8. Val
EIGHT
VAL
I scanned the room over the rim of my glass. The fizzy liquid mirrored my jittery nerves as I watched the rest of my housemates. To the untrained eye, it looked as though family and friends had come together for a casual Sunday meal.
For me, however, the differences among people were astounding.
Clear as day, six people were guests at the ranch.
Criminals. I was fascinated by accents as a kid, when I realized not everyone spoke in the same manner as my parents.
Because of that fascination, I could easily pick out three Midwest, one New York or vaguely East Coast, and a Southern drawl—maybe Texas.
The others in the room were clearly federal agents, though they had varying degrees of comfort with the rest of the group.
Half the dinner guests were in WITSEC, either criminals themselves or so deeply ingrained in that lifestyle they were now testifying against said criminals.
Looks of unease and mistrust were understandable.
I wasn’t a federal agent assigned to protect them, and I definitely was not on their side of the law either.
Rather than be welcomed into either group, I was quietly banished to the outskirts.
Not that it mattered. I needed only to bide my time until I proved to Agent Walsh that I wasn’t a basket case and a risk. Then I could finally be welcomed into the ATF. They would be my family. Not some mismatched, ragtag group of misfits posing as cattle ranchers.
I could feel Evan’s eyes on me even before I caught them. I wanted to hate it. I wanted his gaze to make my skin crawl.
My body wasn’t getting that memo, because instead of disgust, it was pure desire.
Heat licked at my skin just beneath my sweater.
In this light, Evan’s eyes were dark and rich, and in the hallway, I’d discovered they were blue but with beautiful flecks of navy and gray.
What was more unnerving was that his stare held more than appreciation.
It was protective. His body stiffened if anyone moved too quickly in my direction or when I tensed at the clattering of a fork.
A deep, burning part of me wanted to melt into him and be devoured by the warmth and strength of his muscles.
Our night at the yoga class had been intense, and I’d replayed it over and over in my mind.
I may pride myself on mental toughness, but I was still a woman, and it had been a long, long time since my body had reacted to a man.
And what a fucking beast of a man Evan Walker was.
After that class, I had imagined what it would have been like if we hadn’t stopped.
If the class wasn’t really there and we were alone, moving and stretching and sweating with each other in the privacy of the gym.
He was careful not to touch me, but oh, how I’d wanted him to .
If his cock matched the rest of him, being intimate with him would take some time to adjust, especially since it had been over a year since I’d been with a man.
I craved that delicious fullness, and my lower belly clenched at the mere thought of Evan settling between the cradle of my hips.
My face felt hot, and when I looked up, Evan wore a curious smile. When he smirked at me like that, it was easy to forget who he was.
What he was.
A criminal—only the worst of the worst who had turned on their friends ended up in the Witness Protection Program.
Then again, he could’ve been a witness to a crime.
I let the thought tumble through my mind.
No. I knew better than that. The way Evan carried himself, moved with power and dominated any space he took up.
That alone told me that he had seen, and more likely had done, horrific things in his lifetime.
Who are you, Evan Walker, and why can’t I leave well enough alone?
I survived Sunday dinner. I was rather content being ignored, and the ability to watch from the sidelines was preferable. I tried so hard not to stare at Gemma. She’d caught me once or twice, and I had to force myself to stop creeping her out.
A major part of me was relieved that I hadn’t made her up.
She had been there that night. From Agent Brown’s report, I learned Evan had broken into the house that night in an attempt to get Gemma from the men who’d taken her, but he was ambushed.
Evan and at least one other man had fought, leaving Gemma behind in the house .
The V in Gemma’s T-shirt barely hid the bright-red, angry scar that raked across her chest and disappeared behind the fabric.
With her arms exposed, I could see that one forearm was littered with marks from when she’d fallen into the glass.
My stomach curled at the thought of her carrying the reminders of what she’d survived around with her every day.
By midday Monday, I was folding my freshly washed T-shirt when a soft knock sounded at the door to my room. When I cracked the door open and peeked, it was as if I’d manifested her myself. Gemma stood in the hallway, a bright-as-sunshine smile on her face.
“Hi! I’m Gemma.”
I raked a hand through my long hair and smiled. “Hello. I’m Val.”
A quiet laugh bubbled out of her. “Oh, I know who you are. I was at dinner, but we didn’t get the chance to talk—I didn’t know who you were then.”
“Oh, um. It’s okay. Can I help you with something?”
Gemma fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “I was hoping you were done with your chores. I have to run into town, and Evan says I’m not allowed to go without someone else.” She rolled her eyes at her brother’s rule. “I think he forgets that I’m not a kid, but ...”
I stared into the light-blue eyes in front of me.
She looked nothing like Evan except for those eyes—it was a wonder they were even related.
She was slight and pale, and her face was lit up with hope.
My eyes flicked down to her collarbone, and a pang of sadness pierced my gut.
I may have helped her in the house that night, but Gemma had survived something pretty gruesome, and she was standing in front of me like a new puppy.
I couldn’t kick the puppy .
“Yeah, I just finished. I can run into town with you.”
“Great!” Gemma moved forward, gently pushing past me into my room. She made no secret of looking around at my things. “This room is boring.”
I laughed. “I know,” I said, then shrugged. “It’s temporary.”
“Ugh! I know it. This place is just so ... brown .”
Her obvious disgust mirrored my own. Gemma was funny. I was so intrigued, and suddenly I was looking forward to a trip to town with her. I wanted to know more about her. “Do I need anything before we go?”
“Nope! I’ve got the truck and my list—I just need a few things in town.”
I locked my room tightly, double-checking the latch was set as I pushed on the door. In front of the main lodge, an older Ford truck was haphazardly parked at an angle and taking up two spaces.
Gemma rounded the hood and tapped it twice. “Hop in!”
For the next fifteen minutes, I bounced around the cab of that old truck and maintained a death grip on the bar above my head.
Letting Gemma drive was a huge mistake, but as she took turns too quickly, sped down the open highways, and talked nonstop, there was nothing I could do but laugh along with her.
When we pulled into town, Gemma slowed—barely—and found an open parking space. I let out my breath and tried to rearrange the wild mess of my hair. “Where to?”
Gemma pointed out the windshield. “There’s a funky little shop down that way. They’ve got the best products. I can’t stand the generic crap they have at the ranch—it dries out my skin. Then I wanted to walk through town and maybe get a hot chocolate at the café. Is that okay? ”
“Lead the way.”
I was surprisingly comfortable with Gemma, though it was hard not to be.
She waved and smiled at everyone, and they seemed genuinely pleased to see her.
In the daylight, this town was amazingly charming and friendly.
I glanced at the sign hanging outside the shop— Rebellious Rose —and smiled at the ornate floral design around a white skull.
Once in the shop, a man around my age walked up to us, recognition for Gemma evident on his face.
“Hey, beautiful!”
Gemma turned and wrapped him in a hug. “Johnny! Please tell me you got the new lotions in.”
“I can do you one better,” he said. “The lotions and your purple shampoo came in.”
Gemma squealed—actually squealed—with delight. Johnny must have caught my wince at the piercing sound and laughed. “Who do we have here?”
“Oh! Johnny Porter, this is Val Rivera. She’s a new guest at the ranch.” She leaned in slightly, and her voice lowered at the end, laced with meaning. Awareness bloomed on his face as he held out a hand for me to shake.
“Well, Miss Val.” He patted the top of my hand with his. “Welcome to Tipp. Looks like you’re one of us now.”
Gemma grinned between us.
“Thank you?”
At my uncertainty, Johnny and Gemma laughed. “Well,” he continued, “let’s hook her up. What do you say, Gem?”
Gemma clasped her hands under her chin. “Yes!”
Twenty minutes and an obscene amount of money later, I was sufficiently swindled.
Gemma and Johnny had revamped my nonexistent self-care routine from head to toe.
From moisturizing shampoo and conditioner to fresh razors, bath salts, and polishing body scrub.
I had no idea why I needed any of this if I was eyeballs deep in cow shit all day, but I had to admit that a hot bubble bath would feel pretty glorious after a grueling day in the field.
Loaded down with products, we stashed the bags in the truck before heading toward the café. People in town smiled as we passed and offered quiet hello s .
“This place is a lot different than the first night I came.”
Gemma nodded. “Oh, I’m sure.”
“What Johnny said ... do the people here know ?”
She shrugged as I held the door to the café open. “Some know more than others, but everyone’s kind of wary of new faces. Until you get settled in, you’re definitely on the outside of the circle.”
“And once they know you’re on the ranch, you’re magically inside the circle?”
“For the most part. We haven’t been here all that long, but I know that part of it is that the local cops are pretty useless.
Mostly old men who don’t know what the hell they’re doing, and if they do know, they pretend it isn’t happening.
Also, the small-town vibe, maybe? They stand by each other, and when you live or work at the ranch, you’re ‘welcomed into the fold’—at least that’s how Ma explained it. ”
I looked around the quaint café. “Fascinating.”
“It really is. But sometimes I think it’s nice to have a fresh start and forget about what’s been done to you.”
I stared at her back as she walked up to the counter to order, and the weight of her words hung in the air.
Did I want a fresh start? I wasn’t sure how I felt about not having to be anyone other than who I decided to be.
Here, I was a worker on the ranch. I wasn’t a female officer battling against archaic ideas about women in law enforcement.
I wasn’t a woman clawing my way up the ladder or a daughter desperately trying to not disappoint her parents.
But if I wasn’t those things ... who the hell was I?