Valley of Fire (Valley of the Moon Book 2)

by Bronwyn Archer

  I didn’t dare peek under the bandage yet.

  I stepped into the glorious glass-and-marble shower and turned what looked like the main faucet. Warm water sprayed me from five different directions. I shrieked when the jets hit certain bruises. Rivulets of orange dirt and grime ran down my neck and chest as I scrubbed my scalp with a variety of fabulous cleansing potions.

  Alexander pounded on the door of the bathroom. “Keep those stitches dry! Dinner’s here!”

  Chapter 3

  Sinus Fidei ~ Bay of Trust

  A spread of crackling roast chicken and vegetables was waiting for me in the living room. He slouched on the sofa in jeans, a loose-fitting gray t-shirt, and no shoes.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m a new woman. That shower is ridiculous.”

  He chuckled. “For two grand a night, it better be.”

  My mouth dropped open. “How much?”

  “All the more reason not to waste food. Sit.”

  He patted a spot on the couch next to him, but I chose the chair opposite him instead. He stared at me and the temperature under my robe rose. Those darn tractor beams.

  “What?” I asked impatiently.

  He tilted his head as he regarded me. “You’re looking better. Not as sickly. And I’m getting used to the hair.”

  “Great. Maybe I should get stabbed more often.” His eyes widened and he almost spat out the mouthful of beer he’d just sipped.

  “Please don’t.” He took a bite of his food, swallowed, and pressed his palms together like he was getting down to business. “You’re pretty tough for eighteen, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t feel tough.” His eyes narrowed, like he’d just remembered something.

  “How come you didn’t call the police from the road?”

  “I’ll find you and kill you both if you go to the police.” Victor’s words. My breathing got ragged and I closed my eyes to stop the tears stinging the inside of my eyelids. I willed them to dry up.

  “When Victor showed up at my house the morning after graduation, he threatened me. And my dad. I can’t talk to the police until we pay him back.”

  “Why not just tell him you’d be able to pay him soon, once you get your inheritance?”

  I took a deep breath and shuddered thinking about how Victor had pressed his squat body to mine, pinned me back onto the counter, and groped me . . . kissed me. I dropped my plate on the table a little too hard and it clattered. My fork and knife tumbled onto the carpet.

  His eyes were no longer warm. That hazel glow had hardened into a fierce, cold stare. He stood up with such force that he knocked his chair over. He turned to glare at me. “You need to trust me, Lana!”

  “I do!”

  “Then tell me the truth!” His eyes were blazing. “What did Victor do to you?”

  My skin crawled as I spoke. “He changed the terms of the loan deal he made with my father. Instead of paying the half-million we owe him, he wants to be repaid with . . .” I looked down at the ground to avoid his stare. “Me.” His jaw dropped and he sat in stunned silence. His hands formed fists in his lap. “He wanted me to leave with him his boat, live on it until school started. I tried to get away and he grabbed me. The vase with the flowers you sent fell off the kitchen counter and smashed him on the head. Knocked him out cold. I ran outside just in time to see his two sidekicks show up. Arkady and the other guy.”

  “Sergei. Wanted for murder in the Ukraine and London.” He raised an eyebrow. “By the way, while you were napping, I heard they found the body of a man over in Valley of Fire.”

  “Self-defense is legal, isn’t it?”

  Alexander’s eyes widened and he let out a rueful laugh. “I know hardened combat vets who’ve killed fewer men.”

  “I didn’t kill him! He . . . tripped and fell.”

  “Is he the one who cut your hair off?”

  I’d had no choice—it was either cut my hair and let him fall, or let him drag me to my death.

  I took a deep breath and told him the story. “It was me or him.”

  He shook his head. “Russian mafia, zero, Lana Goodwin, two. Remind me not to get on your bad side.” I didn’t mention the fact that he’d looked like he’d seen a ghost as he backed off the cliff.

  An icy shard of terror pierced my heart. They were coming. I could feel it.

  “You’re not safe, either. When they find me, they’ll kill you.”

  Alexander leaned towards me. His face was very close to mine and I could smell his warm skin. It smelled like the sandalwood shampoo in the bathroom. “I’m not going to let them find us, Lana. Because I’m not letting you out of my sight until I get you to New York.”

  My breath caught in my throat and I secretly thrilled at his words. But the sharp claw of reality batted down my elation. I was keeping him away from his job, from his life, from the gorgeous girlfriend I was sure he must have. Why was he doing this for me? We were related so distantly, it definitely couldn’t have been that he needed a new fourth cousin twice removed or whatever I was to him.

  “How come out of all the Ambroses, you were the one who came to find me. You draw the short straw?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “The 300-million-dollar question. Literally.” He leaned in close to me. “Don’t you remember? I told you—Severine asked me to do it. She was very persistent.”

  Severine, Georgette’s former caretaker, had known my mother. Maybe she would know the reasons her life ended the way it had, why she’d run away. Severine was the key to understanding what had really happened to my mother.

  “Is it okay that you’re taking all this time away from work?”

  He grinned. “Technically, I’m working remotely. But remember, I work for the family business, and I’m a highly valued employee.”

  He flipped on his tractor beam eyes and I was caught, frozen. “Once we’re better friends, you’ll get it.”

  “You must not have many friends.”

  He pressed his lips together and his deep dimples creased like he was suppressing a grin.

  “You’d be amazed.” Chills galloped up my arms. I had a sudden vision of all the girls who must be in love with him.

  “But wait—if you hadn’t tracked me down, if no one had ever known about me, Georgette’s money would go to you and your family. Right?”

  He cocked his head and rubbed his chin. “True. There’d be no one to contest it, either.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Then you made a big mistake, Alexander. Your big pile of money would have gotten a whole lot bigger if you’d ignored Severine and never found me.”

  Severine Tremblay had been Georgette’s caretaker in her old age. She’d been with her for years—and was the one who asked Alexander to find me. To find Georgette’s lost heir.

  Me.

  “Then you’re lucky Severine called me and not some other Ambrose.” He sat up and ran his hands through his dark hair. The sun through the windows made the baby blond hairs around his temples glint like spun gold. I caught my breath and looked away. He sighed. “Lana, the Ambroses aren’t exactly sweating it. We just have to get through this probate meeting, and then we can both move on with our lives.”

  “What’s probate?”

  “The legal word for fighting over an estate, in this case, your godmother’s.”

  My godmother, Georgette Ambrose was dead, and yet . . . she’d spoken to me. In French. Through a psychic. That had happened, right? You’re not crazy. That was real. Somehow that happened. She really was my marraine—my godmother.

  Tiny needles stabbed the back of my neck. If ghosts were real, the world just got a whole lot scarier. But they were real—how else did the knife fly into my hand? How did the snow globe fall? Who pushed the vase onto Victor’s head? How did the Señora know all those things? Who had written TANITH FREMONT on the glass door of the steam room before prom? How had I known all the details about Ramona’s affair with Louis Quarry—enough details to make Wade Jenner
drive right off the road in a rage, nearly killing us all?

  Was I really being haunted by my dead godmother?

  Freed for a moment from his tractor beams, I took a deep breath and vowed to stop reading too much into his words. To remain calm. To stay far away from the edge of the abyss that loomed ahead of me: the bottomless abyss of my physical attraction to him.

  If I slipped and fell in, I’d never escape.

  He walked over to his duffel bag and dug out a plain white V-neck. “Here,” he said, tossing it to me. “Thought you’d want something clean to sleep in. I’ll have the hotel wash your clothes tonight. Now go get a good night’s sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow—on the flight to New York.”

  #

  His t-shirt smelled like the clean, woodsy cologne he wore. It definitely hadn’t come of out a Fruit of the Loom five-pack, like the ones I bought my dad at Target. Alexander’s t-shirt had a label with a French designer’s name on it.

  I tried to get comfortable and made the mistake of turning onto my left side. I yelped in pain—the Vicodin hadn’t kicked in yet. I turned onto my uninjured side and buried my head in the plush pillows. I’d never been to New York. My mother had grown up lonely and unhappy in New York City. She’d lost a child there.

  Would my fairy tale evaporate in New York, too?

  Chapter 4

  Lacus Timoris ~ Lake of Fear

  It felt strange to be in regular clothes again. My sneakers were lead weights after three days in bare feet. I’d tucked Alexander’s soft V-neck into my jeans. The V was cut low on me so the diamond pendant was visible. But I didn’t have any other options, since the t-shirt I’d last worn had come back from the Amangiri laundry service with a large knife-shaped rip in the shoulder, right where I’d gotten stabbed.

  I wore my new gift shop baseball hat to cover my squirrel-chewed hairdo. I didn’t need the extra attention.

  I took a sharp intake of breath when we walked into the hotel lobby—it was scattered with guys who looked exactly like Arkady—young, vaguely European men with slicked-back hair, black jeans, and leather jackets. “Alexander, who are these guys?” I hissed.

  “Some racing convention. Lana, relax.” My heart pounded in my throat. I quickly scanned the crowd, but didn’t see any familiar faces. The Russians are not here. They have no idea where you are.

  I eased my body into the chair and pulled my baseball cap down as low as I could. Alexander dropped our bags at my feet: his duffel bag and my pathetic, filthy backpack containing all my worldly possessions.

  “Stay here while I check out.”

  “I need to hit a wig store ASAP.”

  He chuckled. “We’ll clean you up in Vegas before the flight. You’ll have time this weekend to visit a hair salon and get some new clothes. You take your antibiotics?” I nodded. “Good. Have to keep you alive until we get to the lawyer’s office bright and early Monday, right?” He checked his watch and dug his phone out of his jeans pocket.

  “I told your dad you’d call him before we left.”

  I was not ready to talk to my dad. I knew he was feeling better, but I was furious at him. Had he known who my mother really was? Had he hidden my Ambrose family history from me? He’d never even finalized his divorce.

  I scowled and shook my head. “Later.”

  “Lana, he’s your father! Don’t you want to talk to him?”

  “No.”

  Alexander sighed and pressed his phone into my hand. “Do it. And make sure to ask him about the rules.”

  “What rules?”

  “When I talked to him yesterday, he gave me some rules for our trip. He’s very protective of you, you know.”

  I snorted derisively. “Little late for that. What rules?”

  “Mostly things he doesn’t have to worry about, since we’re family.” His eyes sparkled and he flashed a wicked grin at me. For a second I could have sworn he was flirting with me. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. My dad never failed to miss an opportunity to embarrass me, even from hundreds of miles away.

  “If I tell him where we are, Victor will find me,” I snapped. “I know it.”

  Alexander rolled his eyes. “John already knows where we are! Not telling him where I took you is a crime. It’s called kidnapping.”

  I stared up at him. “What?! Why? Literally the only thing keeping him alive is NOT knowing where I am!” I pulled his t-shirt down to show him my bandaged shoulder. “You don’t get it. Look what they did to me! Victor has spies, he’s probably on his way here right now in his Lamborghini.”

  His eyes flicked over my wound. “Your dad is at the best hospital in San Francisco and there are armed bodyguards outside his room. Ex-military.”

  “Great. Where’s my ex-military guard?”

  He smirked and slid on his black Ray-bans. “That can be arranged. Now call the poor man. I’ll be right back.”

  I gripped his phone in my hand. He’s a stranger. He’s alone with an eighteen-year-old girl. He can’t lie tell my father.

  But the familiar terror welled up in my throat.

  #

  I barely recognized the gravelly voice that answered. “Hello? Alexander?”

  “It’s me, Dad.” Dead silence. “It’s Lana.”

  He cleared his throat and coughed. “Lana honey! Is your arm feeling better? How are the stitches?”

  “I’m fine, Dad. Much better.” After your loan shark’s thugs tried to kill me, that is.

  He choked back a sob. “When I heard what those bastards did to you.” More sniffling and throat clearing. “The house is gone. They burned it down.” Muffled sobs. The more he cried, the calmer I got. Steel. I was going to be made of steel. They hadn’t broken me and they never would. Plus, two blubbering messes were not a good look for the Goodwin family.

  “Is the Ferrari okay?” he asked. I almost threw the phone across the lobby. He was asking about the car? “If it’s in decent shape, we can get a good price for it. Just in case, you know, if the New York thing doesn’t work out.”

  “You mean, if mom’s inheritance doesn’t come through? You knew about it, didn’t you? You knew who she was.”

  The phone went quiet, which was all the confirmation I needed.

  “Oh my God,” I hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “For a lot of reasons you won’t understand. I only found out after she died, when they ran her fingerprints at the morgue. I never told you because, well, if she’d gone to the trouble of changing her name and hiding where she came from, I thought it was important to respect that.”

  “You knew her father was Bart Fremont—you buried her next to him! You could have found out about the Ambroses—my other family, Dad—in like five minutes!”

  He struggled to speak and then had a loud coughing fit. I pulled the phone away from my ear and covered my mouth. It was hard to hear him struggling to speak.

  “Oh, Lana, I’m sorry. I figured I’d tell you when you were old enough.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and wiped my tears with the corner of Alexander’s t-shirt.

  I had one more bomb to drop.

  “Ramona did this to us, Dad. She set us up.”

  “What are you talking about?” There was new vigor in his voice.

  “She’s Victor’s niece.” There was a long silence. “Did you know that, too?”

  Finally, in a strangled whisper, he said, “No. No, it can’t be.”

  “Ramona’s maiden name is not Savage—it’s Savitch. Victor is her uncle!”

  “My God. Victor . . . Goddammit, I should have known! They seemed to know each other a little too well.” He let out a mighty sigh.

  “And you’re still legally married to her, aren’t you?” His silence confirmed the truth. “Why, Dad? Why?”

  “I thought it was best at the time! I wanted financial security for you, and she convinced me not to finalize the divorce, so you could still be a beneficiary.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Honey, there’s one m
ore thing. You might as well know this now, since you already hate me. Ramona wanted to adopt you. After the wedding. Her accountant told us it was the best thing to do for your future. So, she’s not really your stepmother. Legally, she’s . . . your mother.”

  My hand gripped the cell phone so tightly the edges cut into my palm. My heart stopped beating. The muscles in my throat seized up and I had to force the words out.

  “I see. I don’t hate you, Dad, but you did marry a sociopath whose uncle is a Russian mobster and let her adopt your daughter. You need to start learning a little more about the women you marry. I think she’s the one who sicced Victor on you in the first place. To hurt you, to stress you out. She must have known about your heart condition. And if we’re both dead, she gets mom’s money. All of it.”

  A long silence. The hawk wheeled in the sky outside the window. “My God,” he whispered. “She did make a will for you. I didn’t pay attention at the time. I thought it was wonderful of her to care.” Yeah, you were too busy shopping for vintage cars to notice you’d left your daughter to be raised by a ruthless con artist.

  Through gritted teeth, I said, “Ramona knew Mom at college. She knew who she really was. That’s why she made me a will—in case any Ambrose money came my way.”

  He’d gotten tricked into marrying by a gold-digging sociopath. Ramona’s long con was about to pay off.

  Deep coughs echoed through the phone. My anger melted away listening to it.

  “Dad, I’m sorry. I love you—maybe we should talk later.”

  I made eye contact with a bald, suntanned guy with a paunch squeezed into head-to-toe red racing leathers. I pulled the lid of my hat down tight over my eyes.

  “Promise me, Lana,” he rasped. “Go to New York and don’t come back here until it’s safe!”