The Rogue Read online

  Being nice was definitely not part of their deal. “I’m always nice,” she said demurely.

  The tumbling of glass onto glass nearly drowned out his hoot of laughter.

  Later, she locked the front door of her rented cabin, then set the extra deadbolt that she’d added, then pulled the dresser in front of the door.

  Okay, so maybe she wasn’t quite as worry-free as she liked to pretend. Those notes had unnerved her. Rocky Peak was such a quiet, tucked away little town. Who here would be so nasty?

  With the front door adequately blocked, she sank into her couch. She propped her feet on a pillow to give the poor things some relief. Snagging her laptop from the little end table, which was carved from local wood like everything else in this cozy cabin, she settled in to check for any news.

  Ever since she was thirteen, and her father had left for a business trip and never returned, she’d felt as if half of herself had disappeared with him. How could a grown man simply disappear without any explanation from anyone? It didn’t feel real or right—and since then, nothing else had, either.

  Everyone assumed Frank Riggs had abandoned her, but she knew that couldn’t be true. He loved her, he used to tell her so over and over, especially when she’d cry at the end of the weekend when she had to go back to her mom. “You’re the star of my whole world,” he used to say. “The brightest star in my sky.”

  Who would walk away from their brightest star?

  He was the only person who loved her unconditionally, and after he disappeared she’d gone a little crazy. Got into trouble at school, got kicked out of her mom’s house, managed to claw her way into art school. Maybe because of the mystery around her father, she’d become fascinated with witness sketches. She’d begun her career as a police sketch artist, and still volunteered with her local police when they needed help. But witness sketches had morphed into portrait painting, which paid better.

  And all that time, in the back of her mind, she’d dreamed about some day going in search of her father.

  She scanned through her emails. A possible portrait commission from a senator back in San Francisco. She tapped out an answer to her agent.

  Tell him ‘yes’ as long as he can wait until I get back. And no, I don’t know yet when I’m coming back. It’s called a sabbatical for a reason.

  Nothing from the police department in Seattle, where her father’s last credit card purchase had been made. Nothing from the coroner’s office, either, or the DA, or the local sheriff’s department, or anyone else she’d been pestering for information.

  She switched away from her email and opened Netflix. She knew perfectly well what everyone thought. Frank Riggs had vanished because he wanted to. She was wasting her time. Making a fool of herself.

  Think about something else. Like Griffin Rockwell. Her new bodyguard-type person.

  She’d met Griffin only once, when he’d first returned to Rocky Peak. But she’d seen him on TV, even watched him race. Jake had held a watch party for his last big race. She’d caught a glimpse of his face after he’d taken his helmet off, but still wasn’t quite prepared for the impact of the man in the flesh.

  Griffin Rockwell was hot. Smoking hot. As an artist, she probably should have a more nuanced image of him, but it really came down to “hot.” She appreciated the visual masterpiece of his build, the perfect blend of lean and muscular, the powerful grace with which he moved. Then there was his brooding face, the dark eyes with a hint of green, his sheer and utter magnetism.

  He had a touch of the strong-and-silent going on. A little reserve, but that might be because of whatever “rough time” he was going through. An edge, but that might be from the intense competitiveness of a pro athlete. Some arrogance, based on the way he’d tossed a fifty dollar bill on the bar to cover his glass of water.

  More than a bit of tempting.

  The way she felt about Jake, that they were great friends with no chance of sparks? That definitely didn’t apply to Griffin.

  Which was why this “bodyguard” plan sounded like the kind of trouble she really didn’t need.

  3

  “Couple things you should know about Serena.”

  Griffin frowned over at Jake as he walked on his brother’s left, down the main road that wound through Rocky Peak. His brother sounded nervous.

  “Serena is…well, she’s a great person. But she’s a handful sometimes. She might try to ditch you. As her bodyguard, that is.”

  Jake was interrupted by a man honking from a passing truck. He gave them both a friendly wave, then focused a hard stare on Griffin. “Still taking that break, Rogue?”

  Griffin flashed a thumbs up as the man drove on. Jesus, this town was hardcore.

  “Do you even know who that is?” asked Jake, sounding bemused.

  “No.”

  “That’s the new owner of the hardware store. He’s also the mayor. You’ll probably see him a lot now that you’re helping with the renovations.”

  “Okay. Good to know the mayor’s such a huge former fan.”

  “Everyone is a huge former fan. Get used to it.”

  Griffin winced. Jake squeezed his shoulder in comfort. “They’ll get over it eventually. Unless … maybe it is really just a break?”

  It wasn’t just a break. Of that, he was one hundred percent certain.

  “Anyway,” Jake continued, “if former fans make you uncomfortable, you’ll love hanging around Serena. She could give a crap about motocross—or any sport, really.”

  He gestured up ahead at the tiny cabin where the schoolteacher used to live. “She’s renting that place.”

  “Uh oh. Does she know the legend?”

  “Nope. And don’t tell her, because then she’ll probably burn the place down.”

  “I see what you mean about the ‘handful.’”

  “Yep. Don’t get me wrong, she’s one-of-a-kind. Love her dearly.”

  “Not…” Griffin didn’t know how to ask the question delicately enough. “You’re not dating her?”

  Jake nearly choked on a laugh as the turned onto the narrow driveway that led to the cabin. They had to squeeze past a little Camry. “Hell, no. First of all, she works for me. Second, it’s not like that and never has been.”

  “Why not?” In his view, Serena was a knockout. Not only was she stunning, with that dark red hair and curvy body, but she dished out plenty of sass along with the drinks. He admired that.

  “I don’t know, dude. It just isn’t. Don’t get me wrong, she’s attractive. Anyone can see that. But...no.” He shook his head firmly. “And that’s another thing. Since you’re basically filling in for me, you should stay hands-off too.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that.” The woman didn’t like him, how many times did he need to tell Jake that?

  They reached the front entrance of the little cabin. Jake knocked on the door, while Griffin scoped out the front yard with its unruly alder bushes and concrete birdbath with a naked cupid. “You’re sure I can’t tell her about the legend?”

  “Only if you want to make your life even more difficult.”

  The door swung open and there was Serena, blinking at them as if she’d just woken up. Her hair was a wild rat’s nest of tangled red and her black-rimmed glasses were halfway down her nose. She wore a black ribbed tank top with the words “#BringIt” in white block letters and loose pajama type pants. A light scattering of freckles scattered across her skin like flakes of cinnamon.

  “Jake. Hi. Hey there, Griffin. Sorry, my alarm didn’t go off. Or maybe it did and I threw it in the laundry hamper, I’m not sure.”

  Griffin laughed, a quick snort that drew a look from Jake. That was funny. Didn’t Jake think it was funny?

  “That’s okay. I know we’re on the early side. Griffin has to get back up to the lodge. He has a wall to demolish.”

  “Then let’s make this quick. Want some coffee?” she asked, standing back to let them inside.

  “I’m good. Griff?” Jake asked.

>   “No thanks.” He figured it was best to keep this meeting short. “Jake just wanted to formally introduce us so you know you’re in good hands while he’s gone.”

  She bristled as she stepped over to the tiny kitchen. “Good hands? I don’t need to be in anyone’s hands.”

  Griffin shot his brother a look. Wasn’t that the whole point of this?

  “He means that my job is going to be in good hands,” said Jake quickly. “Remember, like we agreed?”

  Serena opened a cabinet and reached in, revealing the smooth curve of her waist as her tank top rode above her pants. She brought out coffee filters and a bag of beans. She poured some beans into a grinder, then pressed the button.

  With emphasis.

  “I’m glad we’re having this conversation,” she said when the coffee was ground. “So we can set some parameters. What have you told him, Jake?”

  With the coffee maker dripping, she rested her rear against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms across her chest.

  “Nothing. I told you, that’s up to you,” Jake said.

  Behind her glasses, Serena’s eyes glinted with appreciation. What color were they? He couldn’t really tell behind those square black frames.

  “The short version is that there’s someone I managed to piss off—which isn’t unusual, except this time it was completely unintentional and I have no idea who it is.”

  Griffin laughed. Both of them gave him curious looks. He found her funny—so sue him.

  “He or she left some threatening notes, which I’m happy to show you. But since then, nothing else has happened. Personally, I think it’s over, but Jake disagrees and he’s my boss so I have to listen.”

  With an affectionate smile in Jake’s direction, she poured herself a cup of the freshly brewed coffee. Griffin’s mouth watered. The rich fragrance made him wish he hadn’t said no.

  “To sum up,” Serena concluded, “Jake is a champ, but that doesn’t mean my problems have to be a whole family affair.”

  “Have you met the Rockwells?” Griffin said dryly. “We tend to stick together. It comes from growing up in hurricane territory.”

  “Hurricanes in the mountains?”

  “He’s taking about Mad Max,” Jake explained. “Our father.”

  She’d heard all about “Mad Max” in her short time here. Including the fact that he now had a heart condition and was supposed to be avoiding stress.

  “Well, that’s all great, but you don’t need to feel obligated to do anything more than check in now and then. I’ll give you my number and I’ll take yours and Jake can relax and enjoy his mysterious little getaway.”

  Griffin cocked his head at his brother. “Yeah, where are you going, Jakey?” He’d never really said, other than referring vaguely to some kind of reunion. “Why so cagey?”

  “Can’t a guy have any kind of private life around here?” Jake grumbled. “Bunch of frickin’ gossips. You should hear the guys at the firehouse. It’s like they’ve never heard of a vacation before.”

  Griffin exchanged a look with Serena, who was clearly just as entertained by Jake’s reaction as he was.

  That felt good, sharing a normal human moment of amusement with her.

  Which made him realize something. He could hear Serena perfectly well. Every word. Something in the way she spoke, clearly, enunciating everything, in a voice that landed right in the tonal spectrum that still worked for him.

  He shot her a big grin, so relieved by that revelation that he wanted to hug her.

  In a bodyguard kind of way, of course.

  She blinked slightly, then shook it off. “Well, so, I think it’s all settled then, right?” She held her hand out to Griffin. “Phone,” she explained, a little impatiently. “I’ll add my number.”

  He punched in his passcode and handed over his phone, suddenly embarrassed by his screensaver, which was a shot from a GoPro of mud flinging into his face during a training run.

  But she seemed to like it. She stared at it for a long moment, as if analyzing its composition and color balance.

  “Nice,” she finally said. “You take this?”

  “I wouldn’t say that I ‘took’ it. It’s a still from a GoPro video. But I wore the camera.”

  “Very dynamic.” She added her number to his contacts and handed the phone back. “Is that what it’s like on a motocross…um…field?”

  “Course. And yeah, except you’re moving nonstop. Always strategizing. By the end you’re physically and mentally spent.”

  “I saw one of his races once, and afterwards I went looking for him,” said Jake. “Found him flat on his back on the floor of his trailer with a washcloth over his face. He was meditating.”

  “Recharging. Part of my training regimen. You have to release all that tension from a race or it’ll come back to bite you.”

  She was listening with a fascinated expression. “I honestly had no idea it was so challenging. It looks so simple, just going around and around. Doesn’t it get boring? Is that why you retired?”

  Griffin bristled. “It’s never boring.”

  “Some say it’s the most difficult sport in the world,” said Jake. Good old Jake, standing up for his older brother.

  “Oh, maybe that’s why you retired?” Serena sipped her coffee. “Because it’s so difficult.”

  “No.” Why the fuck would she say that? Before he could react any further, he caught the glint in her eye.

  She was trying to goad him into something.

  Well, he could play her game. “The more difficult something is, the more I like it. So it wasn’t that.”

  He heard a muffled snort from Jake’s direction.

  Serena cradled her mug against her chest. Well, against the tempting swell of her breasts, to be precise. Which he was desperately trying to ignore. “If you’re implying that I’m difficult, you’re absolutely right. I’m sure Jake probably mentioned that.”

  Another snort from Jake.

  Serena turned on him.

  “Speaking of difficult, Jake, I heard you say something about ‘making life more difficult’ as I was opening the door. What was that all about?”

  Jake shot Griffin a ‘help me’ glance.

  Since Griffin always had his brother’s back, he answered for him. “It’s an old Rocky Peak legend, takes too long to tell right now, but I promise to fill you in the next time I see you.”

  “Is that supposed to be some kind of bribe to make sure I call you?”

  “Nah. I know you’ll call. You owe it to Jake.” He winked at her, that roguish gesture that used to be his trademark on the circuit.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, and finally he could make out their color. They were a deep umber brown, rich and promising as velvet drapes in a bordello.

  Back on the street, he and Jake walked toward the Last Chance. “I could use a beer,” he told his brother.

  “You don’t drink.”

  “I know. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t use one.”

  “If you’re thinking about backing out—”

  Griffin cut him off. “I’m not.” Absolutely not. He intended to enjoy this job to the max.

  4

  Griffin left Jake at the Last Chance, where he had a little apartment above the bar, with a spectacular view of mountain peaks. Then again, everywhere you looked in Rocky Peak there was beauty. He could appreciate it on one level, but at the same time, he spent much of his time here braced for a bad memory. They lurked behind every corner—like the spot where he used to catch the bus to the regional consolidated high school. Or the guardrail that marked the spot where his mother had driven off the road when he was fifteen.

  He took that road now, speeding through the curves that wound up toward Rocky Peak Lodge at a good fifteen miles over the limit. Not only did he have complete faith in his driving skills, but no officer around here would give him a ticket for speeding. They’d be more likely to ask for his autograph.

  Well, maybe not anymore. Maybe now they’d wr
ite him a ticket for overly speedy retiring.

  The lodge appeared like a floating castle at the end of the road, a sprawling chalet-style structure with wings added in a haphazard manner over the years. Besides the main building, there were guesthouses with peaked roofs, a barn-like building that housed firefighting equipment and a ladder truck, and a garage for the lodge’s many four-wheelers and other rigs.

  Home sweet home. Make that—home bittersweet home. Like most of his siblings, he’d left right out of high school. The drive to get out and make his name, to start burning up race courses had thundered through his system like a ten alarm siren.

  Max, who’d wanted him to play football, ignored motocross until Griffin had started winning the big races. Then he’d become the golden son, the one his father boasted about to the lodge guests.

  Now he was ranting about Griffin quitting motocross. Sure was hard to make the man happy.

  As he zoomed into the gravel front lot of the lodge, he spotted his older brother in an intense convo with the contractor. Kai was gesturing at the east wing of the lodge, which was the most rundown. It looked like a heated conversation, which didn’t surprise Griffin one bit. Kai was the fiery one in the family. Isabelle could give him a run for his money, but she wasn’t home yet so Kai took that honor.

  Griffin strolled over to join the conversation, which was about the long-needed renovations of the lodge. The place had been founded almost a hundred years ago by old Burt Rockwell, their great-grandfather. Some sections had gotten barely any attention since then. The Rockwell family itself could never afford all the repairs that were needed, but Nicole Davidson, Kai’s fiancee, had found a silent investor to pitch in.

  “People come here for the view,” Kai was saying. “If we need triple pane windows, that’s what we do. If we need to add more structural support, that’s what we do. But that old rabbit warren style has got to go. Back me up here, Griff.”

  Griffin nodded. “Except in the ski room. I wouldn’t change anything there. It’s classic.”

  “Fine. We leave the ski room as is, with some better air circulation. It still smells like wet wool from thirty years ago.”