Falling for the Enemy (Private Pleasures 3)

“No, maybe not.” Tom ran his hand over his still thick, dark hair. “But would it kill her to take him down to Atlanta for the summer? Brandi and Justin do not get along. I feel like a damn referee in my own home. Plus Brandi keeps harping on about us having some ‘alone time’. Say…maybe you and Justin could—”

“No.”

“Just for a weekend. He can help you fix up the cabin. Give you two a chance to bond like brothers.”

“No.”

“It would be good for both of you.”

“Only if you consider double homicide good. Send him to attitude adjustment camp, or…fuck…I don’t know…prep school.”

“Even if I could interest him in going, it’s financially impossible. The wedding and honeymoon set me back. Then Brandi got it in her head she needed to redecorate the house, because it ‘reeked of Monica’. Meanwhile, Monica’s alimony is cleaning me out. Everything is compounded by the fact that some of my investments took a bad dip recently. Times are tight. Justin will get access to his trust fund when he turns eighteen, thank God, so I don’t have to fret about how to pay for his college, but the trustee won’t allow me to crack into it early just to send him somewhere for the summer.”

Tom paused for breath, smoothed his hair again, and then glanced around the diner. “And now I’m going to have to spend money I don’t have on a mayoral campaign, because some bimbo decided to run against me.”

“Sorry to hear about your financial problems.” And he was, even if those problems stemmed mostly from his father’s expensive personal choices. Despite the current bind, Tom had offered him the family-owned cabin at the outskirts of town for as long as he wanted, and steadfastly refused any discussion of rent. Shaun’s mother often referred to his father as “the most emotionally selfish, yet ridiculously generous man I ever knew.” Mom had re-married a couple years after the divorce—to a nice, stable guy who adored everything about her—and hadn’t wasted her breath bashing her ex. She simply spoke the truth. Tom equated money with affection, and he’d slowly but surely populated his life with people willing to exploit that tendency—Monica, Brandi, Justin, and the list no doubt went on.

“Let me pay rent for the cabin.”

“No.” His father shook his head. “Family doesn’t charge rent, especially not when you’re putting sweat equity into the place, updating it and whatnot. You need a place to stay while you”—he made a vague gesture—“figure out your next step. The cabin’s available. Done deal.”

“All right. Why don’t I float you a loan? I didn’t use my trust fund for school, so—”

“No, no. You need your funds. Now that you’re done with the SEALs, you may decide to get a graduate degree, or start a business…or volunteer as my campaign manager.”

He had no plans to do any of the above, but saying so would turn the conversation to just what the hell he did plan to do, now that plan A—working for the county sheriffs—had fallen through. Since he didn’t have a fucking clue, he stayed clear of that particular minefield. “Look, I can’t babysit Justin for you. That would never work. But leaving him to kick around Bluelick all summer is a disaster waiting to happen. You’ll end up cracking open his trust fund to make bail, or worse. I can lend you the money to park Justin somewhere productive and character-building for the next little while.”

“Justin’s going through a tough time, at a tough age. We’ll get through it.” Tom’s glance slid away, out the window. “I’ve a couple eggs tucked away in a basket. If everything goes as planned, I expect them to hatch shortly after the election.”

That should have made him feel better, but the crowd and the noise in the diner suddenly seemed oppressive. A weight of apprehension settled in his gut. Time to go. He stood and tossed some bills on the table. “Good to hear, but let me know if you change your mind. One thing I learned in the SEALs is that plans go sideways, and eggs have a tendency to break—especially when you tuck them away in one basket.”

Tom blinked at him for a second, and then the corner of his mouth tipped up and he shook his head. “Were you always this smart?”

Shaun picked up the Wildcats ball cap he’d stowed in the booth and put it on his head. “When it comes to learning lessons the hard way, I’m a fucking genius.”

…

You’re a fucking idiot. This wasn’t the first time tonight the voice in Shaun’s head had chimed in with the helpful opinion, but it hadn’t stopped him from ending up here, walking the dark, empty sidewalks of downtown Bluelick.

A glance at his watch told him it was just shy of nine. Small towns, however, rolled up early, even on a Friday night. There might be a few late diners at DeShay’s, and Rawley’s was probably packed, but he’d been down this road enough to know unless Virginia had a late customer, she closed at six on Fridays. From across the street he looked at the dimly lit storefronts.

Turn around and go home. She won’t be there.

Then there’s no harm in walking past.

You’re a fucking idiot.

Ma

ybe. Okay, yes, he was, because his pulse kicked up when he saw the salon door swing open. She stepped out, and the light from inside put sparks of amber in her hair. She wore one of those flimsy sundresses with thin shoulder straps and a short, ruffly skirt. A woven leather belt emphasized her tiny waist and black cowboy boots emphasized her slender legs. She hefted her big, black purse onto her shoulder and then turned to lock up.

A dark figure rocketed down the sidewalk, sideswiped her hard enough to send her to the ground, and kept moving.

“Hey!” Shaun leapt off the curb and gave chase, picking up speed as he cut diagonally across the street and closed in on the retreating figure. The guy had something in his hand. Not a gun. Not a knife. Not anything big or heavy, apparently, because the skinny little fucker moved like the wind. He had a lead, and he could haul ass well enough to hold onto it. Meanwhile, Virginia was somewhere behind him, possibly injured. Shaun slowed, turned around at the corner and ran back to the salon.

She was cursing and picking the contents of her purse off the sidewalk, but she looked up when he approached. “Get him?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Couldn’t even swear it was a him. Are you okay?”