Wouldn’t he want one of his own? Irina mused.
Sherman shook his head. “No, he doesn’t read much. He prefers to watch TV or listen to the radio. Sports radio,” he said, rolling his eyes.
Irina knitted her brows. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. “How could anyone not like to read?” she asked. She couldn’t fathom a life without books.
Sherman chuckled. “I’ve been asking the same thing for years.” He shrugged. “He’s not much into intellectual pursuits. Makes living with him very difficult sometimes.”
Oh. Irina had a sudden burst of comprehension. She might have laughed, it was so ironic. Here she’d been drooling over a man a decade younger, an unattainably gorgeous man who hadn’t looked twice at her. Her pride was soothed by the knowledge that it wasn’t so much her that was undesirable to him, as it was all women.
“I suppose opposites really do attract, then,” she said.
Sherman looked confused for a moment, then laughed, a full belly laugh. “No, no. It’s not like that. He’s my brother.” He shook his head, still laughing.
Irina frowned in confusion. She thought it indelicate to ask how Sherman, with his dark chocolate skin, could be the brother of a man like Finn, whose features were as European as they came. And both men looked to be about the same age, twenty-five at most.
Though they do have the same eyes, Irina thought as Sherman continued to laugh. I suppose it’s not so implausible after all.
Behind her, Betsy tutted.
“Sir, this is the library,” the older woman hissed. Irina looked around the two-story building. There was almost no one there. A quick glance out the floor-to-ceiling windows told her why: it was a glorious Alaskan spring day. The sun was shining, the air was warm, and the clouds were fluffy and bright, free of the pendulous gloom of oncoming rain that had shadowed the previous week. The residents of Sitka no doubt preferred to enjoy the good weather outside. But despite the lack of library patrons to disturb, Betsy was glaring at Sherman as though he’d let out an air horn in the main reading room.
Sherman immediately sobered. “My apologies, ma’am.” He nodded at Irina, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Thank you,” he said, holding up the book.
She acknowledged him with a nod, ready to return to looking busy. But heavy footfalls and noisy breathing caught her attention.
“Sherman, help me pick. I don’t know which one Lila would want,” Finn called as he approached again. His arms were laden with VHS tapes. He dumped them all on to the desk, and Irina jumped back, watching them cascade onto the counter with an almighty clatter.
Irina narrowed her eyes. She hardly knew Finn, but he was already starting to grate her nerves. He didn’t read, he didn’t respect library property, he couldn’t stand still.
And he didn’t want her. Not that she cared, but still.
Betsy huffed behind her. “Really,” she cried.
Irina had forgotten her boss was still standing behind her. She turned. “Sorry, did you need something?” she asked, pasting a mask of politeness onto her face. The sooner Betsy left, the sooner Irina could finish assisting these two strange men and get back to doing almost nothing.
Betsy scowled. “Someone called the library’s main line for you a few minutes ago.”
Two
Irina froze. “Who?”
No one should be calling for her. She had no friends or family in this town, no ties to this southeastern stretch of the state. It’s why she’d picked Sitka. No one would think to look for her here.
Betsy narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know, they wouldn’t leave a name.” The older woman sniffed. “I thought I made it very clear when you were hired that personal calls are not allowed on the main line. We’re not running a dating service here, Irina.” She let out a long-suffering sigh.
Irina swallowed a wave of nausea, too distracted to point out that she’d never once received a phone call in the two months she’d been working here. “It was a man?” Betsy nodded irritably. “What did he say?”
“He asked if you were working today.”
“And what did you tell him?”
Betsy huffed again, her nostrils flaring. “I told him you were the only reference librarian on duty today, and that you were not to be disturbed.”
Irina clutched the desk behind her for support. “What did he sound like?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” Betsy clucked her tongue and patted her helmet of gray hair. “Really, Irina, if you’ve had a spat with your boyfriend, it’s none of my business.” Her tone indicated a lofty disinterest in the sordidness of Irina’s alleged love life. Her eyes, however, watched Irina keenly, belying her curiosity.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Betsy pursed her lips, as though the possibility that Irina was casually dating someone had confirmed all her worst fears about her. “Well, whoever he is, tell him to call your cell phone next time.”
“I don’t have a cell phone,” Irina said in a faint, shaky voice as Betsy stalked away, her gray head bobbing almost angrily.
Irina closed her eyes, breathing slowly in and back out. trying to stow the gnawing panic back down in the dark place in her gut it had crawled from. Charles. He’d found her. Oh, God, he’d really found her. She needed to leave. She need to get out, get far away. He would kill her. He said he would kill her if she left again.
A throat cleared behind her. The two young men, Finn and Sherman, were still standing there on the other side of the desk. Finn continued to riffle through the videos like a man on a mission, muttering comments to himself. Sherman watched her over the top of his glasses, frowning slightly.
“You okay, ma’am?” he asked, his eyes full of friendly concern.
“Fine,” she squeaked. She cleared her throat, swallowing down a sob. Irina did not cry. “I’m fine.”
He looked at her dubiously. It seemed as though he wanted to say something more, but Finn interrupted.
“Sher-man, seriously. I’ve narrowed it down, but I don’t know which one to pick,” he said, holding up two VHS tapes.
Sherman sighed and pointed to the one on the right, a black-and-white screwball comedy from the fifties. “I don’t think she’ll want to watch Encino Man.”
“But she’s Canadian. Brendan Fraser is also Canadian.” Finn wiggled his eyebrows, smiling.
Sherman rolled his eyes. “So does that mean you only like movies starring Texans?”
Finn made some sort of reply, but Irina tuned him out. She was still thinking about the phone call.
How had Charles found her? He must have called every library in the state asking for her. She bit her lip, cursing herself. She knew it had been foolish to work in a library again. If Charles was trying to find her, it would be that much easier if she stuck to old habits. But the economy was still sluggish in Alaska. She’d been lucky to find this job. Besides, Sitka was a tourist town. She could have taken a low-wage job in a shop somewhere, but would she have been able to make ends meet?
No, she’d had no choice. The only real surprise was that it had taken him more than two months to locate her.
She mentally calculated how long it would take him to get here from Anchorage. Give or take three hours, depending on traffic. Would he leave today? She could imagine him sitting in that huge old house by himself day after day, stewing over her disappearance, working tirelessly to locate her. He’d likely already had his bags packed, waiting for the first sign of her.
He’d probably be in town by the end of the day. Would he come straight to the library, waiting in the parking lot for her? No, too public for him. Charles had always been all about image. He wouldn’t risk anyone seeing him. Or would he? Had her disappearance from his life left him fully unhinged at last?
As she stood there, mind swirling with the possibilities, she felt a wave of anger growing, white-hot and fierce. Her head felt suddenly dizzy and too large, adrenaline pumping through her veins. How dare he do this to her? How dare he tra
ck her down? How dare he make her pack up and move to another city again? How dare he terrorize her and intimidate her?
She felt tired, so achingly, bone-deep tired, at the idea of fleeing another city. She loved Sitka, loved its remote, almost mystical island setting, where sea met mountain met sky in a boundless, awe-inspiring stretch of nature’s wonders. Sitka might not have her history, like Anchorage. But it was beginning to have her heart. She didn’t want to move again.
“Hey, you’re a lady.” She looked up, shaking herself out of her thoughts. Finn, with his beautiful honey-gold eyes, was looking at her expectantly. “Well, wait. I mean, you’re older than Lila.” He frowned slightly.
Sherman slapped his shoulder, smiling at Irina apologetically. “Ignore him. He’s just a cub.”
Finn shot his friend a murderous glance, shifting back and forth between his feet as though spoiling for a fight. She eyed his massive hands. He could probably win, even though Sherman had what looked like thirty pounds on him. “You ain’t that much older’n me, college boy.” Finn turned back to Irina. “He thinks he’s so much better than the rest of us because he went to Stanford.”
Sherman’s lips were a flat line. “And you think you’re better than the rest of us because you didn’t.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with an honest day’s work. We can’t all sit on our duffs and read books all day.” He shot Irina a derisive glance.
Her face hardened. She didn’t have time or energy for this. Her sadistic asshole of an ex-husband had tracked her down and was probably on his way to kill her, and she was wasting time here, putting up with careless insults from a kid too damn beautiful for his own good?
“Did you have a question?” she bit out.
Sherman shook his head as he stepped back, and she could swear he muttered the word “idiot” as he shot Finn an incredulous look.
Finn raised an eyebrow. “Yes. You’re a lady. Which one of these would you pick?”
She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Yes. Definitely wasting her time. God, how foolish she’d been to think of this man as… well, as anything to her. He clearly had a girlfriend, this Lila, waiting for him at home. A pretty girlfriend who liked inane comedies and sports and men who could split logs with his bare hands. A girlfriend who wasn’t beaten down and broken by the ghosts of the past.
Without a word, without even glancing at the choices, she pointed to one of the movies he held up. He crowed in triumph, and she sighed.
“See, Sher-man, I told you Encino Man was a good choice!”
She checked them out mechanically, not paying attention until she heard her name.
“It was nice to meet you, Irina. Thank you again for your help.” Sherman’s deep bass was gentle as he smiled at her.
She nodded as she watched them go. They bickered the whole way, reminding her of the children who’d lived across the street from Babushka’s house in Anchorage. Perhaps the two vastly different men were brothers after all. They certainly fought like siblings.
After a few moments alone in the quiet library, her mind turned to the looming terror of her ex. She wouldn’t run this time, she resolved. She would fight back. She would find a way to beat him for good.
She blanched at the thought. How could she fight back when she didn’t know how?
Three
Irina woke the next morning with a clear head and a plan. She’d already arranged to take the rest of the week off from work. Betsy had agreed reluctantly, lips pursed, shoulders rigid.
“You understand, this kind of thing will not be tolerated often. I know it’s an emergency,” she’d said, her eyebrows raised as though emergencies were some kind of myth. “Or so you’ve said. But don’t make this a habit.”
Irina had put up with a further five minutes of lectures, but it was worth it. She’d have the necessary time now to figure out how to get rid of Charles once and for all. This was her third attempt now at trying to escape him, and the most successful so far. But she wanted it to be permanent. She was tired of always looking over her shoulder. So she’d spent an hour yesterday researching martial arts classes around town, and she had her first class early that morning at a dojo that specialized in self-defense for women.
Before leaving the house, she made sure she had pepper spray in her purse, and she fanned her keys out between her fingers. It might not be much, but it was all she knew to do so far.
She scanned the trees surrounding the property, watching for signs of movement, but all she saw was the gentle swaying of the spruce boughs in the morning breeze. She circled her car carefully, checking that all four tires were intact and full of air. She peeked through the windows and under the ancient Volkswagen, making sure no one was laying in wait for her. Everything seemed normal, and a few minutes later she was on her way.
Driving down the empty mountain road was peaceful, and she was lulled into a zen-like calm by the sight of the trees through her windshield. She drove on autopilot for a couple of miles, so zoned out that she almost missed the sight of another car on the road behind her. By the time she saw the old blue truck, it was following her. She racked her brains, trying to remember if she’d seen it before. The closest house to her little rented cabin was almost two miles away, but she couldn’t remember what kind of car the occupants drove. A truck, possibly. But was it blue? Or red? She couldn’t be sure.
She took another look at the truck behind her. The sun was at her back, creating a glare in the rearview mirror. She couldn’t quite make out the driver. Could it be Charles? He’d driven a Mercedes when they lived in Anchorage, but he’d probably have something different now, something that wouldn’t stand out so much in this blue-collar town. She gulped as she squinted against the sun. Could he have found her already? Nobody in Sitka knew her address, save for Betsy, and she didn’t think her boss would give it to a stranger.
Then again, Charles could be very charming when he wanted. It’s how he’d gotten her to marry him. He’d been so romantic when they first met, fairly doting on her. God, she’d been under his thrall. It wasn’t until after they were married that he showed his true colors.
She decelerated, holding a hand up to her eyes to try to see better. The driver behind her sped up, tailgating her. She sucked in a shuddering breath, somehow managing to stay on the road, though she was panicking now. It had to be Charles. He’d found her.
She breathed deeply, in and out, trying to calm down. If she just made it to town, she’d be safe. The dojo was right along the bustling waterfront. There would be people surrounding her, tourists and businesspeople alike milling around, buying overpriced coffee and souvenirs. People who could hear her scream, who could come to her rescue.
She cursed herself for not getting a cell phone when she left Anchorage. She’d been convinced that Charles would somehow track her with it. He had friends in the Anchorage police department - friends everywhere. But she could have gotten one of those untraceable prepaid ones. God, she’d been so stupid. And now it had left her without a way to call for help when she was in danger.
The truck was right behind her now, inches from her rear bumper. The driver laid on the horn, trying to intimidate her. She jumped at the sound, and her hands turned the wheel automatically. She screamed as the Volkswagen swerved off the road, careening down into the trees. Everything outside her windshield was a blur of green and brown and bright morning light. She frantically turned the wheel, trying to orient herself, to avoid a collision. She floored the brake, and finally the car skidded to a stop, mere inches from the trunk of a towering spruce.
She let out a keening wail, the fear and adrenaline that were coursing through her veins seeking an outlet. She let it all out, heedless of her surroundings. But as she came back to awareness, her lizard brain became more insistent. Charles is here. Run! Get out! Flee!
With shaking hands, she unsnapped her seat belt. She scrabbled at the door handle, her sweat-slick palms slipping against the worn vinyl. She whimpered desperately, unable to grab hold.
And then suddenly the door was wrenched open, and she screamed.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” a voice said.
She paid the voice no heed. She didn’t even stop to think, stop to process whether she’d heard the voice before. She acted on instinct, her brain set in survival mode. The only thought running through her head right then was that she would not die today, damn it. She leaned out of the open door, swinging her arms. She kicked her legs free of the footwell, lashing out with all four limbs, not seeing who she was hitting. Not even caring who she was hitting.
“Hey! Lady! Knock it off! I ain’t-” the man grabbed her legs - “trying to hurt you.” He grabbed her arms, somehow trapping her flailing limbs and pulling her from the car. “Will you quit it already?”
All at once the fight went out of her. She closed her eyes, and a sob caught in the back of her throat as she realized the voice that currently trying to calm her down was not Charles’ reedy tenor. “You’re not him,” she breathed.
Leeward Bear (BBW Shifter Romance) (Fisherbears Book 3) Page 143