Secret surrender, p.6
Secret Surrender, page 6
Maureen turned and waved for him to follow. “Perfect. My back’s not all that good anymore, and I don’t mind the idea of watching those muscles of yours getting down to work.”
She looked over her shoulder and gave him a cheeky wink, even though she outranked him by about thirty years. Still, he laughed, age having apparently not dimmed her enthusiasm for harmless flirting.
“Frank told me you’re taking the Rudger’s place, is that true?” She pushed aside a clear plastic curtain leading to a cold and dark storeroom with a musty-cool smell.
He bobbed down and lifted the first of four giant cardboard boxes. “Yep. The place is only a few years old, and as you can see, I don’t have all that much stuff. So, I’ll have room to spare.”
Maureen led him down the rows of chest-height shelves that looked about twenty years old and out toward the street-facing exit. “Betcha didn’t have all that much space back where you’re from.”
He shook his head, being careful not to trip as he stepped across the threshold and onto the sidewalk where a spring midday sun beat down on his face. “Just a pokey old apartment.”
“I guess that’s one advantage to moving to the sticks, yah?” She trailed behind him, probably because she didn’t know which car on the main street was his. “The Rudger’s is one lovely double-story brick. Large rooms, big yard, and Compton Drive is close to town. You did well.”
That he had, and at a third of the price of his apartment, which only convinced him further he should have ditched LA long ago.
“What do you plan to do with yourself in Harlow?” Maureen’s question caught him just as he bent to place the box on the ground.
He straightened, digging through his pocket for his keys. “I have a bit of money to tide me over for a while and figured I’d do odd jobs until I line up something more permanent.”
In all his years working for Luciano, he’d never spent more than he needed. He didn’t expect that to change now that he’d moved, either.
“Betcha get lots of offers.” Maureen beamed a mischievous smile. “But I’ll put the word out and pin a flyer up on the store’s notice board about you looking for work, okay?”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” He popped the trunk of his black Cherokee.
The last time he’d come to the store, Maureen had rattled off a list of local single women she figured he should go out with. The woman wasn’t half subtle, but she was well meaning enough, and he’d take her help to find work over finding him a woman.
Or maybe I’ve just stupidly figured I’ve found the one I want…
Yes, stupid, because his last encounter with Sarah had gone so well, and she’d been undeniably happy to see him again…
He shoved his moving box into his car’s trunk. Too late now. He’d committed to Harlow and wasn’t about give in so easily. Not to Luciano. Not to Sarah. Three lines of scribbled and jagged penmanship peered up at him from on top of the box, yet another omen about not giving up.
Adrian Ramos. The one person who hadn’t given up on Dean. Not when everyone else ran in all directions away from him. The one person to believe in his innocence when everyone had branded him a deadbeat sergeant. Dean trusted Adrian with his life. Enough to have him collect these few belongings before news of the Stucco disaster reached the syndicate, and they started watching his apartment.
“Word is”—Maureen’s voice pulled him from the black memory—“you’ve already found your way to Maynard’s.”
“Word travels fast.” He slammed the trunk closed, perhaps to distract from the heaviness in his tone, set to get on with what was starting to feel like a fruitless task.
Maureen laughed and guided him back to the store. “Harlow is the worst place in America to keep a secret, don’t cha know? Ally Egan has taken a real liking to you, too. She’s another singleton you should consider.”
“Maureen…” He tried not to growl the warning.
“Oh. Okay. Okay.” She waved a hand at him, her eyes still bright. “I’ll stop.”
They walked in easy silence, his thoughts falling on Maureen’s comment about Harlow being a bad place to keep a secret. Well, he’d spent his entire adult life keeping and uncovering secrets, become an expert on that very thing, and he didn’t welcome anyone here figuring his out.
Even with Anthony Stucco’s death hitting national headlines, Dean had always been careful not to link himself with the syndicate’s dealings. He would have his clean break, or take the whole damn operation down with him.
Back in the storeroom, he picked up the second box, the service bell sounding with a high-pitched ding across the store.
Maureen looked over her shoulder. “I’ll go see who’s at the counter.”
The older woman hobbled away, her years of back issues apparent in her stride.
“Hey, Maureen.” A woman’s voice cut through to the storeroom and a light tingle traversed up his spine, that clear and direct tone unmistakable. “The heat’s really climbing outside. Could I get a refill on my water bottle?”
Dean struggled to hide a deadly-as-sin smirk as he ventured through the plastic curtain and out into the store, a moving box in hand. Sarah’s calm gaze darkened.
“Hello, Sarah.” He kept his voice bright, even though the tense look on her face brought a dull pain to his chest.
“Hi,” she mumbled, quick to divert her attention to Maureen.
“Oh, how wonderful.” Maureen directed a cheery grin at Sarah and then him, before swiping a see-through blue water bottle from Sarah’s hand. “You two have met.”
Sarah shook her head. “Not really. Just—”
“Oh, yeah, we’ve met.” He made a show of looking her over in her fuchsia-pink running shorts and white tank top, her brows pinching together, suggesting that if she got anymore pissed at him her brows might snap and fall off completely. “Sarah was quick to welcome me to Harlow.”
He broadened his grin, perhaps his attempt at testing his theory about her brows, even though right now the memory of her “welcome” took up fast real estate in his brain.
Maureen slipped past him and into the storeroom with Sarah’s bottle in her hand, the sound of running water overlapping her next words. “Sarah here is the manager over at Maynard’s, don’t cha know? She’s a natural at making our newcomers feel welcome.”
He held Sarah’s glare, and his lip wobbled, even as he chimed in with another golden opportunity to take a dig at her. “Her personal approach is impressive.”
He bit the insides of his cheeks and curled his fingers hard around the corners of the box in his hands, trying hard not to drop it while he fought for composure. If she insisted on the frosty greeting, much less denying she even knew him, then she’d get ten times the frostiness she gave.
Her face turned red, and she leaned over the counter toward him. Maybe her brows wouldn’t fall off after all. Maybe her head would outright explode.
“Stop it.” She hissed through gritted teeth.
He shrugged and whispered back, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She turned to look over her shoulder, as if worried someone else might have entered the store and would hear what she had to say. “First your intrusion at the bar, and now this? Why are you trying to ruin my life?”
“No one noticed anything at Maynard’s and same goes for here.” He kept his whispered tone, at least giving her that. “I’d be happy to call a truce if you’d just stop being so unfriendly.”
His gaze dipped from her hypnotizing amber eyes, to her defined collarbone, and down to the soft line of cleavage peeking from her low neck-line. He’d never enjoyed looking at a woman this much. Even if she was set on being perpetually pissed at him. She was majestic and magnificent, in spite of having sweated it out in the midday heat.
“My eyes are up here.” She pointed to her face before jutting her chin toward the box in front of him. “So, you’re staying now?”
He didn’t need to answer for the strain on her face to grow, which only served to open a hollow in his stomach, leaving him somewhat gutted and deflated.
She really can’t stand living in the same town as me, can she?
He stared down at his box with yet more of Ramos’s writing scribbled atop it, unable understand why his staying annoyed her so much.
“I don’t know how you do it, Sarah.” Maureen burst back into the conversation, the clutter of plastic strips smacking in her wake. She slid the water bottle across the counter to Sarah, while addressing Dean. “Running full-pelt in this sweltering heat. It must take her close to an hour to cross the distance between her place and town. She runs most days too, you know. Always been Harlow’s sporty lil’ miss.”
“Yeah, well…” Sarah’s voice turned gruff, her glare flicking back to Dean. “Running keeps my stress levels down.”
She swiped the water bottle from Maureen’s hands and turned for the exit. Maureen gave Dean a heartened smile. “Poor girl’s had a rough life.”
Sarah stopped in her tracks, her ponytail swishing as she swung around, her unguarded and wide-eyed stare hitting Maureen. “Could you not—”
“Your hard work shows,” Dean cut in.
The sudden ashen tone to Sarah’s skin, her frozen stance—Maureen had clearly struck a sore spot—and he wanted to stop any potential further pain for Sarah, while halting the chance of an argument breaking out. Besides, he had no desire to pry into anything she didn’t want to talk about, especially since he knew all about “rough lives”.
Then again, he wasn’t a total saint either, so he added, “I like running too. Maybe you’ll invite me along one day?”
Her lips pursed and her habitual glare—at least where he was concerned—returned, before she slowly mouthed the word, “No.”
Box still in hand, he lifted his elbow and turned his head to his arm, giving a fake cough. Fake because he wanted to cover his laugh.
Maureen wandered over, ending his coughing fit with a squeeze of his bicep. “Dean’s hard work shows too, see? What do you say, Sarah?”
Sarah merely growled and turned on her heel. “I’m late for work.”
Maureen squeezed Dean’s bicep again before giving it a prolonged stroke, her gray eyes twinkling up at him with zero qualms about copping another feel. “Sarah’s ex-fiancé was the one injured in that shooting the other day. She let him go so he could be with Miss Emilia. Before that, well, let’s just say she’s not always been so gruff.”
Eleven
The next day, Sarah ran her usual route back from town, her water bottle strapped to the runner’s belt around her waist, and her headphones plugged in. She rounded a corner into Compton Drive and let her usual exercise-induced daydreams take over. Sweet nothings filled her brain. Well, nothing but her running playlist and her feet pounding the pavement in time with the music. All until something hard nudged her shoulder, and she jolted, nearly tripping over.
“Hey! What gives?” She ripped her headphones out and glared to her left, almost tripping once again at the giant schmuck smiling beside her.
She stopped, instantly regretting the choice once it filtered through to her that the schmuck in question was Dean.
I should keep running. Just keep running!
So, she jammed her headphones back in and picked up pace again.
Except her music wasn’t enough to drown out his heavy footfall on the sidewalk behind her or the muffled sound of him calling, “Mind if I join you?”
His longer stride made catching up to her easy, and she gritted her teeth, ignoring him. Not only did he have a frustrating habit of popping up just to bother her, but now he wanted to intrude on the one activity that brought her peace?
She peered down at his black sneakers and dark blue running shorts. He’d seen her running yesterday and planned on this ambush today. “Do I have a choice? You’re already joining me.” She pulled one headphone out to the heightened sound of his hard breaths.
“You always have a choice.”
She stopped running and planted her hands on her hips, trying to hold herself perfectly upright despite her own panting. “So you’re not following me, then?”
He stopped too and shrugged. “Fine, I did follow you, but only today. Those other times we met you came across me.”
She scoffed, ignoring the rush of blood that came with realizing he’d plotted to meet her, much less how she didn’t completely hate the idea. “So, it’s my fault you hover in the same places I frequent?”
One corner of his lip quirked, and his shoulders relaxed some. “I’m not hovering. You approached me back at the bar. And at the grocery store, I was there first, remember? And let’s also not forget you’re the one who merrily face-planted into me at the soiree.”
She drummed her fingers on her hip and struggled for purchase over her argument.
He said he was leaving, and then he didn’t. He also never promised to leave Ally alone…
Exactly. Besides all that, she had her own mess to deal with, her parent’s disastrous marriage setting the tone for her own broken engagement, and the oh-so-justified vow to stay single forever… “So, there’s nothing behind those suggestive looks you keep giving me?”
His dangerously full lips spread wider into another suggestive look. One that made her want to sigh with the memory of just how sexy this man could be, whilst wanting to resume her run just so she could leave him in her dust.
“I never said that. There’s definitely something behind those.”
Her heart squeezed. “What about all your double meanings? Like yesterday when you told Maureen about my personal approach to welcoming you?”
His chest trembled a little, like he held onto a genuine laugh, but then he stepped a little closer, and for a moment there, she lost her breath. “Sure, those too. But I’m more than happy to stop suggesting and outright tell you what I want.”
“Oh, no. No. No. No.” She turned on her heel, his proximity and honesty too much and maybe a touch too tempting.
He lied. He lied. And even if he didn’t, he will, or he’ll do something to hurt me…
Her muscles ached, therefore making her steps rigid. Doubt tugged her in the opposite direction, her mind still caught on him, even as she ran away.
She’d promised herself one night with this man. That’s it. Anything more would inadvertently plunge her into what she’d promised she’d do anything to avoid. Another relationship. Or at least, another chance at being humiliated. At having her heart broken.
What’s wrong with being alone? I like being alone. Why is loneliness something everyone in this town always wants to fix?
A heavy hand grabbed her arm and spun her around. Dean’s stare scanned her face, his lids narrowed, and his brow flexed in an analytical scowl. “You weren’t so abrasive with me that first night, and I know you’re not like this with everyone else in Harlow. What’s changed?”
“I’m not—” The burgeoning lie died on her tongue. In truth, he was at least a little bit right.
“You’re different.” His voice hushed, somehow lending an uncanny intimacy to what was a roadside talk in broad daylight. “Colder.”
She moved to shake him off, but his hand didn’t budge. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Good one, play dumb. He won’t see right through that.
His expression softened by another degree, and he drew in even closer, the scent of clean skin and woodsy spice melting something deep within her. “Is my staying really that much of a problem for you?”
“I just…” She released an exasperated sigh and allowed the strain in her stiff shoulders to go.
As if he sensed her willingness to explain, he took his hand off her, giving her the distance she needed.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She blinked down at her hands. Even his interrupting her run wasn’t reason enough to drop her manners. Something he correctly pointed out she did a lot around him. “I know I’m being unfair, but having been in Harlow for all of five minutes, I’m sure you’ve heard my plate’s full without having you looming over my shoulder.”
He took a drawn breath, his broad chest becoming a whole lot broader. “You mean the stuff with your ex?”
She scoffed, even though she was a little thrown that he already knew about Blaine. A car zoomed past, the dinged light blue one that belonged to Mrs. Byrne, who lived just down the road from Sarah.
She wondered whether this encounter would gain top billing in the Harlow rumor mill by evening. “If by ‘stuff’ you mean my ex-fiancé leaving me for someone else and then getting himself shot—then yeah, that would be one reason.”
Two lines scored the space between his brows, forming a frown. “Can’t be easy being on the outside of that.”
She pulled away, jamming one headphone back into her ear, having expected him to give her hell about her misfortune, and somewhat disappointed that he didn’t. “I should keep running.”
“You regret sleeping with me.”
Though she already had her back to him, his direct tone had her stopping in her tracks. His statement ignored her one about wanting to leave. Still, it cut to the core of something she hadn’t yet decided on.
Do I regret sleeping with him?
Her body warmed at the memory of the night. That he didn’t make a secret of wanting her again. That she wanted him too. But again, she didn’t know.
Taking Dean home with her had been one of her wildest decisions and felt like one of her most pointless. Had she been longing for a distraction? Yes, and he’d given her one. At least before her plan for distraction got shot to literal pieces. Would she gain much from inviting Dean back into her life? No, just the opposite.
Once was enough. More than that would inch her closer to disaster.
She turned back to him and released an audible sigh. “I’m not having a heart-to-heart with you about my ex, okay?”
“Then what will you have a heart-to-heart with me over?” The lines between his brow smoothed out, and his eyes seemed to take on new light, as though even with the weight of his question, he sought to lighten her mood.
