"Leave." Her father's voice snapped Eric's words in half. "Now."
"Fine. I'll go. Just take care of this little--"
She'd never know what contemptuous name Eric was going to call her, because Drew was suddenly there, his hand around Eric's biceps, dragging him from the chair. He tossed Eric out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
Tasha waited for her father to deny everything. She waited for Drew to do the same.
But there were no denials.
Instead, all her father said was, "It would be better if you disappeared for a while."
Disappeared. As though she'd done something wrong.
Oh God. All those times they'd moved...
Was this the reason?
"Is it really true?" She couldn't make her voice rise above a whisper. Couldn't stop her limbs from shaking. "Was the resort just a big scam?"
Her father started to get up from his chair. "Sweetheart--"
She cringed. Then she looked at Drew, who still stood immobile by the door.
"I'm sorry, Tash."
Turning on her father, she lashed out. "You used my website to con people?"
The higher her voice rose, the lower her father's fell. "On the books, you were just a contractor. You'll be fine, sweetheart."
She wanted to scream at him never to use that endearment again.
Drew reached for her hand, but stopped himself before he actually touched her. "That's why we never wanted you to go to the building site. So no one could point a finger at you. And I made sure that you could never track--" He stopped, shut down by the look their father flashed him.
But she could barely hear what he was saying as her brain went round and round with what she'd just learned. Was this why her father had encouraged her college degree in web design and development? He must have seen the potential of her skills to bilk money out of unsuspecting victims and had just been biding his time until the perfect opportunity came along.
The perfect con.
It was monstrous.
"I'm so sorry, Tash," her brother said again in an anguished voice. "I never meant to let you get hurt."
But he'd been a part of it all. They'd both lied to her. Used her. She needed to think straight, needed to figure out how long this had been going on. "What did Eric mean, that he knew you and Dad from other cons?"
Her father spoke before Drew could. "We've worked with Eric before, that's all. No big deal."
She couldn't believe he was trying to blow her off like she didn't have ears to hear with or a head to think with. But maybe, it suddenly occurred to her, she didn't. Otherwise, wouldn't she have spotted the lies? Lies that must have started way back, when she was just a little girl? Before that, even.
"He used the word con," she said, her voice getting stronger now. Harder. "Not job. And he said I could be arrested."
In typical evasive fashion, her father said, "No one's going to arrest you. We've already explained that."
Growing up, she'd never questioned how her father paid for their fancy apartments and luxury cars, or the five-star vacations and her private school. All she'd known was that he was in "investments" like so many of her girlfriends' fathers. She'd never let herself wonder too hard about why they'd so frequently had to pack up at a moment's notice, always leaving so much behind.
But now, with the blindfold ripped from her eyes, she realized that in every single instance, her father must have been running away from whatever shady deal he'd had going.
How could she have been so blind?
"Are you a con man?" She needed to hear him say it.
He waved his hands. "That's such a misnomer."
Before she could reply to that ridiculous statement, Drew added, "We liberate money from people who are too stupid to make good use of it."
She turned her head just enough to stare at her brother. He sounded like a parrot, repeating a phrase someone had taught him. A phrase their father had taught him.
"We never go after old people or the vulnerable," Drew continued in what she was sure he thought must be a reasonable tone. "Only people who don't deserve the kind of money they have. People who inherited a big chunk of money they didn't work for, or cash they came by nefariously."
This couldn't be her brother, whom she'd loved and looked up to since she was a kid. Drew's biggest goal in life had been to join their father's company and make their dad proud of him. But he'd clearly been brainwashed by the great Reggie Summerfield into thinking that stealing was okay as long as you stole from people who didn't "deserve" the money.
All so that her father could turn his son into a criminal.
Anger roiled, bubbling up to overwhelm her as she rounded on her father. "I can't believe you did this to Drew. I can't believe you gave me a commission to make a website so that you could bamboozle unsuspecting people into giving you money for nothing." Perhaps that should have been the worst of it, but it was his more personal crimes against her that made the bile rise higher in her throat. "And that you would do something so disgusting as encouraging me to date your partner in crime!"
She was about to be sick all over the expensive hardwood floors...paid for with stolen money.
"Sweetheart. It's not as bad as you think." Her father's tone was conciliatory, cajoling, as though he could bring her around with pretty words.
"I trusted you." Because they were family, and family was never supposed to hurt you.
How could she ever trust anyone again when she couldn't even believe in her own flesh and blood? The worst was losing Drew. That was so much harder than losing Eric. No wonder she hadn't known how she'd react to the idea of a little velvet box and a marriage proposal. Somewhere down deep, she must have known her boyfriend couldn't possibly be for real.
But she'd never suspected her own father and brother weren't for real either.
"There's no way anything can come back on you," her father said. Still no apologies. No remorse. "But it would be better for you to get out of town before the investigators come to question you."
That was all Tasha could take. She couldn't bear to listen to one more excuse or horrible truth.
With one last look at her brother--and not one glance to spare for her father--Tasha ran.
*
She kept on running until she found seclusion in the mountains of South Lake Tahoe, then bought the run-down cabin super cheap, hoping the work to fix it up would occupy her mind to the exclusion of everything else.
During the last three months, she'd installed a shower, toilet, and bathroom sink. She had electricity, running water, and mounted a wood-burning stove so she wouldn't freeze. She would have turned off the Internet to further isolate herself from the rest of the world, but when her fixer-upper needed way more work than she'd anticipated, she needed her computer to watch how-to videos on carpentry, plumbing, electrical, and cement work. But apart from watching DIY videos, she'd scrubbed her existence from email, Facebook, and all other social media, and spent no additional time online.
Since leaving San Francisco, she'd returned to the city only once for a handful of days to meet with the investigators. She'd not only given back her commission for building the Lakeside Ventures website--she would never keep ill-gotten gains--she'd also told the investigators what she knew about the resort scam, which wasn't much, given that she had no idea where her father or brother had gone; they'd disappeared like wisps of fog in the sun. Thankfully, the authorities had managed to freeze the business accounts, with most of the money intact, so that the bulk of the bilked investors would receive reparations.
In the end, the investigators had let her go, believing she hadn't known the true nature of the resort con. In her heart, though, she still felt corrupted, not only by this scam, but by all the times she hadn't asked questions about the other ones.
During her final days in the city, she'd finished up the last of her website contracts, then shut down her business. She missed brainstorming with her clients, helping them bring their visions
to life, building something that could potentially change their lives for the better. After losing her father, her brother, and her boyfriend, throwing her business into the gutter had damn near broken the last piece of her heart. But she couldn't allow herself to keep any lifeline to the real world.
Especially when it hadn't been real at all.
These past months, she'd desperately missed conversation, missed shooting the breeze with someone, anyone. Apart from hello and how are you with the clerks at the grocery and hardware stores, she hadn't had a meaningful conversation with a single person since she'd come to Tahoe. She hadn't called any of her friends before she went underground, simply sent a group email to say she'd been overworking and needed a break so she'd be gone awhile--like forever. Then she'd ditched her phone so she wouldn't be tempted to call anyone.
She missed her friends terribly. But if she reached out to any of them, how could she ever tell them what an idiot she'd been? And, far worse, how could she ever atone for the lives that had been ruined because she hadn't woken up earlier to the con that was her life?
Loneliness was what she deserved. Loneliness was her punishment.
All she had was this cabin. This was her home now, the only home she could truly say was hers after how rootless her father's existence had kept them all. She had the clean air and the cool lake. In time, she might deserve more, but for now, she'd exiled herself to this little corner of the world until she could learn how to judge people's motives correctly. Until she could remember never to take anything at face value. Until she could figure out what was so wrong with her that she made excuses for people rather than face the truth.
She'd thought she had such a great life, a fabulous boyfriend, a loving family. But it had all been a sham. Even the good memories couldn't be trusted. They were just illusions. Only this lake, this cabin, this clean crisp air, and the birds chattering loudly in the trees above were real.
As real as the terror shooting through her as she tumbled toward the edge of the roof--and a fall that was certain to do as much damage to her body as her family had done to her heart.
Chapter Three
Daniel surfaced as quickly as he could, then scrambled to get out of the water and into his jeans and boots. Still dripping wet and shirtless, he took the hill like an Olympic sprinter, his lungs bursting. He couldn't slow down, not after the terror he'd heard in that scream. One horrible scenario after another ran through his head. A hiker lying at the bottom of a ravine with two broken legs. Swarmed by yellow jackets. Or worse.
He rounded the corner of the derelict cabin, and his heart lunged into his throat at the sight of the figure dangling from the rooftop, clinging to the bent gutter by her fingers. Which were starting to slip.
"Don't let go," he yelled. "I'm getting the ladder." Thankfully, it was only a dozen feet away, and he quickly dragged it over. "Reach out with your leg and you'll be able to put your foot on it."
When she didn't move, he realized the woman must be too dazed by fear to follow his instructions. Climbing the rungs, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him.
"I've got you." He instinctively hugged her tighter, as though to reassure himself she wasn't in danger of falling again. "You can let go of the gutter now."
The metal was so rusted it would have torn off in another second. She was damned lucky it hadn't ripped away with the impact of her fall.
The vision of what might have happened was so bloody that he had to work to gentle his voice. "Go ahead and put your hands on the ladder."
But she still clung tenaciously to the metal gutter, her knuckles white.
"It's okay," he murmured in a low, soothing voice against the dark hair trailing out of her ball cap, the bright sun glossing her long braid blue-black. She seemed so small, draped in the folds of her overalls. "I won't let you fall."
Finally, her knuckle-breaking grip eased, and on a shaky exhale, she put one hand on the ladder, followed by the other.
"I've got you," he said again as he bracketed her on the ladder. "Tell me when you think you're ready to make it all the way down."
She didn't answer for a long moment, finally saying, "I'm ready."
Her voice was soft, musical, playing an accompaniment to the pounding of his heart and the rushing in his blood.
Easing down a rung, then another, he kept his hand on her waist as they made their way together. Back on the ground, he had to force himself to let her go.
He'd never had this kind of instant reaction to a woman before. Then again, he'd never rescued a woman hanging off the edge of a roof either. There was certainly something to be said for a massive adrenaline rush.
Standing before him, she wasn't nearly as small as she'd seemed up on the ladder, only a few inches shorter than he was. The voluminous overalls and tool belt had made her seem tiny in comparison. She was in her mid-twenties, he guessed, with high cheekbones, long lashes, blue-as-the-sky eyes, and a luscious form his mother would have smacked him for looking at the way he couldn't help looking. Especially given that he had no business drooling when she was clearly still in shock.
She held on to a rung of the ladder to steady herself, her eyes scrunched closed as she said, "I don't know what happened. One minute I was on the roof nailing down the tarp--and the next I was clinging to the gutter for dear life." She opened her eyes and looked up at the roof. "I guess it isn't that big a drop, and I might have been okay if I'd fallen, but it all happened so fast, I couldn't think straight."
She turned to him then, and both her eyes and her mouth opened wide as she looked from his bare chest, to his wet jeans, then deliberately down to a big rock sticking up out of the ground ten feet away.
He'd completely forgotten he was shirtless--or that his jeans were sticking to his thighs like a second skin. All that had mattered was getting to her as quickly as possible.
"I'm standing here babbling," she said in a voice that suddenly sounded a little breathless, "when what I should be saying is thank you."
There were a good half-dozen nice things he could have said to get her over the shock of falling from the roof--starting with You're welcome--but as the full impact of what might have happened slammed into him, he was blinded to anything but the danger in which she'd so foolishly put herself.
"You might have broken a leg." His voice was harsh from the realization that he could just as easily have found her on the ground. "Or worse, depending on how you fell. First of all, you shouldn't have gone up on the roof alone. And second, you should have secured yourself. Your roof has a helluva steep incline. Why didn't you wait for someone--if not someone you hired, then friends or family--to help you do the work?"
He thought he saw sorrow darken her ocean-blue eyes for a split second before she threw her shoulders back and said, "I've been doing a pretty darn good job of fixing up this place without anyone to help me." Her expression turned rueful as she admitted, "Until today, at least."
He forced himself to drag his gaze away from her to eye the cabin. "I thought they were going to tear this place down." The wood siding was sun-bleached, the window frames cracked, and the front porch, visible around the corner of the house, sagged like an old couch. On closer inspection, though, he saw she'd replaced the rotted boards by the front door.
He couldn't believe anyone would buy this place. He didn't know if he admired her for it...or just plain thought she was nuts.
As though she could read his mind, she put her hands on her hips and said, "I can fix it."
"Right." He meant it noncommittally, just a word to say to a beautiful woman who was making odd things happen inside his chest.
But she took it as a challenge. "I'm still working on the roof, obviously. But I've done a lot inside. Here, I'll show you." She marched up the porch steps, assuming he would follow.
Naturally, he did, enjoying her vivid defiance--and her surprisingly luscious curves--more than he'd enjoyed anything in a very long time. Even if he was still upset with her for getting up on th
e roof without a safety line.
But before he could get all twisted up about that again, he suddenly noticed the words stitched on her ball cap. "Do I need to worry?" He pointed to the top of her head.
She ran her fingertips over the lettering, saying aloud what was printed across the cap: "Zombie Apocalypse First Responder." She shrugged as though it was a perfectly normal hat to be wearing. "Trust me, you'll be happy for my training if a zombie ever comes this way."
She didn't see the smile he couldn't control as she turned.
Hell yes, he'd follow. His mother would have used the word smitten. But really, the woman was too damn cute not to capture the attention of any red-blooded male within smiting distance.
Then again, what kind of woman bought a place like this? The red-blooded male inside him obviously thought she was perfect--but given that she was working on a house in the mountains all by herself, he couldn't deny the likelihood that there might be something strange going on with her.
Especially when calling this cabin a house was...generous. The floor and walls were bare except for a standing kitchen sink, a makeshift wooden counter to hold a microwave and a laptop, a couple of boxes on the floor filled with kitchen paraphernalia, an air bed in the corner by the wood stove, one sling chair, and a camp stove. The kitchen itself was missing both appliances and cabinetry. The only convenience besides the sink was a mini-fridge that would fit milk and yogurt and not much more.
"The fireplace was starting to crumble, so I put in a wood-burning stove that keeps the place nice and toasty." She flourished her hand as if she were showing him an array of sparkling diamonds.
She'd done a surprisingly good job tearing out the old stone and installing a large wood-burner with a sensible catalytic converter. It would heat the kitchen and family room, with a hint of warmth for the bedroom too.
Noticing his glance at the air mattress, she toed it with her booted foot. "It's surprisingly comfortable, and it's even got its own pump. The only problem is that when it's cold, the air inside goes cold too, so I have to pile as many blankets underneath me as I do on top of me. Which is why I dragged it in here." She gave a nod to the bedroom. "Also because there's a couple of holes in the floor in there--well, maybe more than a couple." She gave him a sheepish grin. "I didn't want to break an ankle in the middle of the night."