Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) (37 page)

She turned a decisive gaze toward him, her brown eyes shooting daggers. "You—"

"Watch it. They can hear you." He placed the phone up to his ear. He had a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right, but judging by the name sweetie, he guessed he was talking to Finn. "Hey, buddy, we're still on." He nodded. "I know." He gave Bren a big smile. "Your mom was confused."

Bren reached out to snatch back her phone and Rafe switched ears, pulling his body toward the door. He eyed her with amusement, and whispered, "Be nice, darlin'." He continued his conversation, telling Finn what to pack and supplies needed for their campout tonight. "Once I drop your mother off, I'll pull out the tent and drive on over to pick the three of you up. We'll pitch it together before dinner."

He snapped the phone shut and handed it back to her. "In case you haven't compartmentalized everything yet, they're my nephews, Bren. I love them just as much as I love you. And I'm claiming what's mine. So you better think about how you're going to explain me to them when we get back tomorrow. I'm not going to be an absentee uncle. And if you'd stop looking at me like I'm some damn criminal, you'd find it in your heart to forgive me for not telling you the truth."

She crossed her arms over her chest and dropped back into the seat. "Don't threaten me, Rafe. You got your way this time." Her eyes, determined and dark, glinted his way, a midnight blue ringing the depths of those gorgeous brown eyes—not that he could see it with the glare of the sun filtering through the windshield, but he knew it existed. Like he knew everything about her. Right down to the freckle on the curve of her pretty little ass cheek.

"Forgive and forget, darlin'. I'm not going anywhere. So you need to get used to my existence." He winked at her.

She growled and turned her face away.

Rafe laughed aloud.

I love you, and you love me back. I can wait. Trust me on that.

A
re you going to invite me in?" Dressed in silly flannel pajamas with penguins turned every which way, wearing her black peacoat overtop and a pair of fuzzy light-blue slippers, Jo leaned heavily with one hand on her cane. Her other hand wrapped around a large plastic bowl, brimming with freshly popped popcorn. Several DVDs were pinned under her arm.

Bren laughed. "You're crazy, Breakstone."The warm, buttery aroma made Bren salivate, and her hands, of their own volition, took the bowl from Jo, losing a few precious pieces when they spilled to the wooded floor of the porch.

"Hey, watch it, Ryan. That's my dinner." Jo grinned at her.

"I forgot. No hubby."

"He called before I left. He wanted me to ask if you'd continue holding down the fort. Another horse, a show jumper, died down in Louisville near Churchill Downs. Jeremy and the other vets were asked to assist in the investigation." Something in Jo's eyes changed. More guarded perhaps... or something... Maybe Jeremy's business trips were taking a toll on her. If she was still worried about him cheating on her, she hadn't mentioned it recently.

"Huh." Bren gripped the doorframe. "They don't think it was from natural causes?"

Jo thumped her way through the door and struggled with the movies while pulling her arm out of her coat sleeve. "I thought we could watch a couple chick flicks, eat some popcorn, and catch up on girl stuff." She glanced around. "Daniel left yesterday for Ireland?"

So she was ignoring the question. Odd. Bren let go of the doorframe and the crazy notions rolling around in her head. Jo and Jeremy's marriage was none of her business.

"He wanted to cancel because of everything. But I pushed him out the door. He'd planned to go back and visit months ago." Bren helped Jo with her coat. "What did you bring to watch?" Bren cocked her head, trying to get a glimpse of the covers. She frowned when she read Hugh Jackman's name. Of all the leading men in Hollywood, he could be Rafe's twin.

Ugh. Twin. Like I want to be reminded.

"What else did you bring besides
Australia?"

Jo pursed her lips, and eyed the second movie, and grimaced.
"Someone Like You."

"Ah, God, Jo." Bren's hand flew to her face and slid down, taking her cheek with it. "You're killing me here." She grabbed the two movies from Jo and held one up in each hand. "Tell me you don't notice the resemblance."

Jo shrugged. "He's hot. I know that." She gave her a wide smile.

Bren had a sneaking suspicion that the movies had been strategically chosen.

Yeah, too hot to be my brother-in-law. My lover...

Her face warmed.
Or Uncle Rafe.
She hadn't even considered how she was going to tell her boys. Nice he chose to drop that hot potato on her lap. Why was this
her
problem?

Jo grabbed the movies and hobbled into the family room. Leaning her cane against the overstuffed plaid couch, she plopped down and glanced back. "Come on, girlfriend." She held up one movie. "Romantic saga?" Then the other. "Or comedy?"

Bren couldn't help but see the irony and wanted to say
both.
Instead, she moved toward the kitchen and called back. "What do you want to drink?"

"You have Diet Coke?"

"Pepsi."

"That's fine."

Clearing the kitchen, Bren set down two tall glasses on the coffee table, the fizz of fresh carbonation spritzing her hands. She plopped down next to Jo, pressing her head into the soft cushion of the couch. "You decide which one." She angled her face toward Jo.

Jo reached over and squeezed her hand. "Everything okay with you and Rafe? It all came together so fast once I started digging. You were in Mexico when I found out."

Bren breathed in and sat up straight. "I knew there was something familiar about him." She'd seen it the night Rafe had caught her in what was now his house. It was the way he lifted his brow. Both Tom and Paddy shared that same gesture. She'd just never thought to connect
her
dark handsome stranger to Tom.

Ugh.
Bren grabbed the throw pillow, pulling it to her chest.
Eewh
incest."

"You dope." Jo grabbed the pillow and beaned her in the head. "He's not related to you. He's your brother-in-law, not your brother."

Bren grimaced. "I know that."

"Good. Now how'd it go with Paddy?"

"Not good. I've forgiven him. But Rafe's being a jerk." Bren shook her head. "Patrick Ryan was young, overwhelmed. He made the wrong decision. And he's had to live with his mistake, which came calling today."

"So what are you going to do with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?"

"I should kick his ass back to Texas." Bren frowned. "But I love him, Jo."

Jo's arm went around Bren and pulled her next to her. "Honey, he loves you, too."

"He said he never had any intentions of making himself known to me or the boys. I believe that. He only came to find his brother." She frowned. "Then stayed to find his killer." Neither had happened.

Jo snuggled closer. "Ah, the siren and her bewitching red hair were too much for the dashing rogue."

Bren snorted and pulled away. "You actually read that stuff?"

Jo laughed. "All the time."

"Seriously. What am I going to do?"

"Next time you see him, tell him you love him. Figure out a way to break the news to the boys, and live happily ever after."

This wasn't a fairytale—although it did have its villain. Speaking of which... "On a different note, what are the odds Wes will serve jail time for Smiley's murder?"

"It's hard to say. He's been slapped on the wrist for cruelty in the past, so there's a history. This is different, though. He stole your horse, paid for transport, and had it slaughtered. It's possible he'll get a few years."

Bren pulled on her lip. "Nothing like a murder charge, though."

Jo nodded. "If you're right and Wes really did kill Tom for revenge, he's covered his tracks well. I don't think any more digging is going to bring that to the surface." Jo sighed. "I think you need to focus on the present and not the past."

Jo was a dear friend. Her words were a gift, and if Bren had enough sense, she'd accept the advice and her life would cease to have so much drama. Then again, drama followed Bren like her own dark shadow. It was part of her. Trying to rid herself of it—impossible.

Bren sobered at the thought and let her body sink deeper into the cushions. She needed to get on with her life. Wes couldn't hurt her anymore, short of hiring a hit. Considering he'd be the prime suspect, that scenario wasn't likely.

"Hey." Bren nudged Jo, a sly smile curving her lips. "Since we're having girl talk, while you were investigating Rafe, did you find out his brother works for the DEA?"

She gave her an odd look. "Yeah, I saw mention of that when I was checking into the Langstons. Trey was their biological son. I think he's a few years older than Rafe."

"You never ran into him when you worked for the DEA?"

"It's a big organization. I never met him."

Something told Bren Jo wasn't being completely honest. Maybe it was the selective words.

I never met him.

But Bren had an inkling that the name Trey Langston made Jo uncomfortable. She might not have made the connection to Rafe before. What were the odds? But it seemed highly probable she knew of him.

One of these days, when the two were old and gray, she'd wheedle it out of her. But for now, Hugh Jackman beckoned. And she really needed the distraction—Rafe's look-alike or not.

Bren grabbed the movie off the coffee table. "I think I could use a laugh. And you're spending the night, so get comfy. You can stay in dad's room. Even has clean sheets."

B
ren awoke with a start. Had she dreamed it? She remained stock-still, her fingers tightening on the blankets. The sound came again, but it was different this time, like heavy soles crunching pebbles or glass?

Jo?

Bren reached for the light on her nightstand and struggled with the small switch until an audible click broke the silence. The relief that light would accompany it shot disappointment straight to her gut when she remained in darkness.

"Shit," she moaned. "Not again! I paid the damn electric bill."

She threw back the covers, her toes curling the moment they met the cold wooden floor. She tugged down Rafe's shirt, the one she'd shoved in her backpack when they were rushing to get to the tunnel in Mexico. It was unwashed, and, not wanting to remove his scent, she'd traded her horse pajamas for it before she slipped into bed. Admittedly juvenile and purely teenager, it had purpose—she'd fallen asleep.

The heavy pine door of her bedroom creaked when she opened it, and Bren moved down the hall. An eerie blue light from the far window down the hall glanced and shimmered off the walls. Jo's door was open, and Bren peeked inside. Her bed was empty. Bren gripped the doorknob. The glass... Maybe she was in the kitchen. Bren continued down the hall, peering into each bedroom and the hall bath, all empty. She took the first step, the carpet runner soft and giving beneath her bare feet. And then she heard it. A click. A footstep.

Jo only had soft slippers.

The gun. Bren made a move. Damn it—she didn't have it. Rafe, thinking she'd shoot herself in the foot or do real damage to someone else, had confiscated it.

Bren listened hard. Maybe she hadn't heard the footstep. She didn't hear anything now.

She wanted to call Jo's name, but her instincts were leaning heavily toward suppressing that need. Although the tingle of fear racing across her skin was unfounded—her only enemy was in jail—she'd go with her gut and hope the ridiculous notion of a hired hit man was wrong, and one didn't jump out and satisfy his contract.

She took her last step off the stairs and hesitated. She was defenseless. Bren peeked around the corner into the dining room, expecting the curtains to flutter, but they remained still. Just like her heart, which wanted to stop beating the moment she caught spindly tree limbs dancing menacingly across the lace.

Breathe.

She let out the air she'd been holding.
Get a grip. There's no one here, damn it.
The country dining room sat untouched. The last time she'd served dinner was Christmas, and that broken woman didn't exist. Whether her intuition was right or she was having a case of the creeps, she snagged the silver candlestick, one of a matching pair she and Tom had received as a wedding gift. It was the closest thing to a weapon she had. She pulled the wax candle from it, laying it on the buffet, and set her sights on the kitchen.

The tingle that something was amiss became stronger. The house was too quiet. Bren gripped the candlestick and moved tentatively toward the doorway to the kitchen, the intermittent gray light from a passing window the only light to guide her. She edged around the wall and peeked into the kitchen. Sharp slivers of cobalt blue, the remains of the only glass left of an original set of eight, glittered on the floor, catching the night-light's glow from the wall outlet.

Her shoulders tensed and then relaxed a fraction at the gallon of milk sitting on the center island. She shook her head. The glass she could clean up. It was an oddball, anyway. The candlestick she'd been holding like Lady Liberty's torch, she let drop to her side. Where the hell was Jo? If she was looking for a broom, it was in the laundry room. Bren angled her head and glanced inside the small room to the left, only to find the washer and dryer and a laundry basket on top.

Coming around the center island, Bren grabbed the cap to the milk, the simple task interrupted when Bren's toe touched something furry that moved. Every hair on her body stood at attention, and she willed herself to look down. Her adrenaline spiked, and her hand dipped to retrieve Jo's furry blue slipper. Its softness a sense of security, she held it to her chest. But her safe and secure world tilted when she saw Jo's body lying motionless on the floor.

Bren dropped down next to her, the candlestick falling. Her hand trembled above Jo's forehead, the gash jagged and oozing, dark with blood. "Jo! Oh my God."