SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club #4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,4

tracing the lines of his palms, stroking the blue veins on the tops, lacing their fingers together because…

Because he was hers.

Now, though he was married, she didn’t see a ring. But many men didn’t wear them and she had to wonder if police detectives were prohibited from jewelry on the job? He had a smartwatch strapped around his wrist—of course he did—but there were no other embellishments available to her eye.

The Maddox Kelly she’d known would never have approved of a tattoo for himself and she suspected that remained true. What else about him hadn’t—

“I assume you won’t be here for long,” he said, his back turned away from her.

“Not even going to unpack my bags,” she declared, a promise she’d made to herself when she decided on this visit. Her mother’s explanation of the odd goings-on at farms in the area had sounded an alarm, and when she considered the age of her grandfather and his distrust of authority, she’d realized her concern wouldn’t quiet without a quick trip to assess things for herself.

“I’ll bet you’ll find things very different after six years.”

“I’ve been here before,” she said, and immediately wished the words back.

He straightened, then released the jack to bring the car back in complete contact with the road. When he still didn’t react to her comment, she crossed her arms over her chest and tucked her hands in the crooks of her elbows. Of course there was no reason to believe he’d care she’d made those stealth visits—twice.

Though it made her feel stupid for working so hard to avoid Mad and anyone who might report that she’d spent a few nights with her mother and grandparents.

At the loud clang of her trunk closing, she jumped.

Mad wiped his hands on a handkerchief, then folded it to hide the soiled side and slid it into his back pocket. “So this is probably a goodbye as well as a hello,” he said, his voice without inflection.

“Right.”

“Nevada plates,” he said next.

“Right again.” Not for a million dollars would she tell him she’d been living in Vegas for the past eighteen months, sharing rent with another fellow teacher she’d met in Seoul, who’d also got her a job bartending at an off-strip joint.

It paid okay and allowed her mom to visit fairly often.

Which was how she’d figured out something was going on at the farm her grandfather had owned and worked since 1968. When she’d invited her mother for a long weekend, Rebecca Hill had confessed to being uncomfortable leaving Grandpop and Grandmom alone even for that short of time. Harper had gone into worry overdrive, thinking the older couple might be having health issues, but her mom had admitted that while they were as hearty as ever, Harper’s grandfather had been grumbling about petty thievery.

Of course, his old hippie self still distrusted authority, so he’d eschewed contacting law enforcement. Harper’s mom wasn’t even sure whether the stuff that had gone missing wasn’t actually mislaid or possibly just the usual case of some farm implements walking away with seasonal workers. It wasn’t unexpected or really worth pursuing.

Harper had decided to check the situation out for herself, though, the whole while keeping her head down.

Her bags packed.

Her car gassed up.

With a stilted thank you for Mad, she jumped back into the driver’s seat. She adjusted the rearview mirror and caught sight of the man climbing into his own vehicle, tall, lean, handsome. Why had he matured so well, she thought on a sigh.

And why hadn’t she matured enough to forget about him?

Blinking away another round of annoying tears, she reminded herself this would be over soon. No lasting harm would be done, especially if she kept her head down, her bags packed, her car gassed up.

She turned the key. The engine made a whiny kind of protest, then caught. Pushing on the accelerator, the decrepit sedan seemed to stumble forward. Her hand slipped on the wheel, and the horn bleated like a stubborn goat kicked in the ass.

With her attention now grimly on the road ahead, Harper had to wonder.

If her vehicle would make it to her grandparents’ house.

And if she could depend upon it to make her near-future escape from Sawyer Beach.

Chapter Two

The ocean at her back, Harper drove east, into the foothills rising above the town of Sawyer Beach. Her grandfather, Eugene Hill, had dropped out of college—UC Berkeley—in the 1960s and taken his trust fund south along with a bevy of like-minded friends and acquaintances and others they’d picked up