Time of Possession (Seattle Lumberjacks #5) (15 page)

Richard finally spoke, his voice so calm and
condescending it annoyed her all the more. “You want to push it?
Then we
will
play this thing out in the press and the
courts. It’ll ruin all of our reputations. You can’t afford the
type of lawyers my dad can afford.”

“My brother can.”

“So now you’re going to drag your brother
into this?” Gary had a point, a point she didn’t want to
concede.

“Fine. Tyler’s investments will be moved.
You can take this partnership and shove it up your ass.” She shook
her finger in Richard’s face. “The same holds for you. You drop
every client we have. And if you pick up one more client other than
your parents, I’ll ruin you just the way you claim you’ll ruin
me.”

“You have no proof.” Richard slapped his
hand on the paper’s she’d printed out and raised an eyebrow. She
knew she’d just been played. Her proof now happened to be in
Richard’s control and his father’s.

“Neither do you.” Unless he cooked the books
some more, which he was perfectly capable of doing. Estie stalked
to the door and paused in the doorway. She twisted the ring off her
finger and threw it across the room.

Just as Sylvia had warned her, all her
carefully designed and executed plans hit the wall like that ring
did.

Chapter 9

The desert sun beat down on Brett’s back,
showing no mercy, scorching his skin even through the thick camo.
Sweat ran down his back, soaking him as if he’d dived into a pot of
boiling water. He could smell the heat as it rose in shimmering
waves off hills covered in scrub brush, rocks, and sand.

The ever-present sand permeated every nook
and cranny, including those on his body. He ground the grit between
his teeth and spit to try to clear his mouth.

Brett was the lead man in the patrol. He
signaled to Rex, his canine partner of two years. The German
Shepherd cross took off, head to the ground, sniffing for IEDs,
knowing finding one would produce a toy and a few minutes of play.
Rex loved his rubber Kong with puppy-like enthusiasm. He’d do
anything for it.

Brett kept him on a long leash as they wound
through the deadly quiet village streets and deserted marketplace.
Once a thriving town, the residents now cowered in their homes, the
only place they’d be safe from the IEDs planted with alarming
frequency along the roads.

Brett shifted his weapon on his shoulder,
ignoring the leaden weight of the pack full of his own supplies and
Rex’s food and water.

Rex stopped, his tail wagging with
excitement. Then he lay down near the doorway of a two-story mud
house. He pricked his ears and stared intently at his target. Brett
motioned to the others for backup as he tagged the spot.

His buddy, Carl, a glib southern boy, nudged
his shoulder. “Something doesn’t seem right about this.” Carl
turned in a semi-circle, his weapon ready to take out any
threat.

Just then all hell broke loose.

Brett shot up in bed, gasping and gripping
the sweat-soaked sheets. Frantically he reached for his gun in the
darkness. Panic hit when it wasn’t next to his side where he always
kept it when he slept. He smelled the fear in his perspiration,
while his heart rammed into his ribcage, his brain went on
hyper-alert, and adrenaline shot through his veins.

Blinking several times, Brett’s eyes finally
focused on the darkened room, delivering him a piece at a time from
the hell of the past to the comparative safety of the present. Not
in the Middle East but his bedroom in the good ol’ U. S. of A. One
of the lucky ones. Or so they’d told him after
the incident
,
as they called it, a benign designation for a disastrous event.

Sometimes he didn’t feel so lucky. Not one
damn fucking bit.

Brett rubbed his eyes and felt the slurp of
a warm tongue on his face. Risky had climbed up on the bed and onto
his pillow, trying to comfort him. Brett pulled the dog close to
him and buried his face in the mutt’s fur.

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” Bongo called
out from the other room. Brett must’ve shouted in his sleep and
woken the parrot. Blackjack crawled onto his chest, purring for all
he was worth and burying his huge, six-clawed paws into Brett’s
chest. Brett didn’t care. He welcomed the pain because it meant he
could still feel something.

He flipped on the nightstand light, not
wanting to be in the dark, not wanting the shadows to take over
again. The doctors had given him sleeping pills, but they made him
groggy in the morning and he didn’t want to become dependent.

But, fuck, he needed to sleep.

Why did the night terrors pick
now
to
return? He’d been relatively free of them for a few years, and it’d
taken hours of intensive therapy and treatment to get to that
point.

The pressure of starting in his first
playoff game obviously weighed heavily on him, compounded with
worries of moving into the same space as the woman he crushed on in
an epic way. He hoped like hell she wouldn’t hear him shouting in
the middle of the night. He’d scare the crap out of her.

Tomorrow the guys would swoop in and move
his stuff to her place with Harris leading the charge. Estie had no
idea what she was getting into, and he swore he’d find a way to
hide his most damaged part from her, the part only the VA docs and
shrinks knew about, the part his animals comforted like no one else
in his life could.

Not even Bruiser, his roommate at away
games, had witnessed Brett’s nightmares. Brett had been fortunate
on that count so far, but how long would his luck hold out? In
college, he’d scared the hell out of the one girlfriend he’d gotten
close enough to spend the night. Big mistake. He’d pinned her to
the bed, and God only knew what he would’ve done next if he hadn’t
woken up. She’d been freaked out, called the campus police, and
they’d arrested him. Later the coach explained the situation, and
they’d swept everything under the rug.

The girlfriend never had another thing to do
with him.

That’d been a long time ago, and he’d come a
long way after the situation shocked him into therapy. Brett had
never laid a hand upon another creature since, but it still worried
him. He didn’t know if he was still dangerous because he never
again stayed overnight with a woman. He got the job done and got
the hell out of there, avoiding even superficial relationships.

A lonely existence, but he’d managed with
his animals and football in his life. Until Estie. Until he saw
glimpses of what a real relationship with a hot, beautiful, loving
woman could be like.

Only it was forbidden. She was engaged, and
he was too broken deep down inside where it couldn’t be patched.
Despite all their similar interests, the obstacles between them
were insurmountable.

The largest of all existed inside his own
screwed-up head and her equally confused brain.

Brett sighed and lay back against the
pillows, staring at the ceiling. Bongo, for once, was quiet, not
one swear word from his beak. BJ crawled onto the pillow and
pressed his furry body next to Brett’s shoulder, still purring,
while Risky curled against his side. Brett ran a hand down BJ’s
soft fur, only it didn’t come close to calming the unrest stirring
inside him.

As much as Brett loved his animals, they
weren’t who he wanted next to him on a stormy Seattle night.

* * * * *

Estie walked onto her deck after a sleepless
night and watched as the big rental truck pulled up next to her
house followed by various beastly vehicles driven by insanely
large, muscular men. Last but definitely not least in her mind,
Brett pulled up with his SUV full of animals.

Her future was in ruins, her life in chaos,
and nothing was clear anymore. Yet, despite all of it, seeing Brett
lifted her spirits. The man in question got out of his car as his
muscle men, led by a gimpy but obnoxious Tyler sans crutches,
started unloading the truck. Brett glanced up at the deck and
caught her eye. Taking the steps two at a time, he bounded up the
stairs to stand next to her. His blue eyes lit up as he smiled at
her. She smiled back.

He studied her with those eyes of his that
saw everything. “Are you okay?”

So much for hiding her problems from him.
“I’m fine, really. Just tired, couldn’t sleep last night.” She
rushed to explain.

“I hope I’m not the source of your
problem.”

If only he knew. She sighed. “Not at all.”
Estie pointed at Tyler. “How’re you holding up with the field
general there?”

Tyler was now toe-to-toe with Zach, who must
have taken exception to the quarterback’s bossiness.

“Your brother is a prick.” Brett just tilted
his head and shrugged.

“Like I don’t know that.” She had to laugh,
and it felt good, really good, relieving some of the tension from
last night. For all his faults—which were numerous—she loved her
brother to pieces. “I have stories you can’t even begin to
imagine.”

“I’m sure you do. Arguing with him is not
worth the effort.”

“Everything is a competition to Tyler, even
the most mundane argument. Zach should’ve figured that out by
now.”

“I think he has. Zach loves a good fight as
much as Tyler, verbal or physical.”

“Boys.” Estie rolled her eyes.

Brett grinned, and Estie wished all these
people would fade away and leave the two of them alone to do
whatever damage they might do—which could very well be a lot.

“Do you want to bring the kids into the
house upstairs until the chaos subsides?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Hey, Gun, get your lazy ass down here and
tell us where you want this fucking stuff.” Tyler stood at the
bottom of the deck steps, hands on hips, and his scowl firmly in
place.

Brett shrugged and shot Estie a strained
grin. “On my way. I need to get the animals settled first.” He
bounded back down the steps.

Estie followed and coaxed Risky out of the
SUV. The poor thing slinked up the stairs, tail tucked between his
legs, his entire body shaking. Brett followed with a cat crate in
one hand and a cage full of pissed-off parrot in the other.

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” Bongo
squawked as he hung off the side of the cage by his beak.

“Fuck you, too, buddy.” Tyler shouted,
laughter in his voice.

Brett shot him an annoyed glare over his
shoulder, which was lost on Tyler. Estie knew he didn’t give a
shit. In fact, if he thought he was getting under someone’s skin,
it only made him worse.

“Thanks for sitting with the kids while we
get my stuff moved in.” Brett gently placed the cage on a table and
covered it with a cloth, but not before Bongo caught sight of Estie
and fired off a final round, “Hey, pretty lady, wanna fuck?”

Estie had to laugh.

“I’m so sorry.” Brett groaned and scrubbed
his face with his hands.

“It’s fine; he doesn’t know what he’s
saying.”

“Yeah, but that’s a small consolation.”

Meanwhile Bongo sang a profanity-laced rap
song, complete with musical sound effects. Brett signed and turned
to the cat crate. “This is Blackjack. He’s old and crotchety, but
once you get to know him, he’s a real lover. He can stay in the
crate for now.”

Estie peered inside. The cat hissed and
turned its back on her. “Good idea.”

“I’d better get back to the guys. Thanks
again.”

“My pleasure.” And it was, especially after
seeing the happy grin on Brett’s face.

Estie stood by the window and watched the
men as they hauled in box after box and carted big pieces of
furniture as if it was light enough for a dollhouse. Brett joined
right in, pulling his weight. Estie watched as he piled a couple
large boxes on top of each other. His biceps flexed under his
tight, long-sleeved t-shirt and his sandy brown hair dripped with
sweat, despite the cool day. The same sweat that caused his shirt
to cling to that magnificent chest and rock hard abs.

Estie licked her lips. Her vibrator would
get a workout tonight, just picturing the scene.

Brett would be the ultimate renter. He was
never home, not to mention his furry kids fit in well with her own
menagerie. She glanced at Risky who was lying on his back while
Marilyn licked his face. Smart dog to submit to the female.

She turned back to the window, getting a
good shot of Brett’s fine ass in his faded jeans as he bent over to
pick up something that had fallen out of a box. She’d give anything
to see that man naked.

And here she’d thought she just wasn’t as
crazy about sex as her girlfriends.

Seeing Brett had her daydreaming about doing
it every which way and in every imaginable location. She’d never
before thought of sex as anything but in a bed and on the bottom.
She didn’t want to be just on the bottom with Brett, she wanted to
be adventurous, to try new things, to—

She shouldn’t be thinking about banging some
guy’s brains out when her life needed some serious repair and
strategic planning, especially a man with as many dark, secret
places as Brett obviously had had.

She’d lost her mind. Gone completely mad.
And she couldn’t stop the madness that filled her imagination with
images of a naked Brett and an equally naked Estie.

* * * * *

Bye week.

With some great stretch of luck—the kind
Brett didn’t usually have—the Jacks had earned a bye and a week off
while the wildcard teams battled it out. He used the time to study
film and dissect his technique, his strengths, and his weaknesses,
all under the relentless gaze Tyler Harris.

Brett also studied the great quarterbacks of
the present and past, especially the smaller guys because they all
shared one thing in common: they played bigger than they were and
made everyone forget they weren’t six-foot-four.

Determined to be one of those guys, Brett
was exhausted by the time Saturday rolled around. He stood in the
shower of his new apartment, while steaming water pounded his body.
He’d worked long hours all week, despite the team being given a few
days off. Harris never took days off and neither did Brett.