“And I don’t appreciate being treated like a leper.”
His face hardens. “Please leave. We can’t help you. We haven’t seen Kaity.”
“No,” I grunt, walking towards the door. “You never could, could you?”
I open it and slam it shut, and face the onslaught of gossip again. I put my head down and charge to my truck. When I reach it, I get in, slam the door, and speed off down the street. I make it only a mile or so before I stop on the side of the road, drop my head into my hands, and break out in a cold sweat.
My throat gets tight and I struggle to breathe.
Another panic attack.
I’m used to them now, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I try to fight through the constricting pain in my chest to breathe, but the pressure is too much. I start to pant, pressing a hand to my forehead and another to my heart, which is pounding. Tears burn under my eyelids, but I shove them back.
I’m stronger than this.
I force a breath through the pain, then another, and another, until finally the constriction eases and shaky breaths pass through my lips easier. Thank God. With shaky fingers I manage to focus back on the road. I know what I have to do, and doing it is literally a last resort, but my sister needs me, and I think she deserves someone to sacrifice for her for once.
So I start my car and turn it around, heading straight towards lower downtown Denver.
To Kenai Michelson’s office.
FIVE
“I would like to see Kenai, if he’s in, please,” I say to the pretty blonde gawking at me over the reception desk.
“Are you Marlie Jacobson?”
I inwardly sigh. “Yes,” I mutter.
“Oh my God,” she squeaks. “I just finished your book and it ripped my heart out. I can’t believe you survived that.”
I force a smile. “Kenai, please?”
She glances nervously to her left, then leans closer and whispers. “Can I have an autograph, I mean, would you mind?”
“Of course,” I say, my voice void of emotion. I don’t know how she’s still smiling. Hell, my voice is so empty it scares me.
She pulls out her copy of My Encounter with the Devil and hands it to me. I glare at the cover. It’s some lame creation of a woman’s crying eye. The type is bright red and scary. The title, though, is what annoys me the most. It sounds like I had tea with a monster and then skipped merrily home. God, I hate this book. I fucking hate it.
I scribble my name on the inside page and then glare expectantly at the girl. “Kenai?”
“Of course,” she gushes, lifting up the phone and pressing it to her ear.
“Yes, Kenai, I have Marlie Jacobson up at reception asking to see you.”
Her bright face falls and she nods. “Right, very sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She hangs up the phone and looks over to me. By the upset and bothered look on her face, the stories about Kenai are true. He’s a jerk. Great.
“He said he doesn’t have time and whatever it is you want, he doesn’t want any part of it.”
Asshole didn’t even hear me out. That’s not okay.
“Pick up the phone and dial him again,” I order.
“Miss Jacobson, I can’t do that—”
“Pick it up,” I hiss. “And dial him back, then hand it to me.”
“I really…”
“Do it or I will.”
Her face grows red as she lifts the phone, dialing again. She thrusts it at me, and I give her a weak smile. “I’ll tell him I tackled you and got it,” I say, trying to offer her assurance, considering she looks like she’s going to puke.
“I told you I’m fucking busy,” comes the deepest, sexiest voice I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Dismissing someone without even speaking to them is rude,” I snap into the phone. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Marlie Jacobson, and I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”
“Not fuckin’ interested.”
“Then I’ll wait out here until you are, and believe me, I’m a determined woman. Or haven’t you read my book?”
He makes a throaty, pissed-off sound and hangs up.
Fine.
I thrust the phone back at the receptionist and walk over to a chair, plonking myself down. I smile at her, cross my legs, and wait. I don’t expect him to come out, but less than five minutes later the door swings open and out comes the deadliest, sexiest, roughest man I’ve ever seen.
Eyes the color of lush, green forest trees swing my way, and I freeze. They’re the most incredible eyes, I could get lost in them. Surrounded by thick black lashes. Set amongst olive skin. His jaw is hard, and carries the scars to prove it. His nose is slightly crooked, clearly having been broken a few too many times, but his lips, oh his lips—full and plump and almost delicate.
I’ve heard a lot about Kenai’s good looks, but never did I expect them to be this powerful. There’s something about him that makes my body feel weak. He’s tall and built like a brick wall. Solid, muscled, and fucking gorgeous. His hair is dark, maybe brown, maybe black. It’s hard to tell, but it has little flecks of light brown throughout. It’s just long enough that you could run your hands through it. He is boasting the messy I’ve-not-brushed-it-for-a-few-days look.
He’s got a few days’ growth on his jaw, and he’s dressed all in black, like some badass biker. He’s got rings on his fingers, thick ones, skulls maybe, and he’s got chains hanging from his pants. His boots are undone. Messy and sexy seems to be his angle. He’s got tattoos snaking up his arms and, it would appear, popping back out at his neck.
Hot.
Also an asshole.
“You’ve got three seconds to get the fuck out of my office before I lift you up and throw you out,” he rumbles.
I stand, finding my backbone. “I’ve heard you like to throw women, but I can assure you, Mr. Michelson, that if you touch me, I’ll break your fucking nose.” I stare at his nose, then smirk. “Again.”
He flinches, but I see a flash of surprise cross his face before he masks it.
“Can’t imagine what a girl like you is doin’ in my office.”
A girl like me. I’d love to know what kind of girl he thinks I am.
“I came for the service you’re offering. Shouldn’t take a genius to figure that out,” I point out sarcastically.
He crosses his arms, and his muscles flex. His face is hard as stone, not breaking even for a second.
“You have two minutes to tell me what you want, or I’ll risk getting my nose broken, again.”
Jerk.
I cross my arms. “I want you to find my sister. There, that only took two seconds.”
He keeps his arms crossed, his face blank.
“Are you deaf?” I snap.
“No, just don’t think I’m hearin’ you right. You want me to find your sister, who has only been missing twenty-four hours and is known to be runnin’ around trampin’ it up with a bunch of drug lords?”
“How do you know that?”
He gives me a look. “I know everything, Marlie.”
My spine straightens. “No you don’t, because she is not tramping it up with anyone!”
He glares at me. “I know the ins and outs of this town, and I know what she’s been doin’.”
“Listen.” I step closer. He doesn’t move. “I didn’t come here to hear how good you are, or what you know. I came here to get your help.”
He leans in even closer, and I try not to inhale his masculine, heavenly scent. “I don’t take on short cases with no evidence that a person is actually missing.”
I lose my cool and poke him in the chest. “Listen, buddy, what the fuck does it matter to you how long she’s been missing or if it’s an actual fact? I’m offering to pay for your help, so what the hell is the problem?”
He reaches out and takes my finger from his chest, lowering it back down to my side. Swift. “T
here are real cases out there. Children missing. Wives disappeared. Those things matter. Those things I take my time out to fuckin’ go hunting for, not a sister who is running around getting high with her fuckin’ boyfriend.”
“She’s not,” I say through my clenched teeth. “She’s in danger.”
He shifts from one foot to the other. “And you know this because?”
“I know my sister!” I cry, trying to keep my frustration under control.
“That’s not enough of a reason.”
Breathe. Marlie. Breathe. “I’ll pay you double your going rate.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You think throwing your cheat cash in my face will get me to help you?”
Cheat cash? What the fuck. I take a breath and force myself to stay calm.
“No, I’m not expecting anything. I’m asking a man who is the best at his job to help me because I have no one else.”
He stares at me, really stares, then narrows his eyes. “You could hire anyone with the money you got floatin’ around. Why me?”
“Like I said, you’re the best.” I struggle to keep the anger out of my voice. Don’t get pissed off, Marlie. You’re nearly there. He’s cracking.
He looks over to the receptionist. “Cases. List them. Now.”
“You just cleared up the Smith case,” she stammers, flicking through the diary quickly. “You’re finishing up the Waters case this week, and then you’re due in New York for the missing wife if she hasn’t turned up by next month.”
Kenai turns back to me and sighs. “Two weeks, that’s all I have time for. Better get your checkbook ready, I don’t come cheap.”
“Thought my cheat cash didn’t matter to you,” I mutter.
He flashes me a glare. “You want my help? Then you shut it and let me do my job.”
“I’m coming with you,” I point out.
I know Kenai usually takes someone close to the missing person with him when he does a case, for information, so I know he doesn’t really have the grounds to turn me down. I expect him to protest, but instead his eyes light up in a dangerous kind of way. “Then welcome to two weeks of hell. Pack your bags, princess, you’re about to see what the real world is about.”
Shit.
SIX
“You did it?” Hannah asks, eyes wide.
I rummage through my clothes, making sure I’ve got everything I need. I just got off the phone with Paul, telling him I needed more time off. He was understanding, and was happy to give it to me. I informed the police of my actions, and because what Kenai does is legal, they took my contact information and told me they would let me know of any changes.
Now I’m preparing myself for time on the road with a jerk of a man. How the hell am I going to cope with two weeks with him? He can barely grunt two words at me as it is, so maybe that’s a good thing. We’ll be spending twenty-four hours a day together on a road trip; we’ll probably be staying in the same places overnight. God. What the hell am I thinking?
Kaitlyn. That’s what I’m thinking.
“Yes, he agreed to help me,” I mumble, holding up a shirt. Too crinkled? Too old? Who cares. I’m not trying to impress anyone. I toss it in the “take” pile.
“Was he nice about it?”
I give her a look. “Have you ever heard of him being nice about anything?”
She smiles. “No. So how long will you be gone?”
“He said he can give me two weeks. We’re going to Kaity’s apartment today to see if we can get some info before we hit the road.”
“I have Chris’s full name, if you need it. And I’ll see if I can dig up anything else from people around town before you go.”
I smile at her, grateful. “Thanks, Hannah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She grins. “Probably die.”
I chuckle. “Probably.”
Hannah wishes me luck, tells me she’ll call with any information, and gets going. She said she’s going to visit her grandmother for a few days, but she promised to call often. I finish making sure I’ve got everything I need. With winter coming in the next few weeks, things are cooling down quickly. I only have one jacket. I’ll have to get more clothes along the way.
With a sigh, I zip up my suitcase and go downstairs to say goodbye to my mom. Kenai told me he’ll be here at three p.m. sharp and if I’m not outside he’ll leave. It’s 2:50 now. I drop my suitcase at the door and find Mom in the kitchen, drinking wine and staring out the window. Sometimes I wonder if somewhere deep down in her mind, she is struggling, too. Or has the money and fame really just become her everything?
“Hey, Mom,” I say and she turns, studying me. “I’m leaving now.”
She stands and rushes over, throwing her arms around me. “You’re doing such a brave thing for your sister.”
I stare up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well, hopefully I’ll find her.”
“She could be anywhere, enduring anything. Oh, Marlie, I feel like I’m cursed. This is the worst thing a mother could possibly go through. Why is this happening to me?”
Way to make it about you, Mom. She still thinks only about herself. Granted, she’s always been this way, but hell, I don’t have time for the frustration.
“I have to go,” I mutter, turning and walking towards the door.
“Stay safe, Marlie.”
“I will, Mom.” I lift my suitcase and shove the front door open, stepping out just as a huge, black, chunky-looking truck pulls into the driveway. The window rolls down and I see Kenai sitting in the front seat, his eyes on my mother’s house. He’s got a scowl on his face, as if the very image of the house makes him feel ill. Yeah, well, I feel the same, buddy.
I walk towards the car, but he throws the door open and gets out, walking around and snatching my suitcase from my hands. He doesn’t say a word as he throws it in the back and then opens my door for me to get in. I stare at him, mouth agape, eyes wide. He opens doors but he can’t speak a nice word?
“Get in,” he grunts.
“You’re opening my door,” I say, not moving.
“Yeah, it’s called fucking manners. Now get in.”
I scoff. “Manners? Swearing at a woman isn’t manners. I think you’ve got it all wrong, buddy.”
“Get,” he growls, leaning down close, “in.”
“All right, keep your shirt on.”
I leap into his truck as graceful as a gorilla, and he slams the door before walking around the front. I stare at him as he goes, watching the wind whip around the messy hair atop his head. He’s wearing all black again, and today his shirt is so tight I can see the outlines of his muscles as he moves.
Hot.
Asshole.
He gets in the driver’s side again, then turns to me. “We’re going to look at the apartment, but before we do there are rules. I won’t drive away until you’re clear on them.”
I cross my arms. “Hit me then.”
He grunts. “First, you do everything I say.”
I snort.
He glares.
“I’m fuckin’ serious, woman. You do everything I say, when I say it, and you don’t argue.”
“Does that mean I can’t go to the toilet without your permission, Chief?”
His jaw tics. “Second rule,” he rasps through clenched teeth. “No sass.”
“Can’t help the way I am,” I point out.
“Then keep it to yourself. I can’t guarantee your safety if you don’t do as you’re told. When we’re out somewhere or I’m talking to people, you stay the fuck where I tell you and keep it quiet. You want your sister found, you’ll let me do my job and refrain from getting in my way.”
“All right, buddy, I get it,” I say, throwing my hands up.
“Third rule, you stay in my sight at all times unless we’re in a safe location. I don’t need a second missing person.”
I put my hand to my forehead and salute.
“Fourth rule,” he practically spits at me. “You do not ask questions, you do not s
peak, you do not look at my things. I know what I’m doing, and your opinion means nothing to me.”
“I got it.” I sigh. “Sit down, be quiet, smile nicely, don’t speak.”
He growls again.
It’s kind of sexy.
No. Asshole.
“Now, give me my check before we leave.”
I roll my eyes, reach into my bag, and pull out the check. He takes it, glances at the amount, then stuffs it in his pocket and stares straight forward. He starts the truck and we begin the drive to my sister’s apartment.
“Are you broody because of your job, or because you’re just an asshole by nature?”
His jaw tics again.
“Rule four amended. No talking … at all.”
“So we’re going on a long road trip, and I can’t talk?”
Normally, I’m the furthest thing from a social butterfly. But his rules and hard-ass attitude make me want to mess with him.
His fingers go white around the steering wheel. “Talk in your own head.”
“That would mean I have problems.”
He snorts. “And you don’t?”
“Low blow, Chief.”
“My name is Kenai!”
“My name is Kenai,” I mumble to myself, turning and staring out the window. “Can I at least sing?”
“No,” he barks.
“Hum?”
He makes a deadly sound in his throat as I continue to stare at the passing scenery with a smirk on my face. This could be a little fun.
We drive for another few minutes before I turn and ask, “How much is this trip going to cost me? You’re not going to stay in five-star hotels are you?”
“You’ve got plenty of cash, Miss Devil Wrangler. I’m sure it won’t matter.”
That annoys me. My chest clenches as I glare at his profile.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Everyone in the world knows who you are, and what you went through. They also know you used that story, that pain, that situation—a situation that so many families just wish their child made it out alive from—to make money. Shitloads of it.”
“Is that what you think?” I say, my voice shaky.
“I don’t think it, woman. I know it.”
“Of course you do. ’Cause you know more than I do about my situation.”