Page 19

19

J uliana rose and kissed Simon’s cheek before hopping up onto the passenger seat of his truck. Halfway in, her jacket caught on the seat belt, jerking her back. Her heart lurched as momentum took over and she started to topple. Before she’d even taken her next breath, though, Simon caught her. She shot him a rueful smile as she untangled and righted herself. He grinned, leaned into the cab, and brushed his lips against hers.

They hadn’t had a sip of alcohol, but she felt giddy, a little tipsy. They’d eaten—So. Much. Food—and talked for the past three hours. Talked about everything from the triad of villains—as they’d dubbed Lowery, Gregor, and Polinsky—to family, to their favorite vacations, food, and Mystery Lake spots. They’d even had a rousing debate over the West Coast versus East Coast. She’d argued on behalf of her East Coast legacy, but they both knew she was firmly in the West Coast camp.

Now they had another three or so hours before she could snuggle up in bed at Simon’s place. As he crossed in front of the truck to the driver’s side, she considered whether she’d invite him to join her. Then wondered whether he’d invite her to join him. But as they backed out of the parking spot, she let the question slide away. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it—another several hours away.

Simon’s phone rang on Bluetooth as they pulled onto the road. The screen in his truck flashed with Philly’s name.

“Yeah,” Simon answered.

“You still in the city?” Philly asked, not put off by the brusque greeting.

“Leaving now.”

“Don’t,” Philly said.

Her chest squeezed. “Is there a problem?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking, Juls,” Philly said, his voice softening.

“Then?” Simon demanded.

“There’s a wildfire outside of town. Highway 49 is closed, and there’s talk of closing more roads. There’s no wind tonight, thank god, so they think they’ll get it under control. But…”

“It’s late August and California is a tinderbox and they’d rather be safe than sorry,” Simon said.

“You got it in one,” Philly replied. “You’re better off getting a hotel room for the night and coming back tomorrow.”

Simon glanced her direction when Philly mentioned the hotel. Simon wouldn’t go for booking two rooms. He’d want to be close enough should something happen to her. Neither anticipated it, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t prepare for it.

“I’m good either way,” she said. “We can stay here or we can drive east, and if we can get home, we get home. If not, there are plenty of hotels around there.”

He nodded. “I’d rather get out of the city if we can,” he replied before relaying the plan to Philly, then ending the call. She didn’t blame him. She loved San Francisco, but the hotels were expensive.

“Do you want to pick the music?” he asked, nodding to the screen. “It’s hooked up to my phone and Spotify, so I’m sure you can find something.”

They’d listened to rock on the way in, most of which she hadn’t been familiar with. A blend of old school and metal. Not her favorite, but the volume had been low and they’d been caught up in conversation so she hadn’t minded. Now the pressure was on as she scrolled through the playlists.

It took her longer than usual to find something she thought they’d both agree on—a playlist that mixed folk rock, old-school country, and acoustic pop. The mellow melodies matched the vibe of a quiet night drive.

“Tell me if this doesn’t work,” she said, hitting the Play button.

When he didn’t respond, she glanced over. With his gaze fixed ahead of them, he appeared not to have heard her. She started to ask again, then stopped when she noticed the intensity of his expression as he watched the road, his eyes flickering to both the rearview and side mirrors as he navigated around an older-model sedan.

“Simon?”

“Just a second,” he said, turning left at a green arrow away from Interstate 80. Two blocks later, he turned right, then made another right.

She had a sinking feeling about the situation but didn’t want to interrupt Simon’s concentration to ask. Instead, she rested her head against the back of the seat and let him do his thing.

Three more turns later, he cursed under his breath.

“We’re being followed, aren’t we?” she said.

He inclined his head. “And he’s good. He knows these streets, and he’s anticipating my moves.” He paused, then added, “So you don’t think I’m incompetent, I’m being predictable on purpose.”

Despite the situation, she smiled. “ Incompetent is not a word I would use in the same paragraph as you.” He flashed her a smile before they both sobered. “How do you think they found us?” she asked.

“They probably have someone watching Anna. My guess is they recognized you and have been following us, waiting for the right moment…” He paused and cursed again. “I should have considered this,” he said as he made yet another turn.

“Should have considered what? That the triad would have someone following Anna Palmer—a reporter who one of them made a single offhand comment about?”

“Yes.”

His jaw ticked, casting a small shadow on his cheek as the headlights of a car illuminated his face. “Well,” she said on an exhale. “I disagree, but that’s neither here nor there. What’s most important is what we’re going to do about it. So what’s the plan?”

He huffed, fell silent for twenty-two seconds, then his lips thinned. A beat later, he sighed. “I need to make a call,” he said before directing his phone to dial someone named Hank.

“Yeah?” a gravelly voice answered.

“You at the house tonight?” Simon asked.

“No. In New York.”

“Mind if I use it?”

“Nope. You all good?”

“I will be,” Simon said as he sped through a yellow light and hopped onto Highway 101.

“Bernice is there if you need her.”

“I may, thanks.”

“Let me know.”

“Will do,” he replied before ending the call.

Juliana kept her eyes glued to the side mirror, although she couldn’t tell which car followed them. “Who’re Hank and Bernice?”

Simon eased onto an exit ramp, then accelerated through the yellow light at the bottom and back onto the highway. “Hank’s an army buddy. Bernice is his bike.”

An eyebrow flew up of its own volition. “He named his motorcycle Bernice? As in ‘bringer of victory’?”

“Of course you’d know that,” he said, the affection in his voice cracking open her heart a little more.

“Derived from ancient Greek. Some famous women named Bernice include one of Herod Agrippa I’s daughters, a Hawaiian princess, and the first female umpire of professional baseball. Although, sadly, she only umped one game before retiring because men can be assholes and the other umps weren’t very welcoming.”

“Look at me learning,” he said with a smile.

She made a face. “Too much? I know, I like weird facts. And I retain them. I don’t have an eidetic memory, but it’s close.”

“It’s not too much. You drop interesting tidbits, not lectures. Was the first female umpire really named Bernice?”

She nodded as he exited Highway 101 again and started heading back north on the surface streets. “Did he pick the name of his bike because of his military background?” The chitchat was banal, but it kept her from dwelling on the fact that the triad had found them.

He shook his head. “Without getting into it too much, his transition to civilian life wasn’t easy. He bought the bike about five years ago and spent two years riding around the country looking for some sort of sanity. He eventually found it, so he named his bike after that victory, not one on the battlefield.”

Empathy washed through her. Sometimes, the hardest battles soldiers fought were the ones they faced at home.

“What’s he do now?”

“Manages bands. He stopped at a lot of local bars as he drove around the country. Found a couple of singers in the Midwest and a band in the South—all former military, too—that he decided needed a break and that he’d be the one to help them get it. He didn’t set out to be a manager, but he has six clients now—four singers and two bands. He’s good at it. He’s plain speaking and doesn’t take a lot of shit. His clients trust him in a field that doesn’t always breed trust.”

The car bounced as it hit a dip, and she popped up against the seat belt.

“Sorry,” Simon said with a grimace. “I forget how bad the streets of San Francisco can get.”

“As long as we lose the tail, then I’m all good,” she replied before making a face. “I sounded like a bad PI novel, didn’t I?”

A low laugh rumbled out of him. “Yeah, but the lingo didn’t come from nowhere, so I won’t hold it against you. And we lost him,” he said. “We’re about fifteen minutes from the house, so as long as he doesn’t pop up like a zombie that we can’t get rid of, we should be good.”

Her attention remained on the side mirror despite having accepted her lack of skill in spotting a tail. “The house is your friend’s, right? There’s no way to link it to you?”

He remained silent as he made a right turn. His hesitation had her glancing over. He exhaled. “It’s mine. But like this truck and my house in Mystery Lake, it’s in the name of one of the businesses the Falcons own, not mine. Different businesses. If they were to dig, they’d find the connection from the truck to the club and then the club to the house. But we own a couple of other places in the Bay Area, too, though, so the house isn’t the only residence they’d find.”

Setting aside the questions about the breadth of the Falcons’ businesses, she asked, “Does it make more sense to drive south, then head back east? Get a hotel somewhere in Silicon Valley?”

He considered her question before responding. “I don’t want us on the road any longer than we need to be. Especially not now that they know what I’m driving. The house has excellent security. So does the other half. It’s a semidetached.”

“What’s in the other half?” she asked. If a family lived there, she didn’t want to bring even the chance of danger to them.

“It’s empty. Hank rents it, too. He uses it when he has bands in town,” he said, making a left turn, taking them deep into a residential area.

“Should we stay on the empty side? I assume it’s not totally empty if he has people stay there on occasion.”

“Security isn’t as good,” Simon replied. “It’s good. Just not as good.” He reached over and hit a button on the in-dash screen. Three houses up and to the right, a garage door opened. A few seconds later, the rear lights of the truck reflected off a single window as they backed into the bay. With a layout similar to her townhouse, each unit’s garage shared a wall. The internal entrance to their half sat midway along the opposite wall.

Simon waited until the door closed behind them before killing the engine. Then bringing his phone to life, he opened an app, tapped in a code, then held the device up for a facial scan.

“Unlocking the door from the garage into the house. That way, we don’t have to go outside,” he said, sliding from his seat. She followed suit and met him at the door. “As soon as we’re in, I’ll reset the alarm, but I don’t want to turn any lights on. Are you okay with that?”

She nodded, then grimaced. “I’m a little klutzy, though. No light, a new place…” He studied her in the dim emergency lighting, then slid his hand into hers, holding tight as he led her inside.

A solid door swung open into a stone tile foyer. To their right lay a bedroom and laundry room and to their left, stairs to the main part of the house and the alarm keypad. Simon entered a code, and the system beeped in response.

“There are motion sensors, but I turned those off for now. I’ll turn them back on when we head to bed,” he said, leading her up the staircase, careful to ensure she found her footing.

When they stepped onto the main floor, she drew in a quick breath. From the outside, the townhouse looked like a regular San Francisco residence—stucco walls, garage on the ground floor, stairs leading to a main floor with one floor above it. Nice, but nothing spectacular.

Inside was another story.

She preferred warm and cozy interiors, but even she appreciated the gorgeous sleek lines of the room that stretched from the front of the building to the back, comprising the living room, kitchen, and dining area. Toward the front, a silky gray rug covered a white tile floor that also held a couch and chair that, although blue, picked up the colors of the rug. A lapis-colored cement shelf lined the far wall with a fireplace embedded between bookshelves. The walls were a soft white and the ceiling a rich, warm wood. To her right, the modern kitchen with counters and cabinets the same blue as the shelf looked both luxurious and functional. Under the round glass dining table was a tricolored rug—gray, black, and white—in the shape of animal skin, though clearly not made of hide.

“Um, this is nice,” she muttered, wondering what the bedrooms looked like. The luxury of it all had her picturing herself on a cloudlike bed, buried in two-thousand-count silky cotton sheets with a fluffy comforter.

When Simon didn’t answer, she glanced over. His hand gripped hers, and he stood preternaturally still. Had he sensed something she hadn’t?

His jaw ticked. She squeezed his hand. He took a sharp breath. Moving closer to his side, she spoke. “Simon?” His shoulders stiffened in response. “We don’t have to stay here,” she said, suddenly certain that his behavior wasn’t because they were in danger. At least not from the triad. “We can leave right now,” she added.

He swallowed, then shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. “No, we can stay.” More words hovered in his eyes, so she remained silent. “I just haven’t been back in a long time.”

“Back?” she asked.

He shook his head again, his brown hair falling over his forehead. “Not for more than fifteen years.”

She glanced around, wondering what he was seeing. “What is this place, Simon?”

He took two quick breaths before answering. “This is where I grew up.”