by Jean Oram
He could see Zoe visibly relax. She had been worried he was going to leave her. Ashton set down his cup and reached across the slated wood table to caress the top of her hand. “I’m in town to stay, even if I don’t buy that time-suck of a house.”
“How do you plan to spend all that newfound dust-free time?” She was flirting with him and he couldn’t fight the smile that came to his lips.
“With a beautiful woman.”
She smiled back. Her expression suddenly changing as though remembering something and checked her phone for the time before standing up. “Speaking of beautiful women, I need to meet with a bride-to-be in fifteen minutes.” She brushed the wrinkles from her linen shorts. “I have to scoot.” She dusted his lips with a kiss, then hurried out of the gazebo.
“Lock up when you leave?” she called over her shoulder.
“I’ll clean up, too,” he said wryly, holding up their empty coffee cups.
Zoe sat in her car for a moment before she started the engine, then pulled away from the curb, heading to work. Ashton had relaxed since their weekend away, and so had she, as nothing had popped up on the Quentin radar. She ought to tell Logan that he and his pal Zach could cease their quest to match the grainy footage from the resort’s security camera to a real man: the one with the scar.
She loved the new, gentle routine that she and Ashton were settling into. This time would be different, because they were different. And she was finding it difficult not to indulge in fantasies of their lives intertwined, his strong arms wrapped around her. His hot lips blazing trails down her neck. Waking up next to him, already smiling because they were together again at last.
She needed to slow down. Take her time.
But she didn’t want to. She wanted to zoom ahead.
Zoe sighed as she parked her car at work, nudging the Staff Only sign and bending its metal pole in the process. She reversed her vehicle. She was definitely distracted by thoughts of Ashton.
“Did you just do that?” Dallas asked as he walked past, lunch bag in hand. He had his eyebrows raised as he took in the bent parking sign.
Zoe winced, coming around her car to check the damage. “Maybe.”
“You need to get your head back on straight,” he said kindly, slinging his arm across her shoulders and giving her a small shake before they parted ways, him taking one tree-lined brick trail toward his office while she headed along the wider path toward the main building.
“Tell me about it,” she muttered to herself.
Once at her desk, she booted up her computer and checked the last-minute details she planned to go over with the bride and groom-to-be. She looked up as a shadow crossed her desk, expecting it to be the wedding couple.
It was the man with the scar who kept asking for Quentin. Zoe’s stomach dropped.
It wasn’t over. Whatever “it” was.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her hands shaking with nerves.
“I’m looking for Quentin Valant.” He gave her a charming smile. “Again.”
“Of course. Let me see if he’s checked in.” Zoe tried to maintain a neutral expression instead of a panicked one as she pulled up the reservation list. Why did he think Quentin was going to show up here? And was that reason related to Ashton?
“Planning to do some fishing?” she asked, before scanning the list for a name she knew wouldn’t be there.
“Maybe.” He casually leaned against her desk, taking in the lobby while he waited.
“I’m sorry, there’s still no reservation by that last name.”
The man inhaled while straightening, looking thoughtful.
Shoot. She should have said he was here, then asked for this guy’s name so she could pass on whatever message he had. Some spy she made—not that she wanted to be one.
“Why not try Dianne Thomas,” the man said smoothly.
She checked the computer. “Sorry, nothing.”
“Ashton Wallace?”
Zoe froze. He’d asked for Ashton. Her Ashton. Her body, like it was on autopilot, stiffly turned back to the computer.
“Let me just see,” she said cheerfully. She made a show of checking the reservation list, all the while her heart thundering so hard she was afraid he would hear it.
“Oh!” She hoped her fake surprise was believable. “He has a booking. Would you like to leave a message?” She picked up a pencil, found it was broken, and picked up another. “Who shall I say is wanting to get in touch?”
“Which room?” The man had honed in on her, and she felt like she was about to be eviscerated. She’d done the wrong thing. She’d told him Ashton was here, and that had made him a target.
“We can’t give out that information.”
The man stepped away from the desk, his eyes roaming the lobby as if he was searching for a place to start overturning the resort.
“He’s checking out this morning,” Zoe said quickly. “Why not leave a message with me, and I’ll make sure it gets to him.”
“He’s checking out?” He was focusing on her again, and it felt as though the building’s air conditioning had broken.
“Yes.”
The man made a move toward her desk, as if planning to flip her monitor to face him. She exited the reservations program just in case, her body vibrating with awareness of how this could all go wrong. And quickly.
The man trained his eyes on hers and she found herself leaning away.
“Would you like to leave a message?” she asked again. Pretend everything is normal.
Everything could be normal.
“Tell Ashton I’m looking for Quentin.”
“Sure. And who are you?” Zoe asked, pencil poised over the paper. Her hand was shaking so badly she feared she wouldn’t be able to write legibly.
The man was staring at her. He’d noted the shaking.
“It’s palsy,” she lied. “It gets worse with age. I’ll be a trembling wreck by the time I’m sixty.”
He met her eyes again. “He’ll know who I am.”
“Ashton will?”
“Tell him Quentin needs to cover his expenses.”
“Right. Cover his expenses.” She scrawled on the paper, shivers shooting up her spine. “Will he know for what?”
The man was already stalking off, hands deep in his pockets. He nodded politely at Margie as he passed the front desk, and Zoe quickly went back into the reservations system and changed the name on Ashton’s booking to the first thing that came to mind: Bugs Bunny. She followed that up with a quick email to staff alerting them to be on the lookout for the man with the scar, and to be extra vigilant about not releasing guest information to anyone who approached them.
An email immediately dinged back from Dallas, but Zoe’s finger was already poised over the Log Out button. As she tapped it her monitor went to the lock screen, and she hurried to the parking lot to see if she could snag a plate number—something, anything to help Logan track this man faster.
All she saw was a black Ford Escape leaving the lot.
She ran back to her desk, where she called security to save the lobby camera’s footage of the man with the scar, then contacted Logan to tell him to hurry up with his digging.
Next she called Ashton. As he picked up she saw the bride-to-be enter the lobby, looking around for her. Zoe gave a little wave to catch her attention, then held up a finger while turning away slightly to speak with Ashton.
“Ashton?” She held the phone tight to her ear as though afraid someone would eavesdrop. “That guy was here asking for Quentin. And you.”
“Did he leave a name?”
“No.” She described the man and the message he’d left.
She could hear Ashton inhale slowly.
“What’s going on?” she asked him. “Who is this guy?”
“I’m not sure.” There was a wariness in his voice and she knew immediately that he was thinking hard, plus holding things back.
“Why does he keep coming here? Why is he looking for you?” She flashed a smile over he
r shoulder to the waiting bride and groom, and mouthed “sorry” before turning away again.
“I don’t know.”
“He said you would.”
“I think it might be this guy who came by the apartment once. I didn’t like the feel of him.”
“I don’t, either. Where are you?”
“Washing your dishes. And being mauled by Mishka who apparently loves dish bubbles. Are you cats allowed on the counters?”
“No. And just…stay there. I told him you were checking out this morning. He’s looking for you and I’m pretty sure he’s driving a black Ford Escape.”
“Okay.”
“Ashton?”
“Yeah?”
“I think it’s time to call the police.”
“And tell them what? That this guy keeps looking for this other guy who, from the sounds of things, owes him money? That’s not against the law.” Despite his logic and even voice, she could hear the uncertainty hiding underneath.
“They’re involving you.”
“Quentin must have told him I’m here, and that he planned to come here, too. Maybe he’d planned for me to babysit so he could work and pay off the debt or something. I’ll try calling Quentin again and get to the bottom of this. And if that guy comes by again, give him my number. I’ll get this sorted out, Zoe.”
She nodded, relieved by his get-it-solved attitude. He wasn’t hiding anything, and he wasn’t avoiding anything, either.
“What if Quentin doesn’t answer your call?” she asked.
“Then I’ll drive to the city and track him down.”
“Be careful. Let me know where you are.”
“I will.”
The building’s air conditioning suddenly seemed to be doing too fine a job, and Zoe shivered.
“You had Logan do what?” Ashton blinked hard, trying to understand what Zoe was saying. It sounded a lot like she’d had someone spy on him—well, on the man looking for him. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased, relieved or indignant that she’d kept that from him.
He’d spent the afternoon trying to chase down Quentin, without success. Endless phone calls and driving around the city. Nobody had seen Quentin or Jaelyn in days, and an ever-increasing feeling of unease had settled over Ashton. He was this close to filing a missing persons report.
He’d come by the rented cottage to grab a few things before heading over to Zoe’s to spend the night on her couch, but she’d met him here, unable to await his arrival.
“I had him try and find out who that guy is,” she explained, as she laid out a pile of receipts with handwritten notes on the back as if she’d had nothing else to scrawl upon. “His name is Morty Gallagher and he’s a wanted felon.”
Ashton blinked once. Twice.
“Morty’s been coming by the resort?” After hearing Zoe’s description of him earlier that day, he’d been really hoping that there was more than one man with a facial scar in Quentin’s life and that it had not, in fact, been Morty.
Ashton had met him once, when the man had stopped by the apartment shortly after Maliki had passed on, asking for the whereabouts of Quentin. Despite his charming smile, he’d made Jaelyn cry just by looking at her. He’d asked where Maliki was, too, and when he’d heard that she’d died, he’d asked if she’d left anything for him. The way he’d said it had made Ashton nervous. Nervous enough that he’d started looking for somewhere new to live. But then Quentin had come to claim Jaelyn and was deemed fit, and Ashton hadn’t thought about it much further.
“This guy—Morty Gallagher—has a major record,” Zoe said. “So does Quentin. And they think you know something.”
“I don’t.”
“Why is Morty looking for Quentin? Why does he think he’s with you?”
Why indeed? Ashton mulled over her questions, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
“No wonder I couldn’t find Quentin and Jaelyn,” he mused. “They’re probably hiding.”
“We need to call the police,” Zoe stated.
Ashton nodded. He looked at the notes she’d laid out on his kitchen counter. He had a feeling his life was about to take an unwanted detour again. One away from Zoe.
He fished out his cell phone. “I’ll try Quentin one more time, okay?”
His call went to voice mail. He tried again, desperate to hear the man’s voice.
“Come on, pick up the phone,” he muttered. Voice mail again.
Zoe’s gaze was trained on her notes. “We should go back to my place. Call the police from there.”
“Hey,” he said, pulling her into his arms, trying to quell her fears. “It’ll all work out. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” He’d do whatever he needed to do to protect her. Her and Jaelyn.
Zoe nodded, then pushed away. She swept the receipts into a bundle and jammed them into her pockets. “Let’s go before this wind brings a deluge.”
He picked up the bag he’d packed, but as he stepped onto the porch ahead of Zoe, a dark SUV came along the trail that served as the cottage’s long driveway. The hairs on Ashton’s neck lifted again and he retreated, knocking Zoe back over the threshold.
He continued propelling her deeper into the cottage until she was at the back door. He opened it for her, then pushed her outside.
“You need to go.”
The breeze off the ocean had increased and it ruffled Zoe’s hair as she stood, stunned, on the back porch of the purple cottage. She’d seen the black Escape. She knew who was inside.
She clung to Ashton’s shirt. “I want to stay. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He was trying to close the door on her, gently removing her hand from his cotton garment. “You need to go home. Away from here.”
“But―”
“You lied to him today,” he said firmly, his expression closed and so like it had been when he’d come back from Charleston last August to break up with her. “You told him I’d left, and now he’s here. Stay out of this.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“And now I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protection means sharing. Working together, supporting each other, and you’re shutting me out. We’re supposed to share everything if we’re a couple.”
“You don’t know what these men are like.”
“Because you won’t tell me! I had to hire Logan to find out!”
“Why would I drag you into a mess, Zoe? You don’t do that to someone you…”
Ashton drew up short, letting out an anguished, shaky breath, his gaze averted.
Zoe froze, his unfinished statement hanging like a knife over her heart. You shared your burdens when you loved someone. And he wasn’t sharing. So what was he saying? He didn’t love her? She’d felt his love. So why couldn’t he let her in? Was their love ever going to be strong enough that he’d trust her to help with the hard stuff life threw their way?
“I’m trying to prevent you from being hurt,” he said carefully.
“Well, you’re a little too late for that.” Zoe turned on her heel and scuttled down the steps with tears in her eyes. “Good luck on your own.”
“Zoe,” he called, reluctance in his tone.
“No. You don’t want me here, then fine. I won’t help. You just keep on keeping your secrets. I thought we’d changed and we haven’t.”
She swiped a hand across her eyes as she stormed off, sand stinging her bare ankles as the wind whipped the loose grains against her. She vowed that her tears would be the last ones she ever shed for Ashton Wallace.
Ashton didn’t have time to think about what had just happened between him and Zoe, or how hurt she’d looked as he’d tried to shield her from whatever was about to go down on his front step. He knew Zoe didn’t understand, but he’d do whatever he had to in order to keep her off Morty’s radar, because he’d learned that simply answering the door one fine afternoon had put him on the watch list for a man who had a criminal record longer than his own
years of education.
Ashton headed to the front door, half expecting to see Zoe come tearing around the side of the building to give Morty what-for.
“You’re a hard man to find,” his visitor said casually, his boot heels crunching as he made his way up the crushed-shell driveway. The wind was tugging at his clothing, sand hissing as it moved.
“I didn’t realize you were looking.”
Morty huffed in disbelief, his gaze seeming to catch something to the side of the cottage, where wild grasses were bending in the wind. Ashton hoped Zoe had cleared the area.
She felt that protection meant sharing, but any interaction with a man like Morty wasn’t something you wished upon someone you loved. The man had already approached Zoe several times while at her desk, and it wouldn’t be long before he realized she’d lied in order to shield Ashton. And that was enough for a guy like Morty to use her as leverage to force Ashton to get Quentin for him.
She needed to stay out of the picture until this was settled.
A flicker of warning flashed in Ashton’s mind—she might continue to remain out of the picture after that goodbye.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, as Morty stepped closer.
“Quentin has something of mine.”
“Oh?”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Morty was up the steps in a flash and pressing a knife against Ashton’s throat. Ashton hadn’t even tried to move, knowing that running would only make him appear guilty.
Ashton prayed Zoe wasn’t watching, and that if she was, she wouldn’t get any bright ideas about being helpful.
“Why is he in Indigo Bay?” Morty asked.
“I don’t know that he is,” Ashton said carefully. The blade pressed into his flesh whenever his jaw moved. “He hasn’t approached me. We’re not friends.”
“I’ve pulled his records. He’s called you.”
Ashton went to nod, then thought better of moving. “Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s looking for a babysitter.”
“Is that code for something?”
“I don’t think so.” He hated referencing Jaelyn in case Morty got a brilliant idea about how he could leverage her to force Quentin to do his bidding, whatever that might be.
