Rebel (32 page)

Evidently, her map had no sense of humor.

“Rubi,” a voice called from above. She glanced up and spotted her Realtor, Desiree Boyd, waving down at her from a deck on the cliff. “Come on up.”

Rubi squinted at the stairs, at Desiree, at Rodie, and back. “This week just keeps getting better.”

Out of curiosity, Rubi counted the stairs as she followed Rodie up, holding her arms at his sides to make sure he didn’t veer and fall off. Only a hundred and twenty-six stairs. She was always overestimating—the way she was overestimating this issue with Wes. Surely, she was.

“Okay.” Desiree held up a hand to Rubi, her pretty Asian face holding a smile filled with promise. “I know it’s not on the sand, but…” She opened her arms to the ocean at Rubi’s back. “It’s definitely got the view.”

Rubi turned, hands on hips and out of breath from the stairs. Yes, a view of the ocean. An endless, flat expanse of blue. Other than the color, there was nothing interesting. No sand, no people, no waves against the beach.

Her stomach slid lower. She’d seen two other houses earlier in the day, one way, way,
way
over her price range at twenty-three million and another priced at nine million. She’d liked those about as much as she liked this. But she didn’t want to be an unappreciative downer, so she said, “Beautiful.”

“Take a look inside,” Desiree suggested, already starting that direction.

Rubi brushed off Rodie’s paws before he walked in, and they strolled around the four-thousand-square-foot home. “This is straight out of the Brady Bunch era.”

Desiree’s heels paused in their click across the pitted, dark wooden floors. Ancient wooden floors. “You’re not old enough to know that.”

“Neither are you,” she said, turning in a slow circle. “I watched a lot of TV reruns when I was a kid. Okay, I’ve seen enough. Call me when you find something different.”

She trotted down the steps again with Desiree calling, “Rubi, there’s not a lot on the market in your price range right now.”

“I understand, but this isn’t going to work.” At the bottom of the steps, she paused and glanced up at Desiree. Offering on her father’s house again was on the tip of her tongue, but her hurt, her anger, and her spite kept it in. “Thanks, D.”

Rubi picked up her run toward home. Against her arm, her phone buzzed. She glanced down and found a text from Wes. Rubi ignored it and focused on the waves. On the scenery. On the sunset. On her dog playing in the water.

She named everything she was grateful for, one of the earliest habits she’d developed for self-soothing. She’d been doing it as far back as her memory stretched. And some days, many more days as a child, her greatest gratitude was for the day’s end.

“I love the beach. I love working for myself. I love making my own schedule,” she said between breaths as she ran. “I love Rodie. I love Lexi. I love Jax. I love…”
Wes
. “I love Renegades. I love programming apps. I love this weather. I love…”
Wes
.

She did love Wes; that wasn’t new. She’d shared her gratefulness for him in her life since she’d met him nearly two months before. But now—
I love Wes as a friend, the same way I love Jax
—felt different. It felt like more. And she just didn’t know what to do with that. She’d never loved a man. Hugely believed she wasn’t capable of loving a man.

And here Wes was, imbedded in her chest. Her mind. He’d somehow slipped in when she hadn’t noticed, and now her feelings for him were growing like a seed planted in fertile earth. A streak of terror heated her belly. But her phone pulled her focus off the discomfort with a reminder chirp for the unread message.

“Dammit.” She slowed to a walk, pulled the phone from its case on her bicep, and tapped the message. “He pokes at me even when he’s thousands of miles away.”

WES: Something to feel good about. Meet Wyatt.

Breathing quickly, stomach tight, she tapped the attachment, and a video played. The setting was a generic hospital room. A man lay in the center of a single bed—strapped into the rig. Rubi immediately recognized the metal strip down the sides of his leg, the black straps around both. Something hitched in Rubi’s chest—surprise, awe, excitement—something unfamiliar but good. Laughter and chatter sounded in the background as if the room was filled with people, though she couldn’t see anyone but the man who had to be Wyatt.

As the camera changed position and drew closer, she recognized the resemblance between Wyatt and Wes. Wyatt had the same broad build as Wes. Both had a square jaw, slim nose, strong cheekbones. Wyatt’s hair was a medium brown, cut military short. His eyes were darker than Wes’s, but she couldn’t tell what color. He lay on top of the covers, wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt, hair mussed, unshaven.

“This is Wyatt.” Wes’s familiar, sexy voice came over the speaker and made Rubi’s heart skip. Made emotion rush her chest. God, she was ridiculous.

“Hey, Miss Rubi,” Wyatt said to the camera with a wave, a grin, and a deep Southern drawl that she hadn’t expected. “Wish you were here…” He spoke with the kind of warmth reserved for deep friendship and delivered with as much sincerity as if she were standing in the room, not an absent, anonymous stranger on the other end of a video clip. He added, with a mischievous grin so much like Wes’s, her heart squeezed, “So I could kick your ass. This is some hard-ass work, girl.”

“And you thought the Marines were tough,” Wes quipped, making everyone laugh, including Rubi.

“Daddy,” a little voice squeezed in, filled with reprimand. “Ass is a bad word.”

More laughter, with adult female voices in the mix.

Wes tilted the camera down, and the two girls in the photo he’d sent earlier—towheaded, fair-skinned, and blue-eyed—appeared on screen. “Say hi to Rubi.”

“Hi, Rubi.” Their young voices vibrated over the speaker.

“These are my nieces,” Wes said. “Introduce yourselves, girls.”

“I’m Abby,” the smaller one said with the enthusiasm of a child who was photographed often.

“I’m Emma.” She was older, a little on the shy side, and didn’t look at the camera.

“All right,” Wes’s voice came over the speaker again. “Get to work, slacker. Let’s show Rubi this rig in action.”

“Slave driver,” Wyatt complained.

They didn’t look so scary. She always associated terrifying, annoying, or pathetic people with the concept of family. But these people were all normal. Like Wes. Like Rubi. Not the “family” that had frightened her into rejecting Wes’s invitation.

“Only one more lift,” a female voice added. By the way it shifted, Rubi could tell she was moving. “He’s already done too much today.” She stepped into the picture as she rounded to the far side of Wyatt’s bed. Her blonde hair spiraled down her back, Taylor Swift style. When she turned and reached out to support Wyatt’s leg, Rubi saw there was more than just her hair that resembled the music mogul. This woman had a beautiful, pixie face and light eyes. A nice build too, slim but top-heavy in the breast department. Rubi would have guessed she was Wyatt’s wife, but she was dressed in solid turquoise scrubs. Had to be the physical therapist. “You’ll be sore tomorrow.”

Rubi glanced up, located Rodie digging in the sand, and returned her gaze to the video.

“Okay, Whitney,” the blonde said. “Ready.”

Rubi had no idea who Whitney was but assigned the name to another anonymous female in the room. Silence descended for a moment, then the familiar sound of the rig’s motors filled Rubi’s ears, and anxiety ramped up in her chest.

Wyatt lay flat, took a breath, and bent his knee, drawing it toward his chest. The move was as simple as they came, but Wyatt’s face scrunched with effort. The hand at his side fisted in the sheets beneath him, and as his knee drew closer to his chest, he growled between his teeth. Then he slowly released his leg, easing it back to the bed at an utterly ridiculously slow pace.

He let out a relieved breath when it rested flat again, then grinned at the phone camera. “Couldn’t do that two days ago.” He gave a thumbs-up. “Thanks, Rubi.”

“And that’s our show for today,” Wes said, then added a soft, private, “You’ve made a real difference here, beautiful,” before the video cut out. “This rig would have been pathetic without your programming. You should be proud.”

The video ended, leaving her screen with a still image of the first frame, a big circled arrow overlaying the center. The darkening sky seemed to float closer. The wind off the ocean chilled her skin and blew her hair. And emotions swirled in her chest.

“You’ve made a real difference here.”

The words lingered like an echo. And despite her initial urge to douse the pride that was indeed filling her chest, push it off, and give Wes credit—well-deserved credit—the meaning of this stuck. Yes, she made a difference with projects like the one she was struggling over with the NSA by aiding in national security. But it was so diluted, she didn’t feel it. Never saw it. And when someone worked in an isolated setting as she did, motivation and morale drastically improved when she saw the direct correlation of her work—like she did with Renegades. Like she just had with the rig.

And the light, open, promising sensation filling her chest made her realize some sort of crossroads for her life loomed close.

Rubi trusted her gut and dialed Lexi’s cell.

“Hey,” Lexi answered. “I’m glad you called. I’m going to need to cancel dinner tomorrow tonight. I’ve got a client who can’t come in any other time, and—”

“I’ll make you a deal” Rubi closed her eyes. “I’ll forgive you for canceling dinner if you take me to the airport on your lunch break.”

“Of course,” Lexi said, surprised. “I didn’t know you’d planned a trip. Where are you going?”

Rubi drew in a deep, slow breath. Held it a second. And jumped. “Missouri.”

Twenty

“Who’s fucking idea was this?”

Rubi had the air-conditioning on, because the thickness of the Missouri air seemed to make breathing more difficult. And everything smelled…damp. She was exhausted. The nights without sleep, the stress, the long work hours—it was all catching up to her. Great timing, seeing as she was on a two-lane country road in the middle of Nowhere, Missouri, alone, with no one to tell her where to go but the mysterious female GPS voice. But that was her own fault—she’d sworn Lexi to secrecy. Rubi wasn’t ready to call Wes and tell him she was here. Wasn’t even ready to admit she was here. Right about halfway through the flight, she’d developed this thick knot of dread in her belly.

That was also about the time a little voice in her head said,
Turn back.

What the hell do you think you’re doing?

This isn’t you.

You don’t belong here.

More and more trees flew by, lining the grassy roadside. Rubi had never seen so many trees in her life. In all her combined years. Once she’d turned off the main interstate, she’d seen nothing but trees and trees and more trees. Occasionally, a break in the trees revealed a field. Then another. Then back to the trees. And while her headlights hinted toward their changing fall colors, it was too dark to appreciate. There were as many trees here as there were people in Los Angeles. Occasionally, another car would pass in the other direction, but otherwise, no traffic. And the longer she drove, coming up on an hour now, the tighter her stomach pinched and the louder the voice grew.

“What the hell am I doing?” she muttered to herself, forehead resting in her hand.

“In five hundred feet,” the GPS voice said, scaring Rubi’s heart into her throat, “turn right.”

A sliver of relief eased her belly. She turned at the next street and continued along the narrow, two-lane road. But she was now moving at a slight upward grade. The GPS took her through another half dozen series of turns and deeper into the trees.

“Your destination is one hundred feet on your right,” Ms. GPS said.

“What?” Rubi asked, as if she’d get an answer from the machine. There was nothing out here.

“You’ve arrived at your destination.”

Rubi checked her mirrors and stopped on the deserted road. On her right, a gravel road extended through the trees and into nothing. “What the hell?”

She pressed her head to her hand, feeling so utterly ridiculous, her body temperature rose five degrees. At least no one could see her acting so moronically. If she turned around and headed back to the airport now, she could catch the next flight home, grab a cab to her house, and tell Lexi she’d changed her mind. Decided not to go after all. No one would be the wiser.

Rubi pulled onto the gravel drive to get off the road and stared down the lonely stretch with swamping disappointment and a wicked streak of failure. Christ, she didn’t even know why she was here anymore. She was so tired. Maybe she’d get a hotel back in St. Louis. Drink her dinner. And fall into bed.

On a groan of torment, she laid her head against the steering wheel and closed her eyes.

Three knocks on her window jerked her head up. Disoriented, terrorized, Rubi leaned away from the window, gripping the steering wheel with bloodless fingers. An old woman stared in at her, a perplexed look on her face.

Rubi’s heart was still skittering around her chest when the woman asked, “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

A dream? A hallucination? Had she fallen asleep?

“Honey?”

The woman’s concerned tone refocused Rubi. She darted glances through the windshield, the passenger’s window, the rearview mirror.

Trees. Missouri.

Damn.

She must have fallen asleep. But a glance at the dashboard clock said it couldn’t have been for long.

Rubi’s fingers shook when she pressed the window control and rolled the glass down halfway. The thick, cool air swept into the car, dragging every scent of vegetation and earth in as well.

“I’m okay,” Rubi said. “Sorry. I’m kind of…um…lost.”

She was pretty for an old woman, her hair a silvery blonde, her eyes smoky blue, great bone structure…