Cross Roads, page 35
Zeke grinned, despite the tension still gripping his insides. “I suppose not.”
Always the businessman, his friend swept his hand over the antique arsenal displayed on the table. “Which one should I wrap up for you?”
Zeke snapped off his Nitrile gloves and stuffed them into the front pocket of his jeans. “All of them.”
“All?"
Lifting a duffel bag from the floor, Zeke dumped out two stacks of Ben Franklins onto the table. “All.”
Chapter Two
After returning to his hotel, Zeke carried his duffel bag of artifacts to his room, showered, and changed into a gray button-down shirt and black slacks for his prearranged dinner with his older brother Ash.
Now, he followed the hostess of the Grand Marquis Hotel restaurant to a booth across from the bar, feeling like a stink bug amidst a kaleidoscope of butterflies.
His idea of a nice evening involved him wearing a T-shirt and jeans, on his deck, with a beer in hand, steak on a plate, and a sunset beautiful enough to bring tears to his eyes.
But his brother had more refined tastes, and he’d insisted on this hotel and warned Zeke to wear something besides said deck-wear. Normally, he ignored fashion advice from his brother, but he didn’t want to set their rare get-together off on the wrong foot. Plus, today was his birthday. Why not celebrate in style?
The hostess handed him a menu and laid another in the empty place opposite him. “Your server will be with you shortly, Mr. Blackwell. I’ll show your wife to your table once she arrives.” She smiled at him with generous red lips and blue eyes. Long black hair draped over a bare shoulder, the perfect complement to the strapless white dress that outlined her curves in all the places he liked.
The slight emphasis she put on “your wife” sounded like a question to his ears, one he found himself not interested in answering, despite the obvious temptation.
“Thank you,” he said, picking up the menu.
She had barely turned away before his mind shifted to Lupos and Sardoff’s promise to text him the name of the longsword’s owner. Zeke had allowed his hopes to rise many times over the past year, only to be disappointed. But this was the first time the description matched his family’s heirloom so perfectly.
“Hello, I’m Keith. I’ll be your server tonight,” a tall young man with curly brown hair and a sunburned nose said. “Can I get you anything to drink while we’re waiting for your guest?”
Zeke glanced down at his watch and noted the time.
8:27 p.m.
Way to cut it close, bro.
“Two glasses of your best bourbon.” He glanced at the menu. “I’ll have the beef tenderloin.”
“Would you like for me to put your order in now or wait for your guest?”
“Put it in now.” One thing the last decade had taught him—never hold up food for his brothers. Out of the five of them, he seemed to be the only one who didn’t lose track of time. It’s why he’d made such a great operations manager.
He pushed the thought away. Later. He would get into that later.
The restaurant buzzed with guests. A few were men like him in town for business. Most of them dined on a tumbler of amber liquid. A large group of people in business casual, with matching blue lanyards around their necks, sat at the bar, releasing a continual series of ear-grating laughter.
Several couples dotted the dining room, each sharing different levels of longing looks and intimate touches. Except for a twenty-something couple near the fireplace, who seemed more captivated by their electronic devices than each other.
Everyone in the restaurant had a story. Stories that had led them here, to this place and time.
Zeke allowed his curiosity free rein, picking out the loners, the seekers, and the drinkers.
His surveillance snagged on a guy at one of the high tables in the bar. He didn’t know why, exactly. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting about the man’s stocky build, tousled hair, or stubble-cured face, nor did his plain loafers, dark jeans, and pressed polo shirt inspire the imagination.
Then he keyed in on the intensity of the guy’s face. He followed the man’s line of sight until it stopped on one of the bar sitters. A woman.
He stopped short of snorting. It didn’t take a detective to unravel that bit of domestic drama. Unrequited love. The worst, most devastating kind.
What sort of scenario would elicit such visual fervor? Did he fall in love with his childhood friend? Coworker? Boss? Best friend’s wife?
Or maybe the guy just had a hard-on for redheads.
“Here you go,” server Keith said, placing twin glasses on the table. “Two Old Fitzgeralds.”
Zeke glanced at his watch. His jaw clenched.
8:42 p.m.
Would it be so hard for Ash to take a few seconds and send him an update on his status? Or couldn’t G-man be bothered with common courtesy anymore?
“Would you like me to put in an appetizer?” Keith asked.
“No appetizer. Bring out my meal when it’s ready.” An image of his Gram’s narrowed eyes flashed through his mind, and he added, “Please.”
Once the server left, he fired off a text to his brother.
We still on for dinner?
He lifted the glass to his lips and took a healthy swallow. Old Fitz’s headwind smoothed a path down his throat for the crackle of fire that soon followed.
No longer interested in Intense Dude, he focused on the woman. With her back to him, all he could make out was the curve of her slender neck, her long, red ponytail, black pantsuit, narrow waist, long legs—and sensible shoes. Nothing jaw-dropping extraordinary like the hostess, but nice.
He didn’t take her for a seeker. Not with those shoes. Even if she thought leather slip-ons were sexy, she seemed more interested in the booklet spread out on the bar before her than anyone around her.
Too bad for Intense Dude.
A fruity cocktail sat sweating by her left elbow, so not a drinker.
Loner then.
By choice? Or circumstance?
Did she know Intense Dude? Or was she oblivious to her wannabe-lover’s existence?
Broad shoulders wedged into a tailored charcoal-gray business suit snuffed out his view of the woman. Zeke looked into the familiar blue eyes of his brother Ash.
Zeke rose and extended his hand. “About damn time, asshole.”
Energy poured off his brother, despite the late hour. Unlike Zeke’s constant five o’clock shadow, the G-man’s jaw was clean shaven and his silver-striped red tie was still cinched tight at the neck.
Ash gripped his hand. “Sorry, something’s come up.”
A tall, fifty-something black woman, wearing a purple silk blouse and knee-length skirt, materialized next to Ash, along with a blond-haired man carrying a thick, canvas briefcase.
All three wore the same blue conference lanyard as the group of loudmouths.
Now Zeke understood why Ash had picked this swanky hotel restaurant over a billion others in the city. He was attending an FBI conference.
Which meant Zeke sat in the epicenter of his enemy.
* * *
Intellectually, Zeke understood his dislike of the FBI was irrational. After all, they didn’t seek out Ash and rip him from the family business, leaving Zeke reeling at the loss and scrambling to take his brother’s place at the helm.
No, Asher Cameron Blackwell had done that mindfuck all on his own. To follow his passion, his dream. Something he had failed to share with Zeke, until three years ago, when he’d called it quits and left Steele Ridge.
He’d even left his fucking name behind. Wanted the family to call him Cameron now. A clean split.
To hell with that shit.
Tonight was going to be the first step in fixing things with his brother.
Or so he’d thought.
Instead, the FBI crammed the knife deeper into his heart.
“Let me guess,” he glanced at the other two agents, “duty calls.”
Ash’s jaw worked, as if he wanted to say something, but not in front of an audience. Instead, he stuck with the tried-and-true. “I’m sorry, Zeke. I’ll make it up to you.”
He felt the woman’s eyes on him, but he refused to look at her. Had no wish to stare empathy in the eye.
Zeke sank back in his chair and lifted his drink to the trio. “Have fun at the office.”
Ash slipped five twenties from his wallet and placed them on the table. “Happy birthday, bro.”
He stared at the money. The sight of the fanned-out bills caused the whiskey in his gut to heave.
“Here you are,” server Keith said, sliding a plate in front of him. “Can I get y’all anything else?”
“No, thanks.” Zeke placed the pristine white napkin in his lap and used his fork and knife to cut a thick slice of tenderloin. By the time he lifted his head, he was alone.
The beef all but disintegrated in his mouth. Any other time, he would sigh in carnivorous satisfaction. Not tonight. Tonight, he swallowed the meat with all the excitement of changing a newborn’s hundredth shitty diaper.
But he kept cutting and chewing and swallowing with mechanical efficiency.
He took a sip from his third bourbon.
He drummed his fingers against the table.
His gaze strayed to the woman at the bar, then to Intense Dude. The guy’s seat was empty and a server was clearing away his empty drink.
Back to the woman. He couldn’t figure out why a red ponytail and an uninspired pantsuit would compel his attention, but here he was staring. Again.
This time, he searched the back of her neck and around her jacket collar. No blue lanyard. Normally, once people put those things on, they didn’t remove them until they were rolling their suitcase out of the hotel. Which meant she wasn’t part of the G-con. Relief tumbled through him.
Sensible Shoes took a drink of her fruity cocktail before dropping her reading material into an oversized purse at her feet. After paying her bill, she slid off the stool and turned toward the dining area.
Thick, perfectly arched eyebrows accented wide, catlike eyes. Her full lips were without lipstick and, somehow, the absence captured his interest even more. When his gaze roamed lower, he cursed, unable to assess the rest of her assets in that damn formless business suit.
She scanned the room, as if looking for someone. Her eyes met his, and something shifted inside his chest. Something warm and familiar, though he’d never met her before. He didn’t understand the sensation, but he liked it. A lot.
He nodded, and she smiled in return.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you.”
Oh, no. Oh, hell no.
Server Keith, followed by several other similarly uniformed staff, snaked through the dining room, holding aloft a small plate of tiramisu skewered by a single, flaming candle.
Fucking Ash.
“Happy birthday to Zee-eeke. Happy birthday to you!”
Keith set the plate in front of him and waited expectantly.
Sensible Shoes smiled and mouthed, “Happy birthday,” as she breezed past his table.
Disappointment burned his chest. He sat there in indecision. Should he call out to her? Invite her to share his dessert? A drink? Hot stranger sex?
The pressure of four politely impatient pairs of eyes kept his mouth shut and his butt in the chair. He blew out the candle and Keith and friends disappeared.
A harsh breath pushed out of his lungs. Ignoring the tiramisu, he knocked back the last of his bourbon, not even bothering to savor it. He wanted the fire. Needed the lick of alcohol to wake the hell up.
His traitorous gaze kept going to the barstool where Sensible Shoes had sat. The longer he stared, the more he regretted not going after her. Not to hook up, though he wouldn't have said no, but to simply to talk to someone who knew nothing about him or his family or his business.
Uncomplicated, no-expectation conversation.
By the time he finished his meal, the mild regret had turned into a full-blown, alcohol-induced flagellation. He signed off on his bill, grabbed what was left of Ash’s whiskey, and began the long journey to his room on the ninth floor.
Alone.
He chinked the air with his glass. “Happy fucking birthday, to me.”
* * *
Find out what happens next and order
Flash Point
Discover More Steele Ridge
STEELE RIDGE: THE BLACKWELLS
Flash Point, Book 1
Smoke Screen, Book 2
Cross Roads, Book 3
STEELE RIDGE: THE STEELES
The BEGINNING, A Novella
Going HARD, Book 1
Living FAST, Book 2
Loving DEEP, Book 3
Breaking FREE, Book 4
Roaming WILD, Book 5
Stripping BARE, Book 6
Enduring LOVE, A Novella, Book 7
Vowing LOVE, A Novella, Book 8
STEELE RIDGE: THE KINGSTONS
Craving HEAT, Book 1
Tasting FIRE, Book 2
Searing NEED, Book 3
Striking EDGE, Book 4
Burning ACHE, Book 5
STEELE RIDGE CHRISTMAS CAPERS
The Most Wonderful Gift of All, Caper 1
A Sign of the Season, Caper 2
His Holiday Miracle, Caper 3
A Holly Jolly Homecoming, Caper 4
Hope for the Holidays, Caper 5
All She Wants for Christmas, Caper 6
Jingle Bell Rock Tonight, Caper 7
Not So Silent Night, Caper 8
A Rogue Santa, Caper 9
The Puppy Present, Caper 10
For the Love of Santa, Caper 11
Beneath the Mistletoe, Caper 12
Also by Tracey Devlyn
NEXUS SPYMASTER SERIES
Historical romantic suspense
A Lady’s Revenge
A Lady’s Temptation
A Lady’s Secret
A Lord’s Redemption
A Lord’s Bargain
* * *
BONES & GEMSTONES SERIES
Historical romantic mystery
Night Storm
* * *
TEA TIME SHORTS & NOVELLAS
Sweet historical romance
His Secret Desire
Acknowledgments
Enormous gratitude to my husband, Tim, for his patience and unwavering support, as I navigated—sometimes successfully, sometimes unsuccessfully—the personal and professional twists and turns that 2022 threw at me. It was a challenging year, but your strength and love helped me cross the finish line.
* * *
Adrienne Giordano, you know.
* * *
As always, I’m indebted to my editor, Kristen Weber, and copy editor, Martha Trachtenberg, for their keen eye and invaluable insight.
* * *
Huge thanks to Stuart Bache for creating the perfect cover for Cross Roads.
* * *
Much love and appreciation to our powerhouse behind-the-scenes team—Donna Duffee, Heather Machel, Leiha Mann, and Sandy Modesitt. And a special thanks to Maureen Downey for keeping me in her thoughts.
* * *
Liz Semkiu and Sandy Modesitt, thank you for spending your precious time hanging out in our world.
* * *
To the wonderful readers on my review crew—mega thanks. Y’all rock!
* * *
And lastly, I want to send my heartfelt thanks to every reader, bookseller, librarian, reviewer, and blogger for supporting my books and helping me get the word out about them. Big, big hugs!
TEAM STEELE RIDGE
Edited by Kristen Weber
Copyedited by Martha Trachtenberg
Cover Design by Stuart Bache, Books Covered
Author Photo by Lisa Kaman Kenning, Mezzaluna Photography
* * *
Copyright © Tracey Devlyn
* * *
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented—except in the case of brief quotations—without permission in writing from Steele Ridge Publishing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Print Edition, March 2023, ISBN: 978-1-948075-88-6
Digital Edition, March 2023, ISBN: 978-1-948075-87-9
For more information contact: tracey@steeleridgepublishing.com
About Tracey Devlyn
Tracey Devlyn is a USA Today bestselling author of historical and contemporary suspense, which often contains elements of mystery, romance, and environmental crime. Despite the thrilling, emotional ride she crafts for her readers, Tracey enjoys an annoyingly normal lifestyle with her husband and rescue dogs at her home in the mountains of North Carolina.
