Turning Point (The Kathleen Turner Series) (42 page)

Without warning, Blane suddenly flung his glass into the fireplace, the crystal shattering against the stone.

All Kade’s alarms were going off inside his head now. This wasn’t like Blane.

“You keep doing that, Mona’s going to kick your ass. That’s Mom’s crystal,” Kade said.

Before he’d even finished speaking, Blane was on his feet, gun in hand and pointed directly at Kade.

Kade wasn’t surprised at Blane’s reaction; it had been a common one when Blane had first returned from deployment. What did surprise him was the fact that the gun remained pointed at him.

“Really?” he finally said, cocking an eyebrow at Blane.

Blane stared at him, unblinking, before finally lowering the gun and tossing it onto the couch. “Get the fuck out,” he said. He turned away, going to retrieve another glass from the sideboard.

Kade stood for a moment, uncertain of what was going on. “Worn out my welcome already? It usually takes at least a week to do that,” he joked.

Blane ignored him, which only made Kade more concerned. Walking over to the sideboard himself, he poured a shot of bourbon into a glass.

“Bad day at work?”

Blane didn’t look at him as he said, “I’m not kidding. We’re through. Get out.”

They were words Kade had hoped never to hear but had never been able to convince himself wouldn’t come, no matter what Blane said to the contrary. He could feel it. The
old fear curled in the pit of his stomach. The dead certainty that the brother he’d idolized since he first set eyes on him at the age of ten would eventually realize that Kade wasn’t worth it. Wasn’t worth wasting his time or his affection.

Those words were harder to take after the years of endless waiting.

Kade tossed back the liquor, embracing the burning path it left in its wake. Physical pain was always a welcome respite to the agony he felt inside.

“Right,” he said tonelessly, setting the glass back on the table. Blane had yet to look at him.

Steeling himself, Kade asked, “Where’s Kathleen?” He’d like to see her, to say good-bye, one last time.

Kade wasn’t prepared for the onslaught that question unleashed. In seconds, Blane had him shoved against the wall, his fists gripping the front of Kade’s jacket as he snarled, “Don’t you even say her fucking name to me, you son of a bitch.”

“What the fuck, Blane?” Kade yelled in surprise and anger.

“I opened my home to you.” Blane’s face was a mask of rage and betrayal. “Gave you everything I could. Tried to make up for the old man leaving you to rot. I trusted you.” His face contorted in pain. “And this is how you repay me?”

Kade shoved Blane, twisting away so he was out of reach. Blane’s words struck a deep chord of guilt. “I never asked you for anything! I didn’t tell you to come find me! I didn’t ask to come here!” He paused, his breath coming hard as he stared at his brother. “How the fuck am I supposed to repay you that?”

It was a question that kept Kade awake nights. How could he possible repay Blane for everything he’d given? It was impossible. He’d spent the last eighteen years trying.

Blane’s eyes grew hard. “I certainly wouldn’t have chosen to fuck my fiancée.”

Kade’s blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t bullshit me.” Blane’s voice was like ice. “I’ve seen. I know. I trusted you. I trusted her. And you both betrayed me.”

“Blane, I swear, it’s not what you think—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Blane exploded, coming after Kade. He threw a punch, catching Kade off guard.

Kade blocked the next blow, twisting Blane’s arm around behind him and grabbing him in a headlock.

“Listen to me,” Kade demanded, “nothing happened—”

Blane struck back at Kade, who was forced to release him. They fought, though Kade pulled his punches, not wanting to hurt his shit-for-brains brother.

“I trusted you!” Blane yelled while Kade dodged his blows. Blane was drunk and slower than he would have been normally.

The pain and rage in Blane’s voice was like a steel knife sliding between Kade’s ribs. Kade had no idea where Blane had gotten the idea that he’d slept with Kathleen, and wanted to make him listen to reason.

“Knock it off!” Kade shouted. “If you don’t believe me, ask her! She’ll tell you! I didn’t sleep with her!”

“I did ask her,” Blane snarled. “She lied to me. Just like you are.”

Fear for Kathleen struck Kade and he quit pulling his punches and dodging. In seconds, he had Blane by the throat against the wall. “Where is she?” Kade demanded. “What did you do to her?”

Blane’s gaze was unrepentant, blood and sweat dripping down his face. “What do you think I did?” he asked, his voice quiet now. “I’m not going to marry a woman who fucks my own brother behind my back.”

Rage consumed Kade. In seconds, Blane was on the floor. Kade stood above him, breathing in gasps as he struggled for control. Blane groaned, turning to the side to spit a mouthful of blood.

Kade wiped away the blood seeping from his nose, staring in disgust at his brother. His hands ached, the knuckles raw and bruised.

“Kathleen was telling you the truth,” Kade stated flatly. “We never slept together. Not that I didn’t try, back when I thought she was just another eye-candy diversion for you. She turned me down every time. All I’ve heard is how much she loves you, how she belongs with you.”

Blane had halfway sat up, one hand holding his side. Kade couldn’t see his face.

“You got her to trust you, fall in love with you, agree to marry you, then you call her a whore and liar and break her heart?” Kade’s voice held nothing but loathing. “You don’t fucking deserve her. And chances are, she realizes that now, too.”

Kade turned away, his emotions a mix of fury, disgust, and sorrow. He was almost out the door when he remembered.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I came here tonight to tell you congratulations”—he paused—“but it looks like you’ve ruined the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Moments later, he was back in his car and speeding into the night.

Human trafficking is a horrendous crime that affects upward of 2.5 million people around the world. It can happen to anyone, anywhere, even in the US and other Western countries.

Under federal law, any individual who uses physical or psychological violence to force someone into labor or services, or into commercial sex acts is considered a human trafficker. Some victims experience beatings, rape, and other forms of physical violence, while other victims are controlled by traffickers through psychological means, such as threats of violence, manipulation, and lies. In many cases, traffickers use a combination of direct violence and mental abuse. The federal definition of the crime, as defined in the Trafficking Victims Protection Act of 2000 (TVPA), was created to address the wider spectrum of methods of control used by traffickers beyond “bodily harm.”

The National Human Trafficking Resource Center (NHTRC), at 1-888-3737-888, is a toll-free hotline, available to answer calls from anywhere in the US, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, every day of the year. The NHTRC is a program of Polaris Project, a nonprofit, nongovernmental organization working exclusively on the issue of human trafficking. The Polaris Project (
www.polarisproject.org
) is one of the leading organizations in the global fight against human trafficking and modern-day slavery. Please visit their website for more information or to find out how you can help fight human trafficking.

Tiffany Snow has been reading romance novels since she was too young to read romance novels. After fifteen years working in the Information Technology field, she now holds her dream job of writing full time.

Tiffany makes her home in the Midwest with her husband and two daughters. She can be reached at
[email protected]
. Visit her at her website,
www.TiffanyASnow.com
, to keep up with the latest in
The Kathleen Turner Series.

Turn the page for a sneak peek at the fourth book in
The Kathleen Turner Series, Out of Turn.

N
o one had shot at me in weeks, or beat me up. I hadn’t been cut, punched, or slapped. No one threatened me, stalked me, or stabbed me.

It was a nice change.

And that’s what I kept telling myself as I headed to my car. It was midafternoon and the humid heat of late June in Indianapolis made perspiration slide down the middle of my back under the thin T-shirt I wore. The backpack I carried didn’t help matters any.

The air inside my white Toyota Corolla was stifling, and sliding inside felt as though I were climbing into an oven. I rolled down the windows as I drove to my apartment, waiting for the AC to kick in. The air gusting through the windows was still hot, but cooled my sweat-dampened skin.

I thought longingly of the huge Lexus SUV I’d had the brief privilege of driving. It had been a gift, a wonderful gift that I’d have been happy to keep, if it hadn’t cost so much to drive. Gas was too expensive for me to justify driving the luxury car, especially when I sometimes wondered how I was going to pay my rent, so I’d sold it, using the money to buy a used Toyota and what was left to help pay my tuition.

I had just enough time to feed my cat Tigger and jump in the shower before I had to leave for work at The Drop. It was Friday night and, like most downtown bars, I was sure we’d be busy.

In the summer my boss, Romeo, allowed the girls to wear black shorts and white T-shirts instead of our usual uniform. That would normally be a good thing, but Romeo believed sex always sells, so the shorts were nearly Daisy Dukes, and the T-shirts were tight with plunging necklines. Not that I could be real choosy about it. I needed my bartending job to pay the bills, especially since I was now taking classes during the day at the IU campus downtown rather than working for the law firm of Kirk and Trent.

“Hey, Kathleen! Can you give me a hand?”

That’s me. Kathleen Turner, and sometimes I really wished I were
that
Kathleen Turner. I bet she never had to worry about paying her electric bill. Cursed with the family legacy, I had been the latest to be named for a famous Turner. My dad was Ted Turner, my grandma was Tina Turner, and my cousin was William Turner, though he went by his middle name, Chance. Wish I’d thought of that years ago.

“Yeah, sure,” I replied to Tish as she juggled one too many plates of food. I shoved my purse under the bar and hurried to help her take the dishes to a table of five.

I was right. The bar was busy tonight and I didn’t have time to even think. I was grateful for that. I didn’t want to think. If I did, I’d remember.

“Another round, please.”

I jerked my attention back to my job, hurrying to fill the order tossed my way. By the time closing neared, I was
almost dead on my feet. Thank God. Maybe I’d get more than three or four hours sleep tonight.

“Have some cheese fries,” Tish said, sliding onto a stool and placing a laden plate on the bar. “I’m exhausted,” she sighed, picking up a dripping French fry and popping it in her mouth.

I grabbed us each a bottle of beer and leaned against the bar. The cold, bitter liquid felt good going down. My hair had come loose from its ponytail, so I redid it, pulling the long strawberry blonde strands up and off my neck. I hated when my hair got in the way when I was working, but I liked it too much to have it cut short. Along with my blue eyes, I thought it was my best feature.

“Have some,” Tish insisted, pushing the plate toward me.

I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m good.” I took another drink.

“Kathleen, you drink too much and eat too little,” she said with a frown.

I snorted, my eyebrows climbing. “Yes, Mom,” I teased.

Tish didn’t smile back. “I’m your friend and I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” I dismissed. To appease her, I picked up a fry and took a bite.

She hesitated. “You know, maybe you could talk to someone. I have this lady I see every once in a while—”

“No, thanks,” I interrupted, taking another swig.

“But it may help…”

Tish stopped talking at the look I gave her. She heaved a sigh and ate another cheese fry.

I couldn’t be mad at her, not really. She cared about me and was just trying to help. Once upon a time, I’d have probably said the same thing. Come to think of it, I actually had given the same advice, in what felt like a lifetime ago. And the recipient had reacted the same way I had.

Why the fuck would I want to do that?

“It’s just a breakup,” I said, feeling bad now that she was worrying about me. “Everybody goes through them.” I shrugged and finished off my beer, tossing the bottle into the trash with a loud clank.

“It’s just…”

She paused and I raised my eyebrows.

“Just what?” I asked.

“You’re… different now,” she said, looking slightly abashed. “Harder, I guess. Colder. And I just really hate to see you that way.”

Her words stung. I couldn’t disagree with her, but it wasn’t something I could fix right now. I needed an emotional distance from everyone, including myself.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I don’t mean to be. I just can’t—”

“I know,” she said, reaching out to rest a hand on my arm. “I know you need to be in this place for now, just don’t let yourself stay there, okay? I miss the old Kathleen.”

I gave Tish a weak smile, but inwardly I wondered if the old Kathleen was gone for good.

“Rough night, eh, ladies?”

I turned to see that Scott had grabbed his own beer. He leaned against the bar behind me, glad to be done with his bartending shift.

“Good tips, though,” I said, stepping away from Tish.

Scott turned the volume up on the television, sipping his beer while he watched the news. A familiar name froze me in my tracks.

“… gubernatorial candidate Blane Kirk is back in Indy tonight for a fund-raiser downtown after ten days on campaign stops throughout the state.”

I felt as though someone had sucker punched me. My hands turned to ice. I couldn’t take a deep breath. Even so, I couldn’t stop myself from turning to look.