Chapter Three
“An iguana?” Seth sputtered. He hadn’t seen that one coming. “You came all the way out here to bury a dead lizard on my uncle’s island? That’s why you’re sneaking around here in the middle of the night? Because of a lizard!”
His sassy intruder withdrew her hand, which he shouldn’t have noticed like he did. But it had been gentle and warm and—something else he couldn’t quite define. One defiant shoulder lifted along with her brows. “For your information, I wasn’t sneaking. How was I to know what happened to George or that you’d moved into his place?”
Point taken. “Okay, not sneaking. That wasn’t what I meant anyway. But who buries a dead lizard on a deserted beach just so his grave faces south to Cuba? It’s not like he can see it.”
“I do,” she declared, her chin up and a flash of something incredibly sexy in her countenance. “Gru liked to sun on this beach” —her index finger stabbed at the rolling breakers offshore— “when George lived here. Your uncle loved it when Gru and I visited him, and he wouldn’t mind me burying Gru here. Why should you?”
She tossed her head and the sensual flame that danced over her face, lit Seth up. This woman had a fire inside and a temper to go with it. He conceded the match. “You’re right. That sounds like something Uncle George would do. And okay, I get it. I don’t mind that you buried Gru here. I just wasn’t expecting company in the middle of the night. This island’s got nothing to offer but sun and surf. Where’s your boat? How’d you get here?”
She folded her long arms in front of her, intertwining her wrists and fingers like a little girl. “I’m sorry I disturbed you, but it was the least I could do for him. Gru liked to run on this beach, and he came from Cuba. I left my boat tied to the dock, but he was heavy. I had to drag him.” The tip of her tongue sliding over her bottom lip caught his eye, and he was hooked. The urge to bite that lip came out of nowhere. He couldn’t look away.
“Damn, that’s a long way,” Seth hissed as his arm came up and his fingers raked over his skull. “That must be what I heard. You scared the freak out of me, and you’re covered in blood. Least, the front of your smock is. I thought you’d buried a… a child.”
“Did you...? Umm, I m-m-mean…” She stuttered as if no longer sure of herself. “Have you ever lost a... a...?”
“An iguana?” He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Had to bury my mom’s Yorkie, but never a cold-blooded lizard.”
“But a… a child?”
Oh, crap. She’d thought...? Because he’d thought...? Talk about reading each other’s signals wrong. “I’ve never had any children,” he assured her. Wanted some, but that boat sailed with Katelynn. So, no. Never going to happen.
Seth turned to stare at the endless surf crashing ashore, wishing he’d never come home that fateful day. Katelynn would still be alive then. But if wishes were fishes...
Yeah. No.
“Sorry,” Devereaux said again, her voice as soft as the breeze off the ocean, pulling him out of his doldrums. “Gru might’ve been just a lizard to you, but he was my friend and I loved him, and I know he loved me. I owed him a decent burial.”
Seth nodded, willing to give her that much. The loss of a pet was a big deal in his book, too. The tiny little grave under a stone marked ‘Fluff’ in his parents’ backyard testified to the sap he was.
This gentle woman was still hiding beneath her earlier belligerence, though. Which posed the bigger question: Why the attitude? Was it just because he’d frightened her that she’d been so defensive? So rude?
She had the nerve to smile up at him. The look in her eyes hit him hard. The woman had legs from here to eternity beneath that short get-up, but the way she toed the sand and twisted her arms like a little girl hadn’t gone unnoticed by Seth or his cock. Apparently, the alcohol had worn off.
But then she made it worse. “I can’t believe he killed Gru. Scottie will be heartbroken when he finds out.”
“Who’s he and who’s Scottie?”
Her lips thinned. “Scottie’s my son. He’s four.”
Seth waited to know who that other ‘he’ in her life was, but the way Devereaux had ceased the information flow worried him. He was almost certain she was up against something or someone she couldn’t handle, but she didn’t yet trust him. He’d have to convince her.
“Never mind,” she whispered. “I’m fine and Scottie will be fine, too. We’ve been through tougher times.”
That didn’t sound good. “Like what?” Seth asked. “Short of Hurricane Katrina, what’s tougher than someone killing your pet? That’s what you said, isn’t it? ‘He killed Gru.’ Who’s bullying you, and why, Devereaux?” And who do I need to talk to, as in with my fist in his face?
A light flashed over her countenance, but just as quickly, her chin came up and the walls went down. She might’ve liked hearing her name on his lips, but she wasn’t ready to share personal problems with some guy she’d just met. First things first.
“Coffee?” Seth asked, switching topics.
Her short, white-blonde locks swished against her petite skull like silver in the moonlight. “Another time,” she said as she stepped one delicate foot forward. No shoes, like him, but that tiny foot was meant for a glass slipper, not long hours waitressing.
“Wait a sec. I’m wide awake now.” He couldn’t let her walk away. “The least I can do is see you home. Let me lock up. Be right back.”
She shook her head. “No, Seth. I’m no weakling. I’m fine.”
“And I said I’m seeing you home.”
She huffed one short snort of—whatever. Indignation, maybe, but no woman was going to drop in on him like Devereaux had, then simply row herself home in the middle of the night.
She must’ve gotten the hint. With a tiny shrug which he read as compliance, she said, “Okay, but only to the dock shoreside. I tie up at Molly’s. My place is a short walk from there.”
We’ll see about that short walk when we hit shore, won’t we?
It took Seth no time at all to grab a shirt from his bedroom, slip into boat shorts and sandals, and lock Uncle George’s shack, not that the flimsy hasp and padlock would’ve kept a determined scoundrel out. Uncle George had certainly lived a wanderer’s life, but Seth intended to add smarter deterrents to the windows and doors while he was here. The world wasn’t safe anymore. Hence the pistol tucked at the small of his back. No one needed to know he carried.
Devereaux stood waiting on the porch, watching offshore as the ocean breeze ruffled her hair. Now that she’d come out from the shadows, she looked familiar, but Seth couldn’t place her in a specific time or place. Waifish and thin, she still looked like Tinkerbell, or maybe a surfer girl who ought to be riding the waves instead of digging up beaches burying lizards or stuck behind the counter of some fast food joint.
But her hair… Short, thick, and silvery blonde, it begged a man to thread his fingers into it, to cup her head and hold her close while he breathed in the scent of her.
And her lips. Drawn up in a perpetual pout, his tongue ached to lick them like a cherry Tootsie Roll Pop. Just once.
But that wasn’t about to happen any time soon. Nodding at her blood-smeared hands and skirt to get his wayward mind back on track, he offered, “Want to wash up before we leave?”
Her head dipped as she took in the dark streaks down the front of her clothing. “I guess I should, huh? I don’t want to scare anyone else.”
Seth unlocked his humble abode once more, palmed the door open, and gestured her to enter. “I wasn’t scared,” he told her firmly, “but when folks poke around my deserted island, I respond.”
“You’re military,” she said as she padded through his bedroom slash living room to the bathroom. He kept a nightlight near his bed, one of those motion-activated, light sensor, energy saving types that only flashed on when needed. Made watching her hips sway as she walked away from him a little easier. But those legs… Long. Lean. Tanned. And that butt swishing under her tiny skirt... Damn, she might as well have been wearing a matador’s red cape.
“Army,” he replied, dropping to the end of his bed and forcing a swallow down his dry throat. Everything about this woman tugged at his brain to remember—something. But it was too busy conjuring up sweaty images of him and her right here on Uncle George’s bed. When the bathroom light snapped on, and she leaned over the counter to look in the mirror, Seth was presented with the perfect view of that tempting backside.
Don’t look, his conscience warned. Stop ogling. You love Katelynn.
He nodded to himself. I do, but…
The faucet came on. “Are you still in?”
He shook his head, though she couldn’t see him from where she stood, not with him still in the dark. “Gave up that lifestyle a few years ago,” he said, ashamed at the growl in his voice.
Seth cleared his throat, surprised by the lust simmering in his groin. He wasn’t a player. Never had been. Wasn’t going to start now. He did love Katelynn. Always had. Always would. Yet his stiff neck still craned to see more of Devereaux. Her short skirt lapped at the curves of her buttocks, stroking one very fine ass and accentuating those long legs with every wiggle.
The shorts he’d just put on had grown exponentially tighter with every wiggle of the sweet butt bent over his bathroom counter. The sniper in his heart had already calculated distance and angle. He couldn’t have peeled his eyeballs off her ass if he’d tried.
“Why’d you quit?”
Like a star-struck fool he asked, “Quit what?”
“The Army, you duck. Are you falling asleep on me out there?”
Never. Seth shook his head. Oh yeah. The Army. He swallowed every last one of his salacious thoughts. “I didn’t quit. Took a medical.”
That shut her up. Also shut down the rampant hard-on in his pants. Truth was, after Katelynn’s death, he’d lost his nerve and his heart, and in that mess at Harry’s in Chicago, he’d nearly lost his life. His dream of joining the 75th Ranger Regiment faded into depressing oblivion that resulted in a nerve-racking bout of Post-Traumatic Stress and one helluva long road to recovery. It wasn’t until he’d landed a position with a surveillance company out of Alexandria, Virginia, The TEAM, that he’d finally felt like he was treading water again instead of drowning.
The guys and gals who worked for Alex Stewart were all former military, most of them elite snipers. They’d endured Seth’s nervous twitches when he’d shown for work the first day. They’d even looked out for him in their rough, no-takers way. Best of all, they made him feel like he finally belonged somewhere again, that he was more than the POS he’d thought he was then.
Seth swallowed hard, remembering the first tough months with The TEAM, an innocuous name for a company as excellent as the one Alex Stewart had crafted out of a bunch of misfits. Two men stood out in the murk of that PTSD fueled nightmare: Alex Stewart himself, the former jarhead who owned the company and one badassed alpha in his own right; the other, Eric Reynolds, a former Navy Corpsman turned USMC scout sniper. They’d given him a chance and a hand-up, but more importantly, they’d respected him and his Army training. They’d helped him to believe in himself again.
Alex had a funny way of showing it sometimes, and not once did he hesitate to chew a new recruit’s ass—Seth would know—but he never mollycoddled, and that made all the difference. From day one, he’d treated Seth like a man, not a broken-down has-been who needed a shoulder to cry on. The thought of any guy crying on Alex Stewart’s shoulder made Seth smile. That’d be the day.
Eric had ridden Seth’s ass hard those first few months, too. Kept reminding him what really went down at Harry’s that night in Chicago. Kept him in touch with reality. Made sure he took his meds and never cut him any slack.
But it was the shootout outside Kabul, Afghanistan, a year later that had turned Seth back into the man he’d been before Katelynn’s death. Something snapped inside him when he’d witnessed Eric take a direct hit and go down. He’d honestly thought his buddy had died.
In that godawful instant, the United States soldier deep inside of Seth had roared back to life with a vicious vengeance. Seth still remembered the blood-curdling scream that had poured out of his chest. It had burned like a roaring beast of fire—a dragon—igniting him from the inside out. He’d never heard anything so loud, so fierce, or so brave as the scream that came out of his gut that night. His. It was as if something had snapped to life inside him, and he knew damned well who he was—Army all the way!
He’d charged center-stage into that herd of sheep and the sneaking, bastard Taliban hiding amongst them. Seth didn’t precisely remember how he got there, but he remembered killing every terrorist dumb enough to get in his way. Pissed at the world of liars and murderers, he’d dispensed a righteous load of American hellfire, and he’d saved Eric’s life, damn it. Simply because that was the man Seth truly was. A buddy to the end. Not a has-been.
The other agents at the scene told him later that he’d killed quite a few Taliban once he’d let loose. They called him hero, said his reaction turned the tide on what could’ve been a massacre. Sadly, he’d also killed a few sheep. To this day, Seth still felt bad for the sheep. Especially the lambs. He was a gentle man by nature of his birth and the loving home he’d been raised in. He honored his mother and his father every single day. But Lordy, Lordy, don’t offend my family, my God, and for hell’s sake, don’t piss on my flag.
A satisfied smile curled his lips at the thought of Alex, Eric, and the rest of the gals and guys on The TEAM. They inspired patriotism and a life that didn’t suck every day. He had friends again. Okay, so he was still a loner and possibly a closet alcoholic, but yeah. Things were looking up.
Devereaux tipped her head and shoulders out the bathroom door to look at him. “What’s with all the shoes?”
Seth glanced sideways at the stacks of boxes lining the wall by the door. “They’re for kids. Know where I can unload them? A rescue mission? A women’s shelter?”
She cocked her head. “You buy shoes to give them away?”
He nodded. “I don’t buy them all, but yeah. I run a private charity. It’s gotten bigger than I expected, but shoes are important. Little kids grow out of them fast. ’S no big deal.”
“Saint Theresa’s Church on Coral Avenue might be a good place to start.” Her lips curved upward. “How’d you get tied up with shoes for kids? Weren’t you going onto Fort Benning the last time we talked?”
Where’d that come from? “How’d you know?”
“I was on the same flight out of New York into O’Hare. We talked, remember?” She tossed a teasing smile across the room. “Don’t tell me I’m that forgettable.”
I thought you looked familiar. Cocking his head, Seth took another look at Devereaux. He never would’ve associated this version of her with the cute flight attendant who’d thanked him for his service all those long years ago. She’d lost weight since then, the once pleasingly plump figure he remembered filling out her airline uniform, now reduced to boyishly thin. Her long red hair was gone, replaced by a short, silvery bob. The bright, shiny innocence of that long-ago moment was gone, too. He recognized the somber darkness of a PTSD sufferer in her eyes. Whatever she’d lived through, she still carried it with her. He knew those signs, too.
“Your brother’s USMC Lance Corporal Cord Shepherd. I remember now. He still fighting the good fight?” Please, do not tell me he’s in Arlington.
“He’s in Cuba, I think.” Exiting the bathroom with a damp washcloth in hand, she looked through the sliding glass door and south across the sea as she took long steady swipes down her dress. No way was that stain coming out. It needed to soak overnight in cold water. “He was supposed to be back by now. He’s been late before, only…” She drew in a deep breath, her tiny belly expanding with the effort. She turned and with a flick of her wrist, tossed the cloth into the bathroom, where hopefully, it landed on the counter and not the floor. “He’s never been this late.”
It was time to cut to the chase. “How did Gru die?” Seth asked, keeping his tone gentle but firm. “Who killed him and why?” And what the hell are you involved with that you can’t or won’t talk about?
“It was terrible. He… he…” She shook her head as the back of one delicate clean hand lifted to her mouth. “I never knew lizards could bleed so much, or that they screamed.” Both hands lifted to her ears. “I… I can still hear him, Seth. He suffered, and there wasn’t anything I could do to help him. I couldn’t make him stop.”
Make him, as in him, the lizard, stop screaming—or him, as in whoever killed him, stop? Seth wanted to know. Her teeth chattered at the end of that awful explanation, downright challenging him to step up. Lifting to his feet, he closed the distance between them and cupped her elbow. “Who killed him, Devereaux?”
She shook her head but didn’t break away as he’d expected. “I shouldn’t. You can’t help me, and if he finds out—”
“If who finds out?” he pressed. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me. Tell me what’s going on. Please.”
“I shouldn’t, but…” Her cheeks puffed with air before she blew out a deep sigh. “Sylvester Valentine,” she whispered, glancing around as if merely speaking the creep’s name would bring him into the shack with her.
It meant nothing to Seth, so he waited for her to elaborate.
Devereaux turned away from him to face the ocean. “Cord doesn’t know this, and you can’t tell him if you ever meet him. He’s got enough on his plate, but…” Seth could hear her teeth grind before she said, “Sly’s been coming around the Conch Shack lately, badgering me. He owns a couple bars on the waterfront in Key West. Beers-n-Babes and others, and he… he wants me to work for him.” A shudder raced through her petite frame, shaking her so hard that she wrapped her hands around her biceps. Seth settled one firm palm to the small of her back—not to her ass, where it very much wanted to slide—but just to her back—to steady her.
“They’re creepy, sleazy bars. I won’t do what he wants me to do, only…” She bit her bottom lip long and hard enough that a tiny spot of blood welled off-center of the perfect Cupid’s bow. “I may have no choice.”
“Never give in to a bully,” Seth told her, his focus stuck on that tiny, glistening bead of red that her lovely profile offered. “There’s always a choice. I’m here now and if you need me to—”
Turning, she shushed him with one petite fingertip to his mouth. The tiny drop slipped over the edge of her lip and wound its way down her chin, unnoticed by her but not by him. “It’s not your problem. It’s mine. You’ve got your uncle to think about.”
“So Sly killed Gru?” Seth asked around her finger.
She nodded. “I’d just gotten home after working the morning shift. I heard a squeal, then a strange scream. At first, I thought it was Scottie in the backyard, but when I ran out the door, it was…” Her breath caught. “My poor baby, Gru. Sly was half inside Gru’s cage. He’d stabbed him. Blood was dripping off his right hand and knife. He looked straight at me when I came out my backdoor, and he said... he said: ‘Tonight. Be at my place tonight or else.’”
“Or else what?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t risk Scottie’s life.”
“You and Scottie can stay here with me,” blurted out of Seth’s big mouth. He licked his lips, wanting to lick hers. “Uncle George is in good hands. He won’t mind, and I’ve got a spare bedroom. I can easily tend to his business while I help you.”
She finally looked at him. The tough girl aura she’d projected faded into the soft feminine glow of a woman seeing a real man and possibly a friend, instead of a battered shell. Her eyes grew dark and too big for her face. Her lips pursed, in what he hoped was a prelude to a kiss, not that he’d act on it. But I might...
Katelynn’s memory lingered, never more than a heartbeat away. He’d never sully the time he had with her, nor the promises they’d made to each other. True love linked lovers forever, and that was what he and Katelynn had had, a forever kind of love. He wouldn’t have proposed marriage for anything less. Only… Devereaux needed his particular kind of expertise. He’d served as a bodyguard to other women on more than a few occasions. He lived to serve, and he very much wanted to serve—Devereaux Shepherd.
“I won’t do that to you,” she said firmly. “This is my battle. You can’t just ride up on your white stallion and save every damsel in distress. Life doesn’t work that way.”
What he wouldn’t give if it would—please—just for one day, work like that. “Maybe not, but I can cover your six and make sure this Sly fella doesn’t hurt you or your son.” I can make the bastard pay.
She shook her head, the tenderest gleam in her eyes. “No, Seth. Leave it alone. I can take care of myself.”
The moment her lips pursed, Seth’s pulse quickened. Like a sniper’s scope, his vision narrowed in on the single drop of blood on her chin. He wanted to taste it. His head buzzed with temptation. Swallowing hard, he eased away and removed his hand from where it had no business resting. She wasn’t Katelynn.
“You bit yourself,” he told her softly, angling his head to one side, just in case. It’d been a long time since he’d kissed a woman, too long since he’d enjoyed even contemplating the act. Sure, there’d been the occasional grab-n-go at the local bar after a long day, but nothing and no one he wanted to repeat or think about later.
Her tongue slid over her bottom lip. “So, I did.”
Softly, he wiped the offending spot away and squeezed it away between his finger and thumb. “You’d let me do that much for you, wouldn’t you? Help you?” he asked, fighting the hint of hope in his tone. That’d make him sound desperate, which he knew he damned well was, but something about this fragile woman called to the warrior in his soul, to the better man. For the first time in years, Seth second-guessed the logic of having committed the rest of his time on Earth to a woman who no longer breathed. Did his undying devotion to Katelynn’s memory make him noble—or insane?
“I should tell you to beat it, but…” Devereaux walked her fingertips up his shirt buttons to the hollow of his neck, her eyes on his throat. “I want to kiss you, Seth,” she said, her whisper soft with need. “Now.”