MICAH (A California Dreamy Novel Book 3)

by Rian Kelley

  “But I said no,” she returned. “And I’m still saying no.”

  “To me,” he said. “But to others? Who’s courting you? And what are they offering?”

  “I’ve had offers.” Of course she had. Many. All very nice. “But I’ve declined them all. Gaming is not what I want. Not anymore. You’re really going to have to understand that, Bruno. I’m not coming back.”

  He took a step closer, so that his toes were rubbing against the patio step and his breath fanned the top of her head. Bruno was big, thick, a solid brick of a man. He was also sharp with a relentless business sense that would not easily release her.

  She felt intimidated, but she would never admit it. And never show it.

  “They know about you,” she said. Her tone was even, betraying none of the nerves she was feeling. “That you made offers I refused. That you’re not likely to leave it alone. That you’ll approach me. Badger me.”

  “Who knows?” he scoffed at her warning.

  “I prepared a package.” In the business it was known as insurance. The only real security available to artists like herself. “You know, Bruno. A special life insurance. Documents, photos, digital recordings. I’m safe because you’re not.”

  And that seemed to unscrew him. He rolled to his toes and lunged for her. Emme wasn’t expecting it. Bruno could be intense, especially when they were fast approaching a product deadline. She’d seem him frazzled and frustrated and even shredding around the edges, but tonight he came completely unglued as if his body imploded and the fragmented pieces were falling to the ground.

  It was weird to think like that. To watch the man coming at her, his face twisted with menace, and still be able to act. But she did. And she had Ethan to thank for that. He’d taught Emme and her sister a few succinct moves to protect themselves. And she had Micah to thank, too, because he had pumped her up, in the weeks they’d been working out. Her reflexes were super quick, her body fluid. She brought her leg up with force, her foot a direct hit to the man’s crotch.

  Too bad it didn’t keep him from coming, though he was more a ball than a spear, his body folded in on itself. Still, he knocked her down. And her head hit the front door, shattering glass. He fell on top of her, writhing and grunting and grabbing his jewels and Emme felt the strumming beat of panic in her veins. Bruno was heavy. He had her legs pinned and her elbows ground into broken glass as she tried to twist away from him.

  But she managed to do it. She pushed back and used her left foot to plant a solid kick to his face. Bruno’s head snapped back and he rolled away from her. Emme sprang to her feet.

  That was as far as she got. She heard an angry snarl, the heavy thud of footsteps approaching. She looked up. Micah. The sharp plains of his face were flared with rage, his eyes blazed. Behind him she saw a flare of color. A scarf maybe. Or a long shank of hair. And then Micah had Bruno and was lifting him to his rubbery feet only to drive his fist into the man’s gut. Bruno staggered sideways. Micah followed.

  “Are you okay, Emme?” The words were grunted and he spared her a brief glance before returning his attention to Bruno. “Emme?”

  “Yes. I’m good.”

  “She’s fine, Micah. And your fearless opponent is about done in.”

  A woman stepped out of the shadows. She was of spectacular physique. Tall, lithe, long, sleek muscles. Hair the color of whiskey. And those eyes—currently alert but filled with indulgence—an exact match to Micah’s.

  “You have ten seconds,” Crista warned, “and then I’m pulling you off him.”

  She was beautiful. Breathtaking. She was strong and able. If Emme was still gaming, Crista would be powerful inspiration.

  She reminded herself that she had just kicked ass. Of course, she might have looked a little more heroic if blood wasn’t dripping from her elbows. The glass had slashed through her jacket. She wondered how her head had faired and did a quick mental inspection of her body. No headache. She didn’t think blood was seeping from anywhere else on her body. So she did what any other self-respecting super hero did, she ignored the small aches and pains.

  “You’re Crista,” Emme said and the woman stepped closer, turning to keep Micah and Bruno in her sight, but extending a hand toward her.

  “Hi Emme. It’s good to finally meet you.”

  “Finally?”

  “I feel like I know you already.”

  “But how?”

  And then Crista frowned and Emme heard Micah swear, colorful and virulent.

  “Uh-oh.” Crista pressed her lips together and seemed to consider their current situation—facing a curious Emme and a fast-fading Bruno Gardi. “Micah hasn’t told you?”

  “Apparently not,” Emme said.

  “But I will,” Micah said.

  Emme brought her hands up and anchored them on her hips. Her elbows didn’t shriek with the movement. Nothing broken, and that was always good. “How about now?” she suggested.

  “You’re bleeding,” Crista said and would have taken a look if Emme hadn’t waved her off.

  “It’s a scratch,” she told her and then looked over her head toward Micah. “You were saying?”

  Micah was caught in suspended motion, one hand holding Bruno by the collar the other cocked, his fist a bunched knot of fury. But his face told a different story. He was stunned and dread was beginning to seep into his features. His gaze shifted and locked on her elbows and the slow drip of her blood.

  “It’s nothing,” Emme insisted. “When you’re done—” she nodded toward Bruno— “A little Neosporin and a Band-Aid,” she said. “You’re specialty. Now someone tell me what’s going on.”

  Micah released Bruno and the man fell to the ground, a crumpled, boneless heap, and completely unthreatening. Still, Micah placed his foot on the man’s throat to keep him secure. He raised his eyes and regarded both Emme and his sister. He was frowning more with concern now than fury. “Emme, my sister and I were hired by this piece of shit—” he flexed his strong leg and increased the pressure on Bruno’s throat. The man coughed and sputtered for breath.

  “But why?”

  “He said,” and Micah stressed that word— “that he was worried you were either stealing company intelligence or you were on the run from threats.”

  “Micah’s been watching you for weeks now. To either keep you safe—”

  “Or arrest me,” Emme cut in. “And probably the latter.”

  “Either was equally possible,” Crista said. “Gaming is a billion dollar industry and there’s a lot of both going on.”

  Emme nodded. It was true. But now that she heard the explanation she was thinking back to her arrival in this little town. To Micah’s reluctance. She lifted her gaze and speared him with it. “You thought I was stealing.”

  He had the grace to nod but to look like he wished he could do anything but. “I did. Not many people would walk away from a million dollar salary. It seemed to fit. But that was before I knew you.”

  Her stomach shifted, a slow rolling that reflected her emotional state.

  “When did you decide I was above all that? Before or after you screwed me?”

  He winced. “I didn’t screw you, Emme. It was never that.”

  But he didn’t answer the question and that hurt. It became very hard to hold his gaze, to let him see her heartache, but she would own it. The need went beyond her desire to be bold and courageous. Her feelings were valid. They were worthy. And she let them show. Betrayal and loss snapped in the air between them.

  “Your loss, Micah,” she said. And then dismissed him and turned to Crista. It was clear Micah’s sister knew little of the quasi-relationship that had developed between Emme and her brother. Though she remained alert, her eyes going back to Bruno and occasionally scanning their surroundings, her face was tightened by the discovery. Emme tried to break through the surprise. “What will you do with him?” she asked, nodding at her former boss still laying prone under Micah’s shoe.

  “Ah,” she said, gathering her
thoughts, “we’ll probably have to turn him over to the local authorities. It’s a draw, really. Here he committed B&E, stalking and assault. In San Diego, he’s guilty of threats, fraud and possibly hiring—”

  “Crista.” Micah’s voice cut across his sister’s. It was firm, a warning, and Crista stopped in mid-sentence and regarded them both. “She needs to know, Micah.”

  “And I’ll tell her.”

  Emme turned toward him. It saddened her. To be so close, so familiar with the cut of his body, his strength, and not be able to walk into his arms and feel it.

  “So tell me.”

  “Let’s finish up with Gardi first.”

  “I called the police,” Crista said. And she explained that they had been watching over Emme all day, and yesterday, too. Crista had been tailing Gardi and as soon as it became clear he was headed to the Sierras, she had called Micah and followed. They had a third operative, still in the shadows. “But you really didn’t need us, Emme. You take kick-boxing?”

  Emme almost smiled, because Crista obviously didn’t know about her challenges when it came to synchrony and physical output. “My brother taught me a few moves.”

  “Good. And you kept your cool. In the clutch, a lot of people freeze, but you didn’t.”

  Emme smiled. She hadn’t. When Bruno appeared, it had been disconcerting, but she hadn’t thought he would assault her. Try to woo her, yes, but come after her physically? No, that had been a surprise, until she read his intentions in his face.

  “He didn’t want to lose me,” Emme said.

  “You’re the “master of marvel,” Crista said and she smiled with a certain amount of satisfaction and pride. “I like that. I wish someone would call me that.”

  And that surprised Emme. “But you’re so amazing. I mean—” And she lifted her arms to indicate Crista’s strength and beauty. “You’re beautiful. You’re good at what you do. You have two little boys who know your love.” She felt her cheeks color and shrugged. “Micah told me a little about you.”

  “No more amazing than you, Emme.” Crista spoke with quiet confidence and Emme took a moment to consider her words. Yeah, she was a new woman today, but it had been a struggle getting here and there were times when she’d wanted to bury herself deep under the covers and never have to lift her head from the pillow and look at the truth. But she had.

  “But I had a lot of help.”

  “Me, too.”

  And there was nothing wrong with that. Crista’s tone said it and it seeped into Emme’s pores. No, there was nothing wrong with relying on the strength of family. And she’d done what was needed to get her life where she wanted it. They both had.

  A police car turned onto the block. Lights but no siren. And Micah shook his head.

  “Small towns.”

  “Hey, that wasn’t even ten minutes,” Crista said. “A much better response than we expected.”

  “Maybe.”

  Strength and stubbornness made Micah’s face sharp, aggressive. He turned toward Emme and claimed her with his eyes. “Say as little as possible. Crista and I will take the lead. And I’m not trying to take over. It has nothing to do with bravery or strength.”

  “I know. It’s your job,” Emme said and was proud of herself. Not a trace of hurt was evident in her tone, although the emotion threatened to consumer her.

  One officer climbed from the cruiser and approached them and Emme settled in on her heels, content to watch and answer the Sheriff’s questions with few words. She was content to watch Micah and Crista at work. They made a good partnership. They were calm and reasonable, each with a reservoir of strength that went without question. They spoke with quiet integrity and soon Bruno was gone, in handcuffs, along with the officer who promised to be in touch with Micah.

  Chapter Seventeen

  They stood in silence for a moment, watching the taillights of the cruiser as it turned around in a neighbor’s driveway and headed back toward town. Tension was slowly fading from the scene. Crista pushed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and rolled back on her heels. Micah’s arms hung stiffly at his side. He was watching Emme, as he had done during the fifteen minutes the sheriff had been questioning them and securing Bruno. Some of the time, Emme returned his stare, her own baleful and not the least sorry for it. Other times she looked away, because it was impossible to hold the gaze of the man who had won her heart without also showing her hurt.

  “You want to go inside?” he asked Crista and tossed her a key. “Find Vaughn. There are enough bedrooms for everyone.”

  “Vaughn is right here.”

  It was a strong, decidedly male voice Emme had never heard before. And then he stepped into their circle of light and Emme’s breath bottled in her throat and she had to stop herself from drawing back in what, apprehension? Possibly. The man was big, rough, and had an edginess that Emme thought probably challenged the man’s self-discipline.

  “Emme,” Crista introduced, “this is Vaughn. He came along for the ride.”

  Vaughn nodded in her direction and Emme stirred from her fascination enough to thank him.

  “You’re pretty good at taking care of yourself,” he said and Emme heard the approval in his tone. She smiled, feeling just a tad invincible.

  Micah stepped into the center of their circle and turned so that his back was to Emme.

  “Don’t wait up for me,” Micah said, urging them along. “I’ll see you back in San Diego.”

  “It is getting late,” Crista agreed. She looked around her brother to Emme. “I probably won’t see you in the morning. I’m missing my boys and want to be home in time for trick-or-treating, but we’ll see each other again. I’m sure of it.” She took a step back and nudged Vaughn with her elbow when he didn’t follow suit. To Micah she said, “I’ll stop by the police station on my way out of town.”

  Emme watched Crista and Vaughn fade into the shadows as they crossed the yard. Micah turned towards her but she wasn’t ready to connect. She stood on the porch, among the shattered glass and a single pumpkin she had carved earlier that day, and watched as the candlelight flickered inside and cast shadows across the porch. Her elbows no longer bled but the cold air stung the open skin.

  “Emme?” Micah began, but she cut through his intentions.

  “So what didn’t you want to tell me?” she asked.

  He closed the remaining distance between them, stopping before he mounted the porch steps. Still, he was a good three inches taller than her. She could tell he was looking for soft words, a gentle way of telling her something he thought would put her in a spin.

  “I won’t break, Micah.” Well, her heart would if he was going to tell her it was over. Yes, she felt betrayed, but the sting was eased by his remembered warnings. He’d told her some surprises were unpleasant. And it was eased by the truths he had shared with her—the bitter failure of his relationship with Felicity, his misplaced trust and the woman’s duplicity that had rocked his world, and his involvement with Wendy and other young women like her. He had exposed himself in so many ways, but had not been able to reveal his reason for being in the Sierras. That would have breached his integrity. She understood that, even if it didn’t feel good.

  “Gardi hired me.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” She felt her lips twist and she didn’t like that. She didn’t want to be angry or bitter and she didn’t want to hide sadness or heartbreak. He should know the truth.

  “But some things didn’t make sense.”

  “Like what?”

  “He was worried about two things. That you were either stealing from Cyclical or you were being threatened by the competition and had chosen to run. But he never told me about the emails you received.”

  “The guy who was offended by my heroines?”

  “Exactly.”

  “No that doesn’t make sense,” she agreed. “What else?”

  “We’ve been keeping an eye on your financials,” he revealed with a pained look. “It’s part of the job.”
<
br />   She nodded her understanding, unable to give him more just yet.

  “At first it looked like you had applied for a loan online. Crista followed the trail and realized that someone was building an offshore account in your name. Things like that are time stamped and I know for a fact that you were otherwise occupied when you should have been at your laptop.”

  “An account was opened in my name?”

  He nodded. “We took the info we needed and then Crista shut it down.”

  “She can do that?”

  “She’s a computer whiz. She can do almost anything. And the banks involved with offshore accounts are jittery. At the first sniff of trouble the door is slammed shut. It was easy.”

  “You think Gardi tried to open the account?”

  He nodded. “He was trying to box you in.”

  “When he couldn’t get me to accept his offers, he was going to what? Make it look like I was stealing?”

  “We think he was laying ground for that,” Micah said. “That he hired someone to create the illusion of an employee seeking a hot payday. It was nothing that would stand up to scrutiny, but maybe enough to scare you into coming back.”

  “I have back up,” she said. “A file full of documents and photographs, recordings.”

  “Good girl.”

  “I’m not stupid, Micah. I know my worth to Cyclical, and to the competition. I knew walking away wouldn’t be easy.”

  “But you did it anyway. And you did it well.”

  She smiled. “I’ve been creating kick-ass heroines for four years. I learned a lot.”

  “And you don’t miss it?”

  “Not at all.” Even if this book didn’t sell. Even if she was the only one who ever read it, she was a lot happier creating like-life worlds where she mingled with characters she loved and loved to hate. It was a deeper experience. And after this book, there would be others. She was meant for this life. And she was made for Micah. She hoped he’d see it. “But you have to be missing San Diego. You have a life there.”

  He lifted his hands and settled them on her hips. With their bodies aligned, and her standing on the porch step, she could easily initiate a kiss that would melt them on the spot. But she wanted to hear what he had to say. Her breath thinned and fluttered in her throat. His next words would be very important to her.