by Wylder Stone
Given how Trista had been lying and the way the towel was wrapped, she was probably safe. A part of her still wondered. If Owen had seen anything, what did he think? A man of few words, he grunted a lot, so she wondered if he grunted at her half-naked body? There it was again, that train of thought that should never have entered her mind to begin with. He was her bodyguard. Protector.
Trista pondered those thoughts while she got ready for the day. It was completely inappropriate for her to even wonder what he thought of her. She was, indeed, still married – a technicality she would resolve as soon as she was able.
When Trista went to the kitchen for a bite to eat, her attention was caught by a spread of items on the counter, assumed to be for her. A smile stretched from ear to ear when she saw the vegetable-based protein powder sitting next to a blender-like smoothie maker. There were also two complete sets of very conservative workout clothes.
Her heart swelled at the thoughtful items. Owen, it seemed, had a soft side despite his angry ogre first impressions. Trista went to work, gathering some of her farmers' market finds to make him a quick and refreshing thank you. While she was at it, she couldn’t help but giggle at the long workout pants and long-sleeve, crewneck shirts that were going to be loose as they were a size too big. The short shorts and tank must’ve been too much for Owen.
With two green smoothies in hand, Trista met Owen out back just as he was hanging up his cell phone.
“Wow, what do we have here?” he asked, making a sour face.
“Real food – it will hydrate you, give you a boost, great skin, hair, and just overall refreshing,” she claimed with confidence.
“A smoothie? Does all of that?” He laughed, just before taking a drink. “It’s just a fruity milkshake.”
“It’s healthy! You should appreciate that, given your…physique…and…all that…” Waving a hand in front of Owen, Trista was indicating that was Owen. “…muscle…stuff…you…have.”
A mischievous grin stretched across his face. “Muscle stuff? I’m old-fashioned, I guess. I don’t do all of the protein powders, just exercise hard every single day and try to eat decent, but I never skip a beer.”
“Must be nice in those jeans,” Trista replied
He looked down at his jeans, then back to her daydreamy eyes, and that grin became a full-blown smile. Raised eyebrows alerted her to his amusement, and Trista quickly realized what she had just said.
“Genes! It must be nice to have the kind of genetics that make for a perfectly sculpted body that comes so easily.”
“Perfectly sculpted body, huh?” Owen laughed when Trista buried her face in her palm.
Completely embarrassed, she quickly scolded, “Don’t let that go to your head…you know what I mean!”
As she tried to relieve her rosy cheeks, he flexed, then bounced his pecs. “Well, I am blessed to look like this.”
Trista dramatically rolled her eyes before turning away so the effect he had on her went unnoticed. Sitting in silence, they enjoyed the view in the warm morning sun while finishing their smoothies. There was news to share after his phone call just minutes earlier, but he didn’t want to ruin her spirited mood. However, stalling might prove to work against him in the long run.
“So, uh, I have an update,” Owen said, testing the waters.
“An update? Mason and Liz?” Her hopeful tone left him feeling a bit guilty because the news wasn’t about them.
“Actually, no. Cesar,” he started, watching her reaction, “knows now. He is in mourning. He thinks it was a hit or a warning, so he left the country like a coward. No surprise there.”
“Oh. Okay, then. So, what next?” A melancholy vibe settled in and could be heard in her tone.
“We watch for him at the funeral. He has his people organizing a funeral for all three of you. We’ll grab Cesar there before he leaves again. He’s spooked, which is good. It means he’s likely to make a mistake. That’s what we want,” Owen replied, trying to offer some sort of positive spin to an entirely adverse situation.
“Three of us?” she questioned. “What about you? Owen, you were his right-hand! Well, Keith was…”
Trista was appalled by the idea that someone who did so much for Cesar, for their family, could just be swept away as if he never mattered. She hurt for him. The message Cesar was sending was more than hateful. More and more, as the story unfolded, she found it easier to see the monster that was Cesar. It didn’t help the loss Trista felt over her son and sister, but it certainly helped her get over the loss of a marriage that was obviously broken from the start.
She had questioned herself previously. Had her desire to fix her marriage been out of love or habit? If there was ever a doubt before, Trista could confidently say now…it was a habit. No love lost.
“I guess I didn’t rank as much as we thought.” Owen shrugged, not nearly as hurt as she was. “To Cesar, people are disposable. Get what you want and move on. It’s just business. As far as he knew, I had no family. I guess he did buy a random plot somewhere, and he’s having me buried – just no service.”
“I suppose you’re right. And it isn’t just in business. Cesar got what he wanted the day I finally said yes, and then he moved on. I was just another challenge to conquer – something to possess.”
Stunned by the revelations, Trista was saddened more for Owen than herself. Her husband ran the minute she died, worried only about himself. That spoke volumes. He had other people, most likely strangers, plan a service for their family. That spoke even louder.
Keith, as they knew him, had been such a big part of their lives. He was like family, really. He was Cesar’s most trusted companion, which was why he was assigned to Trista and Mason most of the time. His most trusted associate, looking out for his most loved people – or so Trista had thought.
It broke her heart that Owen had been so, as he put it, disposable. Quickly tossed aside without a single care – wasn’t that what Cesar was essentially doing where she and Mason were concerned too? Another reason to despise the man and live without regret from this day forward. He deserved everything he had coming.
Trista sat in wonder for a moment before addressing something she felt the need to express. “I hope you know that the feeling isn’t shared. You do matter. You were a big part of our lives as Keith. Even if it was just a job to you, you were part of our family, and just like Lizzy and Mason…I grieved you, too.”
Leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together, Owen nodded, appreciating the sentiment as it said far more than any other words could have expressed. Though she had trouble showing it, Trista did trust him and cared about him on some level. That meant the world to Owen.
“Well, that part is done. I thought you should know. Now we just sit back and wait.”
A grin that said challenge accepted took over her expression, “Once I waited four weeks for the new couture line to go from runway to rack at Barney’s because the plant in Singapore that was manufacturing it all burned to the ground…I can sooo do this.”
“Woooow,” he teased, grasping his chest with exaggerated enthusiasm, “four weeks? That’s like totally impressive!”
A playful smack to his hard as a rock bicep for teasing her earned her a dramatic eye roll in return.
“Go get ready to work out,” he said.
With a confused cock of her head, Trista asked, “Work out? We already did!”
Taking to his feet, he headed toward the door. “That was strength and endurance. We are going to learn self-defense now, so wear street clothes so you become comfortable with it in any attire. Next, I’ll teach you to shoot.”
He laughed at her slack jaw and wide eyes. It was probably the idea of shooting a gun that got her. Trista had a tough spirit, and that would go a long way, but she needed to be physically tougher. Comparing waiting out an international murdering cartel boss to a sale at Barneys told Owen just how much tougher he needed to make her. Sure, she was kidding, but it was a chilly
reminder of the pampered life Trista had always known. It was time to turn pampered to badass.
Given the threat they were under and the risks he was taking, there was always a chance something could happen to him, God forbid. That was his real worry. What would she do then? Owen needed to give her the tools and skills to fight back.
For now, things were looking up. There was a plan in place to lure Cesar out of hiding and nail his ass once and for all. Staying hidden was key, though not easy, but they now had a routine to keep them busy.
More importantly, though, Trista trusted Owen. She was fighting back, taking control of her life as much as she could, and getting mentally and emotionally stronger. They were also getting along. The tears were fewer, their interactions better, and they genuinely enjoyed their time together, which made their situation a hell of a lot less lonely.
For now.
14
Cesar was a no-show. The funeral had come and gone, and the bastard couldn’t be bothered to attend the service for his dead wife and child. Word on the street was that he was just too devastated and distraught. It was more than he could bear.
The truth was, he was a fucking coward. The circumstances around his wife and son’s deaths didn’t smell right to him, and he stayed as hidden as Trista and Owen were. What was even more sad was that it wasn’t because he suspected they were really alive – that part of the ruse was a solid success – it was that he cared more about himself than lost loved ones. He didn’t want to be some random enemy’s next hit.
Rather than say goodbye, he hid while his people searched for clues about who did them in, just in case they were after Cesar next. Paranoia will do that to you. What wasn’t clear was what came first, the paranoia or the selfish, sociopathic tendencies.
As if confirming your husband didn’t give two shits about your death because he gave even less when you were alive wasn’t hard enough – hard truths came in other ways. Trista and Lizzy had been as close as sisters could be growing up and through their adulthood, but that family bond began and ended with the two of them. They were raised by nannies, not their parents, as children were for looks – possessions – nothing more.
Their parents had always taken care of them financially, made sure they had the best of everything, traveled, the best schools, anything and everything at their fingertips. What they didn’t provide was affection, concern, support, or love. That could be seen even in their death.
The Ryan family was known for their money and prestige, but they were cold as hell. One would think that burying your daughters would attract a certain attention, maybe even a bit of regret for time lost, but it didn’t. They couldn’t even be bothered to show up on time. They were the last to arrive with their full entourage of doting assistants in tow and the first to leave without a single word to anyone, much less a single tear shed.
It was an odd event, and Trista struggled with what it all meant. It was so superficial, unimportant, and lacked real emotion or celebration. Was her funeral a reflection of her life? Had she been so shallow and surrounded by such a façade that even in her fake death, Trista learned how little of an impact she had while supposedly alive?
There were more people from the media and curious strangers there than anything. No real friends, no real family, not even her husband. If you want to know where you rank in the world – die – it paints the entire picture.
Owen had his own people blending in the crowd, unbeknownst to the undercovers from his agency. It seemed that Cesar was believed to be on a yacht somewhere in the middle of an ocean, grieving with champagne and a harem of whores. Classy.
Trista was struggling enough without that piece of information, so Owen kept it to himself. All of the personal progress they had made during the past few weeks, building some sort of friendship, had completely unwound. Overcome with sadness and quiet, she had crawled back into that place where she was the first few days of their journey.
It was to be expected on some level. Watching your own funeral on TV, reading about it in the paper, and finding out just where you stood in the world wasn’t easy. Trista was questioning it all. The proverbial quest to seek out the meaning of life was just dropped in her lap as a big fat “you don’t matter much.” Or so she thought.
They continued their morning workouts, though Trista didn’t have the same drive. During self-defense lessons, she let it all out, her sadness turning to anger. She gave Owen everything she had and then some. Her physical drive was intact, but Trista’s emotional drive was all over the place. Not only did Owen worry about this for obvious safety reasons but he worried for her in other ways, too. It was hard to see her like that. Trista was utterly crushed – devastated.
Owen went into town, looking for ways to cheer her up. He was completely out of his realm of expertise. Buying her a gun probably wasn’t the solution, but it was the only thing he could think of. He’d know what to get. Easy. If it were safe, he would call home, talk to his mom or even his sister. But they had been estranged for a few years while he was undercover, and calling now wasn’t worth the risk.
He had stayed in touch with his brothers. They all worked together, and Owen relied on them now in lieu of his agency, but they were as good with women as they were at knitting. James was the exception. He had been married but lost his wife tragically and hadn’t been the same since. Owen was on his own with his girl trouble, and it was as annoying as it sounded.
She had been drawing the past few days, riding the waves of her funk. Before Trista had Mason and time became sparse, she had immersed herself in art. She obviously found comfort in it now, so he thought he would give her more.
He arrived back at the cottage with an arsenal of goods. Owen wanted Trista to find comfort in something and thought it would give her more options.
He set bags full of fresh sugary baked goods on the kitchen counter along with fresh-cut flowers and bundles of art supplies. Then he looked for her. Concern started to nudge him when he didn’t find her in her room or out in her favorite spot on the deck. Instinct kicked in, and without a doubt, something was wrong. He called for her with no answer and even scanned the property around the ponds using binoculars.
Nothing in the house was out of place. All of the doors and windows were still locked and the other car still parked in the garage, unused. With no signs of a struggle, Owen was at a loss. He was also worried. He roamed Trista’s room again, and her purse caught his eye. A clue. The purse was still there, but her wallet was gone.
Had she left? Nothing was around them, and the town was a good mile away. How would she have gotten there? He would have passed her walking when he made his way back to the house. He hadn’t seen a trace of her.
Barreling out the front door, Owen rushed to town and started looking around. This was not only out of character for Trista, but it wasn’t safe. What could she possibly be doing there alone?
Bull Trail was small enough to quickly do an effective search on his own without calling in help. He hoped. Owen wasn’t opposed to calling in the boys, though, if she didn’t turn up fast.
He parked in the center of town. It would be easy to scan and search from that perspective. He stood in the town square and took in each building, prioritizing his search. He cleared the boutiques first, one by one, then moved on to the yoga studio and finally the hair salon. There was no sign of her.
He searched the restaurants and diners. Nothing. The hardware store, barbershop, and vacuum store were as likely to host her attention as thrift store shopping, but he checked all of those, too.
The only things left unchecked were a couple of bars.
15
Trista didn’t drink, and when she did, it was the stuff that these places didn’t serve. However, she hadn’t been herself and drank cheap beer with him as of late, so maybe drinking was on the agenda. He didn’t find her anywhere else, so it was worth a quick search. Process of elimination landed Owen at the bar right in the heart of town. It wasn’t fancy or even clean by most st
andards, but compared to the alternative, it was the Ritz Carlton and more her style.
When she wasn’t there, a sense of dread filled him. The last place to look was the second bar, and it was as shady and seedy as they came, sitting just at the edge of town. That hole-in-the-wall dive drew in every type of traveler from the nearby highway and boasted a nightlife that would scare the devil himself. Not even the locals frequented the place. It was the kind of awful that the city changed boundary lines just so it would share an address with the next town over.
His unease only grew at the sight of the rough and worn, beat to hell, redneck pickup trucks and rows of motorcycles that reflected the crowd of rough and tumble types who were inside. The kind of people who think laws and basic manners were nothing more than suggestions.
If Trista was in there, they weren’t getting out easily. A girl like her in a place like that was a ticking timebomb for ruckus. Especially since alcohol was involved. They both just might be in over their heads on this one. As much as Owen wanted to find her, he prayed she wasn’t inside.
No such luck. The minute he walked in, his eyes landed on Trista. She was the only girl dressed for the gym with her breasts tucked away in a sea of more skin than he cared to see, fishnet stockings, and the kind of heels that say, I charge by the hour. Despite her modest attire, she was surrounded by leather-clad, steel toe boot-wearing wannabe bad boys with hair longer than hers.
Lined up in front of her was a row of empty shot glasses and even a beer Trista was sipping with her pinkies out. That explained the volume in which she was speaking. Apparently, she was having trouble hearing herself over the sound of her own voice, the booze and a basket of half-eaten burger remnants with fries sitting in front of her. Only a vegan when she’s sober, it seemed.
Owen sat back at a corner table and just watched her. Trista was coping alright – this was her at rock bottom, taking shots with bikers and thugs. The pain was numb now, no doubt from the empty tequila bottle sitting next to her. But after the hangover, it would all be back. And he would be there to help her pick up the pieces.