by HELEN HARDT
My office.
Still couldn’t quite wrap my head around that one.
The two assistants—one female and one male—busied themselves setting tarps down and then setting up what appeared to be a foldable barber’s chair. The man flipped open a tape measure and got a little too close as he measured me from my waist to the top of my head.
I eyeballed him.
“He needs to make sure the chair is at the right height for me,” Sergio explained.
“Great.” I rolled my eyes.
“Take off your jacket and shirt, please,” Sergio said.
I removed my jacket.
“And the shirt.”
“Why?”
“You don’t want to risk getting any product on your expensive clothes, do you?”
That made sense. I guessed.
I removed my shirt, and both of the assistants sucked in a breath.
“You’re not wearing an undershirt?” Sergio said.
“Do I look like I’m wearing an undershirt?”
“Have a seat.”
I sat in the chair, which was oddly comfortable. The male assistant held a portable sink under my head as the woman shampooed my hair. Sergio was apparently setting up his little shop.
“Hey look,” I said, my eyes closed as water splashed over my head. “I’m happy to come to your shop. This seems like a lot of trouble, you bringing everything here.”
“No problem at all. I’m well compensated.”
I’m sure you are.
Seeing my black curls on the plastic curtain at my feet saddened me a little. No more pulling the hair back in a tie for riding my Harley.
Where was my Harley, anyway? Back in Montana. I’d get Jarrod or someone to have it shipped out right away. That was one thing I wasn’t doing without. Not in a million years.
Speaking of Jarrod, he walked in. “Sorry, Mr. Wolfe. Your brother’s on the phone. Says it’s urgent.”
28
Lacey
Brent’s hands had been cast by God. No other explanation. He kneaded my muscles just firmly enough so that I felt it but it didn’t hurt.
Perfection.
Just what I needed today.
My bourbon headache had finally flown the coop, and after a gazillion cups of coffee, I no longer tasted the alcohol either. Now, as I relaxed under Brent’s perfect touch, I couldn’t help thinking about whose touch I’d really like to be feeling.
Rock Wolfe’s.
That man had gotten under my skin, and he was slowly driving me crazy.
He’d taken care of me last night, and he could have easily taken advantage of me. No. A man like Rock Wolfe wouldn’t do that. He was no gentleman, but he wasn’t a criminal. And not because he had any kind of high moral ground. He just wanted a woman to be completely aware of everything he was doing to her.
I smiled into the massage pillow, watching Brent’s feet as he moved around the table.
Brent was a nice looking guy. He wasn’t my regular therapist, but he’d worked on me a few times before. He’d asked me out once, but I turned him down, thinking it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with someone who’d already seen me naked.
Now, I was hoping he might ask again.
He wasn’t Rock Wolfe, but he could ease the ache between my legs when I thought about the handsome biker turned CEO.
Because Rock and I weren’t going to happen, no matter how much I wanted it. He was way too busy with his new responsibilities, and he’d made it pretty clear that I was only a fuck to him. A romp with someone else could perhaps ease the loss I felt.
Though he did make me breakfast this morning…
“Time to flip over, Lacey,” Brent said, holding the sheet so I could turn onto my back.
I was so relaxed, I decided to give him an eyeful.
Instead of flipping over underneath the sheet, as was customary, I pulled my arms up, grabbed the cover, and tucked it around my waist. My breasts greeted him, hard nipples and all.
“Uh…here. Sorry. Let me cover you up.”
“Mmm,” I said. “You don’t have to.”
“I’m a professional, Lacey. Besides, you made it clear the one time I asked you out that you weren’t interested.”
“I wasn’t interested then,” I said. “Maybe I am now.”
“Great,” he said. “But not here. I could get fired.”
“I’m not going to tell on you.”
He whisked the sheet over me. “No way. You’re beautiful, but no way. Not here. Now close your eyes.” He covered my eyes with a weighted mask.
I sighed, holding back a pout. Was I still a little bit drunk? What I’d done was not me at all, but Rock Wolfe had me feeling like a sex siren. Lacey Ward would never expose her breasts to a handsome masseur.
But she just had.
The tingle between my legs was becoming unbearable, and the soft texture of the sheet tormented my aching nipples.
I sighed again.
“Do you want me to have someone else finish your treatment?” Brent asked.
“No. Of course not. I’m sorry.” I’d embarrassed him…not to mention myself. What had I been thinking?
A romp with Brent might be fun, but it wouldn’t make me forget Rock Wolfe.
I had a sad suspicion nothing would.
I relaxed into the massage, and when it was over, Brent left to get me some tea and I donned the fluffy spa robe. He stood in the hallway when I exited the treatment room.
“Here’s your tea.” He smiled. “Now, if you want, I’m off in an hour. You want to meet me next door at the Brook Tavern?”
Why not? That would give me time to shower and sit in the steam room. “Sure. I’d like that.”
After my shower and steam, I dressed in my office clothes, wishing I had a pair of skinny jeans, stilettos, and a camisole to meet Brent next door. Oh, well. The black slacks and burgundy blazer would have to do.
I walked over to the tavern. Brent was already there, seated at the bar. His long blond hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and he wore a few days of light brown scruff on his face. His jeans hung loose around his nice butt, and he wore a V-neck gray T-shirt that accented his biceps and triceps nicely.
Yeah, he was pretty. Really pretty. Not Fox Monroe pretty, but beautiful in a totally masculine way.
What was I doing here again?
I didn’t want a fitness model. I wanted a rugged man in leather.
I wanted Rock Wolfe.
But I smiled. I’d accepted this date. He smiled back, holding up his bottle of beer.
God. Alcohol.
I definitely hadn’t thought this through.
I sat down next to him and laid my purse on the bar.
“What do you want?” Brent asked me.
To have my head examined. Yeah, not really the right thing to say. “I think I’ll have sparkling water to start. You know, hydrate after a massage and all.”
“Good girl.” He motioned to the bartender.
I scanned the rest of the bar as I waited for my drink and zeroed in on a loner at the end of the bar. He looked familiar. Familiar but refined instead of rugged, with hair as long as Brent’s but dark where my date’s was light.
Of course. Roy Wolfe.
Why would he be at the Brook Tavern? This was a modest little place, hardly up to Wolfe standards.
Roy was an artist, a loner, a renowned recluse. When he looked up, I smiled at him and waved.
He nodded slightly and then looked back down at his drink.
Was he okay?
Well, not my problem.
I took a drink of my water and tried to listen to what Brent was saying, when—
It became my problem.
Rock Wolfe walked in the Brook Tavern.
Our gazes met, and I glanced peripherally at Roy, who was waving Rock over.
Rock did not look happy.
I turned my attention back to Brent. He was the person who’d invited me, after all. Still, Rock had taken care of me
last night when he didn’t have to. He was a good guy. A great guy. Not the douchebag I’d thought he was when we first met.
And man, he was a god in bed.
Why was he meeting his brother at Brook Tavern? They could be having drinks at The Four Seasons or the Marriott Marquis.
I focused again on Brent, forcing myself not to turn around and watch Rock sit down next to Roy. A few seconds later, in walked Reid Wolfe. How long before Riley joined them?
“So what do you think?” Brent asked.
“I’m sorry. Think about what?”
“Dinner. We can get a table. The food’s pretty good here.”
“I…” I hadn’t eaten since the eggs Rock had fixed for me this morning. I opened my mouth to say no, but my stomach growled. I was indeed hungry. “Sure. Why not?”
“Great. I’ll go see the hostess for a table.” He stood and walked away.
I stared at my sparkling water, trying desperately not to look over at Rock. When I could no longer resist, I turned my head as nonchalantly as I could. Rock was engrossed in a conversation with his brothers. He couldn’t care less that I was here with another man.
I shook my head and scoffed.
Good guy? Great guy?
Nope. Douchebag after all.
29
Rock
Another fucking pretty boy. What the hell was she doing with him?
“Rock, would you stay focused, please?” Reid said to me. “This is important.”
Yeah. Important. Roy had gotten a mysterious phone call from someone claiming to have information about our father’s murder.
“Did the caller threaten you?” I asked Roy.
“No. Just said he had information, like I said. Then he hung up.”
“Then why should I focus? Are you worried, Roy?”
“Not worried. Just curious. Why would someone call me and tell me that but then hang up?”
“Honestly? I don’t give a shit.” I was glad the bastard was dead. Right now I was much more concerned with the blond dude who looked like he wanted to undress Lacey.
I tensed when he rose and walked away. Everything in me screamed to go to her, grab her, kiss her.
Before I could, though, he returned and led her to a table.
This place was a dive. I liked it. It was actually classier than most of the biker havens I hung out at home in Montana—places where I could hang my helmet, grab a beer or a bourbon, and unwind a little. Meet a woman, maybe. Go to her place and have some no-strings-attached sex, and then be home before sunup.
“Damn it, Rock. Would you quit staring at that attorney and pay attention?” Roy this time, surprisingly. He didn’t usually raise his voice.
“Why did you want to meet here?” I asked him.
“I didn’t want us to be seen. Plus they make a good burger.”
“You didn’t want us to be seen? Why?”
“Because this is serious, man. The two of you have never taken me seriously. Christ.”
I couldn’t fault Roy’s observation. He was the creative type, his head in the clouds most of the time. Quiet and brooding.
Reid and I—we were doers. Take hold and get it done. That’s why Reid had gone into the family business.
That’s why I had left.
“You just said you weren’t threatened,” I said. “But I’m sorry I said I didn’t give a shit.”
Reid put away his phone. “Sorry.”
I wanted to take Roy seriously, but I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off Lacey. Damn, first that male model in the bar last night and now this? Men flocked to her like flies to honey. Of course they did. She was fucking luscious.
“The call came this afternoon,” he said. “To my personal cell, not my work one, which freaks me out more than a little.”
“Who has that number?”
“Just family and friends,” he said.
“No acquaintances?” I asked.
“I dated a woman a while back,” he said.
I guffawed. “You dated? You? Mr. Loner?”
“This is why I don’t tell you two when I date at all,” Roy said. “Yeah. A year ago I dated a woman for a few months. It was low-key and it didn’t last, but I gave her the number. Other than her, I don’t recall giving it to anyone outside family and close friends.”
“Do you trust all your friends?” Reid asked.
“Since I have all of two, yeah, I trust them.”
“Any reason the woman you dated would have for giving it out?” I asked.
“Not that I know of. She’s an artist too. Quiet like me.”
“And maybe ripe for the picking,” I said.
“Tell us again exactly what the guy said,” Reid said.
“He just said he had information about Dad’s murder, and then he hung up. I tried calling back but it rang and rang and rang and never went to voicemail.”
“Sounds like a hoax,” I said.
“Let’s get the number traced, first of all,” Reid said.
“Already on it,” Roy replied. “It’s an area code in—get this—Montana.”
Chills skittered across my skin. “Montana?”
“Yeah. Weird, huh? But that’s where you were when Dad was killed, and somehow, someone got your prints on the gun that did it.”
“We should tell that detective who’s working on the case,” Reid said.
My stomach dropped. I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t want Roy running to that cop with this information. “Why should we do that? Let him do his own damned job.”
“He can find out if this is a hoax,” Reid said.
“Look,” I said. “I hope it is a hoax. But what if it’s not? What if someone is trying to frame me for murdering Dad?”
“They can’t frame you, Rock,” Reid said. “You weren’t in New York when it happened.”
“I know that, and you know that. But what if they decide to say I ordered it or something?”
“Then why would your prints be on the gun?”
“Maybe it was my gun.”
Reid shook his head. “Fuck. You own a gun?”
“I own several, actually.” Including one identical to what had offed my father. I wasn’t quite ready to voice that little tidbit yet. “I was joking, for God’s sake. If my gun had offed him, the cops would know it. All of my weapons are registered to me in the state of Montana.”
“Was one of them recently stolen?” Roy asked.
“I have no idea. I keep most of them in a gun safe, and I don’t look at them every day. The last time I went shooting was over a month ago.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Reid said. “If the murder weapon was registered to you, the cops would know it.”
I rolled my eyes. “I think I just said that. Except that gun at the scene wasn’t registered to anyone, and there’s a problem with the serial number. Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”
“So your prints are on it,” Reid said, “but the gun isn’t registered to anyone.”
“Good job, Holmes.” I rolled my eyes again.
“Chill, Rock,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure this out.”
“I don’t want the cops involved any more than they already are,” I said.
“You got something to hide?” Reid asked.
“Of course not.”
I was innocent. That I knew for a fact. But there was a lot my brothers didn’t know, not the least of which was that I’d tried to off my father when I was fourteen.
My mother did, though.
Fucking Mommie Dearest.
Of course. I should have known. That was why she was in my office earlier demanding one point two million dollars per year in an agreement just between us.
She was going to go to the cops with her story about my past.
Would she, though? Would she frame her own son just to get money?
I wasn’t about to find out.
If she relayed that story to the cops, it wouldn’t be hard for them to put together a case against me. Despi
te the prints, they wouldn’t be able to prove I’d pulled the trigger. They could easily prove a motive, though, and make a case that I’d hired the killer to use a gun I’d handled.
First thing tomorrow, I’d make arrangements for her to be paid. Anything to keep her off my back. Besides, I knew this woman. If I didn’t act soon, the price would go up. Then up some more.
Connie herself was innocent as a lamb when it came to Derek’s murder. She wouldn’t off her meal ticket.
But she was damned angry at whomever had, and determined enough to restore her financial status that she’d blackmail her firstborn to keep the green flowing.
Anger boiled in me. Maternal instincts were definitely missing in Connie Larson Wolfe.
Reid was nursing his whiskey, but Roy looked visibly rattled. From one phone call?
What was my reclusive brother not telling me?
I’d been gone for a while, but I could read my brother as if it were yesterday. He was hiding something.
Who was I to talk? I was hiding a ton, not the least of which was what my mother had to hold over my head.
I’d cut Roy some slack. This phone call had him seriously spooked. More spooked than it should, but I’d give him time.
“…might get cold,” Reid was saying.
“Sorry…what?” I said.
“If we don’t jump on this, the trail might get cold.”
“Oh.” I nodded. Whoever had offed Derek Wolfe had done the world a favor. I honestly hadn’t cared about the trail.
Until now.
We needed to figure out who had killed my father before someone found my secrets and the cops came after me.
And I had the distinct feeling that Roy had secrets of his own.
30
Lacey
My God, this man was boring. Brent Hedstrom was delicious to look at, and his hands were works of art that could soothe the tension out of anything, but could he talk about anything other than holistic stuff? I was all about massage and yoga and even color therapy. But cupping? Crystals? Psychic healing?
Yeah, drawing the line there. No way would I pay someone to heal me with his thoughts. I didn’t have that kind of spare change lying around.
