by Snow, Nicole
“But they will,” she whispers, pressing a small, curled fist to her chest. “Eventually, they’ll find you, Miller. Even here.”
I shake my head, then nod. “Not gonna let that happen.”
“What do these people want? What kind of information, what evidence do you have?” She chews her lip, still in agony. “Whatever it is, can’t you just get rid of it?”
I’ll never ditch what we saw. “It’s too rotten. There’s more to it than that. What I’m holding on to, along with Keith, might be the only evidence anybody ever has to stop this.”
“Did you call the police? The FBI?”
If only it was that simple.
I smile bitterly. “The cops wouldn’t know what to do, not with this shit. A cleanup crew sent by the company would be down their asses hushing it up before they ever got it into the right hands. As for the Feds, they...fuck. Let’s just say they can’t be trusted. Not when they depend on other people giving orders and signing their checks.”
Her eyes get bigger. “I don’t understand.”
“You probably won’t,” I growl. “We couldn’t just tell the authorities. Never an option. We needed to gather the means, the proof, rock-solid intel on the people behind this, so when it’s exposed, those savages get more than a slap on the wrist. They get put away for good, and the shit going on ends.”
“But what was going on?”
That part, I can’t tell her. I won’t. I’ve done enough damage, and I don’t need to scar her for life on top of it.
Confusion fills her face, souring her sweetness. I search for a way to make her get it without blabbing more than I should. “The people behind it are above the law, Gwen. That’s the important part.”
“No one’s above the law.” She shakes her head fiercely. I think it’s more for herself than me.
“Wish that were true, Gingersnap,” I whisper. “If the world still worked that way, we’d all have ourselves a Merry Christmas.”
She closes her eyes, thinking. Then opens them. “So what does Mother want to talk to you about? Will you at least tell me that?”
“Your ma’s a smart cookie. Whoever baked her did a damn fine job. She knows there’s something bothering me and it’s not right when you never mentioned us before, me and the kids just showing up, staying here.”
The seriousness on Gwen’s face deepens tenfold. “That’s my Mother. She’s a sleuth. Loves her unsolved mysteries and research, I think, and obviously she’s good at it. If there’s anything to uncover, she’ll find it. Won’t stop until she does.” She presses a hand to her forehead. “I’ll go call her now. Let me handle this.”
I grasp her wrist as she tries to pull away. “No. I’ll talk to her. You don’t need to get more involved in this than you already are. And you damn sure don’t need to cover my ass.”
Truth is, I can’t let her get more involved.
I refuse to let that happen.
Never should’ve kissed her earlier, either, which only poured gas on flames of confusion. Sure, I’d fought the desire, but not hard enough.
How can I blame May for digging into my history? I’m probably the biggest wrecking ball to ever bust into her daughter’s life.
“What’s her number?” I growl.
She shrugs. “I don’t even know it by heart, but it’s in my phone. I’ll go get it.”
I follow her inside, just wanting to get this shit over.
There’s no getting around May anymore. Not with this unexpected extra stay in Minnesota.
I’ll just have to figure out a way to throw her off course. Throw her a few bones so she doesn’t keep chasing the red meat.
Once we’re inside and Gwen dredges up the number, I call her and discover just how damnably persuasive May Courtney can be. Before hanging up, I’ve agreed we’ll all be at her house for a barbecue by noon – barely a few hours from now.
Whatever happened to that 'call' with her publicist? I snort inwardly, knowing I could learn a thing or two from that woman about cover stories.
She’s not shy about dropping hints either. Even now, I can’t keep my mind off her curious little promise that I’ll be mighty glad if I come and real sorry if I don’t.
I’m sure she’s not talking about the Tennessee style rub on the ribs.
The kids are ecstatic to go, of course. Gwen and I, not so much.
A few hours go by like nothing, Gwen keeping busy tidying up the house while I brood in the living room. My laptop holds no answers, nothing new, and I close it as Gingersnap saunters in later.
The apprehension on her face mirrors mine. As Lauren and Shane rush upstairs to get whatever they think they’ll need, I ask her, “Be real with me. How trustworthy is your ma to keep secrets?”
Shaking her head, she steps forward. “It’s nothing you should worry over.” Laying a hand on my arm, she squeezes and adds, “She’s relentless when it comes to the truth. I watched her stick her nose in an active money laundering case with a billionaire once just to get ideas for her big romantic re-telling of Bonnie and Clyde. Word is, she helped crack the case, and the guy was in handcuffs before she even sent the manuscript off to her editor.”
Shit. Just my luck.
My stomach clenches. I brush a wayward hunk of copper hair from the side of her face. “Just wish you weren’t involved in this.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times, it’s fine.”
Except it isn’t.
Gwen looks at me, all wine-red hair and ivory skin and those eyes that light up like a lioness. She leans softly into my arm, teasing parts I can’t even acknowledge right now.
My regret deepens. “We thought we had it all figured out. Figured a couple, a man and woman with two kids and mismatched family details in a database, wouldn’t draw any attention at the airport when it came time for us to jet. I chose Ireland because no one runs away there.”
And because Keith and I knew the farther away from each other we kept ourselves, the better. That way if the unthinkable happens to one of us, the intel on Mederva, the proof, won’t be lost forever.
A grin flashes across her face. “You’re right about that, I guess. I can’t say for sure, but it seems like everyone escapes to Canada or Mexico or some island. Hardly romantic places for a secret agent man in exile.”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’ll have to come up with another place.”
“Were the tickets already bought?”
“No. That was Manny’s job. He’d planned to buy us tickets with something off. It was supposed to look like a last-minute change in family vacation plans. Arrive at the airport, talk to the ticket agent to make corrections, and fly the hell away.”
“Okay, fine. So we’ll find another place to fly away to.”
I stare at her, needles pricking my skin.
She’s not dense; she just doesn’t get it.
There’s no longer a we in this. Not one that includes her.
As if reading my mind, she nods. Then, as a thud sounds on the stairs – probably Shane trying to bound up them too fast – she leans forward and kisses my cheek. “We’ll talk about it later. Sounds like it’s time to go.”
Spinning around, she walks to the bottom of the steps. “Ready, guys?”
The kids shout back that they are.
“We’ll take my car again,” she tells them.
“Here we come, Old Pearl!” Shane yells, running for the garage.
I’ve never had an innocent peck on the cheek affect me so much. My skin flares hot, sending a current through my entire system. I don’t even know what the fuck to do with this, considering everything else going on, but my cock knows exactly what it’d like to do.
It’s pure hell trying to keep my eyes off Gingersnap’s lush, round ass as she bends over a chair to fetch her keys and purse.
“Ready?” she asks me. “Or were you looking for something else? Did I forget–”
Does this girl hear herself?
Clearly, she’s oblivious to the darkness ent
ering my brain while my eyes were glued to her ass five seconds ago. Somehow, that makes this urge to do the unthinkable even worse.
“No. Let’s go.” I pull my shit together and nod, then walk to the garage. “I’ll drive this time, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay,” she agrees.
Good thing too because right now, I need control.
Shane and Lauren chatter away with Gwen the entire drive, and May steps out of the huge front door as soon as we’re through her gate, pulling up the long, rounding driveway.
“Hello, hello!” she shouts as the kids bound out of the car. “Are you little bees all ready for a barbecue and dip in the pool? It’s a little cool today, but that’s why God made heating pumps for us Minnesotans.”
The kids run toward her as she walks down the curved steps to meet them.
“A pool?” Shane yells, laughing. “You have a pool here too?”
“I do. And my own indoor spa, but I can tell you’re not the type who’d enjoy being basted in scented oil. Maybe when you’re older, with the right gal.” May turns, winking at me. “Didn’t I mention the amenities here?”
“No way!” Lauren answers before she turns around and looks at me. “But...we didn’t bring any swimsuits.”
She’s right, and there’s nothing I can do about that.
“Let me handle it,” May says. “I entertain guests often and always have a few spares hanging around for boys and girls of all ages.” She gives each of the kids a quick hug before looking at Gwen. “Darling, show them to the changing house, will you? Miller and I need a little privacy, then we’ll meet you at the pool.”
“Mother,” Gwen says sternly, her eyes flashing neon green. “Don’t pressure him, whatever you’re thinking.”
“Oh, it won’t be me doing the convincing, dearie.”
I walk up and grasp Gwen’s wrist. There’s no need to shake my head or mouth more words. She knows what I’m trying to tell her.
I emphasize it by looking at Shane and Lauren. She glances toward them, and then back at me.
I’ve got this, babe.
Still, there’s a struggle on her face. She’s torn between pleasing the kids and just having a normal time here and, in her mind, protecting me from God only knows what with Mama Bear.
But I’m not the one who needs protection.
“Go,” I whisper.
She shoots a parting glare at her mother before her lips form a sugary smile for the kids. “Right this way to the pool! You’ll love it. One of the things that makes this place bearable for the half a year it’s not a frozen tundra.”
“I’m gonna dive and do laps!” Shane shouts. “Is there a diving board, Gwen? A water slide?”
“Are there really bathing suits?” Lauren wants to know.
Whatever Gwen answers is covered up by May, waiting not-so-patiently.
“This way, Miller.” She whirls around and walks up the steps.
She’s once again dressed in flowing layers today, this time pale greens. I follow as she enters the house and crosses the massive foyer.
We’re heading for a huge room. She opens the left door of a set of massive, curtained French doors and motions me in so she can close the door behind us.
I step inside and try not to bristle at the sight of a man standing there.
I don’t know him, never seen him, but his mere presence tells me May found something on me, all right. Now she’s acting on it.
“Miller Rush,” she says as the door clicks shut behind me. “I’d like you to meet my friend, John Thomas Riggs.”
He’s short, but husky, with dark-black hair turning grey and wearing a western cut shirt, half unbuttoned to show off furry curls on his chest as well as several triple gold chains hanging around his neck. Looks older than me by a couple decades, but he’s still fit as a whistle. His muscles still large and well-used.
“J.T., this is Miller Rush,” May says. “Our new client.”
Client? What the fuck?
He nods at me.
I remain stock-still, numb.
Nothing puts me at ease.
Neither does whatever arrangement May’s trying to spring on me.
Hell, he could be one of Jackie’s goons for all I know. An infiltrator protecting what her and Mederva are dealing in. But he doesn’t look like one of the sleek, younger, hardass men Wren would find with most dirty mercenary agencies. They’re all products of recent wars, not middle aged like this guy.
My mind goes to the kids, and I glance sharply at May.
I don’t know her well, but she’s not stupid. She wouldn’t put my children or her daughter in danger. Eyeing her, I ask, “He’s your guy?”
“Yes, sir.” She moves to a white sofa flanked by two chairs and plops down. “A very old and dear friend. Let’s all have a seat, shall we?”
This is her office, I realize. Bookshelves fill an entire wall, and the others are covered with framed photos of more giant book covers and movie posters. It’s a shrine to M.E. Court everywhere, except the wall that’s covered with the huge rock fireplace centered between two huge floor-to-ceiling windows.
J.T. moves to a chair, and I step over to the other one, sitting across from him. It feels like some weird version of the Oval Office, sitting with the president.
“Miller,” May says, clearing her throat. “Did you know that way back in the day, law enforcement couldn’t arrest anyone on the Sabbath, but bounty hunters could?”
My spine tingles. I cock my head, nodding at J.T. “You’re a bounty hunter?”
He gives a single, short nod.
“I believe the politically correct phrase nowadays is 'fugitive apprehensive specialist,'” May says. “Among other things, J.T. also owns one of the oldest P.I. firms in the state. He’s an ex-Marine. Marine Corps, special forces, wasn’t it, J.T.?”
“Yes, ma’am,” J.T. answers with another single nod. “Vietnam. Sixty-eight and sixty-nine. FORECON up till the day they sent me home with a metal plate in my head.”
Holy fuck. Force Reconnaissance. One of the toughest units in the war, embedded deep behind enemy lines. Their missions were so legendary we studied them even in my unit.
So much respect washes over me, I momentarily forget the danger this man could pose.
Men of his generation who fought that war, engaged in the battles they did, are bigger living badasses than most anyone today could ever dream of. Hell, FORECON guys could munch on Navy SEALs and Army Rangers for breakfast back in his day. They tangled with the best of the best North Vietnamese units, commanded and equipped by their Soviet and Chinese advisors.
You know what? Screw caution.
I lean over and give his hand a fierce shake. “Pleasure to meet you. Thank you, J.T.”
He knows what I mean, what I’m saying, and nods again.
“Same to you,” he says, his eyes glowing a little brighter. “Different wars, but same mission.”
“Yeah.” My service was nothing compared to his hell, in my eyes, yet I nod in acknowledgment. Each time he’s spoken, I’ve caught a bit more of his accent. It’s not Minnesotan.
“What brought you up here?” I ask.
He grins, showing off several silver teeth. “A little gal from Minnesota caught my eye years ago, and I followed her home from Missouri. Good thing, too, ’cause she was plump full of babies and those babies have given us sixteen grandkids so far.”
Math alone tells me he must be close to seventy, if not a few years older. I’d have never guessed that. Not by looking at him.
May clears her throat, and we look at her. “I asked J.T. to join us today, Miller, because I needed a few answers after meeting you for the first time. He came through with those answers, just as I knew he would.” She smiles at J.T. and gives him a respectful nod of her own. “Now, in the past, I’ve only picked his brain for my books. Being able to hire him for something more serious was a bit thrilling.”
They’re both looking at me now like I’m the main course at the dinner t
able.
Shit.
“Thrilling?” I echo her, wondering just how fucking cooked my goose is.
9
The Deep End (Gwen)
I’m trying my best to be impressed by Lauren and Shane’s swimming abilities, but I can’t help but keep one eye on the house.
Mother would have to stick her nose in this. God forbid I have anything to do with a man without her having her own freaking private police report written.
The sad part is, it’s not out of place here. If she finds the trouble Miller’s in...there’s no telling what she’ll do. And that’s the part that makes me wish I had somebody besides M.E. Court to call mom.
Actually, it’s more than that. She won’t stop even after she has an exact count of how many hairs are on his chin. Whenever she figures out he’s in this witness protection thing, especially if it’s his own design, it’s over.
Everything involving Miller Rush is right up her dark, sleuthing alley. Fodder for future books to last a lifetime.
I cringe, knowing she probably started outlining it after meeting Miller for the first time.
There’s no arguing the obvious. He’s one hundred percent pure hero material.
Throw in his secretive background, two adorable kids, and some sinister mystery, and she’s died and gone to writerly heaven. I guess that makes two of us, but my interest in this beast is hardly just professional.
Crap, by this time next year, everything that’s happened since I met him, and more, could be a made-for-TV movie. Or making its way to the big screen. Her Hollywood connections are some of the very best.
I die a little inside. Just thinking of her going after more fortune and fame off this man’s mystery, not to mention swiping my muse out from under me, all while she’s trashing my love life?
None of her business.
No, I don’t even care if the love life part feels like a huge, honking mistake. It’s mine to make. Every bit of this, and besides being concerned for my well-being, she shouldn’t be up in this at all.