Blind Fury Page 3

  The questions kept piling up, but she was short on answers.

  Hastily shoving the weapons into the keep pile, burying them under a sweatshirt she remembered buying for Rob, she made a mental note to ask Mick if he wanted them. Rob had taught her how to handle and shoot all of his weapons, but that didn’t mean she wanted anything to do with them now.

  Returning her focus to the near-empty bag, she picked out Rob’s digital camera. Unable to help herself, she turned it on, curious to see the photos her brother had taken in his last days. All she got was a message that there was no memory card.

  She checked the slot, which—sure enough—was empty. Weird. She removed the remaining few items from the bag—a flashlight, a pair of rubber flip-flops, and a tattered Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue—but didn’t find the tiny card. Maybe Mick would know something about it. She could ask him tomorrow after the funeral.

  She added the camera to the keep pile, then put the donations in an old shopping bag and set them by the front door. Another bag of items went into the garage until she could get a box for them, and the things she wasn’t ready to decide on went upstairs into Rob’s bedroom closet.

  Emotionally wrung out, Jenna tried to relax in front of the television, but she couldn’t pay attention to anything. She finally gave up trying and got ready for bed.

  A few hours later, she lay shivering under her blue down comforter, the room bright with moonlight that had snuck in around the edges of blinds. She stared at a popped drywall nail on the ceiling. If Rob were still alive, he would have fixed it when he got home.

  She pounded the pillow. How long would it take her to stop having those thoughts? Each one pierced her through with fresh pain.

  The drumming of her cell phone against the nightstand startled away her impending funk, and she rolled on her side to answer it.

  “Hey there, Jay,” Mick said, his voice thick and muffled.

  She glanced at the glowing red numbers on her alarm clock. Eleven-thirty. “Hi,” she said cautiously. What the hell was he up to?

  “Listen, sweetheart, the bartender here says I can’t drive. Unfortunately, he’s right.” The slur in his speech was more evident now. “I know it’s a bit late, but do you think you could pick me up?”

  As if she could say no. The only thing that surprised her was that he hadn’t found a bar bunny to go home with instead. A smarter woman—one who sought to protect her heart—would tell him to take a taxi. But Mick was hurting, and she couldn’t bring herself to pawn him off on a stranger. “Where are you?” she asked with a resigned sigh.

  Forty minutes later she walked into an Irish pub about fifteen miles west of her townhome in Fairfax. The place was clean and relatively quiet, with dark paneled walls and a large wooden bar that dominated the center of the room. Muted flat-panel TVs broadcast various sports events, and maybe fifteen people sat in little knots, hunched over their beers.

  Mick was at the back corner of the bar facing the door, his hands wrapped around a soda. Hopefully just a Coke, sans rum. A pretty brunette who was perched on the neighboring stool held his attention, and Jenna couldn’t stop a little arrow of jealousy from lodging in her gut.

  Fortified with a deep breath, she marched around the bar. “Do you still need a ride, or have you found a better option?”

  “Jay.” He grinned at her and her traitorous heart danced. “Thanks for coming, babe.”

  Gripping the bar, he slid carefully off the stool, pulled out his wallet, and threw a few twenties on the counter. Then he turned to the brunette, who was pouting at him, another victim of a Mick drive-by. “Good luck with that boyfriend of yours, Katie.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” she said, the note of disappointment in her voice making it all too clear that she’d expected Mick to help her get over the boyfriend.

  Oblivious, he hooked his arm around Jenna’s shoulders and pulled her toward the door. He could walk, but not very well. If he fell, they were both in trouble because he was way too big for her to help him up. She’d never seen him this sloppy drunk before, not even at one of Rob’s parties.

  She wrangled him into her old Volvo and got behind the wheel. He leaned over, his warm breath feathering her neck. “You smell good,” he said.

  She shoved him away. “You smell like a brewery. Stay on your side.” Focusing on the road would be hard enough with him in the car, but if he kept breathing on her—beer breath or not—she’d probably crash. And that thought was enough to break the spell.

  Without looking at him, she pulled out of the parking lot. She followed the road to the freeway entrance, unable to decide if she was mad, disgusted, or sympathetic. Maybe all three.

  “I’m sorry for being such an asshole,” he said, his playfulness gone. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

  She glanced at his handsome face, all angles and shadows in the dim glow from the dashboard. Where had he gotten that idea? “Why? I’m a grown woman.”

  “No mistaking that,” he said, speaking so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. Then louder, “I promised Rob I’d watch out for you if anything happened to him.”

  Her throat tightened with the all-too-familiar need to shed tears, but she blinked them back. Rob had always been an overprotective brother, even before their parents and Jimmy died. Not that he’d stuck around to keep watch over her in person. He’d had his own demons to battle.

  But he shouldn’t have pawned her off on Mick. She didn’t want to be anyone’s obligation.

  “He should have made you promise to take care of yourself. I don’t need a protector. In fact, I absolve you of all duty to me,” she said, wiggling her fingers at him as if performing a spell. “After the funeral tomorrow, you don’t ever have to see me again.”

  “Is that what you want?” he asked, his gaze hot on her face.

  Was it? No. What she really wanted was to take him home and show him that she wasn’t the straight-laced schoolmarm he thought she was. Not on the inside. Her blood ran just as hot as any of those floozies who kept him company.

  The problem was she wanted romance and love, not a roll in the sack and a note on her pillow. And she was never going to get her chance at forever if Mick was always there in the background, making every other man pale in comparison.

  Still, when Mick wasn’t in the room, she always found herself wishing he were there. How dumb was that?

  If she could be sure he was out of her life for good, maybe she could finally meet a nice, stable man who didn’t throw himself in harm’s way just to feel alive. A man who could be happy with one woman. A man who stayed around longer than three weeks.

  It ripped her heart in two to say it, but she forced the words out.

  “Yes, that’s what I want.”

  Mick tried to stay awake for the ride home, but the hum of the vehicle’s engine and the sweet fragrance of Jenna had a drugging effect. He succumbed to the sandman before they reached the freeway.

  The thud of a car door brought him out of it, followed by Jenna’s irritated voice. “You’re going to have to walk. I can’t carry you.”

  He half-slid, half-fell out of the car, letting the door prop him up. Jesus, he was an idiot. She already thought he was an unreliable, womanizing mercenary—all true—but her opinion still mattered, and he was making a complete ass of himself. Why the hell had he called her?

  Because he’d wanted to see her. Simple as that.

  “I’m sorry I’m such a pain in the butt. You have enough on your plate right now without having to deal with me.”

  She gave him a look that said, “Gee, you think?” and propped herself under his shoulder to help steady him. At which point he realized they weren’t outside his high-rise condominium in Fairfax. “Why are we at your house? I thought you wanted to get rid of me.”

  They made it up the eight or so stairs to her front door, where she left him clutching the railing as she unlocked the door. “Because if you drown in your own vomit, I’d h
ave to go to another funeral.”

  He might be drunk off his ass, but he was pretty sure she was pissed. Or maybe disappointed. Which made two of them. Yeah, way to go with the whole protector thing. She was right. He could barely take care of himself. What had Rob been thinking?

  She got them inside, where he cut a wobbly path to the guest bathroom to relieve himself. When he emerged, she was straightening a dishtowel that hung over the door handle of the oven.

  “So Rob wasn’t kidding about your cleaning obsession,” he said. The place was freaking spotless. At midnight. On a Thursday. When she wasn’t expecting anyone.

  “It’s not an obsession. I just find clutter annoying. But it’s not like one person makes much mess anyway,” she said, using a fingernail to scratch at something on the granite counter.

  He snorted. “You haven’t seen my condo.” Actually, it wasn’t too bad, mainly because he didn’t own anything. It was just his place to sleep when he was home. More storage unit than living space, it only featured the essentials. Jenna, though, had gone beyond the basics and made a home. Pictures on the walls—each one perfectly level and aligned with the others—houseplants, colorful pillows on the couch and armchairs, and a shelf full of books. It even smelled good, like vanilla. Or maybe cookies.

  “I was thinking you could sleep in Rob’s room. Would that be weird?” she asked as she filled a glass of water from the spigot in the refrigerator door.

  He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “You mean as opposed to yours?” The instant the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Goddamn alcohol. Her face reddened, but she wasn’t blushing. He’d finally pushed her over the edge. He stepped forward with his hand out. “I’m sorry, Jay. I didn’t mean to—”

  Abruptly, she scooted past him. “Let’s get you settled. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and I could use some sleep.”

  Hell. He followed her up the stairs, gripping the railing to keep from tumbling backwards. His head wasn’t spinning quite as fast, but he didn’t trust his feet just yet. It had been a long time since he’d been in Rob’s room. Sometime last year when he’d crashed on the floor after a wild night. It should have been odd or upsetting to be in there, but somehow it wasn’t. It felt like home.

  “Here’s the trashcan, just in case.” Jenna set the small container on the floor next to the queen bed, which was neatly made up with blue-and-white striped sheets and a red bedspread. She’d probably started preparing the room for Rob’s return within minutes of finding out he was coming home.

  “I’m not going to puke,” he said. Unfortunately, he had enough experience to know. He sat on the firm mattress and felt the pull of fatigue.

  “Okay, whatever. But sleep on your stomach for me. Just to be safe.” She set the glass of water on the nightstand. “And try to drink this so you don’t get dehydrated.”

  She turned away, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her closer before she could leave. Her skin was soft and cool, and he had the urge to warm her up. “Thanks,” he said. Their eyes locked and something tugged low in his belly. And lower.

  What was it about this woman that crossed his wires so badly? The brunette at the bar had been smokin’ hot, but his response had been lukewarm at best. He wanted Jenna. He just couldn’t have her. That realization had propelled him through a few more beers before the bartender finally cut him off.

  He reached up and pushed a lock of golden hair out of Jenna’s eyes, barely aware of what he was doing. Her lips were soft and pink, and they parted slightly when he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You’re beautiful. I should have told you before.”

  With a slight twist and a step back, she forced him to release her. “You’re drunk. Why do guys always get horny when they’re drunk?”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s not true.” His hands still tingled with the feel of her skin.

  “Don’t. I didn’t bring you here for a good time. I brought you here so you wouldn’t do something stupid.”

  Too late.

  Her rejection stung, but not as much as the shame of his lack of control. Hiding his self-loathing behind a practiced smile, he leaned back on his elbows. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  Not even trying to hide her disgust, Jenna shook her head and walked out. “Good night, Mick.”

  Good night. As if such a thing were possible.

  Somehow he must have managed to fall asleep though, because when he woke up hours later, it felt like someone was running a jackhammer inside his head. Every time he changed position it pounded harder against his skull. But at least he was no longer stuck in the running loop of Rob’s death that had plagued him every night since the firefight. Coming to slowly, he realized someone was knocking on the door.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “Just a sec.”

  He rolled out of the bed—Rob’s bed instead of his own, because, oh yeah, he was an ass—and pulled on his jeans before opening the door. Jenna stood in the hall, freshly scrubbed and smelling like flowers, dressed in black slacks and a satiny gray shirt. Perfect mourning wear. And somehow sexy in spite of it.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of his naked torso and her cheeks flamed. Fixing her gaze on the bandage on his biceps where he’d gotten some more ink added to his tribal tattoo, she asked, “What did you get this time?”

  “Just made the old one more elaborate.” He’d needed something to hurt, something to distract him from the pain in his head.

  She stared at him for a second. “Well, if you want to pick up your car before the service, we need to get going.”

  Damn. According to his watch it was already after noon. He rubbed his face vigorously, trying to get his mental shit in gear. “Yeah, give me five minutes.”

  Eight minutes later, they were on I-66 westbound, Mick feeling like more of a heel with every mile. Next time he would definitely call a cab. Though, if he were smart, there wouldn’t be a next time. The thing was, drinking killed brain cells, and when you didn’t want what was in your brain anymore, sometimes that seemed like a good thing.

  “When you packed Rob’s things, did you see a memory card anywhere?” Jenna said, bringing him out of his downward spiral.

  “What kind?”

  “For his camera. When I was going through his things yesterday, I noticed that the card was missing.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t remember anything like that.”

  She adjusted her rearview mirror and frowned.

  Mick checked the side mirror. What was she looking at?

  “Do you think that blue Toyota is following us?” she asked after another moment.

  Using the vanity mirror in the visor, he spotted a Camry driving in the middle lane several cars behind them. He couldn’t make out the license plate, but he’d recognize the general shape of the numbers if he saw it again. It didn’t hurt that it was a Virginia specialty plate with the seal of the commonwealth in the center. Not unusual, but not exactly standard either. Plus, there was a tattered military base sticker on the front windshield.

  “What makes you ask?” He faced forward, but kept the car in his line of sight, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

  She shrugged. “Nothing specific, just a feeling. It’s not the only car that’s been with us for several miles. I’m probably being stupid.”

  “Get off at the next exit. We’ll find out. You should always trust your instincts.”

  Like an actor straight out of a driver’s ed video, she checked her mirrors and blind spot, put on her blinker, and pulled into the right lane, blinker still ticking. “Now what?”

  Mick scanned the upcoming intersection and the large strip mall on the corner. “Pull into that burger joint’s drive-through. I’m starving, so we can get some food. That way it won’t look like we’re trying to flush him out.”

  The Camry followed them, but then turned left at the light. They continued straight before turning into the restaurant’s parking lot.

  “So I was wrong,” she said.

  “Not ne
cessarily. Order me a number one and we’ll see if he comes back.”

  She gave him a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look.

  “Please.” His stomach rumbled helpfully. “See?”

  Once they were on the freeway again, Mick dug into his food. “Want a fry?” he offered.

  Jenna wrinkled her nose and shook her head, checking the rearview mirror for the twentieth time in a minute.

  “Seriously? How can you resist?” He held it under her nose.

  She pushed his hand away impatiently. “They’re dripping in oil.”

  “But they’re so good.” He took a bite of crispy potato and almost moaned. Nothing soothed a hangover like fatty foods. “It’s okay to splurge every now and then. There’s a fine line between being healthy and obsessive, you know. Don’t be afraid to enjoy life a little.”

  “I enjoy life just fine,” she said, defensiveness creeping into her voice, “but that doesn’t mean I have to do it your way.”

  “If you did it my way, honey, you’d be on your back right now.”

  Mick froze. Fuck. One of these days he really needed to learn to control his mouth. He held his breath and waited. He wouldn’t put it past Jenna to leave him on the side of the road. He wouldn’t blame her either.

  “Huh,” she said as if puzzled, her eyes never leaving the freeway. “I was thinking it would be more fun on top.”

  His jaw dropped. Then he laughed. Da-yumn. Not in a million years would he have expected that from her. He was still trying to figure out how to respond when she grabbed his arm and squeezed hard.

  “He’s back.”

  Jenna glanced at the Camry in her rearview mirror again and briefly wondered if she was dreaming. Maybe this whole horrible week had been a particularly detailed nightmare. Maybe Rob was still alive, and Mick was not sitting next to her swinging back and forth between unrepentant playboy, hungover loser, and determined protector.

  And maybe someone wasn’t following them. As gratifying as it was to be right, she would have preferred not to be. She’d played leapfrog with other travelers on long drives before, but this was different, and she no longer wanted to let Mick out of the car.