by Addison Fox
She’d hired the investigator under the solemn expectation of absolute discretion and privacy. Hell, the word private investigator was on his card. Yet now she had the police calling her from Brooklyn.
Grubby people with their squalid little lives. Over the bridge, living and working day in and day out surrounded by the rest of the rats scurrying to make a living. She’d lived in New York her entire life. Had seen the changes—the swings, really—from the boom times to the busts and back again.
And she’d lived blessedly above it all.
That didn’t mean she was ignorant to what went on. Or to the social climbers who wanted better lives than they had.
She’d handpicked Kincade. He was a good man—or so she’d believed. Malleable, amiable, and fundamentally able to travel her circles as a partner. The dalliances she’d expected. No one in her acquaintance had fidelity as a basis for their marriage, and she hadn’t gone into hers with any anticipation she’d be different.
But the day he’d come home and told her he was in love with the conniving, ladder-climbing Louisa Mills, she’d come unglued.
She’d set her connections well, and it had been the work of a phone call to get a full employment file on Louisa Mills. And as she’d flipped page by page through the dossier, she’d grown angrier and angrier.
With a lower-middle-class upbringing and a city college degree, Louisa Mills had somehow found her way into the hallowed halls of Reynolds Investments. The shortsightedness of Gretchen’s father-in-law, no doubt. The old man loved a pretty young face and a long pair of legs. Damn twat was probably smart enough to use them, too.
“Mother!” The urgent summons penetrated her thoughts. “I’ve been calling you.” Harlow breezed in, her tennis attire already in place for their early morning match. A long braid flowed down her back, all her auburn locks neatly wrapped up in preparation for their game. “I thought you were going with me this morning. You’re not dressed. Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine. Just finishing up a few things.”
“What few things? Come on. We have a game.”
“Melly Bitterman and her daughter will wait for us.”
Harlow’s eyes, so like Kincade’s narrowed as she crossed through the peacock-blue sitting area. “What’s the matter with you? You know I hate tennis with the Bittermans.”
“I thought you liked Sandra?”
“I did like Sandra. But since she becomes a bitter woman every June wedding season since we passed the age of twenty-two, I’ve changed my mind.”
Unwilling to share the real details of why she wasn’t ready, Gretchen leaped on the wedding comment. “You’d think you would follow suit. At least Sandra is trying to find a husband.”
Harlow stared at the ceiling, also a gesture she’d inherited from her father. “I can’t believe I passed up a weekend at the Glen in deference to keeping up the friendship with Melly and keeping you company.”
“You know how I feel about that horrid sport.”
“And you know how I feel about it, too. So hop to it or call Melly to cancel. Either way, I’m not sitting around.”
“Fine. Let me call Melly and push us back by a half hour.” Gretchen reached for her phone, her hand brushing the papers on her desk. She scrambled for them, but Harlow beat her to the small stack on the floor.
“Private investigator? Detective Rossi? Mother, what is this?”
“From steak to beer. I gotta hand it to you, McGee. You know how to entertain a woman.” Daphne glanced down over the suit she wore, the thick rubber material like a space suit. It wasn’t how she’d expected to spend her Saturday night, but now that she was here she couldn’t be happier.
“I do think I’m breaking one of Cosmo’s ten sacred rules, though, by wearing this ever-so-attractive suit on a second date.”
His answer was deadpan straight as he zipped up his own yellow monstrosity. “I thought it was our third.”
“You really are counting the hot dogs?”
“You claimed it was a date the moment I whipped out my wallet.”
“So I did.” She gauged the moment—and the relatively few people milling around—and went for broke. “Which also means you’ve passed the third-date barrier. Sex is now officially on the table.”
“I wasn’t aware it was off.”
He leaned in, that big body moving close to hers, and Daphne had to admit to herself that sex had never been off the table. Not from the very first moment. His lips brushed her ear and an eruption of shivers ran the length of her spine and straight back up in the span of a breath.
“I won’t attempt to excuse my caveman genes and tell you sex has been on the table for me since about twenty years before we met. Sex is always on the table. But I will say, in the hierarchy of hopefulness and seeming sure things, bringing you to an event hosted by my future sister-in-law does smack of a degree of confidence about future carnal activities.”
In that moment, whether it was the silly words, or the sexy undertones, or the fact that he still looked at her like she was a piece of cheesecake despite the tubby suit, Daphne fell just a little bit more for Landon McGee.
She also knew the banter had just moved way past her abilities.
Detective, 0. Sexy computer geek, 1.
His head bent toward hers, their lips close enough to touch, Daphne wanted so much more than to simply kiss him. She wanted to forget the date and the room and all that still stood between them and just wrap herself up inside of this man.
It felt right. Real. And completely wonderful, no matter how many ways she ran it through her mind or told herself she should walk away.
He was a good man. And while he may have a dismal past, he’d used that to shape himself into a fine person with a good life. She’d worked in law enforcement long enough to know how few were able to do the same.
It was yet another facet drawing her to him and making her want to know more. Understand more. Share more. Even as it was the very same facet that made what she did—delving into a past he’d worked so hard to overcome—intrusive. He ran a finger over the back of her hand before he stepped back. Could he read her thoughts? There were moments she felt as transparent as glass, and others where it seemed she’d closed off a part of herself to keep her professional side at bay.
Granted the reprieve, she quieted the mental clamor of questions and gathered herself instead. She and Landon were here to have a good time. It was high time she left the angst and the questions outside.
A glance around the space gave Daphne a sense of the historic building that housed the Unity Brewery. Old pictures and paintings covered the walls, a showcase of Brooklyn’s history and the brewery that had been in the middle of it all. They’d already passed through the bottling room and a viewing area that overlooked large copper holding tanks. Now they were in a dressing area, zipped into suits required for spending time with the beer.
The suit was horrifically unattractive—the very epitome of large, bulky, and unsexy—but there was something funny about it, too. If Landon could look at her in this and still consider kissing her, perhaps the two of them had a shot. Tubby suits and beer tasting were a far cry from the way she’d spent her day, and a bit of funny would go a long way toward washing away the muck.
Her partner’s vacation hadn’t reduced the workload—or the two new cases she’d caught on Friday—and she’d spent her afternoon making calls and updating a few of her reports in an effort to get ahead of the Fourth of July holiday week. The end of her week had produced another break-in and an identity theft that had possible links to a larger case she’d been working the past few months. All in all a crummy way to spend a summer Saturday afternoon, but all the more reason to shake the day off and focus on having a good time.
“Landon!” The excitement echoed across the room as an attractive blonde made her way over, a suit half-zipped at her waist. When Daphne saw Nick Kelley in tow, she knew this was Landon’s future sister-in-law, Emma Vandenburg.
After a
round of hugs and introductions, Emma pulled Daphne aside. “I’m so glad you’re here. Nick mentioned he met you the other night, and we both know your brother Cade. He really helped out a few weeks ago when Nick was having issues with a patron.”
“Cade mentioned it around the time he filed the case. Have you had any problems since?”
“None.” Emma’s excitement faded. “The guy had some serious issues, though. Do you know if Cade managed to get him into rehab?”
Daphne debated the answer, well aware the truth painted a glum picture on an evening meant for fun and revelry. A sad truism of her job. “Not yet.”
Before she could follow the change in mood, Emma reached out and pulled her close for a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Landon said you’re revamping your brewery tours. Are we one of your first guests?”
“Guinea pigs is more like it,” Emma said with an easy laugh, “but I promise it will be fun.”
“I was pretty much in when Landon mentioned free beer.”
“Our saving grace.” Emma gestured to the room, increasingly filling with people. “All part of the revitalization of the Unity. Nick and I went to battle over ownership and once we realized we could both own it quite successfully together, we put our stubborn egos toward fixing the place up and making something of it.”
“People love to see behind the scenes.”
“Exactly.” Emma busied herself with dragging the rest of her suit up. “We’ve always had a basic tour, but people want real experiences. We’ll get our hands in the wort and play with some hops and we’ll also do a bit of blending at the end.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“And then there’s that free beer you mentioned. It pretty much guarantees everyone’s happy, even the ones who don’t want to play in a bunch of fermented yeast.”
Daphne took in the excited faces of everyone assembled, along with the steadily rising volume of conversation, and realized Emma and Nick were on to something. “You’ve really got something here. From dates to bachelor parties to girls’ nights out. Everyone looks ready to have a good time.”
Satisfaction framed Emma, and Daphne couldn’t quite hold back the small shot of envy, which bothered her—especially since Emma had been nothing but warm and kind since she came over. But it was there all the same. The woman had her life figured out. She was immersed in something she clearly loved with a man she wanted to be with.
She had a future. A path, a direction, and a heap of goals.
And no secrets.
But damn it, it wasn’t a secret if it was part of her job. She’d been honest and upfront about that with Landon from the get-go.
So why did “doing her job” feel like a betrayal of his trust?
It only added to the ominous swirl that seemed to hover when she thought about her own future. The terrorism task force she angled for was a huge honor, but being a part of it would also carry necessary secrets. She’d have access to information few were ever allowed to know.
How did you reconcile that with a lover? With a family? With friends?
She’d asked herself the same questions for the past few months, ever since the announcement of openings on the task force, and was no closer to an answer.
But it was puzzling to realize the questions had only intensified since she’d met Landon McGee.
Eight
“To a successful tour.” Landon raised his glass and couldn’t quell his pride or excitement for Nick and Emma. They’d worked hard to overcome their adversarial positions and now had a strong business with an even stronger future between them.
They also had each other.
He and Daphne stood on one side of a high-top table near the bar in the tasting room, Nick and Emma balanced them on the other side, flushed with smiles. They had been besieged with good wishes and requests to come back since the tour had ended a half hour ago.
“I think you’re on to something here.” Landon said.
“The blending at the end was inspired, and so much fun,” Daphne added. “I had no idea I could make beer taste so bad. I have four brothers who’d argue there was no such thing, but I believe I have successfully proved them all wrong.”
“Four brothers?” Nick’s full gaze bounced squarely in Landon’s direction before tripping back to Emma. “You must have a lot of protection.”
“Overprotection, more like. But I’ve spent nearly three decades figuring out how to get around it.” Daphne smiled. “Or under it. Or above it. Or, I’m not entirely ashamed to admit, on the rare occasions when needs must, lying to it.”
The comment was innocent and the product of years of sibling exasperation, but something in her statement stuck. Or struck, more like.
When needs must.
Daphne had been honest with him—that had been his experience from the start—but something about the admission stuck in his craw. Would she lie?
Honesty was a trait he valued above nearly everything else. He’d learned the lesson young that he’d rather know the truth and work from there than be shut out or shut down. Hell, his recent issues with his mother were steeped in that feeling of betrayal that came from not knowing.
Even if it wasn’t your business to know?
He’d struggled with that simple reality, even as a large part of him knew his mother was entitled to her privacy. She hadn’t lied on the subject of her past, and while he knew many felt omission was a lie, in this case she wasn’t even a part of his life at the time the events had happened.
Did he have a right to know? Or now, in the knowing, have an opinion?
Shake it off, McGee.
Between a simple joke from Daphne and the lingering issues with his mother, he was a barrel of laughs. Shaking it all off, he refocused on the conversation. He didn’t miss Nick’s sideways glance, but his brother remained silent.
“Well I, for one, won’t need to lie or stare cluelessly at brunch tomorrow.” Emma reached for Nick’s hand. “This evening, I officially won the Cherry Street free-for-all.”
“What’s that?” Daphne asked before Landon could step in and explain the weekly Sunday meal at his mother’s. Some weeks it was brunch, others lunch or dinner, depending on the sports schedule and what her band of misfits had on their weekend agendas.
He hadn’t invited Daphne yet—had been debating if it was time to go there and introduce her to the nosiest clan in Park Heights—and now Emma’s innocent comment would seal the deal.
“Please excuse me if I gloat, but I met you before Landon’s mother or Mrs. W., their boarder. It will make both of them crazy and give me an edge on the gossip train, which I never, ever have.”
Where he might have expected anger or annoyance or even a question about the event, Landon saw none. Instead, Daphne lifted her glass, her smile still shining bright. “You gave me gloating rights against my brothers. You’ve got brunch bragging rights. Glad I could help.”
Daphne’s quick wink in his direction was all he needed to see she was not only okay with the lack of an invite, but well aware of the weight one would carry.
“Refills?” Nick gestured toward the table of empty glasses. When everyone nodded and called out their preferred favorite, Landon helped him carry the empties to the bar.
“Didn’t take the two of them long.” Nick’s voice was quiet, in deference to the few others still milling around.
“I believe the words you’re looking for are thick as thieves,” Landon added.
Landon had watched Daphne and Emma’s relationship progress through the evening. Both were congenial and friendly, but their comments had grown quieter and their knowing smiles broader as the tour had gone on. He liked Emma. Loved her, even. But how the hell had the woman managed to step in and steal his date for the evening?
“Sorry for the brunch comments. I love that Em’s excited, but that’s a loaded invitation. Double-barreled, if you count Mom and Mrs. W. And trust me, as a recent recipient of the brunch guard’s undivided attention, I know
what I’m talking about.”
“It’s okay. I was already thinking of inviting Daphne.”
“You still going to?”
“If she’s up for it.” And if it doesn’t come off like an afterthought, he added to himself.
Nick expertly pulled the taps for the various beers each of them wanted, his expression seemingly on the fresh glasses.
Landon knew better.
“A lot’s happened since Wednesday night bellied up to the bar in my premiere establishment.”
“So we’ve gone out a few times this week. It’s not exactly a hardship to enjoy the company of a beautiful woman.”
Nick’s gaze immediately drifted to his fiancée. “That it’s not.”
Since there were beautiful women, both at their table and scattered throughout the tap room, Landon asked the obvious question. “Where’s Fender tonight?”
“He went up to Watkins Glen for the weekend. Got drafted into helping with the race.”
His brother’s love of cars bordered on obsession, and the summer race season just gave him an even greater excuse than usual to indulge. His auto-body shop was a success, and Fender loved what he did, but to him, as he’d told them a million times, there was no sound on earth like the purr of a race car.
The fact that Landon had missed out on Fender’s plans indicated just how far he’d drifted from his family over the past month. He texted his brothers pretty much all day every day when he wasn’t on deadline. Even when he was, he still managed a pretty steady stream of messages, jokes, and generally ornery insults that made up the majority of his brotherly communication.
“I’ve been out of touch.”
Nick placed the beers on the counter, that low voice once again finding its mark. “And now you’re back. It’s all good.”
Landon swept the beers into his hands and headed back to the table while Nick finished off some refills for other guests. Landon knew his brother, and if Nick said things were all good, he meant it. He always had.
Emma eyed the beers in his hand and reached out to help. “Did Nick pour the pale ale?”