Sweet as Sin (37 page)

He slammed the book shut and held the now-bent-in-half pixie to her face. “I knew the Shack was struggling and you’d do whatever you needed to Inez Kelley

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make it succeed but I didn’t think you’d stoop to stealing.”

“What? You told me I could use them. I flat out asked you, remember? I tried to thank you and we ended up in bed.”

“I said you could have the shit I drew in the bakery, nothing else!”

“Oh, no. I
asked
you about the sketchpad. You said I could use whatever I wanted.”

His eyes shifted to the side as if searching his memory but his head shook. “No, I didn’t know you meant more than what I gave you. These pieces weren’t for sale. You took them.”

She propped her hand on her hip. “From the trashcan.”

How petty was he going to get? He treated these things like orange rinds and coffee grounds and now, now he wanted to make it sound like she stole the Crown Jewels?
Oh let’s see, I ripped her
heart out and force-fed it to her but she took my
garbage so we’re even.

In his white-knuckled fist, the sheeting

wrinkled. “It doesn’t matter where you got them.

You had no right.”

“Let’s not talk about right and wrong, okay?

You do not want to go there with me.”

With a grunt, he ripped the pixie drawing in two and flung it to the ground. A small cry eked out and her hands stretched.
No, not that one.
That 412

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was hers, was her, by his hand. Hadn’t he taken enough from her? A fresh burn seared along her heart as those halves fluttered to her feet. What meant so much to her meant nothing to him. The truth stung like a scorpion.

She bent and cradled one smudged piece. The label
Bittersweet,
the top of her wings, her hair, and one eye were all that remained.

“All of it, Livvy. Every fucking pencil line that belongs to me, I want removed from that book now.”

Her head jerked up and the unshed tears

vanished from her eyes. A harsh breath dried her mouth and pasted her lips to her teeth. She was so damned tired of being torn apart by him, literally now as well as emotionally.

“No.” She stood with a defiant stare. “I’ve worked my ass off the past few weeks. I started with worthless crap you threw away, that you
said
I could have, and created a new outlet, a new line that’s skyrocketing right now.”

His brows slanted so harshly they nearly

touched. “I don’t give a shit if it’s been bronzed and nominated for sainthood. I didn’t give you shit. They belong to me.”

“No, Murphy, they
did
belong to you. Then you threw them away, said I could use them, and then they became
mine.
” Livvy stalked to the opposite end of her office, needing the space. Her Inez Kelley

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bones shook and her vision pinpointed. A

throbbing headache bloomed and she rubbed her neck.

“Not you, Liv. Not you, too.” A subtle tremor in his voice she’d never heard whipped her around.

She never expected what she saw on his face.

Something glowed in his eyes, something

she’d never seen and never wanted to see.

Betrayal wasn’t pain, it wasn’t grief and it wasn’t anger. It was all of those things and more, things that had no name but were dark, twisted and ugly, burned with shame into the most hidden parts of your being. Only someone you’d given your heart to could deliver the most screaming pain.

He’d done that to her.

And she had done it to him.

John didn’t share his work with anyone. Alan had used it to fuel his hate. The state had used it to examine and diagnose him. Livvy had used it for money. She had used his work, those bits of his soul, without regard to how it would impact him.

No one else read his work but he’d let her. No one else saw his rough sketches, but he’d shown her.

No one else had held his heart. But he’d given it to her. And she’d broken it just as he had hers.

The realization sucked the strength from her bones. She reached for him. John stepped back.

He blinked the glow away. The betrayal shifted to rage.

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He picked up the thick album, stared at the shiny black lips and snorted. “Intellectual property infringement is illegal, Liv, and more than that, it pisses me off.”

The book hit the desk with a thud that echoed deep in her body.

A swallow shifted the knot of his tie and an eerie calm washed over him. His eyes went blank.

A feral curve scored those marks around his mouth deeper and sent shivers slithering down her spine.

“I don’t take this shit lying down any more. I fight back. And I fight to win.” His hand was steady as he brushed an invisible speck of dust from the framed business license hanging on the wall. “An eye for an eye, Liv. You take my work, I take yours. You’ll hear from my attorneys.”

He walked away as if he hadn’t just stomped on her stomach. Livvy sank into her chair. Her hand quaked reaching for the phone. When the soothing voice answered, she had to force her tongue to move.

“Tow, I think…I need a lawyer.”

Chapter Sixteen

Arnold “Preacher” Johnson’s funeral rivaled that of any local celebrity, attendance overflowing to the greeting room of the small funeral home. With Pete in the lead, Smoke in the rear, wet-eyed men laid their mentor to rest. John couldn’t help but feel he’d let the old man down as he dropped a handful of dry dirt on the closed casket. He chalked it up to another failure.

Gina sat close to Preacher’s daughter Myra, her hands always full of tissues. Since the boys were nowhere in sight, John assumed they were with a sitter but when he’d asked, Gina had turned away from him with a huff. For once in his life, Pete kept a secret and told John he was on his own. He was too tall to sleep on the couch so John would have to wait Gina’s anger out. John fumed. This was the longest she’d ever been mad at him and he didn’t like it one damn bit.

Myra’s house was beyond full and the yard teemed with people. Something about death made people bring out casseroles and pies, so food was as plentiful as the tears. John escaped with the Boys’ Club outside. The subdued group shuffled in unfamiliar dress clothing, unknotting ties and 416

Sweet as Sin

shedding jackets. The fact that Utah wore steel toes with his suit amused John. Stories of Preacher were the main focal point.

Foxy threw the first emotional punch to his gut.

“Where’s Livvy, Shakespeare?”

He shifted on his feet and dodged the blow.

“At work.”
I made her cry again
.

During memories of company picnics, Utah

jabbed. “So did Livvy ride your ass about Emily?”

“Never came up.”
I just used that name to
destroy her.

Less than five minutes later, Smoke—with his big meaty fists and sweat-dotted bare head—

threw the knockout strike. “Never thought I’d see the day you got tamed. So when you getting hitched, Shakespeare?”

The group laughed but his silence spoke

volumes and soon everyone looked at him with solemn faces.

I almost did. I would have. I couldn’t risk it.

His tongue too thick, he shrugged and shook his head. “Never.”

“Sorry, man, she was a real sweet lady.”

Beaver’s soft reply stung. The bearded man had no idea how sweet. John’s throat clogged with ache.
Buttercream.

With the hot breeze against his back, John rolled his tight shoulders. Blood itched through his skin and the pain hissed with each breath. He Inez Kelley

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reached over and pulled a cigarette out of Smoke’s shirt pocket, lit it and inhaled. He needed something moving in his chest since his heart was dead. Smoke handed him the near-empty pack, small lighter tucked in the cellophane. John nodded and walked away without a word.

Cigarette pinched tight between his lips, he dug the brown bottle from his pocket and twisted the lid. He swallowed the pill dry, grimacing as it scratched his throat. He’d taken one this morning after leaving the Sugar Shack. It was a little soon for another, but hell, this day sucked ass.

He’d lied to Livvy about moving up the

meeting with his agent. He’d just had to get away.

What he intended to be a cool-down-and-regroup week had turned into a mental-demon-infested trip down memory lane. The cycle of flashbacks had trapped him in that ritzy hotel room for two days.

It took waking up curled into a ball in the closet before he’d finally caved and called the first doctor he could find listed in the phone book who could work him in.

The psychiatrist had listened, prodded a little, double-checked the faxed medical records. John flat-out refused an in-patient evaluation so Dr.

Stolberg insisted he start therapy, preferably weekly. John agreed and allowed him to set it up closer to home. After giving him a stern lecture, the doctor finally prescribed the drugs. One kind 418

Sweet as Sin

for the flashbacks, one for mood swings and anxiety.

Anxiety? Fuck that, this was outright hell on earth. As much as John hated to admit it, the meds helped. At least they helped with the shit in his head. There was no little white pill for heartache.

Gina found him sitting on his tailgate, tie pulled loose, jacket long gone, sleeves rolled.

“You stopped smoking years ago.”

“Are you talking to me now or just lecturing?”

“Both, I guess.” The wind blew a long strand of hair loose from her clip, and it fluttered wildly before settling across her cheek. Her eyes fell on him like Judgment Day, hard and unflinching.

He took another drag. “Gina, I’m in no mood for a lecture so skip it. How are you?”

She parked her fanny on the tailgate, using her arms to pull herself up beside him. Her print skirt whipped in the breeze and she tucked it under her knees. “How are you?”

“Fine. You didn’t answer me.”

“I know. I want to talk about you first, you and Livvy.”

The glowing butt hit the ground and John

popped off the tailgate. Road dirt and hot ash ground under his slick sole. “Nothing to talk about.

There is no me and Livvy.”

“I got that. What I want to know is why?”

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“When’s the last time I asked you about things in your marriage? I don’t. Return the favor.”

Irritation pushed the words out too harshly, snapping the air with pointed teeth.

He’d forgotten how easily Gina snapped back.

“Tell you what, brother-mine. When you have a marriage to discuss, then I’ll return the favor.

Right now what you have is a pissy attitude and smoker’s breath. What happened?”

Bright sunlight made him squint at her. How could she do that? Jump down his throat and, in the same instant, smile at him? Livvy did that, he realized hollowly. Maybe it was a female thing, a gene men just didn’t inherit. Whatever it was, it irritated him more.

“She stole from me.”

Her jaw dropped. “What? Like money?”

“Artwork, cast-off stuff,” he muttered.

“I thought you shredded everything.”

“From my study, yes, but not sketchpads. Hell, I don’t even think… They’re all over the house.

When they’re full, I throw them out in whatever can is closest.”

“Okay, as an artist, that’s just stupid, but whatever. Tell me what happened.” Her demeanor shifted from sisterly to lawyerly as he explained.

At one point, she raised her hand and stopped him.

“Wait, where? What trash can? Inside your house or at the curb? And when did she take them?”

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“I don’t know. I found out this morning.” John shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“The where, definitely. The when, it might.”

Gina worried her lip. Face turned to the breeze, she hunched her shoulders and sighed. “But it’s the why that bugs me. I can’t see her… Johnny, do you think she meant to hurt you, that she did it out of spite or revenge or—”

“No.” The denial leaped to his mouth. Now that the shock had faded, the long drive had given him time to think, and the medicine clarified the reality. Livvy could never be that cruel, that deliberate. That was his claim to fame, not hers. “I gave her one. Two actually. She just… She talked about it all the damn time. I just never made the connection.”

If push came to shove, he’d be hard pressed to pick out every drawing that was his. Scribbles were scribbles. The larger ones, the pictures he’d spent more time on, sure, those he remembered.

But the smaller stuff? Christ, he’d drawn thousands of pieces of mindless crap, never giving it a second thought. And she’d said she’d asked about using them. He barely remembered that, hadn’t understood what she’d been talking about.

He’d been too interested in getting her naked to pay attention to her words.

It wasn’t
what
she took or
when
she’d taken it but that she had taken it
at all
that hurt him.

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Falling in love had made him blinder than the optometrist’s charts would ever show, and the slice of betrayal thumped worse than any

broomstick.

Nicotine-flavored guilt filled his mouth with a sudden choking bitterness and he spat into the bushes. It didn’t help. What Livvy had done was wrong, but it wasn’t intentional. Livvy hadn’t set out to hurt him. Two wrongs might not make a right but they sure as hell left double the mark with twice the pain.

“She came right out and said ‘John, I’m using your art in my business’ and you ignored her?”

“Murphy. She calls me Murphy. And no, she never said that. At least, not in those words. But she didn’t hide it, either. Hell, she worked on those damn cake designs every night at my table while I wrote. She thought I’d agreed to it but I…

I didn’t. So she didn’t think she was doing anything wrong. It was garbage.”

“Livvy is not stupid, Johnny.”

“No. But…I was pissed as hell this morning.

Now I just… Have you ever taken money out of Pete’s wallet without him knowing?”

Gina blinked. “We’re married. Joint property and bank accounts, all that good stuff. Sure, I’ve grabbed cash from his wallet if I needed it. He’s grabbed my credit card when we’re in a hurry or something. That’s how couples work.”