Almost Just Friends Read online

  He shrugged. “Being able to defend yourself is smart.”

  “You know I was just kidding about the pen thing, right?”

  He cocked his head and studied her. “Were you?”

  About the killing Jenna thing, yeah. But not about knowing how to do it with a pen. And yet no one had ever, not once, called her out on that threat as being real.

  “Your dad military?” he asked.

  “Was. He’s gone now.”

  He gave a single nod, his eyes saying he got it at a core level. “I’m sorry.”

  She supposed it was his genuine and clearly understanding reaction that had her doing something she rarely did—saying more, unprompted. “We lived overseas in some seriously sketchy places. He made sure I knew how to defend myself and my siblings.”

  He gave another nod, this one in approval, and it had her taking a second look at him, at the calm, steady gaze that withheld any personal thoughts, at the way he sat at rest, but with a sense of tightly harnessed power. And then there was his build, which suggested he could handle whatever situation arose. “You were military too.”

  He studied her right back for a long beat, assessing. “Still am.”

  When he didn’t say anything else, she arched a brow, waiting for more, but it didn’t come. “Let me guess,” she said. “It’s a secret. If you told me, you’d have to kill me.”

  The very corners of his eyes crinkled. She was either annoying him or amusing him. “I’m actually a DEA agent,” he said. “But also Coast Guard.”

  “How do you do both?”

  “I was active duty for twelve years. Been in the Reserve for two. My DEA job schedule allows for the times I’m in training, activated, or deployed.”

  Man. She thought her parents had lived dangerous lives. This guy had them beat. And considering what had happened to her mom and dad, she decided then and there that she had less than zero interest in him, no matter how curious she might be. Because seriously, where was a hot easygoing surfer when you needed one? “How often does any of that happen? The training, activation, or deployment?”

  “My unit trains three days a month in Virginia. We get activated at will. Deployed less often, but it happens.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal that he put his life on hold at what she assumed was short notice to go off to save the world.

  “The DEA doesn’t mind you leaving at the drop of a hat?”

  “They knew that when they signed me on. I had the skill sets they needed.”

  “And what skill sets are those?”

  He gave her another of those looks, and she smiled. “Right. Now we’re at the ‘you’d tell me, but then you’d have to kill me’ part.”

  With a maybe-amused, maybe-bemused shake of his head, he lifted his drink in her direction. “Happy birthday, Piper.”

  She blew out a sigh. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He gave a very small snort. “You’re really not a fan of birthdays.”

  “No. Or parties.”

  “I’m getting that.” He was looking at her list again, and she put a hand on the journal to prevent him from flipping to the next page, which was even more revealing, and braced herself for the inevitable comment about the getting-laid thing.

  But he surprised her. “It’s way too cold in Alaska,” he said. “If that were my list, I’d be aiming for a South Pacific island.”

  “Preferably deserted?”

  He met her gaze. “Maybe not completely deserted.”

  Her stomach did a weird flutter, and that scared her. She didn’t want to feel stomach flutters, not for this guy. “If you’re flirting with me,” she said slowly, “you should know I’m not interested.”

  “Good thing, then, that I’m not flirting with you.”

  How crazy was it that she felt just the teeniest bit disappointed? Plus, she didn’t know how to respond. Reading social cues was not her strong suit. Feeling awkward, which was nothing new for her, she slid off her barstool and tucked her journal into her rain jacket pocket, surprised to realize they were still surrounded by people, her people, along with music and talking and laughter, and yet . . . for the past few minutes it’d felt like they’d been all alone.

  “You out?” he asked.

  “I think it’s best if I call it a night.”

  He rubbed his jaw again, and the sound his stubble made did something to her insides that she refused to name. “Let me at least buy you a drink for your birthday first.”

  “Thanks, but there’s the storm blowing in.” As she said this, the power flickered but held. “I should keep my wits about me.”

  “Doesn’t have to be alcohol.” He glanced around them at the full, rowdy bar. “Are you a first responder like all your friends?”

  “Yes. I’m an EMT.”

  “Well, I’m the new guy,” he said. “Zero friends. You going to desert me like Jenna deserted you?”

  She actually hesitated at that, until she caught that flash of humor in his eyes. “You’re messing with me.”

  “I am.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to this. It’d been a long time since she’d felt . . . well, anything. Just beyond him, she could see a group of her friends playing pool. CJ, a local cop, was winning. After Jenna, CJ was one of her favorite people. He glanced over at her, caught her eye, and gave her a chin nudge.

  Guy speak for Are you all right?

  She nodded and he went back to pool. Ryland was still flirting with two women, and she had to wonder: What was the worst thing that could happen if she let her hair down and enjoyed herself for a few minutes? After all, it was her birthday. “Maybe just one drink.”

  Hot Guy nodded to the bartender, who promptly ambled over. “A Shirley Temple for Grandma here on her birthday.”

  Piper laughed. She shocked herself with her reaction, making her realize how long it’d been.

  Hot Guy took in her smile and almost gave her a small one of his own. “Or . . . whatever you want.”

  She bit her lip. What did she want? That was a very big question she’d tried very hard not to ask herself over the past decade plus, because what she wanted had never applied. In her life, there were need to do’s and have to do’s . . . and nowhere in there had there ever been time for what Piper wanted’s.

  Which was probably why she made lists like it was her job.

  The bartender’s name was Boomer, and she’d known him for a long time. He was waiting with a smile for her to admit the truth—that she loved Shirley Temples. But she didn’t admit any such thing. She just rolled her eyes—honestly, she was going to have to learn to stop doing that—and nodded.

  When Boomer slid a Shirley Temple in front of her, she took a big sip and was unable to hold in her sigh of pleasure, making Hot Guy finally really smile.

  And, oh, boy, it was a doozy.

  Just a little harmless flirting, she told herself. There was no harm in allowing herself this one little thing, right?

  The lights flickered again, and this time they went out and stayed out.

  She wasn’t surprised, and by the collective groan around her, she could tell no one else was either. Boomer hopped up onto the bar. “Storm—one, the bar—zero!” he yelled out to the crowd. “Everyone go home and stay safe!”

  In the ensuing mass exodus, Hot Guy grabbed Piper’s hand and tugged her along with him, not toward the front door with everyone else, but through the bar and out the back.

  Where, indeed, the storm had moved in with a vengeance, slapping them back against the wall.

  “How did you know about the back door if you’re new here?” she asked.

  “I always know the way out.”

  That she believed. She took in the night around them, which was the sort of pitch black that came from no power anywhere and a dark, turbulent sky whipped to a frenzy by high winds.

  “The rain’s gonna hit any second,” he told her, not sounding thrilled about that.

  This tugged a breathless laugh from her. “Chin up, Princess, or the crown sl
ips.”

  The look on his face said that he’d never once in his life been called a princess before. “Sorry,” she said. “That was an automatic response. My dad used to say that to me whenever I complained about the rain. Do you know how often it rains in Odisha, India?”

  “I’m betting less than Mobile, Alabama, where I once spent six months with my unit training the Maritime Safety and Security Team, and we never saw anything but pouring rain. Emphasis on pouring.”

  “Six months straight, huh?” she asked sympathetically. “Okay, you win.”

  His lips quirked. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  And with that, he took her hand and was her anchor as they ran through the wind to her beat-up old Jeep. She was actually grateful since the gusts nearly blew her away twice, saved only by his solid, easy footing. The man moved like he was at the top of the food chain, with quiet, economical, stealthy movements that if you knew what he did for a living made perfect sense.

  She and Jenna waved to each other from across the lot, and when Jenna gave her a thumbs-up, Piper shook her head.

  “Thanks for the drink,” she said, having to raise her voice to be heard over the wind.

  “I’ll follow you to make sure you get home okay.”

  “Not necessary, I’m fine.” Because no way was she falling for that line. There was flirting, and then there was being stupid. “And anyway, as a local, I should be checking on you to see if you get home okay.”

  He laughed. And as it turned out, he had a great one, though she had no idea if he was so amused because he was touched by her worry for him, or because it was ridiculous, since clearly he could handle himself.

  “I’m good,” he finally said. “Drive safe.” And then he stepped back, vanishing into the darkness.

  Chapter 2

  “Stressed is desserts spelled backward.”

  Piper headed out of the bar parking lot, her Jeep swaying in the harsh winds. She hit the highway to get to the lake, and the slightly dilapidated, old—heavy emphasis on old—Victorian house and four small cottages on the east shore. It was there that she, Gavin, and Winnie had lived when their parents had sent them home to the States after . . .

  Well, after their entire world had fallen apart, destroying each of them in their own way. Although, in hindsight, that event had been nothing compared to what had happened next—all nightmarish memories she didn’t want to face right now.

  Or ever.

  She’d been fixing up the cottages in between her shifts at the station. Once she got the property on the market and sold, they’d have some money to breathe, which would be a good thing because when she went off to school, she wouldn’t be able to help her siblings financially anymore.

  There was little traffic tonight. Or ever in Wildstone, which had an infamous wild, wild west past, played up for the tourists in all the glossy California tourist guides. The buildings on the downtown strip—two streets, one stoplight that almost always worked—were all historical monuments, and added to the infamy, including a haunted inn.

  By the time she turned off onto the narrow two-lane road out of Wildstone, away from the ocean and into the lush, green, oak-dotted rolling hills, the storm had settled in. The wind continued to push at the Jeep, along with the rain slashing down now as well, making visibility tricky. The already-drenched land couldn’t absorb the deluge, which had the roads slick.

  Rainbow Lake was eighteen miles of bays and hidden fingers and outlets, a treasure cove of fishing, boating, hiking, and camping. Only the south and west shores were largely populated, and there was a nicer road to those areas, one that didn’t go all the way around the lake to where she lived. Five miles in, she turned off where the road went from paved to gravel. There weren’t many houses out here. It was relatively remote. Her closest neighbor on her left was ten acres away and she couldn’t see the house from her own. On the right was another large ten-acre parcel that held a small marina and a residence for the man who ran it, leaving her sandwiched in between with her single acre.

  She didn’t care. She loved it here, always would. It symbolized safety and security, even if she was not-so-secretly terrified of the actual lake itself.

  The power was out here too; she could see that right away. The two massive oak trees in the yard were nothing but dark swaying giants, sheltering her as she ran toward her front door. Letting herself in, she tripped over the boots she’d left on the floor—cleaning up the messy foyer was on one of her lists somewhere—and made her way blindly to the kitchen, where she pulled out her storm lanterns.

  Dead batteries.

  Well, shit. That was also on a list. She was searching through her junk drawer for spare batteries when she heard an odd thunk. Had that been against the side of the house? Freezing in place, cursing herself for marathoning all those horror movies the other night, she listened. Nothing. Drawing a deep breath, she decided the hell with it, if it was a mass murderer, well, at least she’d made it to the ripe old age of thirty. She’d had a good run, and hey, she’d gotten to have a Shirley Temple earlier. What more could she possibly want out of life?

  Another thunk, and this time she nearly jumped right out of her skin. “Sweet Cheeks?” she whispered, hoping like hell it was the cranky stray cat Winnie had saddled her with when she’d gone off to college two hours south in Santa Barbara. “That’s you, right?”

  Nothing.

  When the third thunk hit, Piper forced herself through the house, using her phone as a flashlight. Which is how she found the den window cracked about six inches, the slanted shutters banging in the wind against the wall, screen long gone.

  Mystery solved.

  She’d opened the window the other day when the sun had been out and unseasonably warm for late January. Somehow, she’d forgotten to close it, and, she had no doubt, Sweet Cheeks had escaped, since it was her mission in life to mess with Piper’s.

  Okay, then, so no mass murderer. She’d live another day. But the adventure had made her tired. Or maybe that was just her life. Even so, she still had one more thing to do before she could relax. Well, two if she counted looking for Sweet Cheeks. With a sigh, she once again pulled on her rain jacket and went back outside and across the wide expanse of wild grass between her and the marina.

  She’d grabbed her medic bag for the guy who owned and ran the marina. Emmitt Hayes was in his mid-fifties, ate like a twelve-year-old boy, drank like a fish, and had just been diagnosed as diabetic. He’d also recently suffered the loss of his son and wasn’t taking care of himself.

  So, since they’d been friends since he first bought the marina around five years ago, she was doing the caretaking.

  Between the two houses was a runoff from two small tributaries, combining into one rivulet that fed into the lake. Ninety-nine percent of the time, she could step over the little creek when she needed to. Tonight the flow was heavier than she’d ever seen it, half water, half mud—another problem from the poor fire-scarred land due to last summer’s terrible California wildfires.

  It was one thing for her to step over a narrow stream, but another entirely to get past the rushing river it’d become, and she stopped, frozen to the spot. Take a deep breath. Be logical. It’s not as deep as it looks, it’s just wide.

  And moving hella fast . . .

  Sucking in a breath, she backed up a few feet and then took a running leap. The bad news—she landed a few feet short, leaving her wet and muddy up to her knees. The good news—she didn’t drown.

  But she wished she’d had another drink with Hot Guy.

  A few minutes later she stood on the dark porch of Emmitt’s house, drenched to the core. She knocked as loud as she could to be heard over the wild wind. “Emmitt,” she called out. “It’s Piper. You okay?”

  The door opened, and at first all she could see was a tall, lanky shadow of a man who was wielding a flashlight, which messed with her ability to see clearly. “Emmitt?”

  “Not quite.”

  Wait. S
he knew that voice, and she blinked in surprise because it was . . . Hot Guy? Had she manifested him here? Was she in an episode of The Twilight Zone? “What are you doing here?”

  He was already pulling her in from the rain. “I was just about to ask you that same question.”

  “I live next door.” She gestured vaguely behind her as he closed the door, shutting out the noisy storm. “I’m here to see Emmitt,” she said. “He’s my patient.”

  “Patient? I thought you were an EMT, not a doctor.”

  “I am, but he—” She shook her head, irritated, mostly at herself for being thrown off guard, because she prided herself on never being thrown off guard, by anyone. “Why am I explaining myself to you?”

  “Don’t worry,” came Emmitt’s voice from the depths of the dark living room. “He has that effect on everyone.”

  “What, charming people?” Hot Guy asked mildly.

  Emmitt laughed. “More like irritating the shit out of them.” He turned on a small lantern, smiling at Piper from the couch. “The apple never falls far from the tree, you know.”

  Piper stared at Hot Guy before turning back to Emmitt. “He’s your son?”

  “In the flesh.”

  She could see it now. Same dark hair and hazel eyes, and a somewhat imposing height and strength to match. But more than that, the sharp awareness they both had, the way they held themselves so easily, so casually, and yet seemingly utterly aware of everything around them.

  She knew Emmitt had two sons, but she’d only known one of them. Rowan, who’d died three months ago in a tragic car accident. All she knew about his other son was that he lived on the East Coast. In fact, now that she thought about it, she didn’t even know his name. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

  “My fault,” Emmitt said. “The divorce was eons ago. It was . . . tough, and there were problems. I raised Rowan. Camden stayed with his mom, to . . . help her.”

  She glanced at Hot Guy, who apparently was named Camden, but he’d lowered the flashlight at his side so she could no longer see his face. Beyond being startled, she was also realizing that Rowan had been Camden’s brother. And much as she liked to fantasize about murdering her own brother in his sleep half the time, it was just that. A fantasy. She’d . . . well, she’d die if anything happened to him.