by Asha King
Snow
A Midsummer Suspense Tale
Asha King
www.AshaKing.com
A witness hidden away in a small town.
After waitress Liliana White witnessed a murder, she wanted nothing to do with helping the police or putting the target behind bars. She’s not interested in justice or being a hero; she just wants to stay alive. A brutal death waits for her if the culprits get their hands on her, and given that one of them is her ex-boyfriend, she knows precisely what he’s capable of and will avoid him at all costs.
The bodyguard sworn to protect her.
Stoic and efficient, personal security expert Michael O’Hara is cautious in all things—both work and women—and has built a reputation in the private sector as the top of his field. But though he thinks he’s seen it all, nothing has prepared him for keeping Liliana White safe. She doesn’t trust him, doesn’t trust the police, and not even a vicious contract killer known as The Huntsman on her heels is enough to convince her she needs him.
But Liliana does need him. Only Mike stands between her and certain death, and despite all he does to keep his emotional distance, the longer he spends with her, the more he has to face the possibility that he just might need her too.
Also by Asha King
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Wild Horses: Cold, Cold Winter (Stirling Falls #1.5)
Sympathy for the Devil (Stirling Falls #2)
Circle of Friends: How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?
Cats in Heat (Cats & Conjure #1)
Cat Scratch Fever (Cats & Conjure #2)
Cinders: A Midsummer Suspense Tale
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Beast: A Midsummer Suspense Tale
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The Book of Love
I Who Have Nothing
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Snow: A Midsummer Suspense Tale
Copyright © 2015 by Asha King
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Edited by Adrienne Jones
Cover Art © 2015 by Asha King
First Edition March 2015
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Once Upon a Time
The only thing that got Liliana White in the door to work at The Palace on a Friday night was knowing there would be good tips.
The restaurant was about three steps above a strip club and not quite as classy as Hooters, which was definitely saying something about the place—something negative. Staff consisted of pretty girls in tight T-shirts and miniskirts who had to have considerable “assets” and be comfortable with some ogling. Chaotic, tables packed and voices driving her head into a migraine immediately, with spilled drinks and loud patrons and her feet—in heels—would be killing her within half an hour, but the tips. The tips always made up for it, from the regulars at their usual tables and the large parties of business men she’d flirt with while dropping off their orders. Liliana lived for those tips.
This Friday night, however, sucked.
It started when Maggie didn’t show up and her tables were split between Liliana, Julie, and Cindy, rather than call another girl in. This meant even less attention spent on tables during an already busy time, which meant less satisfied customers who left a little less than they normally would have. On top of that, the clueless new hostess seated some of Liliana’s regulars at different tables.
Then there was the matter of some nights just being shitty for tips regardless of circumstances. That night everything seemed to converge into a perfect storm that resulted in about sixty percent less tip money than she normally got.
On top of that, her back ached, her feet hurt, and her boss asked her to work an extra hour after her shift ended to help close up.
That was still half an hour away. Cindy and Julie had already left. The bar was closed, though three people still nursed their drinks—she wasn’t sure where the Polly, the bartender, was, but perhaps she’d ducked out early. The low lights of the restaurant just made Liliana more tired. She’d polished the tabletops until they gleamed, refilled the condiments. The only thing remaining was a sweep of the floor once everyone had finally gone. Her last group left five minutes earlier—three white guys who were loud and obnoxious and called her “brown sugar”, yet left her three-goddamn-dollars on their seventy-five dollar meal—which meant she had no one to wait on either.
“Wait on”, she thought dryly. More like “endure”.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. One-fifteen in the morning. No wonder she was tired, she’d been there since five-thirty.
With patrons still at the bar, technically she shouldn’t leave, but then Polly had, hadn’t she? The bartender was the one responsible for them and hadn’t asked Liliana to watch them during a smoke break or whatever.
She pulled herself wearily off the end barstool, cast a quick glance at the three remaining guys—they definitely weren’t going anywhere—and strode toward the back kitchen door to see where the hell everyone else was. If they could boot those guys out early, they could close early, and she could begin the trek to the bus stop and head home at last.
Her heels clacked on the beaten hardwood floor with each step, all four inches of them lengthening and shaping her calves but shooting pain right up to her hips. Pain was not worth beauty. She was too exhausted for a hot soak in the tub when she got home but tomorrow, definitely. And she’d pad around barefoot every moment until she had to be at work in heels again.
The white-tiled kitchen was silent but for the dishwashers running in the background. Counters wiped down, sink clean. Everyone really did go home for the night, it seemed.
To her left were narrow stairs that led up to the office area, light peeking from the top. So her boss was likely still around.
Liliana hesitated there for a moment, staring upward and debating. Her boss, Elise Hartley, didn’t particularly like her. She didn’t like anyone but her son Jimmy, and Liliana wasn’t sure if Hartley had hated her more when she was dating Jimmy or after they’d broken up. Liliana would’ve quit the damn job at the same time as quitting him, but she needed the money and she’d built up two years seniority, which didn’t seem like much but The Palace had a high turnover rate. That meant she could pick the better shifts and get priority on the sc
hedule. And on the nights tips were good, they were very good—she wouldn’t get that elsewhere.
Still, it made her job awkward, and walking up there to ask Elise to kick out the remaining customers so she could leave early might not work out well.
But her legs were killing her. She sent a glare down at her stupid strappy black heels, heaved a sigh, and started up the steps.
Voices sounded, growing louder the farther she went. She couldn’t make out the words but one was male—deep, a little sharp. Was Jimmy here? He drifted around the restaurant, sure, but never stuck for long in case he had to do work, which he seemed entirely opposed to. Definitely wouldn’t be here after hours.
Not unless he was looking to pick up one of the women working the place, that is. Like he did Liliana, once upon a time. And others. Others she knew about, others she probably didn’t. Her stomach did a twist and heart kicked hard, the same internal combo that left her feeling sick any time she thought of him now.
She’d loved Jimmy, with his dark hair and stormy eyes and every smarmy bad boy cliché rolled into one perfectly muscled package. He wasn’t good for her, had a temper that scared her sometimes, but she’d put up with that until she realized he screwed around and that was one thing she wouldn’t put up with. Liliana had that much self-respect, at least.
She didn’t want to run into him here but it was worth finding out if at least his mother was around. If not, well, she supposed she’d be sitting downstairs waiting the full remaining time before she could head home.
Her steps on the stairs were as soft as she could make them, hand gripped the railing tight. The walls upstairs were dark brick, the hall narrow and shadowed—the bit of light came from an office door partially open.
Once she was at the top, the voices became clearer.
“Come on, just a few minutes.” Yep, definitely Jimmy, and her stomach whirled again when she recognized that tone, that faux-charm he used to drop the panties of his latest conquest. He’d used it on her when she’d thought she was the only one. Used it on the phone, too, which she overheard twice.
Go back downstairs. You know that’s not his mother in there.
But she didn’t. Liliana took a deep breath and inched forward.
The other office doors were closed and dark. No one else up here. She paused at the single ajar door and peered through the crack.
Elise Hartley’s office. More dark brick walls, a heavy wooden desk, and massive wood cabinets, which Jimmy had a girl pressed up against now. Hand moving up her skirt oh-so-skillfully, lips mouthing her ear. Liliana glimpsed the girl’s red hair and realized it was Polly, the missing bartender.
Liliana shook her head and backed up, grasping the rail again and slipping downstairs as silently as she could. Behind her, Polly’s voice came—snapping at him—and then more of his attempts at sweet-talking.
How many times had he talked Liliana into putting up with more of him? She’d always known he was bad news but, stupid her, she also always liked bad news.
I am never dating again—my taste in men is too terrible for me to try again.
A brief glance back in the main part of the restaurant revealed the same guys at the bar and she didn’t think more than an ounce of liquid had left their glasses in the intervening minutes. One of them stared up at the muted TV—there wasn’t even anything interesting on, just a recap of a game that played earlier in the day—and she had half a mind to turn the damn thing off.
The clock over the bar still ticked. One twenty-three. Christ, would this night never end?
She stepped back into the kitchen and found the garbage sitting by the back door. Normally not her job, but the more that was done, the less there’d be to do at the end of the shift and maybe she could take off early. She swiftly crossed the kitchen and grabbed the bag, kicked the spare brick over and wedged it under the open door so it wouldn’t lock behind her.
A faint dusting of snow fell on the ground outside and chilly air wrapped around her bare arms. Liliana shivered and sighed a heavy breath that fogged in front of her, then hauled the heavy bag into the alley. Orange light from the bare bulb above spilled over the snow and threw shadows over the cramped space. The dumpster sat at the far end of the alley near the street, and Liliana began the long, cold trek there weighed down by the garbage bag and slowed by her high heels.
She was shaking by the time she got there, goose bumps running up and down her bare arms and legs. Before she could reach for the lid of the dumpster, her attention caught a car parked on the street near the mouth of the alley. She let the bag drop and peered around the building.
The dark BMW was definitely Elise Hartley’s. Fresh tire tracks and no snow on the vehicle suggested she’d just parked there. She must’ve gone in the front.
Good, she’s here—I can plead to go home.
Her arms hugging her torso to help stop the shivering, Liliana started back down the alley as fast as her shoes would let her.
The orange square of light over the snow-dusted pavement, cast from the upstairs office, was suddenly shadowed by figures. She glanced up, squinting at the window as thick flakes fell and clung to her lashes.
Jimmy and Polly were still up there, moving now, and by the looks of it, Polly wasn’t interested in whatever was going on. She passed the window, her face red like she’d been crying and lips parted as if she shouted. Jimmy came at her, grasping for her shoulders, but her hands pressed up against his chest and shoved.
What an asshole. Bad enough he went after everything with tits and a pussy that walked by him, now he couldn’t even restrict it to willing participants? Clearly she didn’t want to be anywhere near him.
Liliana debated for a moment. She’d run to the office and break it up in a heartbeat, but that would place her directly in Jimmy’s path as a target. Earlier in the night they kept a bouncer by the door at The Palace but if he wasn’t around now, he probably lucked out and got to leave early as the restaurant emptied out. That left maybe one of the guys at the pool hall next door—she knew them, chatted with a few on their smoke break now and then, and they were good guys. Maybe—
Polly slammed against the window suddenly and Liliana startled, her eyes growing wide and train of thought derailed entirely.
Jimmy had his hands wrapped around Polly’s throat, holding tight as she clawed at him, his dark eyes fixed on her face and the veins in his neck straining from the effort.
Jesus Christ, he’s trying to kill her.
Liliana ran back toward the door. Slipped, twice, as her heels skidded on the snow-slicked pavement and nearly landed on her ass both times but kept going. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, making her forget about calling for help or the stupidity of confronting Jimmy on her own—Polly needed help and she’d damn well get the girl out of there, then figure out the rest later. The guy had an ugly temper that Liliana usually managed to steer clear of but she’d glimpsed enough of it to know he wasn’t playing around.
She slipped inside, left the back door wedged open still, and ran through the kitchen. Her heels clacked loudly on the tile, then the stairs. She had a fleeting moment of wondering if she should’ve looked for a weapon, like a pot or something to hit him with, but it was too late—she was already upstairs.
She stopped walking abruptly when she realized it was silent upstairs.
Her heart hammered loudly, like it was trying to burst through her ribcage, and she sucked in a breath. Why was it so quiet? Minutes earlier, Polly was struggling. Did she get away already?
The light was still on in the office, the door a few inches ajar. Liliana crept forward, one hand braced on the wall beside her to keep her steady as she shivered still. Dread hung heavily in her gut, urging her to run back downstairs, but she couldn’t leave Polly like that without knowing she was okay.
Low voices startled her, breaking through the air—soft murmuring.
“Really, James. You can’t be left alone for five minutes.” A woman’s voice—Elise, maybe? Her tone was repr
imanding but quiet, too difficult for Liliana to tell.
“She said she was gonna—”
“Hush now.”
Liliana continued forward and paused in the doorway, peeking into the room as dread sagged heavily in her gut.
Polly was sprawled on the floor, unmoving. Red hair spilled across the beaten hardwood, eyes open but glassy and empty. Purple marks had bloomed on her neck.
Liliana stared in shocked silence, her brain not entirely processing the scene, when movement drew her attention up again to the rest of the room.
The desk was shifted, papers atop it had been knocked to the floor. A pen teetered on the desktop edge, not quite settled yet from the scuffle minutes ago.
The rest of the room was reflected in a wide, ornate dusty mirror hanging on the wall, its angle just right to reveal the rest of the scene.
There was Jimmy three feet from Polly’s body, staring down, his face eight shades of red and hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides. And then his mother, Elise Hartley, at his side. Her thick dark curls were tucked in a loose tail at the back of her neck, revealing a sharp-featured, calm face as she spoke to him softly. Her hand was on his shoulder and Liliana understood everything in that small gesture, had seen it a hundred times between them.
It was the “Mommy will fix it” look. She was going to help her son get away with murder.
Liliana took a step back.
Her heel connected with the hardwood, snapping loudly in the stillness.
Elise’s eyes darted up, hit the mirror and met Liliana’s gaze.
Oh God, she can see me.
Just as Elise whispered something to her son, Liliana turned and ran.
Back down the hall, the stairs, flying forward. She bolted out the still-open back kitchen door into the night, scrambling so fast she was surprised she didn’t twist her ankle. But her heels held, her feet didn’t betray her, and soon she was at the end of the alley, turning right to run down the street, not looking back at The Palace, the Hartleys, or anything else she might be leaving behind.
