Fiance by Friday (9 page)

What the fuck just happened?

Gwen’s shapely butt swayed back and forth as she worked her way back to her table.

He didn’t have time to process Gwen’s ultimatum before he heard someone calling him.

“Mac? Is that you?”

Neil froze. His name from the past caught in his throat, making him think twice before turning around.

He waved his empty beer to the bartender, hoping whoever called out wasn’t looking at him.

“MacBain?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Rick?” he said in shock. The last time he’d seen Rick…

Thick heat sealed in the scent of dirt, blood, and death. The Blackhawk carried what was left of his men to safety. Five of them made it out, and one of those would take his last breath before the chopper landed.

It was his fault.

Rick slammed his hand into Neil’s and pulled him into a man-hug. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

“You look good,” Neil managed, thankful the bartender was quick with his drink.

“You look angry as ever.” Rick “Smiley” Evans, Smiley to those in their unit because of the never-ending lips that smiled regardless of the sky falling around them, ordered a whiskey, and sat in the now vacant stool at Neil’s side.

“How long has it been?”

Neil glanced over Rick’s shoulder, noticed Gwen laughing.

“A few years.” Five years, eight months, and a handful of days.

Rick shifted in his seat. “That’s a tableful of trouble if I ever saw one. Friends of yours?”

Neil averted his gaze, and focused on his old colleague. The last thing he wanted to do was explain Gwen to Rick. Hell, he didn’t know how to explain Gwen to himself. “What are you doing in LA? I thought you didn’t like the West Coast.”

Rick took his drink in his hand and the smile he always wore fell.

A chill ran down Neil’s spine.

“I hate this plastic scene.”

“So why are you here?” Something told Neil he wasn’t going to like the answer.

Rick emptied his glass with one swallow. “Looking for you.”

Ah, fuck!

Rick dropped a twenty on the bar and stood. “Let’s find a quieter place.”

Neil’s jaw ached. He had no desire to leave Gwen, but knew Rick wouldn’t suggest they talk if it wasn’t important. He glanced Gwen’s way one last time before following Rick out of the bar.

There were plenty of bars to fade quietly into throughout LA. They found one, ordered a couple of drinks, and faded.

“Billy’s dead.”

“What?” The hair on Neil’s arms went up and stayed there. Billy Thompson was a redneck from the woods of Tennessee, and one of Neil’s men. His grandfather was notorious throughout his
hometown because of the moonshine he pumped out of a homemade still. A skill he passed on to Billy who shared his bounty in mason jars. Redneck he was, but Billy could track a king rat through a rain forest and take it out with a shot through the eyes from a mile away. His place on the team was invaluable.

Had been
invaluable.

“How?”

“The official report said suicide. Post traumatic bullshit.”

“That’s crap.” Shit rolled off Billy better than most of them. Last Neil heard, he’d married his high school sweetheart and was trying to put his military days behind him.

Rick took a drink. “That’s what I said. The fact there was a report to hack into told me our guys were watching him.”

“Why?”

“His wife disappeared. Rumor in his town was that she left with someone other than Billy. The official report was he drank himself stupid and jumped off a cliff.”

Neil sat forward. “If Billy’s wife ran off with another man he’d hunt them down and bring her back.”

Rick smiled. “Exactly.”

“So what do you think happened?”

“I think someone tossed him off that cliff. And whoever did it either has his wife, or killed her and no one has found her body.”

“What makes you say that?”

“His wife, Lucy, worked at a local restaurant, waited tables. The day she disappeared someone saw her in the restaurant parking lot talking to a man. A man who wasn’t Billy.”

“Where did you get that information?”

Rick shrugged. “Several people were happy to share. It’s a small town, people lower the volume on their TVs to hear their neighbors fighting. Cheap entertainment. The next day Lucy doesn’t show up for work.”

“And?”

“Billy comes home from his shift at the mill. The report said some of her clothes were missing, but her mother said the only thing missing was her purse.”

“Did Billy file a missing persons report?”

“So the local yahoos can find her? What do you think?”

“I think Billy could find her faster.”

Rick nodded. “Exactly. Except Billy stays home…doesn’t look for her. There are three phone calls to his residence, all from pay phones. Who fucking uses a pay phone?”

“People who don’t want to be seen.”

“Exactly.”

“When Lucy doesn’t show up for work and her boss calls, Billy says she’s ran off.”

Neil’s jaw twitched. “You think someone had Lucy and was calling Billy…taunting him? Threatening him? Demanding ransom?”

Rick pointed his beer in Neil’s direction. “That’s exactly what I think happened. Only I don’t think they were after money.”

“I don’t think Billy had any money.”

“Exactly. Which is why I think they were just fucking with him…making him bleed on the inside, ya know?”

“Jesus. That’s sick.”

“Some kids hunting came across Billy’s body at the bottom of a ravine.”

“Hidden?”

“No. On a path…or just off one. Whoever did this wanted him found.”

Neil rubbed his jaw. “So you want to hunt down whoever did this to Billy?”

“Damn right, but that’s not why I’m here talking to you.”

“Oh?”

Rick’s cold, hard stare met Neil’s. “They found a dead raven shoved inside Billy’s coat.”

The chill up Neil’s spine turned to blocks of thick ice.

Gwen twisted her pillow over a third time, finding the cool spot, and forced her eyes closed. Still, sleep eluded her.

He’d left. Walked out without as much as a backward glance. One minute he was standing guard, the next he was gone.

All she could say to herself was…
I pushed him to it.

Karen and Eliza both suggested she move on. Regardless of the heat between them, if Neil never made a move things would never get off the ground.

Yet as they left the bar, Gwen could swear someone was watching her. Maybe Neil decided he needed to be stealthier.

Eliza suggested she take a couple of self-defense courses…buy a gun. If only to feel better about living alone. Leave it to Eliza to see through some of Gwen’s armor. Gwen wasn’t making a big deal about living alone, but the truth was, she’d never done it. Eliza had already shown her how to use a gun. Up until Eliza’s marriage, there had always been a firearm in the house. Eliza’s parents were murdered when she was a young girl. The man responsible promised to kill Eliza, too. Her friend had grown up in a witness protection program and carried a handgun for her own protection. Karen moved in shortly after Eliza moved out. With Karen around and the never-ending presence of Neil, Gwen didn’t feel the need to own a gun.

But maybe she’d look into it now.

Through the etched glass of her
I’m fine on my own thank you very much
facade, she wasn’t completely comfortable by herself.

The next day Eliza flew back to Sacramento and Karen went on her first official date with Michael.

At ten in the evening her phone buzzed, signaling a text.

I like him. Going to stay the night.

Gwen smiled and texted her back.
Call anytime if you need me.

Karen’s reply was an emoticon smiley face.

And so the evenings home alone begin.
Gwen set the alarms, thought of Neil, and went to bed.

In the morning when she worked her way into the kitchen for tea, she noticed the back door open an inch. She could have sworn she’d shut it, but maybe she hadn’t. The offshore winds, otherwise known as the Santa Anas, were tossing leaves around the backyard.

She was sure the motion detectors were going crazy and yet Neil hadn’t called.

He wasn’t going to call.

He’d made his choice.

“A week from Friday,” Karen announced when she strode through the door midday.

“Welcome home.”

Karen beamed. “We’re getting married a week from Friday.”

Gwen moved from her desk where she was searching the Internet for self-defense classes, and hugged Karen. “How exciting.”

“We’re going to fly to New York, grab a judge, and hide out in France for a week. I’ve never been to France.”

“It’s lovely this time of year. Do you
parlez vous
?”

“What about ‘I’ve never been to France’ did you not understand? I don’t poly vu anything other than English and the occasional teenage gutter talk.” Karen flopped on the couch and tossed her feet up on the coffee table. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Tell me everything.”

Karen blew out a breath. “He took me to this hidden gem in Brentwood. The waiter knew him. The patrons craned their necks
to get a glimpse of us. I asked him how he managed to go to the bathroom without someone following him. He told me he did it like women, in pairs.” Karen laughed. “The fame doesn’t bother him. He ignored the stares and eventually I found myself ignoring them, too. I talked about the kids at the center. He talked about his latest movie. Our conversation was entirely superficial while we ate. When we got in the car we headed to his house.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It’s amazing. Not as stuffy as I thought it would be.”

“It felt very welcoming to me.”

“Once we were alone, we talked about the next year…if it all worked out. We watched a chick flick. I suggested one of his movies, but he said he never watches them. Can’t stand to see himself up there. He likes drinking wine but pretends to like beer in public. Did you see his wine cellar?” Karen rushed the events of the evening together in her excitement.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Huge, brick walls, iron table…racks and racks of wine I know nothing about. That’s one of the reasons we picked France. There are a couple of vineyards he wants to visit and what better excuse than a honeymoon?”

“I agree. So why did you stay the night?”

Karen smirked. “Some guy with a camera followed us out of the restaurant. When I left this morning, he clicked a few pictures. Michael knew he’d be there, waiting.”

“There will be more of that.”

“I know. It’s only a year. Well, sixteen months. Crazy to be planning the divorce before the wedding, but Michael has the timeline down to the hour.”

Gwen narrowed her eyes. “Is all of this for publicity?”

Karen shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. He talked about his family, how they didn’t know about him. He thinks his mom suspects,
but not his father. A couple of women he’d dated, for the camera, made it clear to the media that there wasn’t a sexual relationship, which I think started some inside rumors. The industry is rather tight-knit according to Michael. I’m not sure if he’s doing this to save his macho rep, or to buy himself some time. He has three huge films he’s involved in over this next year…and another two for the next. The millions he makes per film is enough incentive for him to get married.”

“That’s what I thought. Doesn’t matter anyway. So long as you don’t have any romantic ideas.”

“He’s sexy as hell but he rubs me like a good friend or a brother. No worries about me falling for him.”

“Good.” Gwen pushed off the couch. “You’re going to have to show me a few things in our files. Though I doubt there will be much activity while you’re prancing around France, you never know.”

“Let me change my clothes first.” Karen left the room and headed upstairs.

Gwen bookmarked the page she’d been looking at on the Internet and clicked into Alliance’s main client files.

“Ewwh! Gwen, get up here,” Karen yelled.

Gwen laughed as she walked toward Karen’s voice. “Our naked neighbors at it again? They were up late last night.”

Karen stood in the door of her room, not at the window.