Like Arrows (Cedar Tree #6)
Read Like Arrows (Cedar Tree #6) Online
Authors: Freya Barker
Like Arrows (Cedar Tree Series, #6)
LIKE ARROWS
, a Cedar Tree Novel
Copyright © 2015 Margreet Asselbergs as Freya Barker
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or by other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in used critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses as permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, mentioning in the subject line:
"Reproduction Request” at the address below:
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, any event, occurrence, or incident is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created and thought up from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ISBN:
978-0-9949514-1-0
Cover Image:
Dollarphotoclub: Tomalu
Cover Image:
Margreet Asselbergs
Cover Design:
RE&D - Margreet Asselbergs
To Kim and Kerry-Ann.
Two amazing women and bloggers whose unwavering support has been immeasurable. Not to mention their undying devotion to Malachi, since his character joined the Cedar Tree gang.
It’s people like you who make this book world a better place!
Love you...
L
ike Arrows:
An assignment has just turned interesting for GFI investigator Malachi Whitetail. When a shy, mousy woman walks into his local diner, it takes him a minute to recognize her as an employee of the real estate office he’s been monitoring. Not a believer in coincidence, Mal decides a closer look at the short brunette might be warranted. It will be the first, but certainly not the last time, he finds himself coming to her rescue.
Kimeo Lowe leads a pretty quiet existence, which is why, when she ends up a witness to a crime, her curiosity into her boss’s suspected shady dealings gets kicked into high gear. She may not be the most sociable of people, but she’s always been independent and industrious, so when an opportunity to dig a little deeper arises, she doesn’t think twice. It would seem that this time she’s bitten off a bit more than she can chew, and when a freakishly tall Native American Adonis intervenes not just once, she decides sleuthing may be best left to professionals. But it’s a bit too late.
Just when life has settled into a comfortable routine, Kim finds herself dealing with not just one, but two threats on her life. With every turn there are new challenges to face, and Mal is not about to let her face them alone. Not even when he turns out to be no match for her most dangerous enemy.
"Thoughts are like arrows: once released, they strike their mark.
Guard them well or one day you may be your own victim."
~ Navajo
T
welve years earlier
Kim
"Why don't I take you out for a coffee and some birthday cake?"
Mia is leaning over the divider between our tables and looks at me with pity. I hate that. I clean up my table and hand the keys and the tray over to the pit boss when my replacement takes my spot behind the table, and follow Mia to the locker room.
Both Mia and I started working at the Bellagio four years ago. Did our training as croupier at the same time and became friends. Strange really, because judging by outward appearances, we clash. Mia is a bombshell blonde with legs all the way up to her chin and a body to die for. I, on the other hand, am a Teletubby; a short, stumpy, brown-haired plain Jane. Mia never seemed put off by my reluctance to socialize though. She latched herself to me right off the bat and wouldn't let go.
By now, it's probably fair to say she knows me better than anyone and despite my hesitance at first, I share just about everything with her. She really is a good friend—my only friend—which is why when we came in for our shift earlier, I told her all about Peter.
Today's my birthday, and Peter didn’t even call before my shift started so I’m bummed. Not that he's ever really shown himself to be the most attentive person, but I figured...I don't know what the hell I figured. I just know that birthdays suck. A card from my mom, some generic card with only "Happy Birthday, Mom" on it. Nothing from Britta, my sister, not that I'd expected anything from her. I'm used to them ignoring me. But it's Peter's lack of interest that hit home. Something that makes me question our relationship. Again. There is little I can do to please him these days, and he seems to be critical of anything I do or wear, or even eat. Thinking back, he's always been a bit critical, but I didn't question it at first. Was too thrilled he'd even paid me any attention. He'd been a regular at Mia's table until one day he came and sat at mine. Asked me out for dinner after I was done, and I was too stunned to say anything. Peter took that as me agreeing and was waiting by the table at the end of my shift. Despite his push for more right from the start, I held off sleeping with him for almost a month. I didn't have much experience other than a somewhat unfortunate misunderstanding at a graduation party. At least that's what my mother called it when I tried to tell her what happened. We were all still in shock with my father's unexpected death from a heart attack right before my finals. So I let it go.
Anyway, I made Peter work hard for it. Waited until I thought he felt the same for me as I felt for him, but once I gave myself to him, he changed. And not in a good way.
Mia never did like him, so when I told her he hadn't even taken the time to phone, she wasn't surprised at all, which is probably why she's offering to take me out.
"I don't know, Mia. I have an appointment at the clinic at five with the Naturopath and then I think I'll just go home and sleep. I'm wiped."
"Another doctor?" she asks.
"I have to try. No one else has been able to help much."
I can see the doubtful look in her eyes and it hurts. She's the only one I've told about my constant fatigue and listlessness. Something my family always dismissed as 'being lazy,' but I'm not. Never was. They also blame my excess weight on laziness, yet I hardly eat at all. With Mom and Britta being stickpins, I always stood out. Only Dad was a bit portly, although not much. He always said it was genetics since his mother had been short and plump. I never knew her. She died before I was born, so I only had old pictures to go by. Dad was young himself when he died, only forty-seven. It's one of the reasons I started looking for answers as soon as I had medical insurance. My first job as a nanny for a wealthy family here in Vegas didn't come with benefits, but as soon as I was through my trial period at the Bellagio, and got my coverage, I started my quest.
Mia doesn't say anything more, just shrugs. "Your loss, Kim."
"Can we do it this weekend maybe? We're both off on Sunday?" I try to compromise.
"Sure thing, honey," she says, grabbing her purse. "I'll call you." With that she is out the door.
An hour and a half I wait before I get to see this Naturopath who's supposed to have all the answers. Five minutes into the appointment, though, he tells me I need to lose weight and start exercising—exactly what every other doctor has told me for the past four years. It doesn't matter when I show him the journal where I meticulously keep track of my daily food intake. He doesn't buy it, I can tell. Dead end. Again.
I'm pissed and more than a little hurt and discouraged when I get to my car. Slipping behind the wheel, I blink furiously to get rid of the tears that threaten to fall. It's my damn birthday and I won't spend it crying by myself in the now abandoned parking lot of a clinic. Determined to perk myself up, I turn the car in the opposite direction from my apartment.
The smells inside the bakery are mouth watering. The sweet scent of sugar and cinnamon combined with the hint of yeasty fresh baked breads fight with my ingrained resistance to all things food. It's my goddamn birthday and I'm going to have something—anything—from the cornucopia of tarts and pastries spread out in the display case before me. I zoom in on a small round cake, topped with luscious curls of white chocolate. Too big for one but I order it anyway, thinking I might just initiate my own birthday celebration with Peter. Maybe he simply forgot.
"I'll take that one, please," I tell the girl behind the counter and watch her slip it into a pretty lilac box.
I feel better, walking to my car with the twine wrapped box in my hands. No more self-pity or morose woe-is-me thoughts. I have a good job, a girl that has my back, a boyfriend and a birthday to celebrate.
Empowering myself with those positive thoughts, I pull in to the parking lot of Peter's apartment building. I'm relieved to see his car already parked in its assigned spot, confirming he's home. Filled with happy anticipation, I make my way up to his apartment, holding the cake box in one hand, while searching my purse with the other for my key. The one he'd given me about a month ago, when he was out of town for a few days on business and asked if I could water his plants. He never asked for it back, and silly me, I hung onto it like the promise of a future.
It turns in the lock smoothly and the door opens almost soundlessly. I plaster a smile on my face despite my nerves and intend to walk straight through to the kitchen, where, given the dinner hour, I'm positive I'll find him.
I don't get any further than the doorway to the living room, because there on the couch I see Peter's naked backside pumping furiously between two long, slim legs that are wrapped around his thighs. Distantly I register the cake box slipping from my hands, but the writhing couple on the couch hears it clearly. Peter's head snaps around—first shock, then anger marking his face.
"What the fuck? How did you get in here?" he hisses and I stare at him slack-mouthed, not quite believing his hips are still moving inside whomever is underneath him as he glares at me. I want to turn and run, but find myself frozen in some kind of sick nightmare, unable to rip myself away. The urge to hurl so overwhelming, I slap both hands over my mouth in an effort to hold back the bile surging up my throat.