Hang on. Someone might have also seen me skulking the back forty on their phone. And would have seen the kids and Chandler during their reconnaissance trips. Prickles of unease crept up my spine. I shivered.
“Are you chilly?” asked Oliver. “Do you want a blanket? You could cuddle while we look at the videos.”
I held up my coffee. “Did you see us last night, Oliver? Or did someone else report us?”
Oliver looked at the monitors and scratched his neck. “There was a memo. I recognized you, so I said I’d take care of it. Find out what you were doing.”
“A memo?”
“Text message to check the back gate CCTV.” He shrugged. “I know. It feels a little creepy, but we have to protect our guests, and this is the most efficient way. Our guests want to know their privacy is protected. What’s tricky is maintaining the illusion that we’re not hyper-vigilant.”
He reached to squeeze my elbow. “You know how it is for people like us, Maizie. You can’t be too careful.”
I slid my elbow back. Thought of the bodyguards I had known back in my day. And how much safer I’d felt in Black Pine. With Nash. Until the bank…
“Maizie, are you all right? What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Oliver rolled his chair closer to take my hands in his. “What happened? What can I do?”
I shook my head, slipped my fingers from his large hands, and pinched my thumb.
Oliver watched me, concern making cute little indentations between his eyebrows. “Maizie, I’m worried about you. You look…not so good. And you seem…super sad. I know finding me in Black Pine is a shock, but I’ve never seen you like this before.”
I swallowed hard and sniffled. “I’m fine. Thank you. You have an amazing security feature. Very good. Let's access the night that Chandler disappeared, shall we?”
Back to Downton Abbey mode. I had never done a British period piece. I didn’t know how I channeled this character but whatevs.
Oliver nodded and reached for a binder, paged through it, and followed the instructions to click through to an application on the computer.
“You know me. I can barely text.” He flashed me a stunning smile then returned his attention to the computer screen. “Okay, I put the date in here…I think.”
He was taking forever. “Do you want me to type it in?”
“By all means.” He nudged his chair a few inches to the right. I hopped from my seat to stand next to him. Typed in the date, approximate time, and clicked enter.
Above us, the largest monitor blipped, then showed a field of camera views. At the bottom of the screen, the date and time blinked beneath the fifty tiny windows.
“Oh wow,” I said. “Is that everywhere in Wellspring?”
“I think so.” Oliver studied the binder, then reached around me with one arm to type on the computer. “I’m just putting in the back fence location…”
He was also squeezing me closer. My hip was precariously close to his face.
Before he could press enter, I dropped my left hand to cover his on the keyboard and pointed to a screen with my right. “Wait. What’s going on there?”
In one of the tiny viewers, two tiny people in white doctor coats left the alleged old chicken coop. Keeping his hand beneath mine, Oliver half-rose next to me and leaned forward to peer at the screen.
“Looks like the nutritionist and Dr. Sakda had a meeting or something.” His hand slipped from the keyboard to settle on my hip. He turned me to face him. “Or it could have been the Bigfoot autopsy.”
I sucked in my breath.
He winked.
I smacked him.
“I couldn’t help it.” He chuckled. “The kids last night. They were so cute.”
“They’d hate that you thought they were cute.”
“I know. They’re not the only one who’s cute.” He looked down at me, his forehead crinkling in that adorable way. Again. “What’s going on with you, Maizie?”
I sighed. “Oliver, I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to see the footage from Chandler—”
He slipped a finger beneath my chin and tilted my face up. “Is that a scrape? Did you get that last night? Babe, what happened? Why are you wincing? Are you hurt?”
I rolled my aching shoulder and adopted my Downton Abbey voice to steady my nerves. “If you must know, someone attacked the children and I. Me. Last night. In the woods. Behind Wellspring. After we left you.”
“What?” Oliver gripped my shoulders. I cringed, and he released me. “Are you okay? Is that why you look like you do? Who was it? Why?”
I placed my hands on his chest to push him back. Tried not to think about all the muscles beneath my fingers. Or any memories of those muscles I had successfully suppressed.
Or so I’d thought.
“It’s all in a day’s work for an investigator.”
“This isn’t you, Maizie.” Oliver placed his hands over mine. “You’re talking strangely. You’re acting strangely. And you look like…not you. I knew I was right to be worried.”
Shizzles. I kept my eyes on our hands.
“But there’s more going on, isn’t there?”
I looked up. His face hovered close to mine. In a dark room lit only by security monitors. I sucked in a breath. And another when his eyes inadvertently slipped to watch my lungs fill.
What in the hellsbah was I doing? This was Oliver. He was the enemy. He was just one of the many who had ripped my heart from my sleeve to tromp and mangle it under their feet. But the only one who almost sent me to prison.
I winced again, thinking of Nash and Jolene. A tear squeezed from my tear duct. I pulled in a mouthful of air, hoping my eyeball could somehow inhale the tear before Oliver got the wrong idea.
Pretty sure he got the wrong idea.
His eyebrows quirked together. The full lips that had been pressed relaxed. And the big brown eyes turned their sympathetic gaze to mine. “Oh, Maizie.”
He crushed me to his chest, then ran his hand up my back. Lucky for me — or unlucky, depending — his giant hand pressed the massive bruise given to me by the Pitching King of the Forest. I shrieked and shoved off.
Oliver backed into a shelf of binders, knocking it askew. Binders rained around his feet.
Clutching my arm, I panted. “Just show me the surveillance footage.”
“What was that?”
“I told you I was attacked in your forest,” I snapped. “Someone tried to beam us with rocks. Then walloped me with a stick. On the exact spot you just touched.”
“A rock and stick?”
“I think a stick. He obviously wasn’t decked out with Wellspring equipment.” I pressed the heels of my fists against my eyes to stop the tears. “Can you just show me the missing camper footage now?”
“Of course.”
Clicks sounded on the other side of my fists.
“Craptastic.”
That was my line. And it wasn’t a good one. I pulled my fists off my eyes and blinked at the fuzzy monitor. “Where’s the footage?”
“Um…” Oliver consulted the binder. “I can’t seem to pull up that area.”
“It’s been deleted?” I scooted in next to Oliver, reading the binder over his shoulder. “Are you sure you typed in the right code?”
“I think so.”
“You think so? What if you deleted it?” I felt my chest tighten. “No, not again.”
“What’s wrong?” Oliver spun around in his chair. “Are you having a panic attack? Babe, slow down your breathing. It’s okay. Maybe the police took the footage.”
“Right, the police.” I sucked in a breath and another. “Except if they saw something, they wouldn’t have given up on Chandler. I’ve got nothing, and these kids are depending on me, Oliver. Teenagers are paying me to look for a missing person. They’re successful YouTube stars, but they’re still children. I’m acting like I know what I’m doing but I don’t actually know what I’m doing.”
“It’s okay, Maizie. Breathe.”
&n
bsp; I gripped his shoulders. “Oh God, can’t I do anything? The only thing I seem to succeed at is failing. I can’t even manage the terms of my probation. I skipped Dr. Trident to see you.”
“That’s kind of sweet,” he whispered.
“It’s not sweet, Oliver. It’s stupid. Just like it was stupid for me to try to follow some dude who was chucking rocks at our heads. And look what happened. I almost got my head bashed in by Bigfoot. He stole my backpack, my phone, and the keys to my dirt bike.” Tears splashed onto Oliver’s massive forearms. “I drive a dirt bike because I even failed at keeping a car. It was repo’d.”
“Oh, babe.” Oliver shook his head sorrowfully. “You should see Dr. Trident.”
* * *
While I gulped air and sobbed, Oliver kept one hand on my elbow and walked me to the east wing. At Dr. Trident’s door, Oliver pressed a kiss to my forehead — expertly missing the bruised skin — knocked on the door and walked back to the elevator.
The door swung open. Dr. Trident peered through his glasses at me, frowning. “Maizie, you’re late. Again.”
“I need help.” I gasped and pressed my hand against my chest. “I’m such a mess I can’t even breathe. I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel like I have nothing.”
His man bun bobbed. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
“You have?” I looked up at him from my half-bent position of vulnerability and pain. Hoping my initial impressions had been wrong. Maybe beneath the man bun and selfies, there lurked a new Renata.
“You are like the fragile bird with the broken wing who keeps trying to fly but can’t make it more than a few hops,” he pronounced.
“Oh my God. I’m the wounded bird.” I felt a renewed burst of pain. “I always thought I wanted to date wounded birds. But it was me all along.”
“Come in.” He swung the door wide. “Lie down on my couch and catch your breath. We have work to do.”
* * *
An hour later, I knocked on the door to Oliver’s office.
“Sweetheart, are you better?”
“I had a breakdown,” I admitted. “And a bad color rinse. But Dr. Trident actually helped me feel better. He made me tea and it really calmed me down.”
“I’m so glad.” He pulled me into a slightly smothering hug, and this time I didn’t try to stop him. Instead, I sank into the familiarity of his powerful body, letting his firm planes and contours mold against my soft (too soft) curves. His arms tightened around me until I gasped for air.
“Sorry,” he said, drawing me away. “I just feel so bad about everything. I missed you so much. You’re my biggest regret. I’ve been seeing a therapist, too. I can’t get over what I’ve done to you.”
“That’s good,” I said purposely vague. “I’m supposed to selfie, so I can ‘see incremental improvements in my emotional state’ that will ‘manifest in my features.’ Selfie therapy. Who knew? Except I my phone was stolen.”
“I’d love to selfie with you,” said Oliver.
Something Wyatt Nash would never dream of saying, I thought, but forced my thoughts from Nash. If near-death brought him and Jolene back together, I could be happy for him. How many times had I wished my parents had gotten back together before Daddy married Carol Lynn? Nash was my boss. I needed my job and the mentorship. I could find romance elsewhere. Anyway, everyone always said to separate work and pleasure.
The thought still made me want to cry. But baby steps.
Oliver held up his phone.
“Can you wrap your arm around my head or something to hide my hair?”
I felt Oliver’s thick forearm settle on my head. “How’s this?” He chuckled. “Smile.”
I felt Oliver’s fingers tickle my ear. Tipping my head back, I slipped my arm around him and smiled at the phone he held above us. “Thanks.”
His arm dropped from my head to my shoulders. He studied the picture. “Not bad. You want me to tag you somewhere?”
“I’m not on social media anymore. Rules of my probation.” I slipped out of his arm to take the phone. Cringed at my washed-out features that contrasted with the dark circles. Oliver’s arm cast a shadow that hid any glimmer of a real smile. Selfie muscle memory had kept me from looking totally wrecked. This was the purpose of Selfie Therapy. To see how mega awful I looked. Supposedly.
At least I could check therapy off my probation list. If this counted.
“I sent a memo to all the staff asking about the camper. If you had a picture of the guy, that’d be helpful.”
“I appreciate that Oliver. The dogs tracked his scent to your fence.”
“Then away into the woods and back to his car.”
“How did you know?”
“Like I said, I’ve been asking around. Listen, do you want to do lunch after the tour? Is there a restaurant in town that serves Southern food? I’ve wanted to try something authentic.”
I brightened at my favorite conversational topic. “There’s this place that looks like a shack. Like, literally the roof is rusted and the porch is condemned. It’s roped off. And it doesn’t have a name. But oh my, do they have the best vegetable plate ever.”
“Vegetable plate? I figured you want something less healthy.”
I grabbed his arm. “The best thing about a vegetable plate is you don’t have to have any vegetables. I mean, I do. Get vegetables. Usually fried okra. Along with mac and cheese and cornbread. Fried okra would hit the spot. It’s been a long day. And it’s not even ten o’clock.”
“Babe,” he said with all the sympathy I’d been missing from my friends.
“Oliver, you have no idea how hard it’s been starting over. If I wasn’t living with Daddy, I’d be homeless. That’s how little I make. The investigation agency is barely staying solvent. We’ve been scrambling for cases because my boss’s ex-wife blackballed him in the community. She’s horrible. She opened her own agency just to spite Nash. I mean Mr. Nash. To put him out of business.”
“I’m going to close our account with her. I don’t care what Vicki says.” Oliver slid my hand off his arm. Raising it, he touched his lips to my knuckles. “We’ll hire your agency for her wedding.”
There probably wouldn’t be a wedding, but I didn’t want to disappoint Oliver when he thought he was making me feel better. I focused on venting instead. The words tumbled from my mouth faster than I could properly annunciate them. Particularly from my sob-thickened lips.
“Then this morning, the girls — who I thought were my real friends — told me I had visit Roger, the guy who blew up the bank and put my boss in a coma. As if. That is not my job. The ATF is on it. You know how I feel about jail.” Oliver squeezed my hand apologetically. “Anyway, I never want to see Roger Price again. Every time I think of him, I almost pass out. He nearly—” I bit my lip.
Oliver brought my hand to his lips again. “Babe.”
“I did my own hair with something called Color’n ShineMo. Bought from a store called SaveMo.” My voice cracked into a small sob. “It’s so cheap it doesn’t have all the letters in the name.”
“Oh babe, I’m sorry.”
“What’s even worse? Jolene Sweeney. She and Nash are—” I closed my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Dr. Trident pointed out that I’ve focused on all the wrong things. I have made my happiness from trying to make other people happy, thinking they will…like me more. I’ve always done that with Vicki and Daddy. And producers and directors. Co-stars. Friends. I’m still doing it here. I can see that now.”
“You need ‘me’ time,” said Oliver. “Everyone needs ‘me’ time.”
“I can’t afford me time. I need to see those buildings. I need to make new flyers. And vet Jolene’s rejected clients. I don’t even have time for lunch.”
“I can give what you need, Maizie. I used to make you happy. Let me try again.”
Thirty
#HeartRemedies #NoBustBusted
Inside a candle-lit room smelling of lemongrass and lavender, I lay on my stomach beneath a blanket.
Naked and sated. Barely awake but finally resting. And ignoring my ex-therapist Renata’s call for introspection. I didn’t want to think about anything but basking in the afterglow I was currently experiencing.
Oliver really knew how to seduce a girl. I could seriously get used to this again. It’d once been part of our weekly routine.
Outside the door, I heard the rumble of Oliver’s voice, then the door opened quietly and someone padded in. Half-asleep, I quirked a smile. “Is that you?”
“Yes.” He sank onto the padded table and I slid over to make room. One of his large hands touched my back. “How are you feeling now?”
“Much better.”
“Your hair looks much better, too. Back to its usual color.” He ran his fingers through my trimmed, colored, and Olaplexed locks. “So soft.”
“Thank you.” I stretched my arms then folded them beneath my chin. “Hair, nails, facial, and deep tissue massage. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this good. Too long. And you brought me a vegetable plate without vegetables. Just what the doctor ordered.”
“You know, I could get you a job on security at Wellspring.” He played with a lock, twisting it around his finger. “No more worries about money. And spa treatments whenever you like them. The perks are nice.”
“I miss perks,” I said. “I’ve been telling myself I don’t need perks. But it’s the first time I’ve never had perks.”
His fingers trailed down my spine. “There’s nothing wrong with liking perks. That’s human nature.”
I wasn’t ready for those kinds of perks. But I wasn’t foolish enough to know I might need a job in the immediate future. “Maybe after my probation is done. I’ve got enough confusion with having my community service and therapy here. And now I really need to get back to work. Chandler isn’t going to find himself. Unless that’s what he’s doing. Which is kind of a sucky thing to do to his young YouTube partners.”
“I want to help you find Chandler.”
I rolled over. “You do? Because nobody else thinks he’s really missing.”
NC-17 Page 19