Body Heat by Brenda Novak

only them. Regardless of what Bruce might feel or what he’s been through, I’d rather not see him,” Rod clarified. “I don’t consider him to be any relation.”
    The expression on the old man’s face led Rod to believe he’d hoped for more. “Forgive him, Roderick,” he said, grabbing his forearm again. “Deja ir el pasado.”
    Let the past go…. “That’s what I’m trying to do. Only I want him to go with it.”
    â€œThat’s not what she hoped for you.”
    A pickup began to move in the clearing. Someone was starting work. Roderick couldn’t put off his departure any longer without risking some type of confrontation. He didn’t want to hear what Jorge was trying to tell him, anyway. Just because his mother wouldn’t give up on Bruce didn’t mean he’d hang on till the bitter end. “It was great to see you,” he said, and covered Jorge’s hand with his own.
    Jorge nodded but seemed troubled as Rod backed upand headed out. Fortunately, the person in the pickup had taken the opposite direction, toward the lettuce fields. Was it his father or one of his half brothers driving? Rod couldn’t tell. He could see only the taillights, back bumper and the dust kicked up by the tires.
    He imagined confronting Stuart or Patrick now that he was older. He wanted them to demand he step out of the way, willing to take them both on at once, just as they’d always preferred. But…what was the point? He wouldn’t feel any better afterward. That wasn’t the kind of man he wanted to be.
    Forget them, he told himself. But he’d been telling himself that for so long, it’d lost all meaning.
    Â 
    When the phone awakened Sophia from a dead sleep, her heart nearly seized in her chest. She was sure it was one of her officers or county dispatch, calling to inform her that more people had been killed. But a second later, the sound repeated itself and she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been dreaming. It wasn’t the phone. Someone was at the door.
    With a groan, she rolled out of bed and went into the living room of her little one-bedroom hacienda-style house. There, she leaned against the door, squinting to see through the peephole.
    It was Starkey. As usual, he was wearing his leather vest—or cut as they called it—with the patches that held so much significance for him, jeans and biker boots. His blond hair and his mustache, which was a shade darker than his hair, were longer than when she’d last seen him. He’d also put on a few pounds—but he wasn’t fat. His biceps bulged when he crossed his arms. And he had a new tattoo to add to the skull and all the others: FTW.
    She didn’t plan to ask what it stood for. She already knew she wouldn’t approve.
    â€œGive me a minute.” She hurried back to her bedroom so she could grab a robe to cover her T-shirt and men’s boxers. Then she let him in. “Hey, what’s up?”
    His eyes ran over her disheveled hair, her robe, which she’d had for so long he probably recognized it from when they were dating nine years ago, her bare feet. “You okay?”
    â€œYeah, fine. Why?”
    â€œI got a call from you last night. I got three, actually. But no messages.”
    Three calls? She’d tried to reach him from Mexico, but she’d been out of network range…. “I was hoping to speak to Rafe, but—”
    â€œAt one in the morning?”
    â€œNo, earlier,” she lied. “Your number was in my recent call history. I must’ve pocket-dialed you.”
    â€œFortunately, I didn’t hear it ring, or I would’ve gone nuts wondering why you wouldn’t say anything. I was at a party and the music was too damn loud.”
    She was glad of that. If he’d been aware of her calls, he would’ve been waiting for her when she got home last night, and she might’ve had