Bullets & Bonfires

CHAPTER ONE

The one day I need to be on time.

And I’m late.

My best friend doesn’t ask for favors often.

This morning, he called from whatever far-o

ff spot his company sent him to this month, and asked me to stop by his house to let his sister in. Apparently she’d be crashing there for a few days.

I hadn’t asked for details.

Didn’t need any. For Vince and Bree, I’d pretty much do anything.

Bree.

Haven’t seen her since two Christmases ago. Shares an apartment with her boyfriend, so even though it kills me, I keep my distance.

Not that I’d ever disrespect my best friend by messing around with his sister.

Never again.

No matter how much I might want her.

A flash of blue in the form of a hatchback blows through a stop sign, nearly sideswiping my patrol car and putting an abrupt end to daydreaming about Bree.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I grumble. Pulling the careless driver over will only make me later. The paperwork alone will take another half hour.

But leaving this menace on the road doesn’t sit well with me either.

The car drifts to the left, making my decision for me. Probably some asshole texting.

I flip on the lights, but the car doesn’t pull over right away. Uncooperative drivers piss me off. I’m running down my mental list of tickets to write when the car finally jerks onto the shoulder and comes to a stop.

Usually, I’d let them sweat for a few minutes while I call the traffic stop in to dispatch and dawdle over my paperwork. But I’m still hoping I can make it to Vince’s house before Bree arrives.

I step out into the boiling June afternoon. The weight of my uniform increases the temperature by at least another ten degrees. My eyes scan the vehicle as I slowly approach, taking note of everything. Engine still running. Female driver. Alone. Backseat stuffed with boxes and clothing.

As I’m about to tap my knuckles against the glass, the engine shuts off and the window slides down.

I brace my arm on the roof and lean over. “Good afternoon, miss—”

“Liam?”

It takes me a few seconds to realize the careless driver I pulled over is Bree. And when it clicks in my brain, my heart stutters all over itself. She’s thinner than I remember, and I have the urge to drive her straight to my mother’s for a dose of home cooking. Always a beautiful girl, Bree’s now a striking woman. The long brown hair I’ve admired since we were kids on the playground is tied into a ponytail flowing down her back. Messy, windblown tendrils beg my fingers to tuck them into place. The long-sleeved, tight, pink T-shirt she’s wearing leaves a lot of cleavage on display. Something I shouldn’t notice, admire or pay attention to at all.

“You ran a stop sign back there.” I keep my voice light.

“I’m sorry. I’m so frazzled—” She pushes her sunglasses up on her forehead.

The bruising around her left eye hits me like a fist in the gut. My gaze drops to her split lip and her tongue darts out, nervously slicking over the injured spot. I don’t remember Bree as a particularly clumsy girl. No, the damage to her face looks like—“Jesus, Bree. What happened?”

She slips the shades back into place, but I can’t unsee the damage as easily. “Vince didn’t tell you, huh?” she says in a tone devoid of any emotion, staring straight ahead.

“Brianna,” I say, using my cop voice. “What. Happened?”

“Can we talk about it at the house?” Her voice wobbles as if she’s close to tears. The last thing I’d ever want to do is make her cry. I used to be the one she’d come to when she needed cheering up.

I’m torn in two. I want to comfort her. But I also want to shake her and demand answers right now. The rational side of me decides the roadside isn’t the place to have this conversation.

“I was on my way there when you almost plowed into me,” I tease, hoping to lighten things up. Instead, she seems even more distressed.

“My head…I have a bad migraine. I’m a little out of it.” One of her hands flutters against her temple and my gaze strays to the bruises ringing her wrists. Defensive marks? Restraint marks? I can’t tell. She notices me staring and yanks her sleeves down, covering the marks.

Someone hurt her and my body shudders with beastly rage. My hand strays to the gun at my hip. Rolling my shoulders, I tilt my head side-to-side and flex my hands. No. No gun required for what I plan to do to the person responsible.

“I’ll be careful,” she says softly.

It’s unprofessional, but Bree’s a friend not a vic, so my fingers brush against her shoulder. Just a quick touch meant to reassure her. Nothing more. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She nods. “Okay.”

I hold my hand out to stop her from turning the key in the ignition. “Just watch where you’re going, okay?”

“Will do, Deputy Hollister,” she answers. There’s none of the joy or sass I remember in her voice. If anything, she sounds defeated.

Vince has a lot of explaining to do.

As soon as I’m inside my car, I dial his number. My gaze never leaves the back of Bree’s car while I wait for her brother to answer the phone.

“Hey, you at the house yet?” he answers as Brianna steers her car onto the blacktop.

Trained to multi-task, I pull onto the road and keep a moderate distance behind Bree’s car while answering his question. “Almost. I ran into Bree on my way there. What the hell happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I say, not bothering to mask my irritation, “she’s sporting a black eye like a motherfucking boxer went at her.” My voice explodes in the confines of the patrol car, drowning out every other sound.

“Shit,” Vince shouts on the other end. In the background there’s a crash. “The hospital said she’d been in an accident. All she told me was she got into a fight with that dickwad boyfriend of hers while she was trying to move out and needed a place to stay. She made it sound like she tripped down the stairs or something. Not that he touched her.”

“That didn’t happen from a fall down the stairs.” Don’t need to be a doctor to know her injuries have nothing to do with stumbling on some stairs, smacking into a door, or anything else she might try to claim.

A string of curses erupts from my best friend as I pull into the driveway next to Bree. “I can’t leave, Liam. I can’t get another manager here to supervise this project for at least a week. I need you to handle this for me and keep her safe.”

I’m already compiling a list of favors to call in before Vince says, “And if that stuck-up, pretty-boy boyfriend of hers did it—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you.” He laughs a wry, almost pained sound. “Can you stay at the house with her? I don’t want her alone.”

He doesn’t have to voice his reasons. Although I don’t know if the two of us alone together is the best idea, I reassure my friend anyway. “I can do that.”

“You need to play big brother until I get home. Keep her out of trouble. Any guys come sniffing around, nip that in the bud. The last thing she needs is to get involved with another loser.”

While I’m insulted he thinks so little of Bree, I choke out a sound of agreement, because honestly, I’d do that anyway. Not because I think of her as a little sister.

None of my feelings for Bree are brotherly.

“Liam!” Vince barks into the phone. “You there?”

“Yeah, I’m listening.”

“Can you do this?”

“I already said yes.”

“Good.” He breathes a sigh of relief. “You’re the only person I trust to look out for her right now.”

I’m not sure if it’s a compliment or a warning.

Shaking with nerves and embarrassment, and hyper-aware of Liam riding my tail, I do my best to maintain my car at the speed limit. Even though my arms and wrists ache, I manage to keep the steering wheel straight.

Of course Liam had to pull me over the second I arrive back in town. The only person whose opinion matters to me more than my brother’s. Why wouldn’t he be the first one to see me in this shape? Heap

on more humiliation at the worst time of my life?

I couldn’t get stopped by crotchety old Sheriff Stevens. Nope. Not me.

Even though it’s less than five miles to the house, Liam falls behind. Probably calling my brother so the two of them can decide how to handle me.

My car sputters as I pull into the driveway. As if it doesn’t want to be here any more than I do. After my mother’s funeral, I swore I’d never spend another night in this town. Yet, here I am.

Figures my big brother is away and all I’m returning to is an empty house.

My brows draw down, and I immediately wince as pain spears my cheek. Flipping down my visor, I stare into the small vanity mirror. My dark sunglasses hide most of the damage, but not all. Mottled bruising extends above and around my eyebrow.

At least most of the swelling has gone down, and I can open my eye today.

Hooray for progress!

Shame slithers over my skin as I remember the expression on Liam’s face. How do I explain that my boyfriend’s response to “let’s break up” was to use my face as a speed bag?

Liam never seemed to care for Chad, and my brother definitely didn’t like my boyfriend. I can almost hear the chorus of “I told you so” I have coming my way.

The visor thumps against the ceiling as I flick it out of my way. Now I’m left staring at my childhood house through my filthy windshield.

Isn’t that appropriate.

A longing for something or someone familiar fills my chest. I can’t believe Vince won’t be home for at least a week. To be fair, I may have fibbed on some of the details of my recent hospital stay. I doubt the full truth would have made Vince come home any faster, though.

Staying in our childhood home alone will be a challenge. So many painful ghosts live between those walls, it’s hard to believe there’s any room for me.

Luckily—or unluckily, depending on my mood—I’ll bet anything Vince tasks his best friend with playing babysitter for me. If our earlier encounter is any indication, Liam will pester me with questions I don’t want to answer during the day, and I’ll be left to battle old memories all night long. Alone.