by Devney Perry
An image of her wearing the bra on top popped into my head. It was pale pink lace without padding. Her nipples would show through.
My mouth went dry.
“What’s that one?” She came to my side and peered into the box. “Oh.”
I shook my head, forcing the mental picture aside, and cleared my throat. “According to the label, shoes.”
“Not shoes.” She giggled, covering her mouth with a hand as her cheeks turned pink.
Her laughter gave life to the apartment. So did the cookies. Maybe this place would feel like a home with Genevieve here, not a box that bore an uncanny resemblance to a prison cell, minus the bars.
Genevieve swiped the underwear box away and kicked it toward her suitcase. Then we opened the next box in the stack, this time finding shoes. She put things away as I opened and collapsed boxes. I ate five more cookies as she did her best to shove her wardrobe into the closet. There were ten boxes to go but the rod was crammed full.
“This is a pitiful excuse for a closet.” She frowned. “But it’ll do for now. At least I have clothes to wear at work this coming week. I’ll have to get a rolling rack or something. Is Amazon Prime a thing in Montana?”
“My mom uses it all the time.”
“Your mom lives here?” Her jaw dropped. “In Clifton Forge?”
“No, in Bozeman. That’s where I grew up.”
“Oh. Does she”—her hand flung between us like a ping-pong ball—“know about us?”
“Not yet.” And I wasn’t telling her anytime soon. “What’s next?”
Genevieve didn’t seem to mind that I shut down discussion of my mother. She scanned the boxes, her gaze landing on a set of plastic totes stacked in front of the couch. “Most of the stuff in those tubs was from Mom’s house. Pictures and mementos. She loved taking pictures, but that was before the digital age, so they’re all prints.”
Her voice broke. The pain she hid so well most days swallowed her up. The anger she clung to fell away and her eyes flooded. With everything that had happened, I’d forgotten she’d just lost her mom—her only real parent.
“Would you mind if I put up a picture of her?” Genevieve asked, blinking away the tears.
“Not at all.”
She went to the couch and sat on the edge, dragging a tub closer. As she opened the lid, curiosity got the better of me and I joined her on the seat. Her frame crumpled as she reached in for the photo on top.
“That’s her?” I asked, looking at a picture of two smiles. I’d seen Amina’s picture in the newspaper after her murder, but she was much younger in this one. Genevieve sat on her lap, laughing as Amina held her daughter close. “She’s beautiful.”
“She was.” Her fingers skimmed her mother’s face. “She would have hated this for me.”
It was the brutal reality.
My mother would hate this for me too.
I stretched into the tub, reaching for a bundle of pictures wrapped in a rubber band. But as I leaned in, Genevieve did too. Our arms brushed, the heat from her smooth skin radiating across mine. A zing reverberated through my chest, hot like the spark of metal grinding on metal.
“Sorry.” We both turned to apologize. Our noses brushed.
My gaze dropped to those glossy lips. All I had to do was lean in a fraction of an inch and capture them. One fast spin and I’d have her beneath me on the couch, her breasts heaving against my chest.
The desire to kiss her sent me reeling backward, scrambling off the couch for the kitchen. I grabbed another cookie from the plate and shoved the entire thing in my mouth.
The only sweetness of hers I’d have on my lips would be from these cookies.
I didn’t get to kiss Genevieve. I didn’t deserve that kind of beauty.
Not after all the ugly I’d caused.
Chapter Six
Genevieve
“See ya.” Isaiah lifted his chin as we parted ways on the bottom stair.
“Bye.” The keys in my hand rattled as I waved. I took one step for my car but stopped when the office door opened with a whoosh behind me.
“Off to work?”
Every morning it was the same question.
I turned. “Yep.”
Draven had been here to see me off each day this week. I wasn’t sure what time he arrived, I never heard his motorcycle drive in, but without fail, he would lurk in the office and emerge as Isaiah and I hit the last step.
“Be careful. Watch out for anything suspicious.”
The same question. The same warning. Five mornings in a row.
“She’s careful.” Isaiah came to my side and threw his arm over my shoulders.
After a week of practice, I was getting better at melting into his side. The first morning, he’d caught me by surprise and I’d stiffened like a board.
Pretending to be in love with someone was not easy. An actress, I was not.
“It’s worth repeating,” Draven said, his eyes narrowing at us. His scrutiny was beginning to unnerve me, but Isaiah and I had held fast.
I slipped my hand around Isaiah’s waist, smiling up at his face. He hadn’t shaved this morning and the scruff on his jaw caught the sunshine, making the bristles appear lighter than his normal dark brown.
He was so handsome—too handsome. The two of us made a cute picture, but not the breathtaking one he deserved. Because it wasn’t real. Our lack of authenticity would always dull our image.
When Isaiah found the right woman, one he loved and who loved him in return, they’d shine brighter than the light from a thousand stars.
His scent enveloped me as I leaned into his side. It was the same smell I’d found on his pillows when I’d moved into the apartment—fresh soap, cedar and his own natural spice. That scent had comforted me the two nights I’d slept in the apartment alone, locked away from the world to cry into his pillow.
Those nights, I’d cried in fear. A murderer was at large. He’d taken Mom’s life and wouldn’t fail at a second chance to take mine. I’d cried in grief because earlier I’d picked up the phone to dial Mom’s number—only to realize that she’d never answer. I’d cried because I’d simply been . . . alone.
Until Isaiah had returned. He chased away some of the fear with his presence, though the grief was always there. His pillows no longer smelled like him and they no longer caught my tears. The days I needed a cry, I saved it for the shower.
But I had his scent in the morning, when we put on this little show for Draven and pretended to be dreamy newlyweds.
Isaiah tipped his chin down and leaned in close. If not for the darkness and dread in his eyes, I might have believed he wasn’t terrified to touch me. “I’ll follow you in. Text me when you’re ready to come home.”
“Okay.” I smiled, steeling my spine for what was coming next.
Isaiah and I had been married for over a week and we’d kissed five times. Once at the courthouse and once each morning for Draven.
Today I’d need two hands to count the number of times we’d kissed. That seemed monumental for some reason.
Normally, Isaiah would be the one to take the lead. He’d dip low and brush his mouth against mine as I’d close my eyes and let myself pretend it was real. What woman wouldn’t want this gorgeous and sexy man to kiss her before she went to work each morning?
This morning’s kiss was no different. I stood on my toes, waiting as he pressed his lips to mine. And then, like all the other mornings this week . . .
Isaiah cringed.
The muscles in his back bunched. His arm around my shoulders tensed. His lips hardened. I doubted Draven noticed. If he did, it probably looked like Isaiah was simply pulling me deeper into his firm chest or maybe that Isaiah was holding himself back since we had an audience.
Only I knew the truth. And that cringe hurt more and more each day.
Was I really so awful?
I broke us apart, sinking my heels to the ground and loosening myself from Isaiah’s hold.
“Sorry. Lipstick.
” I reached for his mouth, using my thumb to wipe away the lipstick I’d left behind. Really, it was to wipe away the kiss. I knew he wanted to erase it, but with Draven standing there watching, he couldn’t do it himself.
“Thanks. Have a good day.”
“You too, baby.” That still sounds off. “Bye.” I gave Draven a small wave, then went to my car.
Isaiah walked to his bike and started it up. He’d follow me to the office, making sure I made it inside safe. Lunch was in my purse and would be eaten at my desk, and when I was ready to leave for the day, Isaiah would drive over and escort me home.
I’d offered to let him drive my car so we weren’t taking two vehicles—mine sat unused in the parking lot all day—but he’d insisted on riding separately.
A weight lifted off my shoulders as I drove away from the garage. Excitement for the day ahead chased away the pain of Isaiah’s kiss. For the next nine hours, I wouldn’t have to pretend. My mind would be too busy working to worry about Isaiah or contemplate Mom’s choices.
For the next nine hours, I’d get lost in my new job.
Jim Thorne was one of three lawyers in the county. Two specialized in corporate dealings, serving the businesses in town as well as the plethora of farmers and ranchers in the area, while Jim handled nearly everything else. Divorce settlements. Custody disputes. Criminal proceedings.
According to Jim, the office was swamped with work, but he hadn’t been advertising an open paralegal position, which explained why it hadn’t come up in my search. He’d claimed it was because he didn’t have time to train anyone without legal experience. He’d said it was easier to simply do the work himself.
Or maybe he’d been waiting for a paralegal who wouldn’t mind that an entire defunct biker gang had him on speed dial because said paralegal was living above said biker gang’s garage.
I hated the idea that I’d gotten this job because of Draven, but these days I was a beggar. My bills had to be paid. And like everything else in my Clifton Forge life, this was only temporary.
So I’d taken the job, and Jim seemed overjoyed that I’d come to him with strong experience.
It took six minutes to drive to the firm. I parked in the lot beside the brick building, locked my car and walked to the front door. The chime echoed above my head as I entered and waved at Isaiah idling outside, sending him on his way.
“Good morning, Gayle.” I smiled at the receptionist at the front desk as I crossed the dark oak floor. The entire office suite was adorned with taste and class, something Jim made sure to credit to his wife, Colleen.
“Morning, Genevieve. Love those shoes.”
“Thanks.” I kicked up the heel of one red patent leather pump. These shoes were the spice to my plain black trousers and white blouse.
The click of my shoes was muffled by the carpet in my office. I dumped my purse in a desk drawer and stared at the blank cream walls.
This office had been empty for three years, since Jim’s last paralegal had retired. He’d told me to decorate the space at will but decorating was too permanent. I was secretly praying a paralegal position with one of the other lawyers in town would open up before too long and I could sever this connection with Draven’s lawyer.
I’d find my own job, thank you very much.
Across from my office was a long conference room. Next door was the employee lounge. I stowed my lunch in the refrigerator and filled a mug with coffee, then walked down the hallway that divided the narrow building. I found Jim at his desk in the last office at the end.
“Morning.” I poked my head through his door.
“Hi, Genevieve.” He grinned, waving me inside. Jim was probably close to Draven’s age.
His white smile was striking against his dark bronze skin. His rich, brown eyes radiated warmth and kindness. He didn’t seem like a smarmy biker’s lawyer, but my mother hadn’t seemed like an adulterous liar, so I was keeping up my guard.
“How are you this fine Friday morning?” he asked.
“Can’t complain.” Well, I could, but not to Jim.
I just wanted to work. A lot. I needed the distraction and the distance from my personal life. My baggage didn’t get to come into this office and ruin the biggest chunk of my day. And though I was still wary of Jim, I was grateful for this job, however short-lived.
So far, Jim had given me a lot of rope, which I appreciated. He didn’t micromanage my tasks and seemed to enjoy answering my questions.
Smarmy biker’s lawyer or not, I’d worked for Jim Thorne for one week and he’d treated me with more respect than Reggie had in years. My job with Reggie had been my first post-college job, and I hadn’t known what I’d been missing.
Reggie’s arrogance was out of control. He was no hero, something he’d proved when I’d resigned.
Gayle had raved about Jim on my first day of work, making sure I knew she considered him one of the best men around. She told me he was a good man who’d worked hard to build his reputation in a small town.
The fact was, Montana was not a diverse state. Maybe he would have had it easier in a larger city, but he loved this town and it was his wife’s home. And for the moment, he was my boss.
“What’s the plan for today?” I asked.
Jim relaxed in his chair. “You know, for once, I might try to get out of here and start my weekend early.”
“All right. What can I do?”
“Exactly what you’ve been doing. I have to say, Genevieve, I’m quite impressed.” He smiled. “Draven said you were smart and that I’d like you. As usual, he’s right.”
“Thanks.” I forced a smile. Draven barely knew me. How did he know I was smart? Why was he talking about me like he was a doting father? Especially when he hadn’t been involved in the slightest with my upbringing. If I was a hard worker, if I knew how to use my brain, it was because Mom had taught me how.
“Have a seat and we’ll dive in.” Jim spent nearly an hour walking me through the projects he needed me to work on today. It was a lot, but every time he asked if that was enough, I told him to pile on more.
I could handle it. I needed it, desperately.
This job would be my salvation for the time being.
“All right.” I hefted the stack of files we’d gone through. “I’ll get to work.”
“Thanks.” He smiled, the crinkles beside his eyes deepening.
Jim had a gentle nature, but Gayle had told me during my second day not to let that fool me. For his clients, Jim was a bulldog and his success rate proved it.
No surprise Draven had him on retainer. Bulldog was definitely Draven’s style.
“One last thing.” Jim stopped me before I could leave, his smile fading. “As you know, your dad is my client.”
“Yes.”
“The trial won’t start for a while, but normally, I’d have you help me prepare motions to suppress evidence and do background checks on any witnesses the state will call. Not this time.”
“I understand. It’s a conflict of interest.”
“I’ll be as honest with you as my employee as I am with my clients. Draven knows this is a long shot.”
“Oh.” I jerked. Why did that shock me? Just weeks ago, I’d thought Draven was the killer.
But a lot had changed. I might know the real killer was out there, but the police didn’t. If the prosecution convicted him, he’d spend the rest of his life in prison.
I’d forgotten that the world saw Draven as a murderer.
“I appreciate the honesty,” I told Jim. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
Jim pointed to the stack of folders in my arms. “You’re doing it. When I have a big case, normally everything else gets done at night or not at all. It might not seem like you’re helping, but by you keeping things going around here, it’ll give me time to focus on your dad’s case. Keep it front and center.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I spent the remainder of the morning in my office, cranking through the tasks
Jim had assigned me. I filled every free moment, never once taking a break, because if I stopped, even for a moment, I’d think about Mom or Draven or Isaiah. I didn’t want to think about them. The only exception was when my timer dinged on my phone every hour and I texted Isaiah my one-word check in.
Okay.
He didn’t respond. But I knew if he didn’t get that text every hour, he’d race this way.
Jim popped in shortly after lunch. “I’m taking off. Thanks again.”
“Have a great weekend.”
He waved, then said goodbye to Gayle, leaving the two of us alone.
When the door chimed behind him, I pulled the can of pepper spray from my purse and left it on my lap as I worked. Draven had handed it to me on Monday when he’d met us before work. Gayle was a stout woman, a bulldog in her own right, but I doubted she’d be able to stop a killer if he stormed into the firm.
Would staying alone get easier? Or would I spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, clutching cans of pepper spray?
I forced the fear away, focusing on work. When five o’clock rolled around, I texted Isaiah that I was ready to leave, collected my things and met Gayle at the door.
“Have a nice weekend, Gayle.”
“You too.” We stepped onto the sidewalk and she locked the door, tucking her keys in her purse. “Glad you’re here, Genevieve.”
“Thanks.”
Gayle took off in the opposite direction, preferring to walk the five blocks home in the summer months, as I went to the parking lot. A black motorcycle was parked behind my car. Its rider’s haunted, magnificent eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses.
“Hey.”
Isaiah’s rugged voice sent a shiver down my spine. “Hi. How was your day?”
“Fine. You?”
“It was a busy day.” I walked to my car, forgoing the door to lean against the trunk. I wasn’t in a hurry to get to the apartment and hole up. I wanted a few moments for the sun to kiss my face. “Jim talked to me about Draven’s trial. I forgot with everything else happening that most think he’s guilty. And I feel like I’m playing catch-up, that everyone is ten steps ahead.”
