by Bex Dane
She looks at Lola first. "Iced tea."
"Whiskey neat."
Lola raises her hand and leans forward. "You know what? I'll have a whiskey sour."
That a girl. Ordered herself a mixed drink. Looked cute as hell doing it. Proud to be here to see it.
"So what is it you like here that's so good you'd come by yourself?" I ask her.
"Probably the chicken cannoli. Although the white lasagne calls my name quite often too."
"Mmm. And why didn't you bring a friend here? A girlfriend or a date?"
"Obviously I've lost my memory so I don't know why, but it's not something unusual for me. If I want the food, I go for it. I don't need to call someone and ask them to go with me. I just drive up and sit by myself. I'm pretty good company." She shrugs and smiles.
"You are. I'm just thinking there's a lot of men who would love to have dinner with you like this."
"Maybe." She looks out the window to avoid my scrutiny. I'm on to something here, so I'm not giving up.
"Even Griffin seems like he wants to be on your dance card. What's the story with that guy?"
Her gaze slides back to mine, and she's changed to a more relaxed and open version of Lola. "Griffin was the son of my dad's business partner. My dad ran the seminars. Griffin's dad sold them vitamins. We grew up together. Two children of celebrities on the road. We didn't have much else in common and when my dad died, we had nothing in common. Except his dad wanted to continue to profit off my dad's name, which didn't work at all. I stayed with him for too long because I thought my dad would want it. I planned on marrying him. It was on my life board."
The waitress returns with our drinks. Lola orders the white lasagne and smiles when I order the chicken cannoli.
"What's a life board?" I ask her after the waitress leaves.
"It was my dad's claim to fame. He held huge seminars where people created life boards. Images of their goals. Visualizing your future."
After I'm done laughing and she's done scowling at me, I say, "Life boards suck."
"True. If I'd followed mine, I'd be married to Griffin by now."
"Why'd you break up?"
"He was doing drugs. Caught him with cocaine and paraphernalia in his car. I'm a cop. I couldn't be associated with someone like that. So I broke up with him. He didn't take it well as you can see. He still checks on me. Says we're best friends."
"And yet you didn't call him to come get you from the hospital?"
"No."
"Hmm."
Our food arrives, and we eat in easy silence for a bit. She shares a few stories about her job and the restaurant. The food is really good, and I understand why she loves this place.
"Enough about me. So how do you like being part of a big family? How many kids have your parents adopted now?"
My family is a sore spot between us, so I'm glad she's willing to talk about it. It's a start to healing the divide. "There's ten kids now. Eight adopted, two biological."
"That's amazing. I shouldn't ask this, and it's probably a horrible question, but do you sometimes wonder if they love the biological kids more than you? I mean, I'm sure they love you all the same, but as an adopted child, do you wonder?"
"That's actually a natural question, and all of us have contemplated it at various times in our lives. My parents insist they love us all equally. Period. And their actions back that up, but sometimes it's the kids who have trouble believing it. A lot of us were rejected by our bio parents or foster parents, so when Mila and Foster opened their arms to us, we were skeptical. There's a lot of rebelling and testing them." I lean forward and make eye contact with her. She takes in a deep breath and looks at me with anticipation like she's hanging on every word. "I can tell you one thing I know for sure. Mila and Foster always come through for us, and they refuse to give us any legit reason to doubt their love. After a while, you begin to accept it." I shrug and take another mouthful of food.
"Wow. That's the most I've ever heard you talk about emotions and relationships."
"I can do it. It's not easy for me, but we have check-ins. We communicate a lot. Sometimes it's too much, and I have to get away, but I always come back." Once again I realize how lucky I am to have them in my life. "You don't have any family at all?"
"No. My mom died, and I never met her family. My dad was an only child. Griffin and his dad were the closest I had to family. Oh, and I have three half-siblings."
She stops talking and focuses on her food. We've wandered into dangerous territory because those three kids are part of the reason her father went to jail. He abandoned them and never paid child support.
We avoid that topic and a few others as we finish eating. She's smiling when the waitress takes our plates away and asks if we want dessert.
"Oh no. I'm stuffed. It was delicious. Thank you."
This is her happy place, and I'm glad I brought her here. She's even more entrancing when she's light-hearted and happy.
When the bill arrives, I glance at it but don't pick it up right away. There's something going on here, and I don't feel the urge to bolt from the table like I usually do anytime I'm forced to sit in one place for too long. I could enjoy the view with Lola for another hour or two.
Actually, Lola is working her way under my skin, and that means we have to go right this second.
I pick up the check and put my card in the fold, holding it up to urge the waitress to come quickly. I can't get comfortable around Lola. I'm helping her remember her shit, and then I'm clearing out. I have bad guys to catch, towns to roll through, hearts to break.
Lola's eyes widen when I stand quickly and walk toward the hostess with the bill in my hand. I hear her mutter, "Okay" behind me, but I'm not taking the time to explain this to her. Not sure I can explain it to myself.
***
After dinner, I drive her up to the bluffs above the Bay Bridge and park at the end of a cul-de-sac. This bridge is far less sexy than the Golden Gate, but it still gives off cool light patterns that reflect on the water. The wind bites my cheeks as I get out and start walking. I motion for her to come with me, but she waves me off and stays in the car.
We aren't here so I can stand on this cliff. She needs to come out here to trigger her memories. The fact she doesn't want to do it is a clue it could be crucial to what happened.
I march over and open the passenger door. "Why aren't you getting out?"
"It's cold." She shakes her head and purses her lips.
"You can wear my jacket."
"No. I don't want anything of yours, and I don't want to be here with you. Let's go." She tries to pull the door shut, but I force it open.
"Are you drunk?" Her sudden mood swing has me guessing.
"I'm not drunk. Leave me alone, Mace. This is way over the line." Her voice is a little slurred, but I believe her when she says she's not drunk. She only drank half of her drink. The most she feels is a little buzz.
"I'm not doing anything except asking you to do what you did before all by yourself. Why can't you do it if I'm here?"
She glares up at me. "This is where I come to talk to my dad."
Oh shit. Her dad. Sensitive topic. "And you think I'm responsible for his death, so you don't want me here?"
"I don't think it. I know it."
She's still holding onto that bullshit? "You're wrong." I slam the door shut and turn away from her. I don't need to defend my actions. I did my job and brought the guy in. Her dad got himself killed. Not my fault.
I spin around and open the door again. "We are here to trigger your memories. This is the last place I followed you to. Now I'd like you to go out there and do whatever you did so you can fill the damn holes in your brain, and we can avoid visiting a drug lord named Diablo."
"We? You're going with me after Diablo?"
"You're not going in alone."
"Huh." She shakes her head and steps out of the car. I wrap my jacket around her shoulders, and her fingers reach up to pull the jacket closed as she walks awa
y from me. I give her some space and lean against the car as she closes her eyes, tilts her head down, and her back heaves with her sigh.
I've never regretted bringing in a criminal. Now that she's a cop, she must understand that it's part of the job. Maybe not, but for the first time, she's making me think about the fallout. From her perspective, I took away the father she loved. From mine, he was a druggie loser who deserved justice.
Her feet and legs are bare, but she doesn't shiver in the chilly wind. She stands strong and lets it buffet her. It's been a long time, but we need to clear the air about her dad.
She turns and marches past me with her head down and arms crossed. I manage to grab hold of her hand, but she keeps walking until our arms are both stretched out and we are as far apart as we can be while still touching.
I pull her back and she resists. With a stronger tug, she stumbles backward until she's next to me. She tries to pull her hand away, but I move our locked palms behind her back and pull her up against me.
She gasps and looks up at me with shuttered eyes.
"I'm sorry he died."
She flinches back and looks away.
"I didn't know about your dad's drug connections."
Her head snaps back and she stares into my eyes. "What connections?"
"You don't know?"
"No. Tell me."
"The rumor was your dad was going to snitch on some influential people, so he got killed."
"I've never heard this before."
"Really? I thought it was common knowledge."
"No. Nobody told me. His death was a hit job?"
"That's the way I understood it."
Her face freezes then her forehead falls onto my shoulder. "No."
I don't say anything as she starts to cry, but I put another hand on her back and pull her closer. "I'm sorry."
"He wasn't a bad person."
"People are complicated. We're not all good or all bad. We just make dumb choices sometimes."
She nods and wipes her eyes. "Let's go back."
"One more minute." I like her pressed up close to me like this. She's vulnerable and soft. She looks hot in that dress, and I want to keep her in it a little longer before she turns back into blue-striped anchor girl with her tight headbands and organized life.
My hands force her closer without any conscious effort from myself. I'm responding to something beyond my control when my lips brush hers.
She stiffens and sucks in a long slow breath. Her body goes rigid in my arms, and she weakly tries to pull away. That only makes me want to draw her closer and seal the kiss.
The plush pillow of her lips smashes softly as I kiss her fully. She's still tentative, but my body is committed to it. I lick her lips to get her to open for me, but she growls. I flick my tongue over her lips again and run my hand up her back, pressing her tits to my chest. "C'mon, babe. Let go for a second. I got you."
The fight in her eyes leaves her, and she melts with a sigh, giving me her weight and forcing me to hold her up. Our tongues battle, and we kiss like long-lost lovers. She groans into my mouth, and my already hard dick twitches toward her core. This is why I never forgot her. This is also what terrified me at age twenty and still freaks me out now. She flips from proper and fighting it one second to lighting up like she did when she was an eighteen-year-old virgin. It still turns me on like a drug. It's this secret part of her she keeps shrouded, and I'm the only one who can bring it out. I can't imagine Griffin ever kissed her this way.
With no warning she stiffens and pulls away. As abruptly as the switch flipped on, it's out like a light.
"Um…" She wipes her lips with the back of her hand. "Not part of the recreation, I take it."
"No. Last time I didn't get close to you. I watched from my truck."
"Then we should stop. This can't help."
"I'm not trying to refresh your memories. I'm trying to create new ones."
She shakes her head. "No. Mace. I'm not falling for that again. For all I know you made this whole thing up, and you're trying to get in on my case."
She seriously thinks I'd fake this entire thing? "I don't need to be in on your action. I take better paying gigs than a cop." Pfft. Cops make one tenth what the average bounty hunter makes, and I'm way above average.
She breaks out of my arms and scowls at me. "Are we done?"
"For tonight we are. Yeah."
"No. I mean are we done retracing my steps? Because it didn't trigger my memory, and if you don't have anywhere else to take me then we're done." She steps back toward the car slowly. "So, goodbye, Mace. Thank you for this. It helped, but I'll take it from here."
"That kiss must've really touched a nerve if you're running away from it like this."
"No. It wasn't the kiss. I'm unphased by that."
She's lying. It bothered her. She hates it that she wants and needs me so badly. "You need help figuring out who put an explosive on your garage door."
"I'll do that on my own." Now she's being obstinate, saying no to me to prove her point. I get it, but it's reckless and self-destructive.
"You gonna go after Diablo alone?" Not practical at all. She's already admitted she has no one to help her.
"None of your business." She stomps back to the car and folds into the passenger seat.
I get in and keep quiet as she huffs and stares out her window. If she doesn't want me around, fine. I'm back on the trail I was on. I didn't lose too much time, and I don't need to take on Loralei's headaches.
I start the car and skid out on the bluffs as we take off down the hill.
***
As we enter her neighborhood in Sausalito, I notice a car that pulled out from the side of the road when we drove by.
He gets right up on my bumper and blasts his high beams.
This car rides low, and the lights land right in my eyes, blocking my vision.
I veer left, he follows. I veer right, same thing. "We got a tail."
Loralei looks out the back window. "He probably wants to race. Happens all the time with this car."
The tail behind us accelerates and hits our bumper, causing Loralei's head to jerk.
"Happens all the time, huh? Hold on."
I floor it, and the Maserati responds like supercharged lighting. The tail speeds up too, but there's no way to catch us. I pull off some extra turns, the wheels skidding out behind me. The other car follows but further back now.
We make a right onto a dark road. I pull over and kill all the lights.
Loralei is breathing heavy as the other car races past us. I turn the Maserati around with the lights off and head back to her house. "Get some stuff. You're coming with me."
She laughs. "No."
"You're not safe there. An explosion and getting run off the road in the same day? You're a target."
"That was just kids lighting fireworks and some jerk who wanted to race. Nothing more. I really didn't peg you as the paranoid type."
I open her garage from the bottom of the hill. No explosion. I pull inside and close the door. "Go pack some shit. Bring any weapons and gear you'll need. I'll take you up to Twist Cabins to keep you safe."
"I'm not going anywhere with you, and I'm definitely never going back to Twist Cabins." She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
"You need a safe house. Go get your stuff or we're leaving now." I start the engine again and put the car in reverse. "You sure you want that nightie to be all you'll have to wear? Won't bother me one bit, but my brothers will get an eyeful of you."
She growls and pushes her door open. "Fine." She thrusts her long legs out and down. She stops and points back at me. "You can leave now." Her voice is muffled through the glass, but I can read her lips.
I turn off the car and stick my head out my side. "Get in the car. We're leaving."
"I'm not going to Twist Cabins. I'm not a target, and you are not my supervisor. Goodbye." She waves over her shoulder and inserts her house key into the inner garage door.
&nbs
p; As I watch her long-ass legs move, I have a choice to make again. Walk away and let her handle this on her own or keep getting tangled deeper with Loralei. She's bad news. She hates me, and I can't trust her.
I'm done recreating her memories. I'm free to leave. Got a job to get back to that pays really well.
I tap the dash of the car a few times. Last time I left her she got kidnapped. This time I know the danger.
I'm staying.
Chapter 6 Wicked
I walk in on her holding one heel in her hand while she's bending and frowning as she pulls off the other shoe. "Are you still here?"
"Unfortunately."
She places her shoes neatly on a rack by the door and walks into her bedroom. "Your time, your dime."
She leaves me standing in her living room. When I hear the shower run, it's my chance to take a look around. The place is immaculate like a model home. Nothing but navy blue, white, and gold nautical decor, obnoxiously healthy houseplants, one lonely shiny laptop on her desk in the corner. Where's the mess? Where's the mail? I should whip through here like a tornado and move everything out of place just to piss her off, but I won't. She's having a rough time. I'm not going to add to it out of spite.
Pictures of her with her father adorn the walls of the hallway. One of her looking smart in a police uniform, but conspicuously alone after her father's death. I tap her bedroom door, and it slowly swings open. Whoa. Hello. Have I teleported to another house? No nautical stuff in here. The bed is covered in deep cranberry velvet with animal print black and brown silk sheets. Mirrors over the headboard and recessed lighting make it look like the set of a porn movie. Thick black and brown shag rugs cover deep walnut hardwood floors. No houseplants in here. Only two tall twisted iron lamps stand next to the bed.
Well, well, well. Officer Valentine has a secret wicked side. I knew it from the second I saw her leopard heels. She's a walking contradiction.
In her dresser, I find her gun case. The key is predictably taped to the bottom. I open it and take out a shiny new Glock with her initials engraved into the grip. Also not what I expected from my straight and narrow nemesis. She has ammo too, so I take the time to load it.