Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) (15 page)

"You win," Rafe said, stripping out of his jacket and hanging it on the hall tree.

Her eyes widened when he unbuttoned his shirt. He wanted to smile at her avid curiosity. She wouldn't get a full view; he was wearing a T-shirt. He took off his shirt and pressed it against her chest. "Put it on, and meet me in the kitchen. We need to talk."

"I have a coat."

"If you did, it's still in the bar."

"It wasn't even mine." She took the shirt and let her head fall against the wall. "My life truly sucks."

"If you want to use the bathroom, it's around the—"

"I know where it is." She bore into him.

"When you're done, I'll be in the kitchen." Rafe turned down the hall and tried like hell not to laugh.

Bren stepped into the powder room and hit the light switch. Her body still tingled where Rafe had touched her. The thought of his strong, rough fingers against her cheek made her close her eyes. But Tom's face surfaced, and her eyes sprang open along with the wound that she was alive, and Tom wasn't.

She shivered, slipped into Rafe's shirt, and buttoned it up. Feeling around her hair, she grabbed the last bobby pin and pulled it free. She plucked off the remaining fluttering lash and dropped it in the trash can. Taking one last look at what remained of Belinda Harrington, she popped her blue eyes out and let them wash down the sink.

Bren grabbed her black bag off the floor where she'd dumped it when they came in and moved toward the kitchen.

Rafe sat at a small table in a white T-shirt that hugged his muscular chest. He sipped from a steaming mug; another matching mug, also steaming, sat across from him. "Tea?"

"You drink tea?"

"Since I was a baby."

Still chilled, Bren sat down and added sugar, then wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic mug.

Rafe's expression softened. He popped open a tin and pushed it toward her. "Cookie?"

Bren's mouth watered at the aroma of homemade snickerdoodles. "Cowboys bake?"

"You against men in the kitchen?"

"Nope." She dipped one in her tea. Taking a bite, she savored the taste as it blended with the sweet tea. "Delicious."

Rafe sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Promise me you won't go off on any more wild-hair adventures until you consult with me first."

"It wasn't—"

He put up a hand. "No arguing. Just promise me."

The concerned expression in his striking green eyes unnerved her. She wasn't Rafe Langston's charity case, but she wasn't a fool either. Tonight might have turned out differently without his interference.

"Promise."

His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned forward. "Do you want to tell me what you were doing tonight?"

"Gathering intelligence."

"I'm assuming this has something to do with your husband's death."

Bren took another sip of her tea. "I told you Wes killed Tom. I need proof."

"Did that include using your body to get it?" His voice rose, and he gripped his mug with both hands.

His insinuation prickled. What did he know, anyway? She pushed her mug away and stood. "I don't need this. Believe what you want. I'm going home."

His hand reached out and grabbed hers. "Don't. I'm sorry." His dark brows furrowed together. "I wanted to kill him."

Bren's stomach rolled with the harshness in his voice for Donovan Skidmore's behavior toward her. "He didn't hurt me."

His lips thinned. "I should have acted sooner."

Bren sat down. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Your hands." He turned her hand in his. "They're not prissy and painted." His thumb rubbed across her clear, blunt nails.

That's what I forgot—my nails.

He brushed the same thumb against her fingers. "They're small, yet strong."

Damn it!
Just his touch and the smooth drawl in his voice made her stomach flutter. Bren pulled her hand away. "It was dark."

"You were busy. And I was close enough."

Bren blushed, remembering what she'd done with Donovan to get information about the drop-off. She reached for her black bag. "It paid off." She pulled out the tape recorder. "He didn't have anything to offer about Tom's death. But he knows Lyle Jameson."

"The sale barn owner?"

Bren nodded. "That's why he was there." She picked up the tape recorder. "It's all right here." She hit the Play button and set the recorder in the middle of the table.

Rafe settled back in his seat to listen.

Bren's faux Southern accent and Donovan's heavy breathing made her cheeks warm with renewed embarrassment. Donovan's raspy voice filled the kitchen, "Lick my ear, doll baby."

Rafe stiffened in his chair and shot an angry hand out to silence the tape recorder. "How about you give me the short version?"

Relieved she didn't have to listen to Donovan's creepy voice, she told Rafe about the horses. He listened intently, polishing off three cookies as he finished his tea.

"I did it for the horses," she said.

He frowned. "I figured." He stood up and stretched. "What's your plan?"

She smiled. "Nail Wes. I know him. There's fifteen that Donovan has. That number could rise. Plus, whatever Wes has on hand. He'll only spring for one trailer. He's cheap."

"Which means he'll go against regulation."

"Then I'll have him."

"It won't prove he killed Tom."

"No. But when Kevin cuffs him and hauls him off to jail, I'll have the satisfaction of him knowing it was because of me."

"They'll only keep him overnight. Then what?"

Bren sat back in her chair. She had a feeling he wasn't going to like her answer.

"If losing six horses was enough to make him kill Tom, then losing fifteen would make me an even bigger target."

R
afe pulled up the driveway, shaking his head. He'd finally drilled some sense into Bren's brain last night before dropping her off. She wasn't to make a move on Wes without him. The woman had guts; he'd give her that. But guts could get you—

"What the hell?"

Smoke billowed against a darkening night sky above his house, and he hit the accelerator hard. The orange glow flickering in the distance was most assuredly on his property. Rafe pulled up to the house, jumped out of the truck, and left it running. He'd bought a fire extinguisher when he moved in. Didn't plan on using it, but the insurance of having it was one less thing to worry about when owning a home. Not that he planned on owning a home long—at least not in Maryland.

Rummaging through the hall closet, he scratched his head. Where did he put the damn thing? Broom closet. He headed in the kitchen, and, sure enough, he found what he was looking for.

Once back in his truck, he laid the fire extinguisher on the floor, and reached into the back seat.
Fires don't just set themselves.
He grabbed the rifle and box of shells he'd picked up in town, and placed them on the seat next to him. Rafe drove onto the grass and across the field. Once he got close, he reduced his speed and turned off his lights.

It was a damn fire, all right. A frickin' bonfire. From his estimation, there were at least a dozen people either standing next to the blaze or sitting on logs they'd rolled from the woods. Rafe grabbed his rifle, loading a round of ammunition as he stepped out. He crept toward the group, the rap music filtering through the dry, cold air.
Damn it.
He wouldn't need his gun, which was a damn shame.

Guns he could handle—teenagers not so much.

Hell, it wasn't even his kid. But he'd picked the wrong field. Aiden's stupidity was going to get him an up close and personal ass-chewing, neighbor or not. Rafe continued toward the group, his intended target the boom box sitting on the tailgate of an old, beat-up Ford pickup, white just like Daniel Fallon's.

Two strikes.

The shrieks of laughter and chatter kept Rafe's approach hidden. Standing next to the pickup, he punched the stereo off.

The group's rapid movements slowed, then they froze. "Shit!" one of the boys yelled. Then they all started toward the woods.

Rafe stepped forward. "Nobody move." He put his foot on a large cooler and rocked it with his foot. Somehow he didn't think he'd find grape Nehi inside. A tall, long-haired blond boy crept back into the shadows. "Hold up," Rafe commanded. "Get back where I can see you."

The boy stiffened and stepped back toward the group that had congregated next to the fire.

"Take a seat."

Their bodies were jerky and unsure. They stared at one another. "On the ground."

Their butts touched the dirt in unison.

Rafe's foot rocked the cooler again. "Give me one good reason not to call your parents."

He didn't need to waste his time opening the cooler. Their shocked faces in the firelight confirmed his suspicions. Rafe took a headcount. There were nine in all—five boys and four girls. He guessed their ages to be fifteen, maybe sixteen .One thing he knew for sure—Aiden wasn't old enough to drive. But this was private property. Most teens who lived on a farm drove as early as ten. He'd been driving the ranch when he was eleven. But Aiden had forgotten one thing—this was his land now. Not that he gave a damn about the boy driving on his land—and he'd tell him that, when he was alone with him.

He liked Aiden. Understood the boy. Losing a father at a point in his life when he needed a steady hand could cause a boy to push back in rebellion. Being publicly embarrassed would be the ultimate punishment, but that wasn't Rafe's intention.

Aiden knew who he was and was most assuredly shitting bricks—that was enough for Rafe. "Who drove the truck?"

Rafe waited, wondering what type of boy Tom Ryan had raised.

"I did." Aiden stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. His head swung, and for an instant Rafe caught sight of his eyes narrowing in on him.

"Grab two of your buddies, and haul this cooler out of here."

"You gonna let us keep it?" one boy piped up.

"You wanna tell me who bought it?"

His mouth clamped shut.

"Load it up, and dump the beer in the woods. I want the empty containers left in the cooler." Kids were slick. They had heavy coats and deep pockets. If he let them go. And that was a big if, until he did a few sobriety tests of his own. He wanted to make damn sure when he dropped them home they weren't packing a roadie to finish in the back of his truck, and with nine including Aiden, that was the best he could do as a chauffeur. But first the forest fire Aiden and his friend had set needed to be extinguished, along with returning Daniel's truck.

Two hours later, Rafe dropped the last one off—a petite blonde Aiden had been stealing glances at while they rode in the backseat. She hopped out. "Thanks, Mr. Langston." She glanced nervously toward her house. "For not telling my parents."

Rafe nodded. "Go on. We'll wait till you get in."

"Bye, Aiden. See ya Monday."

"Later." Aiden pushed back into the seat and shut the door.

"Up front."

Aiden moaned. "Why?"

"We need to talk."

Aiden came around to the passenger door and got in. He slumped against the door and crossed his arms.

Rafe put the truck in Drive and headed back toward Grace. "Your grandfather know you used his truck?"

"I can drive on the farm."

"How'd the others get there?"

"They got rides."

"And the beer?" Silence.

"You know it's against the law to drink and drive? Not to mention you're underage."

Aiden only shrugged. "I didn't even get a chance to take a sip."

Rafe pulled off the road and slammed the truck into Park. He reached over and clamped a hand on Aiden's shoulder. "You think it's a game? You think your mom would think it's funny?"

Aiden's head swung, and he met Rafe's gaze with belligerent, glistening eyes. "She's a liar." He dropped back in the seat. "I saw you bring her home last night, not Aunt Jo."

Shit.

"You screwing my mom?"

Rafe's hand fell away, and he clenched the steering wheel. "Don't talk about your mother like that."

"What's it matter?"

"Cut her some slack, Aiden. She's been through—"

"Yeah, right."

Rafe slumped against the window. "I brought your mother home last night. I ran into her in town and gave her a ride."

"How come you were coming from your house?"

Damn it.
The kid had X-ray vision.

"I forgot something."

"Your shirt. She was wearing that, too."

"Aiden, your mother was cold."

"That's so lame."

There was no way of salvaging this conversation. He couldn't tell Aiden the truth. "How do you feel about me seeing your mom?"

His eyes drilled into Rafe. "You her
boyfriend
now?"

How in the hell had this gone to shit so fast? "I like your mom. If I wanted to date her, I'd want to know you're okay with it."

Aiden shrugged. "She can do what she wants."

"That's not what I'm asking."

"I thought you said you'd be coming around anyway."

He'd forgotten about Roscoe. Aiden wanted to play the tough guy, but what he really needed he'd lost forever. "I've been busy settling in. But my calendar's free. How about Sunday I come by and teach you and Roscoe how to track?"

Rafe pulled up to the house. Daniel's truck sat strategically parked where Aiden had found it before his joyride, but at close to eight o'clock and well past dinner, Bren's truck was missing. "I'll see you in." Rafe popped his door open.

Aiden nodded and glanced up through the swath of hair hanging across one eye. He grabbed the door handle and hesitated. "I think she likes you, too," he said in a quiet voice before hopping down.

B
ren sagged as she trudged up the back steps. It was close to eight thirty. She was cold and hungry. She'd missed dinner after Jeremy called with an emergency. But the horse would survive, and that made her smile. She stepped into the kitchen. "Dad?"

"We held dinner for you."

"You didn't—"

"I gave Finn a snack, and Aiden and Rafe just came in."