Damian

I’m not sure what brings me back the next day, but I find myself pushing open the door to Kerry’s Korner once again. I tell myself it’s because my favorite coffee place is still closed today, but I really just want to see her again. Unfortunately, today there is a different woman manning the coffee counter.

“Can I help you?” she asks with a friendly smile, looking me up and down thoroughly.

“Please. Double shot of espresso,” I reply, tamping down my disappointment. “Kerry here today?” I look around the store, but other than an older lady roaming the shelves, I don’t see anyone.

The short brunette tilts her head to one side, squinting her eyes at me. “Are you a friend of hers?”

“More like an old acquaintance,” I tell her.

“Ah. Well then, Kerry is just running some errands, but she’ll be back in half an hour, tops. Feel free to wait around.” The last is said with a wink before she turns and busies herself with my coffee, but I can still hear her mumble, “Lucky bitch, second hot guy in two days.” I chose to pretend I don’t hear, but I can’t help wonder who the other guy is. A boyfriend? “Are you staying or taking out?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“Take out,” I tell her. I don’t even know what I’m doing here, and when the woman hands me my coffee, I quickly pay and head for the door. I reach for the handle when it suddenly swings open, knocking the hot coffee all over me. “Fucking hell!” The piping hot beverage is burning my hand and soaking the front of my dress shirt.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry.” A familiar, sexy voice has me raising my eyes to find Kerry looking at me with a worried frown. “Come with me,” she says, grabbing my wrist. “Marya? Get another coffee ready. Double shot.” I’m surprised she remembers and allow her to drag me to the back of the store and through a door marked private.

It appears to be a storage area with metal shelving filled with more books, boxes, and packing materials. A long table is butted up against the far wall with two stools tucked underneath. I can just see a door open to my left, showing a closet-sized space with a desk and computer, as Kerry is pulling me into a bathroom on the other side.

“Sit,” she orders, closing the lid on the toilet and shoving me down. She turns on the tap on the small sink beside it and yanks my hand under the cold stream. I keep my lips firmly pressed together, fighting off the smile that wants to break out. I take the opportunity to check her out. Today she’s wearing another of those boho tunics, paired with a long necklace, dangly earrings and chunky bracelets on both wrists. The fuck-you ring is firmly in place on her middle finger, but this time instead of jeans, she’s wearing leggings that show off her solid but shapely legs. The contrast between her carefree attire and her bossy demeanor is damn cute. When her tongue pokes out as she twists my hand this way and that, I almost groan out loud.

“What?” she asks, having caught me focused on her lips. I lift my eyes to hers and just shrug my shoulders to which she rolls her eyes—something she seems to do quite a bit. She turns off the tap and studies my hand. I’m just enjoying the feel of her fingers on my skin. “I think your hand will live,” she says before focusing her attention on my shirt, the one I wore for my meetings this afternoon that is now pretty much ruined. Not that I care, except I don’t have anything but a few spare tees in my locker to change into. “Let me see what I can do,” she offers with a pained expression on her face. I let her rub a wet towel over my chest, knowing full well the exercise is futile, but selfishly enjoying her hands on my body.

The buzzing from my pocket interrupts the moment, and I lightly grab onto her wrist while pulling out my phone with the other hand. I can feel her rapid heartbeat under my fingers and hang on to her as I answer the call, looking her squarely in the eye. “Gomez.”

“Hey, lover. Haven’t heard from you in a while.” The high-pitched, slightly nasal voice is loud. Too loud. I see Kerry’s pretty gray eyes narrow before she twists her wrist free and turns away, dropping the wet towel in the sink before walking out. Fuck me.

“Been busy,” I tell Cora, a woman I’ve occasionally hooked up with. She’s a nurse I met last year when I was in the hospital interviewing a witness. Big boobs, sultry lips, and come-hither eyes, she made it clear she’d be up for anything. Just the kind of diversion I could use to break the stress of the job. I don’t have time or inclination for any kind of relationship, and Cora understood that. I thought. Until she started calling me a few months ago, making it clear she saw us as something more than just an occasional relief. It’s my mistake that she is still calling, because I caved a few times against my better judgment, only encouraging her pursuit.

“Too busy for me?” she purrs, and where before it might have stirred a different reaction, now it only gets on my nerves. Especially as I watch Kerry’s back disappear into the store.

“Cora, look,” I start, but she quickly cuts me off.

“No worries. I know your job is important and all. I just missed you,” she says a bit breathlessly.

“Don’t,” I grunt. “You know that’s not what this was.”

“Was? Really, Damian? You’re a bastard.” With that I hear the line go dead. This is exactly why I always avoided any long-term arrangements. Not only is my job demanding and unpredictable, making anything more permanent complicated, but I’m also well aware of the risks it brings with it, and I don’t want to expose anyone else to that. It’s a decision I made a long time ago when the wife of my partner was killed in retaliation by a Mexican drug lord we were investigating. The guy ended up getting killed in a shootout, but my partner never got over it. Ended up eating the barrel of his service gun the week after the shootout. No. The risk is too high.

I’m still sitting on the toilet with my phone in my hand. What the hell am I doing here then? A soft ping alerts me to an incoming text from one of my team.

Jasper: Where are you? Everyone is already here.

Fuck.

According to the time on my phone, I’m already five minutes late for the task force meeting at the office.

Me: Stall. Be there in five.

I get up and check myself out in the small mirror above the sink and flinch at the dark stain covering my shirt before taking one last look at my slightly red hand. It’ll have to do. With determined strides, I walk back into the store, aiming for the door. I shouldn’t have come.

“Don’t forget your coffee!” The brunette rounds the counter with a fresh paper cup and hands it to me. My eyes shoot over her shoulder to Kerry, who seems busy moving books around on a shelf, her back turned.

“Thanks,” I mumble at the smiling woman in front of me, and without a word to Kerry, I leave the store. Coward.

-

“THE FUCK HAPPENED TO you?”

Jasper, the IT specialist on our team, is standing by the door when I walk into the office.

“Coffee mishap. Give me a minute to put on a clean shirt. I’ll be right there.” Without waiting for an answer, I slip into the locker room and shrug out of my suit jacket, holster, and the offensive shirt and quickly change into a T-shirt. A few eyebrows are raised when I walk into the boardroom in my casual attire, but I ignore them and sit down. “Sorry I’m late,” I offer without any additional explanation.

I look around the table at the group assembled. Durango PD Operations Commander, Keith Blackfoot, lead investigator Boris Parnak from the La Plata County Criminal Investigations Unit, along with James Aiken of the FBI International Operations Division, and Ella Friesen, an art trafficking Interpol specialist seem to be waiting for me expectantly. Luna Roosberg, one of my agents, is passing around folders.

“I apologize again for keeping you waiting,” I start. “Ella? Since you and James called this meeting on short notice, why don’t you bring us up to speed?”

“Very well,” she says with only a hint of her Dutch accent. “In the last year and a half, we’ve noticed an increase in the theft of rare manuscripts and print work from libraries, museums, and private collectors. The apparent trend started in the UK with the burglary of some of its finest libraries and quickly expanded to the rest of Europe. The MO suggested an organized effort by more than one individual. Almost a year ago, several rare works were stolen from a private collection in Switzerland for a collective value of twenty-six million dollars. One item alone, a copy of The Birds of America, by John James Audubon, was last valued at twelve million dollars in 2010. Six months ago, we finally got a lead when one of the stolen manuscripts, a copy of Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, appeared in the collection of a wealthy Texas enthusiast here in the U.S. The collector was a rich cattleman with no real knowledge and was clearly duped. The man was easily cleared but was able to provide us with some information on the auction house.” She indicates the files Luna distributed. “As you can see, the auction house appears to be U.S. based, and we’ve been able to monitor some of their online activities. Two weeks ago, we picked up on a communication to a British gentleman named Troy Sinclair. He’s a rare-books specialist, who used to work for the University of Cambridge. He was terminated two years ago by the University when an early Shakespeare sonnet he was working on went missing from the library, only to be discovered in his possession. He claimed he was behind on his work and had simply taken his work home. The University terminated him since removing any of the rare documents from the library is immediate cause for dismissal. However, there wasn’t evidence at the time of intended foul play. Still, his name went on our persons of interest list. You’ll find a copy on page three.”

I flip through the file and find the message.

Pkg en route DRO

DRO stands for Durango-La Plata County Airport.

KERRY

“What’s with you and these fine male specimens?”

Marya stands beside me as we watch the FBI agent’s broad back disappear down the street. Yes, I gawked. The moment I heard the door shut, I hustled to the window to get a good look at his enticing backside.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her, turning back to this morning’s haul from the post office; a box of recent romance releases. Most of my customers are female and the romance genre is one of the more popular ones, so I try to stay up to date with my selection.

“Whatever,” I hear Marya mumble before she says a little louder, “If you’re not interested, you won’t mind me having a go at this one, right?” It’s a challenge and I know it. Still, I just shrug my shoulders, keeping my back turned and my focus on the stack of books in my hand. Normally, I love the smell of books above all else, but right now I can’t smell anything but the lingering scent of Damian Gomez. Damn him.

“You know it wouldn’t hurt for you to have some fun from time to time,” she says under her breath.

“By the way,” I ask in an attempt to distract her, and myself. “Did you get any calls or deliveries while I was gone?” I’m still waiting on that box of first editions. I figure maybe they would’ve sent it by courier instead of USPS, but Marya shakes her head.

“No deliveries, no calls,” she confirms.

“Well, dammit. Those books should’ve been here already. I’ve dealt with these guys before, and they’ve always delivered on time. Never had a problem.”

-

IT’S JUST BEFORE SIX, closing time, when the store phone rings.

“Kerry’s Korner. Kerry speaking, how can I help you?”

“Hi, girl.” I hear my bestie, Kim. on the other end. She’s run my original store in Cortez since I opened up in Durango.

“Hey, sweetie. Everything okay there?” I ask. Kim has struggled finding decent help since the birth of her son, Asher.

“Yes,” she says enthusiastically. “This new girl is really working out. I’m so relieved. But that’s not why I’m calling. With everything going on, I forgot to mention that last week I received a box in a shipment I think was meant for Durango. It was addressed to the Durango address, but just like my boxes, had Kerry’s Korner in big print. They probably failed to check the actual address when they were sorting and simply shipped the whole thing here.”

“Thank God,” I exclaim, relieved. “I’ve been wondering where it was. Okay,” I tell Kim. “I was planning to head into Cortez at some point to see my favorite little man anyway. Maybe sometime next week?”

“Sounds good,” Kim chuckles. She knows I adore my godson. He’s such a sweet little baby, and I rarely go longer than a couple of weeks before I need my snuggle fix. “If you come a week from Wednesday, Mal will be out of town so maybe you can spend the night? We’ll have a chance to catch up with a bottle of wine.” Kim’s husband is a security specialist and sometimes has to go out of town for a few days for work. It’s been ages since Kim and I have had a girls’ night, so I’m immediately on board.

“Let me check to see if Marya can open next Thursday.” I turn to Marya, who is cleaning the coffee counter. She’s already waving her hand in the air.

“No problem,” she says, having obviously listened in on the conversation.

“You’re the best, Marya.” I give her a big grin when she throws a smile over her shoulder. “Looks like it’s a plan,” I tell Kim, who squeals on the other end. After promising her I’ll be there after seven and will bring the wine, we end the call.

Ten minutes later, I lock the store and wave goodbye to Marya, who is climbing in her car, when an unexpected hand on my shoulder has me swinging around.

“I guess I got here a bit too late,” the guy with the British accent says with a smile. Dick.

“You scared the crap out of me,” I tell him, pissed he thought he could just put his hands on me. The offensive hands come up defensively and he smiles apologetically. The most unconvincing smile I’ve ever witnessed.

“I apologize. I simply came to see if I could convince you to change your mind and have dinner with me.”

Seriously? My mouth falls open at the gall of this guy. He appears to be a tad slow on the uptake. Yesterday I stayed polite, not wanting to piss off a potential customer, but it’s obvious this guy’s interests go beyond my store and I need to cut him off at the pass. Trying to calm my heart, still pounding a hole in my chest, I take a deep breath before responding. “I guess I wasn’t clear enough yesterday, so let me be blunt; I am not interested. Does that help?” I can’t help adding a layer of sarcasm. He apparently doesn’t take too well to that since his eyes narrow to slits. Something he tries to conceal with a toothy smile that once again has my hair stand on end.

“It’s clear,” he grinds through his teeth. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” With one last glare, he turns on his heels and walks in the direction of town. It strikes me as weird he apparently is walking. My store is on the outskirts of town in a small plaza off the highway, and there is no sidewalk. For a minute, I keep my eye on him as he simply marches along on the side of the road, looking ridiculous in his suit and tie. 

He never once turns around though, and when he disappears around the corner, I let out a relieved breath. That guy really creeps me out, and I’m glad it’s still light out with quite a bit of traffic on the road. I walk at a stiff clip to my Subaru, parked around the corner. I’m eager to get home and get some dinner going. Luckily, I don’t have to stop in town for groceries; I filled my fridge earlier this week. I hate to admit I’m a little shaky and am glad my little rental is only minutes from the store, just up the mountain. I managed to get a one-year lease on the small bungalow. A little remote, but nice and quiet, just west of town. When I pull into the driveway, I take one last look at the road behind me.