by Chant, Zoe
It all seemed to come back to trust. He’d found a miracle woman, one he could trust, and he would willingly spend his life being the man she could trust.
He let himself out—to find the gray-haired cook waiting, arms crossed.
“Sorry,” he said, aware he’d been in there for an appreciable time.
But when he tried to step past her, she shifted her step to block him, her wide-set Asian eyes narrowed to slits. “First,” she said, “I don’t want to blame the victim here, but did you bring trouble with you? I mean besides Nosy Parker from NPR?”
“No,” he said. “At least, not that I’m aware of. This was supposed to be therapeutic—I’m recovering from a private plane crash. And to be fair, I don’t think Marlo means trouble. She just wants a story.”
“Wants a story bad enough to be peering through windows behind the hair dresser’s?”
Jameson grimaced. “Really? I thought she was just interviewing people.”
“Oh, she’s been doing that. But she started off the morning by her window peeping, and just now was seen poking around behind a friend’s house.”
He shook his head. “I haven’t been helping her, if that’s what you’re asking, except for trying to master her camera the first day we came. I gave that up.”
“So her poking around has nothing to do with the sudden biker invasion?”
“I don’t know what the hell is going on with those guys, except that their target seems to be me. But I mean to find out.”
She gave a curt nod. “Second thing. Kesley Enkel,” she said in a low voice, “is real popular in this town. Though she would be the last to know it. There isn’t hardly a house in our hills that doesn’t have some of her art, and never a penny will she take from any of us. She only charges the tourists that go to that art fair over the hill in Overton, and even then, she’ll give it away if someone gives her a hard luck story.”
“I can believe that,” Jameson said, wondering what he’d done to cause this woman to confront him.
“She can be taken for a ride, is what I’m saying.” The woman scowled up at him, but he could see more perplexity than anger in her expression. “We all kept our mouths shut when she dated that man-ho from Santa Cruz, last winter. And sure enough, he hurt her bad.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jameson said, trying to control the surge of fury that burned in his gut at the idea of some ass clown dicking around with Kesley’s heart.
He could have sworn he’d masked that unreasoning rage—because he knew he had no right to resentment on her behalf—but the woman seemed to see past his mask, because her eyes widened briefly, and meeting his gaze, something . . . predatory gazed out of her eyes at him. He got this weird, almost dizzying sense that he did not look at a woman at all, but a small creature like a weasel. Then her eyelids shuttered as she turned away.
She turned back, and said in that low voice, “She wants a mate, is what I’m sayin’. You seem like a good guy—Ralph likes you, and he doesn’t like everybody—but if you want to play around and run off, well, find someone else, okay?”
She didn’t wait for an answer but walked away, leaving him standing there as breath caught. Mate. A simple word, but resonating inside him like a distant drum beat. Mate. Mate. Mate.
He walked through the kitchen, passed Ralph, who gave him a short nod, and approached the table, where Kesley was thumping her forehead on the table as her sister sat back, arms crossed, chortling.
“Dare I ask?” he said as he slid into his chair.
“Do you always tiptoe around like that?” McKenzi asked, with mock affront.
Jameson barely gave her a glance. All his attention was on Kesley, who turned to him in wordless question. He could feel the unasked words, Are you all right? and wondered what she saw in his face. He tried to reassure her with a smile.
She smiled back, but it was a small smile before she turned to her sister and said, “Isn’t it time for your shift?”
McKenzi rolled her eyes and sighed. “I suppose. I hoped something would give me an excuse to call in sick.”
Kesley turned to Jameson. “Kenz works at the Crockery, across the street and around the corner.”
Jameson reflected on how alike the sisters looked, with their thick, glossy hair and their round faces and curvy bodies, but how differently they wore their bodies! McKenzi amused him, even if her conversation made little sense, but otherwise she left him unmoved. But he couldn’t get enough of Kesley—her magical hands, so graceful and strong and neat in their movements, the shadowed curve of her neck within the curtain of her hair, the tantalizing hint of her breasts beneath the shroud of her shirt. The extravagant curve from waist out toward her hips—the thought of those hips sparked another spurt of heat within him. He was going to spend an entire night exploring her hips, her beautiful breasts, every entrancing part of her, he promised himself. The fact that he could sense her desire, just as strong as his, heated him up even more.
But he shut that away for now, and sat down as McKenzi reluctantly rose to leave. “Call me if anything happens,” she said in a dire voice to Kesley.
“I will,” Kesley said.
At last they were alone. “Do you want to wait here for Maddy and Noah?” Kesley asked, leaning toward him.
“I don’t want to wait at all,” he said—then sat back, lips a thin line, as Abe Rosen entered, looking official in his uniform and badge.
He came directly to their table, gave them a polite nod, then said to Kesley, “Maybe you don’t want to be here for this?”
To Jameson’s surprise, she stretched out her hand deliberately, and closed it over his. “Anything you say to him, I want to hear. As long as it’s okay with him.”
She turned to Jameson, whose heart gave that warm stutter that only occurred when Kesley was near.
“She stays if she wants,” Jameson said.
Abe nodded. “Okay if I sit down?”
Both nodded, and he pulled out a chair, then leaned toward Jameson. “Sheriff Odom has those lowlifes locked in the barn, and a sawed-off across his knee. So I’m here with a few questions. Beginning with, these guys arrived soon after you did. Any idea why?”
“None,” Jameson said, slowly shaking his head. “But I’ve got no memory past waking up in the hospital last month. So if I know them, well, I’m thinking that I need to cruise up and down your main street. If they’re looking for me, they’ll find me—without collateral damage to civilians.”
Abe’s lips moved on the word civilians, and Kesley’s eyes widened.
“You’re military, then?” Abe asked.
Frustrated to the max, Jameson spread his hands. “No idea. But I seem to have the moves, so with your permission, I’d like to get back out there. See what comes at me.”
“Seems like they roam in packs,” Abe said.
Jameson shrugged. “From what I saw of those douchenozzles earlier, they have no idea how to fight in teams. They kept getting in each other’s way as much as they got in mine. So if it’s a few, I can probably handle them, but what I need to do is find out what they’re after from me.”
Abe gave a short nod. “Okay. That seems fair. We don’t have much backup, and would rather not call the county guys, or the hotshots in Overton, if we don’t have to. So the sheriff suggested I request people to shut down for the afternoon.”
“That sounds good to me,” Jameson said.
Abe Rosen left, and Kesley turned to him. “I’m going with you.”
He couldn’t talk for a few seconds. Her trust, her generosity, her courage overwhelmed him. God, she was wonderful. But.
“Only,” he said, taking both her hands, “if you promise to run if things get hot. Snapping wet towels isn’t going to help as much as finding backup. And I can’t do this at all if I feel you’re in danger.”
“I feel the same,” she said, her voice uneven.
“Okay. I’m going out there to let them see me—and as soon as Marlo gets back from poking her nose in oth
er people’s windows, she and I are going to have a little talk.”
Kesley gave a small nod.
“So if things get hot, you’ll run when I say?”
“And get help,” she said firmly.
He leaned over to kiss her. She kissed him back—no quick peck, but open-mouthed, sticky, passionate kisses, that expressed all the worry and longing and love that neither of them were saying. Then they had to breathe.
“Let’s go.”
* * *
Kesley gazed at Jameson, her entire body alive. She had been attracted to him from the beginning, but each day—each hour—he seemed to reveal more amazing variations in expression, mood, intent. Right now he somehow looked taller and bigger than ever, his changeable eyes flecked with the shade of honey beneath the green, and his smile was downright wicked.
They got up from the table, Kesley reveling in the rightness of being by his side, whatever was going to happen. The rational part of her mind still grappled with the idea that they had only known each other a couple of days, but her raccoon was steel-sure. This is our mate, said the little voice inside. We will do what he needs, because he would do the same for us.
She didn’t say it out loud because she sensed that it was not the time. First she had to help him find his inner animal, whatever it might be. Then he would know they were mates, and what it meant.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, as Jameson’s smile faded, and that intent focus returned to his gaze. “Maddy,” Kesley said, glancing at the caller ID.
Maddy said, “Bandit, is your guy there?”
“Yes. We’re just about to leave.”
“Okay, listen, here’s what I know so far. That poison was dumped on top of the pain killers. And Noah says, the other stuff was legit, except that he thinks it weird that the pain killers and anti-anxiety meds seem to be for a guy the size of a horse. Of course he is not a prescribing doctor, and yadda, yadda, but he thinks someone wanted your friend sedated. Really sedated. It’s up to you to decide how much to tell him, given that we aren’t professionals, blah blah.”
“Thanks, Maddy. I really appreciate it.”
Kesley put the phone back in her pocket, and faced Jameson. She watched his expression tighten to a grim bleakness as she related everything Madison had said.
At the end, he asked her to thank Maddy and Noah, adding, “That’s pretty much what I figured out about the pain killers. Looks like that prescribing doctor and I need to have a conversation, but first is Marlo, as soon as she gets back from whatever the hell she’s up to.” He rose, and dropped some bills on the table for the coffee.
He held out his arm, and she slid her fingers into the crook of his elbow, relishing the leashed strength of the muscles there. It felt natural to walk side by side like this, she thought as they left Ralph’s. They started down the street, his gaze constantly moving.
Kesley said as they passed the hardware store, “You don’t think Marlo Evans poisoned you?”
“I don’t think so, though now I think anything might be possible, what with poisoned meds and her sneaking around people’s houses and bikers attacking. But if she’d wanted to poison me, why not when I was at Tranquil Breezes, zonked out of my mind? Nothing would have been easier.”
“Then who else?”
“My brother. He was there, sneaking around my window. That’s what prompted this trip, at least for me. Marlo’s reasons I can’t answer for. I wonder if my brother got in through the window while I was asleep, doctored the pills, and I woke when he was leaving.”
“Was he always like that?”
“That’s the trouble: I don’t know. Oh, I have partial memories with Charlie in them. We were little kids, teasing and fighting like kids do. Nothing I’d think of as serious—far from it. But people change. And things get hazy as I got older, as though all those memories are part of some big pattern that my brain seems to want to suppress.”
She could feel his muscles tensing beneath her hand. His bicep was hard as steel. He was wary and alert, but how much of that was pain left over from that fight?
“Will you tell me some of the good memories you’ve managed to recover?” she asked.
He smiled down into her face. “I could, but most of it goes way back. Like I said, little kids stuff.”
“I like families. Especially happy ones. I’d love to hear it,” she said firmly.
He began haltingly as they ventured farther down the street, which was mostly empty. A little eerie. Jameson didn’t seem to notice, though his gaze was constantly sweeping. Then he’d frown at little, unconnected scraps of memory that obviously frustrated him. But she discovered that if she mentioned movies or TV shows or even bands from childhood, more often than not his forehead would clear, and he’d exclaim, “Yeah, I remember them . . .”
Talking in this way, they made it all the way to the Primrose, then entered the lobby. For once the parrot wasn’t on his perch, and Kesley wondered if some of the locals who had wings were also out looking for evil skinhead bikers.
Aunt Julia came briskly out of the office.
“I hope the troublemakers haven’t made a reappearance,” Jameson said. “Sorry about that.”
“It isn’t as if you wanted to be attacked, am I right?” Aunt Julia retorted, and as he smiled and shook his head, she went on, “Deputy Rosen is on patrol until three.” She blinked, glancing briefly skyward, and Kesley knew that Abe Rosen was in his hawk form.
But she couldn’t tell that to Jameson until he found his own shifter animal—she could not reveal Upson Downs’ secret except to another shifter.
So she said nothing as he thanked Aunt Julia and they left.
They finished walking slowly down the rest of Main Street, crossed at the feeder road to Pacific Coast Highway, then started up in the other direction.
They walked all the way back and then started down the street again, this time taking a few side streets. Jameson stayed wary and alert as he asked Kesley to talk about the latest films, shows, books, and music she liked, in hopes something might trigger a memory.
She talked willingly, pausing when he frowned down at the cracked sidewalk for gradually lengthening stretches as he fought against the curtain in his mind. Kesley waited in silence, instinctively knowing that he needed quiet more than questions.
They walked for most of the afternoon, stopping only at Ralph’s again for coffee and a sandwich. Over lunch Jameson asked about Kesley’s artwork, and from there they talked about light and the sea and anecdotes about the town history. None of the attackers showed up, nor was there a sound of a motorcycle.
Kesley began to relax slowly—but late in the afternoon, just when she began to let herself believe that the skinheads had blown out of town, Jameson stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk, gazing upward at Ramirez Hill, his stance taut.
Kesley whirled, then caught sight of the wink of sunlight on something.
“What’s that?”
“Gun-sights,” Jameson said automatically.
And moving fast, he grabbed her as a spitting sound caused two thunks! And then a whang, spinning a dangling metal sign outside the barber shop next door. Kesley found herself placed behind the corner of the building as Jameson peered upward.
But the movement on the crest had vanished—and there came the faint sound of a motorcycle revving. It was followed by a distant rise and fall of a siren: the sheriff, but from the opposite direction.
The barber came out, cussing a blue streak when he saw his sign. “I called Odom first thing. Dammit! Who’s going to replace my sign . . .”
He was joined by the woman who ran the cleaner’s they stood in front of. “Look at my wall!”
They stared at where bullets had gouged the old plaster.
The barber grunted. “Crappy aim.”
“Yeah. Sorry about the sign,” Jameson said.
The barber squinted at him. “That fucker was taking pot shots at you. Know why?”
“No.”
Kesley shivered. “Jameson, what if they come up the street with guns? There’s no cover from that.”
“I’m beginning to think they’re used to intimidation, or easy targets. And they don’t want to be IDed. The first time was a surprise hit and run. I think the second was meant to be a snatch and grab. This guy on the hill clearly had never been trained to handle his weapon. Putting that together with the fight, I’m guessing little or no self-discipline here.”
She crossed her arms, holding them tightly against her as he mused, “I have a feeling they aren’t going to come at all right now. For all they know, behind every window is a citizen with a cell phone camera pointing at the street. And I bet they have rap sheets as long as their arms.”
As the afternoon shadows closed in, so too did a drifting fog from off the ocean. The air was thick and quiet, and visibility slowly shrank to scarcely twenty feet.
“I think that’s it. For now,” he said. “That doesn’t mean they might not make a try tonight. I think we’d better warn the hotel people.”
Kesley nodded in agreement, and they walked to the hotel.
Aunt Julia was there, chin high as she listened.
“I’m pretty sure I’m the target, though I have no idea why,” Jameson said. “But I don’t like the idea that they might come here looking for trouble.”
“Thank you for thinking of us,” Aunt Julia said. “But I’m not worried about us. It seems you’re the one they are after. Even so, we’re taking our own precautions—Elliott, David, and some of the other youngsters have been setting up cameras all over the place, obvious and not so obvious. As for peace of mind . . .” She smiled at Kesley, “my suggestion is, you spend the night somewhere else.”
Kesley didn’t even have time to blush, as she was already texting McKenzi: I’m bringing him to my place. Please don’t spoil it.
She was totally not surprised when a text came instantly back: Already thought of that. Check the oven when you get home. Kesley clicked off her phone, thinking that the entire town probably knew by now that she was dating the mysterious new guy.