Page 39 of Risk of a Lifetime
Good. She was trying. He also knew she hated the water. Ever since the day their fishing boat capsized, and he’d jumped in to save her. Yeah, she’d gone in the water after that, but only if he was around.
“Bass. Super-big bass.” He widened his arms in exaggeration. “Of course, I’d make you clean them.”
She scrunched her nose and sweet-grimaced.
“Then I’d hose you down to get the scales and gunk off before we…” He tweaked her nose as visions of their hot afternoon exploits from the past flooded his mind. From her smile, she remembered, too, “…jumped in the lake to cool off before we…”
Marcy pressed her fingers against his lips. “Before we fried up those fish in a cast-iron skillet so big and heavy only you could lift it from the stove. And, you’d make hushpuppies and fried potatoes and your special wash-it-down concoction.”
He’d have rather talked about what came between the cooling off and the frying fish. But that was a long time ago. Before signatures on a divorce decree changed their status. He forced a grin to keep the conversation light, keep her calm. “That brew tasted like medicine, but it got the job done, didn’t it?”
“Got the job done.”
They shared a small, breathy laugh that spoke volumes. He squeezed her close for a moment, kissing her forehead. “To the good times we had, sugar.”
“To the good times.” She slid down on the sofa next to him and rested her head in his lap. Before long, her breathing slowed, her body eased, and her eyelashes fluttered, fighting sleep.
It had been a long, exhausting day. They all needed some rest. Thankfully, she could get some while everyone else worked through the evidence.
He stroked her hair as he did a chronological lineup of the day. Joanie should have a clue about who might have been around the food. Sheriff Davis would do his investigation. JB’d do his.
Marcy’s breathing calmed into sleep, and her body relaxed against him. A shudder raced through his mind and his shoulders, and he clenched his jaw. Today, he’d almost lost her again. True, she wasn’t his to lose anymore, but that didn’t matter. He’d watch out for her just like he had in school. He rested his head back against the sofa. Much as he needed to check on what was happening outside the room, he’d stay with her in case she needed him.
The door opened with a click, slow and gentle. Sheriff Davis pushed it open further, and in stepped Marcy’s mama. She looked tired. Didn’t matter. Two of her girls were in danger, and no one would be able to keep her away. Sadie nodded, then tilted her head to look at her sleeping daughter. Slipping over to the sofa, she motioned she’d take JB’s place.
When he shook his head, she pointed to the door. The sheriff waved him over, indicating that he needed to talk. JB slowly eased out from under Marcy as Sadie moved in. His ex-wife barely stirred, though she clutched at his hand as he let go. Her mama took hold of the grasping fingers.
Marcy’s stepfather Truman entered the room and sat in the chair by the desk. He crossed his arms and leaned the chair back against the wall, mouthing his silent intent to watch out for the two women. JB nodded a thank you and headed to the door, then stopped in front of Truman, making sure to keep his body between him and the women.
Truman and him had never worked a case together for the Bureau, but they each knew what the other did. Where they went. What went down. They’d formed an unspoken bond as special agents in the field, never mind the family connection.
JB pulled a leather case from his pocket, flipped it open, and rubbed his thumb across the FBI shield he’d worn for the past few years. There was a time he thought that shield and what it meant was the world. The law was his job. Just not this time.
Closing the case, he held it out to Truman. “I know I’ve already given my resignation to Wilson, but I wouldn’t want to tarnish the badge by even keeping it in my pocket. What needs to be done in the next few days may not exactly fall under the letter of the law, ‘cause I plan to do whatever it takes to keep Marcy alive.”
Truman closed his hands around the case. “You sure you want to do this?”
“You’d do the same for Sadie.”
The man clenched his jaw and nodded. “Difference is Sadie’s my wife.”
JB fixed his gaze on the door, kept his voice low. “Just because I signed the divorce papers doesn’t mean I want anything to happen to Marcy. We had some good times. Trouble is we’re like two engines pulling in opposite directions. Ultimately, one of us had to let go before we both burned out.”
He remembered the quiet in the house that last night before she’d set the duffle bag on the front porch. Even then he’d known the end of their marriage was near. Known there was nothing he could do but watch the end play out. Too stubborn to be the one to admit defeat, he’d waited for her to make the final break. One part of him had hoped she wouldn’t. One part had known she would.
“Marcy might have been the one to push me out the door, but in the end, I was the one who let go. Stayed away and let go because…” JB glanced back at the leather case and nodded. “I figure you’ll get my badge where it needs to go if something happens to me.”
“Watch your back out there.” Truman shook his hand.
“JB.” Marcy’s mother called out softly. “Before you go, there’s something I need to—”
“No, Sadie.” Truman shook his head at his wife. “Let it be.”
“But, I told you last night about—”
“I understand, but just let it be.” Truman stuffed JB’s leather and shield in to his pocket.
JB glanced at the two of them, then at Marcy still sleeping quietly on the couch. His core tripped at the beauty of her parted lips, her fluttering eyelashes, her gentle fingers tucked lightly beneath her cheek. How could he ever think any less of her than the day they were married? She’d stayed with him as long as she could. Worrying about when he’d be home from the job, tending the wounds he’d returned with.
