Risk of a Lifetime (8 page)

Chapter Nine

JB opened his eyes to a symphony of aches and pains, plus a dingy white ceiling that needed a fresh coat of paint. Foggy from the restless night, he was still all-too aware of the softness snuggled against his side. He smiled. Marcy had stayed. No, the last thing he remembered before falling asleep was her walking out of the bedroom. So how come she was here now?

The medicine. The nightmare. Now, he remembered. The promise.

He stroked her arm, then let his palm slide down her side. Would be so easy to move his fingers to all the places that were sure to bring her even closer. His body ached, throbbing with memories of other times, other mornings. He took a chance and circled his fingers on her hip.

“Ummmmm.” She sleepily eased his hand aside, keeping her fingers between his and her body. “No…you said…”

Even though she pushed him away, her lips still tickled against his skin as she drifted back to sleep. Damn that promise he made not to try anything. Never mind the one he made himself before he came to Crayton.

He’d played out the scenario of what would happen if they happened to see each other and she wanted to get back together. There’d be a serious talk. Lots of listening on both sides. Even then, he doubted they’d ever be back together. Nonetheless, if any of that talking and listening ever transpired, it needed to be accomplished with their clothes on.

All the soft mewy sounds she made in her sleep, coupled with her jasmine-scented hair, were more than he could take at the moment. He slid his arm from beneath her and rolled out of bed. They had to stop acting on emotion, because sooner or later, they wouldn’t stop.

He damn sure needed to stop making promises. And not just to her. Now he’d agreed to hang around Crayton until the sheriff got back in town. Of course, he’d planned to do that anyhow seeing that two coincidences involving Marcy were too much for him to turn and walk away.

She moved only enough to wiggle into the vacated warmth of his spot and burrow into the covers. The sheet slipped a little, and the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath worked to his core, pushed his resistance to the edge.

Hell, they’d both feel better if they got this out of the way. Might even stop jabbing at each other so much, if they could part as lovers. If she nudged him away again, no problem, he’d head for the shower. He reached for the covers to slide back in beside her, then stopped.

No.

They were divorced. Plain and simple. There’d be no sex. No pretends. No for-old-times-sake hook-up. A good, cold shower, that’s what he needed. Of course, his body would feel better with heat. Maybe he’d flip from hot to cold and back again until his brain centered in his head.

Stepping into the shower stall brought back memories of him and Marcy up against those same beige, ceramic and glass tiles. More memories than he needed right now.

He turned and braced his hands against the shower wall. As the water beat a rhythm on his back, his muscles loosened, and he did his damnedest to concentrate on the past days’ events. He wasn’t sure the two cases were tied together, but he planned to find out.

His mind walked through the evidence. Leon likely hadn’t targeted Marcy when he’d decided to rob the bank. The man probably hadn’t even realized the seriousness of his actions. He’d gotten juiced, needed money, and had gone to the bank to make a withdrawal…sort of. Of course, the gun jumped the incident to a felony. Conclusion…Marcy and the robbery were purely accidental in JB’s way of thinking.

The shooting was another story. Why hadn’t the shooter finished the job as Leon lay exposed on the ground three feet away from her? Instead, the bullets had veered closer to her with each shot, the last one grazing JB to get to her. Out-of-line rifle scope or expert marksmanship?

After toweling off, he glanced at her sleeping form in the bed as he headed to what had been his side of the closet for a shirt and jeans. Her long leg looped around the edge of the sheet. A tiny bit of hot pink panty peeked from beneath her sleep shirt. His groin sprung to life, and his towel tented. The cold shower effects hadn’t lasted long.

He grabbed his boots from beside the bed, then focused straight ahead until he got out of the room. He needed a distraction, along with some cool, morning air.

Thirty minutes later, he walked back into the bedroom. “You gonna sleep all day or what?”

Smiling, she lazily stretched like a woman waking up to tease the man beside her. A woman ready for some morning love. A woman who’d forgotten whose bed she’d slept in.

Her eyes popped open, hands pulling the sheet to her neckline. She pushed herself upright and inched back in the bed. Her hand slid beneath the covers and, from what he could tell from its movement beneath the sheet, she checked to see what she still had on.

“A promise is a promise, sugar. Everything’s just the way it was when you went to sleep. Shouldn’t have asked you to stay with me last night, but I was feeling none too good at the moment.” He sat the drink carrier on the nightstand, along with a bag of donuts fresh from Art’s Bakery via the local convenience mart. “Large coffee, three creams, three sugars. Right?”

“Right.” She peeked into the sack.

“One chocolate Bavarian cream and one chocolate iced vanilla cake donut. Right?”

Already biting into the gooey icing, she let the sheet slide as she swung her legs over the side. “Right.”

He headed to the door. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about me being hungry.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled through a mouthful of donut, holding out the sack. “I figured you already ate yours on the way back like you always did.”

“Only three.” He chuckled. “Think you know me pretty well, don’t you?”

Her expression shied as she sipped her coffee, eyes darting any place but at him. His gut clenched a warning to bide his time. In the window’s reflection, he watched her pad across the carpet with her bag and cup of coffee. She paused, looked over her shoulder, and he glanced over his.

Clearing his throat, he went to the window. “I forgot how beautiful the leaves around here can be in the fall. By the way, there’s a nip in the air, so you may want to dress warm.”

“Thanks for the donuts and coffee.” She walked out the door.

Instinctively, he followed her into the kitchen. “If you’ve got time once you get dressed, I’d like to talk.”

She turned to face him, her expression unsure. “Maybe later. Betsy and I are going shopping about noon.”

“Where?”

“The Outlet Mall.”

“Who’s driving?”

“Me.”

He needed her in sight until he figured out what was going on. “Maybe I’ll tag along.”

She rounded, laughing. “You, me, and Betsy? Are you crazy?”

Evidently. But he’d contend with her sister if it meant keeping Marcy safe.

“Why all the sudden concern?” She finished off the last donut, then concentrated on her cup of coffee. “I’ve been taking care of myself for three years. What makes you think I can’t now?”

“Well, for one thing, ever since I got to town, you’ve been on the verge of extinction.” He leaned his shoulder against the wall.

“Never had a problem until you showed up. Maybe you should leave town again.” She lifted her eyes to look into his. “Seems like danger always follows you.”

That hurt. “What do you mean?”

She ignored his question and turned away. “Forget I said anything. I’m going to get dressed.”

Bumping her elbow on the doorframe to her bedroom, coffee sloshed out the hole in the lid. She bent to wipe up the mess with the napkins from the donut bag. Her top inched up her thigh, her hip, and her backside.

Unable to control the heat in his core, he walked away while he could still manage to move. At the kitchen counter, he stared out the window over the sink. The yard looked the same except she’d replaced their old, wooden swing with a wicker-look one complete with brightly striped cushions. He wondered what else she might have replaced.

Him? Had he been replaced by someone new and bright and shiny? Just because he hadn’t seen any sign of another man didn’t mean one didn’t exist. Maybe she’d picked a businessman like Truman. Could be the guy was simply away on a trip. Except, Truman’s “work-related trips” were undercover for the U.S. government.

JB knew that for a fact, so did Sadie. He doubted more than a few others in town knew the man’s secret, though. Doubted Marcy ever realized her mother had married another man just like their father, remarried the FBI. Only this one led two lives, public and private.

Years ago, once JB had started investigating how to become an agent with the FBI, Truman had revealed that he’d been a Special Agent with the Bureau at one time. Said since his retirement, he only “consulted,” as he’d called it, when the undercover assignment would be short term. Most people thought he was just away at a real estate workshop or partnering on a new development in other parts of the world. The arrangement worked good for him, Sadie, and the girls. Kept his family safe and out of sight in this sleepy town, but allowed him to still feel useful in protecting the country.

In fact, the straw that broke JB and Marcy’s marriage had happened the week before she’d shoved him out the door. He’d gone with Truman on an assignment as part of a police-FBI joint operation, just to see if he really might be cut out for the Bureau. The agreement had been JB would stay out of the way. An ambush had negated that agreement.

When he’d walked in the front door the next day, Marcy had been livid. Had looked like hell from crying as she’d worked herself into a frenzy imaging a million things that had happened to him. Sure, he hadn’t told her exactly what he was doing, just that he’d be helping out in another town department for a few days. He damn sure hadn’t mentioned the FBI because of the way she’d reacted to his talk of becoming an agent one other time. Wouldn’t have mattered if he had.

She’d demanded he never leave Crayton again. Yelled about him being in law enforcement. Berated him that he was hurt…again. It had been only a scratch, not even really a wound. And she’d called him a few names he hadn’t even known she knew.

She’d been a wreck.

He’d followed his career choice on a test basis, and she’d fallen apart. From what he saw, she’d never be able to handle it. Something changed between them that day. That was the first night he’d slept on the couch of his own accord. She’d kicked him out a couple days later.

After downing the dregs of his coffee, JB crushed the paper cup and tossed it in the trash. He should have known coming back to Crayton would only be a rehash of old conversations. Maybe deep inside he’d started to hope she had missed him as much as he missed her. That being apart had been enough for her to face her fear of danger. Of death. Of anything to do with being a lawman.

Evidently not. He was a fool to have imagined different.

She walked into the kitchen dressed in jeans, a sweater, and her back-off attitude. Leaning against the counter, she challenged him with her stare. The woman who’d snuggled against his side last night and kissed the scar on his chest was nowhere in sight. Evidently, she’d run from her feelings again. Hidden herself behind her stronger-than-strong female attitude once more. She’d quickly forgotten how she ran her fingers over his body last night when she thought he was asleep. Pretended she was sleeping, too.

Okay. There’d be no more time spent in the same bed. But he’d be damned if he let her blame everything that happened in the past few days on him. If she wanted a challenge, she’d get one. “So, you think the bank robbery, the shooting, and the explosion all followed me to Crayton?”

“I’m saying there was nothing going on in this little town until you arrived. Ergo, common sense says to look at what’s different.” She tilted her head to the side the way she always did when analyzing something. “You. You came back to town, and all hell broke loose.”

He stepped in front her, a couple feet away. If this was going to be the talk, then they’d hold it eye-to-eye. He hooked his thumbs in his side, jean pockets. “You’ve got all your psychology and analyzing to feed your thoughts. How about using a little common sense for my world?”

“Such as?”

“You want to know why I never came back after you kicked me out?”

She didn’t look away, just slid her palms into her back pockets. “Okay. Why?”

“No man likes to have his wife tell him he’s not good enough for her.”

“I never said that.”

“Might not have been those exact words, but you let me know every time I ended up hurt on the job that you couldn’t stand to be around a man who couldn’t protect himself.” He reined himself in, walked to the door. No need to bring up how she’d told him he didn’t love her, that he’d never put her through all that pain if he did. He’d been ready to give up the law just to prove his love. She’d made that unnecessary with the suitcase on the front porch.

His strength, stamina, and will to live had never been a doubt in his mind. But from the moment his dad had taken custody of him, picking him up at the bus station and telling him he wasn’t worth the price of the ticket, he’d doubted his worth. He’d been twelve years old. Twelve years old, and no one wanted him. Too damn bad. He’d decided then and there no one was ever gonna keep him down. But the doubts dug in for the long haul.

The next six years had been hell on earth what with trying to stay out of the way of his old man’s punches, work enough to keep food on the table, and go to school. Sports, school, and thoughts of the future were what kept him on the straight-and-narrow. That plus Sheriff Davis, who’d become like a dad to him. Of course, once his old man had found out about his mentor, he’d pounded JB even more.

The day he’d finally stood up to his dad and gave him punch for punch back hadn’t squashed the doubt. That was the last time either one of them had laid a hand on the other. Even as his old man had lain on the floor and spit the blood from his mouth at JB’s feet, he’d mumbled that JB still wasn’t worth the price of a ticket. Then, he’d told him to bring home a pint of whiskey after school.

That was then, and this was now.

“You were always coming home injured. How do you think that made me feel?” She’d folded her arms across her chest. To her, she’d made her point, and the conversation was over.