I'll Never Stop (Hamlet Book 4)

by Jessica Lynch

  “Or maybe you were butting your nose in on a private engagement. Go back to the station house, Nat. And hope I don’t find the time to buzz the sheriff about your behavior.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you, either.”

  “Warn me?”

  “Don’t tell me you forgot what happened the last time one of us took up with an outsider.” She let out a hollow laugh that didn’t fit. “Of everyone, I thought you’d be one of the last to forget. Or forgive.”

  Grace’s thoughts immediately turned to Maria’s confession, of the outsider male who tried to assault her only to end up a victim of the gulley. But that didn’t make sense. Maria made it clear that she was never interested in Mack Turner. What happened between them was all him and he paid the price for it. Plus, Sly was the one who supported Maria then. Rick wasn’t even a deputy yet when that happened.

  As she sat there, waiting for Rick to handle Natalie like he said he would, the whispers started up. In front of her, behind her, all around them. She heard one name, an almost reverent murmur.

  Caitlin.

  Rick visibly reacted. Whether it was the name or Natalie’s tone, Grace wasn’t sure, but his face went hard. He grabbed the edge of the table with his fingers. Only then did Grace realize that the table had been wobbling slightly due to the restless bouncing of his knee against the bottom.

  Pretending as if Natalie wasn’t there, she reached for a napkin. Some of her coffee had splashed on the table and she wiped it up before balling the soiled napkin up inside her hand.

  “That was uncalled for,” Rick said at last.

  “Why? Because you had a thing for the sheriff and then she died?”

  The whispers grew louder. Okay, then. The other guests in the coffeeshop definitely didn’t like that.

  Rick went ramrod straight in his seat. The bouncing stopped. “Caitlin was a friend of mine.”

  “Right.” Grace didn’t think Natalie could’ve sounded any more sarcastic if she tried. She turned just enough, jerking her pointed chin at Grace. “Like she’s your friend? Or like I’m your friend?”

  Grace stopped paying attention to the reactions of the locals to Natalie’s outburst, including Rick’s. She felt like she’d been slapped.

  She knew all about Rick’s friend. Caitlin De Angelis had been the Hamlet sheriff before Sly and, from what Maria told her, she had been the victim of an imagined love triangle.

  Poor Tessa, Grace remembered. Maria filled her in on all the gossip. Turned out she had lost her husband last year when one of the HSD deputies, a man called Mason Walsh, got it in his head that he was in love with the outsider woman.

  By the time he was arrested, he had murdered her husband and then, when Caitlin got too close to unveiling his crimes, he executed the sheriff.

  She also knew that, before Caitlin’s death, Rick had been making moves on her in his own, understated way. He’d carried a torch for the other woman for most of his teen years and then, when he got out of the Marines, he tried to start something. It never went anywhere and then, suddenly, she was killed.

  That didn’t upset Grace. They were both grown adults and it wasn’t as if she didn’t come with a ton of baggage of her own. So long as Rick cared for her now, it didn’t matter who came before her.

  What did upset Grace? The look of a jealous, scorned lover that Natalie wore. What was she implying? Unless she was imagining it, the young deputy was making it seem like she had something going on with Rick. And, okay, it wasn’t like they were exclusive or anything. This was their first afternoon out.

  But shouldn’t she have known about this?

  Before she could say anything, Rick answered her suspicions for her.

  “I don’t have to answer to you, or anyone here, but I know you’re all listening so hear this: this woman is not just my friend. Grace and I, we’re seeing each other, and you’ll just have to get used to it. Because, Deputy, you and I are not friends. We’re acquaintances at best when we’re off duty, and when we’re on, we are members of the same team. Because, if you were a friend of mine, you would’ve known better than to cause a scene like this in the coffeehouse.”

  The poor girl recoiled as if he’d reached out and hit her.

  Ouch.

  Even Grace felt the sting of his reprimand. She didn’t blame him, and she’d be lying if she said that it didn’t turn her on a bit with the way he stood up for, but still. She had to feel a little bad for Natalie.

  Well, at least until Natalie opened her mouth again.

  Glaring bitterly at Grace before sneering at Rick again, she spat out, “Remember that. When she drops you because she thinks she’s too good for this place, you remember that. Outsiders are nothing but trouble. You know she’s not worth it and you’re gonna try to screw her anyway? Wow, Ricky—”

  “My friends call me Ricky,” he interrupted. “I’ve earned respect in this town. I expect you to call me Deputy. If I’m in a good mood? I’ll even let you use Hart. Just don’t let me hear you saying that name again. Understand?”

  Natalie’s mouth dropped open. Fisting her hands at her side, she looked like she was about to argue, thought better of it, then spun around and stormed out of the coffeehouse.

  It was so silent, Grace thought she could’ve heard a pin drop. She was almost sure she could pick up on the drip-drip-drip of the percolators in the small kitchen. She definitely caught the rush of air through Rick’s nose as he breathed heavily. He kept his stare on the door as if daring Natalie to return and say something else.

  Finally, he turned back to Grace. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry about that, Grace.”

  Now that they were alone—now that she’d won—she figured she could afford to be a little magnanimous.

  Reaching out, Grace placed her hand on Rick’s. His fingers were curled in a tight fist, barely restrained anger causing the muscles in his forearm to flex.

  “Don’t be,” she murmured. “It’s obvious she had feelings for you.”

  “That I never returned,” he said firmly. “I didn’t lead her on. And if she had a problem? She should’ve taken it out on me. Just me. To go after you like that wasn’t fair.”

  A quirk of her lips. “We both know that nothing in life is fair.”

  Rick nodded his head, a silent concession to her point. With his free hand, he picked up his coffee mug, brought it halfway to his lips, then paused. He set it down. “Come home with me.”

  “What?”

  “I mean it. Come home with me. I can whip us up something for dinner. We don’t have to stay here.”

  Being magnanimous was one thing. With the rest of the diners still surreptitiously paying attention to the two of them, Grace wasn’t about to let some little girl get the satisfaction of her temper tantrum running her off.

  She shook her head. “It’s fine. She’s gone now.” And then she caught sight of the fury that still blazed in the depths of Rick’s dark eyes. Grace swiftly changed her mind. “You know what? Forget what I said. How can I pass up finding out if you know how to cook? I’m in. Let’s go.”

  She said it with a bit of a tease to her voice, an attempt to calm him. He reached out, laying his big hand over hers for a second just like she had done to him, then lifted it high so that he could get Addy’s attention.

  Like the rest of the crowd, she didn’t even pretend that she hadn’t seen the scene with Natalie and she threw Grace a sympathetic wince before talking to Rick.

  “What’s up?”

  “Put everything on my tab, would you? Tell Gus I’m sorry, but we’ve got to cancel our order. We’re gonna head on out.”

  Addy didn’t try to change his mind, either. “You got it, Rick.”

  “Come on, Tiger.” He climbed up and moved next to Grace. Offering her his hand, he helped ease her out of the booth. “Let’s go.”

  It was much more difficult to get intel on this Hamlet than Boone liked to admit. And it wasn’t because of law enforcement. The hodunk little town had a force of five,
and one of them did nothing but sit inside the station house on her ass all day. Plus, Pope reported that they had a Barbie on staff: tiny, small, with pale blonde hair and tits out to there. Boone wasn’t worried about any of them.

  No, it wasn’t the Hamlet Sheriff Department that nagged at him. It was the locals.

  They were way too fucking friendly.

  What happened to good old-fashioned city folk who turned their nose up whenever a stranger walked by? The kind of people who’d trample you when you were down, rather than give you a hand to help you stand? From what he heard from the other team, you couldn’t take a leak without three locals offering to hold your dick.

  It all started the afternoon that Mathers sent Pope and O’Dell in to check the small town out. Everyone was friendly. Helpful. They might have eyed them a little more cautiously—and they’d have good reason to—but that didn’t stop Pope from planting a couple of seeds, putting a couple of feelers out.

  Then there was the time O’Dell went back and got held up by some guy and his wife. They wanted to greet the outsider, maybe ask what he was doing in Hamlet. After he said he was thinking about moving there, the pair insisted on taking him on a tour throughout the entire damn town, interrogating him the whole time.

  O’Dell was a professional. He didn’t give up a single detail that would implicate their boss. But neither did he learn anything about Grace that they didn’t already know.

  It was Pope who hit the jackpot, finding out about the Hamlet Inn and then, when it was confirmed that Grace wasn’t there, Ophelia.

  So they knew where Grace was. Only problem was getting to her. The pair snuck in after dark one night, looking for some way to take the woman from the bed and breakfast. It was impossible. Even worse? They got stopped by Deputy Barbie on their way out and had to spin some story about being lost. She escorted them out of town herself, kindly allowing them to follow close behind her cruiser, before watching as they drove away.

  Since then, Boone changed the way they approached this mission. Outsiders stuck out like a sore thumb. Fact. If they got spotted again, how much longer before it got back to Grace?

  That’s when he came up with the idea of blending in. With Mathers’ approval, he arranged to pick up a golf cart that mimicked the one he saw putt-putting on the outskirts of town sometimes. A blue cap to cover Pope’s noticeable hair and a thick scarf to hide his face. Voilà. He had eyes and ears in town and none of the locals were any wiser.

  Pope was still wearing the ridiculous blue cap. He took it off, shaking out his hair, running his hands anxiously through the length before slapping his side with the lid of his cap.

  After what Pope just confessed to him, Boone understood the nerves.

  He was feeling a touch uneasy himself.

  “We’ve got to tell the boss about that.”

  Boone shook his head. “Are you stupid? You want to see him lose it?”

  Pope hesitated. No one ever wanted to see Mathers lose it. When in control, his employer was level-headed, ruthless, and cold. When he wasn’t, he was a powder keg primed to go off. One spark and Mathers would explode. Sometimes he shouted, but the worst times? He stayed eerily quiet.

  That’s when people died. And, in Boone’s experience, there was often collateral damage.

  Pope didn’t answer him.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Discovering Grace was involved with another man would break Mathers. He knew that. Pope knew it, too. There was no reason to tell him, not when it wouldn’t actually change anything. He would still gun for Grace with his compulsive certainty. But the poor bastard who thought he could slip in and take Thomas Mathers’ place? He’d pay for it.

  Collateral damage was right. And Boone had no doubt he’d have to take care of it.

  Mathers had the name, and he had the power. He never got his hands dirty unless he had to. Boone preferred it that way. It was much easier to clean up messes when he didn’t leave any in the first place.

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes,” Pope said. “I left O’Dell on watch. No one ever takes that turn by the big fucking hole so we’ve found we can park there undetected. Anyone comes or goes, he’ll know.”

  “That’s good. Leave it like that for now or until Mathers gives you new instructions. Oh, and Pope? Don’t forget what we talked about. Keep it quiet.”

  “Gotcha.”

  The second Pope left, the connecting door to Boone’s room opened. Mathers marched right in and, without any greeting, snapped out, “I want to hear Pope’s report.”

  From the anger etched into every sharp line of his face, Boone was willing to bet he already had.

  He should’ve expected this. Like his bodyguard, Mathers had eyes and ears everywhere. Boone was his most trusted associate, and even he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Mathers had him tracked and followed. He almost expected it and long ago decided not to check his personal phone or vehicle for any signs of tampering. There was nothing he could do about it anyway.

  Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have a constant read on where his employer was. Theirs was the perfect arrangement. And since he respected their partnership as much as he did the man, Boone was honest with him. Besides, it would be much better coming from him. Mathers needed him too much to lash out.

  But Pope?

  Yeah.

  Collateral damage.

  “Pope spotted Grace on the perimeter of Ophelia early this morning. She was standing on the porch and she wasn’t alone.” He paused, bracing his big body for Mathers’ reaction, then added, “They were being intimate with each other.”

  “Intimate how, Boone? I highly doubt she started fucking him out in the open.”

  The crude word didn’t seem to fit his hypnotic and lyrical lilt. Boone blinked when he heard it, then waited a moment to clarify. “A kiss.”

  “With this man.” At Boone’s nod, Mathers said, “I see.”

  Boone stood at attention, his hands folded behind his back, his eyes staring straight ahead. The quiet in Mathers’ voice was as spooky as it was dangerous.

  Shit.

  Mathers reached up, tapping his chin. A crazed gleam bloomed in his dark blue eyes, though his voice was as soft and cultured as always. “So Grace has let the distance help her forget that she’s been claimed. Maybe it’s time we remind her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But how?” It wasn’t an invitation for Boone to answer. Mathers was talking out loud, his brain going a mile a minute as he worked out the next step of his plan. “I can’t risk her running again. She’d expect a tracker, so that won’t work. How would I find her? No. We have to get her where she’s safe. Comfortable. She forgot about me? That might just work to my advantage. And when I get her back? She’ll learn what a huge mistake she made.”

  Mathers said when. Boone wasn’t stupid enough to say if, even if he was thinking it.

  That Ophelia was more of a fortress than some quaint B&B. Even with Pope’s considerable lock-picking skills, he hadn’t found a way past the alarms without triggering them. From Hamlet mutterings, seemed like the proprietor had some trouble a couple of years ago and the security measures were put in place. Smart on her part, but damn if it didn’t make his job harder.

  At this point, Boone was ready to go in, guns blazing, and drag the woman out by her hair. Screw this bullshit. It was taking too long. If he thought he could get Mathers to agree, he’d have Grace with his employer by morning. Then Mathers would be happy, they could focus on the business again, and Boone could start looking for a lady friend of his own.

  But that’s not what Mathers wanted. And Mathers was the boss.

  So he waited for further instructions, standing by Mathers because that was what he chose to do.

  Money didn’t buy him. Respect and loyalty did. Back when they were kids, before Boone went off to war and Mathers still let him call him Tommy, the two forged a bond that nothing would break.

  Money didn’t hurt, of c
ourse, and Mathers certainly had bucketloads of it. But the insane amount Mathers paid him was a bonus when compared to the debt he could never repay. Thomas Mathers saved his life twice: once, when they were idiot boys and Mathers jumped in the middle of a fight and took a knife that was meant for Boone; and again, when he was discharged from the Marines and he needed a purpose.

  Working as Mathers’ bodyguard gave him one. In that line of work, he could use his considerable set of skills. He protected while he intimidated, scoping out dirt on the competition and gathering intel, then standing back as Mathers’ genius business mind made them all fucking rich.

  Nothing stopped Mathers. He might have played the part of the playboy bachelor, but Boone knew the obsessive, dark heart that beat in the center of that cold, ambitious man. He knew it—and he admired it.

  So Mathers had a flaw. It could’ve been worse. He might want to get his dick wet without worrying how he did. This way, Boone only had one woman he had to worry about instead of a whole line of them.

  Small mercies. After a lifetime of all the shit he’d seen, and the things he had to do, keeping tabs on a ballerina was the least of his worries. He could track her in his sleep, keep Mathers up to date on her movements, and still have time to focus on some of his employer’s other less savory—and more fiscally rewarding—ventures.

  When Mathers finally had his woman, he’d get his head back on straight and remember what was really important. Until then, it was up to Boone to anticipate the man’s needs. And making sure the business was still running smoothly was the most important one of all.

  While they fucked around outside of Hamlet, he had some of his trusted guys on it. If it wasn’t for his loyalty to Mathers, his devotion to making life as easy as possible for his employer, he’d ask to be relocated to the city. The fresh air and shitty hotel food were giving him hives.

  At least the pornos they offered were inventive and worth being trapped in his half of the connecting suite.

  Just when he was hoping that Mathers would return to his side and maybe give Boone a couple of hours alone with his television, he heard the tell-tale, thoughtful tapping of Mathers’ expensive dress shoe against the floor.