by Snow, Nicole
“Oh,” I murmur weakly.
Something tight constricts my throat. I’m choked on this awful cocktail of sadness and fear.
Then he turns, and I see the brutal look on his face. It hits home, all of it there, scrawled in his mask of raw hatred, torture, rage.
“They threatened my kids. I goddamned had to get them away. But I won’t let sleeping dogs lie. The second I know we’re safe, and I can talk to Keith, we’re leaking this shit and making it public. We’re going to make them burn for what they did, Gwen. That’s why I need your help.”
God.
Despite the warmth of the evening air, I’m flash frozen.
Being the chicken I am, I’m not even sure I want to know more about exactly what type of merchandise he means. So I just change the subject. “Your job must’ve paid well for you to have so much cash on hand.”
He looks at me with a single brow lifted. “It did, but not this well. I knew even before the threats started that we’d have to leave, so I cashed out my investments, my retirement, and sold our place to a flipper. All cash. Fully furnished. Didn’t take too much of a loss in this market in a good Seattle neighborhood. Nothing like the kind of loss I’d take spending another second in Ballard...”
His tone covers me in goosebumps. I cross my arms, trying to rub warmth back into them.
“You don’t need to worry, babe. Not yet. I didn’t leave a trail of any kind the whole way here,” he says. “You’re safe. I know how to throw a bloodhound or two off my trail.”
“Not yet?” I ask, clearly reading the undertone in his voice. When he doesn’t answer, I ask, “What type of job did you have there?”
“I worked security. Spent years in the military before that. I’m no stranger to this bull, even if I bit off more than I could chew this time.”
That doesn’t make me any more comfortable. I’m not sure he was trying to make me be, either, but I do appreciate his honesty.
Well, kinda-sorta honesty. I wouldn’t call it a cold shoulder or a ringing confession. He’s certainly not an open book, but for a man fleeing for his life who I’ve only known for a day, it’s a start.
He leans back in his chair. “So, your ma, are we going to her house for dinner later this week? I looked her up and thought it over. Not gonna lie, her status worried me at first, feared it could blow our cover.”
“Oh, jeez. I didn’t even think of that. It’s weird when your mom’s a celebrity and it just seems normal.” I sigh, rubbing my face. “Manny really screwed you, didn’t he?”
He nods, but his face ignites in the darkness, exploding in that brilliant smile I’ve seen a few times before with the kids adding so much life to his granite features. “Sure did. But we could do a whole hell of a lot worse than you and your hospitality, Gwen. Might’ve even wound up in a place with no golf balls to keep the kids busy.”
I feel guilty as hell for laughing. But I can’t help it. Between the nerves and the weirdness and this hot, intense beast-man staring me down, I just...
I lose it. I have to cover my mouth to avoid giggling like a crazy woman.
“So, Mother,” I say, once I’ve regained control. “You’re really okay with it? She can be overwhelming. Fair warning.”
“If I can’t handle your ma for a few hours, then we’re in deeper trouble than I thought,” he says, reaching for my hand, giving it a quick squeeze.
There it is again.
The same sultry, electric spark I felt this morning in Manny’s office, shaking his hand for the first time.
I pull my hand away so quick his eyes twinkle and he tilts his head. But I have to keep control of something. I have to try.
Even if it’ll be nothing but wishful thinking by this time on Friday.
There’s never any control at Mother’s house. And I freaking cringe to imagine what sorts of nosy, inappropriate, awkward-turtle things she’ll drop on us.
Poor Miller. Hard to believe the bad guys after them might be the least of it.
This beautiful man has no earthly clue what he’s gotten himself into.
6
Like a Hawk (Miller)
At the sound of a door opening upstairs, I close out of the program, yank out the USB jump drive, and shut my laptop.
On second thought...
I lift the lid, click on the browser button, and bring up a major news site. I want it to look like I’m just catching up on current events. All the usual crap that’s fit to print.
Disasters. Scandals. Human tragedy in its sad fullness, peppered with a few happy special interest stories on local art and new movies.
It’s still too close to home, but Gwen and the kids won’t be any the wiser. My eyes scan the screen as I scroll down. Politicians fighting to save their own asses. Malicious criminals who seemed like such nice people only yesterday.
What the fuck else is new?
If I wanted to type Jackie Wren into the search bar now, I know what I’d find.
Endless stories praising her charity. Rave interviews worshiping her brilliance in cutting edge medical technology. A polished, carefully curated Instagram feed where she looks fit to rule the world.
None of them reflect what a demon she truly is.
When it comes to powerful people and black markets, it’s the blind leading the blind. No one ever knows till it all comes crashing down with one little slip someday – or till somebody stops turning a blind eye.
My hand clenches, forming a fist I’d love to throw through the screen. The blind eyes I’ve dealt with still piss me off, and so does how high up this shit at Mederva Therapeutics goes. I don’t even know if Jackie is the top of the pyramid, but I do know she’s a cog that’ll break the whole machine if she’s removed.
If I can just get to safety long enough to–
“You can sleep in the bed tonight, you know.”
I glance up at a soft, feminine voice and need to hold my breath.
Gingersnap rings more true all the time for this woman.
She’s hotter than she’s got any right to be like this.
Her hair, a wild mass of copper-shaded curls. The bright pink t-shirt and black shorts hugging her ass are all wrinkled from being slept in. And her luminous green eyes are still sleepy enough to make me want to throw her over my shoulder and haul her back to bed.
But not to sleep.
Fuck no.
Red looks exactly like the face in my dreams that woke me up hours ago. Not a nightmare, for once, but it left me no less restless. I had to jump on my computer to get my mind off her.
Scanning my dirt on Mederva to see if there’s a better way to thwart them was the only thing strong enough to do that. Until now...
“I knew the couch would be too small for you,” she says, stepping off the stairs. “Let me take it if you want to go back to bed. I’m a little shorter. It’s easier for me to sleep there.”
I finally find my voice. Have to in order to quit staring like I’ve been struck by lightning.
“No, the sofa was fine. I’m just an early riser.”
The couch wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, before my dream bit me awake, I’d slept better than I had for a good, long while back at home in my own bed.
Her smirk says she doesn’t believe me, but she won’t argue. Not verbally. I try not to grin.
I’ve discovered that about her fast. She doesn’t always say what she’s thinking, holds her cards close to her shy, dangerously teasing chest, but the woman’s always thinking.
Gathering info, hashing it, trying to fill in the gaps and string together the dots. Whether that’s the parts of my crap she still hasn’t sorted, or it’s watching the kids to see if they’re up for dessert. I recognize it because I do the same thing.
“Guess that makes two of us. Coffee?” she asks, trotting across the kitchen, tempting me with another downright torturous view of an ass I could bite.
“Please. Nothing fancy. Just brew up whatever you’ve got.”
Eyes on your screen, da
mmit, I tell myself, pretending to make it look like this random story I’ve clicked up is far more interesting than her.
It’s an article about some escaped convict and a dead mayor in a little town called Heart’s Edge. A nowhere place in Montana I think we passed by on our way to Minnesota.
Small comfort knowing I’m far from the only poor bastard in big trouble, marooned in a small town.
Still, I’d be fooling myself if I said anything on this screen was more interesting than Gwen and her peach-shaped ass, no matter how many pages I scour. Yet, that’s what I do for the next few minutes. Glue my eyes to the screen.
Try like hell to find something that’ll hold my attention and keep my cock at bay.
An ad for a novel draws my eyes for a second. She said she writes, didn’t she? Or is that just her ma?
Her mother was pretty well-off and talked like a big shot. So what’s Red doing working for a ratty-ass small-town lawyer who does an even rattier job handling clients like me?
I’m still processing that when a cup of steaming joe lands next to my computer on the coffee table.
“It’s black. Kinda thought you might like it that way, but I do have French Vanilla creamer. Plus milk and sugar.”
I pick up the cup and take a nice pull off it. “Black’s fine. Thanks.”
She smiles knowingly – maybe even a little proud of herself, which doesn’t help the situation below my belt line.
Then she sits down in the chair flanking the big couch and takes a drink out of the big red mug she’s holding with both hands like it’s the best thing ever. There’s a book on it, I realize, open to curly printed strokes on white that say, Kick ass. Take names. Write.
Going off her love of malts, I say, “Bet you like a splash of coffee with your cream.”
The smile that appears behind her cup makes her eyes shine, two emerald pools flickering in the light. “That obvious, huh? Shame. I hoped I’d be a bigger mystery.”
I stare at her for a moment. A dozen things run through my head like a snorting freight train, and they’re all innuendo.
Thankfully, she takes another sip of coffee and then tilts her head toward the coffee table. “Oh, uh, house rule. There’s no smoking here. Just so you know.”
I don’t know what she means till I follow her eyes.
Shit.
The jump drive looks like a lighter, one of the more expensive ones I could find with this kind of detail. I snatch it up and tuck it in my pocket. “Don’t smoke. You and your ma won’t have anything to worry about if you’re planning to rent this place out again someday.”
“Oh, but...so you just carry a lighter around for fun?”
I hesitate. There’s no way to tell her what it really is without bringing down questions like an avalanche.
“Right. Never know when it’ll come in handy.” I pick up my watch and clip it on my wrist and then shove my billfold in my back pocket. “Actually, this one’s a bit of a memento. My Uncle passed it down. Keep it around for luck, I guess.”
Fuck, I’m just digging myself deeper, even if she just gives me a dull nod.
I don’t have an uncle.
I make a mental note to buy an actual lighter that looks like this. With my luck, she’ll ask me to use it at some point to prove it works. This thing doesn’t. It’s just a jump drive without a flame.
She takes another long drink off her cup and then stands. “Okay, well, I’m going to hit the grocery store before the kids get up. We’ll need more food to keep all four of us fed.”
I shut down my computer. “I’ll go.”
“You? Is that even...safe?”
“Yeah. Not like anybody here knows me, aside from Manny Numbnuts and your ma.” My jab at her boss gets a giggle out of her as I stand. “Anything specific you need?”
“Nope, think I’m good. Whatever you guys want to eat.” She stands, too, ticking off her own list mentally. “Wait, though. You don’t even know where the grocery store is.”
I point to my watch. It’s one of the newer smart ones that’s paired with my phone. “GPS, babe. Besides, I know what the kids like and what they won’t touch to save their lives.” I walk to the door that leads to the garage and slip on my shoes. “I won’t be long.”
* * *
Once I’m on the road, I pull out my cell and dial Keith’s burner number. It goes straight to voicemail, just like it had all day yesterday.
What the hell? His new line shouldn’t be compromised already, and if it is...
No. I’m not letting the ugly possibilities rattle my brain.
Setting down the phone, I grip the steering wheel tight with both hands. To say I’m concerned is an understatement.
I’ve known Keith for almost twenty years. A giant with thick red hair and a pointy beard, he’d fit right in if it were him heading to Europe instead of me.
We’d met in the Army, served together, trusted each other with our lives. Small world finding out we were both from Bremerton, and we’d both enlisted as soldiers because the Navy was too close to home.
We stayed together after our service ended and wound up working for the same security company. He was there when the twins were born, when Willow died. He kept me from the grief, from the bottle that did in my old man when life went off the rails.
His wife was there too, Heather, this slip of blonde sunshine any man would be lucky to call his. They’re the whole reason I was able to keep my head above water.
When Keith heard Mederva Therapeutics was hiring, a top-notch medical company, he convinced me to go there with him. It was a good gig. The money, the benefits, the people.
Just not all of them.
For years, we thought we’d hit the jackpot. Lived the good life with plenty of extra cash to go around.
Until that fateful night when Keith stayed late and noticed some very fucking unusual activity at the other warehouse. We’d both recognized something was out of sync for months.
Had been since the new CEO stepped in, Jackie Wren, the queen of phony bitches. But neither of us expected what we found a few days later, following up on the shipping logs.
Illicit goods. My stomach clenches at the memory of what I’d seen.
Darkness incarnate.
Sick.
Evil.
No one should ever be involved in shit like that, but it all made sense how, once we started stringing pieces together. Why Jackie created so many ‘new’ positions, including in the security division, and why Keith and I were limited to overseeing the shipping of only one division, the original.
The newer one, the expansion, was all black market, with a line of investors that floored us both.
Those investors are also the reason we can’t simply go to the Feds. Fucking politicians.
Lives don’t mean shit to them unless it helps their re-election. If it doesn’t, they’ll do anything to line their pockets, including bending rules that cost your soul.
* * *
I’m still in a mood when I start paying attention to where I’m at.
The GPS tells me I’ve arrived, and I turn into the grocery store parking lot. I try Keith’s number again before heading inside, and again after the groceries are loaded and I’m driving back to Gwen’s place.
Every call still goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck.
This doesn’t make sense.
I know he made it to Ecuador. Not even his busted up bones would’ve prevented him from getting his family to safety.
The original plan was for Heather to take their kids and mine with her, while Keith and I blew the whistle on Mederva. That was before a couple of Jackie’s henchmen caught us off-guard.
The garage door opens as I’m driving up the street, pulling my mind off Keith. Every sense I have has spent the last few weeks on red alert.
I slow down and scan the area before turning into the driveway. Shane stands in the garage, waving, a plucky grin on his face.
“Where’s the rodeo, cowboy?” I roll
down the window to hear him as he runs up.
“Gwen told me to watch for you so I could open the door,” he says. “She has another garage door opener for you to take next time.”
He pulls open the backseat door before I’ve even shut the vehicle off. “What’d you get, Dad? I’m starving.”
Ah, there’s our rodeo. Food is damn near as important as oxygen for a boy his age.
I reach back and ruffle his hair. “Yeah, yeah, figured you would be, son. Let’s get this stuff inside so you can eat.”
He grabs bags with both hands. “Yes, sir!”
In the kitchen, I fry up pancakes, eggs, and sausage, my go-to big breakfast for the family. Try to keep my eyes off Gingersnap the entire time. Not very successfully.
Her hair is still damp from the shower she took while I was gone.
When they’re wet, those copper curls hang past the middle of her back, and a pale-green sun dress reveals the flawless skin of her neck, arms, and shoulders. It almost gives me a stroke to see her shapely calves, her feet, her little toes painted pink.
If I ever got those legs wrapped around me, I think I’d chain us both to the bed.
“Gwen says she doesn’t have to go to work today, Daddy,” Lauren tells me once we’re all seated at the table. “Her boss gave her the day off.”
I glance at Gwen. “Manny the Idiot did you a solid?”
She nods. “That was part of the deal. With pay, of course. I’m learning how to look after myself.”
