Billy’s delicate sixteen-year-old sister, then Billy and his pal, Jason Briggs, both a year younger. When Sara took a whole bottle of her grandmother’s sleeping pills, it had stunned the community and it had devastated Billy.
The senior Armstrong had come into the teen center looking for answers no one could give him. Grief and anger had battled in his feverish eyes and she’d felt horrible for him. And truth be known, a little afraid of him, too.
And then, three weeks later, Billy died.
Good Lord, no wonder Brady looked haunted.
But she couldn’t offer him what he needed. Maybe another woman could, someday, one who knew how to crack through his defenses or live with them. But not her. She said, “I’ve been gone a year, Brady. I’ll leave again in a few days. As far as anybody in Riverport knows, I’m just the girl you didn’t marry.”
He looked down at his feet then back at her, his gaze unfathomable. How could she have ever thought she knew him better than she knew herself? He was a stranger. She glanced at her watch. Almost three o’clock. “I have to get back inside.”
His eyebrows raised in query. Before he could ask a question she wasn’t prepared to answer, she told him something she hadn’t planned to. “I have a meeting this evening with Jason Briggs.”
As she’d known it would, this news diverted his curiosity. “What does he want?”
“I guess he wants to talk.”
“Why does the boy who convinced Billy Armstrong that stealing a car and a half case of beer was a good idea want to talk to you?”
She shrugged. “He got out of juvenile detention earlier this week and apparently went straight to the teen center. My replacement called me up in Seattle where I live now, and I called Jason. He asked if I was going to be around Riverport soon because he needed to talk.”
“And so you drove all the way back here to talk with a delinquent sixteen-year-old boy.”
“Among other things,” she hedged. “But, yes. There was something in his voice.”
“What do you mean?”
“He sounded nervous.”
“Jason Briggs hasn’t, to my knowledge, told anyone anything about that night except to try to blame everything on Billy.”
She almost smiled. Brady was acting like what Brady really was. A cop. How could he not see that? She said, “I won’t know what’s troubling him until I talk to him.”
“Yeah. Okay, I’ll go with you. This may be a break.”
“No, you won’t go with me,” she said firmly.
“Where are you meeting him?”
“Like I’m going to tell you?”
“You don’t know what he has in mind.”
“And neither do you,” she said. With a warning glance, she added, “Come back later tonight. If Jason says anything I can pass along to you, I will.”
“I don’t like you going alone.”
She stared at him until he had the grace to drop his gaze. “I’ll call my lawyer tomorrow. We’ll have this sham of a marriage annulled.”
One minute he was staring at her as she talked and the next he’d closed the three feet between them and grabbed her arms. The energy that surged directly into her bloodstream almost knocked her off her feet. Her heart banged against her ribs.
He dipped his head so low his deep dark brown eyes burned into hers. “Can a marriage consummated the way ours was be annulled?”
“Brady…”
“Don’t you remember our wedding night? Don’t you remember what we did—”
She shrugged herself away from him. Sex had never been the issue. “You’d better go now.”
Seconds ticked by in absolute silence before he finally moved. He paused at her elbow. “I’ll be back at nine o’clock.”
“Make it ten,” she said.
He nodded once before striding away. She stood in the garden for several moments, staring out at the old dock, waiting until she heard the roar of his motorcycle and knew it was safe to move.
Then she walked back inside the house, head high, eyes mostly unseeing. She’d shed her last tear for Brady months before. She was over him.
Chapter Two
Good Neighbors was a nonprofit organization utilizing volunteer workers to build low-income housing. Brady was one of the few paid employees. It was his job to assign and approve projects. He was also in charge of contracting jobs too big for the volunteers to handle alone.
The man who had donated the property had been truly generous as it wasn’t a tiny city lot but a small parcel backed by the river. Eventually there would be additional houses built on the property. Brady hoped to have a hand in all of them.
After visiting with Lara, Brady couldn’t keep his mind on anything. The sun baked his bare back as he sat on the plywood roof, banging in a slew of nails. They’d run out of ammo for the nail gun and he’d sent everyone else home for the day.
Had Lara really come back to Riverport just to talk to Jason Briggs? What was the boy up to? He’d been in and out of trouble most of his young life and Brady would bet money a few months in detention hadn’t changed that. Brady knew the type, his own brother, Garrett, was a carbon copy.
For a second, Brady thought about Garrett and wondered where he lived now and what he was up to. Last he’d heard, Garrett was out of the army. Brady hoped that gig had helped his little brother get his head screwed on straight, but he wouldn’t count on it. Garrett was more like their father than Brady was. The same reckless streak ran through both of them.
A bitter smile never touched his lips as that thought hit home. Could Garrett have done any worse with his life than Brady had? Had he killed a fifteen-year-old boy? Had he destroyed his one chance for a happy marriage with a woman who outclassed him in every way possible? Had he abandoned the only job he ever truly wanted and cemented his reputation as another worthless Skye, all because the thought of carrying a gun—and possibly making another mistake—made him queasy?
Unless Garrett had turned into a serial killer, he was probably doing as well if not better than his responsible big brother.
Brady missed a nail head twice and laid the hammer aside. Staring out at the river, he faced the fact he wasn’t going to get much more done here today. He picked up his tools and scrambled down the ladder. He’d just finished storing the equipment in the on-site storage shed when an SUV pulled up alongside his Harley.
Brady yanked on his T-shirt as the dust settled around the SUV. The window slid down to reveal Tom James, flush face toying with a smile.
Twice divorced, Tom was five or six years older than Brady, creeping up on forty. His former partner was also shorter than Brady, heavier, big chested
