Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #4)(146)

Walking out to the center of the courtyard, he sat on the edge of the fountain’s marble pool and watched as the shutters came down over the windows of the main house and the Pit. He blinked a little at the glow in the sky. Then blinked a lot.

As his eyes started to burn, he thought about Marissa and remembered every single thing about her, from the shape of her face to the fall of her hair to the sound of her voice and the scent of her skin. Here in privacy, he let his feelings out, giving in to the aching love and the hateful yearning that refused to leave him be.

And what do you know, the bonding scent made an appearance once again. He’d somehow managed to withhold it when he’d been around her, feeling as though marking her wasn’t fair. But here? Alone? No reason to hide.

As the sunrise gathered momentum, his cheeks flared with pain, like he had a sunburn, and his body twitched with alarm. He forced himself to stay because he needed to see the sun, but his thighs trembled from the urge to run, and he wasn’t going to be able to hold them for long.

Shit…he was never going to catch daylight again, was he? And with Marissa out of his life, there would be no kind of sunshine for him. Ever.

The darkness owned him, didn’t it.

He released the lock on himself because he had no choice, and the instant he did, his legs raced across the courtyard. Hurling his body through the Pit’s vestibule, he slammed the innermost door and breathed roughly.

There was no rap music playing, but V’s leather jacket was tossed on the chair behind the computers, so he was around. Probably still at the big house doing a postgame wrap-up with Wrath.

As Butch stood by himself in the living room, the familiar urge to drink hit hard, and he could see no good reason not to give in. Dumping his coat and his weapons, he headed for the Scotch, poured himself a long/tall, and brought the bottle out with him from the kitchen. Going over to his favorite couch, he lifted the glass to his lips and while he swallowed, his eyes fell on the newest issue of Sports Illustrated. There was a picture of a baseball player on the cover and next to the guy’s head, in big yellow print, was a single word: HERO.

Marissa was right. He did have a hero complex. But it wasn’t about some kind of an ego trip. It was because maybe if he saved enough people he could be…forgiven.

That’s what he was truly after: absolution.

Flashbacks from his younger years started to play like pay-per-view, except sure as shit this wasn’t a movie he’d choose to order. And in the midst of the show, his eyes slid to the phone. There was only one person who could ease him about this stuff, and he doubted she would. But damn, if he could reach out and have his mother say, just once, that she forgave him for letting Janie get into that car…

Butch sat down on the leather sofa and put his Scotch aside.

He waited there for hours, until the clock said nine. And then he picked up the phone and dialed a number that started with the area code 617. His father answered.

The conversation was just as awful as Butch had thought it might be. The only thing worse? The news from home.

As he ended the call on the cordless, he saw that the total elapsed time, counting the six rings at the beginning, was one minute thirty-four seconds. And it was, he knew, likely the last time he would talk to Eddie O’Neal.

“What’s doing, cop?”

He jumped and looked up at Vishous. Saw no reason to lie. “My mother’s sick. For the past two years, apparently. Has Alzheimer’s. Bad. Of course, no one thought to tell me. And I would never have known if I hadn’t just called.”

“Shit…” V came over and sat down. “You want to go see her?”

“Nope.” Butch shook his head and picked up his Scotch. “Got no reason to. Those people aren’t my business anymore.”





Chapter Forty-eight




The following evening, Marissa shook the hand of her new residence director. The female was perfect for the position. Smart. Kind. Soft of voice. Trained in public health at NYU—the night school, of course.

“When would you like me to start?” the female said.

“How’s tonight sound?” Marissa replied wryly. When she got an enthusiastic nod in response, she smiled a little. “Great…Why don’t I show you to your office.”

When Marissa got back from the upstairs bedroom she’d assigned the director, she went to her laptop, logged in to Caldwell’s multiple listing service, and started looking at some other properties for sale within the community.

It wasn’t long before she saw nothing at all. Butch was a constant pressure on her chest, an invisible weight that made it hard to breathe. And if she wasn’t busy, memories of him consumed her.

“Mistress?”

She looked up at Safe Place’s doggen. “Yes, Phillipa?”

“Havers has referred a case to us. The female and her son are going to be driven here tomorrow after the young is stabilized, but the case history taken by the clinic’s nurse is going to be e-mailed over to you within the hour.”

“Thank you. Will you get a room ready for them downstairs?”

“Yes, mistress.” The doggen bowed and left.

So, Havers was keeping his word, wasn’t he.

Marissa frowned, that now perennial sense that she was missing something coming back to her. For some reason, an image of Havers came to mind and wouldn’t leave…and that’s what brought the shadowed thought to light.