Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) (20 page)

“I just got back. What’s the problem?”

“For starters, I’ve had my money stolen from me. My account is overdrawn. I’ve been in Montana. We discussed my accounts weeks ago before I left.”

“I see,” he said as she heard a few keystrokes and a light sigh. “You need to sign a forgery affidavit and we’ll report this to the police. Meanwhile, don’t fret.”

Don’t fret?

“I plan to be in Montana for a while,” she told Mr. Morrison.

“You can access a forgery affidavit online. Meanwhile, we’ll contact the police and trace where the money went.”

“I’ll have to move my money to another bank.”

“Reagan, it’s perfectly safe here. What happened won’t happen again, I give you my word.”

• • •

Soft rays of light woke Reagan. She’d fallen asleep in the middle of the bed with Dr. Till in her arms. Her neck ached from sleeping on the mounds of pillows and the phone lay beside her atop the quilt.

She sat upright and blinked. It was almost noon. She hadn’t slept this long in ages, but neither had she stayed up all night in ages either.

Well, not since Valentine’s Day, when Garret had left. Staying up late after being left by him was becoming a bad habit.

She’d stayed up all night, roamed the rooms, listening for the men to come home and researching jewel sites on the computer. She’d found more cards Ray sent her since she’d turned five years old, all dated, for every major holiday, birthday, even Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day, and all with two fifty-dollar bills. Her mother had returned them, unopened, but that didn’t surprise her now.

What had surprised her, and ultimately made her cry herself to sleep, was the moose. She’d found a letter from Ray with a card saying he was sending the moose to her as a gift. Something for her to be reminded of him and Montana, if she’d ever like to visit. The letter had been returned, and so had the moose. He’d kept the letter in a box of others, but he’d set the moose on his bed to remind him every day of how she’d never come to visit.

It wasn’t me
, she longed to say, but couldn’t. She hoped he knew she wasn’t the one returning the cards, the gifts, as if his existence didn’t matter.

It would have mattered, had she known.

She shuffled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, then on to the kitchen to make coffee. As the coffee brewed, she called her mom.

“Hey, Reagan,” her mom said cheerfully, almost too cheerfully.

“Mom. Guess what I found?”

“Your way home?”

“More cards Ray sent me.”

“Oh?”

“Birthday and Christmas cards. But I’m sure you don’t know anything about those, do you? Oh, and a stuffed moose he sent me that you returned. Do you know anything about the money that was stolen out of my bank account?”

“What money?” her mom asked, her voice rising and deepening in the way it did when she was concerned about something but didn’t want to let on. Was she concerned that Reagan’s money had been stolen, or that Reagan had found out?

“Oh, several thousand dollars worth. Stolen from my account in Clearwater. Money your brother left me. Money you were bitter about me taking. Why, Mom?” Her hostility toward her mother came out in a high-pitched, accusing wail of logic and irrationality. She stirred sugar into her coffee and returned to her bedroom, stopping at the French doors to glance outside.

“I didn’t want Ray to be a part of our lives. A part of your life.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t trust him.”

“He was your brother,” she accused.

“No, Reagan. He was your brother.”

It took a moment for the words to penetrate. Through the haze of fog in her brain, she heard the water pipes running. Did that mean the boys were home, showering?

Next to the doors, she detected the smell of cold. Clean. Fragile. Brittle enough to be ingested by the heat of her anger.

“What do you mean he was my brother?” Reagan asked, her voice as brittle as the cold.

“I was raped when I was fourteen,” her mom stated. No sorrow tinged her voice, no apologies or wishful thinking. No confessions, only facts. “My parents raised Ray as their own child, until they were killed in an accident when he was sixteen. I lied about my age. About Ray’s age. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Why?” Reagan asked, anxiety foaming in her throat like hot wax and beer froth. Her life had been a lie. She’d had a brother. Her mom had been raped. Her legs no longer able to hold her up, she toppled to the bed and into the mounds of pillows. She grabbed Dr. Till, but he couldn’t comfort her now.

“How could you just abandon him?” Reagan asked. “Ignore him? Your own son?”

“It was easy,” her mother said. “The man who raped me was involved in a large crime family, and I didn’t want anyone to know I had a child by him. Unfortunately, someone knew and contacted your brother. I tried to raise him after my parents’ died, but Ray left home to be with this crime family, choosing a life of crime instead of the life he had here. I told him if he left, to never contact us again. I didn’t want you to be hurt and didn’t want my family to be at risk because of his corruption. He left us. He chose his own path.”

Reagan didn’t know what to think, how to feel, or what to believe. “He’s obviously not with them anymore. He’s lived here for a while. People love him.”

“People don’t really know him.”

“Mom. He’s your son.”

“I gave birth to him,” she stated.

Reagan had never known her mom to be so cold. Not like this. Not with such bitterness. Even after leaving her dad, even after her anger with Reagan coming to Montana. Sharon showed no compassion.

“Did he know?” Reagan asked.

“Did who know?”

“Did Ray know he wasn’t my uncle? He was my brother.”

“He knew.”

Ray knew. All this time, Ray knew he was her brother. He must have longed to have a relationship with her. He’d loved her, he kept pictures of her, he sent her cards and money, yet he kept the secret. He hadn’t told Chayton or Garret, his closest friends.

Why?

“What about dad?”

“Yes, he knew about Ray.”

“How did he feel about him?”

“You’ll have to ask your father that.”

• • •

Reagan didn’t have a chance to ask her dad, because he wouldn’t answer his phone. After doing some investigation online, she walked to Air Dog, hoping to find Garret. Neither he nor Chayton had answered the door to her knock and their phones went straight to voicemail.

She had every intention of telling him she was leaving. Hopefully temporarily, but right now she wasn’t sure how long she’d be gone. She had to see to her accounts, she had to talk to her mother face to face, and she had to know if she’d stop mulling over Garret so much if he wasn’t around all the time.

“Ladies,” Chayton said as Reagan approached the bar. He attempted to smile a polite acknowledgement, but his lips remained tight. He grabbed a glass from the counter above him. “Or should I say lady?” His eyes darted the room, as if glancing for Naomi, but that was only Reagan’s suspicion, she couldn’t be entirely sure. “Can I talk you into my special? Hot Irish Nut?” Reagan nodded, laying some bills on the counter. “No, this is my treat.” He glanced around again. “Where’s Naomi?”

“She left.”

“She left?”

Reagan nodded. A brace surrounded his right arm all the way down his hand and up past his elbow. “What happened?”

“Oh this?” Chayton jiggled his arm. “Just an accident.”

“What were you doing?” Reagan asked.

“Ice climbing.”

Her heart sunk. That was how Ray had died. “Ice climbing?”

Chayton huffed out a loud breath. “Yeah, Garret and I went ice climbing yesterday, and I had a little accident. Really, it’s no big deal. Just a sprain. It’s not broken, but the doctor says this will make it better faster. Worth every second of the exhilarating experience. Where did Naomi go?”

“Home.”

Chayton pivoted, as if to hide the expression on his face, but she didn’t miss it. Licking his lips, he awkwardly prepared her drink, taking longer than usual, she assumed because of his arm. He kept his eyes away from hers, but she noticed the compression of his lips and the rut between his eyebrows. He handed her a green drink. “Without saying goodbye?”

His voice had risen, and Reagan perceived his dejection. She couldn’t blame him — she felt dejected too — but she wondered if he wouldn’t have done the same thing if their positions were reversed.

“I tried to call you yesterday before she left, but I couldn’t locate you or Garret. Obviously, you had bigger things to do.” Reagan gulped her drink. She’d intended to show Chayton her drawing and she wanted to ask him more about Ray, but she didn’t care at the moment. She wanted peace and quiet from the rumbling racket in her mind.

“Why so soon?” Chayton asked, reverting the topic back to Naomi. “Did it have anything to do with what happened between us?”

“She had an emergency,” Reagan said, handing him her glass and asking for another. Naomi had planned on going home anyway, but when she’d received the phone call from a client, it was like fate intervened.

“An emergency?”

“Yes, some wardrobe emergency in Hollywood.”

As Chayton prepared her second drink, his movements were more forceful. His jaw clenched, as if he were fighting the urge to throw her glass.

Was he that upset over Naomi leaving?

He handed her the drink and stood across from her, watching her with brooding eyes. “I decided to have a tribute here for Chris tomorrow evening. I hope you’ll come.”

She slurped her drink and set it on the counter, asking for another.

“You might want to slow down. They’re pretty strong.” He turned away and she watched as he diced limes. He planted one in a glass of ice water and handed it to her.

He moved to the next customer. She noticed his movements were slower, his face edged with pain. He squirted lime in a highball, embellishing it with an olive before handing it over to a customer. He picked up a few glasses and dunked them in a sink of soapy water.

She’d planned on leaving tomorrow. She’d planned on telling Garret goodbye tonight. But she wanted to attend the memorial, and one more day wouldn’t hurt.

“Hey.”

Reagan jumped at the sound of Garret’s voice behind her. She turned and tried to smile, but right now everything was too overwhelming for her to muster more than a small hitch in her mouth.

She managed a flirty wave. “Hi.”

“Everything okay?” he asked as he sat beside her.

“Yeah. I mean. I just found out something
else
my mom’s been lying to me about. Ray’s my brother, not hers.”

She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. She’d meant to break it to him easier. The look of shock on his face made her sorry, but the dizziness shrouding her senses made her unable to deal.

The stool almost flipped back as she stood. Probably would have if Garret hadn’t caught it. The room swirled. She discarded her empty cocktail glass on the table.

She glanced at Chayton as he grabbed her glass. He glanced at Garret.

“Oh, God.” She supported her dizzy head in her hands, but that made everything worse. “Did you put something in my drink?”

“No. I told you it was strong.” Chayton grabbed a bowl of mixed nuts and slid them to her. “Here, eat these.”

“What do you mean Ray is your brother?” Garret asked once Chayton left. The boom in his voice mimicked the shock still coursing through her.

Reagan munched on nuts as she told him what her mom said, but only about her being raped and her parents raising him as their son. She wasn’t ready to tell him her mother’s other accusations. That the man he knew as a friend was a terrible person. Or maybe he already knew. Or maybe her mother was lying. Or maybe her life was one great big joke.

She didn’t know what to think or believe, and the alcohol hadn’t drowned the sorrow or the uncertainties.

Chapter Fifteen

Reagan declined Garret’s offer for food, so he walked her home and made her promise she would eat something. When she asked him in, he considered all the excuses he should make and all the reasons he shouldn’t make them.

He wanted her. Chayton’s ice climbing accident yesterday reminded him of how fleeting life was, but his first mission to bury himself in her was again overrun by reality.

She was drunk, he was an FBI agent. He was supposed to be investigating her, not fantasizing over her.

And definitely not fucking her.

His phone shrilled, finalizing a decision he wasn’t ready to make. As he glanced at it and saw Buchanan’s number, he backed away. “I can’t,” he told Reagan. “I have things to take care of.”

She scowled. “Whatever, thanks for walking me home.” And shut the door in his face.

Plunking his forehead on the cool wood of her door, he closed his eyes and breathed heavily, fighting the urge to go to her and tell her he did want to have dinner with her. He wanted to have all kinds of things with her that weren’t appropriate, but if didn’t return Buchanan’s call within ten minutes, there would be hell to pay. He was supposed to have called his supervisor an hour ago. This was Buchanan’s fourth time to call and Garret couldn’t afford to ignore it. He’d probably have Tanner tearing down the place looking for them and exposing his cover.

He couldn’t have Tanner finding him in Reagan’s bed. Not if he wanted to keep his job and his reputation. He didn’t care about his job, but Reagan was another story. He didn’t want her to find out this way.

There was no good way to tell her. It’d gone too far.

Judging by the messages Buchanan left on his voicemail, he was losing his patience, maybe even his trust, with Garret. And with good reason. Garret hadn’t even tried to accomplish this mission. One of the top agents of his field and he hadn’t done anything to investigate Reagan except run a criminal history and watch her shop. Anybody could do that.

For the first time in his life, he felt out of his league. Reagan made him feel something no woman ever had.

When he returned Buchanan’s call, he didn’t have any real news to offer him. Unfortunately, Buchanan did.

“We’ve been monitoring a few jewel sites. One of them is a forum known to fencers. We traced the IP address back to Ray’s computer.”