by Joanna Wylde
Maybe Brandon was right.
Maybe I should go home to Seattle, where people weren’t crazy and I had a real kitchen instead of this cramped little pocket of space. None of the chocolate would be salvageable, not after hitting the floor. I’d have to call my clients, let them know there was a delay. I’d always been reliable—hopefully I wouldn’t lose too much business long term. I felt a curl of anger deep inside and decided to focus on it. Anger was strong, and I could use a little strength right now, because seriously . . . what a fucking bitch!
Forcing myself up, I took a deep breath and considered my options. I could call the cops, of course—that’s what people did in Seattle. But this was Hallies Falls, where the Nighthawk Raiders made their own rules and the cops looked the other way. Everyone joked that they were on the club’s payroll, but it wasn’t a funny kind of joke.
We all knew it was true.
And it wasn’t like I had any evidence that Talia had threatened me, either. Sure, there was chocolate all over the floor, but the only thing that proved was that I was clumsy. At most I’d get a restraining order, and we all know how great paper is in a knife fight.
Carrie. I’d call Carrie.
Reaching for my purse, I dug around for my phone. My fingers landed on the small can of pepper spray I kept in there for self defense. A grim smile twisted my face. Dad had always laughed at it, telling me I’d be just as likely to spray myself as an attacker, but he was wrong—I’d never had a chance to spray it at all. Finding the phone, I dialed Carrie’s number.
“What’s up?” she asked brightly.
“Think you could take an early lunch?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Something just happened, and I could really use some company.”
“Are you all right? You don’t sound all right. What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut for a minute. You will not cry. There’s no crying in gourmet chocolate. “Just come over as soon as you can, okay?”
• • •
“I’m going to kill her,” Carrie fumed. I’d shut down the store for the day, putting out the “Closed” sign before retreating back into the kitchen to wait. I hadn’t wanted to be out in the main shop where people could see me, so instead I put on some water for tea and started cleaning up the giant-ass mess Talia had left behind her. The damage was pretty bad—not only was the candy on the trays toast, but most of the boxes I’d already packaged had gone spilling across the floor, too.
When Carrie arrived, it’d taken all my force of will to walk back through the main shop and open the door.
“I just want to keep it quiet,” I told her, pulling a stool up to the worktable.
“No fucking way.”
“Hear me out,” I insisted, holding up a hand. “Talia Jackson is insane and she hates me. What do you think will happen if we call the cops? They’ll take a report and maybe give me a temporary restraining order, which will be worth exactly jack shit when she decides to murder me in my sleep. Oh, and that’s assuming they aren’t on her brother’s payroll. You know how things work around here.”
Carrie bit her lip, and I could see she wanted to argue with me, but I was right and we both knew it. The Nighthawk Raiders owned this town. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be the test case for how far their influence reached.
“Then we’ll tell Darren,” she said finally, determined. “He’ll protect you.”
I shook my head. “Bad idea. He’ll go all Iron Man on her ass, and then her brother and those bikers will come after him and suddenly you’ll be a widow and your kids will be orphans and . . .”
My breath caught as I felt tears starting to well. No. No crying, I reminded myself.
“Calm down,” Carrie said quickly. “You raise a good point about Darren—we shouldn’t tell him, because he will lose his shit and I can’t afford to have him murdered until after the girls graduate college. But where does that leave us in terms of options?”
“I’m going to do what she says,” I told her flatly. “Not because what she did was okay. It wasn’t. And not because I’m scared of her, although I totally am. I’m doing it because she’s right, Carrie. What happened last night between me and Cooper was wrong and a huge mistake.”
“I know,” she said steadily. “But he started it, not you.”
“And I could’ve ended it if I wanted to,” I replied, meeting her eyes. “But I didn’t. In that moment I didn’t care about anyone but myself. I acted like Brandon, and I’m better than that.”
“You did not act like Brandon,” she said, her voice firm. “You can regret last night all you want, and I definitely think it was a mistake . . . But you have a long way to go before you’re on Brandon’s level. Stop beating yourself up and start focusing on how we’re going to fix things.”
“Maybe I should just move back to Seattle,” I said quietly.
“No.”
“Not back with Brandon,” I insisted. “But this town . . . You’ve always loved this place, Carrie, but I never saw myself in Hallies Falls. You know that. The only reason I’m here is my dad.”
“Okay, calm down,” she said. “You’re freaking out, which is fair. Talia is scary as hell. But you can’t just up and move to Seattle because one crazy bitch threw a tantrum.”
“A crazy bitch with a machete.”
“Yeah, that part is troubling,” she admitted, and I snorted. “Geez, it’s hard to wrap my head around. And talk about bad luck, having her walk in like that. I mean, you’ve been a fucking saint since—”
“We agreed to never speak of it again,” I reminded her, holding up a hand.
She nodded her head, then cocked a brow at me.
“Still can’t believe you banged Jamie Braeburn. I was so proud of you, babe! Nothing like getting laid to help you forget a man. And Brandon—”
“Stop,” I said, flushing. “We’re not rehashing this, and I think we should put the discussion of Cooper on hold, too.”
“I agree. But sometimes I wonder . . . Why are all the hot guys crazy?”
“Darren is hot.”
“I rest my case. Don’t suppose you still want your salad after all that?”
“Maybe I’ll just put it in the fridge for later. My stomach is still queasy from the adrenaline. I need to get things cleaned up here, and then I’ve got to start making more caramels. The deliveries will be late, obviously, but I should be able to get most of this replaced by Wednesday morning if I put in long enough hours. I’ll drive it to Seattle that night, then start my deliveries on Thursday. If everything goes well, I can come back and work through the weekend to put out next week’s product.”
“You’re going to kill yourself doing all of that, especially since it’s all by hand,” Carrie said seriously. “It’s not realistic—it’s time to put in a real kitchen. Darren can help you with remodeling the basement in your house. You need to make this sustainable, and that can’t happen if you’re running a tea shop and hand-dipping every single one of those caramels.”
I looked at her, wishing she weren’t right. I’d managed to hold it together so far, but my back and shoulders ached every night from all the leaning and dipping. My enrobing machine could do it all in an hour or two, easy. It was all ready and waiting for me, back in the basement in Seattle. The tea shop kitchen wasn’t big enough to hold it.
“Maybe I should just move Dad to Seattle,” I said softly. “Get a property manager for the building and end this. I never planned to stay in Hallies Falls this long.”
Carrie reached across the table, squeezing my hand.
“I know things aren’t perfect here,” she said softly. “And I’m biased, because I want you to stay in town. But before you make a decision like that, really think about your dad. We can all see that he’s failing. Nobody knows how long he’ll last, but one thing we do know—he’s in a house that feels safe and right to him. He’s comfortable, he’s happy, and he has his routine. He may not always remember that your mom is gone, but he always remembers
where he is. He knows where to find a drink, he knows how to walk around the neighborhood. If you take that away from him, he’ll lose whatever quality of life he has left.”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut.
“I’m scared,” I admitted softly. Carrie nodded, her face determined.
“I know,” she said. “But we’re going to protect you. First thing, we shut down this shop for good, so you can work in peace without worrying about the crazy sneaking up on you again.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Carrie held up a hand, cutting me off. “Your mom loved this place, but it’s not a functional business. She never would’ve expected you to keep it open and you know it.”
She was right.
“So, that takes care of the shop,” she said. “Now we need to deal with the candy crisis. Should you try to make up for all that lost work here, or should you go to Seattle so you can use the heavy equipment? I hate to even suggest it, but I know you’ll get more done in your big kitchen there. Of course, you’ll also have to clean everything up first and make sure it’s running right. Not only that, you’ll have to deal with Brandon. Not that I care if it’s inconvenient for him. The fucker’s been dragging his feet on the divorce and selling the house, so he can suck it up and share with you for a couple days. The real question is whether you can tolerate him long enough to get the work done.”
I considered her suggestion, weighing the pros and cons as dispassionately as I could.
“I should go to Seattle,” I finally concluded. “With the equipment there I can replace the lost candy twice as fast. Gives some time for the situation with Talia to cool off, too. I’ll have to do something with Dad, though.”
“Take him with you.”
“What happened to keeping him in the home he loves?”
Carried rolled her eyes.
“You’re not supposed to stay there, dumbass. You go, you catch up on your work, and then you come back. Bring Randi, too—I’ll bet she’d love to get out of the house, and she can do all the packaging. She can also help keep an eye on your dad.”
“And the apartment building?”
“Darren will deal with it,” she said. “It’ll be good to get away from the whole Cooper/Talia situation. He may be hot as hell, but so far as I’m concerned, the man is pond scum. He’s got a girlfriend and he’s making moves on you, which means he’s dog shit in my book. I don’t care what the rules of their relationship are—he had no business dragging you into his mess.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I insisted. She raised her brows. “Okay, what he did was pretty shitty. But I shouldn’t have gone to his apartment, either. I’m adult enough to own my own mistakes, Carrie. It’s not like his relationship with Talia was a secret.”
She shrugged.
“Let’s agree to disagree. Now, what needs to happen to get your ass to Seattle?”
Looking around, I frowned at the kitchen. The cleanup alone would take hours.
“No, I’ll take care of the mess here,” she said, apparently reading my mind. “You just grab your supplies and pack some clothes.”
I sighed. “I’ll need to call Brandon.”
“Call and leave a message with his paralegal. Treat him like he treated you, and if it’s inconvenient, that’s just frosting.”
The look on her face was so gleeful that I had to smile.
“Tell me how you really feel.”
“Just respecting the no-bullshit clause in our friendship, Tink.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s what I love about you. Well, that and the way you’re always bringing me food and booze.”
“Priorities, babe. It’s all about the priorities.”
“Ah crap,” I muttered, realizing I had another problem.
“What?”
“There’s no way I can carry everything in the convertible,” I said, groaning. “What was I thinking, trading in my van for a Mustang?”
Carrie burst out laughing, and I glared at her.
“If I hear the words ‘midlife crisis’ I’m strangling you.”
“You were being impulsive for once in your life, which you deserve,” she replied. “Now, ask nicely and I’ll loan you my Suburban.”
“May I please borrow the great big giant SUV you drive because you’re short and compensating?”
“Yup. And I’ll even throw in a bottle of wine, just in case Brandon gets handsy. You can break it over a counter and cut him with it.”
“Oh, I like that idea. I like that idea a lot.”
GAGE
“Made a helluva mess,” I told Picnic. I sat on my couch, feet up on the coffee table, considering my options.
“Sounds like it.”
“You’re a ray of fuckin’ sunshine, aren’t you?”
Picnic laughed, and I could almost see the expression on his face through the phone. “I like to look on the bright side.”
“So let’s discuss the next step,” I said. “I managed to patch things up with Talia. Wasn’t easy or fun. Never thought I’d be saying this, but I’m really over the sex. I’m also worried she’ll do something crazy to Tinker. Bitch was unhinged.”
“You gotta stay the course,” he said. “We don’t have the information we need yet.”
“How much proof do you need?” I asked, feeling frustrated. “The Nighthawk Raiders are fucked, it’s obvious. Why can’t we just sweep in and take over? They’re a support club—not like they have any rights in the situation. We come in, we clean house. Problem solved.”
Picnic sighed. “You know it’s more complicated than that. It’s not just about them. Marsh is working with someone north of the border and we don’t know who. We step in now, we’ve only solved half the problem. His partners will find some other asshole to work with. We need more information so we can shut them down for real.”
“I need Tinker safe.”
He didn’t say anything for long seconds.
“How important is this woman to you?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I mean, I want to fuck her. Can’t stop thinking about it.”
“So you want to blow a major operation because you’re horny?”
I considered the question, then figured I might as well lay it all out for him.
“No,” I said. “I mean, yeah, I wanna fuck her. But it’s more than that. There’s something about her. I can’t quite explain it, but I’m thinkin’ about her a lot. Maybe . . . I dunno.”
“Never heard you talk like this. Surprises me.”
“You and me both.”
“Okay. Hang on as long as you can and keep us posted. You’re the one with eyes on the situation. If you need backup or something, let me know. We could also extract her. If you’re serious about her, I mean.”
I considered the suggestion.
“Think I might be.”
Picnic gave a short laugh. “This should be entertaining.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“I’d rather fuck London,” he said. “Hang in there, okay? We’ve got your back. And remember, pulling her out is still an option if you think she’s in real danger. I’ll ride over and do it myself. It’ll scare the shit out of her, though, so let’s not pull the trigger on that unless we’re out of options.”
“Sounds good,” I told him. Then I thought of something. “Pic, can you do me a favor?”
“Possibly.”
“You ever hear of a prosecutor named Brandon Graham? He’s the director of the King County criminal division.”
“Sounds familiar,” he said. “I can ask around, see if we’ve got any intel. Why?”
“Well, technically he’s married to Tinker Garrett.”
Picnic burst out laughing. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. You can’t keep it simple, can you?”
“Just tell me what you find out,” I replied, wishing he were here in person so I could flip him off. “I gotta get to work. Should probably make sure Tinker’s okay this morning, too. That’ll be a fun conversation.”
Picnic snorted, and I hung up on his ass. Then I stood slowly, running a hand through my hair. I’d well and truly fucked things up, no question. Still, remembering the feel of her mouth under mine I couldn’t quite regret it.
Damn.
Peaches.
• • •
I spent the morning working on the roof, keeping an eye out for Tinker. We needed to talk. I could’ve gone down to her shop, of course, but that felt too much like an ambush—no point in making things worse.
A gray Suburban pulled up around two in the afternoon, and I watched from above as she jumped out and went into the house. Where was the Mustang? Climbing down, I brushed off my brown Carhartts and walked over to the door, ringing the bell. Her dad answered.
“Is Tinker around?” I asked.
“Yes, but she’s busy,” he said. His eyes were alert today, not confused. “Guess we’re going to Seattle for a couple days. She says she needs to use the fancy kitchen there, but I don’t like it.”
He leaned toward me, his voice low. “I think she’s really going so she can see her husband. I just hope she’s not planning on getting back together with the asshole. Never liked him.”
Fair enough. I didn’t like the fucker much, either.
“Look, I really need to talk to her,” I said. “It’s important. About the building. It’ll only take a few minutes—think you can let me in?”
He studied me, then nodded his head. “See if you can talk her out of it.”
Stepping back, he made room for me to follow him into the living room, then disappeared into the back of the house to find his daughter. I studied the place while I waited. It was pretty, in an old-fashioned kind of way. Lots of dark trim and furniture with wooden legs. Lamps with beaded shades. Polished hardwood floors. Made me think of the tea shop, like something out of a different time.
Tinker was like that in a way, too, with her retro hair and pinup girl outfits.
“Dad says there’s something wrong?” Tinker asked, her voice abrupt. I looked up to find her standing in the archway between the living and dining rooms, arms crossed over her chest. Her face was tight with strain. You really fucked it up this time, asshole.