Mystic Hearts (15 page)

He
grasped her arms. “Babe,” he said on a puff of air. “Not here, not now. Not
when you’re on emotional overload.”

Charlene
pulled her lips inward and recoiled. The sexual fog had her thinking
irrationally. He was right, not here, not now, not…just not. Emotional overload
had her acting crazy. Embarrassed, she shifted and watched the approaching car.
Steve and Jake sprung out of a vehicle.

She
stiffened. Larry slid a comforting arm behind her back.

“Charlene.”
Pamela hurried from a red car parked in front of her house and hugged her.

She
appreciated Pamela’s support, yet sadness weighed heavily. She stepped back.

Larry
went to Jake, who surveyed the damage.

 
“Son of a bitch!” Jake yelled.

“He’s
blowing off steam,” Pamela said, placing a hand on Charlene’s arm. “He’s not
mad at you,”

“I
screw up everything.” She gave a defeated sigh and approached Jake, ready to meet
the consequences.

His
stern gaze stayed on his car, his face a deep red.

“I’m
so sor-ry.” Charlene’s voice broke. Her energy left with the last swing she
inflicted on Andrew. If that hadn’t done it, Jake’s anguished expression would
have. He’d done so much to help her, and this was how she repaid him?

The
crinkles around the corners of Jake’s eyes softened. He hugged her and kissed
the top of her head. “There’s no reason for you to apologize. I’m glad you’re
okay.”

He
locked gazes with Pamela. A silent conversation passed between them before he
gave a weak smile. Pamela returned it.

She’d
love to know another person so well that thoughts were relayed telepathically…

“Hey.”
Steve drew her into his chest. “Celine couldn’t make it.,” No one was available
to work at Fredericksburg Tourist. She mentioned, she’d kick everyone out and
would close the store early if you wanted her to.”

“There’s
no reason. The word spread like wildfire, huh?” Charlene gave a weak smile.

“Yep.
It’s what we BOFs do. Larry called Jake for back-up. Jake phoned me and Pamela,
and so on. You get the picture. ”

Charlene
nodded. The family the BOFs gifted her, Henry, and her mother with was
irreplaceable. She cherished it and hated anyone or anything that tried to come
between them or cause them harm.

Jake
crouched, examining the car’s broken grill before he lifted the hood. “The
radiator is busted!”

 
“Andrew will pay,” she pledged under her
breath.

“Be
careful,” Larry said, stepping beside her. “He’s dangerous.”

She
raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me what to do again?”

Larry
shook his head and ran a hand down his face. When he dropped it, he looked
weary. “How can you be sweet one minute and so defensive the next?” He held up
his hands. “Never mind, I get it.” He pulled her against him and kissed her
lips. “You have my number.”

She
nodded, folded her arms under her chest, and gazed unfocused across the street.
The bitch in her came out twofold when it came to Larry, like a defense
mechanism. His sweetness and the desire she had for him scared her, causing the
worst in her to surface.

Larry
started his Suburban. The back and forth emotional stuff between them grew old
fast.

Her
body wanted him. Her psyche fought it. She had an accepting inner voice and a
scared one. The positive one insisted she stop him. The negative, afraid side,
demanded she protect herself and let him go, not allowing anyone in to her
personal space to witness her feelings.

The
scared side won. In the past, her kind disposition had caved too many times. Look
where that kind of behavior got her…fighting her ex-husband with a baseball
bat.

She
slid her gaze to Larry.
Look at me, she
willed
,
let me know you genuinely
care.

He
waved and winked.

Warmth
radiated over her body and she smiled.

The
tension she experienced seconds ago evaporated. She struggled to find her own
balance with life. Life’s burdens rained down, threatening to destroy the last
bit of strength and willpower she had.

And
him…well, she didn’t know what was up. As charming as he was, she believed a
checkered past motivated his possessiveness and need to tell her what to do.
She recalled the discarded lingerie purchase in her foyer and hoped Larry would
return later to pursue ‘kick off.’

“Mommy…mommy.”
Henry bumped into her legs.

She
spotted her mother’s car beside Pamela’s as she smiled at Henry. “Hi, sweetie.”

“Mommy,
where’d Daddy go?”

“I’m
not sure.”

Her
mom approached. When Henry moved off to hug the BOF’s members, Doris asked,
“Was Andrew arrested?”

“He
was gone by the time they arrived.”

Doris
stretched her arm around Charlene and gazed at the car. “I wonder if Andrew has
any idea the wrath he set forth today. Not only did he come after a good friend
of these men, but he damaged Jake’s car.” Doris shook her head. “Andrew will
wish they’d arrested him.”

Charlene
watched Jake, talking to Steve and Pamela. What her mother said was true.
Andrew would pay, but not at the hands of her friends. They’d been through
enough because of her. She snatched the bat Andrew used to damage the car from
the pavement. “I’ll handle it.”

Doris
gasped.

Chapter Nine

Parked
in an empty driveway in Charlene’s subdivision a block from her house, Mathews
punched the dashboard, a bucket of fury slamming into the center of his chest.
To the right of the steering wheel, the hard material cracked and fishtailed a
line to the glove compartment. “Goddamn it!”

Pain
stung his knuckles, matching the throbbing in his left hand, the burn over his
bruised ribs, and the ache in his heart. Charlene swinging a metal bat at him
had been a setback in his plan for a happy family.

When
she struck his wrist, ligaments popped. He knew his bride could play ball. He’d
just never thought about how hard she could swing. Her newly acquired
aggression was another item to add to his, ‘Why I hate the fucking Band of
Friends’ list.

A
black Suburban approached, and Mathews ducked down in the seat before ‘big
fuzz’ saw him. Discovery would ruin his chances to win Charlene.

Surprising
her by having milk and cookies with Henry, Mathews assumed she’d remember what
they once had before he left. He expected she’d ask him to stay with open arms
and a warm bed. The bat in her hand told him differently. Immediately, he
devised a new plan to wiggle his way into her life and pushed aside the image
of her hot body wrapped around his...for now.

Getting
off wasn’t his issue, Rona’s petite hands did the job perfectly. She’d proven
it last night when she showed up at the manor unexpectedly. He’d escorted her
to his secret room and banged her until she could no longer stand. Letting Rona
into his world, even just a little, was more than he wanted. She’d become a
liability. One that he’d use to his advantage, until she no longer had a
purpose. Blowing her brains out didn’t set well. Nope, he’d dispose of her with
a little more grace than what he had planned for the big fuzz.
 

A
lethal dose of the Columbian herb ‘devil’s breath’ would do the trick. He knew
just the place—in the babbling spring below the barn. Rona often cupped a hand
in the clear liquid to drink the water whenever she had the chance.

Andrew
scooted against the back of the seat until he could see out the windshield.

Charlene
walked into the house, carrying Henry, his head resting on her shoulder. An
emptiness filled Mathews’s chest. He missed his family. Only one more day
before big fuzz and his partner would be out of the picture, and he could claim
his family again.

The
Black Scorpions were due to arrive. The rattlesnake traps he set failed. He’d
use the posthole digger to construct the holes for anyone who thought they’d
try to take over the operation. The added snakes told the Impalers he was not a
man to cross.

Earlier,
Mathews had peer through his binoculars at the gaggle of agents walking toward
the traps from a window on the second floor of Greenwood Manor. He’d nearly come
from the thrill of watching big fuzz disappear into the hole. If only he’d
died.

He
twisted the key to his worn out Celica. The engine roared to life. Time to work
off his excitement. He put the car in gear and headed back to his hideaway to
find Rona.

****

A
sphere of guilt played havoc with rationale, or what Larry perceived was the
right action to take. As much as he wanted to hold Charlene close, feel her
heart beating against his, he listened to his internal alarms that said by
staying he’d do her more harm than good, and dragged himself away. Staying at a
distance was best for both of them. So, why in doing so, did he feel like shit?

Charlene
needed her friends. People who could listen to what happened to her this
afternoon and not let rage take control. His knuckles whitened on the steering
wheel as he turned out of her neighborhood onto a main road.

Her
ex taking his anger out on the car told Larry all he needed to know. Andrew was
out of control. The simple solution to keep her safe would be for her to stay
with him, or vice versa.

He
shook his head. She’d never go for it. She’d see his motives as controlling and
not him protecting someone he cared for.

Charlene’s
mood swings compared to that of Jake’s after his car was mangled. One second,
she acted like she’d melt in his arms. The next, she took the warpath approach
by not letting him know how she needed him. Hell, he wasn’t any better. With
their trust issues, they’d kill each other before revealing their feelings.

When
Doris Weber had called, he’d just stepped from the shower to assess his body
for bruising and scratches. As soon as Charlene’s mother said Andrew Smith was
at Charlene’s house, blood roared through his veins, steam rolling all common
sense. The continued ringing in his ears from shooting his gun in close quarters
intensified. He’d dressed and flown out the door to his Suburban, ready to kick
ass.

Larry
looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror for abrasions. Not a sign.

The
adrenaline died down as he made the last turn on the route home. His muscles ached.
Soon bruises would darken his skin. Tomorrow, he’d be stiff, but he was alive.
The fall could have been worse.

Great
lengths had been taken to keep people away from the fenced in area on Greenwood
Manor. Digging fifteen-foot holes and putting rattlesnakes in them made it
first-degree murder if anyone died. Jake and Steve had walked the fence row,
found four more holes, rattlers at the bottom of each. By the size of the
reptiles and their alertness, no doubt they were well taken care of. The
million-dollar question was: who, and why?

Known
for keeping their activities on a small scale, the Impalers had never done
anything more elaborate than selling drugs or taking things they didn’t have a
right to have. They called it borrowing. The police called it robbery. Still,
they never set traps with deadly consequences. This thought brought forth the
question: what type of activity were the Impalers involved in, or by chance,
was the FBI mistaken? Did some other outfit run the show?

Larry’s
gut twitched. Somehow, some way, Mathews was behind this. The sixth sense that
said nothing was as it seemed roared to life.

His
cell rang from the cubbyhole beside the police radio.

Kathy Newman.

Sweet
ol’ Mom. The only time she called was when her husband used her for a punching
bag. Larry cleared his throat to try and keep the irritation out of his tone.
Why a woman would stay with a man when he beat her was beyond him.

“On
my way,” he said instead of hello.

She
managed to say, “Thank God,” before the line went dead.

Rage
shot through his veins as he stomped on the gas, made a U-turn, and flew down
the highway with the police light flashing and siren blaring.

His
muscles tensed as he zigzagged around cars. The number of people who didn’t
move from the path of an emergency vehicle frustrated him. In minutes, he
pulled onto the gravel road where his mother and her present husband lived.

Her
second husband was no better than the first. The piece of shit he had for a
father beat him and his mother one too many times before Larry retaliated. The
mistreatment from the man who was supposed to give him unconditional love still
gave him nightmares.

After
Larry went through the FBI academy, he assumed his father would back off with
the antagonizing catcalls, baiting him. He hadn’t. One day, the taunting went
too far.

Larry
parked, and unloaded his guns from his hip and ankle holsters. He stashed them
in the console and locked the doors on his way out. The last time he went to a
fistfight with a gun, it ended badly.