by Tami Lund
“Like I’m Ted Bundy.”
“But you—”
“Are saving you,” he said through gritted teeth. He grabbed her bag and headed toward the house. A—of course, wooden—deck yawned out from a wall of windows. As they drew closer, through the glass she could see a fieldstone fireplace and dark leather furniture clustered around it.
Philip opened a French door and invited her to go in ahead of him, which was good because she still didn’t trust him, so she didn’t want him to see her face, which most likely reflected how much she loved the interior of this cozy retreat.
A two-top bistro table sat in a small area that separated the wide-open living room from a huge kitchen with gleaming, ohmigod, brand-new stainless steel appliances and granite countertops.
A wooden staircase led up to what she guessed was a loft that overlooked the main level.
Philip cleared his throat. “What do you think?”
She schooled her features and then turned around with an attempted lofty air. “Are you seriously asking me what I think of the place I’ve probably come to die?”
There was a fleeting look on his face that might have been injury—seriously? Did he honestly expect her to tell him how much she was in love with this place?—but then it was gone, replaced with a massive eye roll.
He jerked his head toward the staircase and said, “Come on, I’ll show you the loft.” As he mounted the stairs, he added, “You can take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
The bed, she discovered, was a massive piece of furniture piled high with blankets and pillows and looked so inviting, she was ready to take a nap, even though she’d just slept for three hours in his truck.
“You’re giving me your bed?” she asked, taking in the thick posts at each corner and the intricately carved headboard. In truth, it was so large, they could both sleep there without touching. Not that she was about to suggest such a thing.
He shrugged and placed her bag next to the wall. “Even kidnappers have manners.” And he headed back down the stairs, tossing over his shoulder, “Make yourself at home. I’m going to see what we have to eat.”
She immediately chased after him. “You live here?”
“Yes, but not full time. Even though I’d like to.”
She could understand. Hell, she was already ready to move in on a permanent basis.
“Where else do you live?”
“I have a place in downtown Detroit.”
That was two bits of personal information. She was on a roll. “So, what do you do when you aren’t holding hairstylists prisoner?”
He threw her a scowl even though he’d just made a crack about being a kidnapper. Apparently, he was the only one allowed to make jokes.
Not that she wasn’t still a little bit concerned that he would be composing a ransom note later this evening. Should she tell him that other than Gran’s house, she didn’t have much and no one but Mom to come to her rescue? And Lord knew her mother was all about taking handouts, not giving them.
“I’m in securities.”
That was a pat answer if she’d ever heard one. “What exactly does that mean?”
He opened the refrigerator and scanned the contents. She could see that it was pretty well stocked. “If you don’t live here full time, how come there’s so much food in there?”
He pulled items out and placed them on the counter. It looked as if he was planning to make breakfast for dinner. Or late lunch, as it were. Since she was a fan of breakfast pretty much anytime, and was, actually, famished, she was perfectly okay with his plan.
“My brother doesn’t live too far from here, and he’s hosting Thanksgiving this year. Other than keeping an eye on Frank, I’d planned to spend the week here before that whole scene at the hair salon went down.”
“Keeping an eye on Frank?”
He scowled again. “I was supposed to be watching him and reporting his activity to a contact of mine who works for the government. Another reason I’m so concerned about what went down at your salon. I hadn’t found anything that indicated Frank was a criminal, until today.”
She sagged against the granite countertop. She’d been doing a criminal’s hair for all these years? It was so hard to accept. Especially because she’d adored the guy. But clearly, Frank had been a master at deception. “I should probably let my mom know I’m okay.”
He slid his phone out of his pocket and tapped in the code to unlock the screen before offering it to her. “Send her a text.”
She eyed the device, considered for the briefest moment snagging it and dialing 9-1-1. “I don’t know her number.”
He arched his sleek, black brows, and she scowled.
“It’s programmed into my phone. I just tell Siri to call her.” When he gave her an exasperated look, she said, “Tell me you know your parents’ phone numbers.”
He couldn’t. She could tell by the way he averted his gaze and focused on cracking eggs into a bowl.
“I’ll see if I can get ahold of her number.” He chopped onions and a jalapeño, then started on a tomato.
She wanted to ask how he intended to do that, but then he began dicing an avocado, she became distracted. “What are you making?”
“Southwestern omelets.” He paused. “Is that okay?”
Her mouth started watering. “Yep.”
He resumed preparations, and in no time at all, they were seated at the small bistro table with plates piled with steaming omelets, a bowl of fruit salad between them.
She practically inhaled a third of her meal before she was level-headed enough to circle back to the reason they were sitting here, having breakfast for dinner together, in the woods, she with no access to the outside world unless he offered up his phone again. Or his truck keys.
Hmm, maybe she could steal his keys while he was sleeping tonight.
“Are you an FBI agent?” she asked, even though he’d already said he was in “securities.” But hey, that was a vague description, and he’d been awfully confident that the people who stormed into the salon did not work for the FBI.
He snorted and shook his head. That snort was definitely self-deprecating. Had he applied and been rejected? Was he bitter?
“So you aren’t FBI, but you knew the ones at the salon were fake,” she noted.
“Anybody would have been able to figure that out.”
“I don’t think so. A normal person wouldn’t have made that connection.”
He chuckled. “You’re calling me abnormal now?”
She huffed, swiped the dishes off the table, and carried them to the sink. “I just want to know what the heck is going on.”
“You and me both.”
His voice was much too close. She jumped when his arm reached around her to flip on the water.
“No dishwasher, so I have to wash everything by hand.”
He bumped her with his shoulder as he began scrubbing the plates.
“I can do that. You made me dinner, after all.”
“I’m also keeping you here against your will. Expecting you to clean up my mess seems highly inappropriate.”
Everything about this situation was inappropriate. Right down to the fact that Maecie really liked the omelet he made for her, really loved this cabin, and may even be thawing toward the man who’d dragged her out of the salon without a coat or her purse, however many hours ago that was now.
“It’s fine,” she said gruffly, elbowing him out of the way. “Go do whatever it is men who aren’t kidnappers do after dinner.”
“We actually usually go for a walk in the woods. Which I’d be happy to invite you on, but I’m sure that will send up alarm bells.”
She could feel her shoulders tensing as she rinsed the silverware. He was right, of course. And yet, she had a crazy urge to join him on his walk.
He apparently took her silence for agreement. “I’m going to take a leap of faith here and go ahead with my walk. Make yourself at home, but don’t leave. There is no civilization nearby, and you aren’t ex
actly dressed for spending the night out in the wilderness. I’ll be back in half an hour or so.”
He shoved his arms into a heavy coat and paused. “Thanks for cleaning up.”
She nodded and watched as he slipped an orange vest over his coat. Oh, that’s right, it was deer hunting season, wasn’t it? He then pulled a pair of well-worn boots over his feet, added gloves and a hat, and quietly slipped out the door.
For a long time after he left, Maecie stared at the empty space he’d recently occupied.
While she’d never actually considered what she’d do if she were ever kidnapped, she could say for certain it was not eat dinner like they were friends. Not clean up because he cooked and it was the polite thing to do. Not fantasize about curling up in his oh-so-cozy bed. Not kind of, sort of want to take a walk in the woods with her kidnapper.
Nope. She was pretty sure this was not at all how a normal kidnapping situation went.
Chapter Five
Philip’s leap of faith only went so far. He took his phone and his keys, and he knew his laptop and guns were securely locked away via a safe box he’d built under the floorboards beneath the couch. Even if she did go snooping, she wouldn’t find much beyond typical household items.
He’d decided to take his regular evening stroll despite his houseguest for a number of reasons. One, he needed a break from her constant accusations.
Okay, yeah, he’d plucked her out of her life without her permission, but seriously, had he given her any indication that he planned to do her harm? Christ, if anything, he wanted to get to know her better. Regardless of the last family gathering he’d attended.
It had been last month, at Tommy’s place. Philip and his other brother, Kyle, had been sitting in camp chairs next to the firepit, drinking beer and relaxing, when Kyle had said, “You’re next, you know.”
“Next for what?” Philip had asked.
Using his beer, Kyle indicated their mother, who was standing on the other side of the firepit, talking animatedly with Tommy’s fiancée, Camila. Philip figured they’d been chatting about the upcoming nuptials.
“Mom’s gonna try to set you up next,” Kyle said.
Philip snorted. “Isn’t Elliot dating Camila’s sister?”
“Elliot and Madison both just graduated from college last spring, so Mom’s not going to rush that,” Kyle said. “Besides, Elliot says they’re on the rocks.”
“That sucks.” Technically, their youngest brother, Elliot, had been the first of the Bryant boys to seriously date a girl, but instead of heading them down the aisle, his relationship with Madison had resulted in Tommy and Camila meeting and falling in love.
Kyle had shrugged and took another drink. “Elliot’s not right for her anyway.”
Philip arched his brow, and Kyle shrugged again. “Like I said, you’re next.”
“Next for what?” their brother Tommy had asked, dropping into the chair next to Kyle.
“To meet the woman of his dreams,” Kyle replied.
“Not gonna happen,” Philip said.
“Never say never,” Tommy said. “I wasn’t looking for anything but a fling while I was home visiting last year, but I knew she was the one the second I met Camila.”
Philip had rolled his eyes at that point. “There is literally no one on the horizon, and with my line of work, it’d take a hell of a woman to be willing to put up with my hours.” Not to mention his clients.
Now here he was, a month later, with a woman sharing his cabin, and when he’d watched her stare longingly at his bed, he’d actually thought, I’d like to date her.
Which was stupid because she didn’t trust him, and trust was a key component of pretty much any relationship. Hell, his own inability to trust fully was the reason his family didn’t even know what he did for a living. And as a result, he was definitely not as close with his brothers and his parents as they all were with each other. He was the proverbial black sheep of the family.
And he hated it.
He’d thought this assignment would help him move into a more legitimate line of work, which also, hopefully, would have allowed him to open up to his family.
He wandered around his property, out of habit checking for various animal tracks and making sure there weren’t any human ones that didn’t belong to him. His land was appropriately posted as private property to warn hunters away, but there were occasionally those who either ignored the signs or accidentally wandered over from the nearby state land.
He should check in with Richard.
His buddy hadn’t known Philip was at the hair salon today, but he surely knew about what went down there by now. And if Frank was dead, this assignment was over, and it was unlikely the ATF was going to offer Philip a permanent position. Hell, he hadn’t even realized Frank had ties to the sort of organizations that would charge into a public place in the middle of the day and shoot someone.
Who were those thugs who had done a piss-poor impression of the FBI? It could be anybody. A past business associate of Frank’s. The terrorists he was supposedly dealing with. Some other player Philip wasn’t even aware of.
Was Richard aware and not sharing the information? That was possible. They only discussed what was necessary to get the job done. He’d said it was safer; information was more secure that way.
Philip wanted to call his friend, to figure out what he knew, but he hesitated. And he knew damn well why.
Because he didn’t want to tell Richard about Maecie.
Because if the feds knew that Maecie was with him, they’d want to scoop her up, question her, potentially put her into protective custody if it were deemed necessary. Which meant Philip wouldn’t get to spend the next few days hanging out with her.
Oh yeah, his decision was selfish as all hell. He really needed to adjust his moral compass one of these days.
His phone vibrated and he pulled it out of his pocket. Speak of the devil…
“I can talk,” he answered in his usual way.
“Are you aware of the situation that occurred today?”
“The hair salon?” Philip asked carefully.
“Yes.”
“I’m aware.”
“There’s a complication in our case.”
Yeah, the suspect is dead. “Yes.”
“It seems our man had an accomplice.”
Oh shit. “Should we meet?” He wasn’t sure how he’d finagle it now that he had to worry about Maecie, but if duty called…
“No. Not a good idea right now. I’d like you to try to track down the woman he was working with.”
Alarm bells started clanging so loudly in Philip’s head, he shook it to try to lower the volume.
“I’ll text you a picture,” Richard said. “She’s key to closing our case.”
Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you know about her?”
“She’s our guy’s hairstylist.”
***
When Philip returned to the house, Maecie was curled up on the couch, flipping through a photo album.
He hesitated just inside the door, taking a moment to watch her as she checked out the various pictures of his family. Her eyes were soft, a faint smile on her lips, and she’d traded the thin cardigan for a thicker sweatshirt. He made a note to adjust the thermostat by a few degrees. Or maybe build a fire. Yeah, a fire was a better idea. Cozy. Romantic.
Shit. Surely she wasn’t Frank Charles’s accomplice?
She looked up, and her smile grew in wattage, all but blinding him. All sorts of thoughts flitted through his brain in those few seconds, and none of them had anything to do with figuring out whether she was one of the bad guys.
“Is this your family?” she asked, indicating the picture book in her lap.
He nodded and quickly shed his outdoor gear before moving closer.
“There are four of you? All boys?”
He cleared his throat. Asking a lot of questions was second nature due to her profession. Keep that in mind. “Yes.”
&n
bsp; “Which number are you?”
“I’m the second oldest. Tommy’s first, then Kyle’s after me, and Elliot’s the baby.”
“Are you guys close?”
He shrugged. “They are. I’m sort of…”
“Distant?”
How had she figured that out?
She waved, encompassing his entire house, and answered the question he hadn’t asked out loud. “You live alone, in the middle of nowhere. Whatever you actually do for a living, it’s obviously a solitary career. You make decisions that affect other people without actually telling them what’s going on. You’re the poster child for emotional distance.”
While he stared at her, his brain struggling, trying to deny the cold, hard truth she was speaking, she glanced down at the album and added, “Which is interesting. Because look here.”
She pointed at a picture of him with his three brothers, arms linked, all poised to fall backward into the pool at his parents’ house. It was taken the summer before Tommy’s senior year in high school, so Philip would have been going into his sophomore year, Kyle a seventh grader, and Elliot—wow, he had only been in third grade, yet he’d always been determined to keep up with his older brothers.
“What about it?” he asked.
“Well, you don’t look like you’re emotionally cut off in this picture.”
Actually, he looked like he was having the time of his life. They all did.
“Nor do you look distant in this picture.”
She flipped to the last page in the album and pointed at a picture of all four boys and their parents, every single one of them grinning from ear to ear. This one was at Rogers Speedway, three years after Tommy went pro. The whole family had been there to watch him win his first championship trophy.
A month later, Philip headed to boot camp in South Carolina.
Maecie closed the book and opened the front cover. “According to the message written here, your mom made you this album to take with you to boot camp. Is that when you learned how to be emotionally distant?”
He snagged the book and replaced it on the shelf next to the fireplace. “No.”
“Then when? It obviously happened after that picture was taken. Which was dated ten years ago.”
