Rockwell Agency: Boxset

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “She’s not writing that book, right?”

  “Definitely not.”

  Barrett nodded. “Well, that’s a start. I need to talk to her about the video she saw, but that can wait until she’s had a few days to recover from all of this.” Barrett smirked. “I’m sure you’ll be helping her with settling in.”

  Rolling his eyes, Quentin didn’t bother to deny the implications. He had seen both Ryan and Jordan go through a good bit of teasing about their new romances, and he was happy to take his own fair share of the jokes as well. It was more than worth it. All that mattered was that Lydia was safe, and they were together.

  “Listen,” Barrett said, pushing away from the doorjamb. “I’m going to run, if you all are good here. I’m sure they’re going to have lots to talk about, and it could take hours or all night. There are some things I need to tie up. I’m reporting in about each case we close now, and this is a big one. I’m going to have to account for the fact that it got reported on the news, and that there was an unexplained weather phenomenon on the east side of town today. Nobody’s talking about it as anything other than a strange flash-flood type of storm, and most are attributing it to global warming. But it’s the kind of thing that, given how many mistakes have been made at the agency recently, I’ve got to do a full, detailed report on. Luckily it was too dark for anyone to see dragons flying around in the storm—unless, of course, another video surfaces.”

  Quentin gripped Barret’s shoulder, pressing it in solidarity. “I’m sorry that you have to go through all of that.”

  “It’s part of the job,” Barrett said. But he looked tired. And Quentin didn’t blame him. It seemed Barrett spent more time answering for mistakes that Quentin didn’t think Barrett was making, than he spent doing any other part of his job. He couldn’t remember when Barrett had last taken an actual case of his own.

  “Thank you again,” Quentin said, opening the door for his friend. “I really appreciate everything. And let me know if I need to help give that report. It was my case that got out of hand, after all.”

  Barrett shook his head. “Nah. I got it. Enjoy your girl. Get some rest. You did good work today.”

  Quentin closed the door behind Barrett, and he turned back to Lydia, walking over to both of them. He nodded to Jack, putting aside his immediate dislike for the man just because he had the same face as the man who had tried to give Lydia up to Whitney earlier that day. He had to remember that this man was completely different, and he seemed like a genuinely good person and friend. “I’m sorry this has been such a shock to you,” Quentin said, sitting down. “I’m sure you’ve told the story over and over again now, but I’m curious—how did the portal open?”

  “I was just telling Lydia that,” Jack said. “I was cooking pasta in the kitchen, and then I went to my bag because I was looking for this container of spices that I had brought with me. I grabbed that, and then I saw this other little black canister that looked like what film used to come in. I carried both back into the kitchen with me, and I set the spices down on the counter, and I opened the other one to see what it was. And this …curtain appeared. It scared the hell out of me. I didn’t go near it—trust me. But all of a sudden, I was through it anyway. I don’t know how. And I was in a completely different world. I was in South Carolina of all places, in a house I had never seen. Lydia was nowhere to be found. Whitney and I were getting a divorce. I couldn’t figure any of it out, and I had no idea how to get back.”

  “I think that the other version of you must have gone through the portal,” Quentin said, “and when he went through the portal, you were forced through the portal. But why didn’t you just walk back through it?”

  Jack shook his head. “I couldn’t. It was still there, but it wouldn’t let me through again. I don’t know why. Why was there even a portal in my carry-on suitcase?” He shook his head as though the whole thing just made no sense to him.

  “Whitney told me that she could keep track of you through the portal,” Lydia said. “Like a homing device. I guess it was her way of seeing you from afar.”

  Jack shuddered. “God, how could I have lived with a woman like that for so long and never known?”

  “She was a master of disguise,” Lydia said, her voice sounding far away, as though she was remembering something that was almost unreal to her. “She could turn her façade off and on in a heartbeat. Like it was nothing. And she could go back and forth between the worlds she’d created. Or at least …she knew what was happening in both. I don’t know. She lived between worlds or in both simultaneously—something like that.”

  “She collected my hair, and my skin, and she grew organs from them,” Jack said, shuddering again. “And she drank those things to keep her alive and powerful. She was a monster. I was in love with a monster.”

  “No,” Quentin said. “You were in love with a façade. It happens to people all the time. In your case …it’s a little more extreme, yes. But people fall in love with the version of someone that they want to see all the time, only to be shocked by who the person really is when they eventually reveal themselves.”

  Jack nodded. “I know that’s true. I just don’t know how to deal with it.”

  “Time,” Quentin said. “It’ll take time.”

  He looked at Lydia, and Lydia smiled back at him. She reached for his hand, not wanting to rub in Jack’s face that they were happily a couple. Quentin pressed her fingers, and he knew that he had seen all sides of Lydia, even in the short time that they had known each other, starting with her worst. And he wasn’t in love with a façade—he was in love with a sweet, kind, beautiful, loyal, incredible woman who fought tooth and nail for survival and for her values.

  He trusted her, and he knew her. Jack and Whitney had proven to him that time was insignificant when it came to really knowing someone. You could live with someone for years and not know them at all. Or you could meet someone and see their soul in an instant.

  He knew Lydia’s soul, and his belonged to her.

  Lydia

  The sound of the front door opening, made Lydia grin. She had been waiting all day to tell Quentin her good news, and he was finally home. She jumped up off his couch, her ankle still wrapped in a cast. It had been three weeks since she’d broken it, and she had gotten pretty good at maneuvering around the house despite it. But she was desperate to start being more independent again, which was why her news was so exciting.

  “Hello,” Quentin called. “Where is my beautiful girlfriend?”

  She hurried to greet him, laughing, as he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet. He kissed her deeply, and Lydia put her arms around his neck, loving the way his hard, sculpted body pressed against hers.

  Lydia groaned softly, half in pleasure and half in protest. “You’re distracting me with your beauty.”

  Quentin laughed and set her down. “I could say the same to you. What am I distracting you from, my love?”

  She held up her envelope, waving it in front of his face. “It came! It came!”

  His eyes lit up. “Your acceptance letter?”

  Lydia nodded, laughing, as she pushed it at him. “Read it!”

  Taking the envelope, he pulled out the letter and opened it, clearing his throat dramatically. “Ms. Winn, we are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to the creative writing program …” He didn’t get any further before letting out a whoop and scooping her back up. “My amazing girlfriend, a future author!”

  She laughed, clinging to him, as he spun her around. “Quentin!”

  He set her on her feet again, carefully, and kissed her deeply. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Flushing pleasantly, Lydia sank into the kiss. The day after she’d gotten home from the hospital, she’d started making plans to move to Louisiana. There was nothing for her back in Twin Falls, Idaho, especially since Jack had decided that he and the kids needed a fresh start as well. He could get a job anywhere with his skills, and he had started looking for houses in
Baton Rouge immediately. Lydia had moved in with Quentin, and they had decided together that while she couldn’t write the book that she wanted to write, she could write fiction about the supernatural world. No one would ever have to know that her stories were based on or inspired by real events—they would just be stories. And she would get to read about and write about the things that she loved. But she’d never really done much writing before, so she had decided to go back to school and get a degree, and now it was really happening. She was going to begin the creative writing program in the fall. Her life was coming together in every way, and she couldn’t be happier.

  Quentin picked her up, starting to carry her back towards his bedroom, which they now shared. “I missed you today, my budding author,” he said, kissing her neck.

  Lydia closed her eyes, reveling in the sensations of his mouth on her skin. “Mmmm. I missed you, too.”

  “I want to celebrate your success,” he said, kicking his bedroom door open and walking her in to lay her down on the bed. His body covered hers, carefully avoiding her ankle, and he began to run his hands over her, stirring her blood immediately.

  Her body was so eager and ready for his touch, but Lydia pushed at his shoulders. “Jack and the kids are coming over for dinner …”

  “Jack and the kids can wait,” Quentin said, nibbling at her collarbone. “I’ll be quick …”

  Lydia glanced at the clock, but she already knew she was going to give in. She couldn’t get enough of him—ever. They made love every day, and each time was like the first all over again. He was incredible. Loving. Tender. Powerful. He made her weak in the knees with just a look, and when he took her on flights at night, flying her through the air, then brought her back to his bed and made love to her, she thought that she must be the luckiest woman in the world.

  “You have fifteen minutes,” Lydia whispered as Quentin pulled her shirt over her head and released the clasp on her bra, exposing her breasts to his eager lips. She moaned, gripping his hair in her hands and shivering with pleasure. “Maybe …twenty minutes …”

  “I have forever,” Quentin said, kissing his way down her torso, as he undid the zipper on her jeans. “Tell me I have forever …”

  “Forever,” Lydia gasped, arching into him, as he kissed her through her panties.

  “Tell me you love me,” Quentin said, stroking her softly at her center with one finger.

  “I love you,” Lydia moaned, bucking her hips towards his touch, eager for more.

  Quentin slipped his fingers beneath her panties and gave her what she wanted, filling her with two fingers and thrusting into the center of her pleasure. “I love you more,” he whispered. And then he made love to her and neither of them remembered the time on the clock—not once.

  PART IV

  Prologue

  Liam O’Malley strode into his usual haunt, waving to the pretty bartender working that night. He threw her a wink as well, making his way over to the bar through a maze of people, most of whom he recognized by sight even if he didn’t know their names.

  “Liam—what’s up, man?” one guy said, fist-bumping Liam, as he passed by. “Good to see you.”

  Liam had no idea who the man was, but that didn’t stop him from nodding to him. “Hey, man. Good night?”

  “Great night.”

  “Right on,” Liam said, his Southern twang infusing the words.

  “Liam!” A pretty young girl came rushing up to him, grabbing his hand. “Oh my God, I haven’t seen you in forever. Come dance with me.”

  Liam chuckled, pressing her fingers. “I will—you can bet on that. Let me get a drink first, darlin’.”

  He continued to push his way towards the bar, sweeping his long, wavy, dark hair back off his forehead. Liam was used to the attention he was getting. He knew that he had that black Irish look that people fawned over. Dark hair, crystal-clear blue eyes, chiseled features. He maintained his body with regular, rigorous exercise, and he knew how to wear a black leather jacket when the occasion called for it—and the occasion almost always called for it.

  Liam was a heartbreaker, and he knew it. He liked it, too. He loved spending his nights out on the town, meeting new people, dancing, drinking, maybe getting into a little trouble. It was his world, and he was comfortable there. He was always upfront with people, of course. He wasn’t the heartbreaker in the sense that he ever led women on. But that didn’t stop him from having a string of women in his past whose hearts he had broken anyway.

  Misti wasn’t one of them, though. Liam grinned at the bartender with the flame-red hair, and she smiled back at him. “Hey, stud,” she said, topping off the beer she was pouring and sliding it down the bar to another regular patron. “What’s your poison tonight?”

  “You,” he said. “Always and only you, Misti, my love.”

  “Bullshit,” she said, laughing at him. “What do you want, O’Malley? And give me a real answer, or I’m cutting off your drinks before you even begin.”

  Liam pretended to wince. “Ouch. Such a hard-ass. Give me a Guinness. I’m starting off easy tonight. Places to be and people to see.”

  “Isn’t that always the way?” Misti said, turning to grab a glass for him. “You’re looking extra smoking hot tonight,” she said. “You got a hot date later?”

  “I sure hope so,” Liam said, leaning over the bar to check her out as well. “Nice shorts. Bit cold for that, isn’t it? If this is what you wear in February, then are you going to be naked in July?”

  She wiggled her ass at him, and then turned around with his beer, setting it down in front of him. “You wish.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I certainly do.” He grinned at her, then lifted his beer, toasting her with it before taking a sip.

  Misti moved on to other customers, many of whom she was equally as flirtatious with. He suspected that Misti got good tips, and, well, she should. She was good at her job, and she looked and played the part well.

  Liam sat on the barstool, sipping at his drink and taking stock of the place. He wasn’t looking at any one thing in particular when he felt a tug on his arm. He turned, expecting to see an acquaintance there, wanting to dance or chat, or maybe even wanting to go somewhere more quiet if they were feeling really bold. He was shocked to see an old woman so wrinkled and hunched that he jumped from his stool to try to steady her in case she got bumped in the crowds.

  “Hey there,” Liam said, taking the woman’s arm. “Are you okay?”

  She pushed him off her, glaring up at him with a hatred that he wasn’t sure he had done anything to deserve. “Don’t touch me, you filthy young man.”

  He held his hands up, showing her his palms. “Okay, okay. Look, lady, you grabbed onto me. I was just trying to help you out. Off you go, then.”

  “I’ll decide when I go.”

  Liam’s eyebrows lifted. “Okay, you do that.” He sat back down on his barstool. “Makes no difference to me.”

  “Nothing makes a difference to you, does it?”

  Liam turned back to look closer at the woman, trying to see if he did somehow know her. Her face was a mass of wrinkles, but her eyes were a deep green and still full of life and intelligence. Her hair was gray and whipped on top of her head in a tight bun. Her clothes hung off her hunched frame, and they were all the same color—a dull brown. She looked like a character from a TV show more than she looked like a real person, and Liam, the consummate schmoozer, found himself utterly at a loss for words. “What?” he said, unable to come up with anything else.

  “You,” the woman said, glaring at him again. “You just think the world is fun and games, and others have to pay for your fun with their sorrow. Well, no more. You stole from my granddaughter. You stole her happiness, and you stole her money, and you’re going to pay.”

  Stunned, Liam stood up again. “Listen, lady, you have me confused with someone else. Very, very confused. I didn’t steal anything from anyone—I can promise you that.”

  “Shut up,” the woman said, poking his che
st.

  “Okay, well, that’s battery,” Liam said, pushing her hand away. “You can’t poke people, no matter how old you are. An uninvited touch to another’s person is battery, plain and simple. So, walk away, okay? And we’ll all just forget about this really weird meeting.”

  Misti walked over. “Liam, you okay?”

  “Perfectly fine,” Liam said, sitting back down on his barstool. “This woman was just leaving.”

  “You will never have success,” the woman whispered, gripping his arm and breathing heavily in his ear, as she leaned in. “You will never accomplish your goals. You will never reach your pinnacle. You will be doomed to a life of mediocrity. Always.”

  And then she walked away.

  Liam watched her disappear into the crowd, then turned back to Misti, shaking his head. “One-night stand gone wrong,” he said, smirking at her. “It happens.”

  Misti rolled her eyes, smirking back. “Whatever, O’Malley. Just don’t cause trouble in my bar.” She walked away, and Liam returned to his drink.

  He brushed the incident off, returning to his thoughts, but there was an unsettled feeling inside of him that he couldn’t put his finger on.

  Chapter 1

  Hannah

  “God, I love it when the sun starts shining on a regular basis again,” Hannah said, stretching out in the lawn chair set up in Norman Rockwell’s backyard. The sun was beating down on her, abnormally warm even for a mid-March day. Her skin, which tanned naturally enough, was pale from the winter, and her long, chestnut-brown hair, which she often had braided down her back, hung freely over her shoulders. She tilted her makeup-free face up to the sun and closed her amber-brown eyes, soaking up the feeling of sunshine and the sound of birds in the trees above her. Hannah sighed happily, lifting her arms above her head and wriggling all the way down in the chair to get comfortable.