by Cassie Miles
“Not Hazel. Our last names aren’t the same. Nobody knows we’re related.”
“Can you be one hundred percent sure of that?”
“Not really.”
When she’d first started writing articles that might be controversial, she disguised her identity behind a couple of pseudonyms. She didn’t want to accidentally embarrass her mom and dad or her sister in law school, and she liked being a lone crusader. Anonymous and brave, she dug behind the headlines to expose corruption.
One of her best articles dealt with a cheating handyman who overcharged and didn’t do the work. Another exposed a phone scam that entrapped the unwary. This story about Wynter Corp was her first attempt to investigate serious crime.
She should have known better. A personal threat was bad enough, but she’d brought danger to her family. Her spirits crumbled as she sat on the bed listening to Sean’s recap of the phone call with his brother. This was her fault, all her fault.
Moments ago, she’d been kissing her gorgeous ex-husband and had been almost happy. Now she felt like weeping or hiding under the covers and never coming out. Why couldn’t the blizzard have lasted forever? The snow would have hidden her.
Trying to soothe herself, she rubbed the soft fabric of her sleeve between her thumb and forefinger. Despite what she’d told him, she hadn’t worn this top by accident; she knew very well that it belonged to Sean. Cuddling up in his pajamas always gave her a feeling of warmth and safety. Sometimes she closed her eyes and pretended that she could still smell his scent even though the pajamas had been laundered a hundred times.
He sat beside her and took her hand. “Are you okay?”
“Not at all.” She heard the vulnerability in her voice and hated it. “You probably want to tell me that I never should have done this article, that I’m a girlie girl and should stick with poetry.”
He squeezed her hand. “As I recall, your poetry wasn’t all lollipops and sparkles. There was something about a fire giver and vultures that ate his liver.”
“Prometheus,” she remembered. “He started out trying to do the right thing, just like me. And then he was eternally damned by the gods. Is that my fate?”
“You made some mistakes, had some bad luck.”
“I’m being a drama queen.” She was well aware of that tendency and tried to tamp the over-the-top histrionics before she threw herself into full-on crazy mode. “Tell me I’m exaggerating.”
“It’s safe to say you’re not really cursed by the gods,” he said, “but don’t underestimate the seriousness of this threat.”
“I won’t.” Her lower lip trembled. She fought the tears that sloshed behind her eyelids. “Oh God, what should I do?”
“No crying.” He held her chin and turned her face so they were eye to eye. “You told me you were an investigative journalist. Well, you need to start acting like somebody who stands behind her words and takes responsibility for her actions.”
His dark gaze caught and held her attention. His calm demeanor steadied her. Still, she was confused. “I don’t know how.”
“You’re not Prometheus, and you’re not little Miss Sunshine the poetry girl. Think of yourself as a reporter who got into trouble. What should we do next?”
“Make sure my family is safe.”
Her parents were currently out of the country, visiting friends in the South of France. She didn’t need to worry about Mom and Dad. Her three sisters were back east, and the two who were still in school lived alone. It seemed unlikely that Wynter would hunt them down. Nonetheless, they should be warned. “I should call my sisters.”
“I’m going to ask you to wait until we get to Denver,” he said. “The signal from your phone might be traced, and Dylan has equipment that’s extremely secure.”
“What about you?” She pointed to his cell phone. “What about that call?”
“It originated from the TST Security offices behind strong, thick firewalls.”
She sat beside him, struggling to think in spite of the static waves that sizzled and shivered inside her head. From outside her bedroom door, she heard her aunt chattering to Willis as they went downstairs. It was early, a little after six o’clock and not yet dawn, but they were both already awake. Did they sleep together last night? Emily smiled to herself. Ironic! The senior citizens were getting it on while she and Sean stayed in separate bedrooms.
“I need to talk to Hazel.” She looked toward him for guidance. “How much should I tell her?”
“She already knows you’ve witnessed a murder, so it won’t come as a big shock that she’s in danger. Until this is over, I’d advise her to leave Hazelwood, maybe stay in a hotel in Aspen.”
“I’m guessing that Willis might have an extra bedroom,” she said. “And he would probably be a good protector.”
“A former deputy,” Sean said. “I’d trust him.”
And she didn’t think it would take much to convince Hazel to spend more time with Willis. Emily’s eccentric aunt had never remarried after her husband had died fifteen years ago, but she had taken several live-in lovers. Willis had always been a friend. Maybe it was time for him to be something more.
She picked up her coffee mug from the bedside table and drained it in a few gulps. Today was going to be intense, and she’d need all the energy she could muster. “After taking care of the family, what do I do?”
“It’s up to you.”
“The first thing that comes to mind is run and hide.” That was exactly what the old Emily would have done. She would have hidden behind her big, strong husband. But that wasn’t her style, not anymore. “I want to take responsibility. I’ll go after the story.”
He shrugged. “San Francisco, here we come.”
With Sean at her side, she could handle the threat. She could take down James Wynter and his son. What she couldn’t do was...forget. The blood spreading across Roger Patrone’s white shirt flashed in her mind. The sounds of a beating and fading cries for help echoed in her ears. She could never erase the memory of murder.
* * *
OVER COFFEE IN the kitchen, Emily convinced Hazel that there was a real potential for danger and she ought to move in with Willis. It didn’t take much persuasion. Hazel agreed almost immediately, and she was happy, as perky as a chipmunk. Her energy and the afterglow of excitement confirmed Emily’s suspicion that her aunt and Willis were more than friends.
Hazel dashed upstairs to her bedroom to pack a few essentials, and Willis swaggered around the kitchen, talking to Sean about how he should make sure Hazel was safe and secure. Though Emily had a hard time imagining Willis the kindhearted former deputy facing off with Wynter’s thugs, she believed he was competent. Plus, he had the advantage of experience. He knew how to handle the dangers of the mountains and to use the elements to his advantage. His plan was to take Hazel to a ski hut he’d built on the other side of Aspen. The hut was accessible only by snowmobile or cross-country skis.
“What about the blizzard?” she asked.
Willis squinted out the kitchen window at a brilliant splash of sunlight reflecting off a pristine snowbank. “The big storm gave up during the night. We only got twenty or so inches, probably not even enough to close down the airport in Aspen.”
She’d lived in San Francisco for so long that she’d forgotten how dramatically Colorado weather could change. Yesterday was a blizzard. Today she could get sunburned from taking a walk outside.
The timer on the oven buzzed. Emily opened the door, and the scent of sweet baked goods rushed toward her. Hazel had popped in a frozen almond-flavored coffee cake to thaw. Not as good as fresh made but decent enough for a rushed breakfast.
Willis went upstairs to help Hazel, and Emily turned toward Sean. “We need plane reservations to Denver,” she said. “I’ll go ahead and make them.”
“You should
n’t.” He pointed out the obvious. “Just in case the bad guys have a way to track airline tickets, you ought to avoid using your real name.”
“No problem.” Her solution was sort of embarrassing, and she really didn’t want to tell him. She placed the pan of coffee cake on a trivet on the counter and cut off a slab. With this breakfast in hand, she headed toward the exit from the kitchen. “I’m going to get packed, and then I’ll call the airlines.”
He blocked the exit. “I hope you aren’t thinking about buying plane tickets with a fake ID and credit card. That kind of ploy can get you on the no-fly list.”
“It’s not exactly fake,” she muttered. “Just out of date by about five and a half years.”
As realization dawned, his eyes darkened. “The way I remember, you changed your name back to Peterson after the divorce.”
“I did.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re using your married name.”
“The identity was just sitting there. I doctored an old driver’s license and applied for a credit card as Emily Timmons, using my own Social Security number and my address in San Francisco. It works just fine.”
“The no-fly list and fraud.” Still blocking her way so she couldn’t run, he glared at her. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
“If I confess everything, we’ll have nothing to discuss on the flight.” She patted his cheek and slipped around him. “You can make the reservations.”
“For today, you’ll be Mrs. Timmons. And then no more.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you planning some kind of strange reconciliation that I don’t know about?”
“This has nothing to do with you,” she said coolly. “But I might need your name for fake identification.”
With her almond cake in one hand and coffee in the other, she climbed the staircase and went to her bedroom. She sat at the small desk and activated one of her disposable phones. She couldn’t wait until they got to Denver to contact her sisters. If Sean didn’t like it, too bad. She really didn’t think Wynter would go after them, but they deserved a heads-up. Michelle, who was in law school, asked how she could get in touch with Emily if she heard anything.
“You can’t call me back.”
“I know,” Michelle said. “The phone you’re using right now doesn’t show up on my caller ID listing.”
“Contact me through TST Security in Denver. I hired a bodyguard.” Emily hoped to avoid mentioning her ex-husband. “They can get me a message.”
“TST Security,” Michelle repeated. “I’m looking them up on the internet right now. Found the website. Well, damn it, sis, here’s an interesting coincidence. One of the owners of the aforementioned security firm happens to be Sean Timmons.”
“I didn’t call him.”
“Really?” Michelle’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Do you want me to believe that he magically appeared when you were in trouble? Was he wearing a suit of armor and riding a white steed?”
“Aunt Hazel called him.” Emily wanted to keep this conversation short. “And I don’t have to justify my decisions to you or anybody else in the family.”
“But justice will be served,” said the future lawyer. “To tell the truth, Emily, I always liked Sean. I’m glad he’s watching over you.”
Emily avoided mentioning Sean to her other two sisters. Those calls ended quickly, and she jumped in the shower. Though she had time to wash and blow-dry her hair, she decided against it. Going out in the snow meant she’d be wearing a hat and squashing any cute styling.
She lathered up while her mind filled with speculation. No doubt, Michelle would blab to the rest of the family. And the questions would begin. Would she get back together with him? That seemed to be the query of the day. A few moments ago, Sean had asked about reconciliation.
Never going to happen. And her sisters should understand. Didn’t they remember how devastated she’d been when she’d filed for divorce?
Their attitude about Sean had always been odd. When she first married him, the three sisters talked about how he was too old for her and his job was too dangerous for a stable relationship. In the divorce, however, the sister witches took Sean’s side. They blamed her for being fickle and undependable when she should have been supportive. They told her to grow up. She couldn’t always have things her own way.
Maybe true. Maybe she hadn’t been the most understanding wife in the world. But he brought his own problems to the table: Being inflexible. Not taking her seriously. Concentrating too much on his work and not enough on his wife.
Wrapped in a towel after her shower, she padded into the bedroom and pulled out her luggage from under the bed. Since they were headed back to San Francisco, where she had clothes and toiletries at her apartment, she packed light. She tucked her three disposable cell phones in her carry-on. All data had already been downloaded off her de-activated computer.
She hid the flash drive in a specially designed black-and-silver pendant, which she wore on a heavy silver chain. A black cashmere sweater and designer jeans completed her outfit. Her practical boots and her parka were in the downstairs closet.
Before she left the bedroom, she checked her reflection in the mirror. Not bad. She didn’t look as frazzled as she felt. Her hair was combed. Her lipstick properly applied. Her cheeks were flushed with nervous heat, but the high color might be attributed to too much blush.
Returning to San Francisco was the right thing to do, but she was sorely tempted to take off for a quickie Bahamas vacation with Sean. He owed her a trip. On their Paris honeymoon, he had held her hand in a sidewalk café and promised that every anniversary he would take her somewhere exciting. Their first anniversary rolled around and no trip. They couldn’t get their schedules coordinated. And they argued about where to go. And when she told him to just forget it, he did.
What a brat she’d been! But at the time, she was too furious to make sense. She’d counted on Sean to be rational. That was his job. Somehow he should have known that even though she told him to forget it, he was supposed to lavish her with kisses and gifts until she changed her mind.
Their marriage had crumbled under the weight of hundreds of similar misunderstandings. Underneath it all, she wondered if they might actually be compatible. Certainly, there was nothing wrong with their sexual rapport. But could they talk? Was he too conservative? Were their worldviews similar? Was there any way, after the divorce, that she’d be willing to put her heart on the line and trust him? I guess I’ll find out. While he was being her bodyguard and they were forced to be together, she had a second chance.
Chapter Seven
Clearing the runway in Aspen took longer than expected, and their flight as Mr. and Mrs. Timmons didn’t land at DIA until after four o’clock in the afternoon. Sean rented a car and drove toward the TST office, where Dylan had promised to meet them.
In the passenger seat, Emily shed her parka and changed from snow boots to a pair of ballet flats. She peeked out the window at the undeveloped fields near the airport. “It’s crazy. The snow’s already melted.”
“Denver only got a couple of inches.”
“And the sky is blue, and the sun is shining. Every time I come back to Colorado, I wonder why I ever left.”
“You don’t have family in Denver, anymore.”
“Nope.” She gave him a warm smile. “But you do. I’m looking forward to seeing Dylan.”
When Emily was being cordial, there was no one more charming. Her voice was as sweet as the sound of a meadowlark. Her intense blue-green eyes sparkled. Every movement she made was sheer grace. It was hard to keep his hands off her.
Sitting close beside her on the plane, inhaling her scent and watching her in glimpses, had affected him. He was going to need more than a flimsy se
t of relationship “ground rules” to maintain control.
Following the road signs, he merged onto I-70. His real problem would come tonight. Their flight to San Francisco was scheduled for tomorrow morning at about ten o’clock, which meant they’d be sleeping in the same place tonight. After the stop at TST, he intended to take her to his home, where the security was high and he could keep an eye on her. He had an extra bedroom. What he didn’t have was willpower. When she was in bed, just down the hall, he would be tempted.
“Sean?”
He realized that she’d been talking while he wasn’t listening. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“How did you name your company? I get that TST stands for your initials, Timmons, Timmons and your other partner, Mason Steele. But your logo is a four-leaf clover with three green leaves and one a faded red.”
“At one time, there were four of us.” Sean had told this story dozens of times, but his chest still tightened. Some scars never heal. This deep sadness would never go away. “We grew up together. Me and Dylan lived down the block from Mason and Matt Steele. Matt was my best friend. We were close in age, went to the same school, played on the same teams and went on double dates. When we were kids we pretended to be crime fighters.”
“And when you grew up, you decided to fight crime for real.”
“Not at first,” he said. “We went to different colleges, followed our own separate ways. Matt joined the marines, and he liked the military life. That was why he couldn’t be our best man. He was deployed, working his way up the chain of command.”
There must have been a hint of doom in his tone, because Emily went very still. She listened intently.
He cleared his throat and continued. “About five years ago, Matt was killed in Afghanistan. His heroic actions rescued three other platoons, and he received a posthumous Purple Heart.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“His death came right about the time our divorce was final. And I’d finished a sleazy undercover job where a good lawyer got the bad guys off with a slap on the wrist.”