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“Don’t take it personally,” he says. “This is just how this industry works, especially in a city as big as this. You’ll learn that with age and experience. Play your cards right, and someday you’ll be on the right side of the table.”
“No.” I don’t let go of his hand. Maybe I clasp it a little too tight, drilling my gaze into his until he flinches. “Matter of fact, I’d rather work with a little more integrity.”
Calypso frowns and gives off a little sniff. “You, Holt? Integrity? As if you didn’t ratfuck your way into every contract you’ve ever had.”
That hits me like a knife to the gut.
Deeper than anything I’ve known.
Purely because she’s right.
And I’m dizzy because suddenly, I don’t want her to be.
I let go of Barry’s hand, and for a moment I almost spill everything, turn into the raging bull Barry clearly wants me to be.
But looking into Calypso’s perfectly made-up face, her gorgeous eyes, her soulless lips that tasted like candy days ago…
Fuck no.
I won’t ever give her or anybody like her my soul.
I’m not letting go of my stubborn-ass pride.
Chin held high, I simply offer them both a sardonic smile.
Then turn and walk out, shoulders stiff.
I’ll start over. I always do.
Next time, I’ll build an honest empire no one can take away from me.
* * *
Present
I’ve tried like hell to forget that day.
Some days, the memory hits me harder than others, remembering everything I’ve lost.
Plus the things I never really had. The life I’d built was thrown together on a shitty foundation of grift and seduction and dirty backdoor deals.
The love I’d thought I’d won was with someone who breathed high society.
A place I never belonged.
I’m not sure where I belong, honestly.
Heart’s Edge is a good place to start over.
At least here, I can make my own rules, and this time build those rules on trust.
Not just on what benefits me.
Fuck. Will Libby ever trust me at all?
There’s nothing I can do…is there?
Then again, what if?
What if I found just what she needs to have her land declared a protected site that no one could intrude on?
There’s got to be something.
I have to keep looking, but hell.
Maybe I won’t tell her.
Not until I’ve got something concrete. I can’t stand to get her hopes up, then dash them again—and if I do that, if I string her along when I’ve got nothing solid, then I’ll give her every reason to never give me another chance.
To never trust me again.
I’ll do my digging on my lonesome.
Scour through those survey maps, and if I have to, I’ll take an excursion.
I’ll find out what’s down that old road.
She never has to know unless I find something worth knowing.
It’s not the best logic, I know.
It’s a little underhanded, even, trespassing on her place by going behind her back.
But she sure as hell won’t let me do it to her face. Not now.
I just want to save us both.
Even if she hates me for it for the rest of our natural lives, it’ll be okay if she gets to keep that ranch.
As long as she’s okay.
“Boss?” Alaska thumps my shoulder lightly. “You zoned out again.”
I shake myself from my thoughts as the world clears around me.
Shit. I’m still in the middle of the fabric shop, lost in my own head.
“Right,” I say, forcing myself back on track. “Let’s just finish this up, and then I’ll buy you a beer.”
* * *
The survey maps don’t tell me much after poring over them all night.
Partly because they’re so old they don’t have much info that’s relevant now.
Partly because they don’t match.
They show different geographies, different land masses, which is pretty fucked.
Even with the same place names and distance markers, it doesn’t add up. They’re barely a decade or two apart, so it’s not like some natural disaster erased the land.
Someone did shoddy work.
And I won’t know who until I can see it with my own damn eyes.
Which is how I find myself parking my Benz about a mile away from the edge of Libby’s property.
I need a better car, but right now, I’m glad for the quiet purr of the engine. It keeps from giving me away as I kill the headlights and the motor to settle into a hidden place in the scrub brush.
I’ll be hoofing it from here.
My car isn’t dressed for the wilds, but I am.
Back in USAF BMT training, they’d wake us up at two in the morning and send us jogging through harsh terrain, up and down gravelly slopes in full tactical gear.
I feel like I’m doing that all over again, even though I’m in sturdy jeans and hiking boots with solid soles. I’ve got gloves to protect my hands from thorny brush and a backpack with a flashlight, compass, emergency rations, plus several bottles of water banging against my back.
