CHAPTER TWO
T hings were not going according to plan. As a matter of fact, things were so far off plan, Bella was already considering storming the fire station again.
Luke Cappelli was supposed to take the letter. Read the goddamn letter. And then ask her questions. Which she would answer as best she could. She’d stick around for a couple of weeks, make sure he was okay, then go back to San Francisco and sort out her life. What he was not supposed to do was deny knowing Marco, refuse the envelope, and then kick her ass out. And he definitely wasn’t supposed to make her stomach clench.
Now here she was, two days later, still on the Evans ranch, still waiting for Luke to turn up. Wasting valuable time that could’ve been spent doing something useful. Like looking for a job or a place to live? Exactly. Important things like that. Things she’d lost right along with her best friend two months ago.
Remember you’re doing this for him.
With that reminder, she blew out a long breath, her eyes sweeping across the cozy guest cabin she was currently inhabiting. The ranch was nice. And her room was clearly brand new. She’d been practically blinded by the shine when she’d first stepped in.
The views outside are pretty good too.
They were. And Wade Evans, one of the three brothers who ran the ranch, had even been kind enough to take her on a trail ride yesterday. Saving her from climbing the walls. But she couldn’t enjoy it. Not really. Not when she’d been sent to Woodvalley Pines for a reason. And every day she wasn’t doing what she was supposed to do was a waste.
“This is ridiculous.” She was done waiting.
Grabbing her keys and the letter, she pushed open the cabin door and started the walk up to the main house where her car was parked. It was time to pay Luke Cappelli another visit. This time she would not be walking away.
As she grumbled all the way to her Prius, she made sure to recite the plan. A few times. Just in case her body decided to betray her again. Apparently, her libido was ready to make an appearance after a yearlong coma. And it was dumb enough to think it was in charge.
Once she was buckled in, it took just five minutes to make it into town. She was going back to the scene of the crime. The fire station. If Luke wasn’t there, she was betting someone there would know where he was.
Taking in the small-town Wyoming sights as she went, she couldn’t help but chuckle at what she saw.
Wow. The people of Woodvalley sure do like their antique shops.
But it wasn’t the fifth antique shop that she passed that made her look twice this time. It was the diner. Belonging to someone called Molly, if the sign was accurate. There, sat in the window, was a familiar figure. Scruffy brown hair that was well overdue a cut. Black stubble casting a faint shadow on his chin. And a look of doom on his serious face. Luke.
“Gotcha.” She grinned.
Slowing down, she scanned the area for a place to park. Luckily for her, there weren’t too many people in the market for antiques today, so it didn’t take long to find a spot.
Once she was out of the car and marching along the terracotta cobbles, she used the walk to give herself one last talking to. Today, she was not going to get distracted. She was not going to deviate from the plan. And if her stomach started to clench again, she’d order a damn peppermint tea and sort that shit out.
You’ve got this, Bella.
Pushing through the glass door, she didn’t bother surveying the garish bright red room. She knew exactly where Luke was, and that’s where she was heading.
His head was down as she approached, and he was staring into his coffee cup like it had the answers to all of life’s questions. It wasn’t until she slid into the booth seat opposite that he looked up. Well, more like jolted.
“What the—Jesus.”
“Bella,” she corrected, unable to hide her smile. “But I’ll take it.”
His dark eyes narrowed on her again. He liked doing that. Maybe he thinks it’s intimidating? It wasn’t.
“So much for me coming to you, huh?” he groused.
His complaint was met with a shrug. “What can I say, I changed my mind. Besides, it’s not polite to leave a lady waiting, Cappelli.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he took his time considering her. Testing her composure as his eyes dragged over her face, down her neck, across her outfit, and then slowly back up again, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. The way the man looked at her should be illegal. Or at the very least come with a warning sign.
Come on. Think non-sexual thoughts. Sport. Yes, think of a sport. Like, uh, baseball. Um, baseball bats. Baseball jerseys. Huh. What would Luke look like in a baseball jersey? What would Luke look like without a jersey? Goddamnit.
“I’ve been working.” He eventually grunted, oblivious to her internal struggle as her knee began to bounce under the steel countertop. “Night shifts.”
Taking a sip of his coffee, his dark brown stare didn’t waver. It was doing a damn fine job of holding her in place.
Not helping.
Faking nonchalance and doing pretty well pretending his attention wasn’t causing convulsions to near catastrophic levels in her belly, Bella leaned back into the squeaky red cushion.
“So, now that you’re not working, I take it you were just on your way over to see me?”
“No, Bella , I wasn’t.”
Even the way he said her name made her skin all tingly.
Pull. Yourself. Together.
“Then it’s a good job I came to you then, isn’t it?” He didn’t answer. Just stared. Holding her eyes hostage and heating her insides.
Stop getting distracted!
Very much needing to put a stop to the air crackling around them, she reached around and pulled Marco’s letter from her back pocket and placed it on the table in front of Luke.
Her plan didn’t work. The intensity between them only kicked up a notch as his gaze remained fixed on her.
She held firm though. Played his game and stared right back into molten chocolate, ensuring he saw nothing but composed detachment.
One minute later, she quietly congratulated herself as he finally broke the silence.
“What happened to him?” Luke asked, his voice cracking.
Bella straightened. This was it. Why she was here. She just had to get through the next few minutes without letting her own voice crack, or God forbid, letting the tears take over.
Her elbows hit the table as she leaned forward, the determination to do Marco’s story justice the only thing keeping her steady. “Your brother was an amazing man. Did you know he won an IDA award?”
“IDA?”
“International Documentary Association.” She nodded. “It’s one of the most prestigious awards you can receive as a documentary maker.”
She could see by Luke’s reaction he had no idea Marco was a filmmaker. Let alone a good one. She shouldn’t really be shocked. Luke had denied even having a brother only forty-eight hours ago.
“Okay, well, I guess I should start at the beginning then. He made documentaries. Good ones. I’m ... well, I was his cameraman.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, a look that shouldn't have been sexy, though on Luke, it was. But she definitely wasn’t thinking about how sexy the man was. No. Definitely not. Because that would mean she might possibly deviate from the plan. And there would be no deviating today. None, whatsoever.
“Anyway”—she cleared her throat before continuing—“we were filming out in Florida working on a documentary exploring the roots of the ‘Don’t Say Gay’ bills when it happened.”
Suddenly, she felt sick. And it wasn’t the good kind from a minute ago. It was the “holy shit, bile is coming up” kind. So much for the cool composure she’d worked so hard to maintain. Her knee was back to bouncing, and her palms had started to sweat.
“Uh, I think I need a drink before I go any further. Don’t suppose Molly’s got a stash of hard liquor behind the counter?”
Those curious eyes were on the move again. Searching out her expression, looking for what, she had no idea. Then, he surprised her.
“The hardest drink you’re gonna get here, angel, is an ice cream float.” She figured as much. “But I’ve got a bottle of whiskey back at mine, if you’re interested?”
Did he really just say that? He’d gone full frigging circle. Denial. Dismissal. Avoidance. To a goddamn invitation. To his home of all places. And he had to go and call her angel again while he did it, didn’t he?
But there was no time to overanalyze; she had whiskey to drink and a story to tell.
“Let’s go.”
***
L uke’s place was not the hovel she’d originally imagined. It was actually pretty frigging nice. She’d go as far as to say it was a little bit fancy. It was a house too, not an apartment. Again, not what she was expecting.
Of course it had the bachelor essentials, like a ginormous flat screen and huge black leather sofas. But what surprised her most was the décor. Everything was minimal. Neat. And completely spotless. She was scared to touch anything in case she left a fingerprint.
He must have a cleaner. No man is this tidy.
Deciding the safest place to be was seated, she made her way over to one of the couches. Her eyes darted to the coffee table as she perched down, which resembled a huge traveling trunk. It even looked like it opened. She was tempted to find out, her fingers even shooting out to run along the metal seam.
“It doesn’t open,” Luke rumbled as he re-entered the room, this time with the whiskey bottle he’d promised and two tumblers. “That would be far too practical.”
He wasted no time bouncing down next to her and pouring out the honey-hued liquid. She found herself twisting to look at him, her eyes roaming from the bottle, all the way up his arm to the bulging bicep threatening to spill from his T-shirt. When she eventually came to his chiseled chin, his head was turned, a wry smile on his face as he offered her a glass.
“Why a trunk?” she asked, accepting the drink and almost too enthusiastically taking a big gulp.
“Why not a trunk?” That smile grew much wider than she thought possible. And it changed his whole face. Lit it up until there was an actual glow.
Jesus Christ, Bella. You’ve had one sip, stop acting like a drunk moron.
Her mental scolding didn’t work. She continued to act like a drunk moron. One with nothing to say, because she was too busy admiring that freaking glow.
“So,” he prompted, “hard liquor has been officially administered ... you ready to tell me what happened now?”
No. “Yeah.” She downed her drink, relishing the sting as it began warming her insides. She needed all the liquid courage goodness.
Once she was done, and clinking the glass back onto the trunk table, she caught another raised eyebrow. And ignored it.
“So, Florida.” She nodded to herself, not sure if it was the memories or the whiskey burning her chest. “He had this contact, one who didn’t want his identity revealed in the film, which isn’t really an issue ... we normally only film shadows of them talking and then dub the voice ...” You’re getting off track. “Anyway, the dude was skittish, didn’t even want another person in the room when he was interviewed, which meant Marco had to go. Alone.” Back was the bile. This time whiskey-flavored.
She needed a minute. Why was this so hard? It had been two months for God’s sake. And she’d traveled all the way to Woodvalley Pines for the sole purpose of talking about it. Fulfilling Marco’s wishes. Doing the bare minimum compared to what he’d done for her.
“S-Sorry,” she stuttered, well aware she’d frozen.
A hand came down and covered hers. But it wasn’t the comfort it was intended for that she felt. It was a spark. Something high voltage. Like some sort of live wire coursing through her veins.
I know that’s not normal.
It didn’t make sense. None of her body’s reactions did. Luke Cappelli was so not her type. He was cold. So blunt it was bordering on rude. And everything he said was drenched in sarcasm. Sure, he was easy on the eye, but other than that, there was nothing remotely charming about him.
Except when he calls you angel.
No. She needed to stop this madness now. She did not come all the way to Woodvalley to hook up with Marco’s brother. That would be beyond fucked up. Even for her.
“It’s okay, angel, take your time.”
Urgh. Fuck my life.
If only for the distraction of their joined hands, which now seemed to be throbbing, she allowed herself to go back to that night. The night that changed everything.
“Uh, yeah, so the interview. Like a dumbass, I let him go on his own. I realized only after he left that I didn’t have an address for him either. Which wasn’t like Marco at all. We’ve been to some scary ass places together, so safety was always top of our list. We would hardly ever go anywhere alone. And on the very few occasions we did, our phone trackers would be on, addresses would be shared, and times would be agreed beforehand.” She paused to take a deep breath. The guilt threatening to choke her.
Now is not the time.
Her inner voice was right. Now was not the time to berate herself again. It was too late. There was no going back to fix this. She needed to accept that.
The hand on her squeezed, reminding her that she had an audience, one who was probably wondering why she’d stopped talking.
“I don’t know what happened this time.” Her voice was much quieter when she spoke again. “Why it was different. Maybe it was ’cause the guy was skittish or maybe it was just a fuck-up from our end ... but either way, it happened. And he was off the radar for a long time.”
Letting her eyes flutter shut, everything from that night began to overwhelm her senses. She could still smell that musty old motel room she was holed up in. Still see the flashing blue and red neon from the police cars bouncing off the walls. And then there was the robotic, monotone sound of Detective Hardy’s voice that rang in her ears as he shattered Bella’s heart with just one word.
“He killed Marco,” she whispered. Her vision still cloaked in blackness. “The guy he went to interview. He wasn’t skittish. Or scared for his life. He was a fucking hunter. And Marco was his prey.”