by Stacy Finz
Cody opened the door before Flynn could knock. “You’re here.”
“I’m here. Smells good.” Before he got as far as the living room Clay pushed a drink into his hand. “Jack, right?”
“Yep. How you doing?”
“Good.” Clay looked down the hallway. “Gia didn’t come with you?”
“Nah, she’s coming on her own.” She was probably hiding behind a bush, making sure Flynn was here first.
“Come into the kitchen, say hello to Emily.” Clay led the way.
“Where’s Justin?”
“He’s got a date.”
“Shit.”
“Shit doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
Flynn laughed. The boys were growing up. He opened his arms wide for Emily. She untied her apron, took it off, and gave him a great big hug.
“I’ve hardly seen you, Flynn.”
“I’ve been driving back and forth between here, Quincy, and Sacramento so much my tires are bald. Seriously, I spend more time in my truck than I do on the range or on my practice. Thanks for having me, Em.”
“You’re always welcome here. Where’s Gia?”
“I’m sure she’ll be along any minute.”
“I thought you’d come together.”
He could’ve offered. Gia probably would’ve appreciated it, but then he’d be defeating the whole distance thing he was trying to maintain. “You meet her yet?”
“No, but Clay has. Should we be nervous?”
Not about Gia stealing the silver, he wanted to say. But don’t do any investments with her. “Nah.”
“Clay says she wants to farm.” Emily glanced over at her husband, who was dredging a chip in a bowl of dip.
News to him. “Then she’s told Clay more than she’s told me.”
They heard a car pull up and the dogs sounded the alarm again. Clay told Cody to call them off and show Miss Treadwell in.
“Flynn, help yourself to some crudité.”
He stood over the bowl with Clay and munched on vegetables. Gia came into the kitchen in a yellow sleeveless dress that skimmed her curves and landed right above her knees. Lord praise the shift dress. She handed Emily a bottle of champagne and Clay introduced them.
“That’s from me too,” Flynn called, realizing he should’ve brought something.
Emily chilled it while he and Clay drained the rest of their drinks. Clay made Flynn another one and asked Gia what she’d like.
“Wine would be great if you have any.”
Emily took over from there, pouring Gia a glass of white and peppering her with questions about Rosser Ranch and living in Nugget. Flynn caught Gia’s eye. You okay? She gave him an imperceptible nod and Flynn returned to his conversation with Clay. For the next thirty minutes they talked about the price of beef.
Emily moved everyone into the dining room and started bringing out truckloads of food. Salad, chicken, mashed potatoes, grilled asparagus, and homemade biscuits. Flynn’s mouth watered.
“This looks wonderful,” Gia said. “And thank you for the tart. I never knew anything could taste that good.”
“I’m glad you liked it. Do you cook?”
“The closest I come is dialing for delivery.”
Clay chuckled. “Good luck with that here.”
“You should join the Baker’s Dozen,” Emily said. “We’re a local cooking club that meets once a month at the Lumber Baron’s kitchen. . . Maddy, Sam, and Nate let us use it and it’s state of the art. We’ll teach you how to cook.”
“I might just do that.”
Flynn pulled a chair out for Gia. Just good manners, he told himself. Clay helped get the rest of the meal on the table and Emily called for Cody, who’d disappeared. And they sat down.
“Dig in, everyone.” Emily passed the platter of chicken.
For a while they ate, with just the sound of chewing and the clattering of flatware filling the air. Eventually, as they stuffed their stomachs with some of the best food Flynn had ever tasted, conversation resumed.
“Clay says you’re interested in farming,” Emily said to Gia.
“I’m thinking about it. There’ll be a learning curve of course. And right now I have cows running across my land.” She looked at him meaningfully.
“It’s cattle, not cows.” He raised beef, not milk.
If she planned to make her living in agriculture, she should at least get the verbiage right, though he suspected this farming thing was bullshit. The time it would take for a relatively small start-up farm to be profitable—if it ever was—didn’t seem to jibe with her get-rich-quick day-trading plan. And if farming had been her goal, she should’ve bought land in the Central or Salinas Valleys, not in a place that was frozen most of the winter. He supposed it could be a vanity project. These days small farms were like trendy restaurants. But he doubted Gia did anything without knowing what she was getting herself in to. And as hip as farming had become, it was excruciating work where the whim of the weather could make or break you. People did it because it had been in their blood for multiple generations, not because they thought it would be a financial windfall.
“What crops are you thinking of planting?” Emily asked.
“I’m not sure yet, but I have a consultant coming next week.”
Flynn looked straight at Gia and cocked his brow. Not buying it. She stared back with an expression that screamed, screw you, Flynn Barlow.
Any time, sweetheart.
“So you’re not considering using the property for something non-agricultural?” Emily asked, and Flynn had to hand it to her for getting right to the point.
“I can’t, right?”
It was classic obfuscation—answer a question with another question. The property was zoned agricultural, but local government could lift the zoning if someone persuaded them that their nonagricultural project would bring a lot of revenue to the city. It happened all the time.
“Not technically,” Clay said. “And we’re hoping you won’t.”
Gia looked down at her plate. Flynn could tell she was definitely keeping something from them. Even more reason to stay away from her; she was conniving.
Emily changed the subject and the conversation turned to the weather, the upcoming farmers’ market, and Dana and Aidan’s wedding. Later Emily brought out dessert: homemade ice cream and fresh berries from the ranch. Flynn was stuffed but managed to shovel in a hearty helping.
Afterward he and Gia got up to go at the same time.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.
“I came over on foot . . . needed the exercise.”
“Then I’ll drive you home.”
“I’ll be fine to walk back.”
Flynn glanced out the window. “Not much of a moon out; you won’t be able to see.”
She relented, giving Flynn the impression she didn’t want to make a scene.
“Let’s go.” Flynn thanked his hosts and said his goodbyes.
Gia made a plan to attend the next Baker’s Dozen meeting, which surprised him. She didn’t strike him as the domestic type. When they got outside the air smelled of pine and rain. Flynn looked up to the sky, hoping they’d get some.
“Hop in.” He held the passenger door open for her and tossed his laptop case in the back.
She climbed up, showing a great deal of leg. Long and shapely. Gia caught him looking and quickly tugged her dress down. He got behind the wheel and took it slow down the McCreedys’ long driveway, careful not to hit one of the dogs.
“You going back to Sacramento tonight?” she asked.
“Quincy. I’ve got to come back in the morning . . . check the new calves.”
Silence filled the cab until they got to Rosser Ranch Road. “Why don’t you stay in one of bunkhouses? It’ll save you a trip.”
He was surprised by the offer, though it made a hell of a lot more sense than him driving back and forth. “You don’t mind?”
“The bunkhouses are just sitting there. I think one of them even ha
s a washer and dryer, if you need to wash some clothes.”
“Why are you suddenly so accommodating?” He got the feeling she was working him.
She paused, let out an audible sigh, and said, “I’ve made enough enemies in the last eight months to last me a lifetime.”
“You trying to get me in your corner . . . for that farm you’re planning?” It took everything he had not to snicker.
“You can cut the sarcasm. I definitely plan on growing something on this land. If it weren’t for your cattle,” she enunciated cattle, “I would’ve started by now.”
“Yeah, what are you planning to grow? Marijuana?”
“That was a cheap shot,” she snapped. “What, Ponzi schemes weren’t good enough for me, now I’m a drug lord?”
She was right; it had been a cheap shot. Besides, the way the laws were changing in the rest of the country, weed would soon be a legal crop in California. “You know anything about farming, Gia? It makes gambling look like a safe bet.” Despite it sounding gratuitous, he added, “You’d be better off continuing to lease the land for grazing.”
“I have a plan,” she said defensively.
“Okay. Let’s hear it.”
“I’m not ready to talk about it yet, not that it’s any of your business.”
Right again. It wasn’t and he’d vowed not to get involved. So why was he sticking his nose in her future plans? Because he wanted to get in her pants, even though there were plenty of willing, less complicated women who’d be happy to afford him that pleasure, like Laurel. He just didn’t want any of them.
* * *
Gia heard a noise around midnight. She was lying in bed, trying to focus on the words in her novel instead of picturing Flynn in the apartment above her garage. There’d been no bedding in the bunkhouses so she’d given him use of the private guest quarters. Bad idea because she couldn’t get any sleep, wondering what he was doing, what he was wearing, and whether he was thinking of her.
She’d caught him several times during dinner checking her out, like he might be interested. The truly mysterious part was that she was interested too. As adversarial as it was between them, she was attracted to him. And now that he was bound by confidentiality she contemplated doing something unthinkable, even mortifying: making a bootie call.
The noise came again. Gia thought it sounded like a car door closing, though she hadn’t heard an engine. Maybe Flynn had forgotten something from his truck. She got out of bed, padded across the Navajo rug to peek outside the window. In the pitch darkness she couldn’t see anything. She’d have to go to the mudroom to turn on the motion lights, which for some unfathomable reason she’d shut off.
Pushing the drapery aside, she continued to press her face against the screen, hoping her eyes would adjust enough to see what was going on. A few seconds later lights illuminated the driveway. Either Flynn had flipped them on after he’d gone to his truck or he’d heard the noise too.
“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she heard him shout.
That’s when she saw the flash of a camera. And another flash. And two more. Flynn came down and yelled at someone pointing a telephoto zoom lens at Gia’s bedroom to get off the property.
The cameraman ignored him and kept on shooting. It took a beat for it to register that the man was photographing her. And in a thin tank and shortie pajama bottoms no less. Flynn ripped the camera out of his hand.
“That’s my property.” Spit flew from the man. Gia thought he was going to hit Flynn and grabbed the phone to call 9-1-1.
“You’ll get it back when you get off mine.” Flynn moved into the guy’s personal space, and Gia could see the moment in which the photographer went from being disgruntled over his camera to being intimidated.
“I thought this was Gia Treadwell’s place.” The man backed away until he bumped up against the door of his car. A Ford Escort.
Gia recited the license plate number to the 9-1-1 operator, who was in the midst of dispatching an officer.
“Sorry, mate,” the photographer said. “I’ve got the wrong place. If you’ll just return my camera, I’ll be on my way.”
“You can pick it up tomorrow at the Nugget Police Department,” Flynn told him.
“Ah, come on, mate.”
Flynn grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt. “Next time you decide to drive up a private road and point your zoom lens in a woman’s bedroom, you’re gonna lose a lot more than a camera. Got it, mate?”
Gia saw Flynn press his knee into the man’s groin, punctuating his point. The guy swallowed hard, got inside his car, locked the door, and drove away.
Flynn cursed under his breath and turned to the window. “You okay?”
“Yes. Come around.” The house was shaped like a U and the master suite was located on the ground floor in the left wing, adjacent to the garage, with giant French doors that opened to the pool.
A few seconds later Flynn tapped on the glass. She let him in, staring up at his bare chest. All he had on was a pair of jeans. In his haste to get outside, he hadn’t put on a shirt or shoes or even buttoned the top of his fly.
“Was he FBI or a reporter?” she asked, not entirely sure where to point her eyes.
“Definitely not FBI.”
He’d know, she thought. He pulled the SD Card out of the camera and shoved it in his pocket. Damn, the man could rock a pair of jeans.
“More than likely some shitty tabloid,” he continued. “Mainstream photographers don’t typically trespass in the wee hours of the morning and stick their camera lenses into people’s bedrooms.” He took in her sleepwear, letting his eyes linger on her tank top. “But you’d know more about that than I would.”
She wasn’t sure if he was talking about the fact that she used to work for the NBCUniversal News Group or that she’d been the target of the paparazzi in the past.
“I thought this was behind me.” She sighed out of sheer frustration. “Even in New York the hardcore ones who tried to break into my secure building moved on after the grand jury hearings. And when I got here . . . it was quiet.”
She went back to her bed and sat on the edge, feeling unsteady. “Why is this starting up again?”
“There’s a lot of pressure on this case. Jesus, Gia, your boyfriend bilked a former secretary of state out of nine million dollars. There were aristocrats, movie stars; the list of victims is a veritable who’s who, not to mention middle-class folks, people whose entire pensions were invested and lost. Like I told you before, it’s not going away until officials find Evan . . . the money.”
He took the place next to her at the foot of the bed and they sat there for a few minutes not saying anything. She could feel his denim-encased thigh against her bare leg and didn’t try to move away. It felt too good.
“He’s my ex-boyfriend and despite what you think, I don’t know where he is. One day he was here and the next he was gone. Just disappeared in a puff of smoke . . . just like my money and everyone else’s.”
“How much you lose?”
“About five hundred thousand.” She shrugged. “It grew to a million in just six months.” That’s when I should’ve known. If it seems too good to be true, it usually is.
“With those kinds of returns why didn’t you invest more?”
“Because I believe in diversifying. My father put all his eggs in one basket. When he died he was broke. Seriously cleaned out. The house was mortgaged to the hilt and all his credit maxed out. My mother and I had no idea that in those last days we were living off the life insurance he’d borrowed against.”
He nodded and Gia breathed him in. He smelled like clean sheets and virility.
“You need to lock the gates at the entrance to your drive,” he said. “We both have clickers.”
Feeling secure here, she hadn’t thought it was necessary. Not until today. “Okay.”
In the faint distance she heard a siren, then saw strobing blue and red lights through her window. “The police are here.”
<
br /> Gia got up and started to move out of the bedroom toward the front door. Flynn grabbed her arm and eyed her tank top again. Gia looked down to see her nipples standing at full attention and felt her face heat.
“You should put on a robe or something,” he said.
Without a word she disappeared into her walk-in closet and got fully dressed. When she came out he was gone. The doorbell rang. Gia made her way through the house, turning on lights as she went, and greeted Rhys at the front door.
“I got a call that you had a trespasser,” he said.
“Yes. Come in.” She hadn’t expected the police chief to work these hours.
She led him to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. “I gave his license plate number to the 9-1-1 dispatcher.”
“Yep. Wyatt’s out looking for the car. You get a look at him?”
“Flynn got a better look. The man was taking pictures when I saw him so I couldn’t see his face. He had an Australian accent, though.”
“Paparazzi?” Rhys asked. From her brief observations, Chief Shepard was no country-bumpkin cop.
“That would be my best guess.”
“Mine too.” Flynn came into the kitchen. He’d put on a shirt and boots. “I took this from him.” He handed Rhys the camera. “It looks expensive. I told him he could pick it up at the police station.”
“You take that little doohickey out of it?”
“The SD Card? Yeah.”
Rhys turned to Gia, who was getting mugs from the cupboard. “He physically accost you?”
“He took pictures of me in my bedroom. I don’t know if that counts as physically accosting me. But it certainly felt like I was being accosted.”
Rhys nodded and she couldn’t tell if he thought she’d brought it on herself. That’s what you get for being involved in a global Ponzi scheme.
“For now on close the security gates,” he said, his voice holding a hint of an accent. Southern with a twist. It must’ve been left over from his time in Houston. “When I got here they were wide open. This place have security cameras? Ray was certainly paranoid enough to have them installed.”
“Yes, they’re mounted to the house. But they’ve been turned off and I don’t know how to make them work.”
