Chapter Eleven: Corners

Chapter Eleven

Lincoln

CORNERS

Performed by The Fray

Her barb landed home with a surprising bite that left a new mark on my soul already littered with them. I was used to people answering me, cowing to me, bending over backward to give me what I wanted. But what she couldn't know was that I'd never requested it and was often disgusted by it. The simple fact she wasn't willing to cave in to my demands drew me to her more.

As I watched her throat bob and her shoulders straighten in determination, I realized she wasn't all but begging me to leave because she didn't want me there, just like she wasn't declining to tell me her secrets because she didn't want to share them. In fact, when I looked into her eyes, when I touched her, I saw the opposite—the longing to unburden herself.

But something—someone—was stopping her.

Cold fury washed over me at the thought of not only Poco, but some other asshole who'd hurt her, jerking her around, causing her to live in fear, and living some half-life.

Unfortunately, I wasn't sure I could leave like she asked. It was more than just wanting to protect some random woman in danger. And it was more than me being intrigued by the complexities I saw—the cheerfulness layered over grief. It was that damn string that had knotted itself around me and all but choked me as I'd left her house yesterday. The string that was still there, tethering me to her. Binding me. I couldn't walk away and leave her to whatever fate Poco and her past had in store for her without it ripping new holes in me.

"If I was going to use my father's power," I told her, "I'd just ask the Secret Service to run a check on you. They'd know everything there was to know in less than a day."

She ignored me, going to a large refrigerator, pulling out ingredients, and setting them on a steel counter near an enormous electric mixer. She was excellent at keeping those pretty lips sealed tight when she wanted, at keeping her thoughts and feelings to herself. I hated that someone had forced her to be this way when it was obvious, regardless of how little time I'd spent with her, that her normal inclination was to open up to everyone who even brushed along the edges of her life.

"I don't want to learn about you from some report that gets emailed to me," I said quietly. The truth of those words hit me with a force that almost stunned me. Maybe I hadn't rid myself of my ghosts or completely shaken off the recent betrayals, and maybe I never would. But if I waited for all the wounds to disappear, I'd be dead. I'd miss the moment when a brave, interesting woman walked into my life, offering the possibility of something beautiful. If I left right now, like she'd asked, I'd miss out on the chance of having all her secrets and all her dreams belong to me.

And I wanted them more than I'd wanted anything in months…maybe years.

"Your safety is very important to me, Willow, but it isn't the only reason I showed up this morning."

She looked at me, exasperation and longing running side by side in those troubled gray eyes.

I longed to soothe her at the same time I longed to push until she broke open, but she wasn't ready for me to do so. And if I pushed now, if I told her just how much I yearned to discover all the nuances that made her Willow, she'd pull back even more. I could wait. I could be patient. But I wasn't going to just scuttle away either. In time, I'd convince her I was someone she could trust. Someone she should trust.

So, for now, I'd do what she needed me to do—I'd leave—but I'd also be back.

I made my way to the door, and the reminder of broken glass just outside had me saying, "Make sure Hector replaces the bulb. Didn't he say he had cameras? Have him check them and send what he finds to the police. I doubt Poco's face will show up, but if it did, it's vandalism. So this doesn't have to be about you, but it can still protect you. You get off at noon, right? I'll see you then."

She looked frustrated, on the verge of telling me once again that she didn't need me, that she thought this was a bad idea, and then she said, "I appreciate you walking with me at night for a few more days." I could have sworn she shivered before she pulled her shoulders back and added, "But I'll be okay during the day. You don't need to come by this afternoon. I'm perfectly safe with people around."

When I simply raised a brow in her direction, she looked away.

Regardless of whether I was the right person to protect her or not, I was dedicated to the cause. I'd be a wall standing between her and whatever came after her.

And until I knew more, until she opened up, I'd call Hardy and ask him to do his own digging. Not on Willow, but on Poco and this Tall Paul he worked for. Maybe my father's power and position could actually assist the town I was making my home by getting rid of a couple of its criminals.

As I opened the door, I looked back at her and was caught all over again by her bright glow. Even now, after a scare and holding back things that clearly upset her, there was a sweetness about her that lured me in.

"Come set the alarm."

She pulled off one of her plastic gloves and joined me, practically shoving the door closed in my face. Instead of being put off by it, as she probably hoped I would be, it just made me chuckle. I liked seeing her riled up as much as I liked her smiles. I liked the passion it revealed underneath her lighthearted fa?ade. I liked pretty much everything I'd seen about Willow Earhart.

Except those damn secrets.

Only, maybe I liked those too.

She'd kicked me out of the dark spot I'd been stuck in for months. I'd been unable to paint, unable to even look at art for the gallery. I'd had to let Lyrica completely take over in D.C. But now, it was as if I was waking from a deep sleep.

I made my way around the front of the building, crossed the street, and let myself into the gallery as images of Willow filled my mind. Smiling. Scared. Sarcastic. She'd given me multitudes of expressions in a handful of minutes.

The play of color against black and white seemed to surround her the moment she'd walked out of the house this morning. Her skirt with its parade of flowers and her pink coat had stood out against the dark sky just like her freshly scrubbed face, rosy from the cold air, had danced with the shadows from the streetlamps. Her platinum hair pulled back in one long braid falling almost to her waist had been a halo of sparkling diamonds. Just the sight of her had been enough to catch my breath and flame my imagination, and when I'd stepped closer and caught the scent of her…it had been pure addiction.

She was a multi-sensory work of art, just like the dessert she'd created. Could I even call it dessert? What did you call it? Art in edible form? I'd been surprised and stunned by what she'd shown me. Intricate miniature desserts that, when you took the time to examine each one, had structure and form and smells, but when you stepped back and let your mind register the whole, it was clearly a watercolor landscape brought to life.

I wanted my paintings to have the same visceral impact on your senses as she'd given me by both her own appearance and the art she'd created. Except, I wouldn't have the advantage of using all the senses the way she could. I'd have to trick the viewer's mind into believing it could taste and smell and touch what was portrayed.

It was a new challenge.

But first, I had something else to do. Something more important.

As soon as I stepped into the studio on the third floor, I whipped out my phone and placed a call I'd sworn I wouldn't make.

"Lincoln?" a groggy voice greeted me, but it took only a heartbeat for Hardy to become alert. "What's wrong?"

Suddenly aware that it was three in the morning, I dragged a hand through my hair. I should have waited until at least dawn before calling him. "I'm sorry. I forgot it was so early. I'll call later."

"I'm awake now. No reason to call back. Hold on a sec." I heard a murmur on the other end and felt even worse. I'd woken his wife as well. After a few seconds, Hardy returned. "Tell me what's going on."

"I need everything you can get on some local thug named Poco and his boss, Tall Paul."

"Poco is his nickname. He's Paul's muscle," he responded. "Let me bring up their file." There was some tapping on a keyboard before he continued. "Poco was born Pacheco Malta to Betty and Tomas Malta. They were a housekeeper and garbage man until they died in a car crash. Poco went into foster care at age fifteen, was arrested for larceny, and met Paul White in juvie. At twenty, Paul took over his dad's garage and expanded into sports betting. Bought the bar next to the garage and expanded some more. He's mostly known for his loan sharking and illegal gambling, but he dabbles in a bit of drugs. A local motorcycle club uses his place as their headquarters, although he doesn't appear to be a member. Nothing about Paul or Poco has caught anyone's eye enough to take them down. About eighteen months ago, a murder two towns over was attributed to Poco being too aggressive while collecting on a gambling debt, but there wasn't enough proof to even get a warrant. And as you can't squeeze money from a dead body, there's not normally a lot of real ugly associated with their business. You have a run-in with one of them?"

"Not me. My neighbor."

"The Bristols?" Hardy sounded surprised.

"I don't know the Bristols."

"Live on your west side." I shouldn't have been surprised he had this much detail about my life and the bad elements in Cherry Bay. I may have walked away from the Secret Service, but they still had to keep an eye out to ensure nothing about me came back to bite Dad in the butt.

"Not the Bristols." For some reason, I was reluctant to tell him about Willow. Maybe because I knew he'd dig up a file on her as well, and I didn't want him to tell me her secrets. As messed up as it was, I wanted her to give me her truths because she chose to. It was what had made me stop scouring the internet last night after the basic search. "Any sexual assault charges in that file on Poco or Paul?"

Hardy grew quiet before saying, "Nothing on paper. But with these kinds of small-time criminal elements, I wouldn't be surprised. Big fish, small pond, end up thinking they have rights they don't."

It was my turn to be quiet, and it raised alarm bells for Hardy. I was sorry I'd called him when he offered, without hesitation, "If you need me down there, I'll find a way to scramble a team. Even if it's off the books until we get the paperwork sorted."

He'd do it too. Because he was a good man. Because he'd seen me through some rough spots. Some of my own making, like letting Felicity into my life when I'd known deep inside it was wrong from the start, and some caused by the life I was forced to live, unable to go anywhere without the press following me. I'd kept to the shadows not so much to stay safe as to keep my life private. In many ways, I knew what Willow was going through, even if our circumstances were completely different. Half-lives were never going to fulfill us.

"No. I'm good. Information is king, right? I just needed to know who I was dealing with."

"You shouldn't be dealing with anyone, especially not with the election looming."

"I think it'll resolve itself. If it doesn't, I'll give you a shout." I could practically hear the frown I knew he was wearing. "Seriously, Hardy. I need you to keep a tight lid on this for now. If I need you, I won't be stupid about it."

Hardy sighed. "Do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"At least keep your goddamn phone with you."

I laughed as he'd intended, but I also got the message he was delivering. "I'm calling you on it, aren't I?"

"Well, slide it into a pocket right now, and keep it there. GPS locator is on, right?"

"Yep." I hardly ever had it off, as it was an easy way for me to find it when I'd misplaced it. "Sorry I woke you, Hardy. Give Libby my love."

"Keep your smooth words away from my wife, Picasso," Hardy grumbled, tossing the Secret Service's code name for me in my face.

I was smiling as I hung up and felt better than I had since hearing that creepy tune drifting through the fog while I'd walked Willow to work.

I slipped my phone into the back pocket of the jeans I'd pulled on at one in the morning. I'd gotten maybe three hours of sleep before my eyes had jolted open. But three hours was better than the zero I had some days.

I flicked on the photography lamps and took in the work I'd done the day before.

I hadn't completely filled in Willow yet. I'd just left a vague impression of her on the canvas. But I knew now that she wouldn't be in ghostly white. Her dress would be cotton-candy pink. The cemetery would have its dark shadows, but it would slowly blend into more vivid colors the nearer the objects got to her, as if she was changing it, bringing it to life. The second panel would show a mosaic on the mausoleum like the one she'd designed for her dessert. Except, this would be one of my own making.

Something about the broken-winged angel I could see from my bedroom window was still calling to me, but I didn't have it right yet. Maybe it would come alive. Maybe it would flutter like the butterfly I'd also imagined her to be, disappearing off the final canvas. I wasn't sure yet.

For now, I'd get to work on the finer details tucked into the gloom. The headstones and the names Willow wanted to be remembered. The twirling curves of the wrought-iron gates and stone pillars. The black and white and gray before the color emerged.

I tossed my jacket in a corner, grabbed my charcoal pencils, and started where I'd left off, clearer now than before on the details I wanted to surround Willow.

? ? ?

I worked for hours while the sun shifted through the room, spreading a pastel color as sweet as Willow across my painting before disappearing into the bright white of late morning. I was almost done with the shadows and getting ready to drift into the color when my phone rang.

I was tempted to ignore it as usual, but it was Lyrica's ringtone. I'd left her to single-handedly run my business, so it would be stupid and cruel to ignore her.

"You're interrupting me mid-stroke," I said as way of a greeting.

"You're painting?" Surprise littered every syllable, proving again that it had been too long since I'd had pencils and brushes in hand.

"Just starting the sketch. But yes, I'm working on something. What do you need?"

"I had an artist pop by yesterday. Her work is all wrong for our vibe here, but it might work down there in that disgusting fairy-tale town you've hidden yourself in."

I chuckled, set aside my pencils, and made my way down to the loft's bathroom to wash my hands. "Tell me how you really feel about Cherry Bay."

"I have nothing new to add that you don't already know. Seriously, Lincoln, you need to see this woman's art."

"What is it?"

"I don't want to tell you. You'll say no before you even see it."

I stifled a groan. "I haven't found a vibe for this place yet."

"Even better. This might push you toward one."

Irritation wafted through me. I didn't want to be pushed. I wanted to find my way to it. But as I wasn't going in any direction right now except the fantastical of my own paintings, I wasn't sure I could argue. "Fine," I bit out. "Send me some shots."

"No."

"Lyrica—"

"You need to see it in real life. The images just don't do it justice. The way she bends light and brings things to life—Look, I don't want to say too much. I don't want you to have any of those preconceived notions of yours and dig your heels in."

"Me? Dig my heels in?"

"Stubbornest man I know. Look at how long you carried around undeserved guilt for what happened to me."

I still carried it around. I simply stopped showing it to her once she'd broken up with me. I wasn't sure if it was my hovering after the shooting that had forced her to call it quits, or if she'd realized what I had even before she'd been hurt—that we loved each other, but we weren't in love with each other.

When I didn't respond, she sighed. "Just call her and set up a meeting. You won't be sorry."

"Is this like the time you said I wouldn't be sorry and a guy showed up pedaling his caricatures as the newest wave of portraitures?"

Lyrica's snarl ripping through the phone made my lips tip upward. "One time. I got drunk, let amazing sex befuddle my brain one time, and you've never let me live it down."

I chuckled. "We've all had alcohol and sex goggles at one time or another."

"Yours was named Felicity Bradshaw."

That wiped away my laughter. I had been momentarily blinded by her. She'd played on my desire to protect the women in my life, using those world-class acting abilities to make me think she needed a strong pair of shoulders around while she avoided the media. For a while, I'd thought she really was America's sweetheart instead of a fame-seeking manipulator and slightly unhinged stalker.

"Whole different ball game, Lyrica."

"Too bad the tabloids believed her story."

"The tabloids always believe every side of the story but mine. That isn't anything new. Thankfully, they haven't found me here."

"Merci told me you showed up on a college kid's social media account. You were at some coffee shop. She had it taken down."

Well hell. The kid from the coffee shop must have gotten a shot of me the day before when I'd been hatless, and here I was again without any disguise. I'd barely remembered my phone and a jacket as I'd hurried out the door this morning with Willow on my mind.

"I guess I owe Merci a bottle of that wine she's addicted to."

Merci was my mom's communications director. She and Lyrica had been dancing around a relationship for at least a year now. They fit in ways Lyrica and I never had. Sure, we'd had things in common—art, dancing. But we'd never truly blended the way I had with Sienna and the way she seemed to with Merci.

"The press is going to find you eventually, you know," Lyrica said. "Especially after you open the gallery. Is that sleepy little 'burb ready for it?"

It twisted through my stomach sharply. When I'd done the market research on opening an upscale gallery in Cherry Bay, the numbers had more than supported it, and I'd even considered my unwanted celebrity status as something that would benefit it and the other businesses along Main Street. But would the locals really want the crowds and attention that came once my whereabouts were known and shared amongst the paparazzi? I hadn't even given them a choice.

Regret flew through me. A feeling I was all too familiar with.

But the thoughts, the scare with the picture, hit home about why Willow was reluctant to be around me. It was clear she was hiding, and I was a beacon for news and tabloids. I was an idiot for not seeing it sooner. I could leave her be. I could hire a bodyguard to walk her back and forth to work, but every fiber of my being hated that idea. I wanted to be at her side. I wanted to get to know her.

But how could I do that if just being next to her put her in danger?

I had to know what she was running from, and then I could make a more informed decision. What I'd told Hardy was right—information was king.

"Earth to Lincoln. Where'd you go?" Lyrica jerked me from my thoughts.

"I'm here. But I have to go."

"I'm sending you the artist's contact information. Do yourself a favor, and take a look at her work."

"Fine."

"Was it really that hard to agree?" she asked with a snark to her voice that had no real bite.

"Everything with you is hard work."

"You love me for it."

"Love. Hate. It's a toss-up."

She snorted and hung up on me. Two seconds later, the contact information came through. I was tempted to look the artist up and see what the big deal was, but I also respected Lyrica's opinion. If she said I had to see the paintings in person, then I would.

I moved to the front window, watching the doors of The Tea Spot as I dialed the artist's number and left a message.

Willow would be off soon. My pulse picked up at just the thought of seeing her again. A day ago, I hadn't wanted anything to do with relationships and women while I was settling in here and ridding myself of ghosts, but none of that seemed important anymore.

I craved more of that sweetness. Of her.

But what if my wanting more was the reason something ugly showed up at her door?

I'd never forgive myself. I'd been part of the reason the stalker had hunted Leya. And while I hadn't been the reason Lyrica had been shot in a convenience store holdup, I also hadn't been there when she needed me. I'd been off with Sienna's parents. While trying to satisfy one penance, I'd added another wrong I'd needed to right on top of it.

But maybe with the resources at my disposal, with the people I knew, I could help Willow. Maybe I could find out what and who she was afraid of and make it disappear just like I could keep Poco away by simply letting him know someone was standing at her side.

Maybe this time, I could actually stop something evil before it struck another person I cared about.