by Snow, Nicole
Flushing, I peek out shyly. An older woman with blue-washed hair and a floral cardigan hovers over the table, peering at the trays with a curious smile.
“W-why yes!” I make myself creep out from behind Leo, but his hand on the small of my back gives me courage, warm and reassuring. I manage a smile, smoothing my hands over my apron. “If you’re curious, you can have the first one free.”
“Really now?” she says, reaching for one of my pink and white strawberry petit fours.
And that’s how I sell a little box of a half-dozen petit fours after she takes one bite, before she calls her friends over to fuss over the chocolates.
It’s a whirlwind.
One moment, I’m hiding behind Leo, and the next I’m selling candies so fast I’m worried I’ll run out. We’re drawing a crowd, and I’m flushed and flustered and don’t know what to say when people ask me what shop I work for and if they can find me online.
I’m trying to stammer out that this is all homemade, but maybe one day...
The warm delight overwhelming my nervousness goes cold when I see a familiar broad figure moving through the crowd, a familiar head of silvered hair.
My father.
And while I don’t think he’s noticed me yet, from the hard set of his face, I don’t think he approves of the ruckus, no matter the source.
“Oh, crap,” I whisper, shoving at Leo’s arm. “Hide!”
He stares at me. “How am I supposed to hide, I’m the size of a tru—” Then he follows my line of sight and swears sharply. “Shit.”
He’s gone just in time, like he just wisped away on the wind.
I catch sight of him then, behind the long caravan that brought the ponies in. I don’t know how he moves so fast, making it seem like he can turn invisible, but I’m grateful.
Especially when my father’s eyes land on me, and a hard glint darkens his eyes.
Please, I beg silently, sending a desperate prayer to the universe. Please don’t let him make a scene.
I want to believe he wouldn’t hit me in public, in front of all these people.
But I’m really not sure.
He shoulders his way to the front of the crowd, stopping at the table, looking down his nose at the trays that only have a few truffles left, next to a few crumbs against the white paper doilies.
“Clarissa, what’s the meaning of this?” he demands coolly.
Because I don’t want people to worry—I hate how keeping up appearances is drilled into me—I smile. “Hi, Papa,” I say a bit weakly. “I thought, you know, I’d try selling some of my candy.”
There’s a thunderhead building on his brow—then he pauses.
There are still people all around us, and those folks are trading bites of my sweets and exclaiming enthusiastically, and as my father sweeps his gaze over the small crowd, his expression changes.
When he looks back to me, he smiles.
It’s his politician’s smile, his fake smile, and it creeps me out. But it’s better than seeing the cold, hard face of the monster underneath.
“Well now,” he says, in that particular way that tells me he’s trying to sound gracious. “I just wish you’d told me you wanted to run a campaign fundraiser. I’d have provided you with signage and a nicer booth, dear. Keep it up. You’re doing great.”
The praise does nothing for me.
It just makes me ice-cold.
Of course, he’ll let me do this. He thinks it benefits him.
He just had to take something I did for myself and make it about him.
I think this is the first time I’ve ever really been able to quantify what I feel toward him as hate, instead of this nebulous scared thing where he’s all I have besides Deanna.
And my smile feels like poison as I bare my teeth. “Thanks, Papa.”
Sick.
I’m just glad when he turns around and walks away.
But I’m even happier when the coast is clear, and as people lose interest and wander off with nothing else to eat, I’m free to collapse into Leo’s arms.
He’s so strong, so solid, holding me up without the slightest hesitation. I bury my face in his warmth, struggling to hold back tears.
“One day, Leo,” I whisper. “One day, we have to get out of here. You’re my salvation.”
I believe it with all my heart.
For the whole beautiful summer, I believe it.
That this man, this strange and passionate beast who’s both so sweetly open and an utter mystery, will love me forever and we’ll run away together like the legend of Heart’s Edge and find our happy ending.
But that was before I knew.
Before the night that painted my world in blood and flame.
* * *
Present
It’s so easy getting lost inside the past in this house.
I’ve been staring at the fearsome bear the whole time while I wandered down memory lane.
I shake myself, lifting my head and turning to search for Zach, a habit I’ve formed ever since he was born. I need to know where my kid is at all times.
And my gut lurches as I see him standing in the doorway, cheerfully chatting with a man I’ve never seen before.
He’s so large I almost mistake him for Leo. I’ve never seen anyone else like Leo in my life.
But no—this man isn’t a masked behemoth.
He’s tall, trim, very muscular, almost too sleek and graceful in jeans and a black button-down, open at the throat and sleeves cuffed to his elbows. He’s got this casual, serpentine body language and grey eyes that don’t quite match the warm, encouraging smile he’s giving my son. His sandy hair is swept back from a handsome, too-chiseled face.
And as pretty as he’d be to most red-blooded women...I already don’t like him.
I can’t quite put my finger on it. There’s just something about him that makes me uncomfortable, and it’s two steps before I’m catching Zach by the shoulders, nudging him behind me.
Zach makes a startled squeak, but that stuffed bear isn’t the only grizzly in the room. I’m in protective Mama Bear mode. I draw myself up tall and stare the man down firmly.
“Something I can help you with?” I ask.
His smile doesn’t waver, but he studies me. “You seemed to be thinking, that’s all,” he murmurs pleasantly. “I didn’t want to interrupt. Your son’s a lovely talker, Ms. Bell. Real smart boy.” He cocks his head, looking at me in the strangest way. “You know, now that I see you up close, your portrait downstairs doesn’t do you justice. You do have lovely hair.”
My entire body bristles.
He knows me.
And he’s not anyone I remember from around town.
I eye the sliver of space left between him and the door, wondering if I can shove Zach through and follow if we have to risk it. “Sorry, do I know you?”
“Not...necessarily. But I’m here to help you, Ms. Bell. A friend.”
I’m prickling all over.
Something’s so not right.
“And what could you possibly help me with?” I ask coolly.
“Your poor missing sister, for one thing.” He steps back, bowing cordially, offering a clear line to the door. “Maybe if you’d like to chat somewhere a little more private?”
Oh, no.
Hell no. I’m not going to fall for the oldest trick in the book.
Even if he knows something about Deanna, I’m not going anywhere with this man.
This stranger who addresses me by name. Who knows I’m looking for my sister.
Every instinct tells me to take my son, get away, maybe scream so any staffers still milling around will hear me before they close this place up.
I have to get to Leo.
I can’t find Deanna if I end up abducted, too.
Jesus, no, this isn’t happening.
Taking that opening between him and the door, I pull Zach with me firmly and turn so I’m always facing the stranger, moving quickly.
“Thanks,” I stra
in out. “But if you’ve got any tips, report them to the police.”
Then I grab Zach’s hand and practically run.
I feel those empty grey eyes on me the entire time, and the distinct feeling this man could stop me any second, but he’s letting me get away.
Especially when he calls after me, his voice chilling and low.
“Enjoy your evening,” he says. “I’ll be seeing you real soon.”
10
Step Up (Nine)
I’m starting to feel a little violent.
Especially after Clarissa came rushing back to the cabin the other day, just as I was waking up to find out she’d tucked me under several quilts and then slipped out.
Alone.
After I’d nearly begged her not to leave my sight. And trouble had found her, in the form of a man with grey eyes and light hair.
The way she described him told me everything I needed to know.
Everything I needed to worry about.
Big, she said. Almost impossibly, inhumanly huge.
Just like me.
And smooth in the way he moved. Confident. Powerful. Deadly.
Another fucking Nighthawk, showing up here with Deanna’s name on his lips, trying to entice Rissa away.
I’m just damn glad she was smart enough to see through it. Still, I’ve had to keep my distance for a few days.
Otherwise, I’ll do something insane, like slam her up against the wall and kiss her till we both suffocate in sheer relief that she didn’t wind up abducted, too.
So I’ve bowed away while trying to stay as close to the cabin as possible, save for short naps and brief trips searching for any hint of this grey-eyed stranger.
I’m even more convinced that Deanna is still somewhere in Heart’s Edge. And that the grey-eyed freak knows something about where.
There’s something nagging at my memory.
Something that says I should know him, should remember, but fuck.
There’s too much blanketed in fog.
So many gaps in my memory. After Dr. Ross took me out of Heart’s Edge and shut me away with the other kids in that awful white-walled facility in the middle of God knows where, the rest is just a blur.
Worse, it’s been days, and I still haven’t unearthed what that weird familiarity might be. Shit itches under my skin like needles.
But I do know I don’t want to be here, separated from Rissa for even half a minute while I stare down Fuchsia Delaney and tell myself I won’t cross that last line into inhumanity by wringing this fucking woman’s neck.
I don’t even know how the hell she’s busted out of jail, let alone how she made it to Gray’s vet practice without getting caught and thrown back behind bars where she belongs.
She sits on Gray’s desk in his office, her legs crossed, one heel tapping lazily against the side of the desk—sleek as ever, leaning on one hand and eyeing us slyly.
She’s like Cruella de Vil, if Cruella had discovered Botox.
And I can’t stand that even now, when she claims we’re on the same side. She’s still fucking toying with us.
“Come now,” she taunts, her horrid little smirk curling the corners of her mouth. “Surely you don’t think I respond to threats?”
Gray arches a brow. “I think you know me well enough to know I don’t make idle threats.”
“I know you well enough to know you’ve gone soft, Caldwell. You don’t want blood on your hands when you’re staring impending fatherhood in the face. So.” Her cunning gaze slides to me. “That leaves you. And since you’re already a father, I’m guessing the only thing that could make you shed blood is if that kid is threatened.”
My fucking lungs seize up.
Gray blinks, staring at me. “Leo? What does she mean, already a father?”
I growl. Of course. Of goddamn course she’s figured it out.
Ducking my head, I grab at my hood, shifting it angrily. “Clarissa’s son. Zach. He’s mine.” Then I glower at them both. “Keep your fucking mouths shut. She hasn’t told me yet. She will when she’s ready.”
Gray just nods slowly, while Fuchsia holds both hands up in mock-surrender. “Yes, sir,” she lilts.
“Shut it, Fuchsia. Last warning. I had to leave them with the damn tutor to come play at your whim. So start talking or I’ll make sure we end up cellmates for life. I’ll get myself locked up in ultra-max, if it means shoving you down a dark hole where you’ll never see another Chanel store again.”
She flicks her fingers disdainfully. “I’ll pass. Have you seen that hideous shade of institutional blue they use in women’s prisons? I’d look terrible in a jumpsuit.” With an exaggerated sigh, she crosses her legs. “Be patient. I’m still rattled, you know. I didn’t expect Galentron to be ready for me, though I suppose they expected I’d come back to the scene of the crime. I still thought I’d have a little more time before they tried to feed me a diet of lead and gunpowder.”
“A little more time for what?” I bark.
“The favor I was asked to do.” She arches both brows as if I should know what she’s talking about. I have no fucking clue, and I just stare at her flatly till she sighs again, her shoulders slumping. “Neither of you are ever any fun. Fine. Does the name Marianne Jonas ring a bell?”
Gray cocks his head. “...parakeet.”
Fuchsia’s upper lip curls. “Excuse me?”
“She had a parakeet. I treated it for molting issues.” He strokes his chin, eyes narrowing. “Didn’t she pass a few months ago?”
“And wasn’t she Edgar Bell’s secretary?” I add, my breath clogging my throat.
Yeah, I remember her.
She was there that night.
A trim older woman, spectacles, hair drawn back in a tight greying knot, slim pencil skirt.
She’d caught me in the hall just as I’d gone bolting out of the room, intent on stopping Galentron and tearing that whole facility apart with my bare hands before coming back for Rissa and taking whatever punishment was meted out to me.
Marianne had looked into the room. Her jaw tightened and she gave me a hard look.
She said almost nothing but, I’ll take care of her. You need to run.
Those words told me everything I needed to know about whose side she was really on.
Everything there was to know about the legacy of a man so cruel that the sight of his dead body raised no questions. Not from Marianne, or the maid who found me hunched over his body.
We’d looked at each other for a long time. I’d nodded and ran like hell to set the wheels of fate in motion.
“What was her cause of death?” I ask.
Fuchsia shrugs a shoulder. “Who knows. Her obituary said ‘natural causes.’”
“Which means she was probably eliminated.”
“Now you’re catching on.” Fuchsia cocks her head knowingly. “But before her unnaturally natural death, she practically begged me to come back here and keep an eye on poor Deanna. Keep her safe. The problem is...Galentron beat me to it, after the last incident. Quite unfortunate, really. A serendipitous intersection of Deanna’s curiosity with Galentron’s renewed interest in this lovely little hamlet.”
I growl, pacing restlessly. “What’re they after? What could Deanna possibly have that would interest them so much?”
“Evidence that would hold up in court,” Fuchsia replies, yawning.
Gray sucks in a gasp. I go still.
For a moment, Gray and I just stare at each other before looking back at that smiling Cheshire cat of a woman.
“Gonna need you to be a hell of a lot clearer,” I say slowly.
“Ask me nicely then.”
“No.”
“I had to try.” With a sigh, Fuchsia kicks her feet, heels tapping, then stands, smoothing her skirt. “To put it briefly, records from the mayor’s office. Marianne kept backups of everything, and shared it with Deanna. Between them, they could likely sink the whole company. So if they were smart...”
“They bought th
emselves life insurance by hiding the data,” Gray finishes.
“Bingo!” Fuchsia says smugly, clapping her hands together in the most annoying way ever.
“Then Deanna’s still alive. There’s still a chance,” I say.
“A slim one,” Fuchsia says. “Galentron is extremely effective at efficiently extracting information. If she broke under torture, they might already have what they want, and she may have been disposed of.”
“No.” I say it firmly—because I have to believe it’s true. I can’t even consider another possibility. “If they had the info, we’d have seen more coordinated action. It’s possible they’d even run a paramilitary operation in the town. They’re being covert, which means they’re trying to keep everything under wraps. They still have something to lose.”
“Such a clever boy. I hope your son takes after your side of the family.”
I growl. “Don’t talk about him. Don’t go near him, witch.”
“Down, big daddy. I have no interest in brats.” She waves a hand. “Run back to your little pseudo-family unit. That’s all you’re getting out of me.”
I eyeball her. “Implying there’s more to know.”
“On a need to know basis, and you don’t need to know.” She saunters to the door with a toss of her hair. “I’ll fill you in if you end up being useful.”
A snarl bubbles in the back of my throat, but I stay silent.
I’ve lost interest in fencing words with this woman.
Don’t trust her to tell the truth anyway. She probably found being honest about Marianne and Deanna physically painful.
But as Fuchsia slips out, Doc calls after her. “Stay low. You’ll get arrested again, and probably bring down hell on the entire town.”
“No worries, I have no desire to get shot again,” she hisses over her shoulder as she breezes through the door. “Your bedside manner was terrible last time. I’ll behave.”
Then she’s gone, leaving us alone.
And leaving Doc giving me the strangest look. “So. That boy is your son? You’re sure?”