Final Mend (3 page)

He no longer believed in miracles.

“The lady doesn't want you to bother her.”

Jake straightened, clenching his fist to defend against a potential attack but relaxed when he recognized Chayton, Winona's brother. He'd researched his way into Winona's life and knew minor details, such as her brother—half-brother, really—had another half-brother and they had all been involved in bringing down a large crime family. He also knew that, until a few months ago, Chayton hadn't known he had a sister. Apparently, his protectiveness was in full swing. He looked ready to claw out Jake's eyes.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know I was bothering her.”

“She told you she wasn't interested in your proposal. So leave her alone.”

Jake shrugged, anguish knotting his spine. A direct hit of alcohol—or something far worse—was the only way to cope. He was eight years sober, but that could change in an instant. But he couldn't help Amy then. For Amy's sake, at least until all hope was gone, he had to stay strong. And he wouldn't lose hope until he knew one way or another she would never be found.

The television behind the bar flashed a picture of her and he straightened. “They're talking about my niece. Can you turn it up?”

“I thought you said she was your cousin's daughter.” Winona's eyes flashed accusation, distrust weighting her words.

“She is. She's also my goddaughter. But Brandon was like a brother to me, so it's hard for me to refer to Amy as my cousin when they were both so much more.”

Winona turned to the television, but after hearing Amy hadn't been found, Jake stopped listening. It only reinforced his rage.

“You okay?” Winona asked, her voice growing soft, like she actually cared about his problems. Her mock concern reminded him of Lillian, and hatred governed any other feelings, including the attraction he felt when he first saw her.

She didn't give a damn about his problems, and she wasn't going to help. From what he'd heard, she'd been a damn good PI with instinctive tracking skills. He wondered why she'd turned her back on her abilities. Maybe she didn't have a drinking problem, but she might as well be living the life of an alcoholic the way she'd given up everything she was good at and turned her back on her life, her calling.

He didn't care anymore. What was the point? All the good living, hard work, and honest labor. All the staying on track and not backsliding. Where had it gotten him?

“Give me a double shot of whiskey and a Miller on the side.”

• • •

“Do you know who that is?” Chayton asked Winona once they'd made it out of Jake's hearing range and into the office behind the bar.

“No. Some guy wanting me to help him hunt for his missing seven-year-old cousin.”

“That's Jake Inman. Semi-famous. He's a triathlete and has competed in several triathlons across the globe. He does dirt bike racing and four-wheeling professionally. And he's done a few commercials, too.”

“La-di-da.” Winona knew he looked like an athlete, but she wasn't impressed by any commercials or awards he'd won. Chayton, who loved dirt bike racing, would probably befriend him just because they shared a hobby. She hoped Jake didn't plan on sticking around for long.

“His cousin was killed a few days ago. It's been all over the news and all over the paper. There's been a manhunt for the cousin's daughter ever since, but so far they have no leads. Jake's been pretty vocal about them looking at the mother, but the cops don't consider her a suspect.”

“That's terrible.” Winona truly meant it. She did feel terrible about his situation, but she couldn't help him.

“He's always seemed like a respectable guy, but let me know if he keeps giving you trouble.”

“Okay, I will.”

“I'm out of here,” Chayton said, undoubtedly ready to get back to Naomi.

“I'm gone, too.” But first she would give Jake some contacts for trackers and PIs who might be able to help him. She could do at least that much.

When she came out of the office, she learned Jake had left the bar. She headed home and spent the next few hours on the Internet, researching him and his family. His parents were dead, the cousin who died had been his manager and a huge supporter of his career, and it appeared Jake loved the spotlight. His athletic abilities made her wish he'd visited for any other reason than hiring her to investigate a crime, because—well, because his attraction factor zinged well past the triple digits. Seeing videos and pictures of him on his bike, swimming, and running would give her enough fodder for the next decade of sexy dreams.

She scrolled across another article and stopped, her blood running cold. He was a reformed alcoholic and talked openly about it, claiming to hope to help others with the problem. But she'd served him alcohol. She hadn't witnessed him drink the whiskey or beer, but the drinks were gone when she came out. She wasn't going to call Simone to find out, but she knew the dangers and feared his self-destruction.

She called the two hotels and Abby's Bed and Breakfast, where she had stayed when she first came to Tanyon. She found him at Abby's, which was nice because they all knew her. The clerk told her Jake's room number without transferring her. She didn't want to talk to him on the phone. She could call the press, let everyone know of his presence here, but she wasn't that kind of person. Didn't mean someone else who recognized him wouldn't be that kind of person.

The poor man obviously needed help. He grieved his cousin, a child, and the loss of everything he'd known. And she'd given him the cold shoulder.

She usually hiked in the evenings, so she decided to walk to Abby's and pay him a visit. A cool breeze stirred the trees. Red and purple dusted the horizon as the sun ducked behind the mountains and shattered the darkness with alpenglow. Winona valued the exercise, and the town was safe and light enough to not fear walking home in the dark.

Hopefully, she wouldn't be at Jake's long.

Her heart pounded as she lumbered up the stairs to the second floor. Visiting a stranger in his room might not be a good idea no matter how cute he was. She'd ask him to come out; they could talk in the lobby. Private enough and safe. She should at least let Naomi know where she was going just in case. But Naomi would tell Chayton and Chayton would get angry and she'd have to explain what she was thinking and then she'd be lectured, like she didn't know how to take care of herself. Like she hadn't taken care of herself most her life. And Chayton would get angry because he would feel guilty about not being around to take care of her, even though it wasn't his fault he hadn't known Winona even existed until eight months ago.

For those reasons, she decided to keep this little trip a secret.

• • •

Jake sat in the chair in his room at the far side of the two full beds, one lamp burning. The room resembled a coffin—small, dark, and closing in on him—smothering his chances to make it out of this with a positive attitude. His chest tightened as he tried to take deep, cleansing breaths. Ghostly cravings clenched his gut. His body ached, his nerves longed for a drink. Nausea burned within him as his hunger remained unquenched.

Hunger. Thirst did not attend his craving. Only hunger for the piece of heaven alcohol would provide. But that heaven was a temporary flight to hell. He had to remember that.

He'd ordered a double shot of whiskey and a beer, but he'd stared at them a few minutes before throwing down a fifty-dollar bill and marching out of there before he changed his mind.

He stood, shoving the brochures decorating the table to the floor. He paced, back and forth, back and forth. Usually when he felt this way, he would cook. He'd cooked so much over the years he'd become a legend at the nursing homes and churches in his hometown. They knew he wasn't a crazy psycho and had accepted his food with gratitude. He was no gourmet chef, but the meals he cooked were time-consuming and intensive, the food's aroma like a drug that healed him of his cravings.

But this B&B had no kitchen. He didn't think any of the rooms in this town had kitchens because he'd checked. Obviously the town didn't expect visitors to cook their own meals, though some of them offered backyard grills to share.

If he couldn't drink or cook, he'd exercise. Surely Tanyon had a gym, and he knew this B&B had a swimming pool. It was one of the reasons he'd chosen it. The water would cleanse him of all craving, all regret. That is, until he came back to the room. But maybe, maybe he could swim the temptation out of him.

He was in the middle of changing his clothes when someone knocked on the door. He peeked out the door and his breath shot out of him when he saw Winona.

What was she doing here?

Not bothering to put on a shirt, he opened the door and stood, unspeaking. She didn't speak either, just waited. For what, he didn't know. For his first words? For him to step aside and let her enter?

“Hi,” she finally said, her voice soft and shy, as if second-guessing her visit.

“What do you want?”

• • •

Jake wore no shirt when he opened the door. Winona hesitated, trying to process her thoughts. His chest was striated and ribbed along the lines of his stomach, dipping under distressed jeans that defined his body in perfect muscular proportions. It made her feel totally loopy.

“What do you want?” he asked, no doubt irritated with her lack of composure. Or maybe he was used to it and got a kick out of affecting women this way. Why else would he answer the door without a shirt? No doubt he'd known she waiting on the other side. He probably meant to put her ill at ease.

She unfurled the paper she'd stuck in her pocket with numbers of private investigators she knew and admired. “I wanted to give you these numbers.”

His biceps bulged as he perched one arm along the door frame, not opening it wider, not accepting the paper she extended him. His face was a mask, but his nod at her list of names bred arrogance. “What's that?”

His attitude turned on him, on her lustful emotions, sweeping her with rebellion. Attraction didn't matter when he was a jerk.

“A few PIs who might can help you. I know them all and recommend any one of them.”

“Thanks.” His deep and raspy voice belied his words. His sapphire-soaked eyes were bright and focused, deep and demanding and almost painful to look at for long. Her heart stuttered. His breath didn't smell like alcohol. She wondered if he'd managed to withhold from drinking.

As far as she was concerned, this conversation was over. But she hadn't come here to start a fight or make him feel any worse than he was already feeling. She knew he was hurting. His cousin had been a huge part of his life, but she couldn't help him. The little girl's life was better left in the hands of law enforcement, and Winona could do nothing to bring back his cousin. She didn't want to be a patsy for his resentment when he finally faced facts.

Before she could leave, he commandeered the paper, frowned at it, then waved it in her face. “I've already talked to this guy, Jeremy Dunn. And this one, Nathan Denton. They weren't interested and they both recommended you.”

Too bad, they were the best ones out of the four she'd given him. But they also knew she no longer investigated cases. She'd have to call and double check. The last thing she needed was for them to recommend surly people desperate for a miracle she couldn't give. Like finding a little girl.

“They know I'm retired.”

“Apparently they don't think you should be. They both said if I wanted to find Amy, you were my best bet.”

• • •

Winona stood in the hallway, her back stiff and eyes darkening into the color of his worst nightmare that roared into a rum-induced fog. This woman looked too pretty to be a PI. Her alabaster skin held a smooth, golden hue and a spattering of freckles across her nose.

The last thing he needed to do was crush on a woman who couldn't or wouldn't help him.

He clenched his jaw. She blinked her eyes, but nothing flirtatious. He gripped the door with one hand, the paper of names in his other. He wouldn't dare turn away. Maybe he could change her mind and have her help him. If it weren't for her solid reputation, he would have considered her a lost cause.

“I assure you I'm not your best bet.”

He believed she spoke the truth as she saw it. Disgust welled in his limbs. Like the need for a drink that left him drowning in the lies that if he'd just have one more, the nausea would subside. Resentment rang in his ears, edging along his spine and spewing into his stomach with a bitter aftertaste. Resentment because attraction trolled his mind, trying to convince him that the only thing that mattered right now was getting this woman in this room, in his bed.

The last thing he should be thinking.

“I can pay you above and beyond your normal expenses,” he said, his throat tighter than he would have liked. “More than you could possibly imagine.”

Her lips curled in a smirk and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Money means nothing to me.”

He repositioned the arm that had been propped against the door to his side, resting his shoulder against the doorjamb. Fire buzzed through him when he noticed her eyes trailing his chest.

He swept his arm behind him to the room. “Do you want to come in?”

She jerked her eyes up. He hadn't meant to sound so suggestive. He had no intention of sleeping with her, but he appreciated her blush and the way her eyes wavered back and forth from him to the door, as if she didn't know where to look now.

“I'm sorry I can't help you,” she said, ignoring his challenge. “I urge you to try the names again. Maybe there's someone on the list who can help.”

“You don't think I've been through everyone?”

She shook her head. “Maybe you haven't been as thorough with them as you have with me.”