Chapter Seven

Lindsey

The black Lincoln sat at the curb, two houses down and on the opposite side of the street. In the late dusk, I saw the outlines of two heads silhouetted by the yard lights behind them. And the tiny red glow as the driver inhaled on his cigarette.

"Are they watching my house?" Brody demanded, easing his way up. "Or yours?"

"Can't tell."

He stood behind me, looking over my shoulder, his breath hissing through his clenched teeth. "Bastards," he muttered. "Loan me your gun."

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"You can't just march up to them with a loaded gun," I replied. "Unless you're planning on shooting them and spending the rest of your life in prison?"

I closed the curtain and turned to him. "Lie back down," I suggested. "I'll keep an eye on them."

Brody raked his uninjured hand through his dark blond hair, his mouth caught in a tight grimace. "I can't just lie down when –"

"Yes, you can."

Despite my guilt at eyeballing a grievously injured man, I couldn't help but reassess his physique. As he wore only his jockeys, his broad chest with a small amount of hair between his pecs was on full display. As were his muscular biceps, long shapely legs, and the heavy, bulging package below his navel. Holy mother of god, this guy is hot.

I gulped and shifted my gaze from his body before he noticed. "Are you hungry?" I asked, stepping past him. "You slept quite a while."

Brody, his jaw tight, turned to follow me from the window. "I don't know that I can keep anything down."

He sat on the couch where he'd been sleeping, his hair tousled from sleep and his hand. "What if they bust in here?"

I showed him the Glock I'd tucked into the small of my back as he slept. "That'd be a piss poor decision on their part."

"Okay." He drew in a deep breath. "Okay."

Tugging the blanket over him despite the house being warmer than I liked, he lay down. "You sleep with that thing?"

"Yep."

"Who's after you?"

"Right now, your drug dealing pals," I replied, walking toward the kitchen. "I'll fix some soup. You should try to eat."

He grumbled something under his breath I couldn't catch and would have ignored, anyway. I checked to make certain my doors, front and back, were securely locked with deadbolts. What I need is a Rottweiler. Maybe after I move to the next place. In the kitchen, I opened cans of chicken soup, thinking such might be easy on Brody's stomach.

I leaned against the counter as it heated, my arms folded. What am I doing? I can't get involved in Brody's criminal troubles, but here I am, involved up to my eyeballs. Ready and willing to shoot Austin and his friend if they busted into my house. I shook my head at my inner thoughts.

I couldn't have let them kill him, cut him to shreds when I could stop it.

"I need to stop second guessing myself," I muttered. "I did what I had to do, regardless of the consequences. It was the right thing."

The soup hot, I took a bowl and a spoon into the TV room, expecting Brody to be asleep. He turned away from the window as I entered, his ass revealed starkly in the white shorts.

"They left," he said, limping back to the couch.

I set the bowl and spoon on the table. "I'd better get you some clothes. You're rather, um, distracting without them."

He grinned. "I'd sure like to see you in your undies."

"Never happen."

I returned to the kitchen for my own soup, then brought my bowl from the kitchen to eat with him. He ate slowly, carefully, no doubt favoring his nausea. I had little appetite but ate my soup, anyway. I craved instead to drink until I fell asleep, forgetting all this shit that's happened in the past two days.

Including my own shit.

"It's good," Brody murmured. "My stomach is calming down."

"I sure have no desire to clean your puke off my rug."

At his sudden flinch, at his darkening face, at how he quit looking at me, I knew my comment stung him deep. Only then did I realize how crass that sounded. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just stressed. I didn't mean to be so rude."

"You're right," he replied, again without looking at my face, "you shouldn't have to clean up after me."

"You're a guest in my house. I should behave as such."

Brody had nothing else to say. After he finished, he lay back down and covered himself with the blanket. I took the empty dishes to the kitchen, put them in the washer, and washed the pot I'd cooked the soup in. After that, I stared out the window into the darkness. Naturally, I saw nothing save my own reflection, my tense and set face.

Taking water and Brody's medications to him, I watched him take them in silence, then set the glass on the table. He rolled onto his side, facing the couch's back, the blanket up to his chin. I shut off the lights, then sat, the Glock in my lap, looking out the window.

The clock ticked as the seconds passed. Then the hours. A few cars drove past my house without stopping, but I couldn't tell if any were black Lincolns. One by one, the neighbors' lights went dark. A few porch lights stayed on, and would throughout the night.

No one tried to break in. Brody slept behind me, and I considered going to my own bed to get some sleep. Sometime after three, I did. I removed my jeans, but not my shirt, and lay down atop my bed spread. The Glock sat on my bedside table within my arm's reach.

I didn't fall asleep until the dawn's pink rays peeked in my window.

***

"I can get my own clothes," Brody protested as I blearily made us toast and oatmeal for breakfast. "I'm not an invalid."

"You sure are. And I think you should stay out of sight."

He sat at my kitchen table, not quite as gray as he had appeared, yet lines of pain were drawn around his mouth and nose. He ate with his awkward left hand, his bandaged right arm resting in his lap. "It's just next door."

"No reason for me to not do it for you."

Eating with his face down, Brody only flicked his gaze at me for brief seconds before glancing aside. "I'll be out of your hair today."

"You'll stay on that couch until I say you can go."

"I'm not an infant," he snapped, his honey eyes dark with anger. "I can take care of myself."

"Sure you can," I replied, sipping my much needed coffee. "And if Austin decides to take another knife to you, I'm sure you can beat the snot out of him. Or rather them ."

"Dammit."

"You're safer here," I said softly. "Until you're stronger, or we know what they're up to. Maybe he's finally convinced you don't have his shit."

"I'm causing you too many problems." Brody dropped his spoon to the table and pushed his chair back, grimacing. "And you won't let me do anything to return the favor."

"There's nothing you can do," I told him. "So stop fussing about it."

"You're scared of someone."

"Aren't we all scared of somebody?"

My answer turned his expression mulish. If he'd had long ears, they'd be pinned back in his anger and annoyance. "That's not an answer."

"It's all you'll get."

Leaving him to fume, I left my house to walk to his. Not before, however, closely inspecting the neighborhood for cars that shouldn't be there. All stood quiet in the mid-morning sunshine, folks avoiding the heat by staying inside with the air conditioning running.

Brody's house was unlocked, the switchblade still on the rug. I picked it up, clicked it back into its housing, and stuck it into my pocket. After gathering some clothes for him, I found his keys and also put them in my pocket. I gave the house a quick look around for anything else he might need. I locked his door after me and went back to mine.

"This is my new toy," I said, brandishing the knife. "It's mine now."

Brody slowly, carefully, dressed himself in jeans and a light shirt. His eyes had glassed over from the pain killer I'd insisted he take as he inspected my prize. "It's illegal to have one of those."

"Fuck it. No one will know I have it."

Sitting on the couch, Brody gingerly, wincing, grimacing, tugged the bandage from his cheek.

"I don't think you should do that," I commented.

"Don't care. It's bugging the shit outta me."

His flesh had swelled somewhat with dark bruising under and around the lips of the sutured wound. The cut ran from just under his eye, across his cheekbone, and almost to his nose. "How do I look?"

I grinned. "Gorgeous."

Also ignoring my protests, Brody removed the bandage around his right forearm. He flexed his fingers, both of us looking at the raw slice from his wrist to his elbow. Like his cheek, the flesh had swelled slightly from the trauma, but it didn't appear to have become infected.

"Go to sleep," I told him. "I can tell the pill is making you groggy."

Brody lay down, without the blanket, and stared up at my ceiling. "I've done enough sleeping."

"You need the rest."

"Sucks to be me, eh?"

Still, the narcotic proved too much for him to resist. Brody fell asleep a short while later, lying on his back as he snored lightly. I studied his better than handsome face, his wound not marring his good looks at all. I spent the next hours trying to decide what to do – go or stay. Run or fight. No matter what I decided, I thought, I'd make the wrong decision. I hid, but I was found, anyway. I ran away. How long must I keep running? How long do I want to keep running?

I'll be found if I run again. It doesn't matter. No matter what town, state, or country I flee to, my past will always be there, haunting my steps, threatening my life.

I looked again at Brody's sleeping face. He promised to help me. If I accept, I'll endanger his life. But didn't he endanger mine when I stepped in to help him?

Okay, that one got me. I voluntarily stepped in to save him from being cut to pieces. I owned that. But did I have the right to accept his help, knowing that he might get killed? He doesn't know what's chasing me. I know what's chasing him.

Big difference.

Once again, Brody slept through most of the day. I drank coffee, watched the street outside, and didn't unpack. Nor did I pack. I should try to at least get some work done. But my thoughts – should I, shouldn't I – refused to permit me the freedom to think about my writing projects. The powerful urge to stay in this town, to fight for my right to live on my own terms, gnawed at me like rodents' teeth.

I help Brody, maybe Brody helps me.

Do I have that right to involve him? No. I didn't.

Okay, then, I'll fight my own battle. When my enemy comes, I'll be ready. Bring it on, baby. Let's see what you've got.

As darkness crept once again across the landscape, I rose from my chair to greet it with open arms. A new and fresh confidence filled my soul. No matter what, I'm done running. I found a place I want to live, and I'll live here without fear. Without doubt.

I smiled. Bring it on. You know where I am.