Читать книгу The Secret Life Of Bryan - Lori Foster - Страница 9

His disbelief couldn’t have been more plain. “Not a hooker, huh? So why else would you be here, in this neighborhood, dressed like that?” He nodded toward her clothes.

Shay stiffened. Her dress was expensive, stylish, and entirely appropriate—when dry. Now…She looked down at herself again and had to admit he had a point.

“Were you slumming? Spying for the rich biddies who want to take away every ounce of assistance these people have so they can pretend they don’t exist?” He moved closer to her, deliberately trying to intimidate her with his size and strength. “You want me to believe you’re here to visit relatives? To do a little shopping?”

Shay shook her head. “No.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, all right? No need to be ashamed and no need to lie. Hell, as long as you’re not one of those society women or part of that damned WAM group, we’ll get along just fine.”

Fascinated by these new disclosures, Shay asked, “You think all society women are like that? Mean-spirited and unconcerned about others?”

“Aren’t they? You heard about that rich lady who organizes all the charities, the one the papers call the Crown Princess? She thinks she’s so benevolent, yet when a young girl went to one of her shelters for help, she was turned away. It’s been the talk of the year, in every damn paper you pick up.”

Shay felt a chill of pain slice up her back. She said cautiously, “The papers rarely tell the whole or accurate truth.”

Bryan snorted. “The truth is that the girl almost died not forty-eight hours later, alone. If a truck driver hadn’t found her, she’d probably be dead right now. But the shelter had refused to help her.”

Breathing became difficult, from both his censure and her own smothering guilt. “The papers also said that the manager of that shelter was fired, that the lady who’d founded it didn’t know anything about the incident…”

“Yeah, right.” His rude tone ripped apart her excuses. “She set up the foundation, making herself look like a generous god to all her society friends, then didn’t bother to make certain things were run the right way. She was probably off shopping somewhere, or having a dinner party while that girl almost died trying to give birth alone.”

Shay felt herself shaking in the face of his disgust. She hadn’t known, she wanted to scream. Excuses choked in her throat: the number of shelters she was responsible for, the number of projects she established, all demanding her time and attention. There were holes in every organization.

But she knew he was right. There was no excuse. And she’d never forgive herself, so how could she expect others to forgive her?

As she turned her face away, Bryan cursed. “Shit, I upset you and I didn’t mean to.”

Even feeling so horrid, she had to laugh. “You have a terrible potty mouth for a preacher.”

He rolled his eyes over that observation.

“And you didn’t upset me,” she lied. “I’m just surprised at your…vehemence. I mean, it’s not like you know her personally.”

“I know her kind well enough and I know I can trust the desperation that forces a person to make a decision, good or bad, over cold apathy any day.”

It hadn’t been cold apathy, far from it. She just couldn’t convince the papers of that. What the public thought no longer bothered her, not when her own guilt was so heavy.

But…what Bryan thought did matter. He was a good man, doing what he could to help others.

Thank God she hadn’t told him her last name. She could only imagine what he’d do if he knew the truth. She was Shay Sommers, the very woman he despised. Dubbed the Crown Princess, a woman accused of living a charmed life, using her charity functions as nothing more than tax write-offs and society showmanship. If Bryan had known her real identity, he probably would have thrown her into the rioting mob rather than trying to save her from it. And he’d be especially angry when he learned how she’d misled him.

“Christ, how’d we get off on this anyway? Look, how I feel about wealth and all the prejudice that comes with it won’t affect you.” He gave a halfhearted, feigned smile, trying to reassure her. She’d already guessed that he wasn’t a man given to smiles; he looked more at ease snarling than smiling.

“It’s all right.”

“No it’s not. You’re shivering. Go get changed and then we’ll talk. I’ll introduce you to everyone else.”

His sudden conversational switch threw her. “Everyone else?”

For the most part, he kept his gaze on her face. But every so often he skimmed her body, lingering in select places. “Barb’s the cook and housekeeper. Besides her, three other women are staying here now, but more might come—or they might go.” He shrugged. “It changes off and on.”

“Three other prostitutes?”

His brows lowered at her blunt question. “They’re trying to start new lives for themselves. It can be done, you know.”

He didn’t have to convince her. She already hoped to start a new project, based on the success of helping these women start over. But she herself planned to stay a prostitute for a while longer. Bryan would forcibly boot her out if he knew she wasn’t what he assumed her to be.

And she wanted to stay.

She had enough reasons to justify the deception, at least to herself. She wanted to know how Bryan maintained the shelter, where his donations came from, details on how he worked the safe house. She could use those details in setting up her own shelters.

She also wanted to know all about him, the past that had molded him, the future he saw for himself, and why he had such a deep hatred for money.

But most of all, she wanted him to know her, to give her a chance to prove she wasn’t the malicious, uncaring bitch portrayed in the papers. She wanted him to know she wasn’t a Crown Princess at all, regardless of what biased truths were told. She was just a woman who wanted, needed, to help others. But telling him wouldn’t do it. She had to show him.

It was odd, but the very thing that had made her so appealing to other men—her wealth—was the one thing that would make this man despise her, and probably before she even had a chance to prove herself to him.

She did care, very much. But she knew the type of rich people he detested. She extorted those people regularly with her many charity functions and benefits. She understood them, how to squeeze sizeable donations out of them, but she didn’t really like them any more than Bryan did.

On the other hand, she knew people like herself, people with money who wanted to make a difference, likable people who cared. Her brother-in-law Sebastian was that way, but she didn’t tell Bryan that. He had his own prejudices to overcome.

Thoughts of her sister and brother-in-law naturally led a trail to other questions, and before she could consider the impropriety of it, she asked, “Have you ever married? Are you married now?”

Incredulous, he said, “That’s—”

“None of my business, I know. But will you tell me anyway?”

He leaned closer, saying succinctly, “No.”

“But…”

He caught her chin between his thumb and fingertips. “Listen up, sweetheart. Wife or no, you’ve got no reason to fear me. I only want to help you.”

Right. And next he’d sell her a bridge. She’d seen his reaction to her body, to her. Even now, he had a hard time keeping his visual attention elevated above her neckline. He might not want to be interested in any other way, but as a man, some things were unavoidable.

Her silence had him sighing and dropping his hand. “It’d help if you called me Preacher, like everyone else does.”

“No,” she answered softly. “I don’t want to be like everyone else.”

He shook his head. “Stubborn.”

“And I don’t want to think of you as a preacher.” She saw he was ready to walk away, so she rushed through her explanation. “I prefer to think of you as a man, an extremely appealing man. And when you stop making assumptions, maybe you’ll start to think of me as a woman.”

For someone who made compassion his stock in trade, he sure seemed uncomfortable with it, as if he’d rather be raising hell than serving heaven.

“Trust me, I know you’re a woman.”

Shay shivered again, this time because of the sensual threat in his tone, the masculine appreciation.

“But—”

She didn’t want to hear his “buts.” Smiling, she interrupted him to say, “I like you, Bruce Bryan Kelly. Maybe, once we know each other better, you’ll start to like me a little, too.”

She wanted to stay and talk to him more, but she took pity on the poor man. He’d had a rough day saving a prostitute who wasn’t, trying to ignore his own natural inclinations, and now trying to ignore hers as well.

Besides, she needed to call Dawn, to check on Leigh and make sure she got settled in. She left nothing to chance these days, not since that awful debacle with the pregnant girl. She trusted Dawn implicitly, but she still checked and double-checked everything, to make certain nothing like that ever happened again.

She also needed to tell Dawn that she’d be staying in the safe house. The thought had occurred to her that it might be easier to get to know the women, to gain their trust, and for them to give her assistance if they thought she was one of them. And what better way to do that than with the ideal solution the preacher had unwittingly offered her?

With Dawn on the outside carrying out her wishes and Shay on the inside spending time with the women, learning of their needs, she could make real headway. And since no one would know her, the recent taint on her name couldn’t affect her efforts.

If Bryan Kelly wanted to shelter a prostitute, she’d be a prostitute.

She thought again of Bryan’s reaction when he’d looked at her body and seen her as close to naked as possible. He wasn’t indifferent to her. He just needed to remember that, first and foremost, he was a man.

And then maybe he’d be able to help her start being a woman.

When he finally learned that she was rich, that she had more money than any three women could spend in a lifetime, that she was in truth the very same society lady he strongly disdained, it would be too late for him. He’d know that even though she was rich, she did care. And hopefully he’d want her as much, maybe more, than she wanted him.

With a barely suppressed anger common to his temperament, Bryan Kelly entered his brother’s small office and quietly closed the door. This room was the only spare room on the ground floor of the house, the only place where he could be himself for a minute.

He leaned back against the door, brooding, annoyed. Surprised. Damn, but hookers were looking mighty good these days.

The plan had seemed so simple, until now. Who could have guessed that playing a preacher would be so tough? Did his twin put up with this crap all the time?

He was a damn saint if he did.

His brother, Bruce, had warned him about a lot of situations.

Sexy bombshells with killer bods weren’t included.

Shay was hot enough to set his blood to boiling, and she was as taboo as a dame could be.

Bruce would have had a conniption if he knew Bryan’s thoughts. Preachers weren’t supposed to view women—definitely not prostitutes—with lust.

He half laughed. He’d always admired what his brother did, the life he led, but never more so than now.

As a bounty hunter, the only prostitutes Bryan ever met were the ones vying for his money. They’d put on a lot of miles and looked equal parts desperate and hard. Walking away from them had been no problem at all.

Hell, he was picky about the females he invited to his bed. For the most part, he didn’t trust people, especially women. They were clever and manipulative and while he felt pity for the women Bruce helped, he sure as hell didn’t want to bed them.

But then, none of the others he’d met had looked or acted like Shay.

When he’d started this harebrained plan, he’d known that being surrounded by needy, sex-driven women who were totally off limits would be culture shock. But Shay? No, he couldn’t have imagined her if he’d tried.

He’d gone out on patrol, as Bruce often did, because breaking his brother’s routine would give them away. People would realize that it was Bruce’s twin filling in, not Bruce himself. And that would ruin the plan.

The night was so shitty, Bryan sure as hell hadn’t expected to see any working girls. Most anyone with a brain had enough sense to be indoors, out of the vicious storm.

But there she’d been, tall, supersexy, with pale hair hanging in wet tangles to shield part of her lowered face. Her dress, a snug, miniscule white concoction totally unsuitable to the area and any purpose other than advertising her body, left her endlessly long legs on display.

The upper part of her dress had become transparent in the rain, displaying round breasts and nipples stiff from the cold wind. He’d forced his gaze down the length of her body and stalled on her flat dress shoes. They didn’t really jive with what most of the prostitutes wore, but then, few prostitutes were as tall as this one.

In the three-inch heels most the hookers favored, she’d be taller than him. Maybe that’s why she wore the flats; it probably wouldn’t do for her to tower over her johns.

He hadn’t wanted to approach her. She’d screamed “Trouble” with a capital T. But damn it, his brother wouldn’t have hesitated. Bruce would have seen it as his duty, and he’d have willingly gone to her. So Bryan did what he had to, and made the effort to “save” her.

He snorted. Yeah, right. She was so damn cocky, so self-assured, she’d probably only come along because she thought she might be able to rip him off somehow. He’d keep a close watch on his wallet.

And that nonsense about liking him? Prostitutes liked any guy with money to spend. For fifty bucks, she’d like him as much as he wanted.

But…for some reason he didn’t really believe that. He’d gotten by on gut instincts too many times to disregard one this strong. Somehow Shay didn’t fit the mold, and he didn’t mean in the obvious ways. It was more than that.

She seemed to vibrate with energy and something more. She didn’t look downtrodden.

She didn’t look used.

She was slim but strong, with almost regal features—except for those innocent blue eyes, so huge they could suck a man in. But not Bryan. He’d long since grown immune to feminine wiles.

She hadn’t run off as he’d expected, as Bruce warned they often did. He’d been prepared to chase her, but instead of fleeing, she’d stepped right off the curb into the stinging rain to meet him. Crazy broad.

Then, from one heartbeat to the next, her entire side of the street went black as pitch. There’d been no time for gentle urging, as was his brother’s custom, no time for explanations. The last power failure in that slummy area had left two people badly beaten and several buildings ransacked. Riots often erupted with little coercing. A blackout could fuel all types of depraved crimes.

Bryan knew the feel, the taste, and scent of danger, and it had surrounded them. Luckily she hadn’t argued with him too much. Chili’s timely appearance had helped to convince her, no doubt because Chili was a greasy little bastard with a smile like a pig.

The danger had brought out Bryan’s instincts, and he’d temporarily abandoned the ruse, acting more like himself than Bruce. Then when she’d asked for his name, he’d screwed up big time. He’d given his own. He didn’t make mistakes like that. Ever.

But somehow, with her, he had.

And he’d complicated it further with his half-assed correction. Bruce Bryan? Jesus, even to his own ears it sounded lame.

Not many people knew his brother as anything other than the Preacher, but he didn’t like taking chances. He’d have to convince her…what was he thinking? To hell with convincing her. She wouldn’t be around long enough to cause too much trouble.

Out of all the women his brother tried to “save,” he only reached about a fourth. The rest took advantage of his hospitality, his generosity, then returned to work in a few days, a week, a month.

Regardless of how different she seemed, Shay would do the same. He’d just keep his dick in his pants until then.

He recalled his brother’s lecture to be like a doctor around the women, immune to them as females. But Bryan only saw women one way and that was the one way Bruce had ruled out.

Still, for a week he’d affected that attitude with ease. Now he felt challenged.

Hell, he couldn’t understand the workings of the average female mind, so how was he supposed to understand a trollop?

Knotting both hands in his wet T-shirt, he jerked it over his head, wadded it into a ball and flung it into the corner. It hit the faded wallpaper with a dull plop, but did little to relieve him.

Outside, thunder boomed, reflecting his mood. At least Bruce had gotten the roof fixed, so there wouldn’t be any damp spots in the ceiling upstairs, no need to carry up pots to catch the leaks. It hadn’t been easy convincing Bruce to take his money for repairs. But Bryan was a mean son of a bitch, while Bruce was a nice, sensitive guy, so he’d just more or less forced it on him.

Bryan was damn proud of Bruce and what he did, even if he couldn’t always agree with it. He supported his brother’s efforts and he wouldn’t let himself get distracted by a woman with a nice ass and a bold manner, not when Bruce needed him to be on guard, to be the ruthless, calculating hard-ass that their father often called him.

Someone was out to hurt Bruce, someone vicious. Verbal threats had expanded to physical ones. The last attack had put Bruce in the hospital, and that had Bryan pissed. Really pissed.

No one hurt his brother and got away with it.

Soon, another attack would come. But instead of finding Bruce, the bastard would run into Bryan. And that would be the end of that. Bryan just had to wait, then he’d have him.

Which meant he’d have to ignore, or at least tolerate, Shay’s invitations. He almost laughed at the irony. Could there be a worse man for this particular job? Since the death of his wife, what he did with women was either apprehend or fuck them. He couldn’t do either of those things now. No, he’d have to do the impossible. He’d have to get involved.

Neck deep involved.

The clock on the small table beside Bruce’s one guest chair told him time was ticking away. He’d give her twenty minutes to get dried off and changed, then they’d get the rules straight. In the meantime, he could check out a few things.

Because he was soaked, he went to the closet where Bruce kept spare clothes. Pulling out the first shirt he came across, Bryan shoved his arms into the sleeves and quickly did up the buttons, then rolled the sleeves above his elbows.

He dropped into the easy chair, pulled out his cell phone and punched in a series of numbers. He had respect in his field, favors owed him, and connections everywhere. What Shay wanted to keep private, he’d find out on his own.

But the day was rife with frustration. The detective he had called had run a check that came up empty. Far as he could tell, they didn’t have a record on any tall blond hookers named Shay. Shelly and Sherry, Scarlet and Selma. But not Shay or Shaina. He checked with other bounty hunters, but no one on the run fit her description.

Maybe she’d worked a different area, even a different state. Whatever—he’d uncover her secrets somehow. Bruce was the trusting sort. Too bad he wasn’t Bruce.

For now, he’d follow the mundane routine of registering a new resident to the safe house. He’d play his brother. He’d keep his hands to himself.

And eventually the game would end.

When enough time had passed, Bryan left the privacy of the office. The short hall leading to the kitchen was empty, but he found Shay’s sodden purse set on the dryer. It had been emptied so that a comb, lipstick, sunglasses and other female items were scattered about, along with the contents of her wallet spread out to dry.

Bryan didn’t hesitate to snoop. Hell, snooping was what he did.

She had a few bills, a handful of change, a post office receipt, and a grocery list. No credit cards, no driver’s license, nothing that could ID her. Not that he was surprised. She really didn’t strike him as being stupid. Just brazen. And sexy.

He checked out the receipt, but the rain had faded the ink and he couldn’t even make out the total or the location. A dead end.

He laid the receipt back where he’d found it and took two long steps to knock lightly on the wall outside the swinging door to the kitchen.

He called out, “You decent?” then wanted to kick his own ass.

She was a hooker, for God’s sake; nothing decent about that.

Shay pushed the door aside and smiled at him. “I was just getting ready to make tea. Would you like some?”

He eyed her fresh appearance. Her damp hair had been combed and slightly curling ends now brushed the tops of her breasts. Her makeup, which had been smeared from the rain, was washed away. She looked young and happy, her blue eyes bright and full of wholesome welcome.

He didn’t buy it.

The tattered jeans she’d chosen from the box of donated goods were a little too short and way too tight, fitting her like a second skin. Oddly enough, she’d paired them with an oversized misshapen sweatshirt he assumed to be one of Bruce’s castoffs. So she wasn’t advertising her body right now. Maybe it was her off hours.

She shifted under his gaze, and Bryan noticed her bare feet and painted pink toenails. Even dressed in ragged clothes, with all the artificial enticements stripped away, she looked incredibly beautiful.

I’m a preacher, Bryan reminded himself. And not just any preacher, but his brother. What would his brother do in this situation?

For sure, Bruce wouldn’t stare at her breasts, which rounded out the sweatshirt real nice. And he wouldn’t reach for her hips, thinking how it’d feel to hold her as she sank down onto him, lifted, sank…Damn it.

Okay, he had it. Bruce would realize that she not only looked sexy enough to eat, but also sweet and innocent and carefree. She may have been just that once long ago, but not anymore. Now she sold herself to any slimy bastard with enough money in his hand, probably out of sheer desperation. Right.

She was desperate and needy.

He pitied her.

He felt sorry for her….

Until he looked beyond her and saw her dress, bra, and wispy little panties draped over the kitchen chairs to dry.

Ah, shit. Not her panties.

She’d definitely done that on purpose. Left those lacy little bits of nothing out just to provoke him. And that had to mean she wasn’t wearing any underclothes now at all.

All women knew how to draw men in. Hookers would be especially good at it.

But it wouldn’t work on Bryan. He was here for his brother, and no woman, regardless of her appeal or lack of underwear, would make him blow that.

Bringing his attention back to her smiling face, he said, “Sure, sweetheart. Tea’d be great. Thanks.” Tea. Just thinking about it almost made his stomach turn. He’d rather have a beer, but Bruce didn’t drink, so there wouldn’t be any around even if he dared deviate from his brother’s habits.

As he stepped into the small confines of the kitchen, she didn’t move. So, she wanted to tease? Fine. Two could play that game.

He skimmed past her, holding her gaze, letting his chest brush her breasts oh so slowly until her breath caught and she moved back.

He contained his smile of triumph. “Where’s Barb?” Barb he could handle. Barb was surly most of the time, outrageous the rest. Barb didn’t make him hot.

Flushed, Shay leaned against the counter. “She said she had a slight headache. I sent her to put a cool cloth on her forehead. I hope that helps.”

Apparently Shay took charge with ease. That didn’t surprise him. “Barb suffers from migraines.” Bryan lightly tossed the items from Bruce’s office onto the Formica table. The spare key made a clinking sound as it landed. The notepad and pen fell beside it. “She has a prescription but hates to use it since it makes her sleepy.”

Shay’s gaze flickered to the table and back to his face. “She told me. She said she had to stay alert to fix you something to eat and to finish cleaning up afterward. But I told her I’d take care of it.”

Giving her a direct, hard stare, Bryan said, “I’m thirty-five and I haven’t starved yet. I know how to feed myself.” And he wasn’t masochistic enough to want to spend his dinner with her.

“But Barb said she cooks all your meals.”

“Barb just likes to stay busy. It’s in her nature.”

“She said you brought her here when she had nowhere else to go.”

Bryan couldn’t hide his surprise. Bruce had told him all about Barb’s situation, but Barb wasn’t a person given to sharing confidences. So far, she’d commented on his body, told him it was a shame he didn’t share his “sweet self,” and she sneered or complained. She set out food, picked up around the place, joked and flattered, or insulted with glee. But she didn’t confide.

Bruce said it was all a front, that Barb didn’t warm to people easily. Yet Shay had only been in the kitchen a few minutes and already she had Barb talking.

As if Shay knew exactly what he was thinking, she smiled. “Barb’s been with you a little over a year now. Unlike the other women here, you pay her wages as a manager.”

He propped his hands on his hips, annoyed. “She told you all that?”

“Yes. She feels indebted. Let her do her part to pay you back, Bryan. It would injure her pride to make her think she wasn’t needed.” As she spoke, the teapot began to whistle and Shay turned her back on him, preparing two cups of tea.

Bryan stared at her ass.

Bruce, or God, or both would probably strike him down for it. But…it was a really fine ass. And he wasn’t a preacher, automatically immune to such things.

No, he was a bounty hunter, and he’d always been partial to a nice heart-shaped derriere. Hers was of special interest, though, because he could see the small rectangular outline of plastic cards in her back pocket—no doubt the IDs that were missing from her wallet.

Nope, nothing dumb about her.

After carrying the cups to the table, she pulled out a chair and sat. Or more like she sprawled, her body going boneless as she slumped in the seat, stretching out those neverending legs. And still she managed to look elegant and sexy.

Bryan had never seen a woman so comfortable with herself and her surroundings, whatever her surroundings might be. He was already used to the hookers being immodest to the point of being lewd, almost unaware of their bodies, as if they no longer thought of them as their own or as private. Their attitudes carried over to him, and he was able to see them the same way. Not sexy, just very used to showing skin.

But Shay was impossible to ignore. She just didn’t behave like he’d expected, like Bruce had predicted.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think she had no idea how sexy she looked. But as a hooker, that wasn’t possible.

He took his own seat. “This house wouldn’t run smoothly without Barb.”

“I hope you tell her that. Often.”

Her chiding tone grated on his nerves. His brother did what he could. Sometimes, to his own mind, it wasn’t enough, but Bryan knew that Bruce was as honorable and considerate as they came.

He didn’t like anyone, especially this pushy bimbo, judging his brother. “Shay…”

Teasing, whisper-soft, she replied, “Bryan?”

The reprimand died on his tongue. I’m a preacher. I’m a preacher. Bruce would reassure her, not set her straight. Bruce would make her feel welcome. “You’re not like the other women here.”

That made her laugh, but she quickly stifled the sound. “Sorry.” She rubbed away her smile. “How am I different, do you think?”

She said it like a challenge, but then everything about her, from her smile to her openness, challenged him. You don’t seem wounded. You seem much too confident and sure of your actions. You’re too damned bossy. He couldn’t say it, of course. Bruce wouldn’t say it.

“Well?”

He had to tell her something, so he said, “You’re more relaxed than most of the women.” Then a thought struck him. “You haven’t been working long, have you?”

“Since I was fourteen.”

An invisible fist squeezed his larynx. He choked, wheezed in a breath, and choked some more. Fourteen! Holy shit.

Brows raised at his reaction, she said, tongue in cheek, “Oh, you mean prostituting.”

Feeling duped, he pondered the pleasure of putting her over his knee. She deserved it. But of course, his brother would have a cow if he did something so outrageous. Through his teeth, Bryan said, “Most of the women prefer to call it working.”

“Really? I prefer to call it what it is.” Her eyes were serious, but her soft mouth still sported that teasing smile.

He wanted to lick it away. When this damn switcheroo was over, he just might. “Have you been prostituting long?”

“Actually, I’m fairly new.”

He hadn’t realized how tight his stomach felt until she answered. He’d dealt with a lot of ugly shit in his life, most recently in Visitation, North Carolina, where he helped to save Joe Winston’s ass. A woman and two kids had blindsided him then, ruining his plan to use Winston as bait to get the fugitive he wanted.

They’d found a soft side he hadn’t known he possessed. Now Shay did the same. It shouldn’t have mattered, but knowing she hadn’t been selling herself long filled him with immense relief.

It also made sense, because a woman like her couldn’t be easily ignored. If she’d been around long, Bruce would have already found her and brought her to the shelter.

And that thought really perturbed him.

Bruce wasn’t like him. Bruce was a hell of a lot nicer and therefore more susceptible to female wiles. She would have had Bruce wrapped around her little finger in no time.

With his own humorless smile, Bryan said, “I’m glad I happened along when I did, then.”

“Happened along? I had the feeling you were patrolling the area.”

“I watch out for trouble,” he told her. And for once, he gave the undiluted truth. He sought out criminals, brought them to justice—but usually with a nine-millimeter in hand. Not a Bible. “In this neighborhood, I can usually find it.”

Hell, he’d found her, hadn’t he?

“What kind of trouble?”

A few truths about her newly chosen profession wouldn’t hurt. It might even set her back on the straight and narrow, where she’d be safer. “Sometimes the women refuse help because they’re supporting a boyfriend’s habit, or children, and they figure they can’t make enough in a conventional job, not with their backgrounds.”

“Meaning?”

He shrugged. “They lack acceptable work experience and education.” He hoped she would disclose her own reasoning for being here, but she disappointed him.

“I like how you say that, how inoffensive it is. You go to great pains with your wording, don’t you?”

Bruce did—and Bruce had coached him on what to say. Bryan studied her. She didn’t squirm, didn’t pose or posture herself—just remained lounged back in that stiff little kitchen chair, at her leisure, perfectly comfortable with the conversation, with the situation, with him and with herself.

“Why would I want to insult or offend anyone?”

“I don’t know.” And then with a crooked grin: “You have the look of someone who normally wouldn’t care.”

That’s because normally he wouldn’t.

“But you’re actually pretty good at this.” She took another sip of tea. “So go on. Some of the women refuse your help…?”

Her prompt made him want to reach out and shake her. He wasn’t used to being led around verbally or otherwise. And he wasn’t comfortable giving control, even of a simple conversation, to someone else. Especially not a woman. Especially not a hooker. “They go back on the streets. Sometimes they end up hurt, beaten…”

He drew a breath. In this, at least, he and Bruce were alike. Neither of them could stomach brutality against women or children.

Their methods for dealing with it, though, varied by a mile. He told her Bruce’s method. “I try to watch out for them, see that they get help if they need it, when they need it. But it isn’t always possible. Some of the women’s pimps cause trouble. Sometimes I’m not there when I should be.”

Avoiding his gaze, her eyes on her teacup, Shay said, “A person can’t be everywhere at once.” Then her lashes lifted and she caught him with her innocent gaze. “I think you could use some assistance here.”

Didn’t he know it. Bruce left himself vulnerable far too many times. “That’s asking for the impossible. Most of society wants to write off this area and pretend the problems don’t exist. If they ignore it, it’ll go away. They’re not interested in finding solutions.”

Shay nodded, very introspective for the moment. Then she leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table. “You said I seem different from the other women here. Well, you’re certainly unlike any preacher I’ve ever met.”

Not good. Back up, Bryan. “Because I work in the field, instead of a church?”

“Working in the field,” she repeated. “I like that. But no, I meant because you don’t preach about the evils of the flesh.”

“No.” Their father preached, endlessly, on everything under the sun. He was good at it, both effective and entertaining. People who would normally doze in the pews would be alert and engrossed when his dad got started.

His sons didn’t seem to have the same charisma when it came to relating, though Bruce was certainly heads and tails ahead of Bryan, who, according to his dad, tried to communicate with grunts.

Bryan grinned, thinking of how his dad and Bruce always harassed him about his lack of social skills. Then he caught Shay watching him and pulled himself back to the present.

What was it Bruce always told him? Oh, yeah. In righteous tones, Bryan repeated, “These women won’t accept words, so instead I try to offer options. Maybe a few solutions.”

“Like what?”

Because he was familiar with Bruce’s operation, he could answer without hesitation. “Safety and physical comfort have to come before they can be spiritually content.”

Shay reached out and touched him, her fingertips light against his wrist.

Yeah, she was asking for it. But for the time being, he’d have to refuse her. He slowly pulled away.

“What happened to you, Bryan? Why aren’t you in a nice little church somewhere?”

If he hung out in a church, the roof would probably cave in. He snorted. “Why should I be?”

She raised a brow.

“Everyone deserves a safe place to go for spiritual guidance. It’s just that…” Damn it, Bruce, I’m going to kick your ass when I see you. He sighed, locked his jaw, and murmured, “I want to do more.”

She stared at him, her expression rapt. “Why here? Why this cause?”

Good question. Why couldn’t Bruce have taken in stray dogs, or assisted the elderly? Why did he have to enmesh himself in overly sexual floozies who all wanted to torment him, this one more than the others?

He drummed up the last speech Bruce had given him. “There’s a lot of misery in the world. But this is in my own backyard. I want to change things and I can’t do that from a safe distance in a safe little church, with safe people. To put out a fire, you have to get close to the flames.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to live in them.”

Damn. He’d told Bruce that exact thing many times, and always gotten the same answer. “Maybe not, but it’s difficult to survive in both worlds, the tidy little communities and the crumbling ones. It scares people on both sides. They’re afraid you’ll carry something back with you, that you’ll somehow spread a disease they won’t be able to run away from.”

Shay nibbled at her bottom lip before nodding. “I suppose you’re right. People fear things they don’t understand. Maybe if they were aware of how the problems originated, that no one chooses to be born into poverty, then maybe they wouldn’t fear it so much.”

Her forthright speech threw him. She sounded just like Bruce. “Maybe,” he said, conceding the possibility of truth in her words.

“It’s difficult to teach ethereal ideas like morality and pride when you have no electricity and no food on the table.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a lengthy, meaningful discussion with a woman. And damned if she didn’t have an uncanny insight into the obstacles Bruce faced every day.

“An awareness program is real low on the list of priorities, with so many other things to be done.”

“So what’s high on your list?”

He tried a smile that fell flat. “Right now, you are.”

Her eyes were big and soft, eating him up. Her hand slid up his wrist to his biceps. “Good.”

Again, Bryan leaned out of her reach. “Damn it, stop that.” Pointing a finger at her, he growled, “You need to understand a few things, lady.”

She held her hands up in the air. “I’ll behave. No reason to panic.”

A cynical smile curved his mouth. “Women don’t panic me, even pushy women like yourself. But I’ve got some questions for you, and we need to get started on them.”

“Sure. I’ll fix us something to eat while you grill me.”

He watched her rise from her seat, then became engrossed with the way her behind moved as she roamed the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers, as if she’d lived in the safe house for an eternity. “I don’t intend to grill you. I just need some information.”

She bent into the refrigerator. “There’s cold chicken and potato salad. That sound okay to you?”

Distracted by her stance, which he considered a real money-shot, he said, “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“Good. It’ll be ready in a jiffy.” Then she peered over her shoulder. “Well? Fire away with the inquisition. I’m ready.”

She looked ready. He decided to get the most pertinent questions out of the way. “When was the last time you were examined?”

She straightened out of the fridge, a little appalled, her cheeks heating. “Examined?” she asked on a whisper of sound.

Was there a better way to ask? If so, he didn’t know it. He wasn’t cut out for this sentimental, heart-to-heart crap. “Yeah. By a doctor.”

She blinked, and looked away from him.

Bryan persisted. “You know, to make sure you’re…healthy.” He’d almost said clean, but caught himself in time.

Turning her back, she asked, “Do I look ill to you?” She was so tall, she didn’t have to tiptoe or use Barb’s stepstool to reach the top shelf of the cabinets.

Bryan sighed. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

She pulled down two plates, cleared her throat, and said, “It wasn’t that long ago. I don’t have anything contagious.”

Now he felt like an asshole for asking, like he’d insulted her as well as embarrassed her. But hell, Bruce had it on the list.

Clasping the ends of the pen in both hands, he attempted to clarify why he’d asked. “There’s a woman—a doctor—who works with us. Dr. Eve Martin, from the clinic. She gives free examinations to the women.”

Shay jerked around with renewed interest. “You said Dr. Martin?”

“That’s right.” He frowned at her. “You know her?” If she did, then that had to mean she was from the area after all. Maybe Shay was an alias. But why?

She ducked her head and turned away again, then plopped two heaping servings of potato salad onto the plates. Instead of answering, she asked another question. “Why would I need to see a doctor?”

She made it harder than it had to be. “You’re not dumb. You know there’re a lot of health risks these days.”

“No problem with me. I’m always, uh, careful.”

The pen threatened to snap in his hands. “Still,” he insisted, trying not to growl, “if it’s been a while since you’ve been checked, I’d feel better if you let Dr. Martin look you over.”

“No.”

He straightened in his chair. “What do you mean, no?” Few people dared to refuse him. In the normal course of things, he wouldn’t accept a refusal. “Why the hell not?”

“I don’t want to, that’s why.”

His hand curled into a fist and an uncertain dread began. His voice was even lower when he said, “If there’s a problem, you can tell me. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. And hiding it won’t help.”

She turned to face him, her eyes wide.

He stared back, unblinking.

“There’s not a problem.”

Then why didn’t she want a free checkup? “I can get you a private appointment with Dr. Martin. No one else would have to know.”

Shay looked from his eyes to his mouth, and damn it, he knew exactly what she was thinking. She made him think it, too.

She blinked, focusing on his eyes again. “This is totally unnecessary. I really am a responsible person.”

He gave one sharp nod. “Great. Then you’ll agree to see the doctor.”

That uncanny stare held him again, as if she could do battle with a look. But he wasn’t a pushover like his brother; he wouldn’t be budged. Finally, she rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Oh, all right. But I don’t need an appointment. I’ll just go to the clinic on Saturday.”

Dr. Martin would let him know if there were any problems, and Saturday was only three days away. “Does that mean you’ll be staying with me…with us?” Whoa, what a slip.

“If it won’t inconvenience anyone.”

When he’d started this sham, he hadn’t expected to really care about any of the day-to-day stuff. He’d figured on filling in, chatting when necessary, until he found the son of a bitch who was harassing his brother.

But he’d already developed an easy familiarity with the other women. They didn’t suspect him of being an impersonator, and he didn’t hassle them when they broke the minor rules his brother had set.

But this woman…it would be a mistake to get too close to her. He couldn’t treat her like he did the other ladies. Probably because she was so different, she got to him in a way no woman had since the death of his wife.

Actually, her effect was unique even beyond that. He’d loved Megan, and his grief, guilt and anger hadn’t abated enough with time. But never had he lusted after her like this. His need for Megan had been tempered with uncommon gentleness and an affection that had grown over time.

Shay, on the other hand, hit him like a tropical hurricane. Urgent. Instant. Even if her vocation didn’t put him off—and it did—he would never betray his brother’s trust by touching her.

“There’s plenty of room with six small bedrooms upstairs. Unfortunately, only two baths, one upstairs, and one down here.”

If anything, she looked intrigued by the idea of close company. “I don’t mind sharing.” She bit her bottom lip again. “What about you?”

He didn’t like it when she looked at him like that. Or rather, he liked it too much. “What about me?”

“How often will I get to see you?”

“I’ll be around. I use the room on the other side of the kitchen as an office when I’m here.”

“This is going to be fun.”

Like a lobotomy. “Ya think so?”

“Sure. I get along with everyone. It’ll be like a girls’ night out. When do I get to meet the other women?”

How the hell did he tell her that the other women weren’t like her? They were sarcastic, lusty, often raunchy and loud—and those were the nice ones. He shook his head. “You and Morganna will get along. She’s the redhead.” And he meant red, as in flaming red. “She’s…flamboyant.”

“You saying I’m flamboyant?”

“In a pushy, disrespectful way, yeah.”

She laughed.

“You’ve already met Barb. And Patti’s nice enough.” Just too damn grabby. She made him feel like raw meat set before a hungry pit bull. “But Amy is…different.”

“Different how?”

Bryan remembered his reaction when he’d first met Amy. He looked away. “She’ll be okay, but she’s still a little wounded.”

“Wounded how?” Shay’s voice had turned as cold as death. “What does that mean?”

Bryan set the pen aside because otherwise he knew he’d break it. “She’s young and scared. Her pimp is not a nice guy, and he had control of her for far too long.” He shrugged, trying to relieve some of his own tension, then added, “She’s afraid. Of just about everyone and everything.”

How Bruce managed to keep his cool in this job amazed Bryan. When he’d seen the bruises on Amy, the utter dejection in her green eyes, he’d wanted to find the fucker who’d hurt her and pound him into the dirt.

But Bruce had been clear on what he could and couldn’t do, and mangling anyone was on the “couldn’t do” list.

Besides, for some reason he couldn’t understand, Amy blamed only herself. She’d thought she was special to the guy, thought he cared about her more than the others. Bryan wasn’t sure she’d given up on that fantasy.

If she were his daughter, he’d—

Shay made a small sound of distress. Bryan turned to her, saw she was rigid with anger, and in the next second, she exploded.

It was so unexpected, her previous manner so laidback, so relaxed, that he jumped in surprise at her ferociousness. She turned to the counter and slammed down a fist. “It’s so damned unfair.”

Her hand would be bruised, he thought as he rose from his seat.

With two long strides, he reached her. He grabbed her shoulders, trying to turn her. She might be tall, but he probably outweighed her by eighty pounds or more. She was no match for his strength.

Still, she tried to brush him off and Bryan hesitated, not wanting to hurt her but not wanting her to hurt herself, either. “Calm down, Shay.”

“No.”

She looked feral and dangerous, a woman to be reckoned with. Bryan raised a brow, admiring her temper despite himself. “It’ll be—”

She rounded on him in a fury. “Don’t you dare tell me it’ll be all right, that things’ll work out.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight, and in the meanest voice he’d ever heard, rasped, “I hope the guy who hurt her is miserable now, I hope he—”

“Rots in hell? Yeah, me too.”

Her eyes snapped open and she gaped at him.

Bryan’s hands were still on her shoulders, and somehow he was caressing her with his thumbs, soothing her without even meaning to. “Close enough. They couldn’t nail him for what he did to Amy, since she wouldn’t testify against him, but he got busted on a drug-related charge. He should be doing some jail time.”

“Good.”

Bryan grinned. “My thoughts exactly.”

She looked startled, then exasperated. “You are the oddest sort of preacher.”

Wondering if he’d ever survive this, Bryan said, “Yeah, I know.”

As he watched her, she pushed her hair away from her face. Her hands were shaking. “Sorry for losing it. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah?”

Her thoughts flitted across her face before she came to some decision. “I had a friend get hurt earlier. I’ve been edgy ever since.”

“A friend you work with?” He hoped like hell she’d open up a little. He detested mysteries. He detested secrets. He wanted everything laid out where he could examine it.

Her lips quivered, and he had to lock his knees to keep from pulling her against him. Holding her seemed like a real good idea, when he knew it’d be dumb as dirt.

She shook her head, but he didn’t know if that was an answer or a gesture of futility. “She was afraid to go to the police.”

“That’s tough.” He’d prefer her harassment over this show of emotion any time.

Taking Bryan by surprise, she leaned into him. Her hands fisted in his shirt and she tucked her face into his neck as if she’d done so a hundred times. Softness touched him everywhere, the softness of her body, her scent, her hair, her breath—and her compassion.

He stood there, stiff, appalled, incredibly turned on and feeling like a sick bastard because of it. “Shay.” He pressed her shoulders, intent on moving her away.

Her lips touched against his throat; he felt her mouth tremble, felt her breath become jerky, and then she slumped into him and began to cry in near silence.

“What the hell?” He was lousy with crying women. Hell, he ran away from women when they started blubbering. He couldn’t take it. But Shay had a death grip on him and wouldn’t turn him loose.

She even curled closer. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

Bryan’s cynicism melted on the spot.

The rest of his body was rock hard and throbbing.

She’d seemed so indomitable that her vulnerability was amplified. He stopped thinking about right and wrong, about his brother and propriety. He gathered her in and held her tight.

He didn’t know if it helped her any, but he sure as hell felt better.

His hands rubbed up and down her slender back as he attempted to offer reassurance. He wasn’t very good at it, and he felt awkward as hell. The nonsense he whispered to her brought his lips close to her ear. He breathed in her scent; his cock twitched in temptation.

Pressing his mouth to her hair, then her cheek, he tried to offer comfort, while at the same time wishing she was naked, wishing he was naked, too.

It didn’t make any sense. He was a damn good bounty hunter because, despite the sob stories he always heard, he could stay untouched. He had a keen sense of right and wrong, of his own terms of justice, and he never confused the issues.

At the moment, he was lost in confusion.

He knew only one way to make women feel better, but he doubted a screaming climax would work in this instance.

Then she turned her face up to him, drawing in a slow, shuddering breath. Her gaze was soft and liquid, her lips open.

And somehow, despite his intelligence and cynicism, despite his loyalty to his brother and everything he knew to be right and wrong, he let her kiss him.

And damn it, he even kissed her back.