The Last Execution (27 page)

“Sorry. I do worry about my grandmother, and I never chitchat about my mother.”

Brian Slocum’s grass needed cutting, the blinds were open, and a week’s worth of newspapers indicated nobody had been around for a while. His next door neighbor’s sprinklers had flooded the street. J.T. braked and the car fishtailed slightly.

The night of her wreck rushed over her like a dream. The man called Doyle said he might help. What had he meant? She shook of the dizzy spell.

“Hey. You okay?” The worried look on J.T.’s face pushed the car accident from her mind.

“Yeah. I can’t believe that little skid spooked me.”

“I’m a good driver. You’re safe with me.” He gave her a full face, light-up-the-day smile. He’d ignored or forgotten the fact his scar crinkled his cheek. Finally, he’d relaxed the bad-boy attitude. Her mouth fell open, and her skin warmed. How brave or bold should she be?

“I love it when you give me a full-face smile.”

“Are you trying to be funny?” His eyebrows dove together.

“Stop that. You look in the mirror, and all you see is a scar. I see a man. A gorgeous man.”

Would she never break through to him? The emotion on his face was a mixture of distrust and pain. He turned and clamped both hands on the steering wheel.

“You’ve never mentioned my scar. Never asked what happened.” He stared straight ahead. “Is that because you pretend I don’t have one?”

“No.” A pain ripped through her. She held back the urge to shake him. “It’s part of you. A very small part. I wanted you to tell me. On your terms. When you were ready.”

“You told Ethan not to question me?”

“I told him it might be something you didn’t want to discuss. Curious children can be cruel. Don’t be angry with me for teaching my son manners.”

J.T. cleared his throat. “You were right. I don’t discuss my time in the military.”

“And that’s another reason for me not to ask. Can we move on?” She wasn’t sure whose feelings were hurt, hers or his. Either way, he’d open up if and when he wanted.

“Let’s go talk to Romeo,” J.T. said. “Have him track down Mrs. Slocum.” He dropped the car into drive and headed toward the freeway.

She blew out a breath. The tender moment she’d tried for hadn’t happened.
Men.
He refused to talk about his feelings. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t try again, but she wouldn’t push him.

“Maybe I should ask to return to CID,” Leigh blurted the words out after what seemed like miles of silence.

“What would you accomplish by leaving the taskforce?”

“I’m afraid my personal life is interfering with us as partners,” she admitted.

“Do you hear me complaining?”

“All I hear from you is ‘stay away.’” Her words landed, bitter and harsh. Damn, she wanted them back. “That was uncalled for. Forget I said anything.”

“It’s forgotten.”

He shot down the exit and within a few turns, he’d parked close to the same spot where they’d started the day. This time he didn’t pull her into his arms and kiss her until she forgot her worries. Instead, he got out and walked straight to the stairs.

“Leigh McBride?” A young woman in jeans and a T-shirt stepped out of the shadows.

“Yes?”

Handing Leigh a manila envelope, her pleasant smiled changed to a smirk of arrogance. “You’ve been served.”

Chapter Nineteen

Monday, May 10, 9:00 p.m.

J.T. closed the door to his apartment. The place was graveyard quiet, and the silence drew a sigh of pleasure and appreciation. Alone didn’t bother him. In fact, he enjoyed having a chance to chill after a day at work, and he was past ready for this day to end. They’d made zero progress on the sniper case, which meant another person could be hours away from getting his head blown off. The time spent at Nana’s tonight hadn’t improved his mood, but no way could turn his back his mother during her drying-out process.

Sobering up his mother was never a pleasant experience. After she passed the hating-everyone-who-came-near-her stage, she entered the nausea and self-pity mode. Everything she put in her stomach came right back up, except for one thing, and for days the house smelled of canned cream of mushroom soup. One sniff of the stuff sent J.T.’s gut into revolt.

Tonight, his grandmother’s housekeeper had stayed over and whisked Nana away for a few hours shopping while J.T. took his turn waiting for his mother to need something. She’d emerged from her room, pale and gaunt, wearing her poor-pitiful-me expression. She’d had the nerve to ask him to go buy her a six-pack of beer...to settle her stomach. When he’d flatly refused, she’d asked for that god-awful soup. There was an outside chance he’d never be able to face food in general again.

J.T. stripped, showered, and slipped on a pair of fatigues. He wanted to be sharp and wide-awake when he opened the file on Leigh’s ex-boyfriend. He’d booted up his laptop and clicked on the email when the doorbell rang.

He wasn’t in the mood for company. Sliding the peephole cover aside, he saw the one exception standing in his hall. Her eyes narrowed, lips drawn to a thin line, Leigh looked like an electrical storm ready to explode. She’d left without explanation this afternoon after a process server handed her a manila envelope. No doubt, her bastard ex-boyfriend had delivered another crushing blow. J.T. closed his computer before opening the door.

“Come in.”

“You sure? I should’ve called.”

She stormed by him without waiting for an answer, babbling her words out all in one breath.

“I had to talk to somebody.” She whirled and faced him. A wildfire raged behind her eyes. “The bastard got a judge to issue a demand for a paternity test. I’ll kill him before I allow him access to Ethan.”

J.T. closed the door. “Not sure you’d look good in handcuffs unless they were velvet lined.”

She shot him a scorching look leaving no doubt his attempt at humor was a mistake.

“He’ll never get near my son,” she ground out her words. “I’ll go underground. Pack my car and hit the road. Ethan and I will disappear.”

J.T. silenced her the only way he knew how. He bracketed her face with his hands and covered her mouth with his, swallowing her gasp of surprise. For a split second, she stiffened against him. Her fingers clamped down on his wrists.

Then she simply detonated in his arms. Her tongue streaked across his. Her hands slid up his arms, threaded through his hair, and clenched, holding his lips against hers with a death grip. Heat lashed through his blood, boiling and surging inside his veins, racing straight to his groin. She stroked his bare back, scorching his skin. Fierce and demanding, she dug trenches in his flesh.

He wanted inside her. He needed to thrust deep into her, again and again, until he satisfied this insatiable need to possess her. Dare he believe there was an outside chance for them.

From somewhere deep in the recesses of his humanity, a voice reminded him he’d intended to calm her down, not take advantage of her. Her emotions were running wild. He had to stop this.
Now.
Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth from hers, gripped her by the arms, and put some distance between them.

Breasts heaving, lips swollen and wet, desire shining from her eyes, she lifted one eyebrow. Need obliterated his common sense, making the need to drag her to his bed almost overwhelming.

Truth was, she hadn’t come to him for sex.
Shit.
He stepped back and released her.
Sweet Jesus. How do I walk away from that?

She might not admit it, might not believe it, but Leigh didn’t want to make love. She wanted to make hate. He understood. She wanted to pound something—pound anything—until she couldn’t think, didn’t hurt. She’d regret her behavior afterward, and he never wanted her to suffer a minute’s remorse. Not because he hadn’t controlled his selfish desires.

“Better now?” Trying his best to sound casual, he walked across the room. The heat boiling off her was too tempting. He was having a hell-of-a-time keeping himself in check. His raging hard-on had developed a mind of its own and demanded satisfaction.

“Oh. My. God.” Pink raced up her neck and settled high on her cheeks. “I lost my mind for a second, didn’t I?” She ran her hand across her face, and a nervous laugh rolled from her swollen lips. “I can’t believe I attacked you.”

“Hotshot, you can attack me anytime. I’m available all hours, but sex isn’t why you came here tonight.”

More under control, he crossed to her and caught her hands in his when she reached up to pat down stray hair. “Don’t. It’s a dead giveaway that you’re nervous. When you fight this bastard in court, you can’t give him or his attorney any help.”

She dropped down on the couch in front of his laptop, her gaze never leaving his face. He doubted she saw him. The look of despair emanating from her eyes reminded him of a wounded animal. Her hand idly tapped the top of his computer. For a split second, panic gripped him. She didn’t need to learn he was looking into Carrington’s background, not in her present frame of mind. One thing for sure, whether it was for help or comfort, Leigh had come to him tonight. Now, he was involved, and when he went in...he went
all
in.

“I’m sorry I rushed off today without any explanation.”

“None needed.”

“You’re thinking he bought a judge?”

“I don’t know what to think. His family can certainly afford one.” Her blue eyes clouded. “They want Ethan’s toothbrush or a hair with root intact. Before we go that far, I’ll acknowledge Jason is his father.”

“What happens then?”

“Who knows? My attorney has the subpoena. She’ll contact Jason’s lawyer tomorrow.”

“Then what?” He held up a finger to qualify his question. “Since killing him is out.” His second attempt at humor worked. At least he’d gotten a small grin from her.

“That horse left the gate seven years ago. What if he wants visitation rights?” She made a move to smooth out her hair, stared at her hands for a second, and then dropped them to her lap with a grimace. “What do I say to Ethan if this winds up in court? He’s too young to understand.”

J.T shoved the laptop aside and sat on the coffee table in front of her. “What does Ethan know about his father?”

Her gaze broke with his, and she studied the floor between them. He pulled her hands from her lap. They were cold and trembling. Anger boiled up into his chest. She was a walking bomb with a lit fuse.

“I told him his father moved away.”

She scooted to the edge of the couch. Her gaze flitted around the room, landing everywhere except J.T.’s face. He expected her to bolt for the door any second.

“I’m sorry. My question was too personal.”

“It’s late. I should head home.”

“Have you eaten?” J.T. couldn’t let her leave feeling like the weight of the world sat on her shoulders. Food was the first thing to pop into his mind. He hated how badly he wanted her to stay. Hated how badly she hurt. Hated the surge of emotion grinding through him, messing up his head.

“No. Ethan and I went out to have supper with my folks. Just the thought of food turned my stomach.”

“He’s staying the night with them?” When she nodded, he took her hand and led her to the kitchen. “How about an omelet?”

“You cook something other than soup?” For the first time since crossing his threshold, her smile reached her eyes.

“If it’s eggs or in a can, I’m your man.” He dug out a carton of eggs and a bag of wilting spinach from the fridge.

When he turned, his blood rushed south. She’d sat on that stool. His favorite ever since he’d wedged himself between her open thighs. Need flooded his groin as her eyes scrolled across his bare chest and back up to his face. Oh, yeah. She remembered too. Maybe, she wanted more than talk and food.

“Omelet sounds good.” Her smile deepened, as did the color of her eyes.

Apparently, she’d paid no heed to his warning she shouldn’t get mixed up with him. Truth was, neither had he. He wasn’t the right man for her in the long run, but for now, he’d be there for the short haul.

He was toast.
Literally
. He grabbed the bread from the cabinet.

First, he’d feed her and let the night progress...his cell buzzed. If the sniper had killed again, J.T. was going to be seriously pissed. He leaned over the back of the couch to where the phone lay on the coffee table and read David Campbell’s name on the display. J.T. hit the silent button.

“You’re not answering?” She raised one brow in a teasing question.

“Nope. Not important.” He tossed her the loaf of bread. “You’re in charge. Toaster’s right there, butter and jelly are in the fridge.”

She looked good in his kitchen, though not quite as good as she looked in his bed. They worked well together in here, too. He caught her by the hips and reached around her to get two plates from the cabinet. She leaned back against his chest and tilted her head, giving him an open invitation to taste the sweetness of her neck. Her scent washed over him. Instantly, he was hard again. He licked the soft spot behind her ear. She moaned, pressing her ass against him. It was his turn to moan when she rotated against his erection.
Sweet Jesus.
The kitchen counter was beginning to offer great potential.

“Did you say something?” The laughter in her voice said she’d forgotten her troubles, at least for a while.