Eli laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder as he’d done earlier in the evening, when Eric had shown him Freddie’s text. “Trust me, buddy. Your mother can take care of herself and about half the population of the Creek, single-handed. You screwed up tonight, though—no question about it—besides scaring the hell out of your mom, you probably got Carly in trouble with her folks.”
Eric deflated visibly. “Yeah. She already texted me that Cord grounded her when she got home.”
Eli went into the second bedroom, where he kept his computer and a few packed bookshelves. After switching on the light, he took blankets and a pillow from the closet and tossed them to Eric.
“Make up your bed on the couch. I’ll get my spare charger and some duds you can sleep in.”
“Eli?”
Eli, already in the corridor and headed for his own room, paused without turning around. “What?”
“Do you think I’m a coward?”
Inwardly, Eli sighed. He wasn’t sure he had another philosophical conversation in him; it had been a long damn day. Still, this wasn’t something he could put off, without taking a chance on messing up his nephew’s self-esteem.
He turned around, met Eric’s anxious gaze. “Being scared doesn’t make you a coward, kid,” he said. “Fear has a purpose—it can save your life. Cowardice is letting fear overrule your common sense. You did the right thing by showing me that text, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“I guess. I wouldn’t have a chance against Freddie in a fight, though.”
“Maybe we ought to do something about that,” Eli said. He was on the move again. If he didn’t get to bed, he might fall asleep standing up, like a horse. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
Eli entered his bedroom, took a spare pair of sweats from one drawer and a T-shirt from another and tossed them to the kid, who was standing in the doorway.
Though he was holding the folded blankets and a pillow, Eric managed to catch the clothes.
“There are some extra toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet,” Eli finished. “Help yourself.”
Once the boy had completed his nightly routine, he settled himself on the couch, with Festus keeping him company.
Eli took a quick shower, put on a pair of sweatpants afterward, brushed his teeth and headed for bed.
He didn’t lie down so much as collapse, but, not surprisingly, sleep eluded him, at least for the first fifteen or twenty minutes.
He wasn’t thinking about the Lansings and the danger they represented, or about Sara, home alone with a Glock in her nightstand drawer, or about what he’d say to Dan Summers the next day, when he intended to outline the need for professional security.
No, Eli was thinking about Brynne.
About their midnight kiss.
It had been electric.
He thought about their conversation afterward, in her apartment, and the way she’d felt in his arms, all soft and warm and welcoming.
He’d wanted nothing more than to lead her to the nearest bed and make slow, sweet love to her. To caress her silken skin, run his fingers through her hair, bury his face in the curve of her neck.
And a few other places.
He knew she’d wanted him, too. Knew she would have arched her back and gasped his name as she received him.
In the cold silence of his otherwise empty bed, Eli bit back a groan.
Brynne wasn’t like other women he’d known, and not just because she was so beautiful. He sensed that, beneath that fragility, that desperate need to proceed with caution where any romantic entanglement was concerned, she was strong as steel.
With Brynne, casual sex wasn’t an option—never had been.
Not that Eli had anything against casual sex; he’d indulged in it plenty of times, starting with Reba Shannon. That had been irresponsible, of course, but after that crazy, hormonal summer, his eighteenth year on the planet, he’d always taken precautions.
He thought back to the time before Reba, when he and Brynne had “gone steady”—an old-fashioned term, these days. For most kids, it meant swapping class rings, doing a lot of necking, and pairing up for movies, dances and the like. Maybe a burger and fries, if the funds were available.
He and Brynne had done plenty of kissing and plenty of hand holding, too, but things had never gotten hot and heavy between them. God knew, he’d been as horny as any other kid his age, but he’d enjoyed a special kind of intimacy with Brynne.
She told him her secrets.
Shared her dreams.
As much as he’d wanted Brynne, Eli hadn’t pushed for more than she was willing to give.
And he wouldn’t push her now.
He’d wait, if it killed him.
Which he figured it might.
He lay sprawled on his back because lying on his stomach would have been like straddling a fallen fence post.
He considered taking another shower, this time a cold one, and decided he didn’t have the energy. He’d just have to suffer for a while.
So he closed his eyes, and the next thing he knew, it was morning, and his phone was moving around like a Mexican jumping bean on his bedside table.
“Sheriff Garrett,” he said, out of long habit.
“It’s Melba,” came the response.
Eli sat up, wide-awake. “What?”
“We need you out at the Painted Pony Creek Motel, pronto,” Melba answered. “Specifically the lot behind it.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Eli said, throwing back the covers on his bed and getting to his feet. “What’s going on?”
“You’re not going to like it,” Melba said. She was smart as hell, and one of the best cops Eli had ever had the privilege of working with, but she could get on his last nerve when it came to getting to the point.
“Try me,” Eli barked, out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans. Then he yelled, “Eric! Get up now!”
“Ouch,” Melba complained.
“Talk to me, damn it.”
“Well, Sheriff,” his new favorite deputy replied matter-of-factly, “we’ve got ourselves a body out here.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
BRYNNE WATCHED FROM her apartment’s front windows, coffee cup in hand, as several police cars sped past, streaks of light and sound.
It was almost a parade, she reflected on the calm surface of her mind, although there was certainly nothing celebratory about the scene. Beneath, where the deeper waters ran, Brynne’s spirit churned with alarm.