Still Waters (Greenstone Security Book 1)

by Anne Malcom

  “Heard you got yourself a job at The Amber Star,” he said, voice rough and eyes hard. The statement itself was rather nonthreatening, on the surface at least. But you learned to see beyond the surface. At least I did, considering I did my best to hide everything that I was running from beneath my own façade.

  So, I saw it. The meaning beyond that simple sentence. But I stayed impassive. I’d been expecting a conversation like this.

  I nodded. “Nothing fancy. I’ll probably be sorting mail or fetching coffees,” I responded. A lot of people were scared of Steg. For good reason. He was the president of a motorcycle club, feared and respected across all the national chapters. But I didn’t have a reason, or hadn’t. I’d grown up with Rosie, and since her dad died, she’d been brought up by Steg. He was rough around the edges and would chop the hands off his enemies without hesitation, but he’d melt with Rosie.

  And me, to an extent.

  But now I saw nothing of the man who threatened my prom date with a Glock before kissing me on the head and telling me I looked beautiful.

  That night I saw the president of a motorcycle club who killed snitches.

  One could classify a journalist as that.

  “You’re smart, darlin’. You ain’t gonna be doin’ that shit for long, we both know that,” he said.

  I didn’t respond. I knew I didn’t need to, nor would anything I said make much of a difference. Steg had already decided what he needed to say, so I was going to let him say it.

  “You’re also like me. Want to be the best. At the top. Willin’ to do a lot to get there. I was. I did.” He eyed me with a hard stare. “But I ain’t ever goin’ against my club to get to the top. If I did that, I wouldn’t be at the top. I’d be six feet under. You get what I’m sayin’, sweetheart?”

  I swallowed. “If you’re saying that you think I’d betray the family I’ve had for fifteen years to sell a story to a public that will only read it to be entertained before going back to their carefully structured and boring little jobs, then you don’t know me half as well as I thought you did, Steg,” I replied confidently. I was a little freaked, for sure, but I didn’t do “sniveling mess.” I spoke up for myself.

  Now, at least.

  Nor did I do things like wear my fear, and I most certainly did not wear my heart on my sleeve. Been there, done that, got a lot of blood spattered all over that particular T-shirt.

  Emotions stayed locked in a closet in the back of my mind, my face impassive.

  Steg stared at me a beat, then like ripping a mask off, the man I’d known came back. His eyes turned liquid, and he grinned, clinking the top of his beer bottle against mine.

  “Glad to have you in the family, sweetheart.”

  I’d been there for four years, and Steg was right—I was already the senior editor of the publication. But working your way up to a good position on a sinking ship wasn’t ideal. Layoffs were becoming disturbingly regular, the pay was crap and I wouldn’t be surprised if we joined the Titanic in a few years. Plus, even a senior editor still had to do crappy stories, because when I flat-out refused to write about any of the kidnappings or shootings or murders to do with the Sons of Templar, crappy stories were all there was.

  Hence the diversification. And blogging about how to style expensive designer secondhand items with tops from Target was fun.

  And popular.

  Not popular enough to quit my day job, but I got attention and freelance offers from online women’s magazines.

  I was twenty-six—not exactly young and fresh, but I could still chase my dreams. In order to do that, I’d have to leave Amber. My best friends. My family. A career didn’t mean enough for me to do that.

  Yet.

  But my feet were beginning to itch.

  And also yearned for more pairs of shoes that I couldn’t afford, even with cheap rent, discounted designer shoes and supplementary income.

  Plus, the demons were chasing me around this place, ghosts lurking in every corner. The whole town was turning into a graveyard. I’d eventually have to leave, if only so I could escape the memories. The ghosts.

  But not now. Or even soon.

  Someday.

  “Very happy to see that you didn’t turn into a pumpkin,” a deep voice declared from behind me, jerking me out of my thoughts.

  I jumped, mostly because not all my motors were running without caffeine, especially after only thirty minutes of actual consciousness.

  I knew who it was before I turned. The accent was the first giveaway, rough and unnatural, filtering through the air in a way that should have rubbed me the wrong way but instead curled around the words perfectly. Uniquely. And curled around other places. Places that obviously didn’t need coffee to wake them up.

  I turned, but not because I wanted to. I wanted to run, but Shelly was still making my coffee so I was somewhat of a prisoner until then.

  Plus, I’d promised myself that the only running I’d do was from ghosts in the figurative sense. My life would be in shambles if I ran from all of my corporeal problems too. I just had to figure out how to stand my ground.

  “What?” I asked, my voice scratchy like I’d smoked a pack of Marlboros the night before.

  I wished. Giving up five years back was the hardest thing I’d done. And I only ate chocolate twice a week. Mostly because I had wine the other five days.

  But still.

  Man, did I want a smoke.

  It would stop me from licking his jaw.

  He was wearing a simple, crisp white tee that molded around his muscles, stark against his latte skin. The stubble of the previous night was gone, revealing the very jaw I was contemplating licking.

  “Cinderella?” he continued, his voice light, eyes dancing with too much amusement for that time of the morning. The only time I was amused before 8:00 a.m. was when I hadn’t been to sleep from the night before. Or I was being woken up by a man’s mouth that was not being used for speaking.

  Getting woken up by Keltan’s mouth between my—no! Snap out of it.

  “Cinderella who?” I asked, screwing my nose up and trying to follow the conversation while waiting on coffee and struggling against the pull of this man.

  It was unnatural, the naturalness of the conversation, of my need for a practical stranger.

  He thought for a moment. “Well, I don’t rightly know her last name. She’s like Cher or Bono, doesn’t need one. Most people just know her,” he answered, then gave me a once-over. “Then again, it’s people, not zombies. And though you look good enough to eat, sweetheart, I’m thinking that my Cinderella didn’t get enough winks last night, despite running off before the clock struck midnight. I didn’t even get a glass slipper. So, I had to resort to shamelessly pumping your best friend for information.” He paused. “Though I wouldn’t call it an interrogation. No torture needed. In fact, she gave me your address, and your social security number. Thought this would be less creepy.”

  I scowled at him, barely following the conversation. “You thought turning up at the coffee shop where I come to slip into my suit of humanity and stalking me and prattling on about fairy-tale characters is less creepy?” I clarified.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “When you put it like that….”

  I rolled my eyes. “I think I need to be recording this conversation so when they find my body buried in a shallow grave wearing gold slippers, the authorities will know where to look.”

  “Glass,” he corrected.

  I frowned. “What?” I snapped.

  “They were glass slippers.” He grinned wider. “Cinderella’s.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” I muttered. “It’s barely a reasonable time for someone to breathe in my direction, and you’re still talking about fictional characters.”

  “Yeah, I’m thinkin’ Cinderella is nowhere in sight. I’m stickin’ with Snow.”

  There was a loaded pause that I refused to fill, so I just glared into the chocolate irises that worked like
magnets to keep my gaze.

  “You’re scary in the morning,” he observed. “I could have used you in battle—just woken you up and pushed you out into the field. No weapons needed. You’d scare even the most ruthless of insurgents away. But then again, I couldn’t risk it, considering you’re so fucking beautiful they’d kidnap you, despite the terror you instill in them.”

  I glared at him. “How does one person have so many words at this time of the day? Or at all?”

  I wasn’t used to hot macho men speaking so much. They all spoke in grunts, apart from Lucky. But I considered him to be somewhat of a freak of nature.

  Here was another one.

  And not just because of his extended vocabulary, but because somehow he managed to affect me in a way no man had… since him.

  No. We aren’t allowed to think of him.

  “You can take the army out of the boy,” he answered with a shrug. “Plus, growing up on a farm, you get trained to wake up with the dawn.”

  My eyes popped out. “You wake up at dawn? Why?”

  “Because, it’s a new day. Most beautiful thing to look at in the mornin’ is a sunrise.” His eyes flickered over me. “Or was. Now I’m thinkin’ it’s an angry Snow wearin’ black, who swears more than most of the men in my unit. Puts the sunrise to shame.”

  I gaped at him.

  Yeah. Macho men didn’t say things like that. I wasn’t aware any men said things like that.

  “Lucy!” Shelly called from behind me.

  I continued to gape.

  “Coffee,” she called again, sounding uncertain. She’d never had to call me twice when coffee was involved. But then again, a man such as this one, saying things such as this, all the while penetrating every one of my defenses, had never been in the equation before.

  I jerked like someone had struck me. “Oh, thank God,” I exclaimed, spinning so quickly I gave myself a head spin.

  I was too busy snatching the hot cup off her and burning my mouth from taking enthusiastic gulps that I didn’t notice Keltan handing bills to a grinning Shelly.

  I swallowed the hot liquid with effort. “You aren’t paying for my coffee,” I rasped against the pain in my throat. “Shelly, don’t take that,” I ordered.

  She grinned even wider, putting the bills in the register.

  “Traitor,” I hissed.

  “Sorry, doll, not in my nature to not take things a hot guy hands me.” She winked. “Should pass that advice on to you,” she said before turning her back and escaping to the back.

  Bitch.

  I’d never say that out loud, though. She made my coffee; I’d sooner sacrifice my Chanel bag than offend her.

  And that took me two years to save for.

  So, I set my sights on someone I could offend. Who I should, in order to scare him off. And save myself from a lot of trouble. “Why did you do that?” I hissed at Keltan.

  He folded his arms, and I struggled not to look at the way his muscles moved with the motion. “What?”

  “Don’t play dumb,” I instructed, tearing my eyes from his tattooed forearms. “Despite your penchant for quoting Disney movies, you don’t seem to need to wear a helmet to bed. Why did you pay for my coffee?”

  His eyes glinted. “Because where I come from, a woman doesn’t pay for a thing when a man is around.”

  “And where is it you come from? The twentieth century?” I asked. “If so, I suggest you go looking for Michael J. Fox and a DeLorean. Because here, in the twenty-first, women have things like the vote, pants, and jobs which give them the ability to pay for their own coffee.”

  I glanced down at my watch and decided it was time to move. Escape his presence before I did something really stupid like kiss the man I barely knew.

  So, I did.

  Move, that is, not kiss him.

  Unfortunately, Keltan did the same.

  “Aren’t you going to get one?” I asked, frowning up at his sharp jaw.

  Even in my heels, I only came up to below his shoulder. I was used to that, large men towering over me. Although this one seemed to have a different effect, crowding me with his size without suffocating me. The opposite, in fact—I wanted to drown in it.

  “One what?” he replied, opening the door for me.

  I stared at him in protest for a split second, considering not walking through on pure principle, but I saw the resolve around his eyes and decided being late for work was not going to be worth it. Plus, the excuse “I was having a stare-down with a man about being chivalrous and misogynistic while dreaming about what his abs looked like without a shirt even though I’d only just met him” wouldn’t fly with my boss.

  So I walked through the doorway, not slowing my pace, my heels clicking against the pavement. “A coffee. It’s akin to sacrilege in my eyes to walk into an establishment where they serve such a beverage, in the morning of all times, and not get one,” I continued, eyes on my car in the lot. A huge pickup was parked next to my black Ford Focus. I didn’t do fancy cars because I did fancy clothes, and I didn’t have the budget for both.

  Three guesses who the fancy pickup belonged to.

  I idly wondered if the size of the truck was to compensate for something he was lacking somewhere else. I glanced at his steady and confident gait, the way he walked with an air about him that exuded something more than masculinity. Like he could handle anything that came at him. Like he could dismantle a car bomb while pleasuring a woman.

  No. He wasn’t compensating, I decided, considering he just made me wet from the way he walked.

  “Already had a coffee,” Keltan answered, thankfully unaware of the state of my downstairs area.

  I glanced up at him as I stopped by my car. “So?”

  “One coffee is enough for me in the morning.”

  I gaped at him. “One?”

  He nodded once, grinning.

  “You aren’t human,” I decided.

  He laughed, throaty and masculine and delicious. If I could drink that out of my cup rather than my black java with an extra shot, I totally would.

  “And you’re extraordinary,” he said once he finished laughing, his voice rough.

  I stiffened at his words. At the crackling of the air between us. At the way I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from him. How I would do anything to stop myself from getting in my car and having to leave from his presence. Because I knew he was leaving today. I’d done some subtle digging of my own. Apparently he’d left the army and was opening a business in L.A.

  I was a journalist; it was my job to find things out about people.

  At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

  “You can’t say that to people you don’t even know,” I said finally, voice sharp.

  “You’re not people,” he argued. “And I know you. That you look fuckin’ amazing in leather pants. That you walk around and don’t even know you have a whole club of bikers drooling after you. That you strut around drinkin’ fuckin’ martinis, glass and all at a party where people have sex in dark corners. That you despise the thought of being saved, that you don’t like mornings and that you’re the most fuckin’ beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled, stepping forward.

  On instinct, I stepped back, but the door of my car stopped me.

  He was close enough that the gentle morning breeze flickered his tee against the think fabric of my silk shirt.

  I kept staring, waiting for it to come. The perfect line that would get him away from me. That would snap this connection like brittle ice.

  “People don’t say things like that in real life,” I informed him, giving up my search and just going for words and a cool tone that had saved me so often in the past.

  His eyes glittered. “Well, Snow, I just said it,” he murmured. “What are you gonna do about it?”

  I swallowed heavily. No words. How could I have no words? I could hold my own around bikers who spoke in innuendos, curse words and death threats, for Christ’s sake. Now was when I was rendered mute?r />
  I didn’t even think he was carrying. I was stunned by a weaponless man. This did not bode well for me.

  At all.

  Keltan’s hand circled around mine for a second, sizzling the skin, then fastened around the coffee cup, lifting it from my grasp to place it on the roof of my car. The motion brought his bicep close to my face and imprinted his hard body onto mine, boxing me in.

  “What are you doing with my sanity?” I snapped.

  “You mean your coffee?” His breath was hot on my face and every inch of my skin sizzled with the fact that he was in my space.

  I lost my grasp over why I shouldn’t sink into him, the presence that actually seemed tangible, a deliciously comfy man sweater to slip into.

  To drown in.

  “I know what I mean,” I said, my voice breathy.

  His hand came to rest on my neck, his thumb rubbing where it met my chin. “Wearin’ a white tee, babe. Don’t want it getting stained with coffee when I kiss you,” he murmured.

  I opened my mouth to say he most certainly would not be kissing me, but then I couldn’t speak because his mouth was on mine, and I lost all form of coherent thought.

  It was like a drug. The way he tasted, the taste of coffee and cloves and man invading my senses. I molded myself against him, letting him leisurely own and plunder my mouth.

  He pressed himself further into me, and I made a noise at the back of my throat, deepening the kiss.

  Was it only the night before that I said I had learned how to swim?

  Because now I was drowning and had no desire to surface.

  But the surface came to meet me anyway with the empty air hitting my flaming lips as Keltan stepped back, rubbing his hand over his mouth, eyes wild.

  He stared at me for the longest moment, the midmorning sun flickering behind his large form.

  “Needed to stop,” he rasped finally. “Otherwise, I would have fucked you right there against your car.” His voice was little more than a growl.

  My stomach did a somersault as I struggled to collect myself. My panties had been damp from his walk. After his kiss? They were history.

  I reasoned my ovaries might explode or something from anything more than a kiss right now.