Valley of Fire (Valley of the Moon Book 2)

by Bronwyn Archer

  I whirled around and stomped back to the car, my brain spinning. I could hunt down my Maranello at the police impound lot in Nevada, get the tires replaced, and drive myself. New Ferrari tires would probably cost over a thousand dollars and I had a little less than two hundred dollars in my wallet. Would two hundred dollars be enough for bus fare? If I got on a bus to New York, would I even get there in a week?

  Shoes crunched through gravel towards the car. He swung into his seat and yanked the door closed after him.

  I took a deep breath and stared out my window. “If you could just drop me at the nearest bus station, I’d appreciate it,” I said, my voice wavering a little. “I’ll reimburse you for all your expenses as soon as I can.”

  He slammed his fist onto the steering wheel.

  “Will you just stop?”

  “Why are you so mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad at you, okay?”

  The car got uncomfortably hot. The V12 engine roared to life and he adjusted the temperature dials. Cool air hissed through the vents as he steered back onto the road.

  I gripped the sides of my leather seat. “Then what’s wrong?”

  He sighed, his hands gripping the wheel. “Georgette’s lawyer, who is also the trustee, thinks any delay could mean they’re planning to contest your claim.”

  “They?”

  His body relaxed a little into the deep seat. “He’s kept it as quiet as he could, but it’s possible other people could come forward to claim the money. And the other reason is, frankly, I’d rather not spend a week hanging out with my family there.” He gave me a slight, sad smile.

  The voice on his phone chimed in. “In three miles, keep left for Las Vegas.”

  “So you don’t want to go New York today,” I asked.

  “Right.”

  “Well, there’s no way I’m going to Las Vegas.”

  He sighed. “You mentioned that.”

  “Can I go back to Sonoma?”

  “No fucking way.”

  “Then I guess we just have to drive,” I said quietly. The words were out before I really knew what I was saying.

  “To New York?” He snorted derisively and shook his head. “You want to spend seven days on the road? Stuck in a car with me?” Uh, yes, please.

  “It’s a really nice car,” I offered. I’d blurted it out, but suddenly the idea of spending a week with Alexander was the thing I wanted more than anything else. “We can stay hidden from Victor’s guys, keep moving. It’s a big country—no way they can find us.” It certainly wasn’t my idea to get chased from my home by gangsters. A road trip to New York was actually the sensible thing to do. I was being practical. “Don’t worry, I’ll do a lot of the driving, and I’ll pay my own way. I’m a professional driver, actually. Remember, you saw me working as a valet that night?”

  For a second he was silent, and I thought he was about to say yes. The smile left his face. He threw his sunglasses onto the dash and turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. “You’re in no shape for a cross-country road trip—you’re recovering from a serious injury! Doctor Ambrose does not approve of this idea.”

  “Look at me,” I said. “Do I look sick to you?” He dragged his gaze up from my feet to my face. I fidgeted uncomfortably. He grimaced.

  His phone chimed in again. “In one quarter of a mile, keep left for Las Vegas.”

  The highway forked just ahead. A huge green sign over the road had two arrows: one pointed left for Las Vegas, the other pointed right and said HWY 40 GRAND CANYON/FLAGSTAFF.

  He made no move to turn the wheel.

  I played my final card. “If you won’t let me go home, and you won’t let me go to New York alone, then this is the only way.”

  Alexander was quiet. “Do you know what the gas alone will cost? This is not a Prius.”

  “I’m gonna be rich, right? Add it to my tab.”

  The fork in the road loomed. In a few seconds, we’d fly past it and be on our way to Las Vegas and my certain painful death.

  “I know you find me extremely charming now,” he said, “but you will change your mind after spending all day in a car with me.” I could never, EVER get tired of being with Alexander Ambrose.

  “You talked me into it,” I said. “I’ll agree it on condition— you let me drive.” To my relief, he grinned.

  The fork was upon us.

  “No way.”

  I was about to protest when he said, “No to you driving, I mean.” He swung the steering wheel to the right. “Flagstaff, here we come.”

  Inside, I yelped in triumph.

  He was all mine for seven days.

  #

  I kept my eyes closed while Miguel the barber snipped away. He was an older Latino man with an incredible head of glossy white hair gelled into a slick pompadour.

  “Ready to look?”

  “Uh, I guess so.” He turned the red pleather barber chair around so I was facing a mirror. He brushed my bare neck with a soft brush. I pulled off the smock and opened my eyes.

  My self-administered ponytail-ectomy had been transformed into a short page boy. I ran a hand up the back of my shorn skull. It didn’t feel like my own head. But from the front, it was maybe okay. I ran my hand through the front of my hair and the bangs spiked up in front. Miguel held a mirror up behind me. Yep, from the back I looked like a dude.

  “Look. At. You.” Alexander appeared in the mirror behind me. He’d gotten a major trim. His hair was buzzed on the sides and shorter on top than before. I almost gasped then bit my lip to stop myself. The cut accentuated his killer cheekbones and enhanced his overall hotness.

  He smirked at me. “Not many girls can pull off a cut like that.”

  I climbed off the chair, my cheeks burning. “Including this one. Thank you,” I said to Miguel.

  “I beg to differ,” Alexander muttered. He paid for our cuts at the register and took a red lollipop out of the plastic jar on the counter.

  “This is for being a good girl.” I ripped the wrapper off and shoved the lollipop in my mouth. I pulled one out of the jar for him. “And this is for not getting me murdered today.”

  We walked out into the baking sun, sucking on lollipops like little kids. We were about an hour outside Flagstaff in a tiny, one-road town. We’d just stopped for a quick lunch, but I’d spotted the barber shop across the street.

  He handed me a plastic bag as we walked back to the Vanquish parked at the curb. “Got you some stuff. Road trip supplies.” I peeked inside and saw sunscreen, lip balm, a few packs of gum, a new toothbrush, and some crossword puzzle books. “And this. Road trip disguise.”

  He handed me a pair of glasses. I unfolded them and slid them onto my face—mirrored aviators. I checked my reflection in the window. With the haircut and the glasses, I looked like a totally different person. I turned to model them for him.

  “My Russian buddies will never recognize me. How do they look?”

  He flicked his eyes over my face. “Not bad. But watch this.” He slowly pulled an identical pair of sunglasses out of his breast pocket and put them on. He cocked his head as if to one-up me. I cackled with glee.

  “Hey, now all we need are matching tattoos!”

  “Wow, great idea. Your dad will love that. I didn’t need intact shinbones anyway.” He handed me his phone. “Direct me to the next hotel before you get any other horrible ideas.”

  #

  For once, we didn’t talk about Ramona or the Russians or why we were driving to New York. Instead, we listened to music and told stories about our families. We avoided any sensitive topics. He didn’t ask me all the typical things people loved to ask me about, like how hard was it to grow up with no mother, why did she kill herself, and what was it like being Cressida Crawford’s stepsister. It was like he knew instinctively what to avoid.

  I found myself relaxing in his presence.

  As long as I avoided his stare. Then those tractor beams melted me down into Idiot Lana who couldn’t form sentences.

&nb
sp; My new sunglasses gave Arizona a cool sepia filter. The wind through the open car window ruffled my short hair. I ran my hand through it to tame it. Alexander’s signature move made more sense now that I had short hair, too. And my arm injury was hardly hurting. I realized with a shock that I was sort of happy for the first time in a long time.

  Maybe everything would be okay.

  Or maybe a different kind of misery was coming my way. Sighing, I pressed the switch to close the window. The glass slid up and I was face-to-face with my reflection.

  “Everything okay?” he asked. The sun was setting directly behind us and the world took on an unreal glow.

  I nodded. I’d made a terrible mistake. Spending hours a day in close proximity to the one guy in the world I was not allowed to have a crush on was torture only a madman could have devised.

  What had I done?

  #

  “This is the best you could do?” He looked around the drab hotel hallway and scowled. It smelled like Lysol and stale cigarettes. We walked down the silent corridor. I’d gotten two rooms, obviously—there are no luxury suites in the Holiday Inn Express. He handed me my plastic key card.

  “Sorry, no five-star resorts in Flagstaff,” I said. “Anyway, after the Amangiri, I don’t want you to waste more money on me. A bed is a bed.”

  Alexander rolled his eyes. “Wrong. Next time, I choose.” He looked at the keys and stopped at a door. “Okay, this is you.” He handed me the bag with the submarine sandwich and water bottle we’d picked up at the grimy deli next to the hotel. “I’m right across the hall if you need me.”

  I took the bag and nodded, too tired to smile.

  He stood there staring at me.

  “What?”

  “Do you . . . want to come to my room and eat with me?” He looked hopeful, but every nerve in my body was weary. I’d been fighting off my attraction to him. For hours. I needed a break from the torment.

  “Honestly, I am just going to scarf this down and pass out. Trust me, you don’t want to see that.” He smiled.

  “Tomorrow we’ll get you a phone that works. In the meantime, just bang on the wall if any Russians or serial killers show up, okay?”

  My door unlocked with a loud click and I pushed it open. “Okay, thank you.”

  “And don’t forget to take your pills.”

  Intense air conditioning hit me. “I won’t. Good night.” He stood there for a beat, watching me go in. His joking demeanor slipped away and for a second I imagined what he must have looked like as a little boy.

  “Sleep tight, Princess.”

  Chapter 6

  Lacus Lenitatis ~ Lake of Softness

  By eight the next morning we were speeding east.

  “No more shitholes, please.”

  “It was hardly a shithole,” I said, rolling my eyes. I scrolled through his phone’s map app. “Have you always been this spoiled?”

  “Me, spoiled? Just make sure the next one is four stars or above. One of my non-negotiable rules.”

  “No wonder my mom wanted out of there,” I muttered.

  His jaw dropped and he feigned like I’d punched him. “Ouch. Hey, money may not buy happiness, but it does buy hotel rooms with high-quality mattresses. You’re too young to understand these things. Listen closely and I will impart my wisdom to you.”

  I sighed. “Should I book you a massage, too?”

  “Yeah and better throw in a back wax.” His back was smooth and tan and hairless. My mouth went a little dry thinking about how he looked swimming in the buff at the Amangiri. I squirmed in my seat. He held the wheel lightly with one hand, the other draped along the back of my seat.

  I regretted our trip more each minute. Why had I subjected myself to the torture of sitting three inches from Alexander Ambrose all day? I was like a diabetic in a candy store. He was off limits in every possible way, not to mention completely out of my league. But my body responded to him, even just his voice, in a way I didn’t understand. When he said my name, my temperature rose. The rare moments when his hand brushed my leg or my shoulder lit my skin on fire. I needed to get to New York as fast as possible.

  “Why are you driving sixty in a seventy?” I asked.

  He raised an eyebrow and pressed the gas. The Aston Martin leaped forward and he steered into the fast lane.

  “Don’t you want to hear my other non-negotiable rules?” A mischievous smile played on his lips.

  I scowled. “Not really.”

  “Don’t you have any rules, Lana?” The way he said it made my heart stop beating for a second.

  “Rules?”

  “I’ll allow you one rule.”

  “Oh, you’ll allow me one?” I scoffed. “How generous.”

  “It’s my car. You’re lucky you get one.” He turned and grinned at me. “Well?”

  “Fine. My non-negotiable rule is, I get to drive sometimes.”

  He chuckled. “I have a better idea. I drive and keep us alive.”

  “I’m a great driver, okay?” It was my one skill.

  He chuckled. “My second non-negotiable rule is: people with giant stab wounds in their arms don’t get to drive me around in fast cars.”

  “Ok, fine, here’s my rule: I get to choose more affordable hotels.”

  “Here’s my rule: anybody who complains about money gets to take the bus.”

  “Which brings me to my final rule: no more talking about rules,” I snapped.

  An awkward silence descended in the car. Were we in a fight? I busied myself looking for a hotel on his phone. “Albuquerque. It’s only four hours away and it has a Four Seasons and a Ritz.”

  “I’d like to get to New York before Christmas.”

  I recalculated the directions. “Seven hours to a town called Tucumcari.”

  “Book the most expensive hotel they have.”

  #

  As the southwestern United States blurred past my window, the distance between me and my ancestral home stretched out behind me. My unpleasant childhood memories clung to me as if by a thin rubber band. The further away from Sonoma I went, the longer and thinner it stretched.

  It would snap soon.

  I silently urged the car onwards, towards my future. My future what I had no idea, but anything was better than my past.

  Six more days on the road. Then I would be in his world.

  Where would that leave me?

  #

  My sweaty legs were burning up in my dirty jeans, and there was nowhere to do laundry. I was crawling out of my skin.

  We’d stopped at a Verizon store in downtown Albuquerque so I could get a new phone. As he pulled into the small lot, I spotted a store across the street that looked like it had women’s clothes.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You have ten minutes.”

  “Yes, master,” I shot back. I could feel him watching me as I dashed across the street.

  The store mostly stocked women’s golf and tennis clothing, but I found a pack of plain white underwear in my size, socks, a couple bras, a few hot-weather basics—and a new cotton nightie. I’d been sleeping in hotel bathrobes and Alexander’s oversized t-shirt.

  I threw in a pair of flip flops and a canvas tote bag to hold it all. When I came out of the dressing room in my new shorts and a tank top, holding the tags for my new undies and bra, the salesgirl looked at me like I was crazy. I didn’t even care that my shoulder bandage was showing. It was 112 degrees outside.

  When I got back to the car, Alexander was on the phone and the engine was running. I waited outside. The hot air caressed my bare legs.

  He rolled the window down. “I’m back,” I said.

  “I see that.”

  I pulled the door open, slid into my seat, and dropped the tote bag full of clothes in the back. The leather was warm and soft under my bare thighs. I ran my hand through my cropped hair, which I was not at all used to. I slid my mirrored sunglasses on.

  “Let’s hit it,” I said.
r />   He handed me a Verizon shopping bag with my new phone. “I like the new look.”

  “I could not deal with jeans one more second in this heat.” I peeked in the bag. “Awesome, thank you for the phone. You can—”

  “Add it to your tab, I know. Good, because I got you the most expensive one they had. Do not lose this one.” The Vanquish shot out of the parking lot onto the main road and took a hard right. I almost slid into his lap. “Speaking of tabs, what did you use to buy all that stuff?”

  “I had some cash left.”

  He scowled. “Next time, tell me. I’ll take care of it.” My cheeks burned.

  “Life tip: You’re supposed to tell a girl you like her outfit, not berate her for shopping with her own money,” I said.

  He glanced at my legs. “Summer Lana is officially my favorite Lana.” I blushed and squirmed. “You’ll still need clothes for New York. In fact, you’ll need a bunch of clothes, right? Do you even have any other shoes with you?”

  “I left the duffel bag with clothes and shoes in my Ferrari. Everything else I own was destroyed in the fire. So I sort of need . . . everything.” A new house. Furniture. A computer. Books. A boyfriend. A life. Help.

  His phone rang. The caller ID said, “Gretchen.”

  I’d forgotten to tell him she’d called before.

  He reached over and tapped to end the call.

  “Who was that?” I asked as casually as I could. She’s a supermodel, probably engaged to him. Maybe they’ll ask you to be a junior flower girl at their wedding. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to push the thoughts away.

  Alexander gripped the wheel with both hands and threaded the Vanquish in front of a big truck clogging the lane. I held on so I wouldn’t slide right onto his lap.

  “My sister.”

  A sister! Not a girlfriend! Relief flooded my body, followed immediately by shame for being relieved. And just because he has a sister doesn’t mean he’s single, you idiot!

  “Oh, I didn’t know you had a sister.”

  He cocked his head and looked at me. “Lots you don’t know.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Was that an invitation to pry? “Then tell me. You know more about me than I do, but all I know about you is that you’re my twelfth cousin fourteen times removed and you like nice beds and swimming naked.”