Chapter 3

"You'rein good hands here, Laney," Harper interrupts.

I don't mean to snort a laugh, but I do. It"s funny and nerve-racking to think I'm supposed to trust anyone now. I had done that—trusted someone, trusted my gut—and look where it landed me.

I shift my eyes to Ace, who tries covering a smile in response. At least he's not opening wide for this bullshit. He didn't plan on any of this either. He sure as hell hadn't planned on me showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night.

This isn't a hideout. There is nothing discreet here. I don't come from money, but I know what expensive looks like. I've spent the last handful of years trying to fit in with some of the wealthiest families and inner circles in Manhattan. Modern, clutter-free, amplified by deep, masculine colors and complimenting details. From the brushed gold and matte black metal fixtures on the doors and lighting above, to the layout of the lightly stained wood that makes up the floors, the wide foyer and sprawling staircase. This place is not a government-funded halfway house or a community with a budget.

Agent Harper ignores my response as she types out a text on her phone, giving me a few seconds to really look around. The place shouldn't feel welcoming, but it does.

While the humid air outside wraps around my skin and smells of chocolate croissants, in here it's a few degrees colder than cool, and it carries the faintest smell of a man"s cologne. Something earthy, woodsy, with a hint of tobacco from cigars instead of Harper's cloves. I like this better. I picture my apprehensive host with a cigar draped in his fingers while he sips on something strong and dark.

"Your burner," Harper says, pulling it from her pocket. "Stay off anything that looks like social media. Don't start posting videos about food or trending dance moves. If you feel anything that seems out of sorts, you text me. Me first, and then you don't hesitate. Find Ace. If there's a real urgency, dial 911."

As I stare down at the phone, I can feel her attention zeroed in on how I'm reacting. "What aren't you saying?"

"I have a very small circle of people I trust. Ace and his family are in that circle. And a select few in this town will ensure you remain safe here." She gives me a sad smile. "You'll get through this, Laney. And I will make sure you end up on the other side of it." When I glance at Ace again, his arms are crossed, just observing the exchange. I wonder what I look like from that perspective. It feels like a new beginning, but a tentative one.

She follows my line of sight. "She's smart and could add some real value to your brand. Keep her tucked away, give her a job, and I'll do my best to keep her chaos out of here."

Ace clears his throat. "Any smell of something dangerous, she's gone, Bea. My family is here. My brothers. My nieces. And even my crotchety old grandfather."

"Fuck you, Atticus," a loud, deep voice with a slow, southern drawl comes from down the hall. It startles me. I hadn't expected anyone else to be here.

Ace mutters "fucking hell" under his breath before he speaks up louder. "Griz, this isn't the kind of conversation to be eavesdropping on."

The ominous, albeit hilarious voice responds, "Ya'll are the ones shoutin' like you're livin' alone. And you damn well know this is my house as much as it is yours." Around the corner from the long hallway, a man with white and silver-streaked hair stands against the archway. Tall and lean, with a thick, more-silver-than-white mustache hiding his lips. They resemble each other. Good looking in a way that makes you look twice. "When you put out your business like it's a breakfast buffet, I'm gonna help myself." The side of his mouth kicks up, his cheek moving so that the skin crinkles around his eyes. "Now"—he shifts his attention to me—"who's this lovely thing?"

Simultaneously, Atticus says, "Go back to bed, Griz," while Agent Harper huffs out, "Jesus."

But I ignore them and answer, "I'm not a thing. But thank you for calling me lovely."

His chin tips down as his eyes meet mine. "I didn't mean any disrespect by it, darlin'. I'll make sure not to make the mistake again." Griz walks toward us with two small crystal glasses, one in each hand, filled with just a sip of a deep caramel-colored liquor. He shifts his attention to Agent Harper. "I see you're thriving in what looks like trouble, as usual, Beatrice."

She smiles to herself. "You know it, Griz," she says on an exhale.

The anxiety of my arrival all falls away. The history between these three, that I'll probably never know the extent of, aside from igniting my curiosity, also calms my nerves.

Griz holds out a glass for me to take. "You're gonna have to forgive us for not welcoming you properly, darlin'." When I take it, he clinks his with mine, and sips.

The slight smell of burned oak hits my nose just as the bite hits my tongue. I knew I should have sipped it the moment it shot to the back of my throat. It takes my breath away and forces me to hack out a cough that feels like fire. My eyes water as I try to recover. It's a novice move for someone who spent most of her early twenties pouring alcohol.

"Let it coat your tongue this time before you swallow," Ace says. My cheeks warm at the direction, and I do as he says.

"Feel that warming in your chest?"

I nod yes. It's a better kind of warmth with this sip.

"We like to call that a Kentucky hug."

Griz pipes in, "And that, right there, is the one-hundred-year-old anniversary batch I tapped this morning. You're only the second person in that amount of time to try that barrel."

"Wow. Thank you." I wipe at the corner of my eye that watered from my very unlady-like coughing.

Griz looks at his grandson with disappointment. And then his eyes flash to Agent Harper on the other side of me. "She doesn't know who we are?"

Ace answers, "You say that like she's here on a tour or something. You realize this is a private matter, and again, in case you didn't have your hearing aids on, you're interrupting."

Glancing down at the floor, I look at the emblem there. Well,I'll be damned.

Griz bats at the air in front of him. "Shut it, Ace."

The way Ace huffs, it's hard to hold back my smile.

"Walk me out, Laney," Agent Harper interrupts.

"Pleasure as always, Beatrice," Griz calls out from behind us. She doesn't respond, but she gives Ace one final glance and a nod as she steps back out the way we came.

I walk her to the car in silence, then grab my things from the trunk. "They're good men. All of them," she says, starting the car and rolling down the window. She lights another clove, takes a pull, and on the exhale, she says, "You're safe, Laney." Looking around my face, she searches for something that says I believe her. "Try to live. Try to heal. And remember what I said..."

I nod. "Text. Find Ace. Call 911. Got it."

She smiles. "Glad you were listening. But I meant about your dad. He'd be very proud of you."

And I don't know if it's watching the dust kick up as the truck disappears down the long driveway or the fact that I know she's right, but my eyes water as I choke back a sob. It snuck up on me even with so many feelings whirling. This ismy new life. I swallow the rest of the emotions that claw at my neck and threaten to spill over. Not now. I can fall apart later.

Standing there watching the taillights get smaller, the quiet plays tricks on my ears as the humidity in the air licks at my skin. I lift my hair and knot it high enough to keep it from sticking to my neck. Now what? My lower back is sore from sitting in a car for too many hours, and the fatigue hits me hard.

The shuffle of feet behind me alerts me enough to remember I can't sleep just yet. "We've got an empty cottage on the property that you can call yours while you're here." Ace's voice sounds from the front porch. "But it's after three in the morning, and I'll need to get it cleaned up for you first. I wasn't exactly expecting you."

"I could sleep just about anywhere right now," I joke.

He doesn't smile, just nods in response. "Need help with your things?"

I hold up the red bag covered in bullseyes. It's not even packed to the brim. But there's a week"s worth of underwear, deodorant, some black liquid eyeliner, mascara, and a bright red lip that looked like a good tone with my new hair color. I didn't second guess the color; I picked what I wanted. I also grabbed a bag of sour gummy bears, but I ate most of it already. A toothbrush and a curling iron. In a rush, apparently, these were my necessities. I'll figure out extra clothes eventually.

"That all?"

"I didn't get to pack before I left." Through the archway at the end of the hall is a kitchen on steroids, stacked with stainless-steel industrial appliances, all lowly lit by recessed lights peppered around the vaulted ceilings.

"Beautiful," I mumble. "How many people live here?"

He seems amused by my knee-jerk reaction to the impressive size and style of the room. Flicking on an electric tea kettle, he says, "It's just Griz and me in the main house." He pauses, mouth kicking up in the corner. "But my brothers aren't far from here. And they're here often. I host a lot of business things. Happy hours with my teams." He looks around. "The space was necessary."

Saddling up to the sprawling island counter, I choose the end seat from a row of eight. "It's big." I clear my throat and think about how the entire grounds, even in the dark, look like the perfect venue for a wedding. "Thank you for saying yes to me staying."

He pours the boiling water into two cups, with a tea bag in each. Giving me a tight-lipped smile, he says, "You overheard an argument that had less to do with you and more to do with Bea." His focus drifts to the steaming mug in front of him. "As long as you don't cause any problems, then you're welcome here, Laney. For as long as you need. As much as I don't love strangers on my property or in my business, I'll make an exception if it gains me a favor I can call in later."

The way he glances at the clock as he sips from his mug makes me do the same. And the fatigue, that bone-deep tired, crashes over me like I'm trying to stand up in the face of a tidal wave. I could sleep for days. My limbs are tired and sore, and my mind could use a break from hyper-fixating and overthinking. And that's when I suddenly feel nervous to sleep. To be somewhere new and all alone.

"I'll have a job waiting for you when you're ready. We work hard and it's busy, but this is a helluva place. Take a few days to get your bearings. It's not a big city, so it won't take you very long to get acclimated here."

He shifts his eyes to my neck as I nod at that suggestion.

I touch the small cuts that surfaced as she screamed and begged me to help her. Her nails grabbed onto whatever she could. It wasn't to hurt me. It was hysteria and panic. The only visible marks from a night I don't think I'll be able to scrub from my memory any time soon.

"I didn't mean to stare." He stands from leaning against the counter. "I don't know the details, but if I had to make bets, my money would be on you, Laney. You've got nothing but respect from me."

I look into the mug, and since I'm not much for a filter, especially right now, I ask, "Shouldn't respect be earned? Isn't that the saying?"

"No, not here. There are plenty of people I've lost respect for, but people don't have to earn it with me." The sincerity in his tone instantly has me never wanting to disappoint or lose it with him. Something tells me that having Atticus Foxx's respect might go a long way in Fiasco.

"I'm going to head to bed. There's a guest suite on this floor just on the other side of the butler"s pantry. Down that hall. Help yourself to whatever you might need, and I'll make sure you get a full tour of the grounds tomorrow."

He walks past me with a nod goodnight.

"This is going to sound…" I shake my head and smile as I turn toward where he was headed. "When you say grounds…?"

He smiles and mutters, "Fucking Bea." Taking a deep inhale, with frustration on the exhale, he says, "That woman likes to leave nothing but questions in her wake. You're at Foxx Bourbon. That includes the distillery, cooperage, and rackhouses, and all of it happens on this land. It also happens to be my home. And well"—he winks at me, lightening the mood—"looks like it's your home now, too."

If you're any kind of bartender in any large city where the patrons like to throw money around on expensive alcohol and not just happy-hour drafts, then you've poured Foxx Bourbon. I'm good at a few things and exceptional at a handful of others. Bartending fell into the exceptional category before I started planning events with limitless budgets. Foxx Bourbon isn't some up-and-coming brand or only popular in certain places. No, if you know the difference between scotch, whiskey, and bourbon, then you've heard the name Foxx.

I've ended up in the heart of Bourbon Country with a new name and a clean slate. And for some reason, when Ace calls this place my home too, my shoulders relax, the weight of what I'm hiding from easing up just enough that I feel lighter than I have in a long time.