Chapter Four
On a Sunday afternoon three weeks after the task force’s first meeting, Spence found himself at Calypso Falls’s busiest grocery store, sitting at a table in the produce section, setting out the brochures and signs that Alice had created for the public awareness sessions. His job was to sit here for an hour and convince shoppers that they should sign the sheets indicating their support for the garden.
Not a bad way to pass the time, all in all. But he wondered if the weekend had been the best choice. The aisles were crowded and folks were a little frenzied. This might not be the time when most people would want to linger at the table blocking access to the green beans and broccoli.
Or maybe his uncertainty was due to the fact that he was going to have to spend the next two hours with Bree.
Okay, she’d been a lifesaver the night of the orchestra concert. And true to her word, she’d sent him a text telling him when Carl had left, as solo as he’d eaten. All in all, Bree had come through when he needed it. He appreciated that.
It also made his inner adolescent squirm. Because he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with her anymore. School rivals, he knew. Pissed-off woman who had given him hell, he could deal with. Daughter of his mortal enemy? No problem.
But someone who had helped him . . . someone who had offered support without ever once asking for details or mouthing platitudes . . . someone who had smiled at him in a way that had him chasing really idiotic thoughts out of his brain . . . this Bree was a problem.
A problem that was currently striding across the produce section toward him.
“Hi.” Bree didn’t meet his gaze as she swung her bag onto the end of the table. It landed with a thud that made him fear for the wooden surface.
“Whoa. What have you got in there? Bricks?”
“Severed heads, actually.” She frowned. “I guess rigor must have set in faster than I anticipated.”
He burst into laughter that was as welcome as it was unexpected.
“Rough morning?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Not as bad for me as it was for them.” She nodded toward the bag, which had gaped open an inch or two at the top. He didn’t even bother to disguise his actions as he pulled back the fabric.
“Hey!” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if I need to call the cops.” He caught a glimpse of something that looked like an intense textbook, shuddered, and backed away. “Anticipating a slow afternoon?”
“Better to be prepared, and all that.”
Huh. Looked like she was just as eager to talk to him as he was to talk to her.
Okay. That made things easier. No chitchat needed, no worries about awkward pauses.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel he’d been dismissed.
He finished laying out the materials Alice had provided, then walked to the citrus fruit display a few feet away and surveyed the setup through a critical eye. Bree’s forehead crinkled.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out if this is appealing enough to draw people to us.”
He glanced around the low tables and heaped bins of the produce section, where people seemed far more interested in apples and bananas than in pictures and papers.
“Well?” she asked when he returned to the table. “What’s the verdict?”
Truthfully, he was afraid this was going to be the longest damned two hours of the week. But he wasn’t going to say that out loud.
“The verdict is, we need to jazz this up.”
Bree’s eyebrows soared. “Do I dare ask?”
He stood and looked around the area. “We could move down a bit so we’re in front of the bagged salads. That way all the New Year’s resolution people would have to come near us.”
“Too late,” she said. “It’s already February. The bulk of the resolutions were abandoned at least two weeks ago.”
He remembered back to her decrees about eldest children. “Is this another of those facts you’re making up to sound smart?”
“I don’t need to make up facts to sound smart, thank you very much. But no. This is truth.” She frowned and spread her hands on the blank spaces of white tablecloth that weren’t covered by their materials. “But you have a point. We need something more eye-catching. I thought Alice was going to have a banner to hang in front of the table.”
“She was. She told me there was a problem with the printing. It won’t be ready for another week.”
“I could buy a couple of balloons,” Bree said.
Not a bad idea . . . but as he scanned the area in front of them, he decided on another approach.
“Wait here.” He hightailed it through the fruits and vegetables to the florist section by the entry, where he grabbed a cart and loaded it with the biggest indoor plants on display.
“What is this?” Bree asked as he wheeled back to their table.
“This is an Arlacuriae heterophylla, more commonly known as a Norfolk island pine. Probably left over from before Christmas.” He set it by the front corner of their table. “This is a Ficus benjamina.” Into the opposite corner it went. “And this is a Meyer lemon, just entering the fruit-set stage.” That one he centered behind their chairs. “And there you go. We’re not just talking about an urban forest anymore. We’re living in one.”
Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses, but not before he caught the quick hint of interest. She stood and came around front to join him.
“I have to admit it,” she said as she crossed her arms. “It works.”
“You sound so surprised.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have been, given that you do this kind of thing for a living.” She waved her hands toward the scene before them. “Of course, maybe I got thrown because the Latin name for a Norfolk island pine is actually Araucaria heterophylla.”
With that, she sashayed back to the table and picked up one of the brochures. He stood with his mouth slightly agape, barely resisting the urge to grab his phone and check his Latin. He was right. He knew he was. She’d said that just to keep the upper hand.
At least he thought that was the only reason.
“So,” she said as he took his chair at her side. “Do you always rearrange environments to suit your needs?”
“Yep.”
“I don’t suppose you asked the people in charge of the floral department if you could borrow their merchandise.”
He sat back with a grin. “You know what they say: better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”
She was itching to dish out a smart comeback, he could see, but just then a little kid broke away from his mom and ran up to their table.
“What’cha got?” the kid asked.
Bree launched into an explanation that was directed to the kid but which caught the attention of the mom, who listened intently in the background before accepting one of Spence’s brochures. A couple of minutes later, an elderly man joined them. Then a young couple.
Soon they had a steady trickle of visitors. Spence lost track of how many times he repeated the basic explanation. From the bits of Bree’s conversation that he caught, she was doing a great job, talking up the forest and thanking people profusely whether they added their name in support of the project or simply took a brochure.
Her enthusiasm surprised him. She hadn’t seemed super gung ho in the meeting. She had paid attention, took notes, and asked appropriate questions. But he would never have described her as passionate about the project.
Not that he expected anyone else to have the same level of involvement as he had. For him, it was personal. But no one listening to Bree talk about fruit trees and gathering places would ever think that this wasn’t something she supported wholeheartedly.
It intrigued him. More than he wished, to be honest, because it kept him thinking about her. She’d asked him why he was involved, and he’d told her the truth, but now he was kicking himself for not getting her story. Why had she volunteered for this?
Damn it. He wasn’t supposed to care. He was supposed to do what he needed to do, full speed ahead, and let others either do their part or get out of his way. If they were in agreement, fine. If not, he didn’t give a rat’s ass.
Except sometimes, despite himself, he did care. And it looked as if this was one of those times.
Maybe it was just biology. When he was checking out the table, he’d had a perfect view of her as well, all efficient but still approachable in her fuzzy blue sweater and jeans. A distant corner of his mind had become fixated by that sweater. It was simple, no design, but the bits of fuzz were like iron filings to the magnetic part of his attention. Every time she laughed, every time she reached across the table to hand over a brochure, the little hairs on the sweater waved and moved with her. It was like she was a body of constantly undulating water. And he kept having thoughts of swimming.
That wasn’t good.
Between the constant talking, the relentless pulls on his attention, and the questions, he couldn’t make himself stop thinking about her; it was a relief when there came a lull and he checked his phone to see that they had only ten minutes left.
Well, mostly a relief.
“So, what have you got going for the rest of the day?”
Now why the hell had he asked that? It wasn’t as if he needed to know anything about Bree Elias’s personal life. She had her world, he had his, and even if—as his mother used to remind him—they had played together when they were two years old, that was a different time. He didn’t need to know what she was doing. Didn’t want to know, either.
Though he couldn’t deny that he kind of wondered when the sweater might be coming off. And if, when it did, it would leave behind little blue threads that would need to be plucked off her skin.
“Errands,” she said crisply. “The usual weekend runaround.”
He noticed that she didn’t ask him about his plans.
Good. As it should be. She was right to keep their interactions strictly about the task force. And the forest. And the display.
Strictly business. Exactly what he wanted. Decent of her to make it easier on both of them.
She nodded toward the foliage he’d borrowed. “Do you need a hand returning those? I should run as soon as we’re finished, but I can help you with—”
She came to a sudden stop. Her eyes widened as she stared in the direction of the door. Her hands flattened on the tabletop and she sat up so straight that he suddenly understood the whole comparison to a ramrod that people were always making.
“Shit,” she whispered.
He followed the direction of her intense stare and flinched.
Rob Elias was hotfooting it past the potatoes and onions and heading straight for them.
* * *
Bree knew all about the fight-or-flight instinct. She was well aware, in a distant sort of way, that the reason she suddenly felt as though a host of invisible cannibals were gnawing on her skin was because of the adrenaline dumping into her system at a furious rate.
But somehow, knowing and understanding had been two very divergent processes until this moment.
She didn’t want this to happen. She had known that at some point, her father would find a way to confront her when she couldn’t avoid him. She just never expected it to happen with a handful of shoppers around her, a bunch of potted plants her only camouflage, and Spencer James at her side.
Though of course it would be Spence who would witness this. Karma was a bitch that way.
Rob came to a halt in front of their display, a good couple of steps back. Close enough that Bree could hear him, far enough away that there was no chance of leaning across the table to throttle him.
“Afternoon,” Rob said. His gaze flicked toward Spence, who seemed to be soaking up everything playing out. Then Rob returned his focus to Bree.
“Good to see you, Sabrina.”
Nobody called her that anymore. Not without her permission.
“Spence,” she said, keeping her voice as even as possible, “if you can handle the next ten minutes alone, I think it best if I leave now.”
“No.”
What the— She’d expected Rob to protest. She hadn’t thought Spence would be the one to say anything.
Damn it, she was not going to beg.
“You don’t need to go anywhere,” Spence said. He didn’t move—at least not that Bree could see from the corner of her vision being devoted to him—but even without movement, he seemed to change. His posture didn’t shift, but it somehow shifted from relaxed and observant to coiled and ready in the space of a sentence.
“You’re kidding,” Rob said. “Come on, Spencer. I’m your godfather, for crying out loud.”
“You were,” Spence said. “But ‘godfather’ is an honorary title, and you know, I think that honor isn’t a word that applies to you anymore.”
Whoa. From the way Rob flinched, it seemed he hadn’t expected that one. Neither had Bree, to be honest. And even though she appreciated the chance to gather her wits, she didn’t want someone else fighting her battles for her.
“There are children in the store,” she said, “so I’m going to keep my language to a higher level than I would wish. But you can fill in the blanks with some of the handy phrases you picked up while you were in jail. Or while you were lying on a beach, letting us think you were dead.”
Rob shoved his hands into his pockets. “I made mistakes. If I could turn back time—”
“Spare me,” she said. “That line might have worked on my sisters, but I’m older. I remember. And I’m also the most stubborn. So you can believe me when I say that there is no”—she clamped her lips together and made a grunting kind of noise, one that she was pretty sure he would understand was supposed to be occupied by a choice curse—“no way that I will ever have anything to do with you. Not now. Not in the future. Not on your lonely deathbed, which can’t come soon enough, as far as I’m concerned.”
Spence jerked so hard that his knee bashed hers beneath the table. She ignored it and kept her attention on Rob.
“Twenty-some years ago, you went to great pains to convince us and the world that you were dead. Well, guess what. The feds might have caught you, but it still worked, in a way, because you are dead to me. Completely. Totally. Irredeemably.” She laughed, short and far lighter than she was feeling. “And since I don’t believe in ghosts, I guess there’s no point in your lingering. Because I have nothing else to say to you and I’m not going to hear a word you speak.” With that, she turned deliberately toward Spence, planning to ask him something—anything—to start a conversation that would shut out Rob. Out of her attention, out of her awareness, out of her existence.
Except Spence was staring at Rob. And even though Bree was certain that no one could despise her father the way she did, the loathing she saw written on Spence’s face told her that he came pretty damned close.
It knocked the words from her mouth. Spence watched Rob the way she was pretty sure a bear would watch a rabbit before raising its paw to strike.
What the hell?
“The trees,” she blurted out. “Spence. We were talking about the trees.”
He blinked as he jerked his head in her direction.
“We have to put them back where they belong,” she said, and pushed to her feet. Thank God her knees didn’t give out. She was not going to get all wobbly and give Rob an excuse to play protective daddy.
She grabbed the closest plant from the floor and hefted it into her arms, conveniently putting a wall of green between her and her father.
Of course, that also meant she couldn’t really see where she was going. Not that she could have anyway. Turns out there was some real truth to the whole blind-rage thing.
She took a couple of slow steps forward, caution and the heaviness of the plant warring with her desire to get the hell out of Dodge as fast as possible. She didn’t look back. Didn’t slow down. Just moved the leaves from the Ficus out of her vision as best as she could with her chin and made her steady way forward, putting distance between her and Rob.
So help me God, if he tries to follow me, I’m going to shove this plant in his face and—
“Bree.”
She flinched instinctively until she realized that the voice near her ear was Spence’s, not Rob’s.
“I have your bag.” His words were low and ridiculously comforting. “Don’t worry about the rest of the display. When we get out of Rob’s sight, I’ll take the plant and you can make your escape.”
“Thank you.” It came out rough, pushed as it was past the lump of—anger? Hurt? Murderous intention?—lodged in her throat. But she knew he’d heard her from the light hand on her elbow.
“Cleaning bucket,” he said, guiding her slightly to the right. She nodded her thanks and kept going. She had to. If she stopped now, the emotions would have a chance to catch her.
That could not be allowed.
Her arms were aching by the time Spence tugged on her sleeve.
“Okay,” he said. “Rob can’t see us anymore. Let me give you a hand.”
“No. It’s fine. I can do it.”
“I know you can,” he said. “But to be honest, you’re squeezing the pot so hard that you’re going to pop the damned tree out of it and onto the floor at any moment.”
It was the touch of exasperation in his voice that convinced her he was telling the truth. He wasn’t worried about her. His concern was for the poor Ficus she was on the verge of mangling.
That, she could handle.
“Fine.” She loaded the plant into his arms and took her bag. And then, because her mother had raised her right—and because she truly did appreciate him tagging along—she added, “Thanks, Spence. Really.”
“Trust me. It was my pleasure.” He scooted around a cheese cart and angled toward the floral area. “Too bad you grabbed this one, though. I think you would have loved the look on your father’s face when you marched away.”
That should have been the news she needed to turn her mood from sour to celebratory. Instead, she just felt . . . unsettled. Confused. As if she’d finally done something she’d been planning for years, and it had turned out to be—well—not what she’d expected.
Fuck that.
The exit was on the other side of the flowers, so she stayed by Spence’s side while he walked. “I didn’t hurt this, did I?”
“Nah. Ficus are pretty hardy. My bet is it goes through worse every day just from little kids clawing at it when they’re here.” He shot her a sideways glance filled with mischief. “Of course, for all I know, you’re a secret body building champ, and I might have rescued this from mortal danger.”
Something like a laugh burbled out of her. “No worries there.”
“Good. I’m sure our leafy friend here is relieved, too.” He set the pot on the ground beside some other greenery and scanned the store. His face hardened.
“You might want to make tracks,” he said in a deceptively quiet voice.
Oh shit. An adrenaline rush was all fine and good when it lasted, but it had the nasty aftereffect of leaving a body weak and slightly nauseated. She knew she could make it to her car by herself. What she didn’t know was if she could do it before Rob caught up with her.
Bree hefted her bag on her shoulder, wincing at the heavy pull, and headed for the door. She made it three steps before she felt the weight being lifted from her. Literally.
“Come on.” Spence took her elbow, none too gently this time, and propelled her toward the door. “He’s going to catch you if you don’t hustle.”
“Why don’t you stay here and distract him?”
“Because if I have to talk to him, I’ll end up shoving a Norfolk pine up his ass. Now move.”
With him half-pushing, half-pulling, she made it outside, bracing against the wall of frigid air that hit her as they exited. Crap. She’d left her coat inside.
It would have to wait.
“Where’s your car?”
She pointed toward the far corner of the parking lot.
“What the— Don’t you ever do things the easy way?”
Her sputters about getting in extra steps and easiness not being her preferred mode were cut off when he pulled keys from his pocket and clicked the remote. Lights flashed on the James Landscaping truck ahead of them.
“Hop in,” he said.
Pride had her wanting to protest, to say that she was just fine, thank you, and he could go. But thanks to the fallout from her father’s actions, Bree had developed a very practical streak at a very young age. Pride had its place, but unless she wanted to risk a second face-down with Rob—this one when she was feeling twisted inside, outside, and upside down—she would be wise to get into the pickup.
So she did.
Spence locked the doors and fired up the engine. Rob appeared in the store entry, glancing around. His gaze landed on the truck. His shoulders slumped slightly as Spence pulled away.
Holy crap. That had been too damned close.
She swallowed hard. “I, uh, owe you another thank-you.”
“Not a problem.”
Well, yeah. She was pretty sure it was. But if he was decent enough to say it, she could be decent enough to accept it.
“Mine is the red Nissan near the cart carousel.” She fished in her bag for her keys, only to realize that—oh hell—they were in her coat pocket.
“Problem,” she said as Spence slowed near her car. “My keys are in my coat. Which is probably still draped over my chair in the store.”
“Son of a—”
“Let me off at the pizza place.” She pointed. “I’ll wait there for a half hour or so. By then Rob should be gone.”
But instead of doing as she’d instructed, Spence turned out of the parking lot and onto the road.
“What the— Spence. What are you doing?”
“Putting distance between you and him.”
“You don’t have to do that. I told you, take me to the—”
“Yeah, I know what you said, Bree. Okay? But believe it or not, I don’t think you should stay around there right now.”
“He’s not going to hurt me.” At least, not physically. And he couldn’t possibly hurt her emotionally any more than he already had, so really, there was nothing to fear.
“Don’t you ever let other people help you?”
“Of course I do.” Just not him. And not like this. And not when she wasn’t ready for it.
“Good. Because I didn’t have lunch, and I’m hungry, and I don’t feel like turning around right now and leaving you alone there. So you’re coming to my place for a while.”
“I am not!”
He sighed, loud and put-upon. “You have your phone, right?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Then here’s your choices. You come with me, and I drive you back after I get something to eat. Or you call someone to come get you. Or you call the police and tell them I kidnapped you. I don’t really care which you choose.”
She pulled her phone from her pocket, ready to call Jenna. But just as she was about to put in the number, she hesitated.
Jenna was no big fan of Rob, but she had moved away from the outright hostility that had dominated her feelings about him before he came back to Calypso Falls. Bree didn’t want anything to do with the man herself, but the thing was, Jenna seemed to be—well—finding some kind of equilibrium in the relationship.
If Bree told Jenna what had happened, Jenna would be furious with Rob. Much as Bree wanted a little sisterly solidarity, she didn’t want to come between her siblings and whatever they chose to do about their father.
Paige was in Scotland. Kyrie was in Philly with her fiancé. Annie was helping in Margie’s store today, and Neenee—
No. Bree was not going to drag her mother into this.
Instead, she did a quick search, found the number for the grocery store, and called to tell them she’d left her coat, and could they please hold it at the customer service desk?
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” she said. “Thanks so much.”
As soon as the phone was back in her pocket, Spence grinned.
“Decided to take the easy way for once?”
“Not at all.” She crossed her arms against the chill seeping in through the window. “But I have a plan.”
“Does it involve having a bowl of beef stew with me?”
Now where had that come from?
Not that it didn’t appeal. But she’d relied on Spence—and let him see—too much already. Feeding her was out of the question.
Even though beef stew sounded like the ultimate indulgence on this frigid day.
“Kind of you to offer,” she said. “But I figure I’ll wait until you’re busy eating, then steal your keys and drive myself back.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You gonna bring the keys back when you’re done?”
“Where would be the fun in that?”
At that, he burst out laughing. It filled the truck cab and smoothed some of the jagged edges left by seeing Rob.
Huh. Who would have thought that Spence, of all people, would have come through for her that way?
“Thanks again,” she said, before she could talk herself out of it. “I never expected that my father would . . . anyway. I appreciate you having my back.”
“Not a problem.” He hesitated, then said, more slowly, “Is it okay to say I was a little surprised? Not that he showed up. I mean—your reaction.”
She wasn’t about to get into a long emotional discussion over this. Not with him. Her sisters, maybe, but someone else? No. “It was the first time I’ve seen him face-to-face in years.” It didn’t address his comment, really, but it said enough.
“So I take it there’s no love lost between you.” He hit his turn signal. “At least, not on your side.”
She was about to tell him that while she appreciated his help, she was pretty sure that it didn’t entitle him to go all probing counselor on her. Then she remembered the expression on his face when she caught him staring at Rob. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who didn’t carry a lot of warm fuzzies in her heart for her father.
She had no idea what Rob might have done to Spence, though given how many people Rob had hurt, she wouldn’t be surprised if there was cause. She’d been young enough when the worst of his crimes were revealed that she hadn’t wanted to know the details or the magnitude. It was one thing to know your father wasn’t dead after all. It was quite another to learn that he was a lying slimeball who screwed over everyone and everything he could.
“I was a teenager when he was on trial,” she said. “In a way, it was the worst possible time. I mean, what could be more embarrassing than seeing your father’s arrest photo splashed across every newspaper in the country?” She shook away the memory. “But on the other hand, hey. I was a teenager. Which means I was pretty self-absorbed. Sure, my father was on trial, but oh my God, did you hear what happened in bio after Sarah Nelson passed out during dissection?”
Her lapse into high school speak did the job—he laughed again. He had a good laugh, rich and warm, the kind that made a person want to pull up a chair and share in the fun.
It was definitely a laugh that was worth hearing again.
“Okay,” he said as he turned the corner. “I can see you’re not broken up over this. You’re gonna live.”
Interesting response from someone who was known far and wide for not giving a hoot about what other people thought.
“I’m a pretty loyal person,” she said. “It takes a lot to make me turn away, but when I do . . .” She clasped her hands. “I can forgive a lot. But for someone to knowingly and deliberately squander everything they’ve been given? Yeah. That doesn’t sit so well with me.”
He frowned. Like she had said something far more meaningful than she had realized. But before she could follow up on it, he slowed in front of his place.
“Here we are,” he said, and killed the engine with a jerky movement. “Let’s eat.”