by Lyz Kelley
No more fear. Wasn’t that what she’d decided?
In the early hours, she’d laid out a new, more fulfilling map of her future.
Live your life. Your being the operative word.
She leaned over to pick her purse up off the floorboard as tingles of possibility swept through her. The feeling felt odd, a happy sensation she hadn’t experienced in years.
Dale walked around to the passenger side to open her door. The gesture was old-fashioned, but she liked the special treatment. She’d discovered that nuance among other interesting things since her water pipe broke.
His hand on the small of her back created an impression, one similar to discovering an undervalued estate treasure for her store. The sound of his cadence crossing the pavement helped her keep her sights on the future.
“It’s okay,” he said, stepping up onto the sidewalk.
For the first time in days, she agreed.
As she neared the entrance, Dale reached around her and opened the tempered glass door. The freckle-faced redhead behind the reception counter scrambled to hide the cell phone she had been thumbing a message on.
“May I help you?” she asked with a go away you’re bothering me expression.
“Yes. We’re here to see Sheriff Gaccione.” Gwen removed her scarf and gloves and tucked them in her purse.
“He’s meeting with a DEA agent from Denver. His office is straight down the hall. You can wait there. Can’t miss it,” she said with gum-smacking efficiency.
Dale turned. “You go ahead. I need to visit the washroom. I’ll be right there.”
Gwen unzipped her coat and headed down a long hallway lined with awards and department unit photographs. A silver nameplate bearing the words Sheriff Joe Gaccione marked his office door. As she walked in, she noted the US flag in the corner, a painting on the wall of the Elkridge valley, and a picture on the desk of the sheriff’s wife, Mara, and the young girl she and Joe adopted after getting married.
She was about to sit in one of the two guest chairs when she heard his voice.
She backed up and plastered her back against the wall, working to control her breathing.
Did he see me?
Her heart thundered in her chest like a herd of elk. The deep timbre of her father’s voice was as decisive as it had always been, and sliced through her like a diamond-sharpened blade.
The little child in her mind made her want to roll into a little ball, become invisible. She moved closer to the door, knowing her only escape route was blocked.
She placed a hand over her mouth to muffle her breathing.
“I wasn’t expecting you to come.” Shane’s surprise echoed down the hall. “I appreciate it, sir.”
“I came to see my daughter, not you. You were to find her, not speak to her, and certainly not touch her.” Her father barked like a drill instructor—direct and to the point. “With that little stunt you pulled, I considered letting you rot in a cell. Some days you test my patience, Shane, but you do have your uses. I knew you’d be able to track her down.”
“Yes, I found your princess. Now what about my bonus?”
You paid that bastard to find me. Her hand tightened over her mouth. I should have known.
Footsteps coming closer made her press against the wall. She could almost hear the ticking of her father’s Rolex.
“Your gambling debts will be paid, but I’d suggest you stay away from the Chicago mob in the future. They use people like you for target practice.”
“I was trying to take care of business.”
“Running packages?” The perverse amusement in her father’s tone was nothing new. “Go to the Elkridge Lodge and wait for my instructions.”
“Yes, sir.” Shane’s contrite obedience almost made her laugh.
“Oh, and Shane?” The footfalls hesitated. “I won’t pay your gambling debts or post bail for you a second time. And if you ever threaten or touch my daughter again, the Outfit will be the least of your worries.”
She released the pressure in her lungs with an extended exhale as Shane’s footsteps faded, lifting several layers of tension.
If nothing else, her father was a man of his word.
She would never need to deal with Shane again. He wouldn’t risk having his feet set in cement and his body tossed into Lake Michigan.
“You can come out now,” her father said, interrupting her thoughts.
Her heart hiccupped. Maybe he was guessing. Could she hide under the desk?
“I can smell your perfume. People in this town can’t fully appreciate the complex, unique scent.”
I’m screwed.
Joy by Jean Patou of Paris. The one small extravagance reminded her of her prized college internship in Paris with some of the world’s top clothing designers. She hadn’t been able to toss the memento, no matter how hard she tried.
She pushed away from the wall and stepped around the corner to face the man she hadn’t seen in more than a half-dozen years. His European tailored business suit still hung with precision on his tall, thin frame. The Italian leather shoes buffed to a shine looked new, yet the cuff links sitting below the monograms on his pressed, white cotton shirt were not. She’d given him the blue spinning globes set in eighteen-karat gold when she was twelve, because she believed with all her childish heart that he’d rule the world one day.
At that age, she’d learned to trust in what he said. He never spoke without a promise. His portfolio of real estate properties did, indeed, span the globe.
“Why can’t you just let me go?”
“You’re my daughter. My only child.”
“You remember that fact at the oddest times. If you drag me back, I’ll leave again. Nothing you can do will stop me.”
Her father’s silver-blue eyes shifted, changed, and quieted. “I know.”
Was that sorrow she saw?
It couldn’t be. Could it?
Her father didn’t have a tender component in his robotic body. A ruthless business machine, he crushed his competition in every corner of the world.
The soft contrition opened the door to possibilities. What could she say? How should she react?
He lifted an arm, palm up. An offer. Was he asking for her forgiveness?
She crossed her arms and ignored his gesture. “Where’s Mother?” she asked, more out of curiosity than a need to know.
“Italy. France. Spain. She gave some excuse about needing to find new cosmetics. I took the short text to mean she was bored and wanted to find a new lover.”
Gwen blinked, shook her head, and blinked again. The fact that her father knew about his wife’s affairs didn’t surprise her. To discover he didn’t care did. He controlled every aspect of his life, down to the way he laced his shoes. He would never divorce. Her father wouldn’t want the scandal, and her mother wouldn’t want to live on a budget.
She placed her hands firmly against her leg to keep it from shaking. Her father hated it when someone fidgeted. Showed weakness. She lifted her chin.
“That seems about right. How many affairs has she had now? A dozen. Two?”
The creases across his face intensified. “Nine.”
Strands of gray hair had infiltrated his natural dark color. Father Time providing a reminder that life ended at some point.
She drew in a breath of courage. “I’ve always wanted to know. Why didn’t you believe me when I showed you the video of Shane hacking into my accounts? The proof was there. He was stealing from you and trying to steal from me. Why did you forbid me calling the authorities?” The years of burning resentment poisoned her words. “Why did you choose Shane over me?”
“I did no such thing. I merely suggested you give me the information so I could deal with it, which I did. Calling the authorities would have only given people license to poke through our private affairs.”
You mean your fraudulent tax returns.
Resentment swelled and turned into anger. “You didn’t deal with it. You gave Shane a raise and promo
tion.”
“I moved him to where I could keep an eye on him. Shane couldn’t take a piss without me knowing about it. After what he did to you, I wanted to give him the squeeze. For the rest of his life, he’ll live in a very tiny, controlled box. Even after I’m gone, he’ll be watched.”
Disgust puffed from her lungs. “Shane’s a snake. I don’t suppose he told you about his threat to expose me to the media unless I gave him fifty percent of my trust. His threatening me doesn’t sound like you have him under control.”
Feeling trapped in the doorway, she took a step around him. “I’m done with people like him, and I’m done with people like you and Mom. You can take your money and fill your coffins. I don’t want it. I don’t need it.”
She turned and strode down the hallway. The sight of Dale waiting for her ten feet away, ready to protect her if needed, gave her the courage to take another step.
“Gwen, wait.” The pleading in her father’s voice was so unusual that her body turned before her mind could shut down the reaction.
Her father’s long stride caught up with her in three short steps. He wrapped a hand around her arm. She stared at his fingers until he reluctantly released her.
“Go home, Father. Nothing you can say will change my mind.”
William Zell jammed that steel rod up his back. He tugged on his cuffs. His face wrestled with his emotions until his eyes met hers.
“I wanted you to know…”
He used the dramatic pause, the one she’d seen him use a million times in boardrooms, during speeches, to make his point heard. She’d already turned away when he spoke the words she hadn’t expected to hear from her fifty-seven-year-old father.
She turned back. “What did you say?”
He dropped his chin to look into her eyes. “I said I’m dying.”
Chapter Six
“Stop trying to manipulate me!” Gwen jeered. “I’m done playing your games.”
She walked by Dale at such a raging speed she left a draft in her wake.
Dale turned to the formidable man standing in the hall and regarded him with empathy. He understood a daughter’s wrath—the bitter anger that could accompany every word. By some miracle, Ashley had forgiven him. He was still working on the trust aspect of their relationship, but she had given him a gift of compassion.
“Mr. Zell.” Dale gave him a nod.
Gwen’s father’s eyes shifted, closing off the emotion, locking away any feeling behind a steel door. He’d seen the transition a thousand times at the Pentagon. Bad news was delivered. Difficult decisions were made. Actions effectively carried out. All with efficiency and very little emotion. This billionaire was no different.
“Brigadier General Bryant,” Zell addressed him in a dry tone. “I understand you disabled my head of security, are recently retired military, widowed, living with a daughter and son-in-law, also a veteran.”
Yes, I know who you are, buddy. We don’t need to go there. “If I may offer some advice…get better security. Former military is always a good choice.”
Gwen’s father lowered his gaze and chuckled. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
Dale crossed his arms, sensing no threat. “I don’t know what’s passed between you and your daughter, and I don’t need to know. You’re most likely aware your daughter has friends here and a support system. As her father, I would hope your primary objective is her happiness.”
The immensely successful and wealthy man appeared lost. His arms dropped to his sides. His head hung loose. Dale counted the man’s finger taps against his thigh while waiting. Watching. Assessing. Finally, Zell raised his head with a raw, somewhat open expression.
“When I was twenty-two, my dying father turned over his company to me with the expectation that I implement his vision. A smoker all his life, he’d been diagnosed with advanced-stage lung cancer. He couldn’t have given me a more appropriate task. I was hungry for power. I wanted more. I carefully selected business partners, a wife with position, and set off to expand my empire.”
“Look, I don’t need your résumé.” Dale started to leave, but something in the man’s face, the way his body moved, made him wait. “Why don’t you just get to what you want me to know?”
“Looking back, the only thing worthwhile I’ve created was Gwen.” He stroked his jaw. “She barely speaks to me, and when she does it’s only to be polite.”
Dale cocked his head, weighing his options, then exhaled, making a quick decision. “When my daughter, Ashley, was born, my only thought was keeping her safe. Providing for her. During these last few months, she has taught me that the only thing she needed from me was my time. To listen. To give her hugs. To make her laugh. I believe I underestimated my daughter’s strength, as you’ve underestimated your daughter’s. Based on the little I know of Gwen, I’d say she’s independent, and she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”
“Would you tell her I love her?”
“Don’t you think that sentiment would be more meaningful coming directly from you?”
“Even if I knew her phone number, she wouldn’t take my calls.” The humor he’d tried to add to his statement fell flat. His eyes and mouth remained flat, neutral. “I could have trapped her in the sheriff’s office. Made her listen. But she wouldn’t have heard a word I said.”
Dale scratched the back of his neck. I have a feeling I’ll regret this. “Tell you what. I’m not making any promises, but meet me over at the River Creek Café at eight a.m. tomorrow, and I’ll see if I can get Gwen there so you can talk to her.”
“And what’s in this for you?”
Not money, if that’s what you’re thinking. Money doesn’t buy the whole world. It definitely doesn’t buy love. He shoved a hand into his right pocket, playing with the nickels and dimes he’d forgotten to drop into his granddaughter Caitlyn’s cross-eyed piggy bank, and fighting the desire to give Gwen’s father a life lecture. “Nothing other than seeing my daughter’s friend happy.”
William pulled his hands back and shoved them in his pockets. “Now who’s avoiding the truth? My daughter has never trusted others. She trusts you, and I can tell by the way she looks at you, there’s something there.”
“I have a lot of respect for your daughter, sir. She’s an asset to this town.”
“Cut the crap. You’re half in love with her, but you’re telling yourself you’re too old, doing her a favor by not getting involved, doing the right thing by not giving in to your feelings.”
Bingo. The truth buzzed in Dale’s ears, yet he wanted to swat it away like a fly. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“Contrary to what the tabloids have printed, I’ve never cheated on my wife physically, but I’ve been in love with another woman for years. She’s eighteen years my junior, and I fell in love with her the day she interviewed with my company. I’ve done everything I can think of to avoid her, except send her to China. She’s made me laugh every day for the past nine years.”
“So what are you going to do?”
The man’s perfectly trimmed brow lifted. “What are you going to do about my daughter?”
“Chase her down. See if I can’t make her laugh.” Dale held out his hand. “Sir. I’ll see about tomorrow. It was nice meeting you.”
“And you. Keep my daughter safe, General. See that she’s happy.”
The billionaire held on to his hand longer than was customary, as if trying to memorize a face he’d never see again. After several seconds, he released his grip and transformed into his executive persona, then turned and moved down the hall.
If Zell were anyone else, Dale would have liked to sit down, have a cup of coffee, possibly find out what made William Zell tick. Rich men who made history fascinated him. Rockefeller. Carnegie. Ford. More important, though, maybe he’d find out what made Gwen tick, and what had caused her fear and resentment.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number. “Are we still meeting to fill out a real estate proposal?” He listen
ed to the silence, then asked, “Gwen, are you there?”
“I’m across the street, sitting on a bench by the kids play area. For some reason, I needed to throw some snowballs. After a couple, I felt better, but I’m starting to get cold.”
“Do you want to talk about your father?”
“No, not especially. Do you want to come join me? We can walk over to the real estate office together.”
The invitation sparked excitement, then rounded the corner to weary as soon as the conversation with Zell replayed in his head.
She didn’t need his money or protection.
What she needed was a soft shoulder to lean on now and again, someone to make her laugh, maybe someone to listen.
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there. I want to give our cell numbers to the receptionist. Joe can call with his additional questions when he becomes available.”
He might be fourteen years older, but he could provide those essentials. Because every minute in her presence was like a delicate, precious gift he wanted to keep forever.
He just hoped what he offered would be enough.
Chapter Seven
“Now we wait.” Gwen pushed the signed proposal toward the real estate agent, who promptly got up to make copies.
“We should celebrate.” Dale stood and offered his hand to help her stand.
“I’m not really in the mood.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun, and take your mind off your store for a little while.” He moved his hand a few inches closer.
My store? Not my controlling father or Shane?
She wanted to hug him for the reprieve. She didn’t want to talk about her father. Ever. But touching Dale? That would be dangerous.
Every time she’d seen him help one of the Bainbridge sisters load groceries into their car, chatting with old Harold in the café, or holding Ashley’s baby, she’d had the urge to ask him what he was doing for dinner.
She lifted her hand and placed it in his warm palm, and yep, there it was. The little tingle that turned into tiny sparkles. The sensation zoomed up her arm and across her body, making every cell flicker with happiness.
