Deputy Emery’s squad car was parked in front of his house, which didn’t sit very far from anything in River Bend . . . and Ziggy noticed the moment JoAnne sat her firm little ass in a broken-down bar stool at Sam’s.
He socked away the fact his wife was talking to that bitch to use another time.
It was cold for late August, which gave Ziggy a reason to wear a dark coat to match the early dusk of night, and gloves. Well, the gloves were overkill, but if someone saw him, they wouldn’t look at him as if he were wearing shorts in twelve-degree weather.
He didn’t like the quiet of the town until he needed to hear every bark and whisper.
His senses heightened, and he worked his way to the house he’d seen but never been in. Nice little tucked away home. Perfect for his needs.
Ziggy had learned a few things in prison.
The art of disguise in case someone did see you. It wasn’t hard to darken up his beard or wear a hat. A wig under the hat was a little hard to manage, but there were plenty of old women in River Bend who took advantage of the farmers’ market, leaving their homes free for the picking. Alcohol wasn’t a score there, but the occasional trinket could be, though Ziggy refrained from lifting petty things and having the town alerted to a thief.
Adrenaline heightened his senses and forced Ziggy to concentrate.
Breaching the door of Wyatt Gibson wasn’t difficult. Because Ziggy had learned a few lessons, he made sure a mask was firmly in place when he was inside the walls of the house.
It didn’t take long to find the liquor cabinet or a few water bottles. He reverted back to a teenager, making sure if it was noticed that someone had been in the house, they’d think it was a kid and not an adult.
Liquor went into the plastic water bottles, and enough water was put into the liquor bottles to mask the absence to the casual observer.
He filled his pockets, put the bottles back, and exited the house in less than ten minutes. Once he was tucked back into the trees, he walked the half a mile to the road to his trailer and ditched his disguise behind a fallen log. No use keeping that stuff in the house.
When he arrived home it was completely dark.
He turned on the TV and opened one of the water bottles.
And for the first time since he’d been out, he poured a shot of whiskey down his throat.
It burned.
And like every taste of freedom, it left him hungry for more.
Zoe worked a little harder, a little lighter on her feet at Nahana, knowing the days she’d be there were dwindling down to only a handful.
She’d had a conversation with Chef Monroe, the poster child for celebrity chef. When she’d told him she was giving up Nahana, he’d congratulated her. When she’d told him she was working throughout the summer and into early fall to keep Nahana lucrative while they found a replacement, Monroe had laughed at her.
“You’re wasting your time.”
“Oh?”
“You’re too soft, Brown. They will use you until you walk. Be a bitch like all the rest of us and move on.”
“That’s not part of my DNA,” she’d told him.
Monroe gave her ten more minutes of shit and promised to dine with her the next time she was in New York.
When she returned home from her shift, she kicked off her shoes and grabbed the phone.
She shared her day with Luke and listened to him talk about his. Yes, Miss Gina was doing well . . . no, there was nothing on the Brown home front. He said something about Zane being seen on the track with Jo but didn’t have anything to add other than the he was seen gossip.
By the time she hung up the phone, Zoe decided it was just a little too quiet for her tastes.
The walls of her apartment were starting to squeeze in on her and feel like a foreign place where she didn’t belong.
She looked up her lease paperwork and then turned her attention to a calendar. That would work out perfect.
The pounding on Luke’s door before the sun rose had him grumbling, grabbing his bathrobe, and yelling en route to the front door, “What the hell is the—” His words faded.
Zoe stood in his doorway, suitcase in hand.
“W-what are you . . . ?”
Zoe dropped her case and smiled.
“I’m not moving in with you.”
Luke’s eyes dropped to her suitcase. Her large suitcase that had to have more than a few days’ worth of clothes.
Her words started a slow dance in his brain.
“You’re not?”
She bit her bottom lip. “I’m living at Miss Gina’s. Mel’s old room.”
He felt his breath start to come, each inhale right on top of another, as if he were running.
“You are?”
“For six months, give or take.”
“Give or take?”
“And I have to fly back to Texas a few times in the next couple of months. Finish my time at Nahana.”
“That sounds reasonable.” Sweet Jesus . . . she was back. His baby was back. He kept his smile firmly in his eyes. “But you’re not moving in with me.”
The seriousness of her face made him want to laugh.
He didn’t dare.
“Of course not. People will talk.” She turned on her heel and strutted back to his driveway.
In it sat a four-wheel drive, brand-new Land Rover with paper plates. “What’s this?”
She opened the passenger side door. “Well, I’m not buying a house, and I need a car while I’m here.”
He couldn’t hold it in any longer.
Luke walked behind her, swiveled her shoulder until she faced him. “Welcome home, baby.” And he kissed her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Word of Zoe moving back to River Bend spread like wildfire. She insisted it was temporary, a place to make a shift in her life . . . help Miss Gina to regroup at the inn after a year of turning away guests for fear something would happen to Hope. No one believed Zoe would be going anywhere.
“I think this calls for a party,” Miss Gina said from the front porch.
“We just had a wedding.” Mel was back from Fiji, tan, rested, and very sexed.
Hope was still in San Francisco, soaking up some serious grandparent time before school started in a week.
The phone to the inn rang, and Mel answered with the handset. “Miss Gina’s Bed-and-Breakfast. Yes, this is the place.” Mel held her hand over the mouthpiece and said in a hushed voice, “Another one.”
Zoe shook her head with a smile.
“For the next two months Miss Brown will be in our kitchen the first and the third weekend of the month.”
Miss Gina patted Zoe’s hand as they all listened to a one-sided conversation between Mel and a future guest.
“Before the holiday? I’m going to have to consult with the staff and get back to you on that.”
Zoe moved a thumb between herself and Miss Gina and mouthed the question, “Are we the staff?”
She nodded.
Mel had a pen and paper ready, along with the guest register. “And what name am I putting down for this reservation?”
“It sounds like you’re going to have a busy season,” Zoe said.