Desiree Holt

The ringing of the phone pierced Ethan Caine’s brain like a heated arrow. He pulled a pillow over his head and tried to bury himself under it. When the ringing stopped, he removed the pillow, but the abrasive sound began again almost at once.

“Damn it!” This time he struck out with his hand at the offending instrument on the floor beside him, knocking the receiver off the cradle. “Go away,” he shouted at it. “I don’t live here anymore.”

“Ethan? Get your ass off what passes for your bed and pick up the phone.”

The voice penetrated the blurry state of Caine’s mind, and he blinked. He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, rubbing his eyes. “Josh?”

“Yeah, old man. It’s me. Where the hell you been?”

“Out of this world.” Caine rubbed his hand over his face, grimacing as he felt the tangling in his beard. When the hell had it gotten so long?

“Get up, we need to talk to you.”

“Jesus, Josh. I look and smell like something the dog left on the porch, I don’t even know what day it is, and you want to talk?”

“Ethan, this is serious. I need a big favor.” Josh’s usually cheerful voice held a somber tone.

Caine lay back down on the mattress. He’d never gotten around to buying an actual bed for himself, and by now he’d decided he didn’t need one. “Okay. Sure. How much do you need?”

“It’s not money. How soon can you meet us at The Club?”

“Try next week.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, wondering when he’d last brushed them. “Damn, Josh, I’m in no shape to go anywhere right now, let alone a fancy restaurant.” He paused as a word captured his attention. “What do you mean us? Is someone coming with you?”

“My sister, Lisa.”

“Jesus Christ and all the angels. Isn’t she afraid I’ll infect her with some disease?”

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “This is really important, Ethan. I wouldn’t ask you otherwise. Please.”

Please? Josh never said please.

Caine groaned. “What kind of trouble are you people in, anyway?”

“The worst kind. Now will you get moving?”

“Okay, okay. Give me an hour. And don’t expect too much.”

He dropped the receiver back in the cradle, shoving the whole instrument to the side. What in the hell was going on? Josh was a straight-up guy, never even got a parking ticket. But his sister had had her share of troubles, and if Josh was bringing her along, sure as shit she was the one in the devil’s spotlight.

Hell. He hated meals like this. If he didn’t like Joshua Taylor so much, think of him as better than family, he wouldn’t even be doing this. The few times he’d been around Lisa Mallory, she acted as if he wasn’t even fit to wipe her shoes on.

He stood up and looked around. If Josh wanted to talk, meeting someplace else was the best option. He sure as hell couldn’t invite anyone out here. The dilapidated state of the rambling farmhouse that had been in his mother’s family for generations suited him just fine, but it wasn’t meant for company.

The house matched both his physical condition and his state of mind. He cleaned – in a manner of speaking – only when he was in the mood. The weeds and native grasses growing wild in the ten acres that remained of the family property were constant reminders of the untended state of his life. A state he’d become comfortable with.

In the bathroom he stripped off the sweat pants he’d slept in, then turned on the shower full force. While the water heated, he stared at the face in the mirror over the sink and wondered who the hell he was anymore. He’d seen things that made Hell look like Heaven, and done things that robbed better men than he was of their sanity. His body was covered with the scars from his many battles. How he’d survived was still a mystery.

Sighing heavily, he stepped into the shower, wishing the hot water could wash away the blackness in his soul.

He pulled on his usual manner of dress – another pair of sweat pants, Nikes and a t-shirt that hadn’t seen the inside of a washer in at least a couple of weeks. He didn’t dress up for anyone, not even Miss High and Mighty Lisa Mallory. If she wanted to turn up her nose at him again, big deal. He wasn’t the one who called for this chummy little gathering.