by Rose Wulf
Georgia shifted on the bed in Arianna’s peripheral vision. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You think someone slipped it in our mailbox by hand?”
“Yeah,” Arianna mumbled. There was one piece of twice folded paper in the envelope, and judging from the solid square of ink that she could glimpse, she was pretty sure there was a picture printed on the front. But of what? Taking a deep breath, Arianna pulled the paper free and tossed the envelope onto the table.
“What is it?” Georgia pushed, the curiosity in her voice undeniable.
Arianna went numb as she looked at the picture. She was staring at a couple on the beach, facing the ocean. The woman had her head on his shoulder and the man’s arm appeared to be mid-lift, reaching toward her back. They were a little distant, as the photographer was clearly not standing directly behind them, but they were obviously the focus. As much as she wanted to appreciate what a cute couple they seemed to make, she couldn’t bring herself to dwell on that. The couple in the picture was her and Dean. It could only have been taken earlier that very day, when they’d talked at the beach—and the photographer must have been waiting for a good shot, because she knew she hadn’t leaned into him for long.
“Ari?” Georgia asked, hesitation shadowing the curiosity now.
Arianna swallowed. “It’s—” But as she spoke, her eyes drifted down to the short, handwritten message scrawled beneath the picture.
Wrong choice.
“It’s what?” Georgia repeated, standing now and stepping toward her. “Are you okay?”
Arianna pulled in another breath, trying to organize and contain her reaction. She had to admit threatening notes were a bit more intimidating now that she’d seen firsthand just how dangerous they could be. But she was also unreasonably frustrated and angry—unreasonable, at least, because she was more upset over the fact that she was being stalked than the fact that she was being threatened. “Yeah,” she finally replied, tearing her eyes away from the note to try and smile at Georgia. She wasn’t sure the smile worked, though.
Georgia cocked a brow at her and somehow managed to plant a hand on her hip without smearing her newly painted nails. “So?”
There was no way Arianna was going to get out of telling her, and she wasn’t entirely sure she should try. Georgia had nearly been caught in that fire, too, after all. So Arianna turned the paper around and said, “There’s definitely no way this was mailed. This picture couldn’t even have been taken before lunch.”
For once, when Georgia looked back up at her, it was clear the other woman wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Her eyes darted back to the paper twice more before she quietly offered, “If it’s any consolation … it’s sort of a cute picture.”
Chapter Ten
“It’s just that I feel really bad about Hilary’s car,” Angela said as she led the way through the furniture store.
“Right,” Dean offered with a nod. “But … how is buying a couch gonna make up for that?” His sister’s logic was truly baffling. She’d called while he’d been mid-way through the pizza he’d had delivered for dinner, asking if he was up for a last minute run to the furniture store. She’d said she had something to buy, but didn’t feel like going alone, so he’d agreed. She hadn’t really said much else, but he suspected he’d only gotten the call because Logan was busy. Logan was the brother with the truck, after all.
Angela paused and turned toward him enough to assure him she was rolling her eyes exaggeratedly as she replied, “It’s not the couch, Dean, it’s the gesture. We started furniture shopping the other day, mostly just browsing, and she absolutely fell in love with a couch here. So I want to get it for her.”
“Okay,” he allowed, “but if you already found it then, isn’t it already paid for?” And was it wrong that he was eyeing that two-seater reclining loveseat with the center cup holders? It wouldn’t go with a damned thing in his apartment—something that would bother his relatives more than it would him—and he had no real need for it. But it looked comfortable.
“We didn’t buy anything, actually,” Angela explained as she passed another nice-looking sofa set. “Hilary said she wanted to keep looking, but really I think she’s crunching numbers. Plus, the couch is a little bigger than we were looking for, so we wouldn’t get to have as much independent seating.”
Dean snorted inelegantly and hooked his thumbs into his pockets. “It’s not like you’re moving into a real house, Angie. You’re college students. People don’t expect you to have an abundance of seating choices.”
Cutting a pointed look up to him, Angela replied, “Exactly. So I figure who cares? We’ll get the couch and see if we can find something to fit with it. If we can’t, oh well.” She paused, her gaze cast outward again, and added, “There it is!”
Dean watched as Angela quickly navigated her way around a pair of recliners before coming to a stop in front of a long couch with a chaise on one end. The fabric was a dark shade of emerald green, reminding him of healthy pine needles, and the throw pillows were a surprisingly bright shade of silver. The seat on the opposite end of the chaise was a recliner and had a built-in drink holder in the armrest. He had to admit, it did look comfortable. Although it didn’t appeal to him as much as that double-recliner loveseat he’d spotted previously. “This is what she wants?”
Angela had already flopped down onto the chaise, two of the four pillows tucked under her back. She nodded with an easy smile. “Yep. I don’t think she’d let us get it, though. She was already making up silly excuses for walking away.”
Dean eased himself into the opposite corner, angled to face his sister, and asked, “Are you sure she wants it, then?”
Scrunching her lips at him in the way that always meant she didn’t want to repeat herself, Angela said, “Yes, I’m sure. I think I know my own best friend.”
“Okay, okay,” he relented, holding his hands up defensively. “Then let’s go buy you a couch.”
“You know you’re not paying, right?” Angela asked warily, her eyes narrowed at him with a hint of suspicion. It wasn’t entirely different from the look she gave him when he asked her about a guy she was interested in.
“Of course I’m not paying,” Dean assured her. Although he fully understood why she’d asked.
Angela nodded. “Good.” A series of beeps echoed from her pocket and she paused, shifted, and extracted her phone. Dean knew that to be her text tone, so he let his head fall back and found himself eyeing the shadows on the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed what appeared to be a smile tipping his sister’s lips as she rotated the phone and began typing.
Curious and slightly bored, he rolled his head to the side and asked, “Who’s that?”
Immediately Angela’s semi-smile straightened to neutral and, eyes still glued to the tiny screen, she said, “Vaughn.”
Dean drew a breath and held it. She only knew one Vaughn. Vaughn Prescott, a boy about her age whose family had moved to the house on the corner of their street a few months prior. He’d forever earned Dean’s respect the day he’d rescued Angela from Eric. But that didn’t mean he was especially thrilled about what it meant that his sister was smiling—and trying to hide it—when the kid texted her. Come to think of it, she was developing a bad habit of using Vaughn to help her get into—and then out of—dangerous situations. Still, he kept his tone as casually curious as he could when he asked, “He say something funny?”
“Not really,” Angela replied calmly as she returned her phone to her pocket without meeting Dean’s gaze.
“Is there something I should know about?” Dean pushed, one eyebrow arched. He might like the kid, but that didn’t mean he liked the kid enough to look the other way if there was something going on between him and Angela.
“Nope,” Angela said. She turned a too-sweet smile to him and added, “Let’s go buy this thing.”
Distraction tactic, huh? Clearly Angela had no idea who she was messing with if she thought purchasing a couch for her soon-to-be-room
mate would make him forget his suspicions. Still, he obediently followed her lead and started toward the large counter at the back of the store. He kept quiet—mostly—while Angela ordered the sofa and set up the delivery. He completely ignored the nearby receptionist’s attempts to flirt with him and only briefly glared at the idiot teenager who stared too long at Angela when her back was turned. Then they were done, Angela had folded the paperwork into her purse, and Dean was leading the way back through the store.
“So,” Dean began, unable to contain himself long enough to make it fully outside, “what’s going on with you?”
Angela paused beside him and turned a confused expression his way. “Um … I just bought my friend a couch…?”
Dean rolled his eyes and nudged her shoulder, encouraging her to resume walking. “No, genius. I mean you and that Prescott kid.”
He swore he felt her sharp intake of air before she said, “We’re friends. Why? Suddenly you don’t like him?”
That was good. Defensive already, and they hadn’t even left the store yet. It might be a good thing we took separate cars. But he wasn’t going to just drop it, so he opted to try and soften his tactic. “I don’t have anything against him,” he assured her. He even managed to bite back the “unless there’s something happening between you” that really wanted to roll off his tongue. “I just get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me.”
They pushed through the double doors as Angela replied, “Actually, there are several things I don’t tell you. It’s not some big conspiracy, Dean, it’s just not all that normal or realistic for you to expect to know every detail of my life.” She turned when they were standing properly outside the store and narrowed her eyes at him. “Besides, why would I tell you new things when you don’t listen to the things I’ve already said?”
Dean blinked at her, completely thrown off by her response, and the anger in it. It was like the night of the Firehouse Breakfast, when she’d been furious with him and he’d just stared at her like a fish out of water with his mouth open. What the hell are we actually talking about? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Angela pulled in a breath, eyes closed for several seconds, and finally replied, “It means I’m not a baby and I don’t need to be treated like one. I’m allowed to have friends, I’m allowed to tell them things I don’t run by my brothers first, and I don’t deserve to be shoved to the sidelines when things get rough.”
Dragging a hand through his hair, Dean swallowed his curse and asked, “Are you seriously still mad about that?”
Eyes narrowing, Angela crossed her arms and countered, “Which ‘that’ are you referring to, exactly? The time you turned me into an unnecessary messenger last Saturday? The time you decided I wasn’t capable of helping drive around to look for Eric and his family? Or the time—”
“I get it, Angie,” Dean interrupted shortly. “But, dammit, what do you want from me? We’re—”
“What do I want?” Angela repeated, eyes widening with something akin to audacity. “I want to be given equal treatment! How hard is that to understand?” She was somehow now managing to shout and whisper at the same time, resulting in her voice sounding reminiscent of a hiss. But she didn’t wait for him to respond before throwing her hands into the air, an exasperated cry filling the space between them. “You know what? Forget it. Thanks for keeping me company, big brother. Glad we could have this heart-to-heart.”
She walked away as she spoke, not even bothering to turn her head toward her shoulder to better project her voice. Dean wanted to catch up to her so he could make her see his point, maybe try to calm her down, but there were too many people around. That was too private a conversation to be had downtown, in front of a popular furniture store that was sandwiched between other equally popular shops. So he ground his teeth, clenched his fists, and watched her jog across the driveway to her Mercedes.
Why the hell can’t she understand? How hard was it for her to get that she was their enemy’s ultimate target? She was the one who needed to be protected. Even if their enemies didn’t give a damn about her, she was still his baby sister. It was his job to keep her safe. “Damn it all,” he grumbled as he finally turned, shoved his hands into his pockets, and started toward his own car. It was clearly going to be a long night. The only thing he had to look forward to was an empty apartment.
He had barely reached his bumper when his phone went off, startling him out of his increasingly agitated reflection. He jerked the phone from his pocket and let himself lean against the side of his car as he put it to his ear without bothering to check the ID. If he was lucky, maybe it was Bradford calling him in for a graveyard shift. It wasn’t like he’d be getting any sleep anyway. “Yeah?”
“Hey.” That voice definitely did not belong to his boss. It was Arianna. And all of a sudden he realized there was a better option than working graveyard. “Are you busy?” she asked after a brief pause.
Dean glanced, reflexively, toward the other side of the parking lot in time to see Angela’s car swing into traffic. “Nope,” he replied with an odd aftertaste of bitterness in his mouth. He was really going to need to sit her down soon and actually finish this argument. But this wasn’t the time to think about that, so he dragged his thoughts and his gaze away from his disappearing sister and asked, “What’s up?”
Arianna hesitated for a beat, and only then did he consider something might be wrong. His senses were immediately on alert and he straightened as she said, “I need to talk to you, but it’d be better in person. Can we meet somewhere?”
“Are you okay?” There was nowhere in town he couldn’t get to in eight minutes or less and he wasn’t anywhere near above using his siren for personal emergencies. Again.
“Yeah,” Arianna replied on a heavy sigh. The honesty was undeniable in her voice, though it was clear she was aggravated in some way. It was the obvious agitation that kept him from feeling particularly relieved.
Dean tugged his keys from his pocket. “How about we just meet up at my place? I’ve got some pizza and more coffee than any one person needs.”
“Both sound awesome,” Arianna said, the faintest trace of amusement returning to her voice. “But I don’t actually know where your apartment is.”
Oh. Right. “Got something to write on?” She assured him she did a moment later and he rattled off his address as he ducked into his car. “It’s not too far from your hotel, actually,” he added.
“I’ll plug it into my GPS just to be safe,” Arianna stated. “Not really in the mood to take a wrong turn and end up on the other side of town.”
“Understandable,” Dean replied. “I’ll see you in a few, then.” Maybe by then he’d have his brain properly oriented. In the meanwhile, he would really benefit from some sort of an outlet. This is exactly why I took the apartment with the fireplace. Well, not exactly, but this was a good example of why it had been necessary.
He was home in a matter of minutes and one strong, but entirely unnecessary, outward sweep of his arm was all it took to ignite the fireplace. By the time the coffee was brewing and the pizza was warmed up, Arianna was at the door.
“Hey, handsome,” she greeted with a flirtatious grin as she stepped inside.
Her greeting brought a smile to Dean’s lips. “Get comfy,” he said, “I’ll bring the food. Then you can tell me what’s going on.” He watched her move to the living room before detouring to the kitchen to fulfill his promise, and once he’d claimed his own seat, Arianna reached for her purse. Déjà vu swirled through him as she told him why she’d called.
“Son of a bitch,” he growled as he stared down at the picture that had been slipped into Arianna’s mailbox. He crumpled the paper in his fist, stood, and chucked it into the fireplace, letting the burst of flame from the paper reignite the small fire that had already been burning. Threatening notes were definitely not the way to improve his mood. Especially not when they were being sent to Arianna. He had no trouble acknowledging the fact that he seve
rely disliked the idea of her being harassed or threatened. The only thing that frightened him was looking too deeply into why.
“I’m sorry,” Arianna offered. She moved to stand beside his coffee table, near the center of his living room, watching him run his hands agitatedly through his hair. “If I’d realized you were having a bad night, I would have waited…”
“No,” Dean interrupted, returning his gaze to her and dropping his arm to his side. He shook his head faintly and added, “I’m glad you told me tonight. I’m just upset that this shit is happening to you, too.”
Her lips twitched and she challenged, “Shouldn’t you be upset that ‘this shit’ is happening at all?”
“Well,” he admitted on a choked, unexpected chuckle, “when you put it that way, I suppose.” He stepped up to her, then, and let his hands land on her hips lightly. Her body temperature kicked up a couple of degrees almost instantly and he let the grin show. “It hasn’t exactly been all bad, though.”
Her smile was slow, deliberate, and alarmingly seductive as she moved a bit closer and let her hands land on his chest. “It hasn’t, huh? Should I be concerned?”
He heard the thickness in his own voice when he murmured, “Probably,” before he leaned in and caught her lips in a hard kiss. Hers wasn’t the only temperature on the rise, and the fire burning in his blood was dangerously close to being literal. He wasn’t sure what it was about this woman, but just the sight of her teasing blue eyes or the sound of her sultry voice was enough to drive him a little crazy. Now that he had an idea of what she tasted like, he was becoming concerned that he might never be able to properly taste anything else again.
