Jamie Hill Triple Threat (42 page)

Looking into her eyes, all Brady felt was shame. He hoped he'd treated her well, and with respect. He'd tried to, but the fact that he couldn't remember all his past girlfriends had to say something about him.

Running into her after being shot at put him in a lousy mood. It was barely two p.m., but he was done for the day. He needed to get out of there, and go home. "Bev, thanks for helping me out. I've got to get going. It was nice seeing you."

She handed him his jacket with obvious disappointment. "It was nice seeing you, too, Brady. Take care of that arm, now. Change the dressing every day and keep it clean."

"You bet." He walked away, thinking if she had that look on her face, she must not harbor ill feelings toward him.
One good thing
.

"You okay?" Costa approached.

"Yeah. It's just a scratch. I'm wrung out, though."

"Forrest said to take the rest of the day, and let him know if you need time next week."

"I can't do that. We served the warrants on these two companies. If they have contraband today it won't be there next week."

"Exactly why Forrest is sending a bunch more teams with dogs out today. He's not pleased about the latest turn of events. I'm going back to the office so we can regroup."

"I'm with you," Brady insisted.

"No, you're not." Costa folded his arms across his chest. "Forrest says you can either spend the rest of the day filling out an incident report in the office, or go home and let me do that."

The expression on Costa's face told him who was in charge just then. Brady narrowed his eyes, but his partner didn't back down. "Son-of-a-bitch," he muttered. I'll take the rest of today." He looked around. "Did they haul off that sucker?"

"They did. Someone will have to post some bail to get him out tonight."

"I hope they don't have it," Brady muttered. "I hope he sits in jail all weekend." He figured that was a long shot, and sighed. "Drop me back at my car?"

"You bet. Let's go."

They rode in silence to the police department where Costa left him in the parking lot, next to his Explorer.

Brady climbed out and reached for his keys. "See you Monday. We'll reevaluate and see where we are with this thing."

"Don't rush it." Costa looked him in the eye. "If you need more time—"

"I won't. I want to find out exactly what was in the warehouse that was worth shooting me for. You'd better fucking call me if anything breaks."

Costa smiled. "Get some rest. Quit worrying. You'll be the first to know if we find anything."

"Yeah," he grumbled, and closed Costa's door. Brady threw his jacket in the back seat and got into his vehicle. He winced as he felt a twinge in his arm. It was just bothersome enough to piss him off, and he scowled as he lit a cigarette. After starting the engine he shoved his SUV into gear and headed home.

His house was in an established, older neighborhood in central
Wichita
. He'd lived there a few years, but hadn't touched most of the projects he'd envisioned when he bought the place. Nothing critical, just a few things he'd wanted to change. Fortunately for him, the light red brick exterior still looked good, and the rust-colored shutters had also withstood the test of time.

He punched the button on his garage door opener and drove inside the double bay. Another push of the button closed the big door behind him. He ground the stub of his cigarette into the ash tray and climbed out, grabbing his jacket. Brady entered the house and glanced around. Everything was neat and orderly as he'd left it that morning.

He shook his head at the bloody hole in his nice suit coat and tossed it over the back of a kitchen chair. He emptied his pockets onto the kitchen counter. Opening the fridge, he studied his choices before retrieving a can of beer and popping the top. He took a long pull and closed his eyes, enjoying the burn of it sliding down his throat.

Hell of a day.
He was glad to be home where he could put warehouses, security guards and bullets out of his mind. He wanted to zone out and relax, which sounded easier than it usually was.

In the bedroom, he changed into gym shorts and a ripped black t-shirt. His arm stung and Brady knew he should rest it, but he had too much nervous energy to do nothing. He wanted to work out. Leaving the rest of the beer untouched, he donned his shoes and walked down the hall.

He'd converted the other two bedrooms in his ranch-style house into an office and a make-shift gym. In the larger of the two rooms, he adjusted the weights on his multi-purpose lifting machine. He sat and began a repetition of leg presses.

Stretching felt good. He ran through his routine of leg exercises before attempting anything with his arms. Those completed, he tried a few upper body lifts with a lighter weight than usual. His arm protested, sending streaks of fire from his shoulder to his fingertips. Brady didn't force the issue, just moved to the treadmill where he progressed from walking to a fast-paced jog in a matter of minutes.

When he exercised regularly he could run for thirty minutes, no problem. Today, whether it was the shooting incident or the fact he hadn't worked out recently, he was beat after twenty. He stopped the machine and climbed off.

His shirt dripped sweat. He tugged it off and mopped his brow while he went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Spotting his cigarettes and cell phone on the counter, he debated between them as he took a drink. It was after three, Gina would probably be at work.
I shouldn't bother her
. He had the sudden, irresistible urge to hear her voice.

He picked up the phone and dialed her cell number, now permanently etched in his brain.

"Hi, big guy," she answered immediately. "How's your Friday?"

"I've definitely had better. How about you? Are you at work?"

"Not yet. I go in at four, so I have plenty of time to hear about your shitty day. Are you on a smoke break?"

"Actually, I'm at home." He took a breath and exhaled slowly. "We had a little incident today. I was shot at. The bullet barely grazed my—"

"You were what?" she screeched. "Shot?"

"Shot
at
," he corrected. "It's just a scratch."

"For a scratch you go home in the middle of the day? I don't think so.
Scemo
."

"There you go again. Are you going to translate or do I need to fire up my laptop computer?"

"I called you a fool," she muttered. "You make me crazy. Stay put. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Gina, no. You don't have time before your shift. I'd hate to make you late."

"This isn't open to discussion. I'm on my way."

He noticed she hesitated before she hung up. If he'd seriously put his foot down, he suspected she might have listened. He had no intention of doing that. Brady smiled. "I'll see you in a few."

"I'll be right there." Her voice was low and throaty. She disconnected the call.

He squeezed the phone in his hand.
She's going to be late for work.

He sauntered back to the bedroom. Straightening up a few pieces of misplaced clothing, he decided the room looked fine. Moving slower than usual, he shed his sweaty clothes and tossed them in the hamper.

Brady stepped in front of the mirror and looked at his bandage. He'd leave it on and replace it with a dry one after his shower. The water was going to sting, as it was. He turned the shower handle and adjusted the temperature before stepping under the nozzle.

The force of the spray made his arm ache, as expected. He changed positions for comfort and washed his hair before soaping up his body. His erection was rampant. The thought of Gina catching him in the shower had his prick at full attention.

He estimated the drive from her place to his to be fifteen minutes. It had been that long, at least, when his hot water gave out and he was forced to step from the shower. Brady dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He needed to change the bandage on his arm but the small bathroom was fogged over with steam, and he couldn't see to do it. He eased the wet gauze and tape off and pitched it into the trash, then opened the door leading to his bedroom to get some air.

The front doorbell rang, and he smiled.
Missed it by that much
. Tossing the towel aside, he found a clean pair of gym shorts and slipped them on. He went to the door and opened it. "Sorry about that."

Gina entered, her eyes darting down his body and up again, quickly. "Hey. No problem." She stepped closer and inspected the wound on his arm. "It's more than a scratch, that's for sure. But I guess you'll live."

"I'm supposed to keep it dry and covered." He closed the door behind her and locked it out of habit.

She rolled her eyes. "So here it is, wet and uncovered. Typical man." She squinted at the injury, assessing it. "I don't think regular bandages will cover that. Do you have any gauze pads?"

"Yes. I was just getting ready to take care of it." He returned to the bathroom and pulled out a first aid kit, carrying it to his room.

"I'll do it." She followed him into the bedroom. "Sit on the bed and allow me."

"If you insist." He sat on the edge and shifted his shorts in a feeble attempt to hide the erection he knew was coming.

Gina was all business, digging through the box until she found just what she wanted. She carefully prepared the bandage and taped it into place. "There, that should hold you for a while." She gazed into his eyes. "I'm so glad it wasn't worse."

"You and me, both. It was sweet of you to come over here before work."

"I'm not going to work, Brady." Maintaining eye contact, Gina sat on the bed next to him. "I called
Warren
and told him I had a family emergency."

"You did?" His heart raced.

She nodded and rested a hand on his bare knee. "I was terrified when you told me you'd been shot. I remember now why I don't date cops. If someone had to call me with bad news about you, I'm not sure I could handle it."

He covered her hand with his. "That's something cops' families learn to live with. I know it isn't easy, but it's part of the job."

"Well, I don't like it." She leaned in for a kiss, their lips barely touching.

Brady clasped the back of her head and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. His mouth opened and their tongues began to explore. He sighed as her hand slid around his neck and held him there.

Dragging her along with him, he laid back onto the bed. Ignoring the flash of pain from his arm, he flipped over so he was on top, gazing down at her. "Scoot up just a little," he encouraged, since their legs were over the edge.

"Brady, I—"

"Shhh." He quieted her with a kiss. She hadn't moved so he reached under her arms and slid her further up on the bed. Silky black curls splayed across his pillow in just the manner he'd imagined, night after night. Fantasy was exciting, but enough was enough. He was ready to seal this deal, once and for all.

Gina groaned and closed her eyes, for a moment.

He paused, gazing at her.

She opened them and murmured his name. "Brady."

A single tear ran down her face, leaving a wet spot on the pillowcase.

"What is it?" He cupped her cheek with one hand.

"I want this more than anything. You know that, right?"

He nodded. "I do, too. We've waited long enough. I think we know everything we need to about each other—the important stuff, anyway." He smiled.

Another tear fell. "I have to tell you something. This isn't something I talk about, so you'll have to forgive me for not bringing it up before. I was never sure how serious things were with us. The instant you told me you'd been shot, I knew. I'm crazy about you, Brady."

"I feel that way, too. If I didn't, it would have been easier to sleep with you."

She finally cracked a smile. "
Donnaillo
. There's the womanizer in you, coming out again."

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I knew that sounded bad the minute I said it. What I meant, was—"

"Shhh." She pressed two fingers to his lips. "I know what you meant. Never mind that now. I need to tell you something,
caro
. It's about the person I used to be. The life I used to lead."

He stared at her, for a moment, then rolled to the side and settled on the bed next to her. "I'm not sure I understand."

She looked at the ceiling as she spoke. "I told you my mother died when I was twelve. My father did his best, but he worked long hours—"

"He's a dry cleaner, right?" he interrupted, trying to mentally organize facts as she talked.

"What?" Her eyes seemed glassy for a moment and then she nodded. "Oh, yeah. A dry cleaner. Anyway, I was a pretty good kid until the last part of high school. I got a boyfriend, and my priorities changed."

He nodded. He'd never assumed she was a virgin, though he didn't care to think about Gina with other guys. "That happens."

She glanced at him quickly and back at the ceiling. "Bear with me, here. I need to tell you this. I was wrapped up in that guy. He was my whole life. We went to college together, and I thought everything was going to be great." She took a shuddering breath of air. "Somehow, we got off track.