by Payge Galvin
“You pay your way. I know that. I’m thinking of a loan.”
“Loan?”
“Take what you need, slowly, to pay off the mortgage on the gun club and get a place to live with Ciaran. Then, when you can, you’ll start paying it back with charitable donations. That’s what I planned to do, but as worthy as those charities are…” She looked up at him. “Right now, you and Ciaran are more worthy. Take the money—or as much as you need. Stop cage fighting and get Ciaran.”
“I…”
“… will think about it?”
He nodded, slowly. “Yeah. It… it might be a good idea, if you’re serious.”
“I’m very serious.”
“Okay, then I’ll think about it.” He leaned down to kiss her. “Thank you.”
Chapter 21
Jess
Back in Rio Verde. It had been a month since they left. Everything had gone… Well, Jess was inclined to say “smoothly.” As Sami said, though, “Smoothly? Try fucking awesome.”
Yes, fucking awesome summed up at least ninety percent of it.
First, the good parts. Declan. They weren’t just “still together,” but were really together, and nothing on the horizon suggested that was going to change. When they’d left Rio Verde, Jess would have said she was falling in love with him. Slowly, cautiously allowing herself to fall. Now, it was love. Pure, simple, incredible, more-than-she-ever-expected love. And perhaps the most amazing part of it? He felt the same way.
The next good part? There were a bunch. Small but significant ones, like the fact that Sami was coming to spend a week in Rio Verde. Jess couldn’t wait to see her. Couldn’t wait to talk to her. And, unlike Chandler, who’d begrudged every moment Jess spent with Sami and her other friends, Declan was already insisting the girls take a weekend off on their own together. He also wanted Jess to tell Sami about the shooting. She was resisting but his arguments were swaying her. It would help to speak to Sami, and as Declan rightly pointed out, Sami would be hurt if she found out what happened and Jess hadn’t shared it with her.
Then there was Ciaran. They’d gone to L.A. twice during their month in Phoenix, and Jess realized later it hadn’t just been Declan spending time with his little brother. He’d been introducing Jess to Ciaran and seeing how the three of them got along. If the three of them could live together. That was Declan’s hope, one he’d finally admitted, stammering a little, flushing a lot, being really clear that this was entirely her choice but under the circumstances, if she didn’t mind moving in with a guy and his little brother…
The circumstances. That was another huge hit of good news. She’d heard from Atlanta. Not only did she get into her program—with her dream work-study placement at the CDC—but they wanted her for the fall term. She could finish her last two courses there and start her grad studies. That’s why Declan had proposed the move-in earlier than she suspected he’d have dared otherwise. This was the big plan. The huge move. The three of them. To Atlanta. Where Declan already had a line on a gun club for sale and where Ciaran could start school in September.
Pete had given up Ciaran easily. Too easily, Jess still fumed. Oh, he’d made some noise, whining about losing his son, but ten-grand from the stolen money had shut him up fast. Jess didn’t begrudge the money—whatever got Ciaran away from that monster. But any father, however bad, shouldn’t take money for his kid. He should have realized Declan was offering Ciaran a good life and, with reluctance, done the right thing without being paid off. But that wasn’t Pete. Never would be.
Speaking of parents… That was most of the ten percent “not awesome” in Jess’s life. They knew about grad school and the CDC, and they weren’t speaking to her. They’d cut her off cold—financially and emotionally. And Jess had said, “Okay.” For now, that’s what she had to do. Step back, pay her own way and, in time, hope they came around. One good thing did come of it. A call from Lydia, one that began, “You did it. You really did it. You stood up to them.” Then a quiet, “I don’t think I could do that, Jess. I know I should, but I don’t think I can.” Lydia had cried and Jess had cried, and in the end, they made plans for Lydia to come visit Jess in Rio Verde before she left in September.
The other, smaller part of the “not awesome”? Declan knew what that was, as hard as she tried to hide it. He came into the townhouse kitchen that morning and found her at the table, combing through the local newspaper on her tablet.
“Nothing, I hope,” he said as he poured two cups of coffee. She’d made it and then forgotten to drink any.
“I’m just—”
“I know what you’re doing, Jess,” he said as he handed her a cup. “Checking to see if anyone’s looking for that guy. And making sure no one else from the coffee shop has been hurt. So… nothing, I hope?”
She nodded. He was right. She scoured the local papers and campus blogs for any sign that her mystery stalker had gone after the other people in the coffee shop that night. And she worried.
Declan set down his coffee, then picked her up, slid into her chair and sat her on his lap. She closed her eyes and leaned back against him.
“It’s not enough, is it?” he said. “Getting out of here, getting away from it. You need closure.”
“I know I can’t get it. I want to find out what happened that night and make sure everyone involved is safe, but I’m not in any position to do that. I’m no detective. I don’t even know where to begin.”
“At the coffee shop.”
“I can’t go back—”
“I mean the people who work there. That guy said it was an inside job. I agree that we aren’t detectives. We can’t solve a crime. But we can look into it. See if we can get you that closure.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Or as close to it as we can come. Okay?”
She twisted on his lap and put her arms around his neck. “Okay.”
‡
Jess had said she wasn’t qualified to investigate this. And she wasn’t. But she knew someone who might be. In her month of checking for news on the murder—or trouble that the others might have encountered—she’d stumbled over someone who’d been there that night. She’d read two articles about two others she recognized from the night of the shooting. Both had been written by a journalism student named Max. When that had seemed a little coincidental, she’d looked up the writer’s photo and realized Max had been there, too.
She’d been trying to figure out how to make contact without violating their agreement when she was out with Declan and saw Max head into a campus bar. They followed.
“It would be better if I handle this alone,” she said to Declan as they walked in.
“No problem. I’d like to stick close, though.”
“Thank you.”
She lifted up to give him a quick kiss and watched him walk to the counter and signal for a drink. She steeled herself, went over to Max and took a seat with him.
“Hey,” she said. “I don’t know if you remember me…”
It took a moment. But then recognition flickered. Not revulsion, thankfully. She’d been worried about that. He only held out his hand and said, “I’m Max.”
She smiled. “I know. I’ve been doing some research. I’m Jess. You’re a reporter, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Max said warily.
She glanced at Declan. He shifted, as if ready to come to her rescue, but she shook her head. She’d only looked at him for a boost of moral support. Once she had it, she turned back to Max.
“I saw your article on Blake Malone, and the one on Dillon Varga, too,” Jess said, quickly. “I’ve been worried—about the murder and the others—so I’ve been looking. When I realized who you were and what you do…” She took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “There are some things I need to tell you.”
“You didn’t kill him, you know.”
Jess blinked. “Oh.” Then she smiled, a genuine smile, relaxing now. As wonderful as it had been to realize she hadn’t murdered the man, it felt even better to have a stranger c
onfirm that. “I do know. Thank you.”
“Also, whoever did kill him is after the money.”
“I know. And I think I know something else, too, about whoever did kill him. It was an inside job.”
“Well, yeah. Someone in that room.”
“Not an inside job by one of us. By one of them. Someone else connected with The Coffee Cave.”
“No offense, but why are you talking to me, then? Why not go to the police?”
“I don’t know who did it—just that it was an inside job. I’d love to figure it out myself, but the only detective work I can do is in a bio lab. Also Declan and I—” She glanced at Declan again. “We’re leaving town. But since you’re a reporter, I thought you might… Well, you might have the skills to investigate. And if you solve it, you’d get to break the story. Which would good for your career, right?”
He looked as if he was struggling not to laugh. Damn it, he wasn’t interested. Of course he wasn’t—she was pawning off the problem on a stranger. Dumping it and running.
“I understand if you don’t want to get involved,” she said. “I know it’s my responsibility. I fired that gun. But, well, while there’s no excuse, I did it to protect someone. That’s why you guys agreed to cover it up: because I wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer. Whoever actually killed him, though, they just wanted him dead, and I can’t let them get away with that.”
He stayed silent.
“You don’t want to do it,” she said finally.
“Oh, I want to do it,” Max said.
“So will you?”
He looked her in the eye. “You better believe I will.”
‡
And that was it. Max would take the case, and she’d watch the news. Of course she’d offered to help in any way she could, but she didn’t imagine he’d be calling in that marker. She’d done what she could. Now it was time to get on with her life—with Declan, with Ciaran, with her studies and her internship. Time to put this behind her, but not forget it. Life could change in a moment. You had to seize it while you could and that was exactly what Jess intended to do.
A Note From Payge:
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading Unfiltered & Undone! I hope you love what you’ve seen so far. There’s so much more to come! Next is Unfiltered & Unraveled on May 14, 2014 followed quickly by Unfiltered & Undressed on June 14, 2014.
Already in love with UNFILTERED? Drop by our website and sign up for our newsletter to keep up on all things Rio Verde. We promise not to spam you, but there just might be some sneak peeks and bonus content!
If you swooned for this book, the best way to help us keep our series alive is to review it. Anywhere! Even a few words are so appreciated! It makes a bigger difference than you think.
Lastly, with so many co-authors, there’s always something fun to read online! Please go to our website (www.UnfilteredBooks.com) to find our Twitter handles, Tumblrs, and personal websites.
Thanks Again!
Payge
—◊—
Keep reading for a preview of Unfiltered & Unraveled by Payge Galvin & Danni Pleasance, the sixth installment of the UNFILTERED series. For more on the Unfiltered Books, the rest of the series authors, or on Payge Galvin, please visit us online:
www.UnfilteredBooks.com | Twitter: @PaygeGalvin
—◊—
READ THE REST OF THE UNFILTERED SERIES:
Unfiltered & Unlawful
Unfiltered & Unknown
Unfiltered & Unsaved
Unfiltered & Undone
A SNEAK PEEK OF
UNFILTERED & UNRAVELED
Book six of
the Unfiltered Series
~ Payge Galvin & Danni Pleasance ~
COMING MAY 14, 2014
—◊—
From the back cover of UNFILTERED & UNRAVELED
After a night-shift shooting of a drug dealer in The Coffee Cave, twelve strangers each walk out with more than $100,000 in dirty money, a pact never to meet again, and the chance to start over…
As usual, Violet Laswell's lifelong friend, Allie, had gotten her into a mess. It started out with Allie following tradition by getting Violet drunk for her twenty-first birthday… and ended with illegally disposing of a dead body and racking up her very first DWI.
Violet’s first unwitting walk on the wild side lands her in court, and – at her parents’ insistence – rehab. She has thirty days to resolve her non-existent issues with alcohol or she’ll be pruned from the family tree. Ever-helpful, Allie researches the very best and most expensive recovery center in the state, New Beginnings, where twelve-step meetings are mixed with spa treatments and equine therapy.
But Violet's refusal to lie about past step one, admitting that she’s an alcoholic, labels her a “problem case” among the staff, particularly recovery counselor Cameron Wentworth. Violet is a puzzle to Cameron – someone who truly doesn’t have a substance abuse problem, stuck in rehab. He’s perversely drawn to her snarky irreverence for the work he's so passionate about. And Cameron’s grumpy professor persona makes crawling into his lap and asking for “tutoring” seem like a perfectly reasonable option to Violet. But, even though Violet is technically assigned to another therapist, relationships between all staff and patients are strictly forbidden.
Can Violet face her actual addiction – chronic people-pleasing? Can her friendship with Allie ever be repaired? Or does Violet simply need the kind of deep therapy Cameron and his all-too inviting lap seem quite happy to provide?
—◊—
First there was sex, and then came death.
As I sat in the passenger seat of my so-called best friend’s car, glowering up at the gate of New Beginnings, I realized that my real problems had nothing to do with illegally disposing of a dead body or accepting a share of stolen drug money. My real problems were my so-called best friend and my parents’ ability to quietly arrange ambush interventions.
‡
“What the hell do you mean I need rehab?” I exclaimed, turning on Allie. “You started drinking when we were fifteen. Hell, you mixed peppermint schnapps with your post-prom milkshake at the Freez-E Shack.”
“Violet, this meeting isn’t about me,” Allie said, her blue eyes all wide and guileless. “Your parents asked me to come.”
I groaned. Of course they did. Somehow, my parents had managed to gather assorted family and friends in our living room, all ready to pounce on me the second I got home from sentencing for my first-ever drunk driving charge, and get them to read me letters about how my “shameful crime” had affected them. My aunts couldn’t trust me to babysit. My parents couldn’t trust me with their car to run errands for my grandparents. They couldn’t depend on me to work at the family funeral home anymore because everybody would know their office girl was a criminal. And no one wanted to trust their financial information and funeral plans to a criminal.
That last gem came from my parents, who stood on the opposite side of the circle, grim expressions firmly in place. My father’s tense posture was a far cry from the usual comforting persona he wore like a carnival mask while working with grieving families. He was, however, dressed in his crisp blue Tuesday suit, because he had standards to maintain, after all. “Violet, you will accept our terms. You will complete a thirty-day program in this rehab facility or you will no longer be considered a member of this family.”
“What?” I cried.
“Whoa.” Allie backed out of the trust circle. Once again, she had failed to predict exactly how bad a situation could get, and how quickly.
“I can’t believe you would even use that as a threat, Dad!” I glanced around the circle to the aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who suddenly didn’t want to make eye contact with me. Cowards.
“You’ve given us no choice, Violet!” he hissed. “You have humiliated us. You will seek help for your problems, or you will find a new place to live within thirty days. You will find a way to pay rent, board, insurance, and all of your exp
enses. And you’ll have to find some other way to fund tuition for your senior year. We will disown you. You’ll be on your own, permanently and completely. It will be as if you were never born into this family.”
I stared up at him, my mouth hanging open in shock. Not because he’d made the threat, sadly, but because he emphasized the financial parts of his “sentence” over them pretending that I was never born. I couldn’t believe he thought pulling money out from under me was a bigger threat than kicking me out of the family. Money, I had. Granted, it was ill-gotten drug money I’d stolen from a dealer’s corpse. But it would secure my own apartment, my expenses and tuition if necessary.
Still, it would be cold comfort if my mom and dad never spoke to me again. They weren’t the cuddliest parents ever, but they were all I had.
“Don’t you think that’s a little unreasonable considering it was my first offense?”
“I think you should be grateful that the judge only suspended your license and didn’t send you to jail,” my father snapped.
“Dad, it was just one mistake,” I said. “I’ve never been in trouble before. Not once. And I haven’t had a drink since the arrest.”
“One mistake that could have had serious consequences,” my mother noted, in a tone just as cold as my dad’s. “We want to know that you understand the danger you put yourself in.”
“And this is not just ‘one mistake,’” Dad added. “We may not have caught you before, but we know that this is part of a pattern concerning alcohol, a pattern that we will not tolerate.”
“Trust me, Mom, I understand the serious consequences that some choices can have,” I said, giving Allie a pointed look. She was blissfully unaware, talking to one of my cousins about this awesome pearly purple nail polish she’d just found. As usual. “Can’t I just go to AA meetings or outpatient therapy or something?”
“No,” Dad said sternly. “We won’t negotiate with you. It’s the in-patient program or nothing. Don’t disappoint us, Violet.”
