The devil’s behind this!
He’s always there, y’know, Satan, he’s just over your shoulder, waiting to pounce ...
Chapter 3
“I can’t,” Pescoli said into her cell phone as she eased her Jeep down the long, snow-covered drive to her house. The wheels of the Jeep cut fresh paths in the snow as she drove through the trees and across a small bridge that spanned the iced-over creek running through her few acres in the foothills outside of Grizzly Falls. When the trees parted, her headlights flashed against the front of the house. Not a single light was glowing from within. “I have a feeling both of my kids are MIA. And that would be A-G-A-I-N.” The bad feeling that had been with her most of the day, while trying to sort out what happened to Len Bradshaw, still lingered.
“I won’t say it,” Santana said and for that she was grateful. She knew how he felt about both of her teenagers needing a serious father figure in their lives.
“Good. Don’t. Then I won’t have to unleash my inner bitch.”
“God knows we don’t want that.”
“No, we don’t.” She clicked on the remote to open her garage and watched the snow fall in front of her headlights. What she wouldn’t do to drive over to Santana’s place right now, take him up on his offer of drinks and dinner, then spend the night with him, but responsibility called. Responsibility in the form of her children, wherever the hell they were. “I’ll call you later.”
“Do that.” She was about to hang up when he said, “Regan?”
“Yeah.”
“You deserve a life, too.”
“That I do.” She couldn’t agree more. And he wasn’t wrong about her kids. She just wasn’t ready to admit it. Yet. “Later.” She clicked off and pulled into the garage, her headlights flashing on the back wall that still held bins of Joe’s tools. Her heart tore a little bit when she thought of her first husband, who, like her, had been a cop. Joe Strand hadn’t been a perfect man, far from it, but she’d loved him and he’d given her Jeremy, who had all of his father’s good looks and none of his sense of responsibility. Joe had been killed in the line of duty during the worst of their marital rough spots. “I think I failed, Joe,” she said as the engine ticked and the headlights died, leaving the garage in total darkness. The wind rattled the window casings and she realized it had been a long time since she’d talked to her deceased husband, something that had been her regular practice in the weeks, months and years after his unexpected death.
Since Nate Santana had come into her life, Joe’s image had begun to fade. Finally.
It hadn’t happened when she’d been married to Luke “Lucky” Pescoli. In retrospect, Luke should have been a fling. Instead, desperate not to raise a child alone or some other such garbage, Regan had ended up marrying the loser. Lucky became husband number two and father to Bianca. A truck driver, Lucky was sexy and handsome in that bad-boy way she found so fascinating. He, of course, hadn’t had a faithful bone in his body. The marriage had been a mistake from the get-go.
Not that she could do anything about it now. And she did get Bianca out of the deal.
After her divorce, Pescoli vowed never to get involved again, and then she’d met Nate Santana and all of her willpower had dissolved with one flash of his sexy, cowboy smile and flicker of naughtiness that she recognized in his eyes. They’d sparked from the first time they’d laid eyes on each other, a chemistry that was as undeniable as it was unfathomable.
Trouble was, he’d gotten serious and she was trying not to be rash. She’d told herself over and over again that this time she was going to take it slow, let her head rule her heart for once, rather than the other way around. But Nate Santana was making it difficult. Damned difficult.
Dragging her briefcase and laptop from the car, she headed inside and was immediately greeted with excited yips and scurrying feet as Cisco raced across the linoleum. A terrier of indeterminate mix, the dog wasn’t as spry as he had been. At twelve, Cisco was definitely slowing down, but he never failed to give an enthusiastic and heartfelt greeting each and every time she walked through the door.
“Jer?” she called, snapping on the lights, though she knew her son wasn’t around due to the lack of his truck being parked in its usual spot at the front of the house. “Bianca?” she yelled a little louder as she dropped her laptop and briefcase onto the counter, but aside from Cisco’s frenetic dance at her feet, she heard nothing.
“Great.” She let the dog out and checked her phone for voice messages or texts.
Nada.
“Some things never change.” While Cisco took care of business outside, she noted that there was a pizza box on the counter with several bits of crusts and a couple of globs of cheese still within. “More good news.” At least half a dozen cups were situated near the sink, not rinsed and placed in the dishwasher, but at least not scattered all over the living room. As for the dishwasher, it was full, clean dishes ready to be put into waiting cupboards, if only anyone had noticed. She tried to be patient, she really did; after all, she was the one who had encouraged her son to go back to college and he had, if taking six hours really counted as being a student. “I’m workin’ my way into it,” Jeremy had said.
“God forbid you take any time away from playing video games. Come on, Jer. There’s more to life than annihilating fake soldiers on the flat screen.”
“But I’m playing with other people, from all over.” He pushed a button and Pescoli heard rapid machine-gun fire before another victim died a bloody death in a burned-out bunker on the television screen. “I’m part of a team.”
“Yeah, you are. And it’s called Team Strand-Pescoli. And lately, soldier, you haven’t exactly been carrying your weight.”
“Oh, Mom.”
“I mean it!”
“This is more than just a video game!”
“Seriously?” she’d countered. “You think?”
“I know. Call of Duty isn’t just a video game,” he’d told her, controls in his hand as he stared at the television.