Keeping 6 (Rock Point Book 1)

by Freya Barker

  “Here you go. Anything else with that? A pastry to sweeten you up a bit or perhaps a book on appropriate social behavior? I have both.” I can’t stop the smirk tugging at my mouth. This one’s a handful, for sure. Too much of one. I pull out my wallet and slap a couple of dollar bills on the counter.

  “Nah,” I drawl. “Not the kind of sweet I’m looking for, and as for the book, I’ll just wait until you get done with it. You’re probably due for a reread.” I snag my coffee off the counter, and with a wink, I saunter out the door, leaving her standing with her mouth hanging open and fire shooting from those pretty gray eyes.

  KERRY

  Asshole.

  I’m still fuming from that brief encounter a few hours ago. First time I met him, he virtually dragged me from a seedy motel room to a waiting black van with dark tinted windows. If not for the shirt sporting the letters FBI that were stretched across his chest, I wouldn’t have known the cavalry had arrived. He didn’t say a damn word, just shoved me rather unceremoniously in the back of the van and shut the doors on me. Later, I was told that their first priority had been to get me to safety before my kidnapper returned, but at the time, I was hurt, scared, and incredibly pissed off. I learned later who he was from the two agents assigned to stay with me in the safe house until they dealt with the threat. Somehow I’d never been able to shake the dark, smoldering look or their slight squint when he first clapped eyes on my sorry self. Heat, anger, danger all came rolling off him in thick waves. My eyes blurry from the almost twenty-four-hour ordeal I’d just been through, I’d never been able to take in all of him. But I did today.

  The good six feet of bulky muscle encased in navy cargo pants, a navy shirt, and a thin windbreaker, combined with the sharp edges of his lightly graying goatee and his thick wavy hair, were familiar enough. But then he lifted his eyes, and there was no mistaking those brown, almost black, eyes staring back at me. I was barely able to hide the shiver that ran from the top of my head down to the tips of my toes.

  Apparently he’d made more of an impression on me than I had on him at the time. It took a bit for him to place me and that made me inexplicably irritated. I guess I deserved his little jab, since I poked him first, but the overall arrogance that he exuded just rubbed me the wrong way. Or maybe it was just that he affected me at all.

  I’ve been able to keep my eyes and legs firmly closed to the opposite sex since finally filing for divorce a year and a half ago. My ex, Greg, had fought tooth and nail, which only ended up delaying what was inevitable for the better part of a year. I’d married Greg straight out of college. He’d been my first serious boyfriend after I’d spent my earlier college days playing the field. I most certainly had not been a virginal bride, but Greg had a reputation of his own. When we graduated, he was eager to settle down, and at the time, so was I. Or so I thought. Right after graduation, Greg was offered a job in Cortez and we moved into a rental place. He preferred me to stay home, and stupidly in love at the time, I complied. We tried for kids right away, as per Greg’s wishes, but we didn’t get pregnant and after a year of that, I was sick of playing housewife like he wanted.

  I’d always dreamed of having my own little bookstore, but Greg had been adamantly against it, claiming it would take too much of my time. He kept a tight rein on our finances, so I ended up getting a job as a proofreader for the local newspaper, and I tucked the money away in a separate bank account. Five years later, still childless, I had enough saved up for six months of rent on an old, small storefront in Cortez and some secondhand inventory. Greg ridiculed and belittled my business, but despite his lack of faith, I ended up not doing all that bad. After my first six months, I was able to sustain my business, doing a little bit better each month, solely by word of mouth. It was around that time I met Kimeo, and we became fast friends over books.

  The mountains called to me though, and I really wanted to go back to Durango, but my ex wouldn’t hear of it. I suspect it had less to do with Durango itself than it did with my plans to expand my business. That was the final straw for me. I need someone who can stand beside me in support, not someone who expects it but doesn’t reciprocate.

  “Can I have a cappuccino?”

  For the second time today, a tall, dark individual is standing at my counter. This one is dressed to the nines: suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie. But his eyes are all but heated, they are cold—dead—unlike the almost smarmy smile on his face. Also for the second time today, shivers run down my spine, but these are in recoil.

  I drop the books I was sorting back into the box and notice him watching my every move. “Sure thing,” I say, more chipper than I feel as I move behind the counter and grab a fresh filter.

  “Nice place you have here. Do you sell books in all genres?” he asks, the creepy smile still plastered on his face.

  “Thanks. Yes, all genres and both fiction and non-fiction,” I answer as pleasantly as I can.

  “Fabulous,” he responds, and only now do I notice a British accent. “So do you only sell new books or secondhand as well?”

  “Both, actually.” I scrape the top of the filter before clicking it in place. “To go?” I ask him, holding up a paper cup hopefully.

  “No, I think I’ll have a look around if you don’t mind. A regular cup is fine.” I swear he noticed my shoulders sag, because he ever so slightly raises one eyebrow.

  “I don’t mind,” I lie bold-faced. Because I mind. I mind a lot. I would much prefer he take his coffee and go. He makes me genuinely uncomfortable, and I wish Marya, my part-time employee who comes in the afternoons, would show.

  The coffee finishes brewing, and I busy myself steaming the milk while keeping half an eye on the stranger roaming my shelves. I don’t know why I’m getting such a bad vibe from him. He looks like a clean-cut, very handsome man. Maybe that’s why—Durango is not known for clean-cut. Most men here are of a hardier breed, mountain men. This one just doesn’t fit in. “Are you from around here?” flies out of my mouth before I can check it. His head comes up from my select shelving where all of my finds, my first editions and signed copies, are stored behind glass. The smirk on his face is almost triumphant as he makes his way back to the counter just as I top his coffee with foamed milk.

  “Actually, I just arrived in town. I’m trying to decide whether to stick around for a bit. Looking at some business interests in the area in the next little while. Why?” he asks, his head tilted to one side as he blatantly checks me out. Yuck.

  “I noticed an accent, that’s all. British?” I don’t expect the raspy chuckle, but he seems to find my conclusion amusing.

  “You are sharp, aren’t you? I thought I had it well-covered, but you caught me. Yes, I’m from the UK,” he says, as he takes the cup from my hands and takes a sip. In what can only be described as a lecherous move, he keeps his eyes on my face as he licks the foamed milk off his lips. Double yuck. “Since I’m new to town...” I know what’s coming, and I curse myself for having opened my big mouth in the first place. “...Would you perhaps be interested in joining me for dinner? Maybe give me some insight from a local business owner’s perspective?”

  I almost snort. Almost, but not quite. What a load of crap. I decide to call him on it. “Are you looking to open up a bookstore slash coffee shop? Because that’s about the only thing I might have some knowledge on.”

  Too late I see the satisfied glint in his eyes. “You caught me,” he says magnanimously. “I’m a collector of rare books and have an interest in first edition English language literature. Of course, it hasn’t escaped my notice that you are a very bright and lovely young woman, and sharing interests over a good meal would in no way be a hardship.”

  Oh, gag. Young woman. As if. He can’t be much older than early to mid-thirties, which makes me as much as a decade older. Did I mention I detest smooth operators? Greg was one until he had a ring on my finger, and then his true colors came out. Yeah, I have a solid aversion to slick talkers. Give me brutal honesty every day.


  I briefly think back to the slightly scathing jab from Mr. FBI earlier, which I have to admit, was preferable to this charmer. “I’m sorry,” I say, but I’m not at all. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” I smile friendly but still notice his eyes go hard, and his responding smile is anything but warm.

  “I will wait for a better opportunity then. But perhaps you can tell me if you have any more first editions?” He quickly changes tracks. “I noticed a lovely J.K. Rowling behind glass there, but I already own a few,” he says, indicating my select shelves. “I’m thinking more along the lines of Ernest Hemingway, James Joyce, perhaps even J.R.R. Tolkien or Mark Twain?”

  I shake my head. I don’t mention the box of books I bought at an online auction a month ago. The box is supposedly filled with first editions of all kinds, a bit of a mishmash of mostly North American books. I took a chance when I put an offer in, but the seller was one well-known for the high quality of merchandise, so it seemed worth the five thousand dollars I shelled out. I have a customer in town, a gentleman with expensive hobbies, and one of them is collecting first editions, specifically by North American authors. It’s possible there is something to this guy’s liking in that box, but I’m not about to invite him back for any reason. Not even a good sale. He just gives me the creeps.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “What you see there is all I have.” Even though I’ve been known to suck at lying, this doesn’t really qualify as a lie since I haven’t received the box with the first editions yet. I’m still waiting for them.

  The man’s cold eyes squint at me before he speaks. “Very well. I shall leave you with my card,” he says with a determined edge. “I would greatly appreciate a phone call when you receive new inventory. I will be around for a while.” With that, he turns on his heels and walks out of the store, just as Marya walks in, leaving his cold and only half-empty cappuccino sitting on the counter.

  “Who was that?” Marya asks with a smug smile and a wagging of eyebrows as she picks up and studies the card he tossed on the counter. I shrug my shoulders, emptying his cup in the sink.

  “Someone to steer clear of,” I warn her. “He gives off a totally creepy vibe.”

  The single mom of three looks at me with one eyebrow raised. “Are you sure? He’s not bad to look at.” For emphasis, she fans her hand in front of her face.

  “Behave.” I give her a little shove as I pass her on the way to the abandoned box of cookbooks I was working on.

  “Killjoy,” she smarts back, sticking out her tongue in the process.

  CHAPTER 2

  Damian

  I’m not sure what brings me back the next day, but I find myself pushing open the door to Kerry’s Korner once again. I tell myself it’s because my favorite coffee place is still closed today, but I really just want to see her again. Unfortunately, today there is a different woman manning the coffee counter.

  “Can I help you?” she asks with a friendly smile, looking me up and down thoroughly.

  “Please. Double shot of espresso,” I reply, tamping down my disappointment. “Kerry here today?” I look around the store, but other than an older lady roaming the shelves, I don’t see anyone.

  The short brunette tilts her head to one side, squinting her eyes at me. “Are you a friend of hers?”

  “More like an old acquaintance,” I tell her.

  “Ah. Well then, Kerry is just running some errands, but she’ll be back in half an hour, tops. Feel free to wait around.” The last is said with a wink before she turns and busies herself with my coffee, but I can still hear her mumble, “Lucky bitch, second hot guy in two days.” I chose to pretend I don’t hear, but I can’t help wonder who the other guy is. A boyfriend? “Are you staying or taking out?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Take out,” I tell her. I don’t even know what I’m doing here, and when the woman hands me my coffee, I quickly pay and head for the door. I reach for the handle when it suddenly swings open, knocking the hot coffee all over me. “Fucking hell!” The piping hot beverage is burning my hand and soaking the front of my dress shirt.

  “Oh no! I’m so sorry.” A familiar, sexy voice has me raising my eyes to find Kerry looking at me with a worried frown. “Come with me,” she says, grabbing my wrist. “Marya? Get another coffee ready. Double shot.” I’m surprised she remembers and allow her to drag me to the back of the store and through a door marked private.

  It appears to be a storage area with metal shelving filled with more books, boxes, and packing materials. A long table is butted up against the far wall with two stools tucked underneath. I can just see a door open to my left, showing a closet-sized space with a desk and computer, as Kerry is pulling me into a bathroom on the other side.

  “Sit,” she orders, closing the lid on the toilet and shoving me down. She turns on the tap on the small sink beside it and yanks my hand under the cold stream. I keep my lips firmly pressed together, fighting off the smile that wants to break out. I take the opportunity to check her out. Today she’s wearing another of those boho tunics, paired with a long necklace, dangly earrings and chunky bracelets on both wrists. The fuck-you ring is firmly in place on her middle finger, but this time instead of jeans, she’s wearing leggings that show off her solid but shapely legs. The contrast between her carefree attire and her bossy demeanor is damn cute. When her tongue pokes out as she twists my hand this way and that, I almost groan out loud.

  “What?” she asks, having caught me focused on her lips. I lift my eyes to hers and just shrug my shoulders to which she rolls her eyes—something she seems to do quite a bit. She turns off the tap and studies my hand. I’m just enjoying the feel of her fingers on my skin. “I think your hand will live,” she says before focusing her attention on my shirt, the one I wore for my meetings this afternoon that is now pretty much ruined. Not that I care, except I don’t have anything but a few spare tees in my locker to change into. “Let me see what I can do,” she offers with a pained expression on her face. I let her rub a wet towel over my chest, knowing full well the exercise is futile, but selfishly enjoying her hands on my body.

  The buzzing from my pocket interrupts the moment, and I lightly grab onto her wrist while pulling out my phone with the other hand. I can feel her rapid heartbeat under my fingers and hang on to her as I answer the call, looking her squarely in the eye. “Gomez.”

  “Hey, lover. Haven’t heard from you in a while.” The high-pitched, slightly nasal voice is loud. Too loud. I see Kerry’s pretty gray eyes narrow before she twists her wrist free and turns away, dropping the wet towel in the sink before walking out. Fuck me.

  “Been busy,” I tell Cora, a woman I’ve occasionally hooked up with. She’s a nurse I met last year when I was in the hospital interviewing a witness. Big boobs, sultry lips, and come-hither eyes, she made it clear she’d be up for anything. Just the kind of diversion I could use to break the stress of the job. I don’t have time or inclination for any kind of relationship, and Cora understood that. I thought. Until she started calling me a few months ago, making it clear she saw us as something more than just an occasional relief. It’s my mistake that she is still calling, because I caved a few times against my better judgment, only encouraging her pursuit.

  “Too busy for me?” she purrs, and where before it might have stirred a different reaction, now it only gets on my nerves. Especially as I watch Kerry’s back disappear into the store.

  “Cora, look,” I start, but she quickly cuts me off.

  “No worries. I know your job is important and all. I just missed you,” she says a bit breathlessly.

  “Don’t,” I grunt. “You know that’s not what this was.”

  “Was? Really, Damian? You’re a bastard.” With that I hear the line go dead. This is exactly why I always avoided any long-term arrangements. Not only is my job demanding and unpredictable, making anything more permanent complicated, but I’m also well aware of the risks it brings with it, and I don’t want to expose anyone else to that. I
t’s a decision I made a long time ago when the wife of my partner was killed in retaliation by a Mexican drug lord we were investigating. The guy ended up getting killed in a shootout, but my partner never got over it. Ended up eating the barrel of his service gun the week after the shootout. No. The risk is too high.

  I’m still sitting on the toilet with my phone in my hand. What the hell am I doing here then? A soft ping alerts me to an incoming text from one of my team.

  Jasper: Where are you? Everyone is already here.

  Fuck.

  According to the time on my phone, I’m already five minutes late for the task force meeting at the office.

  Me: Stall. Be there in five.

  I get up and check myself out in the small mirror above the sink and flinch at the dark stain covering my shirt before taking one last look at my slightly red hand. It’ll have to do. With determined strides, I walk back into the store, aiming for the door. I shouldn’t have come.

  “Don’t forget your coffee!” The brunette rounds the counter with a fresh paper cup and hands it to me. My eyes shoot over her shoulder to Kerry, who seems busy moving books around on a shelf, her back turned.

  “Thanks,” I mumble at the smiling woman in front of me, and without a word to Kerry, I leave the store. Coward.

  “THE FUCK HAPPENED TO you?”

  Jasper, the IT specialist on our team, is standing by the door when I walk into the office.

  “Coffee mishap. Give me a minute to put on a clean shirt. I’ll be right there.” Without waiting for an answer, I slip into the locker room and shrug out of my suit jacket, holster, and the offensive shirt and quickly change into a T-shirt. A few eyebrows are raised when I walk into the boardroom in my casual attire, but I ignore them and sit down. “Sorry I’m late,” I offer without any additional explanation.