by Paige Rion
WHILE IT LASTS
Book Two in The Callaway Cove Series
By Paige Rion
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Theresa Souders
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
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CHAPTER ONE
Rachel ducked behind the thicket of holly bushes. She inched her gaze above the waxy, snow-dusted leaves, the red berries peeking through the ice like small pricks of blood.
The three men dressed the same, and if Rachel’s instincts were right, she knew exactly who they were. They wore black from head to toe, right down to their sleek sunglasses, knitted caps, and grim expressions. Their burly frames and ruddy faces made them nearly impossible to tell apart—which, she supposed, was the point. Look menacing. Sound menacing. And remain homogenous.
Rachel’s breath came in ragged puffs. The cold bit her ears and cheeks, but she ignored it waiting for the men to leave. They trudged through the snow-covered driveway her father had shoveled himself at two in the morning—a side effect of firing their housekeeper and landscaper—to the two waiting Buick SUVs. Two of them got into their cars, but the third man moved around one of the vehicles directly in Rachel’s line of sight and stopped by the back window, which slowly lowered, as if on command.
Rachel’s eyes widened. A fourth man had been waiting for their return. She squinted, trying to make him out, but she couldn’t see much with the dark tint of the glass still covering half his face. From what she could tell though, the man was different than the undistinguishable trio, with a thick wave of black hair, pale skin, and a five o’clock shadow. He nodded at something the man said, then rolled the window back up and stepped out of the car.
He trudged up to the front door, where Rachel realized her father had been waiting, and handed him something she couldn’t quite make out in the distance.
As the seconds ticked by, Rachel’s imagination took flight and the image of the man suddenly lunging forward and throttling her father, hurting her mother—or worse—flashed through her head.
Made bold by her imagination, she leapt to her feet and started around the bushes, with her heart hammering in her chest, ready to—what?—yell at him? Attack him?
But just as quickly, the man shook her father’s hand, then retreated. Not wanting to be seen, she jumped back behind the cover of tall hedges and watched him make his way back to the running vehicle, where he got inside and they proceeded to leave the property.
“Rachel?” Her father’s voice cut through the frigid air.
Standing, she dusted the snow off her jeans and turned to see him in the doorway, watching her with barely concealed annoyance. He wore a pair of charcoal slacks, and a green sweater Rachel knew was cashmere. Dressed impeccably as always. Ever the mayor. Yet his face drew down like a bow, and the air about him was bleak at best.
“Were they...Did they have something to do with Mom?” She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice, but failed.
“I think you should come inside, it’s cold, and...maybe we need to talk.”
Swallowing, Rachel made her way inside the warmth of her family home. She shrugged out of her coat, feeling returning to her cheeks and fingers in a series of hot pinpricks. Out of habit, she held it out for Marietta to take, before she remembered the beloved family housekeeper was no longer employed with them. Realizing her mistake, she felt a pang of loss in the pit of her stomach, but pushed it aside and hung her coat up in the foyer closet herself.
No point in getting upset over that now, she’d already dealt with it, and from the look on her father’s face, along with the circulating rumors about her family, she had bigger things to worry about.
She followed him into the sitting room and came to a halt when she saw her mother’s puffy-eyed, tear-streaked face. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.
Rachel glanced back at her father, who moved further into the room and stopped next to her mother.
“Who were those men?” she asked, although she had a pretty good idea.
“They did have to do with your mother.” Her father’s voice remained steady, despite the slightly ghostly pallor of his skin. “They were collectors. They come periodically to ensure payment. It’s nothing you need to worry yourself about.”
Rachel froze. Her gaze shifted to her mother, whose face crumpled in anguish.
Nothing she needed to worry about?
* * *
“So this debt thing. How bad is it?” Rachel asked. “I’m a part of this family and seeing as how strange men in black are coming to our house unannounced, I think I have a right to know some details. When I mentioned it to you a few months ago, you told me it was bad and that you cut corners to try and pay it. You even made me think there was a chance we’d lose the house, but—”
“I’m handling it.” Her father glanced over at her mother who stared into her lap. Fresh tears streamed down her face.
“So, now what?”
“All I need from you,” he continued, “is for you to pay attention to the rumor mill. Talk can mutate and stories can change. If there’s any word or talk at all in town about us, about gambling debts, or anything else...” His gaze darted to her mother and back. “Anything at all, related or unrelated, I need you to come to me. I need you to be my ears.”
Rachel drowned him out. She had to find a way to fix this. There had to be something she could do. If her family lost the estate, if her father lost his job, they’d have nothing. Their reputations would be ruined. There’d be no legacy. Where would they even go? They had money, were considered wealthy by some, but they had nowhere near the means considering the lifestyle they’ve lived, to make it on their own without her father’s position as mayor. Most of her family’s assets were not liquid, and they had lost a ton of money in the housing market crash, as many of their investments had been in real estate.
Her father may be making payments to her mothers’ debtors now, but what about when he started campaigning in the next few months for fall elections? Would they blackmail him for more? If word got out and he lost his job, would they have to leave Callaway? Live in a shack somewhere in the middle of nowhere? Would Rex and his men come after them if they didn’t pay? Up until now, Rachel had done nothing more than serve as a prop in her father’s campaign. She was a twenty-two year old woman with no real job experience, no education. Her standing in this town was all she had. She saw the mistake in
this. She had seen it since the first murmured rumors last summer and she questioned her family’s future. But it was too late to change any of that. Right now, her future hinged on that of her parents.
No, no, no...
Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. If anyone could find a way out of this, it was her. Because that’s what she did. She always got her way, and she needed to desperately now. She needed to be strong. She needed to save herself, which meant saving her family first.
* * *
Rachel took one last look at herself in front of the full-length mirror. She wore a pair of tight leather pants, black boots, and a low-cut red sweater. She grabbed the bottle of perfume off the vanity next to her and spritzed her cleavage one more time. If there was ever a time she needed to use her God-given assets to her advantage, it was now.
She had no idea what she would say to her mother’s debtor once she met him. She didn’t even have a name, only the faces she had seen that morning. But she had to at least try.
Rachel bit her ruby-red lips, her mind shifting to her failure with Ford Delaney last summer. Her failure with him had put a dent in her confidence, but she still had what it took to manipulate men, and today she would prove it. Even a skeezey loan shark would listen to an attractive woman. There had to be some sort of compromise they could come to, some way to save her family from humiliation and losing everything she’d ever known. There was no reason her mother’s debtor couldn’t get his money—eventually—and her father’s reputation could stay intact, along with their way of life.
Turning, Rachel headed for the hallway, off to the casinos.
Off to find a loan shark to strike a deal.
* * *
Forty minutes later, Rachel wandered through the expansive rooms of the Horseshoe Casino. She took in the huge chandeliers, the glowing lights from the machines, and the mixture of expressions amongst the nameless faces in the crowd. She let her gaze sweep the room for any spark of recognition, while her pulse raced.
Was she completely insane for coming here?
Turning, she clutched her hand to her churning stomach and headed to the bar. She needed a drink. A little liquid courage.
She wedged herself between two barstools and ordered a martini. The bartender set the cocktail in front of her, his gaze appraising.
Drink in hand and confidence bolstered, Rachel squared her shoulders. “So, if you want to spend some big money, where do you go?”
“You can spend a load anywhere in this place. I guess it depends on your pleasure.” His eyes sparkled, and he grinned at her, as he leaned toward her.
Not for you, buddy. She gave him a pointed look and waited. She needed to save all her feminine charm for someone else.
He cleared his throat and continued. “I guess the tables would be the place to go. They’re over there,” he said, pointing.
Rachel followed the direction of his finger with her gaze. “And what if you needed a loan?”
The bartender eyed her a moment. “You don’t look like the type.”
“Maybe I’m not. Still, where would you go? Who would you talk to?”
He shook his head and snatched the cloth off his shoulder, then wiped the counter. “Those people don’t exist.”
Rachel drew in a breath. She needed to stay strong, brazen. “They’re not supposed to exist. But that’s an entirely different thing than them actually not existing.”
He paused in his wiping and leaned toward her, glancing around him before whispering, “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Understand? But I know there are some guys that deal with...” He paused, pursing his lips as if to think of his wording. “Things of a not-so-legal nature. All I can say is they’re around. And they know how to spot interested parties.”
She thought about what he said. It made sense, she supposed. But that didn’t necessarily help her. However, if what he said was true and they were around, then she just needed to bide her time. Eventually, she would recognize someone as one of the men that visited her father.
“Great,” she replied, lifting her glass. Tipping her head back, Rachel took the entire martini down, even as the bartender gawked, then whistled at her empty glass.
“Thanks,” she murmured and slapped a ten-dollar bill on the bar.
“Hey, wait. How ’bout another drink. On me.” she heard him call after her, but she was already halfway across the room, her mind on the reasons she came.
She moved swiftly, scanning the many tables. She had no idea where to start. She ignored the part of her that felt utterly lost and took her time, walking on the outskirts of the room, the heels of her boots sinking into the carpet. How did anyone find someone that was supposed to be invisible? How did one find a ghost?
A waitress paused next to her and offered her a mixed drink, which she took. Passing the time was her only recourse, and the alcohol the only thing that would steel her nerves. She made her way past the craps table at the end of the room and watched the people gathered round, their foreheads furrowed in concentration. Her eyes scanned the faces, recognizing none. Moving to the blackjack table, she repeated this routine, then sighed, as she started to realize how ridiculous her plan was. She had only seen the men at her house once and had no names. Finding them might be next to impossible.
An hour passed in excruciatingly slow motion. Bored to tears and feeling deflated, she wondered if maybe she should just leave. Her feet ached and she felt the signs of a pulsing headache coming on.
She moved toward the lobby, when from the corner of her eye she saw a door open several yards away. Out stepped a man of average height, solid build, and a thick wave of black hair.
A shot of recognition rocked through her. It was the man who had been at her house that morning. The one who had given her father something. And her intuition told her this was exactly who she needed to speak with.
She watched him discreetly as he spoke to someone, toying with her clutch, musing that he met none of the stereotypes of a loan shark. At least not from what she had imagined. He had an air of confidence about him, but his look was more clean-cut than expected. Sexy, yes, but he seemed so much less...menacing than she would have thought. She would’ve imagined someone of his profession to be burly, the bodyguard type. Someone with stubble and an ugly scar on his cheek. Or a man with shrewd eyes and a threatening demeanor. Certainly not the well-dressed man in the expensive suit across from her. Whatever she had expected, this certainly wasn’t it.
Turning, he moved around a card table. When his gaze caught hers, all the air left Rachel’s lungs at once. His eyes... They were a startling green. Pure. The color of emeralds. It was so unexpected and his stare so disarming, Rachel blushed and snapped her head back around.
She felt him moving toward her, an invisible pull. She angled her head slightly so that she could see him from the corner of her eye. He had begun to chat with yet another one of the men in suits, the ones she assumed were the casino employees. He certainly knew a lot of people.
Her breathing quickened. The moment she had been hoping for had come. This was her chance. She needed to find a way to approach him, but couldn’t seem to move. She willed herself to get up, to walk over to him, yet her muscles remained frozen in place.
She couldn’t think. Her flirtatious nature, all her instincts, seemed to have vanished.
She drew in a deep breath and an image of her parents flashed in her head—her mother crying, the possibility of her father losing his job, losing the house. What if her actions made things worse? What if she screwed this up?
Rachel pressed a hand to her stomach and squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe this was the wrong decision.
She blinked her eyes open to discover he was no longer talking to the man in the monkey suit, and as she quickly glanced around, she couldn’t see him anywhere. Her stomach turned over. Whatever her apprehensions, she couldn’t miss her chance. She had to move. She had to find him!
She whirled around, taking a step forward.
Bam
!
Rachel yelped as she made full-body impact with someone. Her head cracked against something hard, and she stumbled backward. Bringing her hand to her head, she tried to gather her equilibrium and stop the floor from spinning, when a strong grip took hold of both her arms, steadying her.
“Whoa,” a deep voice said.
Rachel blinked and her vision cleared. It was him.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He ducked his head and met her gaze.
The kindness in his eyes and the smooth tenor of his voice took her off guard. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.
“Got my jaw pretty good, but I think you got the worst of it. You’re bleeding,” he said. Concern saturated the masculine edges of his voice. “Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to her. “Your nose. You must’ve bumped it.”
Rachel snapped out of her stupor. “I’m sorry...”
Instead of taking his handkerchief, she turned to the bar and snatched up a cocktail napkin, too embarrassed to face him. She dabbed at her nose and balked when she pulled it away and saw the splotch of scarlet.
Really? Her first nosebleed and it was in front of the absurdly handsome loan shark? Way to be attractive.
She continued to dab at her nose, pressing the napkin to her nostril until it finally came away clean. Then, with all the courage she could muster, she fanned at her flaming cheeks, took a deep breath, and then turned back around.
He stared at her, hands in his pockets, his handkerchief back in place. “I’m really sorr—”
“No.” Rachel waved him away. “It’s my fault.”
“Well, Miss...”
“Rachel. Rachel Beaumont.” Her name slipped out before she had a chance to think it through. A flash of recognition moved through his eyes, and she wondered if maybe she should’ve lied and pretended to be someone else.
Think, she willed herself, but there was something disarming about him that she couldn’t shake, and it was quickly muddling her thoughts. Rachel never got tongue-tied in front of men, never forgot her motivations.