Winters Heat (Titan) (33 page)

“Sit your ass back in that bed,” a familiar male voice yelled, and the nurse jumped straight into the air.

Jared’s steely face was pissed. He sped past the nurse, who had one hand over her mouth and the other pressed against her chest.

“Whatever the fuck you’re doing… Why ever the hell you’re trying to break out of here like it’s the clink, you stop. Right now. You got me?”

The wide-eyed nurse pressed herself against the wall and sidestepped toward the door. With her exit, the loud click of the large door closing echoed through the room.

“Give me a break, Jared. I got stir crazy. Needed to get up and stretch my legs.”

“And I’m sure that had nothing to do with little Mia Kensington tearing out of here like she planned to kill somebody. And she probably could, so I’d watch my ass if I were you.”

Winters grabbed the remote and turned the volume up on the television in a desperate attempt to ignore his boss. The news host’s all-American enunciation didn’t drown out Jared.

“If you want out of here, you have to earn it. I’m not going to have you almost die just to have you kill yourself.”

“I didn’t almost die. Stop with the dramatics.”

“Oh, hell. You
are
that stupid. Miss Thang you just sent scuttling out of this hospital? She’s the reason you’re still kickin’. I would’ve let you sleep on that mangy-assed cot until you died. But nope, not her. She was all tending to you and shit. She noticed your fever. She noticed your piss-poor responses. I didn’t. The guys didn’t. Your ass got choppered out of Colombia, and medevacced all the way back to the States. So if you think you didn’t tease the widow-maker, think again. ‘Cause you’re a dead man who was hooked up by Lady Luck. Or in this case, Mia Save-Your-Ass Kensington.”

Winters threw the remote, hoping to hit the wall across the room, but it didn’t go far. Attached to a cord next to his hospital bed, it swung back at him, and clattered against the bed rail, finally dangling inches above the floor.

“What the fuck do you want me to do?” Winters yelled, bunching his fist in the blanket.

“Get your head back in the game, and figure your shit out.”

Just like Mia, Jared spun and stormed out in a fashion far more dramatic than Winters was used to seeing in his jerk of a boss. He relaxed his death grip from the blanket and ran his hands over his face, trying to clear his mind.

Mia. Mia. Mia.

Nope. It wasn’t working. A hollow despair spread in his blood, pumped into every crevice of his body. Through his aching heart, to the soles of his feet, Winters mourned what could have been.

He threw himself back against the pillow and tossed his head to the side. His gaze landed on a cot, a pile of used blankets, and several unopened boxes of Dots.

Damn it. She was perfect in every way, and he couldn’t have her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Winters hung his head over his bathroom sink, despondent and depressed. It’d been three days since he was released from the hospital. He should’ve shaved his beard when he got home, but he had neither the energy nor the motivation. Other than Clara, nothing interested him. His mother tidied around the house, trying for conversation, and he brushed her off like the prick he was.

Unlike his mother, the guys were as subtle as whores hocking blow jobs. They arrived uninvited and unappreciated, and did nothing but pepper him with moronic questions. They started out with lead-lined softballs like
how’s Mia
and ended with power-punches about his health, his mindset, and his ability to get his shit together.

He leaned off the vanity and watched the image standing before him in the mirror. Two weeks off was an eternity. He needed to work out, to train and pump iron until his muscles gave up on him. Something, anything to alleviate his tension. But exercising sounded like an awful waste of time, and he didn’t want to muster the energy.

His cell phone sat quiet, charging on the vanity counter. It didn’t ring a lot, but now it was infuriatingly silent. The guys hadn’t shown up all day. Maybe they went out on a job. An operation Jared didn’t tell him about.

With a few more splashes of water, he finished in the bathroom, then went to Clara’s room. She stirred, her infant fists balled over her head in a tiny stretch. Not that he had much to base assumptions on, but Clara was an awesome baby.

More or less, she kept to a schedule. He knew, to a five-minute window, when she would wake up. Right now, he had a few moments to sit and watch her slumber. It was the only thing he could enjoy.

Her bright blue eyes opened wide with the realization she was awake. Without giving her a chance to cry, he scooped her off of her purple sheets and cradled her against his chest. She was getting to be a big girl.

“Baby girl, I missed you while you were sleeping.”

He walked her over to the changing table and made fast work of a diaper change.

“I know, I know. It was awesome when Mia was here before. She’d be so proud of you.” He smoothed the baby’s cowlick down. “Peas and sweet potatoes. Who knew babies like that? I sure didn’t.”

She gurgled and reached for his face. Used to the smooth skin of a clean shave, Clara tugged his beard, intent on investigating.

“Yeah, I miss her, too.”

His cell phone vibrated on his hip. They could screw off. He was busy now. He ignored two calls as he sat on the floor, watching Clara try to crawl. A pile of toys encircled them, and he fashioned two guns out of large, pink building blocks, then set up a row of stuffed animals.

“This is how you take out the enemy. First, you—” Clara stared at him, reaching for her pink block weapon. “Let me have that back.”

He took a few of the blocks off. “You’re too young for guns. Even pink ones. This is a pink stick, and I have no idea what you should do with it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. What did he know about babies? Faking it wasn’t fooling anyone, particularly him. He didn’t know what the hell to do. Mia would know babies didn’t get pink guns of the building block variety. She’d know how to turn a pile of pastel plastic into something girly and appropriate like… he had no idea.

The phone rang again, and he looked at the screen. “What do you want, Cash?”

“Three times. You made me call three times before you picked up the phone. You’re acting like a chick.”

“Maybe I was on the shitter.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I think you’re all bullshit. I talked with Judith. She’ll be there in ten minutes. You and I are going out. Make yourself reasonably presentable.”

Winters dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Fuck that. And since when do you and my mom chat?”

“The world’s conspiring against you, bro.” Cash chuckled and hung up.

Winters returned to making large stacks of blocks. Pink skyscrapers or were they pink bridges? Pink sticks. Straight lines were the only things he could fathom that weren’t based on violence.

Winters cracked his neck, snagged Clara, and walked into his room, ignoring the few items of Mia’s on his dresser. He shimmied out of pajama pants and into jeans and a shirt.

Coffee. That was next on the list of things to do before they arrived. It might be the only way he could survive. He rounded into the kitchen and saw two vehicles traveling up the driveway. His mother, followed by Cash. This wasn’t what he needed.

Winters held Clara in front of him, at arm’s length. “This is going to suck.”

He poured a cup of coffee and watched out the window. His mom and Cash stood out there, chatting like a couple of good old boys. He downed the coffee in few blistering swallows and poured another cup.

They walked into the kitchen, both staring with the same disapproval.

“Dude, you’ve got to get out of the house. You look like shit.”

“Watch your mouth around the baby.” His mother reprimanded Cash.

“Sorry, J. My bad.”

J?
Cash
was past first names and onto nicknames with his mom? In what world was this happening?

“Colby, I’ll take Clara for the afternoon.”

“Grab your favorite gun.” Cash rummaged through his pantry. “Grab more than one. You might need ‘em.”

Winters tore open a box of Dots and dumped in a jaw-full. Cash snacked out of various containers in the cabinet, and Winters’s mom took Clara into the living room.

“By all means, Cash, help yourself. Where we going anyway?” He threw in another handful of candy.

Cash chewed and talked, mouth wide open. “You’re going to lose your boyish figure eating shit like that.”

“Says the man who just housed a sleeve of crackers.”

“I burn carbs like you cry over girls.”

“Watch yourself, Cash. I’ll leave you in a puddle of your own blood.”

“Nah. You’d be too worried about Clara getting in it. Move your ass. We’ve got places to go.” He motioned to a box of cookies. “I’m taking these. I’ll meet you in the truck.”

Winters took two stairs at a time to his weapons stash, unlocked the safe, and selected a handgun and rifle. As he headed back down, his mom cleared her throat. Twice.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of the house.”

He grumbled. “I’m not.”

“That’s precisely my reasoning. You need to see different walls. You’re a mess.”

“Thanks, Mom. Exactly what I needed to hear.”

He slammed the new door behind him hard and heard it shake. He was definitely the leading candidate for worst son of the year. Also, biggest asshole of the year. What other awards would he rack up? Prick, dick, jerk? He could go on and on.

Winters got in, and Cash switched radio stations, stopping on the Eagles singing Desperado directly to his sorry ass. He didn’t want to be in this truck, going God knows where. Even the radio mocked him. Cash burned past the speed limit, looking excited.

“Want to tell me where we’re headed?” Winters stared at the unfamiliar road.

“You needed to get out of the house, so what’s it to you? We’ll be there in a minute. Man, your panties are in a twist.”

“Get off my back, Cash.”

Several songs later, they turned onto an unfamiliar two-lane road that curved and angled. Cash drove the odd turns like he did so every day.

“We almost there?”

“Yup.”

“And
there
is?”

“My secret getaway. Where all your problems will be forgotten.”

They slid into a small dirt parking strip and splashed through mud. A nondescript sign read GUNS. The words dangled under a rusted, larger-than-life bison replica complete with a snarling face and a charging hoof pulled high. A few pickup trucks lined the lot in front of a one-level, brick building with bars on the windows.

“Your secret escape is a gun range? I could’ve shown you a half-dozen thirty minutes closer.”

“Patience, buddy.”

Cash jumped out and shut his door. Winters pressed his head against the headrest. What the hell? Pounding out a few rounds might help. He followed Cash with far less enthusiasm than his buddy. A security camera traced their path to the door. Cash rang a doorbell and, seconds later, a buzz preempted the door popping open.

They entered a small room. It was dimly lit and glass cases lined the walls. Handguns and throwing knives hung on the dark-paneled wall. An empty desk sat in the corner next to a shady hallway. It was dingy and hadn’t shown any of the promise Cash raved over. Winters trailed a finger over the smooth countertop, peering down at a compact Beretta 9mm.

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite of all my favorites. Hi ya, Cash. You come down here to play with your toys or mine?”

Winters spun around. The woman wore black leather pants like a second skin. Her silver belt buckle of dueling pistols etched over a jagged heart shined near a belly ring. Her black cotton shirt hung to right below her full rack. The lettering scribbled over her tits read
Girls Love Guns
.

Christ. Cash brought him to a whorehouse.

The smile on Cash’s face reached from one sideburn to the other. “Well, hi there, Sugar. I brought a friend.”

The woman wore lipstick that was far too red. Her tussled hair was piled in a way that screamed
pull here
, and she smelled like scotch and spice. Her gaze raked him up and down, lingering over his crotch, before his lips pulled off hello.

“Does your friend have a name?” She flicked a wink intended for both of them. “’Cause I was back there, field-stripping a .22 LR, and he looks handy with a long rifle.”

She stepped toe-to-toe with Winters and planted a hand on her cocked hip. “It’s just a little thang for range practice. But I promise, it’s real smooth. Grab a couple bricks, and we can go all night long.”

Cash was a dead man. This was such a bad idea. Weeks ago, she might have been what he needed to blow off stress and excess energy. But now, his inner horn-dog was annoyed and far more interested in shooting a long gun, than fieldstripping in any capacity with her.

He needed to change the course of this exchange. Winters extended his hand. “Name’s Winters.”