In Plain Sight by Hope Anika

Chapter Fifteen

“How much doyou know about him? Really know?”

Fiona rubbed her aching head and told herself that punching Mick in the mouth was the wrong idea.

So wrong I don’t want to be right.

“Goddamn it, Fi. He could be anyone.”

Yes. Anyone.

A charming, charismatic, easy-going man who stood behind his word and protected those who couldn’t protect themselves.

Or a quiet, mysterious, utterly alluring man whose intensity and singularity of focus was more seductive than the smoothest line.

A man who bared himself without fear, who challenged and tempted and tested her; a man whose devastating honesty was its own brand of honor.

A man whose easygoing façade hid something utterly brutal and unforgiving.

Like a kaleidoscope, revealing brilliant new facets with every turn.

Damn him.

As you wish.

She hadn’t expected him to go. To just…walk away.

“I think you don’t know him like you think you do. And I think that’s dangerous.”

It was.

Because he’d said he wouldn’t leave.

And he had.

But she’d told him to go. He’d given her the choice, and she’d made it.

She had no right to cry over the milk she’d spilled.

“I see exactly what he is,” Mick continued, “and it’s nothing good.”

Argument balled in her throat, and the urge to pop him one was so strong, she almost gave in.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she continued walking along the lush sprawl of green that bordered the Green River. Towering, gnarled oaks and smooth, silver barked maples dotted the expanse; along the river banks, thick stands of velvety brown cattails swayed in the current. Frogs murmured and birds sang, and the sun was finally breaking through the clouds overhead.

This was her favorite spot of the summer. The river walkway was located in the center of the town of Blue Falls, surrounded by shops and small, intimate restaurants. The scent of roasting coffee beans mingled with the aroma of pastries; people meandered along the narrow bike path that traced the river’s edge, walking happy dogs and pushing their children in ornate, fat-wheeled strollers.

“There’s more to him than meets the eye, Fi,” Mick insisted doggedly.

But there wasn’t. There really wasn’t.

Rye didn’t hide anything. Oh, he might camouflage it some; who didn’t?

But his secrets were hers.

If she wanted them.

And part of her wanted them.

Which would either be the best decision of her life…or the worst.

A decision she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to make.

“Are you listening to me, Fi? He’s bad news.”

He was. But not for the reasons Mick thought.

Not dangerous because he was, well, dangerous.

But because he was real.

No bullshit; no lies. No manipulations, or machinations, or half-truths.

Just Rye, cards on the table.

All in.

He scared the ever-loving hell out of her.

And what he made her feel…

Made her run.

“I want him gone, Fi. I mean it. I don’t like him.”

She liked him too much.

Which had given life to this stupid, painful, exhausting rumination; the jagged, intense, powerful feelings she couldn’t simply shed like an unwanted coat.

It should have been easy to watch him walk away.

It was what she wanted.

Until she didn’t.

“Fiona.” Mick stepped into her path, and the worry in him both aggravated the crap out of her and made her feel incredibly guilty.

Because he was family.

That he wanted more, and would never get it, didn’t change the fact that he was part of her life, had always been part of her life. That she’d known him since she was a child; that she loved him.

That she’d handled him badly.

She was beginning to think she’d handled everything badly.

“This where I set up last year,” she said and pointed toward the flat, triangular section of land where the river began to curve toward the walkway. “It was a good spot. I’d like it again this year.”

“I’m putting everyone in the same place as last year.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Because we need to talk, and that SOB is always watching.”

He didn’t realize their walk through the midway hadn’t changed that; Rye was still watching. He was always watching.

He might have walked away from her two days ago, but he hadn’t walked away from his responsibilities.

There was nothing he didn’t see.

Which was such sweet, awful torment, it was starting to make her crazy.

“I want you to send him on his way, Fi. Today.”

Anger flared through her.

She was worried about Selena, who smiled and worked like a dog and had such dark circles under her eyes, Fiona knew she never slept.

She was terrified she couldn’t keep her crew safe.

She was frightened for Max because they were family.

And she was scared she might have ruined something precious and rare and valuable.

Something that couldn’t be repaired.

“If he goes, I go,” she said coldly.

Because no one got to tell her what to do. Not even family.

Mick took an aggressive step toward her. “You’d break your contract?”

“In a New York minute.”

He was standing too close, his body heat slapping her, his strength an open threat, even if she knew he’d never use it. “You’d choose him? Are you serious right now?”

“If I go,” she told him. “I won’t be back.”

He just stared at her, a look of dumbfounded consternation on his face.

“I can call Jack DeBeirs right now, and he’ll find a spot for me on his midway.” They both knew it was true. Jack was one of Mick’s main competitors; he’d been chasing her for years. “And he won’t give me any grief about my crew, and he won’t pry into my private life, and he sure as hell won’t threaten me.”

“I’m not threatening you,” Mick protested, but it was weak, and he rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Jesus, Fi. I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old.”

Her heart squeezed with sudden, painful intensity. She had no desire to hurt him.

“But you aren’t in love with me,” she said. “I’ve seen how you look at Suzette.”

Color flushed his cheeks, and he looked away. “That’s different.”

Fiona snorted.

“It is,” he insisted, but again, weakly. “I’m not a goddamn monk.”

“I’m not condemning you. But if you loved me like you think you do, you wouldn’t look at her like that.”

He said nothing, a muscle ticking in his hard jaw.

“We aren’t meant to be, Mick,” she said gently.

The irony of which was not lost on her.

That someone might be meant to be.

For a long, silent moment he only stared at her. Then, “Goddamn it.”

Before she could protest, he hauled her into his arms and hugged her, hard. The scent of grease and pine and clean male sweat filled her nostrils, and memory washed over her, and she felt a moment of piercing appreciation for all that he’d been in her life.

Mick was strong and safe; he’d spent most of his life protecting her.

And being her friend.

But his embrace was nothing like Rye’s. Nothing like that blistering, life-changing kiss that had awakened something that now refused to slumber.

That dominated her dreams and far too many of her waking moments.

More.

She wanted more.

The thought made her pull abruptly from Mick’s embrace.

“Fiona.”

Rye’s voice sliced through her. She turned to see him standing a handful of feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, his black gaze so dark, it was like looking into a well. The stillness in him made goosebumps prickle across her skin. “Everything okay?”

“She’s just fine,” Mick snapped.

Rye turned a flat stare on him, one that made her heart beat too hard.

“She might not see what you are,” Mick growled. “But I do. And if you hurt her, you’re a fucking dead man.”

Rye only blinked, unspeaking, unmoving; the dark, predatory entity inside of him watched Mick with open malevolence.

Fiona thought she probably should have feared it. But she didn’t.

“Park your rigs in the same spot as last year,” Mick muttered. “Just stay off the bike path, or the festival committee will lose their shit.”

Then he turned and strode away.

“He’s family,” Fiona said into the silence he left behind. “It comes with the territory.”

Rye stared at her, his expression unreadable.

Silent. Distanced. Respecting her demand that he just…stop.

There were no more endearments; no more conversations about destiny, or soul mates.

Or bats.

No more conversations about anything.

And…Fiona missed them.

She missed him.

Which was just crazier, because she’d only known him a handful of days.

Almost all of which had been spent working. Tearing down, setting up. Hauling the wagon from one spot to the next; doing food runs, ice runs, everything under the sun runs; helping whoever needed it.

Watching over Lena like a hawk.

Still, the loss was tangible.

Painful.

Which just should have been fuel to build the wall between them higher. Instead…

Well. It made her want to blow the damn thing to smithereens.

“I’m sorry,” she said abruptly.

His head tilted, but he didn’t ask.

And she knew that, if things were going to change, it was up to her to make it happen.

If she was brave enough.

Or crazy enough.

Even though they might be the same thing.

“That night…” The sense memory of his body pressing hers against the trailer burned through her; his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her bottom, the hard line of his cock against her pushing into her belly. The stroke of his tongue; the pulse in the notch of her thighs; the open, unrestrained, almost joyous hunger in him—

“It was a lot to take in,” he said.

Yes.The understatement of the century.

And now heat was pooling low in her belly. And that damn flutter was back.

And she wanted to repeat every bit of it.

Instead, she tried again. “I didn’t mean…I wasn’t…. I don’t know what you expect, Rye. Destiny…that’s not real to me. I don’t think like that. And you….” He began to stride toward her, and the words died in her throat. He didn’t stop until she had to crane her neck back to look at him until his heat pressed against her skin, and his scent filled her head, and the intense, intoxicating presence of him wrapped her like a silken glove. She had to push the words out. “You’re a stranger, Rye. I don’t…I don’t know you.”

His eyes were so black, something deep inside of her ached. “You know everything that matters. But I understand why it’s not enough. So here’s this: my mother was a junkie and a whore who disappeared when I was nine. I spent my childhood on the streets trying not to die. Part of me didn’t make it. What grew in its place saved me, but not without a price. I joined the service because it liked blood and violence, and it was always hungry. That’s where I met Max; he liked blood and violence, too. We understood each other. He saved my ass, and I saved his. Then we quit. Now I make weapons and help my friends out when they need it. What else do you want to know?”

The stark brutality of the words punched through her, and she froze, trapped in his shadow.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“I’m not. It made me a survivor. I don’t quit.” He leaned down over her. “I know you’re scared, baby. But I expect you to overcome.”

Then, for the second time in as many days, he turned and walked away.