Nora Roberts Land

by Ava Miles

  Tanner stabbed the key into the lock and opened the door. “No offense, but that’s not going to work.”

  “Too bad. We could have done great things together.”

  He hauled the suitcases inside. “I need to unpack. As you said, the sooner this is done, the better.”

  “Good luck. I’ll be in touch. Feel free to call me if you need to brainstorm. Meredith can be complex, but again, if you move quickly, she won’t have the time to think things through. Nail her, nail her heart.”

  Tanner clicked the phone off, resisting the urge to hurl it across the polished hardwood floors. The house’s open layout made him feel small. He surveyed his new pad with a scowl. Large wooden beams covered the ceiling. A massive stone chimney merged into a staircase, creating what some architect junkie would have called a nice line or flow or some bullshit. What was wrong with four walls and a roof anyway?

  He thought about what Sommerville had said about rushing Meredith. Since their relationship had ended in failure, there was no way he was going to go for the same approach. Plus, he needed time to figure out how to extract himself from this mess.

  And he didn’t rush women.

  He’d find a way to befriend her so he could update Sommerville and keep him off his back.

  But first, he needed to check the house for cameras and bugs. He could disable the GPS later.

  An hour later, he stomped a row of brand-new listening devices and kicked three small cameras against the stone wall.

  “Goal!” He thrust his hands in the air and smiled for the first time in days. His phone chimed moments later. “You rang?” he answered smugly.

  “I’m impressed,” Sommerville responded.

  Tanner picked up the destroyed equipment and dumped it into a trash can.

  “We need to set some ground rules,” Tanner began. “I don’t want you spying on me. No cameras or listening devices. I also don’t want you paying anyone here to keep tabs on me. You have me where you want me. You need to trust I’ll do the job or you’re going to compromise my cover. Meredith graduated from Columbia, so she’s smart. It’s a small town, and she’s a journalist. You don’t want her to look into why someone’s keeping tabs on me, do you? If this ever gets out, it could ruin both of us.”

  Silence reigned for a full twenty seconds.

  “Fine, but you’d better not pull a fast one. I’ll print those pictures of your brother without thinking twice.”

  “I believe you. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Okay, but don’t fuck with me, McBride.”

  Tanner simply clicked the phone off. He headed to the back to look for the main receptacle, whistling shrilly in the quiet. Taking out the trash had never felt so good.

  Chapter 8

  Meredith clutched the door to The Western Independent for a moment before pulling it open. The comforting smell of paper and ink hit her immediately. She took a cleansing breath and smiled as people called out greetings.

  Her gramps had given her some time to settle into Dare, so today was her first official day.

  She was hugged and kissed all the way down to her father’s office. He sported new wire-rimmed glasses and was frowning at an article covered in red ink. It was good to see him ten pounds lighter. She hoped it would help his heart. He and her mom were leaving for Sedona the next morning.

  “Problems?” she asked from the doorway.

  His face broke into a grin. She felt the answering tug on her lips. How many times had she stood in this place, watching him mark up articles?

  “Hi there.” He stood up to hug her. Unlike his usual perfunctory embraces, he held her for a long moment before stepping back. “Welcome. I still don’t know what to say about all this.”

  “You don’t need to say anything, Daddy. Just promise me you’ll take it easy.”

  After tossing and turning all night, she’d given herself a firm talking to. Being home was more than just a family duty. The Independent was a haven, a place where she’d grown up and learned the trade. This was her opportunity to give something back.

  He took her shoulders. “A word of advice. I know you pretend not to be sensitive, but sometimes Pop Hale is a cranky old man with tough standards.”

  “I know. You don’t have to protect me. I want to be here, Dad.” And she realized it was true. Her heart wasn’t racing anymore. She could breathe. And she didn’t have to channel Divorcée Woman to feel comfortable.

  This was her natural skin.

  “I’m glad. Give me a call if you have any questions.”

  “No, Dad. I can ask Gramps anything.”

  The grooves around his face eased. “Okay, let’s go talk to Pop. Just don’t let him pressure you into taking over. I know you have a great job in New York, and I don’t want you to stay here for my sake. You go where you’re happy. Promise me, Mere.”

  Her eyes burned. “I promise.”

  He kissed her forehead like he used to when he picked her up from school to take her to the newspaper. She wrapped him in a hug until he cleared his throat and stepped away, and then they walked down the hallway together.

  Various news broadcasts were playing in Arthur Hale’s office, and stacks of newspapers covered his battered desk. It was chaotic and loud and messy—the complete opposite of her father’s quiet sanctuary. Grandpa Hale was rubbing his neck when he caught sight of them, and his chair squeaked as he leaned back in it.

  “Well, well, well. Seems my granddaughter does have black ink running through her veins like the rest of us.” His wink was pure mischief.

  Meredith held up her wrist. “Do you want to cut me for proof?”

  He rose and gave her a bear hug. “Ah, that smart mouth. You raised her right, Alan. Can’t have any mealy-mouthed women in the Hale family.”

  The ringing phone went unanswered.

  “No, we can’t,” her dad responded.

  “You ready for a permanent name plaque yet?”

  “Now, Pop, she’s only here to give me a break. Lay off.”

  “Hmm…We’ll see about that. So, are you ready to get to work, missy?” Grandpa popped a red hot in his mouth.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  He scratched his chin. “Well, since you have a good sense of that East-coast bias we try to guard ourselves against, why don’t you draw up some ideas for Sunday’s editorial?”

  The Sunday editorial was the most coveted spread in the paper. Only her father and grandpa wrote it regularly, with other famous ad-hoc people making an occasional cameo. Like presidential candidates trying to share their vision of the future with Western voters. Or the president himself. Carter had written on Middle East peace. Reagan had written on Russia being the evil empire. Clinton had waxed poetic on the importance of balancing the budget. Bush had shared his thoughts on the war against terrorism.

  “You want me to write it?” She rocked back on her heels. Boy, Grandpa was certainly dangling the right carrot to make her stay. Her childhood dream had been to write the editorial.

  “Isn’t that what I just said, girl?” He tapped his ear. “Hell, I’m the one with the hearing aid.”

  “I’d love to!”

  Her dad patted her back. “Good. I need to finish up some stuff before I leave. I’ll see you both at dinner tonight.”

  “Yep,” she replied as he left, her gaze drawn to the headlines on her grandfather’s desk like a cat to catnip.

  Grandpa Hale leaned back against his desk. “Now that your dad’s gone, I want to be honest with you. I’m going to do everything in my power to make you want to stay and take over.”

  His intense gaze had her shuffling her feet. “I don’t think I’m going to stay, Grandpa.”

  His bushy eyebrow winged up. “I know, but perhaps we can start with why you came back.”

  She looked over his shoulder at a picture of him shaking hands with Harvey Milk in San Francisco three days before the politician’s death. Her goosebumps intensified. Her grandpa had done so much with his life. He’d
interviewed every important American political actor in his storied career. People questioned her about him in hushed tones in New York City. Sometimes she forgot his achievements. To her, he was just her grandpa. But right now he was looking at her like an interview subject. It made her squirm.

  “Meredith. ”

  “Ah…what? You know why.”

  “Bullshit. This timing is too coincidental. You decide to come home when Sommerville announced he’s exploring a bid for the Senate. Are you sure you weren’t running away?”

  “Ah…” She couldn’t tell him about her article. Her cheeks reddened at the mere thought.

  “He’s a self-important prick, and he was never the right man for you. I know your heart got broken, but it’ll mend. Trust an old geezer who lost his sweetheart of fifty-plus years.” He glanced down at the picture of Grandma Hale he kept on his desk, brushing his finger along the frame. “It’s like relationships. You have to work at it.”

  “Are you saying you have to work to get over a broken heart?” Of all the things she’d read on the topic, his simple words made sense.

  “And it takes time too. We’ll help you all we can now that you’re back, but we can’t fully support you until we know why you’re here.”

  She fingered the button on her blouse. God, she hated evasion.

  “You’re only making this more interesting to an old newspaperman.” He reached over and tipped her chin up. “You know I’ll find out if I put my mind to it. Did Sommerville threaten you? I always wondered if his cheating might be the kind that could ruin a man’s reputation—especially if that man has political aspirations.” He cracked his knuckles. “He didn’t fight you much on a settlement. Do you have something on him?”

  Meredith licked her lips and walked to the other side of his office, trying to control her panic. If he caught even a whiff of what she knew, he’d print it without hesitation. It would look bad if it appeared in her family paper. She couldn’t allow that. If anyone was going to divulge the secret, it was her…and she’d only do it if Rick-the-Dick pushed her into a corner.

  To distract him, she picked up The Daily Herald, which was lying on the top rack of his antique newspaper holder. “You read this?”

  He snorted. “My granddaughter writes in it. Of course I do.”

  She fingered The Standard and held it up. “And this?” Rick-the-Dick would be flattered.

  He studied her through his rimless bifocals. “I always read the enemy. It’s the—”

  “Third rule of journalism. I know all your rules. You’re a good teacher.”

  “Don’t think you can distract me.” He sat back down in his chair, rubbing his hip. “You’re tight-lipped. Fine. I’m going to find out if there’s more. I’m damn good at digging.”

  Her lungs seized. Yes, he was. She didn’t need this.

  He rocked back and forth, the squeak competing for volume with the news programs on the TV and radio.

  “Aren’t you ever going to fix that squeaky chair?”

  “No, it’s a comfort. Reminds me of my age. Like this chair, I’m still working.” He picked up a file. “If you change your mind about telling me, you know where to find me. You don’t have to deal with Rick-the-Dick alone.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “How—”

  “You Hale women. You think I don’t know what you call him?”

  She cleared her throat. “I’ve finished my research on the campus drug trade. There’s not much to go on.”

  He handed her a file. “Well, take a look at this one. Like I told you, more and more college kids are ending up in the ER puking their guts out. A few of my friends’ grandkids have been involved. Jill swears it’s alcohol poisoning, but…” He popped in another red hot and crunched. “My gut says there’s more.”

  She flipped through his notes, not even bothering to ask how he’d received the tox screens. “Doesn’t look like the hospital found anything but marijuana and alcohol.”

  “Neither of those things usually make kids sick enough to puke like that. Something’s not right.” He pointed to her. “You need to convince Jill to ask some questions.”

  “No way.”

  He huffed.

  “Anything else?”

  His mouth twisted. “No. Have your ideas for the editorial on my desk tomorrow.”

  She picked at her button again, wanting to close the loop on his earlier speculation. “Please leave me in peace, Grandpa.”

  His eyes lifted from the page. “If I believed you were in peace, Mermaid, I would. But you’re not. And since you won’t tell me why, I’m going to have to dig.” He picked up a file. “You’re my granddaughter, and if that prick is bothering you, I won’t tolerate it. Now, get out of here and let an old man do some work. Kitty has a desk for you.”

  Meredith left with feet of clay. Her hope of keeping things a secret had soured. Arthur Hale had teased the truth out of mendacious politicians. She didn’t stand a chance. Damn. She didn’t want to protect Rick, but the information she had on him would keep him from bothering her.

  Would her grandpa care? Hell no. The public had a right to know.

  She was dead meat.

  Chapter 9

  You girls have a good time,” their mom called out as Jill and Meredith walked away from the house. “See you in the morning before we take off.”

  “Okay.” They both waved at her, and she hustled inside.

  “Man, I’m stuffed.” Jill rubbed her belly. “Mom really is glad to have you back. Otherwise, why would she cook a spread like that right before they leave for three months?”

  Meredith unlocked her Audi, marveling at the return of her appetite. It was like the switch to her taste buds and stomach had been flicked. She was actually craving food for the first time in forever. And she didn’t feel too badly about it—yet.

  “I’ve gotta start swimming again, or I’ll be fatter than Aunt Harriet.”

  Jill snapped her seat belt on. “Right, like you’d ever have a weight problem. Fingernails feeling a bit heavy? Muffin-top cuticles?” She snorted. “You’re skinnier than I’ve ever seen you.”

  “You can credit the divorce diet. And working out like crazy. Kept me sane.”

  “Well, those days are a thing of the past. We’re going to go home, get dolled up, and head out to Hairy’s tonight. Make sure you wear your best La Perla. I have a plan.”

  An hour later, Meredith followed Jill into Hairy’s Pub. The owner had famously misspelled the name on the small business permit. Poor Harry O’Brien had too much Irish pride to admit he’d been drunk, so he called the name ironic. Since he was super hairy, most people agreed.

  Harry had given into the new non-smoking ordinance, but he hadn’t changed much else. A hardcore Irish band played on the speakers, reminding her of the theme song to The Departed. Stains and scuff marks dotted the hardwood floors. Wooden booths ran in rows, while the bar angled in an L shape.

  A neon-colored rainbow with a pot of gold at the end flashed in time with a naughty leprechaun. Vintage Guinness beer signs and mirrors lined the wall along with placards of funny Irish sayings like As you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point in the wrong direction—ouch.

  “It’s packed,” Jill yelled over the music. “I figured we could try some informal speed dating.”

  Meredith unwound her white scarf so the V-neck of her navy top was visible. “What?”

  “This is a legal-only zone. Harry hates students. He’ll call the cops over a fake ID, and everyone on campus knows it.”

  Jill sidled up to the bar and pulled Meredith through a throng of women. The TVs in the corner were playing old football games and ESPN’s current programming. Meredith clutched her purse, channeling Divorcée Woman. She could do this. It only took confidence and courage, right?

  Right.

  “Hey, Mike,” Jill called to the bartender.

  Meredith remembered him—he had the reputation for being a total ladies’ man. So not Duncan Swift from High N
oon, more’s the pity.

  “My sister, Meredith, is back in town. We need your best pull. Murphy’s.”

  He flashed her a wicked grin and reached for two glasses. “Let me know if you need a tour, sis.”

  “I will,” she responded, not meaning it. She had no interest in a ladies’ man. Been there, done that.

  The bartender handed Jill the full glasses with a wink. She set Meredith’s beer down while taking a sip from her own. “Okay, let’s migrate to the corner. I can scan better from there and run you through your options.”

  Options? Meredith’s lungs collapsed beneath her emerald green and black lace bustier. She couldn’t draw a full breath. “I don’t know…about this. I’m not big on the bar scene.”

  “Breathe.”

  “Trying.” No panic attack. No. She took a drink of her beer and wiggled her nose. If she drank, she’d have to breathe, right?

  “It’ll be great. Trust me.” Jill said, turning Meredith toward the room. “Ah, we’ve already got some attention. Good. You’re new meat in town. This is going to be easy.” She secured their purses on the hooks under the sideboard. “So, the tall one with the big shoulders in the corner is a fire fighter. Robbie Blaine. Think Gulliver Curry in Chasing Fire without the whole forest fire thing. He’s single. Hot. Knows how to use his hose.”

  Meredith choked while taking a sip. Beer went down the wrong pipe, hops and something bitter burning her throat. She hacked like someone with emphysema while Jill pounded her back.

  Suddenly strong hands took her shoulders and raised her up. “Okay, breathe now. Slow, easy breaths,” came a deep voice from behind her.

  When she could finally inhale normally, she looked at the man holding her. He had a round, serious face. Then he gave a slow smile, a dimple winking in his cheek. His glasses reflected her now red face.

  “Better?”

  “Yes,” she rasped.

  Jill raised her eyebrow. “Thanks, Dr. Kelly.”

  “My pleasure. Always happy to make sure no one dies from choking on beer.”