The Last Execution (14 page)

“I hurt you?”

“Wait here.” She stood. “Please.” With one hand over her breast, she walked down the hall into her bedroom and closed the door.

J.T. not only didn’t stir from his position, he held his breath. The hug from behind had been a gesture of a friendly nature. He hadn’t touched her in a sexual way. Shit. He’d like nothing better, but he wasn’t a complete jerk. Her eyes were rimmed red when she returned and sat on the floor. This time she faced him.

She swallowed hard a couple of times. “He squeezed my breast, and you bumped me with your arm.” Tears rose back to the surface. “I’ve been afraid to look.”

“And?” J.T.’s stomach dropped to his feet. His hands rolled into fists. The sorry bastard deserved more than a good beating.

“Bruised. I don’t know what I expected.” She wiped the tears hanging on the edge of her eyelashes.

“Did you have the doctor take a look?”

“No. I will if it gets worse. Ethan will be up in a few hours. We’d better sleep while we can.”

The desire to gather her close and comfort her hit J.T. hard. He’d never wanted to hold anybody as badly. Instead, careful not to hurt her again, he helped her up. A joke felt more appropriate for the situation.

“If you’re scared, I can be convinced to sleep with you.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, and J.T. wondered if she was considering his offer.

“I appreciate it, but all I’m taking to bed with me is this icepack.”

“Would you feel better with me asleep on the floor next to your bed?”

Finally, he got a light chuckle out of her. “Wait here, I’ll bring you a pillow and blanket.”

Soon, J.T. had stretched out on the too short couch. Would Leigh rest? He couldn’t. She had a lunatic on her hands, and they had to be ready for his next move. He pushed himself up, walked to the window, and stared out into the darkness. Carrington laying his hands on Leigh in anger revved J.T.’s heartbeat too high for sleep.

She’d flip out if she found out he dug around in her personal life. Damn, he wanted to know more about Carrington.

What kind of bastard did that make him? He’d stood in her living room contemplating having a relationship with her, knowing he’d hurt her when the time came for him to walk away.
The worst kind.

Chapter Ten

Sunday, May 2, 7:30 a.m.

Don’s eyes opened with a snap. Unfamiliar surroundings and the hand on his thigh sent his body rigid. The panic was fleeting. Slowly, Ellen’s hand travelled to his hipbone, over to his belly, and down to wrap around his morning hard-on. He lifted his hips, encouraging her to keep stroking him.

“My goodness, aren’t you raring to go?”

“Sure am. You can wake me up like this all the time.”

He pushed the slight hitch in his heart aside. His dead wife would want him to move on. She’d encourage him to find happiness. Especially with a good woman like Ellen. Last night, after a few drinks, he’d learned why Ellen lived alone. Five years ago, her long-term, cheating boyfriend had ended their relationship. Heartbroken, she’d blamed herself for the failure. To fill her lonely hours, she’d dedicated herself to nursing and a local women’s shelter. Until last night, she hadn’t trusted another man enough to allow him in her bed. Her sweetness touched him somewhere deep inside.

“Careful. I might take you up on your offer.”

He didn’t know or care why she’d welcomed him into her life and body without a lot of romancing. He’d never been good with putting his emotions into words. His wife had taken him at face value. She’d accepted him as a plain, ordinary guy without fancy trimmings. Had fate been kind and sent him another woman who didn’t need mushy talk?

She’d fill a void in his heart, and he’d fulfill her every fantasy.

This was about her enjoyment. With one quick maneuver, he’d seated Ellen on top. Her lips were damp, and her eyes wide when he entered her with a powerful thrust. He’d take time to acquaint her with the thrills of multiple orgasms. Take time to show his appreciation for her trust.

****

Sunday, May 2, 8:00 a.m.

J.T. opened one eye and stared into two small blue ones. There was a question coming. Like why he’d slept on the couch. Other than “go ask your mother,” he had no clue what to say. He rolled off onto the floor to straighten out his bent, cramped torso. He groaned into a stretch. Ethan landed on top of J.T. with a giggle.

“Easy,” J.T. pleaded. “Is your mom up?”

“No. Wanna play?”

“Not really.”

The kid jumped up and down a couple of times.

“Don’t bounce,” J.T. warned.

Ethan turned his head sideways and studied J.T.’s face. Wide eyed, the kid pointed at the scar with his index finger. J.T. wasn’t surprised. The kid was probably curious.

“How’d you get that?”

“A piece of shrapnel—” He paused and considered Ethan’s age. “I was in the war. A bomb went off and a piece of metal smacked me in the face.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore.” J.T. marveled at the innocence in Ethan’s eyes.

“Can I touch it?”

“I guess so.” J.T. breathed in and waited.

Ethan hesitated, leaning closer. “I’m not supposed to talk about your scar.”

“Who said?”

“Mama.”

“It’s okay. I won’t tell.”

J.T. turned his head to the side. No one had outright asked to touch the constant reminder of a day when his best friend caught the worst of an IED. Hell, people shied away from his right side. Except Leigh. She looked him square in the face. He lay still while Ethan poked a finger into the scar a couple of times. After a few seconds of investigation, the kid cupped the scar with his small hand and patted lightly. The oddest thing happened to J.T.’s heart. It swelled inside his chest and then clenched.

“Mama said you were a brave soldier.”

Alien emotions swirled through J.T. and an unexplained urge to hug Ethan put a weird lump in J.T.’s throat. Unable to cope or understand, his mind raced for an idea, anything to end the moment. He growled, turned his head, and snapped as if he were trying to bite. Ethan shrieked with laughter and resumed his bouncing.

“Easy, kid.” Thank God, the strange tightening of his heart ended. Relief allowed J.T. to take a deep breath. “Let me hit the bathroom, and then we’ll fix coffee.”

“I’m not allowed to touch stuff in the kitchen.”

Finally, Ethan slid to the floor and stood next to the couch.

“Okay. You’ll show me where everything is. I’ll take care of the rest.” J.T. hurried to the bathroom, anywhere to regain his bearings. He stuck his head under the tap in an effort to wash away the unrealistic emotions he’d experienced, finger-combed his hair, and rinsed his mouth out with Scope. More than enough grooming for a Sunday.

Ethan, wearing gold-and-black Falcons pajamas, his blond hair wild and curly like his mother’s, waited in the kitchen. He pointed out the correct cabinet and within minutes, Mr. Coffee was doing its thing. J.T. felt the tug on the leg of his jeans.

“Why’d you sleep over?” Ethan asked.

J.T. looked toward the hallway willing Leigh to materialize and provide answers. Was he supposed to tell the kid his momma looked like she’d been in a street fight? And lost. No way. “Because your mom had an accident after I left. She’s got some bruises on her neck and cheek. I came back to take care of her.” J.T. braced himself for a barrage of questions or at least a child’s version of a panic attack.

Ethan’s brow furrowed, and he started moving toward his mother’s bedroom.

“She’s fine,” J.T. added. “Maybe we should let her sleep.”

Ethan considered the suggestion for a second. “I’m hungry.” He opened the refrigerator. “Do you know how to make cereal?”

“Cereal, I can handle.”

Ethan wandered back to the living room and turned on the TV while J.T. fixed two bowls of Fruit Loops. They sat on the floor, ate breakfast, and watched
SpongeBob SquarePants.

J.T. was in the kitchen when he heard the snick of the lock on the bathroom door. He rinsed the dishes and then poured two coffees. The window over Leigh’s sink looked out on a small yard, complete with a swing set. A lifetime ago, he’d had a truck tire hanging from a tree next to Nana’s garden. The family thing unnerved him. He didn’t do domestic. Yet, here he was playing nursemaid to a six-year-old and worrying about the kid’s mother.

“Is one of those for me?” Leigh asked.

“Shit.” His effort to maintain a straight face failed. Her swollen cheek was already turning bluish purple. His blood spiked and his fingers coiled.

“Exactly. The same word crossed my lip while I was standing in front of the mirror,” she whispered. She tiptoed to the door and peeked into the living room. “Thanks for keeping him occupied.”

J.T.’s hand shook when he carried the coffee to her. Fire raged through his veins, and he kicked himself for his shocked expression. “No problem.” He tried to keep the sympathy out of his tone. He failed.

“You’ve seen worse. Right?”

“Never on somebody I cared about.” He cupped her unbruised cheek with his hand. She’d left her hair loose and an explosion of long wild blonde curls hung across her shoulders. The same hand touching her face itched to tunnel through the tangled silk. The same hand ached to wrap around her waist and pull her to him. The same hand wanted to hurt the bastard who given her pain.

She stepped away from him, glanced toward the living room, and then back at him. “What will I tell Ethan.”

“He’s already asked why I was here.”

“Oh, crap. What did you say?”

“The truth. You had an accident, and I came back to help. Didn’t seem to faze or surprise him.”

Her back straightened, and she moved closer.

“To correct your assumption—he’s never gotten out of bed and found a man in the house.”

“Easy, Hotshot. Don’t get pissy with me. I wasn’t insinuating anything.” Her statement pleased him...and because it did, confused him. His gaze drifted down the front of her shirt and stopped on her breasts. Had she been hurt worse than she’d admitted? “You sure you don’t need to go back to the doctor?”

She shot him a fiery look before noticing where his gaze rested. “I’m sure.” She flushed pink, grinned, and turned away.

“Just checking.”

“Ethan,” she called over the TV. “Come in here, please.”

J.T. pulled out his cell and carried his coffee to the backyard. The upcoming conversation between mother and son was no place for him. He’d find someone to install better deadbolts and check out prices on an alarm system. It wasn’t his place to tell her what to do. He could arm her with good information.

****

Sunday, May 2, 4:00 p.m.

Leigh sat down at the kitchen table, closed her eyes, and relished the silence. After she’d called her mother with the news, the day had been a blur of activity. Her dad and J.T. had morphed into Bob Vila wannabes. Between them and the locksmith her dad had insisted on calling out, they’d driven Leigh to distraction.

She’d agreed to their suggestion of a second set of deadbolts, window locks, and the installation of a burglar alarm. Even then, she couldn’t relax. As long as Jason Carrington was a free man, she’d never feel safe.

She wanted to shower. Again. Wanted to wash away the memory of him on top of her. Wished she knew what he had planned next. Needed to be ready. No doubt, this was a prelude to much worse. He was toying with her, taunting her.

Her mom had insisted Leigh needed recovery time before reporting to work Monday morning, so Ethan was going to Peachtree City for the night. Leigh walked to the front door and waved at her son one more time, wondering why they hadn’t insisted she accompany them.

J.T. stood in the yard until they’d driven out of sight. He had an innate goodness about him. Being the protector suited his personality. Although, he’d probably be pissed if she told him. She liked his quiet confidence and his stringent belief in right and wrong. She corralled the warmth spreading across her chest and the tightening around her heart. Allowing her emotions to take off to parts unknown was a huge risk. He was a short-term colleague, a loner, who from what she’d seen, didn’t allow people to get close. A woman with a son? Good luck finding the welcome mat to his heart.

“Your dad’s knees were hurting,” J.T. said as he stepped on the porch. “He limped all afternoon.”

“Bicycle raspberries take forever to heal.” She shifted nervously, propping her hip against the doorframe. “You’ve been so helpful. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“You’ve already said thanks.” He raised his eyebrows. “You barricading the entry for a reason?”

“Oh.” Leigh moved to the side and let him enter. “I figured you’d leave right after Mom and Dad.”

“Nope.” His chest rose as he inhaled a deep breath. “We can do this a couple of ways,” he said in a businesslike, facts-only manner. “Until the alarm system is operational, either I stay here, or you come home with me.”

“Not necessary. You’ve done enough.” J.T. staying last night made sense. What he’d suggested for tonight was entirely out of the question. Her pulse accelerated every time he got near. Geesh. She was a mother, not a young girl looking for a prom date.
Talk about a disaster in the making.