Live and Let Love (6 page)

Kennett handed him a box and gave him directions to the trees with ripe fruit. As
Jack took the box, Kennett glanced at his watch. “A heads-up. I’m closing early today.

“I’m taking the hottest woman in town to the party.” He watched Jack closely for his
reaction. “Should be a good time.” He winked at Jack.

Jack was a master at reading microexpressions, tiny, barely perceptible involuntary
muscle movements that betrayed a person’s true emotions. The Rooster was goading him
to see if he was Sariel. It was written all over his face.

Compartmentalize.

The Rooster read microexpressions, too.

“I’m going stag,” Jack said, letting his tone imply he didn’t intend to finish the
night alone. “I’ll see you there.”

There was no way in hell Jack was letting the Rooster go home with his wife.

CHAPTER FOUR

The doorbell rang at precisely six. Willow’s little dog, Spookie, barked and went
crazy at the sound.

Willow hopped to the door with one white sandal in one hand and another in her other
hand, trying to cram one onto her foot along the way. And doing an awkward dance in
the process as she clattered across her wooden flooring with Spookie playing toy guard
dog at her heels.

Why did Shane have to be on time, especially when she was running late? What was it
with men? Didn’t they understand the rules?
Give the girls a few extra minutes, boys.

“Coming!” She slid the second sandal on, took a deep breath, and smoothed her blue
chambray baby-doll shirt, contrasting red stitching, shirred bodice, empire waist,
and all, as she came to a stop in front of the door. She’d loved this simple blouse
with its stitched red and white country flowers on sight when she found it in town
last week. Now she was wondering whether its innocent style was flashy enough to catch
Con’s sophisticated eye. Jack, however, would have loved it.

She ran her fingers through her hair. She’d spent an inordinate amount of time on
it, trying to get it to look as if it always just cascaded in natural, loose waves
about her shoulders with no effort at all. After all, she had to dispel that severe,
prim image of her in a ponytail that was Con’s first impression of her.

It was probably bad form to arrive on the arm of another man when all she could think
about was Con Russo and how she was going to do everything in her power to get to
know him better. She hadn’t felt like this since the first time she’d seen Jack in
that coffee shop in Seattle. And she’d do just about anything to hang on to that feeling,
including being treasonous to her date.

Her heart felt as if it was waking again after a two-year sleep. And she blamed it
all on Jack.

He’d set her expectations and standards for men high. She was always looking for him,
for any sign of a hero, in any man she met. Right now she couldn’t decide whether
her attraction to Con was purely because he reminded her of Jack or not. But she intended
to find out.

She put her finger to her lips and gave Spookie a stern look. “Hush. This is our guest
arriving.”

But Spookie ignored her and went crazy yipping and barking as Willow opened the door
to Shane. Willow had never been much of a disciplinarian. Jack had trained Spookie.
He had a way with dogs. Willow used to tease him that he could have been a dog whisperer.

Just as Ada had said Shane would, he arrived brandishing a lush bouquet of cockscomb.
He handed them to Willow as Spookie hunkered down and growled at him in her attempt
at a menacing stance. With his hair combed up in a faux hawk, Shane looked a bit like
a rooster himself.
Maybe he’s just going with a theme for the evening?
Willow thought to herself, half-amused.

“These are beautiful! Thanks.” Was that surprised enough? “New haircut?”

“Yeah.” He ran his hand quickly and lightly over the top of his hair. Then he grinned.
“You look gorgeous.”

Spookie chose that minute to attack his leg. A look calculated to kill crossed Shane’s
face as he glared at Spookie. It passed so quickly Willow wondered whether she’d imagined
it.

She bent down and scooped Spookie up and stood aside to let Shane in. “Come on in.
I’m running a little behind. Let me just put this killer dog of mine in the back and
stick these in some water.”

She carried Spookie back to the bedroom and, against her protests, gated her in with
a child gate, dashed on a stroke of lip gloss, and returned to find Shane studying
her living room.

He turned and smiled at her as she entered the room and went to the kitchen to fill
a vase with water. “How are you holding up today?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Oh no, now he’d want to talk about Jack again. And her feelings.
As if he were some kind of grief counselor because he’d lost his fiancée. Willow didn’t
want to talk. She wanted to be normal, feel normal, act normal, and be treated normally,
not make people behave as if they had to tread delicately around her.

“You don’t have to hold it all in, Willow. Not around me. I understand. I feel the
loss every year on the anniversary of Crystal’s death.” Shane had told her about his
late fiancée shortly after they’d met.

He liked to talk to her about Crystal and encouraged her to talk about Jack. But,
frankly, she wanted to be dated because she was a desirable woman, not because she
was a sympathetic ear.

NCS chief Emmett Nelson had warned her not to reveal anything about Jack to anyone,
to always be on her guard. He shouldn’t have worried. Her feelings, her memories,
her thoughts about Jack were hers and hers alone. She wasn’t about to share them with
Shane.

Willow stuck the flowers in the vase and carried them to the console table in her
entryway. Shane came up behind her and put a hand on each of her shoulders, giving
her a squeeze.

“I don’t want to talk, really,” she said.

“Come, Willow. It’s okay to remember. Did he like to dance? Would he have liked the
party we’re going to tonight?”

“He hated dancing and loved social gatherings,” she lied, thinking about Ada’s hint
that Lettie’s contest would involve dancing. Jack loved to dance. But she’d only tell
Shane that over her dead body. If he was going to persist with this, she was going
to feed him as much misinformation as he deserved for not picking up on her less than
subtle cues to back off. “But he would have loved Aldo’s vegetarian lasagna.” Another
lie. Jack was a carnivore to his core, much to her dismay.

Shane lifted her hair off her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “I bet Jack was protective
of you. I bet he’d have done anything for you. Saved you from any threat.”

Though Shane’s words must have been meant to be kind, must have been a compliment
to Jack, they sent a shiver down her spine. She sidestepped out of his embrace. “Jack
was a hero. He protected everyone. Let’s go.”

*   *   *

It was an unusually calm, warm October evening with the stars twinkling above to match
the outdoor lamps, torches, and candles Aldo had burning outside his little establishment.
It was a good thing, too, that the weather was cooperating. The Villa’s two small
buildings—the catering kitchen and the tasting room—could each be called cozy and
quaint, but even together no one could truthfully call them spacious. Certainly not
roomy enough for the number of people coming to the party. But the grange hall in
town was decked out for the festivities that began the next day and unavailable to
use.

The Villa was part winery, part catering company, and part “oh my gosh, I need something
for dinner; a Villa lasagna is just the thing.” Straight from Italy, Aldo had brought
his cuisine and cooking skills with him. He cooked, catered, and sold frozen take-out
lasagnas, polenta, meatballs, and pesto from his kitchen.

Pulling one of Aldo’s frozen vegetarian pesto lasagnas from the freezer had saved
Willow a time or two when she’d been too tired to cook.

He also made wine, reds and whites and, notably, apple wine for the harvest celebration.
Tonight he was unveiling his latest apple creation—the Pink Lady blend. A perfect
bottle as you cuddled around the fire with a special friend and thought romantic thoughts
sipping Pink Lady bliss. Serve it up with some Brie and slices of fresh Pink Lady
apples and romance was certain to follow. At least for weeks that’s what he’d been
telling anyone who’d listen.

“Remind me to buy a bottle of apple wine. For later.” Shane smiled down at her.

Aldo’s wife, Becky, greeted them as they stepped onto the patio. “Willow! Shane. Welcome.”
Becky grabbed Willow’s arm and pulled them toward the bar where she’d been pouring
apple wine.

“Come. Let’s get you two each a glass of something. We’re serving Aldo’s new wine
and my apple gold punch. And don’t forget to sample the appetizer meatballs.” She
pointed to a warming tray filled with tiny bite-size meatballs. “Aldo spent all day
on them. If everyone doesn’t praise him to the hills, there’ll be no living with him
tomorrow.”

While Becky talked, Willow scanned the party, looking for Con.

Becky handed Shane a glass of alcoholic punch. “Willow? What will you have?”

“Wine’s fine, thanks.”

Becky poured her a glass and held it out to her. “Aldo put out a vegetarian antipasto
plate and made a pan of pesto lasagna just for you.”

“That’s sweet of him.” Willow accepted the glass of wine. “Make sure you let him know
how much I appreciate it.”

Becky nodded and grabbed a roll of tickets from the counter. “Have you heard about
this year’s charity challenge? Five lucky men will be forced to square off in a country
line dance competition. Last man standing wins a big-screen TV and a year of cable
with any sports channels he wants.

“Tickets are a dollar apiece, or twelve for ten dollars. All proceeds will be split
between the food bank and the animal shelter. How many can I sell you two?”

Willow pulled a twenty from her purse and handed it over.

Becky glanced at Shane as she counted out Willow’s tickets. “Looks like you might
be in trouble, Shane. She’s buying a lot of votes. You’d better buy enough to counteract
hers.”

Shane reached for his wallet and handed over two twenties.

“Wise man!” Becky handed Willow her tickets and began counting out Shane’s.

“I met Aldo’s cousin earlier. Is he here?” Willow asked.

“He’s here and he’s already racked up a lot of votes.” Becky handed Shane his tickets.
“Many a woman here would love to see his moves.”

*   *   *

Jack was a consummate loner and generally avoided social gatherings, except with his
closest friends. Years of being beaten and bullied as a kid had trained a certain
distrust of his fellow humans into him, and he was an introvert by nature. Tonight,
however, he’d been enjoying himself—he liked a good cat-and-mouse game and pulling
a fast prank—until he looked out across the parking lot and saw the Rooster arrive
with his arm around Willow.

Sometimes surveillance really was the worst part of this job.

Willow looked beautiful with her hair cascading around her shoulders. She was wearing
tight jeans and a blue top that showed off her delicate collarbone and creamy skin.
Jack resisted the urge to ball his fists. He was supposed to look relaxed and like
he was enjoying himself. If he’d had his way, he would have taken care of the Rooster
right then and there. Then maybe he could enjoy the evening.

Jack’s boss, Emmett Nelson, hated ex-spouses and lovers on the grounds they were security
risks and WikiLeaks ready to happen. NCS had a policy about dating, marriage, and
ex-lovers—they frowned on them all. RIOT had a stricter policy—no exes lived past
the expiration date of the relationship. Period. Sometimes not even that long.

Jack worried the Rooster would eliminate Willow once he was done using her to draw
him out.
Worry,
actually, was too mild a term.
Knew.
Jack knew the Rooster would kill her.

Worse, the RIOT boys liked to play with their food. Seriously, Jack would rather hand
Willow over to a member of the old KGB, back in their glory days, than a RIOT assassin
like the Rooster.

Fortunately, Jack had a plan to separate the asshole from his wife and get inside
Kennett’s lair for a look—a little vial of XTC in Jack’s pocket should take care of
the Rooster and make the party interesting.

Yeah, he knew. XTC was a date rape drug. Usually you used it to get some action, not
prevent it. But, hey, what could he say? He was a creative guy.

Next to Jack, Aldo told a joke. Jack laughed to keep from erupting and running out
to take a swing at Kennett.

This costume Malene had sent for Jack to wear to the party wasn’t making his job any
easier. He wasn’t used to dressing like an Italian fop. High fashion—who needed it?

Malene had to instruct him how to wear the damn clothes. “Roll up the pant legs to
just above your ankles, Jack, darling, and absolutely do not wear socks. It will ruin
the look. Remember, you’re supposed to be urbane.”

“Urbane, hell. Who wears leather dress shoes without socks?” he’d said, mumbling something
about blisters and a bad case of athlete’s foot beneath his breath.

“You’re not going jogging in them.” Malene laughed.

But he had worn them to the orchard and had to pay for it later by having to polish
them.

“I’ll send along a pair of Odor-Eaters if you’re worried about foot odor cramping
your style.” She had a wink in her voice.

Malene could be insufferable. But here he was, dressed as ordered. Why couldn’t she
dress him as an Italian jock? The woman had an evil, power-hungry side to her. She
loved being in control.

But mainly, Jack worried about continuing the ruse and making sure Willow didn’t suspect
he was him, her husband. He was not Jack. He kept telling himself that. Jack had died
two years ago. Maybe longer.

CHAPTER FIVE