by Angela Smith
Winona was used to getting hit on. Partly because they thought her bartender status would grant them free beer, and partly because she was half American Indian, which lent her an air of mystery. Adept at playing it cool without getting serious about anything or anyone, she hadn’t found any man worthy of seriousness.
But this man—attraction personified. Coppery blond hair, as if the earth had blessed him with the ability to draw its color from the sun. Spiked and mussed as if he’d just stepped out of the bedroom after a playful romp in silky sheets. He looked like an athlete, the way his forearms roped their way to the tops of his shoulders. The wrinkles in his otherwise immaculate shirt, the holes in his jeans, and the stubble on his face were sexy instead of dirty.
He eyed the bar before sitting, as if second-guessing his decision to come here. He wasn’t a local. Although she’d only been in Tanyon for six weeks—this time around—she’d visited frequently over the past few months. She personally knew or knew of almost every resident in and around town and knew for sure she’d never seen him before.
This was the man who was asking about her. Had to be. But why?
“Welcome to Air Dog. Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“Tonic water and lime.”
“Coming right up.”
She didn’t judge a person by what they ordered. Not everyone who came into a bar drank alcohol. Some came for the companionship, even if they didn’t speak to another living soul, which was what she’d have guessed this guy needed if she hadn’t already been warned.
She handed him the drink and moved on to her next customer. The bar was still slow but had picked up this afternoon. Simone would be in at any moment. In two hours the club would hop with partygoers and visitors who weren’t ready to settle in for the night.
Mr. Sexy Eyes watched her shuffle drinks. The way his deep blue eyes trailed her pierced her with tiny darts of longing, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She longed to trace the stubble lining his jaw and let him tell her of his troubles.
She shook that thought aside. If he was the man looking for her, no telling who he was. Could be a relative, for all she knew.
He held up his empty glass and asked for another. She exchanged his empty one with a full, and for a moment his potent blue eyes met hers in a desperation that gave her heart a little stutter. If he hadn’t been drinking tonic water, she’d think he’d had too many.
Winona had always been an eye person, and his drew her into desperation to know more. Layers of earth and steel and sky dominated by electric blue, so deep she felt she was drowning. She blinked, opening her mouth to breathe in an attempt to come back to reality.
“Winona?” His voice was a strong baritone of musical chords and strummed its way right into her belly. What was it about this man? He could be a serial killer for all she knew.
She faced him. Granite clenched her windpipe. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Simone coming in. Chayton hadn’t left his office yet. She wondered if Danny had decided to warn him and now he was guilelessly waiting around in his office.
“I’m looking for Winona,” the man said again.
“Why?” she demanded. “What do you want?”
“I …” He drummed his fingers against the counter, a telltale sign of nervousness. He glanced downward and tossed back the last of his water like tequila. His nose scrunched, as if in bitter aftershock.
He looked at her again, and she nearly lost her balance despite both feet planted firmly on the floor. She touched the edge of the counter as if that slight grip would keep her steady.
“I need help.” Desperation crept into his voice. His eyes, still potent, were lined with worry and fear. He looked like a recovering drug addict who needed his fix.
“With what?” she asked.
“With finding someone.” He rubbed his fingers through his hair then plopped his hands on the counter. His hair remained unkempt, though smooth, as if no sticky gels held the muss together. “My cousin, well, my cousin’s daughter, is missing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Have you reported it to the police?”
“She’s seven years old.”
“Oh.” Winona quickly shut down a brief panic attack. The police were still the ones to help this poor man.
“I heard you’re the best tracker in these parts, maybe even in this nation.”
“You heard wrong,” Winona said, but she had a hard time brushing off his words. Years ago, being a private investigator was the only thing that mattered to her. She had wanted to help others, wanted to help them change their lives for the better. She’d been a damn good tracker, but that had all changed. She couldn’t help this man now.
“I need you. I need your help. My cousin was killed. His daughter was taken. The police aren’t doing anything. I think I know where she is.”
“If you think you know where she is, you need to make sure the police go after her. If she’s been taken, her chance of survival is diminished with each passing second.”
“Yes, I know. That’s why I need you.”
• • •
Jake hadn’t expected to be so attracted to this woman.
He watched her movements. Graceful. Dainty. Edgy. Like she could kill you with her bare hands. Dark hair. Whiskey-colored eyes. Just what he needed. And here he was trying to sever his craving when her eyes elicited a whole new set of cravings.
He’d heard she was part Sioux.
He knew the moment he saw her that he wouldn’t be able to drink. Women like her didn’t consort with losers like him. He’d heard she’d given up private investigation. He’d heard she would be a hard sell, but he came with plenty of cash in his pocket and more than enough money to back him up. Eyeing her, he realized money wouldn’t get him anywhere with her. He’d have to tear at her heartstrings.
“My name is Jacob Inman, but my friends call me Jake. Last week, my cousin was murdered and his daughter kidnapped.” His voice croaked, but he was no actor. None of this was staged. The worry, the fear, the instability in his voice was all real. He hoped it affected her the way it needed to affect her.
He opened his wallet and pulled out a picture of Brandon and Amy. Amy stood on a bench behind her father, her arms wrapped around his chest and her chin resting on his shoulder. Jake slid the photo across the counter and though Winona looked at it, she didn’t pick it up. He saw her swallow and blink, but no other emotion crossed her beautiful features. Dark brown hair, clipped up at the front, flowed past her shoulders. A small silver necklace lined her neck and dipped into cleavage he tried to ignore. He wanted this to be as professional as possible.
But her whiskey-colored eyes—eyes that pierced him to the core—remained detached and aloof. As if she really didn’t give a rat’s ass about his problems.
Exactly what whiskey had taught him over the years. It didn’t care about his problems, only created more of them.
“She’s seven years old,” he repeated.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice offered warmth but no promises, no sign of her helping. She only touched the picture to slide it back to him.
Anger surged through him. “You’re sorry? My cousin is dead and his seven-year-old daughter has been kidnapped, and all you can say is you’re sorry when I’m asking for your help?” His voice rose, but he didn’t care who heard. Let them all hear and determine for themselves if her lack of cooperation stemmed from selfishness or apathy. It damn sure didn’t stem from compassion for other people, as he’d been told about her.
She squared her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you from Adam and I’m not an investigator anymore. I can put you in touch with several, but I cannot help you.”
“You can’t help me, or you won’t?” It was a clichéd question, formulaic, but he didn’t care. He was pissed off at the world, at her, and right now he was pissed off at himself for being in this vulnerable position with beer mugs and alcohol bottles surrounding him. If he made it through
the day without a drink, it’d be a miracle.
He no longer believed in miracles.
Chapter Three
“The lady doesn’t want you to bother her.”
Jake straightened, clenching his fist to defend against a potential attack but relaxed when he recognized Chayton, Winona’s brother. He’d researched his way into Winona’s life and knew minor details, such as her brother—half-brother, really—had another half-brother and they had all been involved in bringing down a large crime family. He also knew that, until a few months ago, Chayton hadn’t known he had a sister. Apparently, his protectiveness was in full swing. He looked ready to claw out Jake’s eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was bothering her.”
“She told you she wasn’t interested in your proposal. So leave her alone.”
Jake shrugged, anguish knotting his spine. A direct hit of alcohol—or something far worse—was the only way to cope. He was eight years sober, but that could change in an instant. But he couldn’t help Amy then. For Amy’s sake, at least until all hope was gone, he had to stay strong. And he wouldn’t lose hope until he knew one way or another she would never be found.
The television behind the bar flashed a picture of her and he straightened. “They’re talking about my niece. Can you turn it up?”
“I thought you said she was your cousin’s daughter.” Winona’s eyes flashed accusation, distrust weighting her words.
“She is. She’s also my goddaughter. But Brandon was like a brother to me, so it’s hard for me to refer to Amy as my cousin when they were both so much more.”
Winona turned to the television, but after hearing Amy hadn’t been found, Jake stopped listening. It only reinforced his rage.
“You okay?” Winona asked, her voice growing soft, like she actually cared about his problems. Her mock concern reminded him of Lillian, and hatred governed any other feelings, including the attraction he felt when he first saw her.
She didn’t give a damn about his problems, and she wasn’t going to help. From what he’d heard, she’d been a damn good PI with instinctive tracking skills. He wondered why she’d turned her back on her abilities. Maybe she didn’t have a drinking problem, but she might as well be living the life of an alcoholic the way she’d given up everything she was good at and turned her back on her life, her calling.
He didn’t care anymore. What was the point? All the good living, hard work, and honest labor. All the staying on track and not backsliding. Where had it gotten him?
“Give me a double shot of whiskey and a Miller on the side.”
• • •
“Do you know who that is?” Chayton asked Winona once they’d made it out of Jake’s hearing range and into the office behind the bar.
“No. Some guy wanting me to help him hunt for his missing seven-year-old cousin.”
“That’s Jake Inman. Semi-famous. He’s a triathlete and has competed in several triathlons across the globe. He does dirt bike racing and four-wheeling professionally. And he’s done a few commercials, too.”
“La-di-da.” Winona knew he looked like an athlete, but she wasn’t impressed by any commercials or awards he’d won. Chayton, who loved dirt bike racing, would probably befriend him just because they shared a hobby. She hoped Jake didn’t plan on sticking around for long.
“His cousin was killed a few days ago. It’s been all over the news and all over the paper. There’s been a manhunt for the cousin’s daughter ever since, but so far they have no leads. Jake’s been pretty vocal about them looking at the mother, but the cops don’t consider her a suspect.”
“That’s terrible.” Winona truly meant it. She did feel terrible about his situation, but she couldn’t help him.
“He’s always seemed like a respectable guy, but let me know if he keeps giving you trouble.”
“Okay, I will.”
“I’m out of here,” Chayton said, undoubtedly ready to get back to Naomi.
“I’m gone, too.” But first she would give Jake some contacts for trackers and PIs who might be able to help him. She could do at least that much.
When she came out of the office, she learned Jake had left the bar. She headed home and spent the next few hours on the Internet, researching him and his family. His parents were dead, the cousin who died had been his manager and a huge supporter of his career, and it appeared Jake loved the spotlight. His athletic abilities made her wish he’d visited for any other reason than hiring her to investigate a crime, because—well, because his attraction factor zinged well past the triple digits. Seeing videos and pictures of him on his bike, swimming, and running would give her enough fodder for the next decade of sexy dreams.
She scrolled across another article and stopped, her blood running cold. He was a reformed alcoholic and talked openly about it, claiming to hope to help others with the problem. But she’d served him alcohol. She hadn’t witnessed him drink the whiskey or beer, but the drinks were gone when she came out. She wasn’t going to call Simone to find out, but she knew the dangers and feared his self-destruction.
She called the two hotels and Abby’s Bed and Breakfast, where she had stayed when she first came to Tanyon. She found him at Abby’s, which was nice because they all knew her. The clerk told her Jake’s room number without transferring her. She didn’t want to talk to him on the phone. She could call the press, let everyone know of his presence here, but she wasn’t that kind of person. Didn’t mean someone else who recognized him wouldn’t be that kind of person.
The poor man obviously needed help. He grieved his cousin, a child, and the loss of everything he’d known. And she’d given him the cold shoulder.
She usually hiked in the evenings, so she decided to walk to Abby’s and pay him a visit. A cool breeze stirred the trees. Red and purple dusted the horizon as the sun ducked behind the mountains and shattered the darkness with alpenglow. Winona valued the exercise, and the town was safe and light enough to not fear walking home in the dark.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t be at Jake’s long.
Her heart pounded as she lumbered up the stairs to the second floor. Visiting a stranger in his room might not be a good idea no matter how cute he was. She’d ask him to come out; they could talk in the lobby. Private enough and safe. She should at least let Naomi know where she was going just in case. But Naomi would tell Chayton and Chayton would get angry and she’d have to explain what she was thinking and then she’d be lectured, like she didn’t know how to take care of herself. Like she hadn’t taken care of herself most her life. And Chayton would get angry because he would feel guilty about not being around to take care of her, even though it wasn’t his fault he hadn’t known Winona even existed until eight months ago.
For those reasons, she decided to keep this little trip a secret.
• • •
Jake sat in the chair in his room at the far side of the two full beds, one lamp burning. The room resembled a coffin—small, dark, and closing in on him—smothering his chances to make it out of this with a positive attitude. His chest tightened as he tried to take deep, cleansing breaths. Ghostly cravings clenched his gut. His body ached, his nerves longed for a drink. Nausea burned within him as his hunger remained unquenched.
Hunger. Thirst did not attend his craving. Only hunger for the piece of heaven alcohol would provide. But that heaven was a temporary flight to hell. He had to remember that.
He’d ordered a double shot of whiskey and a beer, but he’d stared at them a few minutes before throwing down a fifty-dollar bill and marching out of there before he changed his mind.
He stood, shoving the brochures decorating the table to the floor. He paced, back and forth, back and forth. Usually when he felt this way, he would cook. He’d cooked so much over the years he’d become a legend at the nursing homes and churches in his hometown. They knew he wasn’t a crazy psycho and had accepted his food with gratitude. He was no gourmet chef, but the meals he cooked were time-consuming and intensive, the food’s
aroma like a drug that healed him of his cravings.
But this B&B had no kitchen. He didn’t think any of the rooms in this town had kitchens because he’d checked. Obviously the town didn’t expect visitors to cook their own meals, though some of them offered backyard grills to share.
If he couldn’t drink or cook, he’d exercise. Surely Tanyon had a gym, and he knew this B&B had a swimming pool. It was one of the reasons he’d chosen it. The water would cleanse him of all craving, all regret. That is, until he came back to the room. But maybe, maybe he could swim the temptation out of him.
He was in the middle of changing his clothes when someone knocked on the door. He peeked out the door and his breath shot out of him when he saw Winona.
What was she doing here?
Not bothering to put on a shirt, he opened the door and stood, unspeaking. She didn’t speak either, just waited. For what, he didn’t know. For his first words? For him to step aside and let her enter?
“Hi,” she finally said, her voice soft and shy, as if second-guessing her visit.
“What do you want?”
• • •
Jake wore no shirt when he opened the door. Winona hesitated, trying to process her thoughts. His chest was striated and ribbed along the lines of his stomach, dipping under distressed jeans that defined his body in perfect muscular proportions. It made her feel totally loopy.
“What do you want?” he asked, no doubt irritated with her lack of composure. Or maybe he was used to it and got a kick out of affecting women this way. Why else would he answer the door without a shirt? No doubt he’d known she waiting on the other side. He probably meant to put her ill at ease.
She unfurled the paper she’d stuck in her pocket with numbers of private investigators she knew and admired. “I wanted to give you these numbers.”
His biceps bulged as he perched one arm along the door frame, not opening it wider, not accepting the paper she extended him. His face was a mask, but his nod at her list of names bred arrogance. “What’s that?”