Renegade. Kaitlyn Rice
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People don’t request a novice.”
“Who knows?” her mother said. “Just be careful, love.”
Right. Just be careful. Solid parenting advice, but not a reason for refusal. Tracy looked at her watch again, and felt her heart take off after the cornflakes.
Ten minutes left.
She swallowed. “He flirts with me,” she stated softly.
Her mother tilted her head. “How so?”
Tracy sighed. “The way a man flirts with a woman.”
Her mother’s frown returned as she began to place the folded clothes back in the basket. “Well, he always liked you, but I wouldn’t flirt back.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m just glad you’re here and not your sister.”
Right. Tracy was the trustworthy sister. She was the one Riley might tease but would never touch.
“Will Karen care that he’s here?” Tracy wondered aloud.
“I doubt it,” her mother said. “She told me she’s been seeing a marriage counselor. She’s trying to change.”
“She is.” Tracy was skeptical.
“Yes, and as your dad said, it’s ancient history.”
There it was again. The phrase they were all associating with Riley—ancient history. He couldn’t harm her because the harm he’d caused was a long time ago. He shouldn’t upset her because everyone deserved a second chance. He wouldn’t seduce her because she wasn’t the sister he’d seduced before. Tracy knew that’s what they were really saying.
But she also knew Riley would affect her in some profound way she didn’t want affected. And whether anyone said it or not, Riley Collins wasn’t ancient history anymore.
While that worried Tracy plenty, it also pleased some mixed-up inner need in her soul. The fact that he was the hottest man she’d seen in a while was the most troubling realization of all.
Without bothering to check the time, Tracy slipped on her shoes and kissed her mother’s cheek. Judging from the sorry state of her nervous system, it was time to go.
KIRKWOOD’S LARGEST employer was the university, and its biggest claim to fame was the man-made lake and campgrounds nestled in the hills near its northern edge. A constantly rotating collection of college students and university staff ensured a steady economy, but most of the businesses had moved away from downtown to the trendier East Side.
Tracy was familiar with the address Riley had given her. The office space was generous, and it was situated between a pet-grooming shop and an insurance agency. The previous occupant had sold holdover items from the sixties—tie-dyed shirts, incense and hand-dipped candles—before packing up and heading to places unknown.
As Tracy pulled into the parking spot closest to the blacked-out door of the vacated Hippie Hut, she wondered at the absence of Riley’s motorcycle. A chime announced her arrival as soon as she opened the door, but a large light table three feet inside blocked her path. She couldn’t get through unless she got down on her knees and squeezed through a narrow opening underneath the desk.
Even then, successful entry was questionable. Beyond the light table, file cabinets were stacked side by side along the floor. Faint tones of a Pink Floyd song filtered in from somewhere in the background, but Tracy detected no other sounds to give away Riley’s whereabouts.
“Anyone here?” she called, keeping one hand on the door. If he didn’t greet her within twenty seconds, she’d have her excuse to leave. She could explain to Booker that the client was obviously not serious about hiring her services, and get on with her life.
“I’m in back,” Riley said from beyond the chaos.
“I can’t get through.”
“Right. I’ll come to you.”
Tracy set her brand-new leather briefcase on the table and tried not to notice the disarray. Office organization was her particular area of expertise and Booker’s main reason for hiring her. As much as she hated to admit it, she could do this part of the job.
After a moment, she was startled by the repeat of the door chime behind her. She turned around and noted the jeans and red T-shirt Riley had donned for this meeting. Except for the green bandana he’d wrapped around his head, this version of Riley wasn’t vastly different from the teenager she’d known so well.
“Guess you’ll have to come this way,” he said, turning to head back out the door.
She followed him across the storefronts. He strode past the pet-grooming shop without noticing the patron exiting its door, but the woman’s appreciative smile—she’d doubtless noticed Riley’s inarguably buff backside—was enough to make Tracy miss a step. Two miniature schnauzers on matching pink leashes tugged the woman along, and Tracy paused to let the trio trot past.
Riley turned at the opening to an alleyway. When he leaned against the redbrick wall of the building to wait for her, she caught a flash of gold underneath the green cloth. An earring?
He’d transformed to pirate. When she reached his side, he furthered the impression by staring boldly at her with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Only an eye patch, a sword and jug of ale would be necessary to complete the picture.
“How long till you open for business?” she asked as she waited for him to stop staring and start walking.
“Two months, max,” he answered. “I’d like to be set up and operating by midsummer, but I need to hire a crew.”
“Take your time,” she advised. “Two months would be barely enough time to shape up your…uh, ship.”
“Then you’d better work fast.” Riley pushed away from the wall and started down the alley.
He definitely had a stud in one ear. The bandana held his hair back from his face to reveal it. Image coaching might not be Tracy’s greatest strength, but Booker had sent her to classes. She could handle that, too.
The sound of a big dog’s bark caught her attention, and Tracy glanced back toward the front of the alley. She shivered, aware that she and Riley were alone in the shadowed space.
Her attraction to him was undeniable.
When the alley opened onto a back lot full of trash bins and parked cars, Tracy felt a mixture of regret and relief. She knew she shouldn’t relish being alone with him, but the walk had reminded her of the many childhood adventures he’d shared with her. Some days it might be a ring-neck snake they discovered under a rock, other days a fort he’d built in the woods, but she’d often been pulled along behind Riley as he led the way to some new discovery. She’d always felt protected.
Tracy hadn’t felt that way for a long, long time. These days, she was the strong one. Devoted mother, thoughtful daughter, hardworking employee and sympathetic friend.
Noting the gleaming motorcycle Riley had parked near a dented purple delivery door, Tracy wasn’t surprised when he pulled that door open. He stepped out of the way but kept his arm stretched over the doorway so she’d have to enter beneath his arm.
Was he toying with her? Ignoring the notion, she stepped under his arm into a long room that smelled like sandalwood. This must have been the previous occupant’s storeroom.
Riley scooped a pile of folders off a computer chair and tossed them on the floor. “Have a seat,” he said.
With her mind on making a professional appearance, Tracy sat down and crossed her legs at the ankles, then slammed both feet flat on the floor when the chair began to roll across the smooth tile. She’d scarcely regained her equilibrium, when she remembered she’d left her briefcase around front, on the light table.
Yesterday she’d given up six months’ clothing budget and her entire lunch hour to shop for the case. She’d wanted to appear credible when she turned down