Torch: The Wildwood Series

by Karen Erickson

  “Wren, what’s going on?”

  His answer made her rear back a little. “How do you know something’s going on?”

  Lane cleared his throat, sounding irritated. “Uh, why are you calling me? Is everything okay?”

  “Someone’s following me,” she whispered, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest when she saw the driver’s side door of the sedan open and the shadow of a very tall man climb out of the car. The rapidly descending darkness made it hard for her to make out his features. “Oh my God, he’s at my house! He got out of his car. I think . . . shit, I don’t know what to think.”

  “Hold on. I’ll be there in a minute,” Lane said grimly.

  “A minute? Where exactly are you?” Her throat went dry, and she let the curtain fall back into place, not wanting to see this guy come toward her house.

  Then again, she might need to notice details for whatever police report she was going to have to give.

  “At the corner of Tate’s street. Hold on.” She heard the squeal of tires on pavement, Lane muttering something under his breath that sounded like a string of curse words. Why in the world was he so close? It made no sense.

  She heard the squeal of tires again, both over the phone and right outside. Reaching out, she pulled the curtain back to see another plain sedan pull up behind the first one. Lane leapt out of the driver’s side and ran toward Tate’s front yard. He tackled the guy as he approached the porch, taking him down onto the ground with a muffled grunt.

  That she managed to hear, because somehow Lane still had the phone in his hand.

  Unlocking and throwing open the door, she flicked on the light and went onto the front porch, watching in disbelief as Lane struggled with the stranger. The man had his arms bent in front of his face as if to protect himself, and he wore a pair of crisp khaki shorts and a white polo shirt.

  Realization dawned, and Wren placed trembling fingers over her mouth. She knew exactly who that was.

  “Lane! Get off him! It’s Levi!”

  Lane whipped his head toward her, his expression fierce. “Get back inside,” he practically growled as he straddled Levi like he was about to choke him out.

  “No!” She ran across the porch and down the steps, tugging at Lane’s shoulder. He wasn’t even in uniform. So what the hell was he doing patrolling around here? “Lane, come on. It’s my old high school boyfriend. Stop trying to beat him up.”

  Her oldest brother paused, squinting down at Levi, who still covered his face with his arms. “Look at me,” he demanded, shaking Levi’s shoulders.

  Levi slowly dropped his arms, the pure terror on his face obvious. “I wasn’t going to hurt her. I just wanted to talk,” he said feebly.

  “Jesus,” Lane muttered, grabbing hold of Levi’s shirt and giving him a shove before he stood. He turned to look at Wren. “He’s been following you for hours.”

  She gaped at Lane. “How do you know?”

  “Because I’ve been following you for hours.” He glared at Levi as he drew himself to his feet, brushing off the front of his pristine shirt and shorts. “What the hell are you doing back in town anyway?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” Levi said to her, ignoring Lane. “But you haven’t answered my calls.”

  Wren glanced down at her notification-less phone. “You haven’t called me.”

  “I have too.”

  “You should’ve texted me.”

  “I’ve done that as well.”

  She held her phone out to him. “Hate to tell you this then, but maybe you’ve been texting and calling the wrong number?”

  Lane approached them, pushing his hair out of his face. “Are you sure you’re all right with this joker being here?” He jerked his thumb in Levi’s direction.

  “Hold on,” she told Levi before dragging Lane a few feet away, out into the yard. “Explain exactly why you’ve been following me.”

  “It’s a long story,” he said with a sigh.

  “Oh, trust me. I have all night.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, forgetting all about her hunger and the delicious cheeseburger and fries she had waiting for her inside. “Fess up.” She reached out and poked him in the chest with her index finger, making him back up a step. “Now.”

  Shaking his head, Lane exhaled loudly. “It’s nothing, Wren, I swear. I just . . . wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “Why? Am I in danger?” A sense of foreboding sent a shiver down her spine.

  “Listen, Wren. I have to go.” Levi was suddenly there, his hand on her arm as he stepped in between her and Lane. She could feel her big brother glaring at him, but Levi acted completely unfazed. Probably didn’t even notice Lane’s potent anger. So typical. “But I want to talk to you first.”

  “We were already talking, asshole,” Lane muttered, and Wren glared at him.

  “Stop, Lane. Give us a minute,” she told her brother before she walked back toward the house with Levi. “What’s going on?” she asked him.

  “I’m such an idiot. I followed you around this afternoon, trying to work up the nerve to talk to you, but I never could.” He smoothed his hand over his jaw, wincing when he touched a particular spot.

  “And when I finally did work up the nerve, your brother jumps out of his car like some sort of renegade cop and tackles me to the ground,” Levi muttered, brushing off the front of his very clean polo shirt one more time.

  If he kept that up, she’d have to ask him to stop, because it was completely irritating and made him seem like a total sissy.

  “Did he hurt you?” she asked.

  Levi shook his head reluctantly. “I’m fine. Just startled more than anything.”

  She couldn’t make herself say sorry. That was for Lane to do, though she knew he wouldn’t. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “My offer. Did you consider it?” he asked hopefully.

  “I did.” She hesitated, and the light dimmed from his eyes, like she just snuffed out a candle. “I . . . I can’t do it, Levi. We had our teenage moment years ago, and it was great, but we can never return to that sort of relationship. I’d like us to remain friends though.”

  Sighing, he slipped his hands into his pockets and offered her a sad smile. “I understand. I expected too much. Probably got caught up in memories more than anything else.”

  “Probably,” she agreed, not letting his comment sting. He was being honest, as was she. And she had Tate. She didn’t need Levi.

  “I’m sorry if I scared you. That was never my intent.” He reached out for her, then dropped his arms, seemingly embarrassed. She went to him instead and hugged him close.

  “I’m thrilled that you’ve found so much success, Levi. I’m sure someday soon you’ll find a special woman to share it with,” she murmured close to his ear.

  “Thanks, Wren.” He squeezed her before he let her go and stepped away. “Take care, okay?”

  “You too. Are you headed back to San Francisco now?”

  “Yeah, wanted to leave tonight. Need to get back to work in the morning.” The answer and his sheepish smile revealed what she’d suspected. Her ex was a complete workaholic. He would probably make a girl extremely happy someday, but right now, he was devoted to his job. “Let’s keep in touch?”

  “Let’s make sure you have the right phone number for me first,” she suggested.

  They discovered the number he entered for her was off by one digit, and they got a good laugh out of it before he left town for good. She watched his car disappear down the street and then turned her attention to Lane. He was leaning against his car, tapping away on his phone.

  “You’re not off the hook,” she told him.

  He glanced up from his phone with a grimace. “I did nothing wrong, Wren. More like I was in the right place at the right time.”

  “Whatever. I’m eating my dinner, and you’re going to explain to me exactly what’s going on,” she told him as she started for the front door.

  “I gotta get home,” h
e protested, but she silently glared at him, earning a muttered—and reluctant—all right as he followed her to the front door.

  She was determined to get to the bottom of Lane’s odd behavior before the night was over.

  Chapter Eighteen

  WREN GAPED AT her brother, trying her best to come up with something to say but failing miserably. What he was telling her was unbelievable.

  Oh, and maddening—completely and totally infuriating, really.

  She was sitting at Tate’s tiny kitchen table with her oldest brother, trying to eat her dinner while listening to Lane explain the craziest story she’d ever heard. Why would someone be after her? What had she ever done to anyone? Absolutely nothing.

  That’s why what Lane said made no sense.

  “Tate and Josh wanted to tell you right away,” Lane said after he informed her that the reason her house burned down was because of the Wildwood arsonist—and they believed she might’ve been specifically targeted. “But West and I thought it best if we kept you out of it for a little while. See if we could finally nab the arsonist first before you had to get—involved.”

  Swallowing hard, she finally found her voice. “So you believed it was . . . what? In my best interests I was kept in the dark about some nut job who burned down my house and, oh, I don’t know, might still be after me? That sounded like a good idea to you and West, the overlords of my life? Really?”

  Lane winced. “When you put it like that . . . ”

  “You’re an asshole,” she said, interrupting him. She slapped the edge of the table, hurting her fingers in the process. Great. “And so is West. Did you two really think I wouldn’t be able to handle it? Like I’m some delicate flower who’d freak out if she knew a big, bad, scary man burned her house down on purpose?”

  “We only just confirmed that,” he rushed to add.

  “Whatever.” She wrapped up her half-eaten cheeseburger and stuffed it back into the bag. She’d lost her appetite over this conversation. She was too mad to eat. Her brothers were so damn controlling. They always had been, and it made her furious.

  And deep down, it hurt. Did they really believe she couldn’t take care of herself? Had she made such bad choices throughout her life that they had no faith in her? Yeah, she’d messed up a time or two when she was a teen, but nothing major. It had been a stage. She usually played it safe—to the point it might have made her life a little boring sometimes. But she’d always believed boring was better than scary.

  This summer, though, had been the most exciting one she’d had in a long time. Yeah, the fire was a dark moment, but it had brought her something good. It forced her to get closer to Tate. She didn’t regret that for a moment.

  “We only wanted to protect you.” Lane reached out and touched her arm, but she pulled away from his grasp. He scowled at her. “We thought we were doing what was best.”

  “For you or for me?” she snipped.

  “You. Always you. The thought of some creep burning down your house on purpose.” Lane’s mouth set in a firm line. “Hell, Wren, it’s freaking spooky.” He shook his head, his expression menacing. “I should’ve never let Levi go. He could’ve been the one who burned your house down.”

  Lane was totally reaching. “Give me a break. He was only home for a few days. Are you saying he traveled back and forth between here and San Francisco throughout the summer just to burn Wildwood down? Why would he even do that?”

  “I don’t know. He’s pissed at the town in general?” Lane shrugged. “He never did like this place much.”

  “Neither did West. Maybe he’s the arsonist.”

  “Now you’re just being ridiculous,” Lane muttered.

  “No, you’re being ridiculous, what with your overbearing protectiveness and sense of what’s right and wrong.” She paused, hoping he understood just how hurt and upset she was over this. “You should’ve never kept it from me, Lane. You and West don’t get to make decisions that affect my life in such a big way, you know. I’m my own person. I can take care of myself.”

  “We can take care of you too.”

  “And I appreciate that. I do. But sometimes you two are so overbearing. I don’t know how Tate will put up with you two jerks considering we’re now . . . ” She paused, frowning. Considering they were now . . . what? In a relationship? That sounded too serious. Fucking around? That sounded too casual, and no way could she use those particular words with Lane. He’d flip.

  “Considering you’re what with Tate?” Lane’s eyes narrowed as he watched her.

  She sighed and waved a dismissive hand, trying not to make too big a deal out of this. “We’re sort of—seeing each other?” There. That worked.

  “Uh-huh.” Lane nodded, his expression still grim. “I thought that might be the case, especially with the way Tate talked to me yesterday.”

  Curiosity had her frowning. “What exactly did you two talk about?”

  His expression immediately turned guilty. “The house fire and how it was set by the arsonist.”

  Her head started to spin. Tate knew about it too? Wait, her brother had mentioned he knew. So why didn’t Tate tell her? Was he supposedly trying to protect her as well? God, he was just like them. “So Tate knew that the fire was started by the arsonist too?”

  “Um, well . . . yeah.” Lane shrugged, looking caught, just like the rat he was. More like there were three rats involved in this crazy secret-keeping scheme. Her two older brothers and much to her disappointment . . .

  Tate.

  “He wanted to tell you,” Lane added. “But we wouldn’t let him.”

  Wren said nothing. Tate was a grown-ass man, yet he couldn’t work up the nerve to go against her brothers’ wishes and tell her the truth? Whose side was he on anyway?

  Clearly, her brothers’.

  “You should go.” Wren stood and gathered up the garbage from her dinner, tossing it into the trash. She went to the kitchen sink and washed her hands, keeping her back to Lane. She didn’t want to look at him anymore.

  She wanted him gone.

  “Come on, Wren. You can’t be too upset. We were just watching out for you,” Lane said, his tone pleading. He didn’t like it when she was mad at him. Much like she didn’t like it when he was mad at her. They’d always had a close relationship, even when they were kids and she followed him everywhere, driving him crazy. She always figured he secretly liked her obvious adulation for her big brother.

  But right now, she wanted to kick her big brother’s ass. It didn’t matter that he could probably snap her in two. Lane was so big and broad and downright menacing when he wanted to be. She was so pissed she was tempted to give it a go, knowing he would never stop her.

  Punching him would probably end with her hurting her hands. If she tried to kick him, she’d probably miss or, worse, injure herself. The man was a powerhouse.

  She, on the other hand, ate doughnuts for breakfast and cheeseburgers for dinner.

  “I want you to leave.” She turned away from the sink and folded her arms in front of her chest, staring her brother down. “I want to be alone.”

  “Aw, come on, Wren,” he started as he stood, but she shook her head.

  “No. Don’t try to wear me down or tell me I’m being silly. I’m mad, Lane. You and West—and Tate—must really think I’m stupid, that I can’t handle this.” It hurt to include Tate in that short list. She was furious with her brothers—West should consider himself lucky he wasn’t here—but she was devastated by Tate’s decision to keep this from her. Yes, he had a job to do, and some things would always need to be kept quiet.

  But this involved her. She thought she meant enough to Tate that he would treat her with respect and let her know when—hello—her life was in danger.

  She guessed she was wrong. And that’s what hurt the most.

  TATE UNLOCKED THE front door and walked inside his house, breathing deep the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Knowing that Wren was somewhere in the house made his steps lighter and his heart
pound. He couldn’t wait to see her. Wrap her up in his arms and kiss her. Push her into bed and have his way with her.

  Yeah, that was the plan for the day. Naked bedtime. He hoped she was still down with that.

  He set his bag down by the door and headed for the kitchen, hoping she was in there. Maybe she was making him breakfast. Maybe she was sitting at the table sipping a cup of coffee, her hair tousled and her eyes sleepy, wearing one of his T-shirts. That sounded nice. That sounded better than nice.

  But when he entered the kitchen, she wasn’t there. Only the coffeemaker greeted him, percolating noisily as it finished brewing the coffee.

  Pushing aside the disappointment that crashed through him, Tate left the kitchen and started down the hall toward his bedroom. Maybe she was in his shower. Now, that was a beyond-pleasant thought. A naked, soapy Wren under a stream of steaming-hot water was a fantasy he hadn’t had yet. He could help her get clean, assist her with those hard-to-reach places. Only if she would do the same for him . . .

  She wasn’t in the shower. She wasn’t in his bedroom either. Nope, she was back in the guest room, fully dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, her hair swept up into a tight ponytail, the bed neatly made.

  Her gym bag she used to keep at Delilah’s dance studio sat on top of the bed. She set a stack of folded clothes inside, turning on a gasp when he rapped on the doorframe. “Oh.” She rested her hand against her chest. “You scared me.”

  “You knew I was coming home.” He leaned against the doorjamb. “I texted you.”

  “Right.” She dropped her hand and nodded, her expression noncommittal. It was devoid of any emotion, even her eyes, which was . . . weird. Wren was the most expressive woman he knew.