Valley of Fire (Valley of the Moon Book 2)

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Valley of Fire (Valley of the Moon Book 2) Page 7

by Bronwyn Archer


  I stared at him. “What fight?”

  “Soren threw snowballs at me during the service. He’s a lot older and he tormented me when we were kids. I ran to hide behind a gravestone, scared and miserable. You appeared out of nowhere. You were wearing a white fur coat and your hair was lighter than it is now. For a second, I thought you were an angel.” His eyes shone. “Do you remember? You got hit with a snowball, too.”

  I gasped as the memory unspooled in my head. Cold ice hitting my cheek, the blinding white all around, the strange crunch my new boots made on the snow. Georgette . . . we’d gone to visit her before the funeral. Disconnected images floated back to me from a deep recess in my brain. A long ride up a creaking elevator. A face as white and frayed as the thin braids resting on her thin chest. She’d pushed a heavy red box into my hands and mumbled something to me before her nurse shooed us away.

  I realized with a shock that the box must have held the crystal snow globe with the tiny ice skater in front of the New York City skyline. The same snow globe an invisible spirit pushed off my dresser last December, smashing to the floor and leading me to my mother’s hidden diary under the floor boards.

  The diary with the map to a diamond dove buried in a graveyard.

  “I am sort of remembering this.”

  “You guys left right after the funeral. It must have been tough for her. Her baby is in the same cemetery.”

  A powerful ache seized my heart. “Liam. I’d like to visit the grave when we’re there.” My poor mother. As tragic as his death was, at least it helped me understand why she’d done it.

  Why she jumped.

  “I’ll take you.” The warmth of his hand on mine was like an electric shock on my skin. Then I remembered the escort from the night before. Disgusted, I yanked it away like I’d been bitten.

  I turned on the radio. A weather reporter announced a major thunderstorm approaching the area.

  “You should slow down, it’s about to start raining and I’d like to make it to Little Rock in one piece, if you don’t mind.”

  #

  We didn’t talk much after lunch. I slept for a few hours until a steady drumbeat on the roof on the car woke me up.

  I ran my fingers through my hair and wiped my mouth.

  “Nice nap?” he asked. I shrugged. “You’ve been napping in this car since the day I met you.” I glared out the windshield.

  The traffic ahead suddenly slowed and the Vanquish came perilously close to rear-ending the minivan in front of us.

  I jerked forward in my seat as he screeched to a halt.

  “Maybe it’s my turn to drive.”

  “You mad at me, Lana? You’ve been in a bad mood all day. Snap out of it.”

  “No! Just try not to kill us.” He reached his arm across the back of his seat. I leaned forward to avoid contact. I didn’t want him to touch me, ever again.

  “You are mad. I’ve only seen you mad once before, when you had that fight with the guy at your graduation.”

  Caleb. He’d shown up at the ball and confronted me. He’d refused to acknowledge what he’d done. He’d even tried to blame the fact that he slept with Cressida that night on drugs. What a liar.

  I rubbed my bare legs and hugged my arms around my chest.

  “Who was he? Your boyfriend?”

  I sanitized the truth for Alexander’s consumption. “Caleb Weaver. He goes to Stanford. Definitely not my boyfriend.” I squirmed in my seat and fixed my eyes on the horizon. “He was my prom date.” My stomach muscles hitched. No one knew the truth about what had happened that night. What he’d done to me, and then to Cressida while I lay bleeding and unconscious. I could still smell the metallic tang of my blood. I’d woken up so sick.

  I shook my bangs forward to hide my eyes. I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. Strawberry-blonde bob, freckles dusting my nose, slight gap between my front teeth.

  Dark circles under my eyes.

  At least I had gotten tanner since the Amangiri.

  His hand squeezed my shoulder and I jumped. His brows knit together. “What happened?” There was a new tone in his voice; one of cold menace I hadn’t heard before. At least I didn’t have to worry about crying over Caleb in front of Alexander. I’d already drained that tank.

  Traffic slowed to a standstill. Ahead, fire engines and police cars lit up the night sky. As we crawled past, we had a clear view of the accident. One car, a Honda sedan, had its entire hood smashed in.

  And the other car . . .

  The other car . . .

  THE OTHER CAR.

  “Oh my God, Alexander, look!” The other car was a canary yellow Lamborghini Aventador. “I can’t read the plates from here, can you?”

  “No, but it’s probably one of the Gumball Rally guys. They drive way too fast. They must be headed east.” He glanced over at me. “There’s no way they know where you are.”

  I nodded, trembling.

  They’d eventually find me.

  And when they did, no one would be able to protect me.

  #

  It was dinner time when we got to the hotel in Little Rock. It wasn’t just raining—it was pouring.

  “Looks like we’re eating here tonight,” Alexander said. “Feel like eating in the lounge downstairs?” he asked. “Looks decent.”

  “No, thanks. I just want to go to sleep.” He nodded wordlessly and handed me my key card as we walked into the ornate elevator.

  When the doors opened, I practically ran to my room. I unlocked the door, slipped inside, and slumped against the door in an exhausted heap.

  After a long shower, I changed the bandage on my shoulder. My stitches were looking good, although I was going to have a three-inch scar across my left shoulder. Arkady’s knife had been sharp.

  I slipped into my latest hotel robe and ordered room service. With my chronic clothes shortage, the hotel robe was my new staple. As I waited for my $26 cheeseburger, I scrolled Instagram. Caleb appeared in some of Evan’s photos. What would happen when I told Maya and Evan the truth about Caleb? Would they side with me, or him?

  There was no Alexander Ambrose on Instagram. Yes, I checked.

  Disgusted with myself for trying to stalk him on social media, I tossed my phone down on the bed. I waited ten seconds, then picked it up again and opened Safari. Hating myself the whole time, I typed his name into the browser.

  Alexander Ambrose had his own Wikipedia page! But it was disappointingly skimpy. I learned he was the son of Elijah and Helen Ambrose of Pacific Heights in San Francisco. I found a brief news article announcing his graduation from Stanford Business School last year and his new job at his father’s company. Another short piece from a local San Francisco magazine named him one of the city’s Most Eligible Bachelors. I rolled my eyes at that one. They obviously didn’t know about his taste for professional female companionship.

  I tapped Images and the screen filled with pictures of him at various charity events with attractive socialites. A few photos of him sailing in San Francisco Bay. A tiny photo of him in some kind of military uniform. Curious, I tapped on it, but the page no longer existed. I made a note to ask him about that. He didn’t seem like the military type.

  Next, I searched Gretchen Ambrose.

  And immediately regretted it. She was stunning, with long, wavy caramel-colored hair and perfect features. She also looked like she was at least a foot taller than me. Some of the photos were from actual magazine shoots. The most recent photo of her was taken at Georgette’s funeral in December at a gray stone church in New York City. In the photo, she’s wearing a tight black skirt suit and oversized sunglasses as she steps out of a glossy black limo. A bald, tanned man helping her out of the limo wore the kind of fancy suit where the tie matches the pocket handkerchief.

  Ashamed of myself, I closed Safari. I was suddenly, desperately homesick. I picked up my phone and dialed my dad’s cell. He picked up on the first ring.

  “It’s me, Dad. Did I wake you?”

 
“Lana! Nope, I’m just watching TV. How’s the trip?”

  “Good.”

  “Where are you guys? Wait, I’m not supposed to know. Just tell me if you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine, I just miss you.”

  “I miss you too, honey. Alexander taking good care of you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good, good.” He trailed off into silence. “He’s doing a better job than I ever did.”

  “Dad, I love you. You wanted me to have a good life. And guess what? I am going to have a good life, so it’s okay.” I didn’t care about anything other than him getting better and being happy again. I needed him safe.

  I wouldn’t survive losing another parent.

  He blew his nose loudly. “Having you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  I had to change the subject before I lost my composure. “I know, Dad. How’s the hospital?”

  “Got discharged yesterday. Feels good to be out.” What? Why hadn’t he called to tell me?

  “It’s not safe for you at home! Please go stay with Cesar or something.”

  He chuckled. “I’m surprised you don’t know. I’m staying at Alexander’s place in the city. He offered me his guest room, and he even hired me a bodyguard. A little excessive if you ask me. I’ll be here until the garage at the house is ready. Cesar and his guys are converting it to a studio for me.” He’d moved my dad behind my back. I felt grateful—but also furious. Taking care of everything, but keeping it secret. How many other secrets was he keeping from me? “As soon as we pay Victor, we’ll be able to put all this nonsense behind us.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that if my dad and I were both dead, Ramona would get it all.

  She was still the beneficiary in the event of my untimely event—and was still legally married to my dad.

  Which was as good as having a huge red target painted on my forehead.

  I said goodnight to my father and leaped off the bed.

  Chapter 8

  Lacus Perseverantiae ~ Lake of Perseverance

  At the bar inside the hotel lounge, a posse of older men with paunches, rumpled suits, and comb-overs sat hunched over their drinks. Two young women in bright, low-cut cocktail dresses perched on bar stools chatting with them.

  I peeked around an enormous potted plant and spotted him. He was in a corner booth, sipping what looked like an elaborate Bloody Mary. When he saw me approach his booth, he almost did a spit-take.

  “Oh, hey! I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I need a new will before Ramona kills me and my father.” A strong smell of hairspray assaulted my nostrils.

  He smirked and his eyes glinted mischievously. “Cynthia, this is my friend, Lana,” he said. “Lana, this is Cynthia.”

  There was a woman sitting in his booth right across from him. She’d been hidden by the booth’s low divider wall. Her auburn hair was twisted in an elaborate updo with ringlets falling down around her face. She wore bright red lipstick and heavily contoured blush. Another one? Really? I stuck my hands on my hips as my cheeks burned.

  She examined me like a bug under a microscope. “Darlin,’ what in the world did you do to your hair?”

  I could ask you the same thing, Cynthia.

  I gritted my teeth. “I didn’t realize you had company. Goodnight.” I turned to go but his strong hand gripped my forearm.

  “Wait. She was just leaving.”

  Cynthia sighed, picked up a sparkly clutch purse, and wriggled out of the booth. She bent down low to kiss Alexander on the cheek. He disappeared behind her hair for a second. One of her legs stuck out when she kissed him.

  The lipstick matched her patent leather red heels.

  “Real pleasure meeting you both. Have a lovely evening,” she drawled. I watched her saunter towards the bar, a cloud of perfume in her wake.

  Was I literally on a cross-country road trip with a guy who had women all over him every time he was alone?

  Yep, and you’re one of them.

  “Sit down, Lana.” His eyes burned into mine. He was freshly showered and shaved and wearing a beautiful blue cashmere sweater I hadn’t seen before. The color made his eyes look lighter, almost gold.

  He also had a big red lipstick kiss on his cheek.

  I sat down and glared at him. “She seemed like your type.”

  Alexander raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you know what my type is?” He took a napkin and wiped the lipstick off his face. He missed, and I grabbed the napkin out of his hand and wiped it off myself.

  “Thank you.”

  I tried to smother my acute feelings of jealousy. He leaned in and whispered, “Lana, that woman is a professional. She’s everyone’s type. Or I should say, everyone is her type. Look.” Cynthia was draped over a portly red-faced man at the bar. His hand cupped her behind.

  I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I thought professionals were your type.”

  “What?!”

  Emboldened, I snapped, “Like the lady you hired last night.” I crossed my arms defiantly, waiting for his remorseful admission of guilt. His eyebrows knit together for a second, and then he unleashed a huge smile.

  “A-ha! So that’s why you were hating on me all day.”

  Incredibly, he just grinned at me. Even his dimples mocked me. I smacked my hand on the table, grabbed my jacket, and scooted off the banquet seat so fast I bumped into a cocktail waitress holding an enormous round tray of drinks. Ice and glassware clattered and people craned their necks to see what the commotion was.

  “Hey, look out!” she cried.

  “Sorry,” I muttered to the girl. I whirled around and leaned over the table and said, “I don’t care what you do, but please try to be more discreet.” He looked like he was trying to stifle a laugh. He was enjoying my outrage. “You’re not embarrassed even a little?”

  “I don’t get embarrassed,” he said. “It’s my superpower.” He shook his head sadly. “And, I have some bad news for you. The woman in my room last night was not a hooker. She was a traveling notary.”

  I rocked backwards and almost knocked into the same cocktail waitress returning with her empty tray.

  “Sit down already! You’re a danger to yourself and others standing there.”

  Stunned, I sat down and listened to him explain. “Lana, you have no birth certificate at the Sonoma County registrar’s office. Our PI has been trying to track it down for weeks, and he finally did. I had to fill out some documents to expedite the process and I needed them notarized. Do you know what a notary is?” I nodded, listening. My dad used to have notaries come to his shop to sign car titles. “It’s not my fault she was dressed like an off-duty stripper. Although that didn’t bother me as much as it bothered you.”

  I’d tortured myself all day over nothing. He was trying to help you, idiot. He was doing it for you! He’s doing all of this for you!

  “Okay, well, thank you for doing that. And I owe you an apology. I’m really sorry.”

  He patted my hand. “I forgive you. Despite my rakish exterior, I’m actually very sensitive. So be nice.” He grinned and his cheeks dimpled again. His self-awareness was disarming. My mouth went dry and my pulse thrummed a little faster.

  “Okay.”

  “After all, I am sort of out on a limb here. I’m escorting a wayward heiress across the country, pursued by international gangsters.”

  I bit my lip. “I know this is not exactly your idea of a dream vacation.”

  His smile faded. “It would be a lot more fun if you started trusting me.”

  “Then you have to tell me when you do stuff like move my dad to your apartment!”

  He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to put it together, and I knew you’d complain about it. Because guess what? I am going to do whatever it takes to keep you and your father safe, and I don’t need your permission.” Was I really acting that ungrateful? Or was he just too arrogant to know how hard it was for me to accept his help?
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br />   I fidgeted uncomfortably. “Fine. I also need a new will. Effective immediately. If I meet an untimely end, Ramona is still the beneficiary to my will.”

  “Hmm. We can get it done as soon as we get to New York—Bannister will hook you up.”

  The tension and anxiety from the day evaporated and I smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  “Also, I know a great notary.” I started laughing at this and then laughed until I cried.

  He handed me a napkin to blot my tears. “We never properly celebrated your birthday, did we?” My birthday. The day my old life ended and the crazy new one began. “And, mine’s coming up. I was thinking we could take a little detour.”

  “To where?”

  His eyes twinkled through his dark lashes. “Ever been to New Orleans?”

  #

  Once we crossed into Mississippi, the landscape changed from rolling hills and farms to lush, almost tropical woods lining either side of the road. Alexander drove with two fingers of his left hand and kept his right arm draped along the top of my seat. I had to crack the window to distract myself.

  “Can you please close the window, Lana? The bug situation out there is nuts.” The windshield was an insect graveyard. Wipers were ineffective against the carnage.

  “We may have to stop and hose down the glass,” I said.

  He laughed. “You booked the hotel for two nights, right?” I nodded. “We’ll have to make up some time after, but we should be okay. Especially since I’ll be driving.”

  “Over my dead body,” he said.

  “That can be arranged,” I said. “Really, I know a guy.” He laughed.

  He pulled off his sunglasses and reached across the leather console and covered my hand with his. My entire body responded in strange ways to his touch. He squeezed it and my breath caught. I wondered idly what his hand would feel like on other parts of my body. My leg. My belly. My–

  He released my hand and my brain snapped back to reality. “Anyway, we deserve a little break from the road.”

  “Have you been there before?”

  “Once, when I was in college.”

 

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