Chapter 4: He Won't Leave
Mallory’s body betrayed her, tingled at Trey’s touch.
She turned at his insistence and his eyes blazed a path up and down her. He stood close enough she could smell his masculine scent of soap and water.
His hand hovered by her abdomen and some pathetic part of her longed for him to touch her. Trey was her Waterloo and she needed for him to leave.
Now.
She didn’t voice the command, instead, she watched as his finger traced the faint scar on her abdomen. She’d worked hard to erase from her body. The scar in her mind was not so easily forgotten.
“You can hardly see it now.”
She jerked away and tore on her shirt. “Trey, leave.”
“Sugar, I can’t.”
She tugged on bike shorts, eyed his legs. “Limbs look fine to me. Bet you could even run out of here.”
“Don’t you want to know about that bomb in your beer trailer?”
She did, but she’d hear it from the bomb squad. “I’ll find out tomorrow, in the papers. Just like everyone else.”
His laugh surprised her, his breath moved some hair on her face. She couldn’t breath and stepped away from him.
“Honey, you are not like anyone else. I’m surprised you didn’t know that bomb was in there. You have the knack.”
She always knew where the bombs were, almost better than the K-9 crew. She’d known about this one, too, as much as she’d love to deny it. The knack had never been a gift to her. “So.”
He took her hand but she yanked it away from him. “Don’t touch me.”
“Mallory, we have to talk. I’m here for a reason.”
Her shoulders slumped. Sleep would be a stranger tonight. “Okay, give me a minute. Go pop that popcorn.”
Someone knocked on Mallory’s front door as she passed it. She knew who stood on her porch. He’d let her go from the firehouse with no hesitation. She sighed and opened the door.
Jesse leaned on the doorjamb, hands in his pockets. His sturdy shoulders were raised in a question. His eyes searched her face. Despite the casual posture, she knew he wanted to touch her. Hold her. Comfort her.
On any other night, she would have invited him into her house and into her bed.
“You okay, Mallory?”
“Oh, Jesse.” She hugged him. Her forced smile would have to convince him. He couldn’t see Trey. “I’m good. I’m going to eat something then go to bed.”
She put a hand on his cheek. If only she could click her heels together and her other visitor was gone. Instead, he lurked just out of sight in the kitchen. “You’re a good guy, Jess. Go home.”
“Just a heads up, some detectives want to talk to you. Uh, about your skills.”
The questions he’d had back at the firehouse appeared in his eyes again. She wished she could answer them. “Thanks. I hope they wait until morning.”
He nodded at her before he left. He turned back and kissed her hard on the lips. He backed away but glanced back at her when he reached the end of the porch.
When she spun around Trey stood in the doorway. He wasn’t jealous. He wouldn’t be. It wasn’t in him to show that much insecurity. “Friend of yours?”
She moved down the hall to Trey. Her finger poked into his lean chest. “Jesse is none of your business.”
She waited for him to move to let her into her kitchen. When he didn’t she shoved him out of the way. At least made the attempt. Trey could be an immovable object when he wanted. “Does he challenge you?”
Her face flushed. She wouldn’t share Jesse with Trey. Wouldn’t go there. Not tonight. Not ever. “That part of my life is off limits. Shall we talk?”
He moved aside for her. She settled at her worn Formica table that she’d found at an estate sale. She hated it, but the furniture had been cheap. Her real kitchen table was on order now and expected in the next six weeks.
One more step to making her house a home.
She couldn’t wait.
Trey found a bowl, then poured the microwave popcorn into it. Two beers sat opened on the scarred table. “What gives?”
“The terror cell again,” he said.
More than five years ago she and Trey had thwarted a bombing at Penn Station, New York. As far as she knew all the members of the cell had been arrested. Or at least she’d assumed. She’d been in the hospital getting the scar that Trey had been stroking.
After that, she walked away from that life, never looked back.
Now, that life stared at her. It had popped up like a jack-in-the-box for a baby. She didn’t hear “Pop Goes the Weasel.” Instead, she was smelled honeysuckle.
“What now?”
“They have multiple targets. Carnivals. Maybe even amusement parks. We’re not completely sure.”
“Carnivals?”
“We think they plan to blow up some amusement rides.”
“Hardly seems like a high casualty endeavor,” she said.
“It won’t be, but it will get a lot of children.”
Her blood went to boil. She hated when children were involved. “Is this recent intelligence?”
“Yes and that’s why we had Marvelous Midways under surveillance.”
“Our ride company?” She shook her head. “You don’t get more redneck, flag waving as Bud Cone.”
“Not him. We don’t think he has any idea.”
“His workers?”
“Most likely.”
She took a swig of beer. “But most of his workers are Eastern European.”
“They hold those passports. Doesn’t mean they’re real.”
She nodded. With enough cash, she could get a passport that said she was from Egypt even with her blond hair and green eyes.
She wasn’t convinced. He’d have to do better to get her to give up this life that she loved. Even if she’d been restless about it and wondered what her roots were. “So what do you need me for?”
His gaze slid over her. “You asking me or the Organization?”
She rolled her eyes. “The Organization.”
“Damn.” He dropped some popcorn into his mouth as if he chewed over his thoughts, too. “We need you back.”