Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Sprawled on his ass in a snowbank was not how Lovell had thought his run would go.
The gunshot was an unexpected development, too.
While the former was always a risk when running outside this time of year, the latter, well, he better get off said ass and figure out what the hell was going on.
Or at the very least, find some cover. Again, not easy when six-foot-high piles of snow lined the roads, blocking easy access to the acres of forest beyond.
A car revved, and he glanced up. A beige SUV was nose-first in a snowbank, its front tipped downward, as if a ditch lay hidden beneath the pile of white.
A second, larger, newer SUV barreled toward him, its front right bumper crumpled enough for him to quickly suss out that it had pushed the other car off the road.
Whether that was good or bad, he didn’t yet know, but with it now less than twenty feet away and nowhere for him to take cover, he braced himself to find out.
The car screeched to a stop, rocking with the momentum and the sun glinting off the tinted windows.
Lovell fleetingly considered this might be his last view of the world and felt a pang of regret that it couldn’t at least be the pristine beauty of the lake, or even the shrouded mists of the winter forests.
He sighed. Very few people had the luxury of choosing their last view; it seemed he wasn’t that special.
Pushed from inside, the passenger door flew open.
“Get in!” a woman barked. “We need to get out of here.”
He stared. The cold of the snow seeped through his running tights; the dirt, grit, and icy snow dug into his palms. Air heaved in and out of his lungs. He didn’t think he was already dead. He felt no pain, hadn’t been shot. Had he had a heart attack?
That was the only reason he could think of as to why the most stunning woman he’d ever laid eyes on, driving his dream SUV—a Bentley Bentayga—pulled to a stop in front of him and demanded he join her.
Hell, if this was death, maybe he shouldn’t have tried so hard to avoid it.
“Now!” she demanded again, her long black curls swirling around her shoulders.
His gaze swept over her unusual brown-gray eyes, down her high cheekbones, noted her perfect nose, lingered on her full lips.
He wondered if there was sex in heaven. If so, he really shouldn’t have tried to avoid it so long—heaven, not sex.
She huffed, a stray curl lifting on her exhale. “If I see my sister shed one single tear over you, I will personally kill you myself. Now get your ass in my car!”
He blinked. Sister? The word helped clear the fog from his head, and he once again cataloged her features. Her familiar features.
“Daphne?” he asked.
She shot him an exasperated look before glancing in the rearview mirror. “The one and only. Will you get your fine ass in my car now?”
Unease swirled through him, and he inhaled through his nose, the cold air bracing his brain. As it did, two thoughts coalesced: Daphne Parks had saved him from being shot, and now she might be in danger because of him.
Leaping off the snowbank, he took two giant strides, then launched himself onto the passenger seat, grabbing the door as he passed and slamming it closed. Daphne didn’t hesitate and was rolling forward before it even snicked shut.
Despite the circumstances, he admired the smooth rumble of the powerful engine as he reached for his seat belt. Since he very clearly wasn’t dead, he very much wanted to stay that way.
“Thought you weren’t coming until the day after tomorrow,” he said as she took the next right.
Her gaze flickered to the street map on the display, then focused back on the road. She didn’t answer.
“You know where you’re going?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Town is the other way.”
Her eyes slid his direction and held for an uncomfortable amount of time given they were driving on winding mountain roads. He opened his mouth to suggest she keep them on the road when she turned back and spoke again.
“We’re taking Millers Creek to Poplar to Rogue Alley, to Shanthi Street.
That will put us back on the highway closer to the Falcons’ clubhouse.
Since the two men driving that butt-ass-ugly car knew your running schedule, I figure they probably know where you live, too, so taking you home seems like a bad option. ”
There was a lot to unpack in that statement, so he pretended she hadn’t mapped one of the most complex routes back to the clubhouse.
Or seemed to know the two men who’d taken a shot at him.
Or figured out that his apartment was now off-limits if he didn’t want to become a sitting duck.
Which he very much did not want. My, how a few seconds could change his outlook.
Instead of responding, he traced her profile with his gaze.
Now that the shock was wearing off, he saw even more similarities between his rescuer and his sister-in-law.
Same delicate jaw, same perfect eyebrows, same smooth brown skin, and same cheekbones.
Although Daphne’s were set at a slightly higher angle.
“You and Callie look alike,” he said.
“Thank you. She’s stunning.”
“You were a supermodel.”
“Some people photograph well.”
He blinked. He hadn’t given Daphne Parks much thought beyond knowing she was Callie’s sister and used to be a supermodel.
She lived in Paris now; he knew that, too.
Two of those facts must have created some sort of subliminal image in his head, though, because her dismissal of her extremely successful career sent something teetering off-balance inside him.
He stayed silent as she made another right, then a left onto one of the few dirt roads that wasn’t a driveway in the area.
“You knew they were coming after me,” he said, mostly to take his mind off the way she handled the SUV; cool, efficient, confident, sexy as fuck.
Then again, she’d been a supermodel. Of course she was sexy as fuck.
She sold that shit for years. He’d bought it, too, he reminded himself.
More than once back in his younger years, his gaze had lingered on her magazine covers.
And yes, he’d even bought the famous “sports” magazine the year she graced the cover—one of the very few Black women to ever hold that honor, if that’s what it was.
“Morons,” she replied. Then with a tip of her head, she conceded, “It’s a good thing, too.”
“Morons?”
“I was finishing my breakfast at Maggie’s and two men walked in. Sat behind me. When you came into view, they made a few comments that led me to believe someone had hired them, or maybe just convinced them, to unalive you. You’re one of Callie’s brothers-in-law. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Yet another sentence to unpack. She’d recognized him on sight. Recognized that Callie had a new family now. One she, too, felt protective over. One she’d force another car off the road for.
Another little something shifted inside him. Callie and Philly had been married nearly four months. He’d assumed she hadn’t been interested enough in her sister’s life to visit before now. Maybe he needed to rethink that.
“They have the best pancakes in town,” he said.
Her head turned toward him slowly. “That’s what you’re going to focus on?”
He shrugged. “That and the fact you were having breakfast at eleven in the morning. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you were. I’m glad those two didn’t have a chance to unalive me. Thank you, by the way.”
She turned her attention to the road as they crossed a one-lane bridge over one of the several rivers that fed the big lake in town. “You’re welcome. I didn’t see any blood or anything. That shot didn’t hit you?”
He shook his head. “Hit a tree about six feet in front of me.”
“You’re taking this all in stride.”
He inclined his head. “So are you. Unless you force strangers off the road every day in Paris.” Now that he thought about it, she was either very lucky or very well trained. Using a car as a weapon wasn’t as easy as the movies made it look.
“Not unless they’re in my way.” The corners of her mouth tipped up enigmatically, leaving him to wonder if that was a joke or a fond memory.
“You really don’t seem surprised,” she said, a question posed as a statement.
He adjusted the heat on his seat, then looked out the window.
She didn’t press, which, oddly, didn’t sit well with him.
The realization that he wanted her interested in his life sat even more awkwardly on his shoulders.
Then again, she was a stunning woman who handled his dream SUV like a pro and had just run strangers off a road for him.
It shouldn’t surprise him that he wanted to show his appreciation in the most elemental of ways—which he’d never pursue unless she showed a mutual interest. Which didn’t seem to be the case.
Shoving that train of thought, and the unwarranted disappointment, awkwardly back into the cave from which it had emerged, he answered.
“Right after I left the army, I met a woman. After two months of dating, we got married, against her parents’ wishes.
It went to shit about three months later, ending with her nearly killing me because she was convinced I was having an affair with my boss’s daughter.
Which I wasn’t,” he said, feeling the need to clarify.
“I wanted to get her help. The police and the other person she injured disagreed. She ended up with a twelve-year sentence. They released her early for good behavior last month.”
“And you think she sent someone to kill you?”
“She has money and made it very clear that—”
“That if she couldn’t have you, no one could.”
He tipped his head.
“Hmm. How’d she do it?” she asked, navigating through an icy spot like a pro.
“Knife.”
Daphne remained silent, although he swore he heard doubts swirling in her mind. It didn’t take long for her to share.
“A knife is pretty personal. Very up-close. Hiring two people to shoot you…”
“The day I found out she was released, I got a restraining order.”
Daphne snorted as she turned left onto the road that would lead them to the club.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t strike me as a woman stingy with her opinions.”
A warm, wry chuckle filled the cabin. “And you don’t strike me as a man who is delusional or blind—or both—so why waste my breath explaining what you already know?”
And he did. He knew all too well what she referred to. Restraining orders were notoriously ineffective when it came to domestic situations.
“Daisy has a lot to lose if she fucks up again. Her parents bailed her out of that mess. They can write one crazy incident off in their social circle, but not two. If she steps out of line again, they’ll cut her off.
Not financially, but socially, and that would be a death knell for someone like her. ”
Daphne swung the SUV smoothly onto the drive leading to the Falcons’ clubhouse. He didn’t ask how she knew its location.
“You have thoughts,” he said. Towering pines, their branches heavy with snow, lined the half-mile drive, like sentries.
“I always have thoughts, mon chéri. Right now, I’m a little caught up in the fact that you married a woman named Daisy. It’s a cute name and all. One of my good friends is named Daisy. But you and ‘cute’ don’t belong in the same book, let alone on the same page of a wedding invite.”
“That’s relevant how?”
She lifted a shoulder, making the dismissive move elegant. “I didn’t think we were sticking to only what’s relevant. If we are, how do the excellent pancakes at Maggie’s fit in?”
He grunted. She chuckled again. A sound that went straight to parts of his body it shouldn’t. Especially not while encased in running tights.
“You can park there,” he said, pointing to an opening between Juan’s and Hawkeye’s trucks close to the front door. Judging by the other vehicles in the lot, about half of his fourteen brothers-by-choice were on the grounds. The others were off taking care of the businesses the club operated.
She pulled the SUV to a stop, killed the engine, and they both climbed out. A cold wind whipped around his body, the damp from the snow he’d planted himself in making it even more freezing than it was. The clubhouse would be warmer, and he had a spare set of clothes in the room he kept there.
“Sorry about your car,” he said, gesturing to the damaged bumper as they met at the front of the SUV. “We can fix it for you.”
Again, she shrugged. “Sorry someone is trying to kill you, and don’t worry about the car, that’s what rental insurance is for.”
He didn’t know a person could rent a Bentley, and it was a stark reminder that Daphne Parks lived a very different life from him. Not better or worse, just different. Okay, maybe a little better. He wouldn’t mind being able to rent a Bentley for a road trip.
He held the door open for her, and as she passed in a gentle swirl of some scent that shouldn’t be legal, he considered what he’d say to his family.
None of them underestimated Daisy, and they’d all anticipated this day would come when they got the news of her release.
But showing up with Callie’s sister wasn’t on any of their bingo cards.
Neither was the fact that she’d saved him.
His family was already inclined to love her—after all, she was Callie’s sister.
Now she’d be the object of their admiration and appreciation, too.
A long claw of something fierce and possessive scratched within him, a warning that it could release itself if it chose to do so.
With a deep breath, he told himself that family occupied the space on the other side of the door.
That it would be hard for anyone not to be intrigued by Daphne.
That he had no rights to her other than being grateful for her courage and quick thinking.
But when she flashed a grin at him over her shoulder, all that logic vaporized.
Fuck.