OVER HER DEAD BODY: The Bliss Legacy - Book 2 (18 page)

She brushed his hand away, frustrated with herself, her growing penchant for tears. “Nothing. It’s just sad. And confusing. Christiana’s story, Mary … Mayday House. It’s a bit overwhelming, I guess. Not exactly what I expected when I came home.”

“What did you expect?”

She walked over to the creaky porch swing and sat down, bracing her hands on the edge to keep it from swinging. “Quiet. Peace.”
Absolution
.
She brushed at her traitorous weepy eyes. “A place to get my bearings.” She paused. “Do something good and decent with my life.”

“Your life getting any more ‘good and decent’ doesn’t seem possible.”

Her eyes shot to his—so dark, and fixed on her as if she were a puzzle with a piece missing. “Is that how you see me, Gus? All virtue and righteousness, like some do-gooder frontier church lady?” The image irritated her, because it was so terribly far from the truth.

He rested his hip on the rail and crossed his arms. “The description ‘good woman’ seems to fit. Convent, nursing, missions, all that.”

“What about the marriage? You left that out.”

“What about it?”

“I broke my vows to marry Marc. Solemn vows. I didn’t keep my word to—”

“God?”

His Name sounded odd coming from him. “Yes. To God.”

“You made a contract. Contracts are negotiable. Things change.”

“If it were only that simple.” She shook her head.

He stayed quiet for a moment, then said, “You think your husband—stepping on that land mine—was some kind of punishment, don’t you?”

Keeley, uncertain how to answer, pressed a hand on her heart, tried to still it—and tried to understand why she was talking to a man like Gus about Marc, her broken vows, when she hadn’t knelt in a confessional for years. Because she couldn’t sit still any longer, she stood and walked to the railing Gus had propped himself against.

When she didn’t say anything, he said, “It wasn’t, you know.” He stopped. “You didn’t plant the mine, some conscienceless asshole with his own axe to grind did, and he didn’t give a damn who stepped on it—a wandering animal, an innocent kid … a doctor. All he wanted to do was kill someone. Anyone. It wasn’t punishment. It was bad luck. Chaos. Life’s good at that.”

“Part of me knows what you’re saying is true, but another part—”

“Feels guilty as hell?”

“Mm-hm.”

He ran a finger across her cheek, then turned her face to his. “I’ll bet you’re good at the guilt thing.”

Too personal, Keeley, you’re getting far too personal.
“Expert, I’m afraid,” she said, lightening her tone and trying unsuccessfully to dredge up a smile. “But I’m working on downgrading my standing. It’s why I came home.” She looked up at him, determined to change the subject; instead, she couldn’t stop her gaze from sliding to his angular jaw, his mouth, straight, relaxed, seductive. His clean-shaven skin was darkly clear, his scar accented by the sunlight now drifting onto the wide front porch. Inhaling, she took in the scent of him. Indescribable.

Her heart pounding, she moistened her lips and dropped her gaze to what she mistakenly thought was safer territory, the soft white cotton shirt covering his broad chest, cotton that pulled tight over hard muscles when he drew in a deep breath.

This was crazy!

Keeley raised her eyes—certain they looked startled and wild—and met his. His calm gaze focused on her, intense and probing. He slowly dropped it to her mouth.

“I think I’m about to acquire some guilt of my own,” he murmured and, bending his dark head, he brushed his lips over hers. More whisper than kiss, achingly soft.

Before their mouths met, there was the chatter of birds, the rustle of leaves, now only silence.

Before … the flutter of a morning breeze, cool on her face, now only warmth.

Before … the light of morning, bright on pearl gray clouds, now only hot, swirling darkness.

Her breath a silk storm in her lungs, she ran her hands up and along the taut muscles of his arms, grasped his shoulders. His mouth was so light on hers it was dreamlike, surreal, yet every one of her senses shifted to white-hot and knife-sharp.

He pulled back, held her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. “Should I apologize?”

Keeley blinked, allowing reality and the edge of truth to cut through the sexual glitter in her head. “No,” she said, stepping back. “But maybe I should.”

He cocked his head, waited.

“For acting like an overwhelmed, under-brained woman.” She added, “I don’t usually talk so much about private things. I suppose it made me seem needy.”

“Which would make my kiss what? An act of kindness?” He let out a disbelieving gust of breath and shook his head.

“Not exactly, but—”

“Farrell, you’re the least needy woman I’ve ever met.” He came near to smiling, but quickly displaced it with a darker, unreadable look. “And kissing you had more to do with my need than yours. I’ve wanted to … touch you since the first day I stepped into your kitchen.”

Keeley wasn’t sure she heard right and was too confused, both by his actions and hers, to pursue this uneasy conversation. Besides, she wasn’t sure how she felt about the discomfort his admission obviously caused him.

“I think I’ll go back to the boxes,” she said, deciding retreat was her best option. “See if I can find anything else about Christiana.” She’d think about what had happened between her and Gus later, when she could make sense of it. It certainly didn’t make sense to stand here, with Gus Hammond looking as cool as the autumn morning that embraced them, while she couldn’t put two rational thoughts together.

He watched her calmly, but his serious eyes told her he sensed her unease. “I’m going into town, but I won’t be long. When I get back, I’ll help with the records.” He paused. “Keep the doors locked while I’m gone.” He went in the house, retrieved his jacket, and came out scribbling on a piece of paper. “My cell number.” He handed the paper to her. “The door,” he repeated, his tone stern. “Lock it.”

“It’s a gorgeous morning in small-town America, Gus. I think we’re safe enough.”

“Humor me,” he said, without a trace of humor in his tone.

“Okay, okay.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “And after the doors are locked, I’ll pull up the drawbridge.” When her lame attempt at a joke fell flat, and he said nothing, she turned to go back into the house.

“Keeley?”

She looked back, met his solemn face, eyes now holding a touch of awe.

“There’s something you should know.” He hesitated, but his gaze didn’t waver from hers. “I haven’t wanted to kiss a woman that much since I was seventeen.”

He obviously didn’t expect an answer because he started down the stairs, shrugging into his jacket as he went.

Keeley waited until he got in his car and reversed out of the driveway, then touched her mouth and let out a long breath. If he had waited for an answer, and she’d given him an honest one, it would have surprised him as much as it surprised her.

That on some deeply complex and unnerving level, she was exceedingly glad she was that woman.

Gus didn’t intend to go far or be gone long, but he needed to calm down. Think. Make some calls.

Hell, he was acting like a randy teenager. When his breath eased in his lungs, and he figured there was a chance his brain had backtracked from lust to logic, he pulled into a roadside park. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

Jesus, the woman should have slugged him.

He’d told her what he was—exactly what Hagan Marsden had said, a male whore, a man who’d made a living looking good and bedding women. He hadn’t planned it that way, but that’s how it turned out. No way around it, and no way to justify it. He’d taken what life offered him and Josh, and he’d learned to live with it—but it left him with no right to mess with Keeley Farrell.

He’d never admit it to her—or anyone else—but she was too goddamned good for him.

Even if she had felt like heaven in his arms.

He opened the car door, got out, and took in some fresh air.

He’d let his control slip. It wouldn’t happen again. Keeley didn’t need an overused, practiced lover—she needed protection. Letting sex mess with his head would endanger her.

And ruin his chance of finding April.

That thought firm in his mind, he went to the Jag’s trunk and unlocked it. He pulled an aluminum briefcase toward him and opened it. Inside were three cell phones, two sets of all-steel throwing knives, and some necessary false IDs. He took out one of the phones, decided to bypass Cassie, and dialed Dinah’s private line. He got her voice mail.

“Dinah, we need to meet. Call me.” He left the number of the cell phone he was using and hung up.

His next call was to Hagan. He walked toward the park’s guardrail as he keyed in the number. Beyond the rail a stream, rain-flushed and bright, ran over a bed of rocks like liquid glass. He straddled the guardrail and sat on one of the posts.

Voice mail again. “Hagan. Gus. It looks as though you were right. Our mutual friend definitely has a secret. When I know more, I’ll call.” He clicked off. If nothing else, the message would keep Hagan off his back for a few more days.

His phone rang immediately he clicked off. He answered it, his gaze again attracted to the crystal clarity of the fast-moving stream.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the mystery man himself. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days.” Dinah’s voice was hard, angry. “You know I’m in Seattle. I left a message. Why didn’t you call?”

“I’m calling now.”

“Where are you?”

“It doesn’t matter where I am. We need to meet.”

“Just like that,” she said, her tone acidic. “Gus snaps his fingers and Dinah jumps?”

He took a patience breath. Not one of Dinah’s better moods. He settled himself on the post. “I didn’t ask you to jump, baby. I asked you to meet me. If you don’t want to, it’s your call.” He waited.

“What I should do,
‘baby’
is tell you to fuck off.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I already did that.”

“Oh, I noticed, all right. I’ve also noticed you’re working for my ex.”

“Hagan called you.” It might have been logical for the bastard to keep his mouth shut until Gus delivered the goods, but nothing in the war between Hagan and Dinah was ever logical. Obviously, he couldn’t resist the chance to set in a screw and turn it.

“How could you? After all I did for you, all we had together.” Her tone was more than petulant, it carried hurt. Feigned? He couldn’t sure.

“The way I saw it? Better me than some sleazy private eye.” He shifted the phone to his other ear. “Hagan’s out to get you, Dinah, and he thinks he’s found a way to do it.”

“Hagan is an idiot,” she said, but her tone had lost its edge, turned toward interested.

“I agree. He hired me, didn’t he?” As did you, as did Keeley. Hell, he was the most hired guy between here and Texas. There were times when the chameleon business got damned complicated.

Some silence came down the line, then a short laugh. “I guess I won’t tell you to fuck off after all.”

“I didn’t think you would. Unless you’ve lost interest in saving that perfect ass of yours.”

“Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it.”

Gus sucked in some air and took some think time. If he didn’t go for the cash, Dinah would get suspicious. “I kind of figured you would.” He named a sum large enough to satisfy a third-world despot, knowing he’d never collect. He was done with Dinah, and done with her money, which didn’t make him any more comfortable playing the role of Hagan’s lackey—or lying to Farrell. For now he’d take one step at a time, because he wasn’t about to lose his sister again.

“Done,” she said immediately. “When can we meet?” Then, irritably, “Where exactly are you, anyway?”

“Erinville. I’m staying at Mayday House.” He didn’t miss her quick intake of breath.

“Staying there? Jesus, Gus, I told you to close the place, not live in it.”

“I’m here because Hagan wants me here. He said the Farrell woman needed protection—from you.”

After a moment of silence, she said, “That’s absurd.”

“That’s what I told him,” he said, adding, “I’ll be in Seattle tomorrow morning. I’ll call when I get there.” He snapped the phone closed.

Now all he had to do was make sure Keeley was covered for the day, and he knew exactly how to do it.

He headed into town.

The next morning Keeley opened the door at eight o’clock to three men in clean but splotchy white coveralls. The words Paynters, Inc., and a brush in the shape of a torch were embroidered on their chest pockets.

“Miss Farrell?” the tallest of the trio asked, smiling.

“That’s me, but the big question is who are you?” She looked past them to see a truck bearing the same red logo parked in the Mayday House driveway.

He touched the lettering on his chest. “Painters. We were told to start this morning.”

“Start what?”

The man was starting to look as confused as she was until a voice came from behind her. “Morning. Get your stuff and come on in. After the lady’s had her second cup of coffee, she’ll tell you what to do.”

The men headed back to the truck and Keeley turned to see Gus. His black hair was still glistening from the shower, his face was closely shaven, and he smelled … delicious. Standing tall with his hands on his hips, he looked as if he were preparing for an armored tank invasion—and he took her breath away. And her words.

“They’re painters,” he said, repeating the obvious. “I hired them. They’ll be here until you have done whatever it is you want done.” He waited, defensive, and as still as … one of her many yet-to-be-opened paint cans.

She found her voice and her missing brain cells. “Dear God, you look as if you think I’m going to say no.”

“I never know what you’re going to do.” Painters! Her back and right arm would sing hymns if backs and arms did such things. “This is a big house, Gus. It will cost a fortune.”

He shrugged. “Then I can consider my rent paid.”

She smiled, couldn’t help herself. “What you’re doing is more like a long-term lease.” She took a step toward him, hesitated only a moment, before giving him a quick hug and a maiden-aunt kiss on the cheek. His black sweater was kitten soft, the body under it anything but, and she stepped back quickly. “I thank you, Mr. Hammond. Mayday thanks you.”