Hard Silence (29 page)

Before he signed the lease, Gray read the first page. The rent was criminally low, even by Fiddler standards, and Maggie was his landlord. Great. She’d get wind of this scheme and he’d be homeless.

Wait. I have a home. In Chicago. Where my job—my real job—is waiting on me.

“What have you gotten me into?” he grumbled.

“Hey! It beats watching the History Channel and reading detective novels. It’ll be fun—you know, once she’s safe and I’m married.”

“Once she’s safe and you’re married, I’m going home. When exactly does the
fun
start?” Gray asked as they stood.

“It won’t be all work,” Nate said. “You know us.”

He returned to Faith’s side without a backward glance. Gray sat at the corner of the bar and watched Maggie, who was in the middle of a quiet conversation with a mountainous man. Though her words were inaudible, he relaxed under her attention. It reminded Gray of the last time he’d visited Fiddler.

Ten years ago he’d flown in to attend a double funeral. Ron and Ollie, the twins’ father and grandfather, had died when their private plane had crashed in a storm.

Everyone in town had hovered over the siblings, intent on helping. Instead, Maggie had comforted each of them, bending her head in conversation, hugging them, sending them home with leftovers. When they’d been with their closest friends, Nate had been the shaky one. Maggie had let him lean on her while she’d whispered in his ear.

* * *

Realizing he was staring, he wondered who else might be watching her, or worse, watching
him
watch her. He looked up, hoping to catch an unguarded gaze in the mirror. He could be done with his job in five minutes and then relax until Nate’s wedding.

There wasn’t a mirror. His gaze flew to where she was working with her back to the room, oblivious to who was behind her or what was happening. She smiled as she walked over.

“Do you want another?”

He did, but now he was working. He couldn’t drink on the job. “Water?”

“Sure,” she said as she delivered the bottle.

Nodding his thanks, Gray left his post and walked past Nate’s table. Taking the chair in the far corner of the room, he watched every man with new suspicion. Early patrons left for home and were replaced by others who, given their clean clothes, had gone home first. Who spent too long at the bar? Who stared too hard?

He also watched her, getting past the curiosity she’d always inspired and recalling his objective observer skills. That’s what let him see the change in her when no one was looking, the way her smile faded and her gaze shifted from man to man in suspicious assessment. Then she’d catch someone looking and flip a switch, softening her grip on the towel in her hand, tossing it over her shoulder and forcing her smile to sparkle. Just like the funeral, hiding in plain sight.

Damn it, Nate was wrong. She wasn’t ignoring the threat. She was terrified.

Squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine, Gray forced away his warm memories of Fiddler and counted how many times she put on her carefree mask.

She was wearing it a few hours later when she laughed and half-pushed the last persistent patron out the front door. Gray was exhausted just from watching her and relieved when the forced smile faded. Wanting to give her peace, he joined Nate and Faith in cleaning tables and turning chairs.

She went down the hall, and her voice drifted behind her. “Gray. I hope you don’t mind, but I put sheets on the bed and stocked your kitchen with some basics.”

“Thanks,” he replied as he handed Nate the chair and conducted reconnaissance while she wouldn’t catch him.

Empty, the room told a better story. Years of elbows had worn dull spots in the bar’s finish, and generations of work boots had mottled the brass foot rail. The floor was scratched from patrons who’d tracked in sand and gravel, and the leather cushions on stools and chairs were shaped to each occupant’s behind. They loved this place. Did one of them let that carry over to obsession with her?

“The guys and I will help you unpack tomorrow,” Nate said. “There’s a company truck in the garage. The keys are in the ignition.”

Gray nodded. This was surreal. Five days ago he’d been a wounded FBI agent recuperating in Chicago. Now he was posing as a business manager and moonlighting as a bodyguard. To keep from laughing at the lunacy, he indulged his curiosity. “I don’t think I’ve seen a bar with a ten o’clock last call, especially on Saturday,” he called down the hall.

The clatter of mops and brooms and the squeaky wheels of a bucket almost drowned out her answer. “The guys are tired after a long day of work or chores. We’re open ’til midnight on Fridays, but otherwise we close early. We don’t want to make anyone miss work or church the next morning. That’s not why we’re here.”

Next to him, Nate silently parroted the last sentence, ending on a wink.

Gray snorted and shook his head. “That’s an interesting philosophy.”

“Are you laughing at me?” Maggie asked, as she dragged the broom across the floor and whacked her brother with the handle. “Or is Nate mocking me again?”

Gray was glad to see the honest humor behind her smile. It vanished when someone knocked on the front door. An officer walked in and over to the group without waiting on an invitation. “Everything okay? I saw the lights.”

“Everything is
always
okay, Max,” Maggie drawled. “I just closed. Can’t clean in the dark.”

The younger man stared at Gray, clearly assessing. Gray stared back, noting the man’s wide stance and the hand resting on his sidearm.

“You’re new,” the patrolman said.

“You caught him,” Maggie said. “He came to kidnap me and I talked him into mopping the floor first.” She pushed the man’s shoulder, but he remained immovable. “Seriously. He’s a friend of the family. Ease up, RoboCop.”

Max stayed put. “Nate, do you need me to hang around?”

“No.” Maggie bit the word out, and then softened it with, “thanks anyway.”

She shooed him out, locked the door and returned to them, her chin tucked to her chest and her shoulders square as she charged toward her brother. The twins had always argued in identical fashion—deep breath and jump in.

“Call off the babysitter brigade,” she said.

“If you’ll let me hire someone to watch you,” Nate countered.

“A
bodyguard?
Nathan! I’m surrounded by men who treat me like their little sister.”

“Dammit! You’re
my
sister. You’re my responsibility. I let you down once.”

Her head snapped back like he’d struck her. “I’m my own responsibility. You’ve heard Glen. Flowers aren’t against the law. They can’t do anything unless it escalates.”

Gray’s molars ground together as heat climbed his neck. He’d be talking to the police chief first thing Monday. The judge would be next. Nate might not ask for special treatment, but Gray would call in every favor the family had accumulated over the years. No one was going to get close enough to harm her.

“I’m sorry, Gray. You’re probably exhausted, and now you’ve walked into another—”

Her sentence stopped on a sharp inhale, and he dropped his lashes to hide his eyes. Too late.

She wheeled on her brother. “You told him, didn’t you?”

“He needed to know what he was getting into.”

“He’s not
getting into
anything. These guys would never hurt me.” Her shoulders squared. “I’m tired of policemen following me around. At this point, I don’t know who the boogeyman is and who he isn’t.”

Nate’s posture mirrored hers and Gray stepped between the siblings to stop the brewing fight, as he’d done several times before. The worst, until now, had been when Maggie had narrowly defeated Nate in a dump truck race and he’d accused her of cheating.

“Maybe it’s not such a bad idea to have more eyes on the place,” Gray reasoned. “You’re worth a lot of money.”

Guilt washed over him as Maggie’s eyes darkened and her chin dropped. He tugged the broom from her hands and nudged her onto the stool he’d pulled closer.

“What is it?” Putting a hand on her shoulder, he found all curves and no sharp angles. In worn cotton and denim, she was the human equivalent of his favorite blanket. He wanted to burrow his fingers into the softness. Instead, he squeezed gently. He knew full well the fragility of the bone under his thumb. “Tell me.”

“Money?” she echoed his whisper. “I don’t want to think about one of my friends terrorizing me for
money
. I don’t want to think about one of them doing it at all. I can’t.”

She trembled under his fingers as a shadow flitted through her eyes. For a moment, she looked the way he felt going down a hallway. Then her mask came back. She had to be tired of fighting.

Gray handed her the broom. “Let’s finish so you can get some rest.”

They completed their chores in silence, and Nate and Faith left for home. Certain Maggie was safe for the night, Gray entered his new address into the GPS. Shifting into gear and pressing the accelerator made him whimper. The first pothole sent his shoulder into a spasm, curling him over the wheel.

The air-conditioning wheezed until he gave up and rolled down the window. It was cooler outside anyway, and the air was clean. After ten years in Chicago, he’d almost forgotten the crisp bite of country air. He’d certainly forgotten the quiet. Ghostly shadows of rail and barbed wire fences bordered the road, and behind the barriers empty fields hinted at livestock occupants. Wide dirt lanes interrupted the fences and led to large, well-lit houses peeking from behind massive trees.

In five hundred feet, turn left
, the GPS bleated.

“Shit.” He slammed on the brakes and listened as his possessions crashed into the front wall of the container. His motorcycle would probably be in pieces.

He turned left when commanded to do so and braced for a rutted lane. Instead the tires crunched on fresh gravel, and the tracks were so straight he could have removed his hands from the wheel.

Hardwood trees towered over the driveway. Behind the trees, a rail fence separated the manicured shoulder from wild pasture. The jagged peaks of the Sawtooth Mountains loomed in the distance.

The lane opened into a lawn. The stone house blended into the foothills, and its wide windows overlooked the front yard. Window boxes overflowed with early flowers, and lights shined as if someone was expected home.

Parking in the garage, Gray swung the door open and peered inside before stepping into a kitchen with slate floors, oak cabinets and stainless steel appliances. It melted into a living room full of large, comfortable furniture draped with crocheted throws. A stone fireplace dominated the far wall, and thick wool rugs warmed hardwood floors. Windows and French doors showcased an expansive view.

He switched on all the lights to check two extra bedrooms and a guest bath. The other end of the house was the master suite. A huge bed mounded with pillows faced another wall of windows and French doors.

The master shower was straight out of a high-end spa. Without hesitation, Gray stripped and climbed in. The temperature was easy to learn but the dials for the jets were more confusing. Eventually he found a combination that left his muscles weak with relief.

After his body was relaxed, he reduced the pressure and then stopped it altogether in favor of a soothing, warm rain. Standing under the water, he considered his options.

The smart thing would be to go home now. Except for Nate’s worry...

Besides, he owed it to Ollie and Ron. Nate’s grandfather and father had always treated Gray like another son. They’d shaped his adult life almost as much as his own father, and he’d never had the chance to tell them.

Thinking of them took Gray back to their funerals, where he’d sat behind Nate, next to Kevin and Michael, and watched the twins hold hands so hard they’d both had bruises. But they’d never cried.

Gray had seen Maggie’s composure crack once, and only then because he’d walked into the kitchen pantry in search of paper towels and met her tear-filled gaze. She’d barreled into him, wrapped her arms around his waist and hung on for dear life.

At twenty-five, never having experienced loss, he’d had no idea how to help. He’d patted her on the back simply because he’d had nowhere else to put his hands.

Now he was different.

* * *

How could Nate be oblivious? Gray had seen the twin telepathy work firsthand when Nate had been tossed from a final exam in Nebraska for cackling at a joke Maggie had heard in theater class—in Seattle. Why didn’t he see how her body language changed when no one was looking?

Which, granted, wasn’t often. Those men watched over her like a daughter or a sister. But if she caught them doing it, she cracked a joke and offered them a refill. One large man had carried a case of beer from the backroom, and she’d thanked him but shooed him away, swatting him with her towel and telling him he’d worked hard enough this week. Even with the patrolman she’d hidden behind sarcasm and scolding as she’d pushed him out.

She won dump truck races, consoled everyone else rather than dissolving into tears and worked alone behind the bar. If she knew he was here to guard her, she’d fight him every step of the way to prove she wasn’t afraid.

In the end, her fear swayed him. He knew a thing or two about being afraid. About hiding.

Lying made his job more difficult, and it made him feel like shit, but he’d do it. To protect her, he’d lie.

Don’t miss

SOFT TARGET by Mia Kay

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Copyright © 2015 by Mia Kay

Acknowledgments

Every time I mentioned writing a book, my mother always said, “Just don’t write one about me.” I couldn’t resist dedicating this book to her—the mom who is the complete opposite of Wallis. Love you, Mom!

My stepfather is like Doctor Doolittle, and he inspired Abby’s homeopathic approach. He’s also the inspiration for all her fabulous stepdads. I couldn’t be luckier.

A while back, I told my best friend a plot idea. Since then, she has been Jeff and Abby’s biggest supporter. Patti, this one’s for you.

And for Connie, who really,
really
wanted to be a dead body.

There’s my crew of regular supporters, critique partners and beta-readers. They have held my hand through my sophomore jitters. Thank you, Cheryl, Carrie, Sherry, Melinda, Brynn, Kari and M.A.

Thank you, Kiss of Death, the RWA’s Mystery/Romantic Suspense chapter. Their month-long class on profilers and serial killers helped me find the voice for this book.

Thank you, DSRA, The Ink Spot, Sisters of Suspense, Not Your Usual Suspects and (again) the Kiss of Death. Every writer should surround themselves with the best they can find, because you get inspiration in the company you keep. You are my inspirations.

Thank you, Kerri Buckley, for your patience, help and good humor. As always, I’m in awe at my sheer good luck to work with you.

Thank you to Heather, Stephanie and the team at Carina Press. I appreciate you more than all the cookies available on Amazon Canada.

And for Greg. I couldn’t do this without my adorable husband who makes me laugh and has the prettiest smile of any man I’ve seen in real life.