Seeing Red (17 page)

“You wouldn’t give her back.”

He rubbed his aching head. “In a heartbeat, I would.”

Summer kneeled in front of him and put her hands on his shoulders, peering into his pupils. “How many of me do you see?”

“One, which is more than enough.” He grabbed her hand when she would have pulled away. He understood the stress he saw behind her smile, but didn’t like it, nor the fact that he worried so damn much about her.

Socks jumped up to the couch, twitched her tail and scowled at them.

Summer ignored the cat, made a soothing noise in her throat at Joe, and sank her fingers into his hair, unerringly finding the nice bump he’d just given himself. “You always had bruises all over you. I hated that.”

He closed his eyes. “Red—”

“I cared about you. So much.”

“And now?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“I care about you now too.” She kissed his jaw, first one side and then the other, but then rose to her feet and gave him a hand.

He let her pull him up and eyed the delicate purple shadows beneath her eyes. “Are you off work?”

She nodded.

“I have more to do at the office but I could use a fun little run first.”

She arched an amused brow. “You were going to go for a run. Now. For fun, no less.”

It felt so good to see her knowing grin, he felt one split his face as well. “You know it. You could come with me.”

“You, Joe Walker, are a very sweet man.”

“Sweet?”

“Oh, is that not a manly enough adjective? How about strong. Smart. Gorgeous. Sexy—”

“Keep going.” He let her tug him to the front. Camille was gone, and so was Kenny. Summer locked the store up and they dashed out into the rain, which seemed to be coming down in sheets.

“Darn, I forgot about the storm,” Joe said, tongue firmly in his cheek. “Probably we shouldn’t run in this.”

“I happen to remember you love the rain.”

Yeah, he did. In the old days they’d wait out a storm in the back of the library, or the warehouse, or her house. It didn’t matter where. They’d watch MTV or play games or just talk. But he kept the memories to himself as they ran to the parking lot.

“Your car,” she said, hand out palm up for his keys. “My turn to drive.”

He grinned. “We drove the truck. Looks like Kenny took it and Ashes. You’ll have to drive us in the Bug. I need a ride home to get clean clothes.”

She navigated the storm and traffic with easy precision. By the time they parked at the marina and ran down the dock toward his boat, they were once again soaked. “I don’t know…”

“Baby,” she said. “Get your running clothes on.”

The sailboat he lived on was forty-six feet long, all sleek polished wood and white trim. Below deck, they stood dripping in the galley that had wood floors, shiny wood cabinets, a wood booth for dining, and a stainless steel sink and refrigerator. The counter was clean except for two cameras he’d left out, which made Summer smile.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, and tossed her a towel. “I’ll be right back.” He moved through a small archway into the captain’s quarters, slid the door shut behind him, and stripped out of his soaked work clothes.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Summer said.

Butt ass naked, he whipped around, but the door was still shut. The walls were just incredibly thin, and he had to laugh at himself. “Impressed at what?” he asked, rifling through his drawers for something clean to wear.

“You actually have healthy food in here. Salad makings, yogurt, fruit and veggies—”

“Why are you going through my kitchen?”

“Because you said to make myself at home. Ah.” He heard his cupboards opening. “You do have a vice. Frosted Flakes.”

He pulled on the first pair of sweats he came across and began the hunt for clean socks. “A guy’s gotta have something good for breakfast.”

He heard her opening and shutting some more cupboards and shook his head. Nosey wench. He’d have sworn he heard the clink of a spoon against a bowl, but that was ridiculous. She’d never stoop to eating Frosted Flakes. It wasn’t green and didn’t have the required amount of good nutrients per ounce. Locating two socks that he wasn’t quite sure were an exact match, he turned around, looking for a shirt. Snatching one off the foot of his bed, he cocked his head at an odd crunching noise.

Holding the shirt in his hand, he slid open the door between his bedroom and the galley, then gawked at her sitting at his table with a huge bowl of Frosted Flakes, shoveling them into her mouth. She’d stripped out of her sundress, leaving her in the coral tank top and black biker shorts that hugged her hips, leaving her belly bare. The ring there flashed. Her tank was wet from her hair, and her nipples were hard.

“These are amazing,” she said around a mouthful, dribbling a little milk out of the corner of her mouth, lapping it up with a quick dart of her tongue.

“Slow down, sailor, we aren’t going to be able to run if you eat that entire bowl.” He felt his body quiver when her tongue darted out again, at the other corner of her mouth this time.

Her hair was still dripping down her shoulders. If she’d had any makeup on, it was all gone now. Her expressive jade eyes never left his. “We aren’t going to run, Joe.”

“We’re not?”

Now her gaze dropped, caressing his bare shoulders and chest, before dipping even lower. “Nope.”

“You said you wanted—”

“You. I said I wanted you.” Standing up, she came toward him. She stroked a finger over his collarbone, his shoulder, then his pec, right over his nipple.

An involuntary hiss escaped him as she slid her wet body up against his. “Red.
God
—”

“Remember the other night?” She pressed her mouth to his neck. “When you touched me? When you—”

“I remember,” he said tightly, his knees wobbling at the feel of her mouth on his flesh.

“It was the first time since I’d been home that I felt like I could breathe.” She glanced at him from beneath her long lashes. “That was because of you. I want to breathe again, Joe.”

“You just want the release.”

“Oh, yeah, I do.”

He had no idea how he found the strength to put his hands on her shoulders and back away, putting some air between him and her glorious curves. “We’re going running, damn it.”

Her eyes were dark, and filled with what she wanted, and it wasn’t a little jog. “Stop looking at me like that,” he demanded, fisting his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for her. “I told you. I can’t do this and keep it light with you, I just can’t. Don’t ask me to.”

She stared at him for a long time, disappointment, regret, and something else crossing her face. She slid the towel off her neck and reached for her dress, which she had lying on the back of a chair. “Don’t worry, Joe. I won’t. I won’t ask you to do anything.” And she headed toward the stairs.

Damn it. “Red—”

She kept walking.

And he let her go. He had to.

S
ummer drove in the wild June storm, her emotions as battered as the roads. Only for her it had nothing to do with the wind and rain and everything to do with the storm raging inside her.

Yes, she’d wanted the quick, fast, hard release that she knew damn well Joe could have given her. Yes, she’d gone there for it. Was it such a crime that she found him so deeply, unfailingly attractive? That with him, it felt more right than it had with anyone else in a very long time? That with him maybe it was much more but she didn’t yet know how to deal with that?

She gripped the wheel tight.

This sort of a thing needed to be obsessed over, thought about, given its space. She hadn’t given it enough space. It was still too deep and terrifying, and far too real.

Really, Joe just needed to follow her lead and make do with what they had for now, because it was far better than most ever got to experience anyway.

A burst of lightning startled her. Another came on its heels, lighting up the sky like the fire that had been burning her dreams and waking hours, and sent her thoughts skittering back in time.

Fighting with Joe.

Running up the stairs.

Screaming for her father.

Hearing his hoarse cries for help.

Standing in the doorway, stunned by the smoke and flames…

And seeing a shadow. The shadow of another person as they ran past the window just outside the main floor of the warehouse.

Oh, God. She whipped to the side of the highway and set her head to the steering wheel, shaking. Had that been a real memory? Heart pounding, she sat there and struggled to pull more from her brain, but nothing else came. After a long while she lifted her head.

The rain had stopped. It wasn’t dark yet, not for at least an hour, and unnerved, she drove up through the winding roads into the hills for the trails she knew would soothe her.

She kept her running shoes in the back of the Bug so she was able to park at the trailhead and go for it. She ran for several miles through a deep foggy mist before sinking to a rock on an overhang where on a clear day she’d have been able to look down on much of San Diego County, and the green hills lining the brilliant shiny azure blue of the ocean. God, she loved the smell after a rain. The wet gravel, the thriving wildlife, the sounds of small animals scurrying around chirping at one another. Gradually her pulse slowed and her head stopped throbbing with the memories.

When she left here, the memories would ease back to leave her alone, she knew that.

But her mom needed her. And maybe she needed her family as well. Getting to her feet she began the jog back. The soggy ground squished beneath her shoes. The trees dripped down on her damp, heated skin, soothing, cooling her down. By the time she got back to her car, she thought maybe she could function as a human without having a breakdown. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she picked up her cell phone, with some ridiculous little hope running through her that maybe she’d have a message from Joe.

She did have a message, but not from Joe. The ID display read
out of area.
The text message was simple.

Go Away. Please, go away.

“Not funny, Diana,” she muttered. “Or Madeline. Or…”

Or who? Who else would do this? She nearly deleted the message, but at the last minute didn’t, instead tossing her cell to the backseat.

No she wouldn’t go away, thank you very much.

Instead she drove without a particular destination in mind, trying not to think. That was her new objective for the rest of the night, no thinking allowed.

She ended up back in O.B., where it was raining again. Or still. Ahead on the right was Tooley’s Bar, with its pink neon palm tree sign blinking through the misty rain. Chloe’s beat-up old Toyota was there in the lot, and on impulse Summer parked next to it, slipped her damp sundress back over her tank and biker shorts, fluffed her hair with her fingers and called it good. She ran through the drizzle to the building and opened the door. The interior was mostly beat-up old teakwood, with baskets hanging from the ceiling and sand and peanuts scattered on the floor like a Jamaican beach. It was large and roomy, and not crowded, which sent relief through her, and she took a few steps inside.

Stella and Gregg were standing on the edge of the dance floor, arms around each other. “Surprised to see you,” Stella said, her smile not quite as warm as usual. Summer knew they’d been questioned about the fire, specifically about how Summer had reported Gregg being downstairs before leaving the shop, and how Gregg had offered to close up for her. Summer was sorry for it but she couldn’t have done anything differently.

“You don’t usually show up here,” Gregg said.

“Just looking for some company.” Summer smiled, hoping it’d get friendly again, but neither returned the smile or asked her to join them. In fact, Gregg nudged Stella away, and off the dance floor. “Enjoy yourself tonight,” he said over his shoulder.

“Oh, yes,” Stella agreed as Gregg slipped his arm around her. “Please, enjoy yourself.”

Please.
Go away. Please, go away.
Summer blinked. “Um, what did you just say?”

Stella looked at her strangely. “I said enjoy yourself.”

“No, you said please. Please, enjoy yourself.”

“Okay.” Stella glanced at her husband and lifted a brow. “You’re right. I said please enjoy yourself.” As her anonymous caller had.

“Right. I will, thanks.” But they were already gone. Summer moved toward the bar, thinking this had to stop.
She
had to stop.

Chloe was sitting on a bar stool wearing a black denim mini and a dazzling pink halter that should have clashed with her green-tipped hair but somehow didn’t. She had a tattoo on her bare shoulder of a hummingbird that looked brand new, and was accepting a very tall pink frothy drink from the bartender.

“You’ve been busy,” Summer said, and gesturing to the new tattoo, sat next to her.

“Yeah.” Chloe ran a finger over the hummingbird and smiled. “I know the image better suits you, but I like the idea of being so free.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Summer muttered.

Chloe arched a perfectly plucked brow and wordlessly slid the brand-new drink over. “You look like you could use this. Strawberry daiquiri,” she said to Summer’s unasked question. “Most excellent. Cheers, I’ll get more.” She gestured to the bartender, who served them an entire pitcher.

Summer would have rather had a peach smoothie, but she sipped at the drink and had to agree with Chloe, most excellent. Leaning back, she watched the few singles standing around scoping each other out. If things had been different, she might have been in the scoping mood herself.

But damn if a certain fire marshal hadn’t ruined her for other men.

Not permanently, she promised herself. Just temporarily, very temporarily, and when that made her start thinking too much again, she sipped her drink some more, trying to empty her mind. “You didn’t by any chance text message me earlier?”

“On your cell?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t even have your number.”

Summer stared at her as that sank in. It was true, Chloe didn’t have her number. How sad was that? “Chloe, why aren’t we closer?”

“You don’t like people too close.”

That made her suck harder at her straw. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I’m trying to fix that.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Summer smiled. “Yeah.” She sipped some more and realized Chloe wasn’t being her usual sarcastic self. “So what’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Where’s Braden?”

Chloe looked away. “Who?”

“Oh, no. You dumped him. I thought you were crazy about him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I just wanted his body.”

Summer saw through the tilted chin and pride to the misery beneath. “What happened?”

“He dumped
me,
” she confessed. “Not that you’d understand. I’m betting you’ve never been dumped.”

Summer thought of tonight, and Joe, and took another long sip of her drink. “Don’t bet anything important on that. Did he break your heart?”

“Of course not. I’ve got a heart of steel, no one could—” She broke off, her voice soft and husky as she studied her drink carefully. “He broke it in two, actually.”

“Oh, Chloe. What happened?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know. Things were great. Then today he tells me this isn’t working out for him, he can’t see me anymore. That maybe he’s going to be moving on.”

“You mean, leaving town?”

“I guess. Whatever.” Her thin shoulders sagged slightly. “Good riddance.”

Without the usual cynical light in her eyes, Chloe looked so young. So hurt. Summer put her hand over hers. “You really cared for him.”

“Yeah, the rat bastard. And I thought he cared for me back. He said he did. He did,” she said into Summer’s shocked face. “I know he doesn’t say much at work, but we talked. We laughed. We…Well.” She clinked her glass to Summer’s and they both went to take a sip, but Summer was startled to hear the slurping sound of her straw on empty glass. “Guess I was thirsty.”

“No problem.” Chloe poured them both another from the pitcher, then tipped her glass to Summer’s and knocked back a good half of it in one sip.

Summer did the same. Things were beginning to look different under a nice alcoholic buzz. For one thing, she could no longer see the front door clearly, which meant as the place filled up, she didn’t feel the usual sense of growing panic. That was nice. Very nice.

“So.” Chloe grinned. “You getting lucky tonight? I’m going to have to live vicariously through you for now.”

“I’ve told you. Joe and I are just old friends.”

“That’s just a damn shame.”

“Yeah.” Summer held up her glass and Chloe topped them both off again from the pitcher.

“You going to miss him when you go?” Chloe asked.

“Joe?”

“No, the man on the moon. Yes, Joe.”

“Yeah,” Summer admitted. “I’ll miss him.”

“Maybe he could go with you and become a river guide too. You could stay out there in the wilderness until you have kids, and then—”

“Chloe.” Summer laughed. A real one. “Come on. I don’t think about that kind of stuff.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because…I don’t know,” she said honestly.

Chloe grinned. “You know, you act so tough, but I think you’re really just a big chicken.” She flapped her arms and made a clucking noise. “Want to know a secret? I’m chicken too. My dad walked out on my mom, and granted, she got lucky the second time around, but I don’t think I inherited any of the luck at all.”

“If Braden walked, he’s not worthy anyway.”

“Don’t say his name,” Chloe said with a pout.

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Her eyes filled. “Damn it. I fell hard for that jerk. It was the real thing too. True love.” She sighed. “At least for me.”

“You were okay with falling in love?”

“Are you kidding?
Yes.
Look, I know we both come off so tough and independent, but the truth is, while you’re the real deal, I’m not. I
want
to share my life.”

Summer had seen how love worked. She’d watched it bloom like a new rose between her mother and father every day of her life. It’d been the can’t-eat can’t-sleep kind, heart-wrenchingly real to the point where for Camille and Tim, little else had been able to penetrate. Little else had mattered.

Summer had lived with that, knowing she was an afterthought, a result of their bond but not really part of the circle. She even understood it, though she’d never really felt such a bond herself. And she’d decided life was too big, the possibilities too endless to tie herself down to one person to the exclusion of everything else.

She’d been told more than once that she had a rather masculine approach to relationships. She was fine with that. Had always been fine with that. Until now. Being here reminded her how nice it could be to have those ties she always avoided like the plague. Being here reminded her that love could be a nice, warm, sort of fuzzylike emotion that maybe could grow on her quite nicely.

At the thought, a little tiny flicker came from deep inside. Maybe she
could
want to belong to a specific place rather than roam, be part of a group that didn’t change with each trek she took, to be a part of a relationship that mattered, that stuck. “You’re definitely the strong one here,” she said to Chloe. “Being able to admit what you want, being able to go for it.”

“Wow, look at us,” Chloe said. “Bonding. Who’d have thought?” She tipped up the glass, downed it, then slapped it down to the bar. “We should go get inked together next time.”

“As in tattooed?”

“Yeah.”

“Um…thanks, but no.”

Chloe shrugged and topped off their glasses with the last of the pitcher. “We could go get a Brazilian wax. I’m due.”

“Ouch.”

“You get used to it.”

“Really?”

“Well, no. But then I reward myself by getting a massage and Sven is so gorgeous…”

Summer choked on her drink and Chloe’s grin nearly split her face.

“And you think
I’m
crazy,” Summer said.

“I’m plastered,” Chloe said cheerfully.

“I can tell.” Feeling superior, Summer pushed her empty drink away, then swayed. She put a hand to her head. “Whoa.”

“The drinks were doubles. And we had two. Or four. So that’s like…” Chloe began counting on her fingers, weaving a bit in her chair. “A lot.”

The bar had begun to fill up. People shifted in closer, and Summer wasn’t so far gone she couldn’t focus on the faces. An unmistakable desire to giggle overcame her. “Uh oh.”

“Huh?” Bleary-eyed, Chloe took a look and gasped. Braden was heading purposely their way, his mouth grim, his face granite.

Nothing unusual there.

But his eyes. Those dark, usually unreadable eyes blazed with hunger, with need and temper and heat as they lit on Chloe and no one else.

“Chloe,” Summer said carefully, enunciating each syllable. “That’s not the look of a man who doesn’t give a shit.”

“I know. Oh God, I’m sweating. Look at him, he’s so pretty. And I can’t hardly see straight, I’m
drunk.
” Chloe sounded panicked. “What do I do?”