Page 16 of Chasing Wildflowers
She’s wearing a dark purple tank tucked into black high-waisted shorts. The fabric hugs her curves just enough to make it torture.
Fuck. Coming here was definitely a mistake.
Focus.
My eyes latch on to her, once again reading her reactions, keeping my voice light. “Was that Kam’s bookstore I saw you coming out of earlier?”
Her spine stiffens, surprised. She didn’t expect me to bring it up. Not after the way I held her hostage with my stare.
She recovers quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah, I was helping her stock some new books.”
I eye her, wondering just how deep her scars run. It takes years to perfect that mask she so easily slips into place.
She opens her mouth, like she’s going to speak, before quickly closing it and looking away.
I lean back in my seat, relaxed, and take a sip of whiskey to cover my smirk. “Something on your mind?”
She opens her mouth again, but someone down the bar yells her name, grabbing her attention.
She glances back at me, then hurries away.
I watch her as she works, noting the way she leans in to hear her customers. She laughs at something a redheaded woman says. Her smile is wide, eyes bright. Nothing about it is fake.
Nothing about her says“cold-blooded killer”. She’s warm. Real. Unguarded.
Another question pushes its way to the front of my mind. What if Byron wasn’t the loving, devoted husband the police report painted him to be? What if there was something sinister lurking behind his smile?
Or maybe I’m too far gone to see clearly.
One way or another, I don’t plan to stop until I find out the truth.
I toss a few bills on the bar and stand. “Goodnight, Wildflower,” I call out, heading for the door, not waiting for her to respond.
Back at the motel, I pull out the photo of Ceciley, studying it as I lean against the headboard. My thumb traces her face. The eyes in the photo may be the same shade of green as Lane’s, but they don’t hold the same joy for life as hers do. No, Ceciley’s eyes are dull and lifeless.
It’s the same for her smile. They have the same mouth, the same shape and fullness, but the smile isn’t the same. The one in the photo is practiced and doesn’t reach her eyes, unlike Lane’s wide, infectious smile.
How the hell am I going to keep Lane safe if she is Ceciley?
Our client isn’t going to just let this go. He proved that with his vague threat earlier, along with ones in the past.
Until I know for sure I need to stay away. I need to break this pull she has on me.
If I still can.
Seven
Lane
“Have you seen Jameson since that night he was undressing you with his eyes from across the bar?” Kam asks, wiggling her eyebrows as we set up for book club inside her cozy store.
I roll my eyes, placing a stack of paper cups beside the coffee pot. Steam curls up, carrying the deep, roasted scent of fresh brew that mingles with the buttery sweetness of cookies. The faint rustle of pages turning somewhere in the shop drifts through the air like background music.
“You do realize you are ridiculous sometimes, right?” I shoot her a look, my voice dry.
“I prefer eccentric,” she counters, plopping a tray of brownies between the cookies and the coffee pot. Her hands find her hips and her grin turns mischievous. “And you’re avoiding my question.”
I’m absolutely avoiding her question. “Because you are making a big deal out of nothing. Besides, I think he left town already,” I mutter, trying to keep the pinch of disappointment out of my voice, but I’m sure she picks up on it.
