The Braddock Boys: Brent Read online

  She’d driven into town just a half hour ago and now she was here at the local drive-in, the only place open past sundown on a Friday night.

  Located on the outskirts of town, the Dairy Freeze was the quintessential small town scene and the exact opposite of the various cities where her father had been stationed while she’d been growing up. Twelve of them to be exact, in as many years. He’d been a leading Naval recruitment officer back then, a job that had demanded constant travel and so they’d moved regularly. But while the address had changed, the atmosphere hadn’t. Crowded. Noisy. Impersonal.

  This place was crowded and noisy, too, but it was different. People knew each other. They smiled. They talked. Her gaze shifted to the cluster of round wrought iron tables that sat in front of a sliding order-up window. At one table, a busy mother handed out ice cream cones to a group of messy youngsters. At the next, an elderly couple drank root beer floats, shared an order of onion rings and offered up a stack of napkins when one of the kids dumped his ice cream in his lap. Next to them a cluster of teenage boys in high school letter jackets and cowboy boots mingled with a handful of girls from a nearby car. Rows of drive-up stalls, filled with everything from pick-up trucks to mini-vans, lined either side of the busy courtyard area. People rolled down their windows and chatted with whoever sat next to them while the latest George Strait song drifted from the outdoor speakers. The smell of chili cheese fries and sugary sweet soft serve filled the air and stirred a strange sense of longing.

  For food, of course.

  Abigail had been living on powdered milk and beef jerky in the mountains outside of Kabul for the past six months. She certainly wasn’t feeling suddenly hollow because the entire scene reminded her of her late mother and the one visit she’d paid to her grandparents when she’d been five.

  She pushed aside the strange sense of melancholy and steeled herself as she faced Dolly.

  “Thanks for the advice, but I’d rather have the malt.” Words to live by as far as Abigail was concerned. Men were distracting. She’d learned that firsthand back in high school when she’d almost thrown away a full ride to the Naval Academy for one measly date with the captain of the hockey team. She’d lusted after him for months, dreamt about him, penciled his name on her notebook. He’d been so perfect and she’d wanted him so much. Enough to miss her application interview in favor of getting her hair done for the first—and only—time to try to impress him.

  A wasted effort because the Hockey Hunk had stood her up for the head cheerleader. A girl who wore short skirts and high heels and lots of makeup. Luckily Abby had had a perfect record and so the acceptance board had rescheduled her interview and given her one more chance.

  She’d realized then and there that she simply couldn’t compete when it came to all the girlie stuff. Her hair would never curl quite as much and her body didn’t fill out the sexy clothes quite as well. She’d also vowed to never let a man make a fool of her ever again. While she went out every now and then (she was a grown woman with needs, after all), she didn’t let herself get emotionally involved. She didn’t sit around dreaming of a big wedding or a happily ever after. She was living her dream—to stand on her own feet, command her own unit and serve her country.

  She was good at it. She liked it. Even if it was a little lonely every now and then.

  “Oh, and add a double chili dog to that,” she added, eager to ignore the sudden tightening in her gut. Real food hadn’t been the only thing she’d done without all those months in Afghanistan. It had been over eleven since she’d been with a man and she needed a really good orgasm in a really bad way. Not that a man was required in order to have one, but vibrators had yet to become standard issue special ops gear and so she’d been forced to leave her deluxe model Big Man at home. Since she didn’t fraternize with her men and in-field operations didn’t permit time or energy for fooling around, she’d done without. Add the fact that Rayne was missing, and her superiors were holding her personally responsible to the mix, and she was definitely feeling some major frustration.

  “Add a double order of chili cheese fries to that, too,” she told Dolly.

  “Whatever you say.” The old woman pursed her lips. “Damned young folks. Never listen to one iota of advice.” She turned and waddled toward the glass door that led inside.

  “With extra cheese,” Abigail called after her before turning her attention to her surroundings.

  She wasn’t asking any questions yet. She’d come off a hellacious flight and she was tired. Which meant that tonight was all about doing a little recon and memorizing the lay of the land while she ate her first decent meal in ages. Then she would check into the nearest motel, plan her strategy for tomorrow’s Q & A and get a good night’s rest in a real bed.

  She did a quick visual assessment, noting the faces and the cars and the details. She was good with details. It was one thing that made her a top notch commanding officer. That, and her instincts. She could assess a situation in the blink of an eye and note any threats, and then she could take the appropriate action. Deploy. Advance. Flank.

  Run!

  The warning echoed the moment she spotted the cowboy who rounded the side of the building. He made his way toward a beat-up 1967 Chevy Camaro parked near the road.

  A pair of black jeans outlined his long, muscular legs. A black button-down shirt, the tails un-tucked, framed his broad shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows to reveal the detailed image of a six shooter that had been tattooed on the inside of his left forearm. He wore a black Stetson tipped low on his head, shrouding the upper part of his face.

  While he fit with the locals—he certainly looked the part with his boots and Stetson—he didn’t fit.

  She tried to picture him swapping stories at the local feed store or hanging out here at the Dairy Freeze, and she couldn’t. His entire persona seemed much too intense, too detached, too mysterious for a small town like Skull Creek.

  Too sexy.

  The thought struck as her gaze hooked on his sensual mouth. An unexpected visual struck—of that mouth pressed to her throat—and her nipples snapped to attention. Need sliced through her, sharp and swift, and her stomach hollowed out.

  As if he sensed her reaction, he turned. He tipped the brim of his hat back and the light illuminated his high cheekbones and sculpted nose. A fierce green gaze blazed across the distance between them and collided with hers.

  Her breath caught and her heart paused. It was a crazy reaction for a soldier who made it her business to feel nothing and stay focused.

  But for the next few, frantic heartbeats, her brain seemed to scramble and she forgot everything except him and the way he looked at her. Into her. As if he could see past the thick outer exterior, to the soft, vulnerable woman beneath.

  As if that woman even existed.

  She didn’t.

  Abigail had accepted that fact a long time ago when she’d failed so miserably with Hockey Hunk. Three hours in Chicago’s top salon hadn’t been enough to transform her from a pudgy tomboy into a desirable woman.

  She’d still been too stocky, too shapeless, too ballsy.

  Then and now.

  But that was okay. She was a commanding officer, not a Hooters girl. She didn’t need that kind of superficial attention. She needed respect.

  Well, that and a really rocking orgasm to ease her current nerves.

  His gaze swept her from head to toe and stripped away every scrap of clothing. Anticipation zapped her and the air bolted from her lungs.

  He grinned then and she had the unnerving thought that he knew her frustration. That he knew her.

  She stiffened and put up the invisible barricade vital to a special ops soldier. No expression. No emotion. Nothing. Just name, rank and serial number.

  His gaze widened and surprise flashed in the bright green depths. At least she thought it was surprise. But then he turned, the car door opened and he disappeared inside. The engine caught.

  A rush of panic bolted thr
ough her and she pushed to her feet.

  Because Abigal Trent didn’t waste her time thinking and analyzing. She was a field operative. Paid to trust her gut and act on it. And her gut told her something wasn’t right.

  He wasn’t right.

  He was hiding something, and there was only one way to find out exactly what that was, and whether or not it had anything to do with her latest mission.

  There was always the possibility and with her reputation hanging in the balance, she wasn’t leaving any stone unturned.

  Abby headed for her rental car and took off after him.

  3

  SHE WAS FOLLOWING HIM.

  He knew it even before he saw the blaze of headlights in his rearview mirror. He felt her. He’d felt her the first moment she’d spotted him.

  Her piqued interest. Her pulse-pounding lust. Her surprise. She’d never reacted so fast, so fierce to any member of the opposite sex and it had freaked her out.

  He knew the feeling.

  It didn’t matter that he’d sucked down enough blood to last him several days. His gaze had met hers and bam, the hunger had sliced through him, cutting him to the quick and scattering his common sense. In an instant, he’d wanted to forget everything—particularly the all-important fact that his youngest brother Cody was waiting for him, along with the computer genius that was going to help him track down his sister-in-law. That’s why he was still stuck in this hole-in-the-wall. He needed a lead on Rose and her whereabouts. Once he had enough information, he would hit the road and find her. After he watched his youngest brother tie the knot next week, that is.

  Then he would uncover the truth behind the tragedy that destroyed his family and his home one hundred and fifty years ago.

  He could still see the flames on that fateful night. Smell the sharp scent of smoke and decay and death.

  The Braddock Boys had ridden into the chaos together. Brothers who’d vowed to watch out for each other. A pact they’d made as kids when their father had abandoned them to ride off after some saloon whore. Lyle Braddock had died in a bar fight not long after, and not one of his boys had mourned him. They’d been too busy taking care of each other to worry over the no-good sonofabitch and the fact that he’d never been much of a father figure.

  When Cody had up and left to join the Confederate cause, Brent and his brothers had ridden along to keep an eye on him. They’d seized supplies and helped Confederate troops and made a name for themselves as the most notorious raiding group the Union army had ever seen. They’d sure-as-shootin’ been a major pain-in-the-ass to Quantrill and his boys.

  But then the war had ended, the South had lost, and the Braddocks had headed home.

  They’d arrived to find the entire ranch—the main house, the barn, the outbuildings—consumed by flames. The herd had been scattered. And what was left of his family? Gone. Dead.

  A nightmare. That’s what Brent had thought as he’d leapt off his horse and tried to save what he could, who he could. The whole scene had seemed so surreal. The dead bodies, most burned beyond recognition, stretched out here and there——his mother, the half dozen hired hands, the ranch foreman, Colton’s wife Rose, their six year-old son. But then reality had hit along with a very real crack to the back of his skull. He and his brothers had been attacked from behind, each picked off one-by-one, and left to die.

  They would have been six feet under for sure if not for Garret Sawyer. Garret was the creative genius behind Skull Creek Choppers, the fastest growing custom motorcycle manufacturer in the South. He was also the two hundred year old vampire who’d turned the Braddock Brothers that night and given them a second chance at life.

  At vengeance.

  Up until two weeks ago, Brent and the rest of the Braddocks had blamed Garret for the massacre. They’d been hellbent on finding him and doling out justice. Cody had been the lucky one who’d tracked him to Skull Creek first. Only, it had turned out that Garret had been innocent. He’d arrived after the attack and done all he could to save the brothers who’d been just this side of death. Garret had given them his blood and brought them over in the nick of time, but he’d been too late to save anyone else. Or so they’d thought. But Garret had revealed that he’d also turned a wounded couple he’d found several miles away. The vampire had assumed they were victims of an Indian attack and so he’d done what he could to help—he’d given them his blood the moment they’d taken their last breaths.

  A man and a woman.

  Rose.

  After all this time, she was still alive. Still out there somewhere. A vampire.

  While Brent had no idea what had happened that night—if she’d been an innocent victim or a cold, calculated murderess who’d orchestrated the massacre and sacrificed her own son—or who the man was that had been with her, he knew that she knew.

  She held all the answers and he wouldn’t stop until he’d found her.

  All the more reason to forget the damned ache in his gut, hit the gas and lose the woman trailing him.

  Cody was waiting.

  Even more, Dillon Cash was waiting. Dillon was the one doing the research on Rose, compiling information and trying to come up with a lead. He needed to get his ass in gear and head over to Dillon’s.

  At the same time, he couldn’t shake the curiosity that churned inside him. Particularly since he had no clue who the woman was or what she wanted from him.

  Nothing. Nada. Zip.

  Which didn’t make a damned bit of sense because he was a friggin’ vampire. When it came to the opposite sex, he read every thought, anticipated every move. There were no surprises. Until now.

  Until her.

  Sure, he’d connected with her initially like he did with all humans. He’d seen her initial reaction—the surprise, the lust, the longing. But then her expression had closed like a window slamming shut and he hadn’t been able to pick up anything else. No name.

  No background.

  No intentions.

  One hundred and fifty years and he’d always been able to read a woman’s thoughts. But damned if this one hadn’t shut him out. A fact that made him almost as hard as the lusty beast that lived and breathed inside of him.

  He was intrigued. Aroused. Hungry.

  And while the last thing Brent needed to do was waste his time with confrontations, suddenly it was the only thing he wanted to do.

  He eased off the gas, pulled onto the side of the road and climbed out of the car.

  This was not good.

  The warning screamed in Abigail’s head the minute she pulled up behind the Camaro.

  Her headlights sliced through the darkness, illuminating the abandoned car. Her gaze shifted to the pastureland that stretched for miles on either side of the road. He was nowhere in sight. No shadowy figure fleeing in the moonlight or trucking down the road. Which meant that while the car appeared abandoned, it wasn’t.

  Fear made her heart pump faster and she drew on it. Despite what most people thought, fear could be good. It motivated people, kept their senses heightened and sharp. Most of all, it fed the survival instinct. The key was not to let fear get the upper hand and interfere with brain function. It was all about breathing and thinking. Abigail had learned that during her first special ops mission in Iraq. She’d been cornered by a small group of insurgents who would have captured her had she given in to the gripping terror in the pit of her stomach. The visions of interrogation and torture and death. But instead of the outcome, she’d focused on the moment. On thinking of a way to get to the knife in her boot. Plotting a line of attack. Finding a means of escape.

  The fear had turned to power then and she’d made it out alive.

  She forced another deep breath and stared at the car in front of her, her gaze searching for some sign that he was still in it. He had to be.

  Her gut tightened, her instincts screaming yet again that something wasn’t right. Why would he hide unless he had something to hide? She killed her engine, leaving the headlights blazing, and climbed from
behind the wheel.

  A few seconds later, she eased up beside the car, every nerve in her body on high alert as she slid along the sleek finish and stalled just shy of the door. Her gaze sliced to the right, through the window and the thick darkness to find…

  Nothing.

  He wasn’t sprawled on the front seat or hunkered in the miniscule space in the back.

  The Camaro was empty.

  Impossible.

  She whirled, drinking in the surrounding countryside. She’d been all of twenty seconds behind him. No way could he have crossed the wide open pasture in that short amount of time. Not flat out running. Not even hauling it on a four-wheeler.

  Her mind raced as her attention shifted back to the muscle car. Her gaze dropped to the foot of space between the bottom of the car and the ground. It wasn’t enough to accommodate a man of his size. At the same time, she’d seen seven men stuff themselves into a crawlspace the size of a single shower stall to escape capture. Desperation was the mother of the impossible.

  “You might as well come out.” Abigail summoned her most commanding voice. “I know you’re under there.”

  “Actually,” the deep, timbre of his voice slithered into her ear a heartbeat before she felt his presence, “I’m out here.” A hand touched her shoulder. “Right behind you.”

  4

  SHE WHIRLED AND STARED up at him with blue eyes so clear and vivid that he should have been able to see everything going on in her head. She was startled. That’s all he got before the window slammed shut and he was pushed out.

  For the first time, he found himself stuck noticing her features. The sparkle of her eyes. The fullness of her cheeks. The smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose.

  Cute.

  But Brent didn’t do cute. Even more, he didn’t do locals. So what if she had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen and a pink, pouty mouth that inspired the most wicked thoughts? He wasn’t interested. No sir.