He’s killing me piece by piece.
I’m not going to cry.
I’m not.
I’ve been fighting off tears for so long, but this is the first time I’ve felt so bright inside that it threatens to rupture my heart and overwhelm me.
Clutching his hand tight, struggling out a smile around trembling lips, I stare into his eyes.
“You’re too good to be true, you know that?” I take several deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down. “Ms. Wilma was right. I need to stop overthinking things and just leap.” My smile widens. “Turns out it’s not so bad when there’s someone standing by to catch you.”
“It helps if you stop thinking you’re cursed.” The subtle pressure of his grip is almost unnoticeable, but it’s enough to draw me closer.
No—he’s enough to draw me closer, his magnetism irresistible.
“This town’s seen a lot of trouble. Yet somehow, folks here always find their way. Makes me feel like I could find my happiness here,” he rumbles, words thick and low and so, so true.
I can feel it in the air, thrumming between us in the heavy, slow look he gives me from those deliciously deep eyes.
The unspoken words I hear at the end of that sentence, loud and clear because they’re there in his gaze.
With you.
The idea that I could make someone happy feels so alien, yet it’s all I want.
To be able to make Alaska and his son as carefree and content as they make me.
I’m officially out of words.
So I show him the only way I know how.
I lean in to kiss him—and as many times as he’s touched me, made me tremble and shudder, made me beg his name and wrap my legs around his hips and writhe, this feels gloriously different.
I’ve never felt anything like this kiss.
Because this kiss is the first kiss that promises there could be something real and everlasting between us.
Something more than carnal passion.
Something more than human kindness.
Something that makes my mouth soft and needy against his as we explore each other’s mouths with tenderness, tasting each other like it’s still the first time our flesh came together.
We’re made of sighs and sensation as lips meet lips and skin touches skin and our hands decide they’ll never, ever let go.
They stay that way, twined together as we pull apart, looking at each other with slow, shy smiles.
Then we settle in to watch the night roll by, finally together in ways I never knew we could be.
20
Gold Dust (Alaska)
Nothing will bring me down off this cloud Felicity’s got me riding.
But if anything could, it might be Gavin Coakley.
I can’t explain what feels off. He’s been a model employee ever since Holt brought him on crew. He works hard, keeps to himself, and even acts friendly enough with the rest of the crew.
No posturing or dick waving or impulsive brawls. No drunkenness or games. None of the pile of bullshit I expected.
He shows up, clocks in, does his job and does it well, then punches out and disappears.
No beers with the guys after hours, either, which is fine by me. No matter how smooth he’s acting, I’m not inviting him onto my social turf.
I should be relieved.
Maybe he’s finally over his damned grudge and looking to make good.
Then again, I’m old enough to know that when something’s too good to be true, it usually is.
Gavin, the model worker, eats at me like an acid drip.
I try not to be too obvious with watching him, disguising the direction of my eyes by lifting my head to wipe sweat from my brow.
Got plenty of good reason, right now.
It’s hot as hell and we’re out here in this open, exposed valley under the summer sun, laying foundation on the new museum. The nice thing about the heat is that the concrete will set fast and clean.
Bad thing about the heat—I’m about to sweat through my clothes till they melt right off.
Polar bears weren’t made for this weather.
I catch a glimpse of Gavin. He’s supposed to be operating the mixer, but he’s stopped, zoning out for a minute, looking off toward the rock face and the dark, formless opening that used to lead down to the old silver mine and the Galentron lab.
Just the sight of that blackness makes me remember the living blackhole who calls herself Fuchsia. From what Leo told me, she used to be a covert operative for Galentron’s less than public interests.
He told me that so I’d trust her with the intel retrieval we need.
Honestly, it just made me more wary, but if it helps Fliss, whatever.
Sounds like Fuchsia’s close to turning up the goods. Got the lowdown last night at our usual table at Brody’s.
She’s been busy closing in on the Lockwood crew, following every digital rabbit hole, and apparently she’s so close to breathing down the back of Paisley Lockwood’s neck it’s a wonder that evil doll of a woman doesn’t feel a chill in the air.
Even Leo tensed, talking about the carnivorous glee in Fuchsia’s voice when she relayed her efforts. He stressed how the lady’s technically retired, living a new quiet life at an undisclosed location, but people like her never retire their instincts.
Once a hunter, always a hunter.
And I’m wondering if Gavin’s really the upstanding do-right he’s been pretending to be—or if there’s something about that old mine shaft that brings up memories best left to die.
He shakes himself from his daze and turns his attention back to the cement mixer.
I whip my eyes away, back to hauling dry cement sacks, hopefully before he noticed I was watching him.
Fuck, I’m probably being too paranoid. Call it restlessness when all I can do for Fliss’ situation is wait.
Only, ever since Katelyn, I’ve learned to trust my senses like they’re divine.
Right now, they’re oracles speaking loud and clear.
Something’s not right.
I try to put it out of my mind, though, as I focus on pushing through today’s job.
By the time the sun’s slipping down the horizon, we’ve made good progress. Tomorrow we can probably put more serious work into sinking some rebar. Everyone’s a sweaty, grimy mess, but we’re all satisfied with ourselves as we stow our equipment and lock things down for the night.
I’m just getting ready to go hose off so I don’t leave construction grime on the seat at the bar when my name echoes over the worksite.
Holt—and there’s something in his voice that has me on high alert in an instant, hackles rising sharply.
He comes bolting out of his trailer-slash-office, running so fast that he leaves the door swinging open.
I lift my head as he jogs toward me, his entire body tight, his face hard.
My oracle lunges up and punches me in the gut.
Something’s very wrong.
I’m racing to meet him, calling out before I even close the distance.
“Yo, boss? What happened?”
“Eli,” he gasps, stumbling to a halt in front of me. My heart rips, an arrow of solid dread piercing my chest. “Warren called, man. You weren’t answering your phone. Eli—Eli and Tara went for a walk, and they never came back. They’re missing, Alaska. They’re gone.”