Banged Up (3 page)

He couldn’t just walk away leaving her unsettled. Should she stay? Should she go?

And if he wanted her to go, should she leave now or in the morning? Colby followed him up the steps. She decided to test him. “If it’s okay, I’ll gather my things in the morning.”

Mace stopped abruptly at the top of the stairway, before turning to tower over her.

Colby halted in her tracks, instinctively grabbing the banister for balance. “You don’t have to leave. Maxi hired you, so you can stay and finish your job. I don’t know how long I’ll be in town anyway. I’d hate to have to find another house-sitter on a moment’s notice when we have a perfectly good one already.”

Colby tried not to show her relief. She had nowhere else to go; the house she was renovating wouldn’t be habitable for at least another two months. That’s why she was so grateful to Maxi for letting her housesit. The timing had been perfect … well, except for this little snag.

Little wasn’t the word for him. He had to be six-foot-three with his boots on. She was sure his jacket made him look heavier than he really was. But his legs were long and lean, especially encased in those sinfully snug, worn blue jeans. Damn, but she could appreciate a man with a good ass in well-fitted jeans.

Mace turned away suddenly to continue down the hall. Maybe he didn’t like women staring at him. It was only fair after feeling his eyes burn her bare skin earlier.

She trailed him to the end of the hall, keeping her distance when he pulled out a ring of keys, inserting one into the first door on the left. She had wondered why the room across from hers was locked. She had attempted to open it one day when she was vacuuming. Maxi’s room was down the hall and Colby was sleeping in what she assumed was a guest room. Now it made sense—the secret room of the secret brother.

She tried to peer around him when he swung open the door, but only saw the dust rising behind him when he flipped on the light. She was prepared to follow him in to see the locked sanctuary, but he blocked her view and her way when he turned to face her.

“Well, good night.”

Colby extended a hand to stop the door from slamming in her face. She showed him her empty gun. “What about my clip?”

Mace frowned. “You’ll get it back when you show me you know how to properly handle and shoot the thing. Good night.”

The terse parting and the shutting of the door in her face was a sure sign of her dismissal.

Colby stood, her fists planted on her hips, staring at the closed door for a few minutes. She listened to the rustling behind the door, wondering what he was doing.

Getting ready for bed, most likely, genius.
She should be asleep herself.

She would find out more about him tomorrow. Especially if they were planning on staying under the same roof, she thought, crossing the hall to her room.

After climbing into bed, still rumpled from when she had jumped out of it earlier, she placed her gun on the nightstand so it would be within arm’s reach. She was tempted to put her gun under the pillow, but she’d probably blow her own head off if she ended up tossing and turning. It might be empty at the moment but…

A wicked smile crossed her face as she opened her dresser.

Inside it lay another clip. Along with three more boxes of ammo.

———

Mace threw his bags on the bed and sank down beside them. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair while letting out a long, soothing sigh. He gazed around the master bedroom. The furniture had a layer of dust. Pictures of his late parents and his sister dotted the room. His alarm clock had never been set after the last power outage: it flashed 12:00 incessantly. He glanced at this watch. It was almost midnight.

He was home. Really home. Not in some strange motel in some unknown town surrounded by people who shouldn’t be classified as human.

He was sick of the city life: the noise, the rush, and the constant wariness. He had felt a lot of the tension in his body dissipate the moment he had driven into Malvern. This town was quite different, more laid back, and even though it was a large college town, its population was only a fraction of New York City’s.

He was disappointed, though. He really had been looking forward to spending time with his sister, Maxi, the only person who really understood him. He wanted to run things by her, bend her ear a bit. Hell, more like a lot. He needed to figure out his future. But now he’d have to wait. Wait to be around someone who loved him for who he really was.

Not loved or even hated him for whom he pretended to be.

He didn’t know how long he was going to last, doing what he did. The job was taking a toll on him. He was tired of spending time with people he reviled and couldn’t trust. He was tired of having to agonizingly memorize details of a made-up life. An existence where one slip-up could cost your life or a colleague’s.

He rubbed his thigh. His last assignment had been a killer, both emotionally and physically. He just needed time now. Time to forget.

Time to heal.

He thought about the redhead just across the hall from him. He felt a twinge of guilt about his brusqueness toward her. On the other hand, it was hard to be nice when you’re being threatened with a loaded weapon. He had to admit he was impressed with her guts and determination—whether it was real or just an act to cover her fear.

Mace had originally thought his time home would be boring. Dull. Uneventful.

Colby Parks just might have changed that.

Chapter Two

Colby stirred the eggs around the fry pan, scrambling them.

She was tired, which was to be expected since she hardly slept last night, too busy listening to every creak in the night. Each time she thought she heard footsteps, she’d sat straight up in bed, reaching for her gun. It ended up being nothing, and this morning she felt like an idiot. A huge one.

She glanced at her watch. Since it was Saturday, she had her normal plans to go over to the house to check on the status of the renovations.

She was sinking her life savings into the old house and she wanted to make sure everything was going smoothly. Plus, she wanted to finish painting the kitchen. She had already done the cabinets, but the walls were only spackled and primed, ready to complete. She hoped the yellow she had picked would help cheer up the dreary kitchen.

She wasn’t sure. The only thing she was sure of was she stunk at interior decorating. But she just couldn’t afford to hire—

“Mmm. Smells good. Got enough for one more?”

The spatula clattered into the pan, flinging bits of egg onto the stovetop. She took two deep breaths to try to slow her heart rate before retrieving the utensil and turning to face the intruder.

The reason why she hadn’t gotten more than a few winks of sleep last night entered the small kitchen, pushing his slightly damp hair away from his face. He was wearing an old, threadbare black T-shirt and black sweatpants. Since when did ratty sweatpants ever look sexy on a man? And he was barefoot, his long toes wiggling against the cool linoleum floor. “Sure.”

He looked at home grabbing the freshly squeezed grapefruit juice she had set on the table earlier and pouring himself a glass. Well, he should, she guessed, since it really was his home. Whether she liked it or not.

“Sleep well?”

“Of course,” she lied. She hid a chuckle with her hand when he made a disgusted face after the first swallow. She knew the juice was a little bitter; she preferred it that way. It was one reason why she squeezed it herself.

Mace wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Jeez, any coffee?”

Colby shook her head. “Don’t drink it.”

“Yeah? You’re probably the only one in the county who doesn’t.” He moved around the kitchen, opening cabinets until he found an old, stained coffee maker. He dragged it out, cleared some counter space, and plugged it in.

“I try to eat healthy,” she said.

She couldn’t help but notice he looked quite healthy himself this morning. And, in the light of day, quite edible. The cotton shirt clung to the curves of his chest, accentuating how nicely fit he was. His pecs were noticeable beneath the black tee. Quite noticeable. His arms were sculpted just right. Not too bulky, his biceps looked lean and strong. His shoulders were wide, meeting a neck not huge like a body builder, but corded all the same. She hadn’t been able to tell any of those details last night when he was wearing his bulky jacket. She turned her attention back to the pan before he caught her drooling.

Mace dug up some filters from a drawer and then went to the refrigerator. He let out a low curse and slammed the freezer door. “No coffee! You’d at least think my sister would have left some.” Suddenly he was behind her, peering over her shoulder into the frying pan. “I thought eggs were bad for you.”

The scent of fresh soap wafting over her, combined with his close body heat, caused her pulse to quicken. Even though he hadn’t shaved his face this morning, he looked much less like the criminal she thought he was last night.

Unless it was a crime to look that good.

“Only if you eat them a lot. A couple a week aren’t going to kill you. They’re good protein.” She removed a loaf of multi-grain bread from the breadbox.

“That’s good to know. I think I’m more worried about the gun you have killing me than a couple of artery-clogging eggs.”

Colby heard a chair scrape the floor behind her.

“I slept well too, by the way. It was nice to be in my own bed,” he said.

“Yeah, I bet those prison cots aren’t too comfortable.”

She heard a half-assed groan. “When are you going to stop with the prison cracks?”

Colby shrugged and bit back a smile, popping four slices of bread into the toaster.

“When I run out of them.”

She schooled the humor from her face before turning. He was studying her from where he sat at the table. He was probably wondering why she was dressed the way she was. She wore her denim overalls over a plain white T-shirt with the oversized short sleeves rolled up. The clunky, steel-toed boots she had on weren’t very feminine either.

Definitely not a sexy look for her, but you wouldn’t know it from his heated gaze.

“Are you a construction worker?”

“Sort of,” she said, echoing his equivocation from last night. She plopped a tub of “heart healthy” margarine on the table.

“It’s a sin to keep that hair of yours pulled back.”

As she neared, he tugged on her long, heavy braid. The sight of his large hand sliding along her hair made her breath catch. And it wasn’t from fear. That was the scary part.

She yanked her head, releasing her hair from his grasp. She stepped back, giving herself a cushion of safety. “Well, if I want to keep this hair the way it is, I have to tie it back to keep it out of paint and plaster.” She pointed the spatula at his hair. “It’s a sin for a man to have such long hair like yours. Long and full. I bet some women are envious. Men too.”

He ran a hand through it. “It needs a cut,” he admitted ruefully.

Colby didn’t think so. It fit his personality. At least what she knew of him already, which really wasn’t much. She wondered again why he had kept out of his sister’s life for two years. When she was unable to sleep last night, her head had filled with too many questions. A strange man sleeping just across the hallway didn’t help either. Yes, the lack of sleep was because she was being cautious with a stranger, not because he disturbed her in other ways. Ways she didn’t want to admit.

Mace cut into her thoughts. “What are you painting and plastering?”

“A house,” she said absently, scooping eggs onto two plates and adding the toast.

She slid a plate in front of him. “Don’t bother to ask for bacon.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He speared the eggs with his fork. “Whose house? Is that what you do for a living?”

Colby rolled her eyes. “No way. It’s a dirty job.”

She sat down and grabbed a small container from the center of the table. A swig of grapefruit juice helped her down a couple of vitamin supplements. She offered him the bottle. “Want some?”

Mace shook his head and pulled out his own bottle from his sweats’ pocket—the same bottle from last night. He popped a couple of white, oblong pills.

“I have my own.”

“What are they?” Colby looked at the prescription curiously. Before she could read the label he tucked them back in his pocket.

“Strong vitamins.”

Colby lifted an eyebrow at him but refrained from commenting. His business, his problem.

“So whose house are you’re getting dirty over?”

She swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “Mine. I bought an old house. I’m fixing it up.”

“By yourself?” He looked intrigued.

Colby didn’t think it was very fascinating. “No. During the week I have a contractor doing most of the work. On the weekends I like to go out there and dawdle around. Do little things here and there. Most of the time I end up sitting in the middle of a halffinished room, daydreaming about what it’s going to look like when the house is completed.”

Mace polished off his breakfast, and then eyed the lone piece of toast remaining on Colby’s plate. “Sounds like quite a project.”

She offered the piece to him and he accepted, sinking his white teeth into the crispy toast while she still held it, barely grazing the tip of her finger. He had done that on purpose. His grin gave it away.

She refrained from trembling by curling her fingers into a fist while trying to keep on the subject at hand. She didn’t want him to know how he affected her. “It is. It’s all I’ve got. All my money—all the money I’ve earned—is in that house. I can’t wait until it’s finished.”

She took the empty plates over to the sink and washed them. Mace helped her dry.

“Why not build a new house?”

“Never. The house needed saving. I felt it in my bones the first time I saw it. I don’t think it’s right to tear down an old building just because it needs a little work. The house has history. Many lives have gone through it. That place has housed and comforted many people throughout its existence. If only walls could talk.”

“Maybe it’s better they can’t. Otherwise, I’d be blackmailed by many, many walls by now.”