The Rock

Chapter 3

3

Olivia dropped Jake off at her office, where he’d left his rental car, and told him she’d text him later about where to meet for dinner. Then she drove the two miles back to her condo in glamorous downtown West Covina.

She’d bought it after the divorce, when Steve had claimed their two-story, six-bedroom Beverly Hills home with the pool and media room for himself. He’d also walked away with most of their savings—that was what happened when you married a defense lawyer.

Her own lawyer had advised her to fight for more, but she was just so glad to be out of the marriage that she’d refused. With her own family taking his side, swimming upstream didn’t seem worth it. All she’d wanted was a space to herself and a fresh start. If that came in the form of a cookie-cutter condo distinguishable from its neighbors only by its number—so be it. To her, it was paradise.

As always, when she unlocked the door, and the deadbolt, and the extra deadbolt, she felt her tension ease.

Within these extremely bland beige plaster walls, no one was trying to guilt-trip her, dismiss her, manipulate her, cheat on her, gaslight her, or outright threaten her. Four years later, and she still felt the scars from her marriage to Steve Krauss.

For instance, the simple act of picking up the mail that had been dropped through the slot made her stomach tighten in dread.

Yup, sure enough. Among the bills and a new issue of PI Magazine lurked a letter from Steve, like a snake in the weeds. Why did he keep trying to communicate with her? She never answered. She’d blocked his email. And yet the letters, social media messages, and random calls kept coming. Maybe he knew they rattled her. Typical Steve, just trying to keep the upper hand.

“You can try, asshole,” she murmured as she turned the letter over. “I’m not the same optimistic kid who fell for your act. This is just a letter. I can handle a letter.”

Not only was she older and wiser now, more disillusioned and jaded, but she had a better left hook. No need to be rattled by Steve’s lawyerly tricks.

She tore it open and scanned it quickly.

Olivia, thought you might want to know that I’ve met someone and it’s serious. We’re in love. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman. She reminds me of you when we first met, so in that spirit I’m reaching out to let you know I will likely marry again soon. EYHO.

Oh, sweet Lord. Did that stand for “eat your heart out”? Petty Steve was one of her least-favorite versions of Steve. She tossed the letter on the catchall table in her entryway. “Good luck, I hope she knows what she’s—” She broke off, biting her lip.

Did his new fiancée know what she was getting into? Could she in good conscience allow another woman to marry Steve without warning her? What were her responsibilities in this situation?

Maybe there was a Hallmark card that covered it. “Wishing you an ironclad prenup.” Or “May your marriage not be as miserable as ten thousand burning hells.” Or “When he says he’s working late on a case, try not to laugh in his face.”

She shrugged and bent down to unzip her boots. It really wasn’t her problem. If anything, she was grateful to the nameless woman who would now be claiming Steve’s attention. Maybe he’d finally stop contacting her.

A knock sounded at her door. Three taps in quick succession. Her brother Ethan with the code they’d settled on when she’d first moved in.

She opened the door for him—all broad shoulders and crutches. Her little brother could not be described as little anymore. Even on crutches, he towered over her.

This wasn’t the first time he’d broken his leg. Thanks to a rare form of childhood osteosarcoma, his right tibia was weakened. He didn’t let it stop him, though. Maybe because he’d gone through tough times himself, he’d saved her sanity during her break with their family. He was the only one who had stuck with her through the divorce, even to the extent of quitting his software job to form James Investigations with her.

“I thought you were getting off your crutches today.”

“Another week,” he grumbled. “Got anything to drink?”

Since that answer was obvious—of course—he crutched across her floor into the living room. She’d removed all the rugs when he’d broken his leg. But now that they were gone, she realized she liked the minimalist look. It was less fussy, more functional. Steve would hate it.

She shook off that thought. Who cared anymore what Steve thought? When would he disappear completely from her brain?

Maybe if he got married to someone else and stopped writing her.

She tossed his letter onto Ethan’s lap while she went to grab a bottle of wine from the kitchen. “Tell me what you think of that.”

“If it says Steve on it, I hate it.”

“Just read it,” she called from the kitchen. She stood on tiptoe to select a bottle of wine from the rack she kept on top of the refrigerator. She ought to go for healthy things instead, like the bowl of oranges on the counter or the fig bars she loved. But after the hell Steve had put her through, she figured an occasional glass of wine wouldn’t hurt.

She uncorked the wine, took two glasses from the cupboard and brought everything to the living room, where Ethan was scowling at the letter. “I want to believe he’s moving on, but I’m not sure I do.”

“I was wondering if I should warn her, but I don’t even know who she is.”

“Warnings don’t work. Didn’t I warn you about Steve?”

She snatched the glass away from his fingers. “Do you want this wine or not?”

“Touchy. Yes, give it back.”

She poured two glasses of the Merlot, then put the bottle on the coffee table and sank onto her couch. “I was a kid, you know that. Of course I didn’t listen. But aren’t you glad you tried anyway? Now you have lifetime gloating rights.”

“You have a point there.” Ethan toasted her and took a sip, half closing his eyes. “Ahh, now that’s what I’m talking about. How hard could it be to find this poor woman? You’re a PI.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to risk triggering Steve.”

“Good point. He wouldn’t like me sticking my nose in his business either.”

“Definitely not. I forbid you from even thinking about it. He hates you.”

“Proud of that, I gotta say.” After the divorce, Ethan had hired a mariachi band to serenade Steve’s law office with Nancy Sinatra songs. “There’s an obvious solution, you know.”

Olivia sipped at her wine, letting the alcohol relax her. “Drop the whole thing? Let this complete stranger make her own mistakes?”

“No. Call on that tall drink of water known as our new client.”

“Jake Rockwell? No way. He’s a bartender, not an investigator.”

“But you said that he’d been doing a pretty good job before he came to us. I heard you. You said that. Not to him, obviously, since you have a chip on your shoulder about him.”

She made a face at him. “Why did I let you in the door? I was looking forward to a nice, quiet evening at home with my own thoughts, maybe some Netflix, maybe a bath.”

“I’m worried that your life has become boring. Besides, you texted me to find a restaurant near LAX. What was that about?”

“Oh crap.” Steve’s letter had really rattled her; she’d forgotten about the dinner with Jake’s sister. “I have a meeting out there during someone’s layover. Did you find a good place?”

“Yes, but I have to be honest with you. It sucks playing secretary. I’m supposed to be the brawn of this operation, you’re supposed to be the brains.”

That wasn’t even remotely true. When it came to anything Internet and research-related, Ethan was the master. And she enjoyed getting out in the field; it made her feel like the badass Jake had mentioned. She didn’t really believe she was a badass. In most cases she felt outmatched, which was why her gym workouts were so important.

“As soon as your doctor gives the okay, you’ll be back on the frontlines. And you’re welcome to it.”

“Hand me that bottle.” He drained his glass and held it out for a refill. “Who’s the meeting with? Is it related to Jake’s case?”

“It is. His sister might have some information.”

“Listen, that’s actually why I came over, because of this case.” Her brother sobered. “I pushed you into taking it, and now I’m having second thoughts.”

She glanced at him in surprise. “Why?”

“The Laine Thibodeau connection.”

“But Laine was our first client.”

“I know that. And now she’s nowhere to be found. I tried, as soon as Jake mentioned her. Home, cell, private cell, social media, everything. That doesn’t seem alarming to you?”

Olivia skimmed a thumb along the rim of her wineglass. “Not necessarily. She could be in rehab, or on a juice retreat. Movie stars, you know how they are. Besides, this case isn’t really about her. It’s about Jake’s mother.”

“But Laine has to be connected. I looked at the notes you made. She’s Gracie Rockwell’s birth mother. Of course she’s connected. And we know the kind of crowd Laine is involved with. They’re sleazy and extremely wealthy. It’s a dangerous combination. Don’t you think it’s over our heads? Especially when I’m like this?” He gestured at his legs. “You have no backup out there.”

Olivia drank more wine while she thought about Ethan’s warning. The independent side of her wanted to shrug off his concerns. But that would foolish. He made some very good points.

“Jake wants to help, at least as much as I allow him to.”

“Then you should let him.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Here’s what I think. I think we should back out of it unless you agree to let Jake work with you.”

“Ethan!” She gazed at him with a sense of utter betrayal. “I can take care of myself. He’s an amateur! He’ll probably just get in the way and make things worse.”

“No, he won’t. I did some more research on him. He’s a volunteer firefighter, he’s saved dozens of lives …”

“In the mountains. This is the city.”

“He’s smart. People trust him. He’s well-respected in Rocky Peak. Beloved, even.”

“Rocky Peak has about five hundred residents.”

“Yes, but they’re tough. Rugged. He’s probably fought off bears with his bare hands.”

She rolled her eyes and propped her feet on the coffee table. “Bears are the least of our worries.”

“You know what I’m saying.”

“I don’t need a man to protect me.”

“I know, I know, you’re done with men. I get it. I don’t agree with it, but I get it. This is not a gender thing. It’s a backup thing.”

Olivia closed her eyes and thought through the situation logically. What the hell—she’d probably have a hard time stopping Jake anyway. There was probably no point in fighting it.

“You win, little brother. I’ll let Jake fill your shoes until you ditch the crutches.”

“James family honor?” He held up his hand, Boy Scout style.

“James family honor.” This was no fly-by-night promise. The James family traced their lineage all the way back to a noble clan in France with its own coat of arms. Which was just one of the reasons she was considered such a colossal disappointment in the family.

She swallowed the rest of her wine. Thinking too much about her parents and the divorce and her failure as a James could easily turn her into an alcoholic.

“I need to get going. Dinner with the Rockwells. I’m taking my life into my hands with this one. Thank God Jake will be there. What if someone chokes on the garlic bread?”

Ethan snorted, then rose to his feet and grabbed his crutches. “They won’t. I found you an Indian restaurant. No garlic bread.”

“Best secretary ever.”

He flipped her the bird as he headed for the front door. “Don’t forget about the other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“Asking Jake to shadow your ex-husband to find out who he’s dating, of course.”

“Oh, right.” That would be an interesting conversation, for sure. That definitely called for more—

“No more wine,” he said, as if he could see her already reaching for the bottle. “You’re driving to LAX, remember?”

She put down the glass. “Sometimes you’re less like a brother and more like a babysitter.”

“And what would you do without me, huh?”

When he was gone, the strangest thing happened. Tears sprang to her eyes. What would she have done without Ethan? He was the only human being in her life who’d stood by her when she needed support the most. Not only that, but she’d nearly lost him when he was a teenager going through chemo. The least she could do was take his warnings seriously.

She followed Ethan’s advice and put away the bottle of wine. Working as an investigator meant lots of odd hours, many of them at night. It also meant plenty of drinks with people who might know useful things. She’d developed a technique for that. She always alternated alcohol and water, usually drinking twice as much water as wine.

Strange, the things she’d learned in this job.

She went to her closet to pick out something to wear at this dinner “meeting.” Even her wardrobe had changed dramatically once she’d quit being Steve’s wife and started being her own person. She’d taken a huge armload of cocktail dresses and tailored suits to a homeless shelter for women after the divorce. It seemed ridiculous at first—what woman fleeing for her life would want a rose chiffon Balenciaga original? But she figured if nothing else, it could be sold on eBay for extra funds.

Despite her closet purge, she still had a few of her very favorite outfits. Should she blow Jake’s mind with her Cynthia Rowley strapless baby-blue satin? Or keep it low-key with kitten heels and an above-the-knee Prada? And why was she worrying about her outfit anyway?

This was a business meeting at a cheap Indian restaurant near LAX. She could wear a t-shirt and flip-flops, and no one would blink.

But her James genes got the best of her, and she wound up choosing form-fitting twill trousers and a boat-neck tee in a luscious shade of oyster pink. Her mother would have insisted she add a string of pearls, but instead, she went with seahorse earrings that always drew compliments. She needed to look approachable in order to get Jake’s sister to speak freely, after all.

Most PIs probably didn’t give this kind of thought to their appearance, but her mother had drilled it into her that first impressions counted for everything. Her clotheshorse past had turned out to be helpful in her PI work.

Especially when a man as intriguing as Jake was involved. Face it, he brought out her feminine side, which she’d been ignoring for the past four years.

On her way out the door, she grabbed her favorite badass black leather jacket. She’d worked hard to become Olivia James, PI. She wasn’t going to backslide now just because Jake had a dimple when he smiled.