9. Rafes Intel
nine
Rafe's Intel
Jax
Itell myself I am here about the land.
I tell myself I saw her car and followed because I need answers about the resort deal and the blank check she offered and the polished bastard sitting across from her in that booth.
I am still telling myself that when I knock on the door.
The honest version is worse.
I am here because I watched her car disappear past my gate and something in my chest pulled like a chain with no slack.
I do not know what to do with it.
Although as I stand on the peeling wooden boards of the Beckett front porch, my boots planted wide, my fists shoved deep into the pockets of my grease-stained jeans, I wouldn't admit even to myself that I'm jealous.
The coastal humidity is already thick enough to chew, settling heavy against my neck and plastering my dark t-shirt to my spine. I am breathing hard. My pulse thrums slowly but violently behind my ears.
I am here for the land, I tell myself. I am here to make sure this city girl and whoever the fuck was on the phone aren't playing me for a fool.
It is a solid excuse and very practical. But it is utter bullshit.
In reality, I am standing on this porch because, ten minutes ago, I watched her car drive past my salvage yard gate, and I knew she had just come from that diner.
I am here because the image of that polished, soft-handed bastard brushing her hair away from her face is burning a hole directly through my brain.
Piece of shit.
The thought lands flat and final before I can dress it up into something more reasonable. I could not stay in the workshop. I just had to see her face.
But all of that suddenly takes a back seat as I stare at her.
She looks completely wrecked.
Not sick. Not tired.
Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, the pale skin of her cheeks flushed and streaked from tears. The rigid, professional posture she usually wears like armor is completely gone.
Her shoulders are caved beneath an oversized gray cardigan that hangs two sizes too big off her frame. Like she grabbed the first thing she could find and pulled it around herself. Like she needed something between her and the rest of the world.
Like the fight finally caught up to her.
I have seen that look before. The look of someone carrying something so heavy for so long they forgot what it felt like to set it down.
My chest tightens, a sudden, protective instinct flaring up to war with my anger. But the jealousy is too loud. The male pride is screaming too hard. I bite down on my back teeth, burying the instinct.
Why does she look like somebody took something from her?
I don't know what. I don't investigate the thought. I shove it down hard and keep going.
"What do you want, Jax?" she asks. Her voice is rough, completely devoid of its usual sharp edge. "Why are you here?"
"I want answers," I hear myself say.
Nora crosses her arms over her chest, shivering slightly despite the eighty-degree heat. "About what?"
"Why do you want my dirt?" I ask outright, skipping the pleasantries. "And don't give me the same script you read me at the fence line. I want the actual truth."
She hesitates. Her bright blue eyes dart away from mine, looking out toward the slow-moving river behind the house. She swallows hard, her throat working, and I can see her thinking up a lie.
Still, for a split second, I think she is going to crack. I think she is going to open her mouth and tell me exactly what the hell is bleeding her dry.
"Because I cherish it," Nora says finally. "Because that specific piece of land means everything to me, Jax. If you would just sell it to me, I could..."
"Bullshit," I cut her off easily.
Nora flinches. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," I take a half-step forward, closing the physical distance between us until I am looking directly down into her face.
The scent of vanilla and ocean salt on her hits my senses, making my jaw lock. "I do not buy it. I want to know the real reason."
"I just told you the truth," she insists, her voice rising an octave.
"You told me a story," I counter, my tone remaining flat and hard. "You offered me a blank fucking check. You told me to name my price. Nobody offers a blank check for sentimental dirt, Nora. They offer it because they know the dirt is about to be worth ten times that amount."
Nora stares at me, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"Are you flipping the land?" I demand, my eyes narrowing as I search her face for the tell. "Did you know about the resort deal? Is that why you came down here? To buy my mother's land out from under me just so you can turn around and sell it to the highest bidder?"
Nora looks as if I have just physically backhanded her.
All the blood drains from her face, leaving her completely pale. Her arms drop from her chest to her sides. She blinks, staring at me as if I have mutated into a monster right in front of her.
"You think..." she stammers, the words catching in her throat. "You think I want your land for money?"
"Don't you?" I push, the anger rising, completely blinding me to the raw devastation in her eyes. "Because that makes a hell of a lot more sense than you crying over a river stone."
"No," she whispers, shaking her head slowly.
"Don't lie to me," I say, my voice dropping dangerously low. The image of the café flashes behind my eyes. The slick hair. The crisp suit. The hand on her face. "Don't stand on this porch and play me for a fool, Nora. I am not some ignorant local you can hustle."
I reach into the front pocket of my jeans to pull out my phone. My thumb hits the screen, pulling up the screenshot I had taken in the workshop twenty minutes ago.
When the voicemail from the "Whitfield Development Group" played, I didn't just sit there. I went to the old desktop computer in my office and typed in the company name.
The corporate webpage loaded in five seconds. And right there, sitting on the executive leadership page under the title of Vice President of Acquisitions, was a high-resolution photograph of the exact same bastard I had just seen sitting across from her in the diner.
I shove the phone screen directly into her line of sight.
"You cannot deny what I am saying," I grit out, my knuckles white around the casing of the phone. "Because if this isn't about the money, then why the hell were you meeting with the exact same man who called, who is also trying to buy me out?"
Nora looks at the glowing screen, and almost in a daze I watch as she begins to hyperventilate.
Her chest rises and falls in rapid, panicked jerks.
She takes a staggering step backward, her spine hitting the wooden siding of the cottage with a dull thud.
She blinks repeatedly, her eyes wide and completely unmoored.
This is not the reaction of a woman caught in a lie.
I know what guilt looks like. This is not guilt.
This is terror.
A few years ago I might have accepted the easier explanation and moved on.
A few years ago I ignored a lot of things I shouldn't have.
Not anymore.
"Repeat what you just said," Nora demands, her voice a reedy, thin whisper.
"I said don't play me," I snap, trying to decide between pulling her into my arms and shaking the truth out of her.
"Moonrise might be a small town, but it is a well-connected space.
It didn't take much for me to find out that this corporate piece of shit wants to buy my salvage yard because they plan to build a luxury resort on the river. "
Nora's hands flatten against the wood behind her. She looks absolutely terrified, but I am too deep in my own furious, jealous narrative to stop.
"You must have found out about the resort," I continue, my voice heavy with disgust. "That is why you approached me first, isn't it? Buy the eastern parcel from me, and then resell the whole package to these people for millions."
The silence on the porch is deafening.
The terror in Nora's eyes slowly, agonizingly shifts. The fear recedes, instantly replaced by a deep, blazing, unadulterated fury. The tears seem to dry up in an instant, and I watch her spine straighten.
The vulnerable, crying woman I saw when the door opened completely vanishes, replaced by a woman made of pure steel.
"Do not insult me," she says.
The words are spoken so quietly, with such coldness, that they freeze the blood in my veins.
For a half second, underneath the fury, I catch something else.
Hurt. Real hurt. Like I just stepped on a bruise I couldn't see.
I open my mouth. I don't get the chance.
"Do not ever insult me like that," Nora repeats, pushing herself off the wall. "You do not know me. You do not know the first thing about me, Jackson Rowe."
I can only blink at her.
"And you have absolutely no right to stand there and accuse me of trying to sell my home for Houston money."
I realize instantly that I have touched a sore spot. But I cannot figure out why she is the one who is so violently angry. If anything, I should be the one throwing plates. She is the one who met with the enemy.
"If you are so goddamn upright," I shoot back, my jaw locked tight, standing my ground. "If you aren't working with him to flip the dirt, then why were you sitting in a booth with him?"
She folds her arms across her chest and stares at me in disbelief. I can't bring myself to hold back from adding.
"Why were you letting him touch you?"
Nora raises her chin. Her bright blue eyes are burning with a fire so bright it practically scorches me. She takes a step closer to me, entirely unafraid of my size, completely ignoring the sheer physical dominance I hold over her.
"You must be severely mistaken about our dynamic," she says, her voice dripping with ice. "I do not owe you a single explanation about my life."
"Nora..."
"Were you stalking me?" she cuts me off, jabbing a finger into the center of my chest. "Is that how you know I met with anyone? Did you follow me to the diner?"
"I was riding," I grind out, my pride flaring at the accusation. "We saw you through the window."