Johnny held his hand up, forestalling the payment, his gaze hardening as he stared back at her.
“For old times.” He smiled tightly. “But please, call before coming back. I’ll make certain I have my assistant working that day. I don’t need Dawg in my shop, if you don’t mind.”
Behind her, Dawg clicked his tongue mockingly. “Johnny, we’re family, man. Surely I’m allowed in the store after paying for it? I can’t believe you’d be so coldhearted.”
This was Dawg at his most taunting. This, Crista had seen before. He was pushing Johnny, trying to make him angry, trying to make him strike out.
Johnny stared back at her instead. “Call first, Crista,” he reminded her. “I’m sure you understand the reasons why.”
The customers milling around the store were watching in interest now, the gossip mill gearing up for a spate of talk that would go on for months.
“I understand, Johnny.” She kept her voice soft, but inside, she ached. And she felt her anger beginning to build.
This store Johnny took such pride in. The big house his mother had built, their airs and certainty of their place in society had been bought with the pain of Dawg’s childhood. They had added to his father’s cruelty to Dawg and exacerbated memories that haunted Dawg even now.
Crista stared at the loaf of bread in her hand, then back at Johnny. Her expression tightened as she laid it back on the counter.
“On second thought, Johnny, I think I don’t need this after all.”
Surprise filled his gaze as he looked at the sheathed loaf of bread, then back at Crista.
“Are you sure, Crista?” It could be paranoia, but she was certain she heard a warning in his tone.
She was choosing Dawg’s side rather than staying neutral, or far better, choosing Johnny’s side.
Crista’s lips thinned as she stared back at him, seeing now how easily he could have portrayed her. They were the same height, close to the same build. It wouldn’t have been hard for Johnny to fake the curves that her body held, dress in her clothes, and pretend to be her.
Getting her clothes and putting them back wouldn’t have been hard. Her house sat right beside his, and he could have copied her key the few times she had left it with him, times such as when the cable repairman had been expected and she had to work.
“I’m sure, Johnny.” She stepped back from the counter before turning and glancing at Dawg. “I’m ready to go now.”
She didn’t wait for him. She turned on her heel and moved purposely for the door, feeling Dawg moving protectively behind her. It was the oddest feeling, knowing he was there without even looking, feeling his warmth surrounding her even when he wasn’t touching her.
He reached around her as she neared the door and opened it quickly. Standing back to let her through the exit, Dawg glanced back at Johnny. He should have smirked. He could have antagonized the little bastard further, he thought.
But as he stared at Johnny, all he felt was pity. He was too much like his mother, too easily influenced by his need for petty power and his drive to have more than he worked for.
Dawg saw the hatred in Johnny’s eyes. He saw the resentment and years of pent-up aggression caused by the fact that only once in his life had he ever gained the upper hand on Dawg. That once being the court battle Dawg had nearly lost.
Rather than saying anything more, he merely shook his head, sighed at the weariness of the fight that had waged between him and Johnny since childhood, and left the small store Johnny had purchased from the ill-gotten gains of betraying blood.
Leaving the building, Dawg followed Crista to the truck, feeling the heaviness in his chest and regrets that he knew were better left forgotten.
He knew, to the bottom of his soul, that his own father would have preferred to have left his estate to Johnny and his mother. But it was Dawg’s mother who had foiled those plans.
For all her paranoia and suspicious tendencies and cold, emotionless demeanor, Brenda Mackay had understood family loyalty. She might not have been able to keep her husband from beating the hell out of her son when he was younger, but she had counseled Dawg on the best ways to avoid Chandler’s temper, and she had made certain that in the event of their deaths that Dawg’s inheritance would be preserved. Had it not been for her careful wording of their wills and her wishes clearly stated, then Dawg would have lost everything.
He helped Crista into the truck, seeing the anger building in her eyes and the flush on her face as he closed the passenger side door and moved to the driver’s side.
As he pulled himself into the truck and started the vehicle, he glanced over at Crista again and found himself uncertain what to say.
He had accepted the animosity between Johnny and him years ago. He found himself rarely surprised by his cousin until he learned he had actually killed. He had also refused to explain or make excuses for his own behavior where the other man was concerned.
Now he found himself wishing he could find the words to explain it to Crista. She was hurt and angry. Johnny had been her friend.
For the first time in his life, he was involved in a situation that couldn’t be won, no matter what he did. He couldn’t influence Crista’s decision. This wasn’t a war that he could win with a gun, his fists, or his money.
When he was younger, his fists had protected him. Once he joined the Marines and entered the shadowed world of an assassin, he had learned his gun could handle the monsters of the world. Monsters that killed and maimed. But the job had taken a toll on his conscience. In ways, Dawg often thought the bullet he had taken to the knee had been a blessing.
When he returned home, he returned to enough money to ensure that lawyers could fight his battles and the things he needed would be taken care of.
Fists, guns, or lawyers weren’t going to change what Crista was feeling now: the betrayal, the anger, the knowledge that she had trusted someone who had been using her.
He drove to the lumber store, silent, glancing at her, wishing now that he hadn’t made the decision to confront Johnny in such a way. He didn’t want Crista as hard or as cynical as he had become.
It would be over soon. Cranston would pick Johnny up by evening on terrorism and selling military weapons charges. After that, maybe he could breathe easy. She wouldn’t be safe until then. Johnny knew she hadn’t left town, knew he was trapped; Dawg had seen it in his eyes. The agents watching him would follow him, but until he was behind bars, Dawg wouldn’t, couldn’t breathe easy.
“I’m sorry,” he finally breathed out roughly as he pulled into the side parking lot of the store. “I shouldn’t have made you do that.”
She surprised him with an unladylike snort and a flash of defiance in her eyes.
“If that mousy little bastard thought a loaf of bread was going to make up for impersonating me, then he has another thing coming. Just as you do if you think I need you apologizing for your cousin’s stupidity.”
His brows lifted in surprise as he pushed his glasses down his nose and stared over the lenses at her.
Her lips tightened as she glanced away, then back to him.
“I always thought maybe the problems between Johnny and you, Rowdy, and Natches were because of his sexual preferences. I felt sorry for him. He was so much smaller than the rest of you and always seemed so upset because he wasn’t a part of the fun.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “I knew about the court battle, how he and his mother tried to steal your inheritance, but I thought it was an attempt to get attention more than anything else.”
Regret flickered behind the anger in her gaze.
“It may have started that way,” Dawg allowed. “When we were much younger. The problem with letting Johnny in on the fun was that he tended to carry tales. Rowdy was pretty safe from it; Uncle Ray didn’t have a heavy hand. Natches and I paid enough times for Johnny’s inability to keep those secrets, though. So we kept our distance from him.”
She grimaced painfully. “Fathers should be understanding,” she whispered. “A heavy hand only breeds resentment.”
“Or hatred,” Dawg pointed out cynically before shaking his head and staring through the windshield to the metal side of the lumber store. “It’s not worth discussing at this point. I’m just sorry you were dragged into it, Crista.”
“He did it to hurt you,” she said, drawing his gaze back to her. “He impersonated me, drew me to the warehouse, and then walked into that detention center dressed as me to ensure my arrest. He did it just to hurt you.”
Dawg had already figured that one out, but he found himself hurting because she had realized it.
His chest tightened, and his heart actually ached.
Reaching out, he let the backs of his fingers caress her jawline, feeling the warmth of her flesh, seeing the acceptance in her gaze.
“I wouldn’t have had you arrested,” he finally said softly. “If you had walked out the night I blackmailed you, I would have let you leave, Crista. I had the note you left in your car. I knew you were innocent.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” She caught his hand and held it to her cheek. “I always knew that, Dawg. Maybe I just needed the excuse to step out of the past and reach for what I wanted.”
He pulled the glasses from his nose and laid them on the dash, all the while staring at her, memorizing her features and the emotions that filled her gaze.
It was love. He could see the love. It was the same look Kelly gave Rowdy, the way Maria stared at her husband Ray. Inviting, dark, filled with acceptance and with some emotion that defied description.
Love was such a tame word for what he felt and for what he saw in her eyes.
Dawg swallowed convulsively, suddenly uncertain, thrown off balance by her. Hell, she had always managed to do that to him, even eight years before. Made him feel like an inexperienced kid who didn’t know how to get a girl.
“I want to give you another baby.” He grimaced as the words tore past his lips, and her eyes widened in surprise. “No, listen.” His fingers covered her lips as they parted. “I know you’re not ready right now. I want to marry you, Crista. I want my ring on your finger. I want you by my side. But I want to give you another baby, too. I––” He broke off, his lips tightening at his own inability to put his feelings into words.
Hell, he wanted to bind her to him; it was that damned simple. He wanted to make certain she could never walk away from him again, that she never wanted to walk away from him again.
“Dawg,” she whispered, her hand reaching out to him, lying along his cheek at he stared back at her, desperate for all the things he had lost after she left town. “I won’t leave you again. Ever.”
Something inside him loosened at her words. As though a coil of dread had been tightening in his chest, her words released it, lifting a part of his soul that he had never known was restrained inside him.
Heat rushed through him. Not just arousal and lust, but emotions that swamped him, that dazed him.
He was harder than he had ever been in his life, and yet inside, the hard core of anger, cynicism, and regret was melting.
There was nothing he could say. There was only one way to combat the unfamiliar morass of emotions tearing through him now.
He reached for her. His arms surrounded her, pulling her across the console until her rear rested in his lap, her head at his shoulder, and his lips were covering hers.
An inferno of hunger exploded in his veins. His flesh prickled with heat, and his kiss grew ravenous. He couldn’t get deep enough, couldn’t taste her or touch her enough.
Her lips parted for him, took him, as his fingers threaded through her hair and cupped the back of her head to hold her in place. Not that she was fighting the kiss. Hell no. Her hands were in his hair, tugging and pulling, as her tongue met his, licked and stroked and drove him crazy with the fierce, passionate battle they were waging.
She was summer lightning, striking hot and swift to the center of his soul. She was a hot summer day and a cool, easing breeze all at once.