Olivia
Chapter Five
Lucky's apartment is out near the hangar and landing strip, in a building he says the MC owns. It’s up an outside staircase, and it tells me more about who he is than anything he’s said out loud to me.
The double bed is made military-style, sheets tight enough to bounce a coin off.
It smells of lemon-scented cleaning products and there isn’t a cup out of place.
A coffee can of screws and washers sits on the windowsill.
There’s a photograph of him with a group of guys in combat gear, taken somewhere hot.
It looks like there’s a place for everything and I have the urge to peek inside his closet to see if everything inside is color-coded.
It’s the home of a man who can be gone in five minutes and leave no trace behind.
He sets me down on a stool at the counter and then props my ankle on a second stool.
“It's not much… I guess I’m not good with creature comforts.”
“It's clean.” I take the ice pack he hands me. “Which is definitely more than my apartment is.”
“Apartment? I thought earlier you said motel?”
I freeze for a second, the ice pack halfway to my ankle. I’m getting too comfortable with him, forgetting my own story.
Lucky puts the kettle on while silence fills the room. I have so many questions about the motorcycle club, but I need to be honest with him first, before I start demanding answers.
I set the ice pack down. “Look, I need to show you something. And once I do, I reckon that you're going to have some questions that I can't answer yet.”
“Okay.”
“That's it? Okay?”
“You'll tell me what you’re doing in your own time. I’m a patient man.” He puts a mug down in front of me and leans back against the counter, his arms crossed. "Show me."
I open my laptop. Bethany managed to get it working again when I told her I thought it might have got damp when I was stranded on the ridge.
The Rotmere manifests fill the screen. I have pages of them, scanned and time-stamped, going back five years. All the passenger lists, plus the pilots and crew.
Lucky’s real name, Luke, appears over and over again down the right-hand column. He doesn't move. He reads it carefully, his thumb tapping slowly on the edge of the counter.
“Where did you get these?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.”
He looks straight at me. “Someone on the inside… who'll lose a lot more than a job.”
“That’s right.”
He pulls the laptop around and scrolls. “Show me what’s important about this.”
I point out Vocella's name on five separate legs. Then building plans for the old Forest Service strip Lucky flew me out on. Emails and letters I illicitly downloaded while working as an assistant.
I put my finger on the screen. “Outbound, that's the list. Now the return leg, on the same weekend, same aircraft.”
He looks and a shadow passes over his face.
“Some names are there on the way up that aren't on the way down,” I say. “It doesn’t happen every time, but it happens enough.”
The kitchen is so quiet I can hear my heart beating. Lucky’s looked after me so well, I have to trust him. What choice do I have? And deep inside, I want him to trust me too.
He grimaces and rubs his hand over the stubble on his jaw.
“Lucky?”
“I remember that name. And the woman, Vocella. And I signed those sheets.” His voice is flat. “I counted those people onto my airplane but I didn’t connect the dots on them coming back… because that was Lodge business and I'm just the ride.”
“You couldn't have known.”
He shuts the laptop. “So what’s your story, Olivia?”
I reach out and put my hand on his forearm, and the muscle underneath is locked solid, and I understand that I've hurt him in a way I didn't plan and don't fully understand.
“I'm not an executive assistant,” I tell him. “You know that by now. I've been looking into them for four months, and that's all I can give you tonight. Not because I don't trust you. Because there's someone inside whose life could be on the line. Because of me.”
Lucky nods slowly, coming around the counter to examine my ankle.
Taking my heel in his palm, he crouches down in front of me, turning my foot very slightly toward the light. His thumb moves along the arch, and sudden heat spreads through my core so fast I have to hold onto the edge of the counter.
“The swelling's down. But you should keep it elevated tonight.”
“Mm.” I don’t want him to let go of my foot.
He looks up at me. His eyes have gone dark and I catch my breath.
“You're staring at me.”
“I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. I can’t get enough of looking at you.” He stands, putting one hand on the counter either side of my hips. He’s close enough that I can smell his woodsy cologne. “You want to know what I’ve noticed?”
I nod.
“You asked me about crosswinds instead of drinking Rotmere’s champagne. And you took a picture when you thought nobody was looking. And you read my clipboard smooth as silk when I left you in the plane.”
Heat is pooling low in my belly and I press my thighs together. He’s so close that it feels like torture not to touch him.
“Anything else?” My voice is husky.
“You told Maria your real name because you thought you might die, and it was the only thing about you that wasn't calculated.” He brings a hand up and moves my hair back off my shoulder, his knuckles brushing my throat. “Olivia. You're the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Keep your secrets, or tell them to me, I’m here anyway.”
I gaze up at him, then he lowers his head and kisses me. His hand grips my hair, tilting my head back and he moves his mouth down to my jaw, then my neck. He tongues the sensitive spot there and a wild moan slips out of me.
“That's it,” he says against my skin. “Let me hear you, gorgeous…”
He gets his hands under my thighs and lifts me straight off the stool onto the counter, careful of the ankle even now, and steps in between my knees. My legs come around his hips. He's rock hard against me and I roll into him shamelessly, and his groan rumbles through my whole body.
My hands get under his shirt and up over his back, over the textured ridges of scar tissue and he shudders. I pull the shirt off him. He pulls mine off over my head and then stands still, looking at me.
“Beautiful.”
His mouth comes down on my collarbone, then moves down to my breasts. He peels down my bra, licking and sucking each nipple in turn as I moan. His hand is spread flat across my lower back, holding me against him, and I’m so wet I can’t stand it.
His phone rings and he glances at the counter. His face changes and he moves away to pick it up.
I sit on his counter, pulling up my bra, then reaching for my shirt.
“Understood,” Lucky says. “No, of course. I appreciate you calling personally. Thank you.”
He puts the phone face down on the counter.
“That was the Lodge.”
“And?”
“They're suspending me from the charter contract. Pending a review. Fuck.” His hands are braced wide on the counter and he isn't looking at me.
A cold chill rises up my spine. “They know you flew that night.”
“Someone must have seen the plane fly out. They’ve done their research fast to track it back to me this quickly.”
I get down off the counter, and my ankle throbs. “Lucky. Rotmere investigating you is not a good thing.”
“Yep.”
“Because of me.”
He turns, taking my face in both hands, and kisses my forehead. He’s so gentle that it makes tears spring to my eyes.
“Make yourself comfortable. I have to go and see Prez.”
“Luke.” I catch his wrist. “What’s the deal with the motorcycle club…who are you? Really?”
He stops in the doorway with his shirt in his hand and his back to me.
“Ask me later,” he says, and walks down the stairs.