Guilty as Sin (Sinful, Montana Book 1)

by Rosalind James

  “I do. It’s useful. Do you think he’d bash you for catching his daughter nicking the stock? Seems extreme. Also, he wasn’t there.”

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “Unfortunately, because I didn’t like her, and I bet I wouldn’t like her dad, either.”

  Knightley was glaring at her now, and she realized, Oh. Talking during the presentation. Too bad, buddy. She shut up, though. She wanted to hear what came next.

  The chairman was saying, “We’d like to invite Brett Hunter to come up and talk about the project, along with giving us some revenue projections.”

  It wasn’t that Hunter was boring. It was just that he had slides. With graphs. Also artist’s renditions of buildings, which weren’t much better. Slides always put Paige to sleep. She was actually in danger of nodding off when Hunter said, “I think you’ve got the idea. I’ll take questions now.”

  A rustle behind Paige, the sound of people standing to let somebody past and into the aisle, and then she recognized the gas station guy’s voice over the PA system. “Does this whole thing really depend on Lily Hollander’s selling?”

  “As currently envisioned, yes,” Hunter said. “As I’ve explained, that land, together with the Forest Service land to the east, is the terrain best suited for cross-country trails. Snowshoe trails. In particular, we need the gentler slopes on her land.”

  “But you could still expand the ski mountain without it,” Gas Station Man said. “You just told us all about that part.”

  “True,” Hunter said, “but then, a developer tends to want the whole enchilada when he’s making this kind of investment.”

  Paige started to stand up, then, and Jace stood, too, his hand under her elbow, and helped her to her feet. Ostentatiously again. Hunter said, “Looks like we have a question in the front from Ms. Hollander.”

  Jace leaned down as if to whisper something in Paige’s ear, an elaborate piece of role-playing that had been his idea. He stood up straight again and said, in a voice loud enough to carry to the back of the room, “I’ll be making Ms. Hollander’s statement for her, as she’s unwell. I’d like to come up there to do it, if I may. Make sure everybody hears it.”

  “By all means,” Hunter said, even though it really wasn’t for him to say. The chairman didn’t look eager to argue the point—or any point—with his benefactor, though, and Jace leaped up the stairs with a whole lot of athletic grace. It was a showy enough performance that Paige was surprised he hadn’t put a hand on the four-foot-high platform and vaulted up.

  I think about what Jace would do, Rafe had said in that interview, and then I do it prettier. She had a feeling that this time around, Jace was doing it like Rafe. Doing it not like a man who had no need to advertise his toughness, because he’d long since proved it beyond any doubt, but like an action star.

  He’d dressed the part, that was for sure. Dark Levi’s, boots that she’d swear were military-issue, and a black T-shirt snug enough to show off his muscular physique and reveal the business end of the dagger tattooed on his arm. All he needed were military fatigues and a knife on his belt to present the whole picture.

  He took a moment before he started, adjusting the microphone upward as if to emphasize that he was possibly two whole inches taller than Brett Hunter. Men and their size obsession. Finally, though, he stood back, looked around the room like the eagle she’d compared him too, and began to speak.

  “First,” he said, “I think that anybody who doesn’t know it already should be aware that Ms. Hollander’s shop has been attacked, her animals have been killed, and last night, she herself was attacked. More than attacked. If things had gone a different way, somebody would be looking at a murder charge right now.”

  A buzz in the room, and Jace said, “I’m not going to believe that’s how most of you deal with neighbor disputes, or that you think it’s right to beat a defenseless woman. If I did, I wouldn’t live here, and neither would you. I don’t think that’s what Montana stands for. Your property is yours, whoever you are, rich or poor, and you have the right to defend it. And not to sell it, too. Of course, I’m Australian. Anybody want to offer up another opinion, set me right?”

  He looked out into the audience. Black scruff, black hair less than tamed. Black shirt. Darkness. Challenge.

  Raeleigh Franklin stood up in the audience. She didn’t bother going to the microphone, just called out, “Who says somebody here did that? Maybe she’s sleeping with somebody’s husband, did you think of that?”

  “No,” Jace said, “I didn’t. That might be because she’s sleeping with me, so I tend to know where she is.” He let the buzz from that die down, then said, “This may also be a good time to tell you a bit about myself. Mr. Hunter brought a slideshow. Mind if I borrow your system?” He held up a thumb drive.

  “Of course,” Hunter said, and obliged. A minute more, and a picture appeared on the big screen. This time, Paige didn’t have trouble staying awake.

  A man in desert camo, helmet, body armor, and full tactical gear, with an assault rifle slung over a broad shoulder. It didn’t look like Jace, and it did. Same stare. Same diamond-hard blue eyes. Same set jaw with its scruff of black beard.

  Oh, yeah. She’d take that guy. She may have gotten a little distracted, in fact.

  Jace didn’t say anything, just clicked to the next slide. Same man—him—hanging out of the open door of a helicopter with one hand, his rifle no longer slung over his shoulder. Paige would take that guy, too. Any day of the week, and twice on Sundays.

  Jace waited a moment, then said, “These days, I write thriller novels. In which the hero always wins, and the body count tends to get pretty high before it’s all over. I didn’t always do that, though. I served eight years in the Second Commando Regiment of the Royal Australian Army. You’d call it ‘special forces.’ We called it ‘search and destroy.’”

  One more slide. Jace in low-slung fatigues, his shirt off, his tattoo visible, and Paige could swear the collective estrogen level in the room rose. “Motto of the Second Commando Regiment,” he said, clicking once more to show two black diamonds bisected by a dagger. “Foras Admonitio. Without warning.”

  He clicked again. To blackness. He stood in front of the screen and said, “But I’m giving you warning. Call it fair warning. Call it your last warning. I can operate in the daylight. I operate in the dark even better. From here on out, consider me Lily’s shadow. Assume that wherever she is, I’m one step beyond, and I’m watching. She’s telling you she’s not selling. I’m here to back her up.” He held out his hand for the thumb drive, and Brett Hunter handed it to him without a word. Jace nodded, came down the stairs as athletically as he’d gone up them, and headed back to sit beside Paige.

  She gripped his arm, leaned over, and whispered, “That was great. Don’t put it in a book, though. It’s over the top.”

  He grinned at her. “I know. I’m guessing it’ll work. Civilians are pussies, hey.”

  She wanted to laugh, but it wouldn’t have set the right tone. Up on stage, Brett Hunter had taken the microphone again.

  “I have two responses to that,” he said. “First, I’m officially scared.” He didn’t look it. “And second—I’m here to pursue a mutually beneficial business transaction. I’m not here to get anybody hurt or intimidated. That would make my investors nervous. So let me go on record here and now and say that if there’s any further attempt to intimidate Ms. Hollander into selling her property to me, I’ll be cutting my losses and leaving, because this won’t be a town where I can do business. By Monday, we’ll know which it is, so you won’t have to hang out with the suspense much longer, and neither will I.”

  “Whoa,” Paige muttered.

  Somebody else was coming forward. Sergeant Worthington. This night was getting more and more interesting. He made his deliberate way up the stairs to the platform, took the microphone, looked out at the crowd, and said, “A reminder, folks. If you go taking the law into your own hands, you risk not being on the right side of t
hat law anymore. You’re putting yourself in danger two different ways. You’re not trained for it, and the legal consequences could be serious. Call 911 and let us handle it, please.”

  Jace sat back and folded his arms, and Paige got the message without him saying a word. I might be in danger, but the other guy will be dead.

  A rustle from the crowd, and Hailey’s voice rang out. “We have the right to defend ourselves. I work at Sinful Desires, too. I love that store. And I’m carrying. So you all know.”

  Paige had to turn around and look. Hailey was standing, her chin lifted, and she looked as ferocious as it was possible for a well-built fiftyish lady in a silky navy-blue top to look. A man stood up beside her, cleared his throat, and said, “I’m her husband. And so am I.”

  Worthington held out a palm, and Paige had to feel some sympathy for him. A shootout on Main Street would not end well. For anybody. “Everybody has the right to defend themselves if their life’s in danger,” he said. “But we’re still going to investigate any incident, and so is the DA. Leave the life-or-death decisions to us, please, unless you’re darn sure it is a life-or-death situation. Call 911.”

  After that, it was all over but the shouting. The chairman said a final few words and slammed the gavel down, and the audience began to file out amidst a buzz of talk. Entertaining evening, apparently. A few women came up to Paige, sliding their eyes on over to Jace, and commiserated over her injuries in a way she found decidedly uncomfortable. Being Lily had never been harder.

  The only person who addressed what had happened directly, though, was Hailey.

  She hurried up, smiling, with her hand over her heart. “Oh, my goodness,” she told Jace, “I swear I had a hot flash. That was like a romance novel. If I was twenty years younger—and not married, of course—well, I wouldn’t be too sure of what I might do.”

  “I’m a gentleman,” Jace said, letting his grin show at last, “or I’d answer that better. I like you, too. Although you’ve got me well and truly scared now that I know you’re armed.”

  She laughed again. “I do not. You’re terrible.” She told Paige, “Jarrod Knightley was not happy. Did you watch his face?”

  “No,” Paige admitted. “I was watching Jace.”

  Hailey said, “Well, I can understand that.”

  “And thank you,” Paige added. “You were awesome. You surprised me.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t have,” Hailey said a little tartly. “You should know how I feel by now. For heaven’s sake. But anyway, Jarrod. Word’s gotten around about Madison’s bad habit.”

  “How did that happen, I wonder?” Jace asked the air.

  Hailey said, “Well, if somebody’s going to steal from our beautiful store, I’m not going to keep quiet about it. And I think the other merchants ought to know. Nobody can afford that. Nobody should have to afford that. I don’t care who your dad is, you don’t get to steal.”

  “No argument from me,” Jace said.

  Brett Hunter stood at the edge of the little group, and Paige put a hand on Hailey’s arm, turned to him, and said, “I wasn’t expecting that. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Just looking after my interests. And my skin.”

  Paige studied him. “I can’t believe,” she said slowly, “that you’d really invest all this time and effort if acquiring one twenty-acre parcel is the make-or-break difference in going ahead or not. Tell the truth. Is it really?”

  “Ah,” he said with a smile, “But you see, a good businessman never shows his hand. Anything I can help you with regarding that offer?”

  “No,” she said, “I think I’ve got it.”

  “Good.” His expression shifted. “And I am sorry. Surprised, too. I have to say, this is a first.”

  Jace said, “But then, some bee colonies are Africanized, and some aren’t. The difference isn’t whether they’ll sting if they’re provoked. The difference is how many times. I think we’ve got an Africanized colony.”

  “Do you?” Hunter asked. “I hope not.” He reached out a hand, and after a moment, Jace took it. “Good speech. Great visuals. Want a job?”

  “No,” Jace said. “I already have a job.”

  Hunter sighed. “Always the way. The best ones are already taken.” He gave Paige a bland look that she had no trouble interpreting, and from the way Jace’s posture changed, he didn’t have any trouble, either.

  “Bastard,” he muttered as Hunter moved off. “And I want to hate him, but I can’t. Bugger.”

  “I know,” Paige agreed. “He’s annoying.”

  Jace looked at her more sharply. “How’re you going? You don’t look too flash.”

  “Oh, you know.” She tried to make it airy. “Long time to sit. Thank you, though. I can’t believe you. And thanks a lot for the Africanized bees.”

  “We’ll go,” he said. “I’d say we’re done. I’ll admit, you put the Africanized bees into my mind. Talk about an effective image. It’s about flinging down the gauntlet. Generally, nobody picks it up. Lucky for us.”

  This time, Paige didn’t protest when Jace picked her up and put her in the truck. He could see the fatigue like it was spelled on her face, because to him, it was. And as they got closer to Lily’s house, he could see the dread, too. She could try to hide it, but she couldn’t hide from him.

  He stopped by the cabin first, said, “Stay there,” did a lightning job of packing an overnight bag, and came out within three minutes. At her house, he left her in the truck and left the truck in the driveway. She protested, but he gave her a look, and she shut up. After that, he went through the threat-assessment routine with Tobias. When he was sure it was clear, he went back for Paige.

  “All good,” he said. “At both places. Which is interesting.”

  “Of course,” she said, “we’ve got alarms and cameras now. But I agree, it’s significant. Maybe it’s over. Maybe you’ve lost your stalker, too, although I’m not so sure about that. Surely she knew all that already. That’s kind of the point of a stalker.”

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He didn’t bother lifting her down this time. He just carried her straight up to the house. She made a token comment to let him know she was tough, and then she let him take her all the way up the stairs to bed.

  When he’d set her gently down against Lily’s pillows, she sighed and said, “You’re pretty good, you know that? I keep wanting to say something like, ‘Why are you doing this? Why would you out yourself like that to the whole town, when I’ll bet it’s the last thing you wanted to do?’ And then I don’t say it, and I know why.”

  He sat down beside her, picked up her good hand, and kissed it. It was the second time he’d done that, and apparently it got easier with practice. “Yeah,” he said, “I know why, too. Why you don’t say it, and why I did it. If you don’t want to say it, then don’t. You could call it a day instead, and tell yourself that I’ve got this.”

  “Lily,” she said. “Midnight.”

  “Got the alarm set for Lily, and I know what she looks like, too.”

  She smiled. It hurt, and she still did it. And his heart turned over one more time. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for my sister, and thank you for me. And it’s, I don’t know, a few hours until you have to head down there?”

  “Yeah.” His heart had picked up the pace like something was coming. Good or bad. He thought it might be good.

  “Then could I… could you…” She stopped.

  “You can say it,” he said. “You can ask it.”

  She sighed, and then she gave it up, and was there anything like the feeling when a woman did that for you? “Could you lie down with me, maybe sleep with me until then? You’ve got things to do, and I know it. A job that you’re not doing, because you’ve spent a couple days now solving my problems. And I’m asking anyway.”

  “You can ask.” He had things to do, yeah. But nothing more important than watching her head into the bathroom and come out again with her makeup washed off, a pa
le-green towel wrapped around her torso, her hair a little messy from the humidity, and her skin glowing faintly pink from the heat. Her arm was bruised, and so was her face. She had a limp. And she was beautiful.

  She went into the dressing room and brought out a long white nightdress, and he said, “That’s the one you wore the other night, I’m thinking. When you came back to bed, and I was sorry not to feel your skin against mine anymore. You did that because you didn’t want me to see you once the lights came on.”

  She stopped where she was, in the middle of the floor. He could see her throat move as she swallowed. “You’d have known I wasn’t Lily. Besides, even if I weren’t trying to be somebody else… it’s my leg. It’s ugly.”

  “But you see,” he said, “I don’t want somebody else. And as we’re doing each other a favor tonight, telling each other the truth… I know Lily must have prettier nightdresses than that, and I’d like to see one of them on you.”

  Her head came up. Her face wasn’t just naked of makeup. It was naked of everything. It was all Paige. “I’m all out of energy tonight. I don’t have…” He thought there might be some tears there, but she was still holding them back. “And the scars.”

  “I’ve got a few scars myself. You’ve seen a couple of them, and anytime you want to take a full inventory, I’m happy to help you do it. And I know you’re tired, baby. I want to look at you, that’s all. I want to hold you. I want to know you trust me enough to let me do it.”

  She turned around, and he may have been holding his breath until she came back a minute later holding something chocolate-brown. She said, “Pink’s a bridge too far.” And then she dropped the towel right there beside the bed.

  Her forearm and shoulder were turning purple. They matched the livid, puckered scar on the front of her thigh.

  She looked wounded. She looked strong. She looked like a warrior.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said. “So you know.”