Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series (2 page)

She dropped her head and cleared her throat. Being humble had never been easy for her. “I would appreciate your help.”

I stepped back to her and took the box from her grip.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“My pleasure.” And it was.

2.
SERIAL KILLER

Bente

It was five years since I’d last seen Ryan Décarie, and running into him now felt like a punishment. There was only so much a girl could endure. I’d been fired, lost my wallet, and somehow stumbled across the man who to this day I considered to be my biggest mistake. To top it all off, I looked like crap. I stared into his bathroom mirror, trying to work out how to pull myself together.

Washing my face was a good start. I thought I’d done a decent job until I patted my face with one of the stark white towels hanging on the rail. I hung it back up, folding it over to hide the black streaks I’d left on it. I now owed him cab fare and dry-cleaning. Glancing around the bathroom gave me a quick reality check. It rivalled any swish hotel I’d ever seen: marble counter top, chrome fixtures and the biggest shower I’d ever seen. Confident that he could cover his own dry-cleaning expenses, I messed the towel up again and headed to the living room.

Ryan was in the kitchen. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“Much, thank you.”

“I called for a car,” he told me. “It should be here within the hour.”

“Awesome. Thanks.”

We stood on opposite sides of the counter, separated by a large chunk of black granite and an awkward silence. There shouldn’t have been any silence. We hadn’t seen each other in years. We could’ve spent hours catching up, but neither of us said anything. I kept quiet because I was stubborn. I could only guess what his reasons were.

Unable to look at him any longer, I wandered to the centre of the room, making no secret of the fact that I was checking it out.

I’d never been to Ryan’s place before. I’d slept with the man twice, but had never scored an invitation to his home. I wasn’t sure if that made me a bigger whore than him, so I didn’t mention it.

“Nice place.” I glanced back at him.

He flashed me a crooked grin but didn’t reply.

I wasn’t just being polite. His apartment was gorgeous. Rough exposed red brick walls were softened by honey coloured floorboards. Black leather couches dominated the centre of the room, matching the huge TV screen mounted on the wall. Big canvas prints strategically displayed on the other walls added colour. It was boyish, chic and untouchable, much like the owner, who was busying himself by making coffee.

I continued sticky-beaking, and it wasn’t long before something caught my eye. The wooden toybox in the corner of the room looked so out of place that I couldn’t help checking it out. It was filled to the brim with dolls and almost all of them were broken. I picked up a particularly tortured-looking redhead. “Your doll collection has seen better days, Ryan.”

“Technically they’re not mine,” he replied, grinning wryly. “I share them with my niece.”

I levered myself onto a stool at the counter. “Is your niece a potential serial killer?” It wasn’t such an odd question considering the state of the doll I’d just laid on the counter. It was missing both arms and legs.

“Bridget has trouble dressing them,” he explained. “She wrenches their limbs off to get their clothes on. Sometimes they lose their heads too.”

“So you’re the repair guy?”

He put his hand to his heart. “Second only to her dad,” he said proudly. “I love hanging out with her.”

I looked down to hide my confusion. I’d known Ryan a long time. He was selfish and self-serving. I’d never seen a hint of the type of man who’d find joy spending time with a four-year-old.

“Have you met her?” he asked.

“Of course.” I picked up the doll and began fussing with its scrappy hair. “She’s a cutie.”

Ryan was right to be smitten. The little girl was as mad as a hatter, just like her mother, but somehow grounded like Adam, without the serious douchey parts.

“Charli knows you’re back?”

I nodded. “We’re friends. We talk all the time.”

“She never told me you were back.”

“Why would she tell you?”

Ryan suddenly looked a little wounded. “I would’ve called if I’d known,” he said. “We were friends too.”

“I used to work for you,” I clarified. “Sometimes I used to like you. The problem was, sometimes you used to like screwing me over.”

I didn’t like where the conversation was headed. Ryan had treated me horribly in the past. I’d learned from it and moved on. Dredging it up again made absolutely no sense.

“Is it too late to say sorry?” he asked.

I wasn’t prepared for the question, so answering took time. My thoughtful stare seemed to unsettle him. He shifted from one foot to the other.

“It’s never too late to apologise,” I said finally. “As long as you mean it.”

“I do mean it,” he assured me.

I wasn’t sure if I cared either way, despite the flutter that rippled through my chest as he spoke. “Apology accepted, then.”

Ryan turned to finish the forgotten cups of coffee. “So are you planning to stay in New York for a while?” he asked over the hum of the coffee machine.

“As long as I can find work again,” I replied. “I’ve only been back in town two weeks.”

He set two mugs down on the counter. “You got fired after two weeks?”

I glowered. I hadn’t mentioned anything about being fired. It annoyed me that he’d jumped to that conclusion, even if it was right.

“What makes you think I got fired?” I asked defensively.

He just pointed at the box near the front door.

“My boss was a creep,” I explained.

That was an understatement. My boss was a freaking nightmare. I’d put up with his wandering hands and creepy grab-ass attempts for days longer than I should have because I’d desperately needed the job.

“So
you
got fired because
he
was a creep?”

I grinned wryly. “No, I got fired because I wasn’t very acquiescent. He hit on me once too often.”

“So you hit on him?”

“With my knee.”

He winced. “Ouch, Bente.”

I brought my mug to my mouth to mask my smile. “That’s what he said.”

He didn’t have a chance to offer up a smartass reply. The intercom buzzed, halting the conversation.

“Your ride is here,” announced Ryan, walking toward the panel near the front door. He pressed a button and told the driver I’d be down shortly.

I took a long sip of my coffee, grabbed my bag and followed him to the door. He handed me my box.

“Thanks for today,” I said. “You saved it from completely going to hell.”

He held the door open for me. “Keep in touch, okay?”

I smiled. “Not a chance.”

He smiled back. “You just got through telling me that I saved your life. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“I never said any such thing, Ryan,” I scoffed. “You must be getting hard of hearing.”

“It’s possible,” he conceded, shrugging. “I turned thirty today.”

I took a step back. “It’s your birthday?”

His smile grew broader. “All day, apparently.”

“Well, happy birthday.” I shifted the box to my other hip. “I hope you’re doing something nice to celebrate.”

“I am, actually. I’m having dinner with a sweet little blonde I’m rather fond of.”

“Great.” There wasn’t an ounce of sincerity in my tone. “I’m happy for you.”

I brushed past him, escaping his space by getting into the foyer. The big jerk had the gall to call me back, and like an even bigger jerk, I turned around.

“If you’re free tomorrow, perhaps you and I could have dinner,” he suggested. “You can choose the –”

“You haven’t changed at all, Ryan,” I interrupted. “You screwed me over once before, but at least you were sly about it. If you think for one second –”

He cut me off with a rushed explanation. “My date tonight is with Bridget. We’re having a family dinner at my parents’ house.”

I suddenly felt two inches tall, and far too embarrassed to look at him as I mumbled my weak apology.

“I was teasing,” he said gently.

My eyes drifted up, locking his. “I don’t like being teased – not by you.”

Ryan’s mouth formed a line. I knew he’d read between the lines perfectly. He pulled out his wallet and handed me a business card. “Please think about dinner,” he urged. “I won’t call you. No pressure.”

The slow approach was very unlike the Ryan I used to know. He was notoriously gung-ho about everything, especially when he wanted something. I had no idea what to make of it.

I took the card from him. “I’ll think about it.”

He broke a sexy crooked smile – the very same one that had gotten me into trouble too many times before. “That’s all I ask.”

3.
EVICTION

Ryan

I wasn’t expecting any more visitors that morning, and judging by the shocked look on their faces, Bridget and Charli weren’t expecting me to answer the door either. Charli stood with her key in hand, ready to let herself in. Bridget lurched forward and hugged my leg. “Happy, happy day!” she announced.

I opened the door wider, picked Bridget up and flipped her upside down. “Thank you,” I replied, carrying her through to the kitchen.

Charli dumped a bag of groceries on the counter. “We didn’t think you’d be home. We came to make you a cake.”

“And to happy day you some more,” added Bridget.

I righted her, lowered her to her feet and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you,” I repeated. “There’s no one else I’d rather be happy day-ed by than you.”

Bridget took off running, making a beeline for her toybox.

I turned my attention to Charli. “What’s wrong with your kitchen?”

“There’s no room to cook in it.”

It was a perfectly acceptable response. There was no room to live in the cave they called home. Moving back into Gabrielle’s apartment was supposed to be temporary, but eight months later they were still there. Househunting had been put on the back-burner in favour of hectic jobs and hanging out with their girl.

“You need to find a bigger house, Charli.”

“Adam’s too busy and I wouldn’t know where to start.”

I smirked at her. “Maybe he could ask his boss for some time off.”

She set the box of cake mix down with an unnecessary thud. “He’s lucky if he gets a lunch break most days.”

Against his better judgement, Adam had accepted a job at our father’s firm. The hours were long and from the little he’d told me, the job sucked. Dad’s expectations were high and Adam’s heart wasn’t in it. It made for a bad combination.

Charli took the tyranny personally. “He’s punishing him, you know.”

“For what?”

“For leaving in the first place,” she said irately.

“Adam is a grown man, Charli,” I pointed out. “If he’s not happy there, he’ll leave.”

Bridget reappeared, forcing a change in conversation. She climbed onto the stool beside me and picked up the doll that Bente had left on the counter. “You’ve been playing with my girl?”

“No, I had a friend over this morning,” I explained. “She liked her a lot.”

The little girl studied the doll closely. “She took her arms off.”

“Bridget Décarie,
you
took her arms off,” I retorted. “Her legs too.”

She scrambled off the stool. “Don’t let your friends play with my girls any more, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

I doubt she saw my salute; she’d already hightailed it back to the toybox.

“What friend?” asked Charli.

“Why do you care?”

“Well, I need to know whether the doll needs disinfecting.”

“It’s my birthday, Charlotte. Be nice.”

She pulled a face and began searching through the cupboards. “So who was she?”

“Bente.”

She spun back to face me. “Bente Denison?”

“How many Bentes do you know?” I muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me she was back in town?”

“I didn’t think you’d be that interested,” she replied guiltily.

I stared her down. “Liar.”

Charli opened a drawer and grabbed a wooden spoon. “I know you have a soft spot for Bente,” she conceded, aiming the spoon at me, “but the soft spot you have for screwing around always wins out. I wasn’t going to pave the way for you to rip her heart out again.”

I walked into the kitchen and found her a bowl. “I like her,” I declared. “I’ve always liked Bente.”

“Are you going to see her again?”

“I hope so.”

“Be kind to her, Ryan,” she warned. “She doesn’t deserve any more grief from you.”

***

Charli’s only input in the cake making was cracking two eggs into the bowl. She retreated to the living room and left Bridget and I to it after that. I didn’t care. She’s a hopeless cook.