by Jory Strong
She took the visitor chair.
He sat in the one behind the desk.
“First things first,” he said.
He opened the folder, picked up a check and offered it to her. “As promised.”
A glance confirmed the amount—five thousand—written on his law firm account.
She took it, with misgivings, but she took the check.
“His name isn’t on it,” she said.
“No. I’m not in possession of that information. This was arranged through intermediaries.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. Her stomach cramped at the prospect of setting the check on the desk and walking away from it.
“Is it dirty money?”
Johansen smiled in appreciation of the question. “I’ve been assured it comes from a legitimate source. And in this case I absolutely trust those assurances. I’ve also been told that this initial amount is a small portion of what you’ll receive if you continue on this quest to get to know your biological father.”
Madison’s hands dropped to her thighs. She leaned forward. “If he’s so interested, why not pick up the phone and call?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
Years of bartending to pay the bills in Miami and she had a pretty good bullshit meter. It didn’t twitch.
“So what next?” she asked.
“You’ll need to go to the San Francisco Bay area. Your flight and rental car have already been paid for.”
He removed the papers from the folder, sliding them toward her, a boarding pass on top.
She froze at seeing the date. “He expects me to drop everything and be there tomorrow?”
“Time is of the essence. The clock has started ticking.”
She read the subtext. This was her one chance, take it or leave it.
Johansen relaxed against the back of his chair. “Do you intend to make the trip?”
What choice did she have, other than to take the five grand and call that good?
“Why now? What’s his hurry?”
Johansen lifted his hands, palms up. “This is the extent of my involvement. Are you going?”
“I’ll go.”
Johansen’s relaxed manner disappeared. “Excellent.”
He opened a drawer and handed her a business card with the name Bulldog Montgomery scrawled on its back along with a phone number.
“After you’ve landed, this is the man you’re to contact.”
“Who is he? What is he?”
“A legend in his own right.” Johansen’s smile was all admiration. “I’ll let you discover the details for yourself.”
He stood, signaling an end to their meeting.
Madison left the office. She got behind Myrtle’s steering wheel and sat for a minute, looking at the check. No way could she tell her parents about Bio-dad’s sudden appearance in her life. It would only deepen the lines of stress on their faces.
So how to explain the trip?
It’d have to be because of her music.
They’d tell her to go. They’d tell her not to worry about them. They’d tell her they were so proud of her for following her dreams.
Guilt slid in at the prospect of lying to them, with the knowledge that in part she was living a lie. Since returning to Richmond it’d been harder to hide from the truth when it came to music. She loved jamming with friends. She enjoyed the rush that came with performing on stage, but it wasn’t like needing air to breathe the way it had been for Elijah. For her, that feeling came with writing songs. The desperation was more about getting her songs out there, and the satisfaction was in hearing them done by musicians far more gifted than she was.
She suppressed the guilt and used her phone to Google Bulldog Montgomery.
Johansen was right. Not only was Bulldog a legend as a high-stakes poker player, but he was one of the most sought after consultants in the gaming industry. Casinos paid him big bucks to determine if someone was cheating. And though he was semi-retired as a consultant, he ran a private detective agency called Crime Tells.
Madison had to smile, enjoying the play on the word tell, a gambler’s term for a behavior that gave away hand strength.
He’d probably been hired to locate her. So it made sense that he’d be the one to do the hand-off, taking her to meet Bio-dad.
It’d mean he probably knew where Bio-mom was. Or Bio-grandparents.
“I don’t care.”
But would she continue to feel that way?
She absently thumbed a link and ended up looking at Bulldog at some kind of celebratory dinner, not that she could keep her eyes on him when they were locked on the blond standing next to him.
Longish hair. Blue eyes that could strip a woman—maybe even a man—out of clothes in seconds flat. Lips that were far too sensual, tipped in a hint of a smile that had her imagining herself leaning forward, touching, tasting, tracing them with her tongue, something she hadn’t wanted for a lot of months.
You might be wearing a suit, but you’ve got bad bad boy written all over you.
She managed to peel her eyes off the bad boy in question and match the image with a name. Shane Maguire, one of Bulldog’s grandsons and an employee of Crime Tells.
Did you have anything to do with locating me? Did you collect my history, such as it is, and hand it off to some guy who’s just now decided to involve himself in my life?
She dropped the phone onto the passenger seat, not wanting to think how that story read.
Home. She needed to get home, spend time with her parents.
Who knew what tomorrow would bring?
It brought a gut-gnawing separation and too many hours confined to a small space on an every-seat-filled flight. Her entire body hummed by the time the plane landed in San Francisco, though it wasn’t the adrenaline rush that came with stepping out in front of an audience. It wasn’t the buzz that came afterward, when she was mingling with the crowd, drinking beer with the guys and whoever had joined them to talk music.
As soon as she hit the terminal she called her parents to let them know she’d arrived safely.
Her hand tightened on the phone when her mother said that her father was asleep.
“He’s okay?”
“He’s fine, Madison. The medicine he took has knocked him out, that’s all. Don’t worry about him. Concentrate on your audition.”
Her throat thickened. “I’ll do my best.”
“We know that, honey. We’re so proud of you. Call us when you’ve got news.”
“I will. Love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Kiss Dad for me.”
“You know I will.”
She collected her guitar, worry eating at her, her heart aching under the burden of guilt at having purposely glossed over her reason for coming to San Francisco—not an outright lie—but the effect was the same. She’d let her parents draw the conclusion it had something to do with gaining a spot in a band.
What else could she do? How could she tell them the truth?
It’ll be okay, she told herself. By this time tomorrow, she could be heading back home.
Finding the rental car counter meant a wait in line. She downloaded five songs, music that helped barricade the guilt and worry, before securing the keys to a white Ford Focus.
The car was in a line of fifteen just like it.
She got in, pulled the business card from her pocket.
Its corners were no longer crisp and sharp.
Bulldog answered and gave her directions.
Madison’s hands turned slick against the steering wheel and her heart beat too fast. This is it. Either Bio-dad was waiting in the Crime Tells office, or she’d follow Bulldog to some meeting place, probably neutral territory, because why else would she need the rental?
She left the garage and traveled along the frontage road.
She made the turn onto San Bruno Avenue and was surprised there wasn’t more traffic.
Silver car coming toward her.
Black SUV type coming up fast behind her.
Why did Bio-dad want to meet her now?
Why all the middlemen?
Maybe he didn’t intend to give her his name, not if he didn’t like what he found in person.
One strike against her there, for taking the five grand.
Maybe she’d already failed and what waited for her at the Crime Tells office was a ticket home and a final payoff.
A flash of red suddenly to the right had her heart leaping into her throat.
She wrenched the steering wheel to the left.
Screamed as metal collapsed with a cannon explosion of sound.
The air bag deployed, slamming into her, punching her with memory and panic.
Panting, she clawed at the seatbelt, blind to anything but the need to get out. To escape, escape, escape.
Her own whimpers filled her ears.
A sob came when the belt unlatched.
She grabbed the door handle, flung her body forward, hurtling out of the car and landing on her hands and knees.
Her breath heaved in and out. Tremors wracked her body as remembered pain consumed her.
The memory-smell of gasoline and blood flooded her senses. Despair and fear and helplessness accompanied the sound of Elijah’s moaning, crying, his slow dying.
“Hey, you okay? Are. You. Okay?”
The voice came from a long way away, entwining with those of the paramedics who’d told her she was going to be okay, to hang on, that she was going to be okay, while all she could think was that she’d never be okay. How could she be without Eli?
A hand on her arm demanded she focus on the now. It was like a line pulling her from frozen depths.
She surfaced. Looked into the face of a mocha-skinned guy crouched in front of her wearing dreads and a gray hoodie.
“You okay?” he asked.
“A little shaken.”
He helped her stand and she saw that he was the driver of the silver car that’d been coming from the other direction.
“Police are on the way. You get a look at the asshole who hit you?”
“No. It happened too fast. What about you?”
“All I saw was a turned-up collar and a ball cap. But I got the first three digits on his plate. Can’t be sure, but I think it was an Expedition.”
She heard a siren in the distance. Thought about Bulldog waiting for her and called, telling him what happened.
“Get a lift back to the rental center but don’t get a replacement car,” he said. “I’ll send someone to pick you up.”
Chapter Two
Shane mucked his cards.
What a freaking waste of time. He’d joined the Texas Hold’em game at Cole’s place, thinking it’d engage his brain and give him some relief. He should have known better.
He’d already tried beer and whiskey, more than once.
He’d tried women. No strings. No promises. No expectations by either party except for some fast, furious fucking.
It didn’t help. If anything, it made things more complicated, because he liked doing it with women. Couldn’t imagine not doing it with women.
He’d be better off banging his head against the wall. That had a greater chance of driving out thoughts of Tyler—if such a thing was even possible—than anything he’d tried so far.
He picked up a chip, walked it through his fingers. Back and forth. Back and forth. Down nearly five grand and what’d he have to show for it? Nothing.
He’d lost a shitload of money because he couldn’t stop thinking about Tyler and trying to figure what the fuck to do about it. He was full out on tilt. At the table and away from it, he’d been playing recklessly since getting back from Vegas and helping Cole on the case that led to big brother hooking up with Renata.
Shane found a smile there. He’d cashed in on the betting pool as to when Cole would bite the big one and admit there was no escaping fate, and Renata was his.
That’d been a nice win at seven grand plus a little over a hundred in small bills.
Cole hadn’t stood a chance, though he’d tried running, tried avoiding and staying as far away from Renata as he could.
Didn’t do him any good. It was another example of where resistance was futile, especially when it came to Grandma Maguire’s sight.
Wonder what she’d predict about me?
Months ago he’d have been more embarrassed than worried at showing up in one of Grandma M’s visions, because who wanted their granny to watch the porn they’d starred in?
Now he was worried she’d see a total fuck-up, starting with that last trip to Vegas where a run of excellent cards chased by too much alcohol had led to a hook-up with a guy—not the first, though he kept that part of his life in Vegas or Reno or Atlantic City. Only this time he’d freaking shot his load and said Tyler’s name, making it impossible to live happily in denial.
I am so fucked. So so fucked.
He’d known it that night in Vegas. Then coming home, getting sucked into Cole and Renata’s cold case, that’s when the real head-trip had begun. Not that he regretted sitting at Brian Elliot’s bedside and wouldn’t make the same choice again.
He hadn’t been able to stand the thought of a guy dying alone in a hospice, shunned by his family because he was gay. But being with Brian had only added to the churn in his gut over his own situation.
Was he willing to admit he swung both ways? Have that out in the open even knowing his family wouldn’t cut him out of their lives because of it?
He caught himself tugging on the nipple ring through his shirt, sending little streaks of pleasure straight to his dick. Fuck, that’s all he needed, a hard-on that’d cause him even more grief.
Worse would be developing a tell that would let everybody know when his head wasn’t in the game. They’d pluck him clean every time, not just this one.
He looked down at what remained of his buy-in. Pathetic. He had two, maybe three rounds before he went bust.
To his left, Braden shook his head. “Bro, where’d your game go?”
“Nowhere you want to hear about.”
Cash, sitting between Kieran and Cole, won the hand and raked in the chips. “Probably involves some woman. Keep fighting the good fight.”
Lyric laughed. “And that’s working for you?”
Cash shot Kieran a look.
Kieran held up his hands. “She asks if my partner has come to his senses yet. I say no, his dick is still in a twist, and far as I can tell banging badge bunnies isn’t providing a fix.”
Lyric grinned. “Maybe it’s time for an intervention.”
Shane’s gaze snapped to his cousin’s face. Yeah, maybe, though not the intervention she was talking about.
She and Tyler were tight, though hell, they all were and had been since they were kids. But Lyric could offer insight. Insight being, did Tyler have any leanings in a bi direction?
He’d never seen it. Didn’t mean it wasn’t there. No one sitting at the table would ever guess he went both ways.
Tyler wasn’t without female companionship when he wanted it, either—not that he’d actually seen Tyler with a lot of women, not compared to the Maguires. But the guy was a babe-magnet. Had been starting in high school with that long blond hair and the whole soulful artist thing he had going on.
Shane’s gaze shifted from Lyric to Braden to Cole. He huffed out a breath. No way was he ready for an intervention.
Ask Lyric for a read on Tyler and he’d be the subject of a betting pool. Someone would be winning a nice little pot the way he’d done when it came to Cole’s futile attempt to avoid falling hard for Renata.
Shane glanced down at his remaining chips. Fucking pathetic. He was better than this. He was capable of calculating the odds, but tonight he couldn’t figure the right move to make at the table or when it came to Tyler. It was shades of high school—not that he’d actually had to struggle back then when it came to sex.
Yeah, and if this was just about sex, I’d be good.
/> The two gray-faced dachshunds that’d been curled up next to Puff, a twenty pounder of a rabbit belonging to Renata, suddenly got to their feet.
Cole stood, pushing away from the table and heading for the front door.
It opened and Renata shouldered her way in, arms draped with grocery sacks.
Big brother took some of the bags then slammed his mouth down on Renata’s.
The sight of them together filled Shane with a longing he couldn’t shake. And worse—didn’t want to shake.
Braden gathered the mucked cards and began shuffling. “And there’s a guy who always said he liked his women fast, fuckable and forgettable, in that order.”
“Change happens,” Lyric said.
Cash snorted. “More like shit happens.”
Shane’s cell rang with Bulldog’s tone.
He answered it.
His grandfather said, “I need you to go to the rental car center at SFO. A client just came in. Her name is Madison York. Pick her up and bring her to the office.”
Shane pocketed the phone, relieved at having an escape.
“I’m gone,” he said.
He left the chips. Cole would cash him out and hold the funds.
His exit forced Cole and Renata to break the lip lock—not that they wouldn’t be right back at it when the poker game ended and their company was ejected.
Once the love shining in their eyes would have had him shaking his head and saying not for me. Even thinking about being tied down like that would have had him pulling an imaginary choke-chain off his neck and landing the next gorgeous babe, doing her right there on the beach if he was out surfing or, if not, doing her on some other surface.
But now…
Driving toward the rental center, he admitted to himself that now he wanted what big brother had. Not in the same one-on-one way Cole had it, but he wanted the connection that came with permanent.
The fun of nailing a conquest, or being someone else’s easy lay, had turned into an empty kind of pleasure. It’d probably been creeping up on him even before that night in Vegas.
He caught himself playing with the nipple ring and forced his hand down, his thoughts forward. A new client was just the thing to keep him occupied, and he’d rather work close to home than go back out on the road.
