Cross Roads, page 11
Noticing Lena’s lagging steps, Sadie waved her forward. “I’ve taken this shortcut many times. It’s okay.”
Night sounds pulsed around them. Lena had never heard anything so loud, so amazing, so freaking eerie in her life. “Johona mentioned there were bears in the area.”
“Bears, coyotes, copperheads. Lots of cool animals,” Sadie said with excitement, then seemed to realize Lena didn’t share her love of predators in dark places. “I’ve never seen a bear on the property, and it’s too cool outside for copperheads to be moving around.”
“And the coyotes?”
“Flying champagne corks kill more people each year than coyotes. If one comes near us, make eye contact and a lot of noise. They scare easily.”
Lena recalled the scene in the movie The Rundown where Seann William Scott’s character tricked Duane Johnson’s character into establishing dominance with a troop of angry monkeys.
That hadn’t worked out so well.
“Are you sure about the eye contact?”
“Yep.” Sadie continued down the trail.
During the fifteen-minute walk through the woods, Lena checked the footpath behind her no less than one hundred and two times. The relief she felt when they finally broke through to the other side could not be measured.
She spotted her car, then remembered Zeke had her keys. “Crap.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Zeke took my keys.”
“His office light is still on. I’ll get them.” The girl ran off, leaving Lena in the dimly lit parking lot.
Alone.
Somehow, it was worse than strolling through the woods. A wall of solid black existed outside the small circle cast by the lone solar-powered parking lot light. She imagined this must be what it felt like for a lobster inside one of those restaurant tanks before the chef dropped them into a vat of boiling water.
When she was a little girl, Neil would take her camping at the local state and national parks. But after they moved to Asheville, those trips had dried up. It had been years since she’d spent much time outside the hustle and bustle of her urban environment.
But amid the eeriness of her situation, hovered wonder. Standing below a dark sky full of twinkling diamonds called to her creative side. She now had a better understanding of van Gogh’s obsession with the night sky. It wasn’t simply black and white, but several degrees of blues, yellows, and greens. Maybe one day she’d make it to the far northern climes and paint the borealis.
A twin set of lights crept down the road leading to the Annex. She backed into the shadows as the vehicle—a dark van—rolled into the lot. Her heart crowded into her throat until the driver’s side window slipped down.
Rohan stared back at her.
Relief and excitement speared through her mind, then confusion as his features registered.
Something was wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on what, exactly, in the dark, yet a stab of fear edged out her other emotions and propelled her forward.
He turned away from her, spoke to someone inside the van. A few seconds later, a door slammed, and Cruz rounded the back of the vehicle as Rohan drove away.
“Hey, Lena,” Cruz said. “What are you doing out—?”
“What happened to him?” she interrupted, pointing a finger at the departing vehicle.
“Who?”
“Did someone attack Rohan?”
“We ran into a little trouble.”
“Little? Did you see his face?”
“Honestly, I tried not to look at it.” He shivered dramatically.
She took off toward the Annex.
“Lena,” Cruz called.
Phin stepped in front of her. “Now’s not a good time.” He gave her what she supposed was his disarming smile. “We have some business to deal with.”
“Did you deal with whoever did that to your brother’s face?”
Mr. Charmer disappeared and steel laced his words. “Yes.”
“Step aside, Phin.”
“Go home, Lena. Rohan will see you in the morning.”
“Sadie went inside to get my car keys.”
“Shit. Cruz?”
“I’m on it.” Cruz stormed into the building.
“Does your business have anything to do with my stolen painting?”
“You mean Palmer’s stolen painting?”
“I mean don’t-be-an-ass-answer-the-damn-question painting.”
His smile reappeared. “I can see why you’re ripping Rohan’s guts from the inside out. If Maddy didn’t already own my heart, I’d sweep you off your feet.”
“The only thing you’d be sweeping is my dust.”
She shouldered past him, only to be blocked yet again by Cruz ushering Sadie out of the building. Phin joined his brother, shoulder to shoulder, while the girl held out her keys.
Lena took the keys and stared at the two immovable objects before her. It would be a waste of time to argue with them further. They were in full-on protect-the-family mode.
“If he’s not on my doorstep in one hour, I will be on his. And no pint-sized bouncers are going to stand in my way.”
Frowning, Cruz glanced down at his Thor-like body, then at his brother. “Pint-sized?”
Phin shrugged, even as he squared his shoulders and expanded his chest.
If Lena wasn’t so concerned about Rohan, she would have found their confusion and posturing hilarious. Right now, they were irritating barriers.
“One hour,” she repeated and turned toward her vehicle, Sadie at her side.
21
Rohan’s head felt like an oil rig had taken up residence in his skull. His brain hurt. His nose throbbed. And he wasn’t thrilled about facing one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met with two shiners and a swollen honker.
But he believed the threat his brothers had passed on for Lena. So here he was.
When he raised his hand to knock, the door jerked open. Again.
“Do you have a sixth sense about my arrival or something?” he asked.
“You mean like hearing tires on gravel?”
As before, she left him at the door. He could feel the heat of her anger in the air.
Maybe he should have spoken to her when they had arrived at the Annex, but he’d been focused on two things—an ice pack and tracking down the lead they’d pulled from Bobby Balor. In that order.
He closed the door and strode to where her current reproduction sat. As before, his gaze shot across the canvas, gobbling up every brush stroke and admiring how she played light against dark.
“The reproduction is coming along nicely.”
“Yes.”
She leaned a hip against the back of the couch, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in a way that foretold a verbal storm was imminent.
He left her to her stewing. She would blow off whatever was on her chest when she was ready.
A charcoal sketch propped against another easel caught his eye. He moved closer and realized it was a picture of Lena. “Practicing self-portraits?”
“Sadie.”
Surprised, he studied the image. “Great likeness.”
Her expression softened. “She’s quite talented.”
“It’s nice of you to share your space and supplies.”
“Who hurt your face?”
Heat singed his ears. “The guy who stole the Palmer painting. Bobby Balor. I tracked him down to a house on the east side of town. He was reluctant to name the person who’d hired him.”
“He punched you?’’
“His shoulder ran into my face.”
She sucked in a breath. “How badly does it hurt?”
Nuclear.
“Not too bad. Ice helps. Until my brain freezes.”
“Have a seat.”
“Can’t.”
She paused halfway to the refrigerator. “Why not?”
“I’m on my way to Atlanta.”
“To do what?” She opened the freezer.
“Bobby didn’t want to talk, but his computer sang like Michael Bublé.”
She grasped his hand as she walked by and guided him to the couch. “Sit.”
“I can’t—”
“Five minutes. You can ice your nose while finishing your story.”
“I can’t tolerate any weight.”
“This is soft and not too heavy. I use the sachet on my wrist when I’ve stayed at the easel too long.”
“Five minutes.”
“Or until you finish your story.”
Rohan sat, reluctantly.
“Lean your head back.” Once he complied, her knee sank into the cushion beside him and he caught a whiff of whatever soap or shampoo she’d used that morning.
Fresh. Feminine.
Quite a contrast to the hard-edged artist.
He liked both.
The cold pack looked like one of those aromatherapy hand-sewn bags. He braced himself for impact, but she gently lowered it over his nose. The cool material combined with a scent he couldn’t identify eased the tension in his body and head.
It felt so damn good. He groaned.
A light touch smoothed over his hair. He was so caught up in the cold penetrating all the aching layers that he almost missed it.
With the pack covering his eyes, he couldn’t check her expression. Had the contact been an accident? Or intentional?
The part of him whose craving for her increased with each encounter prayed for the latter.
“Talk,” she said, bringing him back to reality.
Definitely accidental.
“Balor bragged about deleting his files, thinking he’d covered his tracks.”
“But you recovered them?”
He nodded, earning him a sharp pain through his skull. “Most people don’t realize how easy it is, thankfully.”
“You’re a hacker. Of course, it’s easy.”
Rohan kept his breathing even and his hands loose. “Ethical hacker.”
“A modern-day Robin Hood, huh?”
“I don’t cause harm.” An image of Grams’s hitched-up eyebrow surfaced. “Unless they deserve it.”
“And who determines who deserves your digital wrath? You?”
“Sometimes, but mostly we decide as a team.”
“How does one become a hacker?”
Somehow, being unable to see her made it easier to talk about what many people likened to online theft or perversion.
“I was always good at figuring out things on the computer. Once I took a coding class, a whole new world opened up to me.”
“In what way?”
“There was no door that I couldn’t open, no shadow I couldn’t penetrate. But what kept me enthralled for many years, what pushed me to become better—the best—was gaming.”
“Gaming? You really are a nerd.”
He lifted one corner of the ice pack. “Proud card-carrying member.”
She lightly smacked his hand, and he released the pack.
“You created games like Zelda and Minecraft?”
“High fantasy was my favorite. There’s no greater rush than creating a new world, building story after story, or finding the perfect color palette for a character’s sword.”
“A digital canvas.” She grew quiet. “I guess we aren’t so different after all.”
For a guy who prided himself on his excellent communication skills, he couldn’t form a single word.
The heat of her body infiltrated the layers of his clothing, and he got a strong sense she was staring at his mouth.
Because that’s what he would’ve been doing if their positions had been reversed.
She continued. “We both ride that razor sharp line of being law-abiding citizens and outlaw renegades.”
Rohan pulled off the ice pack.
She was close. So damn close he could see the variations of gray in her eyes. Close enough to hear the rapid intake of her breath. Close enough to lean forward a few inches and taste her glossy, red lip balm.
Into her arms.
Into her very essence.
He lifted his head and a dagger of pain drove through his right eye, straight through his skull. “Dammit,” he hissed, fighting a wave of headache-induced nausea.
“Close your eyes,” she said in a soft voice, as if speaking in a normal tone might shatter him. The cool bag returned to cover his damaged face. “Just stay there for a few more minutes.”
He swallowed. “Thank you, but I need to get to Atlanta.”
“Can’t one of your brothers go instead?”
“One of the pint-sized bouncers?”
If it didn’t hurt so much, he would’ve smiled. Unable to help himself, he’d watched the whole exchange through his video feed. For as long as he lived, he would never forget Cruz’s and Phin’s shocked expressions as she and Sadie strode away.
“Are they really upset with me?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Knowing those two, you probably elevated yourself on their likability scale.”
“That’s messed up.”
“That’s being a Blackwell.” He yawned. “They can’t go to Georgia. They’re tied up with other things.”
“A few minutes of quiet won’t kill your schedule.”
“Saturday is fast-approaching. Every hour counts.”
“What’s in Atlanta?”
“Not what.” His eyes drifted shut. “Who.”
“Who’s in Atlanta?”
“Bobby’s art dealer.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Killian Byrne.”
A heavy silence fell between them. One Rohan wanted to explore, but fatigue finally took hold, and his thoughts scattered like startled cats every time he reached for them.
“I’m coming with you,” he heard her say, as if from a distance.
He shook his head and winced. “Your painting.”
“I’m coming,” she insisted.
The thought of being in a vehicle with her for hours calmed his mind. She would be with him. Right beside him. Safe.
At some point, his hand had moved from his stomach to her knee, where it rested against his thigh. He gave it a squeeze in acknowledgment before giving in to the relief of oblivion.
22
Thirty minutes into their drive to Atlanta, FBI Special Agent Asher “Cameron” Blackwell called.
“Hey,” Rohan said, “I’m in the car with Angelena Kamber, the copyist. Is it okay if I keep you on speaker?”
Lena dragged her attention from the winding state highway to glance at her traveling companion in the passenger seat. The restorative nap, cold compress, and two white pills had done wonders to reduce the swelling around his nose. Not much could be done about the bruising near the corners of his eyes.
“Speaker is fine,” Ash said. “Sorry, bro, but I don’t have great news for you.”
“Let me have it.”
“None of the local authorities I’ve contacted have heard rumor of the stolen Catawnee.”
Rohan shared a look with her. “Okay, thanks for checking. We’re headed to Atlanta to follow up on a lead we got from the thief.”
“The thief?”
Rohan winced, as if he’d said too much or revealed something he shouldn’t have. “Yeah, a machine operator living in Steele Ridge.”
“Where is he now?”
“The sheriff’s holding cell.”
“What story did you tell Maggie?”
“An anonymous caller tipped off the sheriff’s office about the thief’s stash of drugs.”
“Risky.”
“Only if Bobby opens his big-ass mouth.”
“If I wasn’t so damn busy right now, bro, I’d be asking a helluva lot more questions.”
The skin around Rohan’s jaw tightened. “I’m on information lockdown.”
“What the hell does Zeke think I’m going to do? Turn your asses in? Take over your recovery?” Ash sighed. “Never mind. It’s best you stay out of it. Just do me a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Stay safe.”
“Always.” Rohan disconnected the call.
“Trouble between your brothers?”
He snorted. “Does shit cling to your shoe?”
Questions bubbled on the end of her tongue. Generally, she stayed clear of domestic issues. It was rarely one person’s fault, and untangling decades of familial baggage never ended well. So she surprised herself by asking, “Want to talk about it?”
His gaze raked over her features. “Not really. They’re adults. They’ll figure it out. Eventually.”
“But not before giving everyone in the family gray hair?”
He laughed. “Knowing those two chuckleheads, they won’t resolve their issue until the ER is filled with Blackwells suffering ulcers.”
“I always imagined what it would be like to have a brother or sister.”
“You were an only child?”
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She knew better than to crack open the door to her past. But she found herself answering him, despite years of conditioning.
“Yes.”
“Are your parents still alive?”
Lena’s hands gripped the padded leather steering wheel. “No.”
He turned to her. No doubt assessing how much the admission had cost her. “I’m sorry.”
“I barely remember them.” An image of a much smaller version of herself being rushed away in the arms of a stranger, her tear-clogged eyes riveted on two bodies slumped inside a vehicle.
Flames.
Screams.
Tears blurring her eyes—
The Verge’s tires bounced over the rumble strips at the edge of the road. Lena jerked the steering wheel to the left, forcing the vehicle back in their lane.
“Do you need a break?” Rohan asked.
“Got caught up in my thoughts.” She sent him a sideways glance. “I’m not letting you drive, so stop trying to worm your way behind the wheel.”
“I’m not good at being idle.”
“You should try meditation.” She tapped her right temple. “Might slow things down upstairs.”
“I do. Every morning.”
“Do you work with someone? Or are you practicing on your own?”
“Grams has offered, but I—”
She snort-laughed. “Men are so predictably male.”
“Meaning?”
