by Devney Perry
“Got it,” he told Dad, barely sparing me a glance.
“Really?” Dad asked.
“Really.” Dash stood, still refusing to look at me. “I think you should be good now. There’s a gear that probably needs to be replaced soon. I’ll see if I can get a part and come swap it. But I managed to get the one in there working for now so it won’t skip rotations.”
“That’s great.” Dad clapped Dash on the shoulder. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I was going to have to get a repairman from the press company, and bringing one out here can get expensive.”
“No problem.” Dash took a rag from on top of one of the towers, cleaning his hands. His eyes stayed fixed on Dad like I didn’t exist.
I hated how my heart sank. Refusing to let him win, I put on my best aloof face and turned up my nose a bit. He wasn’t going to ignore me. I was going to ignore him.
Hello, high school.
“How much do I owe you?” Dad asked.
“Nothing.”
“No, I can’t let you do all this for free.”
Dash chuckled, that devilish smile going straight to my center. Damn him. “Tell you what, buy me a beer the next time we run into each other around town.”
“All right.” Dad extended his hand again. “I’ll do that.”
Dash tossed his rag aside and shook Dad’s hand. Then, finally, he looked my way. “Bryce.”
“King.” I held his hazel gaze. “How are you today?”
“I had a good weekend.” He smirked. “Always makes for a good Monday.”
If his definition of a good weekend was invading my private life on Friday—kissing me—only to ride off and find another woman to make his weekend good, I was going to destroy him.
“Lucky you,” I said. “I wish I could say the same. I had an unwelcome guest on Friday who put a damper on my whole weekend.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday?” Dad asked. “What guest?”
“We were busy yesterday with the paper. But it seems that I have a pest problem on my porch. Can I borrow your shotgun?”
Dash chuckled quietly, his broad chest shaking as he smiled at the wall.
“A shotgun?” Dad’s forehead furrowed. “What kind of pest? Gophers?”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “A snake.”
“You hate snakes.”
“With a passion. Hence, the shotgun.”
Dash continued to laugh under his breath. The movement making his jaw seem stronger. Sexier. Ugh.
“You’re not using the shotgun.” Dad frowned. “I’ll come over tonight and see if I can find it.”
“Thanks.” I’d tell him later the snake was gone. “Well, I have a busy day. Glad you got the press working.”
“Me too. It was a good thing Dash poked his head in when he did.” Dad laughed. “I was about to light the damn thing on fire.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” Standing on my toes, I pressed a quick kiss to Dad’s cheek, then spun around and marched for the door. Behind me, Dash’s deep voice rumbled until the sound of boots echoed behind me on the floor.
Dad didn’t wear boots. He was a sneaker man.
Every cell in my body wanted to tell Dash to go away. Or to ask him to kiss me again. I wasn’t sure.
Fighting the urge to turn was hard but I kept my shoulders squared and my legs moving forward. When I pushed through the door, I only opened it a crack, hoping it would shut on Dash’s face.
It didn’t. The moment I was in my chair, Dash was perched on the edge of my desk. He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing with the movement. The definition around his muscles wasn’t something you saw often on mere mortals, all tight skin covered with tattoos.
I swallowed down a wave of drool. “What do you want?”
“A snake?” The corner of that sultry mouth turned up. His eyes were shining and full of mischief.
I shrugged. “It fits.”
He grinned, flashing me those white teeth. A lock of hair fell onto his forehead and I clasped my hands together so they wouldn’t reach to fix it. Dash had great hair. I bet it was silky and thick, the strands like dark chocolate. It was just long enough I could get a good grip if he was on top of—
Oh, for fuck’s sake. That kiss had scrambled my brain and given him the upper hand. Somehow, I had to take it back, which was going to be difficult with him sitting on the edge of my desk, smelling like sin and pure temptation.
“Was there something you needed?” I asked.
“How about a thank you?”
“For?”
He nodded to the pressroom door. “For fixing your press.”
If not for the stress it would take off Dad and the paper’s budget, I would have died a thousand deaths before uttering a word of gratitude for a job I hadn’t asked him to do. But Dad’s relief had been palpable. “Thanks.”
“Was that so hard?”
“Would you mind getting off my desk? I have work to do today.”
“Can’t.”
“Jesus. Here we go with the can’ts again.”
“Read your paper yesterday.”
“And.”
“It was . . . informative.”
“Well, that is the purpose of a newspaper. To inform the people.”
“You’re doing a hell of a job.” His compliment seemed genuine; therefore I didn’t trust it for a second. “I have a proposition for you.”
I arched an eyebrow, a silent I’m listening.
“Let’s call a truce.”
“A truce?” I scoffed. “Why would I agree to a truce? I’m winning.”
“Maybe.”
Bullshit. “Definitely.”
“Fine. You’re good. But we both want the same thing. We both want to find out who killed that woman.”
“But I already know. It was—”
“It was not my dad.” He held up a finger. “If it was, you can prove me wrong. But if I’m right, which I am, wouldn’t it be better to print the real story? The one about the real killer, before anyone else?”
“I hate to break this to you, King, but I’m the only one in town spreading the news. I don’t need your help getting the story. Hell, I can wait around and print what the cops feed me and I’ll still keep my readers.”
“But that’s not your style.”
No, it wasn’t. I wanted a scoop. And not just against other news outlets. I wanted to scoop the police too. “What exactly are you suggesting we do with a truce? Work together?”
“That’s right. Seems like we might be real good together.”
Heat flushed my face as his eyes drifted to my lips. We’d only shared a single kiss, but he was right. Given the sparks that crackled when we were in the same room, we’d be incredible together. The chemistry, mixed with our mutual dislike of one other, would ignite like fireworks. We’d probably set the sheets on fire.
Innuendo dripped from his words, but Dash wasn’t asking for sex, was he? He was asking for information. Slightly flattered that this request acknowledged my lead, I considered it. “You want me to hand over whatever I find about Amina Daylee’s murder. What’s in it for me?”
“Same. I’ll share what I find with you.”
“Including whatever you learn from your father?”
He thought about it, finally saying, “’Kay.”
Tempting. The proposition—the man—both tempting. My eyes narrowed as I studied Dash’s face. It seemed sincere. If he was lying, he was good at it, but I wasn’t going to hand over all my information on a Monday-morning whim. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
“Good enough.” He stood from the desk and relief rolled over my shoulders. He’d been sitting much too close.
“Bye,” I said to his back.
Except Dash didn’t walk to the door as I’d expected. He crossed the aisle to Dad’s desk and sat in the chair. “What are you doing?”
He waved a hand at the chair. “Sitting.”
“Why are you sitting?”
&nb
sp; He didn’t answer. Instead, Dash scanned Dad’s desk until his eyes landed on a framed photo next to a cup of pens. He picked it up, a smile spreading on his mouth. “You look different.”
I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I used to work in TV.”
The picture he held was one Mom had had framed for Dad. It was of the three of us about a year ago. They’d come to Seattle for a visit—and to talk me into joining the paper and finally moving to Clifton Forge after hemming and hawing for years.
The day of the photo, they’d come to the TV station to see where I’d worked. My makeup had been heavy and my hair styled. I’d been dressed up in a navy suit, ready to go on camera.
“Huh.” Dash put the frame back and looked me up and down. “I like this better.”
“Me too.” I turned to my desk, opening a drawer for my calendar. Since his last visit, I’d made it a point to put everything in a drawer or cabinet before I left for the day. I flipped to today’s date, seeing that I needed to schedule a dentist appointment.
I’d do that after I got rid of Dash.
“Why’d you go into TV?”
I flipped a page in my planner. “You’re still here?”
Dash chuckled, angling his chair and dropping his forearms to his knees. “Until you answer the question.”
“Why? Why do you care?”
“Call it curiosity. I usually know a little more about a woman before I kiss her.”
“I find that impossible to believe.”
He dropped his head, his shoulders shaking as he laughed. “Yeah. You’re right. I don’t always ask questions first. But I am today.”
“And if I answer them, you’ll leave me alone?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Scout’s honor.”
I frowned to hide the smile that threatened. Was this flirting? No surprise, he was good at it. God, he needed to leave. I didn’t feel like talking about myself, but if discussing my history was the ticket to a Dash-free office, then I’d spill.
“I went to college at Montana State in Bozeman. I majored in English because they didn’t have a journalism program. My favorite professor knew I wanted to become a journalist, so he got me an internship at the TV station. My boss at the station said I had a knack for it.”
I despised the word hypnotized, but looking back, a part of me had been spellbound by the glitz and glamour of television. As an intern, I saw only the exciting events. I accompanied reporters as they went into the field, armed with microphones. I stood next to the cameramen as they filmed a crime scene with flashing blue and red police lights in the background. I shadowed the producer for the evening news. The evening anchor was a beautiful woman, smart and witty. She wore designer suits and had a makeup crew to paint on her flawless face.
It had all seemed so special. So exhilarating.
In college, I’d lived with my parents, forgoing dorm life to save them money. So I hadn’t had a typical college experience. No sharing a bathroom with twenty other women. No fraternity parties or wild nights at the bars. I’d taken a heavier than normal class load and graduated a year early.
For a twenty-one-year-old who’d craved a new adventure, television was it.
“How long did you work in TV?” Dash asked.
“Too long.”
I’d given the best years of my life to that job. I’d been so desperate for excitement and to climb the ladder. I’d wanted desperately to sit in that anchor’s seat. I’d given up everything else, missing out on the chance to marry a good man and have children.
“Why’d you quit?” Dash asked.
“About five years ago, I interviewed a woman who left Seattle for Montana. She’d just won the Pulitzer for an undercover story about a mobster importing weapons.”
“Sabrina.”
“Uh . . . yes.” I blinked. I guess he’d dug a lot deeper into my history than I’d suspected. “Sabrina MacKenzie.”
“Holt now. I know her.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “She lives in Prescott. That’s where my brother lives too. Emmeline, my sister-in-law, and Sabrina are good friends.”
“Small world.”
“Especially in Montana.”
“Anyway, I interviewed Sabrina. And I was jealous,” I admitted. “I was jealous of her story. She’d put herself out there and held nothing back. Dad had just bought the paper and had been begging me to move here. But I’d stayed in Seattle, holding out for a story like hers. It never came and the years, they kept passing by. Finally, I gave up. It was time to come home.”
I’d wasted five years after my interview with Sabrina busting my ass in Seattle. Every time I brought up a story idea to my producer, they’d nod and smile and tell me it was a good idea. Then they’d assign it to someone else, normally a man. Because I was needed on screen. I was the pretty face that came into people’s homes to tell them news, whether good or bad.
I was tired of being the pretty face.
Here at the Clifton Forge Tribune, I wasn’t going to win any awards. I wasn’t going to save countless lives by getting illegal handguns off the streets and away from children. But I could do honest work. I could tell the truth.
And if I wasn’t going to have a family, I’d have this paper. It would be my legacy instead of a family.
I wouldn’t fail at another career.
“Any other questions?” I asked, vulnerability thick in my voice. Why had I told him all of that? Why couldn’t I have just left it at “I worked in TV and now I don’t”? Instead, I’d opened up a piece of my past and splashed it all over the room for him to scrutinize.
His stare raked over my face, seeing too much. The sadness. The failure. The regret. Even my closest friends in Seattle, not that I’d had many with my work hours, didn’t know about those feelings.
“No. No more questions.” The chair’s wheels slid as he stood. He pushed it into Dad’s desk, then returned to sit on mine again.
“Good.” I bent and plucked my laptop from my tote. “I have a busy day.”
“Bryce.”
I met his gaze. “Kingston.”
“I think I prefer King,” he grumbled.
“Then go away, King. I need to get to work.”
Dash stood, moving for the door, but an impulse made me call out and stop him.
“Wait.” I needed my power back. I needed control. So I stood from my chair, walking right into his space without hesitation. His eyes flashed as I reached up and threaded my fingers into that hair. It was silky, like I’d expected. With a firm grip on those thick strands, I yanked his mouth down onto mine.
He froze for a split second but then he caught up to the kiss. His arms wrapped around my back, crushing me to his chest as his tongue pushed inside my mouth. The taste of cinnamon exploded on my tongue as he plundered. Not to be outdone, I made sure to meet him beat for beat, pouring everything I had into that kiss. A weekend’s worth of frustration and longing, all delivered with sucking and licking and fisting his hair.
I gave as good as I could before ripping my lips away, placing a palm on his sternum and shoving him hard with all my might.
Dash staggered backward a foot. His lips were swollen, and we both breathed hard. Confusion was written all over his handsome face—along with lust. He longed for more.
And now, I had my power back.
“I’ll agree to the truce after I question your dad,” I said. “Set it up. I want to talk to him, tonight.”
Chapter Nine
Dash
“Dad?” I called through the house. No answer.
The lights were off in the kitchen and living room. His bike was missing from the garage.
“Fuck,” I muttered, clenching my fists.
He wouldn’t skip out on bond, not when the garage was on the line. I should have pressed harder on Friday when I’d picked him up from the courthouse, but he hadn’t wanted to talk then. He didn’t want to talk now.
An hour after I’d left Bryce at the newspaper, my head was sti
ll spinning from that kiss. I’d gone to the garage to kill time with an oil change as I waited for Dad to come in. When I’d texted him yesterday, he’d ignored me. All damn weekend. Finally, he’d responded last night, promising to be at the garage by ten. When eleven o’clock had rolled around and he still hadn’t shown, I’d come here.
When Dad didn’t want to be found, he wasn’t easy to track down.
What was he hiding? Why wouldn’t he talk to me about this? Murder wasn’t uncommon in our past life, but this was the first time he’d been arrested for the crime.
Son of a bitch. I left through the side door, going outside to climb on my bike. There was no point continuing my search. When he was ready to talk about Amina Daylee, he’d show.
The return trip to the garage was fast. I spent the time wondering how I’d convince Bryce to keep this truce if Dad wasn’t talking. She’d be pissed as hell, and I doubted another kiss would buy me more time. To feel her lips on mine, it would be worth a try. I’d be more than okay with a repeat of this morning if it meant I got her hand in my hair and her slim body pressed against mine.
I pulled into the parking lot, surprised to see Dad’s bike in the lot and him inside talking to Presley. “When’d you get here?”
He glanced at the clock. “About five minutes ago.”
“I went to the house.”
“That’s what Pres said. Sorry I’m late. I took a quick ride this morning to clear my head.”
“You didn’t go out of town, did you?”
“No, he didn’t,” Presley answered for him. “He promised he didn’t cross the county line.”
“We need to talk.”
Dad nodded, not moving from his chair across from Presley’s desk. “Yeah.”
“I’ll get Emmett and Leo. Pres, would you mind taking Isaiah and grabbing some lunch for all of us? Send Emmett and Leo in?”
“Sure thing.” She stood and reached for her purse. “Sandwiches?”
“Sounds good. Here.” I fished out my wallet from my back pocket and took out a fifty.
Presley took it and hurried from the office. Minutes later, Emmett and Leo came into the office from the interior door that led into the garage. The rumbling sound of the garage bay doors closing accompanied them.