by Jess Vonn
They made their way to her car and Cal leaned against its side.
“What is it?”
She glanced down at her bag, from which she pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
“I called in a favor to a tech analyst at my old newspaper,” she explained. “I asked her to see what she could find out about the Howl reviews. Not just for the Teal Tea Hutch, but for five other Bloomsburo establishments that had seen an influx of negative reviews.”
Cal’s eyes widened. He’d gotten nowhere with the company in the hours he’d spent on the phone with its representatives. He couldn’t believe that Winnie had gone out of her way to help the cause.
“And?”
Winnie fidgeted with the paper in her hands.
“I wasn’t sure if I should talk to you or Carter first. But she traced the reviews to the computer they were posted on. They all originated from the same IP address.”
She passed him the paper and he scanned it quickly.
Holy hell. Thirty-seven Howl reviews posted on the same day, and each one sent from Broadsville City Hall.
Greta Johansen.
“Do you think it’s related to the bomb threat?” she asked.
“I think we need some more information before we jump to any conclusions.” He knew Greta was determined, but he didn’t think the woman capable of criminal acts.
“Should we let Carter know?”
Cal thought for a moment. If he had more information to suggest that Greta was behind any of this, that’d be one thing. But all they had was an IP address. Given that Carter was already overtaxed with Bloomsburo Days, especially now that he had to bring in and quickly train a bunch of outside officers to provide back up, he decided a conversation with Greta would be a reasonable first step.
“Not just yet. He’s always a phone call away.”
Winnie nodded as his brain continued to imagine possible strategies. Greta would deny her involvement, especially if the police were involved. He was certain of it. They had to find a more subtle way to get her to talk.
Winnie’s mind was clearly on the same page.
“I had an idea, but I’m not sure you’ll like it,” she said, concern etched across her face.
“I’m all ears.”
For the next ten minutes, he listened to Winnie lay out her plan. And it was a good one. He wasn’t looking forward to his role in it, but she was absolutely right that it would get the job done.
Having agreed upon the time and location of their meeting the next day, he watched Winnie climb into her car. He saw the conflict in her eyes as she looked at him one final time. He saw pain and regret and beneath it all, he was damn certain that he saw longing. What he didn’t see was an explanation for why things had to be like this between them when their relationship had been nothing but goodness and satisfaction.
He didn’t want her to go home without him, damn it. He didn’t want her to leave without his mouth meeting hers, or without feeling the press of her softness against the length of his body. But if everything went according to plan tomorrow, and when the events of the weekend went off without a hitch, they could put this town drama behind them once and for all, and he could get back to the most important task on his to-do list: winning Winnie Briggs’s heart.
Chapter 24
By twilight the next evening, Conroy Farm was packed. The local spot, known for its fresh produce and delicious ice cream, served as the site for the annual Bloomsburo Days bonfire, the unofficial kick-off of the festival. The sun was gradually setting in the clear night sky, and the fire burned brightly, flickering specks of amber before the enchanted faces of little kids covered in sticky marshmallow residue.
Winnie enjoyed distraction in the form of coverage. She shot photos of kids making s’mores and feeding hay to the horses. She interviewed the farm staff dishing up huge bowls of fresh-baked apple crisp topped with their homemade vanilla bean ice cream.
Most of all, she tried not to think about what she was about to do, which was so far outside of her comfort zone it wasn’t even funny. She had very little experience with investigative journalism, and she certainly didn’t have any experience using gorgeous Chamber of Commerce directors as bait to get crooked politicians to confess their crimes.
Yet here she was, about to do both.
She’d seen Cal around town all day as she’d scurried from event to event. The man was everywhere and in constant motion, which suited Winnie just fine. She could watch him work, watch his confidence and his charm and his competence keep this elaborate festival running like clockwork. Watch the way he wore those grey corduroys like they were invented for the sole purpose of highlighting his exquisite build. Paired with a navy button-up and a vest, he looked picture perfect.
Her heart cracked a bit deeper with every sighting of him. Her longing for him would have to cease eventually, she told herself. It couldn’t just go on deepening and deepening, could it?
As the sky grew darker and the bonfire burned brighter, she’d lost track of Cal, but she knew where he was headed and when. He’d texted Greta earlier that afternoon, asking if she could meet him for a talk near the corn crib tucked in the back of Conroy Farm where other visitors were unlikely to wander. It had only taken seconds for Greta to respond that she’d be there, and Cal had let Winnie know that the plan was a go.
Winnie tried to stay casual, milling about the hayride line. She checked her notebook and flipped through the photos on her camera in an attempt to look busy. But when the clock struck quarter ’til eight, she made her way to the small firewood shed just adjacent to the corn crib, where she planted herself in hearing distance from where Cal and Greta would meet. It might not be legal to record the conversation without Greta’s consent, but both Winnie and Cal agreed that having a witness to a potential confession was an integral part of their plan.
Her heart beat wildly in her chest when she saw Cal approach. In the nearly full moon she could just barely see him glance to where she said she’d be, wordlessly acknowledging her. He wandered over to the side of the corn crib, and when Winnie saw the unmistakable outline of Greta Johansen’s slim figure sauntering toward the barn in the highest of heels, Winnie thought she might actually get sick. Only the knowledge that her retching would give away her presence allowed her to keep control over her body.
For better or for worse, Winnie was close enough to take in every word, every facial expression, that passed between Greta and Cal as they stepped into the soft light of a lantern near the corn crib. His face lit up when she walked toward him. If Winnie didn’t know any better, she’d have thought the man was in love with Greta. Somehow the knowledge that he was acting didn’t make her feel any less heartsick about him looking at another woman that way.
“Greta,” he said, his voice smooth and sexy.
“Hey there, Cal,” she cooed back, her voice as sultry as his. A tight lace top hugged her massive breasts and highlighted her narrow waist. A spandex skirt did the same for her legs, which stretched on endlessly courtesy of Greta’s high heels.
Damn, Winnie observed, as much with awe as with envy. The two were certainly a well matched pair when it came to sheer sex appeal.
“I’m glad you could meet me.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to reach out to me for some time now,” she said, her hand reaching up and stroking Cal’s shoulder. Winnie had never known such possessiveness as she felt coursing through her blood in that moment.
Mine. That was the only thought she could manage, and it was a lie. Cal was no more hers than he was Greta’s, and it was her own stupid fault.
“You heard about the bomb threat, I’m sure?” he asked, his hand reaching out and stroking the perfectly straight length of Greta’s white-blond hair. “If it was just that, I could maybe overlook it. But more and more, this town seems to be a mess. It’s got me rethinking whether Bloomsburo is the right place for me to be establishing my career.”
“Is that right?” she said, placing her other hand up on Ca
l’s chest. The contact made Winnie’s heart race furiously.
“Is that all you’re rethinking?” she asked, and Winnie watched Cal’s eyes smolder in Greta’s general direction.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I want to know exactly what I’d be getting myself into.”
“Oh, I think you’re getting yourself into trouble,” she said, practically salivating.
“Is that right? Are you going to be trouble for me, Greta Johannsen? I’ve had bad girls before. They can be a lot of fun.”
Winnie’s stomach turned. He was so good. Too good. He might be faking it with Greta now, but even the thought of him turning that genuine charm onto another woman made her feel sick. Not to mention the hypothetical bad girls of his past.
“You don’t know how bad I can be,” Greta cooed, playing right into his hand.
“Is that right?”
“Mmm,” she purred. Her body was up against his now.
“Bad enough to try and scare me away from my own hometown?”
A coy smile spread across her red painted lips.
“Maybe.”
“You wanted me that much, huh?” he asked, his fingers brushing down the impossibly thin-yet-muscular contours of her upper arm. “You’d break the law for it?”
“You have no idea how much I want you, Cal Spencer. And I always get what I want. Even if that includes calling in a bomb threat.”
Winnie’s heart thumped at the admission. Jesus, this was really happening.
“You did that for me?”
“Yes. Only for you.”
“Is that all you’d do to get me? I expected more…” he said, his hand, now resting on her narrow waist. “It turns me on just to think about it.”
“Oh really?” she said with a sharp laugh. “Then you might like to know that I did my very best to run a bunch of low-brow businesses into the ground with some nasty online reviews.”
“That was you?”
“That was me, baby.”
“What else…?” Cal rubbed his thumb back down her arm, bringing it within a few inches of the curve of Greta’s breast. An interrogation had never sounded or looked so much like a seduction.
Winnie didn’t know of any other incidents around town. Maybe Carter had told Cal something more? Or maybe he was just trying to figure out if there was anything more to learn?
“I’ve suffered for you.” Greta turned her body into Cal’s hand and pressed more fully against him, and Winnie ground her teeth together until her jaw ached.
“I’m sorry to hear that. How so?”
“Your idiot mayor,” she sighed.
Surprise flashed across his face now, the first crack in his otherwise flawless performance. Winnie couldn’t breathe, her mind flashing back to her odd initial introduction to the mayor. To Greta there at his side when he finally bothered to show up to the city council meeting.
“What about him?” Cal asked.
“Well, I may have convinced him to pursue a policy or two that wasn’t in the town’s best interest.”
The fee hike.
“Now how did you get him to do that?”
“How do you think Cal?”
Winnie gasped, but the sound never left her lips. By that time a hand had found its way to her mouth and clasped her face violently.
“You better not make a sound, young lady,” a familiar voice whispered into her ear. Even amidst her fear and her shock, Winnie recognized the voice of Mayor Ralph Simpson, not to mention his obnoxious word choice. Young lady. She’d been so caught up in Greta’s confession that she hadn’t even heard him approach from behind. The man smelled like a bar at closing time and she could sense his drunken unsteadiness from how his large body pressed against the back of hers.
“She’s a hell of a little minx, now isn’t she?” he whispered into Winnie’s ear as they both watched Greta running her hands across Cal’s shoulders. “Used those same tricks on me. Got me to do her bidding even if it meant I threw my career, my marriage, down the shitter just for a chance to take her tight little ass to bed.”
Winnie tried to wrench free, but he only clasped his hand that much tighter in response.
“She said she was mine. She said if I did what she asked, we could be together, and now I find out it was about the golden boy the entire time.”
From her peripheral vision, Winnie could see the mayor slowly raise his free arm, and despite the deepening darkness of the night sky around them, she saw the unmistakable outline of a black pistol. She tried to scream but couldn’t find the breath. She felt faint. As much as she wanted Greta to face punishment for her disturbances around town, Winnie surely didn’t want to see her hurt.
“If I can’t have her, that slick-talking bastard sure as hell can’t either,” he said, his words slurred by drunkenness and jealousy.
Winnie’s heart stopped. He didn’t point the gun toward Greta. He aimed it at Cal.
Miraculously, she mustered up the lung power to scream, and though the sound was muffled by the mayor’s sweaty hand over her mouth, it was enough to draw Cal’s attention to the small outbuilding where they hid.
“Winnie!” he cried, the blood draining from his face, and his eyes widened in fear. Instinctively, he pushed Greta behind the protection of his body. Her heart tightened watching how even in the midst of all this drama, even with this woman who had caused so many problems for the town he loved, he was still just an astonishingly good man.
“Don’t make a move, pretty boy,” Mayor Simpson yelled across the space, turning the gun toward Winnie’s chest in front of him. She yelped in fear, yet she’d rather have it facing her than Cal again. Anything but that. “You get whatever the hell you want around here and I’m sick of it.”
“Ralph, it doesn’t have to be like this. Greta used you, just like she’s trying to use me now. I’m not going to fall for it.”
“What?” Greta called out incredulously from behind his strong frame.
“The only thing I could possibly want from you was a confession. So thanks for that.”
Even with the fear surging through her body, Winnie took the smallest bit of satisfaction from the sheer rage that contorted Greta’s picture-perfect face.
The mayor appeared to enjoy it, too, as he laughed loudly.
“Well, looks like Mayor Johannsen’s not the only one who can use her good looks to get what she wants.”
“Ralph, put the gun down,” Cal said, slowly inching closer to her and the mayor.
“I said stay where you are,” Mayor Simpson roared, pushing the gun that much more tightly into Winnie’s chest.
She could hardly process the man’s words. She scanned all around her, looking for a possible escape. She strained to look down at the pistol pointing at her when one key detail jumped out her.
The mayor’s finger wasn’t on the trigger. It simply held the grip. Relief flooded Winnie’s body and she took a moment to mentally review what she’d learned long ago in the self-defense classes Bree had forced her to take with her when they’d first moved to Chicago. Winnie hadn’t wanted to bother with it. Didn’t want to spend the money. But as with most things, Bree ended up being right.
She’d kiss her friend the next time she saw her.
“Let her go and we can talk, Ralph,” Cal said, fear gripping his voice. “This has nothing to do with Winnie.”
“Oh, what do you care about her? Any trained monkey can come on board and write for that rag of a newspaper.”
What do you care about her? Winnie couldn’t bear to hear the answer. The time to act was now, while Mayor Simpson was distracted in this back and forth with Cal. A second later, the back of her head smashed into the mayor’s jaw, disorienting him enough to allow her to twist herself out of his hold and wrap herself around his arm to take control of the weapon. The attack and his drunken state left him so disoriented that he put up no fight. He merely fell to the ground and grabbed at his aching jaw. Cal was at her side in a fraction of a second, first unloading the gun�
��s ammunition, then grasping Winnie tightly against his chest.
My God, how she’d missed the fortress of his body. It wasn’t until the danger had fully passed that shock seized her, causing every limb to shake and a cold clamminess to overtake her entire body. Cal’s strong embrace was the only thing keeping her upright. She saw Greta flee the scene, but couldn’t let herself worry about that now. Greta had confessed in front of two witnesses. Her time was up.
“Winnie, it’s okay,” Cal murmured into her ear as he stroked her hair. “Everyone’s going to be okay, sweetie.”
“I’m not okay!” the mayor moaned from where he writhed on the ground. “She broke my tooth!”
“If I could fathom letting go of this woman for one second, I’d personally ensure that your tooth was the least of the injuries you had to worry about,” Cal growled, but his touch on Winnie stayed firm and comforting. Winnie closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the fear she’d felt and by the intoxicating comfort of returning to Cal’s embrace. Overwrought with how it would break her to separate from this man again when this awful night was over.
She heard heavy footsteps coming up behind her and she grasped for Cal in fear before opening her eyes and seeing the steady strength of Carter Conrad appear next to them in full uniform.
“What the hell happened here?” he asked, scanning the scene, particularly the gun on the ground surrounded by unloaded bullets.
“This man threatened me!” the mayor called out from the ground as he pointed to Cal.
“Did you do this to him?” Carter asked Cal, looking at the major’s jaw that grew puffier and more purple with each passing minute.
“No, Winnie did. He had her at gunpoint.”
“Are you okay, Winnie?” Carter asked, with such genuine concern that Winnie’s heart ached. She nodded silently from where her head still rested on Cal’s broad chest, and Carter smiled. “You always struck me as a woman not to be messed with.”
He scanned the area once more.
“Cal told me to meet him here right after eight,” Carter explained, “This is not the scene I was expecting.” He reached to his waistband and pulled out his radio, calling for extra help.