by Fiona Archer
How could she have not seen what so many others had since confirmed? Shame flattened her spirits, making her gut twist. “I was a fool.”
Suzie reached across to squeeze her hand. “No, you were loving and kind and trying to make a go of something that was a slow-growing disaster.” With one last squeeze, Suzie let go. “Enough about the past. Alex and Kane kick that twerp so far out of comparison, he’s not worthy of further discussion.”
The woman had a point.
And she wasn’t finished. “So where to from here? Have you said the words, or are you all sidestepping them like teenagers with their first serious crush?”
Olivia waited for Mandy to pass with a new customer before answering. “It’s not that I don’t want to say them, it’s finding the right time.” She shrugged. “We’ve only been officially seeing each other for a couple of weeks, but I’ve been around them for over two months now. It’s like I’ve been on some long dance with them and suddenly I’ve gone from a slow waltz to a heart-pumping Zumba. I’m trying to catch my breath, and at the same time I can’t wait to take things faster.”
“Yeah, that whole falling in love thing’s a real killer.”
Laughter bubbled from Olivia in a happy burst. “True, but what a way to go.”
“My advice? Don’t wait too long. Life’s short, and you three have been given a chance to make something special happen. Grab that opportunity.”
What was she waiting for? For one of the guys to go first with their declaration? This was her time to be brave. She felt lighter, wanted to find her men as soon as possible and tell them how much she loved them.
A bolt of excitement—no, scratch that, make it determination—seized her. She wanted to do it now, right now.
Olivia twisted in her seat and grabbed the strap of her handbag resting on the back of her chair. “Mind if I act on that advice immediately? I know we talked last night on the phone about the kids, and we’ve still got heaps to cover, but—”
“Go.” Suzie didn’t hesitate, waving her hand as if shooing her out the diner’s door.
Seriously, she had the best friend in the whole world.
“Love you bunches, girl.” Dropping a kiss on her Suzie’s cheek, she signaled to Mandy, who rang up the charges. Once the bill was paid, Olivia thanked the girl, then rushed out the door, calling out good-byes to everyone as she went.
She hurried down Victoria Avenue, past the library, then turned the corner into the parking lot behind. Her mom’s old truck sat near the back of the lot between another pick-up and a dark van.
Digging into her bag, she pulled out the keys, inserting them into the door’s lock when she heard the van’s side door start to slide open beside her. “Won’t be a second.” She started to open the truck door.
“We’ve got plenty of time, Olivia,” a male voice said. A painful grip closed on her arm and yanked her toward the van.
“What?”
The man was tall, strong, wearing a dark T-shirt and baseball cap. And he had that tribal tattoo.
It was the man from the audience at the Community Day.
“Hey!” Hands grabbed her and pulled her onto the back seat as the van’s door slammed shut.
She whirled to her right. Then froze.
Richard Lawson’s urbane features wore a smug expression, forcing a shudder of alarm up her spine.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Olivia, lovely to see you again.” Lawson’s mildly bored tone gave no credence to her fury. He stretched his legs out in front of him, further blocking her in.
She glanced to her left. No door that side. The reality of her predicament sunk in, pooling like a heavy weight in her stomach.
“Take that look of fear off your face. We’re not driving off and taking you with us.” Lawson’s gaze flicked to the front, where the jerk who had grabbed her snorted at the apparent pitifulness of her conclusion.
“I’m here to entice your cooperation.” His mouth turned down. “In all honesty, whether you cooperate willingly or not, I’ll end up getting what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
“A copy of the MacKenzies’ bid documents for the Rubetta Island bridge.”
“What?” She scoffed. “I thought Tasha gave you all you needed.”
“Preliminary data at best. I want the final figures. The bid closes in five days.”
“You can’t be serious. Why the hell would I do that for you?” The man must be on drugs to have such delusions.
“You will because I’ve studied you, Olivia. I’ve picked apart everything about you, including your previous marriage and your family and their past.” Lawson’s smile didn’t reach his blue eyes, leaving them chillingly empty. “And I found the perfect motivation for you to do whatever I say.” He reached down beside him, pulling out a manila folder from a leather satchel. “Take a look at this.” He held out a photograph.
She glanced down, unwilling to touch it. “A knife? Nice picture. Now let me out of here.”
“Look at it again, Olivia. See that stain?”
His body blocked the door. She wasn’t getting past him until he was ready to let her go. Humor him. Again, she glanced at the photo, noted the stain. “Is that blood?”
“Yes, from a fatal stab wound inflicted on one Eugene Hicks.” He said nothing further, forcing her to look up. The soulless pleasure in his eyes had her fingernails digging into her thigh. “By your mother.”
Olivia’s mouth fell open. “Are you crazy?”
“Far from it, Olivia, but I understand your need for further evidence. How about a signed statement from your mother’s cousin, Ella-Mae Dunkley, that your mom dragged Ella-Mae into her scheme to hide her actions?” He passed over another sheet of paper, showing a typed statement with a signature at the bottom. “After getting a phone call from Maggie, Ella-Mae drove to some house in the middle of bumfuck a hundred miles away, where your mom was living with Eugene. She brought her home and gave her bus fare to get her ass far away.”
Olivia sat there staring at the neatly typed words on the paper. Maggie ran out of the house as soon as I drove up. She had the knife with her.
She was too stunned to move as Lawson continued.
“Ella-Mae is a woman after my own heart.” The bastard had the gall to chuckle. “She kept the knife, wondering if it would ever bring her good fortune.” His gaze bored into Olivia. “It finally did. For ten grand she handed over everything. Your mother’s fingerprints are on the knife, Olivia.”
She blinked, hearing the words but refusing to let them register. “You’re lying.”
“Let’s take it to the police and find out.”
Her chest got tight. She couldn’t breathe. The van’s interior seemed to be pushing in at her from all sides.
He dropped both pieces of paper onto her lap. She held them by the edges with the tips of her fingers, as if touching them tainted her skin.
Lawson nodded to the papers. “Show your mother. See what she has to say. I’m betting it won’t be one of your most comfortable mother and daughter chats.”
Ask her mother? How could she? But if she didn’t, how could she disprove Lawson’s claims?
“You have seventy-two hours. Keep your phone handy. We’ll be in touch regarding a transfer of information. You give me the bid documents, then I’ll give you the knife.”
“I, I can’t.” She shook her head. “You can’t—”
He pushed a finger against her lips. She recoiled, as if he’d burned her.
“Shhh, don’t embarrass yourself with unseemly begging.” His gaze slid over her. She felt it through her blouse and jeans, a vileness that stained her skin. “You have access to what I want. Get it for me or your mother gets twenty-five to life.”
The van’s side door slid back with a loud metallic slice in the air, much like the blade of a guillotine falling in its frame.
And it was her mother’s neck on the block.
She half stumbled out of the van seconds befor
e the door slid closed.
All she could do was stand there, clutching the two pieces of paper in her hand, and watch as the vehicle drove out of the parking lot.
Olivia’s hands shook as she steered the truck home. Lawson could be just carrying out one enormous sting on her, but he had told her to talk to her mom. If it was all a simple con, he wouldn’t have taken such a risk, would he?
Grateful that her mom was at work and she had privacy, she yanked up the hand brake, grabbed her bag and the papers, and then dashed inside the family home she had always regarded as a safe haven.
Its usual comforting smells of baked goods and cut flowers from her mom’s garden now served only as a reminder of what was at stake. She dashed to her room.
Throwing her bag on her bed, she sat down at her desk, and then opened her laptop. She stared at the screen. What now? Details. She needed as many facts as possible. The statement. Snatching up the piece of paper, she scanned Ella-Mae’s dry recounting of events. She grabbed a notebook and pen, and jotted down points. Eugene Hicks. Arch Bend, Colorado. July 10th, 1984. Once at the end of the statement, she ran her finger down the half a dozen points. At least now she had something to go on.
She typed Eugene Hicks into Google. Her finger hovered over the enter key. It wouldn’t be real until she hit enter. As if the act of even searching legitimized Lawson’s accusations. What was she hoping for? No matches? Lawson’s words played in her head. Seventy-two hours.
She hit Enter.
Her gaze sped past the paid posts at the top to the first entry and followed down, discounting each entry as she went. Social media profiles, something about a family gathering held in Mississippi. Maybe Ella-Mae was full of shit, maybe—
Eugene Hicks. Arch Bend. The search engine’s blue lettering seemed way too large. Mocking her.
Her hand shook over the mouse. Perspiration dampened the back of her shirt. With a steadying breath, she tapped her finger.
The homepage, with its sepia photographs and western-style fonts, was called Arch Bend, Then and Now and looked like a site dedicated to recording the town’s history. It took a while searching through the site, her impatience increasing, before she saw Eugene’s name. His murder, committed in July of 1984 remained unsolved. A photo was loading underneath, the picture taking an age to display a few millimeters at a time.
She rubbed her arms, so cold on this summer’s day.
Glancing to her right, she gazed out into the backyard past her bedroom window, with its pink-eyelet patterned curtains she had helped her mom sew when she was twelve. But her thoughts weren’t on the neat beds of vegetables and flower borders her mom tended so lovingly.
Lawson’s accusations all fit roughly with the date of the murder and location, but it couldn’t be true. This was her mom, the woman who cooked for the Women’s Progress Association, not some femme fatale that stabbed a man and kept it a secret for thirty-one years—as long as Olivia had been alive.
But what about her mom’s refusal to ever discuss what happened in her life from the period of her parents’ deaths to her mom meeting her dad in a diner?
What trauma or reason for avoidance had happened? There had to be an explanation.
If she could just disprove that her mom ever knew this Eugene guy, then Lawson’s claims would crumble into nothing.
She turned, deciding she’d e-mail the site’s owner for further information, when her gaze locked onto the screen.
The photo had finally loaded. A young man, mid-twenties, wearing a dark T-shirt and jeans, leaned back against a black truck. His features weren’t sharp in the poor quality Polaroid, but he had a cocky handsomeness that would appeal to some women.
And there, next to him with her arm around his waist, was a woman with titian-colored hair and a smile Olivia had counted on to chase away her nightmares as a child.
Her mom.
Olivia’s stomach pitched and rolled. She slapped a hand over her mouth. Blindly, she ran for the bathroom, just making it to the toilet before she lost her lunch.
Her sweaty hands slipped on the cool porcelain base as she hugged the toilet. She felt herself falling deep into an abyss of fear and doubt.
It was all starting to get real and not a little fucking scary.
Less than two hours ago she had been so happy, wanting nothing more than to find her guys and tell her of her love for them.
The rancid smell left in the bowl stung her nose. She lifted herself on shaky legs, flushed the toilet, then made it to the vanity. It took two goes before her chilled fingers found enough strength to turn the cold water tap hard enough for liquid to come out. Cupping her hands, she splashed water on her face. It ran down her jaw, then her throat to slink under the cotton of her shirt. She didn’t care. All she could do was stare back at her too-pale reflection as the awakening horror of what was before her took hold.
Her mother or her men. Either way, she faced betraying someone she loved.
Chapter Fourteen
Alex watched Olivia use her fork to spread her food around on her plate, but eat little. Earlier that evening before Quinn, Reagan, and Mike had arrived, he had seen her tight features and asked if she was okay.
Just a headache, she had reassured him, stepping away from him as if he’d been standing too close. But two hours later, the pain was still there and seemed to have worsened.
“Pork chops in apple cider and sage sauce with caramelized apples.” Reagan smacked her lips as she sat across the table from Olivia. “Honey, if the groans from my guys are anything to go by, I’m going to have to get that recipe.” Her face broke into a smile, as if encouraging Olivia to join in her good mood.
“Sure.” The muscles around Olivia’s eyes eased their tightness for a fraction, but it was obvious she wasn’t her usual warm, effusive self. Normally she’d be offering more of the melt-in-your-mouth biscuits she had baked, but Kane had taken over that duty.
Red’s nurturing instincts were still there in her cooking, but he didn’t like the way this headache was draining her of her energy. If she wasn’t better by tomorrow, he’d get her ass to the doctor in town, whether she wanted to go or not.
“Sweetness, you okay?” Kane, seated at the other end of the table and closer to Olivia, ran a hand up and down Olivia.
“Yeah, I, uh, just can’t kick this headache.” Olivia’s mouth pulled into a quick smile, then released, as if doing so hurt her further.
Mike, sitting beside Olivia, said gently, “A real killer, huh?”
All color drained from her face, and showed in such stark contrast to her black top.
“Red, what’s wrong?” Alex tried to keep the worry out of his voice, not wanting to stress her further.
“Nothing.” She reached for her glass of iced tea. “I guess the meds have unsettled my stomach.”
He nodded but as everyone went back to eating their food, he noted Quinn’s thoughtful expression.
As they finished off their dinner, everyone contributed to the conversation. Even Olivia joined in, though her comments were said in a quieter than usual voice. Alex started to unwind. Maybe the headache pills had finally started to kick in?
He was a Dom, used to commanding the situation. Subs weren’t supposed to feel pain unless it was punishment or the erotic kind that ended in squeals of pleasure. He was out of his element with no control.
“You guys must feel better knowing the person who broke into your home has been arrested.” Reagan served everyone her white chocolate and berry cheesecake—her contribution for the dinner. “I know it would make me sleep easier.”
“True.” Alex waited for the women to start eating before he lifted his fork from the table. “We have no clue who’s responsible for the pranks like the logs on the road. I’m betting it’s Wagner’s doing but we may never know. Kevin’s still refusing to name the second suspect for the break-in. There were two seen in the security video.” The smoothness of the white chocolate mixed with the tart of the berries was delicious.
Kane moved in his seat like a bur was under his ass. “All I’m saying is five minutes alone with him, and Quinn and I could get that answer.”
“Damn straight,” said the bald Texan.
Mike’s hard laugh sounded more like a growl. “And all Caleb is saying is ‘No.’”
“Do you think the second guy will come back?” Olivia’s gaze met Alex’s. “He wouldn’t be that stupid, would he?”
“I doubt it, considering Kevin broke in because he was pissed at me. The second guy was probably along only for support or cheap thrills.” Alex watched her relax, pleased she felt reassured. “Besides, our alarm code’s been changed. Kevin admitted he watched me type in the previous code when he helped bring up some boxes of gear from the Lodge.”
The last thing he wanted was for Red not to feel safe here at their retreat. He wanted her to think of this place as her sanctuary, a place for the three of them to be together, away from everyday stresses and demands.
“You’ve made a lovely cheesecake, Reagan.” Olivia’s compliment was delivered with genuine warmth in her voice. Alex saw Kane’s chest rise and fall with his sigh. He, like Alex, had been worried at the severity of Red’s headache.
“We four are lucky bastards to have our women be such fine cooks.” Mike patted his gut, which still looked battle-ready fit.
“Except for the added miles we have to run each day.” Quinn winked at his wife.
Reagan looked him up and down. “You don’t look too shabby, hon.” She turned her head to gaze at Mike. “You either.”
The former sniper’s deep laugh rang with the kind of open contentment that could make a man go to war to fight for his chance at something so precious.
Alex had that, too. And it felt like all the damn angels in heaven had finally smiled down on him and Kane and given them something to treasure. “It’s delicious, Reagan. Flynn’s told Kane and me all about your lemon brownies, but I doubt they could beat your cheesecake.”