Chapter Seven

Eric woke in a cold sweat. He’d been having a nightmare, one in which he was reliving the very moment his friends died. Not surprising, really, given what he suspected was going on with those drums.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he threw the sheet off his damp body and sat on the edge of the bed. Shouting came from somewhere in the house, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

His bedroom door was open. Fresh scratch marks gouged the paint by the knob. More shouting, only it wasn’t fighting. It was laughter, and music, and pots banging and clattering in the kitchen. Holy hell, what have I gotten myself into?

Groaning, he pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to rub away the murky cloud that had parked itself front and center in his brain. After getting into bed, sleep hadn’t come, so he’d stayed up late and hashed out a draft ops plan for the controlled delivery on Monday. His body craved more sleep.

Tess’s high-pitched, bubbly voice somehow managed to climb the stairs, float into his room, and hit him upside the head. The music and pot-banging intensified.

So much for peace and quiet.

Pushing from the bed, he grimaced and began his ritual morning stretch. Achy joints popped. Tight muscles and tendons screamed in protest as they always did. Cutting his stretch short, he stalked to the door, about to head downstairs, but stopped. He’d forgotten he was butt-ass naked. That was how he’d slept since the day he’d moved out of his parents’ home. Initially, it had started out as an act of defiance that would have driven his straight-laced, by-the-book parents up the wall. Later, he’d come to love the feel of cool cotton sheets on his bare skin. Guess he’d also have to forgo drinking his first cup of coffee wearing nothing but a smile.

He grabbed a pair of black sweats draped over a chair and shoved his legs into them. In the hallway, he stopped at Tess’s bedroom. As promised, she’d kept the door closed. On a hunch, he eased it open and—

Instant headache.

While he’d been sleeping, Typhoon Tess had blown through the room. Yesterday’s brightly colored clothes hung off the chaise lounge. More clothes were draped over the bed, some littering the floor. Through the open bathroom door, he glimpsed the counter littered with jars and tubes of all shapes and sizes.

Fucking. Chaos. How the hell did all that shit fit into one little bag?

Shaking his head, he shut the door and padded down the stairs. With every step, the fracas grew louder, threatening to annihilate what was left of his sanity. He paused at the kitchen doorway.

Tess and Jesse had their backs to him, her arm around her brother’s waist and her brother’s around her shoulder. They were bumping hips and singing along to Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” blaring from a cell phone perched on the kitchen table. It was a song his friend, Nick, loved to play on the piano.

With each clash of their hips, his gaze was drawn to Tess’s khaki shorts and the sleekest, smoothest, prettiest sun-kissed legs he’d ever seen. A snug green tank top that he guessed would match her eyes perfectly contrasted with the orange, red, and yellow scarf drawn through her belt loops. As she danced and swayed, sunlight pouring through the window glinted off the purple polish on her toes and fingers, and the long, beaded earrings.

Slurping drew his attention to the kitchen floor by the cooktop. Tiger eagerly licked up what looked like a mixture of scrambled eggs and melted cheddar that had fallen onto his once-clean floor. He opened his mouth, about to say something along the lines of what the hell?, but stopped and instead crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb.

“Sweet Caroline, good times never seemed so good,” they shouted so loudly he cringed, although in reality they were pretty good at holding a tune, and he was… What?

Envious.

They were having fun, something he and his sister had never been able to do as kids. There’d never been music or laughter in his family’s kitchen. If he and Maggie had ever been caught doing the karaoke thing, they would have gotten their asses paddled so hard they wouldn’t have been able to sit for a week.

Excited by all the noise, Tiger barked, insinuating himself between Tess’s and Jesse’s legs. She turned to give the dog a pat on his head when she caught sight of Eric. Her eyes went wide, confirming his thoughts on the color of her shirt, then she grabbed the phone and turned off the music.

Jesse ruffled Tiger’s ears, which his dog seemed to love, judging by the way he leaned into the kid’s hand and groaned.

“I’m sorry. I hope we didn’t—” Tess gasped.

“Holy shit, dude,” Jesse whispered.

Eric pushed from the door with one singular thought singing in his head—caffeine—then reached for the clean mug she’d set on the counter and poured a cup. Tilting the mug, he downed half of it before coming up for air. When he turned, Tess and Jesse were staring at him. More specifically, at his chest.

While he’d been drowning in caffeine, Tess had come closer and now stood only inches away. She smelled like the honeysuckle shampoo his sister had left behind in the guest bathroom.

With her mouth half open, she touched her fingers to his left pec, grazing one of his scars. Her fingers were warm and gentle, and his pectoral muscle twitched as if it had a life of its own. She dropped her hand, her green eyes soft and brimming with compassion.

Compassion he didn’t want, but it was his own damn fault for waltzing down here without putting on a shirt. Something else he’d have to get in the habit of doing.

“My god, Eric.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What happened to you? How did you get all those scars?”

“Dude, you look like you got peppered with shrapnel, and that one on your back…” Jesse whistled. “That musta hurt like a bitch.”

It had. Not nearly as much as losing his friends.

The scars all over his torso weren’t raised and red anymore, and they were gradually fading, day by day. The pain of losing his friends, however, would always be there. Along with the survivor’s guilt that shadowed him every day of his life.

“I got hurt a few years ago.” He picked up the coffeepot and topped off his mug, so not wanting to get into the details that were, in reality, gory as hell.

“Hurt how?” Tess’s gaze once again roamed his body. Though her expression was sympathetic, knowing she was staring at his half-naked body began to stir something inside him that shouldn’t be stirred.

Clearing his throat, he pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Tiger’s claws clicked on the tile as he came and rested his muzzle on Eric’s thigh, reminding him that he still hadn’t fed his dog.

“Eric?” Tess sat beside him. “How did this happen?”

“There was an explosion.” He took another long swig of coffee. “I got hit with some flying metal and broke a few bones.” In truth, he’d been blown clear off his feet and thrown against a metal sign that embedded itself in his back. Pieces of shrapnel from the G-ride had flown at his chest and legs, cutting deeply into muscles and tendons and nearly severing his femoral artery.

“How long ago was this? Where did it happen?” she asked.

A chair scraped on the floor as Jesse sat across from him.

“About three years ago, while I was assigned to the Birmingham office.” After that, the ATF had force-transferred him to Massachusetts, fearing he’d go rogue and get himself killed seeking retribution.

They were right. That transfer had probably saved his life.

“You were in Alabama?” Jesse rested his forearms on the table.

“I worked there for nine years. It was my first duty station.” He would have stayed there, if only his entire world hadn’t exploded. Literally.

Tess and Jesse exchanged one of those looks he’d seen before, the same kind that had his gut worrying they were keeping something from him. Something important. Or it could be nothing more than surprise that he’d lived in the same state they’d grown up in. Maybe his cop brain was sending him suspicious signals over issues that didn’t actually exist.

A flash of color—something other than Tess—caught his attention on the window ledge. Flowers. How had he missed them? Stupid question. The second Tess had touched his bare skin, his highly tuned skills of observation had gone down the shitter.

Somewhere, she’d procured a vase he didn’t even know he owned—albeit, a black one—and filled it with a big bundle of the pink, orange, and yellow flowers from the beds in front of his house. They matched the colors of the sash around her tiny waist.

As if knowing the direction of his thoughts, she swept her arm out to encompass the entire kitchen. “All this black was driving me crazy. I promise, I only cut a few stalks, so you’ll hardly notice them missing from the flowerbeds.”

“What’s wrong with black?” he growled.

“Nothing. But everything is black.” She began pointing things out around the room. “The dishes, the cups, the floor, the counter.” With every move, the long strands of beads dangling from her earlobes clicked and clacked.

“So?”

Jesse made a smirking sound. “I am stayin’ outta your little love spat. Can I take Tiger outside?”

Hearing his name, Tiger raised his head from where he’d been resting it on Eric’s thigh. Pointed ears twitched hopefully.

“Yeah, sure.” He’d gotten so involved in their little “spat” he’d forgotten his dog needed to do his morning stuff.

Tiger’s tail wagged as he trotted out the door behind Jesse, leaving him and Tess alone.

Her face brightened. “I have an idea.”

Uh-oh. He crossed his arms. “We are not going to the paint store.”

Rolling her eyes, she uttered an exasperated sound. “We’re going into Flemington, right?”

“Yeah?” He narrowed his eyes, immediately suspicious.

“Have you ever heard of Stangl?” she asked.

“You mean, Casey Stengl, the baseball player?”

“Who?” She gave him a blank look then waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “No. The dishware, silly.”

“Silly?” He grunted. “No one’s called me ‘silly’ since I was eight.”

She ignored his question and kept right on going. “Stangl is a line of beautiful, colorful antique dishware that was only produced in two cities in the entire country. Trenton and—wait for it—Flemington.” The smile that lit her face washed over him like the hot summer sun. “I’m looking for a new piece, and I’m sure we can find some in town. Don’t worry, I’ll take it home with me, so the color won’t scramble your brain. Speaking of which, can I get you some eggs? I made plenty.” She went to the cooktop and scraped a mountain of cheesy eggs on a plate, piling a load of bacon next to it.

“Thanks,” he said as she set the plate in front of him. “It looks great.” And it did. She wasn’t kidding about her culinary skills.

The phone next to his plate—her phone—rang. He’d been about to shove a forkful of eggs into his mouth when she picked it up, and her delicate jaw clenched. Her hand trembled then the phone slipped from her grasp and hit the tile with a clunk.

Lunging for it, she pressed the side button, silencing the ring. She hastily covered the screen with her hand, but not before he’d gotten a quick partial glimpse at the number.

An Alabama number.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“No.” She smiled overly brightly. “Probably a telemarketer. They call all the time.”

Liar. He set down the fork. Didn’t have to be Elliot Ness to see how much that call had spooked her.

“Tess?” Hairs on the back of his neck prickled the way they always did when something was royally off. “What’s wrong? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Everything’s fine.” She gave him another tight smile, but there was no missing the fear in her eyes. “I’ll tell Jesse we’re going into town soon.”

With every bead on her body clacking, she yanked open the sliding glass door to the backyard, closed it behind her, then ran to where Jesse played with Tiger. Eric couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their body language spoke volumes.

Whatever she said had Jesse yanking his phone from his back pocket. He punched in what Eric assumed was his passcode then handed the phone to his sister. Tess tapped several times on the screen then returned the phone to her brother. Her chest heaved, as if she’d just made a sigh of relief.

Any appetite he might have had vanished. His original intentions behind letting Tess and Jesse stay with him truly had been altruistic, to keep the kid out of jail as long as possible. Now, it served another purpose: allowing him to keep an eye on the boy.

And, dammit, Tess.