Small Town Secrets (Harlow #4)

Chapter 1

One

Laila killed the engine to her car, her eyelids heavy and her limbs aching from another overnight shift at Marston’s 24-hour grocery store. The time on her dash said 7:07am and a pale morning light crested the roof of her modest two-bedroom rental up ahead. Meanwhile, her heart lurched because she had less than a few hours to catch a nap, then study, before her mother came by with Whitney, Laila’s daughter.

She reached for the door handle and a dash of white caught her eye through her side mirror, a moving van slowing to a stop in the driveway next door. Two men jumped out and a midnight blue SUV pulled over at the sidewalk.

“Now, who’s this?” she whispered to herself, her voice croaky from her hours at work.

She pushed her door open and slid out of her old Suzuki sedan, standing still amidst the chilled air and simply observing as the door to the SUV cracked open.

That’s when he stepped out. Her new neighbor. At least that’s what the moving van strongly suggested. Tall and handsome, with dark hair, and equally swarthy features. He held a neutral expression that was mostly unreadable. His shuttered air made him seem instantly too worldly for a place like Harlow, Minnesota. A place where most failed to hold any secret close.

Including her.

If I had more money, I’d be outta this town like a shot…

Any outsider would describe this small town as sweet and idyllic. Any outsider who didn’t know that a crime syndicate fast made its mark on every resident here. Heck, just six weeks ago her own sister, Ally, had been taken hostage amidst a bloody showdown in some nearby empty field. There’d been gunshots and henchmen, and there was no telling if or when the syndicate would be back. Soon, her new neighbor here would know all this too.

Her mind cleared enough to register her mysterious stranger staring back at her, his dark eyes narrowing slightly and sending a sharp jolt through her body. Though she’d been looking less at him, more through him—her thoughts pinging between who he might be and whether he actually knew what he was getting into moving in here—none of that mattered now. She’d been caught staring.

She chastised herself for being so careless, not a trait she indulged in all that often. Especially when it came to who she looked at in public, where usually, she didn’t “look” at all.

Through the loud thrum of her heartbeat, she tried to play casual by focusing on the men unloading the van, as if they were far more interesting than the dusky guy she hadn’t been half-checking out. The men moved efficiently, rolling a modest white couch on its side on a hand dolly, the wheels rattling from the truck bed and down the uneven ramp to the ground. An awful lot of noise for a woman who just wanted to catch some sleep.

This could take a while…

The men entered the house, and she shook her head. For some inexplicable reason she sensed her neighbor’s attention still on her and she glanced at him strolling past the truck and toward his house. The entire time, she tried not to think too much about why she found this newcomer so intriguing, pinning her interest on his newness and the fact that he seemed so out of place. Either way, her opinion on this man didn’t matter. Before long Whitney would be back and Laila would have more than enough to keep her busy.

Wanting to avoid any connection, she snapped her gaze away and pretended not to care about her new neighbor’s actions. Instead, she hurried over her aged porch steps and inside the house she worked so endlessly to afford. Speaking of endless work, she was still exhausted and needed to rest, at least for a little while before she dug into her homework for the extra summer classes she had to pass in the next month if she wanted to graduate her sonography degree early.

She needed to graduate. And she needed to do it by year’s end. So, she could have more money and more hours to spend with her kid, a kid growing up way too fast. Time was not Laila’s friend here, but at the age of twenty-six, she’d eventually dig herself out of the hole she’d fallen into four years ago. Things would start to look up. They had to.

Whitney would get her mom back.

Laila could lose her guilt.

She’d finally give her child the stability she always dreamed of providing, before misplaced trust and single motherhood left her minus any money or bankable skills.

The front door now open, she trekked across her living room’s aged, beige carpet, her faded brown couch with cushions that sagged situated on her left. She dumped her purse on a matching worn armchair and pushed on down the hall and into her bedroom. There, she changed into some comfortable cotton loungewear and then threw herself onto her queen-sized mattress with a humph.

Not much more than a few minutes passed before her eyelids fluttered closed and she drifted to sleep. Though the delirium of dreamland made nailing down any real clear thought impossible, images of the mystery man next door played on her mind and startled her awake.

Or maybe it was the remnants of a loud knock at her front door lingering on her brain. She couldn’t quite delineate what was real and what wasn’t, but she jolted to sitting either way. Maybe all the weird desperation and fatigue of recent years had her wishful thinking…

The discordant colors between her aqua blue clock on her lemon-yellow wall spoke of the “joys” of renting. She had little say on wall color or aged carpet, but at least the clock worked, and little more than forty-five minutes had passed during her nap. Now that she was awake, she might as well hit the books. Aside from Whitney returning soon, Emilia Bonacci’s and Blaine Callaghan’s wedding was happening tomorrow, which just added more tasks to Laila’s list of things to do today. Though at least the wedding would be a rare day out for her and Whitney. They don’t get enough of those.

Before she could even stand, another knockcame, and this time, definitely real and from her front door.

“Shit.” She ground the expletive under her breath and ran a palm over her hair, still tied in her work ponytail and likely a mess. After a few seconds, she strode across her house and tried to fully awaken from her insufficient sleep, even as she wrenched the front door open, falling short of barking out an abrasive, “What do you want?”

And the reason she fell short?

He stood there.

All tall, dark, and handsome, in a beaten-up-and-rugged sort of way. As much as she tried not to, she once more couldn’t hold back from staring. This time, the slight pull of his black t-shirt over visibly strong and broad chest muscles caught her, along with the indisputably beautiful golden glow of his thick arms peeking out from that shirt. Latino. He must be Latino. In a town that failed at diversity, he most definitely would stand out!

At least, he does to me. And in all the ways I wish he didn’t….

Catching her mental lapse on his beauty, she jerked her attention up to his face and the mild imperfection of shallow lines scoring his forehead. Even the slight flaws in his skin somehow added character and damning appeal.

And he hasn’t even spoken one word yet….

Oh, get your brain together!

Right, she, of all people, understood the pitfalls of impulse and hormones. Especially with a man such as this. The amused glimmer in his eye said he likely had far too much good fortune with women. That glimmer said she’d already given away too much of her inner thoughts.

Though her cheeks burned with embarrassment, she conjured the reminder that she was a realist. She had to be. Her child’s well-being relied on her mother’s clear thought and careful planning. As did Laila’s battered heart. So, being realistic, she thought about how she had every reason to stay away from any man of dating age. How she’d just come off a long shift at her cruddy job. How she’d just woken and probably looked like a flaming hot mess. How this man would never give her a second thought if not for whatever reason that brought him to her doorstep now.

“Hi”—she cleared the gravelly tone from her throat and swept another hand over her frazzled hair—“what do you need?”

“I’m sorry to bother you.” Adrian Ramos extended a hand to his new neighbor, her striking cornflower blue stare skating over him, while she failed to take hold of his hand. “My name’s Adrian, but most people call me by my last name, Ramos. I’m moving in next door and…”

He nodded down to his hand, reminding her that she should shake it. Her gaze dropped, acknowledging his hint and still failing to act on the offer, her attention bouncing up again, while her eyes narrowed in on him. “Ramos? As in, Dean’s friend who kidnapped Sarah?”

His heart sank from disappointment that his reputation preceded him. Though she was technically correct about him kidnapping Sarah Overton, this woman omitted the huge detail of why he’d done that.

“I was doing Dean a favor, infiltrating the syndicate.” He took his hand back and shifted his focus from the purple shadows under this woman’s eyes to the overgrown lawn gracing her front yard. She seemed overwhelmed and maybe coming over to introduce himself had been a mistake. “I likely saved her life.”

“Right.”

He turned back at the sound of her flat tone, yet another thing to leave him wondering if he’d imagined the burst of chemistry they’d exchanged across driveways just an hour earlier. “That’s also why I’m back in town. To help with curtailing the syndicate once again.”

And even as doubt brought heaviness to his stomach, a light tingling within his chest said he wasn’t wrong about that earlier spark and that he still liked what he saw.

Trying to decipher the emotions dancing across her face, he paused to inspect her some more. From a distance, and before coming to this door, he’d thought she might offer the potential for some light fun during his stay in town. Someone to keep him company, since his whole schtick of being an investigator for hire meant never staying still or in one job for too long. But her gaze no longer skittered away like before, so perhaps this nameless woman wasn’t the sort to toy with, after all…

She lifted her lips into an all-too-perceptive smile, a dimple on her left cheek seeming to suggest that she sensed a shift in power here. “So, again, did you need something, or are you just stopping by to say, ‘Hi’?”

Her direct question warned him not to do his usual act of flirting his way into a woman’s world, but more the fool to her, because he was used to risk and liked a challenge. Even if the odds were stacked firmly on him losing.

“I do need something.” He shifted his gaze past her and into her house, to the worn-but-homely carpet and furnishings, to a kitchen table stacked with a basket of unfolded laundry on one end and a backpack next to a pile of books on the other.

A student, maybe?

She looked to be in her mid-twenties, a little older than the usual college age, but then, maybe that explained why she’d hauled out of her car earlier wearing some kind of retail worker’s uniform under her jacket.

A student and a night shift worker.

“I’ve come a long way and was hoping to buy some groceries soon.” He blinked and then re-focused on her, making sure to flash a smile and lean in a little closer. “Only, my power is off until this afternoon and I was hoping to run an extension cord from your house to my fridge?”

She dipped her chin, already hinting that he asked too much. “And you can’t wait a few hours ‘til the power’s on?”

He shrugged. “A man’s gotta eat.”

He took in her slow and pensive breaths, not sure why he stuck on talking to her. It wasn’t like he needed the distraction, or anymore ties to this place, or anyone the syndicate might connect to him as leverage. He’d come here to protect his friends and could already feel the syndicate closing in. And still...

Maybe this fish out of water life is taking its toll…

Right. He’d lived in all sorts of places: army barracks, deserts, foreign villages, and bustling cities like L.A. where he’d grown up. But never an endearing little town such as Harlow. He didn’t belong here. In a community cozier than anything he was used to. Maybe that explained the tight skepticism across this woman’s face, even as she released the tension from her shoulders and spoke, “I mean, it’s probably not all that safe to string up cords across houses, what if it rains and—”

“It’s mid-summer. There’s no rain forecast for today.” He gave another easy shrug, though his shallow breaths showed that ease to be a lie. “I checked.”

The woman’s expression remained firm and unconvinced, especially as she gave her eyes a quick roll to the heavens. “I’m not letting you into my house.”

Now it was his turn to unleash a deadpan tone. “Scared I’ll kidnap you too?”

“And take me away from all this?” She gestured to her house, granted, a bit more than rundown. “Oh, please, do.”

Though her lips pressed into a thin and sarcastic line, a short and buried laugh jolted the space just below his ribcage. Still, he found a new way to use the quip about her house to motivate her toward enduring his presence for a few minutes more. “I’ll pay you for your trouble.”

No sooner had he pulled out and opened his wallet, then she shot out a hand and snatched out a crisp fifty.

“There’s an outlet along the outside wall there, facing your house.” She stabbed her thumb in some vague direction to her left. “I’m sure you’ll find it easily enough.”

Here he’d been, hoping to win her trust, only to question her doubts about having him inside her house. He’d never needed to be “in her house.” Not with an outdoor outlet, anyway.

Maybe she just doesn’t like you, Asshole.

Could he even find fault in her money-swipe when he was just as bad for using cash to coax her? Also, he was in Harlow to do a job, so maybe her curt approach served him well after all.

With every passing second with this strange new neighbor, he found himself questioning his past assumptions on small town hospitality. And with every question, he found himself even more intrigued to know what her deal was.

“Thanks.” He made sure his short expression of gratitude dropped hard like a lead balloon, the strain taking over his body only easing as he observed more details.

The tuft of messy hair sticking out from her ponytail. A tuft not there during his first glimpse of her on her driveway…

“Oh.” He honed in on the light indented lines over her left cheek. “I woke you?”

Her brows bowed, like she didn’t understand, so he pointed to the lines on her face. “You have pillow marks right there.”

She startled back a step, blinking and pressing a palm to her cheek, her pupils wide like him noticing her fatigue left her mortified.

Why? Why would she want to hide being tired?

He nodded and made sure to soften his expression, exchanging his earlier forced gratitude for something more genuine. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”

“No!” Though breathy, she dropped her hand and her brows dipped again, denoting confusion. “It’s okay.”

Now her lips bent as though she maybe hadn’t meant to be so forgiving, though the softened tension over her cheekbones said she second-guessed that reaction too. “Laila. My name’s Laila.”

A long and heavy pause held while they stared at each other, the dart of her gaze seeming to question everything about this moment, perhaps none more so than why she even offered her name. She’d been reluctant just moments earlier.

To be fair, he couldn’t figure it out either, except to say that for some reason, his observation on her napping seemed to throw her. That said, he knew enough people who didn’t like to admit they were human. Her reaction wasn’t wholly unusual, except that he was more used to that reaction from battle and street roughened men. Not some sweet seeming lady living in a quiet, country town.

No doubt this one has a story…

But he’d asked far too much already, so he gave a small nod and stepped back, already walking away as he spoke one last time. “Nice meeting you, Laila. I’ll see you around.”