Skygods (Hydraulic #2)

by Sarah Latchaw

“If you hear from him, please, please call me. I won’t argue with you, I promise. I should have known better than to load his schedule, that something like this would happen. But understand, I push him, I’ve always pushed him to be better—that’s what I do. That’s what he wants me to do.” This was turning uncharacteristically confessional, for Caroline.

  The call ended. I was stunned for a full minute, my cell phone dangling loosely in my fingers. Then full-fledged panic clamped down on my heart and I sprang to action.

  First, I tried Samuel’s phone—no answer. In fact, it went straight to voice mail. I left a message begging him to call.

  Next, I tried Alonso and Sofia. Not wanting to alarm them, I calmly asked if they’d heard from him at all this weekend. They hadn’t.

  “Is everything all right, dear?” Sofia asked, worried.

  “He’s just very busy, and I haven’t spoken with him in a couple of days.” There was no sense in upsetting them until I knew more. My mind calculated the last time I’d had contact with Samuel. He’d called Thursday night, and then a text message Friday. After that, nothing. Saturday…

  Danita! She’d talked (well, fought) with Samuel for a long time Saturday afternoon. And that was supposedly right before he’d gone missing. My fingers fumbled over her number.

  She answered. “Hey, Kaye, still glaring—?”

  “Dani,” I interrupted. “Have you talked to Samuel since yesterday?”

  A pause. “No, why?”

  “Caroline called. He’s missing and neither one of us can get hold of him.” I filled her in on what I knew. “You’re the last one to have spoken with him, Danita.”

  Another pause. And then incoherent grumbling. “Mierda. Has Caroline checked his apartment?”

  “Yeah. Dani…” A lump swelled in my throat. I picked up the now cold mug of cocoa and chugged half of it. “How did he seem when you talked to him? Was he okay?”

  “Honestly, he was freaking out. Kind of frantic.” She cursed again. “This is my fault. I should have left him alone, but I just couldn’t, could I? Angel’s right—I’m too pushy.”

  I waved my hand, even though she couldn’t see it. “Focus, Dani. Why was he frantic? What did you say to him?”

  Her voice cracked. “I can’t tell you. It’s not my place. Kaye, please understand—”

  “Seriously?” I snapped at her, frustrated and frightened. “You surprise me, Danita Maria. You pretend to be blunt and honest, but you’re just as bad as Alonso and Sofia and Samuel, aren’t you?” My doorbell rang and I jumped, spilling my half-full mug of cocoa down the front of my hoodie. My quaking hands shuffled my cell phone and tried to catch cocoa as it dripped onto my wooden floor. “Dani! Please, just—”

  I opened the door and froze.

  There was the missing man himself, on my doorstep. He was haggard in a rumpled tuxedo jacket, his white shirt untucked, bowtie long gone. His eyes were bloodshot and baggy, as if he hadn’t slept all week. He looked like crap…and I’d never been happier to see his beautiful face in my life.

  I dropped my phone and threw myself at him, sobbing with relief into his neck. “What on earth, Samuel? I was this close to calling the police!”

  His hand smoothed over my hair, and he clung to me as if I’d been the one missing, not caring that cold cocoa soaked into his shirt. “I’m so very sorry, Kaye. I told you that you don’t need to worry about me.”

  I slapped his shoulder out of anger and the simple need to touch him. “It’s hard not to worry when your agent and sister are freaking out because you’re missing. Lord, Samuel, is it too difficult to give someone a call and let them know you’re alive?”

  He mumbled another apology. I vaguely heard Danita’s shouting from my phone. I picked it up.

  “Aspen Kaye Trilby! If you don’t speak to me, I’m coming over right now!”

  “It’s okay, Dani,” I said, my voice unsteady. “Samuel’s here. I’ll talk to you later, all right?” I ended the call to the sounds of her protests. My eyes swept over my erstwhile husband—he was this close to collapsing. Taking his hand, I pulled him into my living room and shoved him into my comfy chair, then plunked down next to him. Even when I tried to slide my hand away, he wouldn’t let go, so I left it where it was.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Airports. La Guardia last night, then Dallas for most of this morning. I’m afraid I let my cell phone die.”

  “No luggage?” I asked.

  He held up the corner of his chocolate-stained tuxedo shirt. “My trip was rather spur-of-the-moment. I was halfway to a Berkshire House reception for a big name author, and the mere thought of another champagne swilling party was revolting. So I headed for the airport, instead.”

  I glanced heavenward. “There are easier ways to get out of cocktail parties, Samuel. You certainly scared Caroline—she was actually nice to me for once.”

  “Again, I’m so sorry about that. I warned Caroline, but she didn’t take it seriously.”

  I studied him hard. “This isn’t your way of sticking it to your publicist by creating a PR nightmare, is it? Running away without giving her warning?”

  “You aren’t glad to see me. I’m sorry.”

  “Quit apologizing and just tell me why you’re here.”

  He stared at his polished dress shoes. “All week, I’ve been thinking about what you said, how you hate watching my back every time I leave. I hate having a long distance relationship with you too, Kaye. I didn’t like it in college and I don’t like it now, especially since I’ve already lost so much time with you. So I came up with a plan.” He took my hands and turned to me. “Please remember you can tell me no. This is just an idea, and you aren’t obligated to me in any way.”

  “Samuel,” I growled, impatient.

  “Sorry.” He brushed the pad of his thumb across my knuckles, then slid to the pulse point at my wrist. Mother of Tom, the man was an expert at disrupting my thought pattern. He winced, then breathed in.

  “I want you to tour with me.”

  “What?” My eyes widened. “Tour, as in, your publicity tour?”

  “Hear me out. One of our struggles has been how little we know of each other’s lives after seven years. I’ve had all summer to see what your life is like now. But you still don’t know much about mine, other than what I’ve told you or what you’ve seen in the media, unfortunately. So here’s my proposal: I’d like you to travel with me until the movie premieres over the Thanksgiving holiday and get a taste of my life. Then, if you still want me, I’ll leave New York City and buy a house in Boulder.”

  “You’ll move to Boulder permanently,” I repeated.

  “Yes.”

  A thrill shot through me. He’d move home. “Is this what you and Danita were arguing about yesterday? I swear she’s become as cryptic as you.”

  He tried to crack a smile. “In a roundabout way,” he said cryptically (of course).

  My fingers floated along the lapel of his tuxedo. I couldn’t believe he’d move home. “What about TrilbyJones? I can’t just pass my accounts off to Molly, and I certainly can’t take any more vacation time.”

  He grinned rather smugly. “I’ve thought of this, too. Caroline’s firm can outsource to TrilbyJones. Some things need to change, and Caroline’s overworked as it is. They’ll hire you to keep the publicity tours manageable. Most of the events are already in place, so you’d just have to sit down with them to discuss which to cancel and which to keep. Then, you’ll accompany me to events and do your PR thing—coordinate with the event sponsor, make sure everything runs smoothly.”

  I rolled my eyes at his description of my work—“PR thing.”

  “Caroline’s agency is okay with your plan?” I listened to him as I scooted to the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel, dabbing at the cold cocoa dribbled down my shirt.

  “I’ve already spoken with Caroline’s boss and he’s fine with it. Truthfully, I think he’s too nervous to lose the account to say otherwise.” Just as I though
t, Samuel went over Caroline’s head. She’d be hopping mad.

  “I’ll need a week off in November for the Longs Peak climb,” I warned. “That won’t be convenient for you.” I handed him the dish towel. Instead of fussing over his tux shirt, he knelt and wiped my wooden floor clean.

  “You’re still planning to do that, even after your skydiving accident?” He frowned. “At least Molly and Cassady will be along to keep you from being reckless.”

  I ignored that. “And my TrilbyJones clients? I can’t just ditch them.”

  “Telecommute. Everyone does it.” Criminy, he had given this a lot of thought. “I can promise you, Kaye, landing this account will make it worth TrilbyJones’ time to take us on, even with the short notice.”

  I began to fold. “When do you want me?”

  He tossed the dish towel in my kitchen, then pulled me back to the chair with him. “As soon as possible.”

  The low, seductive way he spoke it sent both tingles and warnings racing up my back. A part of me thought mixing business and romance wasn’t a good idea. After all, look what happened to Caroline and him. But then again, I wasn’t Caroline, and I’d loved Samuel long before I could even spell “Public Relations Nightmare.” Besides, this was only a temporary solution until his tours were over and he could finally, finally settle where he belonged—in the mountains.

  So the tingles won a convincing argument over the warnings. Because, when it came down to it, I was hard-pressed to say no. City-hopping with Samuel? Spending every day with him? Getting a glimpse into the inner workings of his life? Yeah, couldn’t turn that one down.

  “Okay. I know I’ll be in over my head, but what the heck. Just let me talk this over with Molly first before you confirm with your people, please. We might have to hire a temp before I can leave.”

  He blinked. “Really? That’s it?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not an over-thinker like you.”

  A toothy smile flooded his face. “I just thought I’d have to work a lot harder to convince you, pull out the fancy PowerPoint and graphs. Not that you should be worried,” he said quickly. “We’ll take very good care of you. Five-star hotels, sightseeing, and great exposure for TrilbyJones. You won’t regret this,” he added softly.

  Honestly, I couldn’t care less about the five-star hotels and sightseeing. I just wanted to visit his New York apartment and see Fort Tryon Park. I told him as much.

  “Don’t put on a show for me, Samuel.” My fingers toyed with his lapel again. “I’m in this for us, so I want to see the real you, not Mr. Perfect Sexy Man who is never frazzled. As mean as it sounds, I kind of enjoy knowing stress rattles you like everyone else.”

  He pressed my fingers to his lips, ice blue eyes on mine. “I promise. Nothing but the real me, stress headaches and all.”

  “Good.” I smiled, matching his gaze with a scorcher of my own. “Then you can be the one to call Caroline.”

  Chapter 6

  One Hundred Jump Wonder

  A relatively new diver

  who arrogantly believes they know everything

  there is to know about skydiving,

  and ends up breaking a femur

  when the ground greets them too quickly.

  YOU ARE SOPHISTICATED.

  You are fast-thinking and clever, and can easily keep pace with Hollywood’s publicity machines.

  You can wear heels if you have to. No, you love to wear heels, and it shows. That’s right. Those Prada pumps tucked away in your carry-on will not terrify you or your wobbly feet, no! You will own their leather hides. Own the shoes…own the shoes…

  I white-knuckled the armrests of my business class seat. The dry, recycled air on the plane made a static mess of the hair I’d carefully groomed, and I was ready to sweep it into a ponytail. Around me, tired-looking passengers either caught some shut-eye or read magazines under yellow oases of lights. The strong-jawed man next to me typed away on a laptop. I tried not to disturb him with my fidgeting.

  I’d caught the evening flight from Denver to Los Angeles, which gave me roughly three hours to freak out over the banana bread and airport coffee I’d carried onto the plane for a nightly fix. But neither my latte nor my mantras erased the palpable fear that I was too backwoods to be Samuel’s publicist.

  I’d barely talked to Samuel; I had been so busy putting my affairs in order before I blindly hurled myself into the maelstrom of his messy life. After Samuel’s phantom-like appearance on my doorstep, he’d vanished just as mystically. I’d begged him to stay the night, if for no other reason than to prevent him from falling asleep at the wheel on the road to Lyons.

  “Samuel, stay,” I cajoled, wrapping two tempting arms around his middle. “You don’t need to drive all the way to your parents’ house tonight.”

  He groaned and leaned into me. “Firecracker, I can’t. I have things there that…that I need.” His voice faltered as my thumbs kneaded the tightness in his back. Every cord of muscle gave way and I thought I had him.

  “Stay,” I whispered against his neck. “I don’t care what you sleep in. You can buy something to wear tomorrow. You can even borrow my toothbrush. Just stay.” He knew what would happen, what I wanted to happen if he stayed the night. With a reluctant sigh, he untangled his arms.

  “I’ll call you when I get to Lyons.” Kissing the top of my head, he slipped away into the night, leaving me frustrated in a silent apartment. Early the next morning, before I’d even poured my cereal, Samuel had traveled directly from the Cabral home to Denver International Airport, and flown to LA.

  And now, a week later, I also slipped away into the night, cutting through black clouds and stars thousands of feet in the air, putting hundreds of miles between me and everything I’d ever known. Everything, save for Samuel.

  Despite my age, I’d seen embarrassingly little of the world. Samuel was the one who had an insatiable wanderlust for faraway places. I’d never desired to stray beyond my mountains unless it was by his side. Lyons knew me. I defined myself in the comings and goings of its greasy diner and rusted-out gas station. I breathed with the ebb and flow of St. Vrain water sloshing against creek banks, a trickling current of life. I marked my years in tree rings. If I left, how would I know me? I began to understand why Samuel seemed so lost. I was already homesick for the Rockies and I’d barely left.

  Fingers trembling, I peeled open the package of banana bread and dipped it in my coffee. Once again, I stared at those spiky designer shoes.

  Own the shoes…own the shoes…

  They mocked me, those pointy suede beasts nestled under the seat, next to my old ballet flats. The elegant curve of the peep-toe, the sharp stiletto heel…Danita said they were sexy. Molly said they could double as a lethal weapon if I needed to take out the competition. She even stole all of my ballet flats and sandals (save for the pair I’d snuck into my suitcase). For all I knew, they were now displayed on shoe racks at the local Goodwill.

  “You’ve seen the way women dress in southern California,” Molly asserted as she played tug of war with me and a tasteful dress I’d tried to cram into my suitcase. “Show off those beautiful shoulders of yours. And your legs. Honey, let them come out to play!”

  I gave a sharp tug back, yanking Molly over my chair and woefully stretching my dress in the process. “Molly, that’s television. Real publicists don’t dress like hookers, even if it’s LA.”

  In the end, I compromised and bought three new shorter, flashier dresses and two very expensive pairs of shoes, including those Prada monsters, which, at the moment, were giving me a bad case of buyer’s remorse. Fortunately, my friends were more concerned with how I could prep for a publicity tour in five days than whether my skirt hit above or below the knees.

  “Let’s be realistic,” Danita had said at Fisher’s Deli Monday morning. “Los Angeles is a big pond compared to our little puddle—a shark-infested pond at that. An overpopulated, California shark pond that will go into a feeding frenzy at the first sniff of
blood in the water and rip apart fresh meat.”

  My mouth fell open. “I know I don’t have the experience for this—”

  “But you’ve got great instincts,” Molly interrupted, glaring at Danita. “You’ll get the experience on tour.”

  “Kind of like being dropped in the middle of the Congo with no translator,” Danita added. “You’ll learn to speak Bantu really fast.”

  I didn’t even blink. “Your Discovery Channel-esque metaphors strike fear in my heart, Dani, truly. However, Samuel has my back. I trust him. And there are a whole team of people who will be a phone call away if I have questions. Caroline will also be there for movie publicity. I’m sure she’ll help.”

  Molly and Danita stared at me dubiously.

  “Okay, so I’m counting on assistance from my stressed ex-husband and his bitter ex-girlfriend. On paper, not a good idea. Which means we need to come up with a game plan as of yesterday.”

  “Kaye?”

  “Shoe thief?”

  Molly grinned. “I bought you a US travel guide. Let’s plan this mutha.”

  For five long days my TrilbyJones staff made calls, researched, and connected with other literary publicists. We tinkered away at Caroline’s original PR plan, hammering out a rough “quality, not quantity” strategy to present to the NYC dream team. Our TrilbyJones intern lackeys finally had a chance to prove their mettle. Friday afternoon, when our new temp overnighted the last hard copy proposal to New York, Molly and I collapsed around our break room table in silent back-patting.

  “I bet Gail’s ready to go vigilante on Samuel and hunt him down with her pitchfork,” Molly had teased.

  I frowned. Ever since I’d made my intentions to go to Samuel in LA known, many of my acquaintances had cast themselves as foreboding soothsayers. My dad’s girlfriend was angry at me for “chasing some man” to Hollywood, as if I’d met him on the Internet. Hector was angry because he thought I’d bail on the Longs Peak climb. And Danita was just angry, period. But Mom had been supportive, in her way.

  “Actually, no. Mom seems fairly calm about the whole thing. She said ‘you gotta do what you gotta do,’ and left it at that.”