The Last Execution (12 page)

“Listen. You’ve been a basket case since the attorney’s visit. I may not be able to help, but I can be a friend.”

She searched his face. The compassion in his green eyes wrapped around her. She nodded. That slight movement wouldn’t mean anything to him. To her the nod, the admission, was huge.

“You can trust me.”

His words slid across her, soft and soothing. Shards of loneliness shot up her chest. She pressed her fist between her breasts and leaned into the pain. J.T. released her seat belt, let it slide off her chest, and then covered her hand with his. His touch, tender and gentle, brought tears to the surface. She blinked them back. For a fleeting second, she considered resting her head on his broad chest and listening to the strong, steady heartbeat. She wouldn’t. He’d offered friendship, and Leigh wouldn’t ask for more.

“Jason Carrington’s not listed as the father on Ethan’s birth certificate. Jason has hired an attorney to pressure me into agreeing to a paternity test. I refused. My instinct says he had the bike delivered to prove a point. He wants me to know I can’t hide Ethan from him.”

“The bastard waits until the kid’s half-grown and then wants to be part of his life? I’d tell him to kiss my ass.”

His reaction helped her maintain her composure. J.T. moved back to his side of the car and sat quietly. She instantly missed having him near. Missed having him close enough to breath in his scent. Missed having his strong hand on her body.

“Ethan’s six. Not quite half-grown.” She breathed deeply to push all the words out as a joke. “Jason Carrington’s been in prison. He was released on parole a couple of weeks ago.”

J.T.’s stoic face never changed. No flinches. No raised eyebrows. No shocked expression. Maybe he was nonjudgmental. She prayed he wouldn’t question her further.

“All the more reason not to let the bastard make demands.”

“I agree. I don’t care what Jason wants. He’s not getting near my son.” God, she wanted to take J.T. up on his offer of friendship. Her stomach tightened.

Take a risk.

“I know jack about kids, but Ethan seemed like an okay kid.”

“You were his favorite topic last night. Dad’s feelings were hurt because Ethan showed more interest in you than in Dad’s bandages.”

“The kid annihilated me. Winning gave him something to brag about.” J.T. started the car and headed back to the FBI office. “Maybe I can help put Carrington back behind bars.”

“No. Please.” Her thoughts ran wild. “This is for me to handle.”

The nerve in his jaw twitched. “If that’s the way you want it.”

Leigh waited for the panic to subside before she worked up the nerve to speak. “Ethan has other toys in need of mending.” Her cheeks burned. Her words sounded lame and stupid. Opening up was like walking down a dark alley blindfolded with no gun. Thirty-two years old and she didn’t know how to invite a man to her house.

He shot her a glance and another peek at his dimple. “I’ll bet. Do you live with your parents?”

“No. Ethan and I live in the city. I’ll give you my address.” How many rules had she broken today? Her spirit soared.
Go for it. Break another.
“If you come Saturday, I’ll cook dinner.”

“Ethan doesn’t keep a second Indy 500 game at your place. Does he?”

“No. Your pride’s safe at my house.”

For now, in the beautiful setting of the park, on a warm spring day, Jason and his demands faded to the background. When J.T. laughed and accepted her invitation, they disappeared altogether.

****

Saturday, May 1, 10:00 a.m.

Doyle never paid much attention to the front section of the newspaper. Politics and sports didn’t hold his interest, but his wife’s name caught his attention seconds before he tossed the paper into the garbage bin. She’d been dead for over a year. Dead from all the pain life had dumped on her. He ran to the sink and hung on while breakfast spewed from his belly.

Damn the FBI sons of bitches for exhuming the body he’d stuck in his car before torching it. Damn newspapers and TV stations for making his wife’s life unbearable. Damn the courts for not doing their jobs. If the country’s judicial system wasn’t broken, his wife would be alive. The lawyers and judges...they could put him out of a job by doing theirs.

God rest her soul, she’d left everything in a trust fund for him. It should’ve made him feel better to have money stashed in case he ever needed a defense attorney. It didn’t.

He splashed water on his face and stumbled to the couch in his living room, wondering why the story surfaced in Atlanta. He lay down under the rotating ceiling fan. The steady squeak of the motor was his only company.

****

Saturday, May 1
st
, 7:30 p.m.

The soft hand on Don’s shoulder belonged to the one person who’d befriended him since he’d hired on at the hospital. “Ellen. How are you?”

“I’m good. I wonder if you are. Your eyes are red and swollen. I decided I’d better check on you.” She joined him at the table, glancing at his half-eaten sandwich on the tray. “Don.” She covered his hand with hers. “Are you ill?”

“Allergies,” he lied. “I started taking my medicine this morning. Thanks for asking.”

“I hope the meds kick in quickly.” She nodded hello to a fellow nurse. “May I eat with you?”

“I’d like that.” He sat up straighter. “I’d like that a lot.” His mood immediately lightened. Who wouldn’t welcome having such a nice person as Ellen around?

“Be right back.” Ellen breezed through the cafeteria line. When she returned, she sat and placed a sliver of pecan pie in front of him. “I had them cut it in half. Like I told you the other day, I’m watching my figure.”

“Nothing’s wrong with your figure.”

She smiled, sending the dark clouds hanging over him away.

“Thanks.” She studied his face. “I like you without the moustache.”

“Good.” Once before, he’d thought Ellen had flirted with him. He wasn’t taking any chances this time. “I’m glad you joined me.”

“So am I. Would you think me too forward if I invited you to dinner?”

“No. I like a take-charge woman.”

The small laugh lines around her mouth deepened. Damn, she was a nice-looking woman. He swept the niggling guilt aside. His wife was gone, and Ellen was here.

“Nope. Not forward at all,” he said with certainty. “In fact, I was about to ask you out.”

She beamed at him. “Awesome. I’m off Sunday and Monday.” Ellen waited until he’d started on his piece of pie before she picked up her fork.

“I’ll bet we can think of something to do for both days.” The jolt of sugar on his tongue from the pie couldn’t have been sweeter. With her kindness, she’d wiped out the horrible taste in his mouth.

A soft stroke of Ellen’s hand on his arm reminded him there was goodness in the world.

Chapter Nine

Saturday, May 1, 7:30 p.m.

Parked in front of Leigh’s white, colonial-style house, complete with wraparound porch, J.T. grasped his car’s door handle for the third time. Was he afraid of one woman and a child?
Hell, yes. Grow a pair, get out, and go in.
He had, after all, mouthed off and bragged he was a fixer of toys. Hell, he’d learned how to handle a wrench as a kid, because nobody else was around to repair anything for him.

J.T. administered one last mental head slap, got out, and was halfway to the porch when the front door opened.

“Ethan!” Leigh’s voice came loud and firm.

Shit.
The kid sprang off the porch and came barreling down the walk like the house was on fire.

“Ethan,” she called out. Louder. Angrier this time.

Too late.
The six-year-old missile launched himself into the air, giving J.T. two choices. Catch the kid, or let him fall to the ground like a deflated football. J.T. grabbed him and held Ethan out in front, as he would a wet, smelly dog.

Leigh jogged down the sidewalk, sparks flashing from her eyes. She pulled her son out of J.T.’s grasp and plopped the kid down at her feet. She knelt and got right in his face. J.T. made a mental note to not piss her off.

“What have I told you about running out the door?”

Ethan’s head bowed. “Don’t even think about it.” He stared at the tops of his bare feet.

“Obviously, you didn’t listen.” She tugged the knot at the back of her head tighter before she looked up. “Sorry about the attack.”

“Kid’s a natural born high jumper.” J.T. stuffed his hands in his pockets. She’d wadded her hair in the old-lady-schoolteacher-bun-thing she wore at work. Probably just as well. If she’d left all that blonde silk loose and sexy, he might’ve thought this was a date or something, which it wasn’t. Him being here was entirely the fault of his own big mouth.

“Please.” She waved a hand toward the wide-open front door. “We were about to come and get you.”

“You knew I was here?”

“A black Corvette rumbling around in our neighborhood doesn’t go unnoticed.”

Dressed in blue jean shorts and a thin-strapped top exactly the same blue as her eyes, Leigh looked more like a model than a mom. J.T. was glad he’d worn a T-shirt and Wranglers.

His chest double-clutched and pulled a weird stutter step when a small hand gripped two of his fingers and two small feet shuffled hurriedly to keep up with him. Tonight was a mistake. Holding hands with the kid was a mistake. Hell, all of it was a huge mistake. His brain churned in circles. J.T. knew nothing about families. He sure didn’t know how to act. He and Ethan had played one video game, and Ethan had done all the talking.

Once inside, J.T. relaxed some. Mainly because Leigh’s living room had a lived-in, comfortable feel. Toys, books, and boxes of puzzles lined the shelves on one wall. A small TV with what looked like a decent sound system, tons of CD’s, a couch, and well-worn rocking chair finished off the area.

“Can I show Mr. Noble my room?” Ethan had already started pulling J.T. down a hall.

“May I,” she corrected Ethan’s grammar. “Just a quick look. I’m taking the roast out of the oven.”

“Name’s J.T.” He waited when Ethan turned to his mother and received her nod. This was way too domestic for J.T.’s comfort zone. How-the-hell had he gotten himself into this mess? She’d expect too much from him. Leigh had her nest built and one little chick to care for. With his family history, no way was he up for long-term stuff like family or kids.

“Want to play a game?” Ethan asked, dragging J.T. to his bedroom where the largest piece of furniture was a twin bed. A Falcons poster was thumbtacked to the wall. Matching football gear was scattered everywhere. And lots more books. The McBrides were big on reading.

“No games,” Leigh called out from the other room. “Come eat.”

“She read your mind?” The kid’s bewildered nod said he believed she did. J.T.’s joke had gone right over Ethan’s head.

“We better go,” Ethan whispered.

J.T. ignored the urge to take a peek at Leigh’s bedroom. He’d get his hands slapped big time if caught. Still, her private space played havoc with his imagination. Was it feminine? Decorated in pink with pillows everywhere, or organized with everything in its place? A lot about her intrigued him, and his interest confused him. She was not his type of woman.

He and Ethan followed the aroma of hot biscuits to the kitchen. A table with four chairs sat in the corner covered with dishes. She’d fixed roast with potatoes, which he and Ethan sat down to and ate like they hadn’t been fed for days. Ethan dominated the conversation except when his mother got on his case for talking with his mouth full. The evening made J.T. appreciate Nana and how she’d juggled a house, him, and a career. Good memories.

Leigh retrieved the tea pitcher from the counter and refilled his glass. “You keep grinning at me as if you know something I don’t,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Well, you couldn’t have known we were about to play a game without reading our minds. It’s a talent you should use at work.”

“I do have a third eye. Too bad it only works at home.” One eyebrow shot up at J.T.’s doubtful look. “Tell him, Ethan.”

“She’s got one back here.” The boy turned in his chair and pointed to the back of his head. “Under her hair.”

J.T. choked back a laugh at Ethan’s wide-eyed innocence. “That’s a mom thing. My grandmother had one. It goes away when you get older.”

“A long, long time from now.” Leigh stacked dishes. “You two go work on our newest puzzle while I clean the kitchen.”

“No way. I eat. I help clean.” J.T. turned to see Ethan disappearing into the living room. J.T.’s hands covered Leigh’s when he took the plates from her. A lightning bolt shot up his arm. Her mouth opened a fraction, and her tongue moistened her bottom lip. A simple movement and the sexiest thing he’d ever witnessed. His dick stirred. Damn, he wanted to kiss her. He moved closer but stopped when she pulled the dishes away from him.
Pack it in. You don’t want to do this.

“Go. I’m sticking these in the dishwasher.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. “Really.”

Between the puzzle and putting the wheels back on a toy dump truck, J.T. shocked himself by having a good time. Ethan’s protests fell on deaf ears when bath and bedtime came. J.T. had settled on the couch and turned on the sports channel when dressed in pajamas, Ethan appeared at his knee. Leigh stood in the doorway, waiting. J.T. bolted to his feet. This was way too comfy.