Paige laid her head on Lottie’s shoulder. The silly, inconsequential talk helped. Between that and the coffee, she felt some heat seeping back into her bones.
“Not a great end to your night.” Lottie wrinkled her nose when a puff of acrid smoke drifted over them. “Come on inside. The air is better.”
Gratefully, Paige let Lottie lead her into the living room. She took a seat on the light green sofa. She set down her cup, and then leaned back, closing her eyes.
“I feel like I could sleep for a week. I don’t know why I’m so worn out.”
“I hope it has something to do with the hottie in the kitchen.”
Paige opened her eyes. Nate. His head was bent toward Danny Floyd, nodding at whatever the police chief said.
“Oh. Right.”
“Well?”
“Hmm?” she answered absently.
“Tell me how it was? How he was.” Lottie joined her on the sofa. “You look worn out, he doesn’t. Is that good or bad? Bad. It means he made you do all the work. Damn. I would have bet the bank that he was a giver. He has sex god written all over him.”
It was true. Nate didn’t look like a man operating on almost no sleep. He radiated a vitality that Paige envied. All she wanted to do was take a hot shower and go to bed. Nate looked like he could go all day without breaking a sweat. Maybe there was something to his power naps. Or maybe Nate Landis wasn’t human.
Remembering the hours before her truck exploded, Paige smiled. Nate was human, all right. Superhuman.
“You’re smiling.” Lottie bounced with excitement. “I need details. And lots of them.”
“No.”
Lottie fell back, her eyes wide. “That good? You always share a little. If you want to keep it to yourself, Nate Landis must have been spectacular.”
Paige’s grin widened.
“I need something. Anything.” Glancing around to see if anyone was near, Lottie whispered, “At least answer this. How big is he?”
“None of your business.”
Lottie’s eyes became as big as saucers. “That big! And if that dreaming expression you’re wearing is any indication, he knows how to use it.”
Again, Paige only smiled.
“Paige, honey, if you weren’t my best friend, I would hate your guts. However, as per the unwritten gal-pal code, I couldn’t be happier. You deserve some fun. Promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t fall in love with him.”
“I won’t.”
“Well, crap.” Lottie sighed, her eyes filled with concern. “You’ve had sex before and never fallen in love. I should have known that Nate Landis would be trouble.”
“I’m not in love with him, Lottie.” Not yet. “I like him. We’re having fun — nothing more. That was established right at the beginning.”
“Ground rules are good,” Lottie nodded. “Until they aren’t.”
“What does that mean?” She was tired and on edge. The last thing she needed was one of Lottie’s riddles.
“Nate is different. True?”
“Nate is… a good guy.”
“That makes him different.” Lottie liked men. She dated. A lot. She had sex when she wanted to, though not as often as people thought. Paige grew up with Chuck Chamberlin — the original good guy — as her father. Her friend didn’t realize that men like that didn’t grow on trees. In Basic, any man was hard to come by, the good ones — down deep good — were almost non-existent.
“Doesn’t not wanting to fall in love with him count?”
“If you’re worried about it, I’m afraid it’s too late.”
“Don’t say that.” Paige grabbed Lottie’s hand. “I can stop this. I won’t be alone with him.”
“Oh, Paige,” Lottie patted her hand. “The ball is rolling down a very steep hill.”
“Couldn’t you put that differently? Balls crash. It’s inevitable.”
Lottie heard the panic in Paige’s voice and wanted to kick herself. There was nothing wrong with falling in love. Most people dreamed of finding the one. Maybe Nate would turn out to be that for Paige, maybe he wouldn’t. If he broke her heart, Paige would recover. Right?
“You know what? Forget what I said. What do I know about love?”
“You are the most loving person I know,” Paige said with fierce certainty.
“You see me that way because you love me.” Lottie hugged Paige. “Don’t ever stop believing. Okay?”
“Promise.”
“Paige?” Nate came into the room. “The sheriff wants to get your statement.”
“Go on,” Lottie said. “I’m going to take a shower and get ready for work.”
“Your dad didn’t stay long.”
“He wanted to make sure we were okay, and then he had to get back and feed the animals.” The chores needed to be done every day. They relied on them for their survival. The horses didn’t care about exploding trucks. “He didn’t talk to you before he left?”
“No. Should that worry me?”
“He doesn’t blame you for this mess, Nate.”
No, he thought, but maybe he should.
“I was thinking of what we were doing before your pickup was destroyed.”
“Oh, God. Do you think he knows what we were doing?” Paige felt her cheeks heat. “That never occurred to me.”
Nate cupped Paige’s cheek. She looked ready to drop. He wished he could take her home, but the sheriff insisted on talking to them now. Nate figured it was best to get it over and done with. The problem was he didn’t think it was over. Not if his theory was correct.
“I’m sure he’s put two and two together by now.” Nate guided her into the kitchen. “We’ll deal with that later.”
“Morning, Paige.”
“Danny.”
Paige had known Danny Floyd all of her life. They went to school together — first through twelfth grades. He had been her first crush and her first kiss. They had been eleven. It was awkward and a little sweet.
She later found out he did it on a dare. Paige wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Lottie marched up to him after school and knocked him on his ass. From that day forward, Danny was in love.
Despite the unfortunate kiss, Danny was one of the rare good guys that Lottie had mentioned. He started out as deputy, and then elected sheriff when old Paul Trainor retired. The man had good husband and father written all over him. Unfortunately for Danny, Lottie refused to see him as more than a friend and a part-time lover. He wanted more but the few times he tried to push her, Lottie stopped seeing him.
He was tall and slender with wavy brown hair. Danny had a nice face. Even features that most people would call handsome. He was a catch by every definition of the word. Everyone in Basic knew how he felt — everyone but Lottie.
“The EMT guys said you checked out fine. How are you feeling?”
“Wrung out.”
“We’ll get this over with as quickly as possible.”
Nate pulled out a chair at the table, seating Paige. He poured them both a cup of freshly brewed coffee, and then joined her.
“You left the house just after four.”
“That’s right. I wanted to get back to the ranch before…” Paige’s eyes darted away from Danny’s.
“Is it necessary to discuss the whys and wherefores, Sheriff? Paige and I spent the night here. We were on the porch when the truck exploded.”
“Right.” Danny made a few notes. “Any idea who would do such a thing?”
“No,” Paige shook her head, frowning. “It doesn’t make any sense. That wasn’t a prank. We could have been killed.”
“Nate?”
“How would he know? Nate has only been here a few weeks, Danny.”
“I don’t know who did it, but I’m pretty sure it was because of me.”
Paige listened with growing horror while Nate told them about what happened during his last stunt.
“You said your broken arm was the result of an accident.” W
ithout thought, Paige laid a hand on his cast. “Are you saying somebody tried to kill you?”
“There’s no proof. A witness came forward. He tried to scam me out of some money. It turned out he didn’t know anything.”
“You think this is related?” Danny stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee.
Normally, Paige would have appreciated his calm, professional attitude. Under the circumstances, she wanted to slap him upside the head.
“I can’t think of any other explanation.”
“You don’t have a name? A lead? Anything?”
“I have some friends who are investigating.” Jack’s last report had been like all the others. Nothing new. “I wish I could tell you more.”
“I don’t like the idea of a killer running around my town.” Danny looked grim. “I’d like to talk to these friends of yours. The more they can tell me the better.”
“I’ll give you the contact information for H&W Security. However, this won’t be your problem for long, Sheriff.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m leaving as soon as I can make the arrangements.”
“What?” Paige couldn’t believe her ears.
“If I’d thought I was putting anyone else in danger, I never would have come, Paige. If I stay, this could happen again. And whoever is nearby might not be as lucky as we were.”
“No.”
“He’s right, Paige.”
“What about Dad? He’s counting on you to help him make Mom’s movie.” Paige knew she sounded desperate, but she didn’t care. She refused to let Nate walk out of her life so soon. She knew it was inevitable. Just not right now.
“When I explain, he’ll understand. He’ll probably pack my bag and drive me to the airport.”
“I don’t believe that. There has to be another solution.” Jumping to her feet, she waved a finger in front of Nate’s face. “You agreed to do a job and you aren’t leaving until it’s finished.”
“Paige.”
Nate watched her storm out of the room. He knew why she was upset. Did she think he wanted to leave her? After last night? He wanted more. His plan had been to spend the next few weeks making love with Paige again and again. It wasn’t easy knowing their first time together might have been their last.
JAMES CRANSHAW WAS not a brave man. He was a weasel. Hiding in holes. Coming out at night where he could slip into the shadows — undetected.
He made his living by taking jobs from people who wanted bad things done but didn’t want to get their hands dirty. James Cranshaw didn’t mind. The pay was good and he liked the thrill of ruining lives while knowing he would never have to pay the consequences.
His specialty was fire. James shivered. Watching flames engulf a building — especially if someone was inside — turned him on like nothing else. Women were a dime a dozen. Give him a roaring blaze any day.
Mistakes were rare. However, they did happen. Which was why he always insisted on half of his fee upfront. Clients didn’t like sloppy work. On occasion, they refused to pay — even after he rectified the situation. That wasn’t the proper way to do business. Being a man who hated confrontation, he slinked back into the shadows without his money.
Not that he allowed his client to get off that easily. A month, maybe two, later, a fire destroyed something the client loved. A fancy car. A beachside retreat. A spouse.
Lesson learned.
Anonymity was the key to his success. It made him a rich man and kept him breathing. Never meet. Never give your name. He kept over two hundred post office boxes all over the United States. Small towns. Large cities. From Florida to Hawaii. James liked to travel — though never under his real name.
Even James Cranshaw was an alias. That person ceased to exist thirty years ago. After his first fire. Bye-bye, Mom and Dad. The backwater police assumed he died with them. No one questioned the notion. That night he walked into the shadows. And that was where he had stayed. Until two years ago.
It was his own fault. He liked to drink. He called it his second love. Fire and alcohol. In the wrong hands, they could be a lethal combination. James knew how to handle both without getting burned.
He didn’t know how Michael found him. A casual comment exchanged in a liquor store. A mutual love of aged whiskey. James made three mistakes that night. Going out when he had already consumed the last half of a bottle in his apartment. Striking up a conversation with a stranger. And not watching his back.
He woke the next morning with a bump on his head and a brand new burner phone, and a new friend. Not Michael — if that was really his name. He worked for someone. A man who was as anonymous as James used to be.
The first call came while James packed his few possessions. The plan was to be gone before whatever shit was about to hit the fan, landed on him. He would lay low for a few months. He didn’t want to move his money. The accounts were safe. But he wasn’t going to take a chance on his activities being traced. He had a secret stash that would hold him over.
James almost didn’t answer when the phone rang. No one who went to this much trouble would let him get away that easily. Screwing up his small supply of courage, James took a deep breath.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Cranshaw.”
The voice was smooth. Educated. It sent a shot of ice through James’ veins.
“Who is this?”
“Call me your… friend. Yes. I like that. This is your friend, James. Your best friend.” The man’s laugh was the least jolly thing James had ever heard.
“I doubt that.”
“But it’s true, James. I’m about to give you the greatest gift any friend can give another.”
“What is that?” James held his breath.
“Why, the gift of life. You do what I tell you, and you get to live.”
James sank onto the beat-up sofa that came with the apartment. High-end booze was the only thing he spent his money on. His pleasure came from knowing it was there — and the memories of how he acquired it.
For the first time, he wished he had splurged now and then. A new car. Nicer clothes. He was going to die, and damn it, unless he could swallow every cent, there was no way to take it with him.
“Relax, James. I don’t want to end your life. I have spent too much time looking for you.”
“Me?”
“Naturally, I don’t mean you in particular.” His tone was slightly chastising. “I meant someone with your unique skill set.”
James didn’t answer. What could he say to that? Thank you?
“To get what I want, from time to time, people need to die. You are going to take care of that, James. I will be happy. You will live. And as an added bonus, I’m going to pay you your usual fee.”
“Why not hire me? Why bother with all of this?”
“That is a very good question, James. What do you think is the answer?”
James heard a match striking and the familiar puffing sound that accompanied the lighting of a cigar. James’ father loved a good smoke. He used one to set his childhood home on fire.
“You want control over me.”
“Very good. I never do anything unless I know I’m pulling all the strings. Hmm. That makes me the Puppet Master. I like that.”
“How will this work?”
“Whenever I need a favor, a disposable phone will be delivered. The next day, a text will be sent. There will be a name and a location. The rest will be up to you. And James?”
James swallowed. “Yes?”
“I do not tolerate failure.”
That was how the unholy alliance began. James had no illusions about himself. He lit fires. Sometimes people died. Simple and clean. Working for the Puppet Master changed that. He was no longer his own man. His new boss insisted on exclusivity. No freelancing. No exceptions.
He received a monthly payment — automatically deposited into one of his three offshore accounts. When he completed a job, a bonus amount was added.
James kept to the agreemen
t — he was afraid not to. The two times he tried to disappear, he paid the price. A broken nose. Then a broken arm. He didn’t want to find out what would be next. He didn’t tolerate pain well.
He did what he was told and he did it right — the first time. No screw-ups. Clean. Easy. Never a trace left behind. No witnesses. No messes to clean up.
Until now.
The truck had been a mistake. Miscommunication. The Puppet Master wouldn’t tolerate that excuse. He would know the real reason James screwed up.
Single malt whiskey.
Damn it. It wasn’t his fault. He was in the middle of nowhere. Fucking Montana. Why would anyone choose to live here? Miles and miles of nothing. After that? More nothing.
When the command came in for him to get his ass to Basic, James assumed he would be in and out. A quick job. Easy. What could there be to keep him busy in such a backwater hole?
Two weeks later, he had his answer. Nothing. There was nothing for him to do. Break a camera? Really? It had been so far below his skill level, he almost protested. Almost. Instead, James drank. He brought five bottles of the good stuff with him. More than enough. Or so he thought. He was down to one bottle. Half of which he had been consuming when the text came in.
Last minute instructions issued at two in the morning? How could he be at his best? Blurry, bloodshot eyes didn’t focus well in the middle of the night. A line that read, get rid of him, wavered into, get rid of them. Anyone could have made that mistake.
The only thing that might save him was the fact that he hadn’t succeeded. Who was he kidding? He was a dead man.
James didn’t go back to his hotel room. The only things there were some dirty underwear and a death sentence. He headed out of town in the old Chevy he had purchased for this journey into oblivion. As he literally drove for his life, he went over the mistakes of the evening.
He should have waited until some of the alcohol had worn off. He knew better than to do a job when the booze was freshly singing in his veins. It made him reckless. One of the main reasons he drank. It was the only time he was released from the weight of his fears.
Whiskey made him stand tall. It also made him dumber than a sack of rocks.
The house should have been his target. It was small. A few charges strategically placed and boom. Blame it on a gas leak. End of story.
Dreaming With My Eyes Wide Open (Hollywood Legends #2) Page 21