Chapter 22
Joselyn Whyte
“What! Those little snakes!”
Her father’s unfortunate news and misplaced blame almost made her forget about kissing Finn. Almost. The rampage also made her want to plunge her fist into someone’s nose.
Finn was the only person present, and if she utilized him as an outlet for her violent urge, well, then she’d probably end up trying to make it all better, and in turn, make it worse. Again. Besides, he had a very nice nose. Nice lips. Nice … too many things she’d experienced quite thoroughly moments before.
As the blows kept coming from her father in the form of some fabricated media scandal she couldn’t care less about, her trusty self-preservation instincts kicked in, muting his ranting, and instead, called upon the feel and taste of Finn’s lips. Both tender and savage, she’d never felt more alive—and terrified. She wasn’t sure where she’d found the strength to pull away but wished she had held on a few minutes longer.
Because if she could’ve stayed out of her head, for once, she might still be in his arms. But those arms were laced with deception of the most treacherous kind. Because although they felt like the safest, most enviable place in the world, Joselyn knew, tucked in Finn’s powerful embrace, she was anything but safe.
Her emotions were spiraling, and there was too much baggage she hadn’t yet sorted out. Too much history. Oh, her shrink would have a field day!
But it wasn’t only the kiss—though she had to admit she’d never experienced anything quite like it. Something about him was drawing her in. She’d always had a weak spot for him, and yet she’d had no problems ignoring him for the past ten years. So this was different. Unsettling.
Nothing about Finn seemed to line up with the boy she’d known in high school. In Joselyn’s experience, people didn’t change for the better.
Sure, he’d adopted an irritatingly arrogant persona, but even that felt like a front.
And then Cody had shown up. A hot swirl of bile churned her stomach at the mere thought of him. How could this Finn still be friends with that jerk? The inconsistencies were dizzying. A sudden flood of doubts had hijacked her brain and made her retreat, when honestly, all she really wanted to do was succumb to ignorant bliss and fall into Finn’s arms all over again. To feel wanted. Maybe even cherished. Even if only for a moment.
And wasn’t that pathetic. She was a smart woman. She should know better than be swayed by the man’s—possibly extraordinarily acted—affections. Having been wrong before, she knew the consequences were more destructive than a simple case of heartache.
“… Joselyn! You have to fix this!” Her father’s voice boomed through the ear piece, the sheer volume of his command about knocked the phone from her hand.
“Uh, okay. How?” She curbed the default sarcasm begging to take more creative liberties with her response. Instead she folded an arm around herself, gripped the fabric at her waist, and awaited the verdict.
“You know how. Make a public appearance. Prove them wrong. I’ll set it up. Monday night, the day after tomorrow. And Joselyn, you better sell it this time.”
The metaphorical slamming from her father’s end made her flinch. Like this was all her fault? The tabloid mongers could weave a web of lies at the drop of a hat, and she was responsible?
Sell it, he’d ordered. Those choice words wedged deeper, driving like an ice pick into her heart. As if she was nothing more than a call girl. A pawn. Declan Whyte had weighed his daughter’s stock, cashed in the shares that suited his gains, and dumped the rest. The stab of his manipulation and neglect never ceased to hit their mark.
She lowered the phone, and as if looking into an oracle’s glass ball of misfortune she could see it. Her future—however long or short it may be—controlled by the ruthless dictator.
“Come on.” Finn tugged at her arm, snapping her out of the hellish vision. “We’ve got a meeting with Archer and Sal.”
His voice slipped through her like warm syrup. That dreamy baritone held some mystical power, enslaving her to its commands. She followed like a mindless drone even when he scooped up her coat and eased it on from behind.
Was she a commodity to Finn too? Otherwise, why would he volunteer for this? And why would he kiss her like that? Did she dare hope that this was about something more? That maybe he really did care about her? Hope swelled in the vicinity of her heart.
Spinning her around as if helping a child, he buttoned her coat and tied the belt around her waist. She noticed he was now fully dressed—thank goodness—and without meeting her eyes he lead her out the door.
How long had she been zoned out?
She supposed it didn’t matter. Time in Finn’s presence seemed to defy the laws of nature. And she was not nearly loathe enough to note that with her new assignment, and the now intimate knowledge of his kiss, it was going to be more difficult than ever to avoid those lawless lips of his.
The atmosphere in the cab of Finn’s truck was strange. Stilted and silent and strange. She couldn’t take it anymore. She needed something to fill the void. Anything to distract her from the alluring Finn-smell and the cloak of fog hugging the windows as if hiding them away in their own cozy cocoon.
“That was my dad who called.”
“Okay. What’d he say?” His eyes flickered away from the road, and his hand came to rest over her anxiously knotted fingers.
She stared at the curious thing, inexplicably rough and gentle at the same time—kind of like his kiss. “Some photographer snapped a picture of us outside the firehouse the other day.”
She remembered the agony on his face, still wishing she knew what had caused it, and knowing that the captured moment could’ve been interpreted any number of ways by the media. The thought of his pain displayed on some trashy tabloid for the whole world to see made her insides ache.
Without thinking, she turned over his warm hand and threaded her fingers through his. “Anyway, they, uh, spun this story about ‘Trouble in paradise’ and ‘The Ice Princess drives another one away’ and something about you ‘Heating things up’ with another woman.” She shook her head, hating these intrusions into her life.
When her father had mentioned something about “another woman” it hadn’t registered in her kissed-senseless brain. But now, she remembered those words all too well and the familiar doubts crept back in.
“But we weren’t even fighting? That’s all ridiculous.”
“Doesn’t matter. My father is livid, and he insists we do damage control.”
Finn’s wagged his eyebrows, his grin downright wolfish. “I think I like where this is headed.”
Nothing could be done about her answering smile so she met his gaze and owned it. “I thought you might.”
“Sorry we’re late.” Finn hurried her through the door of Archer’s office. Not one for sentimentality, Archer’s professional space housed a commanding wooden desk, several tasteful and minimalist pieces of furniture, and two filing cabinets. There was a mess of papers tacked to one wall and a few stacks piled on the desk, but otherwise the space was clean, efficient.
Archer looked more amused than irritated by the delay, and she could have sworn she saw Finn blush as he slumped into a chair in front of the desk.
Sal lifted his feet from their propped position on the boxy leather sofa and offered Joselyn a seat. When she sat he sidled over and draped his arm across the cushion. “How you holding up, sweetness?”
“I’m fine.”
Finn’s glare absorbed her and Sal’s proximity. Caveman.
“We did get some bad press though. That always stings. Honestly, I’ve never understood their interest. Makes no sense.”
Sal squeezed her in a side-hug. “You’re sensational, they just can’t help themselves.” He winked, stark white teeth flashed against tan skin in the form of a saucy grin. “You look amazing, by the way.”
Sal was an affectionate person. It was his nature, so Joselyn didn’t think anything of it. His time on her pro
tective detail was making them fast friends.
And if that made Finn’s fists clench and a slight growl come from his general direction, well, he’d have to deal.
Then there was Archer. His crap-eating grin so wide Joselyn thought he might split a lip or burst into laughter at any moment. It would appear he and Sal had cooked up the little ruse to toy with Finn. She didn’t know why, exactly, nor why Finn was suddenly acting territorial, but it was pretty entertaining.
“Oh, you know what? You’ve got an eyelash.” Sal’s fingers brushed her cheek, his eyes flashing with secret amusement. “Your skin is like silk. Are you this soft all ov—”
“All right!” Finn erupted from his seat. “That … chair is really uncomfortable. Sal, switch me.”
Sal and Archer cut up with laughter, and Finn rolled his eyes, awaiting Sal’s removal from his new spot. “Can we start the meeting now?”
But before they could kick off, a woman popped her head in Archer’s office. “Hey, Archer. You got a sec?” Sal stiffened next to her with a jolt, making Joss take a closer look. Whoa. She was secure enough to admit that this woman, with caramel skin and vibrant amber-colored eyes, was—for lack of a better word—arresting.
Sal leapt from the couch like his pants were on fire. “I’ll get it.” He nearly tripped over his feet but was out the door before anyone could blink.
Still chuckling, Archer shook his head, wiping the corner of his eye. “That’s Candice, our new ME. Sal’s got it bad. The poor dope.”
Settling into Sal’s vacated spot, Finn’s thigh snuggled up against her leg and he leaned back, stretching his arm along the couch. Unlike Sal, Finn’s contact was like a lightning rod. The awareness was so painfully acute, and absurd, she could feel the faint exhale of his breath brushing her skin. The beat of his heart pulsing against her side.
“I guess we should get started.” Archer chimed into her thoughts, saving her from herself. “We sorted through the list of terminations from your father’s companies from the past several months. Not a small list. I didn’t know Whyte Enterprises had extended into so many different industries. I thought it was mainly manufacturing.”
“It started out that way. But when that took off he started buying up other companies and slapped his name on them. I’ve lost track—other than the factories, the cable company, the chemical plants, a few laboratories, distributors, and a small chain of luxury hotels.”
“Hotels, huh?” Finn nudged her leg with his. “I see perks in my future.”
“I’m sure once my father wins his precious campaign he’ll be overcome with gratitude and toss you something for your trouble.” She’d meant to joke, but as the words snowballed she was reminded that this was most likely a business transaction. Finn might be getting some big payout for pretending to like her.
Her spine went rigid.
“You two can plan your honeymoon later.” Archer grinned at Finn, but Joss couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“Moving on. So far we’re looking at these thirteen out of several hundred employees that were fired or laid off the past few months. They were the most disgruntled of the bunch, and we have confirmed the whereabouts of most of the others that drew red flags from the bureau physiatrist. Wanted to see if any of them look familiar.” Crossing the room, Archer extended a file with eight-by-ten enlargements of old employee keycard photos from her father’s various companies.
As Joselyn took the stack and flipped through, she started second-guessing every sliver of recognition she saw in the smiling faces.
One guy kind of looked like a clerk at her grocery store. Another reminded her of an excessively allergic blind date she’d been on six months prior. Poor guy could hardly get a word out. Shame too. He’d seemed nice. And cute. At least, from what she could tell between sneezes, which, with that much repetition, tended to make anyone’s face pinched and red and unfortunately repugnant. But it all had proven her curse: She was “good-guy” repellent and catnip to dirt bags. It was hopeless.
Poring over the pictures again, she knew she’d over-analyzed their faces. These were not the same guys.
She shook her head and extended the file back to Archer, praying no one noticed how much the pages shook in her hand.
Finn started to reach out, but then pulled back and forked his broad fingers through his hair. “I, uh, just thought of something. Joss, you said your dad owned a few laboratories?”
“Yeah. Some of those were hit pretty hard by the economy, but they’re surviving. Why, what is it?”
“Well, you were drugged. I don’t know what type of labs, but is it possible that one of them has that Seco—whatever it’s called—stuff? Maybe one of those red-flagged employees had access to it before they were terminated?”
“I don’t think they’re in the same vein, but I’ll check it out.” Archer scribbled on his notepad. “Oh, and the Five-Alarm Arsonist is off the table for now. The fires he started weren’t nearly as destructive as yours and none of the other victims were drugged. In fact, none of them appeared to be targeted. More the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Plus, the fire team hasn’t had any trouble identifying the accelerants and origins of the other fires. Since your case doesn’t fit his profile, we’re thinking whoever targeted you picked the date to throw us off.”
Joselyn could only nod at first. “W-What about Stuart?” That drew a glare from Finn, one she ignored.
“Looks like he alibied out for the night of the fire. But we did confirm he was the one following you guys in the Grand Prix. Borrowed it from his landlord. The young lady, Cheryl Thomas, had quite the distaste for you, Joselyn. We looked into her, but she’s clean. Other than her poor taste in men.”
“I don’t know any Cheryl Thomas. What’s she got against me?”
“It would seem Stuart utilizes her company from time to time. She said he talks about you constantly …” Archer paused, the look on his face said he didn’t care to finish that thought, but he did, and Joselyn wished he hadn’t. “Says he asked her to dye her hair black and that he, uh … calls out your name.”
“Eww.” She’d skipped lunch, but what remained of her breakfast threatened an encore.
“They’re still holding Stuart for the other violations, and we’re working to get more information. Personally, the guy gives me the creeps—and that’s saying something.” Propped against the desk, Archer looked ill at ease. His solid confidence and ruthless discipline were as dependable as Joselyn’s chronic loneliness. That meant the restless vibe she sensed alluded to something he wasn’t saying. Knowing Archer, she was fairly certain she wasn’t ready to hear whatever it was.
Summoning the last of her nerve, Joselyn untied the belt from her coat and slipped it from her shoulders. Was she dressed right? Would her ensemble broadcast that she was an outsider like a glaring scarlet letter?
Having only attended a few staunch Masses while visiting her father’s home in Scotland with her parents as a kid, she hadn’t the slightest idea what to expect.
Yia-Yia had believed in God, but she wasn’t the church-going type. And that suited Joselyn fine growing up. One less place she would be scrutinized for her family. Well, maybe family wasn’t the right word. Name, wealth, notoriety, maybe.
Family was the right word for the thing she desired most, but for some reason, was deprived of time and again.
Sadie had assured her that jeans were acceptable, but it felt wrong. Sacrilegious or something. So Joselyn donned a long bohemian-styled smock dress and a black shrug from her store. Thinking it was still casual but more acceptable than jeans.
But being here now, walking through the church doors with Sadie and Archer, the breezy fabric felt like an iron vest, constricting its fashionably woven threads to wring the air from her lungs.
What if the shrinking material looked too tight? Showed too much cleavage? Pressing her hand to her chest, she felt her heart hammer beneath her palm. Breathe.
She wasn’t overly busty, but she
checked herself anyway, smoothed her fingers over the straight neckline to the empire waist, assuring the propriety of her attire. If nothing was hanging out, then why did she feel like she’d already made a spectacle of herself? “People will stare, make it worth their while.” She remembered one of Yia-Yia’s favorite Harry Winston quotes but couldn’t rile any confidence. People were staring at her. They were smiling like she was a few frayed threads away from unraveling, and they couldn’t wait to cash in on the next front-page exposé.
To confirm her paranoia she tugged on Sadie’s non-Archer clad arm and spoke low through a plastered-on grin. “Are these people just inordinately friendly or have I already committed a cardinal sin?”
“Uh, I’d go with option number one.” Sadie laughed and linked arms with Joselyn, steering their little trio toward another door opening to what Joselyn gathered was the chapel. Sanctuary? Whatever.
Someone was flagging Sadie down, so Joselyn untangled her lifeline from Sadie’s arm and asked Archer for directions to the restroom.
Wandering the halls like a foreigner in a strange land, Joselyn came upon an opening for a child’s play area. Squeals and giggles fragranced the air with an equally foreign but unimaginably sweet aroma of innocence that worked to sedate her nerves.
Watching the families, with babes clinging to their daddies’ legs, something about the scene seemed peaceful. Normal. Joselyn couldn’t recall the feeling but wished for it, wished back on every day of her lost childhood.
Absorbing the hum of chattering little voices was calming until a couple rounded the corner and Joselyn’s breath hitched in her throat.
The young man was tall and blonde, average by all accounts. But it was his wife and daughter that completed the comparison. The woman had porcelain skin with inky-black hair and pale blue eyes—the little girl, a perfect carbon copy of her mother.
From Winter's Ashes: Girl Next Door Crime Romance Series - Book Two Page 16
