Chapter 10 #2
"I've got you." Mike's hand settled warm and steady on her shoulder. "You're okay."
"I’m probably being paranoid, but something feels off about that guy. He acts like he knows me."
"We're aware." Mike’s voice was calm, certain. "And we're handling it."
"We?"
"My brothers and I had a meeting this morning.” He squeezed her shoulder. “He’s not a physical threat, Liv, but try to steer clear.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Dan Harris and he’s a private investigator out of Dallas.”
“Why are we letting him stay?”
“That was my reaction. Kenny pointed out that we don’t want to tip our hand just yet. We don’t want him to know we suspect anything or that we’re protecting you. Not until Joe firms up a plan that involves no exchange of information between him and the people who hired him.”
She moved closer and didn’t seem to realize it. Mike took advantage and drew her into his arms. He wanted to wrap her up and take off with her. Just the two of them. Get her away from prying PIs and scumbag cowards who send Hench men to do their dirty work. He wanted to keep her safe.
But taking her on the run wasn’t a good option. As much as he hated the thought of waiting for that other proverbial shoe to drop, he knew that the best place for her was right here on this ranch where the precision expertise of an entire group stood between her and whoever was coming for her.
The confrontation happened in the tack room at half past nine.
Kenny had been watching Harris all morning, tracking his movements on the security cameras they’d installed throughout the property. When Harris slipped away from the main house and started photographing the barn area with his phone, Kenny decided he'd seen enough.
Joe was already waiting when Kenny arrived, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.
Harris looked up from his phone as they entered, and something flickered across his face. Recognition, maybe. Or resignation.
"Gentlemen," he said evenly. "Beautiful property you've got here."
"Folks don’t usually come into the staff area to take photos." Kenny's voice was flat, dangerous. He held out his hand palm up. “Any photo you take, I own the copyright to. Give me your phone.”
Harris hesitated. “I’ll delete them.”
Kenny’s smile was dangerous. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you.”
“He’s like that,” Joe said, reaching for the phone in Harris’s hand and taking it before the man knew what had happened.
“Doesn’t trust anyone. Probably why it made it so easy for him to kill his best bud.
Nasty business, I tell you.” Joe said it nonchalantly without looking up, and all the while his fingers were busy over the key pad of the phone.
Not only did he delete the photos of Liv and the ranch, he changed a couple of settings on the phone. Settings that would give him access.
“Mind telling us who you are?” Satisfied with his handiwork, he handed back the phone.
Harris had the grace not to pretend ignorance. He slipped his phone into his pocket and leaned against the workbench, casual but watchful.
“I was hired to locate Olivia Langford and report her whereabouts.”
“Who is Olivia Langford?” Joe asked.
“I thought maybe you could tell me.”
“We don’t have anyone by that name here.”
Harris stared at Joe. "You know I'm just doing my job," he said.
“Why are you looking for this woman? What did she do?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask questions, just accepted the assignment.”
“What led you to our ranch?”
“I was given the address. Told to get confirmation. Beyond that, I got no stake in the outcome.”
"Must be nice," Joe said coldly, "having no moral compass to weigh you down."
"It pays the bills." Harris pushed off the workbench. "Look, I don't have a problem with you boys. And I don't particularly care about Olivia Langford one way or another. But I've got a client who's paying very well for information, and I intend to deliver."
"Not from this property, you won't," Kenny said.
Joe intervened. “Good luck in your search. If we hear of anybody by that name, we’ll let you know.”
Kenny slammed his fist against the workbench hard enough to rattle the tools hanging on the wall. "We should've held him," he said.
"For what?" Joe's voice was tired. "Being an asshole isn't illegal. Neither is being a private investigator. And if we escorted him off the property, we’d just be confirming everything he suspects. Besides, I changed some settings on his phone. I’m going to do a little snooping of my own,"
Liv was rolling out another batch of dough when Mike found her, hands moving mechanically, eyes distant.
He stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching her. She'd braided her hair back, but strands had escaped to frame her face. There was flour on her cheek and tension in every line of her body.
She was terrified. And still here. Still baking. Still fighting.
God, he loved her.
The realization hit him like a two-ton bull on a rampage, sudden and absolute and completely unavoidable.
He loved her.
And he was going to do whatever it took to keep her safe.
"Liv."
She startled, spinning toward him with the rolling pin raised like a weapon.
"Whoa." He held up both hands, but he was smiling. "Easy there, darlin'. I'm on your side, remember?"
"Sorry." She lowered the pin, but her hands were shaking.
"I know." He crossed the kitchen and gently took the rolling pin from her white-knuckled grip. "But if you're gonna brain somebody, at least use cast iron. More heft."
The absurdity of the statement must have broken through her panic because she laughed, shaky and breathless, but real.
"You're ridiculous."
"So I've been told." He set the rolling pin aside and pulled her into his arms. She came willingly, pressing her face against his chest, her whole body trembling.
"I saw someone," she said into his shirt. "At the treeline. Watching the house."
"Probably one of Kenny's motion sensors. He's been installing them all morning."
"Or it was Harris. Or someone Harris called." She pulled back to look at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Mike, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m putting you all in danger because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Hey." He framed her face with both hands, made her look at him. "You didn't choose this. None of this is your fault."
"But I brought it here—"
"No. Some asshole with a gun and no conscience brought it here. You're just trying to survive." His thumbs brushed across her cheekbones. "And we're going to make sure you do."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me."
She searched his face like she was looking for cracks in his certainty. When she didn't find any, something in her expression shifted, softened.
"Joe and Kenny talked to Harris this morning."
Liv went rigid. "What did he say?"
"That he's just doing his job. Mike's jaw tightened. "I wanted to throw him off the property and make sure he couldn't walk straight for a week, but Joe and Kenny convinced me that would just confirm what he suspects."
"So he's still here. Still watching."
"For now. But we're watching him right back. And the second he steps out of line, he's gone."
Liv nodded slowly, processing. "Why didn't you tell me? This morning, before, you knew and you didn't tell me."
"I wanted to. But I also wanted to give you a few more hours of peace before the sky fell." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry. That was the wrong call."
"No more secrets," she said. "I can't protect myself if I don't know what I'm protecting myself from."
"Deal. No more secrets."
They stood like that for a long moment, foreheads resting together, the morning light streaming through the windows and painting everything gold.
"I saw you with Charlotte earlier," Mike said. "Teaching her pie crust."
"She's a natural. Better hands than half the culinary students I used to work with."
"She loves you, you know. Talks about you constantly. 'Miss Liv said this, Miss Liv showed me that.' You've made an impression."
Liv's eyes filled. "She gave me her special rock. For protection."
"That's—" Mike's voice went rough. "That's a big deal. Charlotte doesn't share her treasures with just anyone."
"I don't want to let her down."
"You won't." He kissed her forehead. "You couldn't if you tried."
The kitchen door banged open and Arletta swept in like a hurricane in sensible shoes, her two teenage sons trailing behind with boxes of supplies.
"All right, people," Arletta announced. "We've got a full house this weekend and I'll be damned if we're gonna let some fool in new boots ruin our hospitality.
" She caught sight of Liv and Mike standing close, took in Liv's red-rimmed eyes and Mike's protective stance, and her expression softened. "You okay, honey girl?"
"Getting there," Liv managed.
"Good. Then wash your hands and help me with these biscuits. Nothing puts the world right like butter and flour."
And just like that, the kitchen filled with comfortable chaos—Arletta humming old hymns while she worked, her boys arguing good-naturedly about football, Mike stealing bites of dough and getting his knuckles swatted for his trouble.
Normal. Grounding. Real.
Arletta worked alongside Liv for a while, their hands moving in the comfortable rhythm of people who understood the language of baking.
"You know," Arletta said conversationally, kneading biscuit dough with practiced efficiency, "my husband tried to fry a turkey once. Thanksgiving, about ten years back. Saw it on the TV and decided he was gonna be the hero of the family dinner."
Despite everything, Liv found herself smiling. "How'd that go?"
"Well, he got the turkey crispy, I'll give him that. Also got the carport, half the driveway, and his own eyebrows." Arletta chuckled, shaking her head. "Fire department came. Neighbors brought lawn chairs and popcorn. Made the local news."
"Oh my God."
"Mm-hmm. And you know what that fool said when the smoke cleared?" Arletta looked at Liv, eyes twinkling. "He said, 'At least now we know what not to do next time.' Next time. Like I was gonna let him anywhere near a deep fryer again."