Money Shot (18 page)

“I’m glad.”

Goose headed for the door. Then, hand on the knob, she turned. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“Does Yarrow ever talk about Einar?”

Lila cocked her head. “You mean does she talk to me about her feelings for him?”

Goose lifted her brows. Lila might play at New Age earth mother, but not much got past her. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

“No. She doesn’t talk about it and I don’t pry. Our Lady didn’t lay out an easy path for that child. It’s not my story to tell, but she’s healing up here. I hope she’ll come to me when she’s ready.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Goose swallowed back a sudden lump of remembered anguish and pressed forward. “Do you trust Einar to keep her safe on your behalf? Do you trust him that much?”

Lila held her gaze for a long tense moment. “He’s my blood.”

A nonanswer, Goose thought, and it fed the embers of concern glowing inside her.

“Talk to her about him,” Goose urged. “If you haven’t yet, please do. If there’s nothing to worry about, you won’t have hurt anybody. But if there is—”

Lila crossed the space between them and deliberately took Goose’s cold hand between her two warm ones. She stood frozen while Lila studied her, their palms clasped loosely together. It was an oddly intimate sensation, and yet not invasive. A touch. A tender, almost motherly connection. When was the last time somebody had touched her like this? The last time anybody had tried? Certainly her own mother hadn’t.

Finally Lila said, “There’s so much darkness trapped inside you, dear. Sorrow and rage and hurt. Love and desire are twisted up in there, too, but even they have dark, sharp edges.” She released Goose’s hand and said gently, “Perhaps if you let some of it go, you’d have an easier time telling the difference between what’s inside you and what’s outside.”

“I—” Goose broke off, swallowed. Was that true? Was she projecting what was inside her, her own pain, her own past, onto Yarrow and Einar? She shook her head. She couldn’t worry about that. Couldn’t yank out everything inside her to examine it every time her gut raised a red flag. “If I’m wrong, I’ll be embarrassed and sincerely apologetic,” she told Lila. “But what if I’m right? Could you live with yourself if you didn’t take every opportunity to protect a child under your care?”

“That’s why I’m saying this,” Lila said serenely. “You’re not a child and you’re not mine, but somebody needs to care for you. You’re carrying a terrible burden, dear. An old burden. Don’t you think it’s time to put it down?”

“How?” The word escaped her, almost involuntarily. How could she possibly put down everything she’d carried all these years?

“Both my nephews were looking at you with a very masculine appreciation last night,” Lila said. “Take your pick. That might help. Or don’t pick. Take them both. Whatever works.”

At Goose’s openmouthed stare, Lila gave a light laugh. “We’re a very sex-positive religion, dear. The who, how many or how many at a time is completely up to you. But sex and love are a gift from Our Lady. Your body, your passions, should be a source of pleasure. It’s not natural for a woman as young and beautiful as you are to feel so old and tired inside.”

Goose thought about Rush’s kiss and everything in her flashed hot. “I don’t feel old or tired right now,” she said slowly.

“No, I picked up on that, and it’s a nice start. But you’re still blocked.” Lila’s smile spread. “Finish the job, dear. You’ll feel better. And more to the point, you’ll see so much more clearly. Both yourself, and those around you.”

 

YARROW SCRUBBED at her eyes as she stumbled into the kitchen. Lila had a hot pot of something black as midnight on the table and Yarrow poured herself a generous cup. It might taste like boiled weeds but it was hot and strong and caffeinated. Which was ideal because she hadn’t slept for shit last night. Not with the electricity of her little chat with Einar still kicking around her system.

She smiled into her cup. Maybe she was reading into things. Maybe she was an idiot for imagining Einar thought of her as anything other than his perennially fucked-up little cousin. It hardly mattered. Last night was the first decent thing that had happened to her in months. The only ray of light in the endless night of future. And until Einar himself disabused her of the notion, she was going to enjoy the hell out of it.

She hummed as she tied on her apron. Lila had already churned out a day’s worth of baked goods and breads, filling a bakery rack by the kitchen door. Yarrow pulled in a greedy lungful of butter and sugar fumes. This island might be at the ass end of the earth, but there were a few perks. Lila could
bake
.

She slid the tray from the rack and backed through the swinging door from the kitchen into the dining room. She headed for the counter, ready to load the pastries into the glass-fronted display case, but stopped short when she heard the one voice that could cut through a happiness this pure.

Agent Smiley Face said, “Lila, I’m not here to—”

“Of course you’re not,” Lila said.

“But you just said I should—”

“My opinion only.” Lila folded Goose’s hands into hers with a benevolent smile. “Do whatever feels right to you. Blessed be, child.”

Lila gave Goose’s cheeks the ritual pecks that always went with the “blessed be” then swirled toward the kitchen. Yarrow sidestepped to make way, only to receive her own cheek pecks.

“Up already?” Lila said. “And at work, too? Good girl.”

Then Lila was gone, leaving Yarrow and her deflated mood alone with Agent di Guzman. She turned to the bakery case and started filling it as if she were completely alone. Then there was a gentle throat clearing at the counter.

Crap. Could nobody on this island take a hint?

“Yarrow?”

“What?”

“Any chance I could get a loaf of that sourdough?”

Yarrow snatched up a tissue paper from the dispenser box on the counter, grabbed out a round little boule of sourdough and shoved it into a brown bag. She tossed it onto the counter with a swing that might’ve done an Olympic discus thrower proud. Goose caught it before it could bounce away.

“Five-fifty,” Yarrow said.

Goose held out the money instead of putting it on the counter. Yarrow eyed her silently for just long enough to be insulting, then sighed dramatically and reached for the money. If Agent Smiley Face wanted another little taste of Yarrow’s brand of crazy, she was welcome to it. She focused the blackness inside her to a crude shiv of anger and hate and put it all in her eyes, in the palm of the hand she reached toward the happy, shiny agent.

Goose put the money into her hand, but she didn’t flinch at the contact like she had yesterday. Like most people did. This time she only smiled, though it was a little bent around the edges.

“Why so sad, Yarrow?” she asked softly.

“I’m not sad,” Yarrow said as a quick pulse of shock chased itself through her system. Was she? She fought the urge to pull back, to cover herself as if Goose had walked in on her naked. Being seen was being seen, though. That was something. Still, she glared at Goose over their joined hands. “I just hate you.”

“For what?” Goose asked. She didn’t back away from Yarrow’s touch.

“For wanting what’s mine.”

“I don’t want what’s yours. I just want to help you—”

“Then go the fuck away.”

IT WAS only ten A.M. but Rush had been on trail for five-plus hours already. He hadn’t slept much after his little throw-down with Goose last night, and as soon as it wasn’t technically the middle of night anymore, he’d strapped on the snowshoes and gotten hiking.

He did his best thinking while his body was busy, one of his primary reasons for taking this job in the first place. He’d given the matter some serious thought as his breath sawed in and out, his brain moving in time to the shuss of his feet, and he’d concluded that while his timing maybe sucked—and what else was new—his content was right on.

There was a war raging inside Goose. Rush knew that. He’d sensed it in that first desperate kiss, and he’d sensed it again last night. Instinct and passion and
yes
wrecked themselves against reason and control and
no
, like waves crashing onto the rocky shore. And all Rush could do was sit on the sidelines and cheer like hell for
yes
. Because while there was nothing he wanted more than to wade into the battle himself, Rush knew a thing or two about facing down personal demons. This was a fight Goose had to tackle alone.

Which was exactly what he’d told her last night. So while his delivery was probably regrettable, he stood by everything he’d said. He squinted through the trees at the smoke twirling cheerfully from the Ranger Station chimney. That was no banked fire. That was a nice, warm-your-hands blaze, which meant Goose was home, feeding the fire and waiting to yell at him. Which meant he’d be getting the chance to repeat himself sooner rather than later.

He broke into an eager jog—damn, he had it bad—but stopped the instant he broke the tree line. Anticipation shifted abruptly to foreboding. Goose’s snowshoes weren’t in the snowbank. She wasn’t here. But judging from that thick curl of smoke coming from the chimney, somebody was.

His hand was curled around the butt of the SIG in his pocket before he was even conscious of stripping off his glove. He melted back into the trees and circled around until he could approach the cabin from behind. He edged along the outer wall, careful to keep a silent inch between his jacket and the rough wood. He wrapped his off hand around the doorknob and slipped into his own house on silent feet, his finger utterly steady where it lay beside the trigger.

“Einar.” Rush shoved his gun back into his pocket and glared at his cousin, squatting in front of the woodstove with a sly grin. Adrenaline crashed uselessly through his system. “One of these days I really am going to shoot you.”

Einar laughed.

“Seriously. You need to start knocking.” Rush gave the fire Einar was poking a dark look. “You might consider waiting for an invitation before coming in, too.”

Einar ignored that. He tossed the stick into the flames and closed the stove door.

“You still make a nice fire,” he said as Rush slapped the door shut behind him. “The coals were banked exactly right. Took me like three seconds and a handful of kindling to bring’er back.” He grinned. “Grandpa would be proud of you.”

“I didn’t bank it.” Rush peeled out of his jacket and hung it on a peg by the door. “Goose did.”

Einar laughed. “Some woman you got there, Rush.”

Rush ignored that and hung up his backpack. He didn’t have Goose. Not yet. He would eventually. He didn’t doubt that. But there was some rough ground to cover between here and there. He chucked his damp hat and gloves on the floor in front of the stove to dry, then moved into the kitchen and rattled around in the cupboards.

“What are you doing here, Einar?” he asked, peeling a coffee filter off the stack and sticking it into the machine. He kept his eyes carefully away from the spare bedroom. Goose’s room.

“She’s not here,” Einar said, a thread of amusement into his voice. “I already looked.”

Rush scowled, shoved the pot under the drip and punched the brew button. He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more—that Einar was looking for Goose, or that he himself couldn’t walk through a doorway without looking for her, too. Even when he knew full well she wasn’t there. “Who?”

Einar helped himself to a bar stool. Front-row seats, Rush thought. “Goose,” he said. “The woman whose very name is apparently enough to have you pacing around your own house like a bear in the zoo.”

Rush slammed a drawer shut, then caught himself.

Einar laughed. “It’s that good, huh?”

“What is?”

“The sex.”

Rush went very still. “What makes you think I’m having sex with her?”

“Rush, please. I was like four feet from the two of you last night and I swear the heat nearly singed my eyebrows off.”

Rush treated him to a stoic silence and Einar sighed. Theatrically. “I know she doesn’t think you’re really gunning for the governor. And I’m pretty sure that while the Secret Service has its fingers in a lot of pies, they don’t actually care if a couple of rogue pagans off a few house cats by the light of the full moon. And yet, she remains on-island, and shows not one sign of departing anytime soon. So I’m forced to conclude that either she’s conducting a super-double-secret investigation or she’s a slave to your mind-blowing sexual prowess.”

It wasn’t a question, and Rush didn’t treat it like one. He wasn’t great with words but knew better than to answer a question nobody had actually asked.

Einar sighed again. “So? What’s the story?”

“No story.” Rush carefully blanked his face and met Einar’s eyes with nothing in his own. “She’ll stay till she gets what she needs, I guess.”

“I thought you were giving it to her,” Einar said, a wicked twinkle in his eye. Rush spent the ensuing beat of silence debating the merits of putting his fist through his cousin’s pretty, gleaming teeth. Einar’s brows rose slowly. “Oh my God. You’re not getting any? Seriously?”

“Any what?” Rush growled. He knew perfectly well
what
, but he’d be damned if he’d do any of Einar’s talking for him.

“Sex.”

“From who?”

“You really want me to say her name again? You almost tore the cupboard off the hinges last time.”

Rush poured himself a cup of coffee with tightly controlled motions.

“Listen, Rush, I know you don’t like to talk about the woo-woo stuff of our childhood, but your balances are all out of whack here. Light, dark. Good, bad. Positive, negative.” He shook his head, as if filled with pity. “You need to get laid, buddy.”

Rush let the comment pass in silence. He would love—truly love—to get laid, but he wasn’t discussing it with Einar.