Chapter 6

"The stables areon the other side of the main house about a mile and a half down that way," Ace says as he points at a field of light green grass with a couple of trees every fifty or so feet from the next. The buzz of Cicadas always felt like the baseline of a summer's soundtrack, but the hum of them out here seems louder. They vibrate the grass, and it's an instant muscle relaxer. A nature-made white noise machine that calms my entire body. The two large oak trees on the far side of this plot of land would be the perfect place to hang a hammock. I close my eyes and let the sun warm my face for a moment. Even being so close to the horse stables, the only scent that permeates the air is that tangy, sugary smell.

It feels good to breathe, knowing you'll get something sweet as a reward. And despite the way this morning started, I feel good today. I don't have a job yet, or responsibilities. But Fiasco, Kentucky, might just be the life I never knew I wanted. I'm in the last year of my twenties and the idea of reading a book on a hammock connected to those two trees looks like my perfect end game.

"This is more than I was expecting," I tell him as I stare off at the way the landscape keeps going. And it's true, I had no expectations after WITSEC was mentioned. Witness protection seemed like overkill. They caught the bad guy, and the girl he held captive was safe. But the moment Agent Harper stepped into the picture, I knew it. I had only met her one other time before when she came to Coney Island for my high school graduation party. I remembered her because she was the reason my dad had to leave for work. The rest of my celebratory barbecue was with our neighbors. And Phillip.

"You should have plenty of privacy here. My brother is just across the way. He renovated this space. Added the Murphy bed, thought it would make the space feel larger if the bed could tuck away."

It may have been one big room, but it was well thought through, and the finishes make it posh and polished. Similar to the main house, the fixtures are modern and masculine. There's black metal hardware along drawers and pulls, and brushed gold lighting fixtures to accent the recessed lights on the vaulted ceiling. The height of it makes the one room feel like it's far larger than its modest 450 square feet measurement Ace had mentioned. A place like this where I was from was not cheap. If it had a doorman and a pool, it would have been considered luxury apartment living. "The rent?—"

He shakes his head before I finish. "There are plenty of things to do around here. We'll work it out." He flips the water on at the sink. "What did you do?"

The question has my nerves rising, but he must see it on my face, because he finishes his question. "For work, I mean, before you came here?"

It doesn't feel like I need to lie about this part. "Weddings, mostly." That piques his interest. "Large budget events, but mostly those were weddings. Occasionally, it was something..." How do I find the right phrase? I can't just come out and tell him that the agency I worked for ran the Metropolitan Museum's MET Gala or that we had been flown into D.C. for the second year in a row to plan and execute the White House Correspondents' Dinner. So I go with "...higher profile with a lot of very demanding guests."

"Did you enjoy it?"

In the almost eight years I had worked my way up from intern to running my own team, I don't know that I'd ever been asked that. It was a career, not just a job. And I was good at something for once. My dad wasn't around. I didn't have many people who cared more than to ask the somewhat rhetorical question of "how are you?"

I had set my sights on being successful at something and then just kept moving forward. "I liked the work, but the clients I had were..." I shake my head because I don't want him to think I'm not capable of dealing with all kinds of people. I am. I just lost myself along the way.

He gives me a nod that feels like he understands complicated. "People always have a way of fucking up good things."

My issue was that I blurred professional and personal lines. Then decided to bathe in poor decisions and blurred moral lines while I was at it.

"You might have solved a little problem for me. When you feel settled, let"s talk about what you could do for the Foxx brand." With his arms crossed over his chest, he looks lost in thought before the sound of a loud car engine revs up the private road and screeches to a stop out front. "It's like summoning Lucifer," he says under his breath. "That would be Hadley. She volunteered to pick up some things when I mentioned I had someone staying in the cottage." He glances around at the blank white walls and bare windows and then smiles at me. "We don't get many new faces that stick around longer than tourists. I think she's being more nosey than helpful."

Even with his reassuring laugh, my nerves kick in. "Does she know what I'm doing here?"

He looks at me curiously. "Laney, I don't really know the details about what brought you here other than an ornery U.S. Marshall. What I do know is that you need your past kept quiet, and I am more than equipped to keep secrets."

"Who does she think I am?"

The sound of a car door shutting has him moving toward the front of the cottage and out the front door. "A juicy story," Ace says as he steps up to a shiny, deep purple car that looks straight off the set of a Fast and Furious movie. "Hadley," he calls out.

"Present," a raspy voice sing-songs. "We doing roll call, Daddy?" A tall woman with dark hair piled high in a messy bun peeks out from behind the trunk.

"Quit it with that shit," Ace huffs with a roll of his eyes. "What's gotten into you lately?"

Sticking out her tongue, she laughs at him as she walks up the front porch steps, mumbling, "Nothing I want..."

She hoists an array of reusable bags along both arms. There's one slung on each shoulder, another hanging from each crook of her elbow, and then two in each hand. When she looks up, she smiles wide. "I am so damn happy you're here. This fucking town could use some new faces." Letting out an exaggerated exhale, she stops at the threshold. "Holy shit." She looks at me from head to toe, which would normally put me on the defense, but then she releases a small laugh. "You're gorgeous."

I'm taken aback at the compliment. "Thank you," I say with surprise in my tone. "I'm Laney."

"I already know." She leans close to me as she walks through the front door, tilting her head toward Ace trailing far enough behind not to hear. "But I'm wondering, Laney, are you a long-lost cousin, or are you sleeping with big, bad Atticus Foxx over there?" She keeps moving into the studio without giving me a chance to respond. But I have a feeling maybe she doesn"t really want to know.

Yes, Ace is intensely handsome. I see the appeal; you'd have to be blind not to check him out. But he's not who caught my attention.

"Oh yeah, this place needs color." Barely taking a breath, she keeps talking. "I got some good coffee from Crescent de Lune in town, some loose-leaf tea. I didn't know what kind of caffeine you liked, so I also grabbed some energy drinks."

I smile at the thoughtfulness. "Coffee girl here."

"Me too. And then the rest here is mostly pantry fillers..." She goes off on a tangent, laughing, "Sounded like panty fillers." She wiggles her eyebrows. "Sounds more fun than canned goods, huh?"

What? I let out a clipped laugh, not expecting the quirkiness. It's refreshing. I was silently hoping for a package of red licorice—Red Vines or Twizzlers would have been good. But I am anxious, and candy is my vice.

"I thought you could probably use..." Dropping the bags, she starts digging through, holding up each item. "Last time I was in here, the place smelled stale. So, a candle." She opens the top and sniffs. "Yum." She passes me the candle and then pulls out a salt rock lamp. "These are so good for so many things. Felt kind of necessary." I couldn't think of anything a rock could do besides serve as a weapon. But she continues her show and tell, holding up everything from a box of tampons to dry shampoo. "I also grabbed my favorites. Don't worry, I have good taste. I've got conditioner, body wash, face wash, lotion, a good fluffy towel—" Then, she holds up a nail polish that I've never been happier to see. "Ruby slippers."

I smile. "I like it."

"It was that or pale pink." She sticks out her tongue, making a yuck face that has my smile widening into a knowing grin. There's nothing wrong with pale pink, but it's what I associated it with that has me revolting against it.

With a serious expression, like she's about to gift me a life-changing device, she holds up a black box shaped like a cube. "And a personal massager."

It's probably how I open my mouth and cough out a laugh that has her smiling back at me.

"I know, it's overstepping, but I went with my gut," she says. "Long-lost cousin."

"Hadley," Ace says under his breath from behind me.

She looks up and past my shoulder, winking at him. "Do personal massagers get your panties in a wad, big Foxx? They sure do special things to mine."

He shoves his hands in his pockets, and his buttoned-up demeanor shifts as he starts moving toward the front door. "You're in good hands, Laney. Find me when you're ready to talk about that job."

"Thanks again, Ace."

He gives me a curt nod, and then points to Hadley. "Please don't be a pain in the ass." I can read people fairly well and Ace Foxx is a confident man with what seemed like infinite patience—with the way both Bea and Griz managed to push him last night. But the woman in front of me, with her long legs and flirty words, set him off kilter.

"That's reserved only for you and your brothers." She salutes. And when he turns away, she flips him off.

I bite down on my lip to keep the smile from cracking. The entire interaction is hilarious, but I'm not about to pry.

Opening the small refrigerator, she says, "No need to worry. If you two are enjoying each other." She stops what she's doing for a second. "I've known Ace almost my whole life. His brother Lincoln is my best friend."

I ignore the remark about enjoying Ace and ask, "He's the oldest?"

"Yes. Then Lincoln. He has two little girls, Lark and Lily. And you already met Griz, I assume?"

I can't help but smile as I nod yes, thinking about the welcome drink he brought me in the middle of the night.

I notice how she doesn't mention a wife or mother of his daughters in that rundown. "Does Lincoln have a partner, or?"

"Widower," she says, her face turning sad. "It"s been just him and the girls now for..." She pauses, grabbing a few more items from a grocery bag that looks like pears, strawberries, and some green lettuce. "Farmer's market from this morning." Holding out a small yellow berry for me to try, she pops one in her mouth. "Gooseberry. They're good." Chewing hers, she looks up. "Liv, or Olivia, Lincoln's wife, and the girls' mom, passed away about four years ago now." She looks up, as if trying to recall. "Yeah, that was a year after Fiona."

How am I supposed to keep track of all these people?

This isn't a borough or even a suburb. It's a small town. Small towns mean that everyone knows everyone's business to some degree. I can't understand why Agent Harper thought this was a good idea.

"And then there's Grant."

The cowboy. "Any chance he rides a horse?"

"Most people around here do. I have a thoroughbred boarding here, actually. Everyone knows someone in the horse business. Why?"

"I think I met him this morning." I gnaw at my bottom lip, thinking about the way he was kind of rude. And how he filled out that t-shirt he was wearing, and stared at my bare legs, trying to catch a glimpse of my ass when I asked him if his honest favor would have me smiling or moaning. Why was it so much fun to say what I wanted and then see his reaction?

She looks past me and peers out the front double window. "He lives right down the hill from you. He's not the most social of this crew, so I doubt you'll see him all that much."

That's disappointing to hear. The last thing I should be thinking about is the way he rode in on a damn horse and was nothing short of arrogant, but I liked how it felt to dish it back.

"I can almost guarantee that you will see Julep on your front lawn from time to time. She loves to wander. But she's Grant's girl, so don't feel bad if she snubs you."

"Dog, right? Not daughter?"

She laughs. "Dog. No kids."

I like getting the rundown from her. She talks to me like we're already friends. And truthfully, a friendship sounds nice. Our conversation feels like playing catch-up from a place I haven't visited in a long while, not somewhere I had never been.

She asks, "What about you?"

I unzip a bag of sheets for the bed. "No dog. Always wanted one. No kids. The jury is still out if that's something I'd really want." The silky black satin is nicer than any sheets I've ever bought myself. "What do I owe you for this?"

She bats at the air in front of her. "A drink." And, before I can interject, she adds, "I can swing it." She points to her chest. "Rich girl."

I stare at her for a second, surprised by the honesty, and take in her appearance. It's not a typical response, especially from the stuffy rich people I was used to being around. She just said it; didn't flaunt it. And I respect that so much more. She doesn't scream stuffy or stuck-up. Her white Converse sneakers match her tucked-in tank. There are no designer labels, only a baseball jersey that hangs open like it was a short-sleeved jacket. Maybe it's a collector's item. Since I'm not a baseball fan, the last name Turner doesn't mean all that much to me.

She sees that I'm trying to figure her out, or at the very least figuring out how to respond. I'm being a judgmental twat, just like the people who used to do it to me wordlessly.

"I spend my money on things I like and not what people presume to be expensive and nice. I have a wardrobe to die for, with everything from Walmart and Duluth to Louboutins and Saint Laurent." She pulls at the front of the baseball jersey. "Signed. I went all the way to Maine for it. It means something to me." She clears her throat before I can ask any more. "My family does very well. I own my own business. So when I say that the best payment is good company, I really mean it."

The way that sounds so genuine makes me smile. "What kind of business?"

She hops up on the counter, and her long legs swing as she pops a grape in her mouth. "My family is in the business of horses. We raise, breed, and train thoroughbreds with a long history of producing Triple Crown winners. But my business is booze. I always thought I should have been born a Foxx for that reason," she says wistfully. "I own the best damn speakeasy in Kentucky." When she smiles this time, obvious pride beams from her face.

Owning something like that takes time, money, and real love. It's impressive. She's impressive, and I think I have a bit of a crush on her.

She pops another grape in her mouth. "Opened Midnight Proof a few years ago. I turned thirty and decided it was the one thing I kept saying I wanted to do." She shrugs. "So I did it. And my father was not the biggest fan, but I'm not the quiet little debutant everyone thinks I am. So I couldn't blame him for pushing back on the idea." Batting at the air in front of her, she says, "That's enough about me." Then she's pulling a bottle of Foxx Bourbon from her oversized purse like it's a completely acceptable thing to do. "You're living at the world's best bourbon distillery. You needed a bottle, so I snagged it from the main house. Ace said essentials. I consider it an essential."

Clapping her hands together, she jumps down. "Okay, I feel like I've barreled into your life without much permission." She smiles, reflecting the same one I've been sporting since she arrived. "So, I can get lost and come back another time. Let you get settled. Or you can escape with me briefly, and we can tour the distillery."