Brody's Vow (Colebrook Siblings Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

“I will.” Relieved that his father was on board with the plan, he stood, mentally cursing the way the muscles in his left leg and hip threatened to give out. “’Night, Dad.”

“Sleep tight, Son. It’s good to have you home.”

“Thanks. It’s good to be home.” He’d needed this time so badly.

Brody settled himself in the bedroom he used to share with Wyatt when they were growing up, but even when he was under the quilt on the new queen-size bed, he couldn’t sleep.

He was too busy thinking about the captivating, sexy woman sleeping in the next room.

Brody was up early the next morning, dressed and creeping down the wooden stairs toward the kitchen by five. He’d been worried he’d sleep in and miss hearing Trinity stirring but when he’d passed her room just now the door was still closed.

Unless she’d slipped out of the house while he was asleep.

Frowning, he stopped in the middle of the stairs. Could she have snuck out without him noticing? It seemed ridiculous, but Trinity wasn’t exactly an average woman.

He crept back up the stairs and stood outside her door, listening intently. When there was no movement he thought about cracking her door open to steal a peek but if she was still in bed that would surely wake her. And let’s face it, if she was gone there was nothing he could do about it anyway. He’d find out either way soon enough.

As he headed down to the kitchen, he was surprised to realize how much he’d been looking forward to seeing her this morning. He’d thought about her a lot last night, wondering who she was, who she worked for, and why she’d become an assassin. She’d certainly made one hell of an impression, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want her.

After turning on the coffee pot he dug out his cell phone. Both Briar and DeLuca had asked for an update about Trinity. He’d just started to type out a response when the back door opened.

Wyatt strode in, the slightly altered rhythm of his steps unmistakable on the old plank floors. He stopped when he saw Brody standing there. “Hey. Saw your truck out front. When did you get in?”

His big brother was older than him by sixteen months and an inch taller, had the same solid build as him and Easton. The scarring on the right side of his face looked a lot better than it had at the start of his recovery, and the glass eye they’d given him looked real. His prosthetic lower leg was hidden by his jeans, and due to months of therapy following the amputation, his gait was smoother than Brody’s was now. But on the inside, Wyatt was permanently damaged by what had happened to him in Afghanistan.

“Got in late last night.” Growing up, they’d been really close, especially after their mom died. Since being wounded, Wyatt had pushed him and everyone else away. Brody had given him the space he’d wanted, but he missed his big brother like hell, and the relationship they’d had for so long. He kept hoping that one day things would change back to the way they had been.

A soft scratching sounded at the door. Wyatt shot an annoyed glance at it then pushed it open. A moment later a small brown and white spaniel trotted inside, its long ears flopping with each step and its feathery white tail swishing back and forth in a blur.

Brody’s eyebrows went up. Wyatt loved animals more than anybody Brody knew, yet he’d flat out refused to get a dog since being injured. “Who’s this?”

“Grits,” Wyatt muttered, sounding annoyed.

“Grits? As in, shrimp and grits?” At the mention of its name, the dog stopped and stretched its neck out to sniff at Brody’s pant leg, its large brown eyes gazing up at him with a melting expression. Brody reached down to scratch its soft head and the dog flinched, backed away.

“He’s a little skittish of strangers,” Wyatt said.

Brody straightened, giving the dog space to get used to him. “What the hell kind of name is that for a dog?”

Wyatt made a face and reached into the cupboard for a mug. “Beats the hell outta me.”

“Is he yours?”

“For the time being, yeah.”

He didn’t sound too happy about it and Brody wasn’t surprised. Wyatt had owned only shepherds or Malinois. Big, strong working dogs, the kinds he’d worked with back in his days in the Corps, up until he’d been wounded. His military dog, Raider, had been killed in the same blast that cost Wyatt his leg and eye. He’d never recovered from the loss, had sworn he’d never own another dog. It was almost as though he didn’t trust himself with one again, or maybe it was some kind of self-punishment.

And yet…here was Grits.

When Brody kept watching him without saying anything else, Wyatt sighed and leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. “Piper brought him over a couple weeks ago, said he needed a foster home. Found him through some rescue organization.”

Didn’t take a genius to figure out that Piper was hoping the dog would tug on whatever heartstrings Wyatt had left, so he wouldn’t be able to give the dog up. “Really.” Ballsy move by Wyatt’s former high school girlfriend, to just bring the dog over without asking, but Brody loved that about her.

Though she and Wyatt had broken up when he’d left for boot camp, they’d always stayed in touch. Piper was married now and although neither one of them carried a torch for the other anymore, she had stayed close with the family and still came over to visit their dad and give Wyatt a kick in the ass when he needed one. Which was pretty often. She was a sweetheart with a backbone of steel, and an adored honorary member of the family.

“Said she thought he’d be good company for me.” Wyatt sounded like the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

Yeah, Brody bet that had gone over well. “He’s pretty cute.” He held out his hand for the dog to sniff it. When Grits inched forward, head lowered and tail wagging, he slowly reached down to scratch his soft little white chin and got a series of lightning fast puppy kisses on his hand for his effort. “Seems like he’s got a nice personality.”

Wyatt just grunted and filled his coffee mug, but Brody could sense the grudging affection he had for the little guy, and the truth was, if Wyatt truly didn’t want Grits, he’d have found another home for him already. Wyatt might be a gruff, grim bastard these days, but he had a giant soft spot for animals and damsels in distress.

Speaking of damsels… Brody’s gaze strayed to the stairs, looking for Trinity.

“You want one?” Wyatt asked, coffee pot in hand.

“Yeah.” God knew he needed the caffeine. He accepted the mug Wyatt handed him and they both stood there sipping at their coffee in a silence that quickly began to grate on his nerves.

They hadn’t seen each other since Brody’s fourth round of surgery seven weeks ago. He couldn’t help but feel awkward, standing there on two functional legs while his brother had only one. Wyatt had never made it seem like he resented Brody for it, but Brody went out of his way not to rub his good fortune in his brother’s face whenever they saw each other.

“So, you working on a house right now?” Brody asked.

“Not at the moment. Just sold off two mares and three others foaled recently, so it’s been busy around here.”

The horse farm operation he and their father ran wasn’t as big as it had been prior to his dad’s stroke, but it was big enough, paid the bills and kept him and Wyatt busy, along with the veterans Wyatt hired on as extra help. “What about the Miller place? Any word on it yet?” The Queen Anne-style Victorian home that had belonged to the grandmother of one of Wyatt’s fallen friends was on the outskirts of town. He’d had his eye on it since the day the elderly Mrs. Miller had passed on, but so far her estate refused to sell it.

“No, and it’s getting more run down every month. I hate seeing it like that. It’s already been vacant going on three years. It needed plenty of repairs and updating back then. I can only imagine the state of the inside now.” He shook his head. “Leaving that place vacant and letting it fall apart on that lot is a damn crime.”

“They’ll sell it sooner or later.”

Wyatt scowled and swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Not soon enough.”

Relief flashed through Brody when he heard soft footsteps moving overhead a moment later, because it dissolved the subtle tension between him and Wyatt, but more because it confirmed that Trinity was still here.

Wyatt frowned and looked up at the ceiling. “Who else is here?”

“I…brought someone with me,” he said, not wanting to get into the details with Wyatt right now. Mostly since it was impossible to put into words why he’d actually brought her home with him.

Before his brother could say anything else, Trinity came into view on the stairs. Her sleek, black bob was mussed and she was moving way slower than she had last night. This morning she was dressed in a cherry-red sweater that hugged the ample curves of her breasts to perfection and the same snug jeans she’d had on last night. Her body screamed pinup model and her curves were sexy as hell.

She paused for a second when she saw them both standing there watching her, then resumed her course. “Morning,” she murmured, her voice holding a sleepy huskiness that made Brody think of sex.

Slow, lazy, morning sex, the kind that left both partners totally sated and sliding back into sleep afterward. With her delectable body draped over his.

He shoved the image out of his head before his jeans got tight and glanced at Wyatt. His brother was frozen, his mug partway to his mouth, his gaze locked on Trinity with interest.

“Morning,” Brody answered. “Get any sleep?”

“A little.” She stepped into the light and he winced when he saw her face.

“Oh, wow. That’s quite a shiner.”

Her lips quirked in a quick, wry grin. “Yeah. I can feel the glow, let me tell you.”

The dog ran up to her and jumped up to rest his paws on her knee, tail wagging like mad.

“Grits,
down
,” Wyatt commanded sharply. The dog glanced back at him, ears perked, tail swishing back and forth, but didn’t obey.

“It’s okay.” Trinity smiled at the dog then bent a little, her movement stiff and slow as she leaned over to pet him. “He’s cute.”

“Yeah,” Wyatt muttered in a sour tone, giving Grits a censuring look.

“I thought you said he was shy of strangers?” Brody asked him.

“He is. Usually.”

Well he sure seemed to like Trinity well enough. Not that Brody could blame him. There was something about her that drew him like a magnet.

When she straightened she lifted a hand, grimaced as she rubbed at her neck and the top of her shoulder.

Brody winced in sympathy. She looked damn sore, a bruise spreading down her temple to her cheek and forming around her eye in shades of blue and purple. He still thought she was gorgeous, that innate poise radiating from her crazy attractive. “Here, let me get you some ice.” He started for the fridge.

“No, it’s okay—”

“You need ice. And an anti-inflammatory.”

“Already took three.” Coming to the bottom of the stairs, she stopped and looked at Wyatt questioningly, Grits at her feet. Again there was no shock in her expression, no pity as she stared at his brother and his scars. But maybe she was just one hell of an actress.

“This is my older brother, Wyatt,” Brody said. “Wyatt, Trinity.”

“Nice to meet you,” Wyatt said with a nod, then shot him a questioning look and subtly raised an eyebrow. Brody wasn’t going to explain everything with her standing right there though.

“Likewise,” she answered.

“You want coffee?” Wyatt asked her.

“Please.” Another smile, this one her easiest yet, and Brody felt a surprising, sharp prick of jealousy that she’d smiled at his brother that way instead of him.

Even though it felt like she’d been run over by a truck last night, Trinity managed a smile for Wyatt as he handed her a mug of coffee. Her head pounded and her neck and shoulders were on fire. The left side of her ribcage was tender and the side of her face was swollen.

It was nothing compared to what he must have gone through after his injuries.

“Thanks,” she told him, covering a wince as she bent down to scratch the dog’s ears again. She got a flurry of kisses for her trouble. Cute little fella.

Wyatt grunted in response and stepped back to lean against the counter, avoiding looking at her. The scarring on the right side of his face was pretty bad. The pockmarks and swirling patterns told her he’d suffered some kind of blast injury.

But she was more aware of the way Brody was watching her, and annoyed that she even cared. He was far too sexy standing there in worn jeans and a T-shirt that stretched across his sculpted chest.

There was tension between the brothers. It was subtle, but for someone like her who’d been trained at an early age to pick up on emotional cues, she’d noticed it the moment she’d seen them from the stairs. And she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with her showing up just now.

The silence continued to expand as they sipped their coffee and she had no interest in making things more uncomfortable for everyone by overstaying her welcome. Brody had done her a huge favor by bringing her here despite the potential risk to him and his family. She owed him, and the best way to repay him was to leave immediately. No matter the risk, she had to get back to D.C., retrieve her documents from her rental apartment and get her butt back to London.

Also, she didn’t socialize much unless she was on a job, so she wasn’t used to hanging out with people outside of work. The idea of making small talk right now was simply too exhausting to think about.

She set her half-empty cup on the counter. “Well, I should probably get—”

The back door opened and Colebrook Senior appeared with a gray-muzzled basset hound waddling after him. He shuffled into the kitchen leaning on his cane, glanced between the three of them. “Any coffee left?” His gaze settled on her, and she had the disconcerting feeling that he was seeing into her mind. “You don’t look so good.”

Trinity blinked, stifled a laugh at the blunt assessment. “I’ve felt better.”

“Get any sleep last night?”

“A little.” Not nearly enough and it was going to catch up with her soon, which was why she needed to get moving. She hadn’t slept more than a few snatches here and there, the ingrained need to be vigilant overriding her exhaustion. She’d come down as soon as she’d heard people moving around downstairs.