Chapter 6 Calder
Calder
“Why didn’t Marlene tell us about the brochure?” Lara asked as soon as we reached the truck.
“You didn’t pull out your gun,” she said, not bothering to hide her surprise.
“I didn’t intend to use it,” I countered. Shifting into reverse, I cupped her headrest and looked over my shoulder, catching her gaze along the way.
“Not even to warn him?”
“Never pull out a gun you don’t intend to use or aim at anything you’d regret shooting.”
Being homeschooled at Stonewall Ranch was different in a lot of ways. In addition to the basics, we got the . . . not-basics, including firearm lessons.
Cassius had been trained in Hōjutsu, the Japanese martial art of gunnery, so our lessons went beyond target practice.
We started from the bottom. Everything from cleaning, assembling, disassembling, diagnosing problems, and repairing, all the way to tests on different kinds of rounds and which guns they were used for.
And eventually, once Cassius was satisfied we’d mastered respect for the incredibly dangerous weapons, lessons on how to actually shoot them.
“You would’ve regretted shooting him?”
Lara wanted to sound serious, but she wasn’t. The woman who couldn’t stop herself from helping the man who’d called her sister a cunt about a half dozen times in the same number of minutes wasn’t the type of person who could ever be serious about causing a person harm.
“The same way you would’ve regretted walking away without setting his nose. Sometimes what you want to do and the right thing to do aren’t the same,” I answered, and her eyes snapped to mine.
Suddenly, it felt like I was talking about a different kind of harm: the kind that came from wanting her and knowing I couldn’t do anything about it.
“If I can avoid the hassle of discharging a firearm in a national park, I will,” I continued roughly and drove us out of the lot, fighting against the tightness in my chest.
“You don’t think there’s any way he’s lying, do you?” Lara picked up her coffee, gulping down several mouthfuls like it went beyond a pick-me-up into a hold-me-together.
“He’s a lousy human being, but he wasn’t lying,” I said. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
My gaze flicked to the passenger seat. “Wondering” wouldn’t have left a crease in her brow.
One of the more common hurdles in my line of work was when friends or loved ones refused to believe where the evidence led me.
Normally, I (politely) ignored their emotional reactions because it had no bearing on my search.
But in this case, it had a bearing on her, and that, I was having a hard time accepting, let alone ignoring.
“Is it the retreat? Do you think her wanting to go was out of character?”
“I’m not sure,” Lara said, her gaze dropping to where her hands were knitted around her coffee cup.
“A few weeks ago, I would’ve said yes. I’d told her—begged her—so many times to talk to someone, to try any kind of therapy because every one of her relationships has been worse than the last. But she wouldn’t listen. ”
Even though there was no malice in her voice, guilt still pricked at the lining of my chest. Her sister’s instability wasn’t Lara’s responsibility, but that wasn’t what she needed to hear right now, especially coming from me.
“And now?”
She sighed. “Now I’m worried I finally got through to her and she signed up for something that was at best a scam and at worst . . .”
I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—speak to the possibilities because I didn’t have enough facts. Instead, I heard myself reply with something even worse: “Whatever it is, we’re going to find her.”
“Is that a promise?”
Never guarantee results. It was more than just a rule—in this business, it was a commandment.
But all I had to do was look at her, all green eyes and glimmering hope, to break it. “Yes.”
The drive back to the diner went much quicker, and we pulled into a lot that was very different from the one we’d left earlier. Almost all the spots were full, and by the time I’d parked and we walked to the entrance, there were people sitting outside the door, waiting for a table.
“Lara.” I stopped and turned.
“I know.” She winced. “Let you do the talking.”
My fist flexed and released at my side. When she’d spoken up earlier—when Brandon had started toward her—it had been a long time since I’d felt anything akin to panic.
Control your heart rate, control your fear.
In that split second, my heart rate had gone wild.
Because she wasn’t supposed to be there. Because if something happened to her—
I grabbed the door and swung it wide, flooding my mind with the task at hand.
Unfortunately, the lunch rush was just ramping up.
Ron was behind the counter, volleying back and forth from one end to the other.
He waved when he saw me but couldn’t afford much else.
I spotted Marlene as she pushed out of the kitchen, her hair just as big as yesterday, her lips a little redder, and her arms filled to the brim with plates.
Muttering excuses to those standing, waiting for a seat, I headed in her direction, Lara like a warm shadow at my back.
“Marlene.”
“Oh, hey there, darlin’,” she greeted and then handed out four plates of burgers to the booth in front of her like she was dealing cards rather than delivering food.
“What can I do you for? Did you find your friend?” She tried to sidestep me, intent on heading to her next table, but I blocked her path.
“Did you give the woman we asked you about a brochure when she was here?” I didn’t waste either of our time. “For some kind of relationship wilderness retreat?”
Her brows furrowed and then exploded wide with her exclamation.
“Oh!” It was a good thing there were no longer any plates in her hands, the way they plunged to her chest. “Yes—no. I mean, you see, I was in the kitchen, and when I came out, she was standing over there by the register, looking at the pinboard. I went to see if she was okay, given the commotion outside, and that was when she apologized to me for her boyfriend. She was waitin’ for me to come back into the dining area. ”
“And the brochure . . .” I led her along.
“Yes, well, I didn’t give it to her. She was looking at one on the board when I went over to check on her; she was reading it, engrossed, and I told her she was welcome to take it if she was interested. Then she started apologizing to me and wanting to give me a tip—”
“Marlene, what was the brochure for? The name of the retreat?”
“Oh, well, I don’t remember that, darlin’,” she chided with a chuckle, and my jaw locked. “But you know”—she squinted—“there might be another one pinned over there. I think whoever posted it left a couple—”
“Thanks.” I turned and Lara was already back at the entrance, scanning the corkboard. I reached her just in time to hear her mutter, “There,” and then shoot up on her toes to reach the pamphlet tacked near the top.
There was no way she could reach it, even on tiptoe.
“Let me,” I huffed and came up right behind her, reaching over her head and past her straining fingertips. Damn woman just couldn’t wait a second for help.
I unclipped the brochure just as she lowered her arms and spun—directly into the enclave of my body. Her gasp ricocheted off my chest. All my muscles turned to stone. Lara angled her head up, her full lips peeling apart when her gaze met mine, verdant green hazing with forbidden shadows.
God, she was beautiful. So beautiful. And too damn close.
Oxygen dumped into my chest as I lowered my arm slowly, afraid any sudden movement would close whatever abysmal space existed between us.
I was a restrained man. Too restrained, maybe, but it served me well.
However, restraint only succeeded with recognition—awareness of the things that were dangerous and avoiding them with intention.
But Lara . . . she was an exception, not just to my rules but to my restraint, too.
I recognized every inch of her soft, tempting danger to me, and yet I continued to put myself in her perilous proximity.
Like I didn’t care about the devastation it could bring.
Like I’d forgotten the destruction it had already caused.
Unfortunately, all my caution became worthless when the door swung open and two kids, followed by their parents, barreled into the restaurant, one of them knocking right into me.
“Shit.” My hand shot out to stop me from falling forward, anchoring on the corkboard at the same moment her hand landed on my chest.
Desire exploded in my veins like a chambered bullet accidentally fired. A decades-old ache lodging itself in my ribs.
Her eyes crashed into mine. Our breaths tangled into an inextricable knot of need, promising the only way to loosen it was to get closer.
Without moving—without even trying—things became messy. Lines started to blur.
I’d trapped her against the wall rather than crushing her into it, but somehow crushing seemed less catastrophic than . . . this. My body wedged to hers. My heart charged like a caged beast against her hand. Her head so close, the freckles on her nose became a map that led my gaze to her lips.
Lara’s eyelids dipped. An invitation.
Her fingers curled into my jacket. A plea.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.” The moment shattered, the crash as sharp and jarring as a breaking glass. A hand landed on my shoulder, accompanying the effusive apology from the mom whose kid had bumped into me.
I pushed away from the wall, and from Lara, giving my full attention to the woman. “It’s all right.” She could barely give me a weary smile before she was pulled away, trying to wrangle her kids back to her side.
“Let’s go outside,” I muttered and moved a little desperately toward the exit.
The cool breeze did little to dull the heat surging through my blood. Or the frustration.