“You liked it too?”

“How can you ask me such a question?”

She traced the corded muscle along his shoulder, noticed the faded jagged scar on his upper arm, and leaned up to kiss it.

“How did this happen?”

“Football.”

“And this?” she asked as she touched the faint scar on his hip. “Was it a bullet?”

“Football,” he said again. She didn’t look like she believed him. “Honest,” he said. “It’s a football cleat.”

“Have you ever been shot?” Her voice trembled when she asked.

“No,” he answered. “Stabbed, punched, kicked, scratched, and spit on, yes, but shot, no.” Not yet anyway, he silently qualified. A scar from a knife wound—an ice pick actually—was on his back, down low by his left kidney. A couple of inches higher and he wouldn’t have lived. Maybe Laurant wouldn’t notice that scar, but if she did, he decided he wouldn’t lie to her.

“Most of the scars are from football,” he said.

She threaded her fingers through his hair. “Except for the ones you carry inside.”

He pulled her hand away. “Don’t get sentimental on me. Everybody carries around a little baggage.”

He was trying to close up on her, to pull away emotionally, but she wouldn’t let him take the coward’s path. When he rolled onto his back and curtly told her it was time they got a little sleep, she ignored the suggestion.

She rolled over on top of him. Stacking her hands under her chin, she stared down into his eyes.

His hands were already on her hips. He wanted to make her get off him and go to sleep before he gave in to his desire and made love to her again, but he couldn’t make himself let go of her.

“Promise me something, and I’ll let you sleep,” she said.

“What?” He sounded suspicious.

“No matter what happens . . .”

“Yes?”

“No regrets. All right, Nick?”

He nodded. “What about you.”

“No regrets,” she vowed.

“Agreed,” he said.

“Say it.”

He sighed. “No regrets.”

And both of them were lying.

CHAPTER 29

Heartbreaker didn’t like surprises, unless, of course, he was the one doling them out.

Tonight was chock full of unpleasant surprises. He had already heard that the mule was ridiculing him, and he had taken it all in stride. He expected stupidity from mules, so he was only mildly bothered to hear some of the names he was being called. Sticks and stones . . . words couldn’t hurt him. Until tonight, when he heard that Laurant was also spreading vile lies. She had called him impotent. He could barely stand the thought of her lips forming the hideous word. How dare she betray him? How dare she?

He had to get even, and he was driven to act quickly. The need to punish her overrode caution. How long had he stood in the back lot looking up at her window? At least an hour, maybe two. He didn’t know. When the need grabbed hold of him, time wasn’t important.

And then he’d seen Lonnie. The stupid boy was climbing up the tree, the very same tree Heartbreaker had used countless times to get inside her house and watch her during the night.

He watched Lonnie crawl across the roof and slip onto the overhang outside the bathroom window. Just the way he had done. Clever boy, he thought. Following in my footsteps.

While waiting to see what Lonnie was going to do, his attention was distracted by another man. Good old Steve Brenner was creeping around to Laurant’s back door. Now what was he up to?

The neighbor’s dog couldn’t tell on him. Heartbreaker had killed the animal so that he could move freely about the yard during the night. He had seen to the yapping dog, and now Lonnie Boy and Steve Brenner were taking advantage of his work.

The surprises kept coming, escalating until the house was in flames and Brenner was surrounded by mules.

He could walk away now and no one would be the wiser. They thought they had their man. After he’d taken a little stroll down the streets of Holy Oaks and found what he was looking for, he’d made a little deposit and gone happily on his way. The opportunity had fallen into his lap. Yes, he could walk away, but would he? Now that was a question haunting him.

What a quandary. Yes, sirree. Could he? Would he?

His obsession was turning him into a cold-blooded murderer. No, that wasn’t true, he forced himself to admit. He was already a killer. A perfect killer, he qualified. His ego insisted that he give himself his due. A part of him was quite analytical about it all, and he was able to recognize what was happening to him, but he couldn’t make himself mourn the loss of what others would call his sanity. He wasn’t crazy. No, of course, he wasn’t. But he was vengeful. No doubt about that. It was his sacred duty to give back what had been given to him.

He paced about the little room, planning and fuming. That sleazy little Lonnie boy had messed things up good, and he couldn’t let him get away with it, could he? Because of him, the perfect plan had been ruined, and what was he prepared to do about it?

The stupid ingrate was forcing him to move up his timetable. What an inconvenience that was, and Lonnie should have to pay, shouldn’t he? Why, yes, indeed he should. Fair was fair, after all, and besides, he’d noticed Laurant didn’t like the young slug. But then who would? Maybe it was time he showed her how much he cared for her. He decided to give her a gift, something special . . . like Lonnie’s spleen or liver, maybe. Certainly not his heart. He wanted to please her, not insult her, and he wouldn’t have her thinking Lonnie was a heartbreaker. No, sirree.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. My oh my, where does the time go? So much to do, so little time left to do it, thanks to Lonnie boy. Oh, he’ll pay all right, with his spleen and his liver and maybe even a kidney or two. But first things first, he cautioned. There was work to be finished.

Preparation, after all, was everything. The party had to be perfect.

CHAPTER 30

She loved sleeping with him, tucked safely in his arms with her legs trapped under one of his thighs. She awakened before he did but was feeling too content to move. Nick looked so peaceful. She didn’t want to disturb his rest, and so she stayed perfectly still while she studied his face with the critical eye of an artist. He had the most wonderful profile. The chiseled line of his jaw, the straight nose, the perfectly sculptured mouth. She wanted to paint him, to capture the strength she saw in his eyes. She wondered if he knew how beautiful he was or if he cared. He was such a practical man. He didn’t have time for such thoughts or vanities.

She wanted him to wake up and make love to her, but she knew that wouldn’t happen. He’d turned to her again and again during the night, but now it was morning and everything was different. She had asked him for one night, and the cost, she knew, had been dear. She couldn’t and wouldn’t ask for more.

How was she ever going to go back to the ways things were? She was a strong woman. She could do anything she set her mind to, and she was a master at hiding her feelings. She could pretend that it had been a glorious night of recreational sex, that was all, a simple way to release pent-up frustrations and tensions . . . but oh, God, how was she ever going to pull that off ? She wished she could be more worldly. She had plenty of friends at school in Europe and at work in Chicago who believed it was perfectly all right to take a man they had only just met home with them for the night and then never see him again. Women had needs, after all. What was wrong with a one-night interlude? Everything, Laurant thought. Because the heart had to be involved. She could never have given herself to Nick so completely if she hadn’t already made a commitment and acknowledged that she loved him.

Memories . . . she would have the memories of their night together, and that would be enough. She squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted more than memories. She wanted to wake up next to Nick every morning for the rest of her life.

She hated feeling this vulnerable and wished to God there was a way to harden herself. Throwing the sheet back, she nudged Nick’s thigh away and got out of bed.

No regrets.

Both of them were in a hurry to leave the motel. He wanted to get out of the room before he grabbed her, threw her on the bed, and made love to her again. She wanted to leave as quickly as possible before she started crying again . . . like the stupid, small-town girl that she was.

The silence between them was strained and horribly uncomfortable. She stared out the window while he drove. She wondered what he was thinking but didn’t ask.

Nick was silently cursing himself for being such a bastard. What kind of man was he to take advantage of his best friend’s sister? A sick, perverted bastard. That’s what he was, all right, and Tommy was never, ever going to understand.

Regrets? Hell yes, he had regrets, yet he knew that if they had stayed in that motel room another five minutes, he would have made love to her again.

They stopped at a superstore off the main highway and spent a quick half hour shopping. At a filling station, Laurant changed while Nick got a couple of Diet Cokes out of the machine. When she came out, she was wearing a seven-dollar pink-and-white checked blouse tucked into a fifteen-dollar pair of stonewashed blue jeans, but the inexpensive clothes looked like designer labels on her. The fabric hugged the curves of her luscious body, and he had to look away until he got his heartbeat regulated. Scum, he thought. I’m lower than scum. Then he looked again and noticed that her hair shone with copper highlights in the sun. He remembered how the soft curls felt when she was leaning over him. Realizing what he was doing, he cursed himself again. He had the discipline of a pig.

She walked to the car, gliding over the pavement with her sexy, long-legged stride. He handed her the can of Coke, frowning as though she’d done something offensive, then got behind the wheel and didn’t say another word to her for a good twenty miles. As much as he tried to keep his mind on the road and other pressing matters, he couldn’t keep himself from glancing over at her every few minutes. She had the sexiest mouth, and when he thought about the things she’d done with it, a tightness settled in his chest.

He couldn’t block the images. “Hell.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind.”

“Has Pete called you back yet?”

“What?”

He was a grouchy as a hungry bobcat. She calmly repeated the question.

“No,” he answered curtly. “I told you he was on his way to Houston. His plane won’t land for another hour.”

“No, you didn’t tell me.”

He shrugged. “I thought I did.”

The road curved to the east, the sun blinding. Nick put on his sunglasses and then took a long swallow from the can.

“Are you always this grumpy in the morning?” she asked.

“We’ve been living together long enough for you to know the answer to that question. What do you think?”

“You’re in a mood,” she said. “That’s what I think.”

“In a mood?” He glanced at her with a quick scowl. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re acting like a jerk,” she calmly explained. “What do you think is causing it?”

Gee, I don’t know, he thought. Maybe it’s due to the fact that I spent most of the night screwing my best friend’s sister.

He thought it prudent to keep silent. He finished his Coke and dropped the can in the cup holder.

“Are you still thirsty?” she asked, offering him her drink.

“You don’t want it?”

“You can have it.”

And that was the end of their conversation for the next ten minutes. Laurant waited for him to get past whatever was bothering him, and when she couldn’t stand the silence another minute, she said, “I imagine Noah’s told Tommy by now.”

“Good God, I hope not. It’s my job to tell your brother. Not Noah’s.”

“He’s going to know,” she began.

“I’ll tell him,” he insisted.

It occurred to her then that they might not be talking about the same thing. “The fire, Nick, I was asking you if you thought Noah had told Tommy about the fire yet,” she explained. “And about Steve Brenner being arrested.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m sure he’s told him by now. At least I hope he did before Tommy read about it in the paper.”

“What were you talking about?”

“Never mind.”

“I want to know. Tell me.”

“Us,” he said, gripping the steering wheel. “I thought you were asking me if Noah told Tommy about us.”

Her head snapped up. “And you said you should be the one to tell him. You did say that, didn’t you?” She sounded incredulous.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said.”

“You’re joking though, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are not going to tell my brother about last night.” She was vehement.

“I think I should,” he argued, and he suddenly sounded quite calm and reasonable.

She thought he was out of his mind. “Absolutely not. What happened between us stays between us.”

“Normally that would be true,” he agreed. “But you’re . . . different. I should tell him.”

“I’m not different.”

“Yes, you are, sweetheart. Your brother’s my best friend, and he also just happens to be a priest. Yeah, I’ve got to tell him. It’s the decent thing to do. Besides, he’s gonna figure it out. He’ll know.”

“He isn’t clairvoyant.”

“I’ve never been able to pull anything over on him, not since second grade. He’s always known what’s going on inside my head. He’s bailed me out of a lot of trouble. For a while, when we were at Penn State, he was like my conscience. No, I’m not going to lie to him.”

She could feel a headache coming on. “You don’t have to lie. You don’t have to say anything.”

“I’m telling you he’s going to know. I’ve got to tell him.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No.”

“You are not telling him. I know you feel as though you’ve betrayed him, but—”

He wouldn’t let her finish. “Of course I feel like I’ve betrayed him. He trusted me, damn it.”

The road was deserted and so he pulled the car over on the shoulder.

“I know it’s going to be a little awkward for you, but you’ll get past it,” he said.