Page 11 of A Tempting Seduction (Protectors of Jasper Creek #5)

Chapter Six

I checked the philodendron on my windowsill. The soil felt damp. I moved to the kitchen herb garden I kept on the counter. Also fine. The snake plant in the corner of the living room that could survive nuclear fallout definitely didn't need attention.

I was stalling, and I knew it.

Ford's words kept circling through my mind like a song stuck on repeat. But I believe in persistence. Especially when I see something worth fighting for. The way he'd looked at me when he said it, those brown eyes steady and sure, like he meant every single word.

I bit my bottom lip. Nobody had ever looked at me like that before. Like I was something precious. God, that had felt good.

I flopped back onto my bed and stared at the ceiling.

Sleep wasn't happening. Not with my brain spinning like a hamster wheel, analyzing every moment from this afternoon.

The way Ford had shown up at exactly the right moment.

How gentle he'd been with Suzy and JR, patient with JR’s endless questions.

I gave up on sleep and walked to the second bedroom I'd converted into an office. The space was small but functional, with a desk I'd bought secondhand and painted sage green, a comfortable chair from the thrift store, and shelves lined with books and a few succulents in red pots that I just loved.

I opened my laptop and waited for it to boot up. The screen's glow felt harsh in the darkness, but I didn't bother turning on the overhead light. I had a routine for this kind of late-night research. I'd learned to be careful about digital footprints.

It was stupid. I knew it was stupid. Why the hell couldn’t I just focus on the good that seemed to be blossoming in front of me? Why did I need to look backward?

I opened an incognito browser window and typed “Lance Leeds California” into the search bar.

The results made my blood run cold.

The headline from the Los Angeles Times was a month old: “State Senate Race Called for Leeds: Political Newcomer Wins by Landslide.” Below it, a photo of Lance behind a podium, arms raised in victory, that familiar politician's smile plastered across his face.

The same smile he'd given me the night I'd found him in bed with my sister.

I read the first few paragraphs of the article. Lance had won with sixty-three percent of the vote. The piece mentioned how his campaign had been “generously supported by prominent California political figures.” No names mentioned, but I knew exactly who had backed him.

Horace Waters. Just like he'd always planned.

I clicked on another article from a political blog. This one speculated about Lance's future ambitions, suggesting he had “gubernatorial potential” and might be “groomed for higher office.”

The only thing missing was the “family connection” to Horrace. Too bad Carla and Candice were already married. Other than that, it was all playing out exactly as Lance had told me it would, back when he thought I'd be a dutiful political wife standing beside him at victory celebrations.

“Maybe I'll be governor someday, Ruby,” he'd said during one of our engagement dinners. “Horace thinks I have what it takes. The connections, the look, the right background. A supportive wife from a good family doesn't hurt either.”

At the time, I'd felt flattered. Now, the memory left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I closed the browser and leaned back in my chair.

My hands were shaking slightly, though I couldn't tell if it was from anger or anxiety.

Lance had gotten everything he wanted. The senate seat, the political future, the freedom to sleep with whomever he chose without a naive fiancée getting in the way.

Good for him.

I should feel relieved. His success meant he had no reason to come looking for me. I was yesterday's news, a minor inconvenience from his past that had resolved itself when I'd disappeared. He'd moved on, climbed the ladder Horace had built for him, probably barely remembered my name.

So why did I feel so restless?

I glanced at the clock in the corner of my laptop screen. Three AM. Jordan was opening tomorrow with Kristin, which meant I didn't have to be at Java Jolt until noon. If I left now, I could be in Nashville by six-thirty, just in time to hit the Wired Bean internet café when they opened.

The thought popped into my head before I could stop it.

I hadn't checked my old Gmail account in five months.

I stood up and walked to my bedroom, adrenaline already starting to flow.

I needed to know. I needed to see if they'd tried to contact me, if there were messages waiting, what lies they were spinning now.

Twenty minutes later, I was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, my hair pulled back in a ponytail, car keys jingling in my hand. The drive to Nashville would give me time to think, time to prepare myself for whatever I might find.

The streets of Jasper Creek were empty at three-fifteen in the morning. My headlights swept across the town square, past Java Jolt's darkened windows, past the familiar storefronts that had become part of my daily routine. Everything looked peaceful and safe in the moonlight.

I turned onto the highway and pressed the accelerator. Nashville was three and a half hours away if I kept to the speed limit. Three hours if I didn't.

The Wired Bean sat in a strip mall in East Nashville, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a cell phone repair shop. I used it when I checked up on my old life.

The café opened at six AM sharp, catering to early commuters and night-shift workers who needed coffee and internet access.

The owner, a guy named Marcus with full-sleeve tattoos and gauge earrings, had been friendly but incurious.

The perfect combination for someone who wanted to blend into the background.

I parked in front of the windows and waited, watching Marcus move around inside, getting ready for the day. At exactly six o'clock, he flipped the sign from “Closed” to “Open” and unlocked the door.

“You're up early,” he said as I walked in. “Or maybe you haven't been to bed yet.”

He caught me by surprise. It was like he recognized me, but then again, I often recognized returning customers, even if it was months between visits. “Little of both.” I smiled and headed for the bank of computers along the far wall. “Can I get a medium coffee and an hour of computer time?”

“Coming right up.”

I chose the terminal in the corner, the one with the most privacy, and waited for Marcus to bring my coffee before logging in.

The process I'd developed was simple but effective.

I used a VPN to mask my location, accessed Gmail through an encrypted browser, and made sure to clear all cookies and history when I was done.

It had taken me months to figure out the system, but I'd been motivated by equal parts curiosity and paranoia. I needed to know what was happening in my old life, but I couldn't risk leading anyone back to my new one.

My old Gmail account loaded slowly. The interface looked different than I remembered, updated with new features I didn't recognize. But the basics were the same. Inbox, sent mail, trash.

Four new messages since my last login five months ago.

The first two were from Candice, sent three months apart. I opened the older one first.

Ruby,

I hope you're doing well wherever you are. I think about you often and wonder if you're happy. I know things were difficult before you left, but families work through problems together. That's what we do.

Lance asks about you sometimes. He feels terrible about what happened and wishes he could apologize properly. I think you'd be surprised by how much he's grown as a person. Politics has matured him.

I don't know if you're reading these messages, but if you are, please consider reaching out. Mom misses you and Carla and I would love to hear from you. We're family, Ruby. That has to count for something.

Love, Candice

The guilt hit me immediately, just like it always did when I heard from Candice.

She was thirteen years older than me and had big sister juju, but I shook my head, my ponytail swished, and the guilt lifted.

I read the e-mail again and marveled at her gift for making everything sound reasonable, for making me feel like I was the one being stubborn and dramatic.

But I could read between the lines. Lance asks about you sometimes.

Translation: Lance was still interested in maintaining control.

Politics has matured him. Translation: his career was going well and maybe I'd be more amenable to playing the supportive political wife now.

And that casual mention of “Mom” made my stomach curdle.

Diane wasn't my mother. And she sure as hell wasn’t Candice’s mom.

Diane married Dad when Candice was freaking twenty-two years old.

Mom my ass. Diane had been cloyingly sweet when dad was watching, but whenever he wasn’t around, she was as approachable as a blackberry bramble.

The second email from Candice was more recent, sent just three weeks ago.

Ruby,

I'm writing again because I'm worried about you. It's been over two years since you left, and none of us has heard a word. I understand you were hurt and angry, but this silence is starting to feel cruel.

Lance won his election, in case you haven't heard.

He's doing incredible work in Sacramento already, exactly the kind of leadership our state needs.

He's also single, Ruby. He broke up with his girlfriend last month because he said she wasn't “the one.” I can't help but think he's still carrying a torch for you.

Please consider coming home, even just for a visit. We could all sit down like adults and work through whatever happened. Life is too short to hold grudges.

Missing you, Candice

I snorted, then actually laughed out loud. Lance was still carrying a torch for me? The man who'd told me I was lucky anyone would put up with my “issues” while he was literally in bed with my sister?