Lost&Found (PASS Series Book 4)

by Freya Barker

“I am back, but I’ve got things to do. Just checking in to see if there are any emergencies?”

  “Well, we had some excitement at the winery last night,” Lena shares and I’m instantly alert.

  Things had been quiet there since we had a man in place during the nights. No break-ins or attempts at vandalism. It would’ve been wishful thinking our mere presence would be enough to thwart whoever is trying to mess with Flynn’s Fields.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone cut the power just after midnight. They’ve got Grand Valley Power out there working on it.”

  “How?”

  “Someone took out a power pole down the road. The one feeding into the property. Felled it like a tree. The vineyard is dead in the water until they get it back up.”

  “What about the generator?”

  They have a massive generator. I saw the damn thing. It’s too important; the temperatures are carefully regulated both for the production and storage sides of the winery.

  “Didn’t kick in. They’re looking into it. Jake and Radar are both there troubleshooting. Dimi is here holding down the fort.”

  I have my thoughts around why a brand-new generator, at what I estimate would’ve been a hundred-and-fifty grand at least, would not start up at a power outage, but keep them to myself. I suspected before there might be someone on the inside and this would fall into line. I hadn’t brought it up with Joe Flynn but it sounds like it’s time I voiced my suspicions.

  Tomorrow I’ll head out there.

  “Let Flynn know I’ll be there first thing tomorrow,” I tell Lena.

  “Will do. Go get some rest, you sound exhausted.”

  I don’t bother responding, she doesn’t really expect me to.

  First things first; getting to Bree’s appointment. After that I look forward to an early night snuggled up to her.

  Dad is in the waiting room outside the doctor’s office and grins when I walk in.

  “You’ve got it bad,” he says in way of greeting, as he claps me on the shoulder. “She told me you said you weren’t gonna make it but knowing you, I figured you’d try anyway. Glad to know I was right.”

  “Dad…” I warn him and he lifts his hands defensively.

  “I know, I know. I won’t go there, I’m confident your mother will push enough for both of us. One thing though,” he says in a low voice, leaning close. “That Bree is a fine woman, she can keep up with you. Not many would be good enough for my boy so if you don’t seal the deal this time around, I’m gonna seriously consider disowning you.”

  I almost laugh. They own an illegal pot farm. My parents scrape by at best and I’m far from struggling, but his point is made.

  “I’ve got this.”

  Another clap on my shoulder.

  “Glad to hear it, Son, because you need to get laid. You’re getting too uptight in your old age.”

  I’m suddenly thrown back to my childhood when Ma or Dad would be standing by the door, shoving condoms in our hands, when either Dimi or I went out.

  I close my eyes and lift my face to the ceiling.

  Fucking hell.

  “Well, I’ll be off. I’ll tell your mother you won’t be there for dinner. She’ll be thrilled.”

  The moment he leaves, I take a hard seat and lean my head back against the wall.

  I must’ve dozed off because I startle when I hear her voice.

  “How did you get back so soon?”

  She’s standing in front of me, leaning on a pair of elbow crutches. Her foot is in a rigid walking brace.

  Damn. Looks like I just lost my justification for carrying her around.

  I stand up, cup her face in my hands, and take her mouth. Not much she can do but stand there, balancing on her crutches.

  “Determination,” I finally answer her.

  A frown appears between her eyebrows as she scans my face.

  “Did you sleep at all?”

  I shrug. No need to deny or confirm, it’s probably all over my face. Besides, she knows me too well.

  Instead, I change topic.

  “What did the doctor say?”

  It’s pretty clear from her big grin the news is good.

  “I can walk, obviously, have to get physical therapy, and can return to modified desk work.”

  I don’t tell her desk work was all she was gonna get anyway. At least for the foreseeable future. I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to send her out in the field again, but that’s an issue for another day.

  “Good news.”

  “Isn’t it? Oh, and he took the stitches out. I’m almost good as new.”

  My smile is involuntary in the face of her enthusiasm. I’m grateful she’s happy. She may not be completely dependent on me anymore—something I didn’t mind whatsoever—but she’s healing up, and that has arguably more interesting implications.

  Time to get her home.

  “What do you want to eat to celebrate?”

  She winces. “Do you think it would be a betrayal to your mother’s cooking if I said I’d kill for some good juicy meat? She’s a good cook, but my molars are starting to wear down from all the masticating on green food.”

  “What kinda meat?”

  “Wanna swing by Rib City and split a rack of ribs and some beef brisket?”

  Her eyes sparkle as she shoots me a cheesy grin, so I have to kiss her again.

  “Let’s go.”

  We’ve barely walked down the hall when she stops in her tracks.

  “Wait. Where’s Max?”

  “Sent him home.”

  “Yanis…” she admonishes. “I should probably let Anna know we’re bringing back dinner.”

  “Taken care of. Dad knows we’re not going back there tonight.”

  Her eyes grow big.

  “We’re not?”

  “We’re staying at yours.”

  “But all my stuff is—”

  “We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

  The frown is back but this time she looks annoyed.

  “Sounds like you have everything figured out,” she snaps.

  “I wish,” I scoff. “Truth is, I’ve barely started cluing in.”

  Her eyes narrow.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Tygrys, give me a good night’s sleep in your arms, away from my meddling parents, and maybe I’ll be able to answer in the morning.”

  Her expressive face instantly softens.

  “Okay.”

  As easy as that. Okay.

  Not gonna fuck this up.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Yanis

  So much for not fucking this up.

  Last thing I remember is relaxing on the couch after wolfing down some barbecue. All I did was close my eyes for a minute to let the food digest.

  Now it’s the middle of the night and I’m still on the fucking couch, but Bree has disappeared. I whip off the blanket she must’ve covered me with and notice she’s taken off my boots as well. That may not have been a wise idea after being on my feet for thirty-six hours straight.

  Smooth, Mazur.

  I plant my feet on the floor and rub my hands over my face. Maybe a shower is in order. I smell. Groaning at a stiff knee and sore back—courtesy of advancing age and lack of a proper mattress—I get up and move to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. I’m parched.

  Running the faucet until the water is nice and cold, I glance out the window. Bree’s view is of the street, but being on the third floor you can also catch sight of the mountains to the north past the airport.

  Four o’clock so both the streets and the skies are still quiet. Traffic will start moving around six. It’s a clear morning, promising to be a nice day if it holds.

  Fall is my favorite season, when the temperatures are comfortable and the nights get cooler. Sometimes I head out to McInnis Canyon for a couple of days for rock climbing or some hiking. Maybe this year—provided her ankle is healed—I can convince Bree to sneak away from the office for a few days.
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br />   Thinking of Bree, I finish my water, set the glass in the sink, and turn to head to the bathroom when something catches my eye.

  A piece of the grill cover is stuck in the sliding door. The grill is on the balcony, right beside it, underneath the kitchen window. The cover is a little too big, which is why it sometimes gets stuck, so I pay attention to that.

  I’m trying to think back to the last time I was out on the balcony, which would’ve probably been Saturday night when I was cooking steaks. It’s possible I was distracted. Hell, I’ve been distracted a lot lately.

  Resolutely I move down the small hallway to the bathroom, ready to get out of these rank clothes.

  Ten minutes later, naked as the day I was born, I walk into the bedroom to find Bree lying on her back, sprawled out like a starfish in the middle of the mattress. The sheets are twisted under her body, leaving half of her exposed. I can see the scar on her thigh and take a step closer to the bed, running a careful finger along the bumpy edge.

  She’s wearing plain panties and her sleep jersey is scrunched up under her breasts, the pale white of her skin stark against the dark fabric. Soft and vulnerable, a look uncommonly associated with this woman. But I see it. I’ve always seen it.

  Sitting on the edge of the mattress, I lean forward and softly brush my lips over the soft swell of her belly, taking in her fragrance as my hand strokes the tender inside of her thigh. She lets out a soft moan as she shifts her leg, instinctively opening up for me.

  God, I’ve missed her. The way her body responds to my touch; free of any artifice, letting pure sensation guide her. No other lover has gifted me with that level of trust.

  I lick my tongue around her belly button, dipping the tip inside. Her skin shivers against my mouth as her hand cups the back of my head.

  “Yanis…”

  Lifting up I find her eyes on me, a soft smile on her lips.

  “Tell me to stop.”

  She actually chuckles, the sound rich and warm.

  “You know me better than that.”

  Yeah, I do.

  I hook my fingers into the elastic of her panties and tug them over her hips, while she divests herself of the jersey.

  I’ve tried being a gentleman helping her in and out of the tub, getting dressed, but there’s no need to try now.

  “I’ve missed you,” I confess, as my hands and eyes are already busy getting reacquainted with her body.

  “You were only gone for a few days.”

  Her hand easily finds my cock, stroking the hard length of it in her confident hand. She’s still the most unencumbered woman I know and it does my heart good she never lost that.

  Shifting in the bed, she bends toward my lap, her loose hair brushing my thigh.

  “Tygrys, I’ve missed you for fifteen years.”

  “Yeah…” she whispers.

  The soft air zaps every delicate nerve at the tip before she swirls her tongue around the crown.

  As with everything, Bree doesn’t hold back, sliding me deep in her mouth. I groan at the feel of her heat, but unless I want to come in the next minute or so, I need to get the upper hand.

  I twist away, my cock plopping free from her pouting lips. Before she can launch a second assault, I put a knee in the bed, slide my hands under her legs, and lift her butt right off the mattress. Hooking her legs over my shoulders, I hold her steady for my mouth.

  “Mmmm,” I hum, reveling in the taste of her.

  The moment my tongue grazes her clit, she twists in my hold like a live wire.

  Fuck, yeah. Just as I remember.

  With only her shoulders on the mattress she can’t go far, whimpering as I lash her with bold strokes, followed with barely-there flicks directly on that hard little pearl which drive her wild.

  I can feel the muscles in her legs bunch up as I torture her relentlessly, and I know she’s either ready to come or kick me out of bed. My eyes are open on her as my lips close on her clit, sucking hard as I hum again.

  She’s wild, thrashing, until suddenly her entire body arcs as she keens out her release.

  I immediately lower her legs to the crook of my elbows, line up my cock, and bury myself into her still-pulsating heat.

  My eyes stay on hers the entire time I pump into her and finally find my release with her name on my lips.

  Curled together, her bad ankle hitched over my hip so I don’t inadvertently hurt her, we catch our breath.

  “Good morning to you too,” she says, amusement in her eyes.

  “Fucking great morning.”

  She lifts her hand to my face and traces the lines in my forehead with the tips of her fingers.

  “I missed you as well, Yanis.”

  Bree

  “It’s beautiful.”

  I take in the sprawling vineyard, the fields bordered by a peach orchard. Guaranteed it’s even more beautiful when the fruit trees bloom in early spring.

  It’s coming toward the end of the harvest season for the fruit, so I’ll have to get Yanis to stop at one of the many fruit stands Palisade is known for before we head back.

  “Yeah.”

  His hand covers mine on my lap as he shoots me a grin. He’s so damn handsome it turns my insides to mush. I’m still a little apprehensive about opening myself up to heartbreak again, although you couldn’t tell from the way I responded to him this morning.

  Jesus Murphy, that was some wake-up call.

  Sex with Yanis was even better than I remembered. I prefer thinking that to the possibility he may have picked up a trick or two over the years. I was like a limp noodle for a long time after, until Yanis finally left the bed to give Bill Evans a shout. I’d told him about the detective’s call last night over dinner, but Yanis was asleep just minutes after and I didn’t have the heart to wake him up. He’d looked exhausted.

  While he was on the phone, I took a quick shower and by the time I got myself dressed and followed the smell of coffee into the kitchen, he was already cracking eggs in a pan.

  When I mentioned I wanted to go to Palisade with him, he balked at first, wanting me to wait until after the weekend. A gentle reminder our early morning romp was more exercise than sitting in a vehicle or a chair somewhere convinced him. Not that I would’ve stayed home anyway, but this way is easier. I know him, he can be a bear when he doesn’t get his way.

  It’s going to feel so good being useful again.

  The plan is for me to sit and observe while Yanis talks with any of the employees who have or had access to the generator. I’ll be looking for tells; signs of deceit, guilt, or even discomfort. Everybody has a tell, no matter how stoic their poker face is.

  Our bodies easily betray us with small signs of stress. Even the complete absence of movement is a stress signal. People naturally get nervous or restless when questioned, even when they’ve done nothing wrong. When you encounter someone who remains perfectly still, chances are they’re trying to hide something.

  When we pull into a spot in front of the large log structure of the winery, two men walk out of the front door.

  “That’s Joe Flynn,” Yanis says.

  I peg the blond-haired, casually dressed man as the vintner, since he looks most like he belongs in these surroundings. The other guy looks too sleek, too city. Power suit, slicked-back black hair, expensive sunglasses, and a smile that put some dentist’s kids through college, I’m sure.

  Practicing my observational skills, I focus on the second man. There is something in the way he shakes the owner’s hand, grabbing the wrist with his other. It looks friendly enough, but is often a subtle attempt at dominance, same with the jovial clap on the shoulder that follows after. Ironically, Joe’s reaction—which is almost dismissive—is far more powerful.

  By the time Yanis helps me out of the car and hands me my crutches, the suit is walking toward a dark gray Mercedes-Benz GT. Oh, yeah, clearly out to impress. Too bad no one seems to be as Joe is already greeting my boss.

  Yanis is making introductions when an engi
ne is turned over and revved loudly. Joe lightly shakes his head while still holding my hand, as we collectively look at the Mercedes speeding past us out of the parking lot.

  “Asshole,” Joe mumbles.

  “Friend?” I inquire with a smirk.

  “Used to be a college buddy, but I think acquaintance is a more accurate description these days.”

  He finally lets go of my hand and looks down at my walking boot.

  “If it were winter, I’d wonder if you tried your hand at skiing.”

  “Nothing as adventurous as that.” I flit a quick glance at Yanis, who almost imperceptibly gives his head a shake. “I missed the last step at my apartment building, went through my ankle. Not very dramatic I’m afraid.”

  “Still, you should probably keep the weight off that foot,” he says, putting a hand in my back and gesturing toward the massive, solid-wood front doors.

  I can almost hear Yanis’s molars grinding, but he’s too much of a professional to start a pissing contest with a PASS client. That doesn’t stop him from glaring at me, though.

  After Joe shows us into a tasting room, already occupied by Radar and two computers, Yanis asks him to give us fifteen minutes before showing in the security guard who was on duty last night. He’s at the top of our list.

  “DMV check,” he says to Radar. “Colorado vanity plate, DRKNGL.”

  I look at him surprised.

  “Where’d you get that? The guy?”

  “Don’t trust him. He was looking at you,” he bites off.

  Radar stifles a chuckle, ducking his head behind his screen. I have to bite my lip myself. This morning’s good mood appears to have disappeared as Yanis dares me with his eyes.

  Oh boy, if he’s going to do a background check on anyone of the male persuasion unfortunate enough to glance in my direction, we’re going to have a problem. I wonder how he managed all these years.

  “Angelo Sarrazin,” Radar interrupts our stare down. “Thirty-three, address on the license is in Cherry Hills Village.”

  I whistle. Wow. Cherry Hills is probably the most affluent city per capita in the greater Denver area. Massive houses on gated properties, well over the million mark.

  “Now this is interesting,” Radar adds, looking at his screen. “Guess who else is listed to that same address?”