Page 3 of Trapped (Sheppard & Sons Investigations #6)

Ashley

E mily’s amazing honeymoon made me jealous.

She’d lived like a princess for seven days, being spoiled by her husband and the cruise staff.

I was even a little jealous of Jamie’s over-the-top protectiveness.

I loved how the men of SSI protected the women they loved, but they could be extreme.

Often acting ape-brained and needing to be reminded that the women they loved wouldn’t break.

Jack was just as bad. I’d swear he’d wrap Meg in bubble wrap and lock her in the house if he could. Some days she loved it; others she’d tear him a new asshole for treating her like she was made of porcelain.

I’d never seen them fight, but Meg claimed they did.

I can only imagine what AJ will be like . He’d found the love of his life earlier in the year, and his protective streak made the other guy’s behavior seem tame. The image of a pregnant, bubble-wrapped Blake crossed my mind, making me laugh.

“I don’t mind, not really.”

Of course she didn’t; her last boyfriend was an abusive asshat. Emily deserved a man who loved, cherished and protected her, and Jamie was that man. He was the perfect husband, and he’d be a great dad.

“Think you’ll still say that in a few months?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. If he gets as crazy as Jack, I might not like it.”

Given how Jamie’s first wife had died, he would be just as crazy, if not worse than Jack. Hell, he might even end up more protective than AJ.

“He’s going out of his way to give me everything I want.”

“Em, you know you can ask him to back off a little. He won’t stop loving you.”

“I know, but somehow I’m still worried.”

Wanting to lighten the mood, I asked, “Do you think he’ll pamper you and your bestie with a spa day?”

She laughed. “I think he’d offer to buy the spa if I asked him to.”

The image of Jamie giving Emily a pedicure flashed through my mind, causing me to bust out laughing. I was trying to paint the picture for Em, but she stood; concern written all over her face.

“Nathan, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she asked.

I stood and turned around, eager to see the new guy from SSI.

My eyes just about bugged out of my head as my jaw dropped to the floor.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Scott, the guy who ghosted me a year ago in Vegas, was standing in Grannie’s.

His eyes were as round as mine as he brought his left hand to his face and turned away so all I could see was the right half of his gorgeous, stupid, lying face as I marched over.

“If it isn’t Casper the Fucking Ghost.” I stomped my feet and crossed my arms over my chest when I reached him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Wait, did Emily just call him Nathan?

What the actual fuck?

“Ashley, what’s going on?” Emily asked, walking to stand beside me.

I answered without taking my eyes off Scott. “You remember me telling you about the guy I met in Vegas?” Wanting to make sure Scott knew how pissed I felt, I added, “The dickhead who ghosted me.”

Scott still hadn’t said anything. He just stood there staring at me, with his face tilted at an odd angle. He hadn’t even blinked yet. Was he playing some kind of game, using some stupid mind trick?

“Yeah…” she drew it out.

“This is him.” I uncrossed my arms just long enough to point.

“It can’t be; his name is Nathan.”

But it was. His dirty blond hair was shorter, and his clothing looked more office casual than biker dude, but it was definitely Scott.

“Did you give me a fake name?” I asked, moving so I was in front of his face. “Was the whole thing a fucking joke to you?”

He looked down and kept his face tilted to the left.

“Look at me, you fucking coward!” I yelled. I’ll owe Mary one hell of an apology when this is over.

“Ashley, please lower your voice.” When I nodded, Mary said, “I assure you his name is Nathan, Nathan Blaszek. He’s the new guy at SSI.”

Mind fucking blown.

Scott, Nathan, Casper the fucking dick-headed ghost, lifted his chin and turned to face me. When he made eye contact, the memory of staring into those gorgeous icy blue eyes while we talked and laughed, and how they looked hooded with desire flashed across my mind.

And scrambled my senses. I wanted to be mad, not turned on. Ignoring the good memories, I focused on the last one and glared at him.

But when I saw what he’d been hiding, the air left my lungs, taking my desire to yell with it as it whooshed out with a whistle.

A big, angry red scar stretched from just outside his left eye to his lower jawbone. What the hell happened?

“Hi, Ashley.”

Hi? Anger made my blood boil. Hi? That’s all he had to say to me after lying and ghosting me.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Scott?” I whisper-yelled, clenching my fists to channel my anger so I wouldn’t yell too loud. “Or is it Nathan now?”

He looked over my head towards the counter before making eye contact with me again. “Can we talk outside?”

Hell yeah we could, because outside I could yell and make a scene without worrying about upsetting the Mama Bear of the extended Sheppard family.

“Fine by me. Lead the way, Casper.” I spat the only name I knew fit him for real.

I huffed and puffed as I marched far enough from the door that prying eyes couldn’t watch. Emily, Mary, and Beth didn’t need to see this.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Scott? Or Nathan. Or whoever the fuck you are.”

He didn’t flinch as he waited for me to finish. Which pissed me off even more. I was mad enough to incinerate him with my withering glare, but he just stood there like we were sharing pleasantries.

That wasn’t entirely true. His body was statue-still, his fists clenched, and his jaw could turn coal to diamond. His chest, on full display in his tight navy blue T-shirt, rose and fell in a slow rhythm as he sucked in air through his nose.

He might have appeared relaxed from a distance, but he was struggling to stay calm.

“It’s both. My full name is Nathan Scott Blaszek.”

“Should I feel better that you only half-lied?” It was two-thirds of a lie. When he signed the bar bill, I’d noticed his last name was Miller.

“Ashley, I’m sorry.” He paused and ran his hand down his face. My anger lessened as I watched his jaw muscles twitch when his fingers traced the scar.

“What happened?” I asked, assuming he’d know I meant his scar.

“It doesn’t matter,” he answered.

“No, I guess it doesn’t.” I sighed, knowing I’d now have to see his dumb, gorgeous, lying face all the time. “Why are you here?”

“I work at Sheppard & Sons Investigations,” he said, acting like I’d asked a stupid question.

I knew he worked there, but it still wasn’t a dumb question. How the hell did an accountant from California become a private investigator in…

Right. He’s not an accountant . Another lie.

“Why’d you lie to me in Vegas?”

“I had to. I was undercover.”

Laying the snark on extra thick, I asked, “How often do accountants go undercover?”

He sighed. “I never told you I was an accountant, Slick. You assumed.”

“Don’t call me that.” He’d given me the nickname Slick when I used a cheesy pickup line at the bar.

I remembered that moment as if it were yesterday. I’d walked up, plopped down on the bar stool next to the man who redefined sex on a stick, and asked, “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

“What was that?” he’d asked, looking so confused it was comical.

I repeated the question, enunciating every syllable of the line I’d heard a thousand times over the years.

“No, Slick, but it hurt when I clawed my way out of hell.”

In hindsight, that should’ve been a warning. Instead, I took it as a challenge.

A year later I regretted that choice almost as much as I regretted dating Finn.

“You didn’t correct me.” I put my hands on my hips and glared.

“It was easier not to.”

“Right, so what do you really do? Why were you in Vegas?”

He had to tilt his head down to stare at me because of his stupid, chiseled, tall body. The frown on his face tugged at his scar.

His expression was enough for me to know he didn’t want to tell me. Which was fucking stupid because he worked for my best friend’s husband. I’d find out, eventually.

“You know what, Scott, I’m sorry, Nathan,” my sarcasm thicker than molasses on a wintry day, “it doesn’t matter.”

He had the audacity not to budge when I shoved past him.

Too embarrassed and too emotionally scattered, I didn’t go back to Grannie’s. Instead, I texted my apologies to Emily and Mary from my car, like a coward.