for the first time since his buddy had joined him. The guy looked good. Normal, except for the seven stitches holding his cheek together. They’d all taken a hit on that mission.
But Brody had been the last man out. Well, second to last. His smile dropped, Carter’s face flashing in his mind just before the guy had gone flying through the air.
“You okay?”
Brody blinked, then shrugged.
“Other than being ordered to see some dumbass who’s gonna play with my body? Yeah, I’m fine.”
After a long, narrow-eyed inspection, Masters nodded and turned to go.
“Don’t forget the cookies,” he called over his shoulder.
Brody let his mind go blank. It was a lot easier than facing the questions Masters’s visit had planted in his mind. Questions that’d been there already, nicely buried. Thanks to his buddy, they’d made their ugly way to the surface. Much harder to ignore.
But not impossible.
The sun was sliding low when he finally made his way up the hill. He wanted to blame the chilly weather for the stiffness in his leg and pain shooting from ankle to shoulder.
He’d just cleared the hill, beads of sweat coating his forehead with an icy chill. He hunched his shoulders and ignored the pain.
“Hold it right there,” growled a familiar voice.
Brody’s fists clenched in his pockets, his jaw tight to hold back the cusswords.
Was there a beacon that went off whenever he cleared the lake? How many times in his life had this guy busted him right here, in this very spot?
And what the hell was with today? Had he missed the note on the calendar calling it face-your-demons day? First Masters with the reminders of the mission. Now Reilly was here to throw off the careful barriers Brody had slammed around any thoughts of Genna. Or more particularly, of the piss-poor way he’d treated her.
His attitude slid downward, from rotten to pure crap. He forced himself to pull it back. It’d been ten years. He was too old to play rebel badass. Besides, he’d made his peace with the sheriff’s actions years ago. No point in holding a grudge.
“Lane.” Reilly gave him a once-over, his tone as cool as the look on his face. “You have a reason for being here?”
Looked like time didn’t do a damned thing to blunt other people’s grudges.
“Walking is against the law?”
“I see the service didn’t do anything about that smart mouth of yours.”
“Actually, it improved it. Nobody swears or smarts off with the same finesse as a sailor.”
Reilly just stared. Cold, with layers of anger that said he’d be more than happy to take off his badge and kick Brody’s smart ass.
Brody grinned, amused for the first time in weeks.
Did the guy actually think he was intimidating? Brody had been stared down, shot at and ordered about by hard-asses that made Sheriff Reilly look like a cute little pussycat.
“Stay away from my daughter.”
What? Had Genna run to Daddy, complaining that the big mean guy had kissed her?
Brody’s grin slid away.
He made a show of looking left, then right. Then, just to prod the guy a little further, he glanced behind him before offering the sheriff a shrug.
“I don’t seem to be anywhere near your daughter.”
“Clearly the navy didn’t teach you respect,” Reilly muttered, resting his hand on the butt of his pistol. What, like he thought that’d get him the quote-unquote respect he apparently wanted?
Since Brody could have that weapon out of the guy’s possession and neutralized in twenty seconds—an extra ten because he was injured and hadn’t trained in a couple of months―he was having trouble finding the will to be intimidated.
Nor was he finding any for this conversation.
Before, the highlight of his discussions with the good sheriff was to see how far he could push the guy. To find each particular button and give it a good jab.
Now, he just didn’t care.
“You looked me up for a reason, Sheriff. Why don’t you get to it so we can both be on our way?”
Reilly blinked, then frowned. His hand shifted to his belt as he gave Brody a searching look.
“I told you, stay away from Genna.”
“I haven’t gone looking for your daughter.”
“But you’ve seen her.”
No point denying the truth. But neither was Brody stupid enough to fill in any blanks, either. Instead he just waited.
“Genna’s not smart enough to know when she’s being taken for a ride,” the sheriff said, for the first time looking like a concerned father instead of an uptight cop. “She’s got some starry-eyed idea that you’re a hero. Same way she thinks drunks are safe to talk to and that her brother was gonna rehabilitate.”
Brody rocked back on his heels, his mind adjusting to the lineup he’d just joined. Drunks and a prison-shivved junkie. Talk about perspective. The kind that grated down his spine. But as much as it killed him to let it slide, he didn’t take the bait.
“Sounds to me like the person you need to talk to is your daughter,” he said instead.
“I’ll be talking to her. But I’m warning you, too. She’s vulnerable, and not good at seeing through bullshit. Naive and easily confused.”
Were they talking about the same woman? Genna Reilly, leggy spitfire with a wicked mouth and an attitude that didn’t quit? Did the guy know his daughter at all?
“She’s spent a lot of years getting her life on the straight and narrow, and keeping it there. She doesn’t need any bad influences dragging her off.”
“When did Genna fall off the straight and narrow?” Like the man’s earlier one, this image simply didn’t compute. Genna might be pure temptation wrapped in bold sassiness, but she was still the epitome of the town sweetheart.
“The only reason she didn’t go the same way as her brother is because her mother and I kept a tighter rein on her. Kept her away from influences like you, made sure she works the right job, lives in the right place.”
In other words, they’d tucked her under their thumb and hadn’t let go.
Damn.
Brody felt like an ass. It was bad enough that he’d been a total jerk to her. Now to find out he’d only been act 1 in the ass brigade marching through her life.
He’d been fine justifying his treatment of Genna when it was only the two of them. But knowing her father was giving her shit for something she hadn’t done seriously pissed him off.
“You’ve been warned,” Sheriff Reilly snapped, turning to leave.
Brody wanted to hate the guy.
Still...
“Sheriff?”
Reilly stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry about Joe.”
Grief-laced anger flashed, raw and painful in the older man’s eyes for a second, then he blinked it away. He gave Brody another one of those searching looks, offered a silent nod and kept on walking.
Jerk.
Brody was still fuming when he got back to his hidey-hole of a house, his leg screaming protest at the extra pressure his stomp home had put on it.
For the first time, he looked past the guesthouse