vases over on my way. I throw myself into his arms, and he catches me with a grunt. His big arms close around me and my pathetic tears soak his shirt. “You’re here,” I croak.

“I’m here.”

I hang onto him for a minute too long, then reluctantly let him go. I turn to my parents and whisper, “This is the man who saved my life.”

My mom makes a strangled sobbing sound and throws herself into Heath’s arms. “I’ve never been so happy to see a person in my entire life. And, thank you for saving my daughter.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” he murmurs.

She lets him go and shuffles into the kitchen to hide the tears beginning to form in her eyes.

My dad steps forward and extends his hand. “I have no words to offer, son, but I will thank you until my dying day for getting my baby out of there.”

My throat gets tight.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Call me Darren, please.”

Heath nods.

“Please, sit. We have a lot to talk about,” Dad says, smiling at me.

“Yeah.” Heath sighs. “We really do.”

We all sit in the lounge and Heath reaches over, jerking my hand into his. My dad’s eyes fall on our hands, but he says nothing. He will, though. After Heath is gone I’ll get the lecture, but that’s okay. Right now nothing can upset me.

At least, that’s what I think.

“I must admit,” Mom says, handing Heath a beer, “we questioned if you were real.”

“So I’ve heard,” Heath says, his voice a little tight for my liking, but I say nothing. “Look, in conjunction with the police, I’m working on a case where the person involved has no idea I’m even involved. In fact, that person thinks I’m . . .
dead
. The case is on the up and up but it is very precarious situation.”

I gasp. “What?” I breathe.

“I can’t give you much information, but I have it on good authority that it’s what he thinks, and therefore I’ve been able to investigate him without any suspicion. I made a deal with the investigators on the case, because the person involved is . . .
was
. . . close to me. I’m finding out what I can, but I’m doing it discreetly. He doesn’t know I’m here, and because of that I’ve been able to get closer than anyone else has. I know him. I know how it all works. It’s why I’ve been keeping it low and was unable to confirm that I was there the night of the attack. That’s the basics of it, and all I can give you.”

“That’s quite a predicament,” Dad says, his eyes wide.

“Yes, Darren, it is.”

Mom looks to me. “I’m so sorry, Lucy.”

I smile weakly.

“Me too, love.”

“I do ask that you keep this to yourselves. I’m taking more than a big risk telling you this information, but I wanted”—Heath looks to me, his eyes finding mine—“to prove to Lucy that she’s worth taking the biggest risk of all for.”

Oh my god.

“Oh my,” Mom gasps. “Our Lucy is lucky to have you on her side.”

Dad shakes his head. “You have our word, son. As far as we know, you do not exist.”

Heath drags his eyes away from mine. “I appreciate that very much. I’d also appreciate if you’d give me the permission to take your daughter with me now. I’d really like to spend some time with her.”

“Absolutely!” Mom cries.

I giggle.

“Of course,” Dad says, and we all stand. “But please, take care of her heart. I’m sure you know she’s recently separated from her husband.”

“You have my word.”

They shake hands, and I hug them both before following Heath out the door. He walks to a massive black truck. “Leave your car here. Tonight, you’re coming with me.”

“I am?” I whisper.

He turns and cups my face. “You are.”

Yippee!

~*~*~*~

H
eath takes me to a warehouse out of town and down a dirt road. It’s secluded, that’s for sure—you wouldn’t be able to find it unless you were looking. He parks, and we climb out. There are lights on inside, and I can hear the faint rumble of music trailing out through the open windows.

“Do you live here?” I ask, taking his hand.

“Kind of. Listen, I’ve told them you’re coming, so you need to understand that some of them aren’t happy about me telling you, but they understand why I did. You need to promise your secrecy, Lucy.”

I look to him. “What the hell am I going to walk into?”

“Do I have your word?”

“Of course,” I whisper. “Of course you do.”

He nods, and we walk towards the warehouse. We enter through a front door and step into a massive space that’s all open. There are pool tables in the middle, some cars parked off to the left, a huge television with chairs in front of it, a kitchen, and four men standing in the middle, all silent as they watch us come in. I swallow and let my gaze fall on them.

Oh. My. God.

I know even before Heath opens his mouth that at least two of these men are related to him somehow. I clutch Heath’s hand harder as he pulls me towards them. Two study me with curiosity; the other two simply scowl at me. Heath brings me closer and stops in front of them.

“Guys, meet Lucy. Lucy, meet my two brothers, and my two best mates.”

His brothers. His best mates. Sweet Jesus.

He points to the first guy on his left. This man has green eyes, and his hair is flowing around his shoulders in thick brown waves. He’s taller than Heath, but leaner. His features seem sharper, too. “This is Blake, my best friend from the force.” His finger trails to the next one, who is short and muscly as all hell. He’s also incredibly handsome. His hair is brown, but still dark, and his eyes are blue. “This is Sheldon, my other best friend.” He moves to the third one, who is by far, the most attractive out of the four men standing in front of me. I probably think that because he’s the spitting image of Heath.

Spitting.

Twins.

“This is my twin, Johnny.”

The only difference between the two is that Johnny has hair cropped short on his head. Otherwise, it’s like looking at Heath.

“And this is my brother, Tank.”

Tank? Seriously.

I drag my eyes away from Johnny and stare at Tank. He’s scary. Seriously scary. He’s bigger than all of the men, by far, and that’s saying something because Johnny and Heath are huge. His muscles bulge from his shirt, and his black hair is also cropped short. He has the same silver eyes as Heath and Johnny, but his are cold and scary. He’s scary. But absolutely beautiful.

“Ah,” I finally squeak. “Hi.”

“The troublemaker,” Blake says, a sly smile creeping across his face. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

I laugh nervously.

“At least she’s pretty,” Sheldon points out. “Nice to meet you, Lucy.”

“You too.”

“She shouldn’t fucking be here,” Johnny snaps.

“I agree,” Tank growls.

Oh, boy. The best friends like me. The brothers
do not.

“Well she’s fuckin’ here, and she knows, and she’s not going to say anything so you need to back down,” Heath warns.

“You’re playing with fire, Heath,” Johnny seethes. “If
he
finds out what we’re doing . . .”

“He won’t,” Heath hisses through his teeth.

“She better keep her mouth shut,” Tank mutters, glaring at me.

That was a threat. I swallow.

“I won’t say anything,” I manage.

“Funny, you’ve been runnin’ around causin’ shit for weeks now.” Johnny grunts, grabbing a beer and walking out before any of us can answer.

“Come on,” Heath says, taking my hand and jerking me towards the back of the warehouse.

He shoves through a door and we step into a rather large room. It has a king-sized bed in the middle, a private bathroom attached, and a huge sofa, with a television opposite.

“Is this your room?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“You live with your brothers and friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Are your brothers cops, too?”

“No, just Sheldon and Blake.”

I shift uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Heath. I didn’t . . . I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

“I know that, honey.” He sighs, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me down onto the sofa. I fall onto his lap and for a few minutes, I let him just hold me.

“They don’t like me,” I whisper against his shirt.

“They’re just worried. They’ll come around.”

“Are you the oldest of your brothers?”

He grunts. “No, youngest. Tank is the oldest here. Then it’s Johnny and I.”

The oldest here. That has so many questions popping into my mind. “So there are three of you in your family?”

“Four.”

Four?
I turn and study him. “Four?”

“Yeah. There is one more who’s older than all of us.”

“Where is he?”

His face hardens.

Oh.

“Did you lose him?” I say softly.

“No, he’s still very much alive.” He says that in a way that basically tells me he’s not going to give any more information, so I don’t push.

“I’m sorry I’ve created such a mess for you.”

“Worth every second,” he says, nuzzling my hair.

“Heath?”

“Mmmm?”

“What are we doing here?”

“Don’t know, baby. But I like it.”

Baby.

God.

I can’t get enough of this man.

“G
otta stop, honey,” Heath murmurs as my lips trail down his throat.

I pull back, hot and bothered, but mostly confused. His hands are under my shirt, but he slowly pulls them out.

“What do you mean stop?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Fuck no.” He sits us up, shifting so his erection is no longer pressed against me. “Believe me, I don’t want to stop, but . . .”

I look away, shame rising in my cheeks.

“Hey,” he prompts, moving so he catches my eye. “Listen to me.”

Feeling insecure, I turn my head back but can only bring my eyes to his chest.

“It’s not because I don’t want you. Fuck, Lucy, you have no idea how much I want you. It’s because of respect.”

My eyes move up to his. “What?” I whisper.

“I respect the hell out of you, and I shouldn’t have fucked you last night. Not because I didn’t want to, but because you’ve barely stepped out of a marriage, you’ve seen awful shit, and we hardly know each other. If you were any other woman, I’d likely not care, but it’s you and I do.”

He’s slowing down . . . for me?

“You’re not going to sleep with me again because of the situation?”

He cups my jaw. “No, because I respect you. You’re not the kind of woman to just be thrown on her back. Shit, Lucy, I’ve never met anyone like you, and I want to keep getting to know you. Until we know each other a little better and all this shit is over, I think the right thing to do is not sleep together again.”