“I’m good.” Marc shifted in his seat, reclining it the rest of the way, and did his best to stretch out his legs. “Don’t wreck my car,” he warned and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep. Once he had a few hours of sleep he would be more coherent. Then he would call London.
To his amazement, sleep hit him hard and fast. As he drifted off, he imagined London tucked up alongside him. He could feel her hair between his fingers. Her soft, warm body pressed against his. And her relaxed expression, her slow, deep breaths as she slept, lulled him into a dream state. Images of her fucking him, standing behind the counter at the lodge, and in her kitchen standing barefoot ransacked his brain. Marc prayed she wouldn’t be so pissed at him she wouldn’t talk to him.
It was a gut-twisting thought when he realized he was scared to call her. He was a bounty hunter. More times than he could count he’d willingly walked into some terrifying situations. Even now, he and Jake drove into the unknown, ready and eager to take on their parents’ abductors. Yet the thought of London screaming at Marc, calling him names and telling him she would never talk to him again, was something he didn’t want to face. The longer he put off that phone call, the longer she would remain smiling and willing with her eyes glowing with an emotion stronger than lust.
*
London stared out the front windows of the lodge at the gray and dismal day outside. For the first time in a couple weeks there wasn’t any snow in the forecast. It was supposed to be a dry week. Not that she cared. And it was about the only thing she didn’t care about.
She’d hibernated all weekend, turning down Meryl’s Sunday dinner with her family for the first time in months. As many times as London analyzed every minute she and Marc were together, she couldn’t find justification for him leaving the way he did. Even if he worried they were getting too close too fast, would that have sent him running from her the way he had? It didn’t seem his nature.
London had gone from outraged, to crushed, to outright baffled. By the end of the weekend she was numb from the entire experience. It didn’t help that those damn pictures in her bedroom kept calling her to them. She’d pulled them out more than once, spreading them out and staring at them. It was hard to say which was the bigger mystery, Marc or those pictures.
“Hello, Miss Brooke.” A man stood on the opposite side of the counter extending his hand to her in greeting.
London snapped out of her daydream, her eyes burning from staring at the window as long as she had without blinking. She managed her professional smile at the last minute.
“How may I help you?” she asked, accepting his hand after a moment and shaking it.
“Let’s hope that you can.” He had a strong grip and gave her hand a hard, firm handshake before letting go and reaching inside his coat. “I’m sorry to bother you at work, but I do need a moment of your time.”
London stared at the leather card holder the man placed on the counter between them. He flipped it open, revealing a business card and ID that stated he was a private investigator.
“My name is James Huxtable,” he was saying, his crisp, deep voice holding a bit of an accent, as if he was from somewhere back east. “I’m a private investigator working on a case I believe you can help me with.”
Her mouth went dry as she grew frantic that Marc was in some kind of trouble. It had never crossed her mind that he might have left as quickly as he had because he’d been in some kind of trouble. He’d never told her what he did for a living. Now that she thought about it, the way he’d maneuvered around the topic every time she’d tried learning what his line of work was might have been because he was a criminal of some kind. Wouldn’t that just be her luck? London never would have guessed in a million years that when she finally fell hard and fast for a man he would turn out to be a crook, just like her parents.
She swallowed hard, lifting her attention from Huxtable’s ID to his face. London hated that she knew the drill, knew better than anyone how to put the mask on her face and play innocent to protect someone from being arrested.
“I’ll help in any way I can,” she offered, smiling at him.
“Good. Are your parents Jonnie and Ruby Brooke?”
It was the last question London expected. His words hit her like a hard wind in a torrential storm with the ferocity to knock her off her feet. She swore she damn near staggered with relief that he wasn’t here to ask her about Marc.
The phone rang and she gave silent thanks, holding a finger up to indicate he hold that thought, and picked up the receiver. Someone had called about the rates at the lodge and asked her the usual questions. London rattled off information, answering their questions without having to give it much thought. She was grateful for the moment to regroup, though, and overly aware of James Huxtable watching her like a hawk throughout the entire conversation.
Several guests came to the front desk, asking about times and information on the different activities at the lodge. The investigator stood at the counter, waiting patiently, until he and London were finally alone once again.
“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling much more in control of her senses after forcing him to stand there while she worked. “I’m the only one behind the counter this afternoon or I would offer to speak with you privately.”
“It’s quite all right. It seems this is an impressive lodge, quite the place to get away for a vacation.”
“The best in the state,” she said, giving him her winning smile.
James Huxtable nodded and his face turned serious. It was obvious he didn’t care about the lodge. “Are your parents Jonnie and Ruby Brooke?”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “And yes. Jonnie and Ruby are my parents.” She hadn’t lied about being the only person working behind the counter. That didn’t mean she wanted any of the Housekeeping staff or restaurant staff hearing this conversation. “I seriously doubt I can give you much information about them, though.”
“These are your parents?” He lifted a briefcase she hadn’t noticed until now onto the counter and snapped it open. She couldn’t see its contents from the angle at which he opened it but stared at the glossy eight-by-ten he pulled out and laid on the counter in front of her. “This is a picture of them?” he asked.
London’s mouth went dry as she stared at the picture. All she could do was nod. It was one of the pictures that had been sent to her. “Where did you get that picture?” she asked, her voice suddenly raspy.
London reached for her bottled water. The thing was almost empty and she downed the water, immediately wanting more. She stared again at the shot of her parents in the photograph, a copy of one of the pictures she’d been sent in the second package she’d received.
“Your parents are on the most wanted list,” he told her, thankfully having enough discretion to lower his voice so no one heard him but her.
“That doesn’t surprise me.” She was grateful when he slid the picture off the counter and back into his briefcase.
James snapped it shut and took it off the counter. “Do you know where your parents are?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
“When did you last talk to them?”
Something told her not to mention receiving the pictures in the mail. “I haven’t talked to either of them in well over a year.”
Her answer obviously disappointed him. “No contact at all?”
“My parents aren’t the kind to keep in touch. It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen, or talked to, them.”
James nodded and reached inside his jacket again. He wore a plaid overcoat with patches on the elbows that made her think he looked more like a college professor than a private dick. He was tall and thin, with thick black hair that was short and combed back on his head. She wouldn’t go as far to call him a good-looking man, but he wasn’t ugly. There was just something about him that made her hesitate in opening up to him. It wasn’t that he seemed untrustworthy. She didn’t know enough about private investigators to know if his id
entification was legitimate or not. Her gut told her not to offer any information he didn’t ask for, though. Growing up with her parents always on the run taught her to always watch what she said to anyone.
James pulled out another business card and handed it to her. “If they call you, or contact you in any way, would you let me know, please?” He really sounded sincere.
She had to ask the obvious, though, simply to hear how he would answer. “If they were to contact me it would be very out of the ordinary. But if they did and you’ve just told me they are wanted for something, why would I call and tell you?”
James leaned on the counter, putting his face a lot closer to hers. London fought the urge to back up as she stared into his light brown eyes. She worked hard to keep her expression relaxed and void of any emotion.
“My dear,” he said quietly, whatever accent he had coming out a bit stronger when he whispered. “Your parents are wanted because they made the mistake of getting involved with the wrong people. Any contact they make with you will put your life in serious danger. If you hear from them in any way at all, call me immediately. It will mean they’ve found you, and believe me, you would rather put your trust in me than in the people who will come after you. And they will. I’m surprised they haven’t already.”
James Huxtable turned and walked away from the counter. The only way she could get more of an explanation was to call after him or run around the counter and stop him. Instead she simply stared at his backside as he left the lobby and disappeared out of her view a moment later.
Monday afternoons weren’t usually that busy. London preferred having too much to do over standing around and doing nothing. Today, though, she was grateful for a light workload. Her brain was so frazzled she doubted she’d be able to handle anything too serious. She flipped James Huxtable’s card in between her fingers, staring at it while trying to add his conversation into her brain along with all the other insane things that had happened to her in the past couple weeks.
She needed answers. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to walk into the police station and talk to a cop. If she went there she would at least know whoever she talked to would be an unbiased party. James told her if her parents contacted her that would mean her life was in danger from whomever her parents were involved with. If receiving the pictures meant she’d been contacted, then she was in danger. When people were in trouble, they went to the cops.
It might help if she could put all of this into perspective so if she did talk to someone, she’d make sense. At least then if she decided to go to the police she would at least have a plausible story to add to the pictures’ being mailed to her without return addresses and a private investigator showing up at her work. Staring at the card, she realized it didn’t offer an address. The card said: “James Huxtable, Private Investigator,” and had his phone number. That was it. Was it normal for private investigators not to offer a physical address on their business cards?
London dragged the stool over to the computer and decided to do a bit of her own investigating. She typed “James Huxtable” into the search engine and clicked Enter. Plenty of links were listed, but none of them appeared to be anything pertaining to a private investigator.
“Which might simply mean he doesn’t have a Web site,” she mumbled to herself. But didn’t everyone have Web sites these days?
She stared at the screen, her fingers poised over the keyboard, and contemplated her next move. On an impulse she cleared the search bar and typed in “Marc King.” Again, quite a few links popped up from her search. She stared at the first few options.
“King Fugitive Apprehension,” she read. There were several links for this business, which appeared to be bounty hunters. The third link caught her eye, the partial sentence following the Web site indicating the business was in Los Angeles.
London clicked on it and stared at the article written about the family-run bounty hunter business known for their impeccable reputation for always finding their man, or woman. The article didn’t impress her as much as the names mentioned in the paragraph.
Greg King, the father, had started the business after being with LAPD and retiring to start his own business. “‘His sons, Marc and Jake King, have worked with their father and built solid reputations in their own right,’” she read out loud.
Marc had been on the phone with his brother when he’d been at her house. “And he said his name was Jake.” London didn’t know what to think. Her brain seemed to go into shutdown mode as she reread the few paragraphs singing the company’s praises. “So you’re a bounty hunter,” she mused, trying to get it all to sink in and make sense. “Why did you run out on me?” That was the one question she couldn’t find an answer for.
London clicked on a few more links, read some more about KFA, which was what the business went by, and finally found a phone number. Her heart started pounding in her chest when she turned, reached for a pen and realized how sweaty her palms were as she managed to write down the number.
Several guests appeared from the hallway, chatting among themselves as they headed for the front door. London jumped, hating how nervous she was, and glanced over her shoulder at the computer screen. It would really help her peace of mind if she could find something that made sense instead of continually being handed one confusing bit of information after another.
Maybe she could get some answers. London picked up the piece of paper she’d written KFA’s phone number on. There wasn’t any way she could wait until she got off work to call. And already she knew she would definitely be placing that call.
London blew out an exasperated breath and paced the length behind the counter. Suddenly she felt caged. She didn’t dwell on why learning what had happened to Marc mattered more to her than figuring out what the hell was up with her parents. They probably knew they were in trouble long before anyone decided to send her pictures. Neither of them had thought to call and let her know the law was closing in. It probably would never cross their mind to let London know if they were facing arrest.
In less than two weeks, though, Marc sauntered into her life and meant more to her than anyone else in her world ever had. She had fallen so easily into the routine of seeing him every day. It had been so easy to talk to him. Of course, Marc was by far the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on. London had never had another man over for dinner, or stay the night. But what bugged her the most was that he was gone, had left without so much as an explanation, or good-bye, and she couldn’t quit thinking about him. No man had ever managed to break down her defenses and get under her skin the way Marc had.
“No wonder you’re terrified,” she muttered under her breath.
The phone rang and she jumped. “Shit,” she hissed. She was working herself into a frenzy and over what? If she would just focus on her work, it could be as if none of this had ever happened. As she grabbed the receiver and answered, her voice sounded foreign to her.
“Elk Ski Lodge. May I help you?”
“London?”
Her heart stopped beating, which created a fierce pain in her chest. The deep baritone in her ear spoke her name, and she swore he stood right behind her.
“This is London,”
“London, it’s me: Marc. Don’t hang up.”
So he assumed she would be outraged. Well, she was. And it was grossly unfair of him to call her at work, where she couldn’t give him a piece of her mind for not even saying good-bye.
“Why did you leave?” she demanded, her heart refusing to beat until the one question that had plagued her was finally answered.
There was silence on the other end of the line. He’d called her and still didn’t have a ready answer to give her, which meant he was considering several possible answers.
“I know who you are,” she blurted out, staring at the computer screen.
“What?” Suddenly he wasn’t speechless. “London, I didn’t want to leave like that. I want to see you again, and soon. I mean that. There was a family crisis and I didn’t think.
I jumped in my car and raced home as fast as I could.”
She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. Although family didn’t mean much to her, London understood the bond that could exist. Meryl came from a family that was always calling, that cared and sought her out on a regular basis. She was always talking about them. Meryl couldn’t hold a conversation without bringing up a brother or sister or parent. London knew what family could mean.
“I hope nothing terrible has happened,” she said, and suddenly felt numb.
Marc was gone. He’d left because of his family. He was calling to apologize and to tell her he wanted to see her again. He didn’t say when. She struggled with the lump growing in her throat. Her anger toward him faded. He was calling and giving her closure.
“Actually, yes, something has happened to my parents.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know how long it will take to clear this up. If you’re willing, though, I’d like to have your cell phone number. I’ll give you mine if you’ll call me.”
“So we’re going to have some kind of long-distance relationship?” She wasn’t sure why she snapped at him. She didn’t want him out of her life. But long-distance relationships didn’t work and she didn’t want to continue missing the hell out of him. “We can exchange numbers, Marc. But you’re gone. I think you know as well as I do that you won’t be coming back. There’s no reason to keep talking and pretend something could come from the few incredible moments we had together when we both know that isn’t how life works.”
“Why did you say you knew who I was?” he asked instead of commenting on what she just said.
“I googled your name.” London didn’t see any reason to lie. Even if he had been evasive about his life, it didn’t mean she would be vague as well. “I have enough confusing stuff going on in my life right now and didn’t want you to be one of them.”
“What did you find?”
“I found King Fugitive Apprehension. I know you’re a bounty hunter.”
Get Lucky Page 14
