Authors: Laurie London
Olivia wasn’t surprised. “Don’t be sorry. I completely understand. I’d do the same thing, I’m sure.”
“It means you’ll be out of a job, though, and I feel terrible.” Sandy’s black dress had an empire waist, cap sleeves, and decorative stitching around the simple scoop neckline. It was the kind of dress that should’ve been worn to the opera or symphony, not to a husband’s funeral.
The lump in her throat was painful now. Olivia wanted to tell her she’d already found another job, but since this was the first time she’d heard the store wasn’t reopening, she didn’t want Sandy to think she’d gone out instantly after the explosion and looked for work.
She was touched by the woman’s selfless concern at a time when she’d lost so much. “Please don’t worry. I’ll be just fine.”
“Even if everything gets rebuilt, I just can’t bear to keep it open. It was Marco’s dream. I know nothing about wine. God, he loved that place.”
Olivia thought about the time he’d spent polishing that imported wine rack. He’d been so proud of it. “Yeah, he sure did.”
“Oh,” Sandy said, putting a hand up to her forehead. “I almost forgot. Your uncle came by asking about you.”
“My…my uncle?” She didn’t have an uncle.
“He said you hadn’t called in after the explosion and that the family was worried about you. He wanted to know if I knew where you were or where he could find you.”
Oh my God. David?
Had he found her? But she’d been so careful. Or maybe the man had stopped at the wrong business, which would be easy to do with all the chaos. Given that all the storefronts on Fifth Avenue had been blown out and most of the signage gone, one business was probably indistinguishable from the next. Maybe he thought he was at the card and souvenir shop next door. Or the map store. Or the quirky place down the street that sold organic hemp-blend fragrances.
“It’s fine,” Olivia said quickly, not wanting to burden Sandy with such a mundane issue. It was the last thing the woman needed to be concerned about. “I talked to my mom and she knows I’m okay.”
She became aware of Asher’s hand on her shoulder. Yes, it was time to go. She didn’t need to monopolize any more of Sandy’s time.
“You’ve got to understand,” the woman said. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I couldn’t remember where you lived even though I handle the books.”
Olivia didn’t understand. Why was she so distraught? Maybe little things turned into big things when one’s husband suddenly died.
“I told him I didn’t have your contact info. All that information was at the store, if it hadn’t been destroyed in the explosion.”
“Wait,” Asher said, speaking for the first time. “This man…he came to your
house
asking about Olivia? Not to the wine shop?”
Sandy shook her head furiously and held up her hands like a barricade. “I haven’t been there. I don’t think I can bear to set foot near where…” She began to cry and her father put his arm around her.
“I think it’s time to go,” he said.
“Okay, Daddy, hold on.” Sandy wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Yes, he came to the house.”
Her father shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. “He actually wanted my daughter to go through Marco’s things looking for it.”
“I only found your number when I was planning…this.”
Olivia felt as if someone had just punched her in the gut. All the air disappeared from her lungs and she could hardly breathe. Why would a man claiming to be her uncle come to Marco and Sandy’s house looking for her? How would he even know where they lived?
“He didn’t leave his name?” Olivia asked, her voice thin and reedy.
Confused, Sandy blinked. “His name? No. He just said he was your uncle.”
“She’s got several uncles.” Asher’s sidelong glance told Olivia to just go with it.
“Then it’s got to be my Uncle Ray,” she blurted out. “He used to be in the army and hasn’t been the same after the accident. So sorry he came to you at such a difficult time.” She was surprised at how easily the lies always came.
“That makes sense, then,” Sandy said, shaking her head slowly. “All those terrible scars.”
* * *
“Maybe you should back off,” Rand said after Asher told him about what had happened at the funeral. “Remove yourself from her life.”
The fact that a man with facial scars was looking for Olivia could mean only one thing. It had to be the same man they called the Fixer, the one the army used to track Iron Guild warriors on this side of the portal. The one who had killed Fallon.
Inside the Grape and Bean, the guy from AIU had almost implied that Asher could’ve been the one who set the bomb. They probably checked him out, discovered he wasn’t who he claimed to be, and now they had their suspect. The army just needed the Fixer to find him.
And one of the ways they would try to find him was through Olivia because they’d been seen together.
“There’s nothing to break off,” Asher said. “We agreed beforehand that this was a one-week proposition. Nothing more.”
Rand grabbed a wrench and reached back under the hood of the car. “You’re falling for her and you know it.”
“That’s bullshit.” He was lying through his teeth, but there was no way in hell he’d admit that to anyone.
“So you don’t have feelings for her?”
“I enjoy her company, sure, but there’s nothing special between us.” He leaned against the workbench and ran a hand through his hair. He wished that were true, and maybe if he said it enough, he’d believe it. “We’re fucking. That’s it. End of story.”
“Yeah, like newlyweds,” Rand mumbled. He straightened and pointed the wrench at him. “When have you ever brought anyone back here with you? Hold on. Let me answer that. Hmmm. Let’s see. That would be…never.”
“That’s because—”
“That’s because where you’re from, you only invite a woman to move in with you when it’s serious. I know all about your betrothal customs, so don’t try to bullshit me. It’s ingrained in your subconscious. You wouldn’t have brought her here if there wasn’t something pretty fucking special going on.”
Asher was taken aback. He hadn’t thought about that before, but Rand was right. In Cascadia, when a man invited a woman into his home to share his bed, it was often seen as a betrothal. Hell, he hadn’t even done that with Jenny. They’d always gone to her place. “I hardly knew her when I brought her here. How can there be something special going on when you barely know the person?”
The guy shrugged. “How the hell should I know? But facts are facts. Listen. I don’t mean to be an asshole here. It’s your life, but I want to make sure you do the right thing and not—”
“I don’t need you to remind me what happened to Jenny,” Asher said, gripping the edge of the workbench with white knuckles.
“Well, you’re sure not acting like it.”
“Good thing I’m leaving soon, then.”
Rand grabbed another tool and ducked back under the hood. “For how long?”
“I don’t know. Long enough for my trail to go cold over here.”
“That’s good.” Rand straightened and grabbed a rag to wipe his hands. “Because I’ve offered to let her stay in the RV until she can find a place over here. Depending on how long you’re gone this time, Mel could be back by then and Olivia will have found a new job. I’ll have James help move her things from her apartment.”
“James?” Asher jerked his head up and slanted a glance toward the body shop entrance. The guy was too bloody unstable to be spending all that time alone with Olivia.
“Got a problem with that?” Rand asked carefully.
The guy was always defending his cousin, but Asher didn’t care. He didn’t want Olivia alone with him. No fucking way.
“Yeah, I do. The guy’s a fucking mess. I’ll help her move and then I’ll leave. Just keep him away from her.”
Chapter Seventeen
Olivia’s apartment was located on the second floor of a three-story building that contained five other units. All of them had outside entrances and were accessed by a single, enclosed stairway in the center. Despite the fact that the man who lived across the hall was gone because he worked nights and the elderly couple below were heavy sleepers, Asher was still on edge.
“I don’t like this,” he said from the open doorway. “We shouldn’t have come.”
He cast a wary glance at the dark stairway they’d just climbed, uneasy that he couldn’t see the road from here. This was the only way out of her apartment, unless you counted jumping off the balcony as a viable exit. If the army blokes drove up, they wouldn’t see them until it was too late and they’d be trapped inside.
Olivia frowned at him as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “What did you expect? That I was going to simply stuff some clothes into a bag and grab a few things, while you waited by the door?”
“Yeah.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I did.”
“I came here to pack up my stuff. All of it. I can’t just abandon my apartment and leave everything. I don’t have a ton, but what I do have, I love.”
He considered invoking Rule Number One so that she’d have to do what he told her, but when he saw the determined glint in her eye, he changed his mind. That was a game. This was the real thing, and he’d like to keep his balls intact.
He looked around the neat but lived-in apartment. In the center of the living room was a comfortable-looking sofa and a square coffee table with a distressed, whiskey-colored leather top. Various pictures hung on the walls—black and white vintage photographs and charcoal drawings in matching black frames. She didn’t appear to have a television. She didn’t have a dining room table, either, just three barstools tucked under the kitchen counter. That must be where she ate.
A few dishes were stacked neatly in the sink, probably the remnants of her last meal before she’d driven her car in to work on the day of the explosion. He noticed there were two identical cups and plates. Had she had company? Maybe she’d had a girlfriend over for dinner. Or the guy across the hall. Or maybe it was two meals’ worth of dishes for only one person.
Was Olivia a loner? When you were always on the run and looking over your shoulder, your lifestyle wasn’t exactly conducive to building friendships.
Her place had a comfortable vibe that he could easily get used to. If things were different and they weren’t caught in the middle of a deadly war, he could imagine curling up on the sofa, his head in her lap as she read a book to him. A science-fiction story about alien battles on faraway planets. Or maybe an epic fantasy with dragons.
“Possessions can be replaced, Liv. You can’t. No wasting time packing things perfectly. Throw what you need into these boxes and we’ll get the hell out of here.”
Her expression softened considerably, but the hard set of her jaw still remained. She set her messenger bag on the kitchen counter and strode toward him. “If they are looking for me, wouldn’t it be better if they found an empty apartment? They’d assume I moved out as a result of having no job after the explosion destroyed where I worked. If my things are still here, it’ll look as though I left in a panic, which would confirm their suspicions that I’ve got something to hide.”
Asher pressed his lips into a firm line. She had a point. “Just hurry up, okay?”
She finished taping up the bottom of one cardboard box, handed it to him, and started assembling another.
“It won’t take me long to pack up the bedroom and bathroom, if you want to do the kitchen. Don’t worry about the dishes and glasses—I’ll do those—but everything else is fair game.”
Reluctantly, he let the outside door shut behind him and he got to work. Conry was stationed at the bottom of the stairs outside to alert them if something was wrong. He hoped that was enough.
Olivia was right. It didn’t take her long to pack. After carrying the boxes out to the van, they starting packing up the living room.
Asher wrapped her collection of candles. They smelled like the herbal oil she used in the bath. He wondered if her mother had made them.
“It drives my mother crazy that I don’t put down any roots,” she said, as if she knew what he’d been thinking. “But at least she understands.”
“How often do you see her?”
“Every few months, I guess. But I call her a lot. When I visit, I go at night, so that none of her neighbors know. A few years ago, when I went off the radar and stopped reporting to the army once a year for testing, they questioned all the people on her street and asked if they’d seen me recently. God knows they got nothing out of my mother.”
“Is this your dad and brother?” he asked, picking up a framed photograph from the coffee table.