Cincinnati, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 1:05 a.m.
Michael jerked awake, knowing instantly that something wasn’t right. He’d felt the floor move—just a small movement, but enough to wake him. This was why he’d slept next to Joshua’s bed. If someone came after his little brother in the night, he’d know.
He didn’t really expect anyone to come after Joshua. At least, he hadn’t last night when Coach had been downstairs, asleep on the sofa. He trusted the big man whose skin was covered with tattoos. But tonight there were others in the house, and Michael didn’t know them. He didn’t completely trust them.
Although he knew Coach did. So he didn’t leap from where he lay on the floor. But he did open his eyes a slit. And stiffened. A man stood in the doorway, his face and body in shadow.
It wasn’t Greg. Michael had been aware that Greg had checked on them earlier in the evening. So had Dr. Dani. He’d smelled the chocolate of her shampoo. But the man standing there was taller than Greg and a lot more muscular.
The man didn’t move for the longest time. Just stood there, looking at them.
Michael grew tenser with each second that passed. Carefully, he slid his hand along the floor, reaching for the knife he’d hidden under Joshua’s bed. It was a simple steak knife from the silverware drawer in Dani’s kitchen, but it was sharp enough to do some damage. Especially if the man wasn’t expecting it.
After a few more seconds that felt like years, the man sat on the floor just outside the door to Joshua’s room, leaning his back against the doorjamb. His face was visible for a split second as he moved. It was Marcus, the guy who owned the newspaper. The guy who’d gotten Michael a lawyer with a fancy suit who worked for free. The guy who was Coach’s best friend.
According to Greg, Coach and Marcus had served in the war together. The two were shot at by the enemy and Coach took the bullet intended for Marcus.
Michael hoped it was true. He wanted to believe that Coach was a legit hero. He wanted to believe that the two men were best friends—and that they were both good. He let out the breath he’d been holding, hoping Marcus couldn’t hear the frantic beating of his heart.
He watched as Marcus sat patiently, quietly. And then Scarlett came to sit beside him. Marcus put his arm around her shoulders and together they . . .
They guarded them. That was what they were doing. They’re watching over us. Because the man who’d killed Brewer was still out there.
Michael didn’t think anyone was getting by Marcus. Or especially not by his wife, Scarlett. She was a cop. A homicide detective, even. A real badass, again according to Greg, who was a fountain of information.
Slowly, Michael’s heart resumed a normal rhythm. Sliding the knife back into its hiding place, he let himself go back to sleep.
Bridgetown, Ohio
Monday, March 18, 1:20 a.m.
Diesel drew in a slow breath. Slowly, he flattened his hands on the table. “How was Adrian’s death your fault?”
Pain mixed with the anger in Dani’s gut. “He was a big guy. Covered in tats.”
Diesel was quiet for a beat. “Like me.”
She nodded, her lips twisting into a smile that was both rueful and bitter at once. “Apparently I have a type. Big, bad, bald guys with tats. I wanted you from the first moment you walked into my clinic.” When he’d stared at her face, then panicked at her white coat and stumbled backward through the door to the street.
“I looked like a crazy man.”
“No.” She smiled sadly. “You’d bent down to talk to a little boy with such gentleness. I knew you were nice.”
“Too nice for you?” Maybe he was finally getting it.
“Yeah. But you have the whole bad-boy thing going on.” She waved her hand, indicating his body. And tats. And bald head.
He attempted a smile. “I can grow my hair back.”
She huffed a chuckle, shaking her head. “Diesel.”
“Dani,” he replied, levity gone. “Tell me about him so we can put it behind us.”
Her eyes shot to his. “Put it behind us? I told you that it’s my fault he’s dead and you say that we’ll put it behind us?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “Talk. Where did you meet him?”
She glared at him. “In the ER. I was a resident. He’d ripped up his knee when he fell off his Harley. He was accompanied by a cop.”
“Because?”
“He was under arrest,” she snapped. “For forging a prescription.”
He didn’t react at all. “Why?”
She blinked at him. “Why what?”
“You wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone who was hurting people. Why did Adrian forge a prescription?”
Her shoulders slumped. “You’re not going to see me as anything other than nice, are you?”
“Probably not. Tell me, Dani. If this has kept us apart for eighteen months when we’ve both wanted each other, then I deserve to know.”
“You’re right.” He was. So she’d make herself tell this story that she’d never told another soul. “He was a recovering addict. Like Stone. Only he didn’t have a lot of money like the O’Bannions. He’d gotten help from a church-run rehab program in St. Louis. He volunteered there for years afterward. Up until he died.”
“So he was a nice guy, too?” Diesel asked wryly.
She shot him a pointed stare. “Yes. He was. He was always helping at the church, building things. He made blocks for the kids to play with, because the church didn’t have the money for toys. One of the kids in the shelter run by the church got sick. Really sick. She needed medicine, but her mom didn’t have insurance or the money to pay for the drugs. The pharmacist had turned her away. Adrian did have insurance. So he forged a prescription for the medicine, with his name as the patient. It wasn’t a narcotic, which let him plead down to a misdemeanor. He took the deal and served six months.”
Diesel studied her face. “You took the kid her medicine, didn’t you?”
Stunned, she nodded. “I did. How did you know?”
“Because I’ve watched you for months. I know you better than you think I do. You could have lost your residency had you been caught,” he observed.
“It was worth it.”
He smiled. “See? Nice.”
She rolled her eyes. “Adrian came by after he got out of jail. The nuns had told him what I did and he came to thank me. One thing led to another and . . .” She shrugged. “I was a goner.”
“Why didn’t you tell your family about him?”
She scoffed. “After Brandi, I was bringing home an addict? With a record? No way. I knew what Jim would do. I wasn’t going to let that happen. Not to Adrian.”
“So how was it your fault, Dani? Because I don’t believe it was.”
She huffed. “We’d been together for two years when he had another motorcycle accident. Put him in the hospital this time, not just a trip to the ER. He had a concussion and a broken arm. They tested him for HIV because he needed surgery for the arm.”
“And he came back positive.”
“Not just positive. He had AIDS.”
His eyes widened. “He’d had it for a while, then.”
She nodded. “And because we were engaged, and I was on the pill, we’d stopped using protection. The doctor told me to get tested.”
“And you were positive, too.”
She nodded wearily. “I was . . . shocked. I mean, Adrian had told me he was negative and he believed that. But I asked if he’d been tested and he said he had.”
Diesel frowned. “Didn’t they test him when he came to the ER?”
“No. I wondered the same thing once I found out our status, so I went back into the system and checked his records. He’d refused to consent to the test.”
Diesel clenched his teeth. “He lied to you.”
She looked up at him. “Yes. I was really angry. I wanted to hurt him. I felt so powerless. I should have waited until I’d calmed down to see him. I had no business visiting him when I was so angry, but I did. And I said some horrible, hurtful things. Called him terrible names. Accused him of infecting me on purpose. Then I slapped his face and called him a killer. All while he lay in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery. I slapped an AIDS patient.”
“You slapped the man who lied to you. I think your anger was justified.”
“Ugh.” She wanted to throttle him. “Of course my anger was justified, but not what I did when I was under its influence.” She closed her eyes. “I was like Jim.”
Diesel made a strangled sound. “You are nothing like him. Were you sorry?”
“Afterward, yes. Of course I was. I tried to apologize, but Adrian wouldn’t see me. I’d hurt him too much.”
Understanding finally dawned in his eyes. Finally. “And you think you’ll lash out and hurt me like you hurt him.”
“Yes,” she said, relieved. “You get it now?”
“I get that you were upset and said things you didn’t mean. I get that you tried to apologize and he sulked.”
Dani clenched her hands into fists. “Goddammit, Diesel.”
He shrugged. “How did you kill him?”
“I never said I killed him. I said it was my fault that he was dead.” She drew a breath, the memory of that day playing in her mind. “He committed suicide.”
“How did he do it?” he asked calmly. “Gun to his head so that you’d be the one to find him?”
It was close enough to the truth to stun her into speechlessness. “No,” she finally whispered. “He drove his motorcycle off a cliff in California. Into the ocean.”
Diesel’s face maintained an outward calm but his dark eyes were snapping with fury. “Did he make a video and send it to you?”
She shook her head slowly, stunned even more that he’d guessed almost exactly right. “No video. He bought me a plane ticket and asked me to come out to be with him. Said he’d always wanted to see the Pacific coast, so he was driving the length of it before he died. He said that he wanted to share it with me. Said he forgave me.”
Diesel tilted his head back so that he stared at the ceiling. “He forgave you.”
It sounded wrong when he said it that way. “Yes. So I went. We talked it over. Rode up the coast and marveled at the views. I rode with him and it was like old times. Just the two of us. And then he pulled off to a scenic overlook, we got off the bike, and he kissed me. It was the first time he’d touched me like that since I’d arrived. I’d hugged him around the waist while we’d been on the bike, but that was all. He gave me a letter and told me not to open it until ‘after.’ I asked him what he meant, but he didn’t answer. He got back on his bike and drove away. I thought he’d abandoned me at first. I opened the letter, but it was only one sentence: Tell the search and recovery team to wear gloves. Then he came thundering back. He’d picked up a lot of speed.”
A muscle twitched in Diesel’s jaw. “He drove off the cliff in front of you.”
Dani nodded numbly, remembering it all in vivid, Technicolor detail. “He never even tried to stop. The drop was eighty-five feet.”
Diesel drew in a breath. “This is what you call your fault?”
He’s angry. Good. “He left another letter at the hotel where I’d left my luggage. He said that he might have tried to fight for us if I hadn’t betrayed him when he was in the hospital. That I’d killed him as sure as if I’d shot him with a gun.”
He ground his teeth audibly. “You did not betray him. You sure as hell didn’t kill him. He could have fought for his life. He could have taken the cocktail. He could have found out that he was positive long before he developed full-blown AIDS and not given it to you. And if he didn’t want to fight, he could have OD’d on sedatives. He could have arranged to be found by someone who didn’t know him. There were lots of things he could have and should have done.”
Dani retreated behind the mask she wore when people around her became angry. “All those things are true, Diesel. But my point is, when he needed me most, I became like Jim. I was not nice. Under stress, I am not nice.”
Diesel shoved to his feet, his chair flying backward to clatter on the floor, making her jump. “You did not become like Jim,” he snarled. “And wipe that look from your face. Right now. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. That’s the face you wear when things get heavy. When you have to deal with confrontations. I’ve seen it too many times, Dani. I will not be the cause of it. You wanted to talk? Let’s talk now, shall we?”
“Not if you’re going to yell at me,” she managed in her frostiest voice.
“I will damn well yell!” he shouted. “And so will you. Do you know how to yell? Have you ever done it? When was the last time you really yelled at someone?”
Her mouth opened, but no words would come. She licked her lips and tried again. “When I yelled at Adrian in the hospital,” she whispered.
Diesel’s fury seemed to disappear. He leaned against the kitchen island, his hands gripping its edge so tightly that his knuckles were white. But his big body sagged. “And before that? Had you ever just yelled because you were mad, Dani?”
She tried to remember. But came up blank. “No. That was the first time.”
“And it ended very badly,” Diesel ground out. “I’m betting that you didn’t yell when you lived with Jim, before your mom married Bruce. Or Jim would have thrown you all out.” He turned his head to stare at her, still leaning against the island like he was midpushup. “Did you?”
She thought about her younger self. And realized he was right. “No.”
“And when your mom married Bruce. Did you yell then? Or were you afraid that Bruce would stop loving you and your mother if you misbehaved?”
He was right again. “No. I mean yes. No, I didn’t yell. Yes, I guess I was afraid he’d leave.”
“And then he left anyway,” Diesel murmured.
She flinched. “Bruce didn’t leave. He died.”
“Same outcome, wasn’t it? You were alone and living with Jim again. Right?”
Her throat had suddenly become thick. “Yes. It was the same.”
“And then Adrian left you, too. Left you with a huge burden.”
Her eyes burned. He had. She nodded because words were impossible.
He turned to lean his hip against the island, his handsome face sad but determined. “You leave before you can get left,” he said. “You leave before it’s even possible to get left.”
“I’m comfortable being alone,” she whispered, but she didn’t believe it. Not anymore. Faith had said the same thing. And she’d been right. So was Diesel.
“Bullshit,” he snapped. “That really means you’re scared. Maybe subconsciously you want me to prove to you that I won’t leave. I can’t do that. You either trust me or you don’t. But I can’t force you to do either.” He rubbed both palms over his head before dragging them down his face. “I could make you really happy, Dani. I know I could. But you have to want it, too. If not with me, then with someone else.” He smiled so sadly. “Otherwise you’re going to spend your life alone. I don’t want that for you. Even if it’s not me sharing it with you.”
He held her gaze for another moment before turning away and digging into his pocket for the keys to his truck. “Come on,” he said gently. “I’ll take you home.”
Home. Where two “temporary” boys waited. And when they were gone, she’d be alone again. Her future suddenly stretched before her, silent and gray. One place setting at her table, a single indented pillow. No laughter.
He makes me laugh. He makes me . . . happy. And Dani desperately wanted that. Wanted to laugh. Wanted to be happy. Wanted the kisses and the shared meals. The shared bed.
She was on her feet before she knew she was going to move. “Wait.” She hesitated, then crossed the kitchen to stand before him, gripping one hand with the other so hard that it hurt. His eyes were wary, his body held rigid as if he was bracing himself against a blow, and that hurt more.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted.
He drew a breath that filled his chest. “Do what?”
“Be with you. I don’t know how to not mess it up. I don’t know how to make you stay. But I want to try. I do want this.” She swallowed. “I want you.”
His big hand trembled as he pushed her hair behind her ear, then cupped her cheek again. She leaned into the contact, her eyes closing as she felt her heart settle. Yes. This is right. This is where I’m supposed to be.
“You need to be sure, Dani,” he croaked, his voice breaking. “If you change your mind, I—”
He what? If she changed her mind, what would he do? Her nightmare abruptly changed, Adrian’s broken body on the rocks becoming Diesel’s. Her gaze jerked up to meet his, and she suspected that the instant fear that had filled her was now apparent on her face, because he rushed to soothe.
“No, Dani, not that. If you change your mind, I’ll survive. I won’t take my life.” His eyes filled with pain and then tears. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That if you hurt me, if you make me angry, I’ll kill myself?”
She did. She hadn’t even realized it until that moment. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Well, I won’t,” he said fiercely. “I won’t ever even threaten it. I promise you that. But it will hurt me.”
Relief made her hand shake as she lifted it to trace her fingertips over his lips, so soft and warm. “I don’t want to hurt you. Ever.”
He caught her wrist in his big hand, holding it like it was fine china as he kissed her fingers. “Then don’t,” he said simply. Sweetly. “Just be with me. That’s all I want.”
“You should want more,” she whispered. “You deserve more.”
He shook his head. “I want you. I deserve you.”
She opened her mouth to challenge him, then remembered Stone’s words. Take a page out of Delores’s book and let him make his own choices. She’d do that. But first he needed all the information. “I come with baggage, Diesel.”
“We all do.”
“My baggage is . . . extra. You said you needed me to be sure. I need the same thing. I need you to know what you’re giving up.”
Once again, he seemed to brace himself, but this time it seemed like it was for an argument rather than a physical blow. “Okay. Shoot.”
“You love children. I . . .” She lifted her chin. “I don’t plan to have any babies.”
He shrugged. “There are too many kids who need homes. Who need families to love them. Kids like Michael and Joshua. A child doesn’t need my DNA for me to love him. Or her.” He hesitated. “Although I’d like to know why. Is it your status? Or the syndrome? Or your career? Any are reasonable, but I’d like to understand.”
It was a fair question. “All of the above? I mean, I know that women who are positive can safely carry and birth an HIV-negative baby, but there are risks.”
“And if one of your positive patients wanted to have a baby?”
“I’d tell her the risks and recommend counseling, just in case her baby is born positive. I know positive women who choose to give birth and I’m happy for them, I really am, but I don’t think I could handle passing the virus to a baby. And if that baby was deaf and HIV positive?” She shook her head. “If it happened, I’d be there for my child, don’t get me wrong. But I’m happy fostering kids that need me. I also love my career, and a baby changes everything.” She looked down to stare at their shoes, not wanting to see his disappointment at her next confession. “And I know it’s selfish, but I raised Greg. I was basically a single mom at sixteen. I’ve done the midnight feedings. I’ve been through teething and colic and chicken pox. I’m okay with not doing that again.”
He hooked a finger under her chin and lifted it so that she looked at him. There was no trace of disappointment. No censure. Only tenderness and hope.
The hope nearly broke her. Please don’t let me hurt him. But this time her prayer was because she was keeping him, not sending him away.
“Not selfish,” he murmured. “Honest. And I understand your reasons. I can live with them, as long as adoption remains on the table.”
“It does,” she said.
His smile stole her breath. “Good. Next?”
“My levels are undetectable, but that could change. I could get . . . sick.”
His gaze didn’t falter. “I know. You’re asking again for me to prove I won’t leave. I can only give you my word, Dani. I’m not afraid of sickness.”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “Or doctors. Not anymore.”
He brushed a kiss over her lips, sending shivers rippling across her skin. “It was a phobia worth conquering.”
She closed her eyes, wanting to preserve the moment, the feeling of his mouth on hers, but she needed to finish this. “I could die, Diesel,” she whispered against his lips.
“So could I. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow.”
Stone’s words returned, chilling her. Or that damn bullet could pierce your heart, you stubborn man. That issue she planned to address ASAP, but she let it go for now.
She leaned in, resting her forehead against his solid chest, unable to meet his eyes for this next part. “You’ll need to wear . . . you know. Protection. Always. When we have sex.”
Because we will. She wanted it. She wanted him. She always had.
“God. Dani.” She felt his big body shudder. “I know,” he growled, and her knees actually buckled. Clutching his shirt with both hands, she held on as his arms tightened around her. Holding her close.
Where I belong. It was crystal clear. She belonged here. With him. In his arms. Why did I deny this for so long?
He smelled so good. She inhaled, filling her senses with him until her knees were solid again, then leaned back to look up at him.
“I . . .” The thought trailed away because . . . Oh my God. His face was flushed, his jaw taut, a muscle twitching in his cheek. And his eyes . . . She stared, mesmerized. They were dark and intense. And hungry. He was so hungry.
So am I.
Tightening her hold on his shirt, she yanked him down and kissed him hard. He froze for a split second before exploding into movement. Another growl rumbled in his chest as he took control of the kiss. One big hand slid down her back to palm her ass, the other slid up to tangle in her hair. She felt herself being lifted off her feet as if she weighed nothing and her control was severed. Her arms went around his corded neck, her legs around his powerful thighs, and she clung to him like a vine.
“So damn hot,” she mumbled into his mouth. “You are so damn hot.”
He swung her around so that her ass pressed against the kitchen island and he pressed against her. All of him.
Oh God. He was hard. And huge. She wriggled, trying to get closer. “I want you,” she whispered. “All of you.”
His groan was guttural. Broken. Molten. He tugged on her hair, roughly tilting her head for his next kiss. He simply . . . took her. Took her mouth. Took her breath away. He ripped his mouth away and buried his face in her neck. He was panting.
And so, so hard.
“I’ve waited so long,” he said hoarsely. “Be sure, Dani. Please.”
She kissed his ear, taking a second to catch her breath. “I’m sure. But only with condoms. Always. Forever, Diesel. I won’t have you exposed. Promise me.”
Abruptly he lifted her to sit on the island and released her hair before taking a step back. His eyes were wild, his pupils blown. But before she could even form a question, he was digging in the pocket of his jeans.
He took her hand and pressed something into her palm. A brown plastic prescription bottle, she realized. Lifting it, she examined the label and the last of her resistance crumbled to dust. The name on the prescription label read Elvis Kennedy. The prescribing doctor was Dr. Jeremy O’Bannion.
The bottle had originally held thirty pills. There were two left.
“Truvada,” she whispered, her throat too thick to speak. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the label. She blinked, wiping at her eyes with her free hand so that she could see his face. “You’re taking Truvada?”
He nodded wordlessly, his gaze never leaving her face.
Truvada. Pre-exposure prophylaxis. Medication to reduce the risk of contracting HIV. This was . . .
“For how long?” she asked hoarsely.
“For the past six months,” he answered, just as hoarsely. “Jeremy wouldn’t prescribe it until I’d tested negative for a solid year.”
Because she’d exposed him the day he’d saved her life.
He took a step closer when she continued to stare at him. “You told me to find someone else that day in the hospital, but I wanted to be prepared. In case you changed your mind.” He stood between her legs, hands on the island on either side of her hips. Caging her in. He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Was I wrong?”
Slowly she shook her head. “No. You weren’t wrong.” Still gripping the bottle, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “We still need condoms.”
His lips curved in a grin that was wolfish and wicked. “I have a whole box.”
“Where?”
“Next to my bed. I was optimistic.”
She shivered hard. “Show me,” she demanded.
He stiffened in surprise, his eyes widening. “Now?”
“Yes, now. We’ve waited long enough.” She kissed him until he growled again, making her smile against his mouth. “Take me to bed, Diesel.”