Page 2 of Golden Touch
This is unfortunately true.
“The worst part, babe?” she adds. “This means we can’t hang out for a while.”
“Ohshit.” My heart dives, but she’s right. We’ll have to steer clear of each other, even though our rare meetups at bookstores and coffeeshops are the only thing keeping me sane. “He’ll try to follow you.”
“Maybe you need to get out of Vermont for a while. It’s a small state.”
“Maybe,” I echo. But this is myhome, damn it. And disappearing on a tight budget is not as easy as she makes it sound. “I’ll think about it. Help me spot this guy—what was he riding?”
“Couldn’t see the bike. Only heard the growl.”
Damn. “Any other distinguishing characteristics?”
“I’ll try to remember. But babe? I gotta get Henry to school.”
“Go,” I say immediately. “We’ll talk later.”
“Watch your back. Chin up.”
“Love you! Don’t worry! I’m fine.”
We hang up, but I’m not actually fine. I’m freaked. My pulse is ragged. My hands are sweaty.
Razor strikes again. I was such a fool to get involved with him. And then I was an even bigger fool to think that leaving town would make him forget about me. I’ve been hiding in Colebury forten months, and he hasn’t given up. Instead, he’s hired a guy to intimidate Jennie and try to find me.
My hands shake as I stash my phone in my pocket. This is exactly what I’ve been worried about.God. I’ll never be free of him.
I’m extra cautious as I open the door and scan the back lot and the big brick brewery building. It’s quiet, though. No cars except for my own. No sounds except the chattering birds.
I lock the door to my little apartment. It’s just a doorknob lock, though. A child could break it with one sharp twist. And I feel so exposed as I cross the gravel parking lot to the back door of the brewhouse.
I use a different key to let myself inside. There’s a cavernous hallway that runs front to back. Today it feels creepy as my footsteps echo off the tile floor.
But it’s just my nerves talking. I pace to the front door and try the handle. Locked. I’m the first one to arrive.
In ordinary times at the Giltmaker Brewery, Lyle Giltmaker himself would be the first on scene. But the man had a massive coronary last month that almost killed him. He’s temporarily recovering at a nursing facility, where he gets daily antibiotic infusions.
Ever since my boss was hospitalized, the brewhouse staff has been showing up for work later and later. And I happen to know that last night was poker night, so they’ll be tardy and hungover when they bother to stumble in.
I pause at the threshold of Lyle’s office and scan the big room.The place feels oddly empty without Lyle behind his desk, barking orders at me before he even says good morning.
Can’t believe I actually miss the old grump.
After opening a window to let in the morning air, I take his seat at the big old desk, because it has the best view out the window. And I pick up the stack of receipts that Leila—Lyle Giltmaker’s daughter—left here for me yesterday. As the bookkeeper, it’s my job to enter them into Lyle’s old-fashioned ledger system.
If I had Quickbooks, this job would be done in five minutes. But Lyle is eccentric and insists on a strictly paper accounting system. Today I don’t mind it. I need something soothing to occupy my thoughts, and numbers have always been my love language.
All is well in the land of bookkeeping for half an hour, and then I hear the low growl of an approaching engine. Even before I register that it’s a motorcycle, I’m on my feet and peering out the window. I have a perfect view of a biker swinging into the lot and parking by the brewhouse’s front door.
Oh my God. Oh God.
I can’t see much of his face, because of the helmet and mirrored sunglasses, but there’s something eerily familiar about the angle of his chin. He’s just like Jennie described. Tall. Broad shoulders. He’s got the cuffs unzipped on his black motorcycle jacket and I catch a glimpse of heavy ink.
I’m a dead girl.
CHAPTER 2
LIVIA
