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“Who?” I ask, reaching back in to grab my bag with a wince. As I retreat, my eyes land on steely green ones currently burning up the side of Jake’s head as he stands holding the door open.
“A friend of yours I take it?” Jake is just as focused on Rick, sizing up his competition.
“Something like that.” Ignoring the death stare and the threat of violence coming from where Rick stands outside the house, I thank Jake for helping me. I watch as he climbs back into his car and drives off in the direction of the car park.
Once out of sight, I spin on my heels, coming up short as I come face to face Rick, who is no longer standing by the house but directly behind me.
“Fucking hell, Rick,” I exclaim, taking a step back out of reach of his enticing, spicy scent. I look up at him waiting for him to explain himself. When he doesn’t, I step past him, heading for my cabin.
I make it halfway across the site before I hear him coming up fast behind me. I quicken my own pace, passing the tree line before a hand on my arm, yanks and spins me round.
I give a girlie yelp at the rough tug on my right arm, which pulls at my aching chest.
“Shit! What the fuck happened to you? Where’s your car?” He loosens his grip on my arm but doesn’t let me go completely. Concern lines his face but doesn’t deter him as he asks, “Who’s the guy?” It takes a second for my fraught mind to catch up.
“I had an accident, and my car is at the garage. No big deal. I think that covers your ‘not really your business’ questions,” I state dryly. “Do you mind?” I ask, looking at his hand wrapped round my arm where his thumb has unconsciously been caressing the crook of my elbow. I try not to think of the tingle running the length of my arm from his touch despite the fact I’m in pain and pissed at him and his shitty Spanish inquisition. It’s at this point, I get a better look at myself. I’m covered in mud, and my once white pumps are wet and a dirty brown colour. I can’t see my face, but I can feel the dried mud streaks smattered over it.
Instead of releasing me, he draws me closer. “What do you mean you had an accident?” he forces out between gritted teeth, and I can feel the restraint in his words.
“Look, I don’t know what the fuck it has to do with you, but I swerved to miss a deer and ended up in a ditch. Happy now? Can I go have a damn shower and get this filth off me?” He continues to hold me, and I’m slowly losing the battle to hold my temper. Because this man is giving me whiplash more severe than any car crash ever could.
He finally releases me. “Next time, hit the damn thing,” he states blankly before turning on his heels.
“Are you serious? I’m just supposed to run it down?”
“Better it dead than you,” he calls behind him, disappearing into the trees.
“Top tip, arsehole!” I call out as I turn toward my cabin. I swear I hear a faint laugh echo back through the trees.
I storm into the cabin, grinding to a halt as my mind catches up with my eyes. Backtracking out the front door, I see the red roses I received and had dumped on the porch, now sitting on the small table in a vase. A smile parts my lips, and I shake my head thinking of how much Eleanor would have hated seeing them tossed aside.
Back inside, I jump in the shower, quickly washing off the stench of ditch and thinking about why my brakes didn’t work. I had my car serviced before driving up here, so it makes no sense why my brakes failed. Confident the garage will let me know what happened, I grab my laptop and the file on my brother I’ve compiled over the last five years.
I flick through the pages until the same picture that was left on my car is staring back at me. It might not be a thick file, but it is thorough, although there really isn’t anything significant.
I’ve used every resource available to me, especially when I was on the force, to try and find out what happened to him, but his last mission doesn’t even exist.
I’ve spent endless hours trawling through classified documents that could get me thrown in a cell alongside criminals I’ve put there, but other than half a dozen articles on gun running operations between Mexico and Afghanistan, there’s nothing. All I have are memories of conversations with my brother and the mention of one name in particular.
Sully.
Fifteen
Rick
I march back across the site to the house where I find Eleanor scanning the area looking a little confused. I can’t blame her having disappeared on her while she went to collect my order.
“Ah, there you.” She looks me over, noting my rigid stride as I approach. “Everything okay? I thought I heard Jess out here.”
I consider telling her that Jess had an accident but decide against it because I don’t want to worry her unnecessarily considering Jessica seems okay if her attitude is anything to go by.
“Everything is fine. Sorry about that, but I just needed to have a word with Jess.” Just then the door behind Eleanor opens, and a man, whom I assume is Eleanor’s husband, steps out.
“Afternoon,” he greets. Sticking his hand out, he introduces himself as Harry.
“Rick. It’s good to meet you.” I turn back to Eleanor and ignore the intense scrutiny directed at me from Harry. “I really appreciate this, thank you,” I say as Eleanor hands over the cake box.
“It’s no trouble at all. Are you celebrating anything special?” Eleanor asks.
