Rascal (Edgewater Agency Book 2)

by Kyanna Skye

  “Fine.” She wrote down her number and gave it to him. Then when he left, she pulled out the folder; his name was Tony Carter.

  Lana was sitting on the motel bed wearing a white shirt and black capris, trying to figure out whether or not she wanted to get in the car and leave San Diego. This place was worse than Arizona. She didn't mind the environment or the prices. She could even withstand the work she was doing at the clinic—if it was legal, but it wasn't.

  Bullet wounds are not meant to be treated without informing the police. They check them to match up the victims to crimes. They take the bullet in for analysis and run it.

  What the clinic was doing was highly illegal, and Tony had something to do with it. These guys were coming in because of drugs and gang violence. It was the only explanation. Why were they getting shot?

  Tony was going to pick her up in an hour and she was frantic.

  What was she doing? She left Jim stranded and homeless. Now she was going on a date. They decided that it wasn't a date, but it was a date. Tony was going to be dressed up, Mr. Slick, driving a nice car and she was going to walk out in rags.

  Lana didn't care about Jim. There were times when he'd openly cheat on her, so she wasn't worried about betraying him. She was more worried about the fact that Tony was going to find her there, living out of a motel on the side of the highway. He was going to have questions about why she was there, and why she didn't have a place to stay. She wouldn't be able to explain any of it, and it was going to end up leaving her humiliated.

  But she figured he'd probably let her come along for the food. She perked up, did her face and was just adding some perfume when he knocked on the door.

  “Hi,” she barely cracked the door.

  “You ready?

  “Yeah, one second.” She eased out of the room so he couldn't see inside and walked to his black convertible. She had no idea what kind of car it was, but it looked like a show model.

  After she got in, he braced against the door and hopped inside with a crash. He turned her way. “It's not a date.”

  “I know it's not a date. God, just drive.” She stared up the street.

  “No,” he responded playfully.

  “What do you mean no?” Lana asked.

  “I said no. I'm not going to drive, not until you promise that this is not a date.” For a second, she thought he was serious.

  “I promise,” she said. “It's not a date.”

  He threw the car out of the lot and slammed on the gas, sending them careening downhill towards a sharp twist in the road. They were about to crash into the boulder-faced hillside.

  “Ah! Tony!” She grabbed his arm. “What are you doing!? You're going to kill us.”

  Just a few seconds and the car would crash.

  “It's okay.” The car slowed and hugged the road. Then it took the twist without compromising too much speed.

  Lana looked at Tony, who was staring down at her. Then she jumped back. “You did that on purpose.”

  “I did not.” They turned onto a straightaway that ran parallel to the coast, where a mist was rolling in over the water.

  “How fast are you going?”

  “80.”

  “Jesus, are you trying to kill us?”

  He turned to her with a smirk. “Look at the pretty water and go with it.”

  Her cheeks went red. “Where are we going?”

  “To eat seafood.”

  That's all she was going to get out of him. So she held on tight while they snaked up the cliffs where the slightest wrong turn could send them flying down into the water hundreds of feet below. He sped through like it was nothing.

  Eventually, the land fell once more and she was staring at a large building, lit up and sitting near the beach. Then it disappeared when they descended and stopped at a security gate.

  “Why aren't we at a restaurant?”

  “I said a fresh catch seafood place. I didn't say a restaurant. The best fresh seafood comes from my waters. The best place to eat it is in my estate.”

  “Your estate?” She nearly jumped back.

  “What? Money doesn't matter, does it?”

  “It does when you're not sure where it comes from.”

  He opened the window and had them buzzed in. They drove through a hedge-lined, gravel path. On either side of the grass field in front of the house, there were Greek fountains surrounded by rings of purple marigolds. They pulled to the head of a wraparound driveway and stopped in front of the entrance to the courtyard that sat in the center of the house. The building was made of thick, white stucco with wooden beams sticking out of the ceiling and an aged, red-tile roof.

  “You rented this place out for the night,” Lana said when they stopped.

  “Look at me.” He snatched her hand up and locked eyes with her. “I didn't rent this place out. This is my home. It's a renovated, 18th century Spanish estate.” She looked up the walls, and at the wood beams. The roof confirmed his claim. The tile had broken away in large segments.

  “You're telling the truth, aren't you?”

  “Yes. Come on.”

  Some unknown servant had already laid out a black carpet for them when they got out of the car. “The carpet's too much, Tony.”

  “It was just something special. You know, since I'm having company. It's no big deal, really: more of a novelty.”

  “It is kind of nice not having to get my shoes dirty.” Lana was wearing absorbent, black flats, and the gravel was soaking wet below the rug.

  “That's why people started making these things. The old, rich people in Europe didn't want to step down from their carriages into the mud, so they had somebody go everywhere with them to hold a carpet.”

  “Is that true?” Lana asked as they walked into the courtyard.

  “I don't know,” he shrugged. “Just what I heard.”

  “You don't belong in a place like this.” She sat down on a bench below an ash tree in the center of the courtyard.

  “Where do I belong?” He was standing in front of her with his back to the moon.

  Lana couldn't see his face, just his lumberjack silhouette. “In a shipyard or an oil rig, someplace rough.”

  “This place is rough,” he said seriously. “Keep your head down.”

  “I will, but you're not the tough guy I thought you were, Tony. Look at all this.”

  “I'm worse.”

  “No, you're refined. You've got this amazing house, fishermen, and waterfalls pouring down the cliffs onto your beach. Come on. You're not a thug.”

  “Thugs aren't dangerous. I'm dangerous. I want you to know that.”

  “I don't give a shit. This isn't a date.”

  “Yes, it is.” He pulled her up off the bench by the collar and kissed her. She didn't even know it was happening till she started burning up all over. Then he pulled back and she wanted to slap him. He wasn't supposed to do that. She was supposed to be staying away from men, especially men like him. Now Lana was caught up in Tony, and she was going to have to give him what he wanted.

  He was dangerous.

  He let go of her collar and hooked his arm in hers. “Come on.” They walked through the main entrance, a ceramic-tiled room with a simple, Spanish chandelier hanging down from the ceiling. In the corners, there were little tables with lavish flower arrangements.

  “This is tacky.” She turned to him with a mock frown.

  “It costs more than the clinic. So shut up and like it.”

  They walked through a pair of metal, double doors into a modern, stainless-steel kitchen. “Why are we in the kitchen?”

  “I'm going to cook for you.” He walked to the cupboard and pulled out a sauté pan. Then he drizzled it with olive and set it on to heat. Once the oil was hot enough, he added minced garlic.

  “You're not going to impress me.” Lana sat down on a stool near the counter in the middle of the room.

  “I'm not trying to impress you. I just hate chefs.” He pulled out his cell phone and tapped away
. Then he started adding vegetables to the sauté pan. “I want my food cooked with love. When somebody else makes it, all their crap gets in the mix.”

  “I've never thought of that before.”

  The door opened and a young man walked in holding something in butcher paper. He passed it to Tony and walked out.

  “What is that?”

  “Fresh-caught shelled shrimp.” He washed the shrimp and poured it into the pan then began adding a slurry of herbs and spices. He filled the kitchen with the smell of sea salt.

  “Oh, that smells good.”

  He started to make a pasta dish with linguine and a light sauce drizzled over the shrimp.

  “I'll bet this is the only thing you know how to make.”

  “No.” He turned back to her. “You tell me something and I can make it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” He pulled out a bottle of wine and poured it into two glasses. Then he passed one of the glasses to her.

  She took a sip and swirled the wine around in her glass.

  “No pressure. I know we kissed and all, and I like you, but I don't have any expectations.”

  “Don't. My life's a mess.” She meant it. This wasn't a date.

  “You live in a motel?”

  Lana took a sip of her wine. “I do. I left somebody in Arizona. Just got here.” She wasn't going to give him any details.

  “Ah. Well, it's better here, trust me. You'll like San Diego.”

  He turned around and played around with the food. Then he started pulling plates out of the cupboard.

  He grabbed the food and took her out to a covered veranda facing the water.

  “It's amazing out here.” He already had a table setup outside for them.

  “Hey, this life is not fun.” He sat down with her. “You don't want to be rich. Trust me. I've got bankers, investors, and lawyers trying to contact me all day every day. It's terrible.” He took a bite of the pasta.

  “None of this matters, you know. I just came for the seafood.”

  “Nah.”

  “No. I really did. I just left my ex in Arizona. Now I'm living in a motel. You don't want to deal with me.”

  “You're just a little shaken up is all. You're fine.” They drank their wine and ate their food quietly. Then when they were done, Tony popped open another bottle of red wine and they took their drinks out to the sand.

  “I don't know if I can trust you.” Lana was laying down in the sand with her head sitting in Tony's lap. “I mean what do you want?”

  “If I didn't want you, you wouldn't be here. I'll stick around if you want me to.”

  “I want you to. This is nice.” She let him hold her on the beach before they went inside. Lana wasn't sure how she could possibly get away from Tony. He was everything she didn't need but wanted more than anything else.

  Lana turned over and opened her eyes so she could watch the morning tide come in through the window near the guest room bed. The sun slammed her in the face, forcing her back. They’d both had too much to drink.

  When she felt like she had enough strength, she got up and found a pair of slippers for her to wear at the foot of the bed. Tony was very respectful. He didn't come onto her. Instead, he gave her a room to sleep in.

  She walked through the hall and out into a small dining room where Tony was moving around the kitchen with his shirt off, wearing an apron. He was stirring something on the stove when she walked in. “What's going on?” she asked drowsily.

  “I'm making breakfast.”

  “Sounds amazing.” She sat down on a stool at the kitchen bar.

  “Here.” He reached into the fridge and pulled out a cup of blood-red liquid.

  “What is that?” She stared at it like it was raw, blended cow meat.

  “You had a lot to drink last night so I made you a virgin Bloody Mary. Keeps the hangover at bay.”

  “Really?” She picked up the drink and swirled it around. The smell of the tomato juice made her want to vomit.

  “Trust me. It works.” Tony threw some chopped vegetables into a frying pan. He looked back at Lana, who was resting her head on the counter, staring at the cup. “Come on. Take it.”

  She picked it up, closed her eyes, and took it in one gulp. The salty, tangy flavor stuck in her throat and threatened to come back up. But once the drink hit her stomach, she woke up and the pain in her head went away. “That's terrible.” She set the glass down with a sour face.

  “But it works.” He threw some eggs into the frying pan and ducked down to check something in the oven.

  “What are you making?” The room smelled like charred meat.

  “Couple different things.” He pulled a glass of orange juice out of the fridge and handed it to Lana.

  “Come, sit down.” She noticed there were fruit bowls sitting on the table when he began setting down platters of food beside them. There was everything from eggs to pancakes—even different syrups. She had a pancake with strawberries and blueberries.

  “This is amazing. So, this is a separate living space from the rest of the house?” she asked.

  “I don't live in the whole estate. Many of the rooms don't have ventilation or air conditioning. This is my house.” They were in a cottage attached to the back of the main house. It was made of modern, fabricated materials—plaster, glass windows, and wood, but it still had the old, red-tile roof.

  “I can't imagine living the way you do. How did you become so rich, Tony?” She took a bite of her strawberry.

  “I'm an heir. It's a family fortune, but I'm the firstborn.” He took a bite of egg.

  “In your family, the firstborn gets the largest share of the fortune.” She laughed and took a drink of her juice. “That is the most archaic thing I've ever heard.”

  “Yeah,” he laughed. “I know, but it's how things are done.”

  “Old, old money.” She cut a piece of her pancake off and let it dangle on her fork in her hand. “That's it, right?”

  “Yeah. Old money.” He took a bite off the head of a sausage. “I don't like questions, you know. I'm a quiet guy.”

  “I don't get it.”

  “So. I don't owe you an explanation; not yet at least.”

  “I want to know what I'm getting myself into. That clinic....”

  “Nah.” He picked his plate up and brought it into the kitchen. “This conversation is over.”

  “No.”

  “Whatever.” He shook his head and rinsed off his plate. Then he walked back to the table and leaned in close to her. “Are we okay?” He'd gone from abrasive to irresistible.

  “Yeah.”

  He pecked her on the cheek. “You're safe. You don't have to worry about anything else right now.”

  “I like it here.” She looked around. “I've always wanted a little beach house at the top of a cliff.”

  “I have one,” he beamed.

  “You do, don't you.”

  '“It has a stretch patio facing the cliffs on the second floor. It's amazing.”

  “Oh, god, I have to see that.”

  “You do,” he affirmed.

  “But I have to get back. There are things I have to do in the city.”

  “A few more hours?”

  “No. It's already late. I'll give you a call.” She finished her food and got up. He grabbed his car keys and they left.

  While driving into the city, Lana felt like the dream was ending and it was time to get back to reality. Girls like her didn't just get picked up by rich men, and he wasn't just any rich man. He was involved in something sinister, and she didn't want any part in it. Still, she wasn't sure she could resist him.

  She couldn't.

  He dropped her off with a kiss and lingered just a little bit longer with his hands wrapped around her. She had absolutely no choice in the matter; she was his and there was no way she was going to escape.

  Lana rested the whole day, trying to collect her thoughts. She was still in crisis after Jim nearly died, and now she was run
ning into a whirlwind with a man that may or may not get her killed. She couldn't come to a conclusion about what to do about Tony until the next day when she was driving to the clinic.

  She was going to end her affair with Tony and try to avoid him so she could build a life for herself in San Diego. That thought was almost comforting while she moved through her day, but it also left her feeling a little unsettled. She had just spent an amazing evening in a beautiful house with a man that she couldn't stop thinking about. Lana simply couldn't walk away from that.

  He was a good man too. He knew how to cook and how to dress. Any other time in her life, she would've melted at his feet. Why did she have to meet him now, when she was losing her mind, and reeling from her escape from hell?

  Dr. Matthews left Lana to close the clinic that evening. It looked almost benign, with beige tile and a modern, floral painting hanging on the wall. But when Lana looked down at the tile, she noticed blood spray, and her ears were still ringing from the men howling in pain. She thought of all the men that had died there and left shivering.

  Tony was leaning against a sleek, navy-blue motorcycle when she turned around after locking the doors.

  “I'm not getting on that thing. I'll wriggle around and throw it to the ground.”

  “No, you won't. Trust me.” He patted the shotgun seat. “It's easy. I promise.”

  “You're going to drive 80 miles an hour.”

  “No,” he said defensively. “I'll only go 60.”

  “Oh, god.” She was trembling. “And you better slow down for the turns.”

  He held his hands up. “I swear. Nice and easy.”

  “I'm gonna die.” Lana stopped in front of the bike.

  “Why do people ride these things?”

  “You really don't know?”

  “No. It's not safe.”

  “Get on. I promise you won't die.”

  Lana had a little trouble lifting her legs over the back of the seat, and there was nothing holding her in behind her butt. She could've easily slipped off.

  “Here.” He took her hand and put it in the pocket of his leather jacket. “You put your hands in there and hold on as tight as you can.”

  He threw the bike back out of its parking space and onto the road. She screamed as loud as she could. The wind was blasting her in the face; she could barely see, it was so strong. Then they curved up into the hills where they both had to move as one unit and maintain their balance.