Ginny wasn’t looking forward to this.
She climbed into Kade’s warm pickup, his other vehicle, Sunday afternoon. While he’d finished installing the alarm Saturday night, he’d somehow gotten her to promise to join him for church on Sunday.
He didn’t attend the same church as Sam and Rae and the rest of their crew. Ginny had liked theirs, the pretty old building in the center of town. Kade’s church was very different. Newer building, younger people, louder music. At first, she’d found it strange, a little uncomfortable the way people lifted their hands during the songs, all the talk of the Holy Spirit. The sermon was interesting, though. The pastor, a trim forty-something man wearing jeans and an untucked shirt, had talked about the difference between the plans people make for themselves and God’s plans for them.
That God would have a plan for her life was such a strange idea. Did He really care how she spent her time or money? Had He really designed work for her to do, as the pastor had said, even before her birth? She couldn’t imagine. God always seemed so far away, like a white-haired grandfather who found his grandkids amusing when they were visiting but forgot about them when they were out of sight.
Maybe her perception of God had been way off. Or maybe the people at Kade’s church—and Sam and Rae’s for that matter—were crazy.
She wasn’t prepared to rule out either scenario.
After church, Kade brought her back home to change into something she wouldn’t mind getting dirty. He’d waited in his pickup, which she hadn’t even known he’d owned until this morning when he’d driven her to church in it. It was an older model two-seater with a long truck bed. Clean on the inside, beat-up on the outside.
She settled on the bench seat. “I’m not ready for this.”
“Ready or not, you need to do it.”
Fifteen minutes later, Kade turned his pickup down a dirt track that was so narrow and rarely traveled, she wouldn’t call it a road. He drove about a hundred yards between trees that were close enough together that she kept waiting for their branches to smack into the truck. Somehow, Kade avoided them all. The path angled upward, and the trees tapered off and deposited them in an open space maybe twenty-five yards across. He stopped at the crest of the hill.
She could feel him looking at her, but she couldn’t force her gaze away from the view.
Trees towered around them. On the right was a huge grass-covered mound. In front of her, the landscape dotted with leafless trees angled down in a rocky slope to the glimmering surface of Clearwater Lake.
Houses surrounded the lake at almost every spot except right below them.
“This is yours?” She glanced long enough to see the pride in his features.
“You see that dock with the little boat?” He pointed to the left, the north edge of the lake, and she followed his finger to the dock where a quaint blue fishing boat floated on the calm water. “From about twenty feet on this side of that to”—he pointed toward the right end of the lake, the southern edge—“to that little inlet right there.”
“How long is it?”
“About a mile and a half on the water.”
She whistled. “I knew you owned lakefront property, but I had no idea…”
“The only undeveloped land on Clearwater Lake is mine.”
“Wow.”
He shrugged. “It’s not like I earned it. My parents gave it to me.”
“It’s beautiful.”
His features lit as if a light shone on them. “I’ve been incredibly blessed.”
“I’m glad you realize it. For a rich kid, you don’t seem too spoiled.”
His jaw dropped in mock offense. “Are you saying I’m a little spoiled?”
“Maybe more than a little”—she cut her gaze around the land that had been a gift—“but I like you anyway.”
His gaze met hers and held a long moment. “It’s mutual.”
Oh. When he looked at her like that, she could hardly think. She should look away, think of something to say.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, we’re here to shoot.”
That broke the connection. She groaned. “I’m not sure I should be around a loaded gun. I’m a bit flighty. Once a boyfriend took me to drive golf balls.”
Kade’s eyes narrowed on the word boyfriend.
Ginny continued. “He was explaining what to do and had just said something along the lines of, ‘Always check behind you…’ But it was too late. The words didn’t register in time. I caught him on the shoulder with my backswing.”
“Was he terribly injured?” Kade’s eyes lit up as if he found the thought amusing.
Ginny playfully punched him in the shoulder. “It definitely left a mark.” And then she remembered why she’d told the story. “Seriously, what if I accidentally—?”
“You’re not going to shoot me or yourself. I promise.”
She wasn’t so sure about that. Her brain didn’t always connect with her actions.
Five minutes later, Kade had set a board across two sawhorses in front of the grass-covered mound. He fetched a grocery bag full of empty cans from the truck. “Good thing the recycling truck hadn’t come yet. I have plenty of targets.” He set nine cans on the board. “Why don’t you grab the gun and ammo from the truck?”
She’d left them in a canvas bag, and she was happy for them to stay there. “I’d really rather not.”
He shrugged. “I’ll get them, then.”
“I mean, I’m not sure I want to do this.”
Over his shoulder, he called, “I knew what you meant.”
A moment later, he set the canvas bag on the tailgate and motioned her over.
“This is pretty simple.” He held the magazine in one hand and a bunch of bullets in the other. “You just slide them in like so.” He pressed the bullets into the magazine. “You want to try?”
She shook her head, and he sighed.
“Fine. You can load the next round.” He took her elbow—maybe he hadn’t trusted she’d go with him—and stopped about four yards from the cans. He handed her ear plugs, which she put in her ears while he did the same.
She worried she wouldn’t be able to hear him, but when he spoke, his voice was audible, if muffled.
“Remember how I told you to hold it?” he asked.
She tried to put her hands the way he’d shown her the day before. When she didn’t quite get it right, he helped, though this time, he didn’t wrap his arms around her from behind. She wished he would. Then maybe she could have distracted him enough to make him forget the whole teach-Ginny-to-shoot craziness.
As if she’d be bold enough to initiate a first kiss. No chance. And he seemed like a man with a mission today.
When he was happy with the placement of her hands, he demonstrated how she should stand. Left foot slightly forward, both knees bent a little. “A natural athletic stance,” he said.
“‘Natural’ and ‘athletic’ are two words nobody’s ever applied to me.”
He chuckled while she stood the way he’d told her to.
“Good.” He gave her an approving nod. “I don’t want you to move your trigger finger. Keep it against the shaft of the gun and away from the trigger.”
She was happy to comply.
“Now, you’re going to lift the gun to eye level and aim at the can.”
“Which one?”
“Whichever you want. You’ll use these sights. You put that one”—he pointed to the one on the far end of the gun—“in the center of these two.” He pointed to the ones nearer her eyes. “Focus on the far sight. The closer ones and the target will be blurry, but that’s okay. Just keep your eye on that far sight and aim at a can.”
She did what he asked. She got the can in her sights and kept in there. “Now what?”
“Move your finger to the trigger.”
Okay. So far, so good.
“As slowly as you possibly can, like super-slo-mo, press that trigger.”
“Just like that.”
“So slowly you think it’ll never fire.”
She kept the can in her sights and did what Kade asked, slowly, slowly pressing the trigger. Her heart rate increased. Was this going to hurt? How loud would it be? Did it always take this long? It never took this long in movies. Maybe she was doing it—
The boom had her gasping.
Four yards away, the can flew off into the grass.
She’d expected a painful kick, but it hadn’t hurt. She stared at the can on the ground, shocked. She’d done it? On her first try? A wide smile crossed her lips, and she tried—unsuccessfully, she was sure—to temper it. She turned to Kade. “Did I hit it?”
“It saw you aiming and jumped to protect itself.” Kade’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “It’s all in the excellent instruction.”
She giggled. “Probably.”
“I’m kidding. That was amazing.”
“I’m twelve feet from it. I bet anybody can do that.”
He shook his head. “Do it again.”
She turned to the targets, chose a Dr. Pepper can, and aimed. Again, so slowly she thought it would never happen, she squeezed the trigger. And again, the boom surprised her. This time, she didn’t gasp.
The can flew off the board.
The shell hit her hand and fell to the ground.
“I did it.”
“Again.”
She hit the third, then the fourth. At his prompting, she hit all nine.
He took the gun from her hands and set it on the canvas bag on the ground. “You’re a natural.”
“Good instruction.”
“It’s all about using the sights.”
“I felt like my hands were shaking and moving constantly.”
“Sure. Your body is constantly moving, pumping blood, breathing. You can’t be perfectly steady. But you don’t have to be. This time, I don’t want you to aim at the can. I want you to aim at a certain spot on the can.”
“This time?” She rubbed the skin between her thumb and forefinger.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
He looked at where she was hurting. “That’s normal. You’ll get used to it.”
As much fun as it had been, she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it so much she got used to it.
Kade nodded toward the pistol. “Leave that there while I arrange more targets.”
“We’ve had enough for today.”
He ignored her and set nine more cans—all Coke—on the board. This time, he ensured the words were facing her. “I want you to aim at the C.”
“There’s no way.”
“It doesn’t matter if you hit it exactly. It’s just what I want you to aim at. Grab the gun and ammo and let’s go back to the truck.”
Wow, he had a pushy side. “I really would rather—”
“Just do it, please.”
She huffed, grabbed the gun and the canvas bag, and walked to the pickup. She set them beside the box of ammo. “I think that’s enough for today.”
“Load the magazine like I showed you.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
Second time in two days she’d used that line.
His lips twitched, but he didn’t allow the smile to come through. Instead, he turned to her and took her hands. “There was a man in your house yesterday, Ginny. A man. In your house. If I hadn’t been there, he’d have been in your house alone with you.”
“I know, but…”
He squeezed her hands. “But what?”
“Shooting cans is one thing. I don’t think I could shoot a person.”
“If he was coming after you? If you thought he might hurt you?”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t think so.”
His lips closed in a tight line. “I’m going to assume that your self-protection instinct will kick in.” He let go of her hands. “Go ahead and load the magazine.”
She did what he asked, then fired off more rounds from a little farther away.
She hit the target every time.
When the last can fell, she aimed at the ground and turned to Kade.
Kade’s eyebrows rose. “You’re a closet secret agent, aren’t you?”
“You figured me out.”
“You want to go again?”
By now, her hand was really hurting. “Let’s call it good for now.”
“We’ll come back and try again soon.”
He left the board and sawhorses and walked her to the passenger seat. After she’d slipped in, he set the canvas bag with the gun and ammo on the floor at her feet. Then he met her gaze. “I appreciate that, even though you didn’t want to practice today, you did your best and tried to learn. I’m impressed.”
She shrugged. “As long as I have to do it, I might as well do it well.”
He stayed there another moment, and his gaze flicked to her lips.
Her whole body paused as she waited for him to close the distance between them. But he didn’t.
He stepped back and closed the door.
The weekend sunshine had given way to rain by Monday. Ginny hated rain. It always conjured images best forgotten, images that had been burned into her brain by Katrina when she was only a child.
But today, she wouldn’t let the rain get her down. Because, though in many ways her weekend had been hard, in other ways, it had been amazing.
Kade had been amazing.
His kindness made it impossible for her to feel depressed, despite the rainfall outside.
After target practice, they’d gone to lunch, then spent the rest of the afternoon at her house working on his presentation to the zoning board. The money hadn’t come in yet, but he was hopeful Sokolov would come through. Kade was far more organized than most people she’d worked with at this stage, with his budget planned to the penny, the contractors lined up, the schedule—including accounting for rainy days like this one—in place.
They’d expanded the list of ways the housing development and country club would benefit the community. Ginny had put together a PowerPoint presentation, and Kade had sent the proposal to the printer. He was all set for the meeting the next day.
Today wasn’t about Kade’s project, though. Today was about Ginny’s.
She had to figure out who had broken into her house and maybe even find a way to get in touch with them, whoever they were. Because her mother had given her that duffel bag full of cash. She hadn’t told Ginny what she was supposed to do with it, and she assumed she wasn’t supposed to give it to strangers who came calling. But Ginny didn’t owe her mother anything, not after the way she’d treated her, not after their conversation on Saturday.
Ginny would hand that duffel bag over to whoever wanted it if doing so would mean she could keep her life in Nutfield.
It has crossed her mind to give it to Kade. It could solve his problems, and, if the project was as successful he thought it would be, she’d make the investment back. But if people were after her, the money was her only leverage. And anyway, Kade wouldn’t want it, not if he knew its origin. She had no idea what the money represented. She did know that the people after her were criminals.
Would they use the money for harm? Was it wrong for her to give it to them? Did it belong to them, and had Ginny’s mother stolen it?
She had no idea.
Maybe the bag held a clue. She was at the bank when they unlocked the doors that morning. Five minutes later, the bank manager left her in the room with her safe deposit box on the table and the door closed.
Ginny opened the bag. Even though she’d known what it contained, the sight of all those bundles of bills shook her. Where had it come from?
To whom did it belong?
She took each bundle out. There were some bundles of hundreds, but most were twenties. She’d never counted it before, though it wasn’t hard to figure it out. Each bundle should hold a hundred bills. There were eight bundles of hundreds, so eighty thousand dollars in hundreds. There were twenty-four bundles of twenties—forty-eight thousand dollars. She flipped through each one looking for… something. A name, a phone number, an email address. Nothing.
She studied the bands surrounding the bills, again looking for a clue as to the money’s origin. But the bands had nothing written on them.
Ginny glanced at the door, praying it would stay closed. It would, she knew. She had privacy here, but she couldn’t help the apprehension.
She searched the bag itself. There were no pockets, no secret compartments. She didn’t know exactly what she’d hoped to find. Maybe a note that read If found, please call…
No luck.
She placed all the money back in the duffel, shoved it into the box, and returned the box to its proper space.
That had been no help at all.
Ginny usually walked to the real estate office to work, but when she left the bank, she went back home to work. When her appointments were settled and paperwork managed, she turned her attention to her parents’ businesses.
Ginny dialed the number for Tammy Jean’s Cajun Cafe in Oakland. Her parents had opened Tammy Jean’s—named for Ginny’s paternal grandmother, her favorite granny, who’d been killed in Hurricane Katrina—shortly after they’d settled in California. At first, Dad had done most of the cooking, and Mom had managed the staff. The restaurant had been a success, and they opened another one, then bought a couple of other fledgling restaurants and made successes of them. Neither of Ginny’s parents had worked in the restaurants in years. They’d spent their time managing them and, in Dad’s case, serving on some committees for non-profits, doing overseas traveling for business—what business, she had no idea—and playing golf.
It had never occurred to Ginny before her dad’s death, but it did seem odd that a handful of restaurants could make enough money to afford her family the lifestyle they’d lived.
She checked her watch. Two o’clock on the East Coast meant eleven a.m. in California. The phone rang three times before a breathless woman answered. “Tammy Jean’s.”
“Britt, is that you?”
A pause, then, “Ginny? Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe it.” Ginny could picture the pretty server. “How are you?”
Such a loaded question, but Britt didn’t need to know all the details of Ginny’s life. “I’m fine. Is Wang Lei around?”
A little gasp. “Your mom didn’t tell you?”
Ginny didn’t have time for Britt’s dramatic streak right now. “Tell me what?”
Britt lowered her voice to nearly a whisper. “He was murdered.”
Ginny’s stomach looped. “Oh no. When?”
“It’s been a while. Last fall, maybe September? It was right before your mom sold the place.”
“She sold it?”
There was a beat of silence. “You didn’t know?”
“We don’t… I moved away. I don’t talk to her much.”
“Still, though, that’s totally weird that she wouldn’t tell you.”
Britt didn’t know the half of it.
“Can I speak to the new manager?”
“The owner’s here. Hold on a sec. And hey, when you’re in town, stop by. I’d love to see you again.”
Not that Ginny would ever go back to the San Francisco area, but she said, “That’d be great.”
While she waited, Ginny opened a new document on her laptop and typed Wang Lei, murdered, September. Business sold right after.
Finally, a man came on the line. “This is Ted.”
“Hi Ted. This is Ginny Lamont, Darlene’s daughter. I was wondering—”
“Look, Ginny, is it?”
“I—”
“I bought this business with cash.” His voice was loud enough that Ginny pulled the phone away from her ear. “Sunk everything I own into it, and I’m not going to let your people wrench it away from me.”
“Wait, I’m just trying—”
“We’re legitimate now, got it? Don’t call here again. And don’t come in. I’ll have the cops on you so fast your head’ll spin.”
The phone slammed in its cradle, and Ginny winced at the sound.
What in the world?
She typed the gist of the conversation into a document, her hands shaking. It wasn’t often she got yelled at by perfect strangers. And had them threaten to call the cops on her, as if she were a criminal.
When she’d noted what he said, she pushed back from the kitchen table and got a glass of water.
It was okay. She could do this.
There were plenty of other businesses to call, other people to ask. Somebody would give her the information she needed. Somebody had to know what kinds of people her parents had been involved with.
She returned to the computer and her phone and dialed her parents’ second largest restaurant, another Cajun place, this one in Richmond.
But the manager had quit, and nobody knew where he’d gone.
The restaurant had been sold, and the new owner refused to speak to her.
When she called the third restaurant on the list, there was no answer. A quick Google search told her the place had closed its doors.
More calls, no answers. All the restaurants her parents had owned had been sold or closed, the managers gone.
Ginny finished typing a final note, then pushed back from the table. She moved into the living room and paced. Those restaurants had been her mother’s largest source of income. Why would she sell them?
Why would somebody want Wang Lei dead?
She knew her parents were into something illegal. The restaurants must have been involved. She’d only hoped to ask the managers if they knew anything. Having worked so closely with her parents all those years, she thought maybe they’d picked up on something or knew if her parents had had enemies. But now… The managers had been in on it, whatever it was. Or at least somebody thought they had.
But what?
She felt like the answer was so obvious, it was staring her in the face.
“Think, Ginny.” But she didn’t have enough information.
Back at the table, she took a deep, calming breath, and dialed the club.
Most of the time, she didn’t allow herself to dwell on the fact that her parents owned a place like Pretty Little Things.
She’d heard her parents discussing “pretty things,” but hadn’t known what they were talking about, and when she asked, they just waved it and her away. Just one of our businesses. Not your concern.
And of course, she hadn’t investigated, too wrapped up in her own life to care.
But then she’d seen the name on her dad’s desk, and she’d looked up the address.
Not exactly the classiest area of town. The next time she’d gone downtown, she’d driven by it, thinking she’d go in, maybe introduce herself to the manager, see what kind of place it was. Pretty Little Things—she’d imagined a gift store.
It was the curvy, cartoon women on the sign that gave it away.
And the blacked-out windows.
Her parents owned a strip club.
Fine. Whatever. She’d never known anything about it, and she didn’t want to know now. But she needed information. She found the number and dialed.
The man who answered the phone sounded bored. “Pretty Little Things. We open at four. We take cash and credit cards. No checks. We serve a full menu. Need anything else?”
“Uh… Yeah. Hi. I’m looking for the manager.”
“You got him. I’m always looking for new girls, so just come in—”
“No, no.” Her cheeks burned at the thought. “I’m not looking for a job. I’m calling because… How long have you worked there?”
“You a reporter or something?”
“No. Um…” She vacillated about telling him who she was.
“A cop?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
“Look, I know what you’re asking. It’s a bad idea for you to come. Maybe you think it’ll be fun, a lark, but trust me, you don’t want to be here. Anything else?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry. I’m a little discombobulated. See, I think my parents used to own that club, and I’m trying to… to learn about their business.”
“If they don’t own it anymore, then it isn’t their business.”
An excellent point. “My name is Ginny Lamont. My parents used to own your… club. I wondered if they still do.”
When the man spoke again, his voice had lowered to nearly a growl. “I bought the place last fall. Your parents’ associates have been sniffing around, trying to get in with me, but I got no desire to go to prison for a bunch of crooks. I make all the money I need. So if that’s what you’re—”
“What kind of… of work did they do? I mean…” She was struggling to articulate. “My parents were into something illegal. What do you know about that?”
There was a long pause before the man’s voice softened. “Listen. If you don’t know, then you’re lucky. Don’t dig in someone else’s graveyard. Let it go.”
“I can’t. Somebody’s after me.”
The man uttered a curse word under his breath. “Then you’re as good as dead.”
As good as dead.
Ginny pushed away from the table and stood. She wasn’t going to write that in her notes. That would make it too real.
She looked around her kitchen, her dining area. Everything was the same, but dread and fear crawled at her back. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle.
As good as dead.
She walked into the living room, pulled in a couple of breaths, and blew them out. She was safe here. She checked the new lock on the back door, then crossed to the front. Both doors were bolted shut. The windows were barricaded.
Her gun had been lots of different places since she’d gotten it Saturday. In her night stand, in her purse, in the little drawer in her coffee table. Every spot she’d found for it either seemed too exposed or too far away to do her any good.
Right now, it was in a drawer in the kitchen. She pulled it out, set it on the counter.
She was safe.
For now.
But what would happen when the intruder came back? Would she be safe then?
As good as dead.
She didn’t want to think about her parents anymore. She needed to get out of the house.
A walk would make her feel better, but it wasn’t just raining. It was pouring, and the wind was whipping. No umbrella in the world could protect her from that.
Fine. She’d drive. She just couldn’t be alone right now. She needed people. She needed…
She grabbed her phone and dialed.
Kade answered on the second ring. “Hey.”
His voice relaxed her a little. “Working hard?”
She heard a few taps on a keyboard, then, “I think I’m ready for tomorrow.”
“Did you hear from the guy from Friday?”
“I’m still waiting. It’s killing me.”
She’d never asked a man out, but she needed a distraction badly. “I’ve been stuck in the house all day. I thought maybe, if you had time, we could, I don’t know…” Ugh, she should have thought this through. It was too late for lunch, too early for dinner, and pouring rain.
“Let’s take a drive,” he said. “It’ll kill time while I wait to hear from Sokolov.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind? I know you’re busy.”
She could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
By the time she’d thrown on makeup, put on her shoes, and grabbed her things, he was pulling into her driveway. She slipped on her hooded raincoat, activated her alarm, and ran out to meet him.
She slid into his passenger seat feeling both excited and embarrassed that she’d called. “Hi.” She took off the black hood that made her look like the grim reaper.
“Hi yourself.” He faced her, and a grin spread across his face. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” He looked beautiful, too. Strong and kind and protective.
“Where shall we go?” he asked.
“I don’t care. Anywhere but my house right now.”
His grin faded. “Did something happen? Something I should—”
“No more intruders, and the alarm works great. I feel very safe there.” Mostly. Except when people three thousand miles away told her she was as good as dead. “It’s just claustrophobic on a day like today. And I’ve had a rough couple of hours.”
He backed out of her driveway and headed away from town. “Doing what?”
“I called the businesses my parents used to own.”
“Used to? What happened?”
“Looks like Mom sold them.” She gave him the rundown on her phone calls. She didn’t mention that one of the businesses was a strip club. And she held back the last man’s final remark. She wanted to tell him, but… It all sounded so crazy. She didn’t want Kade to think she was being dramatic. And she knew what he’d say—that she should tell Brady what was going on. She wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or not.
It would be one thing to give the duffel bag to the person who’d broken into her house. It would be entirely different to start something that might land her mother in prison.
When she was done, he said, “What do you think about what you’ve learned so far?”
“My parents were criminals. That much is clear. And they were into something dangerous.”
He was nodding. “You don’t have any guesses?”
“How could I? I was just a kid, and then I went to college. I should have paid better attention. I should—”
“Don’t do that.” He took her hand. The connection with him, after everything she’d learned, stirred something in her heart. His hand was warm. His eyes were kind when he glanced at her. He knew all these ugly things about her, but he wasn’t backing off.
He braked at a stop sign and faced her. “You can’t go back in time, and it’s not as if your knowing would have changed anything. I’m glad your parents protected you at least a little.” He focused forward again, but not before she saw the way his lips tightened, pulled down at the corners.
“What? What did that look mean?”
“Just that…” He signaled, then turned onto a street she’d never traveled before. The homes were far apart, probably each on its own acre, and set far off the main road, hardly visible through the rain. Lights shone here and there, but mostly it was a dark road on a dreary, oppressive day.
She started to prompt him to finish his statement, but he squeezed her hand and continued. “I’m just trying to imagine what it would be like to have parents who hadn’t protected me. Not that we were in a lot of dangerous situations, but I always knew I could count on their support. I still can.” He glanced at her. “I’m sorry you don’t know what that’s like.”
A wave of… What was it? Affection, tenderness? It overwhelmed her, made her want to scoot closer and cuddle against his side. To feel the protection he was taking about.
Thank heavens for the center console that kept her firmly in her seat.
They’d spent the entire weekend together. He’d said their lunch Saturday was a date, yet he’d not kissed her that day or since. The few guys she’d dated in the past had been pretty eager to get to the kissing part of the relationship—and beyond. Which was why she’d never had a boyfriend for very long. She’d never trusted any of them enough to go beyond.
Now here she was with a guy she did trust, possibly too much, and he hadn’t even tried to kiss her.
Maybe he was over the idea of dating her. Maybe all her troubles made him want to run.
Of course. She had a target on her back. Why would anybody who knew the truth about her want to be near her?
And yet, here he was. Holding her hand, spending time with her.
She didn’t know what to think. She did know she liked him. A lot. Maybe too much. Maybe she was already falling in love. And falls weren’t exactly stoppable. A person didn’t get halfway into a fall and then change her mind.
Ginny felt like she’d taken a leap off a high cliff, and there was no escaping what would come next.
And she didn’t want to escape it. Because she believed in love. Even though she’d rarely witnessed it, even though she’d never seen it demonstrated in her own family, she believed in true, abiding love. She believed in soul mates and happily-ever-afters. She believed in strong families and good parents and children who felt secure. She’d never had it, but she believed in it, and she wanted it.
And right now, regardless of how Kade felt about her, she believed in him.
“I’m sorry,” Kade said. “I shouldn’t judge your family.”
Based on the tone of his voice, he’d misread her silence for offense. “With everything I’ve told you, you have every right to judge. And you’re right. They didn’t protect me. They didn’t even particularly like me. My mom didn’t, anyway. Kathryn did when we were girls, but that changed when she went to college. Dad loved me in his own way.”
Kade said nothing, but she could tell by the way his lips were pressed together what he thought of her father’s love.
She touched the necklace her father had given her. Dad had loved her.
But Kade was right, too. A good father would never have done what hers had. She knew that. She knew what she’d received from her father was a pale imitation of true fatherly love. But it was all she knew.
“Did your mother sell the condo?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t look into that. I sort of just picture her there.”
“You really think she sent you running to safety and didn’t protect herself?”
Reluctantly, Ginny pulled her hand from Kade’s and slid her phone from her purse. She checked the real estate listing website. Her mother’s house hadn’t been listed for sale, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t sold. Kathryn’s house hadn’t been listed, either.
She went to the San Francisco County’s real estate assessor’s website and typed in the address of the condo she’d called home for much of her life.
The details of the property loaded.
“She sold it in September.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. “So she sold everything.”
“Yup.”
“Maybe you should call her, see if she’ll tell you what’s going on.”
Ginny set her phone in the center console and crossed her arms against the chill.
Kade adjusted the heat. “Bad idea?”
She sighed. “It’s such a good idea, I did it on Saturday.”
He looked at her, then back at the road. “You didn’t tell me.”
“It’s… embarrassing.”
He laid his hand on her knee, palm up. An invitation she happily took as she slipped hers into it.
“Your mother’s behavior is not a reflection of you. What happened?”
“I told her about Kathryn, but she already knew.”
“I thought you said they hadn’t spoken in years.”
“We have a… a thing we’re supposed to do when we relocate. Mom told me when she sent me away. We’re supposed to call her and tell her where we are and give her the new address in case she needs it.” Ginny left out the part about always calling from a burner. That was too weird.
And she hadn’t done it. She’d called from her own phone. She hoped that wouldn’t come back to bite her.
“She insists on knowing where you’re living,” Kade said. “But she didn’t reciprocate and tell you where she moved to?”
“That sums it up.”
“What did she tell you?”
Ginny stared at the drops of water sliding down the side window. Not straight down but diagonally because of the air hitting the moving car. That’s what her life felt like, headed in the wrong direction because of unseen forces beyond her control. “To do what Kathryn did.”
He turned into a neighborhood and pulled over. After putting the car into park, he faced her. “She told you to run away.”
Ginny nodded.
He pressed his lips together. “But you’re still here.”
“This is my home. This is more my home than San Francisco ever was. I have a life here.”
He squeezed her hand, then kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you’re staying.”
“You don’t think I’m stupid?”
“You can’t run for the rest of your life.”
“But what if…?” She swallowed. “I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be afraid of.”
“Let’s see if we can narrow it down. Based on what you told me, it sounds like the restaurants were involved in what your parents were doing. I have a theory, but… Why don’t you Google it, see what you can find?”
She grabbed her phone and opened the internet browser. “What do I type?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Try crime in restaurants.”
She did and scrolled through the results. “These are all about shootings and burglaries and…”
“Maybe criminal activity in restaurants.”
She typed that and scrolled again.
More about shootings and burglaries. But then there was a post that had her stopping, clicking.
How to Use a Restaurant to Launder Money.
“Oh.”
She turned the screen so he could see it, and he nodded. “That was my guess.”
“How did you know?”
“You’ve obviously never watched Ozark.”
“That’s a TV show, right?”
He smiled. “I heard it was good, so I tried it. But I don’t like shows where I’m supposed to root for bad guys.”
A good moral position. What if the bad guys were your parents, though?
She tapped on the article. It was a tongue-in-cheek how-to on money laundering through restaurants.
“What does it say?”
She perused the article quickly. “Looks like any cash business can work. They take the dirty money—”
“Like, money from drug sales or whatever, I guess.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said. “Money a criminal can’t just put in his bank account without raising flags.”
“Okay, go on.”
“They take dirty money and filter it through the restaurant. They add it to the cash received every day, a little at a time so as not to raise alarms. They put it in the bank, then give the ‘clients’”—she put air quotes around that word—“access to it. Once it’s clean, the clients can do whatever they want to with it.”
“The criminals.”
“Right. Mobster stuff, I guess. Racketeering, extortion, protection scams.”
Kade added, “Drug dealing, arms dealing—”
“Human smuggling—getting illegals across the border.” And that prompted another thought. A thought that made her ill. But she had to face it, face who her parents really were. “Human trafficking.”
They fell silent.
“Bad stuff,” he said.
“Bad people.” She closed her eyes, tried to imagine her parents doing business with people like that.
Despite her mother’s cigarette-damaged voice and trashy language, she cleaned up well. She was a strikingly beautiful woman with dark hair and pretty light brown eyes, tall and slender. She knew how to apply makeup to make herself look classy. She was pleasant and likable—to people besides her own family members.
Ginny’s dad had grown more distinguished with age. He’d looked sharp in the suits he wore nearly every day and had more than his share of Southern charm.
Both of them had lost the drawl in their accents and developed lovely high-society Southern speech patterns that endeared them to others.
They’d been so good at wearing their masks, even Ginny had believed them.
She wished she couldn’t picture her parents with criminals and crime bosses, but she could. She could see it, and she didn’t doubt what she’d discovered for a moment.
“My parents helped the worst kinds of people get away with their crimes. They profited from it.” The thought made her sick. “I profited from it. It sent me to college. It paid for my housing, my food.” She swallowed, swallowed again. Nausea churned in her belly. She covered her face with her hands, too ashamed to look at Kade. “I didn’t know. I swear—”
“I know.”
Tears filled her eyes, slipped through her fingers as she hid her face. She didn’t wipe them, couldn’t bring herself to even search for a tissue. She wanted to curl into a ball and hide.
What kind of people had her parents been?
What kind of person was she?
“Hey, hey.” His voice was tender, gentle. He rested his hand on her head, stroked her hair. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”
How could he even look at her? She was so embarrassed, so ashamed of her family, her roots. Her own stupidity for turning a blind eye all those years.
Kathryn had known. Why hadn’t she told her? And how had Ginny missed it?
“This is not your fault, Ginny. Your parents did this. Your parents were criminals, and the money they made was dirty. But that’s not your fault. You didn’t know. You weren’t complicit. You were a child.”
She had been. But now she was an adult. An adult who’d always been so cheerful, so trusting. So stupid.
“This does not define you,” Kade said. “Your parents don’t define you. Your sister doesn’t define you. Only God gets to define you. And He says you’re precious and priceless and worthy.”
How could that be?
“Look at me.” His voice was still tender, but she could hear the imperative in it.
She didn’t want to. But she couldn’t hide forever. She wouldn’t. Because Kade was right. She was not her parents.
She pulled in a deep breath, blew it out. With a tissue from her purse, she wiped her tears. Then, finally, she looked at Kade.
His gaze was warm and tender. “That’s better.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just…”
“It’s a lot of information to take in after a weekend of taking in troubling information. At least now we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Not really.” She wiped the last—please let them be the last—of her tears. “We know we’re dealing with criminals, but nothing else. I want to know who they are.”
“I want to know what they want,” Kade said.
The problem was, she knew what they wanted. She’d told Kade everything else. She should tell him this, too. There was no reason for her to keep secrets from Kade. He was trustworthy.
She took a deep breath, opened her mouth to speak.
The phone rang through the car’s speakers. Kade glanced at his phone, which he’d left in the center console, then straightened. “It’s Sokolov.”