Stone Cold (An Iron Tornadoes MC Romance) (4 page)

"She's right, ma'am," says a low voice behind me.

I jerk around. One of the task force guys has come in. I remember his name because I thought it was funny when he introduced himself as Ernest-something, and then I heard his buddies call him Everest—cool nickname for a mountain of a man, who apparently moves silently, since I never heard him come in.

"You can't be held accountable for your son's actions," he adds, and then he picks up two cans of beer from the ice bucket on the kitchen table and leaves.

I smile at Nancy and say, "There's something to be said for men of few words. They get straight to the point."

She smiles back at me and nods. "I'll go look for your uncle now. He's feeling even more guilty than I am."

We hug, and she leaves through the back door. I hope they're able to console each other.

I go back out to the living room with a tray, and the neighbors have gone. There's no one left besides Ernest and the captain. It's kind of incongruous to see those two macho men on the flowery cushions of my mother's swing. I let them be and go into cleaning mode.

For an instant I can make myself believe that I'm in New York at the restaurant, cleaning up after a very busy evening. I can dream that next week I'll start my summer internship in the law firm that hired me for their eight-week summer program. I would have made a bundle of money, had something to brag about on my resume, and learned what the life of a criminal attorney is like.

They were very polite and nice when I called to let them know that I had a family situation that would prevent me from joining them this summer; still, now I'm probably blacklisted for any possible future internship there.

I miss my life in New York; I miss Lyv. She's been calling me every other day to cheer me up. This morning she said that she had moved everything out of my dorm room. She's storing my stuff in the restaurant's basement, and she had spoken to the dean of the law school about my situation and asked me if I was considering a transfer to a Florida university.

I'm not sure what I need to do for my third year.

What's going to happen to my scholarship if I request a transfer? David used to say, "No need to worry when it's only about money."

Oh, God, no. David's dead
.

I drop the tray on the counter in the kitchen and fall apart.

I've been holding my head up all day, and now all the tears I've held back are coming out at once. I lean against the wall and slide down to the floor. I cry my heart out until I hear the kitchen door open.

Captain Williams and Everest walk in.

"There you are," says the captain. "We were looking for you."

I want to scramble to my feet and apologize, but I just can't.

Everest says, "You can go, sir. I'll stay until she's better."

The captain thanks him and leaves.
 

Everest
grabs another beer from the bucket and sits on the kitchen floor next to me. He's close enough that my shoulder touches his arm. After a moment, I pull myself together and I stop crying. When my breathing is back to normal, he hands me a tissue. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose.

Everest's got amazing green eyes. It’s almost the same shade of green than Brian’s eyes. But Everest has blond hair trimmed by a buzz cut. Everest is sexy.

What's wrong with me? Brian's kiss has kicked my libido awake. It had been asleep for years, and it's coming back with a vengeance.
Seriously, Lisa, you're thinking about sex on the day you buried your brother?
Yeah, I guess I am, but then, is there a better way to celebrate life?

"How are you feeling?" Everest asks, compassion in his eyes, but not just that. There's a twinkle of something else.

"Lost… broken… sad… angry… and also scared," I answer slowly as I think about it, looking in the emerald sea of his eyes. He's got incredibly long lashes for a man.

"Wanna talk about it?"
 

"No, not really," I say, but then, because there's something about him that makes him easy to talk to, I start thinking out loud. "I need to do the best that I can with the hand I'm dealt. I'm thinking about moving back here with my mother because she can't live alone. But that'll be okay as long as I find a way to finish school. I know in time I'll be fine… Oh, and even if I just hang around for the summer only, I need to find a job to keep myself busy until the fall."
 

Everest chuckles when I stop talking, so I smile at him and ask, "What's funny?"

"Your version of not really wanting to talk. I wonder what it's like when you spill your guts," he says.

I mock-punch him in the shoulder and say, "You're not allowed to make fun of me today."

He tilts his head sideways to get a better look at me and says, "Then I guess I need to come back another day to get another shot at it."

"I would like that very much," I spontaneously say. I really like him. What's not to like? He's not handsome per se, but he's pleasant to look at, and he seems sweet and caring.

"The good news is that your mother won't be able to object to your going out on a date with a police officer," he says.

"Why not?" I have no idea why he's saying that. On the contrary, I believe my mother is going to tell me to stay as far as possible from anyone whose job can get them killed.

"Seriously?" he asks, and I nod. "I have the feeling you're going to be seeing a lot of Captain Williams. He seems quite sweet on your mother."

"Wow, I never saw
that
one coming," I blurt out. The idea of my mother dating or being the subject of a man's attention is so foreign to me that I have to ask, "You're sure?"

"Why are you surprised? Your mother's a fine-looking woman, and I think she's just about the right age for Steven." He laughs. "Anyway, it's time for me to go."

He gets to his feet and offers his hand to help me up. His hands are warm and strong. He's really a sweet man. I walk him to the front door, and he picks up a helmet that he had left on the porch. I notice a cool bike parked on the street.

"Nice ride," I say.

"You like it?" he asks stepping down from the porch. There's a spark in his eyes when he looks at his machine, as though he's really proud of it.

"Yeah, I don't know much about engines and stuff; I just love the feeling of freedom you get."

Memories of crazy rides on the beach with David hit me, and I fight the tears, which are threatening to come back.

"You have a safe ride now, you hear," I say as I retreat to the house.

I lock the door behind me and straighten the furniture in the main room. I'm thinking about picking up the rest of the stuff, and then I decide against it. I'm going to leave it there; it will be good for my mother to have something to do tomorrow. I'm just going to load the dishwasher and then lose myself in a good book.

The second I step back into the kitchen, the back door slams open. It's Brian. He's dressed just as he was when I ran into him at the pharmacy; he's got the total-badass look, and he's just as angry and sinfully sexy as he was that day.

But today I'm just as angry as he is. Perhaps more. I'm mad because he was a no-show at the service and at the burial. No matter what they fought about when David and he went their separate ways, it's no excuse for not coming to show his respect. And if he didn't care enough to bother attending the funeral, what is he doing here?

Before I have a chance to ask him, he grabs a beer from the cooler and sits on a stool.

Looking at the can as he cracks it open, he says, "I thought he would never leave."

I take a step in his direction to confront him, and then I think better of it. I just ignore him and do what I intended to do in the first place. I load the dishwasher with the dirty glasses. I throw side-glances at him. He's drinking his beer and watching me make a big show of acting as if he wasn't there.

I know it pisses him off because I've been doing it since I was a kid. Clamming up and sulking is my forte, and it's always driven him up the wall. It used to annoy the heck out of David, too. When I was a teenager, I would still do it every time I got raving mad about something. Instead of telling them what I was upset about, I would act as if they didn't exist until they figured it out.

Of course now that I'm an adult, I realize it's very immature behavior. It's a lot healthier to spit out what's eating you up instead of letting it simmer in you for days. However, today I don't think I'm being immature. If he can't figure out why I'm mad at him, then we really don't have anything more to say to each other.

Once the machine is loaded and closed, I take the few remaining cans from the cooler and place them in the fridge. The melted ice from the cooler goes into the sink. I leave it upside down to dry.

That's it. I'm done. I wipe my hands on the towel and glare at Brian then turn away and head for the door to the main room.

I shut off the light as if Brian weren't behind me in the room, and I hear him hiss. I'm starting to open the door when he springs from his seat and slams it shut with a hand flat on the door. I turn around. My back to the door, I give him the coldest stare I can muster, but when I do, my breath catches in my throat because deep down inside me there's heat soaring.

My eyes fall on his lips, and I so badly want him to kiss me as he did last time that it almost hurts.

"You don't want to talk," he growls. "That's fine because I'm not in a talking mood either."

And then I get my wish because he kisses me, and I let him until there's nothing left of me but a ball of need. I know I'm going insane because I urge him on with the crazy moans that escape my lips. My fingers thread in his hair, and I hold on to him as if my life depended on it. His hands go to my breast and then slide to my ass. He digs his fingers into my flesh and lifts me up. He's pinning me against the door, and it feels so good I never want him to stop. I wrap my legs around him as I need more, so much more, but we're wearing way too many clothes.
 

When he pulls his mouth away we're both panting.

I look into his eyes. His gaze mirrors the hunger I feel for him. It's incredible because there's not a shred of restraint left in me. God, I'm game for just about anything. I let go of his hair and put one hand on his chest next to a patch that says "Future organ donor," and I don't find it funny at all. I move my hand and uncover the Iron Tornadoes patch. Seeing it, I crash back to reality.

I don't want to, but I need to push him away. I need to know what happened between David and him. I need to know, but I'm so scared of the answer that the question that pops out of my mouth is not the one I thought I would ask.

"How did David die?"

Brian's grip lessens on my butt, and I drop my legs from around his hips. My feet reach the ground, and there's more space between us, but he hasn't let go of me yet.

"You don't want to know," he says sounding like Captain Williams. He closes his eyes and takes a step back.
 

"Yes, I do. It's eating me up. I have nightmares where I see him die a hundred deaths, and each one is more horrible than the last," I tell him.

"Did they let you see him?" The concern in his voice is tearing me apart. This means that he still cares about me, but it also means it had to be ugly.

"No." He lets out a sigh of relief but it's my turn to be adamant. "Brian, I need to know; it's driving me insane."

He stares at me, and it looks as if he understands that I really do need to know.

"He was at the wrong place at the wrong time. He got into a knife fight and he lost. The blade went right through his chest. He was dead before he hit the ground," he says, and he studies my face. I keep my expression neutral while I process this. It doesn't add up—a knife wound is easy to hide. No need for a closed casket because of a knife wound. I shake my head and frown at him. I'm not buying it, and he sees it.

"They did a number with his body after he died…" he explains.

I try to put on my best poker face, but I fail miserably. Bile is coming up my throat. I make it to the garbage can just in time. I'm so angry right now that, given a chance to do so, I would probably kill whoever went after my brother's corpse—so much for all my passionate pleas against the death penalty in moot court exercises. It's one thing when you're looking at the issue from the dispassionate view of a bystander; it's another thing altogether when your family is at stake. Right this second I feel murderous—I want blood.

"How do you know?" The accusation is unmistakable. For a second, I see the hurt in in his eyes. It's worse than if I had slapped him.

"I was told about it by someone who was there," he says, his expression and his tone almost indifferent. "You sure know how to kill the mood." He turns away and heads for the back door, waving over his shoulder as he says, "See you around, sweet butt."

I grab the can of beer he left on the table and hurl it at the door. Bad idea—he hadn't finished it, and now I need to clean up the liquid splashed all the way to the door. As I mop, I start crying again. I hate it—I'm turning into a fountain, or maybe my mother.

I resolve to stop crying and try to reason with myself. After all, he was dead by then, so it shouldn't really matter. There was nothing left but an empty shell. It's not as if they hurt him. Only animals go after a dead body like that!

Cold reasoning doesn't work today.

My mother must never know. If she finds out, it will push her over the edge. She's so fragile, I'm not sure I'm going to be strong enough to keep her together.

But what if Everest was right? What if David's captain was really sweet on her? Now that I'm wrapping my mind around the concept, I see my mother in a totally different light. Objectively, she's really okay. How old is she anyway? Fifty-five or fifty-six. When I was a teenager, I used to see her as ancient. Some of my law professors and some partners I interviewed with were probably older than she is, and I never thought for a second that their lives were over. I know they had rich professional lives, and I'm pretty sure their private lives were active as well, so why did I look on my mother differently?