Crash Into Me (39 page)

“I
was trying to protect you, you ungrateful little shit. Now I’m the pussy?” His
gut twisted with resentment. “You’re the one too scared to fuck your
girlfriend.”

James
paled. “Shut up,” he whispered.

Stephen
clenched his jaw, instantly regretting his words. He ached to get high, to feel
the chemical burn in his nostrils, the bitter taste in his mouth. “I’m sorry. I
hate to see you give her up because you think you’re not good enough for her.”

James
sank down in front of the fire again. “I’m not. God, I’m a mess, Stephen. I’ll
just mess her up, too.”

“How?
You going to tell her to drop out of school? Do drugs? Get pregnant?”

“No,”
he conceded. “But I can’t keep my hands off her.”

“Doesn’t
sound like she wants you to.”

“Yeah,
but she’s only sixteen. And unlike Rhoda, she
is
a virgin.”

Stephen
smiled, relieved that they were talking about their troubles instead of
pounding the hell out of each other. “Quit beating yourself up about it. You’re
not twisting her arm, pressuring her into anything. Are you?”

“Hell,
no. She’s pressuring me.”

What
a delicious conundrum, Stephen thought, to agonize over deflowering a sweet
young thing with the face of an angel and a body that could tempt a saint. Most
guys wouldn’t think twice. He shook his head, finding James more principled
than a seventeen-year-old boy ought to be. Of course, his little brother wasn’t
a typical teenager.

The
age difference between Carly and James was minimal. Measuring in life
experience, they were worlds apart. “There’s no reason you can’t be friends.”

James
gulped. “Friends?”

Stephen
took the beer bottle from his brother’s hands. “Sure. You can control yourself
from jumping on her, right? So just be friends.”

Stephen
knew James didn’t have any friends. He couldn’t bring anyone over to the house,
for obvious reasons, and Arlen had never let him go anywhere.

“Friends,”
he nodded, sounding pleased with the idea.

Stephen
raised the bottle to his mouth, hiding a smile.

“About
Mom,” James began, after they were quiet a few moments, “I didn’t mean what I
said. I suspected him, too, especially after Lisette. If only I’d stood up to
him, maybe some of those girls would still be alive. If only I had—”

Stephen
hooked his left arm around James’ neck. “No,” he said, pulling his brother
close in an embrace that was part headlock. “You couldn’t have done anything
but get killed, too. And you did stand up to him, in your own way. You told
those cops everything, and that took a lot of guts. More than I had. Mom
would’ve…” He cleared his throat, all but choking out the words. “Mom would’ve
been proud.”

It
was all he could say. So he planted a hard kiss on top of James’ head and kept
him there, face pressed to his dirty T-shirt, while his shoulders shook with
pent-up emotion.

The next morning, Sonny woke up with a
tension headache and a knot in her stomach, exhausted after another restless
night.

It
was imperative that she find a break in the investigation. Grant had given her
one last chance to redeem herself, and she didn’t want to go back to Quantico
empty-handed. She couldn’t stand before a panel of stern faces at Internal
Affairs with nothing. They could strip her title and make her a civilian. They
might even bring her up on charges.

If
she closed this case, her career would be in jeopardy. If she didn’t, it would
be over.

Groaning,
she dragged herself out of bed and into the small bathroom, grimacing at her
reflection in the mirror. Her hair looked like a tangled mass of scorched
honey. Although it needed professional help in the worst way, she made do with
another home dye job, this time choosing a nice, semi-permanent mahogany brown.

Lisette’s
wake would be an informal affair, so Sonny decided on a pair of tailored wool
trousers and a soft blue sweater set. She knew she looked relentless, and too
much like FBI, in head-to-toe black. For a touch of flair, she wore her sexiest
shoes, a pair of sleek black heels, and underneath her clothes, her finest silk
lingerie.

Not
that anyone would see it.

She
brushed her hair away from her face, securing it with a black velvet headband,
and applied some makeup, using the tips Carly taught her. She took more time
with her appearance than she ever had before, justifying that no one would
believe a scrub like her could catch the eye of Ben Fortune. When she was
satisfied that people wouldn’t run from her screaming, she stepped back and
studied her reflection.

She
hardly recognized herself.

With
black hair, she knew she’d looked a little scary, for the color had exaggerated
her sharp cheekbones and strange blue eyes. As a blonde, she was attractive in
an edgy sort of way. Being a brunette didn’t exactly make her soft and sweet,
but it did give her a certain girl-next-door prettiness that was completely at
odds with her personality.

“Oh,
God,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t even know who I
am anymore.”

Taking
the disguise a step further, she slipped on Carly’s silver cross necklace,
telling herself she would give it back later, and undid a few buttons on her
low-cut sweater, because she didn’t want to look too angelic.

She
rushed out of the apartment before she could change her mind, stashing her SIG and
a pair of round-framed sunglasses in a black shoulder bag.

When
Ben opened his front door, she almost forgot about her own appearance. He was
wearing a dark blue pullover that hugged his biceps and a pair of loose-fitting
black corduroys she wanted to snuggle up against. It wasn’t as formal as the
suit from Christmas Eve, but it was a step up from the surfer bohemian look he
usually cultivated.

Carly
peeked out from behind him. “Holy crap,” she said. “Who did that to your hair?
You look like a housewife.”

Ben
gave his daughter a warning stare.

“A
really hot housewife,” she clarified.

His
gaze dropped to Sonny’s breasts, then jerked back up.

Carly
narrowed her catlike eyes. “What’s with you two?” she asked, looking back and
forth between them. “I thought you boned already.”

Sonny
felt her cheeks heat. Obviously, Ben hadn’t told Carly she was an undercover
agent, and neither had James. Good. Now she didn’t have to worry about the outspoken
girl throwing a tantrum and giving her away at Lisette’s wake.

Ben
cleared his throat. “At the risk of being redundant, Carly, I have to repeat
that who, when, and how I…bone…is none of your business.”

“Whatever,”
she muttered, brushing past him. She was wearing an eggplant-colored sack dress
with bell sleeves and an abbreviated skirt. It was unique, stylish, and totally
inappropriate for the occasion.

Nathan
was hovering in the background as well, as handsome as a
GQ
model, with
his precision haircut and tailored clothes. “Miss…Moore,” he said in greeting,
his cool brown eyes skimming her outfit.

Immune
to cleavage, he wasn’t as easy to please as Ben.

She
nodded at him, acknowledging a worthy adversary.

“Carly
and Nathan are meeting us there,” Ben explained, watching his daughter flounce
away with trepidation.

Judging
by the somber music she’d heard coming from Carly’s room yesterday, and the
almost indiscernible puffiness around her eyes today, the girl had split with
James and was up to her old tricks.

Poor
Ben.

He
took her by the elbow and led her toward the SUV, as if she couldn’t locate it
on her own, parked right next to the curb in front of Nathan’s shiny silver
BMW. He also opened the door for her, a move she couldn’t find fault with even
though it was out of character for him. She guessed he was using formality to
keep distance between them.

As
if they needed more.

The
anger he felt toward her was still there, reading loud and clear, but the
attraction between them hadn’t lessened. When he climbed behind the wheel, the
roomy cab of the SUV seemed to shrink. She watched his hand on the gearshift
and admired the muscles in his forearm. Beneath the fabric of his corduroy
trousers, his right thigh was tense.

She
took a deep breath, stifling the impulse to smooth her palm over his thigh,
exploring the texture of his pants and the hard muscle beneath them.

“Are
you cold?”

Catching
his glance, she looked down and noticed the stiff points of her nipples,
jutting at the delicate lace bra and thin blue sweater.

“I
can turn the heat up.”

“I’m
fine,” she said, face flaming.

Ignoring
her, or just being contrary, he reached out to press a few buttons on the dash,
getting so close she could almost taste him. He smelled good, too, like cool
aftershave, clean water, and warm male skin.

She
crossed her arms over her chest, forcibly reminding herself that she was here
to do a job, not him. Losing focus again was out of the question. She couldn’t
afford to tremble at his touch or get breathless because of his proximity.
There was too much at stake.

The
Bruebakers lived near Mount Soledad, in one of the ritziest neighborhoods in La
Jolla, a city that was already known for being a community of the elite. Ben’s
net worth was considerable, but with his modest house and casual style, he
lived well below his means.

The
Bruebakers didn’t. They were loaded and it showed, from the marble statuary
lining the cobblestone driveway to the gold-plated hardware on the front door.

Ben
parked the SUV between his brother’s pricey BMW and a vintage Rolls-Royce.
Carly and Nathan strode toward the entryway like royalty, unfazed by the
opulence. Sonny held on to Ben’s arm, trying not to stare at the columned
balustrade and enormous chandelier as they stepped into the busy foyer.

“Subtle,
isn’t it?” he said near her ear.

Hiding
a smile, she looked past the small crowd, watching Lisette’s parents greet
their guests. “Did you grow up in a place like this?”

“Not
quite,” he admitted.

Sonny
wanted to ask more questions about his past, but Carly was already saying hello
to Lisette’s mother. The pained look on Sheila Bruebaker’s face as she wrapped
the girl in a warm embrace robbed Sonny of speech.

“I’m
so glad you came,” Sheila said, smoothing her hand over Carly’s shining black
hair.

It
was easy to see where Lisette had gotten her good looks. Sheila was at least a
decade younger than her husband, and at first glance, she was stunning. Her
dark hair was expertly tousled, her tall, surgically enhanced figure trim, and
her makeup flawless.

Upon
closer inspection, the perfect façade was wearing a little thin. She had
faint smudges under her eyes and fine lines around them. When her focus shifted
from Carly to Ben, some of the misery faded from her face.

“Ben,”
she said, letting her lush red lips fall open in surprise. And a blatant sexual
invitation. “It’s good to see you.”

He
leaned in and brushed his mouth over her cheek, murmuring a few words about
being sorry for her loss. “You remember my brother, Nathan,” he said after he
pulled away.

She
blinked up at him. “Of course.”

Ben
placed his hand at the small of Sonny’s back. “And this is…Summer.”

Giving
her a wan, dismissive smile, Sheila turned and took a sip of the martini on the
table behind her, its clear contents shimmering, her square-cut sapphire ring
flashing. She moved with the serene precision of a person who had been mixing
pills and booze, and at that moment, Sheila Bruebaker looked exactly like what
she was: an aging trophy wife with too much money invested in plastic surgery
and prescription drugs.

“Thanks
for coming,” her husband said, trying to cover for his wife’s rudeness by
shaking Sonny’s hand. He needn’t have bothered. Sheila’s brittle exterior might
have been fake, but her suffering was real, and heart-wrenching to witness.

Ben
gave Tom Bruebaker a stiff nod and moved on, urging Sonny forward. Tom regarded
Ben with similar distaste as he walked by. He was stout and silver-haired, a
few years past his prime, so perhaps he begrudged Ben for catching the
attention of his sultry younger wife.

And
to think, Sonny hadn’t been sure she was going to find out anything interesting
at this get-together.

Nathan
cast his brother an amused glance. “That could have gone worse.”

Ben
winced, tugging at the collar of his pullover shirt.

“Lisette’s
mom is a total nympho,” Carly explained.

Sonny
studied Ben’s handsome profile, wondering if he’d slept with her. Maybe Tom
Bruebaker had a good reason to be jealous.

Instead
of asking, she tore her gaze away from him and studied her surroundings,
wishing the thought of Ben with another woman didn’t make her insides twist.
There were white candles and silver ribbons all over the room. On the baby
grand piano, next to a window with a fabulous view of the bay, there was a
framed portrait of Lisette and a large bouquet of white roses.