For the first time in memory, Trey hadn’t wanted to go on duty. He’d wanted to stay with Brittany, hold her, help her.
Low clouds blanketed the morning sky, the promise of rain Mother Nature’s cruel jest. A good drenching would be more alluring than a bag of money left on his doorstep. Lake Conroe’s decreasing levels were revealing treasures lost beneath the water’s surface. Stolen cars. Relics from the Battle of San Jacinto. Debris of all sorts. Retention ponds were drying up and reserves for drinking water ran low.
Yes indeed, two or three inches of rain for the next month would be great for tempers and temperatures.
Trey’s shift was over and he could grab a cold shower. Then he’d take Brittany in his arms and swear to her she’d be fine. He’d tell her he’d never let anything hurt her ever again.
Fuck it all.
He sighed, his desire for her so great he wondered if he could return to a platonic relationship with her.
That wouldn’t do. Before he spoke to Brittany about his suspicions, Trey would keep his meeting with Sylvia and fuck her just as he’d planned. Grunting, he rubbed his eyes. The idea of taking Sylvia didn’t appeal to him anymore. At the moment, no one enticed him but Brittany.
He had handled everything wrong yesterday. He’d knocked on her door three times and she hadn’t responded. Barging into her dark room, he hadn’t thought to turn on the goddamn lights when he’d first entered. He’d just forged ahead and thrown aside the mountain of covers burying her.
She’d said she’d been asleep but Trey didn’t believe her. He’d known Bryson since they were five-year-old kindergartners, two years before Brittany was born, so he knew her pretty damn well.
Once Mr. Donovan left, Bryson could do no wrong and Brittany could never do anything right—at least according to their mother. Other than the handwritten chore lists and criticisms that grew each week, Brittany’s mother treated her as if she was persona non grata. Sorrow and sympathy had compelled Trey to look after her when no one else seemed interested.
His father had been dead for five years by then and he knew what the sudden loss of a parent did to a child. Brittany’s dad had walked out and her mother had as well, figuratively at least. So he’d taken it upon himself to either call her on the phone or stop by in the mornings to wake her up. The Donovans and Wilsons lived four houses apart so it wasn’t a great inconvenience. When he graduated from high school and went to the local college to obtain a degree in law enforcement, he’d gotten his first car with money he’d made at an afterschool job and his mother’s help.
From then on, he’d driven Brittany to school. After a while, either Brittany or Bryson had given Trey a house key. Sometimes, he’d bring breakfast his mom had cooked to save her from having to hurry and find something to eat.
Frowning, Trey tapped his hand on the steering wheel, trying to remember where the hell Bryson had been when Trey had acquired the task of going into her room and waking her. She was a light sleeper and she hated a dark room. He also knew she never, ever woke up fighting for her life. Not once in the years he’d served as her human alarm clock had she ever attacked him. Not once had he gone into her room and found it as dark as a tomb. She always kept a low-watt bulb burning.
Her excuse of a nightmare was plausible but he’d bet his entire savings it wasn’t the truth.
After answering a call about a domestic dispute, Trey had considered calling Karl. His cousin, the Reverend Karl Wilson, pastored at one of those mega churches and was wealthy…stable…just the type of man she deserved.
Annoyance tensed Trey’s muscles. The two cousins had each other’s backs but Karl’s offhanded—and at times insulting—comments about Trey’s relationship with Brittany rankled. On more than one occasion, Karl had made clear his disapproval of the way Brittany had been flaunting herself, her beauty and her curvy little figure in front of Trey.
“It’s as if you’ve hung around her all these years so she could grow up and you could fuck her.”
Trey’s denial had died on his lips. Brittany had begun to get under his skin.
“That’s our homeboy’s little sister, man. We’re guiding her to womanhood and she ain’t quite there yet. Popping her cherry might appeal to the territorial male in you but your attraction is wrong. Your feelings are predatory and she trusts you. I don’t know what’s happened to you in the last three or four months but you’ve been sniffing behind her like she’s a bitch in heat.”
Already chastened by his cousin’s levelheaded reasoning, the phrasing of Karl’s words had made Trey’s blood boil. He’d grabbed the lapels of Karl’s jacket. “Don’t ever talk about her like that,” he’d spat. “Maybe I have noticed her in the wrong way but the man she surrenders her innocence to had best be worthy.”
“That man won’t be you,” Karl had countered, jerking himself out of Trey’s grasp and brushing his hands over the places Trey had touched. “Try to get past the semantics and listen to the message. If you don’t like my words, Colossians, chapter three, verse five of the bible states: Mortify therefore your members which are upon the earth; fornication, uncleanness, inordinate affection, evil concupiscence, and covetousness, which is idolatry:”
They’d prayed together then, for Trey’s and Brittany’s strength and moral pulchritude. Long after Karl left, Trey had thought about his cousin’s words. He’d gone over in his head what had triggered his attraction.
Until the day Karl had checked him, Trey had been on a fast track to making love to Brittany. The thought shamed him. At least when he’d gone to her dorm, she’d been a nineteen-year-old college student.
A knock on the window of his cruiser startled him and he looked up to find Bryson peering at him. Trey must have been sitting in the apartment parking lot, lost in his thoughts, for fifteen or twenty minutes. With a sigh, he killed the engine and got out of the cruiser.
Although his shift had ended at seven, he’d had a mountain of pain-in-the-ass paperwork to complete. He’d intended to go to the shooting range straight from work before meeting up with Sylvia for a quick fuck but had detoured to check on Brit.
Now it was already ten in the morning. Hot as hell with the sun reflecting against the lingering clouds. The heat thickened the air and seemed to make the sky glow with dark promise and undulate with smoldering intensity. The five-story apartment building was situated in a modest, middle-class neighborhood. The bricks glowed like hot coals in the relentless heat. The dark day was a beautiful contrast to the red façade and white shutters. The only downside was its lack of security cameras. Trey supposed he couldn’t have everything.
“I thought your shift ended at one.” Trey slammed the door shut, considering his friend’s red-rimmed eyes and haggard face.
“Yeah, man.” Bryson yawned. “But I’m worn down. I need to get some rest so I can talk to Brittany before I go back to the precinct at five.”
“You could slow your roll. You’re determined to purchase a house in the next year. Why, all of a sudden, are you working your ass off?”
Bryson turned on his heel and started toward the double doors of the apartment lobby. “I’m tired of paying damn rent for something that’ll never be mine.”
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Stepping inside, Trey pressed the number three, wondering if his recent announcement he was buying a house precipitated Bryson’s actions. All of a sudden, Bryson had begun regularly working a shift and a half. Trey assumed Bryson had been saving his money all along to buy a house, just as Trey had been doing, so he wasn’t sure why he needed so much overtime and what strings he’d pulled to get it. With such a rotten economy, the department had laid off a lot of fine officers and scaled back the hours of almost everyone else.
In silence, they stepped out of the elevator when it reached their floor and headed toward the apartment. Trey opened the door and halted at the tomblike darkness and morbid chill. A random drip from the kitchen faucet and the ticking of the clock on the wall broke the heavy silence. Trey flipped on the wall switch located just next to the door, lighting two nearby lamps.
Bryson blew past him, slamming the door shut. “She hasn’t unpacked or anything,” he noted, pointing to the duffel bags lined up right where they’d been since yesterday. “She’s supposed to have breakfast waiting for us. I don’t need this from her.”
On a good day, Bryson could be a sonofabitch to deal with. Add in hunger and fatigue and the man was a spawn from hell.
“Ease up on her, man.”
Bryson scowled at him, his features set in a merciless line. “Brittany!”
Silence met Bryson’s ferocious yell.
A weight settled into the pit of Trey’s stomach and he stalked behind Bryson. “Fuck off. Leave her be,” he ordered, following his friend down the short hallway.
Without knocking, Bryson pushed open the bedroom door. Inside was as dark and silent as the rest of the apartment.
With a curse, Trey turned on a lamp. “Baby girl?”
“Brittany!” Bryson hollered, stalking to the bed. “Wake up!”
“Bry—” Before Trey formed the word, Bryson jerked the comforter down, finding nothing but pillows.
Bryson stilled, the comforter gripped in his fingers and frozen in mid-air. Dread curled in Trey’s stomach.
“Where the hell is she?” Bryson asked, torn between annoyance and alarm. Snatching his cell phone from its place on his belt, he punched in numbers. The old-time telephone ring tolled from a little black purse laying atop one of the plastic bins.
Turning on his heel, Trey hurried to his room. “She couldn’t have gone far,” he called over his shoulder, removing his nine-millimeter and his gun belt and setting both on his bureau next to his father’s badge.
Trey pushed opened the curtain to let in sunlight, his mind exploring all the places she might’ve gone. She’d be on foot, since she didn’t have access to either his or Bryson’s car keys. But where could she have gone? Who did she know?
Karl.
The thought stiffened Trey’s body but he’d start off by calling the man. If his cousin hadn’t heard from her, Trey would begin to canvass the area in one direction while Bryson went in the other.
Reaching for his cell phone to dial Karl’s number, Trey turned and started out of his room. A small, creamy brown foot sticking out of his closet grabbed his attention. “Hell!” His pulse sped up in fear and he threw his phone aside.
He jerked open the closet door and his gaze traveled to the floor, his stomach clenching in dread. His mouth fell open. She lay sprawled on her back, an empty bottle of wine next to her, the comforter pulled to her chin and tangled about her legs. Shocked, he gazed back at his bed and saw the comforter was indeed missing. Returning his attention to the rise and fall of her chest, Trey stooped to stare at her. Her head was angled toward him. Locks of hair clung to her cheeks, fluttered around her shoulders and down her back.
How the hell he’d explain Brittany’s condition to Bryson, he didn’t know. Thinking fast, he pushed her foot all the way into the closet and shut the door.
By now, Bryson looked as frantic as Trey was feeling. Brittany was trying to cope with serious issues on her own. Had she turned to alcohol to numb her pain? If he told Bryson what he suspected, the barbarian would barrel right in to confront her and she’d shut down even more.
“Why don’t you go and check the corner store? We’re outta milk anyway.”
Bryson looked as if he would argue—nothing new there—but Trey understood milk would be the last thing on the man’s mind right now, so he held up his hands. “She might have gone there herself. You know how she loves milk.” Or she had at one time. “She could’ve gotten lost on her way back. One wrong turn in this maze of streets and you’re headed in the wrong direction. Canvass the neighborhood if she isn’t at the corner store. I’ll stay here in case she returns. If she does, I’ll call you right away.”
“Not here a day and already causing me problems.” Bryson patted his pocket for his keys. “If she comes back, let her know she’s in serious trouble.”
“She’s twenty,” Trey reminded him, striving for patience with Bryson’s overbearing attitude. “She doesn’t need to give you an itinerary every time she walks out the door.”
“She’s unfamiliar with the area. Her purse is here, as is her phone. Anything might have happened.”
A moment of guilt pulsed through Trey at the real fear and worry in Bryson’s voice. No matter how jerky Bryson acted, he loved his sister and wanted the best for her. For a minute, Trey considered telling his friend the truth but then dismissed the idea. Bryson wouldn’t give her a chance to explain before he began yelling at her. Something Trey wouldn’t stand for.
“Stop standing there and go see if she’s at the store. Or roaming the neighborhood with no clue how to get back to the apartment.”
Heaving a deep sigh, Bryson nodded and left.
Trey hurried to his room and threw open the closet door. Bending, he lifted her, remembering she weighed next to nothing when he held her slight body in his arms. He laid her on his bed and sat next to her, bracing himself for another attack.
“Brittany,” he called, shaking her.
At first, she didn’t respond. But when he called her name again, her eyelids fluttered opened.
“It’s me, baby girl.” His heart turned over at her unfocused vulnerability.
“Trey?” she whispered.
“Yes. Trey. You’ve got to get up. Bryson is worried as hell about you.”
Sitting up, she frowned, pushing hair out of her face. “Why’s he worried?”
“Because we couldn’t find you.”
She processed his words and her eyes widened. Covering her face with her hands, she groaned.
“You were asleep in my closet. My closet. With an empty bottle of wine next to you.” He succeeded in keeping the anger out of his voice, less she misconstrue his ire and think him furious with her.
She bit down on her full lower lip—the one Trey had so enjoyed teasing and coaxing open to let his tongue into her mouth. Lust punched him in the gut.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled, holding the side of her head.
Trey shoved aside his desire for her. “I need to know what’s going on.”
Her expression closed. Swallowing, she glanced away. “There’s nothing going on.”
Taking her hands into his, he found them cold. He kissed her palm and began caressing her fingers to bring blood back into them. When she laid her hand against his cheek, he leaned into her touch.
“When did you pick up the habit of swilling a bottle of wine alone and sleeping in men’s closets?”
Her sad, wounded look made Trey grit his teeth. He needed to break through her defenses so she’d open up to him. She’d trusted him enough to give herself to him. How brave she’d been to suggest they make love.
Trey let her hand fall away and he cursed. He, womanizer extraordinaire, hadn’t thought anything of backing away from her. His reasons had been noble. Yet, if he wasn’t such an oversexed bastard, he wouldn’t have gone with her in the first place.
“We have to get a plan together.” He changed the subject without pressing her for an answer.
Her innocent and inviting look sent blood coursing through his body in a hot flow and he groaned.
She peeked at him through the sweep of her lashes. “A plan?”
“Bryson is going to be mad as hell,” Trey explained with as much equanimity as possible. Lovemaking was the very last thing she needed right now. “But that’s better than allowing him to find you curled up in a closet with an empty bottle of wine next to you.”
“Yes, okay,” she responded, offering neither resistance nor suggestions, gazing at him as if she’d go along with whatever he told her to do.
Trey stood and paced the space between the closet and his bed. This room was his private sanctuary. He’d had sex with women all over the apartment…but never in here. That’s why condoms were tucked everywhere except his bedroom. He’d allowed no woman to invade his space. Now that space would be forever marked with Brittany’s presence. He’d never look at the bed again and not remember her resting on her elbows, her beautiful head of dark hair pooling onto his white sheets.
He turned away from the sight. He didn’t want a wife and he certainly wouldn’t use her to appease his desire for her. He suspected making love to Brittany would be a game changer. Wasn’t she the reason he was now almost a homeowner?
Shoving the thought aside, he refocused on her. Whatever else stood between them, Trey knew he wanted to help her regain control of her life. First, she had to learn to trust her instincts again.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Um—”
She shrugged and he narrowed his eyes at her.
“I-I’ll call Bryson from my cell,” she began, falling back on the pillow.
Realization at the depths of her trust in him hammered his brain. She’d come, uninvited, into his room, into his closet, bypassing her brother’s room to surround herself with his things.
“I’ll call Bryson from my cell and tell him I just walked in and you told me how worried he is.”
Trey decided to play Devil’s advocate to gauge her reaction to Bryson’s meanness. “And where the hell have you been all night?” he asked, doing his best to imitate Bryson’s overbearing manner.
Her eyes widened and he raised a brow in question.
“A friend called and asked me over to his house for a drink,” she answered slowly, seeming to catch on to his game.
Brittany sleeping out? Imagine Bryson’s reaction.
Trey sat down next to her and gave her a lopsided smile. “His house? That’ll go over well with your brother.”
Laughter bubbled from her. “I’m sure,” she answered, sitting up and swinging her legs around him to the edge of the bed. “God, the room is spinning.”
“I’m sure it is. What time did you start to drink anyway?”
She bowed her head. “Right after you left,” she admitted.
Trey tipped up her chin and held her gaze. “Do you always drink to sleep?”
She shook her head. “I-I just couldn’t sleep. I have a lot going on.”
He studied her for a moment, hating the stiffening of her body. She shot to her feet and swayed right back down. “Damn it.”
“You need a cold shower and some hot coffee. That’ll help.”
“I’m not steady enough to stand up in a shower.”
“You’re not steady enough to stand in this bedroom,” he returned, getting to his feet and sweeping her up into his arms. He headed out of the room.
“I need a shower,” she complained, laying her head on his shoulder. “Would you help me?”
Like a drunken man, Trey staggered at her words. The blood just receding from his cock rushed back, almost depriving his brain of rational thought. Almost, but not altogether. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I trust you,” she murmured.
Trey tightened his hold on her, forcing his feet to move. “I’m glad you do, baby girl. But I’m human. I’m not sure how much I’d trust myself if I had to help you shower… with you naked and wet, your body slick with soap…” He ended on a groan.
He craved her with every fiber of his being, his reaction to her surpassing his physical desire. The need for her delved to the very core of him.
“Wet,” she echoed, a strange, faraway look in her eyes. “Yes, everything is all about being wet.”
He stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
She gasped, her breathing turning harsh and uneven. “Nothing! Just put me down,” she screeched. “I will somehow manage to strip and take a shower without you.”
Curse his soul for mentioning a shower. He had condoms in the bathroom. She wanted him and he wanted her. He was hard and hurting and frustrated. As long as he’d wanted her, their lovemaking would be over in minutes, before Bryson ever returned.
“Damn it!” he snarled. He’d uttered those exact same words to her all those months ago, the moment he’d capitulated. Damn, damn, damn.
She needed a friend and he needed a fuck.
Kicking her legs, she struggled in his arms. “Put me down! I can manage on my own.”
“I suggest you listen, Wilson,” Bryson snarled from the other end of hallway, “and then explain to me what the hell is going on.”