“Lana—” His use of the old nickname has my dead heart sparking with recognition.
No wonder he thought you were so easy last time. All it takes is one silly nickname for you to let your guard down.
“Don’t call me that.” My lips pull back.
“Alana,” he corrects himself with a small frown. “I don’t know what my grandpa told you, but you must have misunderstood him.”
“Right. Of course, you assume I must have misunderstood him.”
His eyes narrow. “Now you’re just being difficult.”
“As opposed to what? Na?ve and stupid like the last time?”
He ignores my outburst and carries on. “We can clear this up easily. Where’s the deed?”
I pause and consider the cons of giving in to his request.
The sooner you show him the deed, the sooner he’ll leave.
“I’ll go get it.” I move toward the stairs before throwing him a look over my shoulder. “Don’t leave that spot.”
“And risk giving you a reason to shoot me? I’m good.”
My reply hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I bite down on it. That’s the thing about Cal. He can make anyone forget that they’re angry with him solely by cracking a joke and flashing a smile. It is his greatest superpower and my personal kryptonite.
You’re more prepared now.
Or at least I hope I am.
I run upstairs and put my handgun away in the safe before searching my documents for the deed. It only takes me a minute to find it stuck between a few other important legal papers.
Cal checks my hands as I walk down the stairs. “No firearm this time?”
I shrug. “I know five different ways to kill a man with my bare hands, so it’s not like I really need it.”
His golden skin turns pale. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
I wish I was. My mom sent me to Colombia to visit my uncle one summer, and he had no idea how to entertain me other than to have me work at his farm and teach me mixed martial arts. I came back a month later with a black belt in kicking people’s asses and enough survival skills to compete on one of those outdoor reality shows.
I place the deed on the entry table and point at Brady’s signature. “There. Just like I said.”
Cal stands beside me while he checks out the deed. He is careful to keep his distance as he reads, but when he shifts his weight, our arms accidentally brush. A current of energy rolls through my body. He’s quick to tuck his arms behind his back, although the lingering effect of his touch remains. It’s been six years, yet my body reacts as if he only left yesterday.
My frown deepens.
Cal’s head shakes after he reads the entire page. “I’m sorry, but whatever deed he gave you is outdated.” He points at the date written beside Brady’s signature. “This was signed before his updated will.”
“What will?”
“The one he rewrote before his accident.”
My throat feels as if Cal wrapped his hands around it and squeezed.
No. That’s not possible. “I’m calling his lawyer right now so we can clear this all up.” I move toward the stairs, desperate to go upstairs and grab my phone.
Cal checks his fancy watch. “It’s almost midnight. I doubt Leo would answer a call at this time.”
I curse underneath my breath.
He tucks his hands into his pockets. “I’ll contact him in the morning so we can sort this out before the realtor stops by.”
“What realtor?”
“The one I hired to help me sell the house.”
“Exactly what part of ‘I’m not selling my house’ are you not understanding?”
“The fact that you’re referring to the house as yours to begin with.”
My fingers curl into themselves, forming two tight fists to prevent myself from wrapping them around his thick neck.
His eyes drop to my clenched hands before returning to my face. “I think until we get a valid explanation from the lawyer, we should table this. It’s late and we’re getting nowhere.” The front door creaks as he opens it.
“Wait.” I hold out my hand. “Give me your key.”
He ignores me as he drags his luggage inside. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well, you’re sure as hell not staying here,” I sputter.
“Where do you expect me to go?”
“The motel off Main Street probably has a vacant room, plus they have Wi-Fi and colored TV now.”
His lips part. “You can’t be serious. They caught a serial killer there once.”
My eyes roll. “He didn’t actually commit any murders on the property.”
“Oh, that makes it all better then.”
“Mommy, who’s that?” Camila calls from the top of the stairs. Her wide blue eyes check Cal out before her gaze swings back to mine.
I wave her off without thinking anything of it. “Nobody important. Go back to bed, please.”
Cal’s wide eyes shift from Cami to me. “Who the fuck is that, and why is she calling you Mommy?”
“Don’t curse in front of my kid.” My whisper comes out more like a hiss.
“Kid? How old is she?” Cal trips over his feet in an attempt to get away from me, although he is quick to regain his balance.
“Five!” Cami holds up her hand like she is waiting for someone to high-five her.
All the color drains from his face as he reaches for the wall. “Five. That’s— She’s— We—”
“It’s not—” My response is cut off as his eyes roll to the back of his head.
His legs give out from underneath him, and his body falls forward.
“Shit!” I reach for him.
Our limbs tangle as we both go down. My breath is knocked out of me as I slam into the worn hardwood floor. Cal’s head smashes against my stomach, which hurts more than expected but softens his fall. I’m not able to catch his head in time before it rolls off my lap and smacks against the floor. Cal doesn’t wince as he lies on the floor, completely unconscious.
“Fuck. That’s going to hurt.” I roll his limp body back toward me before lifting his head onto my lap.
“Oooh. Mommy’s got to put money in the swear jar.”
I have a feeling a swear jar is the least of my worries now that Callahan Kane stormed back into my life with a deadly smile and a big problem.
2
CAL
I blink up at the ceiling and wait for the blurry chandelier to come into focus. It takes a minute for my vision to clear, although my brain remains a fuzzy mess.
Why am I on the floor?
“Oh, thank God you’re awake. Are you okay?” Lana leans forward. Her dark waves brush against my face, tickling my skin. She smells like snickerdoodle cookies, reminding me of late nights staying up past curfew together, eating raw cookie dough while hanging out on the dock. My attempt to hold back from taking another deep breath fails, and I’m hit with a second inhale of her cinnamon scent.
I can’t remember the last time I dreamed of Lana. Months? Years? This one is more vivid than my others, nailing the smallest details like the tiny birthmark on her neck in the shape of a heart and the scar above her cupid’s bow.