What did he need with her making his life hell? He’d done all right without her all these years. He’d just move the fuck on.
Right?
How hard could it be?
26
Two days later, under a cloudless blue sky, Way leaned over the guardrail where his beloved motorcycle had tumbled to its demise.
His head spun, either from the height or the shots of whisky he and Reid had consumed the night before.
Wasn’t his fault he’d stopped into the B for a beer—or twelve—and Reid saw his car out front. The two of them wound up sitting there amongst a crowd of regulars, getting wasted and complaining about everything from global warming to late mail deliveries.
Goddamn, he couldn’t drink like he used to.
All he knew was someone had called Maggie. Being the good sister and cousin she was, she’d loaded the two of them into her cruiser and got them home so they could sleep it off.
Only problem for Way was that Shep, being an early riser, knocked on his door at 7 a.m. and now stood beside him, peering straight down the rock face at hunks of scattered metal.
“That is a fucking mess,” Shep said.
He wasn’t kidding. Engine here, handlebars there, one tire hung up on a branch, the other at least a hundred feet below that.
Remnants of his motorcycle everywhere.
“What do you think? Can you retrieve it?”
Shep pulled a face that lacked any form of encouragement. “No.”
Damn. If his brother said they couldn’t get it back, that was the end of it. “Well, that sucks. It’s a classic. I wanted it back.”
“I can get parts of it. Not everything. To get to that tire—” Shep pointed at the one hanging on the branch, “—I would have to work my way along the rock face.” He pointed to a jutting ledge covered with loose rock. “That loose rock is there for a reason. It’s falling from above.”
A guy didn’t have to be an expert climber to know that looked dangerous. Even for Shep, the best damned climber around. Hell, the guy met his girlfriend while saving the lives a bunch of numbnut novices who thought surviving the wilderness for days would be easy.
What am I doing?
Shep smacked his hand on the guardrail. “I will attach my rope here and rappel over that ledge. I cannot see what’s below, but if I—”
Way held his hands up. “Stop.”
His mind skipped ahead to a vision of Shep’s broken body swinging alongside the mountain after being pummeled by boulders the size of Mars.
All for a hunk of metal.
What kind of man sends his little brother into a situation like that?
“I could—”
“Stop,” Way said.
“Why? I’m not done speaking yet.”
Way let out a frustrated laugh. Good old Shep. He set his hand on his little brother’s shoulder and squeezed. “I know. But I don’t want you to do this. Forget it.”
“Why? You said you wanted the motorcycle back.”
“I do. But not enough to let you do this.”
His brother gritted his teeth. “I can do it.”
He’d have to handle this carefully. One surefire way to piss off Shep—a guy on the spectrum—was to question his ability. Particularly when it came to climbing.
“I know you can do it. You’re the best climber in three counties. It’s not about whether you can or not.”
“Then what is it?”
“You could get hurt.”
Shep shrugged. “It’s always dangerous.”
“Yeah, but you have Joss now. And”—Way waved a hand—“it’s a motorcycle. If it was a person down there, it’d be different.”
“I thought you loved the motorcycle.”
He had no idea. “I do.”
“Okay. I can do it then.”
Seriously, hangover notwithstanding, a shot of scotch would do a world of good right now. “No, Shep. I don’t want you to. I can live without the motorcycle. What I can’t live without is you. Got it?”
And that fast it hit him. Way didn’t need the damned bike. All the jokes about that motorcycle being his one true love?
His head snapped back. An absolute slap upside his head.
He’d managed to detach himself so much that his family accused him of only loving a machine. How pathetic?
No wonder Roni questioned his ability to commit.
He tugged on Shep’s sleeve. “We’re leaving.”
“What about the bike?”
“Fuck the bike. I don’t need it.”
What he needed was a petite spitfire named Roni Fenwick.
* * *
After two days of self-imposed solitary confinement, Roni headed back to work.
She flipped the lights on in her office, took in the bland gray walls and equally bland tweed carpet, and missed…trees.
Steele Ridge trees.
And mountain views backlit by a sky so blue it had to be sent straight from heaven.
“Dammit.”
Three days ago she’d left Steele Ridge. Left Way Kingston, a man unafraid of her independence and ballsy attitude. Most men ran screaming.
Way?
He liked it.
But she had a life in DC. An apartment and a job.
Well, she thought she had a job. After the fight with Karl outside of Maggie’s office, she wasn’t quite sure if she’d come in today and be terminated. Somehow that didn’t feel like such a bad thing.
And what was that about?
A single woman faced with losing her job and she didn’t mind it? Who the hell would pay her rent? And car payment? Not to mention the other myriad of bills.
She walked to the desk, dumped her messenger bag on top. The desk phone rang and she scooped it up without even checking the ID. “Roni Fenwick.”
She tucked the handset on her shoulder while she unloaded her bag. Lunch sack, notepad, water jug.
“Hi. It’s Maggie.”
Oh, Maggie. Thank God. She needed a friendly voice on her first day back. “Hey, you.”
“I tried your cell, but figured you were in your office.”
“You figured right. My first day back.”
“You must be happy to be back to your routine.”
Not by a long shot. Once again, Roni glanced at the bland walls. She could lie to Maggie, pretend like it was business as usual but why bother? “I’m…” She shook her head. “I don’t know, Mags. Something feels different now. After the things Karl said to me—and the situation in general—I’m dissatisfied, I guess. And coming back here? I feel…nothing. I don’t even have a window.”
“Well, you’re used to being in the field. When have you ever sat in an office all day?”
“Never. But I’m also good at this training job.”
“So, be a trainer somewhere else. Have you even looked around to see what’s out there? What about the private sector? Heck, you could develop a class for Reid’s training center. I bet he’d love something like that. It might not be full-time, but I know he pays well. Part-time in the private sector might equal your full-time government salary.”
Not working full-time? She’d been working since she was sixteen. Work, school, work, school. Anything to avoid thinking about her lack of roots.
I want roots.
When Roni didn’t respond, Maggie sighed. “Look, I’m not making light of it. After what you went through last week, I could see why you’re feeling this way. You’ve always been passionate about your work. I don’t see you being happy in something that doesn’t satisfy that passion.”
“Exactly. Knowing what I know now, about Bernadette—everything really—I just don’t know if this job is the one for me. Frankly, I’m pissed that I felt compelled to use my friendship with you to clear a case. That’s not right.”
“It’s the job, though. I get it. It doesn’t make me feel any differently about you.”
And this, right here, would be why she’d latched on to Maggie Kingston. A realist to her core,
Maggie didn’t hold grudges. She might be the kindest person Roni knew. “This, my friend, is one of the reasons I love you.”
Whoa. Where did that come from? Fascinating how easy that one little word was. Love.
Maggie laughed. “Now you’re sucking up. But you know I feel the same about you. We girls need to stick together.”
Roni smiled, dropped into her desk chair in her windowless office, and stared at the crappy wall. Right now she could use a good dose of fresh mountain air, sunshine, and gossiping residents.
And with it, some Way Kingston. Had she been foolish to walk away from him? Then again, he hadn’t tried all that hard to stop her.
Tears bubbled and she blinked them away. She could call him. Maybe they could still see each other. Grab a meal every once in a while.
I need more.
She needed him to let her into his life and make her an equal in the relationship. It couldn’t always be him calling the shots. That wouldn’t happen.
“How’s Way?” Ach. “I’m sorry. Forget it. I’m not putting you in the middle.”
“Oh, please,” Maggie said. “It’s fine. He’s…Way. Keeping to himself. He did actually invite us all over for a cookout the night before last.”
“Wait. Way?”
“Shocking. I know. But he’s trying to not be such a grouch when we take an interest in him. Although,” Maggie snorted, “we may have been too much for him. He took off on his motorcycle yesterday.”
Of course he did. Still, the cookout, for Way was a major step. Could there be hope? She shook her head. Couldn’t think that way. Couldn’t get her hopes up.
“Did Shep recover the other bike?”
“Nope.”
Damn. Roni sat forward. “He couldn’t get to it?”
“From what I heard, he could. Way didn’t want him to. Said it was too dangerous.”
Seriously, had someone cracked Way on the head? Because this was just too much. “It must have killed him to leave that bike there.”
“Honestly, I don’t think it did. I spoke to him before he left yesterday and he shrugged it off. Said he’d build another one.”
When Roni didn’t answer, Maggie laughed. “That was my reaction, too. So, here I am, calling you to say I think something has changed with him. I wanted you to know that.”
Oh, Maggie. Roni made a humming noise while she pondered Maggie’s intentions. “Mags, are you meddling? You know he hates that.”
“Which would be why I’m talking to you.”
Now Roni flat-out laughed. A good belly laugh that made her feel light and happy and ready to move on to whatever could let her feel this way continually. “You are something else, sister.”
“I love my brother. Sue me. Besides, that’s as far as I’m taking it. I really just wanted to check on you. I know the week was nuts, but I was sorry to see you go. I miss our talks. But hey, it’s your first day back after a stressful week. See how you feel. After a few days, if you’re still not happy, we’ll talk to Reid.”
We. How awesome was that?
“Thank you, Maggie.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did. You absolutely did. Let me think about it. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
“Whatever you want. I’m always here for you.”
After saying goodbye, Roni set the phone back in the cradle and sat back. We. That’s what Maggie had said. Such a lovely inclusive word that meant support and connecting and having each other’s back.
Safety.
Maggie might not be family in the biological sense, but thinking on it now, Roni didn’t need that. What she needed was to create her own little tribe. Family but not.
Her phone rang again, displaying Karl’s number. He wasn’t wasting any time.
She hit the speaker button. “Roni Fenwick.”
“My office,” he snapped. “Right now.”
Fuck you.
That’s what she’d like to say. The man sent her on a goose chase, insisted she risk a cherished friendship, withheld information, and nearly got her killed. Now he wanted to order her around.
No, sir.
Nuh-uh.
She stood, opened her messenger bag and shoved her lunch sack back in. The notepad and water jug went next.
“No.” She opened the top desk drawer and pulled out the few personal items.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not coming to your office. I’m in the middle of something.”
A gurgling noise drifted through the phone line. The associate deputy director of administration was clearly not accustomed to being defied.
“Let me make this easy on you, sir. I quit.”
“Excuse me?” he repeated.
“My job. I’m quitting. I’m cleaning out my desk as we speak. I busted my ass last week while you assholes nearly got me killed and did you even think to say thank you?”
“You had a job to do.”
Lord, what was she doing? Chasing happiness. That’s what. “I did my job. You may not have agreed with my methods, but I saved the CIA from one hell of a scandal. And, oh, by the way, we stopped a whole slew of people from being murdered. You’re welcome. Where are we with Way Kingston?”
“All clear on that,” Karl said. “We spoke with the FBI. Given Bernadette Ambrose’s connection with Clayton Bartles, there’s no need to bring the agency into it. The Bureau will simply put in a report that Bartles gave Jeff Ambrose the idea for the bullets. That’s where it’ll stay.”
“Good. Way is innocent in all of this. Be sure to let him know that. He deserves that much from you.”
With that, she poked the button, disconnecting the call. “Dumbass,” she muttered.
The phone immediately rang. Karl again. Sorry. No can do. As the phone rang and rang, she double-checked the desk drawers and glanced around the office.
She’d brought minimal personal items to her office, blaming it on building security and it not being worth having her personal items searched.
Should have known.
Shouldering her bag, she headed to the door. On her way out she’d drop off her ID, make arrangements for her final paycheck and be done with all of this.
She waited for the panic to hit. The telltale don’t-do-it sign, but…nothing.
Only a bizarre sense of calm. She gripped the strap of her messenger bag, lifted her chin, and headed for the door.
* * *
Finding Roni’s address, with Micki’s help, turned out to be insanely simple.
Something that didn’t sit well with Way at all. A single woman living alone shouldn’t be that easy to find.
He rode the elevator of her apartment building and with each passing floor felt more and more confined. Somehow, he hadn’t pictured her living in the enormous brick complex that probably held more people than all of Steele Ridge. But, hey, it was close to her office.
The doors slid open and he stepped off the elevator, following the signs for apartment 1114. As he walked, he counted the doors, checking the numbers as he passed. 1104, 1106, 1108. The further he moved into the bowels of the building, the more the hallway seemed to narrow, trapping him inside the concrete.
1110. Two more to go.
If he had to live here, he’d shoot himself. Simple as that.
And that revelation had him rethinking this whole thing. If she was happy here, in this prison of a dwelling, did they even belong together? Could they find the compromise? If it meant having Roni in his life, he’d give a little, absolutely. But he couldn’t live like this.
1114.
There it was. He checked his watch one last time: 6:30. He’d intended on waiting until later, ensuring she’d be home after a long day at work, but he’d wheeled into town three hours ago and couldn’t stand the pressure anymore.
He needed to see her.
Fast.
He rapped on the door and stepped back so she’d get a clear view of him through the peephole. After the way they’d left things, maybe he sho
uld hide. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t answer, but he wouldn’t give up. Not until they at least talked. Then, after she’d heard him out, she could send him on his way.
He wouldn’t be happy, but he’d do what she asked.
Except the door swung open. She stood there, one hand on the inside knob—ready to fire it closed probably—and her eyes a little wide. She wore her signature tight jeans and a low-cut tank top that gave him a nice view of her lush breasts. Man, he was a goner.
The heavy silence between them was enough to drown him.
“Uh…hi,” he said.
“Hi. What are you doing here?”
No leaps of joy, that was for sure. He couldn’t get hung up on that. She’d opened the door. It was a start.
He hit her with the so-called Kingston smile. The one that supposedly slayed people. “I was in the neighborhood?”
That got him an amused eye roll. “I’m surprised to see you.”
“That was my intention.” He pointed inside. “Can I come in? Talk for a few minutes.”
“Of course, yes. I’m sorry. You just…stunned me.”
She waved him inside, gesturing down a short hallway that led to a living room with a white leather sofa and glass coffee table. A lattice screen partitioned the room, giving a decorative flair to hiding the bed.
Studio apartment.
How the hell did she stand living in barely five hundred square feet?
Two suitcases sat open on the sofa, clothes neatly stacked inside. Something akin to panic poked at him. She’d just gotten back, where the hell was she going?
He pointed at the cases. “You going somewhere?”
“I am.”
Shit. “Taking a trip?”
“Sort of. I quit my job today.”
Holy crap. The panic gave way to a burst of hope. If she quit her job, maybe he’d get lucky enough to convince her to come back to Steele Ridge.
She walked to the sofa, made like she wanted to move the suitcases so he could sit down.
“Leave them.” He pointed to the small bistro table with two chairs. “Here is fine. Where are you going?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe to find you?”
Mid-step to the bistro table, he paused. Did she just say what he thought? He faced her, met her gaze, and…nothing. The woman was an expert at masking her emotions. Which he supposed was part of this twisted attraction to her. Underneath all the spark and fire, she kept him guessing. He adored her for that. “You were coming back to Steele Ridge?”
Burning Ache Page 29
