Mystic Hearts (8 page)

The
sincerity of her son hugging the man who saved him along with Larry clutching
him was more than she could bear. Tears slid down her face. She tried to suck
in some air, but it hitched on a sob.

“Can
I call you Larry?” Henry asked and shifted away. “That’s what Mom calls you.”

One
side of Larry’s mouth lifted. “She does, huh?”

“She
talks about you a lot.”

“I
do not,” she said on a nervous giggle and wiped her cheeks. She might think
about Larry once or twice…a day, but she didn’t talk about him all the time.

Her
mother caught her gaze and lifted an eyebrow.

Maybe
she did…once in a while.

Laugh
lines outlined Larry’s eyes and mouth. “You don’t say?” His cell beeped.
“Excuse me,” he said before walking into the hall.

Her
mother grinned.

Henry
smirked.

“What’s
up with you two?” Charlene asked.

“Nothing.
Are you hungry?” her mom asked as she put the candy back in the pumpkin.

“I
have toast and coffee.” Charlene nodded toward the tray.

Henry
grasped the pumpkin’s handle and darted out of the room.

“I
found homemade chicken soup in the refrigerator, like my mother made when you
were sick.” The knowing eyes of her mom flickered with delight. “He cooked for
you. He’s a keeper.”

“Mom,
I don’t know. We haven’t been on a date.”

Her
mother kissed her forehead. “Maybe not, but what you two have done is much more
intimate.”

“Mom!”

“Not
that.” Doris waved a hand and made a disgusted face. “He cared for you while
you were sick. Any man who sticks around to do whatever is necessary is a good
one in my book. Not many are around. You and I didn’t choose well the first
time, yet we have beautiful children. I believe you will find a man who will
treat you like a princess, the way you deserve.”

“You
deserve a good guy, too.”

Her
mother squeezed Charlene’s hand. “Henry wasn’t hungry when he got up. Too much
candy, I think. I’ll go fix him some pancakes.”

Her
mother exited, passing Larry reentering the room. “Jake called. I gotta go. Can
I see you this evening?”

She
needed a ride to Greenwood Manor to pick up her car. While there, she wanted to
look around to settle some of the troublesome images that kept flashing through
her mind. With Larry meeting Jake, maybe one of the BOFs would go with her.
She’d rather not bring Henry to the manor, yet, not until she knew for certain
what she had seen was a figment of her imagination.

“Sure.”

He
closed the distance between them and brushed his lips across hers. Again, last
night drifted into her mind, like the green chaise. Was it inside the building?
The place Larry pressed his body on top of hers in her dreams… She had to find
out. “I’m going out to Greenwood Manor,” she blurted.

His
body went rigid. “Why?”

The
question caught her off guard. “To pick up my car.”

“If
you don’t mind waiting, I’ll take you over later this afternoon.”

She
could wait, but didn’t want to. “Thanks, but I’ll catch a ride.”

“I
wouldn’t advise it.”

For
not knowing her well, he gave his opinion freely. “Are you telling me not to?”
She hoped not. It’d be a deal breaker.

A
vein in his forehead showed. His jaw tightened.

What is he not
saying?

“It’s
your decision. For the record, I don’t think it’s wise,” he said in a
restrained, yet irritated tone she hadn’t heard before.

“So
you’ve said.”

“Let’s
talk later.” He kissed her cheek and left.

A
moment later, the front door shut.

The
wonderful moment they shared ended with his abrupt departure and his silent
order for her not to go.

Her
ex-husband had manipulated and tried to control her. No matter how much Larry’s
honey-colored eyes made her melt, no man would ever have power over her again.

She
tossed back the covers and headed for the shower.

Chapter Five

In
the small hideaway at Greenwood Manor, Mathews fumed.

Once
‘big fuzz’ drove Charlene off in a black Suburban, he’d parked the four-wheeler
in a building along the road leading toward the backfields and walked the
quarter of a mile in case trespassers happened by. He didn’t want any evidence
pointing to him staying at the house.

Sitting
on the floor in the musty room barely large enough to sleep in, he stretched
out his legs, hitting the opposite wall, and leaned back. A pistol in one hand,
he stroked it with the other, waiting to hear Charlene’s sweet voice over the
receiver from the bug he’d planted in the kitchen and bedroom of her house, and
contemplated murder.

The
taste to kill a man hadn’t hit him until big fuzz got in the way of what he
wanted.

His
mind flashed back to Washington, D.C. One evening at a bar, he met a guy named Razor,
wearing a brown leather jacket, a couple tear drops tattooed on his face. The
man intrigued him. They talked for hours. Razor told him, “Once you get the
taste of taking a life, you’ll crave more.”

Mathews
looked forward to the day he could proudly wear the symbol on his cheek,
letting the world know he was one bad motherfucker.

He
aimed his gun at a picture thumbtacked to the wall of the person whose actions
aided in defining the new him, and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. He bent
his arm at the elbow and blew across the top of the barrel as if smoke drifted
out.

Soon,
he’d earn two teardrops.

Not
only would two less assholes clutter the world, but the peons, who dumbly
called themselves the Impalers, who thought they could manufacture marijuana on
Greenwood Manor without giving him his fair cut, were in for a surprise.

A
single phone call a moment earlier now put his plans into motion, cementing his
initiation into the Black Scorpions and giving him the respect he deserved on
the manor. Ever since Sanjar, the Black Scorpions’ leader, was murdered, word
had spread. If anyone could find the whereabouts of his killer they’d be
inducted into the gang.

As
lucrative as belonging to the gang would be, he needed something in return for
him to give up such valuable information. His deal: the whereabouts of Jake
Gibson in exchange for the ‘top dawg’ position at Greenwood Manor’s
manufacturing circuit. Once the Black Scorpions arrived, they’d take over the
operation and give him the position. No one argued with the ruthless gang

Mathews
lowered the gun to his lap and tossed the godforsaken hat he had to wear as a
symbol that he worked with the Impalers onto the floor and ruffled his oily
hair. Soon, he’d wear the brown leather jacket with the Scorpion insignia on
the back, and his gang name stitched on the front. He’d have to think of a
moniker, like Bruno or Rockon.

He
stared at Agent Gibson’s wedding picture he’d cut out from the local newspaper.
Why hadn’t the agent left the area? Staying, Gibson was a sitting duck. Damn,
how’d a nitwit take down a Monarch? If Mathews had done such a thing, he’d run
like hell. No way would he parade around the city as if he owned it.

Rage
flowed through his veins. “Gibson and that Band of Fuckers turned Charlene
against me.” He petted his gun as if a beloved pet. “That’s okay. Payback was
coming.” For several months, he’d prepared by target practicing in the back
fields every day.

Jed
Bradley hiring him to oversee the restoring of the six-hundred acre farm fit
perfectly into his plans.

All
he had to do was falsify his work history, have his good friend vouch for him,
and the old fart hired him at their first meeting. He hadn’t seen Bradley
since.

Mathews
thought it odd, but whatever.

He
shoved his gun in the corner behind the stack of boxes. Charlene must have
fallen asleep downstairs. All night, he only heard footsteps, the refrigerator
opening and closing, no signs if that red-headed fuckwad stayed. He’d plant
more bugs in the house soon. The two weren’t cutting it.

A
couple days ago when he sat in this very spot, he overheard Charlene’s
one-sided phone call that she’d plan to stay at Greenwood Manor on Halloween.
He had everything planned: the laced wine, a warm bed. Bile rose from his
stomach and perched in his throat. “Big fuzz…That cocksucker!” Mathews banged
his fist on the wall. His well-thought-out plan of getting Charlene to fall
into his arms had gone up in flames because of that redheaded dipshit. He’d
blow the fucker’s head off the first chance he got.

“I
hope I’m worthy of a
yes
one day,” a
masculine voice drifted over the receiver.

Had
he been so far into his head, he hadn’t heard them?

Her
voice was so low, Mathews’ couldn’t hear. “Son of a bitch!”

He
turned up the volume on the metal box.

“I
want to take what we have between us further,” the fuckhead said.

“No
fucking way!” Mathews shouted. Rage rose from his stomach to his face.

A
door slammed, the walls in his hideaway shook.

“Shit!”
He turned off the receiver and pulled the chain to the overhead light. “Who the
fuck was here?”

****

Reeling
on the fact Charlene wanted to go alone to Greenwood Manor, Larry parked his
Suburban in the driveway of Jake and Pamela Gibson’s two-story, brick house.
Realistically, he didn’t have the right to demand or expect her to listen to
his advice. Still, he couldn’t stop his primal instincts from going further
where she was concerned. He wanted her to count on him with every aspect of her
life. The sensation landed him in unfamiliar territory, a feeling he didn’t
know how to handle.

Hs
sucked in a deep breath to get a handle on his wayward reactions. The scent of
her peach shampoo, lingering on his clothes, inundated his senses. His groin
tightened.

Frustrated
for letting his guard down even a tiny bit, he hit his hand on the steering
wheel. He wasn’t relationship material. The few times he counted on women they
ripped his heart out.
Never again
.

An
old saying played through his mind, one that he’d repeated over and over to
himself to give him hope.
Time heals all
wounds.
His jaw tightened. If only the proverb had held true. Scars from
emotional wounds inflicted on him years ago stayed fresh and refused to let go.

Yet…
He stared at his knuckles whitening on the wheel as his insides gripped with
need. When he’d looked into Charlene’s eyes for the first time six months ago,
magic cast a spell over him. That day, he’d lowered the wedge between him and
the world a fraction. The reckless act scared the crap out of him.

He
hadn’t called her when his fingers itched to, didn’t stop by her house when his
car wanted to drive by. He kept his distance, keeping his desire at bay.

Last
night, the first taste of her overpowered him, urging him to lower the barrier.
As much as he yearned to kick the protective wall away, he knew keeping the
wall erected to its full height, or even higher, was safest. The quandary was
like a pebble in his shoe, shifting around and poking him. Not a good position
for an agent whose clarity saved lives.

Frustrated
with self-reflecting, he climbed out of his Suburban and gazed across the
sparse wooded land to Jake, pitching a stick into the Rappahannock River for
his Labrador, Willis, as he’d done countless times while they’d discussed
cases.

“Hi,
Larry!” Pamela stepped out the side door of the house with a small cooler in
her hand. “I figured you guys might want some refreshments.”

“It’s
barely past noon.”

She
smiled. Her face glowed, the sun reflecting off her dark hair. Signs from the
kidnapping had disappeared. “But it’s five o’clock somewhere. Besides, you guys
always have a beer when discussing a case on the ‘thinking rock’.” She made
quote fingers to express her point.

“Thinking
rock?” His question slipped out clipped. Irritation with Charlene, himself, and
fatigue from not getting much sleep last night sneaked into his tone.
 

“That’s
what it is,” Pamela snapped.
 

Charlene
had him in knots. He needed a distraction, something to take his mind off the
chemistry flying between them. Maybe, he should talk to the Director into
sending him overseas, plenty of high profile cases needed attention…

“Larry.”
Pamela’s gentle voice snapped him out of his self-loathing.

…Or,
he’d just apologize to Pamela and seek out his friends. “Sorry. I didn’t mean
to be short,” he said. “Long night.”

Her
features softened. “No offense taken.”

He
received the drinks and kissed her cheek. “Jake’s a lucky guy.”