2. Chapter 2
2
Chapter 2
Blue
Bluebell St. James stood on the edge of the fifty-foot cliff, the Diamond Cove lighthouse at her back, staring out over the ocean. The yellow building with white trim behind her was ideally placed to draw the eye, and tourists, because it was so beautiful—a literal beacon of light. And it was large. Not only was there a house attached, that used to belong to the lighthouse keeper until everything went digital, but it also had a large hall that was now used for functions of all sorts. Bluebell loved this building. She’d only been living in Diamond Cove for a few months, but it was in this spot, next to this old lighthouse, where she found refuge.
The cool morning breeze brushed over her bare legs, raising goosebumps, but her arms were spared by her Rashguard swim top with its long sleeves. In the distance, a large, white speed boat glittered in the morning sun. The image of it reminded her of a painting, a boat headed for shore after a morning spent searching for treasures? Probably redfish or trout. She took a deep breath, and then another, then closed her eyes for just a moment, breathing in the crisp, salty morning air.
She loved mornings like these, mornings where there were no expectations of her, no decisions to be made. Just her and the ocean . . . and that boat. Soon, she’d have to snap out of it—head back to real life, if her life could be called real.
Melancholy brushed past like a soft touch from the ghosts of her past, slowly caressing from her head to her toes, as it so often did. But she straightened her shoulders and shook her head to fend off the feelings that had been so prevalent in her life. She had a rule. Those feelings could come. She’d allow herself to feel them, really breathe them in, and then she let them go like a feather on the wind. Dwelling never helped anyone.
“Oh, Carl, look how beautiful!” A feminine gasp came from behind her, and Blue glanced over her shoulder. A group of about half a dozen senior tourists were coming up the hill from the lighthouse parking lot. They were a good hundred yards away, but their voices carried in the perfectly silent space.
“Look at that girl!” Another feminine voice called out.
The group was all smiles, big hats, noses covered in sunblock, and . . . cameras .
Shoot. She glanced down at the waterproof watch her fiancé, Jonah, had given her a few months ago. Six-thirty a.m.? Who went on tours at six-thirty a.m.? The sun was barely up, just peeking over the horizon now.
She faced out to the ocean once more, then leaned over and tightened her water shoes. She’d meant to spend more time up here. There were things she needed to think over, but where there were cameras, there could never be a St. James.
She and her dad may have been on the run from the Chicago Outfit for the last fourteen years, and The Outfit may still think they were dead, but that didn’t mean that one post to a social media site that caught the wrong eye, wouldn’t ruin all of their years in hiding. And then they’d have to run. Again.
She stepped to the very edge of the cliff, extended her arms out to her sides, and took a deep, calming breath.
“What’s she doing, Norm?” A different, nervous female voice asked.
“It looks like she’s about to jump,” a man Blue could only assume was Norm answered, sounding not the least bit worried.
“Someone get Hank!” Another female voice called out.
Blue waited only a few moments more, slowing her heart rate. She bent her knees just so, then spring boarded off the edge of the cliff into a steep dive.
As the air broke around her, and her stomach lurched up, Blue once again had the brief thought that this was what it felt like to fly. Like being free. It was why she’d gotten so into extreme sports in the last decade. Cliff diving, bungee jumping, sky diving, base jumping . . . they all gave the temporary illusion of freedom, and she craved it.
She entered the water in a perfect arch, and as she shot down, down, down, the icy chill of ocean water wound through her core. She curved her body toward the surface so her momentum would propel her up. Moments of pulling and kicking brought her to the surface and she breathed in deep—a gasp for air. Above her, several men from the tour group and a couple of women stared over the side of the cliff, a few clapping. She waved at them to let them know she was okay, then swam around the edge of the cliff side and toward Diamond Cove Bay before any of them thought to take a picture.
A lesser-known fact about Diamond Cove was that it was popular with cliff divers. Not competitively because the cliff wasn’t quite tall enough for that, but it was great for training. It wasn’t in any brochures or online anywhere she could find, but she’d heard it from a friend who’d heard it from a friend, who’d heard it from an acquaintance, that if you wanted to dive in one of the most scenic places in the world, this was it. This whispered secret description called her to Diamond Cove like a cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper first thing in the morning. The refreshing carbonation burn down her throat was akin to the zing over her skin when she hit the water.
Of course, this was a sport she’d already done many times before, but when Marshall Stroup told them they had to move again—their five-year norm—Diamond Cove had been her top choice after her one visit. Thoughts of Stroup made her frown. He wasn’t a bad guy, by any means, but he wasn’t exactly likable either. She figured most of it was because she associated him with the constant, and total, uprooting of her life.
She pulled herself to shore near the stairs leading up to the lighthouse and shook out her shoulder-length, bleach-blond hair. That boat went by, the one she saw from the cliff’s edge, and one of the men on board yelled something out to her she couldn’t quite hear. His tone was flirtatious. She waved, then turned, and jogged up the steps, two steps at a time. At the top, she dashed to the parking lot, passing the tour bus which read “The Palms Retirement Community” on the side, and darted to where she’d left her Ninja ZX-7R parked with all her stuff.
Before any of the tour group saw her again, she quickly slammed her helmet on to hide her face, hopped on her bike, and sped out of there, her tires kicking up gravel as she went.
She’d have to find out more about the tour group and when it hit the lighthouse so she could avoid them in the future. If they were local, it shouldn’t be that hard.
Blue drove straight to her dad’s repair shop, Rider’s Respite, and rolled through the open garage door. It was nearby and a safe place to duck into. The place had four large bays, and skylights over every one that lit the room with natural sunlight. The walls were painted black, and the concrete floor stained with oil and other grease that permeated the air. Photos she’d purchased for him at an art gallery in North Carolina graced the walls. Close-ups of gears, motors, and tools.
Dad had only one bay door open, but the rest would follow as the day progressed. He liked people looking in at his projects. Said it brought in more business.
One of Dad’s employees, Kenneth, whistled at her over the nineties rock music playing from the overhead speakers. The other guys looked up from their work. She waved. Harmless catcalls and laughter followed as she moved through the space in her swimsuit.
Dad pulled away from the motorcycle he was working on, arched a brow at her then faced his guys. “Get back to work,” he barked. They all turned back to their projects in a flash. Their heads were down and their eyes looking at anything but Dad.
Blue smirked. You could take the man out of the mafia, but you couldn’t take the mafia out of the man. If these guys knew the softy under the bark, they’d never get any work done. Then again, if they knew the mobster under the grease monkey, they might never stop working . . .
Opening the top trunk on the back of her bike, she pulled her joggers out and slid them on. The drive over had mostly dried her off, but there was enough of a chill in the air that she slid into her big, warm sweater with the University of Tampa logo on it. She was practically swimming in the fabric, the thing was so big, but she loved it. Zipping it up, she snuggled into it allowing the worn-soft fabric to work its magic. She pulled her hair into a messy knot at the base of her skull to keep it from dripping down her back.
Dad waltzed over, and she gave him a big kiss on the cheek.
“Morning,” he said. “Went for a swim already?”
She nodded as she slipped out of her water-logged water shoes, and grabbed her socks and boots. “Yep.”
He lowered his voice as he glanced down at her bare feet. “Had to make a run for it?”
“There was a tour group with cameras. Not a big deal.” She dumped her wet gear in her top trunk, then with her socks and shoes in hand, headed for Dad’s desk in the corner of the old warehouse garage. Dad followed.
She spotted a daddy longlegs in the corner of the shop near the desk, hanging out in a web, and the sight of it sent her emotions reeling from happy nostalgia to grief. She settled on happy nostalgia and smiled, tore her gaze away, then plopped down in her dad’s rustic, dark olive-green armchair. The chair felt like butter and looked like it was the most expensive thing in the place. It wasn’t, not by a long shot. And not because the thing was cheap— it’d cost her six hundred dollars—but because the rusty old bikes they had in the shop were worth a whole heck of a lot more. The one her dad was working on, a 1972 Harley-Davidson XR750 Road Racer was likely to bring in over $80,000 once he’d finished restoring it.
Dad sat on the edge of his messy desk, grabbed a greased-stained red rag, and began to wipe his fingers.
She pulled her socks on, savoring the warmth of them before shoving her feet into her riding boots. “I didn’t want to make the drive back into town in my swimsuit.”
Dad pointed at her left hand. “No ring?”
Blue almost rolled her eyes, just barely stopping herself. This was a conversation she’d had with her dad more than once—about her engagement to Jonah.
“Because I went diving,” she said. “I didn’t want to lose it.” He didn’t need to know that she barely ever wore it these days.
He didn’t respond right away like he normally did when they were on this topic. The silence left her feeling uneasy, and she cranked her head back to look up at him. He had his hair pulled into a half ponytail today, his hair was as long as hers, maybe a little longer, hanging at his shoulders over his white button-up. He stared her down.
“What?” she asked, the word coming out on a croak.
“You don’t have to marry him, sweetheart,” he said.
Her gaze darted to her dad’s employees, who were, thankfully, all deep in their work, and listening to . . . Metallica now. She faced her dad again. “I want to marry him. He’s safe.”
“Safe?” Dad arched his thick, blond brow.
Safe as in if he decided to leave, it wouldn’t hurt her. She liked that. Liked it a lot. Losing people was just too hard. Emotionally, she felt she’d taken all the losses she could handle in her life. Plus, Jonah was fun to be around. “Safe,” she repeated.
“He’s an extreme sportsman.”
“Well, we have that in common then.” She tied her shoes.
Her dad leaned forward just a little. “What about love?”
“You loved Mom and look how that turned out.”
Dad clenched his jaw, tensing the muscles there. “That’s not fair.”
Blue stood and placed her hand on his forearm. “I thought you liked him?”
“I do!” He ran a hand over the back of his head. “It’s just that I remember what you’re like when you’re in love, and this isn’t that.”
“Dad,” she groaned and tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed her arm.
“Vittoria—” Dad snapped his mouth closed, and this time, they both glanced toward his guys. They still weren’t paying attention. Dad huffed out a breath and faced her again.
This time, she arched her brow. It’d been a while since he’d slipped up and called her by her old name—he usually only did it when he was really, really frustrated. “You okay?”
His iron grip on her arm, while completely non-painful, didn’t loosen an inch. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he looked at her. “Your mother and I didn’t pick our marriage. I did love her, but the reason it never could’ve worked was because she didn’t love me. I don’t want that for you. Either side of it. You deserve better. We ran so you could have better.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Do you think I’d be here for any other reason?”
Guilt churned in her stomach. He had given up so much for her. He loved this job, but he was right. He never would’ve chosen this if not for her.
“Have you ever considered trying to contact Sean?” he asked.
Blue’s spine went stiff as a board. Almost ten years since they’d broken up, and she still couldn’t escape him. He always seemed to be there, just around the corner, waiting to ambush her and ruin her life all over again. Sean and her little brother were her constant specters. The one who’d left her and the one she’d left behind.
“No, Dad.” Even to her ears, her tone was sharp—she pulled her arm from his grasp, and this time he let her go. “Sean’s gone. Long gone. He left, remember?”
“You left each other.” Dad folded his strong arms. “And if he hadn’t, you never would’ve gone to design school in Paris like you wanted.”
She stepped aside and headed for her bike. “Yeah, he’s a stinking saint.”
Dad called after her. “If you hate him so much, why do you still have his sweater?”
She froze at her bike and almost glanced down at the massive sweater engulfing her and keeping her warm. Instead, she grabbed for her helmet and shoved it on. “I’ve got to go, Dad. My boutique opens in an hour.” She swung her leg over her bike and settled onto the seat. “See you later tonight?” She turned the engine over, and it roared to life.
He nodded as she backed out of the garage. Dad had never been big on details; he was a big-picture kind of man. It’s why he’d been so successful as the Consigliere for The Outfit, and in part why they’d had to run. He had a way of seeing how things would play out before they did. He’d known exactly what would’ve happened to Blue if they’d stayed, and he’d been willing to leave his son to protect her.
Still, Dad hadn’t seen the end of her relationship with Sean but had noticed the sweater. Great. What else had he noticed? She thought of Jonah and just hoped Dad wasn’t paying as close attention to her relationship with him as he had with her relationship with Sean. After this conversation, she was betting he’d been paying closer attention than ever.