Move the Sun (Signal Bend Series) (7 page)

“When I said military grade, boss, I didn’t mean it metaphorically. Ten to one this is military protection. I don’t know what the fuck that means she’s hiding, but I’m sure that’s who’s helping her. Be careful.”

“Noted. Now, I’m serious. Go back and crash. You did good, my brother.”

Bart smiled gratefully and closed his laptops. He trudged to the hallway leading to the dorm rooms. Isaac watched him go, thinking.

With a wave of his hand, Isaac called over LaVonne, one of the regular girls, who gave especially good head. She’d been lolling on one of the couches, reading a magazine. When she saw Isaac call her over, she came right away, adjusting her skirt up and her knit top down.

“Yeah, Isaac?” Nobody attached to the club called him Ike. That, he could control.

“Do me a solid, sugar, and go back with Bart, help him relax.”

She looked a little disappointed at first; Isaac figured she thought he was calling her over to service him. But she recovered quickly and smiled. Bart was a decent looking guy, not a bad hookup for a club girl. There were uglier patches, that was sure. “Sure thing!” LaVonne turned with a little shimmy in her hip and sashayed after him.

Isaac sighed and went behind the bar to pour himself a cup of what was clearly stale, sludgy coffee from much earlier in the morning. He was too tired to wait for a fresh pot, so he chewed on the black goo he’d oozed into his cup.

One problem addressed and not even remotely solved. On to the next. Maybe he’d have better luck there.

INTERLUDE: 1997

“Mr. Accardo, Lilli’s on Line 3
for you.”

“Thanks, Anne.”

Johnny picked up the handset and pressed the blinking button for Line 3. “Hey, Lillibell. What can I do for my little girl?” Not so little any longer. She was graduating high school in two days, and in three months, she’d be headed off to college. He and his mother would be alone.

As soon as she spoke, he knew it was trouble. “Papa, I need you to come home. It’s Nonna.”

~oOo~

Johnny walked up the front walk with a leaden heart. This was the second time in his daughter’s young life that he’d walked into this house when she’d been alone with the body of a woman she loved. Her mother, when she was ten. Now, eight years later, his mother. Her grandmother, her beloved Nonna, the woman who taken the place of mother in her life.

Lilli was sitting quietly on the living room sofa, still the red floral piece Mena had so carefully picked out when they’d bought the house. The living room was rarely in use, and it was strange to see Lilli, wearing jeans and a t-shirt from one of the concerts she’d been to, her hair loose and hanging mostly over her face, sitting in the center of that sofa, her face without affect. He came and sat next to her.

He picked up her hand, lying slack in her lap. “Lilli, talk to me.”

She turned her head. He’d been wrong; her face was not without affect. Her eyes were stormy with feeling. “She’s still on the floor in the kitchen. I called 911, and they came, but when they decided she was dead, they just went away. I’m waiting for someone else to come to take her away.”

Johnny could not even grieve for the loss of his mother, his beautiful
, obstreperous, hovering mother, who had filled their lives with the brilliant aroma of Italian love. He would have to set that aside. His daughter was his only concern. He pulled her to his chest and held her tightly. “Tell me what happened,
cara
.”

“She was in the kitchen, and I was watching TV in the den. She was singing at the top of her lungs. She sounded terrible, and I couldn’t hear my show over her. I was thinking, ‘shut the fuck up, Nonnie!’ And then she did. I heard a crash, and when I came in, she was just lying on the floor. Her eyes were open. The last thing I thought about her was that I wanted her to shut up.” She began to weep. Johnny was glad of it; the quiet calm unsettled him. It had taken her weeks to come out of a fugue like that after Mena’s death.

“Oh,
cara mia
. It’s not the last thing you thought about her. You’re thinking about her now. She was singing. She died happy. She died happy.”

He knew it was true. It helped to know it was true.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lilli pulled into the garage of her rented house. She’d had to go all the way to the little shopping center on the far outskirts of the St. Louis suburbs to find everything she needed. Besides the 7 Eleven, there wasn’t even a grocery in Signal Bend. But now, after spending several hours and several hundred dollars, she had a full stock of food and sundries. She had fresh linens for the bed and bath. She had the small appliances that the house had lacked—coffeemaker, toaster oven, things like that. And she had the supplies she needed adapt one of the small extra bedrooms to a room she could work in.

She opened the trunk and started hauling her purchases into the house. She supposed she could have parked on the grass, closer to the house, for the unloading, but she hadn’t thought of it. She didn’t really have a country mindset.

Once she had everything in the house, she spent an hour or so setting things up: getting the new linens in the wash (the rental thankfully had both washer and dryer), organizing the kitchen, trying to make the dreary little hut into something livable. Then she went into the smallest bedroom and started setting that up, too.

It was furnished with a twin-size bed and a small dresser. She pushed both of these to the side and built the small, cheap desk she’d bought. When it was together, she carried one of the chairs from the dinette set in; it would serve fine as a desk chair. She wasn’t sure what to do with the trash she was making; she supposed she’d have to burn most of it, since it was unlikely the town had residential trash pickup. For now, though, she piled it all in the third bedroom. When the furniture was handled, she covered the windows with heavy black paper, then drew the drapes. She changed the doorknob to one that locked. It wasn’t a great security solution; the door itself was only a typical interior door and thus wouldn’t put up much resistance to someone determined to get in, but the lock would slow them down, anyway.

That room set up the way she wanted, she put the linens in the dryer, grabbed the carton that had held the toaster oven, and went back out to the garage. She’d chosen this property for its seclusion, so the precautions she was taking were probably more than she needed. But she was a cautious woman, and sometimes more really was more. She went in the side door of the garage, so that she could leave the overhead closed. With no windows in the building, the garage was near pitch black, only the dim light rimming the doors to ease the gloom. Lilli turned on the overhead fluorescents and opened the trunk of the Camaro.

It looked like the trunk was empty, but Lilli leaned in and pulled the vinyl backing away from the back seat. Instead of the innards of spring and padding one usually finds inside an upholstered seat, the Camaro held a small armory: An M16 assault rifle, an M25 sniper rifle, three semi-automatic handguns, and a small assortment of other types of weapons for melee and mayhem. There was also a satellite phone and a very special laptop hidden in the seat. Lilli collected the latter two items and put them in the toaster oven box. The weapons she left where they were; she had her favorite sidearm in the bedroom already, and she didn’t expect to need the rest for some time yet. She closed up the back of the seat, shut the trunk, and left the garage, turning off the lights and locking it behind her.

When she got back into the house, she took the laptop and satellite phone into the office she’d just set up. She hooked the phone into the laptop, using the satellite connection to access the internet. It had been three days since she’d checked in. Her silence had been scheduled, but it still made her antsy to go so long.

When she got through the labyrinth of security and logged on, she found two new assignments, neither of which looked like it would take a great deal of time—a few hours each—but each with a hard deadline and high clearance. She knew what she’d be doing tonight. She replied, confirming the deadline for their completion. Then she logged out and came back in another way, so she could quietly check with her contact on what she was calling her side job. There was no new message, so she sent one of her own.

She wrote in code as if it were another language in which she was fluent, but the actual message she sent was:
In place. Need an update. Don’t make me wait.

~oOo~

She worked on her first assignment right away, finishing it and sending it back, newly encrypted, only breaking to make her bed and use the bathroom. She checked the time on her laptop: nearly 8pm. Her stomach rumbled, and she decided she’d pack it in for the night, make herself some supper, and spend the evening with a book.

She went into the kitchen and pulled out the fixings for a salad. She’d also bought a decent rib-eye; might as well have that as fresh as possible. She found a cast-iron skillet in one of the cabinets and put it on the stove.

While she cooked, she reflected on her first couple of days in Signal Bend. Things weren’t going as she’d planned. She’d known that a new person in a small town would be noticed, so she wasn’t trying to stay under the radar. She’d gone in conducting herself as if she were really moving to town for the long haul—hell, there was probably no reason that she couldn’t stay long term if she wanted, assuming all went well, and if she didn’t mind losing her real last name. She hadn’t expected quite the notice she’d gotten for her car and her run, but those were totally controllable factors.

But with Isaac, she’d managed to make herself the talk of the town. That had been blazingly apparent at breakfast, but she’d gotten her first inkling of it when that bitch had gotten the drop on her at the bar. Setting aside her irritation at herself for not keeping an eye on her flank and letting some dumb broad put hands on her—put a damn gun to her head—she kicked herself for not recognizing immediately that just sitting with Isaac had pulled down a lot of attention on her head. She’d even remarked on the attention the other bikers were paying them, but she’d been so lulled by his presence that she’d thought no more of it.

Being connected with Isaac didn’t kill her plans, though; it simply changed them. She had to factor him in. And there might be something useful in a connection to the most powerful man in town. It could give her decent cover. Hiding in plain sight was often excellent cover, because it confounded expectations. And she obviously could not be in plainer sight around these parts than when she was with Isaac.

He knew she was hiding something, but she felt fairly confident that it was beyond his ability to learn anything she didn’t want him to know. She had to admit, too, that she enjoyed the little chess game—she’d liked his analogy a lot—they had going. It turned her on.

Which was, of course, the other thing. The thing that might actually be a complication. Isaac turned her on. A lot. She’d spent the better part of the day remembering the morning’s romp. He was big, strong, gorgeous, had a great cock, and was really damn good in the sack. He had power—not just external power, influence, but inherent power. It came off him in almost visible waves. And he was smart. He’d shocked the shit out of her by recognizing where the quote on her side was from, but it was more than that. She could see his intelligence in his eyes.

He was, as far as Lilli was concerned, the complete package. So she wasn’t sad at all that she needed to keep him close, keep an eye on him. But there was a danger, too, of getting attached. Lilli knew herself. She could get attached
to a man like him. Wouldn’t keep her from doing what she needed to do, but it could hurt, and that sucked.

Her steak was done. She made herself a plate and took it into the living room. The furniture there—or anywhere in the house, really—wasn’t what Lilli would call “comfortable,” but it was serviceable. She sat on the brown plaid couch and ate her dinner while she read.

Sometime after midnight, she headed to bed. She fell asleep thinking of Isaac, her hands between her thighs.

~oOo~

She woke up with a start in the morning, but at least she was still in bed. With the new linens, it was positively fluffy, and she lay for a few minutes and allowed herself the luxury of a slow waking. The mornings out here were surprisingly noisy. Lots of animal chatter. She checked her phone: She’d made it to half past six. Pretty good. And she had provisions, so she could have coffee.

First, though, a run. She went to the bathroom, then dressed to run—in her usual running clothes. If they were scandalous for the pious country folk of Signal Bend, well, they’d just have to deal.

She was going to have to figure out some kind of solution for her other training, though. There was no gym anywhere nearby. She guessed farmers worked their core by actually working, but these days her work only exercised her brain. For the most part.

She ran about half the route she’d run the day before, which she’d estimated to be about 16 miles, give or take. She was fit, and an experienced long-distance runner, but 16 miles was a lot two days in a row. She saw many of the same people, and got many of the same looks—some of them perhaps even more interested than they had been yesterday. Her breakfast with Isaac had made the rounds. This time, when she waved, several of them waved back. A little cachet came with Isaac, not surprisingly.

She started the coffee when she got back and jumped in for a quick shower while it brewed. Considering the decidedly rustic appointments of the house, the shower in this bath was halfway decent. A good size, with a good shower head. The water pressure wasn’t wonderful, and it took forever to get hot, but all in all, it more than got the job done.

She dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, then blow-dried her hair. She left it loose, for now. It would bug the crap out of her soon enough, so she pulled an elastic band over her wrist. A ponytail was her daily style. She wasn’t much for spending a lot of time preening.

When she went back out to the kitchen, she stopped in the middle of the living room, staring out the sliding glass door. Isaac was leaning against the railing, looking in at her—assuming he could see that far into the room when he was standing in broad daylight. Jesus Christ. She had herself a stalker. An extremely hot, interesting stalker with a sexy, smoky voice, but a stalker nonetheless.

For a moment, she just took him in. He definitely had a look: same boots, jeans, dark button-up shirt,
kutte, jewelry, sunglasses, hair in a braid. He was leaning against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest. Something in his stance indicated that he was irritated, as though she should have been expecting him. She went to the door and unlocked it.

When she slid it open, he pushed off the railing. “You lock the doors
when you’re home
?”

She put her hands on her hips, still standing in the door, blocking the entry he obviously wanted. “Asking that question tells me that you know they were locked. Which means you tried them. Which means you would have come into my house while I was in the shower. So, yeah. I’ll lock my doors, thanks.”

He hooked his finger into the waistband of her jeans. “What do you think I would have done? You in the shower, all naked and wet. You sure you wouldn’t have wanted me to find you in there?”

Her body responded to everything about him: his scent, which was all leather and man; his look; his touch on her bare skin; the deep rumble of his voice. She was sure her reflexes would have had a shower encounter such as he described going very badly for both of them, but right now, she couldn’t say getting wet with him sounded like a bad thing.

She took a focusing breath. “What do you want, Isaac? I’ve got shit I need to do.”

“For a woman withou
t a job, you seem pretty fucking busy.” He pulled a little on her waistband and slid another finger between her belly and the denim. It was an incredibly sensual move and had her nerves alight.

She wasn’t remotely tempted to bite the hook he was dangling with his observation, however. She just kept looking him in the eye, her eyebrows raised.

Finally, he cleared his throat with a grin of surrender and removed his hand. “Okay, you win. May I please come in? I need to talk to you about a couple of things.” She stepped back and let him in.

She turned to head to the kitchen and finally get her cup of coffee, but Isaac grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. His mouth was on hers before she had a chance to say anything. He fed his hands into her loose hair and held her head to his.

The kiss was deep, demanding, and  . . . persuasive. Lilli gave into it for a few seconds, savoring his taste and the lush feel of his beard. Then she put her hands on his chest and pushed back. “Dude. That’s not talking.”