Falling Hard and Fast (21 page)

The man grinned, shifted his feet a little. “Thanks, Sheriff, but I heard about them from Josie over at the Gas and Go. You know Josie. If there's a new man within ten miles, she spots him, and to come up against two of them traveling together—she must have thought she'd died and gone to heaven.”

Cage was harboring the distinct possibility that he'd suffered the same fate, only to have ended up at the exact opposite destination. “Josie's interest aside, we're just going to let these guys pass through the parish without a hassle, understand?” He pointed the cigar at the younger man for emphasis. “You just let them be.”

Disappointment colored DuPrey's words. “If you say so, Sheriff. I just thought I'd tell you.”

“And you have.”

The deputy turned to go. “Guess I thought you'd be interested, what with all that's been going on in the parish recently. Especially seein' as how these fellas were asking after you.”

He'd finally managed to snag more than Cage's irritation. “After me? Why?”

DuPrey turned back to him, shrugged. “All I know is,
Josie said they were just as interested in pumping her for information as they were in pumping gas. She got all moony eyed over how mysterious and dangerous looking they were. I got the feeling that she was put out some when she couldn't get them engaged in a subject other than you.” Color suffused his face again and he shuffled his feet. “No offense, Sheriff.”

“None taken. What kinds of questions were they asking?”

Roland scratched his jaw. “First I guess they asked, did she know you, and of course, Josie said as how she did. Told them the whole story about her grandma and your granddaddy being cousins and all. She sure does seem to set store by that relationship.”

Cage had the sensation of sinking to the bottom of a very deep pond. There was no way to speed up the excruciating pace of the man's story. He'd just start over at the beginning.

“Then she said as how they asked what you did and where you lived, did you have family around here.” He lifted a shoulder. “Fact is, Sheriff, I didn't wait for her to tell me everything. Josie sure does take her sweet time in the telling.”

“I know the type.” Cage tucked the cigar back in his pocket and headed toward the door. “Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to talk to these strangers and find out what's behind their curiosity.”

DuPrey followed him so closely he was in danger of entangling their feet. “I think it'd be best if I came with you, Sheriff.”

Cage couldn't prevent a sigh. “I was afraid you would.”

 

For once, DuPrey had gotten it right, Cage thought. The stranger who opened the motel-room door they'd knocked on was every bit as dangerous looking as he'd related. His dark blond hair was tied back in a short ponytail and there was an assessing look in his cool gray eyes. A faded white
scar traced across his throat above the open neck of his shirt, attesting to the fact that he'd survived at least one perilous encounter.

“Evening,” Cage greeted the silent man.

The man's gaze flicked to his badge. “Sheriff.”

Cage aimed an affable smile meant to disarm. “Don't know how familiar you are with the workings of small towns, but I figure Charity's grapevine is as reliable as most. I heard you were asking about me. Thought I'd stop by and see what I can do for you.”

A connecting door inside the room opened, and a second man entered, bare-chested, drying his dark hair with a towel. “Dammit, aren't you ready yet? I'm about to go back and try that steakhouse we passed without…” His words tapered off when he saw Cage at the door. He dropped the towel, and finger-combed his hair back carelessly.

“Sheriff heard we were asking questions about him.” A long look passed between the two men.

The dark-haired man lifted a shoulder. “Better let him in, then.”

Stepping back, the first man allowed Cage to enter. His gaze flicked to DuPrey, who was dogging Cage's footsteps. “Felt the need to bring along protection, did you?” There was no attempt made to mask the derision in his words.

Though his jaw tightened, Cage kept his tone placid. “Deputy DuPrey? Shoot, he just came along for the ride. Didn't you, Roland?”

The deputy looked at the two men before them, and then at Cage. “Uh, sure… I mean, I guess so.”

“See?” Cage made an innocent gesture with his hands. “I bring him along for his brilliant conversational skills. He really keeps my wits sharpened.” A casual smile tilted his lips. “Probably for much the same reason as you travel with him.” He inclined his head toward the dark-haired man.

Curiously, the blond man's expression lightened a fraction. “Yeah, something like that.”

Slipping something in his pocket, Cage said, “You fellas
seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am but I don't believe I've had the pleasure of an introduction.”

“Sure talks fancy, doesn't he, Jed?”

The dark-haired man threw a warning look at his companion. “Jed Sullivan's my name. This is—” his hesitation was infinitesimal “—my brother, Sully.”

Cage cocked his head. “Sully Sullivan? Guess your mama had a sense of humor.”

The man named Sully bared his teeth in what couldn't be mistaken for a smile. “You don't know the half of it.”

“You're right about one thing. We came to town looking for you.” Jed looked meaningfully at DuPrey. “But what we have to say is private. I'm not sure you'd want to discuss this in front of your deputy.”

“I don't like the sound of this, Sheriff,” DuPrey said in an undertone that was easily heard by all occupants of the room.

Scratching his chin, Cage said, “Private, huh? I'll admit to being a bit puzzled. Can't think what I'd have to discuss with two fellas I've never met before. Unless…” His eyes widened, then he shook his head. “Nope. I don't figure you guys are part of that prize patrol that goes around awarding the sweepstakes money, are ya?”

DuPrey gave each of the strangers a thorough once-over, as if to make certain.

Sully looked at Jed. “I'm not so sure we ought to go through with this.”

“It's too late to back out now.” Turning, Jed went toward the small desk tucked in the corner of the room and yanked open a drawer. It was absolutely the worst thing he could have done.

“Take cover, Sheriff!” DuPrey yelled. He launched himself at Jed's back in a full-body tackle that brought them both to the floor.

“What the hell?” Sully started toward the two of them, but was brought up short by Cage's arm against his chest.

“I'll handle this.”

Sully sent him a black look and threw off his arm. “The hell you will.”

They glared at each other for a split instant, before Cage's attention was diverted. “DuPrey, put that damn gun away.” The deputy had drawn his weapon and was fumbling to release the catch on the set of handcuffs he carried on his belt.

“Good God,” the man on the floor said, his voice muffled. “We've stumbled into
Mayberry R.F.D.
”

“I got a clear view of the firearm he was reaching for as soon as he opened the drawer, Sheriff.” DuPrey had managed to unlatch the handcuffs, but due to Jed's lack of cooperation, was having a devil of a time using them. “I think I'm gonna need some help with this one.”

“For Chrissake,” Sully muttered. Exaggeratedly, he held his arms up in a gesture of surrender and headed for the drawer. “Just let me show you—”

“I guess I'll just look for myself.” Cage stepped ahead of the man, aimed an easy smile. “If you don't mind, that is. Or if you do.”

With obvious disgust, Sully turned away.

“Does somebody want to get this overeager cartoon character off of me?” There was no disguising the thread of danger in Jed's cool voice.

Cage stepped over the two on the floor and pulled the desk drawer the rest of the way out. Sure enough, there was a holstered gun lying on top of a large envelope. He picked up the gun and examined it. “Glock. Someone believes in firepower. Who's the shooter?”

“It's mine,” said Sully flatly. “Along with the shield.”

Curious, Cage probed under the envelope and found a flat black leather case. Flipping it open, he studied the official ID. Although it wasn't a particularly flattering picture, there was no mistaking the likeness of the man standing across the room. “No offense, son, but they didn't exactly capture your best side. What's DEA want in St. Augustine parish?”

“‘DEA'?”

Taking advantage of the deputy's momentary lack of attention, Jed reared up and knocked him off-balance, then rolled and plowed a fist into his belly. DuPrey doubled over, the breath squeezing out of him. Picking himself up, Jed sent a dark look at Sully. “Thanks. A lot.”

Although there was no smile on his face, it sounded in Sully's voice. “No problem.”

Cage ambled over and guided DuPrey to the edge of the bed. “You'll get your breath back in a minute or so. You're not dying, Roland. It just feels like it.” His gaze lifted to encompass the other two men. His voice steely, he said, “I'd like an explanation. Fast.”

When it was apparent that Sully wasn't going to speak, Jed jerked his head in the direction of the desk. “You'll find your damn explanation in that envelope in there.”

While the two brothers conversed in low tones in the corner of the room, and DuPrey slowly recovered, Cage opened the envelope and withdrew some documents, fanning through them quickly. Then he stopped and went through them with more care.

Propping his weight against the desk had less to do with comfort than support—because suddenly he needed it. His mouth went dry and an iron vice squeezed his chest. He felt as if he'd been on the receiving end of the sucker punch DuPrey was still bent over from. Air clogged in his lungs, and for a moment his mind went absolutely blank. Then in a dizzying rush it began to function again; questions crowded in, demanding, insistent.

“Well?”

Cage didn't know how much time had passed before that word, fraught with impatience, sounded. A minute…an hour…a week. Time had simply ceased to exist, as if they were suspended in the moment indefinitely.

Sully's voice was exaggeratedly patient. “Did you find your answers?”

“Sheriff?” DuPrey had recovered his powers of speech
and was looking at him quizzically. “Are these fellas both agents?”

“No,” Jed stated evenly, his gaze trained on Cage's still expression. “We're his brothers.”

Z
oey could tell the instant she opened the door to Cage that something was terribly wrong. Her gaze took in the freshly pressed chinos and T-shirt, the bottle of wine in one hand and the cluster of brightly colored flowers in the other. His jaw was freshly shaven, the familiar smile curled those well-formed lips but his eyes were the color of gunmetal, signaling a storm brewing.

She held the screen door open for him and reached for the flowers he held out. “What's wrong?”

“This isn't a criticism, you understand, but I hope you're not one of those women who think every time a man comes bearing gifts that he's been up to no good.”

Cage strolled past her and went to the kitchen, placing the wine on the counter. She followed him and rooted through the cupboards for something that would serve as a vase.

“The thought hadn't occurred to me, but it does bear consideration.” She found an old vase, dusty from disuse, at the back of the shelf and stuck it in the sink. While she
turned the water on, she watched him from beneath her lashes. She remembered the first time he'd come to her, tension tying him in knots, and his unwillingness to talk about it. “Is it the case again?”

The case. He drew in a deep breath, turned to the refrigerator. Somehow wine didn't appeal to him tonight. He took out a bottle of beer and twisted off the top. “There's plenty about the case that's bothering me.” The phone calls he'd completed to the investigative detectives on the unsolved cases just might result in links to the Janice Reilly murder. He didn't know whether to be elated or horrified. He put the bottle to his lips, took a long swallow.

“Charity's been a pretty eventful place today. Reckon you'll hear about it sooner rather than later.” He nodded toward the vase. “I think you've got plenty of water in that thing.”

With her attention diverted for the moment, he sipped from the beer again. It was hard to know how to explain the events of the last couple of hours. Harder still to examine the welter of emotions still churning crazily inside him.

Having finished arranging the flowers in the vase, she turned back to him, then dipped her head to smell them. “I didn't thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful.”

He wisely refrained from mentioning that he'd thought so, too, when he'd passed them in Widow Parson's garden. He hadn't thought the widow would mind him picking some when she had so many, but he wasn't sure Zoey would be as appreciative of the sentiment.

She set the flowers in the middle of the kitchen table, and pulled out a chair, settled on it. “I'm listening.”

But his focus was no longer on the events of the day. “You look gorgeous tonight. Do you realize I've never seen you wear a dress before?” It was a casual denim outfit with thin straps and a front that snapped all the way down. He figured he could have her out of it in about three seconds. Five, tops.

“I've never seen you in a dress before, either, so we're
even. And quit trying to change the subject. I'm not letting you sidestep this time, nor am I going to wait to hear it on the street. Tell me what happened.”

“What happened,” he said, pausing for another drink, “was that my past caught up with me.” He gave her a humorless smile. “Damn near steamrollered me, as a matter of fact.” His words were a peculiarly fitting description of how he'd felt after reading the contents of that envelope. Court documents, original birth certificates, for each of his half brothers as well as him, and old pictures. A death certificate for a mother he didn't remember, from a long-ago life he couldn't deny. The weight of the evidence, attesting to relationships he hadn't been entirely convinced he wanted to explore, had nearly flattened him.

In the interest of time, he gave her the abridged version. Even in the telling, the scene in the motel room took on a surreal quality, mixed with a dash of the unbelievable.

“You're certain…of the relationship?”

“If I wasn't in the motel room, I was when I got home.” The look he directed her way was steady. “The information I had in that unopened envelope at home was sketchier, but there was enough there to match what Jed and Sully showed me.” Not that he'd needed the corroboration. He'd felt an awful certainty as he'd read through the documents they'd brought, an inexplicable knowing that had been proof in itself.

“Well.” She breathed out the word in one long stream of air. “Not an auspicious beginning, to be sure.” She watched him carefully. He drained the beer and set it on the counter, turning to the refrigerator for another. “That's what this is, you know, whether you were ready for it or not. A beginning.”

He twisted the top off the beer with a single savage movement. “A beginning? Not hardly. An ending, maybe. An answer, at last, for the questions that have plagued me from time to time.”

She waited for him to go on, and when he fell silent, she asked incredulously, “That's it? That's all this is to you?”

He lifted a shoulder, his gaze fixed on the bottle's label. “Good thing Nadine isn't around to hear me say it, but she was right. What use is it to go poking in the past? What does it do but confuse the memories—fond memories—I have of my childhood?”

What good, he wondered, came from more guilt, sneaking up layer by insidious layer as Jed and Sully had given him scraps of information about their childhoods? What good came from concluding that he'd escaped the awful slums and a drugged-out mother, while Sully had struggled to grow up with the same? That he'd been adopted by loving, decent parents, while Jed's adoptive parents, from the little he'd said, must have been lacking in both respects? He'd wondered about his past, had made an attempt to explore it, but the reality was fraught with complicated emotions he hadn't completely considered.

His attention shifted to Zoey. She'd risen and approached, had placed her hand on his arm. “I can't imagine what it must have been like today. But I know it's got to be swirling around inside you, chewing you up. Give it time to settle in. No matter what your sister said, establishing a relationship with these two men doesn't detract from what you had with your adoptive family. It's just…more.”

He stared at her reflectively, then reached out a finger, smoothed a strand of hair away from her face. “It's not quite that simple.”

“Nothing worthwhile is.” Even as she spoke the words, they hammered home a truth she was too honest to dodge. How could she suggest that he consider a relationship that might leave him open to pain, to disappointment? How dared she be convinced it was the right move for him when she herself embraced distance like an insulating force field?

Because the thought made her feel like a hypocrite, she stepped back. “How about if we take a break from every
thing for a few hours? I have a proposition that you may find interesting.”

Recognizing the distraction for what it was, he leaned more of his weight against the counter and let himself enjoy it. And her. “I'm a sucker for propositions.”

“I'm not surprised. Here's mine. I'm going to let you take me to dinner. You can wine me, dine me…. Then, if you're very, very good, I'm going to let you bring me home—” she leaned close enough to nip at his bottom lip “—and you can help me look for my locket again.”

His brows arched and he captured her nape in his hand when she would have moved away. “Still haven't found that pesky thing, hmm?” he murmured against her mouth. The kiss he pressed there melted her muscles to warm wax. “I know some places we haven't looked yet. I'm thinking we should start—” he nibbled his way down the side of her throat “—in the bathtub.”

“Ah…” Her mind turned to mush. “Another interesting idea.” It took a great deal more strength than it should have to draw away from him. She resisted the urge to press her palm against her fluttering stomach and instead pushed her hair over her shoulder. She was relieved to note that her hand was almost steady.

Because he was looking entirely too pleased with himself, she said, “Oh, and Gauthier…while we're eating this evening, maybe you'll entertain a few more ideas if I tell you what I'm wearing under this dress.”

She swayed forward, whispered in his ear.

He swallowed hard and his gaze raked her form. “Not a stitch?”

“Nothing but a few dabs of perfume and excellent muscle tone.” Content with his reaction, she pulled away, started from the kitchen. “Put your tongue back in your mouth,
sugar.
You're drooling.” She'd never realized that playing these little sexual games could be so satisfying, so…arousing. But then, she'd never had the urge to play them before she'd met Cage.

Awash in hormones, he trailed after her. “You've got a streak of cruel, honey.”

He was pretty sure that shouldn't be such a turn-on. But he was damn sure that he liked her idea of distraction.

 

The music in Jonesy's was loud, the tables were crowded and the beer was cold. “I haven't been here since my first night in Charity.” Once they'd placed their orders with Lilah, Zoey amused herself by twisting around in her seat, taking in the decor. “I believe I failed to fully appreciate the ambience.”

Her actions were causing her dress to ride higher on her thighs, lower across her chest. He caught a few patrons at the bar gawking at her and gave them a glare. He had to fight an urge to reach over and tug up that suddenly scanty material. He was wryly aware that he'd never experienced such a compulsion with any other woman. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“I suppose you know everybody in here.”

Cage slouched a little in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. “I'd be surprised if I didn't. I recognize most everyone in the parish, at least to nod to.”

His phrasing had her lips twitching. She'd lived in Chicago her entire life and it was doubtful she knew a fraction of the number of people he did, nodding acquaintances included. His easy manner and lazy charm would attract people, women and men alike. He didn't have an ounce of that wall of reserve that was so much a part of her.

That
had
been such a part of her, she corrected herself uneasily. She wondered how difficult it would be to rebuild that wall once it had been scaled.

Uncomfortable with the thought, she scanned the occupants of the room. “Who's that gentleman in the corner? The one giving Lilah a hard time?”

Cage craned his neck to see whom she was talking about. “Oh, that's Vince Segrem. Lost his wife last year and he's been making time with anything female ever since.”

She looked at the man again with new sympathy. “What did his wife die of?”

“I didn't say she died, honey, I said he
lost
her. Claims he went to New Orleans shopping and misplaced her in a mall there. She hasn't found her way home yet, so maybe that's the way she likes it.”

Aware that she'd just walked into the trap he'd baited so neatly, she resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. She was very mature that way. “And that lady at the bar with the red hair? What's her story?”

He didn't have to turn around to know she was talking about Cindy Ann Putney. “There was bad blood between our families years ago, but Cindy Ann and I never paid it no mind.”

“How noble of you both.”

Grinning at the thinly veiled sarcasm in her voice, he continued, “There was a story around our house that only got told after my daddy had had a few and he got to teasing Mama. Seems Cindy Ann's mother was sort of lonely after her divorce and my mama thought her eyes were roving a little too often in my daddy's direction.”

Zoey was fascinated despite herself. “What'd she do?”

“Well, being the refined, Southern gentlewoman my mama was, there was nothing to be
done.
Ladies with breeding certainly wouldn't resort to violence or threats. Still…” He drew the tale out by pausing for a drink. Lord, he loved the way she looked when she was listening to a story, all bright-eyed and impatient, as if she were writing it in her mind as it was spinning out.

“There was the time,” he continued, “that my mama and Mrs. Putney were working together at a church picnic. They were setting the pies out on the table. No one was ever able to say exactly how it happened, but my mama had an unusually graceless moment and Cindy Ann's mother ended up with a faceful of cream pie.” He paused for a moment to contemplate the mental image. “It was all a terrible accident, you understand. But I gather that was the last time
Mrs. Putney cornered my daddy for some ‘business advice.'”

Zoey gave a delighted laugh. “This may sound strange, Gauthier, but I like your mother.”

Absurdly touched, he reached over to cover her hand with his. “She'd like you, too.” The words were sincere. Althea Genevieve Gauthier had been a kind, gentle spirit, but she'd admired those with strength as much as her son did. Thinking of her summoned memories of the Sullivan brothers, and he swallowed around a inexplicable sense of betrayal.

“Don't look now, but the gentlemen who just walked in are staring at you.” Contrary to her advice, she studied the duo with interest. “I hope they aren't another couple you've tangled with. They don't look like the type to walk away from trouble.”

He turned to look in the direction of her gaze and was unsurprised to see Sully and Jed lounging against the bar, waiting to be seated. He raised a hand, which the two acknowledged by inclining their heads.

Zoey looked at Cage sharply. “Don't tell me they're old friends of—” Her words stopped and she swung her gaze back to the men, and then to Cage again. “My, my, my,” she breathed.

“The Sullivan brothers.” He couldn't say
his
brothers. His mind shied away from the thought. It was an idea that was going to have to sneak up on him, settle slowly. If it settled at all.