Page 27 of Hotshot (Buchanan-Renard 11)

  Lucy’s reaction was instantaneous. “You can’t have him.” She was emphatic.

  Peyton swung around in her swivel chair to see the effect her remark had on her sister. Lucy’s face had turned red in a heartbeat. Peyton thought her little joke was hilarious and was having a good laugh, until Christopher stepped into the doorway. She could tell from his expression that he’d heard every word.

  Lucy didn’t know he was there. “That’s not funny.”

  “It kinda is,” Christopher said.

  Lucy jumped. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then, trying to be dignified, she straightened her shoulders, turned around, and said, “If you’ll excuse me . . .”

  He wouldn’t let her get past him. She tried again. Pushing against his chest with the palm of her hand, she repeated, “If you’ll excuse me . . .”

  “I don’t want to excuse you,” he said. He put his arm around her waist and tucked her into his side. “Braxton’s waiting for you when you’re ready to leave. He’s out front,” he told Peyton as he pulled Lucy into his office. Peyton heard him ask, “How come she can’t have me?” and then he laughed, a big booming sound that made Peyton smile. His office door closed before Lucy answered.

  Peyton imagined they were going to kanoodle, as her mother would say. Oh no, was she turning into her mother? She put the disturbing thought aside. Lucy and Christopher didn’t know she had seen them kissing, and Peyton didn’t plan to tell them. When Lucy was ready, she would talk about the relationship. Until then, Peyton would keep quiet and not prod. It really wasn’t a secret, though. Anyone who spent five minutes with them knew they were involved. The way they looked at each other said it all.

  She remembered what it felt like to kiss Finn. She ached with a yearning deep inside. No, she mustn’t think about him. It was over, and no good could come from replaying the past. She never wanted to see him again, she reminded herself, and at that moment she embraced the lie with all her heart.

  The key to moving forward was to keep crazy busy, she decided. She was going to work like a maniac so she wouldn’t have any time to think about him.

  Debi helped her with her goal by keeping them all hopping. It seemed to Lucy that their cousin was really trying to do a good job this time; she just happened to be completely inept at everything she touched. Peyton wasn’t buying it. No one could be that incompetent.

  “You’re becoming cynical,” Lucy told her.

  “Yes,” Peyton agreed. “When it comes to our cousin, I am cynical. Tell me this. How come she can get on a computer, check all her e-mails, order clothes online, and check her Facebook page, but she can’t learn how to push a button to print? She’s playing you, Lucy.”

  “Office work just isn’t her thing,” Lucy argued.

  Christopher agreed with Lucy’s assessment, and so he had Debi running back and forth to the bungalows, checking on the progress of the tradesmen. As it turned out, Debi did have a skill. She liked to flirt. It seemed to be the only thing she was good at. The men refinishing the floors and the painters prepping the walls and ceilings appreciated her talent and took the time to flirt back. By Friday, Debi had three dates lined up with three different men. Evidently Sean was just a distant memory.

  The following Tuesday afternoon the weather turned foul. A big storm was moving in. Christopher sent Debi to check each of the twelve bungalows to make sure all the windows were closed. Several had been kept open to let the paint fumes out. Two of the bungalows had brand-new floors, and unfortunately those were the two units Debi thought she had checked but hadn’t. All of the windows remained open during the torrential downpour, and the floors were ruined. Too late, they realized they would have to double-check everything Debi did, but they had yet to figure out where to put her that she wouldn’t do damage.

  Two days later, they feared that Debi’s incompetence was spreading. One of the housekeepers reported that someone had left an open gallon of paint on a brand-new quartz counter. The can was lying on its side, and paint had poured all over the counter and dripped down onto the floor. It was a disaster.

  It seemed that every time they took a step forward, something would happen to put them five steps back. It was difficult to stay optimistic about their target opening date for the bungalows. The hotel wasn’t a problem, though. Everything was up and ready, including the spectacular waterfall . . . until it flooded the lobby. The return water valve had gotten completely clogged with pieces of clay. Repairing the damage would put the opening date back another two weeks.

  In the midst of all the turmoil, Mimi and Lars arrived. It was after six at night when they pulled into the parking lot. Neither one of them had a trailer with them because they had sold what little furniture they owned and were ready to start over. Peyton wasn’t worried they would feel they’d made a mistake by pulling up roots and moving across the country. She was certain they would love Bishop’s Cove as much as she did. They would fit right in, too.

  They loved their accommodations, and while they unloaded their suitcases, Peyton prepared dinner for them. She made a pasta dish with lots of fresh vegetables and a seared snapper with a roasted grape butter sauce. She offered them wine, but neither one of them wanted it. They’d been driving all day and thought the wine would put them to sleep.

  They kept their dinner conversation focused on the future, and Peyton could sense their excitement building as she described all the improvements under way at the resort. Once the meal was over, however, Mimi changed the subject. “I’ve got to catch you up on what’s going on in Dalton,” she said. “I’m hearing from just about everyone now, including Bridget. Holy smokes, she’s still crying over Drew leaving.”

  Lars nodded. “Tell her about Eileen,” he urged.

  “You’d think both Eileen and Drew would be hiding inside the house or moving after the humiliation, but the opposite is happening. Eileen’s doing what I’d call damage control. She’s been all over town telling anyone who will listen that you orchestrated the entire conversation. You led him on and twisted his words, then got him on record so you could sue for sexual harassment.”

  “That’s not all,” Lars said. “Drew’s out and about, especially at night, right after people get off work. He goes into the bar the employees frequent and tries to buy rounds for everyone. He’s become a good old boy, and he has his own story he’s telling about you. In his version you seduced him, and some of the things you wanted him to do in bed were pretty gross.”

  “What does he hope to gain?” Peyton asked.

  “If you want my guess, I’d say he’s trying to get back into the company,” Lars said. “His tactics aren’t working, though. People are turning their backs on him. They won’t even let him buy them a drink. And in Dalton that’s unheard of.”

  “He and Eileen had a big blowout party last Saturday. No one showed up,” Mimi said. “Drew acts like he’s on a sabbatical. He’s on another one of his fishing trips now, somewhere in Canada. He’s probably plotting his next move. Since his smooth-talking didn’t work, he’s got to be in a panic. Any hope of getting back in good graces is gone.”

  “What do you think he’ll do?” Peyton asked.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Mimi decided. “I’m so happy to be away from there. Now, when do Lars and I start work?”

  “You’ll meet Christopher and Lucy tomorrow, but we’ll give you both a couple of days to figure out where everything is. Lars, I know you probably want your own place, but staying with Mimi is okay for now, isn’t it?”

  “Of course,” he answered. “I’ve got to get some sleep,” he said, yawning.

  Mimi followed him to the door. “I’m ready for bed, too.” As the door was closing behind her friends, Peyton promised, “You’re going to be happy here.”

  ______

  Peyton was excited for Lucy and Christopher to meet her friends, and she was anxious to show off the Cove. She to

ld them to meet at her condo at noon. That would give them time to catch up on their sleep and do a little unpacking. In the meantime, she thought she could get some work done. The phone was ringing when she let herself into the office. Debi, who was always late, was actually early today. She grabbed the phone before Peyton could get to it.

  “Bishop’s Cove,” she answered. “How may I direct your call?” She listened for a minute, then said, “Sure, I’ll send someone over. Thanks for calling.” She turned to Peyton. “That was a guy at the post office in town. He said he has three big boxes there for the hotel. I’ll bet Chef Geller ordered some stuff. The guy said they’ve been there a while, so come get them.”

  “I’ll send one of the maintenance—”

  “No, you have to sign for the boxes. That’s what he said.”

  “Okay. Braxton and I will go get them. It shouldn’t take us long.”

  “Why is that guy always hanging around? And that other one. What’s his name?”

  “Drake,” she answered.

  As she was pulling the door open, Debi asked, “Are you like in a threesome or something?”

  Peyton rolled her eyes. “Or something.”

  Braxton was standing just outside the office. When she announced that she needed to make a quick run to the post office, he opened his hand and she gave him her car keys. It had become routine for him to drive whenever she left the resort. On the way to town, she told him what Mimi had reported about Drew and Eileen.

  “Yes,” he said. “I heard all about the socialites. That’s what Agent Hutton calls them. Actually, he put another word in front of ‘socialites’ but I’m not going to repeat it.”

  “They threw a big party and no one came,” she said. “That would be humiliating for Drew. Did Agent Hutton mention Parsons? Does he know where he is?”

  “Oh yes. Parsons has been hanging tight with the Albertsons. He was at their party, and he’s one of the chosen who went on the fishing trip with Drew.”

  “One of the chosen? Who else went?”

  “Drew and Parsons and a guy named Cosgrove.”

  “Don Cosgrove,” she said. “He’s Mimi’s ex-husband. From what I’ve heard, he’ll fit right in with those creeps.”

  “They’re all having a high old time, aren’t they? Finn says it’s all an act, and I agree. He thinks they’re getting ready to do something we aren’t gonna like.”

  “Finn?” Her heart picked up a beat. “When did you talk to him?”

  “I didn’t. Hutton told me. He talked to Finn yesterday.”

  The post office was on a quiet dead-end street near the highway, but they had to cut around another Cassady construction site in order to get into the parking lot. There were only three parking slots in front of the small, square building. It looked as though it had been slapped up overnight without much thought to design. It had a flat tarred roof and aluminum siding. Two apartment buildings in various stages of completion towered over the post office. There were two giant Cassady Construction signs in front of each building and a trailer with his name slathered all over it.

  There wasn’t a soul around. Braxton got out of the car and said, “It’s a couple of minutes before eight. Wait here. I’ll see if they’re open yet.”

  Her impatience saved her life. Had she stayed in the car, she would have been in the center of the blast. She didn’t wait for Braxton to give her a signal. She opened the car door and was walking around the back of the car when she felt what she thought was a hornet’s sting. She brushed her hand over her thigh to swat whatever it was and looked down. Blood covered her hand. At the same time, she heard the sound of a whistle, then another and another, and it suddenly all clicked. Screaming to Braxton, she started running.

  Braxton shouted for her to get down as he raced to intercept her and get her out of harm’s way. She almost made it to the side of the building when the gas tank ignited. The blast lifted her up and threw her into his arms. Something hard struck the back of her head and she screamed again.

  She had no memory of being placed inside an ambulance. The doors were open and she had a clear view of her car . . . or rather, what used to be her car. It had been blown to smithereens, and firefighters were working to put out the flames. Braxton climbed into the ambulance to ride to the hospital with her.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “You took the hit, not me. Your body protected me. I’m so sorry. I should have seen it coming.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “It’s confusing.” She closed her eyes. “I’ve got a mean headache, but that’s all. I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

  “You’ve got a concussion.”

  The possibility made her mad. “I do not.”

  She was trying to block her fear. Whoever was out to get her wasn’t giving up.

  She fell asleep again and woke up in a hospital bed to a doctor leaning over her, checking a bandage on her thigh. He saw her watching and said, “Just a bad cut. Doesn’t even need stitches.”

  “May I go home now?” she said, trying to sit up. A horrific pain sliced through her skull.

  The doctor gently pushed her shoulders back on the bed. “I’m keeping you overnight. You have a concussion.”

  As much as she wanted to argue with his diagnosis, she thanked him instead.

  An hour later she was settled in a hospital room with Braxton and Drake standing guard at the door. The hallway, she was told, was crowded with worried friends. The doctor let each of them look in and then insisted they let Peyton rest.

  She felt so awful she wanted to cry, but she didn’t dare because she knew it would make her head hurt even more. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep so everyone would leave her alone. She wished her mom was there to tell her everything was going to be all right. Funny, she thought, when things were bleak, her mom always knew what to say. All the rest of the time she drove her crazy. The bump on the back of her head made her more emotional, she decided, and that was why she was having such nostalgic thoughts about family. Finn kept popping into her thoughts, too.

  She woke up in the middle of the night. Her door was open just an inch or so letting light spill in from the hallway. Disoriented, it took her a minute to realize where she was.

  She heard a rustling sound, faint but close. Someone was in the room with her. She slowly turned, and then she saw him. Finn was sprawled out in a chair sound asleep. He shifted positions and there was the sound again. He had no business being here, and tomorrow she would light into him. Not tonight, though. She was content now. And safe. Finn wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.

  For tonight he was her hotshot again.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  On the morning that Peyton’s car blew up, Ronan got to see another side of Finn, and it shocked the hell out of him. Finn was interrogating a punk-ass kid they knew had committed a double murder, all because of a dare. Finn had been called in to question the suspect because it was determined the kid would respond well to his methods. Finn had been so successful with his strategy, five new agents stood with Ronan on the other side of the observation glass. They were there to watch the master at work, to learn from Finn who, their superiors and Ronan believed, could get anyone to talk. It was only a matter of time and patience.

  Finn didn’t have a dark side, and he never lost his temper . . . until that day. Only the suspect, a twenty-year-old who insisted on being called Tic, and Finn were in the room. A small metal table with a legal pad and a ball-point pen on top separated them.

  Tic was butt ugly, Ronan thought. Big ears, big teeth, thin lips, and an odd-shaped head. As was the trend with the morons in his gang, he had shaved his head and wore a tattoo of a skull and crossbones on the back of his neck and a smaller one on his forehead. Now, how original was that? After listening to him boast fo

r several minutes, Ronan thought it might be nice to put a bag over his tattooed head so they wouldn’t have to look at his gloating smirk.

  Tic was big, close to six feet two inches, and weighed around 225 pounds. He wasn’t handcuffed, and he was known to have a short fuse. Ronan stationed himself close to the door in the event he became aggressive. He knew Finn could handle the punk, but he wanted to be ready to help.

  Even though he had been talking to the suspect for hours, Finn couldn’t have looked any more relaxed. He slouched in his chair with his long legs stretched out and one ankle crossed over the other, and it appeared that he was actually enjoying their conversation. Finn had perfected the hint of a smile, just enough to make the suspect comfortable. Tic was trying his best to impress Finn with stories about friends who had gotten away with big-time crimes because they were so much smarter than the cops. He laughed while he told one particularly gruesome story. It was evident Tic loved to brag, and Ronan was convinced Tic would soon brag his way into thirty years to life. If Finn played him just right, Tic would get cocky and want to prove how smart he was, too, and he’d boast about his own accomplishments.

  Things were progressing nicely until Finn received a text. His phone was on vibrate. He should have given it to Ronan when he’d handed him his gun before he entered the interrogation room, but it was in his pocket, and he’d forgotten about it. He pulled the phone out and was about to turn it off when he glanced down and saw he had a text from Braxton. He wasn’t concerned to see the name. Against Peyton’s wishes, Finn had ordered Braxton and Drake to give him regular updates.

  Tic was off in his own world, staring at the wall while he fondly reminisced about another crime he thought had been cleverly executed. Then he moved on to the recent double murder. It was obvious he wanted to tantalize Finn, to let him know he’d pulled the trigger four times without actually saying it. Tic became so caught up in the memory and thrill of it all, going on and on as he bragged, he didn’t realize he was taking credit for the crimes.