by Nicole Snow
I’m not sure what to do with it.
Still, something tells me not to let her be alone.
Not to let her go unguarded, when those gold bars roar danger in neon flashing red.
“Stay with me,” I say impulsively before I even realize what’s falling out of my mouth.
Felicity stills, staring, her cheeks blushing bright.
“What?” she mouths.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I rush out quickly. “Or share a bed with Eli. You’re worried, right? You’re worried about something, or someone, and it’s not Gavin. I’d feel better if you and the gold were in one place—with me. I’ll keep an eye on you, and we can move the entire load in the morning.” It shocks me how much I want her, making demands with a gut-deep gravity that borders on yearning.
“Alaska, I—”
“Hush. Listen,” I growl. “After you get those two bars back, drop off your cousin, and then come straight back here. Stay for the night. Please, Fliss.” I try to smile. “I promise you I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Just like the fishing trip.”
Felicity doesn’t answer my smile.
If anything, she just looks even more confused.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, her soft voice as cinnamon-rich as her hair.
No answer for that.
No answer I want her to know.
No answer I’m proud of.
I don’t want to be helping her purely because she’s a magnet for wicked thoughts.
Because I realize, then, that even if I told her I’m starting to ache for her, to want to see more of her, and she told me to go to hell in a handbasket—not now, not ever—guess what?
I’d do this crazy shit anyway.
I’d insist she stay.
Because it’s what needs to happen.
Because there’s something in me screaming to know she’s safe, no matter what.
“Blame it on bad habits. My whole ex-military thing,” I say with a weak smile. “You know how it goes. To serve and protect.”
“Isn’t that for the cops?” she asks with a shaky smile.
“Probably.” I watch her, those pretty eyes staring back at me like she’s afraid the hand held out to touch her will strike her instead. “Will you stay, then? Just for a few nights, maybe a week, just till we’re sure the coast is clear.”
“Well...” She bites her lip and hesitates, and finally lets out a heaving sigh. “Tell you what. I’ll pack a bag and come over as soon as everything’s sorted, okay?”
The relief flooding me does more to ease my throbbing eye than anything else, and my smile comes back like the rising sun.
“Awesome. I’ll be waiting, lady.”
I can hear the breath she sucks in, sharp and swift, and she gives me a strange look.
Before I can say anything else, she’s gone.
Slipping out of the room, the softly slamming cabin door mixed with Eli’s cheerful “Later, Miss Fliss!”
Then I’m alone.
Alone, and rocking back on the bed, groaning as I bury my face in my hands.
Maybe I belonged in the drunk tank after all.
Did I really just invite a beautiful mystery into my life, my home?
Did I just throw caution to the wind for her safety, for what she does to me? And I’m not just talking about whatever dark secrets are lurking around that gold...
Did I up and decide I’m ready to have a woman like Fliss this close, this personal, every glance cutting me open, turning my blood to magma and my lips into heated cast iron that won’t cool till they press down on hers?
I wonder.
I wonder what the unholy hell I’m doing right now.
Because I’ll be damned if I have a single sane clue.
11
Silence Is Golden (Felicity)
“Hello. Hell-ooo. Earth to Felicity!”
I jerk so hard I nearly smack my hand against the horn in my station wagon, and narrowly miss blaring our presence over the night—and over the gas station, where Ember and I just parked around the corner to watch as they close up while we plan our next move.
Welp. So much for secrecy.
And so much for keeping my head in the game.
Ever since I picked her up, I just can’t stop thinking about a huge, snarly someone begging me to stay in his cabin for a week.
Inwardly, I’m screaming.
The way he grasped my hand.
The low, heart-rending way he asked—he freaking ordered—me to come back.
The way my heart leaped and pounded and twisted and rattled and rolled.
...and what an absolute blundering idiot I am for agreeing.
God.
Yes, it makes practical sense. It does. And I’ll feel safer with him, no question, with the gold right outside until we decide what to do with it.
But it also feels wrong.
So wrong.
Because Alaska’s just trying to do the right thing.
Also, he doesn’t know about Paisley, that sick Chucky doll who always shows up on my doorstep like a real-life jump scare. Or what she could do to him and Eli to get to that gold.
Holy hell.
Those thoughts are on my tongue, torched in the back of my throat like I’ve swallowed something foul as I turn my gaze on my cousin.
“Yo, Fel!”
“I...yeah, Ember? What’s up?”
She watches me worriedly, her sweet blue eyes still so innocent despite everything she’s been through. “You’ve been a space cadet for the last ten minutes. And you look like you’re about to cry.”
“I’m fine.” I flash her a bright smile. “Just. You know. Bit of a week.”
“Yeah, I bet.” She gives me a little smile, flicking up a finger. “One: you found your dad’s sunken plane with gold bars in it, and you know what’s up with that, but you won’t tell me because you like being all secretive.”
“I don’t like—”
“Two.” She flicks another finger up. “You barely get back in town with it, and some creepy stranger jacks it right out from under your boyfriend’s nose.”
I gasp. “Wait, hold up, he’s not my—”
“And three.” Her third finger salutes me, pretty and slim and manicured. “Your boyfriend got beaten up trying to get it back, so now we’re here to retrieve it and his car, and find somewhere safer to keep it until you figure out what to do with it, Miss Moneybags.”
“I’m not rich!” I blurt out, because that’s the only part I can even respond to when the rest has my head spinning.
Alaska’s so not my boyfriend. He shouldn’t be. He can’t be!
I’d just make things messier for him when he has his own problems to deal with. Taking a deep breath, I squeeze my hands against the steering wheel, trying to calm down.
“I don’t think it was Dad’s gold. Really, I’m just going to turn it over to the authorities and let them figure it out.”
“So, not Langley, you mean,” she says with a bright smile.
“God, definitely not Langley. He’d probably turn it over to the first con artist twirling his mustache who swears he’s a federal agent dispatched from Fort Knox.”
That gets a giggle from Ember, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.
I mean, it wasn’t a full lie.
I might turn it over to the authorities once I’m sure that won’t get me flayed open on the tip of Paisley’s creepy little fetish knife. For now, I’m just hoping to keep Ember diverted from asking too many questions.
Question time is dangerous.
She’s already been through hell.
That whole incident with the angel investor guy who tried to kill her? Kinda my fault.
Kinda.
I feel like if I hadn’t been so friendly with him, trusted him, given him an in to win people’s trust as The Nest’s new investor...
Then maybe Ember never would’ve had a near-death experience.
Of course, she also wouldn’t have had her hot, surly veterinari
an hubby come crashing to the rescue. And every time I see the way Doc Caldwell looks at her, there’s no denying that’s a love worthy of a little hell.
Still, I just can’t drag more problems into my cousin’s life. She’s a wife, a miracle worker and a partner at the animal clinic, and a mother now.
“So,” Ember says brightly. “Lips sealed on the gold. Promise. Buuut you didn’t deny the Alaska-Charter-is-your-new-boyfriend part.”
“Yeah, because you wouldn’t let me finish the sentence.” I glower at her. “He’s not my boyfriend, Ember. We haven’t even been on a—I mean, we’re never going on a date, or two dates, or ten dates, or whatever. We’re just helping each other out.”
“Is that why your face is so red? Peachy.”
I glare into her bright, sweet smile. “Nope. That’s because my cousin’s being a first-rate brat and not minding her own business.”
“Hey, you won’t let me ask about the gold, so I’ve got to think of some way to mess with you.” Ember goes quiet, though, leaning back against the passenger seat and tapping her finger against her lower lip as she looks out the windshield.
We have a good view of the well-lit gas station parking lot and the pumps just around the corner of the alley.
“Seriously, though, we do need to think of somewhere safer to put it than a wood pile at the inn,” she says.
No argument there.
“That’s been on my mind for a while,” I mutter. “My house isn’t exactly bank-grade secure.”
“Wait, I have an idea.”
Oh, no.
Okay, just hear her out.
Then tell her no way in no uncertain terms, no matter what it is.
Because I have a feeling this idea of hers is just going to get Ember tangled in deeper. And when she opens her mouth a second later, I’m proven right.
“We can keep it at The Menagerie,” she says cheerfully.
“Are you insane?” I stare at her.
“Only a little,” she retorts.
“Your clinic?”
“It makes sense.” She rushes out quickly—and she’s doing that finger thing again, counting off her points. “One, no one will think to look in a veterinary office. Two, are you forgetting my husband’s ex-military? No one’s going to try to sneak around him. He’s got eyes like a hawk. Three, I know you’re fussing so it’s a way to keep it away from the kids and my house. And four...” Her eyes nearly sparkle with mischief. “Once again, are you forgetting my husband is ex-military, highly tactical, and had a high-security vault installed during the rebuild—one that nobody can access without our keycard?”
I don’t say anything.
She looks at me like she just won a poker game with a royal flush.
And she kinda did, because I can’t think of any counterpoint without telling her the truth about everything going on—and if I do that, she’ll just insist on getting more involved, endangering her whole family. Especially if I tell her my mother—her aunt—is on the line.
Damn it.
Groaning, I close my eyes and thud my head back against the seat. “You don’t have to look so smug about it.”
“I’m not smug. I’m happy. You’re always trying to do things by yourself, even while you stick your neck out for everybody else.” She sighs. “I just want to be able to return the favor for once, that’s all.”
“You can help by keeping an eye on the gas station.”
“I’m watching. It’s not sprouting legs and going anywhere, Fel.”
“I don’t know how I’m related to such a smart-ass,” I hiss.
She bumps me with her elbow. “Yes, you do, because you’re one, too.” Then she sucks in a breath, perking up and leaning forward. “Hey, look!”
I look.
Just as the lights over the pumps shut off, followed by the glow spilling out the front windows of the gas station.
They’re closing up.
Which means as soon as the night clerk is gone, I can go raid that trash can.
Except as usual, I’m not going to get quite that lucky.
Because the clerk—in the garish orange and green uniform of the station—makes a beeline right for the can, knocks the lid up with one elbow, hauls out the bag, and drags it off.
The whole time he’s looking at it with an expression of dismay, his entire body listing to one side with the extra weight, and although I’m too far away to hear, I can still imagine the little oof he makes when his lips puff out.
“Crap,” Ember sputters, craning forward to peer out the window as he disappears around the corner. “Where’s he taking it?”
“Dumpster’s on the other side of the building,” I tell her. “Let’s wait.”
We both shift restlessly, listening to the distant clang of the dumpster lid falling, and then the sound of a car door opening and closing. The growl of an engine. Finally, headlights sweep across the lot, and a beat-up old Tercel pulls out.
All clear.
“Go!” I cry, already bolting for the driver’s side door.
We go scrambling out like our butts are on fire, darting across the front of the gas station and whipping around to the other side.
No security cameras that I can see.
Pretty sure this place was last updated in the eighties. I still keep my head down and pull the collar of my shirt up like that can hide me as I scurry after Ember into the alleyway and dart for the dumpster.
It’s kind of like an adventure.
A very smelly, very gross adventure.
I’m as delicate as I can be, flipping the dumpster’s lid up and reaching inside.
Only to go scrambling back with a shriek.
A pair of glowing yellow eyes lunge at me, and something makes a noise like a drunk snake.
“Whoa, calm down!” Ember just barely catches me as I stumble, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me upright. “It’s just a raccoon.”
She’s right.
A fat, ornery raccoon huddles there like the king of trash hill, glaring at me for interrupting his seven-course dinner. I exhale sharply, struggling to settle my pulse, and scowl at the critter, flicking my hands at it.
“Shoo,” I growl. “Go on, get!”
The raccoon snarls at me again before letting out a disgruntled chittering sound and darting off, bounding over the crinkling trash bags and the side of the dumpster.
Ember lets out a little giggle.
“You didn’t have to be so mean.”
“...look, tree hugger, those things can have rabies.” I straighten, squaring my shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here before he comes back with friends.”
We make short work out of hauling the top bag out, though it takes both of us when it’s so heavy I’m amazed the weight of the bars hasn’t ripped right through the plastic. I toss aside crumpled papers and things I’d rather not think about before they appear.
Two shiny gold bars, sitting there against the torn-up trash bag, gleaming in the light spilling down the alleyway from the streetlights on Main.
Ember lets out a soft, whistling breath. “Pretty wild.”
“I know.” And I feel as heavy as those bars. “There’s a lot more where these came from. Ember, I...I don’t know if I can let you shoulder the responsibility for this. With the vault.”
“It’s the safest option.” She starts to touch my arm, then looks down at her grimy hand and pulls it back, wrinkling her nose. “Look, Fel, we’re family. What’s family for, if we’re not looking out for each other?”
I don’t know.
I just don’t know, even if I get how she feels when Mom’s the main reason this is so important. I can’t forget that photo of Paisley, standing outside her house, reminding me just how easily the next time there’s a call it could be the Coeur d’Alene police asking me to identify a body.
No.
I don’t know what to say, so I just offer the best smile I can muster and lug one of those godawful heavy gold bars into my arms. I hope the second one doesn
’t topple tiny Ember over.
“C’mon,” I say. “I need to swing by my house for an overnight bag and a shower before heading back to Alaska’s place.”
I turn to totter back to the car, reeling under the twenty pound plus weight of the bar. Ember strains behind me, followed by her shuffling footsteps.
But I nearly drop the bar I’m carrying on the hood of my car as she teases breathlessly at my back, “Ooh-lah-lah! Overnight bag? I thought you two weren’t a thing.”
“Oh my God, stop.” I wrangle the bar into the crook of one arm like the heaviest golden baby on the planet, sweat rolling down my neck, so I can pull the trunk open and pitch the thing inside.
“I hate all those rumors. Nothing’s happening. People just have the wrong idea, as usual. Alaska’s helping me out, and it’s already too much of a burden on him. I wouldn’t ask him to take on anything else.”
Ember lets out a low grunt as she steps up next to me and drops the second gold bar into the trunk. It hits the other with a clatter, hard enough to make the station wagon bounce on its rear wheels for a second.
But she’s not bouncing, not her usual bright, effusive self, as she gives me a long look.
“That’s the problem,” Ember says softly. “You think being with you would be a burden. I bet he feels differently.”
“Not if he knows me.” I shrug. It’s just the stone-cold truth. “Every man turns tail and runs when they realize what a disaster I am, Em. Not to mention I’m a workaholic. I practically live at The Nest. When would I have time for a boyfriend, anyway?”
“If you met the right guy, you’d make time. Believe me, Fel.” Her smile starts creeping back, merry and sweet. “And Alaska seems like your type. Big, hunky, and not easy to scare off. You’d think he was one of our guys from the start with the way he fits in around here.”
“He might fit in around here,” I say, and cut off the conversation by rounding the front of the station wagon and slipping behind the wheel. “But he doesn’t fit with me.”
It’s not fair.
Alaska’s bed shouldn’t smell so much like him.
My dreams are haunted by mint and muscle and testosterone musk spun visions—especially the kind where a beast of a man surfaces from glacial waters, dripping wet and magnificent.
