Something More (A Well Paired Novel) Page 5

  Sort of.

  With the exception of Mia. He couldn’t tell if she was playing him and knew more than she was letting on or if she was clueless to his identity. It wasn’t worth the risk asking Lily. The less contact he had with her the better.

  He could see the anxiety in Lily’s eyes any time she saw him. Fear that her life was in danger and she’d have to change her identity and move away. While he didn’t want to cause her more anxiety, figuring out what Mia knew could be kind of fun.

  He’d only been doing the undercover gigs for the past six months, and Ryan found he liked them. He could play a role different from his ho-hum life. Different from the stuffed shirt, arrogant, tight-lipped agent he’d been since his wife left him.

  Rinsing out his glass, he looked out the kitchen window and sighed. A few years ago, when his grandparents retired and moved South to be closer to their children and grandchildren, they were going to put the camp up for sale.

  He was glad he talked them into selling it to him. His intentions were to keep it in the family and to have a place to stay when he came up to Maine to check on his protected witness; not that his family knew about the second part.

  Lately, it had been his place to escape. Only those who lived on the pond had access to the water, limiting the crowds and the noise from bigger, louder boats. Besides the canoe and kayak his grandparents left behind, there wasn’t much left of his childhood memories. They’d packed up and sold all the furnishings before Ryan told them he wanted to buy them out.

  There wasn’t a need to completely furnish the camp. The kitchen appliances were old but still ran. He ordered a table and chairs online and assembled them when he got to Maine last month.

  The camp chair in the living room would need to be upgraded soon. It was a killer on his back. Fine for a night or two when he dragged it outside by the campfire, but other than that, it wasn’t the most comfortable thing. Eventually he’d need to get a couch.

  The two cheap chairs that came with the table weren’t much better. They kept his back straight, at least, and gave him support when he worked on his laptop at the table. If he spent any more time at the camp, he’d need to get internet. He’d gone way over his data plan on his phone using it as a hotspot. It was a write-off, but still. Cell service was spotty this far out.

  Loosening the top two buttons of his shirt, he rolled his neck to loosen his stiff muscles. Pushing up his sleeves, he planted himself behind his laptop and continued digging into Rob Kaiser’s associates.

  He and Miller co-owned a used auto dealership, which Ryan believed to be the front for their illegal gambling. If his calculations were correct, the pair owed the government over two hundred thousand in taxes for unclaimed income. And that was just the start of it.

  Another task force had started the investigation, and when the leads started pointing to overseas connections, the FBI got involved. With Ryan’s frequent trips to Maine, he’d been the lucky agent assigned to the job.

  It was a blessing in disguise. Maine had never been on his radar before, other than the memories with his grandparents. But the more time he spent here, the less he thought about the troubles of his past.

  The FBI was perfect for him, allowing him to travel when he didn’t want to settle in one place again. With no wife, no kids, and only a lease on an apartment in New Jersey, he was free to come and go as he pleased.

  Or as the Bureau directed him. There wasn’t a need for a huge FBI presence in Maine, but there were always active, open cases. Ryan didn’t think he’d be happy living here full time. There was nothing here for him other than an unfurnished camp overlooking a beautiful pond.

  An image of Mia flashed before his eyes. The little sprite had almost made him laugh. That was a first. He hadn’t done that in years. Too many years.

  Oddly enough, he found she was someone he could actually talk to. Be himself with. Sort of.

  No one knew who Ryan Thorne really was.

  Not even he knew who he was anymore.

  THE WEATHER REPORT said it would be a humid day, and Mother Nature kept her promise. The temperature wasn’t too bad, sitting at a solid seventy-two, but when the humidity index was higher than the outside temp, it was uncomfortable. Condensation covered Mia’s glass, leaving a wet ring on the table. She picked up her ice water and chugged it.

  Everything in Mia’s apartment was sticky. The floors, the cabinets, even her countertops where her forearms kept sticking while she tried to work on her laptop. There weren’t many days or nights when she wished for an air conditioner, so she never bought one. Even with everything clammy, she still didn’t need one.

  She’d take the heat over a snowstorm any day of the week. That had been her goal when she was in high school. Move to Florida or South Carolina. Some place where winters didn’t exist and she could wear shorts and a tank top every day.

  Logging off her computer, she snapped it shut and rolled her shoulders.

  She’d been sitting on her butt for three hours and needed to stretch her legs. Peering out her apartment window, she could see a band of clouds coming her way. With a chance of showers later on, it should cut the thickness of the air and make sleeping tonight more comfortable.

  The good thing about living on the coast of Maine was days like this never lasted long. If you could tame your humidity-induced frizz and bear the heat for a day or two, the following weeks were sure to make up for it with blue skies, temps in the seventies, and a light ocean breeze.

  Needing to get the blood flowing, Mia went to her room and wrangled herself into a sports bra and loose tank. In the winter she lounged in yoga pants, and in the summer she wore tight shorts. Basically, yoga pants minus the covered legs.

  They were perfect for working out, sitting around, shopping, watching television, drinking wine.

  She did a mental eye roll. Great accomplishments, Parker.

  After lacing up her sneakers and plugging in her earbuds, she did a few stretches, gulped some more water, and jogged down the stairs. When she opened the door to the outside, the thick air smacked her in the face.

  It would be a slow jog kind of run. Anything to move the muscles and hopefully move some ideas around in her head. Tucking her phone in the pocket of her shorts, she looked left, then right, and crossed the road.

  It was only a half mile stretch of boringness until she reached the wooded, winding backroads. Her apartment was upstairs in an older farm-style house. Nothing fancy. The couple downstairs were in their late sixties and kept to themselves for the most part.

  They were all friendly with each other, but the Nickersons made it clear they wanted to keep the tenant relationship strictly business. Mia was fine with that. They stayed out of each other’s hair, and her rent hadn’t gone up in the three years she was there.

  The road she lived on was on the poorer side of town, not that there was much of a wealthy section. The few beachfront properties were pretty magnificent, but the stretch of oceanfront property was limited.

  She lived on the edge of town, closer to the Woodbine town line. Rent was cheaper which was all that mattered. She may have been further from the coast, but Emerald Pond wasn’t too far away. Six miles west and she had a lake—or rather a pond. And a mile and a half to the east she had the ocean. Not a bad gig. In the summer.

  Quickening her pace now that she was warmed up, she pumped her arms to Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” and veered right toward the pond. It was too hot, and she wasn’t in the same shape she used to be in to do the twelve-mile round trip run to the water.

  Today she’d push herself until she felt her legs tighten, and would then turn back home. If she had to walk the last mile, so be it. Anything to get out of her writing chair. Or rather, lack of writing chair.

  With tomorrow’s day completely open, she decided to head down to Boston and visit the aquarium. It would be more fun with her friends, but they had to work. Real jobs and all.

  Besides, they’d want to turn it in to a social gathering and
not a research trip. Irony at its best, ditching her friends because she thought they’d want to drink, eat, and play too much.

  A mile and a half into her run and the water she’d guzzled earlier started swashing around in her belly. Mia thundered harder, which only made her have to pee even more. Looking over her shoulder, there were no cars or even homes in sight.

  A little jump over the rock wall lining the road and she’d have the privacy of the woods. Just then a car showed in the distance. Mia clenched her thighs together and powered through her run. She could hold it a bit longer.

  As luck would have it, the skies opened up, and the rain fell. In buckets. It actually felt good, cooling her down, mingling with the sweat on her body. Deciding she’d gone far enough, she turned around and headed back toward her apartment.

  Slipping the phone from her shorts, she navigated her running app and saw she made it about two miles. A four-mile run wasn’t a bad day’s work. Tucking it back in her pocket, she wiped the rain and sweat from her eyes with the back of her hand and powered on.

  “Yikes.” Nope. Running faster was not helping her bladder issues. She slowed her pace to a jog, but that would make the trip home take that much longer.

  The downpour made it hard to see too far in front of her. At least she was wearing a white tank top. Drivers would hopefully be able to see her on the side of the road. And possibly much more.

  Not able to hold it in anymore, she looked for an opening in the woods, made sure there were no cars coming, and climbed over the low rock wall. Her legs were already numb from the rolling hills of her run, so squatting was a challenge, but she did her business, yanked up her shorts, and tumbled out of the woods.

  As in literally. A twig got stuck in the loop of her laces, causing her to stumble to the ground. Covered in mud and leaves, she straightened and brushed off her knees.

  A light from ahead had her jumping as a truck came to a stop next to her on the other side of the road. Wiping her bangs out of her face, she squinted as the driver rolled down the window.

  She couldn’t make out the face of the driver with the sheets of rain separating them and his hat tugged low. Taking out her earbuds, she lowered herself to see in the window.

  “Are you o—Mia?”

  That deep, soft voice. She’d been trying to get it out of her head for days. “James. How ya doing?”

  “Get in the truck.” The order came out sharp and curt.

  Not taking orders from him or any other man, she backed away and flipped him off. “No thanks.” She put her earbuds back in, but turned down the music, and took off.

  Without the pressure on her bladder she could run again. What a jerk. Couldn’t he ask how she was? Tell her it was nice to see her again? No, he barked at her. Not cool.

  His truck had been heading in the opposite direction as her, but she felt it by her side now, heading back toward town. Ignoring him, she kept her pace and focused on the road in front of her.

  “Mia,” he yelled, though his voice was barely audible through the now torrential downpour.

  The truck slowed, inching forward to stay alongside her.

  “It’s pouring out.”

  “Thanks for the weather update.”

  “It’s not safe out here.”

  As if Mother Nature had conspired with him, a flash of lightning lit up the sky. She glared at him over her shoulder, and he shrugged his as if to say, see?

  “Safer than getting a lift from a stranger.” It was getting harder to keep her pace, talk, and see through the rain.

  “Mia,” he said, as if saying her name would convince her to get in.

  She didn’t know why she was being so stubborn. Getting a ride from him would be a hell of a lot better than running another two miles in a lightning storm. Especially considering what had happened to her last time she was out in weather like this.

  A hit and run, a ride in an ambulance, surgery and a messed up foot.

  James pulled ahead of her. Her stubborn pride took a backseat for a second, and she wished he’d come back.

  Right on cue the red taillights lit up, and the truck stopped. James got out of the truck, slamming the door behind him, and stormed over to her.

  “Why won’t you get in the truck?”

  “You’re being a jerk.”

  He closed his eyes, the crinkles around them deepening like he was concentrating real hard on what to say next. Running a hand across the back of his neck, he opened his eyes again, his facial expression returning to neutral.

  “Mia. Would you like a ride home?” The rain dripped off the bill of his hat.

  If she wasn’t so good at her poker face, she would have smirked. She liked this, James almost begging. Liked it a little too much. Why not have a little fun?

  “No thanks.” She waved as she jogged past him.

  “Mia!” he called after her.

  Chuckling to herself, she was completely caught off guard when a strong hand grabbed onto her shoulder from behind.

  “I don’t think so.” In one swift move she karate chopped his arm and back kicked his thigh. Thank you, kickboxing class. She didn’t know why she reacted this way. It could be from the heat of the moment, although the rain was cooling off the muggy afternoon. Or it could be from the suppressed fear of strangers ever since learning about Lily’s past and the possible threat to her and those close to her.

  She couldn’t unsee the fear in her eyes a few weeks ago at the casino. Ever since then Mia had a prickle of awareness at the back of her neck. And now, this James guy had shown up in her life in too many coincidences.

  Could he be a mole, a spy, one of Lily’s ex’s killers? Fearing for her life, Mia stumbled and dashed down the road. The flash flooding had caused puddles of mud, making it hard to tell where the road ended and the dirt shoulder began. She ran in the dirt and mud, but the loose gravel underneath made it hard for her to keep her footing.

  James had to be one of the bad guys Lily had feared. The man had given her weird vibes since she first met him at the shore. There was something familiar about him. He kind of resembled the killer in the last thriller she read. Or did all killers tend to look alike?

  Terror and panic filled her lungs as she pumped her legs and arms.

  Lights from the truck shone again, and she glanced to her left for a pathway through the thick, dense forest. Hard to run but easy to hide.

  The truck came to a stop in front of her, and James jumped out just as another bolt of lightning crackled across the sky.

  Mia froze in her tracks, her heart racing with fear. “What do you want?”

  The rain was still coming down in buckets, but not in the heavy sheets as before.

  “To give you a ride home. That’s all.”

  “Why are you here? Are you following me?”

  James didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Didn’t react. The only noise came from the rumbling of thunder overhead.

  Shit. Stumbling to find her footing, she rushed to the rock wall, but he was too fast; his arm wrapped around her waist and prevented her from escape.

  “Let me go!”

  “Mia. It’s okay. It’s me.”

  “Who the hell are you?” She writhed in his hold, but he didn’t let up. He wasn’t hurting her, but he held her hostage.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “That’s what every serial killer says.” Not true. The one in the last book she read told his victims upon meeting that he was looking forward to skinning them alive.

  “I’m not a serial killer.”

  “They all say that too.”

  He sighed in her ear and let her go. “I’m sorry I scared you. Here.” He held out the keys to his truck. “Sit inside and out of the storm. I’ll stay here.”

  She stared at the keys, not falling for the trap.

  “What makes you think I won’t take off, leaving you stranded on the side of the road?”

  His cold stare gave her shivers. No, not a cold stare—a cool stare. Like he
wasn’t worried because ... because those weren’t even the keys to the truck. That was it.

  “No thanks.”

  His jaw ticked, the first sign of emotion, and he lowered his arm. “Okay, but I’m following you to make sure you make it home safely.”

  “That’s just as creepy.” Sure. Watch her run in the rain and wait until she’s tired from the run to sweep in and slice her throat.

  “I’m trying to be nice.”

  “That’s what—”

  “Damnit. I’m not a killer. Anything but.” He wiped the dripping water from the bill of his hat.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  Knowing she had no way out, she took out her phone and snapped a picture of him. “I’m sending this to my friends so the police will have a picture of the man who stalked and then tried to kill me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “I have friends who will run your plates as well.” She zoomed in on the truck and took a picture of his license plate. She wasn’t close friends with any cops, but James didn’t have to know that.

  When she looked up, she found him smirking and not in the creepy way. In an adorable amused way. Interesting.

  The rain let up enough for her to see him more clearly. The smirk wasn’t menacing or Dr. Evil. It was actually ... cute.

  Ugh. The Stockholm syndrome. There was no way in hell she was falling in love with her kidnapper.

  “That’s a good idea. You can never be too safe.”

  “You want the police to run your profile?”

  With that, his smirk faltered. He was hiding something, and it wasn’t his knowledge of the sea cucumber.

  “I’m not one of the bad guys,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I frightened you. Let your friends know when you make it back safely.” With that, he turned and got in his truck. He made a U-turn in the road and headed back the way he’d originally come.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  She went from pissed off to scared to intrigued to confused. That was what James the marine hydrologist did to her.

  She may not have any police connections, but she’d do some digging when she got home. No way in hell could a man do that to her and not expect her to go all Mia Parker on him.