Wilde One

by Jannine Gallant

  “I don’t know about that. Maybe your concern for those kids will catch up with them somewhere down the road. They may remember your advice, or simply that someone cared enough about them to try.” He lifted the fingers of one hand off the steering wheel and wiggled them. “It’s the ripple effect. If you throw a rock into a pond on one side, it may shake up a toad on his lily pad near the other bank.”

  She snorted with laughter. “I hope I’m the rock and not the toad.”

  “Of course you are.” His teasing glance sobered. “Though I’m beginning to think Victor is the rock in this game, and we’re all toads waiting to get dunked.”

  “Then be glad you’re a good swimmer. With my skills, I’ll drown.”

  “No you won’t.” His gaze slid over her like a caress. “Because I’ll be right there to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

  Her toes curled in her sandals as she put her head back and looked over at him. “My hero.”

  * * * *

  Griff strolled behind Ainslee, hands pushed into the pockets of his shorts, enjoying the evening breeze blowing across the grassy field. On his own, it would never have occurred to him to wander around an old battlefield, but the process was actually cathartic after long hours cooped up in a car. Birds chirped as evening shadows lengthened over an area where men had once fought and died.

  According to Ainslee, soldiers from the North did most of the dying. Apparently the South had kicked northern ass here. Twice. The first time a bunch of dimwits from the nation’s capital had driven their buggies out to watch the battle then gotten caught up in the retreat when the inexperienced ranks broke and ran. Who knew history was filled with fun facts?

  He grinned. Or maybe it was just Ainslee who made them fun. She had a way with a story that left him hanging on her every word. Possibly it was a combination of her bright smile and the enthusiastic sparkle in her eyes as she talked. Or the mind-numbing way the spandex workout pants she’d changed into at the campsite they’d been lucky enough to find stretched across her superior ass when she bent to read a tombstone in the cemetery. Whatever the reason, he was having a terrific time wandering through fields and woodlands in a place filled with hints of lingering pain and suffering.

  Ainslee rose to her feet from a crouching position in front of an age-stained headstone. “This boy was only seventeen.”

  “War sucks. A wasted life.”

  “True, but both sides fiercely believed in the values they fought for.” She glanced around. “I guess we should head back to the campground. It’s getting pretty dark.”

  He took her arm when she stumbled on the uneven terrain, then clasped her hand in his. “Thanks, Ainslee.”

  Her gaze shot up to meet his. “For what?”

  “Broadening my horizons and showing me a slice of the past I wouldn’t have known existed. I bet you’re an excellent teacher.”

  “I try to make learning fun.”

  “Well, you did for me.” He squeezed her hand. “Now what? Dinner then bed?” He grimaced. “Sorry, that sounded…I didn’t mean…”

  “I know what you meant.” Her eyes held a hint of sparkle mixed with confusion. “Despite the fact we grabbed sandwiches a few hours ago, I could eat.”

  He was so busy trying to figure out what she was thinking, he almost missed her reply. “Wait? What? You actually want food?”

  The shadows in her eyes morphed into a smile. “I do like to eat on occasion. What sounds good to you?”

  You. Sound good. Look good. He shifted uncomfortably as his shorts tightened and was grateful for the encroaching darkness as they left the field to approach the SUV. “How about pasta?”

  “Perfect. I could definitely go for Italian.”

  An image of Ainslee wrapped in a few strategically placed spaghetti noodles and nothing else flashed through his mind. He grabbed the door handle as his knees threatened to buckle then took a long breath. Down, boy. “I saw an Italian restaurant when we drove through town earlier. Let’s hope the food’s good.”

  Keeping his relationship with this woman strictly platonic was getting harder by the hour. The more time he spent with her, the greater his need to take things to the next level physically. He was nearly positive she felt the attraction between them but had no idea if she wanted to do anything about it. Since he didn’t want to make her nervous in any way, until she gave him a clear sign she was interested, he’d simply grit his teeth and keep his hands to himself. Even if it killed him.

  The drive from the battlefield into town wasn’t a long one, and they were soon seated at a table for two in the corner of the restaurant. A red-checked tablecloth along with a candle stuck in a wine bottle set at its center added a touch of rustic charm.

  “Comfortable rather than fancy. I like this place.” Ainslee opened the menu. “Ooh, pesto. I’m going to have pesto bowtie pasta with chicken.”

  “I’m old school when it comes to my stomach. Spaghetti with meatballs.” He shut the menu, and when the waitress stopped beside their table, ordered two glasses of Chianti to go with their meal. He glanced across the table. “Is that okay with you?”

  Ainslee nodded. “Sounds lovely. Maybe it’ll help me sleep on the hard ground.”

  “That reminds me…I should pick up some gear. Sleeping bag, pad, tent, maybe a stove so we can cook breakfast.”

  “We can stop at the sporting goods store we passed, then go get a few groceries and some ice. I have a cooler in the car.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Aren’t we organized? Speaking of which, I checked the map while you were chatting up the park ranger at the visitor’s center. Should take us two days to reach New Orleans if we don’t want to spend more than eight to ten hours in the car each day.”

  “Perfect.” She planted her elbows on the table. “You know what I’d like to do?”

  Griff could think of a couple of possibilities but doubted they were what Ainslee had in mind. “What?”

  “Figure out who our competition is. We’re assuming Parnell Jones is the descendent of one of Victor’s buddies. Then there’s the blond man the bartender mentioned. Using the names from your grandpa’s letters and a little—okay, maybe a lot—of online research, we should be able to come up with some viable options.”

  “What about the fifth contestant? No sign of him—or her—yet.”

  Ainslee frowned then moved her elbows off the table when the waitress delivered their wine along with a basket of bread. “Thanks.” She sipped the Chianti as the woman retreated. “Either the fifth person is completely clueless and way behind in the hunt, or he or she is brilliant and running in the lead.”

  “Or the guy is around somewhere, but we haven’t noticed him yet.”

  “You think it’s a man?”

  Griff shrugged. “I don’t have a clue. I guess a little research would be helpful.”

  “Exactly. I like knowing where I stand. I like having everything out in the open.”

  He wondered if she was still talking about the scavenger hunt—or if she was expressing concern about where their relationship was headed. In his experience, women liked to think everything to death. He winced and shifted in his chair. No way was he going to ask. Just the idea of talking about his feelings set his nerves on edge.

  He forced his mind back to the conversation at hand. “In that case, we’ll find a way to sort out our competitors.”

  “Maybe the library—” She stopped speaking as the waitress approached carrying two steaming plates.

  His stomach growled. “Sure. We can do whatever you want. Right after we eat.”

  Chapter 6

  Except for the woman engrossed in a book at the front counter, Ainslee and Griff were the only ones left in the building. Thankfully, this was the library’s night to stay open late. Ainslee scanned through background information for Parnell Jones on the fifth fan website she’d found and frowned. The man was bright and dedicated to his sport. He’d excelled in co
llege both on the court and in the classroom before he was taken as a first round draft pick by the Lakers.

  “Yeah, yeah, the guy’s terrific. I get that.” She stifled a yawn as she switched to a different site. “Wait, here’s something new. This one has family information.” She glanced over at Griff. “Are you even awake?”

  He straightened in his chair and blinked. “Uh, sure. What’s new?”

  Ainslee smiled. “You’re just resting your eyes. Like your grandpa.” She brought her gaze back to the computer screen. “Says here Parnell comes from a long line of self-made men and women. His mother put herself through college after her father died in a freak accident. Parnell’s grandfather fought in World War II, was awarded the Medal of Honor, then came home to New Orleans where he opened the Shrimp Shack before his untimely death. Wow, he survived a bunch of battles only to get run over by a truck.”

  “He, who? Does it say?”

  “Oh, yeah. Thomas Washington. There’s an old photograph of him wearing his army uniform. Thomas was huge, even bigger than Parnell. That must have been some truck to take him out. Geez, the men in the squad really did have bad luck.”

  “Except for Victor.” Griff planted his elbows on the table. “So, it’s official. Parnell Jones is definitely a player in our game.”

  Ainslee scribble notes on a pad before glancing up. “And we have full names for all the men referred to in the letters. Thomas is Thomas Washington, and Speed is Salvatore Damonte.”

  “Which leaves the man referred to as Ogden. What was the other surname?”

  “Morris.” Ainslee tapped her pen on the table. If Speed represents the New York clue, and New Orleans was chosen for Thomas, Boston is still a question mark. My family has no ties to Boston. What about yours?”

  “Nope. My great-grandfather was born on the ranch in Wyoming.”

  “Well, then…” She typed and waited.

  Griff hung over her shoulder, his breath warm on her ear. A little shiver slid through her. With an effort, she focused on the screen.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Looking for Ogden Morris in Boston. Well, crap. There’s more than one. Who the heck names their kid Ogden?”

  “Why don’t you add Franklin Bank to the search?”

  She turned to smile—and found herself nearly nose to nose with Griff. His green eyes held tiny flecks of gold, and little lines fanned out from the corners. No doubt a result of all the hours he spent in the sun. The green darkened to something earthy and…primal.

  Dragging her gaze away, she cleared her throat. “Brilliant idea.” Her fingers shook ever so slightly as she typed, hit enter then sucked in a breath. “I love the Internet.”

  “Ogden Morris IV, CEO of Franklin Bank, was seen at the premiere of the new hit movie, blah, blah, blah.” Griff gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Click on the link. Maybe there’s a photo.”

  Ainslee clicked. The picture accompanying the story showed a blond man with a much younger woman, both dressed in formal clothing.

  Griff pointed. “Hey, isn’t he the guy the teller talked to about opening the safety deposit boxes for us?”

  “I’m sure he is. What do you want to bet he’s also the same blond man who questioned the bartender about the clue?”

  “Without a doubt. The dude gave us a pretty intense look when he left the bank. I thought he was just checking you out.” Griff flashed a smile. “Let’s face it, you probably get noticed by most men. Maybe old Ogden the fourth was sizing up the competition instead.”

  A flush heated her cheeks as she shook her head. “If we’re right and this man received a letter from Victor, the only missing competitor is Speed’s descendant.”

  “Is there any way to search online for Salvatore Damonte’s successors?”

  Ainslee frowned. “Maybe on one of those genealogy websites, but you have to pay to become a member. I don’t suppose you have a secret passion for learning about your ancestors?”

  “I don’t, but my mom’s a nut for family history. I bet she’s a member of a genealogy group or two.” One brow shot up as he pulled out his phone. “Shall I call her?”

  “Sure. If your mother can find birth records, she could give us a list of possible suspects to watch for.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Let’s get out of here first, though. The librarian has been staring pointedly at the clock for the last ten minutes. It’s five to nine, so I imagine she’d like to lock up.”

  “Okay, you’re the boss.”

  Ainslee closed her computer then slipped it into its case. Giving the woman behind the counter a smile as she passed, she followed Griff out of the building. The warm evening breeze stirred her curls as she shoved them over her shoulder.

  He glanced up at the stars beginning to light up the evening sky. “Nice night.”

  She nodded. “Any more stops or shall we head back to the campground?”

  “I have a cushy air mattress to sleep on and cereal and pastries for breakfast, so I’m good. I’ll call my mom while you drive.”

  He was still talking when they reached the campsite. Slamming the car door, he clamped the phone to one ear with his shoulder and grabbed sleeping bags and air mattresses out of the back. “Just let me know when you have the info. Thanks, Mom. Yes, I’ll be home sometime soon. I promise. Bye.” He dropped his load then shoved the phone into his pocket. “The woman does love to talk.”

  Ainslee laughed. “You said you’d see her soon. Planning to swing through Wyoming on our quest?”

  He turned and headed back to the SUV. “Actually, I expect we’ll be directed that way by Victor if he keeps up this pattern.” Hefting the new tent, he shut the back hatch.

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Iowa should be on the agenda, too. Cool.”

  Setting down the canvas bag, he faced her. “This tent is a lot bigger than yours. I’m happy to share.”

  She was incredibly tempted, but the look in his eyes promised more than sleeping. As much as she wanted to indulge in what would surely be a night of amazing sex, her cautious nature screamed no. Any relationship between them would end when they deciphered their final clue. Hadn’t he stressed the fact that he didn’t do serious? Griff would head off to some sunken ship, and she’d go—wherever. “We put mine up earlier, so I might as well use it.”

  “Makes sense.” His gaze held hers. “The offer stands if you get tired of pitching yours.”

  She nodded and tried not to squirm. The man heated places she hadn’t known existed. “Sure. Um, I think I’ll go brush my teeth then head to bed. Good night, Griff.”

  “Good night, Ainslee.”

  * * * *

  “Here.” Griff held out his cell. “Talk to my mom. I can’t write and drive at the same time, not to mention I’ll probably get a ticket for trying.” When Ainslee shot him a deer-in-the-headlights look, he grinned. “I promise she won’t bite.”

  With an eye-roll, she took the cell. “Hi, Mrs. Wilde. I’m Ainslee Fontaine, a friend of your son’s. It’s nice to talk to you, too. Hold on for a moment. Let me get something to write with.” After digging through her purse, she pulled out a notepad and pen. “Okay, go ahead.”

  Leaning back in his seat, Griff smiled. Ainslee covered the paper with notes while injecting an occasional comment about the scavenger hunt. Wild goose chase, more like. Honestly, he didn’t care if there was no reward at the end. The hunt was keeping him entertained—and giving him an excuse to hang out with Ainslee with no pressure to form a formal relationship. So, she’d refused his offer to share a tent. He was content to take things slow and let her grow comfortable with the situation. He had no doubt they’d eventually wind up sharing more than a tent. His goal was a sleeping bag.

  “No. No. You’ve been a huge help. Thanks, Mrs. Wilde. Yes, I’m sure Griff will talk to you soon. You, too. Bye.” Ainslee handed him back his cell.

  “I take it my mom had plenty to say?”

  “She certainly did. The woman s
hould work for the CIA. She ferreted out all sorts of information about Speed’s family. I’m thoroughly impressed.”

  “That’s my mom. What, exactly, did she uncover?”

  “For starters, Salvatore Damonte definitely made it home from the war alive then opened Sal’s Place not long afterward. He was young, only twenty-three at the time. It was a couple of years later before he married and had children, the two boys in the photograph I presume. The oldest son died with his father in a fire. I guess no one even knew the boy was in the warehouse until after it was too late. The fire was investigated, but there was no conclusive evidence of arson.”

  Griff shot a glance over at her before focusing on the road. “How did my mom find out all this stuff?”

  “Newspaper stories. I guess it was a pretty big deal.” Ainslee consulted her notes. “The reports listed the surviving family members. Giovanni is the younger son. He owns Sal’s Place and has two kids, Anthony and Marietta. The daughter is an actress. She’s done commercials and had a few bit parts on TV shows. Your mom couldn’t track down the son. There’s no listing for him in New York, so he must have moved away from home.”

  “So one of those two is probably our fifth contestant.”

  “I would imagine. Both are around our age, and that seems to be the generation Victor targeted. I doubt he sent the clue to their father.”

  Griff frowned as he pulled the car around a slow moving camper. “Hmm, I wonder what Anthony and Marietta look like. Could be we’ve seen one of them and don’t even know it.”

  “I’m sure we can find a picture of her online if she’s an actress.” Ainslee pulled out her phone and started typing. “Here we go.” She held it up. “Beautiful woman.”

  He glanced over—and swerved. “Sorry.” He jerked back into his own lane. “Hot damn, that’s the lady who walked by us when we were still hunting for the right bar on Mulberry Street. I mentioned she looked familiar.” He smacked the steering wheel. “Now I remember where I saw her the first time. At the Liberty Bell. Apparently I wasn’t the only idiot who went to Philadelphia.”