In Plain Sight by Hope Anika

Chapter Seven

“Like it or not,Max is my only living relative.” Which was rather depressing, all things considered. “So you need to put your big-boy panties on and deal. If you can’t do that, then just stay away from him. He won’t be around long.”

Fiona ignored the scowl on Ares' face and pulled open the door to the popcorn wagon.  She couldn’t blame the kid for his rage; as Thea’s younger brother and only family, he'd watched up close and personal as his sister disintegrated in the wake of Max's defection. He had every right to want to plant his fist in Max's face.

He certainly wasn't alone.  Fiona still wasn't sure if she wanted to hug big brother or smack him around.

Probably both.

But the poor little red-haired girl standing off to the side didn't deserve any of Ares' crap.  The girl looked wrung hard and put away wet; she was pale, hollow-eyed, and afraid.

Fiona wanted to hug her. But Selena McLean was silent, withdrawn, and obviously uncomfortable.  There was a shadow of something in her expression—terror, Fi thought—but her chin was high and her shoulders were square.  Brave, despite it all.

Something Fi could respect.

“Whatever,” Ares muttered. “But if he goes anywhere near her—”

“Your sister is a grown-ass woman,” Fiona told him flatly. “She doesn’t need you to fight her battles.”

“You remember what she was like!”

“I do.” Fi held up a hand when he would have argued. “But you can stop worrying. Max won’t be sticking around.”

“Doing what he does best,” Ares mocked. “Leaving.”

“I need your help,” Fiona told him, annoyed. “But if you can’t get a grip, I’ll do it myself.”

He stared at her for a long, unspeaking moment. Then, “Help with what?”

“I need you to show Lena how to run the wagon.”

“I have to set up my game,” he protested.  “I don't even have any stock hung.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“I was helping Thea.”

Which was probably true. Even though nearly eight years separated them, Ares and Thea were close, and he was fiercely protective of his sister. They’d lost their parents to a plane crash only six months after Julian and Kisa died, and now all they had was each other. They took care of one another, and even at sixteen, Ares was more man than teenager.

Which was easy to forget until he got mouthy.

“The game can wait,” Fiona said. “Pop some corn, grind some ice, and teach her how to spin floss. Please. I’ll be back soon.”

Ares glared at her, but stepped obediently into the wagon and stomped across the diamond plate floor.

Fiona sighed. Selena blinked owlishly at her from behind her glasses.

“You, too,” she told the girl, who reluctantly followed Ares into the wagon.

The midway was busy, and a few curious looks came their way, but mostly everyone ignored them. For now.

But that wouldn’t last.

Because thanks to Rye G.I. Joe Wilder, Fiona’s under-the-radar existence on the show had been effectively blown to smithereens.

Stupid jerk!

If he’d just been honest with her from the beginning, that ridiculous farce he’d engaged them both in wouldn’t have been necessary. Necessary! As if any of it was necessary.

For the love of Pete. The man had prostrated himself before her and—

I’m begging, honey. On my knees for you. Please.

Fiona shook her head, wholly unnerved by the memory. She didn’t like how he’d looked at her—too deep, too raw, with an unsettling intensity she didn’t understand and didn’t want and had no idea what to do with—and she didn’t like what she’d felt while standing before him, his large form kneeling at her feet.

Electrified. Aware of him—and herself—in a way that was not at all welcome. As if something unseen and beyond her control bound them.

Something dangerous.

She could still feel his thumb against her mouth.

Careful. I like it rough.

Damn him.

“Is she really Max’s kid?” Ares leaned back against the counter and eyed Selena with a look that wasn’t particularly friendly.  “For real?”

“No,” Fiona said shortly.  "She’s a friend who needs a safe place to lay low for a little while.  That okay with you?"

“Of course.”  He straightened and looked at Selena again, a far deeper look that saw more than the girl would realize.  His shoulders straightened, and Fiona immediately recognized the look that moved across his face.  Protective mode engaged.  Good.

He might ask some questions, but he wouldn't push if they weren’t answered.

“You'll keep an eye out?” Fi pressed.

His dark blue gaze met hers.  He nodded. “You bet.”

“Thank you.”

She turned to Selena and sighed.  The kid might as well have a target pinned to her butt. Between her bright red, curly hair and thick, black-framed eyeglasses, she stood out like a sore thumb.

They were going to have to work on that.  It would be a shame to cut or dye that gorgeous hair, but there might be no choice.  And as for the eyeglasses—

“Have you ever tried contacts?” she asked and plucked a Dresden’s Delectables baseball cap from the upper shelf.

Selena blinked.  “No.”

“Maybe you should think about it.”

“Why?”

She settled the hat on Selena's head, threading her hair through the hole at the back.  “Because once you start spinning floss, you aren’t going to be able to see anything.”

“Floss?”

“Cotton candy,” Ares put in.

“Oh.” Another blink. “Why not?”

The boy grinned.  “You’ll see.”

Selena blushed and looked down at the floor.

Fiona wasn’t sure what she’d expected from Max’s fourteen-year-old murder witness, but this reserved, eerily calm teenager wasn’t it. Fi had a lot of experience with kids; she'd been surrounded by them for most of her life.  Kids were loud and obnoxious creatures; they giggled and argued and chattered like hyperactive little squirrels.  But this girl watched the world around her like an observer, as if she stood separate and apart, an invisible barrier only she could see dividing the space between her and everyone else.

“Are you okay with this, Lena?” Fi asked her quietly. “Did Max give you any choice?”

“No.”  Selena shook her head.  "He just said it would be safe."

Conscious that Ares was listening, Fiona only nodded.  "Sounds like him.  But what about you? Are you okay with this?  Is there somewhere else you’d rather be?”

“I have nowhere else to go.”

The girl’s voice was flat, hollow with grief, and a sharp pang moved through Fiona. I know the feeling.

But that was all she knew. Because everything else this kid was dealing with—like witnessing the slaughter of everyone she loved and running for her life, and someone wanting her dead—

Well. It was more than Fi could comprehend.

This girl really needed a hug.

“Okay,” Fi said, “but if you decide you don't want to be here, you let me know.  We’ll figure something else out.”

Selena looked around, her eyes wandering the wagon, taking in all of the equipment. The tall, glass and steel popcorn maker; the ice grinder; the large, round steel tub of the floss machine. “You’re going to teach me?”

“If you want,” Fiona said.

Selena nodded. “I do.”

“It’s not hard,” Ares said reassuringly and looked at Selena.

The girl nodded wordlessly and her gaze dropped, and her cheeks bloomed bright red with color. And Fiona thought, aw, shit biscuits. Because Ares was every girl's fantasy: handsome, smart, thoughtful, protective.  He was also stubborn, arrogant, too smart for his britches, and madly in love with the funhouse owner's daughter, Bridget.

As the Ferris Wheel Turns, Season Two.

Awesome.

“Ares will show you everything you need to know,” Fiona told her.  “I'll be back soon.”

She turned to step out of the wagon, but then stopped in front of the small sink set into the metal countertop and turned on the tap. Water flowed out, cold and clean.  She turned the tap back off, climbed out of the wagon, closed the door behind her, and bent down to look underneath.  No leak; not even a drip.

All fixed.  Baby.

Stupid jerk! But at least it was fixed.

Fixed.As opposed to everything else currently askew in her universe.

Like her relationship with Max.

And her place on the show, courtesy of the mess Rye Wilder had made.

If he thought she was going to play along with the silly, romantic drivel he’d contrived, he had another thing coming.

Fi kept her private life private. The show was already too cloistered and intimate. She didn’t make scenes; she didn’tair her dirty laundry in public. And she never would she have taken part in a production like the one he’d played out that morning.

She could have thought of a hundred different ways for him to ingratiate himself with the show; declaring his undying love for her wouldn’t have been any one of them.

What was the man’s problem? And why did she have a bad feeling it was going to become her problem?

At least she’d gotten in a good smack.

“Lying, cheating dog,” she muttered and grinned.

Because he might have set the stage, but she would decide how the scene played out.

And who knew? He might prove useful.  He’d fixed the plumbing, after all. She wondered how he would be with a hammer.  Or an oil wrench.  And there was that hole in the floor of the box truck—

Well.  Perhaps there would be some benefit to his big, annoying presence.

In spite of how he looked at her. Like he was…

Hungry.

Wings fluttered low in her belly. Which she chose to ignore. Because—

No. Just no.

Wilder.A man with an apt name. All of that untamed black hair; those honed features; glittering, night-dark eyes, and a smile that could only be called wicked.

Shit biscuits, she thought. It was going to become her problem.

“Fi,” called a rough, impatient voice, and she scowled and turned quickly toward the trailers.

“Fiona.”

So not the time, Mick.

But she wasn’t surprised. After the ridiculous scene with Rye, she'd expected him posthaste, because no matter how many times she told him she wasn't interested in swapping spit, that they would never, ever happen, he continued to pursue her.

Stubborn and relentless to a fault, no matter the futility.

She’d known Mick since they were kids; he was as much a brother to her as Max, so him wanting to be more was ick. Not happening. Ever. No matter how hard he pushed, and Mick could be a pushy bastard.

But Fi was harder and stronger than she looked; she pushed back. Just because Mick was like family didn’t mean he got to ignore the word no.

It was all going to come to a head, she thought. Rye’s silly profession of love—and his vow to prove his devotion—were going to force the issue with Mick, and although she was loath to admit it, Rye might prove useful in mitigating that disaster as well.

The cavalry.Indeed.

Not that Fi needed a cavalry. She was more than capable of taking care of herself—and had been doing so for most of her life.  Which Max knew; he'd been the first to teach her that a man's jewels were his most prized—and most vulnerable—possession.   Case in point had been the priceless look on Rye's face when she'd introduced his gemstones to her switchblade.

Of course, that look had only lasted for a moment.  And then he'd looked...

Thrilled.

In an odd, scary kind of way, which she didn't understand and didn’t want to think about.

Of course, cavalry also meant babysitter, which chafed like wet denim.  Even if she understood that, while she could take care of herself, she might not be able to take care of Selena and Ares and Thea—not to mention the rest of her crew, namely Tex and Mona and Mort.  And even if she knew she wasn't a one-woman army, no matter what she liked to tell herself.

Mick was gaining on her. "Fi!"

She ignored him and walked faster.

She didn’t have time for an interrogation about Rye, or to listen to Mick complain about any number of the things about which he loved to complain.

She wanted words with Max before he left—as in, the truth about Selena, all of it, which she knew he hadn’t yet given to her—and then she needed to get the .22 short-range ready—because hopefully, Tex would show up tonight, and if the Universe was smiling, he’d be sober—and then she needed to make sure Mona and Mort had the duck pond up and running, and then she had to relieve Ares so that Ares could get his stock hung, and they could all open on frigging time.

In less than three hours.

“Goddamn it,” Mick swore, and before she could disappear between the line of trailers, he snagged her left arm and jerked her to a halt.

Another, big, arrogant, handsy man.

Awesome.

“Cool your tits,” she told him and pulled her arm free.  “I have work to do, Mick.  What's your problem?”

“You know exactly what my problem is.”

He glared at her with dark green eyes in a deeply tanned face. Mick wasn’t a bad guy. Good looking in a surfer kind of way, and strong as an ox, he was a decent human being who owned and operated his own business, was smart and sometimes funny, and who animals seemed to like.  He was, Fiona thought, what some women referred to as a “catch.”

So why wasn't he getting caught?

“Actually,” she told him.  “I don't.  Gotta go.”

She attempted to stride around him, but he only sidestepped into her path and folded his arms across his broad chest. “Who the hell is he?”

Fiona sighed and stared at him for a long, silent moment.  She had no desire to hurt him, but this had gone on far too long.

“He’s none of your business,” she said finally. “I’m busy, Mick. Move it or lose it.”

“Fi,” he said again, warning in his tone.

Which only annoyed her. “Move it!”

“I want an answer.”

“You don’t deserve an answer. My love life is none of your business. Never has been, never will be.”

“Bullshit. We have something—”

“We have nothing,” she said and snorted. “You’re like my brother.”

“I’m not your goddamn brother,” he bit out. “And you sure as hell aren’t my sister. Who is he?”

Fiona only stared at him, her heart a sudden, furious hammer in her chest. “You’re crossing a line here, Mick.”

He blinked, and the depth of her anger seemed to penetrate. “If you’d just give us a chance—”

“There is no chance,” she enunciated. “I don’t want you.”

His jaw turned to granite. “You don’t know what you want.”

She slapped a palm against her forehead. What did she have to do—tase the man? “Get out of the way.”

He reached for her again, but she jerked back with a snarl. “Don’t.”

“This isn’t done,” he warned as she swept past him. “I don’t want that asshole on my midway.”

It took everything she had not to give him a one-finger salute in response.

Another stupid jerk!

She swore they must grow on trees.

But he didn’t follow, and when she slipped between the trailers and turned toward the box truck, she found Max and Rye standing behind the duck pond, talking.

They were very different men. Max was golden and polished and sleek, even in his bloody shirt and bristled chin. But Rye…Rye was…well, wild.

His hawkish features could have been South American or Native American or born in the sands of Saudi Arabia. Tall and broad and lean; he was a man comfortable in his strength, and his skin. But Fi could see the darkness that seethed beneath the easygoing facade, an energy unrestrained by any observation of civility. Something intelligent and powerful and dangerous.

Something that had stared her in the eye today and smiled at her.

If she was brutally honest, she could admit that it had scared the hell out of her.

Not because she feared Rye or that energy…but because something deep inside of her had responded to that dark invitation, a visceral, instinctive reaction that had nothing to do with self-preservation.

Because you need yet one more askew thing in your universe.

“What’s wrong?” Rye asked as if arrowing in on her thoughts. That intense, perceptive black gaze narrowed on her. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” She looked at Max. “I want details.”

Max pulled out his phone, scrolled through it, and handed it to her. “Leland Dolan.”

Fiona looked down at the face on the screen. Elegant bones and pale skin, a face of subliminal beauty with a full mouth and lush black lashes. He would’ve been stunning if it wasn’t for the flat, empty brown gaze that stared back at her.

“A psychopath.” Cold slid through her veins. “Awesome.”

“It’s that obvious?” Rye asked.

“I’ve dealt with people my whole life.” She shook her head. “Crazy and dangerous have tells.” She looked back at Max. “Tell me everything.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. He really did look like hell; when was the last time he’d slept? And he was still bleeding, the idiot.

He’d become a man in the years that separated them, his face lined and hard, and he seemed taller, broader than the last time she’d seen him.

In the cemetery.

Pain arced through her, so sudden and unexpected that her lungs grew tight, and it hurt to breathe. So much lay between them: anger, grief, resentment. It filled her head like white noise, and she wanted to wail for all they’d lost, the frightened, angry, unwanted children they’d been. She wanted to hit him; she wanted to hold him.

All of the angst she’d fought so hard to let go of rose like a sudden, overwhelming tide within her.

Her eyes burned; her throat filled. Not now. Not in front of him.

But damn, it hurt.

“Fi,” Max said softly, and she realized he was staring at her. “I’m sorry.”

The words slapped her. “Not now. Tell me about Selena.”

His mouth flattened. “Three nights ago, she witnessed the execution of her entire family. She managed to run to a neighbor’s and call the police. Leland Dolan was the shooter.”

“Why?”

“Her father was in the middle of negotiating a witness protection deal; he was going to roll over on Aristotle Dolan, Leland’s father.”

“And your flesh wound?”

“The safe house where we took her got hit.”

The look on his face made her stomach churn. “How many died?”

“All of them.” He took back his phone. “Everyone but me. No one should’ve even known she was there. That’s why I brought her here.”

“Because you’ve got a rat.”

He nodded grimly. Fiona stared at him, aware of Rye watching their interaction.

“Why not call the Marshals?” she wanted to know. “Witness protection is their job.”

“Rats travel in packs,” Max said shortly. “I don’t trust anyone.”

And yet, he’d trusted her. She wasn’t sure what that meant. “So now what?”

“Now I go find a rat.”

Unease churned within her. He’d gone to war once, and she hadn’t known whether he was alive or dead. Now he was going to fight again; it was just a different kind of war.

Words tangled, knotted in her chest.

“Don’t worry, honey,” Rye murmured. “Maxie’s tougher than he looks.”

Max shot him a dark look.

“What if Leland shows up?” Fi demanded. “Can I shoot him?”

A smile curved Rye’s mouth, but Max scowled. He knew she wasn’t kidding. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Selena will have to testify,” Max said, ignoring her question. “I’ll be back to get her when it’s time.”

“If he comes,” Fiona warned, “I’m shooting him.”

“She’s definitely related to you,” Rye said, which earned him a glare from both of them.

“You will not shoot him,” Max said tightly. “You will let Rye handle it.”

“Rye is good at handling things,” Rye added.

His black eyes gleamed; a dimple winked at her from his left cheek, and the attraction she felt leaped within her like an animal against its cage.

Him.He’s the one.

Arousal streaked through her, sudden and intense. It stole her breath.

She wanted to punch herself in the face.

“Rye can stick it where the sun don’t shine,” was her stunning comeback.

And he laughed, deep and rough and pleased. His eyes glinted as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Feeling. And that flutter low in her belly was back, stronger, more insistent, and Fiona didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

“Please,” Max said as if he could see the protest welling inside of her. “Just follow my lead on this.”

It was a lot. More than he had the right to ask for, considering the current state of their relationship. Or lack thereof. And he knew it.

But turning Selena away was out of the question, which made this entire mess—Rye included—a necessary evil.

I’ll just stay out of his way.Go about her business. Put him to work.

Because there was always more work.

She could do this.

“Three weeks,” she said. “Then we head south.”

“Thank you.” Max’s brilliant blue gaze was serious when it met hers. “I owe you.”

Fiona only waved a hand, uncomfortable. “Just catch that murderous bastard.”

“I will.” He turned and gave Rye a hard stare. “You take care of them.”

“You know it, brother.” Rye offered Max his arm, and they clasped forearms and hugged, slapping each other on the back.

Watching them, Fiona’s heart squeezed—jealous of a hug, idiot—but before she could step away, Max was grabbing her and hugging her, too. Tight.

“Be careful,” he muttered into her hair. Just as abruptly, he released her and stepped back. “I’ll be in touch.”

Then he turned and walked away.

Fiona watched him go, her eyes burning. Fear bled through her like an ugly stain, and she wanted to run after him.

And do what? Say what?

Too much, and nothing at all.

Rye stood beside her suddenly, invading her personal space, his heat a kiss against her skin, his arresting presence as palpable as touch. “Max is smart, baby. Capable and dangerous, and a mean son of a bitch when crossed. The rat will be sorry.”

I hope so.

But there was nothing she could do. Yet again, it was all out of her hands. The only thing left was Selena: that was Fiona’s job. To keep Selena safe.

And that she would do. But still…

“You’d better be right,” she said.