by Karen Rose
And he would have gotten it, if it hadn’t been for Valerie’s malicious lies. And her sister’s, too. Can’t forget about Lilah. No, he never would. Valerie would never have made that call to the police on her own. Lilah had made it for her.
Ruined my stupid fucking life. One of these days he’d see his sister-in-law humiliated and cast out, just like she’d had him ruined. But at least Valerie had been taken care of. That would have to be good enough. For now.
Because I’m back. Back in his city, ready to reclaim the life he’d had. No, not the life I had. A much better one.
Because he had a new job. A better one than he’d had at the old firm. Soon he’d have an expense account again and could wine and dine and . . .
He realized he was scowling into the dressing room’s full-length mirror and abruptly smiled at himself. That’s better, he thought, massively grateful that he’d never done meth like the Romano kid had. Gage might have a few track marks and a bit of a sniffle, but his teeth were still nice.
He regarded his reflection with a satisfied nod. The suit, while not quite up to his old standards, was a giant leap above what he’d been wearing for the last few years. It was a decent fit – not great, but not as bad as it would have been a month ago – and the white shirt made his tanned skin look even darker. The tan he’d come by honestly, courtesy of the two and a half years he’d spent combing the beaches of Florida. It had helped him look . . . not so dead. He’d been gaunt there at the end. He was still too thin, but at least he didn’t look like a walking corpse anymore.
Laying low for the last month had been a pain in the ass, but he’d used the time to start getting his body back into shape, and it had paid off. He looked stronger, and almost healthy. Younger. Dyeing his hair and growing a beard had been a practical necessity at first. After Valerie . . . well, he hadn’t wanted anyone to know he was in town.
Now, he really liked the beard. He gave his jaw a stroke with his thumb. Just enough stubble to make him look like a pirate. Sexy as shit and just a little bit wicked.
His hands stilled once again, then fell to his sides briefly before buttoning one of the buttons on the suit because he was twitchy.
And wicked. Yes, he was. He wasn’t proud of some of the things he’d had to do since his life skidded off the tracks. But he was back now. He gave the suit coat a little tug and brushed a speck of lint from his lapel. This morning had been the end of it. The very last thing he’d had to do.
This morning he’d snipped off the loose ends, putting Valerie and her damned – still open – murder case to rest. He hadn’t wanted to do it that way, but Baltimore PD had left him no choice. It had been a month since Valerie got what was coming to her, and he’d all but hand-delivered a suspect into BPD’s hands within days of the murder, but the lazy bastards hadn’t moved yet. Hadn’t arrested the guy.
What the hell had they been waiting for? A fucking engraved invitation?
Clearly they’d had doubts. But BPD’s doubts were no longer his problem. He’d waited as long as he could – he’d given them a month, for Christ’s sake – but he had to report to his new job on Monday, and he was not restarting his career with a murder charge hanging over his head. So he’d helped the process along. Wrapped it all in a tidy bow and left it for them to find.
He stared at the mirror, his jaw hard and unyielding. All right. It hadn’t been all that tidy, he admitted to himself. There had been unintended collateral damage. But there’d been no witnesses and he’d had his face covered, just in case. He’d listened to the police radio and there were no BOLOs. So no one had seen what he’d done today.
He had no regrets. It had been necessary. As soon as he’d turned up in the city, he’d have been swarmed by fucking cops. Now the slate was clean. He could ‘arrive’, stop by to see his mother, and when she asked where he’d been for the last month, he had the perfect story all ready.
Rehab. Naturally. Thanks to his brother, he even had a location and people to vouch for him. He’d been in rehab in Texas.
She’d believe it, of course. She was always ready to believe the best of him.
She was a fool. But then, most people were.
Luckily, I am not.
Which meant that he had to see Valerie’s daughters and make the appropriate noises of grief now that he was back in town. He huffed, irritated. It would be expected. It would be weird if he did not. So he’d bite the bullet and see the bitch’s spawn.
He’d even take care of them. Financially. Once he was flush again, which would be a good long while. Until then, Aunt Lilah could foot the bill. She had custody, after all.
A sharp rapping on the changing room door had him sucking in a startled breath.
‘Sir?’ It was the sales clerk, a dapper man with silver in his hair. Gage had picked him because he’d never seen the man before. He didn’t want anyone to know he’d been here. He didn’t want to have to tie up any more loose ends.
He let the breath out carefully. ‘Yes?’ he asked, his voice level.
‘I was just checking to see if you needed anything else.’
‘No.’ Gage shrugged out of the coat and slipped the tie from his neck. ‘I’ll take it all,’ he said, trying to decide if he’d wear the suit out of the store, or if he should change back into the clothes he’d been wearing – a polo shirt and chinos, perfectly clean and almost new, bought at a local thrift store. It had irked him at the time, buying used clothing, but it was better than what he’d packed in his duffel when he left Miami. He hadn’t owned anything that wasn’t either threadbare or covered in not-safe-for-work graphics, castoffs from the T-shirt shop on the boardwalk where he’d done odd jobs for under-the-table cash.
‘Excellent,’ the clerk said happily. ‘And how will you be paying today?’
Gage eyed the chinos and his mouth curled into a smile. His pants pocket was full of twenties, converted from the wad of smaller bills he’d appropriated that morning while presenting BPD with a suspect they could no longer ignore.
There had been unfortunate collateral damage, true, but there’d also been a very fortunate monetary reward.
‘Cash,’ he said.
I’m back. I’ll have it all. And I’ll never let anyone take it away from me, not ever again.
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Saturday 22 August, 1.10 P.M.
Taylor accompanied a silent Janie into the barn so that she could put away her riding helmet and wash her hands and face. Jazzie was waiting outside and took Janie’s hand firmly, leading her to the main house. Neither girl said a word.
Until they walked inside. Taylor took a moment to let the A/C wash over her, trying not to groan about how good it felt to get out of the heat.
‘Miss T-Taylor?’ The words had come from Jazzie’s mouth, tentatively uttered. It was the first time Taylor had heard Jazzie’s voice.
Trying to hide her shock and maintain her cool, Taylor hunched down a little so that she could look Jazzie in the eye. At five-nine she tended to tower over the children. ‘Yes, Jazzie?’
Jazzie’s eyes were stark, her swallow audible. She glanced at her sister, then back at Taylor. ‘Th-th-thank you,’ she whispered.
Moved, Taylor had to remind herself to exhale. Her lungs had momentarily frozen.
‘You’re welcome,’ she whispered back. Then she followed her gut and put her arms around Jazzie’s thin shoulders. ‘I lost my mom too, not so long ago, and it hurt. It hurt so much.’
Which was the gospel truth, because even though Donna Dawson had lied to her for her entire life, Taylor had loved her. ‘I miss her every day. I miss her voice and her smell and the way she’d smile, and especially the way she told me she loved me. Sometimes I miss her so much that it feels like a giant’s sitting on my chest, squashing all the breath out of me. Like I’ll never breathe right again.’ She considered her next
words and again went with her gut, saying what she wished someone had said to her. ‘And sometimes I kind of wish the giant would squash harder because then I could see my mom again.’
A sudden stiffening of Jazzie’s shoulders told Taylor that she’d hit a nerve. A heartbeat passed, then two, then Jazzie’s arms were around Taylor’s back, squeezing tight. She buried her face in Taylor’s shoulder, her little body shaking with sobs that cracked Taylor’s heart in two.
Taylor went down on one knee for balance and rocked the child, stroking her hair. ‘Go ahead. Cry all you want to. It’s totally okay.’
After a few minutes Jazzie’s sobs quieted but she didn’t pull away. Taylor kept on stroking her hair, remembering how much she herself had needed a gentle touch after her mother died. How grateful she’d been when her dad had put his own grief to the side to comfort her.
‘I know you hurt,’ she murmured in Jazzie’s ear. ‘I know Janie hurts. It’s okay to hurt. Do you hear me?’ She waited until Jazzie nodded. ‘Good, because that’s important. It’s okay to hurt. But I’m still really glad that Janie finally had some fun today. It means the giant sitting on her chest got off for a minute and let her breathe. Maybe you got to breathe a little too, watching her. But later, if the giant comes back, don’t you worry. It doesn’t mean either of you did anything wrong. It doesn’t mean that today didn’t count, that it wasn’t important. The giant will come and go, but eventually he’ll stay away a little longer before coming back. And then you’ll be able to breathe again. And then it won’t hurt so bad.’
Jazzie nodded again before pulling away. She took a step back, her eyes down, clearly embarrassed by her outburst. Taylor gently nudged her little chin up so that Jazzie met her eyes.
‘I cried a lot when my mom died.’ Taylor swiped her thumbs gently over Jazzie’s cheeks. ‘And I was twenty-two.’ And my mother wasn’t brutally beaten to death. I had a chance to say goodbye. Jazzie and Janie hadn’t gotten that chance. ‘So don’t you be embarrassed about crying, okay?’
Jazzie nodded, sniffling, her dark eyes rimmed with red. Taylor pulled one of her business cards from her pocket. ‘It’s a little bent up, but it’s got my number and my email on it. You can text me if you or Janie need anything, okay?’
Jazzie put the card in her pocket, then turned and walked to where Janie and their aunt waited. Lilah pressed her palm to her heart, her face as wet as Jazzie’s had been. ‘Thank you,’ she said, giving Taylor a shaky smile before taking her nieces by the hand and leading them out.
Alone in the quiet, Taylor slowly straightened, her heart in her throat. I helped. A little. It felt way too good. So even if my whole convoluted plan goes to hell in a handbasket, I’ll have this moment.
A footstep behind her shattered the moment. She had a split second to detect the sensation of body heat at her back before twelve years of personal defense training kicked in, her father’s voice taking over her conscious thought.
One to the solar plexus. She drove back with her elbow, coming into contact with something solid. Hearing a grunt, she whirled, fists clenched, her eyes registering the tall man as her right fist took an upward swing. Two to the jaw.
Ignoring the pain exploding in her knuckles when they encountered the granite of the man’s jaw, she followed through as she’d been taught. Three to the chest. She pushed forward, palms flat, striking a hard set of pecs.
A vicious curse uttered in a deep, unfamiliar voice filled her ears as pain burned up her arm to her shoulder. Four, run like hell.
A scream frozen in her throat, she started to turn, to flee, but was stopped short by the solid thump that vibrated the floor under her feet. The man had landed squarely on his ass, his palms held out in a gesture of surrender even as he blinked up at her in stunned disbelief.
The fear retreated slowly as she stood there, not taking her eyes off him, the adrenaline steadily leaking out of her like air from a tire puncture. Her conscious brain began to kick back in, coolly logical. You’re safe. You’re here. At the farm. You’re at the farm.
A new, different kind of panic swept over her. Oh my God. What did I just . . . ? Who did I just . . . ? A whimper rose in her throat, fortunately blocked by the scream that was still stuck there, so all that came out was the sound of her own heavy breathing.
The man lumbered to his feet, rubbing his jaw and watching her like one would watch an injured animal. Taylor supposed that was fair enough.
He was tall, taller than her by a good six inches. His shoulders were broad, his blond hair cut short. He appeared to be about her age, but his eyes looked far older. He had the face of a model, all chiseled and handsome and . . .
And she’d hit him. Oh my God. She realized that her mouth was hanging open, and she snapped it shut. This time the scream let the whimper slide past and she covered her mouth to stifle the sound.
‘Whoa, there,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m very sorry.’
Wait. Taylor frowned. Had he really told her to ‘whoa’? Horror morphed into irritation. Really? It wasn’t just the word that was so irritating. It was the deep voice he’d used to deliver it. It was the voice she herself used to quiet skittish horses.
I’m not a horse, buddy, she wanted to snap. But he had apologized and she had come to this farm for a reason and meeting the locals was part of the plan. So don’t screw this up. She lowered her hands to her sides, shaking out her still-throbbing fingers.
She looked up with an attempt at a smile and found herself staring into eyes that were the prettiest shade of blue she’d ever seen. Just like—
Holy shit. She was back to horrified as she realized exactly who she was staring at. His pretty blue eyes were the same color as those of her employer. This was Daphne Montgomery-Carter’s son, Ford Elkhart.
I hit the boss’s son. I am so fired. But cutting into the horror was the knowledge that Ford had just returned from the week-long camping trip that had served as a bachelor party for Dillon, one of the farm’s stable hands. It was what she’d been waiting for.
The travelers had returned. All of them. Her gut did a queasy flip. It’s showtime.
Two
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Saturday 22 August, 1.15 P.M.
Are you all right? The flash of anger in the dark eyes that stared up at Ford had the words freezing in his throat. Then the eyes flickered in recognition, after which they and the pretty face that went with them went carefully blank, devoid of any expression at all.
Stop standing here looking like an idiot, he snapped to himself. Say something. He gave himself a little shake, and glanced down at her hands to make sure she hadn’t resurrected the clenched fists. She had a mean right hook. ‘You must be Taylor Dawson. The new therapist.’
Her nod was as wary as he felt. ‘Until Maggie fires me.’ Her sigh was nearly soundless. ‘I am so sorry. Did . . . did I hurt you?’
He could feel his cheeks turning five shades of red. ‘Only my pride that you actually just asked me that.’ He smiled, relieved when her lips twitched. ‘Nobody’s firing anyone. That was my fault. I know better than to walk up behind someone. Especially here, where we have so many people who have been on the receiving end of violence.’
‘You did startle me,’ she admitted quietly. ‘Still . . . I need to ’fess up to Maggie.’
‘Not if we do a do-over.’ Ford stuck out his hand. ‘Hi, Taylor. I’m Ford Elkhart. You must be the new therapist.’ He released the breath he was holding when she shook his hand firmly before dropping hers to her side again. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
Her grip had been strong, but her skin was soft. And Ford was stunned that he’d noticed. It had been a very long time since a female had left him this nervous. That the last time had ended so epically badly wasn’t something he was going to think about right now.
Taylor smiled, little mor
e than a curve of her lips, but it was genuine. ‘I’m not a therapist yet. Just an intern. I’m not licensed yet.’
Which he’d known, of course. Getting knocked on his ass had flustered him. That, and the way her eyes lit up when she smiled. ‘I know. My mother told me that you’re between undergrad and graduate school. Daphne is my mom.’
Her smile grew into a grin, a teasing sparkle lighting her dark eyes. ‘I know. Your mother talks about you. A lot.’
Ford felt his cheeks heat again. ‘Hell.’
A chuckle soothed his irritation. ‘She’s proud of you and she doesn’t care who knows it.’ The smile dimmed, the sparkle giving way to a flash of sadness. ‘Be glad she’s here.’
Ford frowned. Found himself hesitating over his next words before freeing them from his mouth. ‘Your mom isn’t. I heard you talking to Jazzie.’
‘We lost her a year and a half ago.’ She grimaced. ‘Cancer.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured. ‘My mom had cancer too. It was scary, but we were lucky.’
‘We weren’t,’ Taylor said flatly before drawing a breath. ‘I need to be going. I’m on my break. Maggie will be annoyed if I’m late getting back.’
‘I don’t think she’ll mind too much,’ Ford said quietly, stepping aside to let Taylor pass. ‘She looked thrilled with Janie’s progress today. Janie’s been coming here for a month and today was the most relaxed any of us have seen her. So I think Maggie will think you’ve earned your break.’
Taylor’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘You were watching me?’
He felt his cheeks grow even warmer. ‘Yes, for the last part anyway. My mother said you were out there with Janie, and I have to admit to being . . . curious.’
He’d come to the lounge to observe Janie’s session but had found himself staring at the tall young woman with the dark braid spilling down from the back of an Oakland Raiders cap. She was graceful and energetic all at once. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. And when Janie had hugged Ginger . . .
