The note didn’t make any sense. And for the life of her she couldn’t figure out the pictures. Her mother’s hair was different colors in several of the shots, but that didn’t mean necessarily they were taken over any particular length of time. When London was growing up her mother often changed the color of her hair from one week to the next. It wasn’t until London was a teenager that she figured out her mother did it because she and London’s father were always wanted for one crime or another.
If it weren’t the cops looking for them, it would be bookies or a member of the Mafia in whatever town they might be in. London figured her parents were always on the run because they were really bad at pulling off cons or committing whatever crime they did in whatever town they were in. She couldn’t even count how many times they’d moved while she was growing up, sometimes not staying in a town longer than a week. It never made sense that Jonnie and Ruby Brooke were never arrested.
Apparently, now they’d reached the end of their line. Not only did someone have their number and was quite possibly closing in, but that person also knew London was their daughter and where she was. She tripped over her feet when it occurred to her it might be smart to pack up and move, relocate, so whoever was planning on taking out her parents wouldn’t come after her, too.
Not that she’d committed any crime. London had never so much as shoplifted a candy bar. She didn’t cheat on her taxes. She’d never put down the wrong amount of hours she worked on a time card. It was an odd thing. Definitely not something she’d ever bragged about to a soul, but London was honest to a fault. She prided herself on not even lying. It wasn’t as if all of her honesty and her crime-free life would make up for her parents’ many misdeeds. London knew no matter how she led her life, it wouldn’t erase her parents’ sins. Somehow leading her life the way she did made her feel better about herself. It helped her live with her head held high, with the ability to smile and feel good about each new day when she opened her eyes in the morning knowing that in spite of coming from two terrible crooks, London Brooke was a good person.
She sidestepped into the employees’ break room and glanced at the clock. She never kept an eye on the time while at work. There wasn’t reason to, especially when she never had anything planned after work. Today she watched that damn clock as if it might suddenly do tricks.
It was 3:00 P.M., two hours away until she would see Marc. London reached for her coat that hung on the hook on the wall and patted it. The package Meryl gave her this morning was still in her inside pocket. She might be waiting anxiously to see Marc again, but it wasn’t as if she could talk to him about the pictures and the note. Showing him the pictures would require way too much backstory. There was no way she would tell him her life story. No one knew anything about her past.
Which meant there was no one she could talk to about this. She dragged her fingers through her hair, combing out the strands as she blew out a frustrated sigh. She didn’t have a clue what to do.
Suddenly she was mad. Fuck whoever it was who had sent her these pictures. They had a lot of nerve messing with her life. She was happy, content, and not guilty of a goddamn thing. If her parents had fucked up, that was their problem. Hell, she didn’t even know how to reach them and couldn’t remember when she’d last talked to either of them. For all she knew, her parents might not even know where she was. London doubted they cared.
She stalked out of the employees’ break room, deciding that the best thing to do was burn the pictures and pretend they were never sent. Some stranger with an agenda wouldn’t ruin her life. She marched right into Marc, bouncing off his steel chest and shrieking in surprise.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, grabbing her arms to stabilize her when she would have stumbled backward. “You look frustrated. Having a bad day?”
London didn’t want Marc seeing her frustrated. She didn’t want him seeing her as anything other than happy, relaxed, and pretty. His comment pissed her off further and she jerked out of his grasp, then rubbed her arms, willing herself to calm down before she said something stupid and gave herself away.
“Wow, you got back a lot sooner than I thought you would.” She fought for a cheerful smile and willed those pictures out of her head permanently. If only Meryl hadn’t stopped by her house. Maybe then the pictures would have been ruined by drifting snow and she never would have seen them or the morbid message.
“The roads were clear today.” He searched her face as if seeing that something was distracting her. Marc seemed able to see past her mask she wore so well for the entire world. “I got a new phone.”
He held it up for her to see, grinning easily. His eyes were the color of the sky. His short brown hair looked like it would be curly if he let it grow out. As it was, it bordered his broad cheekbones. She dropped her attention to a hairline scar on his jawbone. It wasn’t that noticeable. Yet somehow since she could see it, the small wound that had never healed right gave him more of a roguish appearance. He was so tall, so incredibly muscular, and better looking than any other man she’d ever met.
There’s no such thing as perfect, she reminded herself.
“Have you shopped for a phone recently?” he continued, his gaze drifting over her face as he spoke. “I actually had fun. I didn’t expect replacing my right arm to be such a pleasant experience.”
“I’m glad,” she said, forcing her attention to the phone in his hand, and knowing he was joking. His fingers were long and strong looking. Remembering him tangling them in her hair seemed to make the hallway get warmer.
“This one is already loaded with a couple of games. I decided on one that takes quality pictures over the MP three player.” He held it up before she could say anything and pushed a button on it. The phone flashed in her face. “Gotcha,” he said, his grin broadening.
She blinked, shocked he just took her picture. Why in the hell would he do that? She had to look like shit. Her heart started racing and again her anger peaked. Just as quickly she forced herself to calm down. Why should she care? Tourists had taken her picture before. Granted, most of them asked. Marc wasn’t her usual tourist, though. The quick seesaw of emotions almost made her dizzy.
Marc continued searching her face as he rambled on about his phone. She got the eeriest sensation the chatter about his phone was a front while he focused on her, searching for proof she was distraught about something. London gave herself a mental shake. Marc didn’t have an agenda, other than getting her naked. She forced her paranoid thoughts out of her head.
“Does it make phone calls?”
“Damn. I forgot to ask.” He brushed his finger down her cheek, a quick gesture that ended before she could say anything about him touching her like that where someone might see. “I’ll let you get back to work. See you in a couple hours.”
*
Marc had to admit the walking tour was fun. They were a large group, over twenty. London and another guide, Meryl, the curly-haired redhead, wore battery-packed microphones wrapped around their ears so everyone could hear them. They told anecdotes and stories of the Old West as they walked the group through a pretty easy hike. He wasn’t the only one feeling the lack of exercise and actually breaking a sweat on their return to the ski lodge. Others around him sounded winded as they chatted among themselves.
“As you look at these mountains, you see their beauty and a great place to vacation,” London said into her microphone. “However, in 1879 prospectors endured the elements and made it to this area. They determined the area contained large deposits of silver ore. That was the beginning of Aspen, Colorado. They saw these mountains as a major investment.”
Marc didn’t try finding a spot alongside London. He brought up the rear and could hear her melodic, cheerful voice as she continued sharing Aspen history.
“Over the next fourteen years, Aspen’s fortunes rose as it eventually produced one-sixth of the nation’s silver and one-sixteenth of the world’s silver.”
“A lady like you would look better
in gold than in silver,” a man next to London said too loudly.
If he thought his comment would garner laughter from the rest of the group, he was mistaken. Everyone ignored him. A much younger man, twenty years old at the most, eased in alongside London and whispered something to her. Her laughter could be heard through the microphone. Marc wouldn’t be surprised if someone as sexy as London wasn’t hit on by male guests on a daily basis. Her dark blue jeans hugged her perfectly shaped ass, and the down coat she wore hid the shape of her upper body but hugged her narrow waist. The sunset glowed off the mountains and glistened in her long straight black hair. She definitely competed with their surroundings as being the most beautiful sight out here.
London appeared to handle the men’s attention with professional ease, stepping around them without making it obvious she avoided their advances. Marc didn’t want to be one of the many who struggled for a moment of her time. Instead he focused on the glory of the mountains. He’d never seen anything like it.
There were other hikes he could sign up for to do some serious hiking into those glorious mountains. Instead, they’d taken a pretty level path between two of the mountains and around a large gully that included several breathtaking waterfalls. There wasn’t anything that compared to the beauty around him. Marc stared in awe at his surroundings, swearing he’d drifted into some alternate universe that was a frozen winter wonderland.
London and Meryl stopped the group and turned to face them. The men surrounding London seemed to fight for who would stand next to her as she continued speaking.
“In 1881 the first Aspen newspaper was published. That year the first school opened here, too,” London explained. “A volunteer fire station and our first hotel opened. During that time the remaining Ute Indians were moved out of Colorado and into Utah.”
“I’m glad they left you here,” the older burly man said, again speaking too loudly so everyone could hear him.
He had a clear view through the group when the jerk tried stroking London’s long black hair. Something inside Marc clenched, causing him to fist his hands before he realized his reaction to the asshole fondling her. London dodged the man’s efforts.
This time a few around them laughed at the asshole’s feeble attempt at humor. London met Marc’s gaze. She wasn’t laughing. She stared at him and her expression turned imploring. She wanted his help, his protection. It was a gut feeling and one he didn’t bother trying to analyze. London looked away first, turning around and picking up pace toward the ski lodge, which was now in view.
Marc worked his way through the amiable group as they kept moving, managing not to offend anyone until he reached London’s side.
The men around her didn’t give him the time of day. They probably assumed he’d joined her group of admirers. It was the one man who’d try touching her who gave Marc an assessing once-over. The look on the man’s face made Marc think he didn’t appreciate competition in winning over the pretty tour guide’s attention. The man turned his back to Marc and again tried touching London.
“I know many of you are here for the skiing.” London spoke into her microphone as she grabbed the burly man’s hand. Then letting it go, she walked away from him and closer to Marc as she continued smiling and speaking into her microphone. “What you might not know is skiing is relatively a new sport in our country. Although skiing started as a public sport and activity here in Aspen in 1936, it wasn’t until after World War Two that the first lifts were built and skiing became a form of revenue that helped keep Aspen alive.”
“We offer all levels of skiing classes,” Meryl continued when they neared the lodge. If she picked up where London left off to allow her co-worker time to move again and dodge the burly man, it wasn’t apparent. Meryl continued with a friendly tone and gestured to the lodge. “Be sure and stop in at the bar,” Meryl said, her bouncy red curls hanging around her face as she grinned. “Our bartenders are full of more folklore of the area.”
“This one here is my date,” the burly man next to London announced. “The rest of you can fend for yourself.”
London skillfully dodged his groping hands. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to fend for yourself,” she told the burly man, causing the other men around her to break into laughter.
She wore her professional smile, which she held on to as they entered the lobby. The group spread out, filling the large room. Marc followed London to the front desk, where she pulled off her microphone. When she almost slammed it down on the counter it became obvious she was anything but happy.
London stormed off to the employees’ break room, slamming the door behind her. Marc made it to the door at the same time the burly man did.
“Hey, man,” Marc said easily. “I don’t think she’s in the mood for company.”
“Then you better head on your way.” The smell of alcohol lingered in the air when the guy spoke. “This one is mine tonight.”
“She is not yours tonight, or any other night, for that matter,” Marc informed him, and watched the man’s expression transform.
At first Marc thought him drunk, but when he snarled at Marc a warning light flashed inside. There was almost something sinister about the guy. Although he was at least several inches shorter than Marc, he sized him up. His expression remained dark and hateful when he glared.
“So that’s how it is,” the man said under his breath. “You better watch your back, my friend.”
“I’m not sure we’re friends, and trust me, I always do.” Marc gave him an easy smile and moved so he blocked the break room door until the burly guy strode off. Then turning, Marc rapped on the door with the back of his hand. London didn’t answer, so he pushed it open. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.
Meryl appeared next to him when he stepped into the break room. London looked up at both of them, her gaze almost frantic when she shoved a flat package full of papers into her coat.
“Seriously, girl, what happened out there?” There was concern in Meryl’s voice.
“I’m fine. And nothing,” London snapped. “Please, both of you. Leave me alone.”
Marc backed out, closing the employees’ break room door behind him. Meryl faced him in the hallway, giving him an appraising look.
“Are you two going out?” She was cute, in an Orphan Annie sort of way, but it was the natural glow in her eyes, something Marc had learned to pick up on in his line of work and assessing people, that showed him Meryl was probably a concerned friend.
“I wouldn’t say that exactly.” He and London hadn’t been on a date, and other than when he’d kissed her senseless, they hadn’t had much alone time at all. “We haven’t even known each other a week,” he offered, but guessed Meryl would know that. “I think that guy pissed her off, though, and I should have been more attentive on the tour. I could have gotten rid of him for her.”
“I’m sure you could have.” Meryl’s gaze swept up and down him as she rocked up on her feet, giving him an easy smile. “I think she’s more upset about that package she got.”
If he admitted not knowing about the package, Meryl might not tell him anything else about it. “Why do you think that?” he asked.
“I think it’s from her family. And with London, I don’t know, it’s like she didn’t exist before three years ago. Try and ask her about her family, or her past. She’s a pro at not answering.”
Chapter Three
London couldn’t believe she was doing this. Standing at the end of her dining-room table, she surveyed her work. The white tablecloth, flowers in the middle of the table, her best china and silverware. She had to admit it looked damn good. Why was she going all out like this just because she’d been tricked into having Marc over for dinner?
Maybe not exactly tricked. She returned to her kitchen, running her hands down her apron and making sure nothing had splattered onto her dress before returning to her stove. The roast was done. Potatoes stood in the pot on the back of the stove waiting to be scooped onto the platter. Rolls were in
their basket with a cloth over them. She stirred the gravy. If he hadn’t asked her out for Friday night, she wouldn’t be going through all this work.
When he did ask her out she had to give him her spiel about not dating guests. He offered to take her to another town. She’d hesitated. Marc pointed out if he just came by to her house, it really wouldn’t be a date. That had been Wednesday.
Between then and now she’d learned what his favorite dish was. Of course he’d be a meat-and-potatoes man. Then she’d started plotting the evening. Now she stood in one of her nicest dresses, with the best table setting she owned set out on her table that up until this morning she’d used to stack anything she didn’t want to put away or didn’t know where to put.
“The wine,” she told herself, remembering it was supposed to breathe for an hour.
When she started her menu of pot roast and potatoes it didn’t seem that it would be all that much work. Then she told herself Marc coming over was just a good excuse to do some deep cleaning of her house that she hadn’t gotten around to, since she wasn’t ever here. He might not have even noticed she took off a few hours early in order to make sure everything was in order when he came over at eight. Marc had signed up for another of the tours, something he’d been doing almost every day since taking their walking tour.
He managed to come around at least once a day when no one else was around and steal a kiss or at the least compliment her on her looks. Marc wasn’t tacky, pushy, or annoying. It amazed her how when any other guest started coming on to her too strong Marc always seemed to be nearby. He was perfect at getting every annoying weasel to leave her alone. In fact, it was damn hard to fault Marc at all on anything he did.
The gravy wasn’t clumping. Everything was perfect. London glanced at the clock. Two minutes before eight. Something told her Marc would be on time. She spotted the vase she’d set up on her windowsill over her kitchen sink and studied the four silk flowers, each a different color. Marc had snuck those flowers to her throughout the week. Would it be tacky for him to learn she’d saved them and, in fact, put them on display in a vase?
Get Lucky Page 5