Tymber Dalton (7 page)

Too bad. At least I have Bob.
He never let her down as long as she kept fresh batteries in him. And he could stay in her bedside drawer, so she knew he couldn’t sleep around on her or lie to her about who he’d been with.

Bonus.

She’d learned the hard way it wasn’t worth having a relationship with someone who couldn’t give as much as she did. She’d divorced her first mistake, fortunately before her parents had died, eight years ago. They’d been totally supportive when she’d found out he was a cheating, lying bastard.

Especially when she admitted he gave her a hard time about her fibro and accused her of faking it.

After she caught herself drifting off, she drained the tub and got out. She rubbed more of both the ointment and oil mix Mandaline gave her into her hands and headed for bed. Tomorrow, with the shop closed, she could sleep late. And she would. As well as spend most of the day curled up on the couch with Galileo, a heating pad, and her Kindle. She had a new Cooper McKenzie ménage waiting for her.

If only those kinds of things happened in real life.
Well, they did to lucky people like Mandaline. While initial scuttlebutt about the woman’s triad with Ellis and Bradley had been scandalous, eventually the rumors died down when people realized they didn’t do anything shocking like have sex in public or try to convert everyone to their lifestyle.

Libbie could give a flying rat’s ass what Mandaline did in her bedroom. Truth be told, she was a little envious.

She let out a wistful sigh.
Maybe I should ask Mandaline what they’re putting in their drinks over there and order a buttload of it for myself.

Libbie’s first thought upon waking Sunday morning was that she was caught in a nightmare. The light looked wrong, her whole bedroom seemed out of place, and it felt like every single muscle in her body was simultaneously caught in a horrible spasm.

Even rolling over proved out of the question. She was caught on her side, tangled in the sheets and blankets without the strength to free herself.

As her panicked brain struggled out of sleep, rational thought took over.
I switched apartments.

That slowed her racing pulse and allowed her to calm down.

It left her, however, with the problem of pain she could barely grit her teeth against and the stupid thought that the headline about her death would read “Woman Trapped and Killed By Her Own Tasteful, but Deadly, Bedding.”

That set off laughter. Soon followed by tears of pain and self-pity.

After taking a couple of deep breaths and trying to calm herself again, she started with her feet. Feeling around with her toes, she managed to wiggle her feet enough to get a grip on the sheet with them and slowly tug it down a little.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she did that several more times until she had gotten her lower legs and ankles limber enough she could draw them up and carefully shift onto her back.

That triggered another round of tears as pain wracked her body.

I’ve got to pull myself together.
The pain and weakness scared her more than anything. Pain alone she could deal with. Hell, she had more than her fair share of experience dealing with it. But she’d never felt that level of weakness before in more than just her hands.

Remarkably, she realized her hands, while achy, felt reasonably good.

Figures. Maybe I can bathe in that damn stuff Mandaline makes. It’d be worth it.

After a few minutes, she finished freeing herself from the covers and slowly stretched her legs out again with a pained groan.

Thank god it’s Sunday.
She no doubt had way overdone things yesterday. She’d need every bit of her two days off to recover enough to work Tuesday morning.

It took her twenty minutes and a few more tears, but she eventually managed to get herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and stand up. Which was a good thing, because now she had to pee.

The bathroom felt like it was a thousand miles away, but as she slowly stretched, her protesting muscles and painful joints allowed her to shuffle into the bathroom.

As she sat on the toilet, she stared at the tub. While it called to her, she was afraid if she did get herself into it, she might not be able to get back out again as weak as she felt.

That would be embarrassing as hell.

She looked at the smaller shower in the corner. That would have to do. But later.

Coffee.

She eventually shuffled herself into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Galileo strolled in after her. “It’s not even eight, yet,” she told him. “You’ll have to wait until later to give me trouble.”

He head-butted her shin, rubbing his head against her leg and loudly purring.

After an hour, a pain pill, a cup of coffee, and with her heating pad warmed up, Libbie’s strength had returned and she felt slightly more human. She curled up on the couch with a soft blanket wrapped around her. Galileo jumped up with her and made himself a nest down by her feet.

She turned the TV on more for noise than anything and powered up her Kindle.

* * * *

Allan found Ben sitting at the table, checking his e-mail, when he finally arose a little before nine Sunday morning. “Morning.” He walked over to the counter where Ben had already brewed a pot of coffee.

“Morning.”

“So what’s our plan for today, Brain?”

Ben’s glare slid across the room at him. “Funny.”

“Well, we’re here. Not sure what we’re supposed to do now but wait. And why do you get to check your e-mail, but I’m not allowed to?”

“You are allowed to, as long as you do it from this computer. You just can’t use Facebook or Twitter or Pinterest or any of those places you like to troll through. I have it logged into an IP anonymiser. We don’t know who we can trust. We don’t need someone getting a hold of the full headers of one of your e-mails and tracking us here.” Before Ben had ended up in deep undercover for organized crime, he’d pulled a stint with the computer crime unit.

Allan walked over to the table and sat across from Ben. “I seriously doubt anyone in my office is on the take. Especially not on my team. I trust them.”

“You willing to stake your life on it? Literally? I know I’m not.”

Allan sipped his coffee. “You sound like one of the IA guys you always say you’re less than fond of.”

Ben shot him a dirty look but didn’t respond.

“You won’t even let me check Facebook from a phone. How the hell can someone track me from that when I have my profile set to friends-only?”

Ben didn’t look up. “Why don’t you stand outside of Bianco’s office and hold a ‘shoot me’ sign?”

“Can I at least wander around town?”

“Sure. Just remember to pay in cash if you buy anything.”

Allan rolled his eyes and headed out the door. He hesitated as he stared at Libbie’s apartment door. He faintly heard what sounded like a TV inside.

I could check on her.
She’d looked like she was in a lot of pain the evening before. Despite having just met her, he couldn’t shut down his desire to help her. He stepped over to her door, pausing as he raised his hand to knock.

What if she doesn’t want to be bothered right now?

He lowered his hand and headed toward the back stairs. Instead of taking the truck, he opted to walk around town. Not many businesses surrounding the town square were open yet, or would open at all on a Sunday.

Buzzing in his brain, his aggravation at Ben warred with feelings of guilt. If it wasn’t for protecting him, Ben easily could have stayed in Miami in a loose form of protective custody with the most basic of disguises. Instead, he’d opted to take charge as he always had and declared they’d leave town for a while.

Then again, I guess I should be glad I’m not stuck in a dumpy hotel somewhere in Hialeah and unable to leave.

He did want to spend a little time on this unwanted and unexpected vacation brushing up on his art skills. He hadn’t picked up a sketch pad in what felt like years.

Beautiful, old live oaks were scattered around the square and between the buildings surrounding it. Old homes, still used as residences as well as having been converted to office and shop space, were mixed with commercial buildings ranging from pre-1930s to the present.

How long, exactly, since he’d been able to casually stroll along a city sidewalk and enjoy the sound of birdsong without the overbearing blare of traffic and urban noises?

That would be forever.

He parked himself on a bench and studied the courthouse. He enjoyed his job, no question there. He thrived on the energy and intensity.

Then again, he missed companionship. He missed having real-life friends he could socialize with, like he had in college, instead of a series of hangers-on he had to carefully keep at arm’s length. Especially when he didn’t know their true motives after having handled several high-profile drug and murder cases over the past couple of years.

Even his boss had approached him about grooming him to run for his job when he retired in a few years.

It felt surreal.

Ben enjoyed teasing him about going to nightclubs, not having any serious relationships, and being a party boy. But what Ben didn’t know—what no one else knew—was that it was all for show. A way to fill the empty time.

A way to keep from getting close to anyone, just to lose them.

A way to keep the loneliness at bay in a town where sharks didn’t just swim in the ocean. Plenty of them walked on two feet.

He wistfully studied the dark window of a family law office nestled in the first floor of one of the old, sprawling Florida mansions. Gingerbread trim painted pale yellow highlighted the neat light blue clapboard sides of the two-story house. A wraparound porch, complete with a swing, completed the charming look.

How nice would it be to close the office at five o’clock on a Friday and be able to actually relax for the weekend? No pressure to go out with fellow office workers or high-profile political acquaintances, no career-ending cases to stress over.

Maybe even have a life. A wife.

Hell, when was the last time they’d celebrated Thanksgiving or Christmas with their cousins, or even together as brothers? Allan was sick of going to Thanksgiving dinners at other people’s houses.

Or worse, alone to a restaurant.

Then again, maybe his tough-as-nails, kick-ass brother didn’t feel like that. Maybe curmudgeonly Ben was perfectly happy with his life and Allan should suck it up and deal.

He looked up at the sound of church bells somewhere north of the square. How long since he’d heard that sound?

He returned to the apartment later that afternoon and slumped on the couch to channel surf. Ben wasn’t in the living room, and he didn’t know if the closed bedroom door meant he was in there or not. If he was, napping or…otherwise busy, he didn’t want to bother him.

Barely paying attention to the programs, he started flipping through channels, one by one, until he stumbled upon a James Bond marathon on BBC America and settled in to watch it.

* * * *

A little before noon, Libbie forced herself to put down her Kindle and headed for the bathroom. She felt strong enough now to enjoy soaking in the tub without worrying about not being able to get back out again. Earlier, she’d heard one or both of the men leave their apartment and head out, but they apparently hadn’t taken their truck, since she hadn’t heard it start.

She knew it was stupid, but something about the two men put her mind at ease. Comforted her. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but a feeling of safety seemed to surround them. For all she knew, they could be a pair of serial killers, but the fact that even overprotective Grover had given them a nod of approval had to be a good sign. Grover was especially protective of her once her parents had died, and had always been an impeccable judge of people.

There definitely wasn’t anything wrong with making the cousins stars of her personal fantasies.

That’s what I could use, an endorphin boost.

She changed direction, instead heading to the bedroom where she dug a duffel bag out of her closet. Inside, she’d stashed her sex toys before the Saturday move so they wouldn’t be accidentally discovered.

The last thing she’d needed was teasing from any of Grover’s kids, who treated her like a sister. No one else was allowed to mess with a Johnson, adopted or otherwise, but they wouldn’t hesitate to tease each other.

She put most of the items, including assorted dildos, vibrators, and lube, into the drawer except for her backup plan.

The Hitachi Magic Wand.

She didn’t use it all the time, because she frequently found it to be too intense, even on the
low
setting. Today, she felt she needed it, knowing her pain levels might interfere with her ability to orgasm.

She stripped and plugged the vibrator in before climbing in under the covers to keep warm. Closing her eyes, she let thoughts of Charles and Ken float through her mind. She pictured their firm, trim bodies, their handsome faces.