“Works for me. Let me know what he says.”
“Sure. So when do I start?” Tate asked.
“Maybe next week or soon after. Once the details are ironed out. Be on standby.”
“Got it.” Energy pumped through Tate as he disconnected—the thrill of the chase, a readiness to get to work. He couldn’t wait to nail the bastards involved in this online sex ring to the wall.
Chapter 8
By the time Piper showed up after school to relieve him of nanny duty, Gunnar was exhausted. He’d never seen two more active, mischievous, time-consuming babies in his life. Though to be fair, he’d never spent more than a few minutes around any baby since Piper joined the family as a toddler. He’d missed most of Sawyer’s childhood while in the army.
“How’d it go?” his youngest sister asked as she hoisted one of the twins—Mason, Gunnar thought—onto her hip and nuzzled his nose.
Gunnar arched an eyebrow and draped the diaper bag strap over Piper’s shoulder. “Look at my living room and you tell me.”
She leaned through the front door, and her eyes widened. “Geez, Gunnar. What happened?”
“Hurricane Hudson happened, followed by a swift strike from the pillaging army of Mason the destroyer.”
Piper had the audacity to laugh. Gunnar growled at her.
“Before tomorrow, you should baby-proof the cabin. It will make things easier on you.”
“Tomorrow,” he groaned. “I have to do this again tomorrow?”
“Cheer up. Only a few days until the weekend, and then it’ll be Thanksgiving break, and I can watch them full-time.” She smoothed the toddler’s riotous curls back from his face.
“Definitely something to give thanks for.” He felt a tug on the leg of his jeans and looked down to find the other imp peering at him with his mother’s brown eyes. Sticky hands reached for him.
“Up.”
Gunnar returned his attention to Piper. “What do you mean by baby-proof?”
“You know, move breakable things out of reach, put those plastic plugs in electric outlets, locks on cabinets where you store poisonous stuff.”
Poisons? A shiver ran down his back. Hell, he hadn’t thought about all the potentially deadly stuff under his kitchen sink and in his storage closet. Bug sprays, cleaning products, lighter fluid...
“Rearranging furniture to create a more contained and safe play area...things like that.”
Gunnar rubbed his jaw and studied his living room layout. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Tug, tug. “Up!”
“Hudson wants you to pick him up,” Piper said with a meaningful nod to the gremlin pulling on his jeans.
“Uh...yeah, I knew that,” he lied and lifted the boy to his hip. “How’d you get so smart about babies?”
“Home ec class, babysitting Sawyer, paying attention around parents of little kids.” She pulled a face. “It’s not rocket science, Gunnar.”
“Could have fooled me,” he mumbled under his breath.
He tailed Piper out to the Suburban and followed her lead as she buckled Mason into one of the car seats. Hudson had other ideas and wiggled to get free. “So where do I get these plugs for the outlets and cabinet locks you mentioned?”
Piper chuckled. “It’s really sad how out of touch you are, big brother.”
He cocked one eyebrow and sent Piper a disgruntled look. “Baby-proofing gear was hardly relevant in my squad’s bunker. Now if you want to quiz me on disassembling an M-16 to clean sand from it or the geopolitical differences between the nomadic tribes in Afghanistan and which ones are NATO allies, then we’ll talk.”
Piper reached over and helped contain Hudson long enough to snap his car seat strap in place. “But you’re home now. M-16s are not relevant in Eden Falls. Making sure Violet Chastain’s babies don’t die is.”
The woman and her son lay dead in the street, covered with debris and blood...
Gunnar’s breath caught, and he blinked hard to clear the image from his head. When he glanced back up at Piper, she was watching him with the same wary concern she’d had when he’d freaked out on her in town on Sunday.
“You okay?” she asked. “You’ve got that funny look in your eyes again.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Just tell me where to buy the stuff I need to baby-proof the cabin.”
“You know, Derek thinks you should talk to a counselor. He thinks you’ve got PTSD.”
Clenching his teeth, Gunnar backed out of the SUV and closed the door. “I’m familiar with Derek’s theories. But I’m okay. I just need time to make the transition to being home. I need quiet and privacy to decompress.”
He started back to the porch to retrieve the portable crib, and Piper dogged his steps.
“It’s been six months, Gunnar.”
He shoved the collapsed and compacted crib at her. “Don’t nag.”
“I’m just worried about you. We all are.”
Gunnar sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly. “I know, and I appreciate your concern. But I’m okay. Really I am.”
Rather than voice the disagreement obvious in her expression, Piper set the crib on the ground and threw herself against him in an unexpected hug. “Love you.”
He kissed the top of her head and gave her a squeeze. “Back attcha, smarty-pants.”
She pulled away and sauntered back to the Suburban without the crib. “Rani thinks it will be easier to just leave the portable crib at your place. They have regular cribs at the main house.”
He nodded. “Whatever.”
She climbed in the driver’s side of the SUV and sent him a crooked grin. “Any department store that carries baby stuff will have all the baby-proofing things you’ll need.”
He gave her a thumbs-up as she backed down his driveway.
An hour later, Tate arrived with the local police sketch artist in tow to work with Violet on a composite of her attacker. While Violet was occupied and Tate could keep tabs on her, Gunnar took the opportunity to drive into town to shop for baby-proofing equipment. The sheer volume of safety equipment and gadgets was mind-boggling, and rather than miss something essential, Gunnar bought several of every item.
Back at the cabin, he unloaded the bags of safety booty from his car and called down the short hall toward Violet’s room. “I’m back.”
Ready to be fed, Violet’s black cat, Sophie, wound around his legs, making him stumble as he brought in the last load. “Yeah, yeah, in a minute. Cool it.”
“Who are you talking to?”
Gunnar jerked his gaze toward the door where Tate stood, his hands in his pockets.
“Oh, uh...the cat,” Gunnar admitted with a grimace.
“Hmm. I’d comment on what your hermit lifestyle is doing to your social skills if you’re talking to cats, but...I have a favor to ask.” Tate stepped over to the table where Gunnar had deposited the many bags from the store and peeked in one. “What’s all this?”
“Piper told me I needed to baby-proof the cabin. Apparently there are endless ways a kid can get maimed or killed in the average household. Who knew?”
Tate pulled a package out of a bag. “What’s this for?”
Gunnar studied the device in his brother’s hand. “I have no idea.”
Tate smirked, and Gunnar returned a scowl. “Watch it, or I’ll have you up here tonight helping me install all this crap.” He paused and glanced toward Violet’s room. “Is she done with the artist?”
Tate pulled another box from the shopping bags and turned the lock kit over in his hands. “Yeah. He left a few minutes ago.”
“So you have a composite for the guy who stabbed her?”
“A rough one. She only got a quick look at the side of his face, but it’s a start. More than we had before.” Tate glanced toward Violet’s door. “She was pretty worn out when we finished. Said to tell you she was going to nap.”
Gunnar nodded. “You mentioned a favor?”
Tate’s expression sobered. “Yeah, it’s r
elated to the investigation into the kidnappings and online sex ring.”
Gunnar’s hand stilled on the bag he was unpacking. Mention of the crimes Tate was working sent a ripple of disgust through his gut. “Name it. If I can help bring that scum to justice, I’m in.”
“You haven’t heard what I want yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. If it’s in my power to help, you’ve got it.”
Tate cocked his head and eyed his brother skeptically. “Even giving me a few million dollars to fund an undercover operation?”
Gunnar’s eyes widened. “A few million? What kind of op are you doing?”
“Villanueva is sending me undercover as a wealthy New York bigwig. It’s the rich guys who can afford the fees the sex ring is charging. I’ll need to dress the part, have cash available, plus enough to pay rent on a posh apartment in uptown—”
Gunnar waved a hand to stop Tate. “Done. No justification needed. I trust you. Just tell me where to transfer the money.”
Tate blinked twice, then grinned. “I think I like having a billionaire for a brother.”
Grunting, Gunnar continued unpacking. “I’m still getting used to the idea. It’s kinda surreal.” He tossed Tate a safety latch for a cabinet door. “Now about installing these gizmos...”
* * *
Tate stayed for another ninety minutes, helping Gunnar sort the baby-proofing items and installing those devices they deemed most important. After Tate left, Gunnar checked on Violet, who was still sleeping, then heated a microwaveable dinner he found in his freezer. He carried the tray of fried chicken and mashed potatoes to his recliner and turned the television on with the volume low. Setting his meal on a lamp stand by his chair, he headed back into the kitchen for a beer. When he returned to the den, he settled in his chair and retrieved his dinner...and blinked. The fried chicken breast was gone.
“What the...?” He glanced around his chair, puzzled, and spotted Romeo on the floor, chowing down on the chicken. “Hey, you little thief!” Gunnar pushed out of his chair to capture the cat, but Romeo grabbed the chicken in his mouth and ran. Gritting his teeth, he chased after the cat. “Give me my chicken, furball!”
Was it not enough that he’d spent the day running after Violet’s children? Now even her cats were stirring up trouble for him.
When he finally caught Romeo and pried the chicken from the cat’s mouth, he stood in the center of his den and snorted a laugh thinking about dinner-stealing cats, toddler mayhem and an injured movie star in his guest room. So much for the peace and quiet he’d thought he’d have in his cabin this winter.
He returned to his recliner, switched the television from the news channel to ESPN and tucked into his dinner. Despite the cat slobber on his meat, he devoured his food. Who knew babysitting toddlers could be so exhausting and create such an appetite?
Gunnar finished his meal while watching a college basketball match-up, but the game didn’t hold his attention. His thoughts drifted frequently to the sex ring case Tate and Emma were working. Knowing the critical part Violet played in the investigation raised Gunnar’s blood pressure. When the sketch of the kidnapper was released to the public, the men who’d attacked her would know who’d provided the information. As the cops’ key witness, she had a huge target on her back, and he’d inherited the job of keeping her safe.
But during the bombing in the Afghan market, he hadn’t protected his buddies, the Afghan woman and her child. What if he failed Violet or her children, as well? And what had happened to the quiet, safe Eden Falls he’d known growing up?
With a restless sigh, he used the remote to flip through the channels. When he came across a sexy commercial, Gunnar was reminded of the movie clip of Violet he’d seen during his internet search. His fingers tightened around the remote, and he gritted his teeth. Even if the butt and breast shots were of a body double as she claimed, the heat level of the scene and the fuel to his imagination were real enough. Gunnar rubbed his eyes with his thumbs and tried to squelch the thrum of his libido. Violet was in no position physically or emotionally to have a fling with him, and since he was in no condition to start a relationship, anything more than a fling was out of the question. Violet would be out of his cabin and moving on with her life and her acting career in a few more days, so harboring any ideas about getting close to her were pointless.
But try as he might, thoughts of Violet taunted him. When his channel surfing brought him to a rerun of a movie in which Violet had had a small walk-on part, he watched the lame chick flick for thirty minutes, waiting for the quick glimpse of Violet as a waitress in a diner.
Finally she sauntered on screen in the short waitress uniform, and Gunnar paused the image with his DVR and stared for a moment, wondering what it was about the short, sassy actress that got under his skin. From the time he’d met her, the day her bus had been blocking his driveway, something about Violet Chastain had burrowed past his defenses and poked his peace of mind.
In the stillness of his cabin, Gunnar sighed and sank back in his recliner. He glanced around him at the sparsely decorated room and bare walls, and for the first time since his return from Afghanistan, he saw the minimalist decor as something other than efficient and clean. Despite the billions of dollars in his bank account, he had very little stuff—which was fine. He was far from materialistic. He’d gotten used to living lean and traveling light while in the military. But had he taken his spartan decorating too far? Was his empty cabin a metaphor for his life? He lived within half a mile of his family now, yet most days, he chose to stay secluded in his little cabin, by himself. For the past couple days, though, having Violet under his roof, he’d felt...more alive and content than he had in years.
He was mulling over that realization when he heard the guest bed creak and what sounded like a gasp of pain. Hastily setting the remote aside, Gunnar shot out of his chair and hurried to check on Violet. Though the room was dark, light from the hall spilled onto the bed when he opened the door. Violet was on her side with her back to him, but she rolled toward him enough that she could meet his gaze with a slight turn of her head.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
“No. A bad dream did that a few minutes ago. I can’t stop thinking about the face the sketch artist drew this afternoon.”
“I thought I heard you gasp, like you’d hurt yourself.”
She gave a short, mirthless laugh and rubbed a hand on her injured leg. “There’s that, too. When I turned over, trying to get comfortable, I think I pulled a stitch in my leg.”
“Rethinking that painkiller yet, Tinkerbell?” he asked leaning against the door frame.
She sighed heavily. “No. My reasons for not wanting anything narcotic stand.”
“How about dinner?”
“Not hungry.”
He hummed his acknowledgment, though her lack of appetite bothered him. “I’ll be right back.”
“Would you—”
He disappeared from her door before she could finish, and a hollow feeling plucked her chest—disappointment, loneliness, maybe even a tiny bit of fear. She knew she was safe in Gunnar’s cabin, but the recounting of her ordeal for the police sketch artist left her off balance.
And she missed her boys. Lying alone in the dark room made it easy to feel sorry for herself, and she hated that she seemed to be slipping into that sort of funk.
“Here you go.” Gunnar swept into the room, set a glass down on the bedside stand and turned on a small lamp. “Ibuprofen and a glass of warm milk.”
“Does that really work? Warm milk to help you sleep?”
“Depends what you chase it with, I suppose.” He flashed her a lopsided grin that warmed her core more than any hot drink could. She was ridiculously glad that he’d returned so quickly, and she refused to examine her reasons why.
Using her arms to push, she tried to wiggle into a sitting position, only to have Gunnar put his hands under her armpits and lift her into place. He handed her the milk and dropped two pills in her palm.
After swallowing the ibuprofen and washing them down with a few sips of milk, she handed him the glass. “So Tate stayed for a while to visit? I heard voices earlier along with a lot of banging and clatter.”
“Oh, yeah. He helped me install some of the baby-proofing gadgets I bought tonight.”
Violet cocked her head, stunned. “You baby-proofed the place? For my boys?”
He shrugged. “Seemed the prudent thing to do.”
“But...they’re only going to be here a few more days. Rani should be over the worst of her flu by next week and can take over watching them again.”
Another lift of his shoulder. “So they’ll be safer for those few days.”
“It just seems like a lot of trouble and expense for a few days.”
He flipped a hand casually. “Can you really put a price on safety and peace of mind?”
Her chest filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the milk she’d sipped. Gunnar’s thoughtfulness amazed her, touched her. “Thank you.”
Gunnar shifted awkwardly. “Well...the way I see it, they have me outnumbered and, at times, until I get a hang of this babysitting gig, outfoxed. Baby-proofing was a tactical move. Makes it a fairer fight.”
She chuckled, then sent him a dubious grin. “Was today that bad?”
“Let’s just say I can’t remember being this tired after a full day of special ops training.”
“Mmm-hmm. And you questioned my hiring a nanny to help me with my twins...”
He opened his mouth as if to protest, but his expression said he knew he’d been bested. He shuffled back to the door. “Call me if you need anything.”
She nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of uneasiness that stirred at her core as he disappeared into the hall. The day had been long and tedious, confined to bed and coping with her aching leg while Gunnar handled her rowdy children. The night ahead promised to be no less lonely, but she hated to impose on Gunnar for his company. After a crazy day with her twins, Gunnar deserved the night off to relax.
Colton's Ranch Refuge Page 10
