She glanced back at Tyler, meaning to warn him. He met her stare, his face tightening.
“Don’t you dare regret this now, Del,” he growled under the panting and huffing Eric made as he tried to work back into his chair.
Del winced. Too late. “You should go.”
“I’m not leaving you here to deal with his shitty mood alone.”
“H-he’s just being a mean drunk. I can handle him.” Tyler’s mouth pursed, like he was going to get stubborn. She shook her head and gave him a gentle shove. “Please . . .”
Tyler cursed, then sighed. Slowly, he began to withdraw his softening cock from her. The second he pulled free, she noticed the copious wetness—and the pieces of latex.
The condom had broken. Her eyes bulged in dismay. Before she could release the gasp on the tip of her tongue, Tyler slapped a finger over her lips. She had no trouble reading his warning expression. Shh. This will only piss Eric off more.
And riling her husband more now would definitely make matters worse, so she gave Tyler a shaky nod, but . . . She had stopped taking the pill after Eric’s accident. Tyler had to suspect that. Quickly, Del did the math. Her last period had ended eleven days ago. How likely was it that she was fertile now?
Her eyes slid shut, but everything inside her trembled. Very.
Tyler grabbed his T-shirt from the floor and used it to quickly wipe them both clean as Eric situated himself in his wheelchair. Then Tyler buttoned his jeans, wadded the shirt into a ball, and shoved most of it in his back pocket.
“You’ll be okay?” he asked reluctantly.
“Fine. Go. I’ll call you when he’s calmed down.”
He still hesitated, and Del knew he didn’t like leaving her to Eric’s wrath. She could handle it. She’d become all too used to his terrible moods since the shooting.
With a final caress on her cheek, Tyler stepped around her and got in Eric’s face, leaning down, hands braced on the arms of his wheelchair.
“You going to fight me about this?”
“That wasn’t what I asked for, and you damn well know it! Get the hell out of my house!”
“You’re being a douche bag. I couldn’t come at that angle, so I flipped Del around. And now you’re pissed?”
“You didn’t just fuck her. Admit it. And you weren’t simply trying to come, but to shut me out. If I’d realized how badly you’ve got it for Del, I would have called Becker the Pecker.”
Eric’s assertion startled Del. Her husband thought that Tyler had feelings for her beyond friendship? No. She knew better.
Or she had before tonight. The way he’d touched her, cared about her pleasure and well-being, the way he’d kissed her . . . All that had been way beyond friendly.
She flipped a startled gaze over to Tyler. He wasn’t denying Eric’s accusation. Instead, he clenched his jaw and refused to look at her.
Oh God.
“Goddamn it, get out now!” Eric growled.
Tyler flinched. Del rushed over, placing a soft, reassuring touch on his shoulder, as she often had. But now everything was different. The feel of his bare skin under her hand swamped her with longing. They’d just had sex minutes ago. He’d given her five amazing orgasms. But it wasn’t just about sex. She ached to be close to him, feel his arms around her. Why?
Suddenly, she wasn’t too certain she wanted the answer. More guilt crashed over her. She’d agreed to Eric’s request to save her marriage, not have great sex. Not fall for someone else. She had to put tonight out of her mind and focus on the man she’d pledged her life to.
Slowly, she withdrew her hand. “It’s okay. Go. Eric and I have to work this out.”
Tyler stiffened at her dismissal, no matter how soft. “Call me tomorrow.”
She drifted toward the door. “Are you okay to drive?”
“I’ll walk. Let me know if you need anything.” He grabbed her hand. “Anything.”
“Get your fucking hand off my wife and get the hell out the door,” Eric shouted.
Del cringed. How could such a loving, giving friendship have gone so south in one night? She prayed that tomorrow everything would go back to normal. Would Eric be able to put this behind him, forgive and forget? And how would she ever look at Tyler again without remembering that feeling of being one with him?
She feared she never would.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Tyler.
“No, I’m sorry. I fucked everything up.” He drilled his stare into her, eyes so green and direct. “I just . . . I couldn’t say no to having you.”
Shock vibrated through her at his confession. He’d wanted her before tonight?
She was still grappling for a response when he slammed the door behind him.
In that moment, Del had never imagined that she wouldn’t see Tyler again for two years or that she’d give birth to his son on her own. She only knew the profound sadness of someone really valuable leaving.
The second the door shut, Eric began shouting, “What the hell? You came for him five times! You’ve never let yourself go like that for me. What’s that supposed to mean, that I’m not man enough for you? That you don’t love me anymore?”
They’d argued all night, and as the hours slipped past, no amount of reassurance had been enough for Eric because she couldn’t deny that being with Tyler had fundamentally changed her feelings for him forever. In the days that followed, she’d cut off contact with him—at Eric’s insistence—to try to save her marriage. In the end, she’d lost both men.
Del blinked, returning to the present, to Tyler’s guest room and Seth’s little grunt as he rolled over in his sleep. It was time—and her heart was breaking.
Before she remembered all the reasons that she’d rather stay in Lafayette with Tyler and Seth and enjoy life, rather than risk it, she rose from the bed, scrambled into her clean clothes, shoved on her shoes, grabbed her bag, and leaned over to pat Seth. Del wished desperately that she could kiss him once more, but didn’t dare risk disturbing him. So she found the note she’d written earlier with Seth’s care instructions and left it on the nightstand, then slipped out the window as silently as possible with a last glance back at the little boy. She hoped that father and son would forgive her someday—if she made it out alive. If not . . . at least she’d die knowing she’d done so trying to give her son life once more.
Chapter Six
JUST before dawn, Del parked her neighbor’s run-down car in the long-term parking garage at the airport in New Orleans. She was exhausted, but she’d have to sleep on the plane back to Los Angeles. No time now. Still, second-guessing haunted her. Had Tyler discovered her absence yet? Was he angry or resigned? Would he be able to care for the son he knew so little about? She wished she could have left him more than a note. Would Seth be all right, happy? Regret weakened every muscle in her body with the need to run back to her little boy. She had to keep reminding herself that dealing with Carlson now gave her and Seth the only chance for a future.
After a long trek to the terminal, she made her way to the ticket counter. She’d stopped briefly at a twenty-four-hour diner on the outskirts of town for a cup of coffee and an egg. She was down to her last five bucks. It would have to hold her for now because she refused to ask Tyler for money. He’d already taken on caring for their son. That was more than enough responsibility for a man used to easy living and fucking even easier women at every possible opportunity.
At the café near the airport, she’d used a pay phone to call the airlines to book a fare home. It was heinously expensive since she was traveling last minute, but Glenda’s car wasn’t reliable enough to risk trekking back across the country alone. And she didn’t have the cash for more gas.
To book her flight, Del had been forced to use a credit card. She prayed that Carlson’s reach didn’t extend all the way from Los Angeles County to Orleans Parish. Or that he wouldn’t have a team of thugs waiting for her when she arrived.
Inside the mostly deserted terminal, the chill of the air-conditioning hit her, a relief after the sweltering humidity outside. A bleary-eyed airline rep manned the ticket counter. A check-in kiosk blinked nearby, clearly on the fritz. She chose another, trying to keep her head down and her face out of the security cameras, just in case. If Carlson had influence here somehow, she had no doubt that he could have her arrested on some trumped-up charge and thrown into a backwater jail to rot. The deeper she’d dug, the more she’d realized that he dealt with his enemies ruthlessly. She hadn’t told Tyler the half of what she’d been through. He’d berate her for not coming to him sooner if he knew.
In a few moments, the machine spit out her boarding pass. The sliding doors behind her opened. An old lady with a cartful of luggage, pushed by a hunk of man wearing jeans and a low-slung cap entered. Dismissing them as a threat, Del turned toward the security line, dragging her duffel. The bleary-eyed TSA agent talked to a guy in a suit.
As she approached, another man sporting his Brooks Brothers look emerged from the nearby men’s room—and kicked her instincts into high gear for two reasons: First, he and the dude talking to the TSA agent locked gazes and had a tense, seemingly silent conversation. Second, the air conditioner caught his suit coat. It flapped open just enough to see the shiny black semiautomatic in a shoulder holster.
A moment later, they both turned and headed straight for her.
If they were packing heat and in the airport’s security line merely to board a plane, they’d be flashing badges and marching through, not looking at her.
So there was a good chance they’d come here for her, and they meant business.
Delaney looked around for an exit. The TSA agent watched raptly, like he might a good action flick. She spotted the old lady with the mountain of luggage standing at the ticket counter, deep in conversation with the agent. The man who’d been carting her luggage was nowhere to be seen. And her only means of escape was the glass double doors she’d entered through. She turned and darted for them.
The first of the suited-up guys looking stylish enough to star in a TV cop drama reached her quickly. He grabbed her arm. She felt something distinctly hard and metallic poke her ribs. “Not a peep, Ms. Catalano. Come with us quietly. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
His dark eyes were hard and challenging, as if he knew she was going to be a problem. As if he’d been warned that she didn’t want to just die quietly. His partner’s strawberry blond hair should have given him an Opie Taylor, “aw shucks” appearance, but a pair of flinty eyes and the hard set of his mouth made him look entirely menacing.
Del’s instincts told her they had orders to kill her.
She resisted the tug on her arm, digging in her heels. “Who are you? What do you want? I need to see your identification.”
Neither offered up a badge. The dark one just tugged on her arm again.
“No! You have no right to do this. I won’t go with you. Anything you have to say to me can be said here.”
“Let’s not make a scene,” Opie said to her. “Come quietly.”
Oh, hell no.
Having been married to a cop and good friends with another, Del knew more than a bit of self-defense. Yes, the pretty bastard could shoot her, but she was guessing that he wanted her someplace private to kill her so that he didn’t have to make a scene and do a lot of explaining later.
She nodded meekly. When he began to lead her away, she elbowed him in the gut. He grunted and released her, then she kicked Opie in the balls. After a rousing chorus of moans, she turned and punched the dark one in the nose, satisfied when he began to bleed. Opie grabbed her by the hair viciously, making Del’s eyes water. But she stomped on his toes as hard as she possibly could. He released her instantly, muttering a foul curse.
Breathing hard, heart racing, she ran for the exit. For now, she pushed away the implications that she wasn’t going to make her flight, wouldn’t make it home to put Carlson away so she could get her life back. Instead, she focused on her deep suspicion that if pretty boy and Opie caught up to her again, she’d be hauled away—then silenced for good. Her only hope was to keep running.
As she hauled ass for the exit, dragging her duffel, Del prayed for a waiting taxi, but even if she could find one, the two thugs were hot on her heels. She could hear them over her pounding feet and pumping heart. She’d have no time to negotiate with the driver and store her luggage, much less make a clean getaway. Not that she had any money to pay her fare, either.
Now what?
A grunt and a splat behind her had Del glancing over her shoulder. Pretty boy was sprawled face down on the floor, gasping and flailing. Had he tripped? Opie was nowhere to be seen.
Del didn’t know what had happened and wasn’t about to the question her good fortune as she made her way back outside, bathed in the morning sunlight and New Orleans humidity. A taxi driver waited nearby, leaning against his cab, looking at her hopefully. It would be the most anonymous form of transportation—if she had cash. She was going to have to retrieve that ramshackle car from the garage and drive . . . where? To another airport? A bus station?
