Risk of a Lifetime (9 page)

Not this time. This time he would stand up for himself…even to Marcy.

“So you’re saying because I was hurt, you were in pain. Well, let me tell you about pain.” He grabbed his coat from the hook and stepped onto the porch, glancing back over his shoulder. “Pain is being shot and your wife going to the other room to sleep.”

“You needed your rest.”

“When you finally came back to our bed, you turned away every time I reached for you. Was that also because I needed my rest?”

She bit the side of her lip. Tightened her crossed arms.

“Your games aren’t going to work with me, Marcy. Not then. Not now.” He held his tone even, calm. “I got a Criminal Justice degree to be a lawman. I plan to be one the rest of my life. Being punched, kicked, spit on, or even shot are hazards of the job. If you can’t handle that, then you’re right, I need to leave. Is that what you really want? Because I won’t come back again.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

“Okay. Once these cases are settled, I promise I’ll go.” He closed the door behind him and stepped off the porch.

The door opened, and she padded softly across the porch planks. “Where are you going?”

“Now or later?”

“Now.”

“I’m going for a walk.”

“JB?”

He stopped.

The top step squeaked as she stepped on it. “You only know one way. Fast and protective. It’s just the way you are. You’re always the leader. First in the door. Last to leave the job. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But every time you came home hurt was like being stabbed in my heart.”

He couldn’t argue. Nothing could change how he approached life. He also understood not every woman was cut out to be married to a lawman.

“All I wanted was for you to change jobs so you wouldn’t get killed. I thought kicking you out might make you change.” Another creak. Another step. She sighed. “From the looks of the scars on your chest, that didn’t happen.”

“Not hardly.” This conversation needed to end before the what-happened questions began. He glanced back over his shoulder. “At least my mother left a fifty and a one-way ticket to Crayton when she threw my gym bag on the porch, locked me out of the house, and shipped me to my father. I was only twelve years old. Guess I wasn’t good enough then, either.”

“I never said you weren’t good enough.” The whisper of her voice echoed across the yard. “Never.”

“That’s what I heard. Loud and clear.”

…

Marcy stood at the kitchen window, watching JB run the perimeter of the cleared area of their property. She’d never known what happened to bring him to live with his dad in Crayton. He’d always been vague on that point, no matter how hard she’d pressed him. Vague about his mother, too. All that had ever been said was that his mother couldn’t take care of him. Marcy and everyone else in town assumed she must have been ill. No one was surprised when two years later, word came of her passing.

Of course, everyone knew what a bastard his dad had been. The sheriff even tried to get JB to file charges for the beatings, but he always said he’d tough it out. That every day he made it through was one day closer to being out of that house for good. All he needed was a football scholarship. He’d worked hard. Studied hard. Got a scholarship. And earned every hard-fought scrap of his degree.

She’d never been so proud in her life as the day he tossed his mortar board in the air and yelled he loved her. Her world had been complete knowing she’d share whatever he’d give of his life.

Now…now, she wanted to know more.
Needed
to know more. She’d counseled a lot of people who’d been hurt in some way during childhood. Surely she could help him make peace with those memories.

Clenching his arm tight against his side, he stepped inside and grabbed a glass of water.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing. Just leaned wrong and got that bruise to hurting.” He headed to the living room. “I’m gonna catch a little of the game ‘til you and Betsy leave for the mall.”

“Mind if I join you?”

He clicked on the television, motioned her to come on in. Fifteen minutes later, he had his feet up on the ottoman, and she was curled into the corner on the opposite end of the sofa. Neither had said a word.

She reached over and muted the set, then turned to face him, back straight, hands in her lap, like a skilled listener. “If you ever want to talk about your mom or anything else, I’d be happy to listen.”

His feet hit the floor before she could blink. “Is that all you got out of what I said?”

“I just thought I might be able to help. After all, I do have some background in this sort of thing.” What was he so angry about? “You know, people pay good money for my advice.”

“I’m your ex-husband. Not your client.” He clicked the TV off and headed to the hallway.

“I know that.”

“Do you? Do you even know what that means?” He braced his hands against the doorframe. “And, just for the record, I’ve faced my past and moved on. Maybe you should do the same. Stop being a counselor with straight A’s from college, and just be a woman. That doesn’t mean you’re giving up your independence. It’s about being a person who loves life and lives it one step at a time.”

“I’ve tried.” She traced her hand across the horticulture book on the table. For the past few months, she’d tried to learn how to grow things. Maybe that would help her not always analyze everything to the nth-degree. “But I can’t seem to figure out how.”

He headed down the hallway, then came back to the living room doorway. “You knew when you married me that I’d be involved in the law.”

Her mind was racing. She’d hurt him before and wanted to make sure that didn’t happen again. “I hoped you’d decide to be a lawyer or a teacher.”

“Can you really see me standing in front of a classroom of kids who’ve been up half the night before playing video games? Who’d rather be any place in the world but in that chair listening to me?”

Soft and real, she laughed. “I guess that does stretch the imagination.”

He walked over and engulfed her in a gentle hug. “Sugar, you can’t change my career choice any more than I can stop you from trying to help people live a better life. Understand?”

She did understand, and that was part of the problem. Loving someone when you couldn’t accept who they were cut out to be meant making both of you unhappy. As a counselor, she should be able to figure out a solution. Three years ago, she’d done just that with two outcomes to consider—end their relationship or accept the dangerous what-ifs. She chose the one she could live with—she’d kicked him out.

Now that he was back in town, the question was whether she’d be able to make a different choice this time. Because the last few years had been hell without him next to her.

He stepped back. “I know you’ve got me and the law and your dad’s death all whipping around in that pretty, little head of yours. Always has been. You think I’m gonna end up like him, and you’ll end up a widow like your mother. Right?”

She nodded. Truth was the truth.

“Damn it, Marcy. I could walk outside and get hit by a falling tree and be just as dead as being hit by a bullet.”

“That would be different.”

“How? I’d still be dead.”

She shook her head, the answer only a thought away. “Because a tree would be an accident. Being shot would be from the danger of the job. Don’t you understand? Danger walks with you every time you put on a badge. And I don’t want to live with that always on my mind.”

He headed toward the living room, the cords in his neck taut against his skin. “Then why the hell did you even marry me in the first place?”

Chapter Ten

“I still don’t like you going off without me.” JB leaned against the fender of Marcy’s car. He hadn’t been able to stay mad at her. And sooner or later, they’d probably end up in each other’s arms. But at the end of the case, he’d keep his promise. He’d leave.

“Honestly, you act like someone’s out to get me.” She shoved him aside as she tossed a jacket in the backseat. “I was in the wrong places at the wrong times, that’s all.”

Betsy sighed long, heavy, and loud from across the top of the vehicle. “You two gonna argue all day, or are we going shopping?”

“I could drive you girls around. Wait in the truck,” JB said.

“No!” the two women answered in unison.

Marcy opened the driver’s side door and leaned in, taking her time as she searched for something in the console. When she stood, she slid her sunglasses on, nice and easy and slow. “I’m sure you have something better to do than play nursemaid to two women. Get going.”

JB closed the distance to her, leaning downward as she stretched upward.

“Marcy?” His lips were only a whisper away as he brushed her hair behind her ear.

“Uh-huh.”

She closed her eyes and tipped her face up to his. For a moment, she almost looked like the first time he kissed her. Wanting? Yes. Willing? Maybe. Afraid? Probably. He’d been a little scared and unsure himself back then. In fact, he’d made her wait over a week for his kiss. Each day teasing her more and more, just to make sure she didn’t turn him down when he made his move. He’d been young with an ego that needed to stay intact.

She still hadn’t moved away, so he leaned downward.

“Are we shopping or what?” Betsy flung her arms up.

The two of them turned simultaneously in her direction. He’d forgotten Marcy’s sister was even there, and evidently, so had she.

He glanced back at her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on. I just got carried away with the way I used to send you off for a day of shopping.”

“We both got carried away for a moment. That’s all. Forget it.” She stop-signed him with her hand as she turned back to her sister. “Shopping. We’re going shopping.”

He scrubbed a palm down his face. Damn it, the next time he got half a chance, he’d kiss her. Slow and easy. Hard and fast. Didn’t matter. He’d damn well kiss the hell out of her. Not gonna happen right now, though. And he had no one to blame but himself for that crash and burn.

“Be careful out there on the road. And call if you see anything suspicious.” He planned to be keeping an eye on them from afar, but closer would be better.

She pushed past him. “Almost forgot. I left my phone on the counter, charging.”

The moment she walked out of earshot, he turned to Betsy. “She had any trouble while I’ve been away?”

Betsy crossed her arms in defiance. “Now’s a heck of a time to worry about how she survived.”

“Don’t fight me. Answer the question.” He heard his tone and couldn’t stop the harshness. He shook his head. “Sorry. Let’s start again. Has anyone made any threats against Marcy? Given her a hard time for any reason?”

Glancing at the door, Betsy dropped her arms, concern etched her face. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing maybe, but I don’t like coincidences.” He watched the doorway, ready to change the subject the moment his ex-wife pushed through. “Is there anything, anyone you can think of?”

She walked around the car, watching the same doorway. “The jeweler’s wife over in the next county was none too happy about how their divorce turned out. Blamed Marcy for telling the husband he should stop giving in to the wife’s money demands.”

From the evidence so far, and his previous cases, the scene didn’t speak of something so simple being cause for this kind of retaliation. “Go on. Anybody else?”

“Representative Benson and his wife were clients of Marcy’s. He didn’t like the fact they ended up in a nasty divorce.” Betsy’s words looped together with speed to get them out before her sister reappeared. “Wife ended up with a big chunk of their property in the settlement. He served Marcy papers for being a fraudulent counselor.”

JB straightened. How dare anyone call her a fraud? She was one of the truest, most caring people he’d ever seen. Plus professional. “What happened?”

“His campaign chairman told him to let it go. Wouldn’t want to bring up the divorce on the campaign trail.” Betsy smiled. “He’d have lost every woman’s vote in the district.”

“Why?”

“Most people figured his wife’s bruises and her broken arm were from her klutziness. No telling what might have come to light in a trial.”

“Get hold of Deputy Evans and tell him what you told me about these people. Okay?”

Betsy nodded.

“Got it.” Marcy rushed out the back door, waving the phone overhead.

“About time.” He glanced back at her sister and lowered his voice so Marcy wouldn’t hear as she approached. “For the record, I’m going to make sure nobody hurts her.” He braced his arms on top of the driver’s side.

“Never said you wouldn’t.” Betsy caught JB’s gaze when she looked across the car. “By the way, why are you back in Crayton?”

“Just tying up some loose ends of dad’s estate.”

“That all?”

“That’s all.” He hadn’t even bothered to think before he’d answered, yet hearing the words made him realize how much he’d shoved Marcy into the back of his mind and had moved on with his life. That really was the only reason he’d come back to town. Now that he’d seen her, however… “Why?”

Betsy fiddled with the zipper on her coat. “No reason. Just being friendly.”

He held the driver’s door for Marcy. She slid in and buckled up, then he bent and kissed her cheek. That didn’t make up for his come-on, shut-down a while ago, but it was at least a start. “I meant what I said. Be careful. What time will you be home?”

A pale, reddish fluster showed in her cheeks. “Well, it’s about 10:30 now. I’d say by 5:00.”

“I’ll bring a pizza from Joanie’s. Okay?” Keys in hand, he headed to his truck. His surveillance techniques were about to come in handy. He’d give them space, and they’d never know he was anywhere around.

“Sure. Sounds good.” Marcy shifted into gear. “No—”

He grinned. “Onions.”

“I was gonna say black olives.” She sped away.

He’d give them a head start, or she’d pull off the road and give him an earful. The woman knew how to make a scene when she wanted to. He pressed speed dial on his phone for the police station and waited by his truck, giving her time to think he didn’t plan to follow.

“Deputy Evans.”

“This is JB. I talked to Betsy about anyone who’s given Marcy a hard time in the past few years.”

“You need to stay out of this and let us do our investigation.”

Evans sounded irritated.

JB didn’t care if the man was or wasn’t. “I told her to call you with the same information.”

“That all?”

This conversation wasn’t making his day any better. “Yeah, that’s all. Thought you might like the help.”

“Thanks for the information. Sorry for my tone. I got the sheriff calling in every hour on the hour. Leads coming in that mean nothing except for when the owner of the tattoo parlor called. Said they’ve gotten a couple of pieces of hate mail, but nothing to write home about.” Evans exhaled heavy. “Then there’s Landon.”

JB tensed. “What’s he done now?”

“For one thing, it’s a job keeping him out of my evidence and paperwork. Was he like that when you two were partners?”

“I only worked with him on one case.” JB’s shoulder’s tensed. “Since you mention it, I’ve heard he’s an in-your-face type of guy. Want me to talk to him?”

Evans thought a good, long time. “No. Keep me informed if you hear anything, though. You, I know. You, I trust.”

“Sure thing.”

“And try to keep an open mind about the idea that Marcy isn’t a target, JB. I still say there are coincidences in the world.”

JB ended the call, started the truck, and sped down the road, catching up to Marcy’s car. As usual, she drove five miles below the speed limit. He gave her a few car-lengths.

Coincidence…maybe, maybe not. Didn’t matter. Marcy was his main concern, and he’d watch out for her whether any of them liked it or not—Evans or Landon.

…

Marcy glanced out the corner of her eye at Betsy. “What were you and JB talking about?”

“Trying to be civil to one another.” Betsy lip glossed, then blotted a leftover napkin she’d found in the console.

“Did you tell him?” Marcy doubted she had. Otherwise, she and JB would be at home having an entirely different conversation.

“No, I didn’t tell him. Did you, little sister?” Betsy rolled her window down and let her long, red hair blow free in the wind. “He’s bound to find out sooner or later. Better if it comes from you.”

Marcy checked her speed. Her shoulder still hurt, and these hills weren’t something she wanted to miss a curve on. “What makes you say that?”

“You could explain to him why you asked for a divorce in the first place.” Betsy motioned to JB trailing behind them. “I’m sure he’d have a few questions.”

Marcy gripped the steering wheel. “If he hadn’t wanted a divorce, then why did he sign the papers?”

“Did it ever occur to you that a man doesn’t take kindly to being served divorce papers from a wife that kicked him out for no reason?”

“I had a reason.”

“What?” Betsy mocked her sister. “What reason? And don’t say because he wanted to be an FBI agent. JB’s been wanting that since he knew what they did. So tell me what he did that day that pushed you over the line.”

“I forget.” Marcy bit her lip. Lie. That was a lie. She remembered exactly what happened.

He had Thursdays off from the Crayton Police Department back then. The day before had been when he’d returned from the two-day undercover op that had upset her. They had had words, and she’d gone to a different bedroom to sleep. Didn’t matter… he’d slept on the sofa.
Thursday morning, from right after breakfast until lunch, he’d spent his time online, researching everything he could find about being an FBI agent. Even made phone calls to the agency and talked to someone about careers. After lunch, he’d researched living in Washington, DC. Asked her what she thought about moving. Would she be able to start a marriage counseling practice there?

She’d balked. Refused to talk about a move. Then he’d asked her to give it a try. JB had never before asked for anything for himself. Never. She’d told him no. Get over it. Crayton was enough excitement for the two of them.

He’d looked up at her from the computer and asked one more time. She’d seen the look on his face. Knew how much he wanted to be an agent. So she’d set her no-way expression and shook her head. Then he’d turned off the computer and said “I love you.” When he walked outside to mow the yard, she saw the slump of his shoulders. The defeated gait.

In that moment, she’d realized she was the one too weak to go, but he deserved the chance to follow his dream. She had no doubt about him being a good agent, so she’d packed his bag and set it on the front porch. Otherwise, he’d have never left her. She had to admit, though, that she’d hoped he would simply appreciate the sacrifice she was making and come back inside.

Looking back, that had been the worst mistake of her life. Some things you couldn’t change, though, and their separation was one of them. Not then. Not now. They didn’t even really know each other anymore.

“Don’t think I’m defending JB.” Betsy hung her arm outside and fought the breeze with her hand. “But you asked for a divorce when you sent the papers. What if he’s remarried?”

“He didn’t.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Not in so many words. But I know I’m why he came back to town.”

She knew his walk and the way he steered his truck and how his eyes looked right before he reached for her. Since his dad died, he didn’t have any other family around town but her. So why else would he have made the trip? He could have settled the paperwork long distance…

“Making a lot of assumptions aren’t you?” Betsy straightened in her seat, tugging her seatbelt into place. “He told me he came to settle his dad’s estate. That and nothing else.”

Marcy didn’t bother to answer. In fact, she was a little worried. He’d been nothing but the perfect gentleman since he got to town. And that kiss on the cheek before they drove away…what was that? Nothing but a simple little peck a person would give to a friend. Maybe that was all she was to him now. A friend. Someone you watch out for. Someone you give a peck on the cheek.

Heck, he hadn’t even tried anything when they were in bed together last night.

“Hey, slow down.” Betsy grabbed her arm rest as they rounded a curve.

“The speedometer says I’m doing forty-five. That can’t be right.” Marcy’d been so intent on rationalizing herself and JB, she hadn’t noticed the gaining momentum of the car. She clenched the wheel as she pressed on the brake. The car didn’t slow. Pressed again, and the pedal went to the floor bed. “Oh, my gosh. No brakes.”

“Down shift. Down shift.” Betsy gripped the window brace.

“I did. Nothing’s happening.”

The road ahead ran the rim of the lake, beautiful and breathtaking…except not now. Marcy visualized the steep hill interrupted only by twists and turns as it snaked down to a four-way stop at the bottom. Blind side-road entrances. Blind curves. She cringed. The dilly-dip of a couple of small hills. And finally what the kids called “dead-man’s curve” loomed on the final stretch. If she couldn’t slow down, they’d careen off the side of the hill. Best case scenario, they’d end up in the water. Worst case, they’d smash in to the boulders alongside the lake. Explode and burst into flames.

Marcy gripped the wheel tighter. “Call JB.”

Betsy reached for her sister’s phone, but his ringtone cut through the air before she could dial. She pressed speaker.

“What the hell are you trying to do? Slow down.” JB growled.

The urgency in his voice somehow calmed Marcy. He was nearby. “No brakes. We don’t have brakes.”

“Down shift.” She glanced in her rearview mirror, saw him pull up right behind her.

“Nothing happens!” She’d never get to tell him how much she— “JB!”