No Perfect Hero(45)

I’d buried it deep, any need for it. It feels like Haley’s digging it up again, unearthing a few too many things I'd rather keep hidden. I want to resent her for it.

But as I reread the note she left, Now we’re even, all I can do is smile.

Spitfire. Minx. Siren.

I want to be angry at the thought, but it’s getting harder to stay pissed over this little tangle of energy that came smashing into my life and threw it out of order.

She’s out back right now. I can glimpse her through the blinds, working on another canvas, capturing the morning sun.

But I can glimpse more there, too. That girl likes to wear as little as possible. Those cutoff shorts and the ripped basketball jersey leave her thighs and midriff exposed in tantalizing glimpses.

When I realized how drunk and hurt she was the other night, her body and my libido were the farthest things from my mind. Today I can’t help but linger, feeling that tight heat growing in the pit of my stomach.

Fuck, there’s just something about her.

I’ve had women writhe in my lap, pleading, and it has less effect on my dick than Hay with just the smallest glimpse of the tight swell of her stomach.

Or the way her thighs rub together as she moves, angling herself around the canvas.

I remember those thighs slick and wet from the tub. It’d be a thing of beauty to see her inner thighs dripping and beaded with her own—

God damn it, Warren.

Focus.

I’m putting not just myself, but Haley and Tara, in danger by letting myself get distracted by this woman. I can’t get attached. I can’t.

Not when all I’d be doing is painting a target on Hay’s sweet forehead.





*



Back on the hunt.

I need my mind where it belongs, and tonight it’s on Bress. I don’t know how a man who does what he does can be so oblivious.

Amazingly, he’s missed me tailing him across town, even if sometimes I had at least a little sense and turned down parallel streets so he’d only glimpse me now and then on cross streets. I’ve long suspected that not all of Bress’ nightly trips have to do with his illegal business, and tonight I’m proven right.

He’s got a mistress.

I can’t help but think of how disgusted Jenna would be.

As it is, I feel terrible for Bress’ wife and kid. Newborn baby, happy young mother, and this piece of shit’s stepping out to meet a side piece on the other side of town.

I even know who she is – Felicity Randall. Last Randall in town, ever since her drug addict dad finally kicked off and left her the sole owner of a little coffee shop and bakery that’ll go under any day now when she’s out here struggling on her own.

Guess I can’t blame her for turning to someone like Bress, if he can help her out. Desperate fucking times call for desperate measures.

I can blame him, though.

I blame him for a lot of things.

But this is the first time since I came back that he’s been to see her – that I know of – so if Bress isn’t taking these long nightly road trips to see his other woman regularly...

Where's he going?

There are a dozen satellite towns between here and Missoula, each larger than the last, increasingly under his thumb as he buys up property after property. He could have a network of associates anywhere, and untangling that web takes some damn time.

I’m not sure it’s even what I want.

There are faster ways to take Bress down. I could start with his business dealings, unravel them, leave the right evidence with the right agencies, then watch his life fall apart as a prison sentence comes crashing toward him like an out of control Mack Truck.

But that doesn’t feel personal enough.

That's not good enough. Not for Jenna.

And tonight, it looks like he’s not coming out of Felicity’s place. Damn.

I can’t stay here any longer, or someone might spot me.

Heart’s Edge is your typical small town. Everyone notices what everybody else is doing, and you can bet it’ll get back to so-and-so until next thing I know, I’ll have Bress himself in my face. Asking if I’m jealous, if I don’t have a life of my own.

It’s funny how we used to know each other.

And now we somehow always manage to avoid actually speaking to each other, two ships passing in the night.

It’s better that way.

If I have to talk to him face to face, my risk explodes.

I can’t keep a lid on what I might do to him, especially armed.

But tonight, I'm striking the hell out.

It’s time for me to pull out and head home. I need to try to get some actual sleep on a normal schedule, or people will notice that, too.

They'll realize I’m never around, that I sleep all day and drive around acting shady all night.

It’s a delicate balance, trying to scope out a criminal without getting pegged as one myself.

So tonight, I’ll be a good boy. I drive home, making it back to Charming Inn just in time to catch the sounds of laughter drifting out the open window next door, along with the tantalizing scents of dinner.

Hay and Tara must be amusing themselves while they wait for their food. It could feel like coming home, if this was my home to come to.

It’s not.

And I ignore the pull toward the other side of the duplex as I head to my own door. Then I catch a glimpse of orange fur through the glass of the front door, groan, and drag my hand over my face.