Two of a Kind Read online

  She didn’t notice him right away, giving him a chance to study her. Her green eyes were wide and filled with amusement. She was smiling. Sunlight filtered in through the sparkling windows, illuminating her face.

  She was beautiful—the result of a horrible car accident in her late teens and subsequent plastic surgery. After their night together in Thailand, he’d made it his business to find out who she was. It had taken two months, but he’d finally tracked her down. He’d seen the picture of her before the surgery, and while she was more conventionally attractive now, she’d been just as appealing back then. He’d thought about going to see her. Only, he’d known better.

  Despite his studies, despite the meditation and Tai Chi, the long runs and the superficial calm, he wasn’t like everyone else. He was broken in so many places, he would never be whole. That which wasn’t broken was missing. He’d known better than to inflict himself on her.

  Now he’d found her again, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what to do about her.

  He walked to the counter and stood in line. He wasn’t looking directly at her, but he was aware of the exact moment she noticed him. Her body stiffened in surprise, then relaxed.

  He placed his order with the teenager manning the cash register, then walked over to where Felicia was handing a latte to another customer.

  “Gideon.” She reached for a to-go cup and smiled at him. “A latte? Really?”

  He shrugged. “See me as more of a drip guy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I like to change things up every now and then.”

  “I get that.”

  She worked efficiently, pouring the shots of espresso into the cup, then starting to steam the milk.

  “Did you make your decision?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I took the job.”

  “Good. You’ll like it.”

  “I hope I meet expectations. This town values tradition and connection.”

  Two things she wouldn’t have a lot of experience with, he thought. But she was trying. He admired that about her. Most people ran from what was difficult. Not Felicia. She threw herself in, headfirst.

  “You’ll handle the logistics easily and figure out the rest of it as you go.” He smiled. “Just like everyone else.”

  Instead of smiling back, she bit her lower lip. “I do want to be considered normal.” She glanced around, as if checking to see who was close to them, then lowered her voice. “I should probably warn you, I mentioned our encounter to a few friends. I didn’t mean to—it just sort of happened.”

  He leaned against the counter. “One of them was Patience.”

  She nodded. “There’s an excellent chance she’ll tell Justice.”

  “You worried about me? I think I can take him.”

  She handed him the latte. “You’re bigger and stronger, but he’s still in the protection business, which means his training is more recent. I would prefer if the two of you didn’t fight.”

  She was so damned earnest, he thought. “I’ll do my best to honor your request.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Why did you tell your friends about us?”

  She bit her lower lip. “I’m not sure. We were talking, and it just came out. For what it’s worth, they were very impressed. The women in town enjoy the sound of your voice. You’ve also cultivated an air of mystery that’s appealing. It probably goes back to the time of marauders, when women were physically kidnapped by neighboring tribes. Being taken by a handsome stranger is a primal female fantasy.”

  He sipped his latte. “Is it?”

  She nodded. “Culturally, we tell stories to bond or learn lessons. In this case the handsome stranger is kind, thereby ensuring our safety and the future of our unborn children.” She paused. “Not that you have to worry about an unexpected pregnancy. I’m on birth control.”

  He nearly choked. “Thanks for telling me that.” Because he hadn’t been thinking about protection or anything but the feel of her body and how much he wanted to be inside her.

  He swore silently. He knew better. Had known since he was a teenager and his father had given him “the talk.” How had she rattled him so much he’d forgotten?

  “I wonder if Patience and Justice will have children.” Her voice was wistful. “That would be nice.”

  He fought the need to back away. “You looking for a white picket fence?”

  “If you mean I want what it represents, then, yes. In reality, I’ve never found that kind of fencing to be efficient. The upkeep alone would be daunting.”

  Okay—he didn’t know how she did it. One second he wanted to run, and the next he wanted to pull her close and kiss her senseless. She could look him in the eye and tell him the specifics of her sexual interest and yet be nervous about taking a job because of her emotional connection to the town.

  “You didn’t come here for coffee,” she said.

  “I didn’t?”

  She shook her head. “You’re checking on me. You want to know if I’m okay, which is very sweet considering I’m the one who initiated our sexual encounter.”

  “Are you?”

  “I’m fine. The physical intimacy was better than I remembered, which is extraordinary. I have an excellent memory. I don’t want you to worry. I don’t feel that I’ve bonded with you as a result of my orgasms, but if it starts to happen, I’ll handle it myself.”

  Which should have made her the perfect woman, he thought. But all he could think was that she’d spent so much of her life by herself. Separate from everyone else—never quite fitting in. She must have been lonely.

  Emotion stirred inside him. The need to protect. He knew the danger of getting involved and vowed that he wouldn’t, but damn, she was something.

  She smiled. “It seems unfair to only discuss my emotions. Are you okay with what happened between us?”

  “I’m feeling a little used, but I’ll deal.” He cocked his head. “You show up at my place in the middle of the night and demand sex. What’s a guy to think?”

  She laughed. “I think you can handle the pressure.”

  He was about to ask when she wanted to pressure him again, but stopped himself. He wasn’t the picket fence kind of guy. Maybe he had been once, but that part of his soul had long since turned to dust.

  She reached for something on the counter and picked up a small brightly colored card. “Do you want to—”

  The smile faded, and uncertainty filled her big, green eyes.

  The battle was clearly visible. Her shoulders drew back as she steeled herself to continue what she’d been about to say.

  “My friend Charlie and her fiancé are having a party in a couple of weeks. At the new casino and hotel. It’ll be open by then. She said I could bring a date.” Felicia paused. “I’ve never been on a date before. I’d like to know what it’s like, if you’d like to go with me.”

  He would rather she’d shot him. Or immobilized him with a Taser. Or cut out his heart.

  No. His answer was no. He didn’t date, didn’t get involved, didn’t...

  The card shook slightly in her pale fingers. The woman who had calmly removed her shirt and bra and put his hands on her breasts only a few days ago had never been asked out by a guy? How was he supposed to ignore that? Ignore her? How was he supposed to squash her hopes and dreams?

  “I’m not that guy,” he told her. “The forever guy.”

  “I assume you’re referring to marriage and not immortality.”

  “I am.”

  One corner of her mouth twitched in amusement. “It’s a party, Gideon, not an eternal commitment.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sure. I’ll go.”

  Relief joined amusement. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”

  “Me, too.” Which was actually kind of true. He started for the door, then turned back. “Felicia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Just so you’re clear, it’s a date.”

  * * *

  “THE NEW OF
FICE space is available,” Pia said. “It has been for a while now. I feel kind of guilty for not taking advantage of it, but there was no way I could take on the task of moving, along with everything else.” She motioned to the tiny office, overflowing with filing cabinets and boxes of promotional material. “It’s a mess.”

  Felicia glanced around. “You’ve clearly outgrown your space.”

  Pia sighed. “Clearly. I feel like such a slacker. I used to be able to stay on top of things.”

  “Before you had a husband and three kids?”

  Pia nodded. “But other women work with families.”

  Felicia had never understood why women took on guilt when they were overwhelmed, but she recognized the symptoms. “Pia, from what I’ve heard, you went from being a single working woman to married with three kids in less than a year. Two of the children were twins.”

  And not even biologically hers. When a close friend of Pia’s had died, leaving her custody of embryos, Pia had had the tiny babies implanted. Then she’d fallen in love with Raoul Moreno. Before the twins had even been born, they’d adopted ten-year-old Peter.

  “Your expectations are unrealistic,” Felicia continued. “In less than two years, everything about your life changed completely. Yet you’ve carried on with the festivals and created a successful family unit. You should be proud of yourself.”

  Tears filled Pia’s eyes. “That’s so nice,” she said, sniffing. “Thank you.” She waved her hands in front of her eyes. “Sorry for the breakdown. I’m hormonal.”

  Felicia would guess she was also physically and mentally exhausted. “I hope I can do as good a job as you,” she said, wondering if it was possible.

  “You’ll do better,” Pia told her. “I suppose the good news is you can set up the next office however you like it.” She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out an envelope. “The address and the key. Seriously, it’s just sitting there. The landlord said to let him know when I was ready and he’d paint the place. I guess I should call.”

  “I’ll do it,” Felicia told her. “From now on, you tell me what needs to be done and I’ll take care of it.”

  Pia sighed. “Can you do that for me at home, too? It sounds wonderful.”

  “I think you’d find me too detail-oriented.”

  Pia grinned. “Is that possible? I’m not sure it is.” She glanced at her desk. “Okay, let’s do this. Brace yourself and I’ll begin the info dump.”

  She turned and pointed to the dry erase board dominating the largest wall. “That is the master calendar. It’s in computer form, too, but I find this is easier to work with. I can physically see everything happening.”

  She went over to the file cabinets. “Starting at this end we have information on previous festivals. Next is vendor info. There’s a whole section on vendor disasters. You’ll want to cross-check that info whenever we have a new application. Permits are in the third cabinet.”

  Felicia had been taking notes on her laptop. She glanced up. “Permits are done on paper? By hand?”

  Pia winced. “We have a process for filing online, but I never really got into it. We tend to have the same people coming year after year, so I just make a note that the information is the same and let it go. Are you judging me?”

  “Of course not,” Felicia said automatically, even as she started a “to do” list. Right under notifying the new landlord was starting a vendor database.

  “I want to believe you,” Pia murmured. “Okay, festivals.” She returned to the dry erase board. “We have at least one every month. Most months have two, and December has a million. From mid-November through the Live Nativity, it’s crazy. Fortunately, this office isn’t responsible for the Dance of the Winter King, which is Christmas Eve, so once the animals are back home after the Live Nativity, you’re done for the year.”

  Pia grinned. “Of course it starts up again in January with Cabin Fever Days.”

  She stood and walked to the small bookcase by the front door. “Notebooks,” she said, pointing at the thick binders. “One for every festival. What it’s about, how long it takes, is it the kind of event that generates heads in beds?”

  Felicia looked at her. “Heads in beds? Nights in a hotel?”

  “Right. The longer tourists stay in town, the more money they spend. In addition to meeting monthly with the city council, you meet quarterly with the hotel, motel and B&B owners. They’ll want to know any changes to upcoming festivals. They’re also a good source of advertising. The festivals are mentioned in their printed materials and on their websites.”

  Pia returned to her seat and began to explain the logistics involved. There were more notebooks and a very large, slightly tattered Rolodex filled with names and phone numbers.

  She flipped through it. “You’ll probably want this in a database, huh?”

  “It will be easier,” Felicia said.

  “We have one. A database. It’s supposed to be great. I never actually learned how to use it.” She sighed. “There are also checklists of what needs to be ordered and how far in advance. Porta-Potties are now on a yearly contract, which is much easier, let me tell you. But there are things like decorating and—” Pia shook her head. “You have to get on the city schedule for things like decorating and the move. Which is another problem. They’re really busy in the summer. I know there’s not that much to move, but still, it could be a while. I’m sorry. I should have thought of that.”

  Felicia glanced at the file cabinets and the small desk. “Do I have to use city maintenance? Can I bring in my own moving crew?”

  “Do you have one?”

  Felicia grinned. “I know a couple of guys capable of heavy lifting.”

  “Right. The bodyguards. Sure, use them if they’ll do it. Just don’t tell the city. They’ll be worried about injuries and insurance.”

  “The guys will be happy to do it,” she said confidently. Justice and Ford both owed her, and she had a feeling Angel could be easily manipulated into helping. She would only have to suggest that Ford could lift more than him and he would be all in. While men were traditionally viewed as the stronger of the two sexes, they were often emotionally delicate.

  * * *

  GIDEON RECOGNIZED THE cell immediately. It was maybe ten by twenty. Stone, with a barred window up high and a big wooden door too thick to break down. Not that he could. He was kept chained.

  The floor was dirt. The only bathroom was a bucket that was emptied every few days. Gideon sat with his back against the wall, dripping sweat as the temperature climbed to what had to be a hundred and twenty degrees.

  “Gideon, please.”

  He ignored the words, the plea. Dan had been asking for days. No. Not asking. Begging.

  “I can’t hold on,” his friend said, his voice nearly a sob. “They’re threatening my family. I can’t stand it. The torture. All of it. I’m going to break.”

  Dan, once a tall, proud soldier, lay curled up against the wall. He was bloodied and nursing a broken arm. Gideon had tried to set it but didn’t think he’d done a good enough job.

  After sixteen months and twenty-two days of captivity, Dan was the last one left. The others had either died of their wounds or provoked their captors enough to be killed.

  “Maddie,” Dan moaned. “Maddie.”

  Maddie was his wife. There weren’t any kids. Dan had said they were going to start trying when they got home. He talked about her all the time, claimed her love sustained him, but Gideon knew he was wrong. Dan’s love kept him anchored in this place. His love made it impossible for him to go so deep in his head that they couldn’t hurt him anymore.

  Gideon glanced toward the window and saw the sun was near its zenith. That meant they’d come for him soon.

  Later, he felt the blows as he was hit over and over again, felt himself vomit, although there was nothing in his stomach. Gideon wrestled with his captors, but it only made it worse. When they were finally done, they started to drag him down the hall back to his cell. He felt t
he dirt in his wounds, the dry dust in his mouth mingling with the copper taste of his blood.

  Then the door swung open, and he couldn’t look away. Not from the sight of Dan slumped over, the chain restraining him wrapped around his neck.

  The guards tossed Gideon aside and raced to Dan, but it was too late. Gideon had refused to kill him, so he’d killed himself. Gideon lay on the dirt, wondering if his friend had been desperately weak or incredibly strong.

  And then, as quietly as it had appeared, the cell was gone and he was awake. Awake and drenched in sweat.

  He knew the folly of trying to sleep again, so he rose and ripped off his T-shirt, then walked out onto the deck. The night air chilled him, but he didn’t care. Then he sat cross-legged on the deck, closed his eyes and began to breathe.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CONSUELO LY STARED at the single-story ranch-style house, half expecting to blink and find it gone. Or maybe see unicorns grazing on the lawn. Because as far as she was concerned, the suburbs and unicorns were equally unrealistic.

  She’d heard about both, of course. TV sitcoms enjoyed mocking the suburbs, and she loved Modern Family as much as the next person. But living in them? Not her. She had always assumed she would end her days in a hail of bullets. Or, in her less dramatic, more realistic moments, with her neck broken, her body dumped on the side of some road. But here she was, staring at a ranch-style house. Updated, she thought, taking in the new roof and big windows, but still originally constructed in the 1960s.

  She parked in the driveway next to Ford’s god-awful Jeep. It wasn’t the vehicle she objected to as much as the aftermarket two-tone black-and-gold paint job. Jeeps were hardworking machines and deserved more respect. Next to the Jeep was a Harley, which meant Angel was also here.

  Sure enough, she’d barely gotten out of her car when the front door opened and the two men stepped out. They were big and tall, both towering over her five feet two inches. Not that they intimidated her in the least. She could take either one in a fair fight, and if they wanted to play dirty, she could geld them in ten seconds. Fortunately for her, they both knew and respected her skill set.