Tawny Weber - A SEAL's Salvation

Still...

“Don’t.”

That’s all Brody said. He wasn’t getting in the middle of family drama. He’d spent enough time in his own to know that bystanders were safer on the sidelines, and participants never appreciated interference. But he’d be damned if the guy was gonna get violent with Genna. Not in front of Brody, not later in private, not ever.

“Shut your mouth and sit down, Lane,” the sheriff barked, confirming Brody’s take on bystander interference. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

“There’s nothing to deal with. I didn’t break any laws, you have no reasonable cause to be here and this is private property,” Brody pointed out quietly.

“You were in here with my daughter.”

“When did a kiss become illegal?”

“When she’s my daughter,” Reilly growled, lunging again. Brody grimaced, knowing this time the guy was going for more than intimidation.

“Daddy! Stop or I’ll call 911.”

Genna’s horrified cry was like a bucket of water over the man’s head. It only took a blink for the rage to clear from his eyes and the cop-face to fall back into place. Brody didn’t take a lot of comfort from that. He’d been kicked around plenty by cops wearing that same neutral look. But he wasn’t worried about getting shot any longer.

“You touched my daughter.”

Expressionless, Brody returned the dead-eyed stare, but didn’t say anything. Why bother? The sheriff had walked in on them together. Lying was pointless and admitting it was probably admissible in the ass-kicking court the guy was convening.

The tension in the room seemed to ratchet up to the point that even Brody was shifting uncomfortably. He hated inaction. Kick his ass or get the hell out already. He managed—barely—to keep that suggestion to himself, though.

Finally, Reilly gave a grunt. He shouldered the shotgun, took his cuffs from his belt and gestured with his chin for Brody to turn around.

“You arresting me?”

Reilly’s gaze shifted from Brody to Genna, then to the bottle of beer on the workbench.

“We’ll discuss it.” He lifted his hands, the cuffs dangling from one finger. “Turn around.”

More intimidation. He had nothing. The beer was warm enough by now that it could have been Brian’s, left there before the old man had gone to work his shift in the bar. Getting hot and heavy with Genna was stupid, but not a criminal offense. Fine. Brody sighed, then turned around. Let the guy cuff him and play hard-ass.

“Dad—”

“You say another word and it’ll be on his tab,” Reilly warned Genna, his icy glare making it clear the bill was already more than Brody could afford.

Whatever.

“Let it go,” Brody murmured. Not that he expected her to take his advice. Hell, they didn’t even know each other. But there was no point in her making it worse for either of them. Let it go and move on, was Brody’s motto.

“I’ll be right back,” the man promised, giving the cuffs a smack that ricocheted painfully through Brody’s arms.

“I’ll be here.”

Shifting his shoulders, trying to find an angle that didn’t hurt like a son of a bitch since the guy had hooked the cuffs around the steel grip on a huge toolbox. To, what? Keep him from running away? Brody silently cussed up a storm and watched Reilly drag his daughter out of the garage.

The last sight Brody had of Genna was the tear-filled apology in those big blue eyes.

Damn, she was pretty.

He should regret it.

She wasn’t his type, and she came with an insanely high price tag.

But the sweet taste of Genna was still on his lips. His fingers still tingled with the memory of her silky skin, the soft weight of her hair. Yeah. She was a mistake. But, even as he shifted again trying to ease the pressure on his shoulders, he couldn’t regret making it.

“Took your time,” he snapped when Sheriff Reilly sauntered back into the garage. Thankfully without the shotgun this time. He didn’t look any happier, though.

“You in a hurry?”

“I have things to do.” More importantly, he’d like to get this over before the old man was off shift. Nothing pissed him off more than hearing Brody had been in yet another scrape with the law.

“You’re gonna have to reschedule.”

“Why? You’re seriously hauling me in?” Brody wanted to laugh. Another black mark on his record wasn’t going hurt, but it was gonna irritate. Worse, it was going to disappoint his gramma. And he’d been trying hard the last few years to stop doing that. Irene Lane had this crazy belief that Brody could build a good life. Could be the kind of guy she could tell her friends about, could brag on and be proud of.

“I figure there’s only one answer to this little problem you’ve presented me with tonight.”

His expression bored, Brody arched one brow in question.

“You’ll have to leave Bedford.”

Hell, yeah. It was like the guy had poked into Brody’s brain and picked out his secret dream. Still...

“You can’t kick me out of town.”

“Boy, I can do whatever I damned well please.”

Brody considered a testament to his control that he didn’t roll his eyes. Because they both knew the guy was claiming powers he didn’t have.

“Let’s see. I’ve got you on underage drinking. Driving on a suspended. That fight last week with the Kinski boys, I’ll bet they’d file charges if pressed. I can call that aggravated assault. Your bike has modified pipes, violating the sound laws.” He went on reciting his list of minor offenses, boring the hell out of Brody. Was that the best he had?

Clearly reading his disdain, the sheriff shifted gears.

“You’re a bad influence on Joe, and I know you’re both involved in gang activity. I can make your life hell figuring out which gang, and what you’re doing. Or I can put the word out that you’re playing nice with me and let the gangs take care of you.”

That caused a twinge, but Brody shrugged it off. He was clean and gang-free, but his friend wasn’t. Still, Joe was a big boy. He knew what he was getting into.

“So that’s all you got?” Brody asked, his laugh just this side of a sneer. “A handful of petty offenses and a few threats?”

Reilly stared. Just stared. For so long, Brody’s neck itched and he wanted to squirm.

“Son, you’re getting the hell out of here one way or another.

Hell yeah, he was. He’d spent the last four years saving up, cleaning up and getting his act together so he could see the end of Bedford.

Three more months.

That’s all he needed to have enough cash to pay back the last of what his gramma had spent bailing him out of juvie, paying a lawyer to seal his records and covering his hospital bills. She’d mortgaged her house for him, and when he’d promised to pay it off himself, she’d doubled down with guilt, demanding he stay in town until it was paid. Her way, he knew, of watching over him as long as she could. She’d tried to get him to move in with her, but they both knew that was a bad idea. The few times he’d lived with her, Brian inevitably showed up, remembered he had a mother who might have some money and happily pounded on both of them. So Brody made a point to do as little as possible to remind the old man of Irene’s existence.

But he hadn’t been able to ignore her plea that he stay in town. The minute his slate was clean, he was outta there.

And never coming back.

“I’ll be gone soon enough,” Brody said. Then, pissed that he sounded weak, as if he were giving in to cop intimidation, he pulled out his best sneer. “You don’t have to worry about your pretty little girl. I promise I’ll keep my hands off her between now and then. No guarantees that she’ll reciprocate, though.”