All I know is, as I sit here sobbing, I need to go to Seattle. I quickly search my grandmother’s name on my iPad and see that her funeral is in two days. I have two days to figure this out.
And that just makes me cry harder.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, rocking back and forth, hugging the image of us together, but finally the tears ebb, and I reach for a tissue to blow my nose and wipe the mess from my cheeks.
I carry the photo downstairs with me and pour myself a glass of wine, then curl up on the couch. I didn’t take that walk on the beach. I could still go. There are at least two more hours of sunlight left. The beach helps to ground me, clears my head. And God knows I could use a clear head to figure this out. To remind myself that Grandma would not want me to go to Seattle for her funeral. Yes, a walk on the beach is exactly what I need.
But I’m drained. I’m so damn sad. I feel helpless.
Just as I resolve to spend the evening right here on the sofa with a bottle of wine and sappy movies on the TV, there’s a knock on the door.
I frown. No one ever comes to my door unless they’re lost.
Fuck. Did the family discover where I am? Did they come to find me?
My first instinct is to run.
But that’s ridiculous. Grandma wouldn’t have told anyone where I am, and she literally just died.
It’s not the family.
Someone is probably lost.
However, when the knock comes again, I stand and tuck my trusty handgun into my shorts, then with the photo still in my hands, walk over to the door and look through the peephole. I feel my knees almost give out at the sight before me.
My eyes must be playing tricks on me. Maybe there was something in the wine. How long had it been in my fridge?
“Elena,” he says, loud enough for me to hear through the door. “I know you’re in there.”
I swallow hard. This can’t be happening.
“Open this door, Elena.”
Elena.
No one has called me that in eight years.
I open the door and stare up at what must be a figment of my imagination.
“Archer?”
Chapter 2
~Archer~
I’ve been watching her for days. It sounds creepy as fuck, but once I found her, I just didn’t know what to say. I thought I’d rush to her, yank her into my arms, and kiss her until we were both breathless.
But I couldn’t approach her. Memories rolled through me as I watched her. The way we laughed, the long, deep conversations. How I couldn’t bear to be away from her for more than a couple of hours, and each time I saw her again, it was a balm to my soul.
God, I loved her.
Instead, all I could do was watch her. At some point, she dyed her hair a shade darker than her natural color, but aside from that, she looks the same. Slim body, gorgeous eyes, and just like the last time I laid eyes on her, her bottom lip wobbles, and those interesting orbs fill with tears.
Except this time, it’s not because we’re standing in front of the justice of the peace, exchanging wedding vows.
“Archer?”
“Hello, Elena. Can I come in?”
She swallows hard and steps back so I can walk inside her tiny house. She’s tucked in this little cabin at the end of a dirt road, all alone in a tiny town on the coast.
I have questions, and damn it, I’m going to get some answers.
“Did you see the news?” she asks.
“No, but Anastasia called me.” I want to reach for her, wrap my arms around her and soothe her. But she’s standing a good six feet away, cradling a picture frame to her chest. Her body language screams: stay back. “I’m sorry.”
She nods once and turns away to sit on the couch.
There’s an open bottle of wine on the coffee table, and a half-empty glass. So, before I sit next to her, I fill the glass and pass it to her.
“Thanks.” She takes a sip and watches me silently for a moment. I can admit, after all of these years of being without her, this isn’t exactly how I pictured our reunion going. But I’m letting her take the lead here because she has grief written all over her face. “What kind of car are you driving?”
I frown. “Why?”
“Just tell me.”
“It’s an Audi.”
“Newer?”
“Yeah.” I frown harder and then repeat, “Why?”
“My car is kind of a piece of crap, but that’s on purpose. I mean, it’s not so bad that it stands out, but it’s also not nice enough to stand out.”
She’s doing her best to blend. “I understand.”
“I just don’t trust it enough to get me all the way to Seattle and back.”
“You’re not going to Seattle.”
“Yes.” She sets her glass down with a decisive thud and hurries past me and up the narrow set of stairs to a loft. “I am.”
I follow her, not willing to let her out of my sight. “Elena, you can’t go to Seattle. I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but—”
“I’ll tell you,” she interrupts as she pulls a duffle bag out of her tiny closet and starts throwing things into it. “When my parents were killed, my grandmother wanted to get me the hell out of Seattle. We didn’t know which family was responsible for Mom’s and Dad’s deaths, and Gran was sure whomever it was would come for me next. Rather than let that happen, she gave me a new life, out from under my family’s thumb.
“She’s the only one who knew where I was. She said she’d bring me back when the time was right, but it’s never been right. And, frankly, I like it here. By the way, don’t call me Elena. Call me Ally.”
“No.”
She scowls at me. “Yes. I’m Ally here and have been for six years. I’ve made a life for myself, and I like it. A lot.”
“So you’re not planning to go back to Seattle for good?”
“Hell, no. You know who my family is. I’m not going back to that. But Grandma was the most important person in my life, even if I haven’t seen her in eight years.” Her chin wobbles again, but she sniffs and pulls herself together. “So, I’m going to her funeral.”
“If the family sees you, they won’t let you leave again.”
“They won’t see me.”
“Elena—”
“Ally.”
“This is crazy. I’m not taking you back there, knowing that your life could be in danger.”
To my utter shock, Elena pulls a small handgun on me and levels me with a cold look.
“Yes, you are.”
I smirk at the gun. She won’t kill me.
“You’re right,” she says as if she can read my mind. “I’m not going to kill you. But I could take out your knee, your shoulder. Your balls.”
I drop the smile and narrow my eyes at her. She’s not kidding.
I’m being held at gunpoint by the love of my life.
And she is the love of my life. Standing here, looking at her, has me aching. God, I missed her. And I’m smart enough to know that there’s so much about her I don’t know anymore. She’s not the same woman she was when she was eighteen.
But I’m going to relearn her. Because letting her out of my sight again is simply not an option.