by Destiny Ford
The statement made me sad. “That sounds lonely.”
He brought the garlic bread to the table, placing it on a hot pad. “I’m used to being alone.”
“You have that reputation,” I mumbled.
He smiled, leaning against the counter. “Where did you hear that? Because I know it wasn’t in the background check you did today.”
“How do you know I checked your file? I mean, it could have been anyone.”
“I have alerts set up so I know whenever someone runs my name or any of my aliases anywhere.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “How?”
“I told you Kitty Kate, there’s a whole world of things out there you don’t know about.” He took two wine glasses from a holder hanging under one of the kitchen cabinets. A bottle of red wine was already open on the table so it could breathe. I wondered where he’d gotten it from. Wine is only available at state liquor stores and Branson doesn’t have one. That meant Hawke either had the bottle on hand, or he’d driven at least fifty miles to get it.
Hawke pulled a casserole dish out of the oven and brought it to the table with a hot pad and spatula. Once everything was situated, he sat next to me.
“Okay,” I said, spreading the black cloth napkin across my lap. “So you have some super sleuths telling you any time your name is searched. That still doesn’t explain how you knew it was me doing the searching.”
He poured me a glass of wine, the color so dark it was almost black. He handed it to me before pouring one for himself. “I can pinpoint the physical location of a computer as long as I can find the IP address. It’s not difficult. I knew the IP address was from a computer at the Tribune, so I assumed it was you.” He handed me the salad bowl and I put some on my plate. I took a piece of the lasagna he’d made, and a slice of garlic bread. He filled his plate as soon as I was done.
“Great. So, do you want to elaborate on what I found out?”
“I don’t know?” he said, picking up his fork and knife. “What did you find?”
“Oh, you know,” I said, “nothing! The only information available was a list of your aliases. And why do you even need aliases?”
His lips turned down slightly before he took a sip of wine. “I thought those were taken care of. I’ll have to deal with that.” He motioned to my plate. “Try it.”
I picked up my fork and tasted the lasagna, trying not to scream with pleasure it was so good. There were spices I couldn’t even recognize and the tomato sauce was zesty without being overbearing. It was the perfect accompaniment to the meat and smoky cheese. Hawke smiled at my expression. “The trick is to make your own sauce instead of using the kind in a jar from the store.”
Hawke makes his own sauce? I stared for a minute, trying to figure him out. If I only wanted a friends-with-benefits relationship with Hawke, he was going to have to stop cooking. Food like this could make a girl fall in love. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Good,” he said, pleased. “I’ll cook you dinner anytime you want me to.”
“You might want to reconsider your offer. I’ll be over here every night.”
He cocked his head, holding my eyes. “I could get used to that.”
I looked down at my food so he couldn’t see my expression. Hawke didn’t seem like the type to settle down, or even be monogamous. I couldn’t understand why he kept insinuating he wanted to do that with me—especially since we hadn’t known each other long. When I felt like I had control of myself, I asked, “Who do you know with the ability to get all that information removed? It doesn’t even list your house or your car!”
“I have more than one house and car,” he said. “And you’re right; it doesn’t list any of my personal information.”
“Is there a reason for that?”
He nodded, taking another sip of his wine. “Yes, several.”
I crossed my legs, leaning my shoulder against the back of the chair as I watched him closely. He watched me back. “What do you do, Hawke?” I picked up my glass and took a drink. I thought the alcohol might help prepare me for whatever he was going to say next.
He gave me an innocent look and I knew I hadn’t needed the wine since he didn’t plan on answering my question. I got up from the table, opened my purse and pulled out the articles I’d printed earlier. “What are these?” I slid the articles I’d found across the table and sat back down.
He moved closer to see them. After a few minutes he finally said, “That was another life.”
“Then what’s this one?”
He pressed his lips together like he was thinking. “My evolution, I guess.”
“What were you? Secret Service?”
He nodded. “Sometimes.”
“What were you other times?”
“A lot of things. I was whatever I needed to be.”
I stared at him. “If you don’t want to answer that’s fine, just say so. I only want to find out what I’m getting myself into here. Spence seems to think you choose sides and a lot of times you end up on the wrong one.”
Hawke smiled. “I guess that depends on your definition of right and wrong.”
“He thinks the people you associate with could put me in danger.”
At that, Hawke’s face changed and he shifted his lower jaw from left to right. He looked me straight in the eye. “A lot of the people I associate with have dangerous skills—just like me. But I would never hurt you or put you in a position where you could get hurt.”
“So you work with these people?”
He shook his head. “Not in the traditional sense. We aren’t co-workers. We’re all independent contractors, but our network of associates allows us to contact one another if we need help from someone with a specific skill. These people are just resources to me and I’m a resource to them. Truthfully, I prefer to work alone. I don’t have the patience to work with other people on a continual basis. You’re one of the first. You have good instincts and I like how determined you are.”
I’m sure the shock was written on my face. “Seriously?”
He smiled. “Seriously.”
He picked his fork up again and didn’t say anything else. Damn him for being even sexier because he’s so mysterious. When we finished our food, I leaned back in my chair, slowly sipping my wine.
“So,” Hawke said, crossing his leg toward me, his right ankle resting on his left knee. “I’ve been wondering why a woman like you with a good freelance career would take a job at The Branson Tribune.”
I tilted my head, wondering how he knew about my old job. “I guess I’m not the only one doing background checks.”
“I don’t work with people unless I know everything about them.”
I wrinkled my nose. “That seems a little hypocritical.”
He answered with a smile that said, “take me or leave me.” I thought about leaving for at least three seconds. He seemed to know I wasn’t going to though and continued the conversation, “So, why did you come back?”
“Honestly?”
He nodded.
I picked up the bottle of wine. I needed a refill if I was going to have this discussion. “Right after college I needed a change. Freelancing was a good way to get out of the state, and learn new things. I did it for three years, but when Spence gave me the job offer, I was ready to come back. Plus, the appeal of a steady salary and health insurance was too much to pass up.”
“And you needed the change because of the relationship you were in?”
Geez! “How in depth are your background checks?”
“I probably know more about you than you do.”
“That’s great. Care to make it mutual and give me some more information about you?”
He gave me a steady stare. “I could see that happening. Eventually.” He took a drink. “So what about the guy?”
“I met him in college. We were pretty serious.”
“What went wrong?”
“We had differing opinions on what a relati
onship should be.”
“How long were you with him?”
“Almost three years.” I took another sip of my wine. “I left after I caught him cheating on me, but things between us had been strained for a while. We both changed and wanted different things. We didn’t agree on anything and I realized he was trying to control me. He wanted a wife who was barefoot, pregnant, and home taking care of the kids. That wasn’t how I envisioned my life. I wanted to work, travel, and have adventures with someone I loved. I didn’t care if I ever got married. To me, it’s just a piece of paper.”
Hawke tilted his head, watching me for a few beats. “How did he handle that?”
I laughed. “He didn’t. He wanted a 1950s housewife. I couldn’t give that to him. Plus he was a pompous, patriarchal jackass.”
“So why did you stay with him for as long as you did?”
I looked down at my glass, a small smile playing on my lips. I wondered if I should tell the truth, or lie. I looked up and met Hawke’s eyes, deciding on the truth, “Not everything about the relationship was bad.”
Hawke gave a knowing smile. “The good-sex rationalization.”
“What can I say? Fighting is good foreplay.”
He lifted his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
The conversation lulled for a few minutes until Hawke asked, “Did you talk to anyone about Chelsea today?”
“Yeah. The Bradfords’ neighbor is convinced someone broke into Chelsea’s room recently. I saw Julia Bradford at the gas station and asked her about it, but she thought the burglar was actually just her other daughter. She did confirm what my dad said about Brian moving out, though. She admitted it was our talk with her that prompted the fight.”
“Did she say anything about Brian?”
“Mostly how disappointed she was in him that he was more concerned with work than his family and dead daughter. She did say something strange, though. Brian told her he had to push the funeral through fast to protect the governor. Even Julia didn’t understand what Brian meant.” I looked at Hawke but his face was unreadable. “That seems like a strange thing to say, don’t you think? Like he’s covering something up?”
Hawke gave me a measured stare. “It is strange, but I can tell you why he said it.”
“You can?” I asked, confused. “How?”
“After I heard your dad’s store this morning, I found Brian Bradford. He was staying at the only hotel in Branson, so it’s not like it was hard.” Huh. I guess I should have done some investigating of Brian myself, but Hawke had and he’s my partner, so I decided not to feel guilty about it.
“What did he say?”
“He admitted to bribing the coroner’s office to keep the head trauma off the report. He didn’t want anyone thinking it was suspicious and investigating Chelsea’s death further. He also said he pushed Chelsea’s funeral through so fast because he was worried Shawn Wallace was involved in Chelsea’s death. Brian owns several technical companies. He’s been trying to get the state of Utah to buy his software for years. He didn’t want to lose the potential state contract he’d been working on, so to protect the Wallaces, he did everything in his power to make sure no one knew about the pregnancy, or the fact that Chelsea’s death probably wasn’t an accident. In the end, he didn’t even get the contract. The state went with a lower bid.”
“Are you kidding? He traded his daughter’s justice for a contract he didn’t even get!”
Hawke nodded once. “He won’t be winning father of the year.”
“So, Brian Bradford really thinks the Wallaces are involved in Chelsea’s murder?”
Hawke shook his head. “Not the governor, but he indicated Shawn might have had something to do with it. He confirmed Chelsea was dating Shawn, and said he couldn’t think of anyone else who would gain anything from her death.”
I stared at the table. “So we’re back to our original suspect, Shawn.”
“That’s what it seems.”
“And you still can’t get us an interview with him?”
He grimaced slightly. “No. I can’t.”
I’d try to get it myself, but if Hawke didn’t have the connections to get us access to Shawn Wallace, I certainly didn’t. Not even as the fake girlfriend of Dylan Drake.
“Thanks for talking to Brian and letting me know what he said.”
“We’re partners. That’s what we do.”
I stared at him for a minute before deciding to ask him my most burning question—again. “Why are you helping me on this? Who are you working for?”
Hawke gave me a mischievous smile. “Maybe I’m not working for anyone. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to spend time with you.”
I leaned back a little, trying not to let the confusion show on my face. “Well, if that’s the case, you could have just asked me out.”
“Would you have said yes?” His expression indicated he already knew the answer. Truthfully, if I’d met him on the street without getting to know him first, the answer probably would have been no. Hawke is a little intimidating. “Plus, this way I got to spend a lot more time with you than I could have on a few dates.”
“Well, regardless of who you are or aren’t working for, thanks for your help.”
He caught my eye, watching me like he was trying to figure something out. He put his glass on the table, then gently took my glass from my hand and set it down next to his. “Come on,” he said, standing and pulling me out of the chair. “I’ll show you around.”
This was a different side of Hawke. His trademark innuendo was still there, but he was opening up to me in a way I hadn’t expected. I was surprised at how easily such a guarded person was letting me into his home—and some parts of his life.
As I got up, I realized I hadn’t even noticed the inside of the house when I came in. I was too stunned by Hawke’s declaration that he knew I’d done a background check on him. Now the colors and décor started to come into focus. The walls were painted a deep merlot, almost the color of the wine we’d just been drinking. The countertops were white marble with streaks of black so flawless, they looked like they’d been painted on. The cabinets were top-of-the-line in a shaker style with an espresso finish. I wasn’t sure what kind of wood was on the floor, but it was similar to the color of the cabinets, though the flooring had a slightly redder tint to it.
The refrigerator was oversized and built into the cabinets. A person would have mistaken it for a large cabinet door unless they knew it was there. There was a cooktop stove on the countertop, and a built-in stainless steel oven on the opposite wall. A matching stainless steel dishwasher sat under the countertop, to the right of the sink.
The hardwood floors continued into the living room and hallway, the walls painted a caramel color with bright white moldings that ran along the middle of the walls. We passed by an office, bedroom, and large bathroom. When we got to the end of the hall, I followed Hawke up a set of stairs. The hardwood floor theme seemed to be throughout the whole house.
“Don’t the floors get cold in the winter?” I wondered, thinking about the hardwood in my own living room. I wasn’t looking forward to winter. I’d have to wear socks around the house or risk frost-bite.
Hawke shook his head. “There’s a heating mat underneath the flooring to keep the wood warm.”
I didn’t even know they made under-flooring heating mats.
Hawke came to a large set of French doors and opened them, revealing a massive master suite with a huge bed and a bathroom the size of my living room and kitchen combined. I followed Hawke into the master bath, which included a white jetted bathtub so large it could be a hot tub. The tub was surrounded by patterned gray and sage slate extending onto the floor and into the rounded half-moon open air shower. The large shower area and rounded construction made a shower door unnecessary. A round twelve-inch wide shower head hung from the ceiling. There were at least ten more shower heads attached to the tiled walls. I had no trouble envisioning Hawke naked there, rubbing his Swagger body wash
all over.
“I’ve only seen a shower like this once,” I told him. “It was on a TV show profiling homes of millionaires.”
He looked at me. “Trust me, it’s worth every penny.” With the corners of his mouth twitching he added, “You should try it sometime.” I flushed immediately. I think he’d started to get used to my bouts of embarrassment because he just smiled and turned to walk out of the bath area.
A black leather couch sat in an alcove with books scattered on an ottoman in front of it. An antique wood canopy bed was on one end of the room with a cream and black quilt spread over the bed. Even from a distance, I could tell the quilt had been hand sewn. You don’t get stitching that puckers so beautifully from a quilt machine. The canopy was black and see-through. It reminded me of lingerie, which reminded me I was staring at Hawke’s bed, which made me think of the things I might be doing in that bed at some point tonight.
Apparently it wasn’t going to be soon though, because Hawke had slipped on some shoes and was opening another set of French doors. I followed him outside onto a two-story, redwood deck overlooking his property and part of the valley below us. I followed him down the stairs to the back yard. With so much greenery it was obvious the yard, like the trees in the front, had been landscaped on purpose to ensure privacy.
An outdoor table and lounge chairs rested on a patio made of the same flagstone as the front yard. A six-foot waterfall dropped into a pond next to the patio. It felt like I’d stepped out of Branson and straight into a Disney forest. Hawke took my hand as we walked past the table to a stark white pergola framing a square, brick fire pit. Gorgeous rose bushes surrounded the pergola, the color a deep, vibrant hot pink.
“The roses are beautiful,” I said, leaning down to smell their sweet perfume. “I’ve never seen a color like this before.”
