Page 31 of Chasing Wildflowers
My grip tightens on the wheel. “Exactly. Think about it, Miles. The police report made it seem like she just snapped one day and shot him. If that’s true, why did she have an escape plan?”
“We weren’t hired to figure that out. We were hired to find her. And we did,” he mutters.
I run a hand through my hair, irritation creeping up my spine. “Pull up the client’s photo. Look at her. Tell me what you see.”
I hear his mouse clicking as he scrolls through the files on his computer. “I see a spoiled rich girl who shot her husband.”
My jaw clenches. “Look at her eyes. Tell me where you’ve seen that look before.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “Your mom.”
I close my eyes against the memories flooding in. My dad’s fists, raining down on my mom as I desperately tried to pull him off her. The fear, the shouting, the doors slamming.
He hit her over the simplest things. Work shirts she forgot to wash, dinner that was a little too well done, if she was a minute late coming home. Anything could set him off.
Fear and fists were the only things I knew until I met Miles and his family when I was in fourth grade. After we moved for the third time in five years because Dad couldn’t keep a job. He was the first real friend I had, and his family treated me like their own.
When I was thirteen, I finally had enough. I stole the keys to Dad’s safe and hid his shotgun under my bed. The next time he raised his hand to Mom, I pointed it right in his face. I told him to leave and never come back. Last I heard, he’d died from liver disease eight years ago.
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “My mom had support. Friends, neighbors. What if Lane didn’t? What if shooting him… was the only way out?”
“Okay, let’s say you are right. What about the client? You think he’s just going to forget about her?” he asks, doubt bleeding into his voice.
I glance across the deserted lot, the cool night air pressing against the glass. Legitimate question, and one I don’t have the answer for yet.
“We have six months. I’ll get her to trust me, and then I’ll tell her. If I tell her now, she’ll vanish, and I might not find her again for years.”
“Fallen for her, haven’t you?”
There’s no judgment in his voice, but still I tread carefully. “She doesn’t deserve to have her new life destroyed.” Truthful, but careful.
But Miles knows me too well. “Is she worth it?”
“Yes.” It’s the easiest answer I’ve ever given.
I must sound crazy to him. I just met Lane, I barely know her. Except I feel like I do know her, like I’ve always known her.
“I’ll keep you updated.” The line goes dead.
I know one thing for sure. I can’t fucking lose her.
I could have taken her to bed, lord knows I wanted to, but I want to take my time. I want to be patient, respectful, kind. Everything her ex-husband wasn’t.
So I walked away. Much to the dismay of my dick. But she’s worth every second of self-control. She is worth everything.
The next morning, I step through the door ofBrewed.The rich, bitter aroma of roasted beans hits me instantly, mingling with the sweet tang of milk froth and vanilla syrup. My eyes sting from sleep deprivation, thanks to my mind keeping me up half the night.
“What can I get ya, hun?” The barista’s voice drifts over, sugary and flirtatious. Her long blonde hair brushes her shoulders, her brown eyes soft and inviting. But she isn’t Lane, the Wildflower who has my focus entirely.
“Large Americano,” I say, voice clipped.
Disappointment flashes across her face and she gives me a half-hearted smile. “Coming right up.”
“You didn’t even entertain her for a second.”
I turn, finding Kam standing there, lips turned up in an approving smile, arms folded across her chest.
I shrug, shoulders straining against my white t-shirt. “Not interested. My attention belongs to someone else.”
