Lost in

Deception

a Lost novel

Anita DeVito

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Anita DeVito. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Select Suspense is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Jenn Mishler

Cover design by Anna Crosswell

Cover art from iStock

ISBN 978-1-64063-135-9

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition July 2017

To my dear friend John’s Chevy Silverado. You chauffeured me, entertained me, and inspired me. When Peach needed a ride, you were the first to come to mind. Whenever I remember my time in Pittsburgh, I’ll think of you. I suppose nothing as good as you lasts forever. When your transmission goes at 330,000 miles, there’s nothing to say but…you were a hell of a ride.

Chapter One

Saturday, April 8 mid-morning

Peach Morales stopped her grandfather’s Chevy Silverado overlooking the construction site fifty feet below and a quarter mile away. She threw the Beast into park, where it grumbled like an old bear trying to find a comfortable spot. The white full size pick-up had nearly 300,000 miles under its belt and ran reliably despite sitting idle as glaucoma slowly stole her Poppy’s sight. For the last two weeks, she shared the job of exercising the monster with her uncle, Rico.

Binoculars around her neck, she climbed out of the cab and then up on the hood. The wind and cold made for a brutal day on the Lake Erie shore. Inland, it may have been above freezing, but here on Cleveland’s north coast, her fingers were icicles. She tightened the belt on her too-thin coat, pulled on a pair of knit gloves, and looked to the sky for her uncle.

Rico Morales was crazy, as far as she was concerned. He worked as a crane operator, and for this job, he sat in the tower that loomed three hundred feet in the air over the frigid water. Beneath it, a steel skeleton took form.

“Found you.” She watched her uncle through the binoculars. She was too far away to see the details of his familiar face, lined and weathered by too many seasons in the sun. Below him, a man stood on the steel structure, guiding the crane actions. Peach waited and watched for his break to come. Then she would take the forgotten lunch down to her Tío Rico.

Raising her phone, she began to record the site. Her grandfather would get a kick out of watching Rico work. While she complained about the weather, and the wind, and the flurries that still flew, her uncle reveled in it. He had come back to Cleveland just for this job and the chance to spend a few months with his father. It had been a happy coincidence that she had returned home just a week later.

The hook was released from the load, and her uncle swung the hook around, lowering it to the ground where a decking made of steel triangles waited. Two others just like it were in place, adding ribbing to the spine of the structure. The panels were the size of a baseball diamond’s infield with an arc that kept the belly high enough off the ground that a man walked beneath. The line from the crane went slack. Her uncle’s silhouette twisted and stretched in the small space. She paused the video and switched to the phone, pressing the contact button next to the picture of a grinning man.

“Hola, sobrina.” His voice was smooth and mellow, unhurried, characteristic of his easy-going nature.

She spoke in her grandfather’s language, one she hadn’t heard nearly enough of until she came home. “Hello, my crazy uncle. Are you enjoying the weather today?”

“It is a beautiful day for flying.” Joy was tangible in his voice. “I have the best job in the world. I can reach out and touch heaven.”

She shook her head. Around her, trees that had not yet begun to green were dancing in the wind. Wave after wave crashed against the rocky shoreline below, roaring like a lion. “If this weather gets any more beautiful, I’m going to need to buy a parka. Do you know how hard that is to do in April?”

Her uncle laughed. “Why have you come today? Certainly, you have more interesting things to do than harass an old man.”

“Of course I have more interesting things to do. I’m highly sought after by every ambulance chaser and suspicious soon-to-be ex-wife in Greater Cleveland. I had to tell them all to call back later. My favorite tío ran out of the house without his lunch again. What kind of sobrina would I be if I let you waste away up there in heaven?”

“You see how good of a woman you are? Taking care of Poppy and me the way the you do? I know you took good care of that boy of yours.”

Her uncle was like a dog with a bone. She had made the mistake one evening of admitting to a long-term relationship and that she’d ended it before coming back to Ohio. All of which was true. Still, her uncle caught that there was something more to the truth and found a way to shimmy the topic into a conversation at the most unexpected times. Anderson had hardly been a boy, but as it turned out, he had been a rat snake bastard. “There’s nothing to tell, Uncle. I’m just…in between boyfriends at the moment.”

“You are too good a woman to be in between. Give me thirty minutes and we’ll talk. I have one more lift, another of the interesting ones of the project.”

After years of his stories, she knew a lift meant the stuff—equipment, materials, supplies—that he was moving with the crane. There was a lot more math involved than she would have guessed, and her brilliant uncle did it all in his head.

“What makes it so interesting?”

“That artistic pile of steel weighs half of my baby’s capacity.” All his cranes were female, and they were all his baby. “Add in the wind and you have a lift that eight out of ten operators wouldn’t make.”

Her hair stood on end, and her heart thumped hard enough she felt it in her ears. “Tío? Maybe you shouldn’t—”

He cut her off with laughter. “Have confidence in my skills, niña. This is nothing compared to the lift I had to do in a tropical storm to get that storm gate to close. I will see you on the ground. Thirty minutes. Ride along with me, sobrina, but do not talk.”

She muted her phone to ensure she didn’t slip and distract him, then began recording again. With her fingers, she zoomed to the activity. A smaller crane went into motion, raising a basket into the air. Three men in the basket were silhouetted against the gray sky. The slack in her uncle’s line was taken up.

He hummed in her ear, a silly choice she thought, a song from her childhood about a stubborn woman and a more stubborn goat. Behind his voice was the crackle of a radio. The sputtered sounds were recognized as human but otherwise unintelligible.

A second shadow popped into view. A man’s head.

“Hello, Joe, whaddya know?” her uncle said. “I’d offer you a seat, but this one is occupied.”

“No worries, Rico. They said your radio was dead and you needed a new one.” The voice was quiet but understandable with the Midwest accent.

“What? There’s the radio. It’s working just fi—what the…this isn’t right.” Mild surprise colored the whispered voice. “This isn’t right. Abort.”

“Rico?” Fear pinched her throat until her voice was the squeak of a mouse.

“I don’t know how long I can hold her.” The cab lurched toward the land, and a body planted against the window. Still her uncle’s voice was calm. “Come on, baby. We got this.” The boom swung around, a drunk trying to balance on one foot. The suspended steel frame raced to the ground. Ten more seconds and it would be—the cab lurched again, this time toward the lake. It didn’t stop. Two men screamed. It was her uncle’s gut-wrenching, terror-filled scream that filled her ear, her head, her body. She swung the binoculars left and right and, seeing only clouds, dropped them. She stood on the truck hood.

“RICO!” She yelled his name over and over until her voice was gone. It was then that she heard it. Silence. The sound of emptiness, of loss. Then raw shouting floated up from the construction site. She lifted her gaze to where men scrambled like ants over the immense iron structure. The voices warred with the primordial roar of a disgruntled lake. Above the tumult, metal screamed in protest as it strained and then popped in surrender. With morbid elegance, the steel bowed, burrowing itself in the waiting arms of Erie.

Same day, early evening

Tom Riley still wore his tuxedo, his emotions as turbulent as the air the little plane cut through. He had woken this morning thinking he knew what the day would bring, but life blindsided him with other plans. An accident on the construction site of a family friend had him running out of the wedding of two of his best friends. When opportunity knocked, a smart man at least listened to what she had to say. A crane had toppled, and men were dead, missing, and injured. Skills few possessed were needed. He had acquired those skills dedicating thousands of hours over the last year to the study of forensic structural engineering just for situations such as this one.

The thought flashed him back to this same time last year. He had come to the small town outside Nashville with his partner and cousin Kate Riley to build their first landmark project. Life interceded in those plans, too, putting Katie in the path of her now husband, country music star Butch McCormick, and a sinister plot. Everyone had looked at Katie for the murders, but he knew with certainty his cousin, who was more like a sister, was innocent. She needed evidence, and he found it in the most unlikely place.

That ignited a passion in him for truth and drove him to a PhD in near record time. Going to Cleveland, Ohio, to the project owned by Frank Fabrini was the next big step for his career and the first paying customer for the forensic department of Riley Architects and Engineers.

Fabrini’s voice, thick as syrup, rough as gravel, echoed in his head. “There’s been an accident on my site. I need to know what happened, and before you say it, fuck some government investigation. I need to know what happened, Tom. I have seven men hurt, two dead, and three more missing.”

He didn’t say no. He couldn’t. Hand pressed to his stomach, he willed it to settle. His body was practically vibrating with anticipation, and well, it disturbed him. The scene he raced to wasn’t a good one; he shouldn’t be looking forward to it. But he was. His head, getting way ahead of the facts, pictured the details, the work, the conversations, and the minute he figured it all out. The crane fell because… He would know soon.

He wouldn’t be where he was without family. The sacrifices Katie had made, taking on more with their company, enabled him to jet between Tennessee and Michigan to study. Now it was Jeb McCormick, the groom, going above and beyond. Jeb had caught Tom huddled in the barn over his phone, probably looking like a junkie getting a fix. He was ex-sheriff and ex-military, and bullshitting didn’t work.

“I just got a call,” Tom had admitted. “There’s been an accident on his construction site, and hard questions need to be asked. He wants me to come.”

“And you need to go. Let me make a call or two. We’ll get you where you need to be,” Jeb said without pause and then made the arrangements. Jeb’s wife of two hours, Carolina Walker, volunteered to do research for him.

Good people. He choked up. No, it is family.

While the wedding reception was in full swing at the home they called Elderberry Farm, Tom soared through a sky filled with voluminous clouds, each in a different shade of gray. The overwhelming emotion passed, and he focused on the file that had been emailed to him. He began with the important part—the dead. Tony Argento was an iron worker with eight years’ experience. He’d been in the basket with Bill Williams, a foreman with over twenty years under his belt. When the tower crane collapsed, it hit the crane suspending their basket, pulling them down with it. The third man in the basket was among with missing. The project engineer, Joe Carter, started with F&F out of college three years ago.

Two others were missing. The crane operator, Rico Morales, was a twenty-five-year veteran operator. He hired on with F&F Construction to operate the leased crane. Finally, there was Jack Hawthorne—the name was a sucker punch to the gut. Back when Tom had been a smart-mouthed sixteen-year-old kid, Jack taught him everything there was to know about concrete. They’d lost track of each other, but time hadn’t changed the fact that Jack was a friend. He’d been in the cab of the tower crane when it collapsed. Why hadn’t Fabrini told him Jack was among the missing?

Tom fought back an unexpected wave of grief. There was no emotion with concrete and steel. That was one of the reasons his analytical brain loved it. When concrete and steel failed, there was a mathematical, logical reason. Figuring out that reason was the puzzle he savored. Somehow, he didn’t consider that when a structure collapsed, it might take people he knew with it.

The flight had been too short to read the report in detail, but he had the night. A brief taxi ride put him at the front desk of a five-star hotel at prime dinner time. “Dr. Thomas Riley, checking in.” There was a lot to appreciate in the well-appointed foyer, which included the pretty lady whose efficient fingers were busy on the keyboard. He set his driver’s license and credit card on the counter.

“Welcome to Cleveland, Dr. Riley.” She took his license, looked between the picture and his face, and nodded with a slight smile on her pink lips. “There is a card on file for the room and incidentals, and there is a message for you.” She slid a small envelope across the counter with the license and credit card.

He withdrew the single sheet of paper. The looping scrawl was feminine, but the message all Fabrini.

The Steakhouse. 7PM. Don’t keep me waiting. FF.

“No rest for the wicked,” he said, shoving the note in his pocket. “Where is The Steakhouse?”

“It is across the square.” She pointed to the front window where the name glowed in tall white letters. “Would you like your bags taken to your room?”

“No, thank you. I think I’ll freshen up first.” You don’t meet a contractor wearing a tuxedo without somebody being dead. The gallows humor, for the first time, gave him pause.

“But…it’s nearly seven.” Her frown revealed she’d taken the message.

He winked to put her at ease, imagining the tact Fabrini had used. “I know.”

Chapter Two

Saturday, April 8 seven twenty p.m.

Tom took his time changing from the shirt sweaty from the tight travel quarters to a crisp button down topped with a tweed coat. Outside the hotel, he dodged the cold raindrops and hustled to the restaurant. Between the dim light outside and the low-level lighting in the restaurant, it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkened interior.

“Good evening. Can I help you?” a soft voice offered.

He shook his head like a dog and then focused on the feminine shape. Shoulders were bare to the swell of her breasts. Arms were exposed except for a length of gold around her wrist. Legs were equally nude, thigh to ankle, and also finished in a wink of gold.

He appreciated her style, but this was business, not pleasure. “I’m meeting someone. Frank Fabrini.”

The intriguing little smile on the hostess’s face fell for a moment before recovering quickly. “He is in the bar. This way, please.”

He followed Micro-skirt into the long bar, which was busy on the Saturday night. There sat the man, alone at a window table, away from the hustle of the crowd. The years showed in the lines on his face and the notches on his belt. Money may no longer be an object, but he still dressed like a contractor. The button-down plaid shirt laid tight across the broad chest and belly. Sleeves were rolled to his elbows, displaying forearms still thick and sinewy with muscle.

“I see him. Thanks.” Tom released the hostess and worked his way through the cramped aisle. He danced with a blonde in a white blouse until they finally slid past each other in the narrow opening. A waitress with a full tray wove through the crowd, directly in his path. He made room by stepping close to two blondes at the bar sipping martinis. At the askance glare, he used levity to dispel the awkward moment. “British Martini Authority. I do hope those are shaken, not stirred. I’m Riley. Thomas Riley. And you?”

“Tiffany,” one said.

The other pulled the garnish from her drink and toyed with it. “You can call me Mz. Behaving.”

He laughed out loud and then signaled the bartender. “The next round is on me.” The waitress passed, and he stepped out again. “Tiffany. Mz…”

Suddenly, harsh voices soiled the jovial space. A man in a dress shirt and tie muscled a woman with raven hair out of a chair at the bar. “I run a clean place, lady. Take your tricks out of here before I call the cops.” The man held the woman firmly by the elbow.

“You moron. I wasn’t propositioning him.” The woman tossed her head toward the overly white blob of a man parked on the next stool.

The manager frowned at the woman, who looked too expensive to have any real interest in a man like her trick. “Yeah. Right. You’re out of here,” he said and pulled the woman toward the door.

Tom stepped close to the Martinis again to let the drama go by. The woman cursed in a fluent rant, both eloquent and crude. He had seen that set of a jaw too many times on his red-headed cousin’s face and knew from experience what came next. He chuckled, hoping the guy knew how to protect himself.

Finally reaching the table at the end of the bar, Tom saw what dim light had hidden. Fabrini’s rich olive complexion was pasty and dull. His eyes, red and swollen, watched unseeingly as the ice spun in the glass he swirled.

“You’re late.” The proud chin lifted, and the eyes refocused. “A doctor. I suppose you think you’re something.”

“I’ve always been something, Mr. Fabrini. Now I’ve got the papers to prove it.”

He chuckled soundlessly. “I never did get your sense of humor.” He extended a beefy hand and, when Tom took it, held on for a long minute. “I appreciate you coming.”

The old man had never run deep in appreciation. Tom rolled with the grousing, but seeing the exposed soft underbelly put him on shaky ground. “I was surprised you called me.”

“I need someone I can trust. OSHA is going to have a gaggle of goddamn experts crawling around my site. I need someone who can tell the shit from the shinola. I need to know the hows and the whys. I ran into your father a few months back, and he said that’s what you do.”

The waitress came. With two fingers, Fabrini ordered another drink. Tom added a single malt scotch to chase the chill away and settled into the faux leather chair. “We’re adding a division in forensic engineering to the firm.”

“Am I your first client?”

“Yes. Well, no. Technically, Kate was our first client.”

An affectionate light shined briefly in those eyes. “Your hot-tempered cousin. Carbon copy of her father. What happened?”

“She was accused of murder. Her boyfriend’s—now husband’s—ex-wife.”

Fabrini whistled between his teeth. “Did she do it?”

“No, she didn’t do it.” Outrage raised his voice. “She was set up, and I helped prove it. The charges were dropped.” He took a breath and calmed himself. “I read the file you had emailed over. What more can you tell me?”

Fabrini drained his glass and then swirled the ice. “Ten this morning. The tower crane fell into the steel frame, putting two sections into the water. Twelve men went into Lake Erie. Nine were pulled out by the Coast Guard, seven alive. Another three were injured on land. The man who knows the most about what happened is somewhere in that bitch of a lake. Morales, the operator, would be the only man to know what was going on with that crane.”

“No word on Hawthorne?”

He shook his head. “I called his wife. The missus is over there now.” The waitress delivered the drinks, and Fabrini downed better than half of it. He dug in his pocket and tossed a set of keys and a folded paper on the table. “Keys and security codes for the site. I left a truck for you to use. The parking spot number is there, too. Find out what happened.” He stood then, a beefy hand planted on the table top to steady himself.

“I’ll start first thing in the morning. Frank? You need a ride home?” he asked as the big man swayed on his feet.

“Nah. Don’t you worry about me. I’ll take a cab. Call me tomorrow.”

“It will take some time.”

“Call me tomorrow.” He gave the order, tossed a couple big bills on the table, and slowly made his way out of the crowded room.

Tom sipped the scotch and, letting his head fall back, looked out the window. For a moment, he thought a pair of eyes looked back. He blinked, leaned forward, and the only eyes he saw were his own reflected back. He swung around into Fabrini’s chair, putting his back to the wall and facing the crowd. He rubbed the back of his neck, but the hair stayed on end, and in that moment, he had the feeling he was getting into more than he bargained for. Before he finished the thought, the Martini sisters filled the empty seats.

Peach stood in the shadows, watching through the window with distaste as Fabrini’s boy charmed the panties off the pair of blondes. Except he must not have because the pair looked disappointed when he paid the bill and left the restaurant alone. Not one to be caught doing surveillance, she ducked into the alcove of the adjacent building and acted like a woman waiting for her ride. The dark-haired man that sat with Fabrini had been in the restaurant for less than an hour and hadn’t eaten dinner. Now, his attention was focused straight ahead as he hurried to the nearby hotel. She looked at her phone. Eight at night and the day that lasted forever was nearly over. She retrieved the Beast from a parking lot, shivering so hard it was difficult to work the key. The sky was dark, without stars or moon, as she headed east. The open highway quickly warmed the engine. As she leaned over the steering wheel, the heat blasted away, but it didn’t warm her. She put one hand over the vent, heating it until her bones began to ache before trading it for the other. During the forty-five minute drive home, her mind replayed the day over and over. Each image was salt rubbed into an open wound.

Two hours earlier, she had raced to the restaurant to hear firsthand what Frank Fabrini had to say to this golden boy. One look at the fancy lettering on the side of the fancy building told her she would be too conspicuous in her jeans and sweater. The complex across the square boasted a five-star hotel and a mall. She binge shopped, pressing the limit on her credit card and coming out dressed to impress. In hindsight, maybe she had leaned in too close as Fabrini talked on the phone. Had her breast brushed against the lump of dough sitting next to her? The manager certainly thought so. A low roll of masculine laughter had her jerking her head up. In front of her was a man about her age with dark hair and eyes, broad shoulders, and a smirk she just wanted to reach out and slap off his handsome face. But she never got the chance. The manager latched onto her arm pulled with all his weight, determined to get her out the door. The words that flowed from her mouth cursed the man himself, his family, his heirs, even his dog. She had to stay in that bar. That was the only way find out what that bastard was up to. The door in front of her opened, and she was dumped out into the dark, cold, wet night.

So she stood in the rain, watching a conversation she couldn’t hear between the bellowing Frank Fabrini and the mysterious dark-haired man. It was stupid, useless, but she couldn’t make herself leave.

All afternoon she had stood watch. While emergency crews searched the frigid water for her uncle and two others, Fabrini climbed out of his fancy car, dressed in the jeans and plaid shirt they all wore like a uniform, but this one wore power as surely as he wore a Rolex that cost more than a month’s rent on her old apartment. He had stood on the edge of that nightmare as though he were king of the world and bellowed with a snarl on his face. “Get me Riley’s boy. Now.” Riley’s boy. The dark-haired, smirking man.

She had sat outside the trailer Fabrini occupied while the emergency crews worked. Bits and pieces were shouted though the thin walls. The king wanted to know who the fuck was responsible. No way this shit would break the company he built with his blood, sweat, and tears. He wanted to know what that goddamn crane operator had done to bring the tower down.

The wind and the rain had chilled Peach to the bones. Watching her uncle fall left her numb. Hearing the son of a bitch trying to make her uncle out to be the villain?

That turned her to ice.

She didn’t have much family, and not everyone was thrilled with her being part of it. But Rico Morales was. He had been her partner in crime for some of her best memories. It had been years since they were last together. Her work. His work. Stupid excuses for not making the time.

And there was her grandfather. Both of his sons left home young—one for the military, one for the trades. His wife, her grandmother, died shortly after, leaving him alone until he was saddled with a high-strung, cocky, smart-ass granddaughter…who adored him. And still did. They spoke often, nearly daily, but it had been a year since she’d been home. Again, she didn’t remember why. Oh yeah, Anderson. She closed her eyes to hide from the humiliation of bad choices. The last two weeks had been the best she’d had in years. Happiness was living with her Poppy and uncle. She knew they felt the same.

So she sat and waited while others worked. The big trailer cut the wind, but she shivered again, this time from the cold brewing within. Above, the door opened, and the king’s voice bellowed. “Get this site cleared and lock it down. No one in or out without my okay, and that includes OSHA.” He walked down the metal steps, each one creaking under his weight, and then his underlings. The metal stairs screened everything but their legs from her view.

“I’ll take care of it, Frank. We’ll get to the bottom of it ourselves. Fuck OSHA.”

“Gimme the keys to a truck.” The king stopped, letting the underling step in close. She heard the jingle of keys, and then he was on the move again. “I’m meeting him at The Steakhouse. Call me if anything changes.”

The Beast waited patiently in the employee parking area, blending in with the random assembly of trucks and cars. She crossed the soil pounded flat by boots and tires and treads with trepidation. “I’m not leaving you, Rico. I’m making sure they treat you right.” As she rushed into the parking lot, she felt like she was abandoning him. Leaving him to the merciless water without anyone to stand for him. “I’ll be back. You know I will.”

Too quickly, she parked Beast in its place outside the neat little house she grew up in. She rested her head on the steering wheel and spoke to her uncle. “I am not leaving you, Rico. I will be back.” The rain had stopped, but she was still frigid, more from the task ahead than from temperature. There were going to be no words to soothe her grandfather.

On a fortifying breath, she dropped out of the truck and made that long walk across the driveway and into the house. “Poppy?”

“We are in the living room, Peach,” Mrs. Hernandez called back. Peach had called the long-time friend and neighbor after it was clear that Rico wasn’t coming home that night. Nearly ten hours later, the neighbor was still there.

After setting her bag on the kitchen table, she silently entered the small living room. Everything was the same. The faded couch in front of the television, the mud-brown recliner that was so broken in that it was one bolt away from being broken down, the TV tray neatly set to one side. It was all so normal, it was obscenely wrong.

Her uncle was gone. Downed in frigid waters of a lake that had been jonesing for a fix. He was missing, and there was nothing normal about that. She wanted to wage a war on the neat little room until it was as ripped apart and upside down as she felt.

Mrs. Hernandez stood. “He ate a little soup and a bit of bread. Would you like me to come back in the morning?”

“Please. I don’t want him to be alone, and I’ll…I’ll have to go out.”

Mrs. Hernandez nodded. She started to leave, stopping to put a comforting hand on Peach’s arm for a moment.

Then they were alone. “Poppy?” Her grandfather sat in that battered chair, his hazy eyes fixed somewhere on the forever in front of him. “Poppy?”

“Have they found my son?”

“No, Poppy. Not yet. They will look again in the morning. I thought I would borrow Mr. Reynolds’s Jet Ski and search the coast. Maybe he got out and…drifted. I’ll be able to see him from the lake.” She wasn’t naïve enough to think she alone could do something the Coast Guard couldn’t, but she could not sit in the little room, suffocating with inactivity.

Pedro Morales looked down at the rosary draped over his hands. His thick fingers, still calloused from a lifetime of work, worried a string of Hail Mary’s. “They are going to find my son. I am going to pray, and they are going to bring him home to me.” Leaning heavily on the arm of the chair, he slowly rose to his feet and shuffled to his bedroom.

Her legs collapsed, and she was startled when the couch caught her. She rubbed her face, wishing she had her grandfather’s faith. The looking glass of reality she viewed life through left her filled with grief and devoid of hope. It wasn’t as though she wouldn’t have welcomed a miracle. It was that—Fact 1: her uncle fell from hundreds of feet in the air. Fact 2: the water surface would have been as welcoming as a concrete runway. Fact 3: the water temperature was no better than thirty-five degrees. Fact 4: the Coast Guard had spent over seven hours combing the water. Fact 5: it was only going to get colder.

She clutched her stomach and ran from the living room.

She didn’t make it to the bathroom in time.

Chapter Three

Sunday, April 9 six a.m.

Tom unlocked the construction site before the sun rose, his heart pumping like he’d had five cups of coffee. He would never have said it out loud, but he was excited. It was sick and perverted to be intrigued and curious in the face of a catastrophe, but there it was.

He was alone, but that wouldn’t last long. Not with an accident of this level. OSHA had been out the day before, but there would be more investigators coming. He had to be careful not to disturb anything that would be considered evidence. If OSHA made a finding of “willful intent,” then the construction site became a crime scene. He went into the trailer and set up shop in the conference room. He opened his laptop and began assembling information. The crane make and model were in an email. Someone had thought to type up the names and contact information for staff onsite, along with unofficial testimonies. He read each three times.

The color outside the stingy window changed from black as night to dingy gray when a cup of hot coffee appeared on the table. He lifted his head, following the hand that had set it there.

“Riley? I’m Stinson. Jim Stinson. I work for Fabrini.”

The man paused as if he were waiting to be recognized. The name didn’t ring any bells, and neither did the face attached to it. Tom would remember meeting the guy, as he was ugly in a mismatched sort of way. Eyes too small for his face. Mouth too big. His eyes were a dark brown, but his skin was colorless.

Growing up, he didn’t answer to “Riley.” That was his uncle. Or his father. “Call me Tom. Thanks for the coffee.”

“I figured you’d be in need of a refresher. Any progress?”

He hated being interrupted when he worked and wasn’t nice about it, as his family had pointed out. He sipped the steaming brew and was glad he remembered to appreciate the man’s thoughtfulness. His neck was sore from hunching over the computer. Maybe it was time for an interruption. “It’s going to be a while yet.”

“I think we’re all in shock, you know? F&F has some of the highest safety standards in the industry. We’d make more money on a job if we worked like the other guys do.” He held up his hands. “I’m not complaining. People need to come first. I’m just saying that doing things right is slower than doing things, you know, good enough. Slow is more expensive. That’s construction finance 101.”

Is that what happened? Someone picked profit over people? The idea sickened him, and it came across in his voice. “I grew up in construction. My father is one of the brothers in Riley Brothers General Contractors. I’ve been in construction longer than I’ve been in long pants.”

“Oh, well, then you get what I’m saying.”

It didn’t feel like they were speaking the same language. “What do you do for F&F, Jim?”

“I head up the accounting division. Been with Frank for nearly ten years.” He looked to the grimy window. “There’s accidents. There’s always accidents…but this…”

Accountant. That explained it, but there was no mistaking the remorse from Stinson. He might be a numbers man, but he saw the people. Anyone who walked onto a construction site accepted there were risks, but it wasn’t like back in the day. At the turn of the 20th Century, it was said that a man died for every million dollars that was spent. Five men died building the Empire State Building. Twenty-seven died building the Brooklyn Bridge. In the United States, progress had made death the exception, not the norm. The Occupational Safety and Health Administration—OSHA for short—would be working as hard as he was to get to the root cause.

“Did you know many of the men?” Tom asked.

“Jack Hawthorne ran several of the projects assigned to me when I first started out. He invited me to get out of the office. He made the work real to me, you know? Taught me the equipment and consumables and the lingo that got me where I am today.” He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry.”

“I knew Jack, too.” He wanted Stinson to know he wasn’t alone, hiding grief because that’s what you were supposed to do. “Twenty years ago, he worked for my dad. You couldn’t put anything past him.”

“No, you couldn’t. God, what his wife and kids must be going through. She’s…a real nice lady.” Neither said what they so obviously thought: Jack Hawthorne was gone.

“What about the others missing? Morales and Carter. Did you know them?”

“Carter I knew. He interned at the home office and then worked there once he went full time. This was maybe his third project? Something like that. I can get the details from his timecards if it’s important.”

“I appreciate it. I’d like to know everyone who was on this site within the last week. Sun’s up. I’m heading out.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Tom slung two high-powered cameras around his neck. One digital. One film. Sometimes, there’s just no beating old school. He put on his hard hat, safety vest, and glasses, tucked his notebook and pencil under his arm, and turned to Stinson. “Ready when you are.”

It was a humbling, amazing sight to see steel twisted like ribbon. It was a reminder of how fragile the human existence was. With fire, technology, and brute force, man created structures that were beautiful and functional, productive and protective. But when something like this happened, it was hard not to think of it as a little reminder of who was God…

And who wasn’t.

“Did you see what happened?” Tom asked.

“No, but I was in the trailer. We audit accounts quarterly. I have my staff go to the projects to see that it’s more than numbers on a sheet. A legacy of Jack, I guess. I don’t have the luxury of spending days out of the office, so I take a local project myself. It helps keep me in touch. Anyway, I’d been ass-deep in paper since seven that morning. People think doctors have bad handwriting. Try foremen with frozen fingers. Next year, we’re piloting tablets for direct entry—sorry, I keep getting off track. So I heard the noise. Remember that old movie Godzilla, the really old one? That’s what the sound made me think of. There was shouting, and the ground shook. I ran out of the trailer, but it had already happened. I dialed 9-1-1 and went to see what I could do.”

“Watch where you walk.” Tom picked his way over the ground, careful of his footing. Anything could be a clue. “What could you do?”

“Not a lot.” Stinson followed in his footsteps. “There were men lying on the ground. I don’t know if they jumped or fell when the frame started to topple, but they were hurt. We got them a safe distance back and then went to the water. It was so cold, my feet went numb in my boots, but we got three men out. Emergency services were here by then.”

Off in the distance, the high whirl of a small engine carried on the air. A Jet Ski raced parallel to the shore. The genderless rider in a wet suit and helmet rode the waves like a snow skier over moguls.

Stinson spat on the ground, kicking his toe in the dirt to cover it. “You’d have to be insane to be out on the lake today.”

Sunday, April 9 nine a.m.

Peach wasn’t insane. She was desperate. She needed to find her uncle’s body and bring him home. It was the only way for her grandfather to find closure. Sitting around and waiting for things to happen wasn’t her style, so she set out as soon as it was light enough to see. The research she had done the night before on Lake Erie indicated the water moved west to east, with the wind. She started at the bluff and public beach, where she had parked the day before, and searched east, past the working port to the downtown entertainment district several miles away. All with no luck.

She moved farther west and began again, getting even closer to the shore. She braced her weight like she was riding a horse and took the machine over the cresting waves. At the construction site, two figures moved in the distance. Deciding on a quick detour, she took the Jet Ski around a bend and out of sight before running it ashore. Staying low, she crawled along the sandy beach until the rocky shore protection started. Then she slid into the water.

She moved silently until she was under the bowed crane. Two men were talking. Stinson. She learned that name the day before. Some type of manager. No one her uncle would know, not to talk to at least. The other one was Tom. No last name.

Stinson was doing most of the talking. His voice was higher, and he had a nervous laugh. He answered questions posed by a lower voice. Authoritative. Slightly annoyed. Was he an investigator? Maybe he didn’t like company.

It would be more helpful to see what they were doing, which she couldn’t from her position. So she started to climb. The trusses of the crane provided ample hand and foot holds. She dropped onto the rocks that were the size of cows and crouched to stay invisible.

The one with the anxious laugh had nervous hands to match. His thin, pale blond hair was flopping in the breeze. His cheeks, nose, and ears were bright red. Stinson.

The annoyed man was at the base of the crane, taking pictures of the severed steel. He paused to take the pencil from his mouth and write in a notebook.

“Can you get me a measuring tape? I left one on the conference table.” Tom returned to his photos and then suddenly looked right over her.

She remembered the set of that face from the bar last night. The eyes were dark and very sharp. She imagined little got by them. His darker complexion stood up to the temperature. His thick dark hair barely noticed the breeze. That handsome face was the same. The smirk was missing, but the jaw was the same. This was Fabrini’s boy. Riley.

She descended back into the water with the name.

Now she had something to work with.

“Something wrong?” Stinson asked, holding out a fifty-foot tape.

Tom shook his head. “It’s nothing.” Like he was going to admit to seeing a mermaid in Lake Erie. Not the kind of reputation he was going for. He glanced up at Stinson to take the tape. The man had added a ski cap and gloves. “You don’t have to stay out here.”

“Fabrini said to make sure you have everything you need.”

“I’ll read all of the witness reports, then I’d like to talk to them personally. I need more detail about what they saw, heard, and felt. Any chance it was caught on video?”

“Not that I know of. It hasn’t surfaced on YouTube yet.”

He looked out where the head of the crane most likely sat. “The crane operator. They couldn’t pull him out?”

Stinson shook his head. “He wasn’t in it. I heard the windows were shattered, and the cab was empty.”

“See if you can find the contact information for the OSHA lead. Is there a phone in there I can use?”

Stinson nodded. “There’s one in the conference room.”

Tom hadn’t kept track of time, but his stomach did. When he finished his first once over of the crane and the building frame, most people were at lunch, but his stomach was not the priority. The catastrophe was. He needed some help if he was going to get anywhere fast.

Sunday, April 9 four p.m.

In her overstuffed bedroom, Peach bent over the small dressing table and adjusted the blond wig. Her own mass of dark waves was snuggly wound around her head with no stragglers poking out. The look was out of Miami Beach. Bleach-blond hair. Rich, sun-kissed skin. Sea foam green eyes. Pouty pink lipstick.

And let’s not forget the fuck-me little black dress.

She touched the gloss to her lip again. Dr. Thomas Riley preferred blondes. If a big-titted blonde was what he was buying, then that was what she was selling. Because for her, the end game was information. She had every confidence that the product of his long day’s work was in that notebook, the cameras, and the computer he undoubtedly carried.

The designer handbag had been purchased by her former employer, a D.C area law firm. Peach was part of their private investigation division, specializing in recovery. Information or otherwise. It was the perfect job for a person of her unique background and skills. One that she would pick up again, once she decided where to settle. It would be easy to go to Virginia, where her license was valid, but she wasn’t feeling it. She was ready for her next adventure, and if she had to re-establish her credentials, so be it. First things first: Rico. She opened the bag and stuffed it with her wallet, phone, mini-digital camera, a portable hard drive, a thumb drive with her favorite programs, and a baggie of Poppy’s sleeping pills. Not being licensed in Ohio wasn’t going to stop her from using her knowledge or resources.

Tonight her goal was information—enough to hang that bastard Fabrini. “This is for Poppy and Rico.”

“Peach? Where are you?”

“I’m in my room, Poppy. Be right there.” With a final spin in front of the mirror, she turned off the lights and closed the door behind her.

Poppy’s eyes might be failing, but his nose smelled the expensive fragrance. “You are going back out?”

“I told you, Poppy, I’m going to meet the man who is investigating the accident.” Not a lie.

“What is his name?”

“Thomas Riley. He is a structural engineer. His company is working for Fabrini.” The first part came from the internet. The second was obvious.

“Does he think Rico caused this?” The old man’s voice broke as he asked the question.

She wrapped her arms around her grandfather. “No. No. Of course not.” Because if he did, she would strangle the good-looking, smug bastard.

“I can’t even plan his funeral. Without his…without him.”

“I know. I’m going to look for him in the morning. I saw the Coast Guard back out today. Everyone is looking for Tío. We will find him. I promise.”

Poppy felt the hair that wasn’t her own. “You are going out to cause trouble.”

What did she say to that one? “I wouldn’t say cause.”

“I have bail money if you need it.”

“Oh, Poppy—” But even as she wanted to assure him she wasn’t looking for that kind of trouble, she knew the truth. “Thank you, Poppy. I love you.”

She checked her makeup and wig one last time in the mirror by the door. With a twisted smile, she slid into the accented English of her alias. “Tonight, Thomas Riley, Catalina Barco is going to learn all of your secrets.”

Sunday, April 9 six p.m.

Tom stumbled into the lobby of the hotel. His eyes were crossed and no doubt bloodshot. His back hurt. Oh yeah, and he had forgotten to eat, surviving the day on coffee, coffee, and then more coffee. He looked down at the floor, trying to work the knot out of his neck. Without warning, something warm and fragrant collided with him.

His hands shot out and locked onto a small waist to keep the woman he had just run into from falling.

“Aye, Dios mio,” the woman cried mournfully. She looked down at the white Styrofoam container that moments ago held her dinner.

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically. “I didn’t see you. Are you hurt?”

“Just my stomach as it is empty and that was to be my dinner.”

He steadied the woman before withdrawing his hands. Okay, maybe he held on a little longer. She smelled fresh and sweet, and he found he wanted to stay close to that delicious scent. She came up to his chin in her spiked heels, the kind he liked with the strap around the ankle. The little black dress hugged more curves than a Formula 1 race car. Her hair was a mass of thick blond curls that went wherever the hell they wanted. But it was her eyes that got him. They were a light green, the color of new leaves in spring, and they just reached out and grabbed him by the balls.

“You have to let me make this up to you. Come out to dinner with me.” Minutes before, all he wanted was a hot shower and room service. Those eyes of hers changed everything.

The woman stooped to pick up the container and see what could be salvaged. “You don’t need to do that. It was an accident. I’m sure I can salvage…enough.”

He took the woman by the shoulders until she stood, and then he stepped well and thoroughly on the spilled dinner. She looked up at him and shook her head, laughing.

“Come to dinner with me. There is a nice steakhouse just across the square. I’m Dr. Thomas Riley,” he said, extending his hand.

“Catalina Barco. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

He took her elbow and led her to a plush chair. “I’m sure the pleasure is all mine, but I’ll make it up to you. Let me just run up to my room and drop off these bags. It will just take a minute. Don’t leave.”

Catalina rewarded him with a smile that could power a small city. “I promise,” she said as she sat demurely.

In just under five minutes, he washed and changed into a clean set of clothes and the jacket he had worn the night before. He sent a short email to Fabrini confirming a brunch meeting and straightened up his room.

Just in case.

Catalina sat in the chair where he had left her, watching a wedding party spilling out into the foyer. She had a far-off look in her beautiful eyes.

“Do you like weddings?” he asked.

She jumped at the sound of his voice but relaxed quickly into a smile. “Oh, sí. So much happiness, so much joy. What is there not to like?”

He offered his hand for her to stand. “The tuxedos, the waiting, women with too much perfume, the hangovers.” When she stood, he slid out of his coat, draped it over her shoulders, and then tucked her hand into the nook of his elbow.

“There is nothing I enjoy more than taking a well-fitted tuxedo off a man, and as for the waiting…” She looked directly into his eyes. “One can pass the time in some very interesting ways. I have found that there can be too much of a good thing when it comes to perfume and that premium vodka will never leave you regretting the morning after. Well, at least not because of an ache in your head.”

His arm around her shoulder kept the coat in place as they hurried along the sidewalk. The wind came straight out of the north and was enough to take his breath away. He held the door for Catalina, and they walked into the same dark bar where he had met Fabrini the night before. Micro-skirt stood at the hostess podium, this time in five-alarm red. Her eyes flashed when she placed Tom and then narrowed at his companion. She quickly replaced the glare with a welcoming smile. Hostess professionalism at its best. “Welcome back. Are you going to the bar again?”

He shook his head. “A table, please. A quiet one.”

“Ooo, Tomas. Are you going to tell me all of your secrets?” Catalina crooned. “I can’t resist a good, juicy secret.”

“If that’s the case, I’m going to tell you all of mine and everyone else’s I know.”

Catalina bit her lip and pressed in close. “Tell me one. Right now.”

He dropped his head, his lips dangerously close to hers. “I’m really glad I ran into you.”

…

There was a satisfaction in coming back to the restaurant she’d been thrown out of just twenty-four hours before. Peach saw everything. It was one reason she was so good at what she did. She saw the cutting scowl of the hostess, vicious when she didn’t have a chance with the educated man. She saw the confidence in Tom, certain he was setting the rules for the game, but she also saw the weariness in him, the need to share. He wanted to tell her his secrets, and she’d make certain he’d get what he wanted.

“Have you been here before?” she asked in Catalina’s accented English as he pulled her chair out. Her arms were wound tightly around her waist, holding the coat closed.

“Just once. You’re still cold.” He towered over her, rubbing his hands up and down her arms to create heat. “We should have gotten your coat. I didn’t think it would be this bad going across the square. Do you want to keep my coat?”

“I am not so used to these temperatures. Maybe I will keep it just a little longer. It is nice and warm.” She inhaled deeply. “And it smells so good.” She froze as the unscripted thought escaped. He was supposed to be enraptured by her, not the other way around.

He smiled broadly as he took the chair next to her, his knee bumping hers. “I’m sorry. It seems like I can’t stop running into you.” He adjusted his angle to find room for his legs, his body coming nearer to her. “I love your accent. Listening to you is like listening to music on a summer’s night, with a warm breeze in your face and a bright moon above. Where are you from?”

“Guatemala but I have traveled my whole life. I am not certain where my accent is from anymore. I return home, and they complain they cannot understand me. They do not think my speech is good music, maybe like…punk rock. Loud and, um, harsh. Is that the right word?”

“No. Not as far as I’m concerned,” he said, scowling as though he’d been insulted.

The waiter appeared at the table, accompanied by a young man with a pitcher of water. Peach welcomed the interruption to get a handle on her loose tongue. She had planned to say she was from Spain but spouted out her paternal country of origin. He was an attentive man, already making her feel like she was the only woman in the restaurant. She tucked her chin and looked at Tom, very much liking what she saw. He was uncommonly handsome, smug smirk or not.

He looked at her then, chocolate brown eyes worth melting for. “Does that sound good to you?”

Busted. She had no idea what he was talking about. Decision time: confess or lie. “You distracted me, Tomas, with your chocolate eyes. I do not know the answer.”

Surprise lit his face and then satisfaction. “They have a dinner for two special. I thought it would be fun to share.”

She put her elbow on the table, her chin on her palm, and leaned toward him. “I think it would be fun…to share.” He leaned in, and the rest of the restaurant fell away. It was his eyes. They mesmerized her. That was dangerous. She straightened up again. “You look tired. Are you sure you want to be here?”

“I’m sure.” He turned to the waiter. “We will take the dinner for two. The porterhouse and the lobster tail, the asparagus and the cheese potatoes, and what do you think for appetizers?” He said the last as he turned to her.

“Soup. Hot soup.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The waiter offered three choices. They selected two. “Would you care for anything to drink besides the water?”

Tom quickly opened the wine menu, flipped past several pages, and selected a bottle of white.

The selection impressed her as it paired well with both the red meat and the lobster. She’d learned a thing or two to keep up with Anderson’s crowd. “Where did you learn so much about wine? Do you work in the field?” As an entrance, it wasn’t her best, but it did the job of getting the conversation where she wanted it.

“I’m an engineer. I developed my interest in wine from cooking shows. One show in particular dedicated a segment to wines, and I was hooked. I subscribed to a magazine or three, began to sample, taste, and buy. Do you enjoy wine, or are you a committed vodka woman?”

She would need to keep her wits to keep up with the wordplay that referenced back to the hotel. The wine didn’t worry her. Her last job required she maintain a certain tolerance. “I select my drinks as I do my jewelry, based on the occasion and the company.” She toyed with the pendant that was featured at the top of her décolletage. He withdrew as though she had slapped him, and she wondered where she had mis-stepped. “That is the way it should be done. No?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean…you didn’t put that dress on to eat takeout in your room, did you?”

She looked down where the dress hugged her breasts and held them out for attention. “I planned to take it off before I ate.” Threading her arms through the sleeves, she pulled the jacket closed. “My plans fell through, as they say. I do not think I know any engineers. Do you drive a train?”

His face erupted into a fun-filled grin, and it made him beautiful. “I’m a structural engineer, working with buildings, bridges, etc. It’s not driving a train, but I think it’s fun.”

She captured his chin between her fingers and leaned in again. His grin faded, and he tried to hide from her gaze. In that instant, she saw the remorse behind the fatigue. “Structural Engineering…it tires you? Makes you sad?”

He took her hand in his, stroked small circles over the back of her hand. “Today it did. It didn’t help that I forgot to eat. It was just—”

“Sir?” The waiter had reappeared tableside with the selected bottle. He took his time with the ceremony, the opening, the tasting, the pouring.

“Why does engineering—”

“Try it. Please,” he said. “It’s Spanish. They didn’t have a selection from Guatemala, but this one seemed made just for tonight.”

She turned the bottle and translated the label. “Sunkissed?” A giggle bubbled out. “Tomas, windburned would be for tonight’s weather. What is sunkissed?”

“Your skin. Your accent. You. Sunkissed. It’s perfect.”

Her mask fell, and for a moment, Peach wished she was really sitting here, on a spontaneous date with Tom Riley. “Will you excuse me a moment?” She hurried to the ladies’ room, where she paced back and forth in front of the mirrors. She paused in front of a mirror. “You are losing it.” After walking to the end of the sinks, she turned on her heel and returned. “Get it together. This man could decide if Rico died a hero or a villain.” Her reflection paled. She said what she couldn’t admit. Rico was dead. The odds of his being alive dwindled to snowflake’s-chance-in-hell last night. She planted her hands on the counter, her head hanging heavy. “What am I doing?”

She lifted her head, her eyes clear, her resolve back in place. “You are taking care of family.”

Chapter Four

After stripping off Tom’s coat, Peach put an extra sway in her hips as she returned to the table. She imagined herself a tigress on the hunt, prey in her sights. The blond tresses brushed her neck with every step. She embraced the cold, savored it. At the table, the soup had been served in a silver bowl with steaming bread. “Why are you not eating?”

He rose as she approached. “I was waiting for you. Which did you want? The lobster bisque or baked potato?”

He looked as tired as she felt, and she needed him in a talking mood. “You eat the potato, Tomas, and here, some bread. Fill your empty stomach.” She placed the soup in front of him and selected bread. Being out in the weather took an extra toll. She had felt it, too, but had packed for it and then eaten at home before she dressed. “Eat,” she ordered when he merely looked at her.

The first bite was reluctant. The rest was gone in the blink of an eye. So was the bread. When he reached for his wineglass, she put water in his hand. His tired smile conveyed gratitude. The smug expression he wore the night before was gone, replaced by the real man.

She tasted his selection. Sunkissed may have been a bit optimistic, but it was enjoyable. Dry for a white but lighter than a red would be. Most importantly—regardless of what the connoisseurs said—it tasted good. “This is good. So a structural—”

“Catalina?” He ran a hand over his face, into his thick hair, sending it in all directions. “I don’t want you to think I’m rude. I mean, more rude since I ran into you. I’ve just had a very, very long day. I don’t want to talk about work. I don’t want to think about it. In fact, for the next few hours, I would like to forget it exists. Would you help me do that?”

It had been his turn for a decision: confess or lie. He had opted to confess when he could have lied, blown her off, or otherwise shut her down. Her experience was that nothing came without a price. She needed information, and the price was distracting him.

Her fingers tamed his errant curls. His dark hair was soft as rabbit fur and thick as a pelt. “I lived for an entire summer with a family of gypsies. Give me your hand. I will read your past, your present, and your future.” She took his hand, cradling it. Nearly twice the size of her own, he had thick callouses at the base of his fingers. She traced the lines, teasing his palm.

“What do you see?” His head nearly rested on her shoulder, his breath tickling her neck.

She traced the longest line across his palm. “Ah. I should have known.”

“What?”

“You are stubborn. Very stubborn.”

“No, I’m not.” His voice pitched too high. “Where’s that?”

She traced the line again. “You see how this runs off your palm? You are so stubborn, you hand can’t contain it.” She glanced over her shoulder. His brows were pressed together, and he nearly pouted.

“I am not stubborn. I’m determined and, and, focused. There’s nothing wrong with being focused.”

Chuckling, she changed the angle of his hand and traced another line. “This line says you are very smart. You have achieved what few have.”

“My PhD. I am very close to finishing my doctorate. I defend my thesis in six weeks. I have my own company, well, co-own, and we’re expanding.”

“You like,” she brought him close, using the nail of her thumb to tease his palm, “games. No, not games but, um, puzzles.”

“Yes, I do. How did you know that?” There was triumph in his voice. His cheek brushed hers as he looked down at his own hand.

Her index finger drew circles in the smooth area at the base of his thumb. “Here. You are a fair man, yes? You, um, respect facts, yes. You put them in an order.”

“Yes. Yes, that is exactly me. As a forensic engineer, I look at failures and figure out how they happened.”

“You find blame.” That one slipped out with bite and in a Northeast Ohio accent.

“Blame? Why would I find blame?” His face was too expressive, too honest. “I mean, there’s always a reason something fails. There can be a force that the engineer missed or underestimated. Water can do a lot of damage. So can wind. There can be flaws in materials, either in the material itself or in the size or thickness. I guess, one way or another, it can come down to a human action, but I wouldn’t call it blame.”

“What would you call it?” she asked, Catalina back out front.

“Well, the reason.”

And then Peach understood. Notwithstanding the handsome face and charm, Tom Riley was a nerd. You didn’t get a PhD in engineering without having a love affair with numbers and calculations. This was a good thing. He would work hard—honest and hard—for the reason the crane failed. If Rico was used as a scapegoat, it would be by the bastard Fabrini. She didn’t trust that man farther than she could throw him. She needed to be prepared with her own cache of facts and calculations.

“You have family. A wife?” She looked at him slyly, tracing circles on his palm.

“Family, yes. Wife…no. You?”

Peach smiled broadly. “I do not have a wife, either.” She released his hand, but he didn’t pull away.

“Husband? Lover? Boyfriend? No sane, straight man wouldn’t do anything to be with you.”

Behind her false identify, her battered ego took notice. “I…no. There is just my grandfather and me, now. He has the same twinkle in his eye that you have, Tomas. That is how I know you are a stubborn man.” Emotions swelled, but they were all good. A memory came to mind, one she hadn’t thought of in a long time. “When I was little, he decided I needed to play baseball. He had played in the minor leagues and loved the game. Every day, after dinner, we would go to the park, and we would play catch. He pitched to me, but I just couldn’t get the hang of batting. Day after day after day. As I said, he is a stubborn man. Then one day he had an idea and put the bat in my left hand.”

“Knocked it out of the park?”

“You would have thought I did. He spun me around, hugging so tight I couldn’t breathe. He always wanted a left-handed pitcher in the family. Did you play baseball when you were little?”

He noticed the difference immediately. Catalina had finally shed her invisible shield and let him see the real her. He didn’t blame her, holding back on an unexpected blind date, but he wanted to get to know the real woman. Dinner arrived, and he served her. She had surprised him with her insistence on the soup and water. She was right, finally warm, he would have drunk the entire bottle of wine when his body needed water.

“I grew up on a construction site. My father and uncle run the company and raised us kids. Me, my two brothers, and my cousin, Katie.”

“I can see you loving it. Building and digging and playing with your ‘reasons.’ How old were you when you drove your first,” she waved her hand, looking for a word, “construction machine?”

“I was ten when my father let me drive a Bobcat. That’s a small loader we used to move things around the site.”

She cut a piece of steak and held the bite to his lips. “And how old were you when you drove one without your father knowing?”

Laughter burst out, a renewed energy coming with it. “Seven. My older brother, Mike, said I was too little. He was right. I wasn’t tall enough. Solved that problem by tying foam packing blocks to my feet.” He took the offered bite, trying not to stare at her eyes, but damn it, they got to him. Her every word was music to his ears—he didn’t know a woman’s voice could be so potent. It was breathy and smooth, like the crush of waves on a shore. Not weak or mousy by any means, but understated with just a hint of the unexpected. “I’ll bet I didn’t move it more than twenty feet, but I did it, then jumped down, tripped with the stupid blocks tied to my feet, and sprained my wrist. Of course, we didn’t tell our father. We’d have both been in trouble. Me for being stupid. Mike for watching me be stupid.”

“That is where I was fortunate to be an only child. No one to run to Mommy.”

“My mom died of cancer when I was four. I can remember a little about her…” He thought of cookies, the homemade kind, and then he could feel her. “Long as I can remember, Uncle Ed and Kate have lived in our house. His wife left when Kate was still a baby. So no, we didn’t play baseball. Summer time was work time.”

“You worked? From such a young age? I thought America had rules about children and working.” Her attention was focused on him, and he liked having it. Heads turned when she returned from the bathroom, his coat over her arm. At that moment, she could have picked any man in the dining room and they would have heeled at her side. She didn’t see any of them. Her eyes were for him only.

That did something to him. Something uncomfortable but not unwelcome.

Since college, he only dated blondes. He knew a psychiatrist would have a field day with it, so he’d never told anyone about that first blonde and the ring he’d bought. He’d learned the hard way that, to quote lyrics, love is a battlefield. While he lost that day, he’d come away a winner. His life was exactly what he wanted because he didn’t do long-term relationships. He didn’t get bogged down with someone else’s needs. He wanted to travel, he traveled. He wanted to work, he worked. Life on his own terms brought happiness.

Sitting here with an exotic woman he would never see again, he felt a pang of doubt. He forked a bite of lobster, dipped it in butter, and held it out to her. “I’m sure it wasn’t as much work as I remember. But we really loved rainy days. My dad and uncle always made rainy days fun. Have you ever been to a water park when it rains?”

“They close, correct?” She took the bite, butter dripping onto her lower lip.

His thumb caught the small drop, then caressed the soft skin. “No, see, everyone thinks that, but if there’s no lightning, they are open. One time, I was maybe thirteen, and we had the run of the place. They had this one tube ride, I still remember it was called Thief’s Gulch, that we could all ride together. It was enclosed, dark as night, and the water hit from different directions, so it was never the same ride twice. Tony, my younger brother, hated the dark. He would sit with me, and we would scream at the dark together, telling it to go pound salt. I think we went on it thirty times. Then the sun came out, and so did everyone else. It wasn’t as much fun when we had to take turns.” He shrugged.

“Is your brother still afraid of the dark?”

“Naw. He’s a diver. He lives in the dark.”

The more they talked, the better he felt. She told stories of her adventures in South Carolina and D.C., in her home country and across Europe. Every place came to life with the words she used, her tone. She even sang at one point. His life wasn’t nearly as interesting, but he wanted to entertain. He told lots of stories from his childhood, most he hadn’t thought about in years, and more recently from Nashville.

“You didn’t really get an alligator, did you?” Her green eyes sparkled, and he wished he had gotten the damn gator to guard that first job site.

“Kind of. We hired a retired principal with a reputation for his bite. Anyone messing with the site would have had a better chance with the animal variety.” The ache in his neck was gone. So was the headache. Laughing had taken care of the weight on his chest.

The table was cleared, and she rested her chin on the back of her hand. “I think…I am very glad you ran into me. Dinner out of Styrofoam would not have been nearly as interesting.”

He crossed his arms on the table and filled the space between them. “Did I pay my debt off?” he teased to draw her closer, attracted by her wit and her sense of humor.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “More than. In fact, now I owe you.” She came closer, her breath brushed his cheek. He turned his head and pressed his lips to hers. The simple kiss ricocheted through his body. An electric kick. Her wide eyes said she felt it, too. Slowly, she took his lips, offering something very different than he ever had before. The puritan kiss hinted at the world behind the curtain, one kept staunchly closed to him. One he yearned to tear open.

His hand curled around her nape, keeping her in his space. “I…I’m not ready to let you go.” He couldn’t explain the awkward phrasing, but it exactly expressed what he was feeling.

She rested her forehead against his. “Me, either.”

…

Monday, April 10 midnight

If Peach didn’t know better, she’d have sworn the man had dropped something in her wine. She was so relaxed, she considered that her bones may have been made of rubber. Tom Riley was every bit as attentive a lover as he was a dinner companion. He had discovered places on her body she didn’t know existed. Turning her head, she rubbed against his chest like a cat. He had tamed the tigress, stroking her until she purred. They were on the floor, her sprawled across him, the room lit only by the urban lights that filtered through the sheer privacy curtain.

The hand stroking her back stopped and then moved her aside. “I love Cleveland.”

She doodled on his back as he removed the condom and added it to the small trash can. Crawling across the floor, he uprighted a lamp. The switched clicked, but the room stayed dark.

“I think that lamp is broken. You kicked it.” Peach maintained Catalina’s accent, a damn hard thing to do when he was blowing her mind. She bundled the cover under her head, looking for a comfortable position.

“I did? I didn’t notice.” He climbed to his feet, looked down at her, and grinned like the cat that swallowed the canary. “Well worth the cost.” Going to the corner of the room, he turned on the floor lamp. “You are beautiful.”

Behind the hand that protected her from the blinding light, she grinned. “We shall see if you think that when they add four hundred dollars to your bill.” Her eyes adjusting, she abandoned the cover and crawled onto the oversize arm chair, happily naked.

“I love listening to you. I could spend hours and hours listening to words roll off your tongue.”

“Ha!” she said, coming to her feet. She picked up her purse and headed toward the pile of clothing in front of the door. “That is not all you would like my tongue to spend hours and hours rolling off.” She wasn’t a short woman, but without her shoes, he had almost a foot on her. Six foot three, maybe six-four, with long legs and lean muscle. Unwrapping him had been an unexpected pleasure.

He snagged her arm as she walked toward the bathroom and climbed to his feet. Taking her face in his hands, he showed her again just how talented his own tongue was. “I’m not finished with you.”

She pulled his hips against her stomach and ground against him until he groaned. “Tomas. It is I who am not finished with you. Order some dessert for us. I’ll just be a moment.”

She walked into the large bathroom, turned on the lights, and locked the door. A stranger looked back in the mirror. Her face was flush, her lips swollen, her dark skin marked by possessive hands. She touched the blond hair and found it miraculously still in place.

This was not going according to plan. She’d had fun with him at dinner. He was smart, funny, and witty. He got all her jokes and laughed at her stories, too many of which were true. She expected him to press for details of Catalina Barco’s life, but he didn’t. All that time she spent building the back story wasted. She took a glass from the vanity and filled it with water.

Then there were the three orgasms he’d given her. Dr. Thomas Riley was a very generous and skilled lover. And talk about stamina. Who knew a man could do more than pass out face down and saw through a forest of trees after cumming?

Not her. She’d have to rethink her opinion of past lovers.

She dug into her bag for Poppy’s sleeping pills, putting two in her hand. Decision point: truth or lie. She froze, torn between what her head and her heart said. What mattered? Poppy. Definitely. Rico. Absolutely. Tom?

His heavy hand knocked on the door. “Catalina? We have to wait twenty minutes for room service.”

She jumped and hurried to crushed the pills to a fine powder and scooped it into the full glass. Twirling to dissolve the white powder, she committed to returning his generosity before getting back to work.

She turned on the shower, made sure everything was safely stowed away in her zipped purse, and opened the door. “I know how you feel about waiting. Come here. Let me show you how to savor the passing of time.”

An hour later, she rolled to her stomach and used both hands to lift her upper body off the floor. The man was a machine. He had to be part cyborg, part marathon runner, part rutting buck. He just would not wear out. It had been tomorrow for a few hours, and still they were going strong. And he wouldn’t drink the damn water. He’d ordered champagne with strawberries. And whipped cream. Oh, and chocolate sauce.

She was tempted to see if they could make it until dawn—or at least through the chocolate sauce—but she was on a deadline. Taking control of the matter, she rolled on top of him.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“I am going to torture you. I am going to bring you to the edge of heaven and leave you hanging until you are in a glorious hell. I will own your very breath, and only when you beg me will I grant you release.” Straddling Tom, she ran her hands over his chest, fingering the straining muscles to find his taut nipples. She bowed her head and caught the nub in her teeth. His big body convulsed, and thus began the torture.

Twenty minutes passed. Another lamp had been broken, the dessert dishes rolled over, the couch was moved and table was askew, and yes, he was begging.

“Anything! I will give you anything!” he promised as she denied him yet again.

“I want everything,” she said softly.

“I’ll give it to you. I will. I will. I just need…”

His large body shook as she took his rigid cock and rolled the condom into place. She took him inside her again and began moving with the strength and dexterity of a belly dancer. Her hips undulated, rolling until his heavy body arched, and then she took him to the promise land. Tom jackknifed, his strong arms locking around her while his body was emptied of every sane thought. His thick chest heaved, struggling to contain those pumping lungs. At once, his strength waned, and he fell back to the floor, taking her with him.

The hands fell heavily from her back, and she lifted her head.

He was out.

She kissed his jaw and snuggled.

No reaction.

She lifted her hips and separated them for the last time. The loss of his body heat left her cold. She scrambled to her feet and wrapped him like a burrito in the blankets on which he lay, not wanting the chill of the air to wake him. She pulled his shirt from the floor and slid it on as she ran into the bathroom. She retrieved her gear, came back into the room quietly, confidently, and got down to work.

Chapter Five

Monday, April 10 seven-thirty a.m.

Tom woke to a morning that was far too bright and much too early. He rolled his head left, then right, blinking rapidly. The room was wrecked. Not just messed. Not just trashed.

Wrecked.

The only thing in its right place was the round table with his computer and cameras. He sat up, bracing himself on rigid arms. “Catalina?”

No answer.

He hadn’t really expected one. Still, it would have been nice. Morning sex wasn’t a treat he often indulged in. He ran a hand through his hair and laughed. How many times had he pulled a disappearing act in the middle of the night? It wasn’t that he was opposed to staying. It was just easier not to. Fewer questions. No mistakes about what the night did and did not mean.

His body deciphered something sticky against his leg. He flung away the blanket wrapped around him. Confused and then amused. “Chocolate.”

The clock gave him time for a leisurely shower and shave. He dressed in fresh clothes but rummaged through last night’s mess for his shoes. His clothes were thrown everywhere. He found everything but his shirt. Then he smiled. Peeling that dress off that hot, tight body? Definitely in his top ten.

He checked his email, found nothing that couldn’t wait, and stowed the computer in its bag. Next was his voicemail. The old contractor was there, and he didn’t run deep on patience. He hoisted his computer bag to his shoulder, put the cameras and notebook in a courier’s bag, and opened the door. A glance back at the room brought another smile, and then he hung the privacy sign. He would deal with that later.

Business people starting the first meeting of the day and retirees hanging out filled the neighborhood restaurant. Fabrini waited at a corner table. Jim Stinson sat on his right. A younger copy of Fabrini brooded on his left.

“You’re late,” Fabrini said.

He ignored the remark, holding out his hand to the stranger. “Dr. Thomas Riley.”

The man stayed seated and took his hand, looking him hard in the eyes. “Michael Fabrini. I’m here to protect my father’s interests.”

“You didn’t call last night,” Fabrini said.

“I emailed.” Tom unrolled the paper napkin wound around the utensils and spread the thin paper on his lap.

“I called you.”

“Ten times,” he said, recalling the missed calls. There was a fine line between having someone as a customer and as a client. His services were not a commodity. If he let Fabrini minimize his role, he’d be answering the old man’s calls at two in the morning. Drawing a line was important. Not moving it was just as important. “I gave you an overview in the email. You ready to move on?” The waitress stopped with a pot of coffee and a smile. He nodded and moved the mug toward the woman.

“You son of a bitch,” Michael said quickly.

Tom chuckled at the whole set up. Fabrini brought his money man and his muscle? What had changed since Saturday night? What did he think would happen today? Stunts like this one had stopped getting his attention before he turned thirty. “This is a family restaurant. Watch your language.”

Michael snarled, a lion cub ready to pounce in defense of his father. Said father raised a hand and leashed the beast.

“What did you learn?” Fabrini said quietly.

The quiet got to Tom. Somewhere beneath the bravado was the man he sat with Saturday night. “Nothing definitive.”

Stinson leaned in. “But?”

“There are some things that don’t make sense.”

“Sabotage?” Stinson looked like someone just told him Santa Claus wasn’t real.

Michael tugged at the end of his leash again. “Why you no good…if you’re insinuating that my father—”

Fabrini gripped his son’s forearm, stymieing the building rant. He didn’t speak but had lost the little color he had.

“I’m not using that word,” Tom said, responding to Stinson. “Way too early in the investigation.”

“Quit pussyfooting around the facts,” the younger Fabrini snapped.

“The facts are a willful intent finding by OSHA turns this into a criminal investigation for the Cleveland Police, so I advise you be careful of your words. It can take months to finalize a finding.” Tom stared pointedly at his client. “I will not put my name to an opinion based on twelve hours of photos and measurements.”

“Who?” Fabrini spoke in a voice that was more a growl. “Who and why.”

Tom shook his head. “I’m the ‘how’ guy. Whos and whys are for the police.”

“The hell I’m going to let an OSHA finding fuel lawsuits trying to dismantle my company.” He pounded his ham hock-sized fist on the table. The glasses and silverware jumped, landing with a crash. “You find me who, what, where, when, why, and how. That’s your fucking job.”

Tom pressed his tongue into his cheek, considering. Growing up on construction sites, in a family of contractors, it was a daily occurrence for some guy to want to prove he had balls. He was guilty of doing it himself. Hell, even Katie did it, and she didn’t have balls. The thing was to figure out what reaction would get you what you wanted.

So, he asked, what did he want? He wanted to stay on the job and unravel the puzzle of what happened first to cause the chain of events. If this accident was an accident, unraveling how it happened could prevent it from happening again. It was work worth doing. He had no intention of becoming Fabrini’s private investigator…but now was not the time to argue.

“I need to finish doing what I’m doing, then we’ll see what it tells us. I need a better idea of who was where, and I need to interview the men on the site. Get me what I need, and I’ll do what I can to get you what you need.”

With that, Tom stood and walked out. Michael’s curses followed him. He felt bad for the old contractor. The apple hadn’t just fallen far from the tree. It had fallen in another state.

He returned to the loaner truck and left the small parking lot. The thing with the excellent exit was it didn’t come with breakfast. He ignored the GPS and turned away from the highway, aiming for a set of golden arches. A quick run through the drive-thru and he sat in the parking lot, swallowing down the fast, warm food. He thumbed through his notebook, reviewing his notes from yesterday. “There. It started there.” He had sketched the body of the tower. He pointed to a spot about one third up from the earth. “It had to start around here.”

He pulled the digital camera out of the bag and went into the photo library. “Holy shit!” He wiped the grease from his fingers and pressed the buttons to move the pictures back…and forth…and back…and forth. There were ten images, and when he ran them forward in quick succession…Catalina danced for him. Her breasts played peek-a-boo from behind the shirt he couldn’t find. He stretched out his legs and pulled at his jeans, swearing.

He needed to find that woman again.

He played the sequence through one more time and then forced his hand to put the camera back in the bag. He started the truck and, in a few minutes, was back on the highway, barreling toward downtown Cleveland.

His mind was everywhere but in that truck. It was back at the table with Fabrini and his entourage. It was at the site with the crane carcass. It was in his hotel room. On the bed. On the floor. In the shower.

“In a quarter mile, use the right lane to exit.”

The calm voice of the GPS startled him back to the here and now. For the next twelve hours, there was only one thing to think about: what could cause a three hundred-foot crane to topple?

He glanced at his mirrors. An SUV sliced from the high-speed lane toward the right-hand lane where he drove. Instantly, he understood that the two vehicles would be occupying the same space at the same time—a phenomenon forbidden by the laws of physics. He braced himself and stood on the brake. The tools and crates in the bed, the bags and garbage on the seat all plastered itself against the front of the truck. The truck slowed enough that the SUV sailed past. It cut through the lanes like a hot knife through butter then bounced off the parapet. The noise of metal on concrete was assaulting, then the SUV swerved back into the driving lane, leaving streaks of black on the wall. It didn’t exit but raced forward, putting distance between them.

Tom’s hand shook as he reached for his cell phone, his heart racing with the near miss. If he hadn’t looked in the mirror, if he’d been even a second slower…he called 9-1-1 and reported the menace, unwilling to be the reason for somebody else’s bad day.

The site was locked up tight when he finally reached it. His legs were a little shaky, but after a good talking to, they carried him to the gate where he disabled the security system and opened the lock. He drove through and took care to lock up behind him. He was surprised to have it to himself. At the very least, he expected an OSHA investigator to be working.

Quickly enough, the left side of his brain kicked in. Logic, reason, and math left no room for nerves, anxiety, or trepidation. He set up in the trailer and then went to the crane skeleton. The ground had dried, leaving hard cast footprints. It looked as though an army had marched across. He knew just what he wanted to see. A coupling about a third of the way up looked wrong. He searched the ground. Walking at three-foot offsets, he looked for anything that would give him a clue as to why the sections had come apart.

He found things that could be something. He couldn’t collect them—they were evidence that would be needed in the official investigation. Instead, he used orange cones from the trailer to set out like evidence markers, then photographed the hell out of them. He took a dozen shots of each with the film camera and then digital.

The next two hours he worked in the heated trailer, immersed in a computer program that allowed him to build the structure and then knock it down. He wasn’t satisfied with the results. “The simulations indicate the crane should have fallen southwest, based on the position of the load. But it didn’t. It pivoted to the north, clipping the support crane before bending over the steel skeleton. Why?”

Wind was a variable. He needed the data on the wind gusts and direction. He stood and stretched, his back aching from the punishing hunched position. Putting his hard hat back on, he went out to take a closer look. He climbed the ladder that was tied to the stable side of the structure, crossed a thick beam, and made his way to the damaged end.

The structure leaned over the water. Inch by inch, he noted any signs of damage along the steel beams. A shadow flickered by that he dismissed as a bird. He eased out to the very end of the beam. Directly over his head was the pivot point. The two large supports on the bottom had bent—yielded—just above a connection to the section below. The connection itself was in place, bolts the size of his arm holding the two section together. The connection at the top gapped open. There was no deformation of the connection or the supports. None at all.

He set his notebook and cameras down on the wide beam, needing to move freely. Stretching to his tallest height, his fingers probed the intact bolts. Something moved in his peripheral vision; his head snapped toward the motion. Pain crashed across his shoulder. His fingers slipped under a second blow. He frantically fought falling, swinging out widely to grab onto something, anything. A hand pressed on the middle of his back, and he fell.

Monday, April 10 eleven a.m.

Peach stood behind outcropping of scrub brush and watched the man silhouetted on the damaged building. The late morning sun was screened by clouds but was bright enough to blacken features. She knew who the man was by the way he moved, so maybe it was more than curiosity that kept the binoculars pressed to her eyes. After their night together, it was nearly two in the morning when she parked the Beast in her grandfather’s driveway. She set her alarm for seven and fell into bed, fully dressed.

Morning brought anticipation. Her mind sharp again, she attacked the copies she’d made of his investigation. The notebook gave the easiest understanding of where Dr. Thomas Riley was headed. There were notes related to the weight of the lift and the wind speed and direction. He noted the capacity of the crane was greater than the lift weight with the added wind. A heading of operator error was crossed out. “He knows Tío didn’t do it.” A wave of thankfulness overcame her, and she was glad she had decided not to take the equipment with her.

Watching him work, knowing what she did, she considered offering to help. Her skillset could be useful on the non-science part of the investigation. She excelled at finding things people wanted to keep hidden. He examined the large truss that made up the crane tower when a second silhouette stepped into the fame. This new man was not sure-footed, carefully setting one foot in front of the other as he crossed the downward sloping beam. Tom hadn’t acknowledged his visitor. The new man bent down, and when he stood, he had a long, thin rod in his hand. With the sun behind them, the weapon was barely visible.

“Turn around, Tomas. Turn around, turn around.” She screamed as the man raised the rod, holding it like a baseball bat. He didn’t hear her; he didn’t turn. Then the man struck, hitting Tom from behind and sending him into the water.

She held her place. She had no choice until the assailant descended from the structure and disappeared into the trailer. Then she moved. Up the breakwall, across the top, down the other side. The large rocks gave way until it was sand under her feet. She began swimming. For an instant, the cold water stole everything—her breath, her coordination—but she fought through. Tom thrashed just a few yards away, bobbing up and down, not sinking but not making progress. She dove under with the thought of keeping him afloat. If she could get him to the rocks, he could climb out easily. Her hands locked on his hips, which only amplified the thrashing. He kicked and fought until she turned him around and grabbed his face.

His eyes locked on hers, and he froze.

She held her finger to her lips. When he nodded, she kicked the short distance to the surface, bringing them close to the rocks, sheltered from the man above. She squeezed his arm to let him know she wasn’t leaving him and then crawled up the rocks to look for the other man. Hopefully, he had seen Tom fall into the water and left to let cold water do his dirty work.

Camouflaged by the trusses, she broached the horizon. Her hands were tense, her knuckles white and rigid, but she forced them to move until she could see across the site. The door to the trailer opened, and the man walked out with his arms loaded. He went to a black SUV parked next to the trailer, fumbled with the back door, and dumped everything in. He rounded the truck and drove off the site, leaving the gate open behind him.

“He’s gone,” she said, as much to convince herself as to inform Tom. “We need to get you dry and warm. Are you hurt? Can you climb?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” he said but stayed where he was wedged against the rocks.

She climbed back down the trusses and crouched next to him. His lips were blue, and he trembled. She ran her hands through his hair and down his neck and shoulders. There was no blood, no discernable swelling, but she expected that would change once he warmed. “We’ll do this together.” She wasn’t sure how. He outweighed her by at least fifty pounds, but she wasn’t leaving him here to get help. No, he needed to come with her. Now.

Wet and cold as he was, his body was better built for rocks of this size. With a combination of cajoling, pushing, and pulling, she got him to the top. She ducked under his shoulder and dragged his arm around her. Taking what weight she could, they hobbled to the heated trailer. “Almost there. Ten more steps. You can do it. That’s right. Now, up the stairs. There’s only five.” He nearly went down, unable to lift his leg high enough to clear the top step. She swept her free arm under his knee and lifted his leg. “We’re there. Two more steps.”

The door opened into a conference room. She set him in the nearest metal folding chair and hastily rummaged the workspace. In the adjacent room, she found the thermostat and cranked it to eighty. In the same room, she found a flannel shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, and three rain coats. Without permission or apology, she stripped the coat he wore and unbuttoned his shirt. “We need to get you out of here before that asshole comes back. Is that truck out there yours?”

Tom nodded a heavy head. “Loaner.”

“Where are the keys?”

“P-pocket.” He reached for the discarded coat. She snatched it, shoved her hands into the zippered coat pockets. She came out with the keys, his wallet, his hotel key, and a dead cell phone.

“We have to get you dry.” She used the flannel shirt as a towel across his chest and back. A thin red welt stretched from his upper right shoulder to his spine. The skin was intact, and he moved his shoulder without a problem. She did what she could to get him dry and dressed. He looked ridiculous but looks took a backseat to hypothermia. “I’m going to start the truck and get it warm. Just stay here.”

Tom grabbed her arm before she could leave. “My computer. G-gone.” He pointed to the conference table that held only the drawings for the building.

“The son of a bitch who pushed you hauled out an armload of equipment.”

“My notebook. Cameras. H-had them with me.”

“I’ll take a quick look for it but just a quick one. If the asshole didn’t take them, they’re probably in the lake.” She pried his fingers from her arm. “Just stay. I’ll be right back. I promise.”

…

Tom was numb. He never fully appreciated the meaning of that word. Numb. It was not only the absence of feeling, it was the absence of the will to feel. Or to move. He blinked, trying to get his little gray cells to fire on all cylinders. “She said I was p-pushed. What the h-hell?” He reached for the phone on the table. It took three tries to press the right numbers in the right order, but finally it rang.

…

Peach ran out of the trailer, tore open the door to the truck, started it, and blasted the heat. The wind gusted, reminding her that she was wet, cold, and tired herself. The water shoes she wore provided no protection from the uneven ground and debris. Time wasn’t on their side, and since she had copied the notebook and digital camera a few hours ago, she wasn’t wasting time on the cameras or notebook. The originals weren’t worth him freezing to death. She pulled the truck around so the passenger door was at the bottom of the stairs and then hurried back into the trailer. Tom was collapsed over the table. “Tomas. Tomas. Time to leave. Up.”

He woke as she pulled his shoulders back. At her command, he braced his arms on the table and pushed himself up but fell back into the chair. A smaller man she would have had a chance to carry, but he was too long.

“On your feet. Now.” She wrapped an arm around his waist and steered him out of the trailer. Driven by an overwhelming urge to get the hell out of there, she muscled him out the door and into the warm truck. “There’s a hospital close by.”

“N-no. J-just take me to my h-hotel.”

“Are you crazy? Someone takes a baseball bat to your head, you go to the hospital.”

“N-not-t my head. Sh-shoulder. H-hotel.” He kept his eyes open on the short drive and began to shiver, a sign that heat was seeping into his wet body.

“I knew you were stubborn,” she muttered as they tore out of the parking lot. She didn’t stop to close the gate. She didn’t give a damn about it. All that mattered was getting him dry and warm. Going for expedient, she valet parked the truck. The young man came out of the hotel as she raced around to the passenger door and opened it, catching Tom as he fell out. “I knew we should have gone to a hospital.”

“J-just…get me…upstairs.” He took a lumbering step, his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Is he okay, ma’am?” The valet quickly covered the short distance from the front doors, concern evident in his wide eyes and helpful hands. “He’s wet.”

“He fell in the lake. I need to get him up to his room.”

The valet took Tom’s other side, and together they walked him through the lobby. “Shouldn’t he be at a hospital?”

“That’s what I said, but you know men.” She used her foot to press the “up” button on the panel. It took teamwork to get his uncoordinated body to the room. She felt ridiculous propping Tom against the doorframe while she settled with the valet but didn’t want to explain the room if he hadn’t cleaned it.

“Come on, honey, almost there.” She opened the door to the aftermath. It was hard to believe that just the two of them had caused the apocalypse before her. “First things first. We need you warm.” She guided him to the toilet, sat him down, and then turned away to start the shower. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

“That’s what you said last night.”

She lifted her gaze away from the water pooling around the drain. With the urgency of the moment, she hadn’t thought this part through. She didn’t have the energy for a confrontation. She was cold, wet, and tired. She still had to retrieve the Jet Ski and, oh God, she was going to get wet again. If he had a problem with her being there, she’d leave. Simple.

“I know you.” He leaned close, brushing her as he inhaled deeply. “I would know you anywhere.”

She turned—slowly, calmly—and faced him. “What is it you think you know?”

Tom smiled. His frozen lips felt about to shatter, but he couldn’t stop it. “I knew you weren’t a natural blond.” She laughed as he hoped she would. Slowly, because it was as fast as he could go, he lifted the Velcro that hid the zipper on the neck of her wet suit. He would know Catalina anywhere, anytime. He had her taste imprinted on his tongue, her feel an indelible memory.

Her hand covered his, and she turned to him. Those beautifully vivid eyes shone like twin jewels, so pale they practically glowed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cold. I want to be skin to skin. Like last night.” With trembling fingers, he took the thick material and peeled it from her shoulders. He couldn’t stop the shaking, but he was feeling better, stronger, quicker witted. She withdrew reluctant arms, letting the top of the suit fall limply from her hips. He pulled her rigid body against him. He expected to feel her warmth, but he didn’t. “You’re as cold as I am. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m fine. You’re the one who got hit over the head.” She stepped back, but his fingers held tight to the painted-on suit.

“I told you, it’s my shoulder. Take this off.” He tugged it down another inch, but it was going to take work getting over the curve of her hips.

Her gaze met his, and then she dropped her chin, shaking her head slowly. He felt sadness in her, something he hadn’t sensed the night before, and he didn’t understand it. She didn’t regret coming after him. It was something else. Finding the motivation to move, he stripped the wet suit off her legs. She stood in front of him in a floral-print bikini with a heavy rope of dark, braided hair over her shoulder and her arms banded around her stomach. “Get into the shower.”

She shook her head. “You need to get warm and dry. Hypothermia is nothing to mess with.”

He didn’t argue. It took all his energy to stand, lift her off her feet, and set her back down in the bathtub under the spray. She yelped as the water hit her, and she nearly fell. He caught her with one arm, the water searing his skin. He quickly lowered the temperature with his free hand. His movements were jerky and his fingers still hard to control, but it was getting better. He stripped the sweatshirt and then the pants and underwear. “You can lose the suit. I’ve already seen the show.”

“I’m fine.” She started to climb out, and he suspected the tint in her cheeks was from more than the warm water.

He climbed in, trapping her as he groaned from the instant relief the water brought. Warmth, feeling, and control seeped into his extremities as he held her. “No, you’re not. You’re freezing, just like me. Stay here for a little while.” He rested his head atop hers, half asleep, completely content. He knew he was alone in that sentiment. She held herself stiffly, and not from the cold. She had stood under this shower washing his back just hours ago. But this was different. His hands ran up and down her arms. “Then we’ll order some chicken soup from room service. Do you like chicken soup, Catalina?”

She jumped like a scared cat. “I can’t stay.”

“Just for a little while.” He used his most compelling voice, tempting her to stay, not demanding. He took that thick braid in his hand and untied the end. “Now it makes sense. Yesterday you didn’t want to get your hair wet. I thought it was one of those girl things. God, I had wanted to touch all of those golden waves.” He unwound the strands and turned her so the water ran down the length of it. The dark hair, heavy and wavy, belonged with her face and body. He began a slow, sensuous massage. Inch by inch, she melted. The tension in her face evaporated, and her mouth fell open as if the effort to keep it closed was too great. “This is so much better.” She swayed; he stepped closer. He leaned down and spoke in her ear. “I was working on a plan. To see you again. I was contemplating camping out in the hotel lobby to wait for you. But that wouldn’t have worked, would it?”

She shook her head.

“And your name isn’t Catalina Barco?”

She lifted her thick black lashes and blinded him with the intensity of her gaze. “No.”

He dipped his head and brushed his lips across her mouth. “Tell me your name.” He watched as some idea settled across her expressive face, and she tilted that beautiful, cocky chin to the side.

She smiled, the dark, secretive one she’d used the night before. “What do you want it to be?”

He shook his head, an answering smile settling in on his face. “You ruthlessly screwed my brains out last night, and then you save my life today. I want to know the name your mother calls you.”

Her smiled faded, and she pulled away, stepping out of the shower. Something was wrong. She didn’t face him, as he expected, but shut him out. He didn’t like it. He turned off the water and followed. It had done the job, pulling him back from a bleak, cold place. He wasn’t a hundred percent yet. Still weak, shoulder throbbing, and with growing headache, he wasn’t in a mood to be dismissed.

She took two thick towels from a rack, handed him one, and began to dry herself. “I do not think I would like to hear what she calls me coming from your mouth, Tomas. You like Catalina. Let her stay a while longer.”

Back was her flourished accent, lighting a flash of temper through Tom. “I don’t want some damn character. I want the real you. The one who pulled me from the lake and stayed with me. What is her name? Tell me.” He made it an order as her gaze drifted to the bathroom door. She wasn’t running out on him, no matter what she thought. He wrapped his towel around the small of her back and pinned her against him. “Name?”

She squirmed uncomfortably with brows furrowed. There was very little between her and his now-warmed body. “You can call me Peach. I’m not telling you the name on my birth certificate, and any man stupid enough to use that name is one with a death wish.”

It was enough, more than she planned to give. “I still love your eyes. I’ll miss the way you spoke.”

“Does the way I speak turn you on, Tomas?” she asked in Catalina’s lifting accent.

He let out a shuddered sigh as his cock made a valiant attempt to rise. For the moment, having her close would have to be enough. “Yeah…yeah, it does, but I rather have the real you. You’re still cold.” Two more dry, fluffy towels sat high on the shelf. He wrapped one around her hips and the other around her shoulders.

She shivered despite the steamed air and leaned against him. “I have things to do.” The little ice cubes pressing into his hips were her fingers.

A weariness crept into her voice that worried him. The spunk was waning instead of growing. “First thing you have to do is rest. I think you wore yourself out saving my ass.”

“Your heavy ass.” Her eyes fluttered and then closed.

He huffed at the insult and lifted her, holding her tight against his chest. Startled, she held herself stiff. She shivered again; he felt it through the thick towels. She was running on fumes. No way she was going anywhere. Not like this. He carried her into the bedroom. “You like my ass.”

She snorted, her eyelids drifting closed again. “I’ve always appreciated a nice ass. High and tight.” He set her gently on the stripped bed. “I don’t know what your fine ass is thinking, but it’s going to be disappointed.”

“You couldn’t disappoint me.” He retrieved the pillows and tucked one under her head. He picked up the bedspread, arranging it with the chocolate stain on the outside, down by their feet.

“I don’t think I will ever look at a bottle of Hershey’s syrup quite the same,” she said, watching him through narrow slits.

He crawled under the covers and tugged at the towels. “Off with these.” He yanked them away when she shifted her weight and then pulled her bikini-clad, shivering body into his naked one. The heavy rope of her hair was plastered to her back. He pulled it away to rub his hands over her, sharing his new-found warmth.

In the quiet, the afternoon sun brightening the room, his brain began to realize how close to death he had come. Everything he was, everything he worked for would have…he shivered but not from the cold. He hugged Cata—Peach. The name was too simple for a woman as audacious and brave as she was; it was perfect. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you.” She snuggled into him, smiling. “I loved the pictures.”

“You found them.” The grin turned devilish.

“Oh, yeah. Will you dance for me?”

“I can’t stay,” she whispered, but her words fell off. She pressed her face into the notch in his shoulder, gave a long, content sigh, and fell asleep.

He tunneled his fingers into the truly wild strands of hair. He shouldn’t be so happy. Someone had tried to kill him, for fuck’s sake. But right at that moment, he didn’t give a damn. He pressed a kiss to his familiar stranger’s hair and followed her into sleep.

Chapter Six

Monday, April 10 six p.m.

A growling in his belly woke Tom. He laid on his side, his body cradling the warm, sweet-smelling woman. A fire in his groin grew as she arched her back. The thick rope of hair had dried to a wild mane that covered both of them. He lifted it, revealing the soft spot under her ear. “Are you awake?”

She inhaled deeply and released it with a long, slow sound of satisfaction. “Hmmm. I don’t need to ask if you are.” She rubbed her bikini-clad bottom against his erection. “What time is it?”

He rolled over to see the digital display. “Almost six.” His stomach made its needs known again, causing her to laugh.

“I think somebody missed lunch.”

He remembered the fast-food breakfast and the pictures he found. “I’m hungry all right.” He nibbled her ear, feasting as he moved down her neck. Then his stomach made a noise that sounded like a threat, and she laughed again. “Giggles. Not what I was going for. Let’s order room service. We need more chocolate sauce.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, her smile fading into sadness. “Staying would be so easy, but I have things to take care of still.” She shoved at his arm. “I need to get up.”

He relaxed his grip but ran his hands over the length of her body as she left the bed. She looked sexy, all rumpled as if they’d spent the afternoon playing. He clasped his hands behind his head, lingering on the image of her naked body under him while he waited for her to return. A single knuckle rap came from the door.

He’d put out the “Do Not Disturb” sign this morning. Whoever it was could take a hint.

The knock came a second time. “Clyde, I left my bride in an empty bed for you. The least you can do is answer the damn door.”

Relief swept through Tom. He hopped out of bed and dug through his bag for his sleep pants. Finally, his head cleared enough to wonder why Jebediah McCormick was knocking on his door. “Jeb? What are you doing here?”

“You call saying someone’s trying to kill you, it tends to get some attention. Whole family’s worried. You didn’t answer texts or calls. Took me too damn long to find you.”

“I called you?” He hadn’t been in the state of mind to consider the details. Now that he was, there were a few blank spots. “You came? Yesterday was your wedding day.” He threw the door open.

“I know it, but you’re family, and you needed us. You sounded…” Jeb paused, rubbing his hand across his mouth while his gaze verified Tom was still among the living. “You were in bad shape.”

“I was. Wait, us?” He shoved his head into the hallway, looking for an entourage.

“It’s just me. Carolina wanted to come, but I convinced her it was more important for her to focus on that little assignment you gave her. Butch knows, but we’re keeping it from Katie. Lord knows what she would do if she thought you were in trouble.”

“She’d move hell and high water,” he said, knowing because he’d done the same for her. Vaguely, a dull memory surfaced of wanting Jeb’s help. He didn’t remember calling. If he’d been in his right mind, he wouldn’t have done it, which showed how out of his mind he’d been.

“You gonna let me in?” Jeb stepped into the room as Tom retreated, then whistled long and low. “And to think I was worried about you being up here with someone beating on you. You out-did yourself.” He picked up the discarded champagne bottle and set it next to the door. He wandered the room, toeing the empty whipped cream can and picking a ripe strawberry from a white bowl. “Many of your ladies live in Cleveland?”

Tom scrambled around the room, putting it more or less back together. Hiding what he couldn’t fix. “No. Why?”

“I figured if somebody was trying to kill you, it was one of those ladies you’re always appreciating. Or her father.”

“This isn’t like that.” But it sure looked like that. “I was working when it happened.”

The toilet flushed. Jeb’s grin grew as wide as a Cheshire Cat. “She still here?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“The hell it’s not.”

The bathroom door opened, and Tom put his body between Peach and Jeb. She walked out with the wet suit pulled to the curve of her hips and wearing the bikini top. He reached for her hand, realizing how disturbing it would be to walk out to a stranger, but she shook him off.

“Ma’am.” Jeb tipped the hat that wasn’t on his head. Tom gave him credit for not trying to intimidate the crap out of her.

Peach pulled on the sweatshirt that he had worn back after his swim. It hung to mid-thigh, sagged around her belly, and the sleeves had to be folded twice to show her hands. “I didn’t know you had company.” She spoke in Catalina’s dialect, putting her mask back in place.

A nasty taste filled Tom’s mouth. He didn’t want the act, he wanted the woman, but he played it cool. “This is my brother-in-law, Jeb. Jeb, this is Peach.”

She nodded and knelt to pull on the water shoes. “Could I borrow forty dollars?”

Jeb snorted, rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms. “I’ll give you a hundred if you forget his room number.” Tom glared, but Jeb didn’t back down. “And you wonder why you have problems.”

“She saved my life today,” he snapped at Jeb, then focused on his Peach. “What do you need the money for?”

“A cab. I need to get back to my truck. It is not far, but I am not exactly dressed for a nighttime stroll through downtown. I’ll pay you back, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not looking for a hand out.”

“You’re not leaving.” His tone was at once a plea, an order, and a denial.

She shrugged before continuing to speak in the lilting accent. “You are well enough, and you have your family now.”

“You saw Tom’s accident?” Jeb moved in front of the door. “What happened?”

Peach lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes, spiking the tension in the room. This was not what he wanted. He felt immensely relieved that Jeb came. He had the skills and experience to deal with attempted murder. While Tom couldn’t say he was new to the idea, he was new to being the target. He was equally grateful to Peach and didn’t want her to go. Not like this.

“Peach? Will you tell Jeb what you saw? He owns a security firm and deals with that sort of thing all the time.”

She searched his face for a moment and then turned her attention to Jeb. “It was not an accident. A man in a black hoodie hit Tomas in the back and knocked him into the lake. He picked something up off the building, long and thin.”

Jeb narrowed his eyes at Tom. “Turn around.” He whistled low at the color blooming across the broad shoulders.

“Probably a steel rod. My entire body is sore. I have bruises on my arms and legs.”

“From the rocks.” She circled to stand in the larger space of the bedroom. “I had a hard time getting you out of the water. You fell against the sharp rocks.”

“How long was he in the water?”

“I didn’t time it. He fell, and I had to wait until his assailant left. It took me a few minutes to get there, and then we stayed low until I saw the guy leave.”

“He just left?” Jeb asked.

She stood feet apart, hands behind her back, eyes directly meeting Jeb’s turbulent glare. “He carried an armful of equipment out of that trailer and put it in a black SUV. He might have made other trips. I only saw the one. When we went in the trailer, Tomas’s computer was gone.”

“Could you see the passenger side?” Tom asked. “Was it dented?”

She turned toward him, a frown on her face. “How did you know? He put the stuff in the rear driver side.”

He swallowed hard, choking on coincidence. “I was nearly run off the highway this morning by a black SUV. I thought it was a drunk driver.”

Jeb took a deep, considering breath. “There was only one person?” he asked Peach.

“That I saw.”

“No recognizable features? Short, tall? Black, white? A logo on the truck?”

“I was too far away and had a poor angle. At times, all I could see were legs. The SUV was black. Other than the smashed side, there was nothing unique.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I’m done answering your questions. I’ve told you what happened. Now open the door.”

Jeb opened the door with a bow. Peach and Jeb were like two trains on the same track, and Tom wasn’t anxious to see the collision. Jeb would win, and then Peach would be gone.

He leaped into the doorway, not ready to let her go. “Wait. Let me take you.”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t need anything from you.”

With two fingers, he brought her chin toward him. She was wearing her mask again. He looked beyond it, to the woman he wanted. “You saved my life today. I’m not returning the favor by letting you walk into the night penniless, wearing only a wet suit and a sweatshirt.”

“Where are your keys?” Jeb asked from behind them.

She closed her eyes and swore, picturing the small compartment that kept her keys and driver’s license dry. “With the Jet Ski.” Stubborn determination kicked in. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll figure something out.”

Jeb sighed heavily. “Get some clothes on, Prince Charming, and we’ll get Cinderella here back to her pumpkin.”

…

Monday, April 10 seven-thirty p.m.

Same bar. Same hostess in a micro-skirt. Turquoise. “Where’s your friend?” the hostess asked with a selfish grin.

“Home where she belongs.” Tom still smarted from the “discussion” he had lost. “I’ll see her in the morning.”

As they followed the micro-skirt into the bar, Jeb laughed derisively. “I have no idea why you are under the delusion that she is going to show up at breakfast.”

“She said she would.”

“You backed her into a corner. She was going to say whatever she needed to say to get out of there.”

Had he done that? Peach had leaned against the big, white truck. Right there in the corner where the mirror connected to the door. But he hadn’t backed her in there. Had he? Okay, so maybe he had gotten a little desperate when she wouldn’t agree to come back to the hotel room. But he hadn’t forced her into meeting them for breakfast. He’d just asked. Politely.

Ten times.

Jeb ordered for the both of them when the waiter came. He took a handful of nuts from the small dish on the table and popped two in his mouth. “She must have been a tornado in the sack.”

He glared at Jeb. What happened between him and Peach had been…extraordinary. He wasn’t going to make it out to be a fast one-timer. He recoiled at his own thought. He didn’t think of women in longer terms. He made a mission of appreciating the ladies…and then letting them go.

“Look at what you did to the room. I’m impressed you had the energy for all of that after the trauma of nearly getting killed. Then again, that had to be some life-affirming sex.”

Tom looked away, schooling his expression to hide his thoughts. He prided himself on being a generous lover, on taking care of his partner’s wants. It was the first time he had felt on the receiving end of such attention.

“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Every Hail Mary should end with a good amen.”

Tom cleared his throat, mumbled the truth, then ate a nut.

Jeb tossed a nut into the air and caught it in his mouth. “Say that again?”

“We, uh, did that last night.”

“Pardon me?”

“I met this gorgeous blonde in the hotel.”

Jeb had tossed another nut. It bounced off his face. “Peach isn’t a blonde.”

“Not a natural blonde.” He confessed it all.

Jeb scowled, the dark, hard look that meant he didn’t like the sound of something. “Since I don’t believe in coincidences, we aren’t going to bother drawing it out. I’m going to jump straight to the part where she set you up.”

Denial. It was the immediate response. Coincidence wasn’t that ridiculous. There could have been a legitimate reason for her to be in the hotel in a wig…with a fake name. Hooker came to mind, fast, harsh, and unbidden. He threw it out on principal and punctuated it with the fact she’d only asked him for forty dollars long after they were done. He hated that the thought of her prostituting herself entered his mind.

“Did she take anything?”

Tom snapped back to reality at Jeb’s voice. “No. Nothing was missing from my wallet. All of my equipment was there. The only thing I couldn’t find was my shirt.”

“Was the hotel lobby the first time you met her?”

“Yes. Yes.” And then the lightbulb went on. “No. She was here, on your wedding night, when I met with Fabrini. She was getting tossed out by the manager.”

“A man with good taste and sense, unlike your dumb ass.”

Tom fell back heavily against the chair. The unfamiliar feelings of disappointment and embarrassment squeezed the air from his lungs. “Why? What does she want?”

“What did y’all talk about?”

He sighed heavily, remembering vividly every moment of their date. “At dinner, we talked about frivolous things. She told me stories of her travels around Europe and the U.S. She said she lived with gypsies.”

“Is that even a real thing? She tell you she was military?”

“What? No. How do you know that?”

“She stood at ease while she reported out. What did you talk about? The project?”

Damn, he didn’t like being interrogated. With each question Jeb asked, he felt like he was being stripped of the best night of his life. He didn’t care if she lied. He wanted to keep the night with Catalina.

“No, Jeb. I told her I had a shitty day and didn’t want to talk about work. So we didn’t. Period.”

“You liked her.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

Jeb patted Tom’s arm. “It’s okay. This can’t be the first time your cock has gotten you into trouble. We’ll get you out. Tell me about your project.”

Two glasses of scotch were delivered. Tom did his like a shot and consolidated the last twenty-four hours of his life into twenty minutes. Jeb pulled out his smart phone and worked the screen with his thumbs as he listened. His glass was empty when the story wound to an end.

“I lost everything. I’m going to have to start over.”

“Are you sure the collapse was the result of sabotage?”

“I’ve been on the job one day—I’m not sure of anything. If I had to put money on it today, yeah, I would say it was tampered with. That doesn’t necessarily mean it was willful. Mistakes happen. Honest ones. The computer model I built was bare bones—I was going to build a more detailed model back home with actual data—but it did show that under the conditions at the time, the crane should have fallen onto the land. I’ve identified an area of the crane where I believe the failure started.”

“Did you tell anyone your conclusions?”

“Hypothesis, but yeah. I met Fabrini, his kid and his business manager this morning.”

“And it was after that someone tried to run you off the road.”

Tom nodded.

“You didn’t call the police after you went into the lake? An ambulance?”

“I didn’t know what I was doing. Maybe I did. I called you.” He tried to run his hand through his hair, but pain shot through his right shoulder. The sharp reminder put reality in front of his face. “Jeb, I couldn’t have gotten myself out of there. Even if I had gotten out of the lake, I would have laid there like a beached whale. Probably died of hypothermia or some shit.”

“This girlfriend of yours didn’t take long to get where she was going.”

“You bugged her truck?” Tom sat dumbfounded as Jeb stared at the small screen in his hand. Curiosity got the better of him. It always did. “You win. Where did she go?”

Jeb turned the screen around. “You tell me.”

Peach parked the Beast in the same spot where she watched her uncle fall and stared down at the construction site. As soon as she was alone, it had been a quick decision to come back and get a look at the computers inside the trailer. She didn’t expect to find much—logic said if there was anything worth finding, Black Hoodie would have taken it, wiped it, or destroyed it. Still, odder things had happened. She would be remiss if she didn’t at least do a cursory sweep.

She raised her binoculars, surveying the site. The security lights showed the front gate remained wide open. Black Hoodie hadn’t played his hand yet. Maybe he didn’t want to be too close when the call came in. Maybe he wanted to make sure there was a good long time to let nature do its thing on Dr. Riley.

Setting the binoculars down, she thought about Tom. She didn’t have anything to feel guilty about, she told herself. The spectacular sex had been between two consenting adults. No guilt there. Sure, she copied his work, but it wasn’t like she was going to use it to blackmail him. Well, not unless he tried to pin things on her uncle. And seeing as he got the whole lot stolen, he should be grateful that she’d made a copy. And she pulled him from the lake at great personal risk to herself. Who knew what the man with the steel rod was capable of?

She wrinkled her nose. The whole thing smelled worse than sour cabbage.

Her stomach felt the same way.

“Fine,” she snapped at her conscience. “I’ll make a copy of his precious work and drop it at the hotel front desk. Satisfied? Now let me work!”

She slid out of the truck and disconnected the ignition wires the way Jeb showed her. The man didn’t trust her, and that didn’t bother her. Winning his trust was not on her to-do list. If it didn’t find her uncle or give her grandfather peace of mind, she didn’t give a damn about it. From behind the seat, she pulled her nylon bag. In the small space, she fought off the wet suit and changed into black yoga pants, a black fitted sweatshirt, and black socks. Her feet were warm and happy in socks and Nikes. She quickly braided her hair, securing it with a band. Finally, she pulled out her “work” kit, slung the cords across her body, and set out into the night.

The triple-wide trailer sat on blocks near the front entrance. Darkness covered most of the site, requiring slow, careful movement to avoid running into equipment and tripping over debris. She had infinite impatience when she worked. Time was invested in memorizing the space she crossed, knowing she would need it to make her escape.

Odds were the doors were unlocked and security off. She hadn’t locked things up when they left, and if the front gate was still open, then… The door swung open without protest. Her small LED flashlight lit the room, shining directly on the chair on which Tom had sat.

Tom. Her mind kept coming back to him, and that was dangerous. When you were someplace you weren’t supposed to be, the last thing you needed was your mind to be somewhere else altogether.

“Focus. Get in. Get out.” The beam of light led the way to the offices. There were more, she guessed, but only one was locked. A few seconds later, the door swung open for her. The desk had a docking station but no computer. Not a shock that the laptop went with the guy. But what was worth locking the door?

She started with an old-school file cabinet, searching it one drawer at a time, one file at a time. The bottom three drawers were empty. The top held less than ten manila folders. Peach went through the papers quickly. They were financial folders. Subcontracts. Invoices. Materials supply lists. “No one locks up the ordinary,” she reasoned and pulled a portable scanner from her bag.

While the scanner worked on the first folder, she went to the desk outside the office. Locked Door’s assistant had a desktop. Using her magic password program, she started on the computer. She cringed, hating the sound and the light of the computer. Light of day? You don’t even register hearing it. Dark of night? It might as well have been a car alarm blaring two feet from your head.

Back into Locked Door’s office. She re-filed the first folder and set the second folder to scan. She searched the desk quickly for a name. An email printed and sitting on top of the desk had the name “Jack Hawthorne” across the top. The lengthy email contained several exchanges about overpayment on an invoice. It included the reference to the invoice and the check number. Under it, three other emails needed attention. A concrete supplier with questions on a mix. Corporate accounts payable requesting authorization to pay an invoice. Next week’s weather forecast. She stacked them together and fed them through the scanner.

A noise came of tires on gravel. She had just watched the transfer finish from the desktop to her hard drive and hastily shut down the computer. A quick press of a button killed the screen light. The speakers were unplugged. She jumped into Hawthorne’s office, locked the door, and shut down her operation. In the time it took for her to replace the files and put her gear away, two car doors had slammed, and footsteps came her way.

She opened the window in Hawthorne’s office and cut the screen.

“The door’s open,” a stern voice said. “Get behind me.”

“Don’t shoot her, Jeb.”

She cringed at the sound of his voice. Tom Riley knew where she was and came after her. Why and how? The how was easy; the SOBs tracked her. The why? He must be trying to stop her from stopping Fabrini from scapegoating Rico. It hurt that Tom would get in her way…then it pissed her off. To think she nearly froze to death saving him. Last time she’s stupid enough to do that.

Rubber raced across gravel and then slid to a halt. A voice yelled into the night. “Who the hell is on my site?” The voice was a righteous, pissed-off male.

“You recognize him?” Jeb asked.

Peach stayed very still, wondering the same thing. Of course, the night she decided to break in, there’s a party.

Tom answered the question. “Yeah. Fabrini’s kid.”

“Let’s go meet him,” Jeb said.

She slid out Hawthorne’s window and dropped silently to her feet. The unlit back side of the trailer gave her the cover she needed to run behind a large shed.

One voice carried over the others. “Riley. What the hell are you doing here at this time of night?” Peach couldn’t hear the response, but it was answered emphatically. “What the fuck are you talking about? Jon Jon, get me a flashlight.”

Jon Jon opened the rear door of the SUV…and left it that way. Wide open.

Decision: stir the pot or get out of Dodge.

Chapter Seven

Tuesday, April 11 nine a.m.

Jeb parked the rented SUV in front of a trim little pale blue ranch. Small two- and three-bedroom homes neatly dotted a canopied street identical in the amount of pride the homeowner placed on their slice of the American dream.

Tom looked over the tranquil setting and regretted the commotion he was about to cause. There was no doubt this was the home. The old Silverado slept in the driveway. Somewhere inside was his, his…whatever she was.

“You got this,” Jeb said.

“She’s not going to want to come.”

“Of course not. If she did, she would have showed up at the breakfast date you insisted we keep. I’m not complaining, seeing as I got a hot meal in my belly and a crisp twenty in my pocket.”

“I had to give her a chance.”

Jeb shook his head. “You didn’t then. You don’t now.”

Yes, he did, and he couldn’t explain it. Instead of trying, he slid out of the truck and went to the front door. His knock was answered by a spry old man with a thick head of black hair. His hazy eyes roamed the space in front of him, his brows furrowed at the dark shape that was Tom. “Yes?” He spoke with a heavy Spanish accent.

The GPS Jeb had planted on the truck gave them the location. The county auditor’s website gave them the property owner. Pedro Morales.

“Mr. Morales?” he said, giving those eyes a focal point. “My name is Dr. Thomas Riley. I had a date this morning with Peach. She didn’t show up, and I thought I would just stop by and make sure she was all right.”

The old man’s eyebrows went up at the word “doctor” and then higher at the early morning date. “Let me see if she is awake.”

Peach’s grandfather closed the door enough to cut off Tom’s view into the house. A monologue of Spanish flowed in the distance—Tom understood only his name—then the door re-opened.

“I am sorry, Doctor. She is not home. Maybe she is waiting for you at your date?”

“Tom! She’s running.” Jeb’s shout came from the driveway. “Cut through the house.”

Tom opened the screen door and lowered his arm to sweep the old man aside. He took one stride when something came up sharply against the back of his legs. He face planted into the carpet and then pushed up, a sprinter out of the gate. Until something blunt caught him in the back of the head and sent him back to the carpet.

This was not part of her plan, and it pissed her off. Peach had better things to do today than play hide and seek with Dr. Tom and his sidekick, Pancho Hardass. While her grandfather stalled, she shoved the few things she needed to look for Rico into a small sack.

“I’m sorry, Doctor. She is not home. Maybe she is waiting for you at your date?”

“As if.” Peach soundlessly opened the back door and stepped out of the house. She crouched down and looked around the corner at just the right time to see Jeb’s head poke over the Beast.

“Plan B it is.” She broke at a full sprint for the back fence.

“Tom! She’s running. Cut through the house,” Jeb yelled, his voice closer than it should have been.

She planted a hand on a fence post and cleared it easily. He followed her over the fence into the abutting yard. Over another fence and into the street. She was good at the obstacles. He was faster on the straightaways. She stole a look as he closed. She turned into another yard, headed for another gate. A Doberman came off a rear porch and landed in the driveway with an “I’ll tear your head off if you come in my yard” bark. She changed her trajectory, but the mistake cost her. Jeb cut the angle and caught her in a flying tackle that ground her shoulder into the damp grass.

Fury led as she fought him with everything she had.

“Stop it,” Jeb hissed, his knee in her back. “We have your grandfather. Do you really want him dragged into this?”

“You son of a bitch. You touch one hair on his head and I’ll cut off your balls and send them to your mama in a Mason jar.” She kicked her feet, connecting with her target.

“Nice language. You kiss your grandfather with that mouth?” He secured her wrists with a zip tie and pulled her to her feet as the homeowner came to the porch. He cut off any question with the flashing of a badge. “You’re safe. The show’s over. Go on back about your business.”

Her priority was her grandfather. She’d spent enough time with Tom to be confident that he was not the kind to hurt an old man—no matter how pissed he was at her. The pressing issue was getting them away from the house. She walked confidently beside Jeb, knowing she had leverage. Tom would take what she copied and be happy with it. Once they were gone, she’d find where that damn bug was hidden. She’d searched the truck last night and came up empty. Tired and cold, she hadn’t been as thorough as she needed. Mistake. Big mistake. One she couldn’t let her grandfather pay for.

Jeb kept his hand around her arm as they walked up the steps side by side. “Tom? We are coming in.” He opened the door, swinging Peach through first.

“That is far enough, señor.” Poppy stood in their modest living room with a shotgun in one hand. “Peach. Are you hurt?”

She wanted to cheer. Thought they could come into their house? No freaking way. She stepped over Tom to stand behind her grandfather. “No, Poppy. I am handcuffed but not hurt.”

“Tom? Can you hear me?” Jeb kicked at his brother-in-law’s foot.

Tom laid on his stomach, hands taped up behind his back, feet bound at the ankles. A discarded frying pan laid next to him. He moaned as he rolled his head left and right, like it was too heavy to lift.

“Let her loose,” Morales said.

“I can’t,” Jeb answered. “I used a plastic zip cord. I need to cut it off.”

“You are not getting near me with a knife.” She looked over Tom to see what Poppy had done. There were no marks that she could see, but his beautiful brown eyes were dazed. She dropped to her knees, her thigh against his shoulder. “Tomas?”

“I am calling the police,” Morales said.

“No!” Peach and Jeb shouted.

“We can work something out,” Jeb said. “Let’s all just sit down and calmly talk about this.”

Poppy swung the barrel toward Jeb’s voice. He kept it low, coincidentally aiming for the gut. “Why are you kidnapping my Peach?”

“We aren’t kidnapping her. We just have a few questions. I want to know why she set up to meet my brother-in-law,” Jeb said, all threat washed out of his voice. “Why she was at the construction site yesterday afternoon? Why she went back there last night?”

She looked up at her grandfather and gave him the whole story. It started with Fabrini’s comment about Rico and then Tom investigating it. She admitted to stealing his notes and files. She euphemized seducing Tom to “having a nice dinner with him.” Neither of them needed the truth. Her confession was in Spanish, was completely honest with her grandfather without giving a thing to Tom and Jeb.

Her grandfather listened as he always did and then asked two questions. “Did Rico cause the accident? Does this doctor believe Rico did?”

“I know absolutely that he didn’t cause it, Poppy. He was on the phone with me, and I saw him through my binoculars. He did everything he could to stop it.” She pointed at Tom with her chin. “His notes had a lot of questions, but he crossed out operator error as a likely cause.”

Poppy’s eyes grew large. He took a staggering step backward and spoke in English. “You saw him die? My son?”

Jeb leaped over Tom and gained control of the gun. “Who is your son?”

“Rico Morales, the crane operator.” Tom rolled until he managed to sit. “Jeb, put the gun down. Cut Peach and me loose. I’m sorry, Mr. Morales. I’m sorry for your loss and what happened here today. I was hired by the owner, Frank Fabrini, to determine the cause of the crane failure. He didn’t trust that the official investigations would get to the truth.”

Peach held very still while Jeb cut the restraints with a large pocketknife, and then told her grandfather how it was. “Fabrini is just trying to cover his own ass, Poppy. He plans to blame it on Rico. I heard him. It doesn’t matter what Tom finds.” She hated Frank Fabrini as she hated no other. An arrogant, rich man ready to walk across the bones of the people who worked for a living. He was the reason her uncle was missing and likely dead.

“Not Frank,” Tom said in a voice of clear confidence as Jeb cut through the thick tape. “He has been serious about safety since he lost his older brother in a construction accident. He was on the site after hours and fell in a hole that wasn’t covered properly. By the time Frank found him the next day, he was dead. Frank blamed himself for his brother’s death. He still does.”

Her grandfather swayed with weariness, suddenly looking a decade older. “They have not found him.”

Peach wrapped her arm around him, wishing she could take it all away, heartbroken because she couldn’t. “They will, Poppy. The Coast Guard won’t give up, and neither will I. I’m going back out today. I’m going to get closer to the shore.”

“It’s been nearly seventy-two hours,” Tom said gently.

She stared into his eyes, letting him see beneath the surface. “I won’t stop until he is home.”

Tom sat alone at the kitchen table with an ice pack pressed to his head, scowling at the frying pan that sat on the stovetop. He was never going to live this down. Knocked out cold by an almost blind man with a frying pan. After the wave of grief passed, Pedro Morales busied himself with being a host, bringing Tom into the pretty little kitchen. The spic-and-span room and hospitality did nothing to stop the drum line that banged in his head. He swallowed the little white pills, downed the glass of water, and readjusted the ice pack.

After tending to Tom’s head, Peach had taken her grandfather to his room. The combination of grief and the confrontation had drained him of energy. She came into the room rubbing her wrists.

“How is he?” he asked.

She sat in the chair next to him, gingerly lowering herself. “Heartbroken. How are you?”

“Bent but not broken. He has some aim for a blind man.”

“He isn’t completely blind. Not yet, anyway. Poppy was a hell of a shortstop in his day. He came here from Guatemala to play baseball. Never made it to the majors, but he met my grandmother, and that was that.”

“So that part was true?” He set the ice pack down and held out his hand. “Let me see your wrists.”

She put her hands in her lap. “I’m okay.”

He waved his open hand impatiently. “I’m a doctor. You’re supposed to listen to me.”

She rolled her eyes but placed a hand in his. “You’re not that kind of doctor.”

He held her hand as if it were a precious treasure. “Jeb must have been very irritated with you. Give me the other.”

When she complied, he inspected the matching marks and then set the ice pack over them. Her light green eyes watched his every move as if she expected him to bite at any moment. He smoothed back the hair that had escaped her braid and then brushed grass from her shoulder. The icepack was removed and the wounds re-inspected. This time, he treated them with the soft brushing of his lips.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

He lifted his eyes, his thumbs making soothing circles over the marks. “I like you. I have from the first minute I saw you.”

She frowned and shook her head in disagreement. “No. You—”

“In the bar, the first night I was in town. The manager was tossing you out.”

“He thought I was a hooker.” She sneered, and her eyes narrowed, as if the insult were fresh.

“You were lighting him up. I thought, ‘I hope that stupid son of a bitch knows how to protect himself.’ I didn’t get a good look at your face. If I had seen your eyes… You threw me the next day, with the blond wig and the accent. I love your eyes.”

She cleared her throat, looking away as if uneasy.

He was getting to know her. When she wasn’t comfortable with something, she just turned away from it. She didn’t argue; she just left. He wanted her to know there was another option. “You could have stayed.”

She shook her head adamantly. “It was too late as it was. I should have left hours earlier. I tried to knock you out with Poppy’s sleeping pills, but you wouldn’t drink the water.”

He stopped rubbing her wrist. He couldn’t have heard her right. “Sleeping pills? In the glass by the bedside table?”

“Yes.”

Tom dropped her hands as he leaped to his feet, staggering a little when the world spun. “You drugged me?”

“No. I tried to drug you. That’s completely different,” she said, her voice reasonable.

“How? How in the world is that different?” He heard his voice climb but couldn’t stop it.

“The courts have long differentiated between the intent to do something and actually doing something. If I go into a store, intent on stealing a candy bar, but I don’t actually steal it, then I cannot be prosecuted for stealing.”

She was so calm as she made the argument that he was dumbstruck. “How…but…no. How can you make that argument? You did drug the glass of water. You did try to get me to drink it. The fact that it didn’t work does not get you off.”

“Of course it does.”

He pulled at his hair. “No. No, no, no. Besides, I did drink it last night.” His voice rose a few decibels.

She looked up with a small grin of satisfaction. “I bet the full night’s sleep did you good.”

“That is not the point,” he said, dropping his voice to a hiss. “You. Drugged. Me.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “You should thank me—”

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. If it wasn’t for me copying your computer files, they would all be lost.”

He slammed his open palms on the table. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“Easy,” Jeb said, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

Tom’s hands trembled. He shot a “shut up” look at Jeb and then zeroed back in on Peach. “Tell me.”

She rolled her eyes and walked out of the kitchen. He followed her, his fingers curling into talons the right size to lock around her throat and throttle the woman. Through a white-painted door was a room with more random stuff than a flea market. He recognized the wet suit that was slung over the back of a chair. On the seat piled a foot high with books was the blond hair that had captured his attention. A shift of black was trying to escape from the garbage can. The little black dress he had torn off her with his teeth.

“Here.”

The simple word made him look up. He took the shiny black hard drive from her out-stretched hand.

“It has your hard drive, the images on your digital camera, and pictures of your notebook. I couldn’t copy the film images, so those are really gone.”

A strange and unexpected wave of relief lowered his temperature from sizzling to controlled. He hadn’t lost a thing. “The work isn’t lost.” He smiled at the unexpected gift but then remembered himself. “Don’t try to distract me. Why did you steal my files?”

“I didn’t steal them.” Her chin was in the air defiantly. “I copied them, leaving them in exactly the same condition as they were.”

“Just tell me why,” he repeated, biting his lips to prevent an argument.

“Fabrini blames my uncle. Rico did nothing wrong. I needed to know what you knew and what you thought.” The chin that began so boldly in the air ended tucked against her chest. “My uncle is a good man. He loves Poppy, and he loves me, and he did not cause that crane to fall.”

“The data doesn’t support operator error. I’m just getting started on the analysis but…it fell wrong.” He felt the pain radiating from her. “Later, when we’re past this, I need you to talk to me. I need to know what you saw.”

She nodded, rubbed the heel of her hand over her heart.

Tom couldn’t imagine the pain. He ached for her, reached for her, but she pulled away, wrapping her arms protectively around her stomach. Then she lowered her arms and began to pace. Up and down that narrow path in her room, she constantly massaged that spot over her heart.

“He had forgotten his lunch. Again. I parked on the bluff. There is a spot where it was easy to see him. He watched his signal man while they fastened the deck he was supposed to lift. Everything was fine…and then…”

She had lived through this first time alone. This time, he was here. There was no making it all better, but he knew he could make this moment bearable. He stepped into her path and wrapped her in his arms, tightening them when her voice cracked. She struggled, but he didn’t relent. He tucked her head under his chin and just held on.

“I was sitting outside, in the dirt, praying the Coast Guard would bring my uncle back. I heard Fabrini. I heard him shout that he wasn’t going to have this pinned on him when it was the crane operator’s fault. He shouted that he needed Riley’s boy. I followed him that night.”

“To the bar,” he said, holding her in place and smartly not saying anything about how wet his shirt was becoming.

She nodded. “I saw you check out the blondes—”

“I didn’t.”

She laughed, just a little. “You absolutely did. I wanted to know what you knew. And I knew how to find out.” She pushed him away and crossed her arms under her chest. “You can ask for an apology, but I won’t give it. You got what you wanted—a hard, guilt-free fuck. Nothing held back. I got what I wanted. No regrets.”

Tom winced. His love life was like one of those little plastic swimming pools they use for toddlers—cheap and shallow. Sure, it was fun to splash around in when things were hot, but once things cooled off, there was nothing left but empty. He opened his mouth to deny her pointedly accurate description of his intention from the minute he saw her. He shut it because he couldn’t.

The woman standing in front of him dared him to rebuke her. He looked at her face, seeing both strength and vulnerability in her beautiful features. In that moment, he felt something, a…connection. That’s what it was. He felt a connection to her that he had never felt with a woman. It wasn’t just sex. It was great sex. And it was the freaking incredible few hours they had spent together in that restaurant talking. Laughing. And, since he was being honest, he could admit that he respected her. After all, she had outsmarted him at a game he’d been playing for years.

He had to respect that.

He reached out to Peach, wanting to soothe the ache she wore on her sleeve. She stepped to the side, knocking his hand away.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Oh, I’m not so sure about the ‘no regrets’ part.”

Jeb stood at the small kitchen table, disemboweling Peach’s purse. Her wallet was set to the side, flipped open to a none-too-flattering DMV picture.

“What the hell are you doing?” she said loud enough to wake her grandfather.

“What does it look like, Esmeralda?”

She kicked hard. Right between his legs. Jeb went down and took the table with him. Curled into the obligatory fetal position, he cradled his wounded soldiers as he rocked back and forth.

She put her foot on his throat hard enough to get his attention. “Are you going to use that name ever again?”

“No, ma’am.”

She pushed a little harder. “So we have an understanding, you and me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Jesus,” Tom said as he walked into the room. “Jeb, what did you do?”

Jeb’s eyes flashed. “Me? She’s standing on my throat. She kicked me in the balls, and you want to know what I did?”

She removed her foot but stayed light on her feet. Jeb was a big man, and she had no intentions of giving him any advantage. “If you guys are done, get on your way. I have work to do.”

Tom righted the table and picked up the purse and its contents while Jeb climbed off the floor. “What kind of work do you do?”

She shook her head. “The question and answer period of our show is over. It’s time for you to exit, stage right. Take the bug you put on my truck with you.”

“I want to talk to you more, about the accident. Here,” he said when she was about to put him off and handed her his card. “Call me. Well find a time and a place that works for both of us. What you know…it could make all the difference.”

Oh, he knew the right thing to say. She was feeling raw and irritated at Jeb, but those would pass. She was beginning to trust him and would give him any help she could. “Fine. I’ll call you tomorrow. Now please go. I need to take care of my grandfather.”

Like gentlemen, they left. Ten minutes passed, and she did a sweep of the neighborhood. If they were still out there, they were good. She didn’t find a thing out of the ordinary. Her cell phone rang. She’d deleted the contact but recognized the number. With a shake of her head, she declined the call. She’d had enough emotion for one day. She needed to work, to focus her mind in order to give her heart a break. The kitchen table was commandeered as a desk. She booted her computer and accessed the portable hard drive. Methodically, she searched and studied the files from Tom’s computer and the info she scanned from Hawthorne’s office.

Peach was blessed—or cursed—with a mind that loved chaos. She had a knack for seeing the order in disorder, for deciphering patterns and visualizing in three dimensions. Each image appeared on the screen for seconds, maybe a minute. She wasn’t memorizing it. She was looking for relationships. How thing 1 and thing 2 were related. How thing 3 was disconnected.

Two hours later, she had a worm. A nice plump, juicy worm, the kind that would make great bait on the end of a line. If she played this one right, she might just hook a thief.

Hawthorne’s files had given Peach a firm direction, but it lacked details. There was a reason people said, “The devil is in the details.” It was most often where a man screwed the hell up.

She needed to go out.

Poppy had come out of his room, tired bags under his eyes. He shuffled to the living room and turned on his shows. It was hard to leave him alone in this difficult time, but sitting in the house did neither of them any good. They needed facts, and she knew where to find them. She changed into jeans and a knit shirt that fit like a second skin, then restocked her “work” bag.

“Poppy, I’m going out.”

“Work or play?”

Her hand on his shoulder, she leaned in and kissed his leathered cheek. “My work is play.”

He clasped her hand. “You had a call before. On your phone. Maybe it was your friend. Will he be coming back with you? You would make a good team.”

“Poppy,” she said as a warning, then softened her tone. “The only man I need on my team is you. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Her grandfather kissed her hand. “Vaya con Dios.”

“Amen,” she muttered as she set out to not steal more information.

Chapter Eight

Tuesday, April 11 two p.m.

Tom felt back on track thanks to the hard drive Peach stole and then returned, and construction workers willing to talk. The phone interviews weren’t his first choice, but he would take what he could get. The stories varied, as they always did, but the basics were the same. Conditions weren’t perfect but were far from bad. There had been no discussion of postponing the lift. Start of shift inspection didn’t capture anything worth noting with the equipment. The only things that were out of the norm involved two of the missing.

“I’m back,” Jeb called out, the slam of the exterior door following. His boots reverberated in a sharp retort against the hollow floors. He stepped into the room wearing a hard, cold expression. “Until we get a handle on whatever is going on, I don’t want you driving the F&F truck. You’re too easy to spot. I brought in one of our special duty vehicles to use.”

Special duty meant tinted windows, bulletproof glass, armor, and a built-in gun safe. He wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse that Jeb was taking this so seriously. “I’ll need to take the truck back to Fabrini.”

“Leave it here. He can come get it. You aren’t driving it. Period. You called me. You play by my rules.” Jeb leveled his stare until Tom nodded. “Make any progress?”

“Yes and no. Tell me what you make of this. Joe Carter, our missing project engineer, didn’t do anything that could be considered edgy or dangerous, at least without a supervisor telling him to. He didn’t go out on the erected steel. He didn’t go into the holes.”

“He didn’t go up into that thing that the crane lifted?”

“The basket. Exactly. He was allowed to—it wasn’t that he couldn’t or shouldn’t—it was that he didn’t. Survivors I spoke with didn’t respect him. How could they when the guy liked to boss but stay on firm ground? So the question that’s nagging me is…why that day? Why would someone who stayed away from exposure get in that man basket on a windy day?”

Jeb shoved aside drawings laid out on the next desk, resting his hip on the clean surface. “No one told him to?”

“Not that anyone knew. Hawthorne would have been the one to do the telling.”

“And you can’t ask him.”

“No. And there’s another funny thing. Hawthorne climbed into the tower right before the lift started. People said Jack went everywhere, all the time, but you have to question the timing.”

“If he was the boss, shouldn’t he have been, I don’t know, doing whatever crane bosses do?”

“The crew foreman was the guy running the work from the ground. Jack’s work came in bringing everything together, then he was smart enough to stay out of the way.”

“You think it was just a bad timing thing? For both of them?”

Tom started to answer but stopped. He didn’t have one. Dumb luck—good and bad—did happen. Still, it bothered him that the crane failed in a completely different way than the math said it should. He didn’t want to get too hung up, assume too much. He learned the lesson: don’t assume; it’ll make an ass out of u and me. He slammed the keyboard drawer closed, needing his programs on a system with serious processing speed. The computer he used—Hawthorne’s secretary’s—was like walking a Chihuahua when you’re used to running with a Greyhound. “Damn I wish I had my computer back. Why couldn’t she have stolen the whole thing?” He dropped his frustrated head in his hands to keep from banging it against the wall.

“We’ll get you up and running tomorrow. Our IT guy is on it, and there’s a new computer on the way.”

“’kay.”

“Clyde, I didn’t expect overflowing buckets of gratitude, but something more than a ‘kay’ is in order.”

“Sorry.” He sat back, running his fingers through his hair.

Jeb pulled out a chair and straddled it to face Tom. “You’ve been sulking since we left your girlfriend.”

The accusation rammed the crane from his head. He had worked very hard to not think about her in the last four hours. One use of the “G” word and he couldn’t think of anything but her. And it pissed him off. He was not a guy that needed a G word. Ever.

“You pissed that she scammed you?”

“No.” He’d replayed the night in his head, and she’d played him right. Exactly right. “It’s more like I respect her for it.”

Jeb let out a belly laugh. “You’re falling for that delinquent.”

“She isn’t a delinquent,” he snapped. How dense was Jeb that he couldn’t see the obvious? “She’s smart as hell, brave, funny.”

“She is lawless, has questionable limits to her morals, uses sex as a means to an end, and steals.” Jeb ticked off the “facts” one finger at a time. “She’s a delinquent.”

“If she’s all those things, why did she give me my files back? She could have kept them for herself.”

“You don’t think she gave you the only copy, do you?”

His brain stumbled. “Shit.”

“You got issues.”

The phone rang. Tom answered hoping for a long conversation that didn’t involve women. Any of them. “Riley.”

Fabrini was on the other end. The conversation was short and sour. Didn’t matter, Tom was ready for a break. He shut the computer down and packed up the few files he’d printed. The hard drive and loaner phone in hand, Tom followed Jeb out the door. It felt so wrong to leave work carrying no more technology than fit in his hand. “I’m spinning my wheels here without my computer. Maybe I’ll get something from Fabrini.”

“I said I’ll have you another one tomorrow.” They could have gone to a store and bought one, but since opening Chameleon Securities, Jeb had become a champion of cyber security. More like a dictator. Hence, Chameleon provided IT security for Riley Architects and Engineers.

“Thanks, Jeb. I know I didn’t say it before, but I do appreciate it.” The wind off Lake Erie pounded on them over the thirty feet from the trailer door to the Jeb’s unmarked, decked-out Escalade.

“We’ll make it right. What’s the address?” Jeb activated the navigation system.

“I want to go to this bluff first. Peach said she parked over the site. It has to be to the west.” He didn’t know what it would tell him, but sometimes, seeing things from a different point of view was enough to make things happen. Minutes later, they stopped in a large parking lot with a centerfold view of the site in the foreground and downtown Cleveland in the back. Middle of the day, the park was nearly empty with temperatures still near forty degrees. Through the windshield, Tom looked over the remnants of the crane and the casino and hotel it was building. It appeared smaller but no less impressive. Behind it, the lake sloshed against the shore, taunting him. He wished he knew her secrets. “Do you think they’ll find them? Peach’s uncle and the others?”

“Eventually, sure. But soon? That I can’t say.”

“Can you image what they are going through? Peach and her grandfather. Every now and then, I get this…flash…in my head back to when Katie disappeared. I don’t think I could have handled it…” It had been one of the worst moments of his life. He’d locked away the nightmare, but imagining Peach’s feelings put him back in the middle of it.

“I’ve had to handle a lot of messed-up shit. Too much and it cost me. You’re circling around to something. You might as well spill it. You don’t tell me, I’ll sic your cousin on you.”

God. This was going to be hard to say. “Peach said some things about my lifestyle.” He stared back out the window, not wanting to see the judgment. “Some very accurate and not flattering things. I’ve never wanted a wife. I don’t need anyone, and I’ve never wanted someone who needed me. I know how that sounds, but that’s the truth. I don’t want to be responsible for someone else. For their happiness. For their health. That’s not for me.”

“It sounds like it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t. Or it didn’t.” He swore under his breath. “She treated me exactly like I’ve treated dozens of women.” He turned to his friend, looking for the reaction. There was none. Of course not. This was Jeb. His face was carved from granite and schooled in the military. Whatever ran through his head didn’t show. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“That was your secret? That you don’t want a serious relationship?” Jeb didn’t school his face now. He let Tom know exactly how stupid the confession was. “As for how she treated you, you are flat-out wrong. In the year I’ve known you, you have never once deceived a woman about what you wanted or where you were going. You may not have wanted anything long term, but you never acted with anything but respect and honesty. She did not at all treat you the way you treat your ladies. Is there something else gnawing at you?”

It helped, hearing that he wasn’t a user. His friend’s opinion mattered, and he was right. While he might not love a woman, he loved women. All of them. He would never intentionally hurt one, physically or emotionally. “When I was talking to her in her bedroom, she told me she wasn’t going to apologize. I didn’t realize I wanted an apology until she said I couldn’t have one. What’s with that?” It bothered him that it bothered him that she wouldn’t apologize. And it really bothered him that his thoughts were devolving into the style of Dr. Seuss. Oh bother. He let out a deep exhale that ended with a “Fuck me.”

“That’s normal. Most people want what they can’t have. That’s the way my mother used to get me to cut my hair. She told me I couldn’t. Peach told you you can’t have an apology, so of course, you want one.”

“She was telling me she saw her uncle fall. Her eyes, Jeb. I could see the pain. All I could think about was taking her away from it. Who thinks like that?”

Jeb sighed. “I think I know what’s going on here. You’re not going to like it.”

Sleeping pills, thievery, seduction. What else was there? “Just…tell me.”

“You’ve gone over for her.”

He waited for the punch line, but it didn’t come. “Did you not listen to a thing I said? I don’t go over. For anyone. Period.”

“Of course you have. It’s not a bad thing, especially if the delinquent feels the same way.”

“She’s doesn’t, and I don’t.” He squeezed his hands into fists when Jeb chuckled. “I’ve known her for three days. I definitely have not and will not go over for her.”

Jeb put the truck in gear. “Anything you say. You got Fabrini’s address?”

The only one who spoke on the drive to F&F construction was the GPS woman. She sounded like every day would be a good day if only “in one quarter mile, turn right.” Tom would be the first to tell her, it wasn’t that easy, sister. Make three right turns and where would you find yourself? Left! And who wanted to be left?

“If we were in the deep south, I’d think this was a plantation.” Jeb stared at the building as he navigated the truck.

“Wrong style. Left me out here. I mean, leave me out here.” The truck was still rolling when Tom put shoe leather to pavement. He carried only the new phone Jeb loaned him and the notebook he’d found in the trailer’s supply cabinet. Naked was what he was.

Frank Fabrini built his “world headquarters” on a generous parcel of land, close to the lake, twenty-five minutes west of the city. The stone building was a tribute to the Victorian mansions of the late 1800s. Three stories high with windows that went floor to ceiling, the building looked ready, willing, and able to host a wedding. Tom entered through a heavy oak door that opened without a sound. Inside, a young woman in an electric blue dress came around the corner. She wasn’t conventionally pretty but had a shapely figure and a warm smile. “Dr. Riley?”

He grinned, and it felt good. “What gave me away?”

“Mr. Fabrini said you’d be easy to recognize. I’m Tammy, his assistant. This way, please.”

She left him in a well-appointed waiting area, but he didn’t sit; he paced. His disobedient mind went back to the conversation with Jeb. Him going over for Peach. Ridiculous. He didn’t want to be on the end of some woman’s leash any more than he wanted one sitting at his feet and giving him puppy dog eyes whenever he went his own way. If he had a woman, and that was a big if, she would have to be independent. They would be together when it worked for both of them, and when it didn’t, there wouldn’t be any kicking or screaming. They would be adults. Tom nodded. “Reasonable.”

“Doctor?” Tammy said from a doorway. “Mr. Fabrini will see you now.” She turned and left, expecting him to follow.

Tom shoved his baggage to the back and hurried to follow the assistant. Fabrini’s office was an immense room with a massive desk that would make Lebron James look like a kindergartener sitting in his daddy’s chair. Two chairs faced the desk. Fabrini stood and gestured to the chairs as Tammy walked to the silver coffee service sitting on a side board.

Never one for small talk, Fabrini got down to business. “Tell me what you know.”

“The investigators aren’t saying much. Early stages blah, blah, blah. They are scheduled to be on site tomorrow, if you haven’t heard. I began the follow-up interviews but didn’t get anything new.” He held back the odd behavior of Carter and Hawthorne, not ready to say what it meant.

“You’re sure it was sabotage?”

Tom leaned forward. “What have you been saying?” Whoever hit him wanted to stop his investigation. If the old man had been talking, Tom wanted to know to whom.

“I’ve been saying accidents like this don’t happen at my company.” He bellowed like a fog horn. “I’ve been saying that when I get my hands on the guy who did this, I’m going to turn him into sausages.”

As threats go, it was graphic but not specific. He would have said it to those closest to him—his son, Stinson, Tammy. Who else could he have worried?

“The witness accounts supported my observations. The problem is what actually happened and what should have happened aren’t the same. Then there is the failure itself. A clean break. Is it natural? I don’t know. Not yet.”

“Will you be able to tell us who did it?”

“Fingerprints aren’t my area of expertise.”

Fabrini came to his feet, his cheeks growing flush. “There were fingerprints?”

“I don’t know. I was being figurative. I wouldn’t know how to collect them if they were there.” He paused to consider tactics. “I want to talk with the people closest to Hawthorne and to you.”

“Me? What are you accusing me of?”

“You’re coming from the wrong angle. If someone did this to cripple F&F, they were by default coming after you. If we can figure out the who, maybe that will lead us to the how.”

Fabrini fell back into his chair, deflated. “What could have been done differently? We have some of the strictest safety practices in the industry. What could we have done differently to protect my men? My company?”

“Once we know what happened, we’ll be able to talk about how to prevent it. Frank, if this was a case of sabotage, all the safety protocols in the world may not have been able to stop this. A determined man is a dangerous one.”

At that moment, a determined woman crouched under a desk one floor up, listening with interest to the quiet argument being held ten feet from her.

“What were you thinking going back there?” The male voice was young and reeked of frustration.

“It’s not a big deal. I covered.” The voice was arrogant, the kind that came from getting away with things.

“Your old man gets wind of this and we are both dead.”

“Don’t worry about him.” So cocky was Fabrini junior. That fit the picture Peach had in her head.

“How did you lose the delivery?” Dealer asked. This voice she didn’t recognize, but it was clear who he was. If Junior would just call him by name, it would be the cherry on her sundae.

“I don’t know. I swear I don’t,” Junior said. “It was in the truck when we got there. I stowed it under the seat when Riley and his goon had us searching for ghosts in the middle of the night. When I got to Joe’s the next day, it was gone.”

Pride was a wide, broad smile. The risk had totally been worth it. The dumbass hadn’t even made it hard with the bag sticking out in the backseat.

“That one is coming out of your hide. You better break open Daddy’s checkbook. Twenty-five grand tomorrow night.”

“Come on, man. I can’t come up with that kind of cash that fast. What if I got the blow back? Riley has to have it. Where else could it have gone?”

Dealer snapped. “Tomorrow night. The money or the product. Or you’ll be the one taking a dip.”

One set of footfalls moved across the floor. A door opened, then closed. Peach stayed where she was. Five seconds passed. Then ten. There was an explosion of profanity followed by some serious thumping. A foot against something. Then the second set of footfalls crossed the floor and went out the door.

She waited in place for two full minutes before easing her way into the desk chair. Moving quickly, she started the computer. The system was on a server, but fortunately for her, Fabrini didn’t spend the same kind of cash on his network security that he did on his décor. The file system used was simple and organized. She quickly found the files on the hotel and casino F&F was building on the lakefront. When completed, the seventeen-story structure would look like a ship going down in the water. She shuddered. So much for good taste.

The server was too big for her to copy all the project files. She didn’t know which other projects were Hawthorne’s, and she didn’t have time to go through them one by one.

But she did have time to plant a little program that would make a return visit much faster.

She pressed her ear to the door. Hearing nothing, she opened it a crack and scanned the third-floor hallway. Empty. She hung her messenger bag across her body and went casually for the back stairs. Out the back door, she crossed the soft grass toward the fast food restaurant where the Beast waited for her.

She picked up French fries and a milkshake because she had missed lunch and then climbed into the truck. As she sat waiting for traffic to ease, she saw Tom in the passenger window of the black Escalade. The window went up as it turned out of F&F’s front drive.

“Isn’t this a coincidence?” Decision: mind her own business or follow.

She gave them some space then pulled into traffic. “You don’t learn, do you? That man is trouble.” Popping a fry into her mouth, she drove casually. Just another worker bee sucking on a milkshake on her way home. A silver SUV swung out of F&F, cutting her off. She stood on the brakes to avoid the crash, the Beast’s backend kicking like a mule. The son of a bitch floored it, opening the distance between them. It wasn’t your normal “oops I cut someone off, let me make up for it.” This was the start of a race. Peach stomped on the gas, sending the four hundred-twenty horses under her hood into a sprint. The gap closed as they turned right. She was close enough to hear the SUV’s tires squeal around the corner. It sped out of the turn, and she followed it. Red lights began flashing, and the arms of the railroad crossing gate came down. Tom’s Escalade stopped. The silver one didn’t.

The curtain lifted on a nightmare. The silver SUV hit the Escalade hard, pushing it toward the tracks. The driver had to be Jeb. He fought for control, leaving rubber on the road, but the SUV had momentum on his side. In the distance—the near distance—the whistle of the train wailed ominously.

“Nope. Not gonna happen.” With calm, focused intent, she demanded more from the engine. She controlled her speed and swung wide, then plowed into the silver vehicle’s quarter panel at full throttle. Impact ripped control from her hands. Colors flew by and then came to a sudden end.

Tom braced his feet, standing on an imaginary brake while Jeb used the real one to keep them off the tracks. “Jeb.” Watching in his mirror, he saw a white pickup racing up. “Jeb! That’s Peach’s truck. I swear it’s the same.”

“Hold on.” The hit came, knocking them forward, and then they were free. They did a donut and ended in the on-coming lane, feet away from the gate arm as the train roared through the crossing.

“What the hell is going on?” Tom yelled as he clung to the Jesus bar. “Where’s Peach?”

“In the ditch. Get her!” Jeb slammed on the brakes, coming to a jarring stop next to where the steel carcasses lay in the ditch. The silver SUV ended with the passenger side embedded in the soft mud. Peach went in nose first. Nobody moved in either vehicle. “God damn it, Tom. Get your girlfriend. Now!”

Tom burst from the cab and slid down the short, steep hill. The long, wet grass made the footing difficult, even in his work boots. Her driver’s door nearly touched the SUV. He had no room to get her out. “Peach! Peach!” He wrenched open the passenger’s door and found her laying heavily over the steering wheel. Crawling in, he pulled the veil of hair from her face. “Peach, honey. Open your eyes for me.”

Her eyes fluttered but didn’t quite open. He sprung the latch on her seat belt and began pulling her dead weight from the seat. “Peach, honey. I could use some help here. We really need to get out.” Her eyes slowly opened. “Use your legs, honey. That’s right. Just a little further. I have you.” He backed out of the truck, taking as much of her weight as he could. She crawled blindly, her arms and legs plodding uncoordinatedly. He encouraged her, watching her arms tremble. He caught her when they collapsed, pulling her the rest of the way out of the truck.

“M-my bag. I need it.”

He leaned in, fishing her bag from the floor. A shot rang out. Instinct had him covering her body with his.

“Get up here, Tom. Now.” Jeb squeezed off two rounds, discouraging any intervention by the SUV boys. He was out of the Escalade, using the front end for cover. “They don’t have an angle. Move it.”

Using her truck for leverage and cover, Tom carried most of Peach’s weight up the slope. He struggled the last few feet, hampered by her staggering and the wet grass. With determination, he swung her into his arms and ran as Jeb laid more cover. The sound of the shots fueled his legs until he finally opened the back door, hurried Peach in, and then followed.

“On the floor,” Jeb yelled as he jumped into the running vehicle.

Shots rang out as their tires squealed. They sped backward down the road. Sirens sounded in the distance as Jeb executed a three-point turn and floored it. He took the first turn, pulling over to let a police car race past. “We’re clear,” he said, pulling out at a normal speed.

Tom crawled off the floor where he had covered Peach’s limp body. “Peach? Talk to me.” He lifted her onto the seat and snapped the seat belt across her. She had a red streak blossoming across her forehead. “The air bag didn’t go off. It looks like she bounced her head off the steering wheel.”

“That monster probably pre-dated airbags.” Jeb glanced back. “She looks dazed.”

Tom repeated her name and tapped her cheek until there was a flicker of light. She looked around the cab and then stared at his face. Her fingers traced his jaw. “Somebody is trying to kill you.”

Relief swept through him as clarity came into her eyes. He sat in the center seat and fastened the seat belt. “I noticed.” He captured her hand and kissed the palm. “You saved me again.”

“Damn it. I swore I wasn’t going to do that. I don’t even like you.” She pulled her hand away, curling it into a fist and trying to look fierce.

He took her hand back, caressed it. “Liar.”

She looked at him and then quickly away. “Where are we going?”

“Your house,” Jeb said. “Where do you think they are going to go when they trace the plates on your truck?”

Her gaze snapped to Tom’s, and he saw fear in her eyes. “Poppy.”

Chapter Nine

Tuesday, April 11 four p.m.

Peach hadn’t hesitated saving Tom, but she never considered that she’d be trading Poppy’s life for his. If she’d had thought about it…she would have found another way. There was no lying, pretending she would have left them on their own with the silver SUV. If she could have been certain the Escalade could have escaped on its own, then maybe. Woulda, shoulda, coulda, didn’t. There wasn’t any point looking back; she needed to move forward. “I’ll need to move Poppy. Somewhere he’ll be safe. I can live in my car. Well, I’ll need to get it back. Maybe I can use the Beast.”

“No,” Jeb said. “It’s too hot right now. Let the cops impound it.”

“We’ll take you to our house,” Tom said. She shook her head, refusing to indebt herself to him, but he kept selling. “It’s secure and will give us a chance to figure this out.”

She continued to shake her head. “I can take care of me and Poppy.”

“Of course you can, but I owe you. That’s the second time you helped me. Last time you put yourself in danger to do it and this time your grandfather. Let me do something to make it up to you.”

Collecting a debt was different than issuing it. Maybe. “Where do you live?”

“A farm outside Nashville.”

It was too far away for her to be effective looking for Rico and burying Fabrini. She’d find another way. “Do you know who those guys are?” she asked, changing the subject.

Tom shook his head. “They appeared out of nowhere.”

“They pulled out of F&F. It came racing around the building and cut into traffic after you.”

“Son of a bitch.” Jeb glared at Tom in the rearview mirror. “Clyde, what in the hell did you get yourself into?”

She let them bicker; she had her own problems. At least Poppy was safe. He left the house when she called and was across the street, at the neighbors. He had friends in the area. Maybe he could stay with someone until she cleared this up.

Soon, they drove through the quiet neighborhood and found nothing out of order. Still, they didn’t take any chances. Jeb parked on the street behind. Tom and Peach hopped the fence, crossed the yard, and went in the back door.

“Poppy’s room first.” She began setting her grandfather’s most prized possessions on his bed. This was a temporary measure. She repeated it over and over when her throat thickened over the sentimental objects.

Tom moved clothing from the dresser to duffle bags. “When we get back to Tennessee, we can figure out what is going on.”

“Poppy and I are staying here.”

Tom froze and just looked at her. “You can’t be serious. Those men are killers.”

“They are after you. They don’t know who I am. There is no connection between you and me. I’ll report Poppy’s truck stolen and kill the connection between you and the truck.”

“You aren’t thinking. The whole reason we’re moving him is because they can connect him to me. Staying is too risky.”

“Have you ever lost someone? Have you ever had someone taken from you and then be told to sit nice and pretty while ‘the authorities’ saw to it?” She stilled, watching his reaction. His gaze dropped, his lips pressed tight. “You have, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” One word, no elaboration.

“Then you understand. I can’t leave. Physically can’t do it. We’ll stay in a motel for a few days. You go to Tennessee. Things will calm down once you leave. These bags are full. We just need his medicine. They are on the windowsill in the kitchen. Can you get them?”

He picked up the two full nylon bags. “I understand what you’re saying and why. There are other options.”

There wasn’t time for a debate, and she wasn’t changing her mind. Leaving him, she went into her room. She packed her computer and a roller suitcase with essentials for working, then opened the small case she kept under her bed. Guns were a necessity in her world, like taxes. She had legally carried since her Air Force days but hadn’t drawn the weapon once. Her brain had always been enough to get her out of tough situations. Drawing a finger across the polished steel, she felt like she was making a choice, but she wasn’t sure between what. Whatever side of the equation Poppy stood on, that was the one she was taking. She locked and loaded the gun, pulled on her shoulder holster, and secured the weapon. Packed, she looked one last time around her childhood room. It was a mess. Her life was; why should her room be any different?

“Get down!” Tom hissed from a prone position on the kitchen floor.

She dropped to the floor, her bags obliviating stealth. “What’s going on?”

“They’re here.”

“I’m going to turn on the television. Poppy normally watches TV this time of day, and the noise will give us some cover.” She crawled into the living room, took the remote control from the end table, and crawled back to the hallway before she turned the television on to the latest self-help guru. The noise covered their voices while being reasonable for the home of an elderly man.

The sun, still hours from setting, lit the rooms well enough to see by. The muffled sound of footsteps on the gravel driveway came through the wall. The screen door opened slowly, sustaining a high-pitched squeak. “Stay here.” She whispered the order and then sprang lightly to her feet. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” They hadn’t locked the doors. Trouble was seconds away, she had the gun but…she grabbed the frying pan from the stove.

Tom couldn’t see where Peach went, and he didn’t like it. What was she going to do with a frying pan against a killer? A door opened, then a solid thump and the landing of a heavy weight. Peach. He was afraid to call out. There was no helping her if he was caught, too. He hadn’t been in a fist fight since college.

“Tom?”

Relief flooded his system at the sound of her voice. “Tell me you’re okay.”

“I need help. The tape Poppy used this morning. It’s on the kitchen counter.”

He found the tape and went to the steps to where Peach stood over the unconscious body. They carried the guy to the basement and thoroughly taped his hands, legs, and mouth. In the windowless basement, he took out his phone and called Jeb.

“We caught one. He’s tied up in the basement. I don’t know if he was alone.”

“No. There’s a minivan on the street, engine running. I’m moving the Escalade into the driveway behind Peach’s house. Be ready to run at my signal.”

“He’s coming,” he said to Peach. “We need to be ready when he signals.”

“What’s the signal?”

He didn’t think to ask that. Engineers were not cut out for this kind of excitement. His head was so busy he couldn’t think at all. “I hope it’s obvious. We’ll get out of this.”

“Of course we will.” He noticed she wasn’t trembling with fear. She wasn’t frantically scrambling or babbling incoherently. Everything about Peach was cool and collected.

“You’ve done this before.”

Her smile had a twist that could only mean trouble. “I have a…unique set of skills. We’ll be fine. Come on.” She led the way, picking up the bags and positioning them next to the back door. In the dark, windowless corner…they waited.

Both jumped when light and sound emanated from Tom’s cell phone. He fumbled the phone before pressing the speaker button.

“Now!” One word and the line went dead.

She opened the door and put a hand on his shoulder. “That doesn’t mean sloppy. Stay low. Move fast.”

It was a challenge, staying in a crouch laden down with packed bags. He was thankful for those lunges he did in the gym as he hurried across the back yard. She was on his flank but slowing, the bags harder for her shorter torso to carry. He reached the back fence, tossed his bags over, and then ran back to help her.

“Get out of there.” Jeb shouted the order from the position he’d taken up on the abutting garage. “Stupid son of a bitch.”

He wasn’t leaving her. Racing back, he took a bag and hung it across his chest. A man came around the house. Time moved in slow motion. The man didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like a movie, with multiple warnings and witty repartee. He just pulled a gun from behind his back and aimed. Tom tackled Peach to the ground. There were two shots. He heard them but didn’t feel them.

“Run,” Jeb yelled. “Move it, move it, move it.”

Tom knelt up, patted his body stomach, looking for holes.

Peach leapt up, grabbed his hand, and dragged him to his feet. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

An engine revved, and a minivan raced up the empty driveway into the back yard. Jeb shot at it, sending one, two, three bullets through the windshield.

The van didn’t slow.

They sprinted to the fence; her shorter legs kept up with his long ones. He slowed to make sure she got over the fence. She leaped like an American Ninja athlete. He went over quickly, roots impeding his landing. He stumbled away from the fence, watching the van barrel across the yard with a terrifying single-mindedness.

“Run,” Peach ordered, dragging him ‘til he moved.

He followed her lead as the van tore through the fence like a bear through a spider web then folded like an accordion around the corner of the wooden garage. Glass, plastic, metal, and wood rained over them.

Gathering his wits, Tom pulled her close, sheltering her with his larger frame. He flung open the Escalade’s back door and shoved her in. “Get that seat belt on.” Jumping in the driver’s seat, he did the same, then put the truck in gear and waited. In the sideview mirror, he saw Jeb drop from the wounded garage roof and run up the driveway. His weight rocked the vehicle when he landed in the passenger seat. Tom was out of there before he closed the door.

“Call 9-1-1,” Jeb ordered, focusing on securing his weapon. “Tell them there is a man on the loose. Armed, dangerous, and wounded.”

Pedro Morales met them at the police station. The eyes that could not see clearly still stared into her pale green gaze as his fingers traced the curves of her face before coasting down her arms to clutch at her hands. “I worried.”

Peach walked into her grandfather’s arms and pulled him tightly against her. “I worried, too.” She looked over her grandfather’s shoulder at Tom, and he knew he had to do something.

“Mr. Morales? Whatever happened tonight is connected to that construction site, the crane accident, and me. You granddaughter is the bravest woman I know. Without a doubt, I wouldn’t be here without her. I want both of you to come home with us, to our farmhouse in Tennessee. We’ll be safe there while we work through what the hell is going on.” He shouldn’t have sworn; it just came out.

Poppy’s brows were pressed together, and Peach glared at him. “Poppy—”

“That is a good solution. But no, Mr. Morales. I am Pedro, or if you like, Poppy.”

Peach shoved at Tom and then spun her grandfather away. “No, Poppy. We need to stay here. Don’t you see—”

“Oh yes,” he said with a small smile that belied recent events. “I see very well. Did you pack my medicines?”

She dropped her head. “Yes.”

Two more hours ticked by while answering police questions. Fast responding units had picked up the remaining assailant who was stupid enough to shoot at the officers, ending any debate about his intentions. Gang members from the west side of Cleveland. The small city of Painesville where Poppy lived was many zip codes away from their home turf. The men, all in their early twenties, had criminal records for drugs and assault. The minivan had contained duct tape, burlap sacks, and enough horse tranquilizers to knock out a team of Clydesdales.

Jeb’s license as an investigator, his years in the Army, and his stint as the county sheriff got him the benefit of the doubt with respect to discharging the gun. No charges were filed since the bullets were found in the tires and the dashboard rather than the body. The driver was dead. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt and went through the windshield on impact. The surviving two were under guard at a local hospital.

The police let them take the bags after they were thoroughly searched. The Escalade was fueled, as were its passengers, and they headed for Tennessee. Peach sat in the backseat with her grandfather, where they had extended conversations in Spanish. It irritated Tom because he didn’t need any more secrecy. Poppy’s voice was always calm and smooth. Peach’s ranged from emphatic to angry to apologetic.

“I called your father,” Poppy said in English.

Wondering why Poppy had chosen to switch languages then, he glanced into the backseat. Peach sat rigid, smoldering in the light from the interstate. She responded in Spanish, but Poppy stayed in English. “He needs to know about his brother.”

She made as sound, as if she spit, laced with animosity and disrespect. “Let me know when they’re coming. I’ll make sure I’m gone by then.”

“Tom,” her grandfather said. “Tell me about the accident.”

“There’s a lot of work to do yet but…” He laid it out, his mind working through the facts as though solving a Rubic’s cube. The older man didn’t just listen. He participated. He speculated, hypothesized, and conjectured. If the subject hadn’t been his son, missing and virtually presumed dead, it would have been invigorating. Humanizing it kept Tom humble, made it real.

The conversation waned with the passing miles. At nearly three in the morning, they were home.

Tom leaned into the back and squeezed Peach’s knee. “We’re here.”

Wednesday, April 12 three a.m.

Peach inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the lethargy that had overtaken her in Kentucky. She leaned over her grandfather to see the sprawling house that was unlike any farm house she’d ever seen. With the long porch and balconies, it felt like they were driving into a fairytale. “Poppy? Poppy, we’re here.”

She winced at the light inside the garage. Jeb pushed a button, and soon the garage door separated them from the outside world. She climbed out of the Escalade, stretching cramped limbs and rubbing tired eyes. A woman stepped into view wrapped in a pink robe with fuzzy slippers. A yard of spun gold trailed behind her as she leaped into Jeb’s arms.

He hugged her tight. “God, I missed you.” She wrapped her arms around his head and buried her face in crook of his neck. Peach stared at the couple, the image completely incongruous with the impression she had of Jeb.

Tom cleared his throat, and Peach suddenly looked at the ground, realizing she was staring. “Carolina, this is Peach and Pedro Morales.”

“Hello,” Carolina said warmly, trying to wiggle out of Jeb’s arms. She gave up when he didn’t give. “Everything is set up in the south wing just like you asked, Tom. We moved Nate to our wing. Y’all must be exhausted. Let me take your bags.”

“Tom can do that.” Jeb ushered his wife toward the door. “Say ‘good night,’ Carolina.”

Carolina waved over her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re all here safe. We’ll see ya in the morning.”

“Good night, Jeb, Carolina.” Tom pulled the bags they salvaged from the Morales home and hung them from his shoulders. He handed Peach her computer and messenger bags, then closed the door. “I’ll show you to your rooms. They are in my wing, which is the closest.”

Peach tucked her grandfather’s arm into hers and followed Tom into a courtyard lit by soft lamps. The two-story building surrounded the courtyard and had balconies that reminded her of New Orleans. Soft guitar music gave rhythm to the night.

“That wing is Butch and Katie’s. Katie is my cousin by birth, sister by everything else. Her husband, Butch, is Jeb’s brother. He’s a musician.” He nodded in the opposite direction. “That wing is Jeb’s and Carolina’s. Carolina’s brother Nate is on leave from the Army and will be staying with us for another week or so.” A light in front of the wing went off, leaving only the light in the back two windows lit. “The wing in between is the farm house. That’s where the kitchen is. I’ll give you the full tour in the morning. This wing is mine.” Tom opened a door to a small foyer. “We, uh, have to go upstairs.”

She bit her lip to avoid saying something she’d regret. He’d lied to her, betrayed her trust saying he lived on a farm. This was a farm as much as she was a princess. She guided her grandfather into the foyer, unable to do much else at that time of day. “Lead on.”

The top of the stairs opened into a large living area that was decorated in modern man-cave. He spent money here but not garishly. She described the room to her grandfather, filling in the gaps his vision left. He didn’t absolutely need it. After all, he’d lived for years without her, but it made her feel useful. Her gaze caught Tom’s, and she changed to English. “The floor is clear. The couch is to your left. You need to walk directly to the wall before turning.”

Tom looked at the room as if seeing it for the first time. “We can re-arrange tomorrow. Mr. Morales, um, Poppy, you can use this room.” He led them into a comfortably furnished spare bedroom and set the bags on the bed. The bedside lamps were lit, and a tray sat on an end table with two bottles of water and a light snack of cheese and crackers. “The bathroom is straight across the hallway.”

And she was glad she hadn’t said the nasty things she had thought. Someone had thought to set a snack and turn down the bed. He offered to rearrange his furniture and chosen a room with easy access to the bathroom. They were little things, but they meant a lot. She smiled, hoping it conveyed her gratitude.

“This is a fine room.” The room was twice as large as Poppy’s own bedroom, and the twinkle in his eyes said he liked it. “A very fine room.” Peach began to describe the room when he cut her off. “I can see, I can see.”

She doubted he could see the details, but the room was well set. A wide leather chair sat in front of a window, leaving open floor between the bed, closet, dresser, and chair. The long, low dresser held a flat screen television. He drank the water, ate a cracker, and began emptying his bags.

“If you need anything, I’m at the end of the hall to the right,” Tom said.

“I’m certain I’ll be very comfortable. Thank you.”

“Your room is next to the bathroom,” Tom said to Peach, setting her bags inside the door. She followed him into a room designed for a woman—four-poster bed, Tiffany class lamps, cream-colored and a myriad of colorful pillows. On the dresser sat another tray with water and snacks.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I have another, but it’s smaller.”

She had that fairy tale feeling again. It was like something out of “The Princess and the Pea”—except if that were true, there would have been twenty mattresses stacked to the ceiling. Instead there was just this one very thick one. She climbed up on the bed, letting her sore body sink into the white down comforter. A groan escaped. “This is incredible.”

“I’m next door. If you need anything.”

She just smiled and nodded as he closed the door. He was different here. Much less sure of himself. Interesting. She rolled to her feet with a heavy sigh. Unlike her grandfather, she didn’t unpack. She wasn’t going to be staying. She’d get some sleep, rent a car, and go back north. Now that she’d seen the place, she was comfortable leaving Poppy here for a few days. Even a week. Like Tom said, he owed her. This was her price.

She didn’t know if Poppy could go back to the little house. That was on her. Stealing the drugs from Junior seemed a pittance to his father blaming Rico for a crash that killed him. She hadn’t expected Tom to be blamed or the gang connection. It didn’t take a genius to track the Beast to Poppy. The registration was in the glove compartment.

She needed to protect Poppy after she moved on. He was a practical man. He knew it was only a matter of time before his vision was completely gone. One of those senior places where they took care of all the maintenance could be nice. He’d still be independent but with less work to do.

Peach paced the pretty room, feeling restless and achy. Too many hours sitting still in a car. It was late; she should be tired. She’d dozed on the drive but hadn’t really slept. She was mentally exhausted, but her body wasn’t ready to call it a night.

Tom walked into his room and shut the door. It felt like weeks since he’d been in this room instead of a few days. He stripped the clothes off and threw them into the basket. The bed looked inviting, but he felt dirty, used from the long, fucked-up day. He pulled a pair of soft cotton sleep pants from a drawer and headed for the shower. Had it only been one day? Yep. It was just this morning that he had lost twenty dollars to Jeb betting that Peach would meet them for breakfast.

He showered, letting the hot water do its job. Aches and pains eased, and his mind slowed. So many questions and in the morning, he’d work on the answers using his equipment. He turned the water off, dried, and pulled on the pajama pants. A whump whump sound came through the floor. It was rhythmic. Every three seconds. Whump. Two. Three. Whump. Two. Three.

“What the hell is that?” he asked aloud. His bedroom was still. Nothing moved. But still he felt it. Whump. Two. Three. Whump. Two. Three.

He opened the door to the hallway. No light peeked out from under Mr. Morales’s door. Not so for Peach’s door. The closer he got, the crisper the sound. “What the hell?” He knocked softly. “Peach? Peach?”

The door flew open, and a hot and sweaty woman stood in the frame. “It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing?”

He choked on surprise. She was sweaty, her hair was frothy, and she wanted to know what he was doing. “What gives with the drum major routine?”

She frowned, her brows pressing together. “Drum major?”

He backed her into the room, closing the door. “The whump, whump, whump noise.”

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone could hear me. Do you think I woke Poppy?”

“His room is still dark. What were you doing?”

“Calisthenics.” She jogged in place, rolling her head from side to side. “I go old school sometimes.”

“It’s nearly four in the morning.”

She stopped jogging and picked up her discarded shirt to use as a towel. “I know. I just couldn’t settle. I’ll stop.”

Tom ran a hand through his wet hair. “I know how you feel. I tried a shower.”

“Did it work?” Peach ran her eyes over his bare chest, where her gaze lingered.

They looked at each other for a second, which stretched into ten. Then it became awkward, neither saying anything. He should leave; he knew he should. “Guess I’ll find out.” He stepped into the hallway, fighting the urge to get his hands on the purple performance wear covering his favorite parts of her body. “I’m next door. If you need anything.”

She patted the towel down her torso. “So you said.”

“You know, this doesn’t have to be weird between us because we are here in my house.”

“It is weird to you? Having me here?”

“No. No, it isn’t. I want you here.” He stepped close to her, fingers itching to play in her wealth of curls. “I just don’t want you to feel—I don’t know—obligated or anything because you are here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Obligated?”

Not what he was going for. He ran both hands through his hair and retreated. “I mean, we got together a few times, and sure, it was spectacular, but that doesn’t mean that we have to keep getting together if, you know, you aren’t good with it.”

She smiled as he babbled.

“So…like I said…if you need anything. Well, you know where I am.” He stepped back into the hallway. “Good night.”

He went back to his room and closed the door. Somehow, in five minutes and fifteen feet he went from out of sorts to outright frustrated. What the hell was she thinking prancing around in those little black shorts that showed off exactly how tight her ass was? And that top! He didn’t have to use much of his over-active imagination to know what those purple cups were holding.

A soft knock brushed at his door. His libido cheered as he covered the few feet and pulled it open. There she stood. Same black shorts. Same purple shirt. Her hair was loose now, just begging for his hands to run through it.

“I still can’t settle. Since you don’t want me doing calisthenics, I was wondering if you had other ideas about how I could take the edge off.”

His hands plowed into that raven veil, pulling her against him. Covering her mouth with his, he guided her in until he could kick the door closed. She tasted every bit as good as he remembered. Her hot skin heated his cooler body. Wanting more and more, he bent her back until his arms were her only support. Sweeping her legs, he carried her to bed, but she twisted and came up on top. His back pinned to the bed, she straddled him. Her movements were fast and frantic, as if she couldn’t get enough. He fed her need, giving everything she wanted and demanding more. She pressed his hands to the bed, commanding them to stay, then explored his body. Every place her hands touched, every lick of her tongue, fanned the flame of lust. That mouth found his nipple, and when she nipped, he flew off the bed and took control.

He rolled her onto the pillows, their legs tangling in the fray.

“Your lamp,” she said as the light flickered.

“Got another.” He tugged at the little spaghetti straps covering what he wanted. “Take this off before I tear it from your body.”

She took a fistful of hair in each hand and lifted his head. “Make me.”

He made mush out of the spaghetti straps and nearly had her upside down to get the shorts. They wrestled and nipped and teased their way off the bed. She sat on his chest and pried the cotton off his long legs.

“I need a condom. In the drawer. Now.” He nearly growled in desperation when she stopped moving. “Don’t stop now.”

“Are you clean, Tom? I’m not a naïve girl. Tell me straight. Are you clean?”

Those amazing eyes of hers looked into his soul. He never had sex without a condom. Never. Other birth control or not. He had blood work done annually—insurance required it—but he knew, absolutely. “Yes but…”

She ground against him, her wet heat curling his toes. “But what?”

This wasn’t a time to be rational. It was on the tip of his tongue. If sex was just for tonight, just for now, then he wanted the condom.

Pressing back into her heels, she licked his shaft, pausing to tease his head. The breath was driven from his body. “I’m clean, too. I use an IUD, so we’re safe. Let it just be us tonight.”

He rolled them over, kicked a chair out of the way, and came into her from behind. It was just him against her, no latex between them. Her body was hot and wet and welcoming. He thrust deep and nearly came immediately. It shook him, the way he wanted her. Buying time, he wrapped his arm around her, going between her legs to play with her little button. The sound she made had his blood surging. She went over quickly, and he pressed in deep, wanting to feel every ripple of pleasure. Then he began to move again, driving her relentlessly over the cliff and into the long, deep chasm. When she would have collapsed to the floor completely spent, he let himself fly and followed her.

His head sat heavy on her shoulder, but he kept his weight on his arms. As much as he wanted to, he weighed too much to just collapse on her.

“I’m just going to sleep here,” she said drowsily.

“You’ll get cold.”

“Don’t care.”

“Come on. Up.” He withdrew, which earned him a malcontented groan. “You’re forcing me to be manly.” He climbed to his feet, squatted down, and lifted a hundred and twenty pounds of deadweight.

She snuggled his throat. “What are you doing?”

“Putting you in my bed. I need sleep.”

“Hmm. Me, too.” She shifted out of his arms.

“What are you doing?” He fought for possession and lost.

“Going back to the princess room.”

“You can sleep here. My bed is soft and comfortable, and, bonus, I’m here.”

“So tempting.” She shifted until her feet touched the floor. “Get in bed. I’ll tuck you in.”

Tom tried to scowl, to intimidate the naked woman into his bed. Her bare ass kept distracting him. Even as he stroked her, his eyes kept slamming shut.

“In you go.”

He made a grab for her when she leaned over, but she pinned his hands and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. She whispered something to him in Spanish, righted the remaining lamp, and plunged the room into darkness.

“I’ll be here,” he said, succumbing to the peace that welcomed him. “If you need anything.”

Chapter Ten

Wednesday, April 12 twelve-thirty p.m.

Peach stood in the immaculate room decorated with perfect taste and knew her nightmare had found her again. She had heard once that you couldn’t say “dream” in a dream. Quick as she could, she opened her mouth and formed the word, but the six-panel oak door opened faster, and in he walked.

Anderson Bingham stood just over six feet, with hazel eyes and sandy brown hair. His build had been fully paid for and was insured for a cool million. He wore his trademark dark suit. He had been her boss, then her lover. Now, he was her Kryptonite.

“I’m glad to see you back.” He came in like he owned the place, which he would when Mommy and Daddy went to that big yacht club in the sky. He closed half the distance, his fancy shoes clicking with each step, and then he stood. Watching. Waiting. A lion about to take down an antelope. “It has been too long. I’ve missed you, Em. Just the way you’ve missed me.”

Discipline kept her from reacting. Her time in D.C. haunted her just as the nickname did. She was E.M. Morales. E.M. not Em. She’d come to despise it all.

“You’re so rigid, Em. Always so serious.” Hazel eyes swept up and down the length of her, setting off her warning system. Showing weakness was not an option. He ate fear for lunch, flossed with insecurity.

She went for bored and unimpressed. “Anderson.”

He circled her; she kept her gaze straight ahead. Strong, skilled hands went to her shoulders. “You have knots. Lucky for you, I know my way around knots.”

She didn’t want it to feel good. There was nothing but contempt for the way his fingers found those tight muscles and, yeah, that was the spot.

“You see? You need me. Your subconscious knows. It’s time you put hurt feelings aside and call me. You know I can make all of your troubles disappear.”

She was tempted, very tempted, because he could. Anderson had the money and the connections to dismantle F&F Construction. But he wouldn’t. Not without a price. “I stepped in that trap once. I’ll be damned if I step in it twice.”

Anderson pressed a kiss to her neck. His cologne embodied the man…expensive, exclusive. It filled her senses, and her body heightened. “Does this feel like a trap?”

Old habits die hard, she thought as her breasts swelled, yearning for his attention.

“I did apologize. I sent you a gift to show how sorry I was.” He bowed his head, tracing the ridge of her cheek with his lips. Close, his scent was the air she breathed. She couldn’t think for the havoc he wreaked. “What am I going to do with my stubborn little Em?”

She was in trouble. His hands captured her face, holding her while he reminded her what she walked away from. What she could have again. While her body celebrated the man coming to his senses and realizing what a mistake he’d made, some little sane part in the back of her head screamed. Her hand flailed out, found something solid, and smashed the Lothario in the head. Glass shattered, and Peach sat up, gasping for air as she searched the room for Anderson. She blinked, working to make sense of the scene.

The dream had morphed. The office was gone, replaced by a bedroom resplendent with a big bed washed in sunlight. She sat in the middle of the bed wearing her black sleep shirt, covered to the hips in a fluffy white comforter. She knew this place. Counting breaths, she forced her racing mind to slow. There it was. She was in Tom’s house.

Drenched in sweat, she shivered even with the blanket. She finger-brushed her hair back, wincing when something bit her. Her left hand was her usual sun-kissed bronze while her right hand was painted crimson red.

“Dream, dream, dream. Time to wake up, Peach.” Still her hand was red, and she shivered beneath the cover. Moving her thumb was a razor blade against bone. “This isn’t good.” She rolled to the edge of the bed. It was too late to save the snow-white cover, dotted as it was with scarlet drops. The water glass that had sat next to the bed was on the floor, broken. She saw it in time and stepped wide, avoiding the jagged shards. Holding her hand up, she ran to the bathroom. Her eyes filled with tears, making it more difficult to deal with the cut. “Fucking Anderson.”

“Who is Anderson?” Tom asked from the door. His eyebrows jumped at the sight of blood, then he sauntered in and captured her hand. “I think you have something in there.” He took over the first aid without asking permission.

“I broke the water glass.” She blinked against tears welling in her eyes, but a few strays escaped. It wasn’t the cut, which she could take; it was the dream that, night after night, had the man crawling back to her. He didn’t want her. He deceived her. It was that simple. Didn’t her subconscious get it? It would be pathetic to want that man back.

She looked at the man bent studiously over her hand. His dark brown hair was longer on the top and curled in soft loops. Close as he was, she smelled his shampoo and the underlying aroma she knew intimately. She inhaled deeply, replacing the scent of Anderson Bingham with Dr. Thomas Riley.

He looked up, a question in his eyes as he caught her smelling him.

She fought the wave of heat that crept into her face. “There’s blood on the bedspread. Sorry.”

“Come to my bathroom. I have tweezers and bandages in there.” He kept her hand cradled as he led her into his room. She had to appreciate his calm, low-key manner. He didn’t question, chastise, or baby her, which she appreciated, but it would be okay if he babied her, just a little. She followed him into his room, past the spilled books and broken lamps, twisted pajamas and tossed pillows. What remained of her midnight workout gear hung limply from his bedpost. In his spacious bathroom, he lifted her onto the counter and soon was once again at work. “I think you got lucky. It’s in a fleshy part.” He tugged a piece out, making her flinch. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to be careful. It’s really jammed in there.”

“You’re not hurting me. I appreciate the help.” Her voice broke as if she’d been crying. She cleared it and tried again. “I’ll replace the bedspread.”

“Whatever. I think I got it. That’s the last piece. Let me clean it and see if it will stop bleeding. I can run you over to Doc if you need a stitch or two.” He dug through the kit for Band-Aids. “Are you going to tell me who Anderson is?”

“Peach?” Poppy called from the hallway.

Oh, she’d never been so happy to hear his voice. “Just a minute, Poppy,” she called over her shoulder then turned back to Tom. “Just slap a Band-Aid on it. I need to go. Poppy will want his morning coffee. Is there a place I can make it?”

“It’s afternoon, and he’s already had it. Let me finish cleaning you up and we’ll go to the kitchen. You must be hungry.”

“Peach? Did you pack my magnifying glass? I want to read the Sports.” Poppy’s voice grew louder, clearer.

“Oh God.” She pushed off the counter, ripping her hand out of his grip.

“Hey! I’m not done.”

She ignored his complaint and scrambled to keep her grandfather from walking in on the remnants of their early morning activities, but she wasn’t fast enough.

“I left it in the living room under the window. The sun was bright, and I used it on the comics.” He stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, talking to the post wearing the purple sports top.

She skidded to a stop on the threshold; Tom bumped her from behind. He chuckled, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Her elbow in his gut turned his laugh into an elongated cough.

Poppy looked toward Tom. “Did you see it, Tom?”

She silently scampered to the bed, right behind her hastily discarded clothing. “Sorry, Poppy, I don’t think we packed it. With everything that happened, we missed it.”

“I have a set in my lab you can use.” Tom stepped over the mess, going past Poppy to the door. “If we missed anything else, just let us know. It’s a big house. We probably have what you need.”

Peach watched, astonished at Tom’s smooth handling of the situation. Poppy followed his voice or maybe the big shadow he made in the afternoon light. Tom pointed to Poppy, gave her a “thumbs up,” and then led her grandfather out the door. Her grandfather turned back, signed an “okay,” and pointed to Tom. She trailed after them as they talked, dumbfounded.

“Did Carolina show you around?” Tom asked, taking her grandfather’s elbow.

“Oh, yes. She said she was going to rearrange the family room. Please tell her not to. I have been legally blind for several years. I will be fine.”

Tom picked the cane from the chair where it hung in his living room, handing it to the older man. “I’ll tell her, but she’s not going to listen. Would you like another cup of coffee?”

Poppy took the cane, using it sparingly as he stepped around the furniture. “You read my mind. It is very good.”

“Family recipe.”

Peach stood in the hallway as they left the living room. Bandaged, barefoot, and bewildered. What the hell was happening?

Peach followed Carolina across the sun-filled courtyard, thinking that she epitomized a woman: graceful, competent, and beautiful. No movements were wasted, but each one had a little touch, had an intangible flair. It would be very easy to be very jealous of Carolina.

Except Carolina glanced over her shoulder and flashed a conspirator’s grin. “What are we hunting?”

“An embezzler.” Her plan to rent a car and return to Cleveland was derailed by her sleeping until mid-day. A shower and a brunch later, it was two in the afternoon. Then Carolina suggesting a little fishing expedition. “I got this feeling—”

“Oh, say no more. I know that feeling, and it’s always right. My office is just inside here.” They walked in one of the white doors that surrounded the courtyard. It was the one closest to Tom’s suite.

“Your rooms are upstairs?” Peach asked to fill the silence. It was an interesting house, more like three homes all connected to each other.

“Jeb and I have four bedrooms, two baths, and a sitting room. Just like Tom does and Katie and Butch. We’ve done a lot of work to our first floor. When I moved in, Jeb used it as one big man cave slash office. Now we have real offices for his company, and I have a space of my own.” Carolina opened the door to an office and flipped on the lights.

“Okay. I am so jealous.” Peach stared at the wall full of flat screen monitors facing a computer set up that had to rival NASA. One wall was a bank of windows covered with privacy shades. The other short wall contained a dry erase board and a pull down for a screen. The long wall opposite the windows was covered floor to ceiling in book shelves with thoughtful groupings of books.

“Jeb did this as an engagement present,” Carolina said as she booted up her system.

“Beats the hell out of a ring.” She wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth.

Carolina blushed. “Oh, he gave me a ring, too.” She held out her hand, showing off the brilliant sapphire that nestled against a diamond and sapphire band.

“Uh, congratulations on your wedding. Tom said you and Jeb were just married.”

“Four days now.” Carolina grinned, glowing with happiness.

“Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?”

“We leave in a few weeks after my brother returns to duty.” She did a little happy dance in her seat. The machine beeped and got her undivided attention. Her hands flew over the keyboard as her hair fell in her face. The screens began to flicker, and Carolina absently braided her thick mass of hair. “The whole farm is set up with wireless. The password is on the white board. The router is in here, and I’m hard wired in, so…I’m faster. What do you have? What can I do?”

Peach pulled her head together and went to one of the glass tables. She took her laptop out of the bag and, while it started up, retrieved the portable hard drive. “Three men went into the lake on Saturday morning. Tom’s work is leaning toward sabotage. To what end? My hypothesis is that only one of them was never meant to come out. My uncle was a great man to Poppy and me but to the rest of the world? He was no one. Jack Hawthorne was the manager for the project. He said who worked and who didn’t. Who was paid and who wasn’t.”

“An important man,” Carolina added.

“In the context of the project, an important man. A respected man. Outside that context? I don’t know.”

Carolina nodded. “I’m on him. Who else? You said three men.”

“Joe Carter. Low-level engineer. From what I heard, a lot of the men weren’t surprised he went down. Rookie, no common sense, two left feet. That sort of thing.”

“Do you have anything on them? Social security number? Full name?”

Peach handed her the hard drive. “I copied files from Hawthorne’s secretary, including payroll. There may be something there. I also have files from the F&F system and left myself a back-door in.”

“Sweet.” Carolina danced in her chair. Her face froze when Peach laughed. “What?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have this whole goddess thing going—”

“Me?” Surprise was clear in her high-pitched voice and wide eyes.

“I didn’t suspect you for a trouble maker.”

Carolina laughed. “Oh, I’m not. That’s Katie. You’re going to like her.”

Tom worked in his laboratory, feeling oddly alone. Carolina had offered to let Peach work in her office, and Peach accepted before he could offer his. Here, in his home, with the heavy gate and state-of-the-art security system, he didn’t have to worry about somebody knocking him unconscious. He should have been fine.

But he wasn’t.

He fell into his leather chair and stared across the room.

The silence was deafening.

Jeb came in the door at the opposite end of the lab. His boots echoed as he marched across on the concrete floor. “That girlfriend of yours is trouble.”

“I told you, she’s not my girlfriend.”

He tossed a folder onto Tom’s desk. “She’s ex-military. Air Force. A graduate of the Citadel. Served oversees and then was honorably discharged.”

He picked up the file and opened it. “That doesn’t sound like trouble.”

“She had just started her second tour when she was suddenly gone. There’s more to that story, but it’s buried deep.”

“Esmeralda Martha Morales.”

“I wouldn’t call her that unless you got your junk protected.”

Tom paused, leafing through the sheets as images of Jeb in the fetal position popped up. He didn’t hide the smile as he read the next page. “She’s a private investigator?”

“She’s licensed in Virginia. She worked for an agency until about a year ago then started drawing a paycheck from a D.C. law firm. That ended in January. The address on her license is an apartment in Virginia Beach. Your girl likes to move around.”

“She’s not my girl.”

Jeb leaned back in the guest chair and put his feet on Tom’s desk. “She’s an only child. Both of her parents are career military. Air Force. She moved around as a kid then went to live permanently with her grandfather when she was twelve. He had legal custody. She went to high school in Ohio, graduated with honors. Got in some trouble. Breaking and entering. Stealing.”

“She has a record? How did you get that? I thought juvenile records were sealed.”

“She doesn’t have a record. Barely. Poppy may just be a miracle worker. He doesn’t think much of the way his son and daughter-in-law raised Peach. He said they never understood her. They pushed her back and forth, from here to there. She never has friends. She never settles. That worries him.”

“Settles? What did he mean?”

Jeb shrugged. “Moves around a lot, I guess. One thing is clear: there is nothing easy about your woman.”

He had to ignore it. If he kept getting riled up, Jeb would keep poking. “You think the two of them are in any danger?”

“Hard to say. Until yesterday, whoever was gunning for you didn’t know they existed. I would expect that the interest in them is finding you. So who do you think you pissed off?”

“I’ve got somebody nervous, but the thing is, they think that I have more than I do. Sure, I’m going to be able to provide evidence the crane was compromised but not by who.” He stood and started to pace. “It’s not like you put the pieces back to together and there’s a big old sign saying, ‘Go arrest Joe Blow.’ I’m an engineer, not a detective.”

“Well, son. Maybe your—”

“—don’t say it.”

“—girlfriend will come up with something. Butch and Katie should be home soon. She’s on dinner tonight.”

“I wonder what kind of pizza she’ll order. I liked that taco one she got last time.”

Jeb pushed to his feet and patted his stomach. “No such thing as a bad pizza in my book. I’m gonna go see what the wife of mine is up to.”

“I think I’ll tag along.”

“This is incredible,” Peach said, standing in front of the bank of screens displaying financial history for her uncle, Jack Hawthorne, and Joe Carter. “How did you get this so fast?”

“Most of it’s public record. The rest I paid for,” Carolina said, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “You just have to know where to look. And, thanks to you, I did. I can follow most of this. I’ve read a few books on accounting and taxes. Where do you want to start?”

“My uncle. Let’s see what was to be gained by his death.”

Carolina’s fingers stopped, creating space between them. “You think he’s dead?” Compassion looked out through her blue eyes.

“I just can’t imagine how he’s not dead. If he were alive, he would have contacted Poppy. He would never have put him through this kind of heartbreak. If he were unconscious in a hospital within twenty miles, I would have found him by now. The only option left is a Misery scenario, and seeing as my uncle wasn’t famous, rich, or handsome, I’m out of options.”

The clicking of the keyboard was thick in the quiet room. Soon, the monitors flashed, and the screens featured enlargements of Rico Morales’s assets and debts, marriages and divorces.

“Nice car,” Tom said as he and Jeb entered. He stood close to Peach but not touching. “What are we looking at?”

“My uncle’s finances.” She moved closer with the excuse of pointing to the figures on the screen. “Not much in savings. His house is paid off.”

“Have you been to his house?” Carolina asked. “Would he keep his paperwork there? You know, a will or insurance papers?”

“Maybe Poppy knows. I visited about three years ago when I was in Atlanta for work. He lived on the outskirts. I think that was where his second wife lived. I vaguely remember her. I don’t know why he bought it. He worked all over the country. That must be where he left his car. He didn’t bring it to Cleveland. We shared my car and the Beast.”

“The Beast?” Carolina said, looking at Jeb.

“Her grandfather’s pick-up truck. What are you looking for, Peach?”

“Money. The files I read showed accounting errors on the casino project. I think someone is skimming. I know someone is dealing drugs. I don’t have any proof the two are linked. Tom, you believe the accident wasn’t an accident. So what did our felon expect to happen?” She went to the dry erase board. “One: my uncle dies. Two: my uncle and Hawthorne die. Someone tricked him to climb into that crane—”

“Wait. What did you just say?” Tom held up his hands. “Nobody I talked to knows why Hawthorne went into the crane booth.”

“To bring Rico a new radio, but his was working.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was on the phone with him. You knew that. He used a Bluetooth ear piece, but I could hear Hawthorne.”

Tom came to her now, rubbed her arms. “You said you saw him fall. I had no idea you were on the phone with him. I didn’t want to ask you too many questions. I know how hard this is. Well, I don’t, but I can imagine. I have to now. You may have heard something that fills in the gaps.”

She saw it in his face: he didn’t want to hurt her. By coming to his house, soliciting Carolina’s help, she’d joined his team. Or he joined hers. It was semantics, because now, they were working together. Of course, he’d want to know what she saw. “You’ll want to see the video.”

“Video? You have one?” She knew he fought back the thrill for her.

“Yeah, I, uh, I was recording him to show Poppy. He never saw Rico work.” Suddenly her mouth was dry. “I don’t know what’s on it. I…I’ve never watched it.” She took her phone from her pocket. “Here. Do me a favor? Wipe it off the phone?”

“I can do that.” Tom put the phone in his pocket and then pulled her under his shoulder. “Let’s go back to your list. What’s your third option?”

“Third option?” She cried inside, where no one could see, but it muddled her brain. The arm around her helped, but she wanted to turn to him, curl into that sweet spot on his neck and forget. Instead, she stepped away from him, returning to the board. “The, uh, third option is that it was a financial hit. This one makes the most and the least sense.”

“An accident like that costs a lot of people, a lot of money,” Carolina said, her voice thick with emotion. “It could bankrupt small companies.”

“Which makes sense if it’s somehow personal against F&F,” Peach said, “but not as a cover up for embezzlement and drug sales.”

“Who is selling drugs?” Tom asked.

“Michael Fabrini,” Jeb said immediately.

Peach nodded. “He’s got a dealer close by. I don’t have a name, but I would recognize the voice. I really pissed them off by stealing their stash.” Three pairs of eyes turned her way. “If you’re going to leave the door wide open, you’re just asking for someone to steal it.”

Jeb muttered under his breath, something like delinquent. “What about Jack Hawthorne?”

Carolina’s fingers tickled the keyboard again, and the screens shifted. “Ah. Jack is into boats. It’s easy to see where his money goes. The man has a house, a wife, two teenage boys, and boats. The house is close to Lake Erie. He buys and sells a boat every few years.”

“Boats are an expensive hobby.” Peach bit the inside of her cheek, thinking of the money Anderson dropped each weekend. Hawthorne wouldn’t have been at that level, but it would still be an easy place to spend fast cash. “I wonder what happened to his laptop.” She turned to Carolina. “His office was locked, but the computer wasn’t there. The accident happened during the day. His computer should have been there. But who would take it and lock the door?”

“Maybe he hid it,” Tom said. “Did you search the office?”

“No,” she said, disappointed at the lost opportunity. “I ran out of time. You need to ask Fabrini about it. I need to spend time with his secretary’s files. I did a quick search, but there were no yellow sign saying ‘read me,’ just lots of spreadsheets and logs.”

“I’ll work on it later today,” Carolina said. “How about the last guy? Joe Carter.” The screens flickered again. “Condo, truck. Loans. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary here.”

“Can you enlarge his Facebook page?” Peach walked the length of the room, staring into the drunken eyes of a dead man. “Here, look at this picture. What do you see?”

Carolina rolled her eyes at the picture of Joe Carter in an F&F Construction shirt with his eyes half shut. His arms were around the necks of two buxom women, also with their eyes at half-mast. He held two bottles of beer by the neck in one hand and the breast of the brunette in the other. “A man with more bravado than brains.”

“Every man I’ve ever met does,” Peach said.

Jeb wrapped his arms around Carolina from behind and kissed her shoulder. “You hear what she said about you, Tom?”

Peach nearly sneered. She didn’t like Tom being slammed because of her.

Jeb wasn’t fazed. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep it between you, me, and the bed post.”

Bed post? Her temperature rose. He’d been in Tom’s room. Or Tom told him about last night. She glared at Tom, who was scowling at Jeb. No. No, it was the hotel. He knew they’d been together at the hotel. Peach lifted her chin, looking between the two of them, and pulled on her thick skin.

Carolina slapped playfully at her husband. “Jeb, behave.”

Peach stood directly in front of the monitor, ignoring the men in the room. “The kid was one year out of college making about fifty grand a year. He’s paying off thirty in student loans. He bought a new condo last fall, a new truck about the same time. His bank account has just over five grand in it.”

“Where does the rest of the money come from?” Jeb asked.

“The rest of what money?” Carolina asked.

Tom pointed at the screen. “The money that paid for the Rolex on his wrist.”

“He paid cash for the truck. There’s no loan on it,” Peach said. “Do we know who the woman is under his left hand? I’m betting he paid for those tits. He’s mighty proud of them.”

Jeb started to say something, but Carolina covered his mouth. “I’ll look for her,” she said and then eyed her husband. “Is there something you want?”

“Yes, but it would be indecent in front of company. Come upstairs and take a break with me.” He nuzzled Carolina’s neck, his arm under her breasts pulling her from the chair.

“You can use my office as long as you want, Peach.” Carolina made the offer, giggling under her husband’s assault.

“We can go to my lab,” Tom said, his attention still on the screen. “I have computers you can use, too. They’re just as fast. I can get more monitors.”

He tried to hide it, but Peach heard it, that little tinge of jealousy. She went to him, drawing her fingers across his forearm. Soothing the sting she heard because he wasn’t going to like her answer. “I’d like that, but…you’re going to watch the video, aren’t you?” His gaze flashed to hers. “I know you’re anxious to see it. I’m impressed you stayed here this long. I really hope it helps you find the answers, but I can’t…”

“Of course not.” He turned her until they were hip to hip. “I can wait until later.”

“You don’t have to.” She played with his shirt, smoothing the knit material over his stomach. Her emotions were running high and very close to the surface. There was an irony in things happening so fast and yet moving at glacial speed. She needed time to process. “I’m ready for a break myself. Is it safe to run on the road?”

He frowned, still holding her to him. “It’s safe enough, but there’s no need. There is a path around the farm that’s close to three miles, and we have a gym in the farm house with anything you could need.”

“I need to be outside.” She looked in his eyes, trying to be open and honest with him. “And I need a little time alone. Really, this is perfect. I’ll run while you watch the video.”

He sighed but didn’t argue. “Okay.” Taking her hand, he led her out of Jeb and Carolina’s wing and into his own. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs to his apartment. “I’ll be here when you need me.” Slowly, he lowered his head, breaching the distance between them inch by inch.

She rose to her toes, and then their lips were together. Softly. Gently. It wasn’t lust filled and passionate but was infinitely intimate. Her hand went to his neck, fingers playing in his short hair.

Her phone rang, the one in his hand. “Take the call. Whenever you’re finished, I’ll download the video.” He kissed her cheek, setting it in her hand.

She pressed answer before the phone number registered.

703 area code.

Peach looked beyond the ceiling. “You hate me. You truly hate me, don’t you?”

Chapter Eleven

Wednesday, April 12 four p.m.

Peach wasn’t a coward. She could handle this. He got all he was going to get from her. If he kept pressing, he was going to find out why hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. “Morales,” she said. Her voice was all hard edges professional.

“Em. Thank God. When you didn’t call back, I worried something happened.”

“Anderson.”

“Baby, we need to talk.” His voice was seduction. That was Anderson. He’d perfected the “you catch more flies with honey than vinegar” tactic.

“Five hundred an hour. I’m starting the meter now. Talk.”

He let out a exasperated sigh. “Don’t be like that, baby. Em, honey, you know how I feel about you.”

She hated this—the repeated rehashing of history. “What do you want, Anderson?” Her voice broke. She hated that even more.

“I don’t want to do this over the phone. Come to my apartment where we can talk in private. I want to see you.”

“I’m in Tennessee, Anderson. There is no coming to your apartment. There is nothing talk to about.”

“Now, Em.” His voice fell in that way he had of telling her she was being unreasonable. “That’s just not true, and you know it. We have unfinished business.”

“As far as I’m concerned, we finished everything there was to finish on New Year’s Eve. Good bye, Anderson.”

“This isn’t the end—”

There was some satisfaction in hanging up. Still, it paled compared to the way her hands shook. And the crying. What was with that? Emotion overload. That had to be it. Once they had her uncle back, she’d be back to her normal, sane self.

She knocked once and went into Tom’s office. Office was the wrong word. On the other side of the closed door was a modern-day take on Frankenstein’s laboratory. Big equipment filled the room that was as large as the entire upstairs. The mad doctor sat in the center, where tables fashioned into a large square made up the actual office.

Tom was on the phone. Perfect, as she didn’t want conversation. She hurried to the nearest table, set her phone on it, and left, pretending not to see him gesturing for her to wait.

With no time to lose, she ran to the princess room and changed. She wanted to be out of the house before Tom finished his call, just in case he came looking.

She didn’t take her watch. She would run until she ran it out.

She didn’t take her music. She wouldn’t hear anything over the noise in her head.

The temperature was thirty—count them—thirty degrees warmer than when they left Greater Cleveland. It felt good to wear so little. She slid on sunglasses and jogged to the two dirt ruts separated by a raised line of stubborn grass.

The first few minutes were easy, just to warm up. Then things got hard. She didn’t want comfort; she wanted pain. She wanted to drive her body until her feet were as numb as her soul. Until her legs ached as much as her heart. He had lied to her.

Anderson Bingham on New Year’s Eve, with his styled hair and designer suit, stood beside her with the gin and tonic in his hand, laughing as his mother called her a mix-blooded child with more taste than talent. When she begged her son to get through this “little phase” and find a proper wife, he’d pet her hand, soothing her.

The image of herself that evening was branded in her mind. The fitted sequined dress she spent too much on and her hair so full of product it hung straight, nearly reaching her bottom. A ruby necklace rested on her décolletage, a loan from her widowed neighbor. It had been an anniversary present from her husband, and she’d been proud to have Peach wear it to such a sophisticated party. Despite everything she did, or maybe because of, she would never fit in there. No matter what Anderson whispered in the dark of night, he would never openly claim her to be his.

Embarrassment and humiliation fueled her legs. She, who laughed at the drama in which other women seemed to perpetually lived, had thrown her glass of red wine on Mommy Dearest and walked out.

Anderson hadn’t followed.

That was what hurt.

She rounded the corner at the front of the house, running along the endless line of black fence. A massive black dog with a lolling tongue leaped off the porch and sprinted across the lawn. He turned and ran with her a stride or two and then pulled away. She pushed harder, using the dog for pacing. Lengthening her stride, she tried to outrun the dog, tried to outrun the pain.

She followed the dog onto a narrower footpath. Tall scrub brush reached into the thin path, talon-like thorns ripping at the dog and woman alike. She let out an anguished cry. The more she demanded, the more her body gave. Her lungs weren’t burning. Her legs weren’t screaming.

This wasn’t working.

Ahead, a tree with a long, low branch reached over the path. She leaped for it. A bolt of electricity raced down her arm when her bandaged palm slapped the rough bark. Throwing herself into a quick set of pull ups, the bough bent under her weight. She hung for a moment and caught her breath, then switched grips. She changed to a gymnastic move, one that required her to change between a hanging position and one where she was above the bough on braced arms. Her arms shook. Her abs ached, but the noise in her head thundered on. Stupid. Naïve. Humiliated. Her throat burned with bile. It sickened her to no end that she really thought he loved her. That the differences between them were to be cherished.

On the twelfth rep, her grip slipped.

Peach fell to the ground, landing flat on her back.

…

The screen on the desk asked if he wanted to play the video again. Tom didn’t see it. His gaze was out the window, where flowers danced in the sunshine. He needed to be reminded that there was warmth in the world, because at the moment, he was chilled to the bone. The recording on Peach’s phone was twenty-three minutes and eighteen seconds long.

It was everything he hoped for and nothing he imagined.

She had captured it all. The crane swept gracefully across the sky as the hoist raised and lowered the load. The abrasive brush of the wind provided the background music. And then there was her voice.

“Hello, my crazy uncle. Are you enjoying the weather today?” There was a chattering that could only be her teeth, but her voice was light, happy. He hadn’t heard that quality in the time he’d known her.

“It is a beautiful day for flying. I have the best job in the world. I can reach out and touch heaven.” Rico Morales, alive and enjoying his work. His voice had the same qualities as hers. Tom couldn’t see him. Peach had been too far away, and the zoom only did so much. She had framed it just right, intending to impress Poppy with the skills of their expert operator.

Rico provided information Tom needed. “That artistic pile of steel weighs half of my baby’s capacity. Add in the wind and you have a lift that eight out of ten operators wouldn’t make.” There was no worry. No contemplation of putting off the lift. He was confident in his skills, his equipment, and the men around him.

Then came the moment Tom waited for. He focused intently on the screen, on the part of the crane tower he’d isolated. It was visible from her elevated angle. There was nothing unusual…and then she screamed. She shouted her uncle’s name over and over as if that alone could stop the fall. It would have been heart wrenching coming from a stranger. The sound that came from his lover broke him. He closed his eyes against the hurt; the audio played on. Raw human pain, in its most elemental form, reverberated off the concrete and steel in the room. His hand rubbed his chest, over his heart, as he listened to a part of her dying.

A door slammed, and he opened his eyes. The image displayed the ceiling of the truck. It jumped as she raced down to the site, the landscape visible through a narrow band of the windshield. She carried the phone as she raced across the frantic job site. The screen was hard to watch, images of the ground and debris jumping as she ran. She stopped, and the picture focused on the lake. The phone was very close to her mouth, capturing the prayers that had yet to be answered.

The screen on the desk sat there, waiting for his answer. Did he want to play the video again?

No. God, no, he didn’t want to play it again. But he had to. He turned off the sound, pressed play, and then manipulated the slide bar to seconds before the tower began to rock. Without the sound, he could be distant, clinical. Without emotion, his mind could work. He made the images as large as possible and leaned forward, the table pressing into his gut. The tower listed over land, in the direction Tom had expected. He couldn’t see the wind, but he could see how the frame dangling from the hoist acted. Following the laws of aerodynamics, it lifted. The crane turned, the mast shifting over the building frame. Rico had tried to compensate, countering the wind. For a moment, it appeared to work. For three seconds, the tower stood vertical. Then suddenly, it folded.

He rewound it, looking at the point of failure. The image wasn’t clear enough. He needed to make it bigger, zoom it, like they did on those TV shows where a catastrophe was solved in sixty minutes, less time for commercials.

He fell back in his chair, gaze still on the screen. Maybe Jeb had someone who could do that. The information was worth a few dollars of Fabrini’s money.

Beyond the monitor, Butch shot out of the farmhouse door. Jeb and his new brother-in-law Nate ran behind at full speed. With where he sat, they looked like they were running straight at him. Butch’s face was a mask of worried fury.

“Katie.” Tom leaped to his feet, sending his chair crashing into the table behind him. He hustled out the door. “What happened? It’s the baby, right? Is she okay?”

“She won’t be after I get my hands on her.” Butch hit the garage door with his shoulder. Tom chased Jeb and Nate inside.

He jumped in the truck a millisecond before the garage doorframe would have taken off the door. “Where are we going?”

“Firing range.”

…

It was a sweet set up. The small block building had actually been the door to an underground armory. It was Jeb’s, and it was totally stocked. Tall mounds of earth behind it made a firing range with targets just waiting for a customer. A permanent table built into the back of the block building had guns, ammunition, and eye and ear protection. Peach, once again, had to admire what Carolina had. The woman in question held the gun with the easy confidence of someone who had shot one a thousand times.

The woman next to her? Not so much. Katie McCormick squeezed the trigger, and the shot appeared on the fringe of Carolina’s target. “You messed with this, didn’t you?”

Peach bit her lip, trying not to laugh. Tom’s cousin was a spitfire, mouth and body in constant motion, and very pregnant. Katie explained that Carolina—cue eye roll—said gun fire could hurt the baby’s ears, hence they all used silencers. And that the lead in the casings—cue second eye roll—was also a threat, so she wore leather gloves. The oversize earmuffs across her belly were bonus protection. Peach half wondered how they stayed in place.

“You did something,” Katie said, glaring at her sister-in-law. “Trade me guns.”

Carolina gave a dirty look to the woman who barely came to her shoulder and took the gun. She aimed the weapon, pulled the trigger, and put a slug in the bull’s eye. “Nothing wrong with the gun. I wish I could say the same for the shooter.”

Peach aimed and fired, five rounds in rapid succession, with very satisfactory results. Shooting hadn’t come naturally to her. Like Katie, she preferred to move. To succeed on the firing range, she had to control her breath and her body. The discipline was necessary in military life and had come in useful as a civilian.

“You’re dancing around too much,” Peach said. “Calm down, breathe, and focus.”

“I am calm and focused, and you try breathing with seven pounds kicking your lungs.” Katie snatched the gun back from Carolina, hastily took a stance, and fired, missing the target all together.

“Really focus. Think of someone you hate. Someone you’d love to personally escort to the gates of hell. Put his face right in the center and then…pop.” One shot. One hit. “Your turn.”

Katie laughed and then fell silent under Peach’s gaze. She lifted the gun, focused, squeezed the trigger, and winged the outside edge of the target. “That would serve the bastard right for getting my car dirty.”

Not even close. Peach studied her face. She had quick, intelligent features and a perpetual smile. “Don’t you hate anybody?”

“Well, I hate lots of people in general but nobody in particular. It’s hard to hate somebody. You have to spend time and energy on them I’d rather spend in other places.”

Katie was wrong. Hating someone was easy. She took the gun from Katie, aimed, fired. And fired. And fired until the bull’s eye exploded in a cloud of dust.

“Oh my goodness,” Carolina said.

Katie snickered. “What was his name?”

“Anderson Bingham.”

“Katie McCormick!”

“Busted.” Katie shoved the gun at Peach then stripped the gloves and thrust them in her arms too. “Quick. Hide ’em.”

Peach reacted before she thought about it, putting it all behind her back. She stayed away, keeping the action in front of her. A silver pickup truck lumbered up the path, bouncing with every rut and rock. The man who hung out the window had his eyebrows pressed down so low he could have worn them as a moustache. The truck skidded to a stop, and the man leaped out, hurrying to loom over Katie.

“We agreed no more shooting until after the baby is born.” He clamped his hand around Katie’s wrist when she lifted her hand to his hair. Peach might have thought he was angry, except for the quiver in his voice that he didn’t quite hide. He was scared.

Katie’s voice was calm, openly honest, and lying through her teeth. “I wasn’t shooting a gun.” They both looked down at the ear muffs on her belly. “I was watching. Besides, I never agreed to that—”

“You said ‘whatever’—”

“Exactly. Third. I don’t have a gun.” She held up her hands as proof.

“You mean to tell me if Jeb tests this gun for prints, he’s not going to find yours?”

“He will not. I one-hundred percent guarantee it.”

Peach tucked the gloves into the waist band of the shorts. She fired two shots to make sure it was her prints on the gun. Of course, that got everyone’s attention. “Sorry. I, uh, didn’t mean to interrupt.” Engaging the safety, she returned the gun to the table.

“Peach,” Katie said. “This is my husband, Butch. Butch, Peach. So how did the call go with the banker? Everything still good?”

Peach doubted it would work. Butch wore a mask of anxiety. His gray eyes were focused like laser beams, his mouth drawn tight as a drum, but Katie rose to her toes, kissed his chin, and he melted. Iceman to puddle of water in one-point-seven seconds.

Jeb had his brother’s back, positioning himself to help Butch or hold him back, whichever the situation dictated. He looked younger here, relaxed. With the situation de-escalated, he went to Carolina and helped return the guns to their cases.

Tom leaned against the truck, his arms crossed over his chest, with a smirk that said he was enjoying the show. He was a man worth a second look, broad shouldered and tall with that wavy hair that was just a little bit of a bad boy. Didn’t that suit the man she knew between the sheets?

The last man was a stranger. His cheeks and jaw were prominent in the lean face, one that was handsome enough to star in the next action-adventure blockbuster. His gaze flickered between the players like he was trying to figure out the rules to a game, too. He looked to her, and Peach shrugged. That earned her a charming, crooked smile. “I’m Nate, Carolina’s brother. She told me all about you.”

“Shame on her. She didn’t tell me a thing about you.”

Tom abruptly stepped in front of Nate, completely blocking him out. “I need you back at the house.” His arm wrapped around her waist, then looked behind her. “Why do you have driving gloves in your shorts?”

Tom drove with Peach riding shotgun and Butch and Katie in the back. It wouldn’t have been right to leave Jeb and Carolina to clean up except the newlyweds began shooting. He thought he heard talk of a strip-target shooting game. In the backseat, Katie worked to pacify Butch. There was a lot of “I knows” and several “I didn’t,” “I won’t,” and “I can’t.” Nate was squeezed in next to them, trying to be invisible. Tom couldn’t wait until the baby came and things got back to normal.

Peach sat in the passenger seat, rubbing her hands down her thighs. Her gaze kept flashing to him, her lips thin and tight. She glanced in the back and then leaned toward him. “What did you find? Did the video help you?”

Guilt struck as he realized he’d misled her. His words, misinterpreted, had turned her into a ball of nerves. “Your video is going to be a great help, but that’s not why I needed you. Relax.” He rubbed her hunched shoulder, noticing the scratches. “What happened to you? You’re covered in cuts.”

She sighed heavily, the tension in her easing. “Never let a dog pick your running route.” She rested her arm on the door, her fingers tapping out a rhythm. “I need a shower.”

The uneven ground made the going slow as he tried to keep it as smooth as he could for the passengers. In the quiet space, he saw Peach firing at the target. She wore a red sports bra and black and red shorts. The band sat well below her belly button and covered as little leg as possible. The rest of her was bare skin, perfect even with the scratches. In the firing stance, her belly was flat, tight, hard enough to bounce a quarter off. Her face was at ease, but her eyes blazed. He’d seen that determined look before, in the restaurant that very first night. He hoped she never used it on him, because he’d be a goner.

It was hard to equate the woman at the firing range with the woman he heard on the video. Where did she put it? How did it not eat the hell out of her? Seeing her uncle…he couldn’t say die. Seeing her uncle fall just four days before, how was she sleeping without nightmares? She wasn’t cold, wasn’t heartless. He felt her pain through the recording. He couldn’t imagine functioning under the weight of the grief and memory.

He pulled the truck into the garage and then helped Katie to the ground. It was easier to focus on his cousin and her happy, if not slightly disruptive, condition than to think about Peach. She overwhelmed him with her strength. Butch followed Katie out of the truck, his arm supporting her. While Katie might push back at times, she now leaned into that support. Quietly relied on it.

He decided to be that for Peach. Walking by her side, he kept the conversation light. “Easier to run here than up north this time of year. Tennessee winters have spoiled me, but I still love Michigan summers.”

“Is that where you’re from? I thought maybe the accent was just educated out of you.”

“Nope. This is original. Except for ‘Clyde’ and the occasional ‘y’all’ that slips out between beers.” He opened the door to his wing and followed her up the stairs. “Do you cross-train?” While they talked about exercise, he led her into his rooms and started the bath.

She stared at the oversize bathtub, a cute frown on her face. “I was going to use the guest shower.”

He lifted her chin and brushed a kiss across those downturned lips. “This is better.” When the bath was ready, he added Epsom Salt and a little oil. A woman he once appreciated was big into homeopathy, and he’d picked up a trick or two.

“What are you pouring in it?”

“Just a little something. Let me look at those cuts. Why did you follow the dog?” He kept his touch soft, arousing, as he inspected her arms. “Turn around. You have dirt in these.” Moistening a washcloth in the bathwater, he gently cleaned her back.

“I…I slipped. Fell. Dog sat on me.” She was having trouble talking.

“Hmm. I’ve never been jealous of a dog.” He turned her around and dropped to his knees. He removed her shoes, then her socks, and began a slow foot massage. She swayed as he moved passed her knees to her thighs. The skin inside her legs was soft. Leaning in, his tongue drew a line from her knee to the bottom of those shorts. Her scent was wild and strong. His breathing came fast and shallow, his cock hardening beneath the denim of his jeans. Tending to her was going to be harder than he thought.

He drew the shorts down, leaving him a breath’s distance from her black curls. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and she stepped out of them. He didn’t put his mouth between her legs the way he wanted. He didn’t use his tongue to feast on her honey. But he did slip a finger in, toying with her little button, sliding into her tight body.

He wasn’t going to survive caring for her.

He stood, not trusting himself, and took her sports bra with him. Her breasts spilled against his chest. He cupped the soft mounds, teasing her nipples until they were as taut as he was. He stooped, his lips and his tongue worshipping her body. She swayed, and he wrapped her in his arms, indulging for a few more moments before he swept her off her feet.

The bath was full enough. He programmed the controls for the jets and created a jacuzzi, setting her in the center. The surprise on her face receded when he kicked his shoes off and went for the hem of his shirt.

“Go slow,” she said, sinking into the warm water. She winced a little, the salt doing its job on those abrasions. Lower and lower she went until the water danced around her shoulders. “I’m waiting.”

Total. Turn on. With the number of encounters Tom had, the removal of clothing was sometimes frenzied, sometimes foreplay. At times it had been clumsy, and once it had been perplexing. Never had it been scintillating. Just the way she looked at him made him nearly cum.

He turned his back to her, slowly raising his shirt. Tightening his abs, puffing out his chest, he rolled his hips. With each circle, he lifted the shirt higher.

He couldn’t see her and hoped to hell he looked as sexy as he felt. He wasn’t breathing, just for her.

“Turn around.” Her voice was deep, full of need.

He didn’t comply immediately but drew it out. Over his shoulder, he saw her face. Her lids were heavy as she licked her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, and he suspected it was from more than the bath.

He bent one knee to remove his sock. There was no sexy way to remove a sock, so he just did it fast. He raised his arms, showing off the results of time invested in the gym. His stomach carried a six-pack over his long frame; he tightened it, posed as if for a magazine. Then came his pants. The button at the top went in one move. His gaze was on her as the zipper went down…down…down. Her breathing was faster now, her eyes dazed. One hand gripped the edge of the tub and the other…

His mouth went dry. “Where…where is your hand?”

A slow, sultry smile curled her mouth. “Some things…a man should find out for himself.”

His jeans hit the bathroom door, his underwear landed in the toilet, and he was in the water. It lapped over the edge, slapping at the tiled rim. He was painfully hard, and the water sent a jolt through him. His hands found her leg beneath the tumultuous surface and traced it down. He found her hand cupping those treasured curls, her finger working her most sensitive spot.

“Let me give you a hand.” He wrapped his over hers, his fingers trapping her.

She dropped her head back, eyes closing. “You think you can do this better than me? It’s my equipment.”

“What you take for granted, I fantasize about three times a day.” He changed the angle, varied his speed, worked all of her. He had never seen anything as sexy as the look in her eyes. The hunger that was just for him. He was tempted to dive, just to taste her, to see if he could.

“Oh God.” She panted now. Her chest rose, bringing those gorgeous breasts to the water’s edge. Her nipples peeked at him, begging for attention.

He kept her hand beneath his and added his thumb. His mouth captured her breast and suckled. She liked him hard and demanding. He’d learned that. She wasn’t a woman to tip-toe through life, careful and gentle. She liked sex like she lived—vivaciously. With each swipe of his tongue on the hard peak of her nipple, she inhaled. With each breath, she arched more. As close to the edge as she was, she vibrated with need. He switched breasts and pressed two fingers deep within her body.

She came off the seat, her body curling around his as wave and wave washed through her. He felt each one as they tried to strangle his fingers, but he didn’t retreat. He drove her farther and faster, needing to hear it. “Say my name.”

Her response was immediate. “Tom.” She said it on a rapid exhalation; the sound torn from her throat was elemental. Still he didn’t let her go. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. His name was her every breath. She flung herself forward, his name bouncing off the tiled walls before her teeth found his shoulder.

He held her close, in awe of what they created together. His mouth found her shoulder, tasted the salt on her skin. She slid against him, and he tightened his grip, not wanting her to slip beneath the water.

In slow, languid movements, she straddled him. Her fingers brushed his chest, flirted down his stomach. She lifted her head and turned the full power of her gaze on him as she took him inside.

“My turn.” Her hands fisted in his hair, making it clear who was in control.

He was too close to the edge. He wanted this to last forever, being at her mercy, subject to her imagination. There was no doubt she was a creative partner in the bedroom, and he wanted to see all her tricks. He needed to get that book, the Kama Sutra. They had to try every position.

His arms around her hips, he pulled her down, driving deeper. Her rounded ass filled his hands. Her core was hot, wet, and so tight.

“My name. Say it,” she commanded, clamping down and swiveling her hips.

He couldn’t say it. She’d stolen his breath. His muscled locked, his hips bucked, but he couldn’t breathe. Her name was on his lips. When she kissed him, he gave it to her. “My Peach.”

Air flooded his lungs as the orgasm subsided. Panting, his head dropped into the corner of her throat. “You drained me.”

She chuckled, the sound resonating deep in her chest—hot sex on a sultry night. “I think we drained the tub.”

They could have spilled enough water to float an ark. He didn’t care. Performing a feat of strength, he lifted his head. “Sex with you is incredible.”

She kissed him again, this time quick and playful, satisfaction shining in her brilliant eyes. “What did you expect? I am incredible.”

Her quick mind and fast tongue aroused him nearly as much as her body. He brushed his mouth against hers and nibbled, showing his appreciation. “What am I?”

“You’re getting there. With a little bit of time and the right woman to guide you, you just might be worth keeping.”

Chapter Twelve

Wednesday, April 12 seven p.m.

The boy-girl-boy-girl seating put Peach between Poppy and Nate. Not that she didn’t want to sit by Nate, but she sort of assumed Tom would be next to her. She was, just a little, disappointed. He wasn’t even in the room, which had her both disappointed and concerned. If he went to his lab to work on the crane, she wanted to be with him. She was about to excuse herself when her grandfather laid his hand on her forearm.

“Nice,” he said, without specifying what he thought earned the praise. It could have been Emily McCormick and the way she fussed over him, getting him more to drink, helping serve. He didn’t need the help, but Emily didn’t know or, most likely, didn’t care. Or Carolina. He spoke in Spanish with Carolina frequently blushing, which Jeb noticed and responded to by glaring fruitlessly at the blind man. Poppy sat at the table a happy man. He just smiled, the worn lines in his tanned face. “Very nice.”

Tom walked into the room on long strides, and her body relaxed when she hadn’t realized she was tense. He stopped suddenly and glared at Nate. “Clyde, you’re in my seat. Listen up, I got real news. Jack Hawthorne’s assistant was killed this morning. It was a hit and run. Jeb? Can you get details? Fabrini’s son Michael took the call from the husband and didn’t pass any to his father.” Wedging his chair between her and Nate, Tom loaded his plate.

She smiled at him, relishing the audacity that had everyone scooting their places around the table.

“Do you have her name and where it happened?” Jeb asked.

He nodded. “I did get that much. Next bit of news is the Fabrini’s casino project is shut down indefinitely. Authorities are continuing to investigate. The money men are meeting to figure out their next steps. Costs are going to increase, and there’s a very vocal minority who never wanted the casino built in the first place.”

Peach turned to Carolina. “We should take a look at the opposition. They would have a lot to gain by stopping the project, which the collapse may do.”

Carolina nodded sharply. “I’ll start with the newspapers and see who was fussing the loudest.”

“They had to know what they were doing,” Tom said. “I know how it was done. The model simulations show that with the flaw, the coupling would have snapped under the torque of the crane.”

Butch leaned into Katie. “It’s funny how he thinks that’s in English.”

Peach snorted, her thoughts not far from Butch’s. It was a major point for Tom that he figured it out. For her, it wasn’t about how it happened. It was that it happened at all, and her uncle was caught up in it. “Politicians have been known to use other bastards for the dirty work.”

Carolina choked. “Oh, we know. Trust me, we know all about that.”

“We need to consider the opposing camp, but my gut is hung up on Carter’s Rolex.” Peach turned to Tom. “Too much coincidence. I don’t like it. I don’t like Hawthorne’s computer missing. And now there is the secretary.” She considered the options. What she needed was information, and that was six hours north, nestled along Lake Erie. “Can I borrow a car? I’m going back.”

The table erupted with too much noise to tell who supported and who opposed what she was going to do. She sat stunned at the mini-revolt. Who were any of these people to have a care or a say in how she did her job? She began to argue because, what the hell, everyone else was arguing. With a raised hand, Jeb’s father quieted the table and gave her the floor.

“I appreciate what you all are saying.” Not really, but it was always a good idea to start with something that got people on her side. “You don’t know me all that well. This is what I do. I investigate. I’m licensed in Virginia and have worked on hundreds of cases over the years. I’m going to look again for Hawthorne’s computer. It has to be at the trailer. Otherwise, why lock the door? I’ll talk to his wife, Carter’s girlfriend, and I want to get back into Fabrini’s system. The answer is there just waiting for us to find it.”

“Rico,” Poppy said definitively. “I want my son to come home.”

She bowed her head, knowing she’d failed the man who had never failed her. “I know Poppy. I’ll find him.” She needed to check in with the Coast Guard again. It was a call she dreaded making. If they had found him, they would have called. She lived in fear of them calling off the search. It had been five days with no sign of him, Hawthorne, or Carter.

Everyone sank back into their chairs except Tom and Jeb. Neither of them liked her plan; it was written on their clenched jaws. The way she read Jeb, he just didn’t think she could do the job. Had she not saved Tom’s butt three times, counting Poppy’s shotgun?

She let a smile creep onto her lips. “I know what I’m doing.”

Carolina cleared her throat and pulled on Jeb’s sleeve until he sat.

That left Tom standing alone. His gaze flashed across the faces at the table before settling on hers. “It’s dangerous,” he said, retaking his seat.

“I understand that. I’ll be prepared. Trust me when I say this isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Speaking of rodeos,” Butch said, “I’m in negotiations to perform at the County Fair. I don’t know how much of a draw it will be. Folks can see me play anytime, or they will, once we sign those papers.”

“So it’s a done deal? Steel Strings is now part of the Elderberry Farm holdings?” Jeb cut into his meat again. “I always liked that place. Remember that first time we took Tom and Katie there? Whew. Sparks flew.”

Butch winked at Peach, clueing her in that he was doing what he could. She knew Butch the least. He didn’t talk much, smiled a lot, usually had an instrument in his hand. She figured there was more to him than she saw if he could keep up with a woman like Katie. Yeah, there was. Butch was quiet, strong, and…on her side.

Dinner continued on. The family teased and argued and told stories. Family extended to Nate and Poppy and her. It was like a Hallmark movie except without the excessive table decorations. This table was covered in nearly clean platters of food prepared by Tom’s talented hands. She tried to help him cook, but he was out of her league. Instead, she seduced him, stoking his body when his hands were filled and his mind focused. She talked the entire time, commenting on his technique, offering to handle his meat. Most of what she said was bad, B-movie bad, but it was such fun, revving him up, hearing his breath come in short pants, feeling heat radiating through his shirt. He placed the meat—a pork tenderloin—in the cooking pan, and she had her way with his hardened cock.

She loved the look she put on his face, his dark eyes heavy with desire, his cheeks flushed. The dish went into the oven, hitting the back with a crash of glass on metal. He glanced in, then shut the door. As he washed his hands, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “I love a man who is good with his hands.”

He had spun in her arm and thrown her over his shoulder. “I love a woman who is good with her mouth.” He carried her into the laundry room and locked the door.

She fell to her knees, taking control of the fly on his constricting jeans when he turned. He groaned with relief as she pushed the denim and underlying cotton to the floor. He was hot and hard and desperate for her. She wasn’t going to let him off easy. She flicked his broad head, stroked him with her tongue. She used every trick she knew on him, and when she ran out of those, she made up a few of her own. Her hands wrapped around his tree trunk thighs, feeling powerful as he trembled under her touch.

“Oh God.” His control was a very thin wire. “Get your pants off.”

She didn’t obey, liking having him on the very edge of control, wanting to see how much further she could push him. She took him deep, suckled, and found herself flat on her back. Her jeans were at her ankles, his fingers finding out exactly how much she’d been enjoying herself, then he was in her. The coupling was fast and furious, an elemental hunger demanding to be fed. He shoved her shirt and bra up, and she wrapped her arms around his head, holding him at her breast as he feasted.

“Faster,” she begged. “Deeper. I can’t…I can’t…”

“Not without me.” He thrust hard, his hips driving them both to the edge. She went over first, taking him with her.

They had lain together in a knot of limbs and clothing, their breath ragged. His head lay on her shoulder. She turned enough to kiss his temple. “How often do you do the cooking?”

“Once a week. Sometimes more.” He lifted his head. “Why?”

“I got ideas. I’ll need an apron and knee-high boots.” She fanned herself; just the memory of what they did together got her juices flowing. Tom must have sensed what she was thinking. He brought her hand to his mouth and nibbled her knuckles.

The clash of plates pulled her from the memory. Her face was heated, her panties damp. She tried to look casual as Katie and Butch cleared the table as the group drifted to their own corners of the sprawling home. New ideas blossomed as she looked at Tom, but he was on the phone. His father. He waved a hand at her and ran after Katie to discuss something that sounded like a problem. Unexpectedly on her own, Peach hustled through the courtyard to the room she knew Jeb used as an office. She knocked twice.

“Carolina! I told you, you don’t have to knock!”

Peach stuck her head in the door. “It’s just me. Do you have a minute?”

Jeb came to his feet and gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “Come on in. Sorry about that. Nobody in this house knocks, except for Carolina. What can I do for you?”

She sat down and began negotiations, professional to professional. “I want to rent one of your cars. I have a lot of my own equipment, but I’ll take a few of your GPS bugs and any other cool gadgets you have.”

Jeb took a pad of paper and a pen from his desk. “Tell me what you are planning.”

“Tom is on to something with how the crane fell, but the why is out of his area of expertise. I need to know the why. The answer is there. I’m close. I’ll look once more for Hawthorne’s computer. If I can’t find it, I can remote into F&F’s server and search from there. I’ll need Carolina’s help then for all those files.”

“How long do you expect to be there?”

“You know how investigations are—boom or bust. I’m not looking to charge into hell with a bucket of water. My plan is to collect what I can and bring it back here to analyze. I’ll check in with the Coast Guard, maybe look in on Poppy’s house.”

“Stay away from the house.” He tossed the pen down without writing a thing. “Take the plane. It will get you there in two hours. I can have a car waiting for you at the airport.”

She nodded slowly, trying not to look as surprised as she felt. “How much?” He named a fair price but one that was outside her current budget. “I’m a little short on cash these days. How do you feel about bartering? Thirty hours of labor—mine—in trade.”

“I’m not hiring right now. Tell you what, I’ll put it on Tom’s tab—”

“He’s not asking you, I am.”

“True but this is for his case. You getting the information will help Tom seal his first investigation.”

Part of her wanted to argue. This wasn’t a “case.” This was her uncle’s life and her grandfather’s. The rational part of her listened, though. If she acquired the information she wanted, it would go a long way to validating his theories and his work. Besides, she suspected Jeb didn’t really run a tab for his family. He didn’t roll that way. He was offering her a break, and she was taking it. “Okay.” She extended her hand.

“One catch.”

She snatched it back. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“I’m going with you.” He didn’t blink when he made the decree.

“Nope. No deal.”

“Standard protocol here, Peach. Whatever mess you two stumbled into is vicious. You need someone at your back.”

“Not you. I will not be the reason Carolina is a widow. I can see the love in her eyes even if you don’t. You need to stay here, healthy and safe.”

Jeb snorted. “You think I’m going to be caught by this group of amateurs?”

“They’ve got to you twice.” She shuddered to think what would have happened at the train tracks if she hadn’t followed. But then, that was what brought the thugs to her front door. “You have employees, right? Give me one of them. One of the strong, silent types if you don’t mind.”

He looked at her, considering, and eventually nodded. “Let me get on this. The plane is at the local airport. I’ll drive you. We are out the door at six.”

“I won’t need a car. Just the plane.” Rubbing her hands together, it finally felt like things might be going her way. The plane and the extra hands would make her day easier. She had work to do. “Thanks, Jeb. FYI, this is my debt. I may not be able to pay you now, but I’m good for it.”

“What are you going to do about Tom? He’s going to want to go, you know.”

She knew he would, but his value was in his laboratory, putting his big brain to use. “I’ll handle him.”

…

“What do you mean I’m not going?” Tom paced in his laboratory, tails of his white coat trailing as he flapped his arms like a big…hot…chicken.

She smothered her smile, especially in light of his extreme disapproval of her announcement. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want you there.” Again, a lie to make him feel better. Of course she didn’t want him there. He was using up lives faster than an alley cat. “It’s that Jeb’s guy has the skills and resources I need to work fast and silent. I’m not looking for a re-mix of the incident at Poppy’s house. I want to get in, get what we need, and get back here. Simple. Quiet. Easy. Your time is better spent here.” She gestured to the room around them. “What I find won’t mean squat if you can’t prove malicious intent.”

He stopped abruptly, burying fists in the pockets of his lab coat. “You don’t play fair.”

“These guys we’re chasing? They don’t play fair. The biggest thing I’ve got on my side is that I don’t either. They expect the good guys to play within the law. A cop can’t do what I’m going to do. I don’t stop, and I don’t go soft. Ever.” She breathed deeply, refusing to pull at her hair. “I’m not going to apologize for hurting your feelings. This isn’t personal.”

His eyes were distant, his body stiff. He didn’t buy what she was selling. “You have no idea what’s personal. Hard to keep friends that way.”

The arrow pierced her heart. She blinked through the pain. He could hate her if he wanted, from the safety of his man cave. She could live with his anger; she couldn’t live with his death. “I guess that says it all.” She spun on her heel and hightailed it to the door.

His footsteps ran after her, stopping her at the door. “What I meant was—”

“Tom, I’m done. I’m not mad. I’m used to being on the outside. It’s been a long day, and I’m going to have a longer one tomorrow. I need to get some sleep.” She left the room without looking back.

Thursday, April 13 five-thirty a.m.

Peach stood at attention in her dress uniform, her unruly hair tamed by a French braid that ended with a coil at her neck. An officer marched down the line, inspecting the soldiers. She kept her eyes straight ahead even as she felt scrutiny go up and down her body. The officer walked past her, down to the end of the line, and then came back to stand directly in front of her. “Morales, as you are. The rest of you, dismissed.”

The nameless, faceless bodies in identical colors faded from her vision. As ordered, she stayed as she was. Sweat beaded and ran down the column of her spine, down the back of her legs. The command came at last. “At ease.”

She changed positions, shifting her gaze to that of her father.

There was no warmth in the green eyes that matched her own. There was only disappointment. Only regret. “I expected more,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she shouted.

“A daughter of mine should be strong—”

“I am strong, sir.”

“—and courageous—”

“I am courageous, sir.”

“and honorable.”

“—I, I—”

“I what, soldier?”

She lifted her chin. “I did what I had to do, sir.”

“Ah. I’ll put that on your grave. Esmeralda Morales. She died alone, doing what she had to do.”

She flinched at her name, at her fate.

“This is not what we wanted for you,” a female voice came from behind her. Her mother walked into view. Her dark skin was still flawless, her milk chocolate eyes wet with tears. Her own hair, curlier than Peach’s, was cut close to her head. “We raised you to be a soldier. What we got was a thief.”

“I was a good soldier,” Peach said, her voice wavering.

“You were generally discharged,” her mother shouted.

“The bastard had no right to touch her like that. It was rape, no matter what the file says.”

“It was none of your business,” her mother shouted again, this time an inch from Peach’s face.

“It was everybody’s business. I was the only one who took care of it. I was the only one who stood—”

The sharp slap came out of nowhere and knocked Peach into morning. She woke on her feet, her heart racing as it burned the endless supply of oxygenated fuel hate provided. The alarm on the table with its pretty lace top began to beep. She pivoted and silenced the damn thing with her fist.

She threw her body into automatic to go through the morning routine while she focused her brain on the details. Hawthorne’s computer. Carter’s money. Her uncle’s body.

She calmed as she packed her travel bag, the image of her uncle talking to her, laughing, that moment before… She would walk away if she could find her uncle. Tom had enough already to ensure her uncle wasn’t the scapegoat. That and bringing him home was all she cared about. Everything else was a means to that end.

She checked her bags one last time. The messenger bag had her computer, phone, and the gadgets she would need for Hawthorne’s computer. Her travel bag had the accessories she would need to meet the grieving widows. She had left so much behind in Poppy’s house, but there wasn’t time for a side trip. She would have to make do with what she had.

The sun hadn’t yet risen when she stepped out of the room, careful to close the door silently. She looked at Tom’s closed bedroom door. It was a metaphor for the night before. She had moved without realizing it; her hand on the door, she searched for words.

“Don’t…don’t hate me.”

Tears burned her eyes, and she ran from them. Pausing at Poppy’s door, she brushed her fingertips across it and blew a kiss. She wouldn’t come back empty handed. She wouldn’t.

In the garage, Jeb waited with the motor running. He had packed the SUV with everything he promised and a Go-Cup of coffee. This was good. Maybe it was a sign of things to come.

He pulled the SUV within throwing distance of the plane. “Don’t be a hero. Call if you need help. Got it?”

He was being big about the whole thing, making it easy for her to be too. “Got it. Thanks for everything. I’m going to find him today. I know I am.”

She loaded her bags into the cabin that sat eight and made herself comfortable. It felt like luck was on her side. For once.

The pilot boarded, and the door was closed. The engine started, and the co-pilot removed his headset. He staggered into the passenger area as the plane began to taxi.

Luck had stabbed her in the back. “You dirty dog.”

Chapter Thirteen

Thursday, April 13 six-thirty a.m.

Tom sat on the cushioned leather seat, enjoying the beauty sitting across from him. Her arms were folded over her chest and her foot tapped impatiently, but he knew what she wouldn’t say. She was happy to see him. It had shown in her face, that first instant she saw him, before she got pissed.

“Is this the way you operate?” she snapped. “You don’t discuss, you just do?”

“I don’t argue, and that’s what would have happened if I tried to discuss it. There was no point either way because I was going. Period.”

Her foot bounced faster. She rolled her lower lip between her teeth. Bounce. Bite. Bounce. Bite. She started to speak twice then changed her mind. They were thousands of feet in the air, probably over Kentucky by now. He was confident; her options were limited.

Suddenly, her feet planted on the floor, and she leaned into the space between them, elbows on her knees. “It’s not like I don’t want you here.”

He mimicked her pose. “Then what’s it like?”

“You’re an engineer. Sure, you have an amazing body, but it’s built for a gym. Being out in the field…it isn’t predictable. You have to have an edge, a sharp one, and, you know, be willing to push boundaries.”

He did not like where this was going. She thought him staid, conservative. A man who didn’t rattle chains or stir pots. “And you are?”

“Sometimes, yeah. If the situation warrants. Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I’m saying it’s bad to be a good man.”

“That’s exactly what you’re saying.” He said each word distinctly, not hiding his insult.

She backpedaled, her hands up, palm out. “I’m not. I’m saying someone has tried to kill you four times. They know you’re with me and I lose my advantage. Plus, what if I’m not fast enough next time? No offense but even a cat only has nine lives.”

Anger burned deep in his gut. Each affront added a log to the fire. She considered him a liability. Worse, incompetent. “You should stop talking now.”

“Tom, look—”

“It isn’t a long flight, and I have some reports to review, as predictable as that is.” He retrieved his bag from the storage closet and moved to the seat as far away as possible. He couldn’t escape the awareness that she was close, but at least he didn’t have to see her with every glance.

The words on the paper swirled as through the lens of a kaleidoscope. The letters and numbers blurred until they resembled a bar code. Images faded out of focus; a child’s watercolor painting was clearer. He was angry and insulted. He couldn’t see past either.

Being the intelligent and reasonable man that he was, he didn’t expect her to jump into his arms, welcoming. She treated finding her uncle as a mission. He had had a glimpse into that mind set living with Jeb. She was confident, self-reliant, and singularly focused. That was what worried him. If the Coast Guard hadn’t found Rico yet, would she really be able to accomplish it with fewer resources? She took risks but didn’t have anyone to watch her back. If she went into the lake, who would pull her out?

She needed him, even if she was too stubborn to see it.

He turned away from pretending to look at the paper. Out the window, clouds stretched like pulled cotton to the horizon. The simple beauty gave him peace for a moment before his thoughts invaded again.

The question he couldn’t answer was…why did it matter so damn much what Peach Morales thought of him? He had perfected the art of infuriating people by not caring what they thought. There was a time when he cared. As a kid, he worked his butt off to have his father and uncle praise his work. In high school, he wanted each and every teacher to be proud of him, to name him top in the class. With success came privileges. Selection for special opportunities, forgiveness when he did falter.

It all changed one semester with a hardnosed engineering profession. His tests were ridiculous. Average scores were in the thirties. Morale in the class was subterranean. Still, Tom tried, going to the professor’s office hours, asking prepared and intelligent questions. He ended up with lectures on time management and priorities and considering all sides of a problem. It came to a head during finals. There were four questions, any one of which would take the entire allotted time to complete. Tom swore. Out loud. When the professor asked if he had something to say, he did. He faced the professor as a man in his full power and laid it out. After the diatribe, the unmoved professor simply said if he was going to take the test, sit. If not, leave.

That’s when Tom understood the control that came with self-confidence. He sat and took the test, using assumptions and every other trick he knew to finish it in three-quarters the time. He picked up the test two days later. He got an A and a note. “Being a good engineer isn’t about knowing the answers. It’s about knowing how to find the answers. Nothing is impossible if you can see past human constraints.”

That note haunted him all summer. He had defined himself as the guy who knew the answers. Now he wanted to be the guy that saw past human constraints. What did that mean? At nineteen, it was little more than big words. But he grew into it, doing the work because he loved it. Playing with concepts and models and numbers because it was fun. He didn’t care what people thought. It was the first step in the evolution of Dr. Thomas Riley.

So, back to the point, why did he care what Peach thought?

Because…because…the answer was out there, just beyond his grasp.

Thursday, April 13 eight-thirty a.m.

The plane landed at Burke Lakefront Airport. Upon disembarking, Peach had a one hundred and eighty-degree view of the lake. The water was smoother today, the waves bouncing along contentedly. The water brought her uncle to her mind. She could see the thin lines of the failed structure to the west with the horizon far beyond it. How far was she seeing? Five miles? Ten? She swallowed hard at the thought she was looking over Rico’s watery grave.

She turned as Tom came down the stairs, strength and confidence in each step. And anger. The last hour they had spent in mind-shattering silence hadn’t changed that. They both wore black, but where Peach was slick, Tom was menacing. Maybe she’d underestimated him. The black hat he wore low on his head put his eyes in the shadows, making that hard set of his jaw the first thing people saw. As he walked by, Peach laid a hand on his bare forearm. “I’m in charge. What I say goes.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear. Where to first?”

“To the job site. I want to search Hawthorne’s office and retrieve my car.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘your car?’ Didn’t Jeb arrange a rental?”

“I told him I didn’t need it. Rico took my car to work on Friday. I had my grandfather’s truck. When I left to follow Fabrini, I took the truck because I didn’t have my keys. We’re going to need to be creative. My spare is at Poppy’s house.”

The cab delivered them close to the front gate. The place was something out of an old west ghost town. Equipment stayed where it had stood. The edges of plastic pinned to the earth flapped in the constant breeze. Wood, steel, and random scraps laid about forgotten and unwanted. It looked as if the entire crew just walked off the site in the middle of a day and didn’t come back.

Oh, wait. That was what happened.

The lone inhabitant was parked in an F&F truck, manning the gate. He was kicked back with his feet on the dashboard, his jaw hanging open.

Tom had the cabbie lean on the horn. Sleeping beauty bounced his head off the steering wheel, then got out of the cab, leaving the door open. “Stay here, look sad, and be ready to play along.”

“No—” Too late, he was out of the cab. She slid across the bench seat to the open door, uneasy, knowing whatever he was planning was to retaliate for what she said. She should have kept her mouth shut. She knew how fragile men’s egos were. It would have been smarter to smile and nod, and then keep him in the background where no one could hurt him. Instead, he was walking to the gate like he owned the place.

The man in the truck met him at the fence. “Can I help you?”

“My wife,” Tom said, nodding his head toward the cab, “is Rico Morales’ niece. It’s her car that he drove to work last Friday. We’re here to pick it up.”

“You have ID on you?”

He beckoned Peach from the cab. “Bring your ID,” he shouted.

She stepped from the shelter of the car like a fawn onto a grassy field. The breeze from the lake swirled her unbound hair around her like a Maypole. She dug in her purse for her wallet and pulled the state ID out. She held the card out to the man at the gate.

Who noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

Her eyes grew large, filled with tears. “Oh my God. Honey. My wedding ring. I don’t have my wedding ring on.”

Tom pulled her under his shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. I saw it on the dresser.” He lifted her chin with his index finger. “Don’t go thinking you can flirt. Ring or no ring, you’re a married woman.” He kissed her.

Just that light touch of lips had her head in a tail spin. He didn’t taste mad. He tasted…like hers.

The man handed Peach back her ID. “Sorry about your uncle. He was a good man. Still no word?”

She gave him a tearful smile, not faked. His sincerity was written in his sad eyes and somber expression. “Thank you. He was a good man, and no, they haven’t found him.”

“We put his things in the office. The police didn’t take them, and seeing as they’ve cleared the scene, I guess you can take them if you want.”

When she nodded, the helpful guard led them into the trailer. The small collection waited patiently on a vacant desk in front of Jack Hawthorne’s open door. The man quickly read the Post-It notes that held names in a messy scrawl. “Here you are, Miss.”

Cold washed over her as she accepted the Coleman cooler. With shaking hands, she removed the lid. Inside was her uncle’s hat, his wallet, and the dip he was addicted to. Tom leaned over and looked. “No keys?”

She shook her head then covered her face. “I…I need a few minutes.”

“Do you have a coat hanger? I need to open the car,” Tom said, leading the guard away from Peach.

She had planned to look shaken, but this…this wasn’t part of the plan. Sniffling, she wiped tears away as quickly as they came. This wasn’t right. Her uncle forgot his cooler at Poppy’s. And why wasn’t his wallet or his dip with him but his keys were?

She shook her head. “Get in the game.” Inside Hawthorne’s office, with the door closed, she heaved and sobbed a few times in case anyone was close. These tears were the result of practice. She climbed onto his desk and popped her head up into the suspended ceiling.

Nothing up there but wires and cobwebs.

She searched through the drawers she already knew were empty.

She crawled on the floor and looked under the desk. That’s when she saw something unusual. A plate of metal was stuck onto the side of the desk, against the wall. Peach hauled ass back to her feet and moved the stack of papers away from the wall. Her fingers found a metal frame welded to the side of the desk.

And in it was the laptop.

She hugged the black box to her chest, weeping for real. It felt like the first right step in a long series of missteps.

But she needed to get it out of there without the very helpful guard seeing them.

“Honey?” Tom’s voice echoed from around the corner, warning her. “The keys were in the car. Where are you, baby?”

“Here,” she called, letting her voice crack. She sat on Hawthorne’s desk, her back to the door. She sat hunched over, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her hair veiling her face and body.

Tom opened the door wide enough to stick his head in. “You doing all right?”

“She need some water or something?” the guard asked from behind.

“Yeah, thanks,” Tom said. He came around to the working side of the desk and lifted the curtain of hair. Underneath, he found the missing laptop. “Nice.”

A cough came from outside the door and then heavy footsteps.

“Pick me up,” she ordered, wrapping her legs around his hips and arms around his neck. When she was airborne, she positioned the laptop between their chests and leaned against Tom to hold it in place. She shook her hair out, letting it fan out and cover her torso. “Get us out of here.”

“Here you go. Sorry we don’t have any ice.”

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” she wept.

“I know, baby. I know. Let’s get you home.” Tom looked up at the guard. “Would you mind carrying Rico’s things for me?”

“’Course. No problem. None at all.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Her car was parked along a chain link fence, a lonely straggler where there had once been a line of cars. It was poetic in a way, an image that reflected the circumstance. Tom carried her to the car, opened the passenger door, and set her inside. The car was running with the heat on full blast. The air was still cool. She curled into a ball, turning her back to the open door. The door behind her was quickly closed. Over her shoulder, she saw his body blocked the window.

“Thank you,” Tom said. “I appreciate you being good to her.”

The trunk was opened. The car rocked as men leaned against it, setting in the box.

“Jackson! Where are you?” A man in his mid-thirties hung out of the window of a big, black extended cab truck. The man was short of patience, big on volume. “Open this gate. Now.”

She recognized the voice. Michael Fabrini. Warning lights and sirens went off in her head. Fabrini knew Tom, but they were a distance from the gate. There was a chance he wouldn’t recognize him if got out of there now. She set the laptop on the floor and covered it with a floor mat. It wasn’t perfect but would pass a quick glance.

“Shit. It’s the little boss.” Jackson hurried across the dirty drive and keyed in the code. He waited next to the keypad and was powdered in the yellow dust when the truck rushed through the gate. Coughing, Jackson closed it again.

The badass truck came to a stop close to the trailer. Tom hunched into his coat and pulled the ball cap lower over his eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” the junior Fabrini barked.

“This is Morales’ niece and her husband. They came to pick up his things,” Jackson explained quickly.

Fabrini frowned and looked Tom over. “I have his last paycheck in the office. You might as well take it. With all the trouble that son of a bitch caused, if he comes back alive, his ass is fired.”

Tom knocked on the window, waiting until she lowered it. “Stay here. I don’t want him to get a good look at you.”

“He’ll recognize you.” The veil may look dark and solid from the outside, but she could see through her hair. It was nearly as effective as wearing reflecting sunglasses.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” A slow, cold grin grew. “Never underestimate the power of denial.” He held Peach’s hand through the window, turning back to Fabrini. “We’ll take his check and be on our way. My wife isn’t handling this all that well.” He spoke with a Tennessee accent that was every bit as thick and savory as Butch’s.

“Women. Come with me.” Fabrini narrowed his gaze. “Do I know you?”

Tom shook his head. “Don’t see how you could. My first trip up here.”

“You look like somebody.”

“That’s what she said. And for the record, I’m a married man.”

Fabrini frowned as he blushed from pasty white to sun-burned penguin. “That’s not what I meant.” He led the way on fast strides with Tom and Jackson in tow.

Leaving his truck just sitting there…again.

Decision time: passive or retribution?

She pulled on her gloves as she raced across the gravel parking area. The door opened silently. Sometimes things weren’t in the last place you looked; they were in the first. In the center console storage area, she found a brown bag half full with small clear bags. She pocketed it all and made her escape, wishing she could be a fly on the wall when the little shit answered to Drug Dealer. The last batch had been loose powder and was easily disposed of in the sand. She needed another solution. A storm drain sat near the gate, likely dry. Brush grasses still yellow with winter lay beyond the fence within easy toss. The portable toilet sat outside the trailer. Perfect.

As she stepped out of the nasty little shack, Tom came out of the trailer. He had a puzzled look on face and raised an eyebrow in question.

The guard’s voice came from behind. “I’ll get the gate open for you.”

She darted around the corner, turned around, and approached as through for the first time. Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she played the grieving niece. “There you are.”

“I’m sorry that took so long, honey. Let’s get you out of here.” Tom curled around her, protecting her from sight, then spoke over his shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Jackson, for your help.”

“My pleasure, my pleasure. My regards, miss.”

They moved together, in stride. She felt his lips on her hair, and her heart ached. He played his role without hurry or nervousness, right down to the details. How she wished he meant that kiss.

“I should drive,” he said. “The guard would expect that, especially with you being upset.”

She took her place in the passenger seat, careful of the laptop beneath her feet. The gate was already rolling open. A moment later, they rolled through. A polite wave at the guard and then they were free.

“Take the ramp west,” she said. “Then take the first exit.”

“You want to go to the park? To the bluff?”

He navigated like he knew where he was going. The park was busier with the warmer temperatures. Runners and dog walkers used the variety of paths, but the parking lot wasn’t full. He parked very close to the one she had chosen that Saturday.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

She couldn’t look at him, so she studied her fingers. “I’m apologizing.” She took a deep breath. “What I said on the plane… Here’s the thing. I don’t have a lot of people who matter to me. There’s Poppy. Rico. My old roommate. My parents, well, we haven’t mattered to each other for a long time. Then, I had a guy…”

“Anderson?”

“Yeah. I lost him suddenly. One day we were together, the next day…we weren’t. So, anyway, there aren’t many people who matter, and that’s fine, you know? Life is not a popularity contest.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs. She’d seen Tom naked. Why was it so hard to talk to him? “Look, I know you aren’t predictable. I know you’re smart and resourceful and creative. I know you can handle yourself in different situations. Somehow, in these last few days, you started to matter to me.” She cleared her throat and looked at his face. “You matter to me, and I don’t want to see you end up dead. I said those things because I was afraid.”

He took her hands and pressed them to his lips. “I didn’t expect you to be happy to see me, but I didn’t expect you to shove me in a corner, either.”

“I was happy to see you. I hated arguing last night, and I nearly knocked on your door this morning to say I was sorry.”

“Last night was my fault. I said something that hurt you, and I didn’t mean to. You surprised me. You’re like no one I’ve ever met before.”

She winced and looked away. Being “different” was the bane of her existence.

“Hey.” His fingers brought her gaze back to his eyes, his voice soft. He leaned across the console and brushed a kiss on each cheek. “That’s not a bad thing. Not with me.”

She felt the truth in his words. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry back.” They met halfway this time. She poured her feelings into the kiss and accepted his. His arms drew her in, and she crawled to her knees, needing to be closer.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The park ranger stood with a flashlight and a disapproving glare. “This is a family park. Move along.”

Tom rolled down the window. “Sorry, Officer. My girlfriend was just practicing CPR. She has a certification test today and is a little nervous.”

The officer bent down enough to see Peach.

“It’s the timing of the chest compressions.” Her hands went to Tom’s chest, miming the action. “Now I blow, right?”

The corner of the officer’s mouth curled. “It’s thirty compressions to two breaths. I suggest you find somewhere private to practice.”

Chapter Fourteen

Thursday, April 13 ten-thirty a.m.

Tom was once again impressed and a little turned on. Hawthorne’s computer sat on the coffee shop table, spewing secrets like Pandora’s box. Peach had gotten behind the scenes while it booted up, using a flash drive to open the system. Her nimble fingers tickled the plastic letters, and three images appeared one after the other, filling the screen.

“See there? On the invoice? I don’t think that’s right.”

Paying invoices was one of Tom’s least favorite jobs, but it was a necessary evil of business. He started doing it when he was just a teen. Since he and Katie opened their firm, they shared the responsibility, though she had a heavier load, generally working in the field on the projects.

“The invoices look tampered with. Not the itemized ones, just the lump payments. It’s harder to audit. This would have to go back to the purchase order.” He scratched his head, literally and figuratively, trying to see the scam. “Let’s say F&F issues a purchase order to company X for fifty-thousand dollars, but the order in the system says sixty-thousand. The invoice comes in, is altered, and is then sent for processing.”

“Someone in accounting has to be involved then. How else would the ten thousand be funneled out?”

“Does Hawthorne’s system have copies of the purchase orders?” Hawthorne’s files were neatly organized. A folder labeled PO contained a folder for each vendor with the executed purchase orders. Jack Hawthorne’s signature was on each. “Jack couldn’t be involved in something like that. He’s a good guy.”

“Let’s check his email.” She opened the program. “For your sake, I hope your friend wasn’t involved, but Tom, I’ve investigated a lot of good guys who did bad things.”

“Why did they do it? The people you investigated?”

The program loaded emails, some sent as recently as that morning. His emails were again neatly structured. “My job didn’t generally involve the why. I proved that people did things—cheating, lying, stealing. Sometimes, I recovered things or information. A few times, though, I did talk with them. For the pros, it was just a job. They took getting caught like a gambler takes a bad day at the tables, just part of the game. For the amateurs, drugs drove a lot of it. The public is only now getting an idea how big a problem prescription drugs are. Money is a big motivator, one that’s hard to turn your back on.”

“Let me drive,” he said, taking control of the mouse. “The ones tampered with were prepared by Joe Carter. See? There is no original paperwork directly to Jack. Some of the other ones, like North Coast Lumber, Jack handled himself. We need to compare the originals to the logs.” He glanced over his shoulder, where she dialed her phone. “Who are you calling?”

“Sylvie McKinley. Carter’s live-in.”

“How did you get her contact info?” Even as he asked, he knew the answer.

“From your files.” She pressed a finger to her lips and put the phone on speaker.

“H-Hello?” The answering voice was whiskey over gravel…over charcoal.

Peach raised a brow and glanced the computer clock. Someone wasn’t an early riser. “Is this Sylvie McKinley?”

“Yeah. Yeah, who is this?”

“My name is E.M. Morales. I am investigating the construction accident that occurred last Saturday on behalf of one of the families. Would you be available to meet with me?”

Heavy cloth shifted in the background. The woman on the other end coughed up whatever made her sound like a man. Tom pressed his hands to his stomach, pushing in and out before he mimed coughing up a fur ball. He nearly made Peach laugh. She swatted his arm playfully, a professional expression firmly in place.

“What do you want to talk to me about?”

“I understand that you were very close with Joseph Carter. The family I represent believes the accident was no accident and that someone needs to pay for the missing men.”

“Pay? Do you mean, like, insurance?”

Oh, yeah. That got her attention. Tom mimed reeling her in and got a thumbs up in return.

“I can come by in twenty minutes, if that is agreeable.”

“Yeah,” Sylvie said amid more shuffling of what had to be bed covers. “I’m staying at the condo. Twenty minutes?”

“See you then.” She finished the conversation and put the phone into her bag. “The grieving widow will be waiting for us. What did Carolina find on her?”

Tom flipped through screens on his tablet. “She is twenty-one and a former exotic dancer turned sales consultant for Unforgettable You. That’s a line of beauty products that they sell in home parties. Local girl. High school education. No marriages. Do you want a warm up on your coffee? We have a little time.”

“I guess. It’s not as good as the coffee at your house.” When Tom returned with the fresh cups, she started to laugh. “How did that loser Fabrini not recognize you? You were so cool, you were frosty.”

“I take that as a compliment. I was worried you were going to go after him when he blamed the trouble on your uncle.”

“I thought about it and might have if we hadn’t gotten the computer.” She blew on her coffee. “I found a better way. Paybacks are a bitch…and so am I.” She grinned, proud of the moniker.

Oh, he was in trouble. He liked that gleam in her eye. “What did you do?”

Peach danced in her seat. “I took a nice little bag out of his truck. He’s not just using, he’s selling. Or running. I was a fly on the wall when somebody meaner than Fabrini demanded delivery of the shit. He was less than impressed with Fabrini’s story of how twenty-five grand of goods ghosted on him. And guess what?”

“What?”

She danced in her chair. “He’s going to go bat shit crazy when he realized he lost another couple grand.”

“In the port-a-potty?”

“If he’s willing to go after there then… Ugh, I can’t think about that. I just threw up in my mouth a little.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s it! My brain must be running at half speed.”

“Care to share the thought?”

“The Drug Dealer met with Junior in F&F’s offices. On the third floor. I’ll bet anything he’s the guy in accounting.”

“Then he’d work for Stinson. He’s tight with the senior Fabrini but didn’t impress me as a sharp crayon. I’ll call Carolina and see if she can get us a name.”

While he made the call, she transformed herself from devastated niece to authoritative investigator. She collected her thick hair and pulled it to a tail at the top of her head. With a deftness that came from experience, the band was transferred from wrist to hair. Then came twisting. Lots and lots of twisting. Another band locked the mass in place, and then an army of pins kept it there.

“Thank you, Carolina. Let me know when you have something.” Tom caught Peach’s chin and turned her head one way, then the other. “Impressive, but what’s the point?”

“Sylvie McKinley is younger than she thinks, weaker than she knows, and far too interested in money. She will tell E.M. Morales, the investigator who is promising green for her heartache, anything she wants to know. How much cash do you have on you?”

“Why?” He pulled out his wallet.

“We might need to prime the pump.”

“I have two hundred. Maybe a little more.”

“Good. Let’s get moving.”

The condominium overlooked the Rocky River valley. The building was new. Townhouse-style homes four stories tall stood shoulder to shoulder. The neighborhood around it was well established, with homey bars and restaurants crowding the busy road.

Peach pulled the car into one of the public parking spaces. She checked her face in the mirror, brushed back a hair, and then turned to him. “Lose the hat. It’s the wrong look.”

“How can there be a wrong look? We’re just going to talk to her.” Still, he took it off, combing his fingers through his hair.

“There is always a wrong look and a right look. The right look will get her to tell us all of Joe Carter’s secrets.” Her fingers fussed with his hair.

He didn’t consider curls to be masculine, but the ladies liked them. On the job, they went every which way. On his own time, he tamed them but hadn’t this morning.

“You have hat head.”

“That’s because I was wearing a hat.” He used the rearview mirror and tried to tame the curls that popped out around his ears. “There. That’s as good as it’s going to get.”

Peach walked in long strides across the sidewalk. Tom caught up, winked, and jumped a half step in front of her. She lengthened her stride, putting him solidly behind her. He growled and jogged after her. She glanced over her shoulder, saw him coming, and picked up her pace, and solidly occupied the middle of the narrow walk. He came up beside her and bumped her hip, nudging her over. By the time they were on the doorstep of unit 23, they were all but running. Both were breathing hard and denying they were sweating under the dark jackets.

She stepped decidedly in front, patted out any wrinkles, and rang the bell.

The door opened. The modern white of the foyer framed the grieving woman, who was a vision in black leather. The skirt was too short to call thigh length, and the top was bustier style that was straining to contain her girls. The long, shapely legs were finished in a strappy heel. The head of hair sitting on those bare shoulders had been dyed platinum blond. The layers of make up on the flawless skin failed to mask red and swollen eyes.

Tom’s gaze went to the ripe melons, ready to burst.

“Miss McKinley? I’m E.M. Morales. This is my partner, Harry Crankshaft.”

Tom flinched, her not-so-subtle dig dispelling the fog.

Sylvie McKinley giggled. “Ms. Morales. Mr., ur, Crankshaft. Come in, please.” She led them up a set of steps to the main floor. The floor wasn’t more than twenty-five feet wide and went from the windows overlooking the street to the windows overlooking the river. The space was divided into a sitting area, a dining area, and a kitchen by different floor covering. The sleek, modern room had been furnished jointly by IKEA and Harley Davidson.

Sylvie sank into a white leather chair, curling her feet under her. She picked up a mug from the end table and sipped. She closed her eyes as she swallowed.

“That’s not Seven Up she’s savoring,” Peach whispered. She lifted her chin, looking authoritative again. “Thank you again for meeting with us, Miss McKinley. As I said on the phone, we work for the family of one of the men harmed by this tragedy.”

“You think there could be money?” Sylvie said, cutting right through the bullshit.

“There could be, especially if the accident was not an accident.”

“I could really use it.” She sipped from her glass. “I’m starting a business. Joey was helping me, just until I get going. You know.”

“What kind of business?” Peach asked, knowing full well the story.

“I am a consultant for Unforgettable You. We manufacture our own product line. We are totally committed to protecting the earth. We don’t even test on animals anymore. You have nice skin.”

“Um, thanks. So, Miss McKinley—”

“We have this killer wrinkle cream that will make you look like you are in your twenties again. Let me go get my kit.” Sylvie jumped to her feet, wobbled on those stacked pins for a second, and then bounced to the stairs and up to the next level.

Tom gave her a big, toothy grin. “I wouldn’t have put you at a day over thirty-six.”

“I’m twenty-nine,” she said, scowling at him. When his eyebrow went up, she bared her teeth. “And thirteen twelfths, you know-it-all bastard.”

Heavy heel strikes on wood announced Sylvie’s return. “I’m sure Mr., uh, Crankshaft—”

Tom stood as she came back into the room. “Please, call me Harry.”

“All right,” she said, flustering a little when he stood. “I just know you are going to love our Expressions line, Ms. Morales.”

“Call her E.M.,” Tom said. “Would you happen to have any coffee?”

“Oh. I haven’t made any today. But I can.”

“No, no. I’m a modern man. It will be my pleasure to make coffee for you lovely ladies. No need for you to stop what you’re doing.” He winked at Sylvie as he left Peach to her fate.

“He’s nice,” Sylvie said softly, but Tom heard clearly.

“Yeah, he’s a prince. So, Miss McKinley—”

“Oh, call me Sylvie, E.M.” She giggled. “That sounds so mysterious.”

“Not really. So tell me about Joe.”

“First, let me tell you about Expressions eyelift.” She opened her patented red Unforgettable You case and held a squat pearl jar reverently in her hand. “Tilt your head back.”

Pearl jars of every size soon lined the stone-topped coffee table. Peach squirmed for the first five minutes, trying to get Sylvie to focus on Joe. But when Sylvie began tapping some goop she claimed was seaweed extract, she melted into the chair. Tom saw her hands, previously knotted into fists, dangle freely. Then came the dark gray facial mask.

“How long were you and Joe together?” Tom asked.

“Just nine months. I moved in after three.” Sylvie glanced over her shoulder. “His father is trying to kick me out. He wants to sell this place and send me packing. He never believed Joe and I were the real deal.”

“Were you and Joe the real deal?”

Sylvie walked over and held out her hand. On her ring finger was shiny cluster of rocks that swallowed her hand. “We were engaged,” she said. “Officially but more importantly, here, where it counted.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “Do you know what that’s like, Harry?”

His gaze snapped to Peach, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Now he’s gone. They haven’t found him, you know. The police officers are nice, but I know they think he’s dead.”

“Whaamp doa do maany por all das?” Her cheeks and mouth didn’t move. Her lips shifted, but it was just the tips. The idea occurred to him that the high-class shit was likely low-grade concrete.

“Oh,” Sylvie said. “The mask is nearly dry. Just fifteen minutes and we can break it off.”

Peach stiffly turned until she could see him. He toasted her with a small salute. Behind Sylvie’s back, she flipped him off.

It was so hard not to laugh.

Peach’s hand fished around, found a jar, and Tom was ready to duck. Sylvie intervened, taking the jar and undoing the top two buttons on Peach’s shirt. Then more concrete was massaged into her throat and chest.

The coffeemaker bubbled and dripped in the background. “Sylvie, do you know of anyone who wanted to hurt Joe?”

Sylvie’s fingers worked Peach’s palm. “I don’t, Harry. Joe was the best. He shared everything he had. With me. With his friends. He worked so hard to get out from under his father’s thumb. He deserved better.”

Tom handed Sylvie a cup of coffee. “Was his father helping him out? Is that how he afforded this place?”

She snorted inelegantly. “His father is some big shot in a hospital and thought his son was too good for the construction business. His father could have made his life easy, but he didn’t. Joe picked up as much overtime as F&F would give him, and then he did some work on the side.”

That peaked his interest. “What was the side work?”

“Construction, I think. He didn’t talk about it much. He did say one time that somebody finally recognized what he could do.” Sylvie leaned in and dropped her voice. “It was good, you know, because it was cash.”

“Did he talk about anyone in particular at work? Maybe someone who he wasn’t getting along with?”

Sylvie sipped the coffee and then frowned at the taste. She went back into the living room, retrieved her mug, and poured it into the coffee. Satisfied, she tapped on the lightly on the drying mask. She lifted Peach’s hand and made a tsk tsk sound before diving back into the vast red case. She came out with a white tube and squirted a dollop in her palm. Sylvie knelt on the floor and began massaging Peach’s hand and forearm. “It’s our Expressions skin cream. Heavenly, isn’t it?”

Peach sighed long and soft, a very satisfied woman.

Sylvie looked at Tom. “Honestly, Harry. Everyone liked Joe. The only person he ever bitched about was Fabrini’s son, Michael. I met him at the Christmas party last year. He threw a branch of mistletoe down my dress and tried to dive in after it. That shit scratches, you know? Anyway, working as an exotic dancer, I learned a thing or two. The asshole didn’t touch me after that.”

“Arghff mmm doon ere.”

“What did she say?” Sylvie asked.

“I don’t speak spa.” Tom sipped his coffee. “Did Joe have an office here? Do you mind if I have a look?”

“Sure, Harry. Anything if it will help Joe. Upstairs, first door. That’s where he kept what he called ‘his books.’ The drawer has a second set of books that we aren’t supposed to tell anyone about. Do you think that will help?”

Tom looked at the naiveté in her eyes, and he felt for the girl. She didn’t deserve this mess any more than Peach did. “This will help immensely.”

Peach hurried along the sidewalk, her arms containing the overfull bag. The jars and tubes of the Unforgettable You signature collection looked so small spread on the table. The smirking man was right behind her. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it loud enough for a deaf man to hear. And you know what? I don’t care. It worked, and my skin feels great. Feel it.” She stopped dead on the sidewalk, lifting her face to him.

“Your face is perfect the way it is.” His fingers drew down the side of her face.

She swallowed hard and walked away. The honesty in his voice scared her. How different would New Year’s Eve have been with him? She stopped, and he ran into her. “What would you say if you saw me at a party in a fancy dress with borrowed jewelry and my hair blown out straight?”

His brows pressed down, the same expression he wore when he worked. It was a trick question, and he knew it. Finally, he answered. “I’ve seen you naked.”

Then he started walking again.

She chased after him, using her shoulder to get him to stop. “What kind of answer is that? What does it mean?”

“Since seeing you naked, that’s the only way I see you. Wet suit, jeans and shirt, dress pants and blouse. Fancy dress. Doesn’t matter. I only see you. You don’t need all that stuff,” he said, pointing with his chin to the overflowing bag. “But if you want it, I’ll buy it. Just so there’s no misunderstanding between us about what I think of you. And I get to apply the breast cream.”

She felt self-conscious that she wanted all the little jars and frivolous that she’d borrowed Tom’s credit card to pay for it since hers was a little slim on available credit. “I don’t have to pay you back?”

“No, it was worth the price to see the look on your face when Sylvie started to strip you. Think that started a new fantasy, FYI. And then, it got us all the information we needed to confirm that Joe Carter was skimming the books.” His lusty expression made her giggle. She could imagine what he was imagining, and it likely wasn’t legal in Tennessee. “Sixty thousand tax free. Those tits must have cost a pretty penny.”

She tossed him a cool look over her shoulder. “What is with that? You knew they were fake, and you were still drooling over them.”

He scowled, shoving his fists in his pockets. “I wasn’t drooling. I was appreciating the craftsmanship. Did you notice how balanced they were? Firm without being overdone? A woman goes to those extents to look good, a man is obligated to pay attention. It’s respectful.”

“Now that I let you buy my favor, you better believe that I’m the only woman you’re respectful to.” She jumped. Her teasing came out much more possessive than she intended. She started walking again, forcing him to catch up.

“Where are we going next?”

“We have a date with Mrs. Terry Hawthorne. Do you know her?”

“Not really.” He climbed in the car and then brought up Carolina’s notes. “I met her once or twice, but I was just a kid. I hadn’t filled out yet. No way she remembers me. Okay, what do we have? They were married sixteen years. She’s a stay-at-home mom to two boys.”

Peach drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, considering and dismissing approaches. She had spoken briefly to the woman to schedule the appointment. There was a nervous element to her. “I think we need to both play the good cop with this one. You take the lead.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was your lowly helper.”

“And wallet. My read from the quick conversation is that Mrs. Hawthorne expects and respects men in certain positions. Doctors. Lawyers. Investigators. I start off, playing the pathetic, subservient lower grade partner, and then you take control.”

“Easy as that?”

She glanced at the mapping and turned onto the highway. “We start with a plan and then adapt.”

The Hawthorne’s suburban development featured four styles of home with six options, which led to a very neat and tidy neighborhood. It was right in line with the way he’d ordered his files. The Hawthorne’s home sat tucked back in a cul-de-sac, a basketball hoop in the driveway.

She stood in front of Tom, her hair re-twisted into a professional knot and a pair of clear glasses on her face. “Look stern,” she said as she knocked quickly. She glanced over her shoulder and saw his set jaw. “Perfect.”

A teen with a long body and a mop of blond hair answered the door.

“Hi. I’m Detective E.M. Morales. This is my boss, Dick Cutter.” The boy grinned and giggled the way she expected. “We called and spoke to your mother. Is she home?”

The boy looked over his shoulder nervously. “Um, I’m not, uh, sure.”

“Son,” Tom said in an authoritative voice, “this is important.”

“Okay. Um, just a minute.” He turned away from the door. “Mom! There are two detectives at the door.”

A cute middle-aged woman with shoulder-length dark hair appeared at the door. “Can I help you?”

“Mrs. Hawthorne? I’m E.M. Morales. We spoke this morning. This is my partner, Dick Cutter. We are investigating the incident at the F&F construction site last Friday.”

“Are you with the police?”

“No, ma’am. We were retained by the family of one of the other missing men. May we come in?” Tom asked politely as he stepped into the opening and forced Mrs. Hawthorne back.

“I was just on my way out,” she said, looking around as if for a reason to leave.

“We won’t take but a minute,” he said. “Are you aware of any irregularities on the job site that could have contributed to the crane collapse?”

“I-I’m sure I don’t know anything about cranes, Mr. Cutter.”

Mrs. Hawthorne continued to back step. Her hands were knotted together as she examined the tile work on the floor.

Tom took a step for every one she retreated. Not crowding her but not letting her escape. “We suspect that the crane failure was the result of sabotage.”

Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyes snapped to Tom’s. “Can you prove it?”

“We are working on it, ma’am. Is there anything you can tell us? Anything your husband told you may help us expose the culprit.”

Her eyes went wide, and then she started ringing her hands. “I-I don’t know anything, not really.”

Tom was pushing too hard. Mrs. Hawthorne knew something, enough to be nervous. She needed a reason to confide in them. Peach interceded. “Dick? Do you mind if I speak with Mrs. Hawthorne privately?”

Tom looked at her, nodded once, and went out the front door.

Mrs. Hawthorne stood in her living room picture window. A bundle of nerves wound too tight.

Peach read the woman as a nurturer, someone whose life revolved around caring for others. She would be less motivated by money but more by her instinct. “Who are you worried about?”

Mrs. Hawthorne moved her hand to her throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She stayed quiet, filling her expression with compassion and sympathy.

She took off the useless glasses, crossed the perfectly neat room, and put her hand on Mrs. Hawthorne’s trembling one. “I understand what you are going through.”

Mrs. Hawthorne shook her head, the pain in her eyes so real, so vivid, Peach rubbed her hand over her own heart.

“I do. My uncle is Rico Morales. The crane operator. My client is my grandfather. I understand the helplessness. I understand the feeling that you are strapped to a pendulum. One moment you are cautiously optimistic that a miracle happened and your loved one will walk through the front door. The next moment you are washed in despair, grief, and hopelessness. My grandfather is everything to me. He raised me, sacrificed his life for me, and never asked for anything in return. Now he needs his son back, and I’m going to give that to him. Tell me what you need, and I promise you, I’ll make it happen.”

Mrs. Hawthorne covered her gaping mouth. Silent tears rolled down her colorless cheeks. She trembled as she stepped away from Peach. Jerky, coltish steps took her into an end table. A lamp teetered and then fell unnoticed as Mrs. Hawthorne retreated to the hallway. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” Then she turned and ran up the stairs.

She cursed under her breath and followed at a distance. She heard the wretched violence of vomiting through the door at the top of the stairs. She knocked gently. “Mrs. Hawthorne? Is there someone I can call for you?”

“Just leave. Please. Just leave.”

She laid her palm against the door, a silent apology, and then left the house. Tom waited in the car, working on his smart phone.

“Did you get anything?” he asked when she closed the door.

She leaned her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. “I played the wrong card. I screwed up and played the wrong card. I got nothing.”

He started the car and drove out of the neighborhood. He found a strip of stores with a busy parking lot and pulled the sedan into an empty spot. “Tell me what happened. Did she deny knowing anything?”

“So you read her the same way.”

“Nobody out of puberty sweats that much.”

“I figured the best odds were that she was protecting her children. She looked afraid—not guilty. If Hawthorne was involved in embezzlement, it’s likely she was getting leaned on to keep the secret. The easiest way to lean on a newly single mother is to threaten her children.”

“Reasonable.”

“Except I was wrong. I tried to connect with her victim to victim. She ran on me. I left her throwing up in the bathroom.”

“Well, you may not have gotten the reaction you were looking for, but you certainly got one. Look at this.”

Chapter Fifteen

Thursday, April 13 twelve-thirty p.m.

The mapping app filled the small screen with the graphic image of the neighborhood around them. A blue dot pulsed along a road. “What is this?”

“Mrs. Hawthorne pulling out of her development.”

Peach looked up at Tom, impressed. “You put a bug on her car. I see I’m not the only one with tricks up my sleeve.” The dot moved away from them at a steady clip. “Aren’t you going to follow her?”

“Let’s give her a little space. We aren’t going to lose her, but we could spook her.” They watched the screen. “She’s heading north.”

“Toward Lake Erie.”

“The boat,” they said at the same time.

The public marina was ready for a plethora of small- to mid-sized boats that belonged to middle-class citizens with sailing in their blood. In mid-April, just a handful of the docks were in use.

Tom pulled off the road, parking on a grassy embankment a couple of hundred yards before the entrance. “Get the binoculars out of my bag.”

She reached into the black bag behind his seat and found the hard case of the powerful binoculars. She whistled. “Nice toy.”

“Jeb’s not the only one who knows how to pack.” He took the high-powered lenses out of the lined case and scanned the marina. “There she is.” He handed her the glasses. “Third pier from the left.”

She lifted the glasses to her eyes. The marina popped in vivid Technicolor. “She’s really moving. There’s only one boat left. Jackrabbit IV.” She handed the glasses back.

“Bingo. She’s not alone.”

“Jack Hawthorne?”

“It has got to be.”

She vibrated in the passenger seat. “If he’s alive, then maybe Rico is. Let’s go.”

“We will. We will, I promise. But we have to plan. Think this through. Why is he hiding? Innocent men don’t hide. Guilty ones do. We mess this up, he’ll pull the anchor and be out of here.”

Without the binoculars, she could only see a boat sitting lonely in the dock. She bit her short fingernail, making it shorter. Her knee bounced. The small cabin of her used car didn’t offer a lot of space for moving around, but she could bounce a knee. Her heart had swelled with hope and pounded in her chest like a drum line. Her uncle was there. He had to be. It was so simple—why she hadn’t found him in her searches. She could practically smell his aftershave mixed with his tobacco. She wanted to call Poppy. She itched to call Poppy.

“He’s in there,” Tom announced.

“Rico?!?”

“She’s kissing the man. Probably Hawthorne.”

That made sense. Sure. Didn’t mean Rico wasn’t on the boat.

“She’s leaving.” He tossed the binoculars at her and started the sedan in a hurry. He made a U-turn and raced up the hill, turning off at the first street.

The Hawthorne minivan raced passed minutes later.

Tom turned to Peach. “Here’s what we are going to do.”

Tom got back into the car, torn between bemused and befuddled. “This is really the way you want to do it?” He started the car and pulled out of the strip mall. “I’ll be honest, I was expecting something more…cloak and dagger, less Mario and Luigi.”

The large box printed with red and white checkered board rested across her lap. “It’s weird, having a pizza with no smell. I’ve never bought one you’re supposed to take home and bake yourself. Seriously? What’s the point?”

He shrugged as he pulled the car back into traffic. “Homemade pizza hot out of the oven.”

“If I wanted homemade pizza, I would make homemade pizza. If I pay someone to make me a pizza, I want them to do the whole shebang—including baking it. Who buys a raw pizza?”

Tom grinned at her. “Katie would. And it would be a kindness to the rest of us. Of course, Tony would lose his best customer and Katie would lose naming rights to the addition Tony put on the back the restaurant.”

She laughed. “She can’t be that bad.”

“She burned water once.”

“How do you do that?”

“She was going to make oatmeal, you know, the kind that comes in a paper pouch? She put water in a pan to boil it and walked away. For a long time.”

Peach winced. “Scorched the pan?”

“Burned the hell out of it. We had to throw it away. I kind of appreciated it. Gave me an excuse to replace the old set.”

“You replaced the whole set because she ruined one pot?”

Everyone in the house had ribbed him about it. Sarcasm still bounded up. Someone broke a dish and there was always a shot about replacing the whole lot of it. “I like things a certain way when I work.”

“You consider it work?”

“While I may consider it work, I’ll remind you I enjoy my work. You haven’t lived until you’ve had my beef wellington with homemade dumplings.”

She laughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Homemade? Not pre-made, just boil it yourself?”

“You already insulted me once today. Let’s not go there again.” He pulled the sedan into the marina and parked on the opposite side of the clubhouse. “Here we are.”

“The plan is simple. Just do what I said.” She dug through her bag and retrieved her gun. She carried it ready for use, hidden beneath the box.

Tom would have preferred a more direct approach and said as much, but this wasn’t his area of expertise. Hence, he followed her lead. It had been nearly twenty years since he knew Jack Hawthorne; a lot of living happened in that time. He didn’t know this man they were approaching. If he had signed off on those accounts, he wasn’t the man he remembered.

They walked down the dock like they owned it. Peach giggled. Just two lovers strolling along the empty docks, heading toward a snazzy little number tied up at the end. They stopped to study the boats, daydreaming about the one they were going to buy someday.

“This one is cute,” she said. “Jackrabbit IV. How many do you think it sleeps?” It was a great white animal, graceful despite the size.

“I don’t know. You can look it up online.”

The walkway that made it simple for Mrs. Hawthorne to board was lying on the deck. Peach stretched casually and leaped onto the boat.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked, looking around nervously while secretly grinning at her agility. “That’s trespassing.”

She cupped her hands and looked in the window. “Oh, they’re not going to mind. I just want to see how many bedrooms something like this has.” Down below the deck she saw the soft glow of artificial light. A television. She waved Tom to come forward without looking at him.

He leaped onto the boat, landing like an elephant next to her gazelle. He frowned as he stepped over the extension cord that ran across the deck. A small generator ran with all the stealth of a souped-up lawn mower. The extension cord had a connection to a white freezer on the main floor and then disappeared down the stairs.

“Get back, get back,” she whispered as she ducked down under a hip-high window. She tossed the pizza away from her and raised her gun into a ready position.

He flattened his back against the solid wall, grabbing for a weapon. He came up with a fire extinguisher. Her raised brows, questioning his choice, was answered with a shrug of his shoulders. There weren’t a lot of options. Rope. A long, rectangular buoy and a circular one. Really, the fire extinguisher was his best option. He raised the nozzle, ready for the fireworks.

The door on the back of the cabin whispered across the wood of the deck. A man stepped out far enough that the door closed behind him.

Peach rose slowly, the gun pointed between the blades of a crumpled white cotton shirt. “Jack Hawthorne. Do not move.”

The empty hands framed by unbuttoned cuffs slowly rose in the spring air and hung there. Tom rose, copying her movement, the extinguisher nozzle aim at head height.

She circled Hawthorne until they were face to face. “Everybody thinks you’re dead.”

Tom stepped wide, wanting to see Hawthorne. The face in front of them looked tired. His beard was five days old. The brown eyes were flat and dull, sagging at the corners. Under his eyes were half-moons in deep purple tones. The hands in the air had fingers curled listlessly to the palms.

“Disappointed?” His voice was a resigned whisper.

Her face was a mask. “Are you armed, Hawthorne?”

He exhaled heavily and shook his head.

“I’m going to pat you down. Understand?”

He nodded. “Who are you?”

“Ima Ballbuster,” Tom said before she could answer. He didn’t want Hawthorne knowing her name. He’d done enough to drag her into this. He wasn’t going to shove her in further.

Hawthorne saw him for the first time. He blinked, trying to place the face. “Do I know you?”

In an instant, he made a calculated decision. “You use to know me. Tom Riley.”

“Tom?” He shook his head as though to clear the fog. “You were just a kid. What are you doing here?”

“Twenty years ago, I was a kid. Now I’m a forensic engineer, hired to investigate the crane failure.”

“Cover our guy for me.” She tucked the gun into her shoulder holster and got to work. Hawthorne just stood there while she patted him down. “You boys keep talking. Don’t mind me.”

Hawthorne let the silence hang for a few minutes and then sighed. “What do you want?”

“The other men,” she said, refusing to meet Tom’s gaze. “Where are the other two that went into the lake?”

Hawthorne turned ash gray. His eyes swept across the boat deck, touching on the freezer, the dock, the water. He shook his head.

“Let’s go inside and talk.” Tom opened the door, holding it for his prisoner.

“My wife, my boys. They don’t know anything about this.” Resignation came off him in waves. Tom knew then the man hadn’t been changed so much by the years.

“Relax, Jack. I just want to talk.”

Jack led the way to the living quarters. Tom followed while Peach searched the boat. They reached the living room, where Jack turned the television off and stood with his fists buried in his pockets. “Does anyone else know where I am?”

“If they do, I didn’t tell them.” He set the fire extinguisher down and ran his hands through his hair. “Christ, Jack. What happened? Why are you hiding out? I have so many questions…there’s a traffic jam in my head.”

Jack laughed, taking years off his face. He collapsed onto the cushioned couch. “You haven’t changed.” He rubbed his temples.

He noticed now, in the artificial lighting, that Jack hadn’t escaped the accident unscathed. His face looked like pigeons had feasted—small, healing gouges covered his face. Something was wrong with his right side. It hung lower, caused pain.

“How did you survive?”

Jack’s laughed turned hysterical, the light in his eyes not quite sane. “I have no idea. None. One second Morales is ordering me to the floor…the next. Have you ever been in an accident? It’s like everything was in slow motion. I remember thinking that…and then I was in the water. I’ve tried to remember, but when I do, well, it scares the shit out of me.”

“Why hide? How did you hide?”

“Why? Because that crane was tampered with. I noticed something odd as I was climbing, nothing big, just something I wanted to tell Morales about. When it started to fall, I saw my killer, Joe Carter. He was in the man basket with a fucking smile on his face.”

“He’s among the missing. Carter, you, and Morales. The other men in the basket died.”

“I know. My wife told me. He killed them all.”

“What did you see? What did you want to tell Morales about?”

“When I was climbing up, I noticed the paint was melted on two of the supports. It struck me as odd, and I was going to ask him if that had always been that way.”

A primitive scream shredded the air, and both men were on their feet defensively. Peach flew down the stairs, barely touching any, and took Hawthorne down. “Bastard. You son of a bitch.” She tore into him, punching, slapping, and gouging the soft spots.

“Enough.” Tom lifted her by the waist off Hawthorne. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“He killed him! He fucking killed him!”

Hawthorne paled to a bleached white underneath the blossoming bruising. “You got it all wrong. I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t.”

Peach dangled from Tom’s hands, flailing her arms and legs for some purchase.

Hawthorne crab-walked as far away from Peach as the small space would allow. “They were dead where I found them. I swear on my children. They were dead when I found them.”

“Where are they now?”

“In the freezer. I thought if all three of us were missing, they wouldn’t suspect I survived.” Hawthorne came to his knees. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

Peach twisted, escaping Tom’s grip. She bolted for the tiny bathroom and emptied her stomach. She finished, wiped her mouth, and staggered to the door.

“Who is she?” Hawthorne asked.

He watched her climb the stairs to the deck, wanting to be a step behind her. She was hurting, bleeding where no one could see. “She calls one of the popsicles you made family.”

“Oh God.”

Tom climbed the stairs, praying she was still on the boat. The thought hadn’t occurred to him that she would leave. It should have; she’d certainly proven herself to be unpredictable. He burst through the door and found her bent over the side of the boat. Heartbreaking sobs disrupted the afternoon calm. He turned her into his arms, wrapping her up. Her face buried in his chest, he not only heard those cries, he felt them. Each one tore at him. He pressed his lips to her head and then covered her with his chin. The harder she cried, the harder he held her, protecting her in the storm.

It took several minutes for her breathing to even, for the sobbing to subside to tears. They ran down his chest, soaking his shirt. He tightened his hold when embarrassment and regret inevitably reared.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. Her ragged breathing shook every word. “I don’t know why I’m jagging this way. It’s not like I didn’t know he was…”

Knowing it, saying it, and owning it were three different things. “You did it,” he whispered. “You did what the Coast Guard couldn’t do. You kept your promise to Poppy to find Rico, and we’ll bring him home. It’s nearly over, thanks to you.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.” She looked up at him, her face red and swollen. “Why doesn’t it feel that way?”

Thursday, April 13 six p.m.

The afternoon dragged on into an endless evening, full of action and yet still. She watched the happenings, a voyeur that saw without being seen. The police came. Not with siren’s blaring but in unmarked cars. The questions they asked or, perhaps more telling, the ones they didn’t ask, indicated an invisible hand was at work. Tom had placed a call to Jeb. That started it all. As the sun weakened, she knew Hawthorne’s family was no longer in the state. Soon, he would join them. The charges under consideration centered around the body of her uncle and Carter. At Tom’s suggestion, she had discouraged the charges, though she vaguely remembered doing so. She had Rico. Having him earlier wouldn’t change the end for her or Poppy, but even in this numb state, she understood that Hawthorne’s family—his wife, his kids—their ending wasn’t written yet. Theirs could be happier.

The pilot handed Tom two boxes as they loaded the plane. That last thing she’d eaten was a breakfast sandwich and coffee this morning. Probably didn’t count since she’d thrown up whatever was left over the side of the boat.

She sat in the center seat, not wanting to see out the window. Tom buckled her in, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and settled in next to her. Once airborne, he opened the boxed meals.

“Eat a little something.” He tried to entice her with crusty, fresh bread, layers of chilled turkey, and a small dish of fruit. It might as well have been made of plastic.

“I’m just…” Words sluggishly appeared in her head. Empty. Hollow. Sad. Tired. None came off her tongue.

He laced his fingers with hers, moved closer. “Rest. Sleep if you can.”

It was a unique experience to cry on a strong man’s shoulder. Usually, she relied on her own abundance of strength. When even that abandoned her, she fell into his arms and found a place of comfort and healing. No judgment. No ridicule. Just thoughtful caring.

“Peach, baby.” He called her back. The cabin was dark, and they were descending.

She wouldn’t have thought sleep to be possible, but she had missed the entire ride. Sitting tall, she inhaled deeply. The haze of the day thinned, and she felt more like herself. “That was a fast trip. Did I miss anything?”

“A beautiful sunset. I think it had every color in a box of sixty-four crayons.” His appraising eyes looked over her. “You look better. I didn’t like those shadows under your eyes.” He handed her a bottle of water.

She cracked the seal and took a healthy drink. The fresh, clean taste awakened her senses. “I’m sorry I missed that. How are we getting back to the farm?”

“Somebody will pick us up.”

“Who knows what?”

“Jeb knows everything, so I imagine it will trickle down to Carolina and Butch, then Katie. He swore no one would say anything to Poppy.”

“Good. That’s good.” She dropped her head against the seat rest. “I don’t want to say the words. I know that makes me a coward, but I just don’t want to say it. I don’t want him to think back on the day he learned his son died and think of me.” She looked at him. “I’m so selfish.”

“Nothing about you is selfish, Peach. Not one damn thing.” Though he swore and his voice was strong, it was soft, mild. “It’s been a long, hard, emotional day. That makes it easy to take too much on yourself. You have reasons to be hurting, but all of those reasons lay with the choices Joe Carter, Jack Hawthorne, and others made. Not. You.”

She didn’t believe in pushing responsibility off on others, but maybe, this one time, it would be okay.

The plane landed, and they disembarked. Jeb came out to meet them with Butch and Katie. She waddled across the pavement under the bright lights and hugged her cousin fiercely. The emotion of the moment caught her breath, no less dramatic for the way they both had to reach around her belly. Butch clapped him on the back, drawing him in close. They had worried for Tom.

Then Katie hugged Peach. Her mouth fell open as everything about it surprised her. It was the first time she’d felt a pregnant belly. It was hard and really round. Her softer stomach curled around it. Then something kicked her. Someone. Or it would be someone soon.

“We’re all so sorry,” Katie said. “You need anything, just tell us.”

“Just the hug,” she said, holding on to the life between them just a little longer. She let go then, wiping away a few tears. “You would think I’d be cried out by now. I need to see Poppy.” Surreptitious looks were exchanged, and Peach’s heart fell into her stomach. “What?”

Chapter Sixteen

Thursday, April 13 eight-thirty p.m.

Peach was still getting used to the feel of the rug under her feet. She couldn’t take it being pulled out from under her again. “Just tell me fast. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

“He knows,” Katie said.

Tom pulled Peach close, rubbing her arm. “Damn it, guys. You knew it was important—”

“We didn’t tell him, Tommy.” Katie laid a stilling hand on his arm. “He told me and Carolina this morning, before lunch, that you were going to find him. He asked us to help him find a Catholic Church. Then, this evening, he found Jeb and asked if it was done.”

“How…how is he?”

“Sad but holding up well, considering. Carolina is with him.”

She told herself it was a gift. There was no guilt, no shame. Still, she found Tom’s hand and held it on the short drive to the farm. Leaving the others to the baggage, she went directly to Tom’s living room. Quiet laughter floated down the steps. Poppy told Carolina a story of Rico and her father trying to fly off the garage when they were boys.

She stepped into the doorway, and the conversation abruptly ended. As Carolina turned, Peach saw the grief in her eyes, one of which was distinctly bruised. Before the question could be asked, she was in the Carolina’s arms, being hugged and kissed. “I’m sorry, Peach. Your uncle was an amazing man. I feel like I know him with the stories. I would have liked him.”

Peach held on as her voice cracked. “He would have liked you, too.”

Then Carolina left them. She trembled as she walked to her grandfather, her sadness so complete, it weakened her. She should have thought of something to say. Something poetic. Something noble. Instead, she said, “I’m here.”

Poppy stood from the couch, opening his arms. She filled them without hesitation. They clung to each other. Tears came but without the exhausting sobs. Poppy began to sing in her ear. It was that same silly song Rico had sung as he worked. Laughter burst forth, and even to her ears, it sounded crazy. “That song, what is it?”

“Your grandmother made it up when the boys were little. She sang it as a lullaby. It was her happy song. She sang it in the garden and cooking and all around the house.”

“You’ll have to teach it to me. I could use a happy song.”

His hand stroked her back, offering her silent strength when she had been determined to provide it to him. “Where is he now?”

“With the coroner. They are going to do an autopsy to confirm the cause of death. It is going to be a while…before we can bring him home.” That brought a flurry of decisions and options she just didn’t have the strength for. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly. “I love you, Poppy.”

“I love you, my little peach.” He kissed her temple before gently pushing her back. “Now, I am going to rest my weary bones. You find Tom. I know he worries about you.” At his doorway, he turned back to her. “We are going to cremate him and let the wind take him home.”

She waited until Poppy went into his bedroom before she returned to the courtyard. Some instinct told her Tom would be there, waiting for her.

And he was.

On an ATV.

She needed to talk to her grandfather alone. She needed to be there for him. He got that. He also got that she needed someone to be there for her. The hailstorm on the boat was just the leading edge of the front. You don’t live through what she did without feeling the turbulence.

He wanted to give her a space of peace, and nothing had that like the country.

She opened his door, the light spilling around her, bathing her silhouette in warmth. As the light succumbed to the closing of the door, he saw her features. Torn, worn, blanched. She had thinned in the minutes since he left her, withering beneath the jacket she pulled tightly around her stomach.

“What are you doing?” she asked, one brow raised, curiosity taming heartache.

“We are going for a ride. Get on.”

Peach hastily braided her hair, took the helmet he held out, and climbed on, pressing against him. The stone of the courtyard crunched under the tires as he crossed into the garage, then past the barn and out into the night. The chilled air was silent, still too cool for the insects that filled the summer nights with songs. He unleashed the machine, riding the ridges and rills like a jet ski on water. She moved naturally with him, her front to his back. They quickly drove out of the modern glow of Elderberry Farm and into the fields. The narrow headlights provided a glimpse into the world that was all around them and yet invisible.

Silence was their companion. It wasn’t awkward or distant but comfortable. Warm in the way it was welcomed without being invited. He drove to the small pier that jetted into the glass-topped pond. He took blankets, pillows, and a thermos of hot chocolate from the storage compartment.

“What’s all that for?”

“Looking at stars. Don’t tell anyone, but it hurts my back to sit on the hard wood and look up for a long time.”

Her eyebrows pressed together. “How is that a secret?”

He shrugged and laid out a flannel blanket. “Some people might take it as I’m getting soft. I’m not. I just don’t see a reason to be uncomfortable.” He patted the blanket. “Have a seat.”

She sat obediently, watching as he set up two of the big pillows that she had seen in the TV room by the video games. He squatted, waiting patiently until she lay back and found a comfortable place. He sat next to her, draped another blanket over top, and then opened the thermos.

The steam swirled into the moon-lit night as he poured. She took the first and sipped the thick, sweet drink. “This didn’t come from a container.”

“Hell no. I make it my own secret way.”

“How’s that?”

“It wouldn’t be a secret very long if I went around telling everyone how I do it.”

“No. I suppose it wouldn’t.” She looked up at the eternal black sky.

He watched her face. The infinite depth of night took time to adjust to. He saw the moment her eyes did.

“There must be a million of them.” There was awe in her voice. “Where have they been hiding?”

“Behind city lights. I tried counting once. Fell asleep at one thousand eighty-seven.”

She giggled and slapped at his hand. “You’re making that up.”

“No, I’m not. I take counting very seriously. It’s the nerd in me.”

They fell silent for a minute, then she sighed heavily. “Can you imagine what it was like, being those early explorers who navigated just by the stars?”

“Terrifying and thrilling—in equal measure.”

“Thrilling would outweigh terrifying a hundred to one. Then there is the call of the ocean. Have you ever been on one of the oceans?” When he shook his head, she patted his hand. “You should someday. There is something about a horizon that stretches forever that obliges you to see what’s on the other side. Terrifying, maybe at times. But thrilling and compelling. That’s why I would go.”

They fell into silence again. She tilted her cup and patiently waited for every last drop of the thick chocolate to fall to her tongue.

Tom covered the hand that rested on the blanket with his own. She turned her hand over and laced their fingers together. “How is Poppy?”

“Poppy…I don’t know…he’s just a rock, you know?” She rolled on her side. “He has an infinite capacity to accept life. He appreciates every moment and regrets nothing. Even mistakes have a purpose.” Her voice quivered, emotion choking her words. She took a breath before continuing. “He deserved to have Tío Rico home and to make sure he wasn’t set up as the fall guy. I did the first. You did the second.”

“Not yet, but I will.” He squeezed her hand. “Your uncle may be a hero. Hawthorne credits Rico with saving his life. I know what he did behind the controls changed the story. A lot more men could have died if the crane fell over land.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I told myself I would do right by Poppy. I thought once Rico was found that I would feel…I don’t know…satisfied, relieved. But I’m just empty. I’m trying to think of what to do next. Once his body is released, we’ll have him cremated. Poppy wants to scatter his ashes, to set him free. Then what?”

The question was rhetorical, he realized. She was ordering her thoughts.

“I need to go back to work. Looking for my uncle took most of my cash and all of my credit. Then how much longer can Poppy live on his own? His eyesight is only going to get worse. God, I’m tired.”

Tom moved closer. “Let’s just look at the stars. Tomorrow is for everything else. That one is my favorite.” He pointed to a flickering star low in the sky. “It looks like it’s up to something.”

She stretched and let herself be distracted. “You like troublemakers?”

“Hmmm. I find them compelling characters, just like your sea.” He smiled at her soft chuckle, gave her hand another squeeze. “Tell me your favorite story about your uncle.”

“What?”

“After my mother passed, my father would have us boys tell one of our favorite stories about Mom each night. It helped us focus on the good. Tell me a story.”

She snuggled closer, and he lifted his arm to make his shoulder her pillow. “I didn’t really know my uncle before I went to live with Poppy. He would come to visit two or three times a year and stay for a week or two. When I started living there, well, neither one of us knew what to make of the other. He didn’t have kids. I didn’t have family who had an interest in me. One Saturday, I must have been about fifteen, we were trapped in the house by heavy rain.”

“Just like the kids in The Cat in the Hat.”

“Exactly. Poppy wasn’t home. I don’t remember where he went. Maybe that was why my uncle stayed home. Anyway, I caught him at the kitchen table playing four hands of poker by himself. So I went in and sat myself down.” Peach smiled. “We played every night while he was home, and after he left, I kept playing by myself. I wanted to be ready when he came back.”

“When did he come back?”

“That fall. He didn’t get both feet inside the door before I had the deck of cards out. We played for pennies, and I cleaned him out. A few days later, I heard him tell Poppy he was going out to a card game that night.”

“You didn’t.”

“Well, see, there were these pair of boots I wanted. Poppy said I had to save my own money to buy them. I had been working odd jobs in the neighborhood and had eighty dollars. The boots were two hundred. So I took my stake and hid in the back of the Beast. It was new back then. And clean. Tío pulled into a drive thru for a snack, and I popped up and knocked on the window. I wanted a milkshake.” Her grin broadened when he laughed. “After he got over the heart attack, he ordered me to get into the cab. I blubbered all over him about the boots and my working and the eighty dollars and begged him not to take me back home.”

“He let you stay.”

Peach giggled. “There were conditions.”

“Of course.”

“One, no matter what time we got home, I had to get up for church with Poppy without whining, bitching, or ratting him out. His exact words. Two, I had to use my own money. When I went bust, I was done. Three, we were leaving when he wanted to, not me. And four, if I won money, he got half.”

“That’s a pretty steep take.”

“We both knew there would be hell to pay if Poppy knew Tío took me to a poker game, so I figured he was earning it. The card game was at a local attorney’s house. He lived close to us, but the neighborhood was different. Better, I guess. That was the first time I was in a really nice house. Everyone at the table knew my uncle and raised eyebrows at me tagging along in his shadow. He pulled out a chair, introduced me around, took my money, and bought me in.”

“How much did you take them for?”

“$525.50.” She couldn’t keep the pride from her voice. “Even after I paid off my uncle, I had enough for the boots. Or I did.”

“Oh, no. Poppy found out.”

“Oh, yes. Poppy found out. In hindsight, we weren’t all that sneaky. True to my word, I was up early for church, dressed in the skirt Poppy liked the best with my hair tied up.”

“Sounds smart to me.”

“No. Not when you consider my modus operandi was to wait to get up until Poppy yelled three times and then drag myself into the kitchen wearing whatever was on the floor in my closet. He was suspicious from the first minute. Then I asked him if he would take me to the mall after church to buy the boots. Of course, he knew how much I had saved to that point. He asked me where I got the money, and I froze. I did not rat out my uncle, but Poppy took all of my money and put it in the collection plate.”

“Harsh.”

“Even worse, Poppy and Tío got into an argument. Tío was gone by the time we returned from church. I didn’t even get to say good-bye.”

He wrapped his arm around her and gave her a hug. “That’s a rotten ending to a happy story.”

“Oh, that’s not the end. A week later, a package came for me from Arizona.”

“Rico sent you the boots?”

“Oh, yes, he did. And a deck of cards and a book on poker games and probabilities. I still have it. Every time he came home we played. And…I got a job in that lawyer’s office helping with the filing. Technically, I wasn’t allowed to play for money until I was eighteen, but…”

“Do you still play?”

“Yes. And I still kick ass.”

“You mean antes.” He laughed at his own pun. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting cold.” When she put her hand in his, he pulled her to her feet.

Peach smiled up at him, drawing her fingers along his shadowed jaw. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Always.”

Thursday, April 13 eleven p.m.

Peach went into the courtyard carrying the picnic remnants and feeling lighter. She volunteered for clean-up duty, firmly believing that since he prepared their midnight picnic, she should tidy things up. The dirties were rinsed and set in the dishwasher. The pillows were returned to the family room, where she set the now neatly folded blanket. Her hands on her hips, she looked around the quiet room. It was a good space, one built piece by piece as nothing matched, and yet it all went together. The couches and chairs were sized for active men while the frosted glass lamps screamed Carolina’s name. Crown molding, trimmed doors and windows, sculpted and beveled glass windows reminded her of much older houses, and she wondered whose taste that was. Katie, she remembered, was the architect and thought she must be talented. Where was Tom in here? He was in the “comfort” of it, she decided. The same touches that made a wooden pier perfect for star gazing made this room perfect for living. Suddenly, she craved him, wanting that…that…that whatever the word was for how he made her feel.

She closed up the room and hurried into the courtyard where disappointment awaited. The only light from Tom’s floor was a soft glow from her own bedroom. His room was as dark as the night in which she stood.

She wrinkled her nose, disheartened. It was perfectly reasonable for him to be tired. It had been a very long day.

She shuffled the rocks as she went to Tom’s house, sulking. The hallway light was left thoughtfully on. Peach climbed the stairs, stepped into his living space as she turned out the hallway light. In the dark, a soft yellow light snuck from under her door acting as a beacon. With regret filled glance at Tom’s dark door, she turned the knob and walked into her fairy tale.

The light didn’t come from the elegant lamps that stood sentry aside the bed but from twenty candles. Thick white candles, short and tall, were bundled in small groups on the bedside tables, the dresser, the small table in front of the windows.

In the bed lay a dark and handsome man. The white comforter covered his hips. Tom lay on his side, his head propped up on his hand, his broad chest bare in the flickering candlelight. His eyes twinkled, and the small grin was pure sex.

Her heart skipped a beat, and the exhaustion from the day fell away. He lifted the comforter, an invitation. His bottom half was as bare as the top. She kicked off her shoes and pulled off the socks. She glanced at him and saw the hunger in his eyes. She slowed down. On a groan, she dropped her head back and raked out the weave from her braided hair. The long, thick waves poured down her back. She turned away from him and pulled the tight knit shirt over her head.

Hips swaying back and forth, she slowly walked the cotton to the floor. Standing in her black bra and panties, she looked over her shoulder at him.

Oh, yeah. He was paying attention.

She unclasped the bra and let it fall to the floor. She shook her head until she was draped in the black length of her hair. She turned to him, her pink nipples peeking through the silky strands. Her hands went to her hips.

“No,” he said, his voice thick with need. “Leave them on. Come here.”

With the sultry confidence of a diva, she walked on bare feet to the bed. When the covers were lifted a second time, she slid in. He didn’t draw the exquisite cotton back over her but blanketed her with his body. His hands and his mouth went to her breasts. He followed the line between her breasts down to her stomach to her belly button, paying it a lot of focused attention. Her skin was alive; every place he touched was so sensitive, every place he hadn’t craved his attention. He crawled down her body to the juncture between her legs. The air was cool where his heated body had been. She wanted him back, but then his large hands parted her thighs, putting her legs over his shoulders.

He settled in. A man not planning to go anywhere for a good, long time.

Not that she had any sense of time. He wiped all sense from her mind, replacing it with feeling.

He coaxed sensations, familiar and new, with his very talented mouth. The world around her was solely sensory. Her breasts were heavy, peaked, demanding attention. She cupped herself, gasping at her own touch. His tongue lapped and teased. She floated on the waves he created, a lone surfer in search of that perfect ride.

She felt it before she saw it. The perfect wave. It built as she fantasized about the man loving her. Her fantasies were replays of their times together. Destroying the hotel room. Crying his name when he spread her wide across the Queen Anne chair. Eating him for dessert and then being the dessert. The large hands, rough from work, brushed along her ribs, a trail of flames in their wake. He squeezed her hands as they covered her breasts. He sucked and licked and…

The world ceased to exist except for the waves that crashed over her body. Again and again, her muscles convulsed. Every nerve ending was at attention and screaming for joy.

Air. She gulped it in. Her empty lungs greedy. He licked again, her body tightened again, and her breath was lost again. She pushed at his shoulders, needing a respite. He locked her hands to the mattress and coaxed more than she’d ever given.

Her body was done. Totally done. “You have to stop. You fried my brain and everything else.”

His weight shifted, and she lifted her lashes by sheer determination, not wanting to leave the space he’d created. The face that looked down at her was very cocky. She took a deep breath and touched that shadowed jaw.

It would have been easy to close her eyes, let him have his way, and then slide into sweet oblivion. The pleasure he brought her redefined, well, everything. It was running naked in the morning surf and skinny dipping in the moonlight. It was lying in the tender spring grass while a soft rain cooled heated bodies. It was everything she’d ever wanted and nothing she’d ever had.

While the idea of sleeping blissed her out, it would have been selfish.

And with what this amazing man had just given her, he deserved more than a warm body to park in.

She reared up, grabbed the back of his neck, and fixed her mouth to his. She wrapped her legs around his waist, rolled him, and took him on the ride of his life. It was leaping from an airplane without a parachute, landing on a virgin white mountain slope, and snowboarding recklessly down the avalanche they just caused. Every time he got close to the edge, she left him dangling just long enough that he started building again.

The white comforter twisted around their feet and was kicked off the bed. They rolled over the bed, contending for the top. She dug her fingers in when he went for her already sensitive breasts, came off the mattress when he nipped, and sent the pillow across the room.

She got a fist of that thick hair and pulled, peeling him off her enough that she could get to his own sensitive nipples. He bucked and flipped.

They sprawled over the bed, panting, sweating, and grinning like fools.

Pinned beneath him once again, she lifted her head and blinked. “Tom. Something’s wrong.”

He shifted his leg and pinned her down. “Not from where I’m sitting.”

“I’m serious. It just got brighter.”

“It’s just the sun.”

“It’s after one in the morning.” She got another hold of his hair and pulled. “Ohhhhh, this isn’t good. Fire!”

Chapter Seventeen

Thursday, April 13 eleven-thirty p.m.

Flames reared from the pillowcase that now sat where an elegant set of candles had been shining softly on the low dresser, in front of the windows. Tom leaped off Peach, snatched the comforter from the floor, and attacked the flames as they licked at the draperies.

“Get Poppy out of here,” he ordered.

“We need to call 9-1-1,” she shouted back.

Smoke reached the ceiling. The sprinkler activated, raining cold water, soaking the burning linen and their naked bodies. The fire alarm screamed through the house. “They just got called. Get going.”

He tore the gauzy drape from the rod, depriving the greedy tongues of fresh food. Picking up the discarded comforter, he smothered the flames.

“Poppy. Poppy, you need to wake up.”

Tom heard Peach’s voice over the noise of the fire alarm, calm and authoritative. There was urgency, yes, but not panic, and it helped tame his own reaction, driven by surprise and adrenaline.

“Get back,” Jeb said as he bulled into the room, then doused the dying fire with an extinguisher.

The room was filled with noise—the fire alarm, the bursts from the extinguisher. Then abruptly, silence. A clap. Then two. He looked over his shoulder at the three men looking down on his sprawled, naked body. Jeb held the extinguisher; Nate had the battery from the alarm; Butch was on a chair turning off the sprinkler.

All the sons of bitches had big ass grins on their faces.

Jeb scrubbed the top of his head. “Clyde, well, now, I just can’t think of anything to say.”

“There’s a song in here,” Butch said, his bare foot taking up a rhythm.

“This is some kind of crazy family my sister married into,” Nate said, shaking his head.

“Maybe, but it’s a good kind of crazy.” Jeb clamped his brother-in-law on the shoulder. “Never a dull moment.”

“I’m going to get up. You boys want an eyeful, or are you going to turn around?” He grabbed his wet sleep pants from the floor and forced his legs in.

“We’re going. No need to get worked up. Again,” Butch said.

Jeb grinned as he turned away. “I’ll send your woman back. Poppy can stay in my spare room tonight.”

“One thing before you guys go. What do you think about calling Doc and setting up a little game?”

“It has been a while since we had a game night,” Butch said. “I’ll make some calls, once the rooster is up. ’Night.”

They left his room, snickering like a pack of teenage boys. More revelry came from the staircase, and then Peach and Poppy returned.

“He wouldn’t stay,” she said.

“I prefer to sleep in my room,” her grandfather said, slipping from her hand and retiring to his room.

Together, they went to the door of the princess room and stared in. “The fire wasn’t that big. You wouldn’t think there’d be such a mess.” He went in and carried out her open suitcase. “You want to throw these in the wash?”

“Let’s just lay them out to dry. If they’re too bad, then I wash them.”

“Right.” He picked out a pair of underwear and draped it across his bar. Digging through the case, he found another pair and a bra to add to the bar. Then he found—

“I do have more clothes than just underwear.” She laughed as she filled his hands with a shirt.

He dropped the shirt and filled them with her butt. “Some things are just more important than others.”

Friday, April 14 nine a.m.

Waking wasn’t such a chore, Peach decided, when she was awakened by a virile and talented man. After the pyromania incident, she moved into Tom’s room. Funny how she didn’t consider, even for a moment, moving into one of the other spare rooms. She had a feeling that even without the fire, they would have been sleeping in the same bed. The smoke-stained bedding just gave them an excuse. She left the bed and stretched and realized…she was happy. It was such a good feeling that she decided to share it by whipping up breakfast for Tom and Poppy.

Dressing quickly, she skipped down the steps and into the courtyard, her step as light as her heart. She didn’t question the feeling but tried to savor it, suspecting that sooner or later, reality would crash back down on her head.

By the front door to Jeb’s suite, Jeb and Katie were huddled in a heated discussion. Jeb continuously shifted his weight—left foot, right foot, left foot. His hands went to his hair. Then he spotted her, and so did Katie. Katie motioned Peach over with a wave that was all “get your ass over here fast.”

Peach ran across the stones, her heart suddenly locked in a vise. “What’s wrong? Something happened.”

“Carolina won’t come out of her room,” Katie said.

Peach blinked. Not the ground-shaking reality she was expecting. “Why?”

“She is due in Nashville at the NPR radio station. She’s going to be on the show Fresh Air,” Jeb said, his big body restless with uselessness. “She’s curled up in our bedroom and refuses to move.”

Katie jumped in. “Before being the love of Jeb’s life, Carolina Walker was a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist and researcher. She just had her first book published on a land scheme in Florida. It might not have gotten the attention of NPR except that Randolph Edgerton, Governor of Florida and Democratic Presidential hopeful, was killed last week on a trip to Afghanistan.”

“Carolina likes staying home,” Jeb added. “She’s getting better about going out—at least with us—but this is all too much for her. I feel like a sap forcing her to do this.”

Katie stepped into Jeb, not threateningly but to be heard. “She wants to do this. You know she does. If Carolina didn’t want this, she would have said no or never taken the call to begin with. She’s just getting cold feet. Come on, Peach. Let’s talk to her.”

Jeb opened the door and let Katie and Peach into his space. Katie flashed Peach a sassy grin as she made for the stairs. “Heard about the fire in your place. Nice.”

Peach tripped up the steps. Katie hurried down the hallway without bothering to wait for her. She didn’t knock when she reached the closed door at the end.

In the middle of the big bed, engulfed in a cloud of white, a tangle of blond hair floated. Beneath was a huddled mass that didn’t flinch when Katie’s off-centered weight fell clumsily across the bed. “You could have at least camped out close to the edge,” Katie said.

A muffled sniffle came back.

“Why are you impersonating a cocoon?” Katie asked.

“Ilookf asbadder wif.”

Katie laughed and tugged until the covers pulled away. “You want to try that again?”

Carolina flipped her hair back. “I l-look like a b-battered wife.” Her eyes, red and bloodshot from crying, also sported a spectacular shiner—complete with all the colors of a rainbow. “I c-can’t go out like this.”

Katie sat back on her heels. “It’s not so bad. It’s not really swollen. That bag of peas really helped.”

Carolina threw Jeb’s pillow at Katie. “I look like a z-zombie.”

“No. Zombies are pale, colorless. You look more like a pixie. Full of color.”

Carolina narrowed her eyes at Katie.

Peach stood at the bedside, beyond curious as to how Carolina ended up with the black eye. She listened to the sparring, feeling on the outside. In just a few days, she’d come to like and respect Carolina and Katie. Neither was holding her at arm’s length. If she wanted to be part of this, all she had to do was figure out a way to get Carolina out of bed. “So you’re Carolina Walker? The Carolina Walker.” She widened her eyes and openly gawked. “You won a Pulitzer Prize before you were thirty.”

Carolina shifted on the bed, raising her chin just a bit. “T-two, actually.”

“I picked up some of your work. The law firm I worked for provided the defense for a businessman accused of art theft.”

Carolina smoothed her hair and then wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “You d-defended one of them?”

“Well, not me. I was just the investigator. I picked things up where you left them. My job was to prove you wrong or, if I couldn’t do that, find holes big enough for a semi-trailer to drive through.”

“Which one did you w-work for?” Carolina asked, and when Peach answered, she grinned. “He took a plea bargain.”

Peach smiled back, coaxing her friend along. “Yes, he did. So where are you supposed to be going today?”

Carolina settled against the headboard, making space for Katie to sit next to her and then patting the other side. Recognizing progress, Peach climbed onto the bed, sandwiching Carolina in the middle.

“I’m doing an interview on Fresh Air with Terry Gross. Do you know it?”

“Do I? Wow. That’s all I can say. Did she call you?”

“Well, not herself. Her people. The show’s people, I mean.”

“Very impressive. What are they interviewing you about?”

Carolina let out a deep breath, her anxiety forgotten for the moment. “I wrote a book. One of those tell-all-the-facts type.”

Guilt nagged as she baited Carolina along, but Peach shut it down. This was doing a good deed. “Like a tabloid exposé? Who did you write it about?”

She listened, gasping in the right places as Carolina told the story Katie had summarized in the courtyard. When she finished, Carolina’s expressive face was a complicated swirl of pride and determination, embarrassment and fear. The first two Peach had in super-sized quantities. Embarrassment she hadn’t really known until New Year’s Eve. Fear wasn’t allowed in her personal space. Relating to Carolina was hard but not impossible. Peach focused on the embarrassment and wiping it from Carolina’s face. “I bet Terry is bragging to her competition that she has Carolina Walker on her show.”

Carolina quieted and picked invisible lint off the immaculate bed spread. “I’m not going.”

“Why?” Peach asked, ready to dismantle whatever argument she had.

Carolina rolled her eyes. “Look at my face.”

“Your face is perfect. It’s radio.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, if you care that much, I’ll fix it for you. Jump in the shower and wash that bale of straw you call hair. I’ll go get my stuff. What are you going to wear?”

Carolina nodded to the closet door and the shapeless gray frock with a bold white stripe ripping across the middle hanging on it.

“Well, if you wear that, you won’t have to worry about anyone looking at your face. Katie? Will you get my makeup case from Tom’s guest bathroom? I’m going to do wardrobe control.”

Tom came out of the shower to find an empty bed. Under the hot water, images of his night with Peach played on loop. Before the fire had been amazing. But after the fire, after he thought they had settled in for the night, that had been life altering. He didn’t have to look down at his body to know he wanted more.

But she was gone.

The empty bed deflated his mood and his body.

He dressed quickly, wanting to find where she had gone. The house wasn’t that big. He stepped into the hallway, where the smell of their sexual fire greeted him. It shouldn’t have made him smile, but it did. It shouldn’t have made him hard but…

“Tom,” Poppy called through the open bedroom door, pronouncing the name with the easy sound of his native language. He sat in the comfortable armchair in the living area and motioned to the empty couch. “We need to talk.”

Tom tripped, he swore under his breath, and his growing hard-on turtled. We need to talk was never a good phase, no matter who said it. He regained his composure. “Is something wrong?”

The old man pursed his lips. “Wrong? I would not say wrong. But they are not right, either. My Peach, she is going to leave us.”

Denial was his first reaction. After all, he had plans.

“As soon as she thinks she is done here. I was sorry she found Rico so quickly—”

He shook his head. He couldn’t have heard him correctly. “You were?”

Poppy bowed his head. “I knew in my heart Rico was dead. For the last week, Peach had been getting ready to leave. She looked for excuses to stay and found them. But she was running out of excuses.”

“Until this whole mess.”

“She promised me she would find Rico. She does not make promises lightly, and I have never known her to break one. She said she would find him, and she did. It hurt her. I don’t want to know the details. I don’t need them. She is going to leave. One day. Maybe three.”

That didn’t surprise him. He’d picked up on that “one step out the door” attitude of hers. But hearing a time put to it, it didn’t sit well. He had plans…and what was her hurry? It’s not like she had a job to go to.

Poppy patted his hand. “She will stay for you.”

Tom’s instincts reared and sounded retreat. “For me?” He stepped back, away, until the doorway caught him between the shoulders. “Why would you think that?”

“I see her with you. Even though my eyes do not work so well, I see very clearly. She needs you. You need her.”

“No. Not me.” He swung his arms across his body, calling the runner out at home. He needed air. He needed water and food. He did not now nor would he ever need another woman.

“You think she is not the woman for you?”

“I don’t think any woman is for me. No offense, but I’m happily single.” He forced casual into his voice when he felt as wound up as a Tasmanian Devil.

“No, you are not,” Poppy said, equally calmly. He sat in the armchair with his leg crossed and his hands resting openly on the arms. There was no tension, only a quiet confidence that scared the hell out of Tom.

His instincts reared again, this time calling for defense. He stalked to the center of the room, jutting a finger at the nearly blind man. “Yes, I am.”

“Do you know what love is?”

Tom looked to the open door—freedom a mere twenty feet away. Nothing good ever came from “we need to talk.”

“I know you do,” Poppy said when he didn’t answer. “I see you with your family.”

“That’s different.”

“Yes and no. When you find the right woman, everything is brighter, happier, easier. You want only to see the sun reflected in her smile. All her wants, her dreams, you want to make come true.”

Tom coughed uncomfortably.

“And do you know what you get in return?”

“What?”

“Everything. Needs you didn’t know you had are filled before you could want them.” Poppy patted the arm of the chair. “She will stay for you.”

An entire drum corps beat in his chest. Women had wanted to stay with him before; he knew the signs. Peach exhibited zero of them. She didn’t hang on him, didn’t try to please him, didn’t agree for the sake of agreeing. And, importantly, she didn’t want those things from him. He relaxed then, realizing that her grandfather wanted those things for her, which made sense for his generation and his love for her. “I know that you love her and you want a good life for her, a happily ever after. But you know Peach better than anyone. She doesn’t need a man to make her life good. How ever she lives her life, she’ll write it herself.”

“I will stay here.”

“Here? As in here? Permanently?” His voice was strangled again.

“I wish to be close to my great-grandchildren.”

Tom sputtered, choked, and hurried from the room. “I need to go.” It was lame, but it was the truth. His feet didn’t stop until he was out in the courtyard. But where to go? Peach was probably in the kitchen. It was shitty of him, but he didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to see Carolina or Jeb in their newlywed glow. He didn’t want to see Butch, forever the romantic. He didn’t even want to see Katie with her big, round baby belly.

He went back in the door he’d just come out of but hung a left and went into his lab. If his brain was going to be going a hundred miles an hour, he would damn well put it to good use.

It had taken the better part of an hour and several trips between closets for Peach to get Carolina and Katie dressed. Carolina wore the blue dress she said she had bought that day she had her first date with Jeb. The dress had been shoved in the back of the closet and forgotten about. From the moment the silky material brushed over Carolina’s skin, Peach knew she couldn’t have picked a better dress. Her blue eyes glowed, broadcasting confidence.

“I’m going to channel Marilyn,” she said.

Katie dressed in an empire-waist dress from Carolina’s closet that settled in over her baby bump. The scoop neck showed off the amazing breasts the pregnancy hormones had loaned her while her arms and legs were still long and trim. It was topped off with a silk scarf in a muted floral pattern. “You should come with us. We’ll make it a girls’ day out.”

“That would be fun, but I’m booked. I’m going to help Tom with his work today, you know, since he helped me yesterday.” Peach shimmied into a short dress from Katie’s closet. The green leafy pattern drew attention to the vivid green of her eyes. Fancy attire wasn’t required for working behind a computer, but she’d woken up feeling pretty. The dress matched her mood exactly.

Katie snorted. “Sometimes I ‘help’ Butch with his music. Carolina, she’s always ‘helping’ Jeb with his work. Aren’t you?”

Carolina sat on the chair in front of Peach. “We’re newlyweds. We’re supposed to ‘help’ each other.”

She worked quickly on Carolina’s hair, pinning and spraying and twisting sections until she looked like she’d walked out of a magazine. Katie’s hair she left down but curled it so it was soft and as fun-filled as the woman. For her own hair, she pulled it into a long tail and then wrapped a section around the base. It looked fancier than it was and did the job of taming the unruly strands.

“Where did you learn how to do all of this?” Katie asked as Peach worked the concealer over Carolina’s black eye. “Your mother?”

“Oh God, no. My mother has been MIA most of my life. Poppy raised me.” She laughed a little. “The sight of lip gloss made him nervous. I wasn’t sure he would survive me getting my first bra. He had our neighbor, Mrs. Hernandez, take me.” She dabbed gently with her pinkie finger and then applied powder.

“It’s disappearing,” Carolina said in amazement.

“My roommate in Virginia always said dressing well was as much a woman’s weapon as a gun or a knife. She is a federal agent. She taught me how to use all my assets to my benefit. So you guys know I’m dying of curiosity…how did you get it?”

Carolina sighed. “Katie started a bar fight. I slipped on spilled beer and hit my face on the back of a chair.”

Peach’s gaze snapped to Katie’s belly. “You started a bar fight?”

“This brainless numb nuts insulted me and Butch, talking about him ‘liking fatties.’ I calmly pointed out I was pregnant and that it was rude to talk about any woman like he did.”

Carolina snorted as Peach read between the lines. “The women in the bar surrounded the man. Next thing you know, purses were flying and the police were hauling the man out.” She paused while Peach touched a pencil to her lips. “Things definitely got out of hand, and I got a black eye.”

“If anyone asks,” Peach said, “and they will, don’t say the part about slipping. Stick to the bar fight. There. Perfect.” With the efficient hand that came with practice, Carolina and Katie were finished ten minutes before they had to leave. Peach spared the time for her own make up.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Carolina said. “They look like spring leaves.”

It was a nice compliment. One of the best she’d ever had. She added more mascara, then touched up her lips. “Thank you. You both look great. A fine job, if I say so myself.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder, surveying the finished product in the long bathroom mirror.

“Amazing,” Carolina said. Her baby blue eyes were haunting amid the dark shadow and long lashes.

“You know who we look like,” Katie said, her eyes trimmed in an ocean of colors and her lips glistening in pink bubblegum.

“Charlie’s Angels,” Peach said, her own eyes piercing from the dark trim and underscored by a deep red lip stain. She smiled. “That means I’m the smart one.” She left the room, a noisy debate hot on her tail.

The computer program had finished an hour ago, producing a two-digit megabyte file that now needed the analysis of a human brain. Running simulations allowed Tom to induce flaws at different points in the crane structure to estimate which set of circumstances resulted in the outcome that most closely matched the actual. Wind was a factor. It decreased the lift capacity of the crane to the point that the weight of the steel frame would have been seventy-five to ninety percent of the limit, depending on the wind gust rate. He had isolated the area; now he needed to isolate the component. The catastrophic failure meant that the strength of at least one component of the crane had been exceeded.

It shouldn’t have been the bolts. So many would have had to fail. He was confident he had zeroed in on the area of the failure. Structurally, the location didn’t make sense. It was too low. He remembered Hawthorne’s comment about the “melted paint.” Was there more to it than a surface blemish? He said he noticed it on two of the supports. Did that mean the other two were undamaged or that he didn’t look? He scrolled through the images he collected and the progress photos from Hawthorne’s computer. Photos had been taken nearly every day, but he had to sift through to find the ones with the area he wanted. Images of human ingenuity were displayed on the wall-mounted monitor.

In his peripheral vision, his door opened. He was in no mood for small talk, plus he was knee deep in data that demanded his full attention. “Go away.”

“Room service,” Peach called out.

“Not now.” He hunched over his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard, demonstrating he was working. He didn’t want to see her. Didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Rumor had it you skipped breakfast. That’s the most important meal of the day.” She set a platter on the empty corner of his desk.

He scowled at the food, but his stomach rejoiced at the aroma. He glared harder, resenting that she knew he was hungry. “I…I’m busy.” He glanced at her and did a double take. “What are you wearing?”

“Oh, this old thing?” She twirled, the skirt flaring out to show off long, toned legs.

She crossed behind him and started working on his neck. “Wow. You are really tense. You were putty in my hands last night. What happened?”

Panic squeezed his heart. Did she know Poppy had picked him out as the father of their children? Her children? Crap. She didn’t look like she had a clue…but she was wearing a dress that sent his body into overdrive. There was nothing innocent about that. Maybe she had planted the idea in Poppy’s head. She couldn’t tell him she wanted to stay so she tricked her grandfather into it. Oh, yeah, she played it well. If Poppy told him she was leaving, then he’d have to step in and stop her, making him the one who said stay. That made sense. She was using reverse psychology on him. Well, it wasn’t going to work. He was going to use double-reverse psychology.

“Figuring things out?” she asked.

“Oh, I think I’ve figured things out all right.” He pried her hands from his shoulders and pushed his chair back, forcing her to step away.

“You’ll get farther with some fuel in that body of yours. I was worried I depleted it last night.”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t playing her game. When he played a game, he made the rules. No babies. Simple rule. Then he choked on his own spit. He hadn’t used a condom. He’d believed her that she had them protected but what if…

“You need food to—”

“I don’t need anything.” He jumped to his feet, turning to glare at her. “I don’t need a massage. I don’t need breakfast, and I don’t need you.”

She stepped back, an eyebrow raised. “You think you don’t need anything?”

“That’s right.” He said it cruelly. It took every bit of testosterone in his body to withstand the onslaught of those radiant eyes. But he did it. He stared her down, daring her to contradict him.

“You’re wrong.” She picked up the breakfast, smashed it into his chest, and let the mess fall to the floor. She knocked over everything possible on her way to the door. In the doorway, she turned back. “I don’t know what the hell just happened here, but you better get over it. Asshole.” Door slam.

Get over it. Right. He kicked the platter, sending it into a steel base where it shattered into a million pieces.

Chapter Eighteen

Friday, April 14 ten-thirty a.m.

Peach stalked into the courtyard, her rigid arms ending in tight fists. A litany of curse words fell off her tongue, all perfectly describing the self-absorbed idiot. To think she worried that he was hungry. An extreme exercise in misjudgment on her part to give the bastard the number of orgasms she had. She didn’t want to be locked inside his stupid laboratory. Not when she could be out in a world that appreciated her. Ahead, Katie tugged Carolina across the courtyard. Peach swept her arm around Carolina and ushered her into the garage. “I’m driving. We need to take this,” Peach said, stopping by a vintage GTO. “This is the car for angels.” She was going to have a good day, she decided, no matter what she had to do.

A scant three hours later, three glasses of clear liquid—two Grey Goose, one water—were raised in a toast. “To Carolina Walker, the interview diva!” Katie’s voice rang out loud and proud, filling the empty space of Steel Strings. Donny, the owner and now Butch and Katie’s partner, worked behind the bar, drying off freshly washed glasses, as he watched over the one man sitting at the bar. It was only in this bar, with the oversize pictures of Butch McCormick on the wall, that Peach put it all together.

“Oh my God,” Carolina said as she set the empty glass down. “I did it. I really did it. And I was good. Wasn’t I good?”

“You kicked ass,” Peach said then threw down her vodka.

“Can’t wait to hear it,” Donny said. “Where can I get one of your books?” A bell dinged. Donny collected three plates of barbecue and set them with sets of real silverware.

Carolina beamed at the weathered bar man as she accepted the plate. “I’ll bring you one. Signed by author. This looks delicious.”

Peach slammed her glass to the table. “Did you see that producer’s eyes when you said you’d been in a bar fight? That was respect.”

“That was awesome.” Carolina’s blue eyes danced with joy. “I’ve never been a badass before.”

Katie leaned over her belly and gave her sister-of-the-heart a hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “Ignore the crying. It’s just hormones. That and I haven’t had sex for two months.”

“Yikes.” It escaped before Peach realized the thought was out loud. “That’s a long time. You know you don’t have to wait for a man to make the move. You can make it. I’m surprised that you haven’t already.”

More tears fell. Bigger ones. “If he finds me disgusting—”

Carolina squeezed Katie’s hand. “He doesn’t think you’re disgusting. Your husband is a good man, and he’s going to be a great father. But right now, he’s over educated. Over informed. There’s only one cure for that.”

“Screw his brains out,” Peach said, straight a pin, sharp as tack. “It’s the only known cure. You have to fuck him stupid.”

Katie bit her non-existent fingernails and measured the serious look of the two women. A fiendish little grin grew on her face. “He’s my husband. It’s my duty to take one for the team.”

“Ladies,” said a deep bass that was as rich and low as a lion growl.

Peach lifted her gaze to the man moseying from the bar. She had never appreciated the nuance of the word until this man. He was six-foot-five with a chiseled jaw that still wore yesterday’s shadow. His light brown eyes shined from under a weathered, tan cowboy hat, and his Levis were painted on.

By Michel-freaking-angelo.

Carolina cleared her throat. “Can we help you?”

He took off his hat. “I’d like to buy y’all a drink, maybe sit a while. Ya see, I’m a man who appreciates beauty in this world. And since I walked in that door, I have not been able to take my eyes off your table.” The man looked at Katie.

Carolina smiled. “We really appreciate the offer, mister…?”

“Solomon Davis. Friends call me Sol.”

“Well, Sol, we do appreciate the offer, but we’re married, and well, I’m sure you wouldn’t appreciate your wife keeping company with another man.”

Sol bowed slightly, his eyes on Katie again. “Of course. Say no more. But you will accept a drink on me?”

Carolina looked at Katie and then at Peach, who answered. “We will. Thank you.”

Sol put the hat back on his head and walked with a swagger back to the bar, where he paid Donny for the order. He tipped his hat as he kept swaggering right out the door.

Katie picked up her napkin and started fanning herself. “Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but that was hot.”

Peach picked up another napkin and fanned the both of them. “How is there a wrong way to take that? It was hot. He was hot. And I’m single. He could have kept me company.”

Katie and Carolina exchanged glances. “Everyone knows it’s you and Tom, and by everyone…we’re including the fire department,” Katie said.

Carolina covered Peach’s hand. “You don’t really think it’s a secret? Do you think you’ll get married in the courtyard? We rented the big vases, but we can buy them if you like them. They’ll give us a good price.”

Sound was sucked out of the room like water down the drain. Carolina’s lips were moving, but all Peach heard was static noise. Her brain was on the fritz. She slapped her palm to her temple when Katie grinned and nodded like a bobble-head. Were they planning her wedding? This was Tennessee; maybe they did things different here. Crap. What if they had a shotgun wedding? Well, if Katie was holding the gun, she’d have a chance of escape. With her luck, it’d be dead-eye Carolina.

This confirmed it. She’d hung around too long. It was Tom’s fault. If he wasn’t so good in bed, she’d have been gone. Hell, she never would have come. Come. Yeah, he made sure she did that.

A woman approached the table. She was as tall as Carolina with a wild, matted mass of orangy hair that was not a color found in nature. She had the blue eyes, full, pouty lips, and a pair of torpedoes stuffed into her bra that could bring down a submarine. All in all, she had a package that got noticed.

Katie’s hand wrapped around the fork until her knuckles were white. Peach laid a hand over it and demanded her hearing work again. With a whoosh, sound was restored.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Kate McCormick. Killed anyone lately? Oh, wait. Your husband is out of ex-wives.” Stacked red heels detailed with Swarovski Crystals tapped an open toe on the scarred oak floor.

Katie lifted her head and bore her teeth. “Abbey McNeil. I would have thought the daylight would have kept you in the sewers. What made you crawl out this time of day?”

A cold, sinister grin grew across Abbey’s face and was quickly wiped away, replaced with a wry, quirky smile. “Just checking out what the wanna-be-cool kids do for fun.”

“Bullshit. You know Butch and I bought in to this place.”

Peach put McNeil in late-twenties and dressed like she cashed over a hundred grand a year. Peach wondered if she was doing it on her mother’s or her sugar daddy’s credit card.

“Oh,” McNeil cooed. “Is this the place? I had heard something about that.” She looked around, appraising the bar. “This place is very…you.”

Donny came out from behind the bar. “You’re not welcome here. Leave or I’ll call the police.” He wore a curled smile that said he hoped she didn’t go quietly.

“I make and break people in his town. I’m not someone you want as an enemy.”

“I made this town before you existed.” He picked up the phone. “I’m not someone you want as an enemy.”

She spat threats left and right as she backed herself out the door.

“I’m sorry about that, Donny,” Katie said resignedly.

“Never have liked reporters,” Donny said, winking at Katie. “Too damn nosey.”

“Okay,” Peach said, using her hands to call time out. “What the hell was that all about?”

Carolina patted Katie’s hand. “Abbey McNeil is a reporter for a local tabloid, The News and Views. The news is thin and shady. The views are warped and tasteless. She seems to be of the opinion that if Butch McCormick is going to be with a blue-eyed redhead, it should be her.”

Peach came to her feet, her palms flat against the table. “You just let her get away with treating you like that?”

“Butch doesn’t want a scene made.” Katie said it like she was fighting to keep a pit bull leashed.

Decision time. Let it ride or take a drive.

Tom defiantly stayed bent over his computer, refusing to acknowledge the mess on his spit-shined floor. He was making progress with the photos, with the simulations. He induced the failure in the program where it knew it should happen. The tower still fell toward the job site. In fact, if his calculations were correct, it would have landed across the trailers where the offices were. Reluctantly, he loaded the video. He wasn’t fast enough, and her voice rang out. Happy and full of life. Very different than it had been with her parting words. Asshole.

“Clyde, you got woman troubles.”

He jumped. He hadn’t heard Jeb enter. “What do you know?”

He grinned. “I know that you got egg on your shirt, egg on your floor, and despite the night I know you had, egg on your face.”

He dropped a heavy fist on the desk. “Did you want something, or are you just here to annoy me?”

“Annoying you is gravy. Made some calls like you asked. Boys will be here around seven-thirty to take your money.”

He forgot he’d asked them to set up a poker game. He had thought Peach might enjoy playing. That was before he and Poppy talked. She could play, didn’t mean he had to. “Wait. Here? I thought it was Doc’s turn?”

“It is,” Jeb said, making himself comfortable in a guest chair. “But Doc’s wife’s quilting bee is at his house tonight. Oil and water, being what they are, I agreed playing here was a better idea. Timmy and Jimmy were visiting when I called, so they’re coming too.”

“Fine.” Still didn’t mean he had to play. “Anything else?”

“Hawthorne and his family made it safely to Miami last night. Ramos is working on a video link. Expect we’ll be running in another fifteen minutes and start a second interview. You want in?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I would. I’m missing something, Jeb. Something compromised that crane. I’m sure of it, but I can’t nail it down.”

“Can’t testify in court to the cause but does it really matter? You know that the crane was compromised, sabotaged. This wasn’t an accident.”

“Yeah, but…” He stood and started to pace, stepping over the splattered eggs and broken plate. “It’s just driving me crazy. It’s like it’s right in front of me, but when I reach for it, poof. It’s gone.”

Jeb rubbed his chin. “I think something has gone poof all right…and it’s not the stick up your butt.”

He scowled, resenting the dumbass remark. “I do not have a stick up my butt.”

“Sure you do. It’s not a bad thing. A lot of good things have come from you having a stick up your butt.” Jeb got to his feet. “This will come, too.”

He exhaled as his brother-in-law stepped over the mess and walked toward the door. “Jeb. She’s going to leave.”

“Yep. She’s one to meet life head on.” Jeb stopped at the door, turning back. “You want her to stay, you’re going to have to give her a reason.”

Easy. Just like that. Like it was nothing. He ran both hands through his hair. “What if…if I don’t have one to give her?”

“Clyde, you’re making this harder than it is.” The door closed silently, leaving the space behind it and the man in it empty.

Tom returned to his computer, saving the files for later. He sorted the pictures, saving some to a special folder. Last, he closed the video, the mouse hovering over the close button. He didn’t know he’d gotten so close to Peach until she felt a mile away.

It was a unique and disturbing feeling for him.

He didn’t have an answer. He left it behind, closing the door firmly as he went to Jeb’s conference room. There, a small room decked out in floral patterns filled the big screen mounted on the wall. The voice coming over the speaker was soft for a man but no nonsense. The screen flickered once, twice, and then the image of a slightly built man with the lines of a prizefighter appeared. “We have you on screen now, Ramos.”

Without the name, Tom wouldn’t have recognized one of Jeb’s top employees. The man known simply as Ramos was a master of disguise, a bold and daring thief, and no one he wanted to face in a dark alley.

Ramos sat in front of the screen. His mouth curled at one end. “Good to see you, Jeb. It’s been a while.”

“Six months,” Jeb said, turning the thick ring on his finger.

Ramos nodded. “Business is good in Florida. You should visit more often.”

“Maybe.” Jeb pursed his lips. “Probably.”

Tom sat in front of the big screen. He turned to look back at Jeb and kicked the leg of the table. Thunder rolled through the room. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled, pulling his foot to rest on his knee. “Jeb, can we get on with this?”

“Where’s all that patience you’re always so proud of?” Jeb laughed softly and shook his head. “Where’s Hawthorne? We might as well get this started before my friend here pops a gasket.”

“Hagerman went to the main house to get him. I set up out here in the pool house.”

“Jesus. Some secure location,” Tom muttered.

Ramos shrugged and stepped out of the scene. “It’s southern Florida. You can’t buy a house without a pool. Here he comes.” The camera was adjusted as Hagerman steered Hawthorne into the chair Ramos vacated. The man looked a hundred percent better now being clean and shaven, having fed and slept and being in a safe location with his wife and boys. Those purple bags were now just shadows under brown eyes that were eager, determined.

“Mr. Hawthorne,” Jeb started.

“Jack. Call me Jack. I can’t thank you for getting my wife and the boys out of there.”

“Did you have any trouble getting away?”

“No. We followed your instructions and met your man. Terry was a bundle of nerves until we were on the plane.”

“And your boys?”

Hawthorne grinned, looking ten years younger. “They thought it was an adventure.”

Tom cleared his throat, glaring at Jeb. Jeb kicked Tom’s calf and finished the small talk. “Boys. You gotta love that age.”

Hawthorne’s grin grew. “You have kids?”

“Not yet,” Jeb said, holding up his hand. “Just tied the knot a few days ago. But we will, soon. I’m going to need to keep that woman busy.”

Hawthorne laughed then took in a deep breath and let it out. Small talk was over. “You want to know what happened on Saturday.”

Jeb nodded. “In your own words. Take your time. Tom shared the story you told on the boat, but I want you to start from the beginning.”

Tom sat up straight, a yellow pad of paper on his knee and pen in hand. “Walk us through the minutes before the accident. Tell me anything you can remember. What you heard, what you felt. Who you saw. What you saw.”

Hawthorne rubbed his palms on his khaki pants. “I was in my office until ten, working on invoices and pay applications. I was going up in the basket to supervise a heavy lift. Those sections were some of the hardest to place I’ve ever dealt with. Every time we did one, I wanted to be close. We had zero margin for error. Anyway, I shut my laptop down and put it away. I…I had a hiding place.”

“We found it,” Jeb said. “We have your laptop here with us.”

“Oh, thank God. There are some files you’re going to want to look at. I went back to get it but couldn’t get on the site without somebody knowing I was alive. So I went out across the yard. Carter was standing out in the open, watching the iron workers. I asked him about invoices from some suppliers that didn’t look right to me. He gave me some dumb shit response.”

“You don’t like the guy?” Jeb asked.

Jack rubbed a hand through his hair. “You can like someone and dislike working with them. As a person, Joe was an okay kid. He had a girlfriend that he was always going on about. Liked to party but who doesn’t at that age? The thing about Joe was he wanted it all now. He knew jack shit about running a construction site, but every other day he was up in Junior’s office with another great idea about running the project.”

“Junior?” Jeb said. “Michael Fabrini?”

“Sorry. Yeah, I meant Mike.”

“So you spoke with Carter,” Tom said, getting the conversation back on track.

“He said he was planning to go up in the basket, and did I mind? Kid surprised me. Usually, I have to order him to get involved with the work. I told him to have at it. I walked away but didn’t get too far before he chased me down. Morales’s radio was fading in and out. He asked if I would take a radio up to him so he could go in the basket.”

“You worked with the crew before?”

“Sure. Everyone but Rico. He’d been on the job since the day the crane arrived. No complaints. He got on well enough with everyone and was easily one of the top five operators I’ve ever worked with. Although, well, that morning I was annoyed with him. He was late. Something about an accident on the highway. Yeah, he was scrambling that morning, and we ended up thirty minutes behind where I wanted to be.”

Tom closed his eyes against the question he did not want to ask. “Do you think, in his hurry, he could have overlooked something? Some safety check? Yesterday you mentioned something about melted paint. Could that have been more than superficial?”

Hawthorne shook his head sadly. “Did Rico overlook something? I want to say no, absolutely not, but anything can happen. Morales was only fifteen minutes late, not enough to cause a real problem. I saw him standing out at the crane with his vest and hard hat on, going through the checklist on a clipboard. I can’t say he didn’t rush it, but he didn’t skip it. Rico was a master. He didn’t cut corners. I don’t know if the damaged paint was new or old. If Rico noticed it, it should have been logged on his checklists.”

Tom made a note to review the inspection files. “Okay. So you climbed the tower crane.”

Hawthorne nodded. “I don’t know if you remember, but I started out as an operator. After I met Terry, I switched into the office, but I always loved the cranes. I would have volunteered to go up if Joe hadn’t asked me.”

“Tell me about the accident itself. Details are important.”

Hawthorne began to sweat, the color leaching from his face. His big, weathered hands ran over his head.

“Jack?”

“I can’t get it out of my head, Tom. Over and over, awake or asleep, it’s all I see. Why is it so fucking hard to say it out loud?”

“You nearly died,” Jeb said. The sincerity in his voice made it easy to believe he spoke from experience. “In fact, how did you survive?”

“No idea. No idea why me and why not Rico.”

“Did you check the wind?” Tom asked.

“Of course. We checked the wind, the forecast, and did the calcs. I’d spoken with Rico before he went up. We still had cushion. Rico had the final call. I said yes, but if he said no, it was no. He said it was a beautiful day for flying.” Hawthorne’s voice broke, then his remorse-filled eyes met Tom. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

“No, it shouldn’t have.” The math didn’t lie. It shouldn’t have happened. “Rico was confident?”

“There wasn’t a shadow of doubt in his mind.”

“When did you know there was a problem?”

Hawthorne shook his head slowly, his gaze somewhere off screen, a few states north on an unforgiving great lake. “There was a pop. The super-sized sound of metal snapping. It was a noisy day. The frame groaned as it lifted from the ground. The guys in the basket were talking. The wind whitewashed everything. Then there was a pop.”

“Just one?”

“One started it, maybe two? You know, it wasn’t what I was paying attention to. I was watching the frame. I think I knew there was a problem when it dropped a foot. It was moving smoothly up and to our left. It dropped and swung sideways. I’m not explaining this well.” He used his finger and traced a smooth arc through the air. “That’s the way Rico lifted the others.” He used the same finger, started on the same arc, then dropped it straight down and swung it toward his body. “That’s what it actually did.”

“You need some water, Mr. Hawthorne?” Ramos asked off camera.

“Yeah. I could use something cold.”

Both rooms were silent. On the screen, Hawthorne displayed the symptoms of a man pulled back to the edge. His hands were restless, going again and again to his face and hair. Short strokes that didn’t soothe, didn’t wipe it all away. He was sweating now, the lines in his face getting deeper with each passing minute. A bottle of water was handed in from stage left. Hawthorne fumbled opening it, then got the lid off. He drank and then looked directly into the camera, his resolve back in place.

Jeb nodded and continued. “How could someone know the crane would fall that day, at that time?”

“Tom can tell you, you don’t do lifts like the one we were doing without planning weeks in advance. We were always battling the weather. The project had been delayed more than once, putting our start in winter. Anyone familiar with the project would have known we would have made that lift on that day if the weather was remotely cooperative.”

“When would the crane tower have been damaged? The night before?”

“Not necessarily,” Hawthorne said. “The other lifts that week had been small for a crane of that size. They might not have pushed the limit, so to speak.”

Tom nodded as his thoughts flowed along with Hawthorne’s. “The biggest thing against the damage being done early was the risk of it being noticed. I think we need to start with the assumption that it was tampered with very close to the day of the accident.”

“Thursday sleeted, rained and snowed at the same damn time. I shut the job down at mid-day. It would have been a good opportunity for someone who knew what they were doing.”

“The event, then, was a perfect storm of wind, weight, and deadly intent?” Jeb scribbled notes. “Why do you think it was targeted at you? Why not Rico? Why not the project itself?”

“About two weeks ago, someone broke into my house. I was out of town when they broke the window in my office and tried to take my home computer. Terry heard the noise and let the dogs out. They were in the bedroom with her. When the police arrived, the office was a mess and the computer was on the floor. There were other things, too, smaller. Someone had been in my office, messing with my files. My truck was broken into.”

“No threats?” Jeb asked.

“No. Nothing that overt. Until my house was broken into, I thought I might have been being paranoid.”

“Anything else about the event stand out in your mind?”

He laughed with an edge of crazy in his voice. “Everything has stood out. Every word spoken to me, every glance. Being alone for those days had me thinking everyone on the site was out to get me.”

“Anyone more than others?”

“Joe. He…he was just watching. The crane. He had this look on his face. He wasn’t surprised. He was…shit…he was entertained or something. Until he realized the crane was falling toward him. I saw his eyes when he realized what was coming,” Hawthorne said, fading softly into silence.

“How did you survive?” Jeb asked again and then clarified. “After the fall.”

Hawthorne took a few seconds to collect himself. He closed his eyes and inhaled; he looked to the ceiling and exhaled. “I’ve been swimming my whole life. I grew up in the water, around boats. I was on my high school and college swim teams. I still do triathlons.” Hawthorne paused again, twisting his hands. “The water was cold. God, it was cold. It took a few seconds to get oriented. I was upside down. I had to swim deeper to get out of the cabin. So I did. I ran into something and grabbed on to it. It was Rico.”

“Was he dead?” Tom asked, holding his breath for the answer.

“Yeah but I didn’t know that right then. I pushed him toward the surface and swam. I broke through choppy waves and faced the long horizon. Something bobbed close to me. It was Carter. I turned him over, but it was pretty obvious he was gone.”

“You didn’t leave them—Rico and Carter?”

“Something just kicked in, and I had to get away from the construction site. I towed the two bodies around the rocky line of the break water and dragged them into the brush. There was a hidden cove; it was a homeless guy’s place. I pulled the bodies in with me and just sat there, shivering. I didn’t know what to do. The guy came back. I don’t know who was more afraid, but he helped me. He got me warm and kept me hidden when the search party came by. Once it was dark, I climbed out and called Terry, my wife. She came. We put them in the back of the SUV and drove to the dock, where you found me.”

Tom cursed under his breath. Peach had been close, so close to her uncle. But he knew that by the time Hawthorne was pulling her uncle’s body into his truck, Peach was outside the restaurant, stalking him and Fabrini. “Why did you take Morales?” His voice was a whisper. “His family has been suffering, afraid to hold out hope he was alive.”

Hawthorne hung his head. “Terry and I fought over it. I…I was convinced someone had just tried to kill me. I thought if I was the only one missing, it would lead to too many questions. When I pulled them to shore, they were dead. I needed them to be missing, too.”

Jeb looked at Tom. “Any more questions about how?”

The testimony answered a lot of questions but not the one nagging at his mind. “Not now. I need to go back and look at the evidence.”

“Okay, then let’s move on to the why. Someone is embezzling from F&F,” Jeb said.

“Yes,” Hawthorne hissed. “Quotes and invoices were padded. I’m certain of that. I don’t know how they actually got the money or everybody who is involved.”

“But you have suspicions.”

Hawthorne nodded. “Carter. I’m nearly positive he was the one who padded the quotes. I worked three jobs with him. I went back and checked the records. Two had padding on some accounts.”

“How did he do it?”

“His job was to get the quotes. They come in through email. It was easy enough for him to set up the paperwork with a few extra grand added in. If I didn’t see the original email, I would never know the purchase order or invoice wasn’t for the correct amount.”

“So how did you find it?”

“It started with a tip from a long-time colleague. I went back and checked all the purchase orders, called the suppliers. I found about twelve thousand in added charges.” Hawthorne looked right into Jeb’s eyes. “Somebody in accounting had to be in on it, though. Otherwise, the suppliers would have gotten the extra cash.”

“What do you think of Michael Fabrini?”

“Nothing good. If his daddy didn’t own the company, he’d be heading up the unemployment line.”

“Did you know he deals drugs?”

Hawthorne chewed his lip. “No, but it doesn’t surprise me. Maybe it even explains some of the erratic behavior. Do you think he was mixed up with the skimming?”

“Don’t know yet,” Jeb said. “Tell me about the files.” It took another hour to run through the conspiracy theories and details. At the end, Hawthorne looked like a man used and abused. “I think we’re done.”

Hawthorne nodded. “I need to see my wife.”

“You do that. We’ll call you if we have something.”

Hawthorne nodded, his head hanging heavily from sagging shoulders. “Thanks. I owe you. Both of you.”

Jeb shut the system down. “I’ll tell ya. You picked a hell of a case to cut your teeth on.”

Tom looked at the notes he scratched over the paper. He had told himself the work was about the numbers and solving the puzzle. Disconnecting from the human side was easy, so he had thought. But answers were for the living. He needed to bring this to a close, which would help many that he’d met move on, including Peach. The pencil scribbled jagged lines as his hand trembled.

Chapter Nineteen

Friday, April 14 two-thirty p.m.

Peach walked briskly down the uber-white corridor, her arm around Katie. They were following Tabitha, the very helpful receptionist at The News and Views, to a place where Katie could sit down when Carolina looked like the one who was going to faint.

Katie made a small sound. A perfect, small sound.

Tabitha jumped, looking over her shoulder at Katie’s belly. “Ms. McNeil is out for the afternoon, and her office is closest. Why don’t you rest in there?”

“That sounds perfect,” Peach said, keeping her mouth hard and tight, which was no easy feat. Katie had no poker face. Luckily, Tabitha didn’t know the difference between pre-labor contractions and troublemaker instigations.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t call an ambulance, E.M.? I just love your name, by the way. So mysterious.”

The young woman was perfect. Too many places would eat up a person with her fundamental goodness. It was easy to believe that The News and Views, as Katie and Peach described, was just one of those places. Maybe she’d help the woman get a better job…after she got one for herself.

Tabitha swiped a key fob over a plate, and the lock clicked open. She only carried one, which meant it was a master. Oh, what she could do with that. Peach raised her hand to wipe the drool from her mouth.

“I just need a few minutes.” Katie held her belly with one hand and lowered herself to the black leather couch. “My girl still has a few more weeks, but she’s anxious.”

“Take your time, please. I’m right out front. When Mr. Fyre is off the phone, I’ll let him know you want to meet. I have to admit, I’m dying of curiosity about this ‘exclusive deal.’”

“Perfect,” Peach said, urging Tabitha out of the room. “I’m sure we’ll be along soon.” She closed the door behind her.

“We are soooo going to get caught.” Carolina fell onto the couch and put her head between her knees.

“Where did your badass self go?” Katie planted on hand on the couch arm and the other on Carolina’s knee to push herself to standing. “I almost wish I was in labor. Spewing embryonic fluid all over Abitchgail’s couch would be satisfying.”

Carolina looked up, her expression encapsulating, “Ew, gross.”

“Fun as this is, ladies, we are on a mission. Carolina, on the door. You’re the look out.” Peach pulled on gloves and booted up the desktop. Today was just full of surprises. First, Katie had enough supplies in her trunk to open a small hardware store. A new respect was achieved. Second, why did Abitchgail have a desktop? Shouldn’t she use a laptop or a tablet? The queen bee probably demanded all three. She plugged in her sweet little program and said, “I’m in.”

“What should we do?” Katie hustled over, wringing her hands in anticipation. “What would really burn her biscuits?”

“You,” Carolina said. “And you have burned your biscuits. I have to pee.”

“No, you don’t. You’re just nervous,” Peach said. “I’m in her email.”

“Bring up her calendar. Let me sit,” Katie said. “That’s right. We’ve just moved this one. And we’ll invite Mulroney to this one. I just may have to go to that one.” She was a woman after Peach’s own heart. She chuckled softly as she moved and double booked appointments. The finale? She sent an email to Abitchgail’s dinner appointment, cancelling due to a bout of explosive diarrhea. “Done.”

“Move over,” Peach said, pinning the chair so it rolled on Katie. “I thought you said you didn’t hate anyone.” She brought up a command line and gave the machine orders. Lights flashed on the computer and her flash drive.

Katie’s voice was placid, laced with fun. “I don’t want her to go to hell. I just want her to go away.”

“They’re coming! I knew we’d get caught. I just knew it.” Carolina pulled her skirt tight around her crossed legs as she hissed.

Katie lowered herself back on the couch, her breath fast and shallow from the short run. She burst out laughing. “I have to pee, now. Damn you, Carolina.”

“I pee first, Missy. I think I’m going to burst.”

“Knock, knock. How y’all doin’? Ms. Morales? Mrs. Deadeye? How is Mrs. Badshot feeling?” Tabitha’s hand slid in through the crack.

“Quick!” Carolina dove to her knees and lifted Katie’s skirt as Tabitha leaned into the room. “She’s only at 2 mm. We’re fine.”

“Whew!” Tabitha said with a hand to her heart. “I’m so glad to hear that. Well, Mr. Frye is off his phone call. If y’all are ready, I can take you to his office.”

Peach crossed to the younger woman, pulling her under her shoulder. “Tabby, can I call you Tabby?” She nodded enthusiastically. “Would you mind asking Mr. Frye to come down here?”

“Why sure, Ms. Morales, uh, I mean, E.M.” Tabitha started for the desk phone, but Peach held her in place.

“In person is so much more personal, don’t you think? And we want to make a good first impression. Please? For Ms. Badshot?”

“My,” she said, slapping her forehead. “Where is my head today? I will be right back with him.” She hurried out the door.

Peach watched through the crack until she disappeared around a corner. “Now. Let’s go.”

Each taking an arm, they pulled Katie off the couch and casually hurried down the corridor. Peach could see the reception area and the GTO waiting beyond the glass façade.

“Just one minute,” Carolina said, darting to her left. “There’s a bathroom.”

“We are making an escape,” Peach chastised. “We do not stop for potty breaks.”

“Yes, we do,” Katie said, hurrying inside.

While her friends made rain, Peach pushed opened the remaining stall doors, ensuring they were alone. “This is why I don’t work with amateurs. We get caught, I am so not taking the blame. I had us out the door.”

One flush. Two flush. Hands washed. And dried…with a really loud hand drier.

“Now can we go?” Peach might have been scowling on the outside, but she was rolling in the aisles inside. She peeked out the door. Tabitha’s desk was still empty. She thanked God for small favors and rushed her friends out the door, across the artistically minimal reception area to the revolving door.

“Hold up, ladies,” a man said from behind them.

“The jig is up!” Carolina ran out the door, hands above her head, all the way to the GTO.

Peach and Katie fell about laughing and then turned to the man behind them.

“You dropped this,” he said, holding out a scarf. Then he pointed to Carolina. “She going to be okay?”

Katie snorted. “Yes. It’s nearly time for her medication.”

A chuckle escaped. Peach had never had this much fun breaking into or out of a place. Doing it with friends was definitely better. She nudged Katie toward the door. “I think you better check on her. She might be hyperventilating.”

The man watched Katie waddle through the revolving door, then took a step in that direction. “Isn’t that…Kate McCormick?”

Uh, oh. The jig might really be up. Peach moved subtly, positioning herself between the man and Katie. She accepted the scarf with a dismissive snort. “No, that’s Ulla Wilde. Really. What would Kate McCormick be doing here? Y’all have been merciless to her.”

The phone in Tom’s hand cracked under pressure. “I’ve only had the material for five days, Fabrini. I’m an engineer, not a miracle worker.”

“What you are is slow. I’m paying you good money to deliver on the cause of the accident, and you run off like a little girl.” Fabrini’s voice wobbled but lost none of its edge.

“Somebody tried to kill me. Four times—”

“—Bullshit—”

“—I left, like a calm, sane man. I’m working on the problem from my laboratory here.”

“Aren’t you worried that whatever boogeyman is after you will follow?”

He squeezed the phone harder. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “I have security here. Do you want an update or not?”

“Watch your mouth.”

Tom said nothing as Fabrini waited for him to apologize.

“Well, are you going to talk?” Fabrini barked.

In ten minutes, he recapped the highlights of his findings and the information from Hawthorne without mentioning the man specifically.

“You got a screw loose yourself if you think someone in my company is embezzling from me, killing my employees. Okay, Mr. Know-it-all, who is involved?”

“I don’t know everybody. Joe Carter for sure.”

“He’s dead. Convenient.”

The corner of his lip raised in a snarl. “It isn’t convenient, for anybody. Especially Carter.” He thought of Joe’s fiancée with her bag of makeup and blind faith in her guy.

“Who else? Hawthorne?”

“No.”

“How can you be so sure? He’s the only one still missing.” Fabrini roared the questions across the circuit.

Tom agreed with Jeb that nobody else was to know that Hawthorne was alive, and a few favors had to be issued to keep the circumstances of Carter and Morales’s recovery out of the papers. The report was simply that they were pulled from Lake Erie. “Gut feeling.”

“Bullshit,” Fabrini snapped and then broke into a coughing fit. “You get your ass up here.”

“I’m not ready.”

“Well, I am. You have forty-eight hours, and then your ass better be in my office.”

Hanging up, he wished he had a torch to take to the phone. The idea struck him like a sledgehammer. The suspect wouldn’t have had to completely cripple the tower; he just had to create a weak link.

He went to the inspection files. The one for the day of the accident was missing. It was frustrating but not surprising that the piece of paper was lost in the confusion. It might even be sitting on one of the field desks, waiting for somebody to enter it in the system. Tom did find the inspection for the day before, Friday, April 7, scanned in. Rico Morales missed his calling. His handwriting would have qualified him for the most prestigious medical institutions. He questioned a few words, wondering if they were in Spanish, only to decipher after turning the image to odd angles.

Then the skies opened, and good fortune smiled on him. Rico noted paint abrasion on two of the towers, the land-side towers, in the same sections the model predicted the failure started.

Adrenaline had him bouncing in his seat as he rang his cousin. On the fourth ring, she answered.

“Can’ttalknow,” she said in a breathless whisper.

“I need an acetylene torch. Don’t we have one down here?”

“Nope. In Detroit. Gotta go.” She hung up on him.

She didn’t pick his next call up. A few calls later, he was surprised to learn that Katie wasn’t at the office but had gone to Nashville with Carolina. Though Peach had kept invading his thoughts while he worked, he hadn’t wondered where she was. Now he knew. He looked at his phone, and a wicked smile took hold. “This can’t be good.”

“You solve your little problem?” Jeb asked from the doorway.

“I got it by the tail, but I think we got a situation. You better get Butch.”

It was known by everyone who resided at Elderberry that Jeb had put GPS tracking on all the cars. He said it was for safety, but it was bullshit. He did it for his own sanity—his wife had once runaway in that same car, sans GPS—and because he liked the toys.

At the kitchen table, huddled around a tablet and a bowl of chips, the men in the house watched the little blue dot racing toward home.

“How fast are they going?” Butch asked. “Katie better not be driving.”

“Well, it’s not Carolina,” Jeb said. “They’d still be in Nashville the way my wife drives.”

“That’s my sister you’re talking about. And you’re totally right.” Nate ate a chip.

“It’s like watching The Fast and The Furious.” Tom popped another chip. “What do you think they were doing? There’s a reason none of them are answering the phone.”

“Havoc and hellfire,” Jeb said. “Without a doubt.”

The dot sped along straightaways, swerved around objects, and closed in on Elderberry Farm. Butch’s cell rang. “Hey, Mikey. Tell me some good news.” There were three seconds of silence. “What! Did anyone think to call me?” He slammed the phone down and ran out of the house.

They stretched out in a line along the front porch, Butch in the center, Tom and Jeb flanking him, Nate at Jeb’s shoulder. A performance engine raced in the distance.

With Butch being as popular as he was, everybody in the city of Nashville was happy to tattle on his wife. There was no question of it being about anything else, not with that little bit mad, little bit worried look on his face. “What did she do?” Tom asked.

“Tore up the News and Views office, went into labor, and delivered my boy on a picnic table, then eloped with a tall cowboy…or some variation thereof.”

“Huh,” Tom said as the blue devil emerged from the trees, a tail of dust twenty-feet high in her wake. “She’s having a slow day.”

The gate opened, and the car hit a hard ninety, fishtailing before it blasted up the drive. Katie hung out the window, which meant Peach was driving. Damn but she drove the way she did everything else—at full throttle.

They went to the edge of the gravel, meeting the car as it came to a stop. Katie climbed out first, a high-octane smile on her face. Butch stood his ground, hands fisted in his pockets. “Do I want to know what put that smile on your face?”

“Let’s call it the thrill of anticipation. Come with me. We need to…talk.” Katie brushed against her husband and let her fingertips rake over his stomach. She tossed one come-hither look over her shoulder and went through the front door of the farmhouse with Butch on her tail.

Carolina climbed out of the backseat, fussing with her hair and dress as she stood on the towering heels. Jeb moved with a lethal grace, his intent on his wife. The gravel shifted under her spikes, and she lunged into Jeb’s arms in a desperate move to stay upright. “No more black eyes. One is all I can take,” she said.

Jeb kept his arm tight around her waist. “What are you wearing?”

Carolina looked down at herself. “A dress. Don’t you remember it?” She smoothed it needlessly over the flat stomach. “Did I mess it?”

Jeb cocked his head. “I need a better look.” Tangling their fingers together, he led her toward the house. “But after, you’re going to tell me what trouble the three of you were up to.”

Tom hadn’t come off the front porch. He leaned against one of the white columns, his feet crossed at his ankles, his arms crossed over his chest, and his gaze locked on the woman he didn’t quite know what to do with. Okay, he knew in the physical sense. It was all the rest of it he hadn’t figured out.

“Right,” Nate said, opening the screen door. “Looks like the crisis has been averted. I’ll be at the firing range if anyone cares.”

Tom cared about only one thing at the moment, and she was sauntering up the sidewalk toward him. Her gaze probed to gauge his mood. Her mouth quirked up on one side, an invitation.

“I have this feeling,” he said, “that the three of you loose on the streets of Nashville is more than a police department can handle.”

She raised her chin haughtily, smiled innocently. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

He uncrossed his arms, and in three strides they were toe to toe. His body throbbed, beating to the pace of his quickening heart. With less being more, he bent and drew his lips down the line of her neck. Her breath caught. His tongue teased the strap on her shoulder and ran back up her neck. She swayed, falling against him. Then he nipped her earlobe. “Of course not.”

She quivered and leaned in for more. Sexual need painted the air between bold and demanding. He amped it up by doing the last thing he wanted: he walked away from her. Easy was boring. They both got off on the thrill of the chase. His cock was at full attention, making walking more awkward than he planned. She was supposed to chase him, but she didn’t. On the steps to the porch, he wondered if he’d miscalculated.

“Hey,” she finally yelled as he held the front door open.

He struggled to look bored as he faced her. “You want something?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”

He let the door swing closed and walked back to the edge of the porch. “I’m listening?”

She swiped her tongue across her lower lip. He felt that silky glide up his shaft. Keeping his role in the game was getting harder.

“You owe me.” When he raised an eyebrow in question, she stepped onto the porch and poked him in the chest. “You were a jackass this morning. I didn’t deserve it, and I want an apology.”

He ran his fingers along that stubborn jaw. “An apology? That’s what you want?” He reached suddenly for her arm, spinning her, pinning her to the column he had leaned on. His hands captured her face, held her exactly where he wanted her as his mouth took hers demandingly. “Are you listening?”

His hands held her firmly in place, no matter how she struggled to get closer. He intended to drive her as crazy as she drove him. She dug her fingers in his hair and pulled, the bite of pain ratcheting him up. Fast and furious, they devoured each other.

Without warning, he broke the kiss and had her over his shoulder, caveman style. She didn’t squirm or argue but slapped his ass once. “Hurry.”

He carried her into the family room and planted her perfect ass on the bar. His gaze on her, he spread her legs until his shoulders fit between. Her skin was soft as satin. His fingers teased her thighs, nudging the skirt higher. Rocking on the bar, she tugged at his shoulders, not in the mood for foreplay.

He had other plans. Ignoring her demands, he pressed his face into her core. Her scent was so familiar to him, it was like…like nothing he could express. Every description that popped in his head was trite, cliché. Her scent turned him into a rutting buck that only she could satisfy. Through the silk of her panties, his teeth teased. Heat radiated through, beckoning him closer. Then the silk was gone, and his tongue feasted on the velvety spice that refined his idea of a peach. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, holding him where she wanted. He found the zipper on her dress, and then it was gone. He lifted his head, watching her bare breasts react to the cooler air. With his mouth, he attended to each. She filled his senses, all of them, to the point of overload, and still he wanted more.

He stood straight, pulling out of her grip. She fought him, not ready to let go. He stepped back. “Let your hair down.” Her breasts lifted with her arms. Such a beautiful sight. He kept his eyes on her as he took his own shoes and tossed them, shed his clothes.

The moment he was naked, he went at her again. There was no stopping this time. His mouth claimed her, his tongue granting no quarter. His hands raked at her hair until it covered both of them. He slid down her body, his mouth caressing, nipping, teasing every peak and valley until he knelt once again before her.

In all the sex Tom had had, he had never been dismantled the way she did. Even as he was determined to drive her insane with his attention, he felt that she was the one with control. Determined to break her, he lifted her leg until it rested on his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the leather edge of the bar as she arched back, letting him have his way. He blew gently on her core, swollen and heated from his attention. Her hips rocked, and her body wept for his attention. Lifting her hips to his mouth, he feasted until she fell to pieces. Wave after wave, he fed on her pleasure, driving her to the point of delirious exhaustion.

“Tom,” she wept, her voice thick.

“Up you go, monkey girl.” He lifted her as he stood, her core to his chest. With his eyes locked on her, he slowly let her slide down his body until she felt him pressing against her entrance. Locked in her gaze, he let her sink until he was in her. So deep, he felt her heart pumping against his cock. His arms locked around her back, and he began to thrust. Slow and controlled quickly deteriorated to wild and reckless. He walked with her across the room and laid her out on the card table, hooking her legs over his arms and driving even deeper.

He couldn’t breathe fast enough, and then he wasn’t breathing at all. Locked inside her, he emptied himself. His rigid body slowly relaxed until his chest fell onto hers.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. There was more there than the satisfaction of a good lay. It was in the way her eyes smiled at him and the curl to her lips. She rose up, cupping the back of his head and kissing him. It wasn’t a kiss filled with the heat of raw sex. Just the opposite. It was warm and inviting and more potent than anything he’d ever experienced.

And scared the living crap out of him.

“We, uh, better get dressed, you know, in case the others come back.” He withdrew from her silky core, feeling instantly cold. Offering his hand, he helped her from the table and then retrieved their clothes.

“Hey?”

“Hmmm?” He tossed her dress in her general direction and then shrugged into his pants.

“Look at me.”

He didn’t want to, but she waited. What a picture she was. Her long hair fell across her toned body; her dress pressed to her breasts. He couldn’t see anything, but he saw everything.

And so did she.

She crossed to him, rose to her toes, and pressed a kiss to his chin. “Should we…talk?”

He flinched but covered it by snatching her dress, pulling it over her head and into place. “Why don’t you take a shower? I need to work a little longer and then make dinner.” He dressed quickly, skipping shoes and socks, then ushered her into the courtyard. “Poppy is home from his day out. He has a surprise for you.”

He left her in the hallway, praying she didn’t follow him into his lab. Talking was the last thing he wanted to do.

Friday, April 14 six-thirty p.m.

The perfect scene out the kitchen window couldn’t be real, Peach thought as she rinsed another dinner plate. Poppy sat on a chair with a guitar across his lap, picking at a song she remembered him playing when she was a girl. Katie leaned back against a chaise lounge, her husband sitting at her feet with a guitar of his own, leaning in to watch Poppy’s fingers. Not to be left out, Taylor sat wedged next to Katie’s knees, watching Butch watch Poppy. Jeb, Nate, and Tom were still at the table where they all had eaten in twenty minutes the dinner that took Tom over two hours to prepare.

She didn’t know this kind of familial camaraderie existed. Weren’t families supposed to squabble and fight? That’s what her roommate did with her sisters. It was nice to listen to the music and to the laughter. Dinners with Anderson’s family had been very different. They were always formal, no matter the food, and never easy. No one laughed. It may have been banned. Here she was, washing dishes from a meal she helped cook, wearing a creamy cable knit sweater in Tom’s closet that hung to the middle of her thighs. She wore her favorite black yoga pants under them, leaving her feet bare. She let her hair, still wet from the post-coital shower Tom had talked her into, hang freely. It would take hours to dry if she tied it up.

She thought Tom looked sexier than ever in a plain black T-shirt and jeans. Both looked custom made for his broad body and hinted at her favorite places. She sensed a change in him. It was more than whatever prompted the tantrum this morning. Since the very memorable make-up sex, he was acting nervous around her. He jumped when she put her hands on his hips while he was cooking. He still kissed her; he hugged her when she asked. But despite his body being against hers, he felt a world away. The screen door slammed, and she jumped.

Carolina came in with the last of the dishes. “Nice evening,” she said, looking over Peach’s shoulder. “He looks happy.”

Peach squinted, trying to see if Tom did look happy. She almost made a comment about the after effects of sex when she realized Carolina was talking about Poppy. “He is happy. He’s making friends. A Widow Teasdale. They went ‘antiquing’ today. He bought me a peach.”

Carolina wiggled her eyebrows when Peach looked over her shoulder. “She’s a sweet lady. She has a reputation as a cougar.”

“A cougar?”

Carolina frowned. “Isn’t that the word for a woman who goes after a younger man?”

Peach turned green. “Poppy is the younger man? Oh God. You think she’s trying to seduce him?” She set cookies on a plate and poured cups of coffee. “I can’t think about things like that.” She carried dessert to the table where Tom sat. “What did you guys do today?”

“We talked with Hawthorne.” Tom took his time retelling Hawthorne’s story to the captive audience.

“Then there is no doubt?” Poppy asked as he rose to his feet. “My son was murdered.”

Peach ran to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She glared at Tom, shooting daggers with her gaze. Instantly, emotion choked her. Tom was there with her, his arm around her shoulder, around Poppy.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it that way. My mouth gets ahead of my brain.”

“Sugar does not make a pill easier to swallow. No. It is better to know. Him dying at the hand of God was one thing. At the hand of man, I…I need some time.” Poppy turned to Tom’s rooms.

Peach held tightly. “Stay out here with us, Poppy. I will call the police again tomorrow. I’ll take care of Tío, and we will figure out what to do next.”

“That is what I am afraid of.” Poppy patted her hair. “Tom, thank you for a wonderful meal. Tomorrow, I will make a favorite dish from my grandmother.”

All eyes watched Poppy walk strongly and confidently across the white stones to the front door to Tom’s wing.

“I admire your grandfather,” Jeb said. Everyone agreed, and the sentiment filled Peach’s heart until it threatened to drown her. She knew Poppy was great, and it meant a lot that these people they had known for a few days recognized it.

It was a good way to end a horrible event.

And then it was real. So real it choked her. “It’s over. We can go back.” Her voice was strained as she tried to tame her feelings. Keep it impersonal. Report out. “Carter vandalized the crane. I guess there is something sweet in the fact that the bastard was killed by his own hand.” Tom laced his fingers through hers, and she squeezed them, clinging when she never clung.

Chapter Twenty

Friday, April 14 seven-thirty p.m.

Peach planted her shoulder in the middle of Tom’s back and pushed. Getting the man out of his laboratory was like getting a cop out of a donut shop. Getting a kid out of a candy store. Getting blood out of, well, anything. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I’m not. I’m working. I just got the acetylene torch in. I need to run some experiments.” He spun to the right, but she cut him off. “Why won’t you let me be?” The question had the bite of vinegar.

“You can play with your toys tomorrow. They sent me to get you. I’m beginning to think I was set up. First this morning and now this. Are you always as asshole when you work? You figured it out. Now relax a little.”

“It’s not enough. I have to know exactly how he brought the crane down. Will you stop pushing me!”

“OCD much?” She stopped pushing but closed the door to his office and stood firmly in front of it. Sure, he had her in terms of pounds, but she had training and experience. She’d make sure he wasn’t going to hide for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, her superpowers didn’t extend to him not being a jerk. “Out the door, mister. There’s a party waiting for you whether you like it or not.”

She could see his brain working. He telegraphed his thoughts. Upstairs? Out the door? Getting past her?

“Don’t waste your time. Come on.” She opened the door to the courtyard and held it, certain she could chase him down if he decided to bolt. Actually, she kinda hoped he did. Another wrestling match with him sounded just fine. She stretched her arms, her back. It paid to stretch before physical exertion.

“Fine. If you all are going to gang up on me, I guess I have no choice. For an hour. That’s it.” He waved a finger in her face as he drew the line in the sand.

It was another beautiful night. Even with the lights from the house, a million stars could be seen beyond. She stopped. “Do you see your favorites tonight?”

He stood beside her and let out a long sigh. “Yes. There she is.” He pointed over her shoulder, giving her an excuse to turn into him.

“What’s she up to tonight?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me her secrets.”

She looked at his face, so serious, so handsome, so…unhappy. “She’d probably make a trade. Her secrets for yours.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone does.” Sensing he wasn’t ready, she changed the subject by looking to the dark windows above them. She wrinkled her nose. “I really liked that room.”

He let out the breath he held and tried. “I thought you like mine better, right?”

She wanted to see him smile. “The amenities are nice but small.”

“Nice? Small?” He pulled her close and tickled her. She fought but not too hard. When he was laughing with her, she made her escape. Breathless, she bounded across the courtyard, in through the door, and landed in a sea of men.

Three men lounging near the bar came to attention at her entrance. Butch worked the bar, filling glasses with beer and liquor. Jeb bent over the card table, setting it with chips and drink coasters. Her face heated, remembering how the felt brushed her skin as Tom laid her on it.

“Peach,” Jeb said. “This fine gentleman is Doc.”

An old man with a full head of white hair and whiskers that would give Santa Claus a run for his money came across the room. He moved easily, a bounce in every step and a smile that was an invitation to relax. “That’s an insult, Jebediah, callin’ me a gentleman. Please to meet you, ma’am.”

She leaned in to shake his hand. “Nice to meet—Aaugh!”

“Gotcha.” Tom laughed as he pulled Peach’s back against his front. Her heart pounded a hundred miles an hour as he tucked her into his side.

“Hey, boys, Doc,” Carolina said joyfully as she entered the room, her hands filled with a tray of snacks. “This is my brother Nate.”

“We met at the wedding,” Doc said. “At the bar.”

“I remember,” Nate said. “Good to see ya again.”

Poppy came into the room, dressed for a night of entertainment. His pants and shirt were his favorites, brought from his home, but the jacket was new. She had never seen him in tweed.

“Poppy, this is Doc. This is my grandfather, Pedro Morales.”

More pleasantries were exchanged and more beer opened. “Good thing we ain’t playin’ at your house, Doc,” Butch said. “No way we’d fit around that table of yours.”

“I owe you one. Calling like you did. Those old ladies are enough to drive a good man bad,” Doc said.

“Oh, Doc,” Carolina chided. “I’m sure they aren’t that bad.”

“The hell they aren’t.” Doc shuffled the deck of cards. “Every single one of them tries to corner me to get free advice on spots and growths and aches and pains. I retired to get away from all of that. Now it comes to my house.”

“You should be grateful any woman wants to talk to an old goat like you. Now stop your bellyaching and deal the cards.” Jeb tossed his ante into the center.

“Carolina, aren’t you playing tonight?” Doc asked.

“My money’s playing. I staked the best player at the table.”

“Thank you,” Jeb and Nate in unison and then glared at each other.

Peach chuckled at the fun. She remembered this from her earliest days at the poker table. She had loved the rhythm and fun of the banter long before she was old enough to understand it. “She’s talking about me, geniuses.”

Both men looked up at Carolina, a little confused and a little hurt.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s business.” Carolina pulled a bar stool to the corner behind Jeb, then pulled another one over for Poppy.

Peach played the first hands slow, feeling out the competition as the banter and chatter kept the play lively. She started with the people she knew.

Katie played her own cards smartly but didn’t bother to try to play her opponents. Peach thought back to when she first met her. She didn’t waste energy on what others were doing. Even when she should.

Jeb played from a position of strength and decisiveness. He did a good job intimidating the others into playing by his rules. He tended to play by gut, not by odds.

Butch was the wild card among them. He didn’t seem to play by any rules, but he was lucky as a four-leaf clover. She saw him take two pots, flipping three of a kind on the river card.

Nate played the odds straight up. He bet big when he had big cards, little when he had little cards.

Doc took his time making decisions. He had the best poker face, playing all hands at the same speed, with the same interest.

Tom was the closest thing to the total package. He knew the odds and how to play them, and he knew the tells of the others. He was aggressive but not stupid. And he gave away nothing.

It cost Peach half of the money Carolina staked her to scout the competition. “I’m out this hand,” she said. “Anyone want a beer?”

Carolina joined her behind the bar. “This is fun.”

“You aren’t worried you made a bad investment?”

“Because you’re down a few bucks? Please. Plus I have an extra fifty in my bra if you need it.” Carolina winked and took two of the bottles back to the table.

Peach opened a cold beer and tipped it back. She licked her lips and smiled. It was time to get to work.

Doc stood as he threw down his last hand. “You brought in a wringer,” he said to Jeb.

“I’m down to my last twenty,” Jeb said. “It’s Tom’s fault. He’s the one who wanted to play.” It wasn’t ten o’clock, and half the table was done. Butch sat on the couch, flipping through channels. Katie lay next to him, her head on his lap. Nate played video games with Poppy, who was damn good at Deer Hunter for a blind man.

Peach shuffled the cards. “Play now. Whine later.”

Jeb tossed his ante in when the front door bell rang. “Who the hell can that be? And how did they get through the gate?”

“The gate was open when I pulled in,” Doc said.

“Butch,” Jeb growled.

“We were having company. It would have been rude to keep the gate closed.” Butch lifted Katie’s head gently and got to his feet. “I’ll see who it is.”

“Who’s in?” Peach said, waiting for the chips to come in.

Tom cocked his head, sizing her up. “Something tells me your luck’s about to change.” He tossed the chips her way.

“When you’re as good as I am, all you need is…Anderson.”

Anderson Bingham shoved past Butch and pulled Peach out of her chair. “Look at you. More beautiful than I remembered.” His cashmere-coated arms held her tight against his body.

“Anderson?” she repeated. “You’re here?”

“Finally.” Anderson took a small step back and bent so that his hazel eyes were level with hers. He smiled a little, just a curl on the one side of his mouth, and drew his fingers down the length of her hair. “It wasn’t easy to find you. But I did it.” There was satisfaction in his voice, the thrill and pride of accomplishing something even he didn’t believe he could. Anderson looked around, suddenly aware of the collection of shocked faces surrounding them. “Is there somewhere we can talk? Privately?”

She nodded without talking, without blinking. Her universe was imploding. The house suddenly didn’t have enough air to breathe, didn’t have enough space to move. She needed the open. She walked in a daze to the front porch, not looking back. Two rockers were angled toward each other at one end of the porch, and she managed to get to one before her legs gave out. She looked up and, yep, he was really there. The man of her nightmares…and fantasies. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

Anderson dropped into the empty chair and took her hands in his. “I needed to talk to you. I’ve needed to talk to you for months.”

She shook her head. “We said everything we needed to say—”

“You did. I didn’t. You need to hear me out.”

She shook her head again in denial that this was happening. So many times since that night, she had fantasized about Anderson realizing he was a complete douche and begging for her forgiveness. In those dreams, she made him suffer and sweat, but she always, always took him back.

It was Anderson’s turn to shake his head. “This is about you and me. You were right about me being my mother’s pet and not having the guts to stand up to her. It was never about you, though. What happened was about me and my character. It took a pretty hard knock for me to see the truth.”

She stood, breaking the contact with him. Every neuron in her body was firing, every nerve ending pulsing. Her flight-or-fight instinct was kicking in. She had run from him once. It looked like this time she was going to fight. She stilled her hands and lifted her chin. “You’ve come all this way to apologize. I won’t lie and say I’m not surprised. I didn’t think that I mattered enough to you.”

Anderson stepped close enough that she felt the heat of his body. The smile on his face was gentle, as was his touch when he ran his fingers down her cheek. “You matter. You are the only one that matters. I hate that it took a kick in the teeth—you leaving—to get me to see that.”

She clenched her jaw, ordered the heart beating out of control to remember what he did, how he made her feel. “I left three weeks ago.”

Anderson lifted her hand and kissed the white-clenched knuckles. “I didn’t know. I thought you were still at the apartment, working freelance. You didn’t have to quit, you know.”

She snapped her hand back. “Of course I had to quit. Sometimes, you don’t live in the real world.” She let out a deep sigh and then shook her head. “I don’t want to fight. I really don’t.”

Anderson’s face lit up. “Good. Because neither do I.”

“Then I guess you can go.”

“I came here to do something, and I’m not leaving until it’s done.” Anderson dropped to his knee. “Esmeralda Morales. I always knew that you were an intelligent, strong woman with an incredible body. I thought there was only sex between us, but when you left, I realized that you are the color in my world. Save me from a beige life. Be my wife?”

From that cashmere pocket came a ring that put the moon to shame. It was four carats in a modern setting of sleek platinum that was radiant in the artificial porch light. Anderson took her hand and slid the ring into place.

“A perfect fit,” he said in a whisper.

She stopped breathing. As soon as he had dropped to his knee, her lungs stopped working, her heart seized up, and her brain took a hiatus. “This is…”

“Amazing. I know.” Anderson stood and brushed her hair off her face. “You are going to make a beautiful bride.”

Something with sense kicked in, and she started back pedaling. Anderson was quickly on his feet, taking hold of her arms to keep her in place. He bent his head and kissed her soft lips.

“This isn’t right. This isn’t right, Anderson,” she said, looking at the stone on her finger.

“Of course it is.” When Peach shook her head, Anderson wrapped an arm around her back, pulled her to him, and kissed her long and hard. It was a kiss to remind her of everything they had together. Of what marrying him would bring—money, prestige, travel and, of course, sex.

She had once thought she wanted that, but now…now was different. Now she wanted to sip hot chocolate and count the stars, to laugh through dinner, to have make-up sex on the poker table. The window at the other end of the porch was filled with faces, beautiful, nosey faces, but none of them were Tom’s. She wanted to talk to him. To find out if he wanted her the way she wanted him. “This is too fast,” she said, pulling the ring from her finger. “I’m not the same person I was four months ago.”

“And I’m not the same man. Whoever we are now, we still work.” Anderson pulled her against his body and kissed her again. “I have a room in Nashville. Come with me, and we’ll talk.”

“Alone. I need to be alone.”

Anderson tipped her chin until she was looking at him. He brushed her lips with his and then invaded her mouth. Claiming her. “I’ll be back. Tomorrow.” Then he took the ring, slid it back on her finger and kissed it before walking into the night.

Friday, April 14 ten-thirty p.m.

Tom stood behind the bar, looking out the small window, down the length of the porch to where Peach sat with the intruder. She looked at him like a love-starved puppy. Her eyes were too big. He blindly grabbed a bottle out of the rack with one hand and a heavy rocks glass with the other. He unscrewed the top, poured, and swallowed. The scotch hit his stomach hard, matching the blow the rest of his body was getting. His breath caught when she popped to her feet, walking away from the bastard, shaking her head. “That’s right, honey. You tell him to hit the road.” He threw back another two fingers.

A low growl filled the air when the bastard put hands on Peach. He looked around for Taylor, but the dog was cleaning up crumbs under the poker table. It was him; he was the animal growling. He poured and drained another.

Then the bastard dropped to one knee.

“Son of a bitch!” He spun and sent the glass flying into the brick of the fireplace. The crystal exploded and rained down like diamonds onto the carpet. He took the bottle and stalked out of the room, determined to find someplace on these goddamn three hundred acres he could be alone. From behind him, his name was called. He answered with his middle finger.

Katie’s voice came next. Her jarring words told him she was trying to follow him. He stopped at the garage because, empty as he was, he remembered he loved her. “Go back in the house.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need to be alone.”

“You need to talk to Peach.”

“Goddamn it! What is with you people and talking?” He turned in a slow circle, hands to his head, scotch down his neck. He ripped the bottle away and put where it could do some good. He swallowed hard, feeling the burn. Embracing it. “Go back to Butch,” he said, his voice low, calm. “Let him take care of you and the baby.”

In the barn, he found what he was looking for. Nothing and nobody. He squinted, trying to see something in the pitch dark. A small light glowed on the workbench, acted as a beacon. Soon he had the light of a battery-operated lantern to see by. The floor ahead of him illuminated as he made his way to the back and onto the stacked bales of hay. He suckled from the bottle, waiting for the spirits to carry him away.

“I never was a fan of scotch.” The woman’s voice was as smooth as the nectar in the bottle.

He should have known she would come. She made an appearance at every worst moment in his life. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She leaned against the straw, a gorgeous blonde in a short red dress. Amber eyes bathed in black eye shadow looked directly into his soul. “I’m here for you,” she said. “I’m always here for you.”

“I don’t need you, Stella.” He snarled, showing the white of his teeth, and pushed her away. Her kind of evil touched but couldn’t be touched. His hand passed through her, leaving him scrambling for balance.

“Of course you do, baby. You always have.” She uncrossed and re-crossed the bare legs that were finished in blood-red stilettos.

“What do you want?” She always wanted the same thing. A pound of his flesh.

“You know what I am.” Her voice was husky and called to his sluggish body.

“My worse nightmare.”

Her blood-red lips curved up. “In the flesh, so to speak. I’m the one woman who resisted the charms of Thomas Riley.” She rolled her chin toward the window to the porch. “Well, the first woman. That still makes me your favorite nightmare.”

“I hate you,” Tom said without bite.

“Oh, baby,” she pouted. “Don’t be like that. You know I didn’t mean to grind your heart into sausage. We were just having fun. I had no idea you were a virgin—”

“I wasn’t a virgin,” he snapped.

She shrugged. “Maybe not physically but emotionally. After all this time, you can’t be mad at me.” She began gesturing grandly. “I made you into what you are today. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be a potbellied, brow-beaten, pussy-whipped bastard with two point four kids and a mortgage you couldn’t afford. Bye-bye, PhD. Bye-bye, Riley Engineers and Architects. Bye-bye, sex life.”

“Riley Architects and Engineers. Get it right.” He sucked down the last inch of scotch.

“Whatever.” Abruptly, her tone changed. Her face went tight. “I was worried about you. This one nearly caught you with your pants down.” She looked at the bottle. “You need a fresh one. Then we’ll make sense of everything.”

Peach stayed on the porch after Anderson left, the gate closing behind him. The ring in her pocket weighed heavily on her. She’d tried to give it back, but Anderson was so damn sure that with a little time, she’d get over being mad at him. She snorted, as if that would ever happen—except she wasn’t mad. He had given her a gift, something more precious than diamonds. He gave her back her confidence to love.

She replayed that moment and didn’t cringe at the cutting words. Instead, she cheered herself on, wishing she hadn’t shown restraint and just thrown the wine. She had fit herself into a mold that wasn’t made for her. Of course, it hadn’t worked. She’d been lucky she found out before the “I dos.” If Anderson had asked her four months ago, she would have said yes, signing up for a lifetime of conforming. At least up until the divorce.

Her thoughts of Anderson softened. He had found her just to get her back. It was the stuff of romances…just not hers. She hoped he found the right woman and that he found love.

The way she did.

Her stomach cartwheeled at the thought. The excuses to be together were gone. Decision time: make the commitment or break up. She was going to throw herself on the sword and tell Tom that she loved him. It didn’t matter that they had only known each other a short time.

She. Loved. Him.

She had no idea what his response would be. That scared her when little else did. There were moments in the last few days where she thought she saw something more in his gaze. The last time they made love, only hours ago, they had made love. She couldn’t have imagined it. But then other moments, he was so distant. There was only one way to know what was going on in his brilliant head.

She ran back into the playroom before her nerves won out. Only Butch was there, cleaning up. “Where’s Tom?” He stood slowly, sizing her up. A sloth couldn’t move any slower. “Seriously, Butch. Where is Tom?”

“You gonna marry him?” He rolled up the open bags of chips.

“Yeah, if he’s willing.” Her mouth got ahead of her brain, but now that she said it, she knew it was right.

“Surprised you didn’t leave with him.” He raked in the scattered poker chips. “Came all this way just to sweep you off your feet.”

Now the sloth was talking jibberish. “Why would I leave with Anderson when I love Tom?”

Butch froze, then slowly turned, a cheesy grin on his face. “You love Tom?”

She waved her hand in front of his face. “How much have you had to drink? You just asked me if I was gonna marry him.”

“You’re gonna marry Tom?” He got a goofy smile on his face. “Does he know that?”

She took the poker chips and slapped them into their box. “Butch, I think your brain stopped working. Tell your wife you love her and go to bed. First, do you know where Tom is?” She enunciated the last words distinctly.

The door to the courtyard opened, and Tom staggered in. Straw in his hair, shirt half tucked him, he was the most beautiful mess she’d ever seen. Butch left them, closing the door behind him.

Tears welled in her eyes as she stepped toward him. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Well, looked what the cat dragged in,” Stella said in Tom’s ear. “The slut finished off her first guy, and she’s coming around for seconds. You’re not going to let her play us this way, are you?”

He pushed her away, but she didn’t move. Damn illusions. He looked at Peach, another damn illusion. She’d left with her fucking fiancé. Whiskey. That’s what he needed.

Peach stood next to the poker table, as beautiful as any nightmare could be. “You’ve been drinking. A lot.”

He slammed the bottle down, but the table disappeared, and the bottle hit his foot. It hurt from a mile away. Peach’s form elongated, twisted, and then reformed. A tear fell as he squinted at the face of a …“Ssslut.”

“You tell her,” Stella said, propping Tom up from behind. “This gravy train is over.”

“Over!” He swayed on his feet, running into the table that reappeared. “Get off my train. Get out of my house.”

Peach held out a hand as big as a frying pan. “We need to talk.”

He squeezed his eyes tight and covered his ears.

One of his hands was pulled away. “I love you.”

Stella whispered in his ear. “She’s lying. Why would she ever love you? She has the tall, rich bastard. She just used you to fill the time.”

“Liar! You used me,” he screamed.

“I didn’t,” she shouted back.

“I was never anything but a tool to get him to marry you,” he said with lips that wouldn’t cooperate. “And you were nothing to me but a good fucking screw.”

Peach shoved past him, putting her shoulder to his body. The world tipped, he landed on the poker table, then even that abandoned him, and he dropped to the floor. He landed in a knot; his arms were going north and south, his legs east and west. His head was under a table and, when his eyes focused, she was gone.

Stella crawled over him, her long hair brushing his chest. “That’s the way to take charge. I’m proud of you, baby.”

“Why can’t you go away, too?”

Her shellacked lips pouted. “Then where would you be? Let’s get you up to bed.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Saturday, April 15 six-thirty a.m.

The crisp, cool morning air welcomed the first splash of pink across the midnight blue horizon. Peach sat curled on a chaise lounge, a blanket from the family room wrapped around her body. She watched with detached awareness the first colors dawn. A door closed. There was the jingle of bells, and then the full weight of an oversize puppy landed next to her.

“Good morning. You’re up early,” Katie called in a subdued voice as she crossed the courtyard. “Or should I say you’re up late?”

Peach dug her fingers into the thick, warm coat of the black lab.

“I tried to wait up, but I have no stamina these days. So dish. Are you going to marry him?”

She shook her head. She had to swallow a few times to find her voice. “He doesn’t love me. He never did.”

“Oh, good.” Katie let out the breath she was holding and smiled. Then frowned. “I mean not good—”

“I’m leaving today. Are you going into Nashville? I need to get to the airport.”

Katie’s smile fell, and she sat on the end of the chaise. “You don’t have to go, Peach. Stay here with us.”

She pressed her head against the dog’s thick flank. “Can’t. Can Poppy stay for another day or two? I need to get the house ready.”

“Are you sure it’s safe? Those losers still know where you live. You know Tom—”

“He doesn’t want me here.” She shook her head violently. “He—he doesn’t want me. I was just another naïve notch on his bed post.”

Katie rested her hand on Peach’s knee. “You love him. Does he know?”

She nodded. “I feel…like my heart was ripped out and tossed to the dogs. No offense, Taylor.” The dog wagged his tail and licked her chin to nose. She hugged the dog, tears falling on his shoulder.

Katie gave the dog’s flank a hearty thump. “The great irony of love. When you find it, it really is like walking on sunshine. Nobody tells you that you have to go through hell, high water, a minefield, and a steeplechase to get there. Come inside. I’ll make coffee, and we’ll figure out how to get you home.”

Taylor followed Katie; Peach followed Taylor. Moving was harder than she expected, her legs rebelling against motion. The warmth inside the house seeped into Peach, making her realize how cold the night had been.

“It will just be a few minutes,” Katie said as the coffeemaker began to gurgle. She turned on her tablet and went to a travel website. “Here’s a direct flight. Leaves at ten. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Peach raked her hair back from her face, surprised at Katie’s cooperation. “You understand, right? I have to go?”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t like it, but I do. And so you understand, I am going to kick Tom’s ass and send him after you. You belong here. We all know it. Don’t write him off completely yet.”

“I can’t live that way. Not again. I should have written Anderson off a long time ago. I hung on, waiting for him to see I belonged. Tom told me straight up to get out.” Her voice cracked. “I would be…you name it…ridiculous, stupid, irrational to hold out hope that a man who called me a slut and threw me out of his house would want me back.” She heard what she said. “Fuck that. I would be ridiculous, stupid, and irrational to want that man. I’m out.”

“I’m texting Carolina. She’d never forgive either of us if you left without saying good-bye. Have you packed yet?”

“No. And I need to talk to Poppy.” She shivered as her body warmed, her confidence growing.

Katie bit her fingernails. “Do you want help?”

“No. I’m not a coward.”

Katie pulled the coffee pot away and filled Peach a cup directly from the machine. “Here. Go on and pack. We’ll leave in a half hour.”

Firmly believing in getting the nasty jobs done first, she strode into Tom’s bedroom to pack. She looked at the bed, surprised to find it still made with no sign of the jerk. He’d been drinking, and she expected to find him sleeping it off here.

She turned the light on and in under five minutes stuffed the few clothes she had back into the roller bag. She took off his sweater and shoved it into the garbage can. She pulled on a form-fitting T-shirt and a favorite sweatshirt. She ran into the bathroom to brush her teeth and get her toiletries.

She froze with one foot inside the door. There he was, sleeping in the bathtub, cradling a bath towel like a teddy bear.

Her bravado turned tail, leaving her bare before the man who didn’t want her. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he would wake. It took more than a few deep breaths to convince her feet to move forward. She snatched her makeup bag and toothbrush. Some sadistic part of her couldn’t keep her eyes off Tom.

She thought hard—it was Saturday. Only Saturday. It had been less than a week, but it felt like she’d always known him.

Heart heavy, she went to him. His breath caught, and he shifted in his sleep, but his eyes didn’t open.

He didn’t look at her and say he was sorry.

He didn’t say he didn’t mean the things he said.

He didn’t say he loved her.

And he never would.

She bent down, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and let go of the fantasy. Hurrying now, she left his room and went to Poppy’s door. She knocked softly as not to startle him. “Poppy? It’s me.”

“Come in.” He was sitting up in bed, his pajamas and hair disheveled but otherwise awake. Without seeing, he saw her. She could never hide from him. “You are leaving?”

“We are, Poppy. I’m going today. You’ll come home as soon as I have a place ready.”

“This is home now,” he said defiantly, lifting his chin.

“This isn’t our home,” she said, not trying to hide her own feelings of loss. “These aren’t even our friends. This is…a freak stroke of bad luck.”

“What about Tom? Are you going to leave him?”

She ran the back of her hand over her cheek. “You have to be together to leave someone.”

“What about the other one?”

“Anderson? I’m not with him, either. I’m where I usually am—between the tip of a sword and a long, cold drop into the abyss. And believe me, I’m not Peter Pan. There’s no flying away.”

Poppy cocked his head. “Isn’t there? Isn’t that what you are doing?”

She shook her head, not wanting to relive the blow-by-blow account of her last exchange with Tom. “I’m leaving in a half hour. Katie said she’d take me to the airport.”

“You are so sure this is the right thing.” It wasn’t a question, and the inflection in his voice made it clear that he did not think this was the right thing.

She dropped her head in defeat. “I’m not sure of anything anymore. I just know I can’t stay here. It may be time to put your house on the market and find you a nice condo. There’s no need for you to keep up with a house anymore.”

Poppy raised a single eyebrow. “So now you are making decisions for me?”

“I’m not saying we put it on the market tomorrow. But Rico’s gone, and I’m going to have to go find work somewhere—”

“—why not here?”

“Where here? Cleveland?”

“Here here. You can work for Jebediah.”

She snorted and leaned down to kiss her grandfather’s cheek. “You always know how to make me smile.”

There was a small gathering in the garage as her bags were put into the trunk of Katie’s GTO. They were a motley assortment; Katie and Jeb were dressed for the day, but Poppy, Butch, Nate, and Carolina were in robes and pajamas. Of course, there was one notable face missing. She didn’t look around for the him she refused to name. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how wounded she was. Instead, she closed the trunk and turned to thank these fine people for their hospitality.

Except tears were pouring down Carolina’s face, which made Jeb snarl. Poppy’s eyes were shining, though he blamed it on the sun. Carolina squeezed his hand.

“Here,” Carolina said, holding out an envelope. “Your winnings from last night. Over four hundred dollars.”

“I want a chance to win my money back,” Jeb said.

“Sorry, big guy. That appearance was for one night only.” She managed a small smile.

Until she turned to Katie, who was bawling like a baby against her husband’s bare chest. “It’s the hormones. That’s all. Well, maybe not all. But it’s mostly the hormones. God, I’m going to kick Tom’s ass. Where the hell is he?”

“Sleeping it off in his bathtub.”

Butch pulled Peach into his arms with his wife. “Life’s been interesting with you around. I’m gonna miss that.”

She stiffened, surprised by the display of affection, then relaxed. It had been a long time since someone just hugged her, and the odds of getting another one soon were piss poor. She hugged them back, taking what she could get.

“Thank you,” she said to all of them. “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t let us stay. You have a special place here.”

Katie sobbed, and Butch took the keys from her hand. “You can’t drive like that. Get in, and I’ll take y’all into town.”

“Not dressed like that you’re not,” Katie said, sobering up quickly. “All we need is for Abitchgail to get an eyeful of you driving around half naked. Gimme those back.” She snatched away the keys Butch didn’t try to keep. Blue fire was in her eyes; Peach suspected that had been Butch’s goal the whole time.

Peach winked at Katie. “I won’t forget about Abitchgail. I can work my magic long distance.”

“You stay in touch. Call us when you get home.” Carolina hugged Peach tightly. Eventually, Jeb did, too.

“I’ll call,” she said, choking on the words.

Saturday, April 15 eleven-thirty a.m.

Tom bounced off the hallway wall, squinting against the bright light of his living room. It had been years since he’d been this bad the morning after. No, he corrected himself as the wall fell away and he did the same. The couch caught him. He had never been this bad. His body was an atlas of aches and pains. He woke wanting Peach, strategizing on how to talk her out of the rich man’s bed. Once he pried himself out of the bathtub, he staggered into the bedroom, but she wasn’t there. His head pounded so hard he couldn’t stand straight. She should know that he wanted her there, in his house, before she made her decision. He just needed to catch his breath, then he’d find her. He draped his arm over his eyes. The birds outside the window had it in for him, chirping and singing until his head wanted to split open and spill out the few brain cells he had left.

Jeb deep voice slid under the pain. “Clyde, you look tore up.”

“Feel tore up,” he said, moving only his lips.

“I feel compelled to carry you back to bed.”

“Touch me and you’re a dead man.” He put spitfire into it, making sure the man kept his distance. “I won’t complain if you get me a glass of water and a pain killer the size of Kilimanjaro. They’re behind the bar—”

“I know where they are.” Tom felt more than heard Jeb move through the room. His refrigerator opened and a cabinet door. A plastic bottle with the miracle concoction shook. “Can you sit up?”

“Yes. I’m not helpless.” Tom pulled his arm away, opening one eye as he licked his cracked lips. He slowly pushed up to sitting and accepted the pills and water. His throat was so dry that swallowing was difficult. “Where’s Peach? She hasn’t come back to our room.”

Jeb sat down on the coffee table, elbows perched on his knees. “How much do you remember about last night?”

God, he didn’t like his tone. “Why?”

“Tom, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but she’s gone.”

There was no humor in Jeb’s eyes, and he’d called him by name. Tom pushed himself taller. His headache went from pounding to raging, but he pushed it away. “Gone? With that guy?”

“No. She told Katie she turned him down.”

Relief was a cool breeze, soothing his aching body. “Where did she go?”

“Flew back north.”

He swung around and planted his feet on the floor, but the room didn’t stop. Then his stomach impersonated a roller coaster. Jeb shoved the trash can in his hands, but Tom held it together. Those little pills needed to stay where they were. The room stopped spinning, and he drank the rest of the water. “Did she go alone?”

Jeb nodded. “Poppy is going to stay with us another day or two. She needed some time to get things cleaned up.”

“And you let her go?” Outrage and disbelief banged on his pounding head.

“I couldn’t stop her—”

“—there’s still a killer on the loose.” He raised his voice, ignoring the way his head thumped. All he could see was her beautiful body in the greasy and sadistic hands of Michael Fabrini.

Jeb turned his empty palms up. “She didn’t want to hear it. What the hell happened last night?”

Tom slogged through the swampy memories. Poker, he remembered that. The bastard showing up and proposing to Peach, that was stamped into his brain. After that, it got spotty. He buried his head in his hands. “What did I do?”

“The way I heard it, you called her a slut and told her to get out. I can’t imagine you doing that. Did you?”

Without a memory, he had no defense. He’d been crushed when that Anderson character went down on his knee. Peach hadn’t shoved him on his ass. The betrayal cut him to the core. He loved her, and she leaped on the shiny rock.

So he thought.

Jeb rose to his full height and headed for the door. “What you did was piss off the two women that live in this house. Butch is pissed because Katie’s upset. I’m not thrilled with you. I was starting to like that little delinquent, and then you go and run her off. If I were you, I’d lay low for the day.”

Alone, Tom sat back, head falling onto the cushion. Tears ran down to his ears. He remembered the courtyard and snapping at Katie. He remembered the haystacks. Then he wasn’t alone. Stella had haunted him for fifteen years. He’d fallen in love and been foolish enough to act on it. “Not foolish. Brave. Standing on that boardwalk was the most courageous thing I’ve ever done.” With every woman since Stella, he’d been a coward, never giving her a chance to get close. Until Peach.

He fought his way off the couch. Using the walls for balance, he went into his room. From the top of his closet, he pulled a fire-proof box, opened it, and dumped it out on his bed. A black velvet box rolled across it. Opening it, he removed the diamond solitaire in a simple setting. The rock was tiny in his hand, so at odds with the impact it had on his life.

Maybe Stella was right. If he hadn’t shut the door on love, he wouldn’t have his company or his PhD or any of his other successes. In a strange way, if it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have Peach because he would be married. Thanks to Stella, he waited.

Now, he needed to act.

In his bathroom, he held the ring over the toilet bowl. “I’m done being angry. I’m done being afraid. I’m done with you.” He dropped the ring and pressed the handle. “Bye, Stella. Enjoy the ride.”

He started the shower, drank another glass of water, and began planning his next move.

Saturday, April 15 two p.m.

Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the button. Peach felt completely alone in the world. A ghost that interacted in other people’s lives but was never truly a part of it. Life knocked her down again. She wondered how many times she could pick herself up before it wasn’t worth the effort. She looked at her phone, the red button daring her to press it. She felt all the more alone for walking away from two women she could have easily called her sisters. She didn’t want to hear funny stories about family antics or laughter from the love-struck couples. It just hurt too much. But Poppy was living there, on their generosity, so she pressed it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Carolina. It’s me…Peach.”

“I know who you are. You only left seven hours ago.”

“Right. So am I interrupting?”

“No. I was just finishing the research I pulled together on explosives. Taylor was driving me crazy, racing in and out of the house, so I’m just sitting in the kitchen with the back door open. If you hear a lot of noise, it’s just him. So what have you been…what do you have Taylor? Is that a sock?…Squirrel! Bad Taylor. Bad, bad, disgusting Taylor. Get it out of here now…Not that way,” Carolina shrieked. “That way.”

Peach heard a door slam solidly and bit her lip, holding back her smile.

“That’s disgusting. Truly disgusting.”

The weight of the day lifted with laughter. In her mind’s eye, she could picture the beautiful, delicate Carolina chasing the long-legged puppy with a squirrel in his mouth. “Was it dead or alive?”

“Dead. Thoroughly dead.” Carolina gagged. “Oh. I may have to gargle with mouthwash.”

Peach chuckled. “Well, I’m home. Calling as directed.”

“Late. You should have been home two hours ago. Was there a problem with the flight?”

“No, Mother. It arrived on time. I took the train to downtown, got my car, and drove home. Where is Poppy? He isn’t answering his phone.”

Carolina chuckled. “He went out with Mrs. Teasdale, again. They are sweet together.”

An unnamed emotion swept through her. Here she was, worrying herself gray over where he could live and how she would pay the bills, and he was out on a date. WTF? “Tell him to call me, if he can fit me in his schedule.” The house phone rang. “Hold on a minute.” Peach picked up her grandfather’s phone. “Hello. Hello?” A click followed. “The phone has been ringing off the hook. Two ‘ladies’ checking on Poppy and three, now four, hang ups,” she said to Carolina. “It’s getting annoying.”

“Are you going to stay at Poppy’s house?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. No one knows I’m here, and I’m not without my own resources.” Her fingers stroked the cold metal of her gun. “Well, I better let you go.”

“Yeah,” Carolina said quietly. “I guess. You take care.”

“You, too.”

Saturday, April 15 two-fifteen p.m.

Tom crashed through the kitchen door, tripping over the threshold. The noise was an ice pick to his brain, but he ignored it. He brushed passed Carolina, locked on to the coffee pot that was mercifully full and hot. “Where’s Jeb? I need him.”

Carolina raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “He should be in his office. You all right? You look…rough.”

“I feel rough.” He went to the intercom panel and buzzed Jeb.

“Yeah?”

“I need your plane and your pilot. Now. Like, faster than now.”

“I’m on my way. We’ll talk.”

“What the hell is with all the talking?” he shouted into the microphone. “I’m done talking. I’m going after Peach.”

“You are?” He heard the skepticism in Carolina’s voice and leveled a look that made her smile. She put bread in the toaster and started cutting strawberries. “Of course you are. I knew you’d come to your senses.”

Jeb sprinted toward them, his firm jaw set. He blasted the door open with the flat of his hand hard enough that it bounced off the wall behind with a thunderous crash. “Who left the gate open?”

Tom cringed at the noise while Carolina shrunk into herself. “I opened it for a delivery. I forgot to close it, Jeb.”

“What’s happened?” Tom asked as they followed Jeb to the front door. Nate and Butch met them, coming out of the game room.

“Who’s here?” Butch asked.

“Peach’s fiancé,” Jeb said.

The hangover lifted, replaced by testosterone-loaded scorn. “He’s not her fiancé,” Tom said, shoving to the front.

“How did he get in?” Butch asked.

“Anybody can get in. I don’t know why we even have a gate. Y’all leave it open more than closed.” With teeth bared, Jeb pulled the door open.

“I’ll handle this.” Tom went out of the house and waited on the walkway as the rental car slid to a stop.

Anderson Bingham threw open the door and stalked around the car, anger evident in his tight face and fists. “I want to see Em. I’m her fiancé. I have a right to see her. She’s here, and I demand you produce her this minute.”

Tom understood how Anderson was feeling. He was feeling that way himself. He’d fucked up, and he wanted to take it out on somebody, too. “You’re on private property. Get out now.”

Anderson stepped into his face. “I’m calling the police. You’ve kidnapped her. Brainwashed her. Look at this place. It’s some kind of cult, and Em has drunk the Kool-Aid. That’s the only rational explanation why she would turn me down. What kind of bullshit did you feed her? What kind of drugs? Is that what she meant by seeing ‘real love’ and won’t settle for less? Won’t. Settle,” he raged, pulling the ring from his jacket and throwing it with all his might. “I’ll show that bitch what settling is. She was nothing but slum-baby, an Air Force reject until she met me—”

Tom cold cocked the bastard. “Nobody talks about Peach like that.”

Anderson took the punch on his cheek, bounced off the car, and flung himself at Tom. Tom took a hard right to the eye, then grabbed a handful of that fancy, white shirt, and clubbed him in the ear. Legs tangled, and balance was lost. They rolled around on the gravel drive, kicked up a cloud of dust as their feet dug deep. Tom arose on top. Exhausted, he drove a weak fist into the bloody mouth one last time before staggering to his feet.

“You say one more thing about Peach and you’ll be picking your teeth up with tweezers.”

Anderson propped himself up on one elbow. “You son of a bitch. She was mine. You had no right to take her.”

“You threw her away. You had everything, but you were too stupid to see it. She’s moved on. Time for you to do the same.” He sickened himself as he flung the words at his rival, knowing he’d done the same thing. But he was different. He learned, and he’d make it up to her, every damn day for as long as it took.

Anderson climbed to his feet, stanching the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand as he retreated to the car.

“Don’t come back,” Tom said, flat and low. He heard a shotgun snap behind him. “Your business with Peach is over. That’s your only warning.” He stood his ground, standing in the cloud of dust as the sedan beat it out of Elderberry Farm.

He turned to his family, surprised to see the shotgun in Carolina’s hands. Nodding his gratitude for them having his back, he made his next move. “I’m going after Peach and bringing her home. I don’t care if I have to tie her up and toss her in the trunk to do it.” He looked to Jeb. “Can I use your plane or what?”

“You can, but I’m flying it.” Jeb turned to Nate. “Wanna go for a ride?”

“I’m in.” Nate tugged his sister’s hair. “This is one exciting family you married into.”

“Close the damn gate before it gets any more interesting,” Jeb ordered.

Carolina handed the shotgun to Jeb and went to Tom. “When you find her, tell her what’s in your heart. She won’t turn you away. She loves you.”

“I know,” he said. “I finally know. I just hope I’m not too late.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Saturday, April 15 four p.m.

Tom sat in the posh cabin, counting his mistakes. Though he believed in moving forward, he couldn’t get beyond the last twenty-four hours. He couldn’t blame her if she turned him away. Last night came back in grainy, black-and-white images. The things he said, the things he did sickened him. But he had to find a way to make it up to her. She had to find a way to love him again, if she ever had.

Butch sat next to him, his long legs stretched out. “She’ll take you back. You just have to give her what she needs most.”

He looked at his brother-in-law, grateful for the company even when he didn’t want it. “She doesn’t need anything.” Damn it but he hated that word—need. Peach was smart and resourceful, talented and beautiful. She went her own way without need of anything. Just like he did.

“Everyone needs something. None of us are born whole. It takes what the other one has to do that. What does she need? Not things, like in here.” He pressed his fist to his heart.

He flipped through memories like snap shots, looking beyond her smile and sharp tongue. “She needs to be wanted just as she is. She expects people to push her away, to tell her she’s not good enough. I think Poppy was the only person who ever loved her unconditionally.”

“Not the only,” Butch said. “Just the first.”

“I’ve got bad news,” Jeb said, leaving the controls to Nate. “Hawthorne’s house burned down this morning. The police got word to Hawthorne. It’s a complete loss.”

Terror reached down Tom’s throat and crushed his heart. The pain in his chest was very real. “Jeb. Call the police. See if they’ll check on Peach, warn her or something. She called Carolina from Poppy’s house. She’s probably still there.”

“Right.” Jeb returned to the pilot’s seat, working the radio while Nate flew.

“Can we land closer to her house? There has to be a regional airport, right? How much longer?”

“About an hour,” Nate shouted back.

He might as well have said it was an eternity. So many things could happen in an hour, and right then, he couldn’t think of any good things. Bouncing his knee to the beat of a jackrabbit’s pulse did nothing to help that he was trapped up here while his…his…his life was freaking sitting in her little house, completely unaware that these killers were still on their tails.

“How much longer?”

Jeb came back, sitting across from Tom. “Still forty-five minutes. I got through to Carolina. She called the Painesville PD, spoke to the officer that helped us out before. They are on their way.”

“Why didn’t she try calling Peach herself? What was she thinking? She could have told Peach to get the hell out of there herself.”

Jeb leaned forward. The look on his face had Butch doing the same. “She did. There was no answer.”

Peach sat in Poppy’s chair, reading through the Fabrini files again. She’d done as much as she could do that day, which left her facing a very long evening. If she didn’t occupy her mind, she’d go crazy. She back-doored into F&F and began building the case. Knowing the names made it easier to find the projects. The list of names from accounting sat next to her. The projects were sprinkled across all the project accountants. Not every project was skimmed, but there was no pattern on which ones were.

The front door exploded inward, wood spraying like buckshot across the room. Instinct had her arms up, protecting her face, as she dove to the floor. Two men stormed the room, black ski masks over their faces.

Her options were limited. Her weapon was in the kitchen. The front door was blocked. With where she had ended up, they had a better angle on the back door. She made for the back door, drawing them both into a footrace. Jumping on Poppy’s chair, she kicked one in the head, spun, and dashed for the opened front door. Violent cursing came from behind her. She stumbled, then something hit her in the back. The momentum knocked her forward, but she was off balance. She fought it, but her head bounced off the door frame.

Peach came to awareness with a start. Heart racing, she focused on her last memories. Someone broke into her house. She fought, then…nothing. She opened her eyes, and there was still nothing. Her head pounded, and the world around her was dark. The blindness accelerated her heart, teetering on the verge of panic. She breathed as slowly as possible, taking control of her body to take control of the situation. She moved, tried to stretch, but her hands and feet were held in place. The cloth beneath her was rough, scratchy like wool.

She was in a trunk.

She rolled her head, her stiff neck resisting. The pain cutting through her head defied description. She cried out as she bounced helplessly when the car hit a pothole. Any sound she made, any sound she hoped to make, was muted by the tape covering her mouth.

She had been trained by the best. Time and distance didn’t negate the soldier she was. Soon, she could focus.

Closing her eyes, she demanded more of her other senses. She knew that an escape latch existed somewhere on the inside, but to find it, she needed her hands. She couldn’t move them. They were pinned behind her back. Locked together by handcuffs. They weren’t locked tightly, giving her some room to work with.

She didn’t need them apart; she needed them in front of her. She wiggled, trying to slide her hips through the circle of her arms. There was little room to maneuver, locked onto her side as she was. She curled her spine, rolling her weight onto her arms. Inch by inch, her torso moved through. Her legs easily followed.

Adrenaline coursed through her. She put it in check, keeping her breath even. She rolled to her back to orient herself and then felt toward the rear of the car with her hands. A sweat broke out as her need for freedom warred with the demand for patience. The lack of air in the small space wasn’t helping. She pulled her hands to her mouth and ripped the tape away, then unbound her legs.

Taking big, greedy gulps of air, she felt for the latch. Her fingers traced ridges and wires until…a thick, plastic T shape.

The car rolled to a stop.

She yanked on the release, and the trunk popped up. The muted light of an overcast sky flooded the space, blinding her after the absolute dark. Legs and hands worked to heft her body over the lip of the trunk. She fell heavily to the ground, the distance feeling much greater than the few feet it had to be.

She opened her eyes and saw wide, black tires. She was out.

Now what?

Her legs failed when she tried to run. Stumbling, she curled into a ball and rolled to the curb. Car doors opened, and she worked harder, rolling over the curb onto prickly grass.

She lifted her head and screamed, making as much noise as possible. No one stopped. Two men were coming for her. One of whom she knew.

“The police found the house empty,” Carolina reported through the headsets. “The front door was broken in, and it looked like there had been a struggle. They, uh, they found fresh blood on the scene.”

Butch changed seats and squeezed Tom’s shoulder. “She’s tough. It was probably theirs.”

“Did you get a trace on her cell phone?” Jeb asked.

“I had one,” Carolina said. “But it doesn’t make sense. It’s stationary on a street in Cleveland. I mapped it, and it’s a vacant lot. I called the CPD, and they dispatched a unit.”

“Was it near the construction site?” Something clicked for Tom. It all came back to that project, to that perfect storm that led someone to kill.

“It’s about five or seven miles east. It’s not ‘on the way,’ if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“The F&F Construction site. It has to be where they’re going.” Tom gave her the name of the Cleveland PD detective working the case. “Call him. Get him there.”

“I’m on it. Tom, I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, Carolina. I know you won’t.”

“They took her for a reason. What is it?” Jeb asked.

Tom shook his head. “No one with F&F saw her with me.”

“That you know of,” Nate said. “I heard she went after you when you had your head knocked in. They could have seen her.”

“More likely it was when she saved our asses at the train tracks,” Jeb said. “Reporting the truck stolen didn’t throw them.”

“Jeb,” Carolina said, her voice breaking. “When we were talking, she got a wrong number.”

“They already knew where she lived, and they knew she was back.” Tom slammed his already sore head against the head rest. “Will they kill her? They killed Carter, her uncle, and the other guys in the basket.”

“Don’t forget about Hawthorne’s secretary,” Carolina said. “The hit and run was reportedly by a black SUV.”

Butch leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “What do they have to gain by taking her, Jeb?”

“Good question. She knows Fabrini, Jr. is a drug dealer. She’s taken his stash twice, costing him thousands and getting him in trouble with his supplier.”

“If they made the connection between Peach and Tom, could they know that Hawthorne is alive?” Nate said. “He’s a loose end.”

“I didn’t say anything to Fabrini about Hawthorne being alive,” Tom said emphatically. “True, I conveyed some of the information we learned but not the source. I let him believe I figured it out myself.”

Jeb snapped his fingers. “The police interviewed him this morning. I sat in on the web conference. The detective was not happy that Hawthorne was being held in an undisclosed location. He thought as an eyewitness, he should come back to town.”

“Spell it out for me simply,” Nate said. “Who are your suspects?”

Jeb held up his index finger. “Frank Fabrini. He has a lot to lose depending how these murders are resolved. Somebody worked with Carter siphoning cash.”

Tom shook his head. “It doesn’t work for me, Jeb. I’m not saying Fabrini doesn’t have it in him to crush a man, but he’d do it by ruining him, not killing him. Especially not using a construction accident. And he doesn’t have to steal from the company. Since his brother died, all the profits are his.”

Jeb added his middle finger. “Michael Fabrini. Known drug dealer and user. Into his supplier for some cash. Premier asshole. He uses his daddy’s name to play a role. He could have been in on the embezzlement. It fits with what we know.”

When there was no comment, Jeb raised his ring finger. “Jim Stinson. Fabrini’s right hand and a man with access to all of the accounts and projects to make embezzling work.”

Tom rubbed the ache in his neck. “What did they have to gain by wrecking the crane?”

“Money,” Carolina and Nate answered together.

“My sister knows more about ways of acquiring illicit funds than I’m proud to admit.”

“A lot of it’s from reading,” Carolina said, then amended, “Most of it’s from reading. There is going to be an insurance payout in the millions and lawsuits. An accident like this could force Fabrini to sell or bring someone in to help run the business.”

Tom sat bolt upright. “Like his son. What better way to launder drug money than through your own successful, multi-million dollar business? How long until we land?”

“Twenty minutes,” Jeb said, looking at his watch. “Let’s talk strategy.”

Saturday, April 15 five-thirty p.m.

Peach came awake in a dull gray light that was an overcast spring evening. Her hands were still in front of her, wrapped in so much duct tape that it looked like she had a flipper. More tape covered her mouth. This time, it wrapped around her head so there was no seam to pick at.

She lay awkwardly on the floor of a car. Her weight rested on her head and one shoulder; her legs hung over the center hump. She didn’t move as she assessed her latest position.

“Did you call the fat fuck?”

She couldn’t see the driver, but she recognized the voice. She’d heard it as she sat against the F&F trailer, waiting for her uncle’s body to be pulled out of the lake. She’d seen him there, following Fabrini around like a puppy dog.

It was Stinson.

“Three times. Told him to meet us at the usual place.”

She recognized this voice, too. She’d heard it the day she was crouched under the desk at F&F headquarters. She didn’t have a name, but it was Michael Fabrini’s drug dealer.

“Told him I have a little job for him. He doesn’t suspect anything.”

She lay quietly, hoping they would talk. She needed time to formulate another plan. She looked up to the door handle. Even assuming she could get up to it, she wouldn’t be able to open the lever using her immobile flipper.

“Why do you use him? That dumb shit can’t do anything right,” Stinson said.

There was silence between the men, and then Dealer spoke. “Did you get any more information from the detective on Hawthorne?”

Surprise was a cold slap in the face. It would have been easy for Stinson to talk to the CPD detective, keeping tabs on their progress. All it took was one slip to start the avalanche.

“Naw,” Stinson said. “Riley’s bodyguard has the guy underground.”

She was relieved Jeb had acted decisively, moving the family. It was a small victory against the series of losses, but it worried her that they made a connection between Tom and Hawthorne.

There was the sound of flesh on flesh. “When do we get Riley? I owe him for what he did to Red,” Drug Dealer said.

Her heart raced at the malice. Who was Red? What did Tom do to him? Was he a man in the SUV she ran off the road? One of the men that attacked Poppy’s house? She needed to warn Tom. Sooner or later, he’d come back to Cleveland and walk right into a trap. She needed information if she was going to keep them safe.

A nagging little voice whispered in her ear, asking why she cared what happened to the man who threw her out. The answer sounded pathetic. She loved him. It was her choice. He didn’t love her, but they had shared so much in the few days, she couldn’t let him fall into their hands the way she did.

“Riley is Fabrini’s golden boy,” Stinson said in a very reasonable voice. “We’ve tried to get him off the project. We go after him again, there’s no missing. Maybe…he’ll come to us. Is she awake?”

She kept her body limp, forbidding it to respond when a fist pounded her hip.

“She’s still out,” Dealer said. “Maybe you hit her too hard.”

“No such thing,” Stinson said, laughing with Dealer.

The car stopped, and Stinson got out. Moments later, the car rolled forward, past the sound of an oversize garage door opening. She turned her head, and through the window she saw the toppled steel frame.

Her feet weren’t tied. That worked in her favor. Could she outrun two men? Not without a head start. She played dead as they dragged her from the car. Drug Dealer held onto her wrists, dragging her across the sharp and uneven ground. Her hair caught under her, pulling her head back.

Drug Dealer stopped and dropped her. “What are you doing, man?”

“Quality control,” Stinson said. “That’s…that’s good shit.”

Peach lifted her eyes just enough to see her kidnappers bent over the hood of car, snorting coke. She lay in the middle of the yard. The open gate was back past her kidnappers. The trailer was closer. The hole in the fence lay beyond the trailer, but there was no dark to hide her. The water was a few hundred feet in front of her. She doubted they would follow her in, but what could she do? The water was still far too cold. She could wait. The more strung out they got, the better her chances to out run and out maneuver them.

An Escalade pulled through the gate and parked next to the sedan. Junior appeared behind it. “I got your message. What’s this job?”

Stinson nodded toward Peach. “We need to find out what she knows.”

“I’m in the mood for a little fun.”

That changed her plan. She bolted off the ground, heading straight to the jungle of steel. Beyond it was the breakwall, and beyond it was the scrub brush that had hid her just days ago. She ran as shouts rose from behind her. A gun fired; the bullet erupted the ground to her left. She ran harder, zig-zagged. Another gunshot and then another. White lightning cut through her calf, and she fell.

She grabbed onto the steel frame, trying to pull herself up and away. Her head was yanked backward, and she was thrown to her back.

Drug Dealer bent over her, gun pointed at her belly. “Where is he, and what does he know?”

Saturday, April 15 six p.m.

Tom spoke with the detective, disappointed to find out a unit had done a drive by and found the place locked tight. It didn’t sit right. Every instinct he had said the construction site was the place they would take her. He was taking a huge risk, but with no better ideas, they were going into the construction site.

Jeb pulled the rented SUV into the dark cover of a bridge. “Does everyone have a vest on?” One by one, his family sounded off. “Butch, you’re our getaway man. I expect when we come out, we’re gonna be hot.”

Butch nodded, his gray eyes dark and stormy, mirroring his brother’s.

“Tom, you’re on Peach. You get her out. If I say go, you boys go. Nate and I can take care of ourselves. You get her out.”

“We’re not leaving you, Jeb,” Tom said.

“Not a chance, Clyde,” Butch agreed.

“This is why I don’t work with civilians,” Jeb growled at the pair. “That’s not the way we are playing this.”

“Yes, it is,” they said in unison.

“We go in together,” Tom said.

“We go out together,” Butch finished.

Nate shrugged. “Guess we go out together. You ready for some dirty work?”

“We’ll go to the top of the hill and see what we can see.” Jeb parked in a spot that overlooked the project. He used binoculars to survey the area, then jerked them away, swearing.

Tom ripped them from his hand and pressed them to his eyes. Indistinguishable colors and shapes flashed until he began to make sense of it. A truck and a car were parked on “wrong” side of the trailer, invisible from the road. Two men stumbled around an excavator that reached out into the water. The arm lifted, and something hung from the bucket. Not something…someone.

“They’re going to kill her,” Tom said, jumping ahead to run down the steep hill.

“Not that way. Use your head first.” Jeb caught Tom’s arm and swung him into the grill of the SUV. “Suit up.”

All donned gloves and a headset. Jeb and Nate secured guns in holsters.

Tom shot targets for fun. He’d never fired a gun with any other intent. Until today. “I want one, too.”

Jeb handed him a holster, then a handgun. “The safety is on. This is for emergency use only. Let Nate and me take care of things.”

The heavy weight wasn’t as comforting as he’d hoped. It was hard and cold when he was molten. He’d let Jeb and Nate take the lead, but he knew he wouldn’t hesitate. Not for her. “Let’s go.”

Nate led the way down the embankment—the lake side, covered in small trees and bare shrubs. The land leveled out, and the vegetation gave way to sand. Moving was easier, and they remained screened by the angle of the bluff. They lay low against the breakwall and then, one-by-one, crossed it and hid beneath the remnants of the building.

Tom followed Nate and obeyed Jeb because there was no margin for error. He wanted to run wild, jump to her defense, but they had to get to her first. She had come to him that day he was assaulted. He never thought about how she got there, what it took for her to save him. His respect for her doubled, as did his determination to get her out alive.

Over his own heavy breathing, he heard a voice. Fabrini, Junior. Stinson. A new voice.

“You’re going to tell us what we want to know, sweetheart,” Stinson shouted. “Why not make it easy on yourself? What does Tom Riley know about the accounts?”

“Your ass is fried,” Peach shouted, her voice rough and raw. “He has it all and sent it to Fabrini and the FBI. My advice, get on a plane and get out.”

The arm on the excavator lowered, dropping Peach into the water. It killed him, watching her body thrash as she disappeared below the surface. Then she was raised up again.

“Where is Hawthorne?” Stinson shouted.

“Fuck you,” she yelled back.

Junior laughed, sick and disturbing. “We’re getting to that.”

“Jeb,” Tom whispered. “We gotta do something. Now.”

The excavator lowered again. Peach’s legs pumped hard, trying to stay out of the icy water. Tom closed his eyes as he struggled with the need to run to her. Peach was here, and she needed him. She needed all of them.

The arm of the contraption holding her lowered again. The water below her feet was just deep enough to submerge her fully. The toes of her heavy shoes scraped the bottom but gave her no leverage to free her hands. Junior had dunked her three times, and each time, she tried to leap off the sandy bottom and lift her arms off the tine that held her.

The arm went down again, and she tried a different tactic. She swung her legs, using them like a pendulum to reach the bucket over her head. She was close, but then she was in the water and it took any momentum she had. Hanging, she ordered her body to rest, to ignore the cold pressing on her chest. The only saving grace was that her calf no longer burned. Air was a precious commodity, and she was losing it. Then she was raised back up. Once she was raised out of the water, she would attempt to flip up.

Her chest came out of the water, then her hips. Finally, her knees. She went American Ninja and flipped. One leg made it in. She squeezed with her arms, using that thick tine for leverage, and got her other leg over it. Now she just had to reach out far enough to unhook her waded hands. The tape they had used to gag her still stuck in her hair, to her face. They had cut it only enough so she could answer their questions.

“Whoa! Hey! Michael! She’s getting loose!” Drug Dealer paced on the dry land.

“No, she’s not. I know what I’m doing.”

The bucket started lowering again, this time with her in it. Then it jerked to a stop. With nothing to hold onto, she tumbled deep into the mouth. She was jerked backward, then to a stop. Then down again. She crawled to the edge to see what was going on, but she couldn’t see the cab. Stinson shouted to her.

“Last chance, sweetheart. Tell us where Riley is and we’ll let you and your grampy go free.”

Peach held herself on stiff arms. “You touch one hair on his head and I’ll Brazilian wax your manhood off you.”

“You looking for me, Stinson?”

Tom? He couldn’t be here. He was tucked safely in his house several states away. She couldn’t see where the voice came from, but it couldn’t be him. How was she going to protect him now? “Tom! What are you doing here?”

He stepped into her field of vision, looked at her, and a cocky smile grew on his face. “Being your hero.”

Drug Dealer broke for the fence, shooting wildly as he ran. Gunfire was returned as Tom hit the dirt. Then Stinson charged him. The bucket began lowering. It tipped down. Peach dug her wet heels in, hoping the rubber of her tennis shoes would hold against the roughed metal.

“Tom! Tom!” she called, and then she understood the bastard’s plan. He was going to pin her underwater. She had to jump out and away before she was trapped. Scrambling to one side, she prepared to jump, but the bucket jerked again, throwing her to the back. The arm went down, and water began pouring it.

There was nothing to grab on to. Nothing to climb. Still, she had an option. Once it was filled, she would swim out. The bucket dropped, hard, and gallons of frigid lake water poured on her head. She spat water, tried to use her hands to protect her face. The floor moved, and she was under the water. One foot slipped, but the other didn’t, and she broke through the surface, filling her starved lungs. She was pulled backward, and the water sloshed against her, throwing her around like a pinball. Closing her eyes for protection, she lost all sense of direction. Her muscles ached; her lungs and throat burned.

The bucket tipped, and water poured back out. She was left lying on the metal like a fish washed ashore. She closed her eyes, readying herself for whatever came next.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Tom leaped into the excavator’s cab, shoving Junior out the other side. He worked the levers, getting Peach out of that God forsaken lake and back to shore. Junior wasn’t going to let it be easy. He grabbed the entry handle, came back into the cab, and punched Tom’s ear. The blow was awkward, but it hurt. Still, he didn’t protect himself, using his hands to keep the machine moving his woman to shore.

Junior wailed again and then a third time, this time catching Tom in the eye. When Junior’s arm went up, Tom brought his shoulder into the exposed gut, throwing Junior out to the ground. His gaze alternated between the machine he was running and the man he was going to kill if Peach wasn’t all right. Junior was going to try something else; Tom saw it in his eyes. Nate stepped into view and used handcuffs to put an end to his scheme.

Tom worked fast now, swinging the excavator around until the bucket was waist high over dry ground. He leaped from the cab, noticing Jeb had Stinson and Drug Dealer back to back on the ground. It’s over, really over, he thought as he came around the bucket.

A foot met him, right in the chest. He stumbled back then, grinning, ran back to her. “That’s my Peach. I knew you’d give them hell.”

She was soaking wet, covered in tape, with cuts and bruises everywhere he could see. But she smiled at him as he lifted her out of the metal scoop. She lifted her still-bound hands and touched his cheek. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said in the cracked and ragged voice of a frog.

“Neither are you. Where are you hurt?” Tears filled Tom’s eyes. His hands ran over her body, looking for injuries. “Jeb, give me your knife.”

“My leg. My head. Kind of…everywhere.”

Tom stripped his vest and shirt off. Jeb cut her hands free, and they helped her out of the shirt. Then Tom pulled her tightly against his chest. “She’s freezing. We need an ambulance.”

“It’s on the way,” Jeb said, wrapping Tom’s coat around her and adding his own.

She looked up at him, those beautiful eyes clouded with pain. “Don’t leave me alone,” she said, teeth chattering.

He kissed her forehead. “Never. Never again. I promise.”

Saturday, April 15 eight-thirty p.m.

Lying in the hospital bed, Peach felt like she’d rolled down a mountain. Warming up hurt. On top of it, she was feeling every bump and bruise those idiots gave her dragging her around and hoisting her on the excavator. The bullet hadn’t hit her calf, but it took more than a little digging and a few stitches to get the metal and wood splinters out.

“How about more tea?” Tom brought the sippy cup to her mouth. Her throat hurt worse of all, but the warm liquid soothed the ache.

He hadn’t left her side, even when they ordered him to. That surprised her, just as much as when he claimed to be her fiancé to the floor nurse who wasn’t having any of his shit.

He was here, sitting on her bed, and she was afraid to hope it meant anything.

“You shouldn’t have come.” Her voice wasn’t her own, but the words were. “They were going to hurt you.”

“There were so many things I shouldn’t have done, but coming for you wasn’t one of them.” He took her hand, brought her knuckles to his mouth. “I’m sorry for last night. I know it doesn’t come close to making it right. But it’s important that you know.”

“Why?” she asked voicelessly.

“For almost fifteen years…I’ve been afraid to love a woman. I thought I was in love once, and I asked her to marry me. She didn’t just say no, she…”

Peach felt his pain, as real as her own. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’re the only person I do need to tell. Because you changed everything. When she threw everything I offered back in my face and slept with my roommate, she ruined a part of me. I thought I was stronger, more focused, without the distraction of love, but I was broken. I’m done with being that person.”

She dared to hope. It was blossomed like a rose bud, sweet and beautiful. A heavy hand pounded on the door, breaking the moment and earning her scowl.

Jeb, Butch, and Nate stepped into the small room, taking it all up. “What the hell was that?” Jeb barked. “You scare us like that again and I’ll kick your ass myself. You understand?” Butch leaned around his brother and set a stuffed black dog in her arms. Jeb rolled his eyes. “Don’t be nice when I’m giving her what for, Clyde.”

She pursed her lips and tried to look contrite but grinned when Jeb bent down to kiss her. Planting her hands, she tried to sit up.

“Easy, honey. Let the bed do the work.” Tom helped her sit tall as the bed lifted. It was her favorite face, even pale and with worry lines cutting the surface.

“We’ll let you get some rest,” Butch said. “We’re going back to the farm, but you need us, just call.” Peach nodded, pressing her fist to her heart because she knew he meant it.

Nate stood in the background, as much a stranger as she was. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely to him.

Nate nodded. “And to think I was worried civilian life is going to be boring when I get out next fall.”

“You know you have a job,” Jeb said to Nate. “If you want one.”

“I just might take you up on that.”

Peach tugged on Jeb’s sleeve again and then pointed to herself. Jeb raised an eyebrow. “You want a job? With me?” He lifted his eyes to Tom.

She tugged again, resenting that he looked to Tom, as if she needed his permission. “Me,” she hissed.

“We’ll talk,” Jeb said to her and then looked at Tom. “We’re taking the plane back tonight. Let me know when she’s released, and I’ll send it back for you.”

Tom went around the bed and clapped on tightly to the men who had come with him. He walked them to the door and then turned back to her.

She might look like she was headed for the injured reserve but was downright pissed. “You don’t speak for me.” There was heat in her whisper.

“You’re going to hurt your throat. Don’t talk.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I don’t need you.”

“That’s fine with me,” he said, tucking the thin blanket around her. “Like I started to tell you, I have no interest in anyone needing me.”

“Go get Jeb.”

He shook his head and lowered the bed. “You don’t tell me what to do, either. Now you rest.”

She pounded her fists against the mattress in frustration. “You don’t understand.”

“I do. Move over.” He climbed onto the bed, curling his long body around her. She lifted her head to accept the arm he offered as a pillow. He ran his fingers through her long hair. “You and I are on the same page. We don’t need anyone, and we don’t want anyone to need us. To other people, that sounds horrible, but it’s just the honest truth. There is an obligation with needing that neither of us is interested in. A mandatory reciprocation. If you need something, you can’t survive without it, like air.”

She touched her hand to her throat and nodded.

“You won’t die if you don’t have me. I won’t die if I don’t have you. So we don’t need each other.”

She nodded again in complete agreement.

“Another honest truth is that we want each other—which is completely different than needing. Wanting is giving yourself freely without obliging the other person. I can admit that I want you. I want to go to bed with you every night and wake up with you every morning. I want you to be the one on my arm when I go out and be the one pinned under me when I stay in.”

She patted his chest, pointing from her to him.

“You feel the same way?”

She nodded.

“Another honest truth is…I love you. I never knew what that was.” He looked in her eyes. “Now I do. Do you think, you could love me back—”

“I do.” It was important he heard it, that he felt it. “I love you. I don’t think I understood that I didn’t love Anderson until I loved you. He embarrassed me, but he didn’t hurt me like you did.”

That was the power love had and why it always scared him. “And I’m so sorry for that. I have to live with it, not you. It was my fault, my issues.” He dimmed the lights and pulled her closer. He took the biggest risk of his life. “I have a proposition for you. Come back to Tennessee. Move back into my bedroom and we’ll spend days and nights loving each other for as long as it feels right to both of us. We’ll live our life on our terms. Poppy stays in his room, unless he wants something more private. We can build him something.”

He looked into her eyes, and what he saw there humbled him. Then she smiled, wickedly, and he worried a little.

“No candles,” she whispered.

He laughed. “Agreed. Do we have a deal?”

“Need to find a job,” she said slowly. “If I can, then yes. Won’t live off you.”

“I think we can find something that fits your talents.” He lowered his head, found her lips, and sealed the deal. He started to pull back, satisfied having her in his arms.

She had other ideas. Her top hand tightened around a fistful of his hair, holding him in place while her bottom hand snaked to the front of his pants. She smiled when he jumped in surprise, tightening the grip on both hands.

A groan rose from deep in his chest as she pulled the shirt out of his waistband and stroked his back. He caressed her, careful of her tender body, but she arched into him, filling his hands with her breasts.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, willing to deny his own wants, so evident in her hand.

She looked up at him through her thick lashes and smiled, slow, sexy. An invitation.

He ripped the snaps apart on the little pink shift, exposing her to him. He gasped at the blue and purple blossoms that had erupted over her skin. Her shoulders, her ribs, her hips, the swell of her breasts all bore witness to the violence she had survived.

She brushed the hair off his forehead. “Let it go,” she whispered. “You came for me. That’s enough. That’s everything.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her until she straddled him. Then he took his time nursing the aberrant marks, worshipping her battered body.

Her hips rocked over the hard length so obvious through the denim. His hands held her strongly against him as his mouth suckled on her breast. He wanted to replace the aches and pains with something to be remembered. She clawed at his back, drawing his shirt up until the length was bunched in her hands. She pulled it over his head and groaned at the warmth that came with being skin to skin.

He raked her hair with his fingers until it covered both of them. His hands found her hips and the scrap of cotton that kept him at bay. He took her breast into his mouth, teasing her nipple, coaxing her hips.

He tore her panties in two. His fingers found her core and enticed her to the edge. Then he backed off just before she went flying. He smiled up at her when she glared down.

She took matters into her own hands. She lifted her hips and popped the button on his pants. His own need sprung free from the confining material, long and thick. She pushed the blankets aside, used her hand to stand his cock up, and slid down on to him, both of them crying at the intensity of the connection.

She rode him like he was the last horse in town. Her hips pushed him to limits he had never reached before. He was determined to be gentle, to give her a sweet rise, but she took his face in her hands and broke him.

He swore quietly as his body convulsed, giving Peach everything she demanded, everything he had.

She reared up, a thoroughbred mare in her prime. She flung her head back, her hair raining down her back, her hands reaching for heaven as her body imploded.

Her limp body draped over his, heat radiated, chasing any last visage of chill out of the air. He wrapped his arms around her, afraid to hold too tightly. “I love you. Never doubt that I love you exactly as you are.”

She lifted her head, her eyes glassy. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.” He pulled her back to his chest. “Rest now.”

“I hear beeping. Maybe I have water in my ears.”

“Um.” He tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the contraption next to the bed that was going off like a car alarm.

“That can’t be good.”

Tom brought the thin blanket over her as three bodies promptly filled her doorway. They stacked up Three Stooges-style two steps into the room.

Peach looked up at Tom, grinning ear to ear. “Busted.”

…

Two years, three months later…

“This is stupid,” Peach said as she sat at the dressing table in Carolina’s room.

“There is nothing stupid about wanting to make your wedding day special,” Carolina said.

“Not that.” She shoved back from the array of bottles and jars. “This.” She pointed to the beach ball that sat where her flat belly used to be. “All this white makes me look like a life buoy.”

Katie laughed. “You look like a sexy mama. Tom’s going to choke on his tongue when he sees you.”

She looked in the mirror and was blinded by the yards and yards and yards of virgin white that covered her full-term belly. “Why did I think I wanted white? I’m about as close to a virgin as a chicken is to a dog. And why do we have to have this fancy ceremony?” From the window, she watched Tom, Jeb, and Butch mingle with the growing crowd, hugging old friends, making new ones.

Poppy laughed from the middle of a circle of women, his old brown suit pressed sharp and crisp. Fixed to his arm, the Widow Teasdale navigated him through the maze of bodies and chairs. Emily McCormick sat on a white chair cuddling her grandbaby. John McCormick, Sr. chased a mischievous little redhead through the maze of chairs.

From the entryway, a tall couple in military dress stepped into the courtyard.

“Who invited them?” Peach said in a voice too high, too loud.

Carolina looked over her shoulder. “Who is ‘them?’”

She glared over her shoulder. “My parents.”

Carolina pursed her lips. “Tom and Poppy. Or Poppy and Tom. Not sure who was the dog and who was the tail on that one.”

She began pacing restlessly, her hand rubbing her lower back.

“Are you all right?” Katie asked her. “You look a little off.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m fine. I am.” She sighed heavily. “It must just be being pregnant, because I’m not nervous about getting married. Not even a little.” She stopped in her tracks and stretched her back.

“Does your back hurt?” Carolina asked.

Peach rolled her eyes. “It’s been hurting for six months. Talk about things nobody tells you about. Then it picks today of all days to start spasming.”

Katie looked at Carolina. Carolina looked at Katie.

They both looked at Peach.

“How long have these spasms been going on?” Carolina asked.

“They woke me up this morning. Damn annoying.”

“Have you noticed them getting closer together?” Katie asked.

“Well, yeah. A little. Stronger, too. Why?” Peach’s eyes widened with knowledge. “No. The baby isn’t due until Tuesday.”

“The little guys are notorious for not sticking to a calendar,” Katie said, scraping around the room for a watch. “Tell me when you have another one.”

Peach’s breath hitched. “Now.”

Carolina’s eyes widened. “What do we do?”

She let out her breath. “We move up the timetable and do this now.”

“Peach,” Carolina said, threatening to sound reasonable.

“I don’t want to hear it. Tom and I are going to be married before this little monster comes into the world if I have to sew myself shut!”

“Impressive,” Katie said. “Carolina, go talk to the boys. We are going live in five. I’ll call the doctor.”

Four minutes later, Peach stood with Carolina and Katie in the foyer of Jeb’s wing. The music started. Peach danced anxiously. “We’re next,” Katie said supportively.

“Uh oh.” The color drained from Peach’s face.

“What oh?” Carolina said, spinning on her heels.

“That oh,” Katie said, pointing to the puddle between Peach’s legs.

The music changed.

“Go,” Peach hissed. When her stubborn bride’s matrons didn’t move, she hissed at them. “This baby isn’t being born until I’m married. You’re wasting time.”

Katie threw the door open and sprinted into the courtyard. Carolina started to follow, but a contraction—Peach’s first real one—had the bride crying out as she fell to her knees.

“Katie!” Carolina called. “Get back here.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Peach said, using Carolina as leverage to crawl to her feet. “It just caught me by surprise. I’m good.”

Katie opened the door and was one step out when Peach moaned. “Take an arm,” Katie ordered Carolina. She pulled the door opened, propping it with her foot as they carried Peach out into the courtyard.

“What the hell?” Tom yelled, sprinting up the aisle, Jeb at his side.

“The baby’s coming,” Carolina said. “Now.”

“We need to get to the hospital,” he said, taking Peach’s weight himself.

“No! We. Are. Getting. Married. Now.”

Tom looked down at the determined set of her jaw and sighed. He lowered Peach to the ground. “Butch! Get over here.”

“What’s going on?” Butch asked as he came within earshot.

“She’s having a baby,” Tom said.

“Clyde, we’ve known that for months.”

“Now,” Tom shouted. “She’s having the baby now. Put that internet license to good use and marry us.”

Butch dug into the pocket of his suit and pulled out the words he’d spent nights preparing. Jeb put his big body between the happy couple and the crowd of bewildered on-lookers.

“We have a change in plan,” Jeb shouted. “It looks like the baby’s coming a bit early. If y’all just keep your seats, we’re going to get Tom and Peach hitched and then on their way to the hospital.”

“Is Doc here?” Tom asked.

Katie shook her head. “He’s out of town. Quilting bee convention. Who else do we know who can deliver a baby?”

“I read a few books on it,” Carolina said.

“And Nate is trained in field triage,” Jeb said.

“Get him,” Tom said. “Just in case.”

With a nod from Tom, Butch began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today.”

“Skip to the good part,” Peach said, bearing down on Tom’s hand.

“Who has a watch? Time the contractions,” Carolina said. “Katie, get some clean towels, hot water, clippers for the cord, and a baby suction bulb.”

Butch kept going. “You wrote your own vows. Tom, you first.”

He looked into Peach’s eyes as he stroked her hair. “I, Thomas Riley, promise to keep you foremost in my every thought and action. I promise to love you, each and every day, like it was our first day together and to keep loving you until my last breath. I promise that from this day forward, you will never be lonely or afraid. I will cherish everything about you, from your razor-sharp brain to your mile-wide stubborn streak.”

Tears rolled down Peach’s cheeks as she reached up to touch Tom’s jaw. She was oblivious of the bustle of activity around her. The only thing that existed in that moment was Tom.

“Peach,” Butch prompted.

“I can’t remember the words I wrote,” she said, “so I’m just going to tell you what’s in my heart. I love you. I have loved you from that first night we trashed that hotel room, and I’ll love you long after I’m in a grave. There was a time when I didn’t think there was a place for me. I existed in between the pages of the world but wasn’t a part of them. I know life with me won’t always be the easiest, but you’ll never be bored or alone. You’ll never doubt that I love you more than anyone. I promise to be your partner, to be by your side as we take on whatever life throws at us.” She paused as another contradiction took her breath. “And if you ever touch me again, I’ll cut off your balls and shove them down your throat.”

Tom laughed and covered her mouth with his. “You are doing beautifully.”

“You aren’t going to make it to a hospital,” Carolina announced for her position between Peach’s legs. “Butch, wrap it up.”

Butch flipped the paper once, twice, and then cleared his throat. “By the power vested in me by the Great State of Tennessee, I now pronounce you man and wife.”

The yards of white were pushed out of the way as Carolina made room to work. She couldn’t move fast enough as the little man was determined to make his debut. “He’s crowning. Push, Peach. Push. You’re doing great. Again. Push.”

Peach arched with a roar that was answered by the first cry of her son.

Carolina and Nate worked quickly to wrap the newborn in warm cloth. Carolina cleaned Peach up while Nate carried the precious bundle to the arms of his father.

Tom sat on the ground, awe struck by the baby in his arms. He had a shock of dark hair, and his sun-kissed skin was healthy and perfect. “Look, Mommy,” he said softly. “Isn’t he beautiful?” The baby blinked twice, showing off pale green eyes. Tom leaned down and held their son against his wife.

Tears of joy rolled from Peach’s eyes. “Look what we did, Tom. Look what we did. Happy birthday, Patrick Thomas Riley.”

Jeb’s voice boomed over the courtyard. “It’s a boy,” he shouted to the eruption of cheers and clapping.

Tom sat back on his heels, watching his son burrow against Peach’s warm skin. He looked around the courtyard, one that he had been a part of building with his own hands. The one that Katie and Butch had married in, then Jeb and Carolina. Now he and Peach.

He looked down and squeezed her hand at the odd look on her face. “What’s wrong? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She pulled him close, burrowing against him. “Something about this feels like the end to me. We’re just three couples, married with children. Do you think the excitement will end?”

He laughed as they cuddled their son. “Look at the cast of characters surrounding us. We have a blonde that looks like a princess, biting her lip as she executes a procedure she’d only read about. A redhead with a touch of mischief in her eye is giggling with the county music star and the soldier. Grandparents are fighting the crowd to get closer to what was theirs. Friends clapping and hooting it up and always, there’s music.” Just as he finished, a hundred-pound black lab made an appearance, looking down at Peach, wondering what she was doing on the ground. Then, deciding it was a good idea, laid his full length down beside her.

She laughed and cupped her husband’s strong jaw. A cocky smile settled in on her lips. “You’re right. I think we are just getting to the interesting part.”

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Acknowledgements

So many people were kind enough to get sucked into my world and share their knowledge with me. Any mistakes are solely my own. Thank you, John, for the use of your truck and the good, crazy times. No one would believe the stories were true if I put them in a book. Thank you, Matt, for everything you taught me about cranes and construction safety. Thank you, Aaron, for the many conversations on all topics water-craft. Maybe the next story will have a competitive water skier who likes to fiddle with calipers. Thanks to Kristen and Josh for helping Peach break into the computers. Thank you to my editors Jennifer and Jessica for the time and energy you invested. This story was good, because of you, it’s damn good. Finally, thanks to Kyra Jacobs for patiently listening and helping whip this story into shape. Help me pay her back…buy her books.

About the Author

Anita DeVito is a Cleveland, Ohio, native who grew up on a diet of mysteries, rock-n-roll, and her nonna’s homemade pasta. By day, she works as a Civil Engineer unraveling the mysteries of water challenges, while by night, she applies her talents to the vexing question of “Who dunnit?” Visit Anita’s website at www.AnitaDeVitoWrites.com for more information on her fast-paced style of storytelling and to sign up for her news-less newsletter, Equinoxious. Start every season with short stories, games, puzzles, and some brain teasing fun. Anita lives with her husband, two sons, and two ornery dogs.

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