C
am fixed his eyes on the casket at the front of the church. He slipped into the hard wooden pew at the very back of the room, one of the few seats left. Mourners wallpapered the inside of the small church, lined up like weeping bowling pins. Some toppling with their grief, some standing upright.
It was a closed casket since most of Deuce’s head had essentially been blown off and was beyond the cosmetic skills of the undertaker. The iron fist Deuce had ruled his crew with had come back to deliver a knockout punch. Down for the count. In Deuce’s ghetto kingdom, you lived by the sword. You died by the sword. And eventually everybody dies. Cam kept replaying that last conversation in the alley. Was there more he could have said to convince Deuce to leave the game? No, Deuce’s voice hadn’t even changed yet when he’d first started slinging. He’d been a walking dead man for years. Death had finally caught up to him, and Cam knew it hadn’t taken him by surprise.
Deuce’s mother sat in the front row, dressed in dirty money finery accessorized by stoic grief, the kind of pain that bludgeoned you later once the food was in Tupperware and all the condolences had gone home. Rollo, the brother Deuce had killed a man for violating, sat beside her.
Correction. Cam had killed that man.
Deuce’s brother still carried that ageless innocence his condition afforded him. Every once in a while, his brow would crinkle, even though his smile never slipped, like he wondered what everybody was crying about. Cam longed for that blissful oblivion.
Why did it feel like a heat-seeking missile had blasted through his heart? He’d only seen Deuce a few times in his life, but they had shared the dark sacredness of a murder concealed. They’d colluded to put down a rabid beast. It hadn’t been Deuce’s first kill, and certainly not his last. But for Cam, it had been his one shot at freedom from Mac’s filthy tyranny. Somehow in that alley as they’d watched Mac die, they’d formed a bond that didn’t need blood or proximity to be real. Death had snapped that bond. Cam wondered if Mac was lying in wait for Deuce on the other side, ready to even the score. Hell, he might be waiting for Cam. Or he might not be waiting at all. Maybe he was taking his revenge every night in Cam’s dreams.
Mourners started filing out of the church, front pews first. Cam sat back and teased paint from under his fingernails. He was the only one on his row, and he might just sit awhile. Might just linger. He hadn’t been in church much in his life, but it seemed like bad things wouldn’t happen here, and he needed just a little time with no bad things.
“Cameron?”
The pain-husky voice came from right in front and above him. Cam glanced up, rattled to meet Deuce’s eyes in his mother’s face. Her skin was darker than Deuce’s, but she had those same golden eyes. How did she even remember him? He’d had less contact with her even than with Deuce.
“Ms. Williams.” Cam cleared his throat, hoping to dislodge the right words. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She took her time running her sorrow-drenched eyes over his face, seemingly unbothered that the whole line of mourners had stopped behind her. “You grew up to be so handsome.”
“Um, thank you, ma’am.” Cam caught the eyes of the curious people behind her, looking back to her face quickly.
“Deuce talked about you all the time.”
Cam couldn’t look away, hypnotized by the sincere pleasure penetrating her grief.
“About…about me?”
“Yes. He said you were one of the few Barfield success stories.” Her small smile brushed against the black lace of the veil half covering her face. “He saw that movie with your paintings and everything.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that when I saw him last.”
“You saw him before he…” Ms. Williams dropped her eyes to the floor for a moment before looking back up. “You saw him?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You know he bought me one of your paintings.”
Cam couldn’t even form words. Syllables and sounds floated around in his head before synapses linked them into coherence.
“Which one did he give you?”
Ms. Williams took a few steps forward and leaned down to whisper in his ear, like it was a secret.
“
Quicksand
.”
Cam had painted
Quicksand
years ago and sold it to some vendor for an arts festival in Rivermont. He’d depicted the Barfield streets as quicksand pulling pedestrians under. Maybe it
was
a secret she had just shared, that Deuce had wanted to get out but hadn’t ever found the strength. Or hadn’t ever had a hand to rescue him from the sucking sand, even though he’d given Cam a hand.
Ms. Williams pulled back, smile gone, tears standing in her eyes.
“You take care, Cameron.”
“You, too, Ms. Williams. I’m sorry for…” He’d said that. “I’m just sorry.”
Ms. Williams nodded, wiped her nose with a damp, wrinkled handkerchief, and moved on.
Cam laid his forehead against the pew in front of him. He drew a deep breath to calm the tremors around his heart and creeping under his skin. That encounter shook him, rattled his bones and his brain. So much so that his mind was playing tricks on him. Was it his imagination that he smelled Jo? That sweet, clean smell that belonged exclusively to her skin?
A soft hand slipped over his fist on the pew. If this was another of his real-as-fuck dreams, he didn’t want to wake up. If he opened his eyes and she was sitting there, he might have officially lost his mind, but it would be worth it.
And there she was. Her dark, caramel-streaked hair tamed and knotted low on her neck. Scarlet tinted her wide, full mouth. She was seated, her posture demure, but he knew the black leather dress poured over her body, the sleeves clinging from shoulder to wrist, would devastate him as soon as she stood. The thought of her alone left him halfway undone. He devoured every from-the-neck-down detail before returning to her face, her eyes. He flipped his fist, opening and gripping her hand on the pew.
“Hey.” That was a better start than pulling her onto his lap in the house of God.
“Hey.” She pressed her lips together like she wished they’d both say more, but too many words might mess this moment up.
“What are you doing here?”
She remained without words for the space of two blinks before speaking.
“You’re here.”
That simple. That true. She wanted to be where he was, and God knows he wanted to be with her. For once, he really wanted to do the right thing. Keep her safe, even if that meant keeping his distance for a while. Cam would never forget the horror all over Unc’s face when he confessed he’d held a gun to Jo’s head. Unc would probably never trust him with Jo again. Cam wasn’t sure he trusted himself.
“I’m sorry about Deuce,” she said, her voice low and concerned.
“How’d you hear? TV?”
“Yeah, it was a pretty brutal murder, so it was all over local news in Rivermont.”
Cam hadn’t thought about that. He had a few contacts still in Barfield projects from when he was much younger. They’d kept him abreast of some things over the years, especially with Deuce. Good thing he had turned on his cell that day to call Walsh or he wouldn’t have known.
“How are you holding up?” she asked.
“Pretty good.” Cam pulled their joined hands to his knee, relishing her skin beneath his thumb. “I feel like I don’t have any right to hurt. You know? We’d barely seen each other over the years. Barely knew each other really, and yet I feel like I lost a friend.”
Images of that night in the alley crowded Cam’s consciousness. The righteous indignation all over Deuce’s face as he’d blown holes in Mac’s thighs. Maybe they hadn’t been friends, but they had been something. That night in the alley, they had become something that Cam never forgot and never lost. And based on what Ms. Williams had said, Deuce had felt it, too.
Cam didn’t feel much like talking, and Jo knew that. They held hands and shared air while the church emptied, many headed for the gravesite. Cam didn’t want to see that. He leaned forward and laid his temple against the pew, staring at Jo’s face, looking for changes.
“You’ve lost weight.” He frowned, noting how narrow her waist had become.
Jo looked at him from under lashes so long with mascara they looked false. He’d always loved her long, curled lashes. There was so much strength in Jo; the sweet lashes were God’s nice touch.
“A little.”
“You’re not eating?”
“Haven’t had much of an appetite and I’ve been working hard to finish the Haitian adoptions.” She inspected him, starting at his boots, climbing the pants of his suit, skimming him until she reached his head.
“You cut your hair.” She ran her free hand over the pelt of dark hair he was still getting used to. He’d cut it about a week ago, and it was shorter than he’d worn it in years.
“It was so hot.” He leaned his head deeper into her palm, like it held salve for a wound.
“It was hot where you were?” Jo kept her tone politely curious, but she didn’t fool him. She wanted to know so badly where he’d been. He pulled her hand down to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.
“I was in Crete, baby.”
“As in Greece?” Questions queued up in her eyes, waiting their turn.
“Yeah. Greece.”
“When are you…?” Jo looked through a stained glass window before resettling her eyes on his face. “I need you home.”
She knew how to demolish him. He could see the evidence of how much she needed him. Jo took care of everyone else, and for some reason, he was the only one she ever allowed to take care of her. He pulled her close beside him, and she laid her head on his shoulder.
“Soon, I hope.” Cam swallowed, senses on high alert like he was defusing a bomb. “I, uh, I’ve been talking to Kerris’s counselor, Dr. Stein, by Skype. We have our first face-to-face meeting today since I’m in town.”
“How’s that been?”
“Good. Hard. Like picking at a sore that’s never quite healed. I see why I should have done it years ago.”
“And the dreams?”
“I haven’t been having them every night.” Cam rubbed her shoulder through the sleek leather. “I had a really intense one last night, probably triggered by everything with Deuce.”
“We don’t have to sleep together, you know, if you’re worried about…you know.” She hushed the words, maybe because they were in a church. Maybe because she wanted him to strain closer to hear her.
“I know. We’ll see.”
Talking with Dr. Stein, he’d realized part of why he left wasn’t just fear he’d blow Jo’s brains out, but also the shame. Apparently he was one big recycling bin of shame. Just pour it in and he found new and improved uses for it. Shame from Mac’s abuse. Shame about his mother’s complete indifference to him. Nearly shooting the woman he loved in the head? Cherry-on-top shame. Even now he couldn’t look at Jo without a trickle of shame running down the wall of emotions he was feeling.
“My appointment with Dr. Stein is soon.” He stood, extending his hand for her to stand, too. “She only had one slot available.”
Jo rose, and the breath in his lungs frayed from the impact. It was even worse than he’d thought. The dress was black leather, so that was baseline sexy as hell, but on another woman, it probably would have been just a cool dress. Slightly edgy and obviously expensive. On Jo? Not to be ironically blasphemous, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The leather flowed like liquid over every line and curve, nipping in at her waist and sheathing her hips and thighs. It wasn’t indecent. Jo just had one of those bodies that looked decadent in everything. It didn’t help that her four-inch heels stretched her legs out and put her eye-to-eye with him. His glorious amazon. She wasn’t aware of any of it, had turned without realizing the view left him speechless and embarrassingly hard in a church where he’d come to pay his respects.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to his chest. She stiffened for a moment before relaxing into him. He linked their hands on either side of them.
“This isn’t easy for me either, Jo.” Cam brushed his lips across the silky skin of her neck. “Do you think I wouldn’t rather be with you every minute we can spare?”
Jo turned to face him, looping her arms around his waist.
“I miss you every minute of every day.” Her fresh breath cooled his lips and heated his blood. “I can barely eat. I can’t concentrate. My body aches. My heart is split open.”
She leaned forward, pulling his bottom lip between hers, licking into the corners. “Come home, baby. Please come home.”
He’d fooled himself into thinking he could resist that mouth, but he couldn’t, not when it spilled soul-stripping words like that. He pressed Jo’s back until her breasts flattened between them. He cupped one side of her face, bringing her mouth to his. The kiss was an opiate, dulling all the pain.
“I think it would be bad for my tongue to be down your throat in the church,” he said against her lips, whispering kisses across the smile on her lips.
“I agree, but it was nice while it lasted.” Jo turned, keeping his hand and walking ahead of him out into the cold November day. He frowned when she shivered just a little on the church steps.
“Where’s your coat?”
“I left it in the car. It’s fine. I’ll be quick.”
“And I thought I told you never to come to this neighborhood alone.”
Cam glared at a guy across the street. He wasn’t sure if it was Jo’s body or her obviously expensive attire that drew the man’s attention, but he better keep his eyes and hands to himself either way.
“I didn’t.” Jo looked over her shoulder, her eyes uncertain but her mouth stubborn. “Peter brought me.”
Cam stood still, letting Jo take a few steps down. She turned back to look up at him, exasperation flitting across her face.
“Cam, he was with me when I saw it on the news. I was upset for you. I told him I thought you might show up here and was coming. Everyone knows this is a rough part of town. The rest is history.”
“You two seem to have a lot of history together since I’ve been gone.” Cam couldn’t stop dumb shit from leaving his mouth. This wasn’t heading to a good place, but he couldn’t stop.
“What are you talking about?”
“Dubai. Were you upset then, too? He just happened to be halfway around the world to comfort you?”