Stone (Stone Cold Fox Trilogy #1)

by Max Monroe

  I nodded. I knew all about the director, Hugo Roman, and his unyielding demands for instant chemistry. I hadn’t worked with him before, but tales ran wide of his propensity to shoot love scenes first, just to make sure the male and female lead had the heat necessary to take his film to the top of the box office.

  I attempted to picture Johnny Atkins as I thumbed through the script long after Boyce left me to my solitude. I endeavored to see his smile when Grace exchanged jokes with him, his heavy scowl when she did something he didn’t like, and his long lash-rimmed eyes when his stare scrutinized Grace’s choices.

  I tried.

  The only problem was that I knew Levi Fox—he was complicated and layered and hotter than any man I’d ever laid eyes on, in person or otherwise.

  And I wasn’t sure that Johnny Atkins’s version, no matter what he did, would ever be able to live up to the real one.

  Laughter rang out in the open space around Ruby Jane’s as I slammed the door shut on my rental and pulled the front of my coat tighter around my body. The red neon in the apostrophe was dimmer than the rest of the sign, and the brown building looked worn from years of use. As the only watering hole in Cold, Montana, though, I suspected the lack of curb appeal did nothing to diminish a steady flow of patrons.

  I had on my fancy jeans and a lavender cashmere sweater, but the day of activity in the snow had done a number on my brown suede ankle booties. They had stains and irreversible damage that would make any fashionista cry. I, perversely, now had hopes that they would bring my outfit down a couple of notches, to a level that would blend.

  I wanted a drink and I wanted the hum of public noise, but I wasn’t in the mood to be noticed. The irony was almost too rich—an up-and-coming Hollywood actress trying to avoid attention.

  Trust me, no matter what they say publicly, it’s usually the other way around.

  Cold, brass door handle in both hands, I had to lean all of my body weight into the door to get it open. That should have tipped me off.

  But I was too busy thinking about what I’d order to heed any warning born of common sense.

  Just barely in the door, I surveyed the room as I let the door fall closed behind me. But the suction of the indoors and the wind from outside were too strong and my body too slight, and before I knew it, I was careening forward in a film-worthy fall that ended on my hands and knees thanks to a solid wood slap in the ass.

  Grit from people’s shoes and undissolved ice salt stung sharply in the palms of my hands, purple bruise blood pooled at my knees, and, perhaps above all, humiliation ached in the pit of my stomach.

  Silence descended as bar-goers noticed my less than graceful entrance one by one. Head down beneath my protective curtain of hair, I stayed there, waiting for absolution to swallow me whole.

  Square-toed boots stopped just short of my fingertips, and the dagger to my pride sank a little deeper. Up the denim, my gaze began its march to find the owner, and when it did, I knew I had my answer.

  Just like Rose, lonely and freezing in the middle of the cold Atlantic as the Titanic went down, it didn’t matter how much I prayed.

  For me, tonight, absolution would never come—only a conundrum named Levi Fox staring down at me.

  Cheeks the color of her hair, Ivy looked up at me from her hands and knees. Her eyes were misty with aches and embarrassment as I reached down with both hands and lifted from under her armpits. I’d noticed how small she was, but I still wasn’t prepared for her to be so featherlight.

  When she’d opened the door and stepped inside, white-hot annoyance had made the surface of my skin tingle. I didn’t want her to be here. I liked to drink alone, and I did it with the purpose of going numb. Ivy, for all she was, was the last thing in my life that would aid in my bid for apathy.

  Exhibit A: I’d been out of my seat as soon as she hit the floor.

  “You all right?”

  She nodded and tucked her chin, the prospect of meeting my eyes too much in the fresh hell of public mortification.

  “I’m fine.”

  I nodded back above her head in an effort to give her the benefit of secrecy in her true feelings, but avoiding her eyes meant noticing others, and believe you me, the eyes of the town were upon us.

  “Come on,” I ordered thickly, trying not to let the invasion of privacy turn me callous. I knew my trigger had only a breadth of forgiveness these days, and all that communal inspection was hell on its sensitivity. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” she asked, her vivid green eyes meeting mine for the first time.

  The question caught me off guard. Surely, she wants to leave, right? She’d just fallen to her knees in one of the most attended places in all of Cold. There wasn’t a chance in Hades she’d be able to do anything for the rest of the night without being watched, and I’d stupidly cared enough about her well-being to connect us via being the first person to run to her aid and support her with my own hands. She had to go.

  “To your car. I’ll help you.”

  Her eyebrows drew together a half an inch and stood up in the center, and the slow shake of her head swirled a curl of dizziness through my mind. “I’m not leaving.”

  “Ivy,” I nearly growled, the determination in her voice making mine get heated. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Ivy. Turn the fuck around.”

  “I’m not leaving!” she yelled. Time contracted on that one moment, and any-fucking-body who’d been oblivious to our meeting of the minds before wasn’t anymore.

  My hands left her arms quickly—as if they burned.

  “Fine,” I gritted. “Suit yourself.”

  Our separation was bitter, and the crickets chirped almost violently as we both walked over to the bar—me, back to my seat, and her to the farthest stool at the other end.

  Lou had already filled my glass when I returned, so I picked it up with a shaking hand and downed it. The silky warmth that coated my throat in its wake made it easier to sit down and blind myself to the rest of it.

  I didn’t see her hair or her scowl or her haunting green eyes, and I couldn’t hear the whispers. I didn’t care what she was doing or who she was with or if she even stayed there after that. It was just me and my glass, and I took a trip to oblivion.

  Three hours and seven glasses of whiskey later, a ghost from my past found my arm and set out to mend the hurt from earlier.

  “Levi?” Grace asked me softly, her voice a little different than normal, but still pretty.

  I squinted, trying to find enough focus to make out her perfect features, but all I could manage was a blurry painting of green, peach, and red.

  “Grace,” I hummed with a smile. “Iss good to see you.”

  The pink of her mouth changed shape, flattening out at the corners, and I reached up with a thumb to try to smooth it.

  “It’s good to see you too, Levi.”

  “Where you been? You get mad at me or somefin?” Deep into the recesses of my brain that hadn’t let alcohol drown out logic, I knew it didn’t add up. But I ignored the truth. It was easier that way. Simple, easy. Yeah. That sounds so nice.

  The big blob of her hair shook back and forth, and her answer was a whisper. “No.”

  “Thas good,” I remarked, followed by a “Whoa.” She had a shoulder under my arm and was lifting me off my stool before I could protest. She’d always been a stout little thing. “You’re strong, you know that?” I muttered. “So strong.”

  “I didn’t really,” she said weirdly. “But I’m starting to get it now.”

  My brain ached, like my skull was abrasive and too tight around the membrane, and I blinked to open my eyes, but the light stabbed at me like a knife.

  What in God’s hell had I done last night?

  Rebelling against the pain, I forced my eyes open, expecting to see Jeremy’s couch or the sheets of my own bed courtesy of him. Anytime I got drunk, he was the one to deal with it. He didn’t have a signed contr
act or anything, but his number was the lucky one Lou could reliably find on his speed dial.

  What I found instead made me sit up entirely too fast. Vomit threatened, and my eyes burned.

  Thankfully, a trash can sat next to the plaid couch, a fresh bag lining the inside. I heaved and purged, voiding myself of the rotten alcohol in no more than thirty seconds.

  A bottle of water on the coffee table quenched the cottony dryness of my tongue and rinsed out everything putrid.

  Things were looking up.

  Relief was sweet but brief as I realized with renewed clarity where I was.

  The banana yellow curtains and soft cream walls. The painted butterfly on the back of the front door and the furry gray pillow behind my back.

  This was Grace’s living room.

  Ivy’s living room.

  Jesus Christ.

  I had to get out of there.

  Listening intently for signs of a woman awake, I tied up the now disgusting trash bag beside the couch with plans to dispose of it in one of the outside bins, pulled on my boots at the foot of the couch, and grabbed my jacket from where it’d been draped over the back.

  The air was still and the morning silent—thank God—so I moved to the door on the tips of my toes, pausing for only a moment, hand on the knob, my gaze no more than a passing glance.

  Come hell or high water, I had to find a way to put both of the women in this house behind me.

  The frigid Montana wind whipped at my face as I stood my ground near Levi’s cruiser, my back resting against the closed trunk. He walked toward me, his boots crunching in the gravel of the parking lot with each step. When our eyes met, his mouth turned into a scowl.

  “This is starting to get old, Ivy,” he said as he passed me and moved toward the driver’s-side door.

  Instantly, I smarted. The day after I’d spent three and a half hours watching him turn himself into a drunken shell of a human being, hauled him to my car, dragged him into my house, and taken care of his basic needs as he’d passed out, I’d been understanding. The memory of his eerie conversation with me as Grace was still fresh in my mind and heart, and I knew I had to give him some time.

  But it’d been seven fucking days since then, and enough was finally enough. Something had to give, and evidently, Levi Fox was only equipped to take.

  He wasn’t the only one who’d lost Grace, but he was the only one who couldn’t seem to stop blaming me for it. Over the last week, I’d gotten a call from Grace’s mother, Mary, welcoming me to town, and a series of sweet text messages from her grandpa Sam that gave me hope. They wanted me here. They were kind and open, and they understood I would do my best to give Grace the closure she deserved.

  Why couldn’t Levi see that?

  “You ignoring me is getting old. We have to work together. Grace deserves a well-developed depiction of her character, and the two of us are going to have to talk in order to make that happen. Apparently, only one of us can see that.”

  He pulled up short, spun on his heel, and got directly in my face. The downturn of his mouth was severe, and the light in his eyes was chilling. “There’s something you need to understand right fucking now.” His voice dropped, lower, deeper, harsher, and I fought the urge to grimace. “I don’t owe you anything, and you don’t know a goddamn thing about me or Grace or what I care about.”

  I found the mark in the sand and immediately jumped back a step. The goal of showing up here every day, at the police station, wasn’t to fight. I’d clearly let my mouth get ahead of me. “I’m…I’m sorry. You’re right. That was completely out of line.”

  He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes practically burning me with rage.

  “I’m really sorry, Levi,” I apologized again. “I just want—”

  “I don’t care about what you want,” he cut me off. “If it were up to me, this film would not be happening, and you sure as fuck wouldn’t be here.”

  Slack-jawed and completely shocked, I watched as he stalked away from me, his black boots pounding against the gravel until he reached the driver’s door and hopped in.

  I moved away from his cruiser, knowing I’d more than lost today’s battle and a little fearful he’d run me over if he had to, and headed toward the warmth of the station to fight off the cold.

  The engine of his cruiser revved to life behind me, and moments later, he was gone.

  Good Lord, exhaustion was just around the corner if he kept it up with the anger and irritation. It seemed like we couldn’t go one fucking round without someone aiming for a knockout.

  Don’t get me wrong, I understood the fragility of the situation. I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Grace had been important to him. She was his partner. Someone he had grown up with. And from what I’d gathered, a very close friend.

  But the ire of his wrath felt unwarranted and directed solely at me.

  I was merely asking him to tell me more about her. Not because I was selfish or nosy or wanted to railroad through territory I knew was very sensitive, but because I wanted to make sure when I got in front of the camera, I was doing Grace justice.

  To me, this film wasn’t just about the money. It was about a woman who had the strength to stop a sociopath. A man who, had he not been stopped, would’ve no doubt taken more lives.

  But fuck, Levi Fox sure was making it hard.

  I looked around the otherwise quiet station until my gaze caught sight of Officer Glen, dressed head to toe in his Cold Police uniform and filling a small Styrofoam cup with coffee. With thick fingers and unassuming eyes, he added two packets of sugar and one small creamer to his brew before snapping it closed with a plastic lid. By the time he’d started to head for the door, I made my move.

  “Hey, Glen,” I greeted, sidling up to him with a soft smile. “Mind if I ride with you today?”

  “Uh…” He stopped in his tracks, and the wrinkles around his gray eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked down at me. “The chief put you with Levi…” he said, but it was more of a question than a statement.

  “Well, it looks like I’ll be riding with you now.”

  It still wasn’t what I really needed to happen, but surely Officer Glen Chase had useful information about Grace. He’d worked with her. He was active when the Cold-Hearted Killer situation had gone down.

  “Nuh-uh.” He shook his head and raised both hands in the air like I was holding him hostage. Coffee sloshed out of the small hole in the lid of his cup, and droplets spattered onto the worn tile floor. “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

  “What?” I questioned, acting completely confused. “Trust me, Glen, there isn’t anything to get in the middle of. This is simply an adjustment of schedule. I’m sure the chief won’t mind.”

  “You’re a good actress, Ivy Stone,” he said, and an amused chuckle escaped his lips. “But it’s not the chief I’m worried about.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “We both know exactly what that means,” he added, and without giving me any more time to plead my case, he strode out the door with his gun securely in its holster, coffee in his right hand, and an amused smile still etched across his lips.

  Dammit. I really thought it would’ve worked…

  I hitched my hip against one of the empty desks inside the station and weighed out my options. It was a remarkably quick process because there were none.

  Levi had made it pretty damn clear he wanted nothing to do with me. Glen didn’t want to get in the middle of whatever he felt he would be getting in the middle of. And I was pretty sure there weren’t any Cold cops left in the station to help me.

  Well, there is one…

  Dane Marx. I’d learned pretty quickly everyone called him “the rookie,” and from what I’d seen so far, he lived up to the nickname. Twenty-four, fresh out of the police academy, and rarely given the opportunity to go on the “serious” police calls, to say he was still learning the ropes would’ve been an understatement.

  But he was w
orking today, and although I wasn’t sure if he even knew Grace, I was certain he could provide me with some insight into Levi. And with blond hair, bright green eyes, and a nearly constant boyish grin, he was also real easy on the eyes.

  But will he let me ride along?

  There was only one way to find out.

  By the time I reached his desk, he was standing up from his chair and pulling his jacket over his arms.

  “There you are,” I said. Immediately, his eyes met mine and his brow furrowed. He looked over his shoulder and then back at me before finally asking, “Are you talking to me?”

  I almost laughed. Besides Mona and a few stragglers who worked on the administrative end, we were practically the only two in the station.

  “Of course I’m talking to you, silly.” I wasn’t proud of it, but I flashed him my movie-star smile in a shameless attempt to butter him up. “Chief Pulse instructed me to ride along with you today.”

  “With me?”

  Cute and maybe a little slow on the uptake sometimes.

  “Yep.” I nodded.

  “But I thought Levi was—”

  “Is it time to head out?” I chimed in before he asked me a question that would require another lie. Even though acting could be misconstrued as a form of lying, I wasn’t a fan of actual lying, especially to handsome, unsuspecting twenty-four-year-olds with boy-next-door smiles.

  Dane looked at me closely for a quiet moment, but to my surprise, no forms of questioning or police interrogation left his lips. Like a true rookie, he took my word as Gospel.

  “Well, okay then,” he said, and two small dimples formed in his cheeks. “I’d be honored to have you ride along with me, Ms. Stone.”

  “Oh God,” I muttered on a laugh. “No need to be so formal. Please, call me Ivy.”

  “Okay, Ivy,” he said and flashed that familiar boyish grin once more. I had a feeling most women had a hard time saying no to it. “Let’s go.”