Chapter Two
Kenzie gripped her sharpest, eight-inch kitchen knife against her thigh. She didn’t know how the man standing in front of her was still upright after the beating he’d just taken, and hoped it had something to do with Superman bones or Kevlar, because if push came to shove she really didn’t want to stab anyone.
“Sorry to bother you,” said the man in the tracksuit with the buzzed head, stepping into the light. A small gasp escaped her throat at the recognition. She’d seen him before. Both he and his friend in the hooded sweatshirt. They’d come into the diner twice last week to order pancakes. Sat in the corner booth. Nothing specific about their conversation came to mind. She’d figured they were just passing through town and made the usual small talk. She couldn’t recall if they’d even given their names.
What were they doing here now?
“I know you,” she said.
Tracksuit’s shoulders rolled back. “We’ll just be taking our friend and getting out of your way.”
“Friend, huh?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. She’d seen the way this had gone down—two guys ganging up on one wasn’t exactly a fair fight. “Seems like you have a pretty shitty definition of friendship.”
He grinned, and her blood chilled. The knife handle slipped in her damp palm. She’d called her brother five minutes ago. He lived close, and should have been here by now.
The man in the sweatshirt took a step closer, and she lifted the knife. He must have seen it beneath her defender’s arm, because he stopped, and raised his hands in surrender.
“Easy, love,” he said in a thick Irish accent. He glanced to her exposed wrist, which had slipped out of the sleeve. Around it was a bracelet of scar tissue, pale pink against her tan skin. That, and the matching mark on her other arm, were the only outward reminders of Ben Singer’s break-in, two weeks prior—the only visual proof that he’d hit her, tied her up, stuck a gun to her head and thrown her in the bathtub in his search for her friend Cassie. The other bruises, on her face, ribs, and arms, had faded, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still feel them. They had pressed through her skin, forever branded in her memory, and every time someone looked at the scars on her arms, she felt them all over again.
She pulled her sleeve down over her wrist. Come on, Garrett, she willed, taking a quick glance toward the parking lot entrance her brother would soon be careening through. When the man before her had banged on the door she’d been sorting bills in her office. Less than a minute later the other two had appeared.
She’d called her brother before the first punch had been thrown.
“Unless you want the cops to sort this out, I suggest you go,” she said, aware that the man standing before her had readjusted his position, shielding her from the two who’d attacked him.
Despite his state, she couldn’t help but feel safer with him around. At least they were two on two now.
The phone was in her back pocket, but she’d been bluffing about calling the police. Cassie and her boyfriend, Jake, had told her they couldn’t be trusted, and since Jake had once been the undercover officer set to bust Cassie’s father, Kenzie figured he was a pretty solid source on the matter. There were dirty cops out there looking for Cassie and Jake—cops who might use Kenzie to find them, even here in Ambrose.
Everything was different now, had been since that man—Ben Singer—had come for Cassie and found Kenzie instead. Once, a fight in her parking lot wouldn’t have rattled her; she’d have called Justine, the local deputy, to handle it, or gone out and broken it up herself. But now her confidence was shaken. She couldn’t tell the difference between a country brawl and real danger.
This felt like the latter.
The silence seemed to stretch on forever. Then Sweatshirt lowered his hood, giving her a clear look at his face, at his dark eyes and short black hair, and the scar that stretched from his bottom lip down his chin. He smiled and her stomach sunk, and then he nodded at her, as if confirming something she’d said.
Her hand was visibly shaking now.
“See you around, friend,” said Tracksuit, though whether it was directed at her or her defender, she didn’t know. “Come on,” he added to Sweatshirt as he strode back toward his car.
She watched them get inside, then turn to each other and say something. Sweatshirt nodded, then looked at her, his smile eerie in the glow of the interior lights. With a squeal of tires, the black car backed up, and then barreled out onto the road. Finally, the taillights disappeared around the bend. Only then did Kenzie lower the knife.
Her breath came in a rough gasp; how long she’d been holding it she didn’t know. Falling back a step, she rested her hands on her knees, relief shaking through her. The knife slipped through her fingers to the checkered linoleum floor, landing a little too close to her slip-on flats.
“They’re gone?” her defender asked, still standing within the doorframe.
“Yes,” she said, rushing back toward him. “Yes. Holy cow. Are you okay?”
She reached for his shoulder, and when she touched him, he crumbled, hand slipping down the length of the vertical door handle. She caught him before he crashed, wrapping her arms around his chest to help him to one knee.
They were close; bodies pressed together as they knelt on the floor. His chest was hard and hot and worked with each labored breath. His jaw was starting to swell, and already, beneath one eye, a dark half-moon had formed. Sticky red blood coated the side of his mouth, and his hair, almost black and just long enough to grab, was damp with sweat.
She was right; he wasn’t from around here. Injured or not, she definitely would have remembered a face like that.
“I can’t see,” he said, voice rough. “Can you help me find my glasses?”
“Sure,” she said. But she didn’t move. She kept thinking of the way he’d risen from the ground to stand in front of the door, one hand on the frame, one hand on the handle, blocking the other guys from getting in. The way he’d been banging on the glass before, she’d thought he was up to no good, but now she felt bad for not letting him in earlier. Might have saved him a few hits.
Realizing she was still hanging on to him, she released her hold, immediately feeling the cold air creep between them.
“Did you know those guys?” she asked.
“Never met them before.”
A heavy sigh siphoned through her teeth. “I’ve seen them around. Just thought they were passing through town, though.”
“They were waiting in the parking lot when I got here.”
She shivered. They were here, and she was alone inside. Did they know that? Were they planning on breaking in? Garrett had insisted on driving her to work and picking her up since the day she’d been attacked at his house. She’d told herself he was being overprotective, that lightning didn’t strike the same place twice, but now she wasn’t so sure.
What would they have done if this guy hadn’t shown up? Again, she considered calling the police, but stopped herself.
“They said they’d see us around. Do you think they’re coming back?”
He shook his head slightly. “They seemed pretty scared of the cops.”
“And my kitchen knife.”
His brows rose, eliciting a wince. Blood beaded over his right eye.
“Are the police coming?” The grim way he said it made her think he wasn’t so keen on the idea.
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why is that good?”
He took a shallow breath, grimaced. “I haven’t had the best luck with police lately.”
Well, that didn’t exactly instill confidence.
“Let’s get you over to the chair.” She nodded toward the nearest seat in front of the counter. He looked that direction, but only vaguely. He wasn’t kidding; he really couldn’t see. A hot, potent anger singed her nerves. Those guys were beating up a man who couldn’t even defend himself.
Fitting beneath his arm, she helped him rise, noting how tall he was. Not as tall as her brother, but still big enough that she had to look up to see his face. With one arm hooked around his lower back, she could feel the muscles flex beneath his wrinkled button-up shirt as he moved.
Tall, strong, and handsome. This was going to be a problem.
“Right here,” she said, helping him settle into the seat. He blinked her direction, deep brown eyes and thick black lashes. “Wow,” she said under her breath, then cleared her throat. “Glasses. Right.”
Grabbing the knife off the floor, she did a quick survey for their delinquent friends then dodged outside. The cold needled into the sweat that had misted over her skin. A quick scan of the steps made her cringe. One circular piece of glass lay near the front mat. Leaning over into the bushes she found the rest of his black plastic frames. One of the arms had been broken off at the hinge. The center was snapped down the middle. She grabbed the pieces and brought them back inside.
He stood with a wince when she came closer, but didn’t say anything. Again, she was taken off guard by the way he looked. Superman after a run-in with Kryptonite.
“Please tell me you’re not one of the bad guys.”
He focused somewhere over her shoulder. “I think you might be the first person to ever think that.”
She waited.
He cleared his throat. “I’m not one of the bad guys.”
From behind them came the sound of a growling engine, and the screech of brakes as another car pulled into the lot. A black truck.
About time.
He stepped toward the door, reaching for her shoulder. Squeezing. She looked down at his hand, steadied somehow by that small gesture.
“Did you find my glasses?” he asked urgently.
“Yes?” She glanced down at the pieces, then quickly tucked them into her pocket. “Don’t worry, that’s just my brother, Garrett. I called him.”
He squinted outside into the lot.
“Your glasses have seen better days,” she continued. “Nothing a little tape can’t fix.” She smiled. He probably couldn’t see that, either.
He was still gripping her shoulder as if he might try to shove her out of the way of danger. She followed his gaze outside, hoping those guys didn’t come back. Wondering again why they’d come to Ambrose, and why they’d stayed.
It was almost as if they were waiting for someone to show up.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name’s Cole,” he said, finally turning toward her. “I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. I’m looking for my sister. I think she might have come here.”
Kenzie gawked, recognizing the name, piecing together the story. Cole Talent. Cassie’s brother.
The brother she hadn’t realized existed in the almost two years she’d known her friend.
Swallowing, she took a step back, pulling away from his grip. Before she could say anything, the door burst open with the jingle of the gold Christmas bells that hung on the handle. Garrett glanced from her to Cole, one hand reaching behind his back to the weapon she knew he’d tucked in the waistband of his jeans.
She shook her head quickly to tell him it wasn’t needed.
“Take your time, why don’t you,” she said.
Garrett scowled at Cole’s face. “Damn. You do that?”
“No,” said Kenzie, realizing she was still holding the kitchen knife. She set it on the counter. “Some other guys did. I got rid of them.”
“Other guys,” said Garrett slowly. “Anyone familiar?”
He wasn’t asking about anyone. He was asking about someone specific. Ben Singer.
“Not him,” she said quietly. Ben Singer was in jail. Cassie had told them a few days ago that she’d seen it on the news. A result of her turning in her father’s journal to the Reno Police Department’s Internal Affairs.
“Others,” she added. “Two customers at the restaurant I saw last week. Thought they’d left town.”
“Names?” he asked, voice taking on a dangerous edge. “Credit card receipts’ll have them.”
She was pretty sure they’d paid in cash.
“I’ll look, but I doubt they left a trail, Sherlock. They took off at the mention of police.”
His eyes pinched around the edges. He opened his mouth, likely about to start in on the whole “I told you we need security monitors” speech again, when Cole interrupted.
“Your sister was good enough to let me in,” he said. Garrett looked over his own shoulder, trying to track Cole’s gaze. Though it was only the first week of February, and cold as a Canadian winter outside, Garrett wore only a T-shirt. He must have left home in a rush after all.
“His glasses were broken,” she explained, then stared again at her wounded hero. “Um. Garrett? This is Cole. He’s looking for his sister.”
Her brother’s gaze shot back to Cole.
“Her name’s Marsella,” he said. “I think she may work here.”
The lift in his tone made something clench inside her. Marsella Talent. Cassie had said that was her name before. It was strange hearing someone actually use it.
It was strange remembering her friend had another life, one she hadn’t trusted Kenzie enough to share. The reminder made her wonder what else Cassie had hidden, and if they were ever as good of friends as she’d thought.
Cassie hadn’t had a choice, Kenzie reminded herself. Secrets were part of her survival. She knew this, but it still stung.
“She doesn’t work here anymore,” said Garrett, stepping forward. His expression had hardened, the way it always did when people—well, Jake anyway—talked about Cassie.
“Do you know where she went? I need to find her.”
“Why?” Garrett asked.
“Because she’s my sister,” Cole said, a little louder.
Kenzie appraised him carefully, remembering the way the men had attacked him, and how he’d stood at her defense, even when he was hurting. Regardless of her secrets, Cassie was family, which made Cole family, too.
But not all Cassie’s family was trustworthy.
She wished her friend were there to vouch for him.
“Why don’t we go back to the house?” Kenzie suggested after a moment. “Talk about this. I have ice packs and Band-Aids there anyway.”
She didn’t want to do this here. Didn’t want to chance those other guys coming back. They’d certainly been scared off by the threat of cops, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t return to finish what they’d started with Cole. Whatever they’d had against him had seemed personal, otherwise they wouldn’t have tried to take him with them.
Garrett crossed his arms over his chest. “Seems to me, if your sister wanted to be found, she’d tell you where she was.”
Cole groaned, then with another wince, he pressed a thumb to his temple. “No offense, but how’s that any of your business?”
“Garrett,” warned Kenzie, recognizing the edge in her brother’s short laugh. “Let’s just go home and talk.”
“How do we know you’re not one of the guys she’s running from?” Garrett asked.
Cole stood his ground. “How do I know you’re not?”
Garrett’s brows lifted. She couldn’t tell if that was good, or if he was about to erupt. They’d always been close, but since the army he’d been hard to read.
“We’re not,” she said. “Come on, let’s go.” To show she was serious, she quickly made her way back to the office to grab her coat, keys, and stuff the stack of bills she’d been working her way through beneath her laptop. Flicking the lights off, she headed back out to the front.
“You want to stay here, fine,” she told her brother. “Lock up on your way out. But I’ll be at your place alone with Cole.”
The thought of being by herself with him made her nervous—Cole was trouble, she could feel it—but her threat got the point across. A vein appeared in Garrett’s forehead. Scowling, he turned and headed for the door without another word.
Nerves shivered through her as she moved to Cole’s side. She had an apartment, but ever since Ben had broken into the house in search of Cassie, she couldn’t face going home alone. She’d gone to Garrett’s—once their grandparents’ home—and taken back the room she’d grown up in. It felt intensely private to welcome a stranger there.
Don’t make me regret this, she thought.
“Come on.” She took Cole’s arm to guide him out onto the front mat. Usually she’d prep for the next morning before leaving, but this was an unusual circumstance. She’d come in early tomorrow to take care of things.
“Is Marsi at your brother’s house?” He didn’t sound overly hopeful.
“No,” she said. “But I know how to find her.”
He hesitated.
The pieces of his glasses stuck into her hip. He wouldn’t be able to follow in his car without them. He’d barely make it down the steps.
“Where are your keys?” she asked. Garrett had driven her to work this morning, otherwise she would have just taken Cole in her own car.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew them.
“Garrett!” she called. “You take his car and follow us.”
She aimed her best “just do it” glare at him as she led Cole down the steps, and with a huff, her brother shook his head and held out a hand. She tossed him the keys, which he caught midair.
“Don’t give me a reason to mess you up any more,” Garrett said as he strode past.
“Nice guy,” said Cole. “I can see why Marsi likes it here. Everyone’s so friendly.”
She snorted, and once he was inside the truck rounded to the driver’s side. She was sort of glad he couldn’t see the way she clambered in. Big trucks weren’t built to make short girls look graceful.
Starting the engine, she turned onto the main road, perched on the edge of the seat. It was too short a trip to change all the settings, and she knew Garrett grumbled every time he banged his knees on the steering console after she’d driven.
Glancing over at Cole across the cab, she felt a growing curiosity. Here was Cassie’s brother, someone who’d grown up with one of her closest friends, and yet she knew little more than his name. When Cassie had mentioned him, it had seemed like they were close, but if that was true, why had it taken him two years to find her? If Garrett had disappeared, she wouldn’t have slept until she’d brought him home.
“Why are you here?” she asked, worry gnawing at her stomach. “Is everything all right? Cassie’s not in more trouble, is she?”
“Cassie?” He looked her way, perplexed, and in the half shadows he looked mysterious, and a little dangerous.
“That’s what we call her.” As weird as it had been for her, she couldn’t imagine how strange it must have been for him to hear his sister called a different name.
“Oh,” he said, frowning again. Absently, he prodded his split lip with his fingers. “I don’t know.”
Her toe began tapping against the gas pedal. “What do you mean? Those guys tonight were after her, weren’t they?”
He fixed his stare out the window.
“Do you know where she is? Cassie?” He said the name as if trying it out, but it didn’t sound very natural.
“Cole . . .” She gripped the steering wheel. Already they’d come to the fork in the road, and the turn that led to the driveway of the house where she and Garrett had been raised; the place he now called home. “You may be her family, but if she’s in trouble I need to know.”
His jaw worked back and forth.
“You need to know,” he said. “Who are you?”
I’m the one who gave her a job when she had nothing. I’m the one who sat by her bed when Garrett brought her home from the hospital with not just a broken leg, but a broken heart. Who didn’t ask questions when she said she couldn’t talk about her past. Who helped her build herself back up from nothing.
Who never told Ben Singer where she was, even when he stuck a gun to my head.
“I’m Kenzie,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Her friend.”
“Well I’m her brother,” he said. “So maybe I’m the one who should know if she’s in trouble.”
Her spine had straightened at his tone. They’d come to a stop behind the house, in front of the garage. Tentatively she placed the shifter in park, glancing through the passenger window to where Garrett was parking Cole’s car.
Beside her, Cole took a slow breath. “Is she okay or not?”
“She’s okay,” Kenzie said quietly.
“I need to see her.”
He sounded defeated, and that made her chest ache.
“I get it,” she said. “Let’s go inside and I’ll get you patched up.”