Stand & Deliver Page 7

Gripping the locker door with one hand, she faced him. “I practice and do qualifications with this gun all the time.”

  “Yeah?”

  “So, I know how it feels. How tight the trigger is.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he kept his silence.

  With one more beat of hesitation, she shared the suspicion she hadn’t been able to shake. “I’ll swear when I guided my finger around the guard to ready my aim, I barely skimmed the trigger and it went off.”

  His gaze cut to the case in her locker then back to her. “You think someone messed with it?”

  “Now, how the heck would anyone mess with it? I only use this one for practice and contest, so I keep it locked up here. More importantly, why would anyone want to mess it with?” She shook her head and slammed the locker door shut. “Had to be a malfunction. One I should’ve caught.” She lifted the lock to slide it back in place. “I’ll take it in and have it looked at.”

  Beckett caught her wrist before she could shove the lock home. “Give it to me.”

  “What? Why?”

  He nudged her hand away and crowded in so he could grab the case himself. “’Cause I want to check it out.”

  She tried to wriggle her way back in and grab the case, but he just lifted it up and over her head. “Um, I just said I’d handle it.”

  “You got someone you trust to look at it?”

  “Well, no. Not yet, but I will.”

  Beckett shrugged, tucked it under his arm and motioned for her to shut the door. “I already do. Trust me. I’ll handle it. Besides, you’ve got more important things to do.”

  She closed the lock and glared at him. “Like what?”

  He grinned, slung his arm around her shoulders and tucked her close to him. “Like gettin’ ready for tomorrow night.”

  Chapter Six

  “So, what’s everyone’s read on Ivan?”

  Trevor’s shift in topic from the construction of Axel’s outdoor concert venue to bringing on a potential brother should have snagged Beckett’s attention more than it did. Unless he was working out alone, driving or at home, his thoughts never strayed from the business at hand. Especially not at rally with his brothers. But for the last twenty-four hours, he’d been fixated on picking apart every second of Gia’s incident. Well, that and hounding the hell out of the gunsmith he’d taken her piece to early this morning.

  “Two years is a long time in the barrel,” Zeke said from his place beside Trevor. “I haven’t heard him grumble once and he’s been rock-solid with what we’ve shared so far.”

  Next to Beckett, Knox rocked back on the rear legs of his chair, knees wide as he balanced it on his toes, and crossed his arms. “He’s not gonna share further than us with anything. If that was gonna happen, he’d have spilled after Darya’s deal.”

  “Could just be he’s got a high respect for the Russian mob’s version of containing information, though.” Jace shifted his attention to Trevor. “Not knocking Ivan’s character. Just sayin’, he’s smart enough to know that Sergei would plug his ass in a heartbeat if he so much as thought about what went down in the wrong company.”

  Trevor grinned, not the least bit offended. “Yeah, he knew who we were dealing with, but Knox is right. Ivan’s solid. He could have helped the Feds and ratted me out with the thing we did for Nat, too, and he’s been silent as the grave. I think it’s time.”

  “Speakin’ of silent as the grave,” Axel said from his end of the table, “haven’t heard a bloody word out of you since you came in.”

  It took a beat of silence and the weight of all his brothers’ stares before Beckett realized the comment was aimed at him. He lifted his gaze from the distracted glare he’d had aimed at the massive conference table’s scarred maple surface, sorely tempted to just offer up a bland comment to keep things moving.

  But these were his brothers. Men who’d not only helped him make something of his life, but who stood behind him in everything. Hell, if he was honest, he wanted to talk about what was eating him. Needed their direction. It wasn’t like he hadn’t shared personal shit in the past. Yeah, it’d been weird as fuck sharing about his SPD, and he’d felt like a scared little two-year-old boy when his mom’s abandonment had come up, but bringing Gia into the mix took things to a different level. One he hadn’t entirely figured out how to process himself.

  “Something happened yesterday,” he said. “It’s not sittin’ right.”

  “And?” Axel volleyed back.

  Just like that. Two simple sentences and he had every man’s undivided attention. “Gia’s big into marksmanship competitions. Does field events and timed accuracy gigs at least once a month.”

  Danny chuckled and grabbed his beer off the table. “Gia’s big into anything that’s a competition. Half the fun of hanging around her is watchin’ the guys she whips up on walk away with their tail between their legs.”

  Every man around the table chuckled, but it was more about appreciation than the usual emotional bandage other men used to mask their insecurities. Then again, Gia had stepped up for them more than once and they’d seen her throw a man twice her size around. Hard for any of them not to hold her in high regard.

  “It’s the competition part that’s bugging me,” he said. At least he was pretty sure that was the crux of his worry. He’d also spent a crazy amount of time imagining what would happen if that bullet had somehow hurt her instead of ricocheting toward someone else. Every time that particular worst-case scenario had bubbled up, he’d had to fight back the urge to plant a fist in someone’s head. “She had an accidental discharge when she was loading her gun. Hadn’t even lifted it to take aim when it went off. The bullet ricocheted and hit the wall behind her just a few inches away from a scorekeeper’s head.”

  Trevor frowned. “Not sure how that ties to competition being a worry.”

  “Because Gia’s a practiced shooter and that gun is one she uses to compete on a regular basis. She knows the feel of it, and she swears her trigger was off.”

  “You think someone jacked with it?” Jace said.

  “Well, it didn’t get that way on its own sitting stored in her range locker.” Beckett turned his attention on Danny. “She was the only female on the lineup Thursday, and you should have heard the jackass she nearly hit. Popped every chauvinistic line you can think of before they let her leave the range.” He scanned the rest of the men at the table. “Kind of makes me wonder if someone she’s outmatched in the past wanted to dish out some humble pie in a public setting.”

  “So, get the gun checked,” Axel said. “You’re tight with Maury. He’d give it a once-over in a heartbeat for any of us.”

  “Already took it in. He said it’d take him until Monday to get to it.”

  “Hell, I can get an answer faster than that,” Knox said. “All the ranges have security cameras these days. If I can get tapped in, we can tag someone getting in her locker.”

  Shit, he should have thought of that right off the bat. But then again, his processing had been laggy ever since Gia’s drunken confession. “That’d work.”

  Zeke leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table, the casters on the funky orange, black and ivory kitchen chair he’d brought in from his parents’ house in Philly waggling on the basement’s unfinished concrete floor. “What’s Gia think about all this?”

  “You mean aside from kicking her own ass up one side and down the other?” Beckett shook his head. “Hard to call. Aside from admitting the trigger was off, she wouldn’t talk about it.”

  “She’s not suspicious?” Jace said. “That doesn’t sound like Gia.”

  “Under normal circumstances, no. But Danny’s not wrong. She’s competitive as hell, so when something with that much crowd exposure goes south, she’s bound to lick her wounds for a while.”

  “So, there’s a bigger question here, no one’s asking,” Danny said w
ith a sly grin. When everyone just looked at him with a blank stare, his grin turned into a smirk. “No one’s askin’ what Beckett was doin’ at the range with Gia.”

  Knox chuckled and slouched a little deeper in his chair, the look of a man settling in for his favorite part in a movie. “He was also mighty adamant about being the one on puke patrol last weekend when Gia tied one too many on.”

  “Give it a fuckin’ rest, Knox. I told you why I did that.”

  “Uh-huh. Something about a cock block. Which begs the question—why’d you interfere in the first place?”

  “Come to think of it,” Danny cut in before Beckett could answer, “the last time I saw the two of you together, Gia was pinned to the mat in the gym and you didn’t look like you were in any hurry to let her tap out.”

  The quiet laughter from Zeke and Trevor across the table wasn’t too bad—more two men commiserating with a man dredging through familiar territory than anything ridiculing. Jace popped a toothpick in his mouth and smiled, but it was Axel who dug to the heart of the matter. “Sounds like things are shiftin’ between you and the lass.”

  The old familiar itched kicked in. A prickling beneath his skin that demanded attention and promised to derail his train of thought sooner rather than later if he didn’t do something. He smoothed his hand along his jean-clad thigh, the well-worn surface not nearly enough input to level him out considering the scrutiny aimed his way, but enough to tide him over until their talk was over. Then he’d drag Danny to the gym over the garage and see if he couldn’t grapple his way back to normal. “What if they were changing?”

  How he admitted that much was a shock. One that was equally shared by everyone else in the room if their expressions were anything to go by.

  “You know how this works,” Jace said. “Anyone that’s yours has every one of us at their back, too.”

  “Yeah, we’re nowhere near that point. Not sure it can ever get to that point.”

  “Why the fuck not?” This from Axel who frowned liked he’d taken personal offense at the remark.

  “Because our backgrounds couldn’t be more different. She’s educated. Comes from big money and an even bigger name in Atlanta. And, as far as I know, doesn’t have any funky quirks that make her reliant on having a half a dozen psychological crutches in reaching distance.”

  “Backgrounds don’t mean a damned thing,” Jace said. “If it did, everyone around this table would either be slummin’ it, in jail or dead. I may not know Gia like you do, but I can’t imagine a woman like her would define a man by who his daddy is or what school he went to.”

  “And the last time a woman actually scored a trip to your bedroom, she came out grinnin’ like she’d won the damned lottery,” Knox said. “So, I’m thinking your tactile needs work to a woman’s advantage.”

  “He’s right,” Axel said. “If you couldn’t abide touch, I could see you having a concern, but you’re the opposite. Women don’t get that kind of physical attention in or out of the bedroom, so when they find it, they’re usually all over it.”

  Yeah, that was the reason he seldom let things go too far with women he dated. Or at least one of the reasons. The last thing he wanted was for any of them to think his need for touch had to be sexual and the misconception was too easy to draw with the way he responded to it. The other reason he’d buried so damned deep he didn’t dare try to unearth the skeleton.

  The thought jabbed a little too deep. He shook it off and frowned at the lot of them. “Y’all need to let this shit go. We’re havin’ dinner. Nothin’ else.”

  “So, that’s why you hit the grocery store this morning.” Knox swept the table with a wry smirk. “I can count on one hand the number of times he’s been to the grocery store this year, but today I busted him unloading a ton of fancy ingredients before noon.”

  “Mmm.” Zeke nodded and lifted his Bohemia Weiss in mock salute. “The domestic play. Doesn’t sound like nothin’ to me.”

  “You sure you cooking is a good idea?” Trevor said. “I’ve never seen you operate anything outside a microwave.”

  “Believe it or not,” Knox said, “he actually can. He’s just normally too hungry to spend time doing it.”

  Beckett grunted and slouched deeper in his chair, dropping his head back to glare up at the ceiling. The gray wool covering the old slip chair was insanely soft and worn, but the chair itself was sturdy as hell, perfect for his big frame. “Yeah, well, it’s probably wasted effort. She only agreed so she could talk me out of anything else.”

  “Then shift the focus and don’t take no for an answer,” Jace said.

  “This is Gia we’re talking about. She’s got more stubborn in her than the bunch of us rolled together.”

  “Because she has to be,” Axel said. “She’s a strong, independent woman fightin’ to make her way in an industry with few women. There’s no room for her to let her guard down. No safe place for her to be anything other than tough as nails.”

  Beckett lifted his head and locked gazes with Axel, the insight resonating with a certainty he hadn’t felt in days.

  “Be her safe place,” Jace added as though he’d zeroed in on Beckett’s thoughts.

  “How?”

  Jace shrugged and slowly rotated his Scotch on the table’s surface. “Show her you’re not going anywhere. Have her back the way you did last night. Might take a while, but slow and steady wins the race.”

  Axel’s chuckle was about as wicked and dirty as they came. “You could do it that way.” He sipped his Scotch and eyeballed Beckett over the rim. “If it was me, I’d just tie the lass down and work her until she’s too sated to say anything but yes.”

  Beckett shuttled his attention to Jace. Slow and steady? He’d accomplished a lot in his life, but none of it had happened as a result of patience. Hell, any epitaph carved in his headstone would likely have reference to tanks or pit bulls.

  He zeroed in on Axel. “You got any rope stashed in that toy closet of yours?”

  Axel’s quick smile showed a whole lot of teeth. “Now we’re talkin’.”

  Chapter Seven

  It was a night of firsts, and so far, none of them were comfortable. Gia shifted in the bucket seat of Beckett’s refurbished 1970 Corvette, tucking the loose sundress she’d foolishly worn closer to her thigh. Not having a clue what Beckett had in mind for tonight, she’d thought going with the snappy black and turquoise dress with its thin straps and flowing hem would make for flexible attire no matter where they went. Then she’d opened the door to Beckett and been on the receiving end of a leisurely once-over that promptly reminded her he’d never seen her in anything but pants.

  That had been “first” number one. Or first number two if you counted her breaking her no-fraternization policy to begin with. First number three was the awkward silence filling the car’s interior. In all the time she’d known him, she’d never once had to scramble for something to say, but tonight her brain coughed up a big fat conversational zero.

  Beckett glanced over his right shoulder and shifted to the exit lane. He drove with the same smooth efficiency as when he fought. No move was wasted, but those he initiated were beautiful to watch.

  He downshifted and took the exit.

  For some stupid reason, her attention kept shifting back to his big hand on the gearshift. Remembering the feel of them around her wrists was all too easy. As if he had burned the impression onto her skin and no amount of showers or wishful thinking could will the lingering touch away.

  “I could be wrong on this,” Beckett said, not taking his eyes off the road, “but breathing might go a long way to you unwinding and actually enjoying yourself.”

  Per usual with Beckett, it was exactly the right thing to say. She huffed out a shaky chuckle and rubbed her palms atop her thighs. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Ride in a car? Eat?”

  The
irritated scowl she shot him was familiar at least. “You know what I mean.”

  “Dating. Right. That’s tricky stuff.” He nodded and took a right she hadn’t expected.

  Come to think of it, she wasn’t aware of any restaurants in this part of town. The southwest stretch of Downtown Dallas was more centered toward urban living in repurposed industrial buildings than entertainment. “We’re not dating. I only agreed to this to help you see reason.”

  Right, Gia. That’s why you spent two hours standing dumbfounded in your closet and twice the usual time getting ready.

  She twisted to study the cross street they’d just passed and the reality of where they were headed finally clicked. “Where are we going?”

  Just as she faced forward again, he whipped into a parking garage beneath a redbrick building that spanned the whole block. “Where’s it look like we’re going?”

  “I thought we were going to a restaurant. Not your loft.”

  He shrugged right before he whipped into his reserved spot. There were other spaces marked Reserved all around it, but every one of them was empty.

  She scowled up at him. “Are Knox and Darya here?”

  “Absolutely not. They’re spending the weekend at Haven and staying the hell out of my hair.” He killed the engine and yanked the emergency brake. “Now sit tight and let me get your door.”

  Alone.

  With Beckett.

  At his freaking house.

  Or loft.

  Whatever she called it didn’t make a difference. There was only one reason he’d bring her here and it was the exact opposite of what needed to happen.

  The sharp chunk of her door handle filled the car’s interior a second before the door swung open. She always had to crane her head a decent amount to meet Beckett’s eyes when she was standing close to him, but seated in the low-slung seat with him towering uncomfortably close and his hand outstretched, he was a damned giant. “Take me home.”

  He frowned and planted the hand he’d offered her on the black convertible top, the other braced on the passenger’s window. “Now why the hell would I do that? We just got here.”