Keeping 6 (Rock Point Book 1)

by Freya Barker

  “Sure you don’t want to check him out first?” she asks.

  “No. I trust you, I trust your instincts and if you say something is off, then it is.” Luna lowers her head to hide the smile. She’s a great agent but occasionally suffers from insecurity. Needlessly.

  “Thanks, boss,” she says as she walks out.

  I turn around and push through the door leading to the small balcony off my office. The view is stunning. Our office is set on a cliff at the end of Rock Point Drive, in a small industrial park, on the edge of Durango. From my vantage point, I overlook the valley with the Animas River flowing almost right below me and beyond it the historic downtown. Standing here feels a little like being on top of the world. I was born in Farmington, where my family still lives. I desperately wanted to leave when I was young and headed to Boston, where I joined the police department after I finished the academy. I’d been hungry, but I could never settle in the big city. When an opportunity to join the FBI came along, I jumped at it. I had fifteen years in the field when I was offered the La Plata County field office, and with my roots in the Four Corners area, I didn’t hesitate. As far as I’d been running from my home, I suddenly felt a strong need to be closer. I never expected the weight and diversity of the case load this office would carry. Ironically, now that I’ve reached this point in my career, I find myself losing focus. The distraction being a fiery blonde, beautiful bookstore owner.

  The buzz of my phone on my hip pulls me away from the view. “Gomez,” I answer and hear a familiar voice.

  “Damian?”

  KERRY

  Refreshed from my shower after an already eventful morning and a call from Detective Blackfoot giving the store the all clear, I head out to do some damage control. A quick conversation with my insurance company ensures me that a local appraiser will be by the store at noon to assess damages. I want to get there before he shows, so I can have a look around, even though they told me to leave everything as is.

  The police tape is still up when I pull into my parking spot. One of my neighbors, Bill Franklin, is standing outside the door of his hardware store.

  “I see you had some excitement?” the friendly older man asks with his hands on his hips. “Should’ve called me, missy. There’s a reason I gave you my number.” I had totally forgotten he made sure I entered his contact information in my cell phone shortly after I opened the store. Not that I would’ve contacted him in the middle of the night. He has enough on his plate taking care of his sweet wife, suffering from advanced COPD, and managing his store all by himself. He doesn’t need me to interrupt his much-needed rest.

  “Must’ve been young kids,” I tell him as I walk up, trying to minimize the concern clear on his face. “Took a couple of books and my computer and took off before security and the cops got here.”

  “Scared the bejesus out of me this morning, girl.”

  I feel instantly guilty to have given him a scare, something that could’ve been prevented if I’d thought to give him a head’s up. “I’m sorry, Bill. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I should’ve given you warning,” I apologize.

  “It’s all good,” he rumbles kindly. “Some detective left a short while ago and ensured me you were all right. He also gave me your keys.”

  I hadn’t even thought of the spare keys I left with police. I take them from Bill, put my other hand on his arm, and give him a squeeze. “Still—I’m sorry it gave you a scare.” He just shrugs.

  “Annie made a banana loaf last night. Gave me the leftovers to bring in. I’ve also got a fresh pot on,” he offers, tilting his head to his store.

  “I’d love a cup while I wait for the insurance guys. I just want to have a quick look around and write an exact list of what’s missing and damaged,” I tell him. “I’ll be over shortly.” With a little wave, I duck under the yellow tape to unlock the door.

  The first thing that hits me is the thin layer of dust on every surface. They’d evidently been thorough taking fingerprints. With a bit of luck, the appraiser won’t take long, and I’ll have the afternoon to get the place cleaned and ready for business tomorrow. Hopefully.

  I head straight for my office to find the lists I’d made for Damian, detailing the shipments from the auction house. My inventory is on the computer that is missing, but those lists will give me a good start on the books that were in the display case.

  Half an hour later, I realize what I’m looking for is no longer here. Odd. Maybe I’d already given him the information? I can’t remember. Only one way to make sure.

  CHAPTER 7

  Kerry

  “Ms. Emerson?”

  I’m on my knees next to a shelving unit, trying to wipe off the sticky, black dust left behind by the investigators, when a man’s voice from the back door startles me. It’s been silent here since I got off the phone with Damian. He pissed me off with his one-syllable responses. He confirmed I hadn’t, in fact, already given him the lists and sounded almost angry I couldn’t find them. The only time he used a full sentence was when he instructed me to stay put until he could get here.

  Whatever. The man runs hot and cold, and I don’t have time for that. At least that’s what I continue to tell myself. Truth is, even before he planted a wet one on me, the ridiculously handsome, dark, brooding man intrigued the hell out of me. Against better knowledge. I’ve been there before, at least the brooding part, and that didn’t turn out so well for me.

  “Yes,” I call out, groaning as I scramble to my feet to greet who I assume is the insurance adjuster. “I’m in the store.”

  Before I manage to drop my sponge in the bucket and wipe my hands dry on my ratty old jeans, a kind-faced older gentleman comes through the door.

  “Ah, there you are. Ms. Emerson? My name is Michael McCoy with Liberty Mutual. I believe you’ve been expecting me?” I stick out my partially dried hand to shake the portly man’s proffered one.

  My smile is forced. “Yes, Mr. McCoy, pleased to meet you,” I respond by rote, causing him to chuckle.

  “Pleased is not an emotion I generally invoke, but let’s see if I can make this as fast and painless as possible for you,” he jokes with a wink.

  “That would be wonderful.” This time my smile for him is genuine.

  I wait while he pulls a clipboard and pen from his briefcase. With a slight nod he indicates he’s ready, and I proceed to show him the damage to the back door, the office, and the store. I managed to jot down most of the books I could remember being in the display case and quickly ran off a copy on my surprisingly unharmed 4-in-1 printer.

  “Would you happen to have a copy of the police report handy?” McCoy asks me.

  “I don’t, but I am supposed to meet with the detective tomorrow morning. I can perhaps send you a copy after?”

  “Not to worry. I can pop by the police station and pick one up. Who should I ask for?”

  “Detective Blackfoot.”

  The insurance adjuster leaves, ensuring me this appears to be a straightforward claim, and I can go ahead and get at least a locksmith in to fix the door. He says he will call me later, and I turn back to my dirty shelves.

  I’M NOT SURE HOW LONG I’ve been scrubbing, but when I finally come up for air, the bookcases are clean, the books dusted off, and the floor is free of glass. My creaking body reminds me that I’ve been slacking off on my yoga. Something I did religiously to exercise and stay limber, despite my advancing age. When I was still living in Cortez, Kim and I would join forces every Saturday morning for yoga and coffee. Since moving here and having to go it alone, it hasn’t been half as pleasurable and too many weeks—or is it months—have passed since the last time I worked up a good sweat. The lingering stiffness is a good motivator to get back into the routine.

  I also placed a call for a locksmith who promised to be here before five tonight. I’ll be a lot more at ease when every lock in the place is changed.

  Picking up my bucket, I head to the bathroom in the back to dump out the dirty water. I’m just flu
shing the toilet when I hear a noise from the storage room, spooking me a little. What if the burglar came back? Maybe I should’ve listened to Damian when he instructed me not to come alone.

  Slightly panicked, my eyes scan the small, confined space for anything I could use as a weapon. The best defense is offense...or something like that. With my foot, I kick open the door, which slams against the wall, startling poor Bill into dropping a cup he was holding. It falls to the floor into pieces with a loud crash. Next thing I know, the back door is flung open and Damian storms in, a gun at the ready in his hand.

  “Freeze!” he yells at my neighbor, who meekly raises his hands. Then his intensely dark glare comes to me. His eyebrows rise and a twitch starts tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “That’s my neighbor, Bill Franklin,” I say stupidly.

  “I know who he is,” Damian rumbles, putting the safety back on his weapon and tucking it in a holster under his arm. “Bill?” he addresses him. “Sorry if I startled you. I heard a crash and...”

  “Not to worry,” Bill interrupts, his hands still slightly shaking as he runs them over his balding head. “Was just checking on our girl here.” He waves his hand in my direction and suddenly both men are eyeing me, amusement clear on their faces.

  Damian slowly approaches me reaching out his hand. “Give that to me,” he says, barely containing a smirk. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” He touches my right hand, where I am still clutching the toilet brush I was brandishing as my weapon of choice.

  DAMIAN

  Fuck, but she’s cute.

  I have to admit when the crash sounded from the other side of the door, my senses—already primed since Kerry called me earlier about the list—jumped to high alert. The news those lists were gone confirmed my suspicions this had not been a simple break and enter. They wouldn’t mean a damn thing to the average perp. But what was even more disturbing, if not outright infuriating, was finding out Kerry had gone against my instructions and was at the store alone. Then I’d had to deal with Jasper coming in with an update on an unrelated case just as I was heading out, so by the time I got in the Expedition, I’d already been wired.

  So wired that I pulled my weapon on a man I’ve come to know over the last few years. My frequent visits to his hardware store for supplies I needed to fix up my house had put us in the friends category. But that tense moment is quickly forgotten when I see Kerry standing, her legs slightly spread and bent, her upper body leaning forward and ready to charge, wielding a toilet brush over her head.

  As Bill’s chuckle grows louder behind me, I can’t hold back anymore and burst out laughing as I pull the ineffective weapon from Kerry’s hand. Luckily, she sees the humor of the situation and doesn’t even try to hide the grin on her face.

  “And here I thought I’d do something nice, bringing you a fresh cup and Annie’s banana bread.” Bill tries to look remorseful at Kerry and she quickly rushes to his side, apologizing profusely. I bend down to pick up the shards of the coffee cup Bill dropped and the piece of banana bread safely wrapped in foil.

  “Here.” I shove the foil package at Kerry. “It looks mostly intact.” She turns her smiling face to me, and her fingers brush mine as she accepts the salvaged treat. A burst of air blows from my lips at the sudden surge of electricity. I reluctantly let go of the package and therefore Kerry’s touch.

  Bill breaks the silence by announcing he’d better head back next door and to come get a fresh cup if either of us want one. Kerry mumbles her thanks, but her eyes never leave mine, all humor now gone from her face with only mild curiosity remaining. I don’t say a word, barely registering the door closing behind him.

  “You came alone,” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth, eager to break the trance I find myself in. Smooth. Just how smooth is obvious when a fire lights in those gray orbs.

  “I did. And I was fine until you burst through the door,” she snaps defensively.

  “Because it was Bill,” I retort, forcing my point across. “A toilet brush is hardly an effective weapon against a real intruder,” I add.

  “I was fine,” she tries to convince me. “I’m a big girl. I managed to clean the store, deal with insurance, and have scheduled someone to come in to fix and change the locks this afternoon. I’m not helpless.”

  The tone of her voice makes it clear this is a sore spot. One I’d love to poke at a little in hopes of learning more about her, but now is not the time.

  “Tell me about those papers,” I prompt her instead. “Where did you last see them? Are you sure you didn’t take them home?”

  “On my desk and yes, I’m sure. I left them here on purpose, planning to give you a call today.” Some of the edginess is still in her voice, but behind it I can hear a hint of fear. “What’s going on, Damian?” she wants to know, too smart for her own good.

  I contemplate lying about my concerns, but although they’re only suspicions, I’d feel better if Kerry were at least aware. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I suspect the break-in may have had something to do with our investigation. Is there any chance you have the information on the auction house stored somewhere else?”

  Her forehead creases in thought before she suddenly pulls her cell from her purse and starts scrolling down the screen. “Here,” she says, holding up a finger. “I think I may have saved the profile name and password for their site on my phone. I should be able to access the information under my account on any computer if I have those.”

  I hold my tongue while she mutters under her breath and searches through her phone. My hand casually tucked in my pocket but with my fingers tightly crossed. Whoever had been in Kerry’s office must’ve recognized the importance of the information on those papers. Why else would they have taken them? My only concern now is that if they alert The Gilded Feather, the records might already be gone from Kerry’s account.

  “Got it!” she triumphantly yells. “All I need to do is get to my laptop and I can print the stuff off from there.”

  “Use the browser on your phone,” I urge her. She looks at me, puzzled. “Do it now. You can take screenshots,” I clarify, trying to convey my sense of urgency. She doesn’t say anything to indicate she understands the need for expedience but starts tapping furiously on her phone.

  She doesn’t even flinch when I close in behind her, peeking over her shoulder. I try to keep a little distance since the smell of her shampoo crawling up my nose is affecting hard-to-hide parts of my body. No need to distract her with my rebellious dick prodding her backside.

  The phone in her hand starts making those faux camera sounds, and I hold my breath until she turns around, her chest almost touching mine, and looks up with a pleased grin on her face. “Got it,” she repeats, almost breathlessly.

  “Good,” I whisper back, my mouth already descending to hers.

  Too much. Her flushed face, the herb and citrus infused smell wafting up from her disheveled hair and the excited sparkle in her eyes are just impossible to resist. I almost lose control when her mouth opens under mine and her taste forever spoils my senses.

  Almost...

  My hand is up under her shirt, skimming the bottom curve of her breast, and the responding sounds from the back of her throat are driving me wild when the loud clearing of a throat cuts through my lustful haze. Kerry blinks, disoriented, when I lift my head, her lips still pursed. I look over my shoulder to find a young guy standing in the doorway, a beat-up old toolbox in his hand. “Yes?” I bite off, surreptitiously removing my hand from under Kerry’s shirt where it was still exploring her warm, soft skin.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” the kid says, a ruddy blush covering his face, while his eyes work hard to look anywhere but at the curve of Kerry’s breast I had just been stroking. He’s only moderately successful, and I can only be grateful I hadn’t had a chance yet to rip off her T-shirt. I might’ve had to resort to murder then. As it is, I spear the kid with a deadly glare and a growl, causing him to opt for staring at the toes of hi
s boots. Good fucking choice.

  “I’m supposed to install some new locks?” the little punk asks carefully.

  My eyes return to Kerry, who has recovered enough to start pulling down her shirt and smoothing it out. Unfortunately, it only serves to pull her V-neck down to a dangerous level, her breasts about to tumble out the top. Something that doesn’t seem to go unnoticed by the kid in the doorway, judging by the deep gulp of air coming from his direction. Instead of turning around and permanently blinding him, I instead grab hold of Kerry’s fiddling hands to still her movements, while I use my bulk to shield her.

  “You called for locks?” I softly ask her, to which she blinks a few times before giving me a quick nod yes. Trusting she has her jittery hands under control now, I turn back to the guy. “Why don’t you start on the front door,” I instruct him, needing a minute alone with her.

  He obediently backs out of the office but not before risking one last look at Kerry. When I clear my throat, his eyes fly guiltily my way before he hurries out the door. Smart kid. Regrettably, when I focus my attention back on Kerry, it is clear she is once again firmly rooted in the present. The effects of that mind-altering kiss have been rudely shoved aside by her bristly attitude.

  KERRY

  “What the fuck was that?” I snarl at him, irritated at the ease with which Damian can make me forget to even breathe, while he manages to keep a clear head. Seriously. I don’t like feeling out of control, and I’m pretty sure his touch is detrimental to my hard-earned independence. Hence my temper flare.

  Still, I’m like the proverbial moth drawn to the flame, and my traitorous eyes zoom in on those lush lips he is lazily licking with the tip of his tongue. Damn that man. I can’t even hang on to a good snit.

  A deep chuckle shakes me out of my fascination with his mouth and my gaze shoots up to meet his eyes, bright with mirth.