“It’s complicated, Mr. Mills.”
He laughs at me, throwing his own words back in his face.
“I’ve had nightmares since I witnessed my father's murder.” I don’t know why I say it. I don’t typically offer that information to anyone, let alone an assignment of mine. But for some reason, that information feels safe in his hands. Which is what scares me the most.
Owen’s laughter instantly dies, and he narrows his gaze on the road. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you saw it.”
“I couldn’t save him,” I whisper back, the tears I rarely allow to the surface threatening to spill.
He reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing it. He doesn’t let go, and I don’t pull away. His rough calluses scrape along the softer skin of my palm, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
After a few moments, he breaks the silence. “I don’t sleep because I’m afraid. I fill most nights with women and drinking because it makes me feel less alone. Less scared.”
“What are you afraid of?” I ask sincerely.
“Losing everything I’ve built. Losing the few people that matter to me.”
“You aren’t afraid for yourself?” I dare to ask because I want to know if he suspects he’ll be caught eventually for what he’s suspected of. A small part of me, though,needsto know for reasons I haven’t yet determined.
He doesn’t hesitate. “No. Whatever happens to me doesn’t matter as long as everything else is protected.”
Shit.
This man. This selfless, stupid man.
I squeeze his hand back. “Why would you lose everything?” I feign innocence, though I already know the answer.
He doesn’t answer my question for a long time as he swerves around tight curves, hugging the coast. The motion almost lulls me to sleep, and I finally register the months of little rest and what it’s doing to me. I’m good at ignoring it, though, and right now I want to know his answer, so I force myself to stay awake.
“Because power and money are fleeting, Miss Riley. Neither of those lasts forever.”
It isn’t the answer I am expecting, but somehow it doesn’t surprise me. How easily we forget that those things are fleeting. How little the money and power mean when they can easily be taken away. But I don’t think he means just that. I think he knows eventually he’ll be caught, and he doesn’t want every good deed he’s done to go down with him.
My heart constricts.
He pulls into an empty parking lot, everything still pitch-black outside. In the headlights, I can make out a small swath of redwoods surrounding the area. A small building along the edge of the trees looks to be a bathroom,and possibly a welcome center, but both are pitch-black. No lights are visible.
When he stops the car, he releases my hand, his hand flexing as he pulls it away. “Ready?”
What a loaded question. I’m not sure I’m ready for any of this. Especially not him.
I nod, and he pushes the door open, walking to the trunk of the car and pulling out a backpack and two flashlights. He turns on both and hands one to me.
“We can watch the sun rise from the sea cliffs then make our way through the old growth forest on the way back,” he explains, shutting the trunk, the noise echoing through the desolate parking lot. The distant crashing of the waves is the only other sound.
I smile. “Lead the way.”
He doesn’t turn right away and instead searches my face in the indirect glow from the flashlights. “I’m glad I hired you, Miss Riley.”
He doesn’t wait for a response, seeming afraid that I will say the opposite. Instead, he heads through the dark parking lot, aiming for a small opening between the trees marking the beginning of the trail.
I swallow thickly, and it hits me what I’m doing to him and myself. I’ve gotten too close to my mark. I’m in too deep. But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t even think I want to. My instincts should be telling me to run. They should be warning me to put space between us. But they are oddly silent. Content almost.
I race to catch up, and we both slip through the forest in the pitch-black. The typical San Francisco fog remains offshore, but moisture clings to the branches of the trees, raining a light mist on our heads. The damp air, combined with the trees, creates an intoxicating smell, and I find myself taking deep breaths. The first ones I’ve had in a long while. The whole time,Owen doesn’t say a word but copies my breathing, and a slight grin paints his lips.
We walk in companionable silence until we reach the cliffs. Water pounds against the rock below us, much louder now. The sky is already beginning to lighten, turning it from black to a dark blue. The city twinkles in the distance, its light blotting out many of the stars above.
We sit on the tall grass and silently watch as the sky brightens further. The colors shift from blue to every pastel shade one could imagine. Time continues, neither of us speaking. As the colors fade, I finally turn my attention to Owen.
