“Thing is, they never found her body. State patrol says that’s common for those types of accidents. Still, something’s not kosher.”
He leaned closer. “How can I help?”
“You still tight with Moretti?”
A smirk. “Why you asking about Moretti?”
Tango and his cousin, Tito Moretti, had been inseparable back in our college days. Tito had allegedly helped run underground fights for the infamous mob boss, Luciano Voltolini. His true skills, however, were behind the scenes, his weapons not fists but a keyboard. Wasn’t a system he couldn’t hack or a file he couldn’t manipulate.
“He helped me out once before, but he’s off the grid. I was hoping you could get in touch. Anyone can find the truth, it’s Moretti.”
Tango considered me for a moment. Shifted to grab his cell from his pocket. Typed a message. Shot me a sinister grin. “Yeah, I know how to reach Moretti.”
Our server arrived with the first course. When out of earshot, Tango asked with one brow raised. “So, you and Natalie King?”
Fuck, I loved the sound of her name. I nodded. “She’s it for me.”
Tango stared, assessing.
“You’re wondering how I can be with someone else so soon after Vic?”
“There’s no timeline for grief, my friend.” He lifted his hands. “Not judging. I’ve got mad respect for Natalie. Did she tell you we had a meeting today?”
“No.” The little shit. She didn’t want my help.
“Her boss didn’t show. Pops was ready to walk, but that girl of yours took the reins. Impressed the shit out of both of us.”
Not a surprise. Bewitching. Best word to describe my girl. “She’s got a way about her.”
“How’s that gonna work, you living in Seattle, her in Whisper Springs?”
“Fuck. I don’t know how this’ll play out.” I stabbed my salad, chewed. Swallowed. “I can’t relocate right now. Opening three more gyms this year. Dad’s not planning to retire any time soon, but he’s slowing down. I’ll be stepping up as CEO in a couple of years. But I can’t ask her to leave her job. She loves it here.”
“She’s only an hour and a half away by jet.” He rapped his knuckles on the table like he’d settled the matter. “That’s no longer than a rush hour commute.”
“True.” Seattle traffic was horrendous. “All I know is I don’t want a future without her. No choice but to make things work.”
Tango nodded, leaned back, crossed his arms. “And if your suspicions about Victoria are true?”
Wasn’t that the million dollar question?
“No easy answer,” was all I could manage. I’d driven myself mad with what-ifs.
Tango glanced over my shoulder, then smiled wide. “Look who the cat dragged in.”
Before I could turn, Tito Moretti planted his ass in the chair next to mine. “Fuckin’ hell. Cole Adams.”
The guy was imposing, from his head-to-toe black garbs, to the scowl, to the new scar on the side of his face. I knew better than to ask.
He offered his hand. The wedding ring took me by surprise.
We made small talk. We ate. I filled them in on my suspicions.
“You’ve checked out her ex?”
“First thing.” I nodded. “He’s in Salt Lake. He could be the one sending the messages, but someone took photos of her with her boss yesterday and possibly followed her home last night.” The thought soured my stomach.
“Can you get me her phone?” Moretti asked.
I slapped her cell on the table. The guy cracked a rare smile. He stood, said, “Give me a day,” and left without so much as a nod.
Tango laughed. I released my frustration on a long exhale.
Brow quirked, Tango asked, “You sure you’re ready for whatever he digs up?”
Was I? Whatever the outcome, Natalie’s safety was my only concern. “Can you two thugs help me hide a body?”
Pacific National Bank stood tall amidst a riverbank forest of pines with mountains and a snowy sky the backdrop. Post Malone played on the radio.
I watched the front door through darkened windows. At 5:11, Natalie exited the building. She paused, bringing a hand to her face to shield the sun, and scanned the parking lot. I tapped the horn. She looked my way, smiled that killer smile, and waved before stepping in my direction.
I’d every intention of meeting her halfway, but stalled, enthralled by the swing of her hips, the sway of her hair, the way that blue blouse clung to her breasts. I was helpless to do anything but drink her in, so damn grateful to be free to ogle the woman without one lick of guilt.
My pulse quickened. Soon she’d be in my arms.
Jesus. Damn. My chest. I offered the good Lord a quick prayer of gratitude, then hopped out of the SUV.
The squeal of tires registered before I’d closed my door. Natalie’s head snapped in the direction of the sound, and before I could set my feet pounding, a black Escalade barreled straight toward my girl.
The horrifying scene played out frame by agonizing frame.
Natalie twisted to avoid the vehicle, and before impact, her arms flew out, then up over her head, and her eyes, goddamn, they squeezed shut as if bracing for impact. Then she was out of sight.
Her handbag hit the windshield, blowing apart, its contents erupting like confetti.
No squealing tires. No crunch of metal. No sickening thud. The SUV sped off.
By the time I reached her, Natalie lay twisted on the pavement, hair tangled around her face, a pool of blood under her head.
I fell to my knees at her side, desperate to hold her, screaming for help. I fumbled for my phone and dialed 911.
A male voice answered. I couldn’t form a coherent word.
People surrounded us.
A man dropped to his knees near her head.
“Don’t fucking touch her.” I shoved him away. “I don’t know if she was hit or not.”
The 911 operator continued talking. I shoved my phone into the guy’s hand. “Give them the address.”
My vision blurred, heat prickling my eyes. I crawled over her body, shielding, assessing. “Baby. Natalie. Sweetheart.”
Her chest rose and fell.
“I’m here. I’m right here. Don’t try to move.” If I lost her, I’d rip everyone in that goddamn town to shreds.
“Please, baby. Please be okay. I love you. I love you so goddamn much. Please be okay,” I pleaded, my knees, my hands, stained with her blood.
“What the fuck happened?” the man at my side asked.
I watched her chest for signs of distress. Her breaths were steady.
“Oh, God!” A woman screamed, “Is that Natalie?”
Natalie’s chest continued to rise and fall. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.
“Good girl. Keep breathing. Please be okay.”
“Cole?” A moan escaped her lips.
A sob escaped mine.
I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’m right here. Don’t try to move. Wait for the ambulance.”
“My head hurts,” she mumbled, her speech slurred.
“You’re bleeding a little bit. Don’t move.”
“What happened?”
“Some fucker tried to run you down.”
“Oh,” she whispered, her voice weak.
Light as I could manage, I brushed hair off her face, away from her eyes and mouth. Her lips were bloody, and my stomach revolted at what that could mean.
“You’re gonna be fine, though. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
“Cole?” She coughed, more blood trickling from her mouth.
I pinched my eyes tight, fighting the emotion, then met her sleepy gaze. “Yeah, baby?”
“Will you marry me?”
Never in my life had I cried in public. Rarely in private. But there on the dirty ground, surrounded by complete strangers, I cried and half laughed at her ridiculous timing.
“It’s not funny. I’m serious. Will you marry me?” She smiled a morbid, bloody smile.
Sirens wailed.
Her lids fluttered shut, then lifted slow. “I’m tired.”
“Try to stay awake, please? I need you to do that for me.”
“You’re crying.” She gagged, then turned her head to spit blood.
I could only nod.
Her lids fell again and didn’t open.
“Cole. Son.” My body shook, and I bolted upright, blinking the room into focus.
Natalie lay in the same spot, eyes closed, monitors whirring. Her mother stood over the bed, her father stood over me, a hand on my shoulder, his eyes dark, sunken.
“You made it.” My dry throat cracked.
“Thanks for calling.” He stepped back and cleared his throat.
I pushed to stand, and the moment I was upright, Charles pulled me into a tight embrace. “Thank God you were here for her.”
“Thank God is right,” Linda whispered.
“Any word from the police?” Charles asked.
“Not yet. But the security cameras caught everything. They’re trying to pull a license plate number.”
Linda squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Doctors said she’ll be fine. Six stitches on the back of her head. No concussion, by some miracle. Twisted ankle. Bit her tongue pretty hard.”
I laughed. Fucking twisted ankle saved her life.
Charles and Linda looked at me like I was crazy.
I explained. “If she hadn’t caught her heel in that damn crack, that Cadillac would’ve hit her.”
“Fate,” Linda whispered, eyes welling.
I scrubbed at my facial hair. “They wanna keep her for twenty-four hours, keep an eye on her.”
“That’s good.” Charles studied my rumpled, soiled clothes. “Why don’t you go clean up. Come back after you get some rest and a good meal in you.”
Hell no. I wasn’t leaving her side.
“We won’t let her out of our sight, Son. I promise.” His patriarchal tone left no room for argument.
“Yeah,” I conceded. “I’ll do that.”
“You staying at her place?”
Fuck. “Yeah. No worries, I can check into a hotel.”
“Don’t be silly,” Linda said, waving her hand at me. “You have a key?”
If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a twinkle in her eyes.
“She gave me her spare this morning.”
I kissed Natalie’s pale cheek and said my goodbyes. Darkness greeted me when I stepped outside. My cell said it was 1:27 AM. God, I needed sleep. The drive to Natalie’s place passed in a blur. On autopilot, I showered, shaved, choked down a sandwich.
Will you marry me?
I laughed.
Crazy woman.
For the first time, I took time to study her place. The kitchen was clean, tidy. Simple. White granite counters. Stainless steel appliances. Turquoise tea kettle on the stove. Bright floral curtains on the window, a bright yellow dishtowel hanging on a hook near the sink.
Her living room was much the same. White walls, bright orange couch. Splashes of yellows and greens in the throw blankets, pillows, and artwork. A wall-to-wall window boasted a priceless view of the lake.
The hallway leading to the bedrooms held framed photos of her family, candids of her and Lacey. At least ten of baby Leon. And holy shit, photos of me, too. Some blown up and framed. A few looked as if they’d been printed from home and tacked to the wall. Most of them taken when I wasn’t looking. Some of me sleeping. One of me through the window of CFC, mid spar with Ellis.
Yeah. She was mine. But I’d been hers from day one.
I forced my feet forward when I wanted to fall to my knees in gratitude.
Natalie’s bedroom showed a side of her I’d yet to fully explore. Shades of purples and grays and beige. Her bed was thick with pillows, soft and inviting. Sheer curtains gave the room a hazy glow, the scant moonlight encasing her bed.
Will you marry me?
I fell into her down comforter, pulled her pillow over my face, and breathed her in, my body and soul resting as if I’d returned home from a long journey.
I’d never be lonely sharing space with Natalie.
I’d never wake to cold, empty sheets.
Eventually, we’d have to exchange the queen-size bed for a king to fit children. Sundays would be lazy days, sleeping in, sipping coffee, reading. Chasing kids around the house.
Will you marry me?
I’d never wanted anything more.
“How’s she doing?”
“Good. She’s with her parents.” I scooted to the chair closest the window, blinking against the glare from the lake. “What’d you find out?”
Tango and Tito settled into their chairs, Tango resting his elbows on the red Formica.
Tito dropped a manilla envelope between us and leaned back, arms crossed, dark eyes focused. “The car that ran down Natalie belongs to her boss, Caleb Griffin. Guy’s in the hospital. His brother found him beaten to a pulp in his house. Broken arm, multiple facial fractures.”
With one long finger, Tito pushed the envelope my way. Tango shifted in his seat. Cleared his throat.
“What is this?
“Open it.”
The unsealed envelope looked safe enough, but the way my friends leaned closer, like shields, I knew my life was about to take a twisted turn.
I emptied the contents on the table. Photos. Gritty security camera footage. Some I recognized as the bank parking lot. Some were taken outside of Natalie’s condo. All of them were of the same figure wearing dark clothes. Pale skin. Blond hair.
Not—thank fucking God—Victoria.
Tito then passed me Natalie’s phone. “Fuckin’ idiot thinks burner apps are untraceable.” He pulled out his own cell and showed me an Instagram feed. @HOTraversFitness. “This guy is dumber than a bag of rocks.”
Pics of Natalie littered his feed. In the gym, in the car. Various outdoor locations. Every single one of them recently posted, though it was obvious they were old photos by the cut of Natalie’s hair.
The most recent post was uploaded two hours earlier and was of Natalie sleeping, half of one breast exposed, the light hitting her just right in a warm, erotic glow. It read: To watch her sleep is the sweetest torture.
Then the hashtags. #gettingmygirl #todaystheday #lovehurts #shesmine
“I gotta go.” I slammed my palms on the table, my heart hammering, chest constricting. My only thought was getting to Natalie.
Footsteps tracked behind me. Heavy. Determined. I reached my car. Turned.
“You’re not doing this alone.” Tango walked around to the passenger seat.
“I can handle it,” I argued, though I had no idea how.
“We know.” Tito tucked into the back seat, filling half the space. “Don’t wanna miss the fun.” He was already on the phone. “Hey, Bunny, Aida still with you?” He paused, nodded, said, “Good. Listen. I need your help.”
Sitting cool as a cucumber, Tango explained, “Tito owns the top floor of Natalie’s apartment. She’ll be fine.”
Natalie
Children of all shapes and sizes littered the playground, their energy addicting, their giggles and squeals infectious as they enjoyed the first sunny day in months.
Cole’s face lit up my screen, and I answered with a heady, “Hi.”
“Hey, gorgeous. Where are you?”
“Sitting in the park. I sent Mom and Dad off, and it’s so beautiful today I didn’t want to go back inside yet.”
“Do me a favor?”
“Sure.” I snuggled into the collar of my coat. “What’s up?”
“Head back. Lock up. I’m on my way. Should be there in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“Cole. Why do you sound upset?”
“I’ll explain when I get there. Please. Just go back inside for me?”
“Okay.” I looked around, worried. “You’re scaring me a little bit.”
A pause. A loud exhale. “Sorry, sunshine. Don’t mean to scare you. Just got some information you need to
hear.”
“Okay.”
“Call me when you’re safe inside?”
“Sure.” I tucked my phone into my back pocket, pushed off the bench, righted my crutches, and headed the half block toward home.
At the front entrance, my cell buzzed. I should’ve continued inside, but instead I read the screen.
Gotchu
Shit. Shit. Shit. I turned to look over my shoulder and dropped a crutch.
“Shit!” Hobbling on one foot, I bent to retrieve my fallen support.
“Let me get that,” came the familiar voice.
I stilled, the chill permeating my bones.
Slowly, cautiously, head throbbing, chest pounding, I rose to face my greatest mistake.
“Holden.” I scanned my surroundings. The street was busy, the sidewalk dotted with people. I was safe for the time being. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
He reached for my cheek. I knocked his hand away.
His chest rose and fell. Once, twice, three times.
I feared my heart would detonate, the roar between my ears deafening. The man before me struggled for composure, and when he closed his eyes, took one long breath, then blew it out slow and steady, I knew I wouldn’t like whatever came next.
“I’m here to fight for you, Nats.” He scratched his head, messing his now shoulder-length blond hair. “I was such an idiot before. I never should’ve let you get away. I should’ve cherished you.” His pale blue eyes darkened, filling my blood with adrenaline.
“Holden.” I held up a hand and took a step back. “Stop right there.”
“Let me speak,” he said, his plea robotic, practiced. “Let me say what I need to say.”
“No!” I didn’t step away again, but instead hobbled closer and lifted my chin to make sure he heard me loud and clear. “Nothing you say will make me change my mind.” I took a breath, measuring my words. “You have to stop. Creepy as this is, you stalking me to another state, deep down, I know you have a good heart—”
“I’m not a fucking stalker,” he cut in, his glare darting toward the door, then landing back on me. He gripped my bicep, squeezing hard enough to let me know he wasn’t messing around. “I’m not crazy.”
L.O.V.E. Page 23