She followed him, watched him slip back into his boots, then he was gone.
She dropped her head against the locked door and breathed deeply. She needed to call Kinsley and Peyton to get her head straight, but first, she had to figure out how to word all this exactly. I slept with Asher. Asher and I kinda did it. We totally had hot sex all night long!
With a deep sigh, she moved away from the door. There was no way that she told them and it wouldn’t have a huge impact. Even Remy couldn’t quite wrap her head around last night. She couldn’t even blame it on the booze. Her desire for Asher had never left; the booze simply made her heart shut up with all the warnings and red flags.
Needing the only thing that made her feel better, she hurried back into her bedroom, fell back in bed, and then promptly hid under the blanket. Salem meowed, then instantly joined her under the sheets, climbing onto her chest. “How do I always seem to make things messier?” she asked the cat.
Salem yawned as his answer.
She slowly stroked his head, half thinking she made life more complicated, and half thinking a good night of hot sex might be the best thing she ever did for herself.
Though her heart still remembered Damon, even if anger lived there too. Was it all lies? Every smile, every gentle kiss…was none of it true? She guessed if she looked back throughout their year together, Damon never kissed her like Asher kissed her last night. With heat and passion. Damon held her hand on long walks, said all the right things to make her feel special, but he never set her body on fire and made her laugh like Asher did. With Damon she felt safe and content. With Asher she felt alive.
She sighed as Salem began snoring, and now she contemplated if anything she felt for Damon was truly real. Could it be real if Damon wasn’t real? Or did she make herself believe everything was rainbows and sunshine so that she could move on from Asher and salvage some sort of happiness in her life?
Truth was, she didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure she ever would.
She stared up at the white sheet with the sunlight flickering outside and felt her body relax as she stroked Salem’s soft fur, when her mind traveled back to Damon and all the messiness going on there. His odd request yesterday came to mind again and what I’ve got something at your house and need you to do a favor for me meant. There had to be something there that he wanted. The only question was, what?
* * *
After a hot shower and a quick breakfast, Asher grabbed his car keys off the kitchen counter in his two-story redbrick childhood home. His mother had paid for this house with blood, tears, and hard work at a diner downtown after she got medically discharged from the military for mental health when he was young, and from the money left to her from her parents when they passed away. His father had never come back to Stoney Creek to claim any part of the house, though Asher knew he wouldn’t. His father was a drunk coward. The house remained unchanged. The cherrywood table still sat in the dining room. The dark green countertops and oak cabinets were still ugly. The only thing Asher changed was the furniture in the living room. Brown leather couches, with a big-screen television to watch the game, and he was good. The rest felt like home.
He locked the front door behind him, hopped into his black Chevy Camaro, and made the ten-minute drive to the police station. He parked next to Boone’s motorcycle and then hurried out. Fall was officially here, and he zipped up his black leather jacket, wearing his black beanie, fighting off a chill. He headed down Main Street in desperate need of another coffee. The one at home didn’t cut it today. And it was also his day to bring in coffees for the team.
Most of Main Street was original; the buildings, including the police station, had been there since the 1800s and had been restored to showcase the charm of the small-town village. The shop owners had done their best to modernize the town too, making their signs a bit flashy. There were a few coffee shops in town, but none better than Flaming Pie. Set in between a chocolate store and an art gallery, the shop was busy most times of the day.
Asher entered through the front door, finding the place stuffed full of customers. Some people settled into casual conversation. Others were working on their laptops, already well into their workday.
“Asher, buddy, what can I get ya?” Danny, the owners’ son, asked as Asher reached the front counter.
“The team’s usual,” he said, his gaze sweeping the glass display of every pie imaginable.
“Heard about Remy,” Danny said, drawing Asher’s focus back to him. He poured the first cup of coffee. “Shitty deal.”
Asher reached into his back pocket, taking out a ten-dollar bill from his wallet. “Very.” Danny had been in the same graduating class as Asher and the guys. He knew Remy well—the whole town did.
Danny added sugar to the coffee before putting on the lid. “Is she doing all right?”
Asher nodded. “She’s hanging in there.”
Danny finished up the next coffee. “That guy, Damon, or whatever his name was, he came in here all the time.” He added the coffee cups to a tray. “I never would have guessed he’d con anyone.”
“Which is what makes him so good at it,” Asher explained when Danny moved back to the register. “Criminals prey on nice people and act like they’re nice too.”
Danny frowned. “Sometimes I really hate human beings and wish there were more dogs in the world.”
“I can’t disagree with you there.” Asher laughed dryly and handed Danny the bill before grabbing the tray of coffees. “Thanks for these. See ya soon.”
“Later,” Danny said with a wave.
Asher strode through the coffee shop, catching two pretty twentysomething-year-olds making eyes at him. When he’d returned to Stoney Creek after leaving the FBI, he would have been all over that. Everything changed now. Remy getting back on her feet was all that mattered. And hopefully, finding his way back into her bed too. Last night remained on his mind. Every moan and every shudder she gave seemed imprinted on his brain. He could smell her, taste her. She was everywhere.
In quick time, Asher made it to the station. When he entered, he found a couple people in the waiting room. He waved to Doreen, their receptionist, and then headed into the back. The station’s halls were a pale dull blue. Cubicles were outside of Asher’s office, but most desks were empty now, with only a couple of the street cops working on their paperwork. The two jail cells were in the back of the station, which mainly housed those in need of sobering up before they were cut loose. Just like Damon was processed, then shipped off to the larger jail in Whitby Falls to be housed until his trial.
Asher passed the cubicles and headed into the command center, where all the investigatory cases were handled. Boone and Rhett were already there, sitting around the long rectangular meeting room table. When they were working a murder, the table was set aside, and the big white boards came out. Boone liked to pace while he thought. Rhett typically stood in front of the boards, staring at the photographic evidence. But today there was none of that; the last murder they solved had been when Peyton found a dead body in her lingerie shop. Asher was glad all that was behind them now, and that Boone and Peyton were planning their destination wedding for some time this winter. A vacation sounded damn good. Especially if that vacation included Remy in his bed. “Anything interesting happen last night?” Asher asked, placing the coffees on the table.
“Debbie Brown knocked out her husband’s tooth,” Rhett said, reaching for his coffee. “She’s still sleeping it off in the back.”
Debbie and Jon were regular troublemakers who drank too much, hated each other too much, and Asher was pretty sure that one day one of them was going to kill the other. “Nothing major, then?” He took his seat next to Boone, taking off the lid of his cup, revealing steam coming from the coffee.
“Nothing major,” Rhett confirmed. “The night was quiet.”
“Good.” Tourists typically caused the most trouble with their drunken adventures, especially when those adventures included the beach or rowdy nights
at either Kinsley’s bar or the nightclub, Merlots, farther down Main Street. Feeling better than he had felt in years, Asher took a long sip of his coffee, thinking of his own rowdy night, and assuming he needed three times the amount of caffeine to get through this day.
When he set his coffee down, Boone narrowed his eyes slightly.
“What?” Asher asked
Boone’s fingers rhythmically tapped against the table. “You either got laid or won the lottery.”
“Neither.” Asher snorted, having no intention of telling either of them about last night. His only thought was to protect Remy, and damn, that felt a whole lot better than the guilt that had been riding him for the past ten years.
Rhett cocked his head, regarding Asher intently. “It’s not the lottery. He’s got that stupid-ass grin.”
Asher stopped smiling, not even realizing he had been. Sex always increased his mood. Sex with Remy. Damn. He felt lit up.
“Was it that chick from the bar the other night?” Rhett asked.
“No,” Asher said, desperate to get the focus off him and onto their day. “What’s on the agenda for this morning?”
Boone’s body posture perked up. “It’s the new girl that works at the bakery?”
“Definitely not.” Asher sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. “Again. What’s the job today?”
Rhett crossed his arms. “I’ll figure it out, just give me some time.”
“Good for you.” Asher reached for his coffee again and took a long, deep sip, trying to think of a way out. The downside to his lifelong friends being detectives was that secrets were hard to come by. He finished his sip, then said bluntly, “Now can we move on?”
Boone stared a little harder for another minute, then blinked. “Yeah, all right.” He finally succumbed and grabbed a file off the table before tossing it at Asher. “The chief”—who also was Boone’s father, Hank Knight—“had us look deeper into Damon, aka Kyle Fanning.”
Asher’s back straightened like a stiff rod had been shoved down his spine. “And?”
“And nothing,” said Rhett, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms. “He appears to work alone. We found some connections between him and some pretty heavy hitters in underground crime in Portland, but from what I got from the local PD there, nothing about that case seems related to what’s going on here with Remy.”
Asher felt tension he hadn’t known was there leave him with a long exhale. “Good, then nothing more will come back on Remy?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Boone said.
Voices coming from the cubicles filtered into the room as Asher flipped through the file, spotting a photograph of Fanning. His fingers twitched to crumple that bastard’s face. “It’s too bad we don’t have him on anything more than fraud.”
Rhett coughed a little on his coffee and then laughed. “Looking for more time to add to his sentence?”
“He deserves that and worse,” Asher said, hearing the venom in his own voice. “Remy shouldn’t have to worry about this prick walking the streets ever again.”
Boone’s eyebrows shot up, then he exchanged a long look with Rhett, and Asher immediately regretted his words.
Rhett slammed a hand down on the table. “Remy? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Most days Asher thought so. He nodded. “Quite possibly.”
Both his friends stared at him for what felt like a lifetime with shock on their faces. Of course, Asher understood. A year ago, Remy barely talked to him. A week ago, she tolerated him. This was a big jump in a direction no one expected, most of all him.
Boone finally broke the silence. He slowly whistled and laced his hands behind his head. “That is a dangerous line you’re walking there.”
“Don’t I know it,” Asher said. Most times, he liked danger. With Remy, he knew the risks there.
“Was this her decision or yours?” Rhett asked.
Asher flipped another page, seeing the police report on Fanning’s first marriage. “Remy owns this show, I’m just along for the ride.” When heavy silence greeted him, Asher glanced up, finding frowns. “Got something to add?”
“You’re being far too blasé about this,” Boone said firmly. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that when you left her, Remy was destroyed. She’s an emotional mess right now and not thinking straight.”
Asher didn’t need the reminder. He had only ever seen Boone furious once. And that was when Boone showed up in Washington the day after Asher left, and he’d returned to Stoney Creek leaving Asher with a shiner. Boone loved Remy like a sister. “I’ve never forgotten what I’ve done to her,” Asher said firmly. “She wanted me last night, and I let her take what she wanted. I’m treading carefully.” Boone had only forgiven Asher when he explained why he left. To protect Remy from the dark shit swirling inside him. She would have been worse off had he stayed, and Asher refused to destroy a woman like his father destroyed his mother. Love was just all types of fucked up.
Rhett slowly shook his head. “This sounds like an explosion waiting to happen.”
Asher scoffed, “Only if I let it fall apart, and I won’t.”
Heavy silence filled the room again. Rhett and Boone both stared at Asher in a way he knew he deserved. They doubted him where it came to Remy. She wasn’t the only person Asher needed to prove himself to.
Boone finally said, “You’ve got your head on straight here?”
“I do.” Asher nodded firmly. No missteps. Not this time.
“Good, keep it that way,” he told Asher.
Asher slid his glance to Rhett. “Anything left to add?”
“Nope,” Rhett said with a quick smile. “This shit sounds complicated, and you both know that’s not my style.” No, Rhett liked his ladies to be of the one-night variety. When things got serious, Rhett ended it.
Not at all bothered that two men who cared very deeply for Remy called him out on his shit, Asher jabbed his finger on the file on the desk, curious about something he’d been wondering. “Do we know how Fanning found Remy in the first place?”
“Her grandmother,” Boone said.
Asher felt the cold shock roll over him. He leaned forward. “Explain.”
Boone grabbed the corner of the file, turning it back to him, and flipped through a dozen papers before finally handing Asher one. “Edward Matthews used to be Remy’s grandmother’s lawyer. Remember him? He had his practice in the main floor of his old house near the cliffs.”
“Yeah, I remember him,” Asher said, glancing over names that included Remy’s on the list. “Go on.”
“Those names there are Fanning’s victims,” Boone reported, flicking the page with his fingers. “The connection between the women was that all their grandparents’ last will and testaments were handled by this lawyer, who eventually moved to Portland about ten years back now. Fanning likely got his hands on this lawyer’s files.”
Asher stared down at Remy’s name, wishing he could scrub it off that list. He considered what he heard, reaching for his coffee again. He took a sip, letting the hazelnut flavor sit on his tongue. While Boone and Rhett had done the legwork, Asher would follow up on this report for the rest of the day, making sure every line was crossed and no detail was overlooked. He couldn’t risk that somehow Remy would find herself in more trouble. “So, from what you’ve seen so far, this all ends here with Fanning and Remy is safe.”
“Well, she’s safe from Fanning,” Rhett said with a smirk, leaning his chair back on two legs. “But from you? That’s another story altogether.”
Asher snorted and threw the coffee tray at him, sending Rhett falling backward with a loud laugh.
Chapter 7
Hours had gone by since Asher left this morning. Long hours. Excruciating hours. Remy paced her living room after tying together a piece of palo santo wood and a selenite crystal and placing it on her glass coffee table. The bundle was basically a spiritual punch that cleared away lingering negativity and safeguarded against bad vibes,
but the bundle did nothing to calm Remy down after she finally went looking for the thing that Damon had left at her house. Desperate to clear her head, she pulled out the big guns, and within minutes, smoke billowed up from a ceramic bowl, the burning amber infusing musk and floral into the air for wisdom. Salem had been watching her pace back and forth for the last half hour while he sat on the windowsill. Remy nibbled on the side of her nail, her heart racing and beating hard in her chest when finally, there was a knock at the door. Before she could even get there, the door whisked open and Kinsley strode in wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with WHISKEY BLUES written across her chest. Peyton wore a dark purple dress and black tights with a black cardigan. It occurred to Remy then that she’d been so worried to talk to them about what happened with Asher last night, and now, sex with Asher seemed miniscule in comparison to the reason she’d called them.
“Thank God you’re here.” Remy grasped their hands and pulled them inside quickly, having called them minutes ago after finally gathering her courage.
Kinsley rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, because the two seconds it took us to get here from downstairs was brutally long.”
Yes, Kinsley owned the bar next door. Yes, Peyton owned the lingerie shop. But that was precisely why Remy called them here. She needed wisdom since her spells were doing nothing to help her. “It was forever,” Remy drawled, hands plastered to the door behind her.
Peyton gave Kinsley a long look, then asked, “Has something happened?”
“Okay, first, did you close your shop for me?” Remy asked, suddenly feeling not only wildly on edge but also a hot burn of guilt. Kinsley managed her bar, sometimes worked the bar for fun. She could leave whenever she wanted. Peyton, on the other hand, couldn’t. “Do you need to get back soon?”
Peyton smiled and moved to lean on the back of the couch. “My new employee is doing great on her own. Coming here was a good excuse to give her some time by herself in the shop.” Peyton had worked the lingerie shop herself since she’d moved to town, but now she and Boone spent more time in bed than out of it. Remy figured a baby wouldn’t be too far off in their future once they got married. “Stop stalling. What’s going on?”
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