Connor swallowed his last bite of pizza. “I don’t see him as the quitting type.”
On that he and Faith agreed.
Pop shrugged. “Sometimes a man just needs a change. That’s all I’m saying.”
The phone rang, and Faith dropped her pizza. Pop looked quizzically at her as Connor reached for the phone. Faith lunged for it and slipped the receiver from underneath Connor’s grasp.
“Malone’s,” she said as cheerfully as her frayed nerves would allow.
Her shoulders sagged in relief when she heard the person identify himself and ask to speak to Pop.
She held the phone out to her father. “It’s for you. Raymond Jarrell.”
Pop wiped his hands on a napkin and reached for the phone. As he took it, Faith’s gaze flickered over to see Connor staring at her, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to see right into her head.
She looked away then gathered up the empty pizza box and escaped the office with it, heading to the larger trash can in the back. As she stuffed it into the large plastic can, Connor’s hand closed over her wrist.
She turned, and his concerned gaze met her head-on.
“What’s going on, Faith?”
When her gaze drifted downward, his other hand cupped her chin and directed her eyes upward to meet his.
“You know you can come to me with anything, right?”
She smiled, feeling the sting of tears at his loving concern. “Yes, I know, big brother. Everything is okay. Really.”
He looked doubtfully at her but let his hand fall. “I’m here when you’re ready to talk about whatever’s bugging you. Just remember that.”
He bumped her nose with his knuckle then turned and walked back toward the front.
Faith sighed and closed her eyes. She hated lying to them, but she also hated the idea of them knowing her mother was calling again. She knew Pop would take over, shield her from the calls, even going as far as to change the business number or screen all the calls, but she couldn’t allow that. It was time for her to take a proactive stance, one that didn’t allow for her mother’s manipulation.
Was it horrible to admit that she simply felt better when her mother was out of sight and out of mind? When she didn’t have to think about her or wonder what mess she’d gotten herself into.
Again the prick of tears stung her eyelids, and she gritted her teeth in irritation. Don’t let her do this to you. Not again. She’s caused you enough emotional angst for a lifetime.
Faith took several steadying breaths as she tried to gain control of the surge of emotion and grief she felt. No matter how hard she tried to steel herself against the emotional fallout her mother caused, it always hit her square in the chest. There was too much sadness and regret buried behind the protective barrier Faith had built to keep her mother out.
“It wasn’t your doing,” she whispered. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She forced herself forward, down the hallway back to her office. She was careful to adapt a serene expression, hopefully something that didn’t belie her inner turmoil. As she headed toward her desk, Pop looked up.
“We’re heading out, Faith. You going to come over for dinner tonight? I’m cooking your favorite.”
She grinned. “Would I miss corn dogs and Tater Tots?”
“Smart-ass. I’m making lasagna and garlic bread. Connor’s coming, so you two could ride together if you wanted.”
She glanced over at Connor, who raised his eyebrow in question.
“Sure, that sounds great, Pop. I’ll look forward to it.”
Pop put a hand on her shoulder and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “You take care and be sure and leave here at a decent hour. We’ll be out for the afternoon, so if you need us, just holler.”
On impulse, she reached out and hugged him, burying her face against his chest. He seemed surprised at first then folded his arms around her, squeezing her tight.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he said gruffly.
CHAPTER 8
Gray increased his pace as his feet pounded the padded indoor track. He still wasn’t one hundred percent after taking a bullet in the leg the night Alex had been killed, and his body didn’t mind letting him know it.
Sweat rolled down his neck and soaked into the muscle shirt that clung to him like a second skin. Thoughts of Faith crowded his mind, and it pissed him off.
Since arriving in Houston, he’d thought of everything but what he should be thinking about: catching Alex’s killer.
Guilt weighed heavy on him. Fact was, ever since he’d left Dallas, he’d felt lighter, like a great burden had been lifted. In Dallas, he’d woken up every single day to the reality of Alex’s murder. He’d eaten, drunk, and slept with the memories of that night ricocheting through his head like a Ping-Pong ball.
But here…Here he felt freer. A little lighter. When he was with Faith, he forgot about Alex, Mick and that Faith was his only viable link to Samuels.
His body screamed, and he realized he’d pressed to a full run. The muscles in his injured leg quivered and rolled. He forced himself to slow, and then he came to a stop, his chest burning like he’d just sucked on a blowtorch.
He put his hands on his knees and bent over, drawing deep mouthfuls of air into his aching lungs. Punishing himself wouldn’t help. It might make him feel a little better, because in his mind, he deserved it, but it still wouldn’t change anything.
He picked up the towel he’d discarded earlier and draped it around his neck. With one of the ends, he mopped his sweaty brow as he walked toward the locker room.
After a quick shower, he changed into jeans and a T-shirt then slid his cell phone into his pocket. He hadn’t even gotten to the door when his pocket pulsed and vibrated against his leg. He sighed in exasperation and dug it out again.
He flipped it open and put it to his ear. “Montgomery here.”
“Hi, Gray. It’s Faith.”
Her soft voice whispered through his veins, and his shoulders relaxed as the tension uncoiled and loosened.
“Hey,” he said, irritated at the catch in his voice.
“I just wanted to check in and see how you were feeling.”
Gray felt a twinge of guilt. He was supposed to be at home sick, and instead, he was working out in a gym in plain sight. Not entirely smart.
He shielded the mouthpiece of the phone as he stepped out of the club and into the parking lot. He hurried over to his truck and got in so Faith wouldn’t hear the noise of the city around him.
“I’m good, thanks to your cooking,” he said.