Gold Digger (Unconquerable Faith #1)

1. Prologue

Prologue

Layne

3 years ago

Nothing was worse than being around a newlywed couple right after your fiancé had dumped you. Yet here I was, sitting directly in front of the bride and groom, who’d gotten hitched just this afternoon. Of course they looked at each other with heart-shaped eyes and couldn’t stop snagging kisses.

I was ready to spew dinner all over the table.

Not that I wasn’t stoked for them, I was. But the last thing my broken heart needed was over-the-top romance. I’d never been much of a romantic anyway, but Sebastian had awakened a part of me that craved being taken care of.

And then he’d proven why it was better to be independent rather than relying on anyone.

So yeah, the star-strewn sky, the soft glow coming from Chinese lanterns, and the waves rolling onto the beach of the secluded cove were all a slap in the face. The crazy thing was that I hardly knew the couple. Wentworth Grady, the groom, was a member of my brother’s Delta Force team. Since Tripp had just gotten promoted to captain, they celebrated both events together. So technically I was here for my brother, not for the couple. Yet lucky me had ended up right in front of them. At least most of Tripp’s teammates were at my table, too, telling hilarious stories from their deployments.

“Remember when Moriarty got stuck in a tree?” The guy going by the call sign “Shotgun” laughed. Blond hair curled from beneath his ball cap, his brows shaped in a perpetual frown. He had to be new, because I’d never seen him before. “He was wrapped in his chute like a burrito, hanging upside down.”

Sean Moriarty, sniper and overall kick-butt guy, smiled quietly. He was a very private man, but no doubt lethal. Those blue eyes missed nothing. Both tattoo sleeves he had were designs I had made for him a few years back.

My chest tightened. Drawing was a luxury for me these days. Ever since the government had forced me to work again, my chronic illness had taken a turn for the worse. And they hadn’t even paid me for the six weeks I had beaten my sick body into submission. The symptoms had gotten so bad that my body had shut down, and I had to stop the “reintegration.” Now I was chained to my bed for most days. There were rare exceptions, like now, that I went outside to socialize or indulge in an activity. And I always paid for it afterward with even more pain and fatigue.

“What does Top Dog’s sister do?”

Shotgun’s question and the mention of Tripp’s call sign snapped me out of my thoughts. “Huh?”

“She scales rock walls like Spiderwoman,” Wentworth answered, grinning at me. “I saw you on TV a few years back.” He let out a low whistle. “Impressive stuff.”

Shotgun eyed me. “TV?”

“Olympics, man. She’s a professional climber.”

I clawed my fingernails into the rough wood of the table, trying not to squirm under everyone’s attention. “Not anymore.”

“She’s taking a break. Ain’t that right, Holzchopf ?” Tripp bumped my shoulder with his.

“Yeah.” A break that had been lasting three years without an end in sight.

The guys moved on to another topic, but my brain couldn’t process their words anymore. I needed a break from the sensory overload.

Every cell of my body burned as I rose from my chair and slipped away from the group and past the other two tables, where family and friends of the bride and groom chatted. The crippling exhaustion that had me in a vise-like grip made me walk like a drunk trying to focus. I should have said no to Tripp’s invitation. But I hadn’t been able to. This was the first time in years he’d reached out and asked if I wanted to come to Darkwater Refuge, where his team had been relocated to from Fort Bragg for a reason he couldn’t disclose. And I had come, all the way from Switzerland, in hopes of reconnecting with him.

Which hadn’t really worked out so far, as he was either at the gym, the shooting range, or hanging out with his teammates. Not much longer, and his leave was over. Then he’d deploy again.

I dragged myself through the sand toward the small beach hut—from what I knew, it belonged to the Gradys—and found myself diverting to the kitchen. I entered—and froze.

One of the bridesmaids sat on the kitchen island with her back to me, legs wrapped around a guy standing in front of her. They were tangled in a heated kiss, her fingers gripping his hair while he explored her thigh where her golden dress had ridden up. His other hand rested on the counter next to her, holding a half-filled glass with amber liquid.

Wow, had they missed out on dinner that they were devouring each other like that?

I spun on my heel and headed out the way I’d come. Where was I supposed to go now? The restroom was an option, but I didn’t want to unnecessarily occupy it. And I couldn’t just go to the bedroom—too private. The dining room offered no seating because all chairs and tables had been moved outside, and there was no sofa.

I stumbled out the door and rounded the hut until grass tickled my bare feet in lieu of sand. The moon was bright enough that I had no issues seeing where I was headed, the chatter and laughter fading behind me. I kept going until I discovered a hammock stretched between two palm trees. Praise God.

With a deep sigh, I sank into it. Pain flared for a moment as my muscles tried to relax, then eased off. I closed my eyes. Jesus, please give me the strength to make it through this evening.

The scene I’d just witnessed in the kitchen invaded my prayer. I knew that guy. He was Keaton Grady, one of Wentworth’s older brothers. According to Tripp, he was seriously loaded. Their parents owned one of the world’s biggest whiskey companies, Lincoln Grady Distillery. That’s where my knowledge about the Gradys ended. Not that I was dying to know more. They moved in different circles than I did.

My brain buzzed along with the ruckus coming from crickets in the bushes framing the small property. Usually I loved that sound, but not tonight. Not when I was in pain, exhausted, and my head felt like it was about to catch fire. I yearned for silence.

But Tripp had driven me here, so I couldn’t go home until he did. Embarrassing as it was, I didn’t have enough money for a cab.

Probably should head back to the table before they started missing me. Or maybe nobody would notice. It seemed people kept forgetting about me ever since I had gotten myalgic encephalomyelitis three years ago. A lot of my friends had walked away. And now even Sebastian.

Swallowing hard, I dug my fingers into the loosely knotted synthetic rope of the hammock. I’d thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. Then again, I’d also thought I would continue my climbing career, but that had also gone down the drain. ME had taken everything from me. I tried not to be bitter about it because I knew it was God’s plan, and it ultimately brought me closer to Him. But some days were just brutal. And today was one of those days.

“Mind if I join?”

The deep voice made me jerk upright. Keaton leaned against the palm tree at my feet, hands buried in the pockets of his slacks. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up, and it was unbuttoned to mid-torso, revealing a toned chest.

“Er, you mean in the hammock?” I asked as I planted my feet in the grass. Just in case he was serious, and I had to flee.

“I meant back here.” His teeth glinted in the moonlight as he gave me a smug grin. “But if you insist.”

“I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate that.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“You don’t say.” Oops, had I really just said that out loud?

Keaton chuckled. “You Army?”

“No, my brother is.”

“Which one’s your brother?”

“Tripp Rhyner.”

Keaton ran a hand through his wavy black hair, leaving it even more mussed than it’d been before. “Yeah, maybe I should stop talking to you before he thinks I’m hitting on you and rips me a new one.”

Now it was me who snickered. Tripp had that impression on people. He was a tank of a man with a buzz cut and a thick beard, which only added to his intimidating intensity. Keaton looked fit, if the way his shirt stretched across his solid chest and shoulders was any indication, but I doubted he could take on a guy who was battle-hardened.

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t care.” That came out more bitter than intended, but it was true nonetheless. And that truth stung.

“Bet he does. If you’re willing to drive me to the ER or cemetery—depends on how it ends—we can give it a try.”

I laughed. The guy had a sense of humor, I had to give him that.

“What are you doing back here anyway?” he asked, thumbing over his shoulder. “Party is happening down there.”

“Needed a break. What about you?”

“Waiting on two ladies. We’re going clubbing in Glam City. Care to join?”

Glam City was the party Mecca of the island, rivaling Las Vegas with its never-ending nightlife. While Darkwater Refuge—located east of the Hawaiian Islands in the Pacific Ocean—was considered US territory, it had its own rules and laws.

“I’m good, but thanks,” I said. “I was planning on going home soon anyway.” I used to go clubbing with my sister Jasmin in our teens and early twenties, but those times were over. Now I couldn’t even sit at a table with people conversing at a normal volume.

Excited chatter drew nearer, and two women in gorgeous dresses came up from the beach. Neither of them was the one Keaton had made out with in the kitchen.

“Here you are,” the ginger said.

“Here I am.” Keaton pulled her into his right side, the other woman into his left. “What’s our first stop? Or are we going straight to my suite?”

I rolled my eyes. What a player.

“You need a lift, Rhyner?”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. “Uh, no, I’m good.”

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about. Only had two fingers of Linc.”

“It’s not that. I’m staying at Fort Vickers.” The Army base was a good fifteen miles from Glam City, and twenty from here.

“We don’t mind taking a detour, do we, ladies?”

Both women answered in the negative.

My sore body begged me to say yes. Who knew how much longer Tripp wanted to stay? And Sean was here with his Harley. I was too exhausted to cling to him for thirty minutes.

“Okay, yeah.”

That cocky smirk reappeared on Keaton’s face. “All right, let’s go.” He pointed at my feet. “Shoes?”

“Nope.” I’d left them in Tripp’s Raptor.

Keaton chuckled, then, arms still around the women, guided them down the driveway to the street. I followed at a distance, listening to them making plans for the night. Several cars were parked along the curb, and Keaton steered toward an ice-gray Porsche 911. I wasn’t too familiar with Porsches—I preferred Lambos and Bugattis—but given the GTS badge at the rear, the wide body, and the convertible roof I guessed it was a Carrera 4 GTS Cabriolet.

“Can we please let the roof down?” the ginger asked.

Keaton nodded, which elicited a squeal from the ladies. “Absolutely.”

He opened the door and folded down the passenger seat, so they could climb in the back. Looked a little tight, but they managed to squeeze inside.

Wait, that meant I had to sit next to him.

I groaned inwardly. Great.

“What do you do for a living?” Keaton asked when he pulled away from the curb. As promised, he’d let the roof down, elbow propped on the door, loose grip on the steering wheel. The Carrera’s deep, throaty rumble echoed in the warm night air.

“Suffer,” I joked. Except that I didn’t get paid for it because the Swiss government didn’t believe I was sick. Wasn’t my fault that all the lab results and countless tests had come back negative, yet they acted like I was making it all up. I’d even hired a lawyer, who hopefully could change their mind. The answer was still pending—it’d take months if not years until they decided my fate. Wasn’t sure what I’d do if they refused to grant me Disability.

“Suffer?” Keaton glanced over at me, the wind ruffling his hair.

“I’m taking a break at the moment.” My go-to answer to avoid talking about my illness. Even though millions suffered from ME all over the world, most people had never heard of it. Explaining it was complicated and draining, so I usually didn’t even try.

Thank God the ladies started bombarding Keaton with questions, drawing his attention away from me. I watched palm trees and homes fly by, then the glittering skyscrapers of Glam City. Darkwater Refuge was a small island—circumnavigating it only took four hours, although green mountains clustered the northwest and were only accessible by foot. The pristine beaches, turquoise waters, scenic routes through the lush jungle, and city vibes attracted tourists from all over the world. Even the climate was perfect. Tropical, but not too hot.

When we finally made it to Fort Vickers, I showed my base pass to the guard at the gate, and he let us in. Keaton dropped me off in front of Tripp and Sean’s place.

Relief washed over me. I couldn’t wait to curl up in bed.

I said my goodbyes and dragged myself up the drive to the door. With the last bit of energy I had left, I unlocked it and practically crawled across the threshold. Once again I’d done a horrible job with pacing. Would I ever learn to accept my limits instead of pushing them, then end up paying for it?

Just as I was about to close the door, someone stepped out of the shadows. My soul nearly left my body.

I pressed a hand over my racing heart. “Sheesh, David, you scared me.”

“Hey, Layne,” Tripp’s neighbor drawled. Booze stung my nostrils even though he stood at least four feet from me.

“Hi, David,” I replied with forced kindness. He was a nice guy, but I’d seen him leering at me from across the fence more than once. “Listen, I’m very tired—”

His hand shot forward faster than a drunk should be capable of and caught the door I’d been slowly closing on him. “How about I keep you company tonight?”

My heart rapid-fired as I braced myself against the door. “No. Tripp is coming home any minute anyway.” That was a flat-out lie, but maybe it would make David back off.

It didn’t. He shoved the door fully open and stepped inside. “Come on, girl, let’s have some fun.”

Backing away, I gripped my phone through my crossbody bag. “I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t leave me alone.”

“That’s cute.” He chuckled, then his eyes flashed as he took another aggressive step toward me. “I’m a good man, Layne—”

Hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him away from me. “She said back off!” Keaton planted himself between me and David, his broad back blocking my view.

I blinked. Where did he come from?

“Who are you?” David sounded just as confused.

“Her boyfriend. If you so much as look her way again . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” David shuffled back. “Sorry, Layne. Won’t bother you again.” Footfalls retreated out the door and down the drive.

Keaton turned to me, his blue eyes searching my face. “You okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” My hands shook, the adrenaline crowding out the pain and fatigue.

“You should lie down.” He placed a hand on my back and escorted me into the den, where I sank onto the worn, comfy sofa. Keaton took a step back, but his gaze never left me. There was not a trace of his roguish side. “When’s your brother coming home?”

“Dunno, but I’m fine. You can leave. He won’t come back.”

“Nah, I’m staying.”

My eyebrows rose. Who would’ve thought Mr. Playboy cared like that?

As much as I appreciated his gesture—I really did—I needed to rest in a dark and absolutely quiet room. His mere presence caused me physical pain, even though I had no idea how. It was just the way this illness worked.

Outside, the rumbling of an approaching motorcycle grew louder, then the garage door squeaked open. This had to be Sean. Keaton left the den, and a moment later, I heard him and Sean talking. Their voices were too low for me to make out their words, but I had no doubt Keaton was filling him in.

He returned a moment later. “Moriarty is here. I’m heading out.”

“Okay. Thank you for . . .” Stepping in? Protecting me? Wasn’t sure what to call it.

He nodded, then pulled out his wallet from his slacks. The corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk. “If you ever wanna go partying with me, hit me up.” He placed a crisp-white business card on the wooden coffee table next to me. As he leaned in, the letters KLG embroidered in the collar of his white dress shirt caught my eye. “I’ll keep you safe.”

I suppressed an eye-roll and smiled instead. “Don’t think so, but thank you.”

“Never say never.” He gave me a two-finger salute, then turned and sauntered off.

I huffed. How could the guy be a gentleman and a blowhard in the same breath? Thank God I would never have to see Keaton Grady again.