Memories of You: A Stark Security Novella Page 3

  Fuck it.

  He got off the bike and hurried toward them, pulling off his helmet as he went. Abby was shaking her head, hovering near the driver’s door as Nikki said something soothing.

  Then she stopped, her head turning as her eyes went wide. Then she squealed and sprinted toward him, her arms wide as she threw herself at him, crying out, “Renly!”

  He caught her and spun her around, all the time feeling like a damn idiot. This was Abby, after all.

  So what the hell had he been worried about?

  Chapter Three

  “Renly Cooper, is it really you?” I’m breathing hard, unsteady on my feet now that he’s put me down. I’m dizzy, yes, but not because he’s spun me around. No, I’m unsteady because the whole freaking earth is shifting on its axis. “When the hell did you grow up?”

  And grow up so fine, too, though I don’t say that last part out loud. The Renly I used to know wouldn’t care, but I’m not certain about this gorgeous action-hero of a male specimen. I mean, the youthful, athletic guy I knew was seriously cute, but the Renly in front of me is the kind of man women drool over.

  I brush the back of my hand over my mouth—just to check—then laugh as I shake my head. Considering I was literally freaking out and terrified not ten minutes ago, I have to say I’m feeling pretty darn good. “You have made my entire day,” I tell him. “I mean, you have completely turned it around.”

  He’s grinning, too. “So are you finished? She always did talk too much,” he adds with a quick glance toward Damien.

  I smack him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m too giddy to berate you for teasing me,” I say. “How are you even here?”

  “I took the wrong left turn,” he says, alluding to our own private joke—one that started in fourth grade, though I don’t remember how, and we both start laughing again.

  Beside us, Nikki clears her throat, clearly fighting a laugh of her own. I see her glance toward Damien, who reaches for her hand before speaking. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you two know each other?”

  I meet Renly’s eyes, then shrug. “Nope.”

  “Never seen her before in my life,” he adds. He glances between the two of them, then turns back to me. “I don’t think they believe us.”

  “Yeah, well, Damien’s pretty sharp. He doesn’t miss much.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Nikki says, and I flash my boss—my partner—a happy grin. This day has done a complete one-eighty.

  “We grew up next door to each other,” Renly explains. “We made a pact in fourth grade. Me and Abby.”

  “Poor Red,” I say.

  “I have to second that,” Nikki says. “I’m definitely Team Red.”

  I look between the two of them, the pieces falling together. “Wait, you’re saying that the guy named Red who helped you during the hostage thing in Manhattan was Red Cooper?”

  “We were all three friends,” Renly continues, “but Abs and I were practically joined at the hip, especially in junior high.” Renly meets my eyes again. “Red is going to have a cow when he hears you’re in town.”

  “Red’s here?” Now my head is really spinning. Red and Renly both in the LA area? “How did I not know any of this?”

  It’s a rhetorical question; I know perfectly well what happened. We’d lost track after his mom dragged them all the way from the Santa Clarita Valley to Houston. And, to be painfully honest, we’d started to drift apart even before that, a sad fact for which I blame myself since by that time I’d developed an honest-to-goodness crush on him. And, of course, was avoiding him completely.

  It wasn’t hard. I was a techie hanging out in the STEM wing, and he was suddenly ridiculously popular, what with the athletics and his seriously awesome looks. Which, of course, means he barely noticed how little I was around. After all, he practically had a harem of girls who’d matured a hell of a lot faster than me.

  If I sound bitter, it’s only because I was. At the time I blamed him. Now I know I was a shitty friend.

  Maybe we would’ve found our footing again, but then they left for Texas. After that, we had a few calls and emails during high school, then just sort of lost touch. I knew that Renly had joined the military, but once I got sucked into college and work, I lost complete track of him.

  Of course, he lost track of me as well.

  Right now, though, none of that matters. I’m too happy to see him again. This boy who’d been my best friend and my first crush.

  “—but what the hell is going on?”

  I realize I’ve gotten completely lost in my own thoughts, and I blink up at him. “What?”

  Renly’s expression is part concern, part exasperation. “Nikki said there was an emergency—that you were in trouble.”

  “Oh!” I whip my head around to Nikki and Damien, who’ve completely flown from my mind, not to mention the mess on my car that is what had made me call Nikki in the first place.

  “No, no.” I shake my head. “It’s okay. I realized after I called that it’s okay. Weird, but not as scary as I’d thought. When you pulled up, I was telling Nikki and Damien that I’d cried wolf too early.”

  “And I was pointing out that just because it’s fake doesn’t mean it wasn’t intentional,” Nikki says, her mouth curved down into a frown.

  “Fake?” Renly repeats. “Fake what?” He moves over, shifting his angle enough so that he can see the hood of my car. I follow him, grimacing when I see it again. The horrible mess of red goo smeared all over the hood. “What the hell?” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

  “I saw it and freaked,” I explain. “I’ve been getting these weird calls with hang-ups and so I was on edge. I thought it was blood, and I overreacted.”

  “It is blood,” Renly says, moving closer and then dragging his finger through the goo. “Of a sort, anyway. Corn syrup, dye, a little soap. A few other ingredients. All adds up to the kind of fake blood they use on film sets.” He turns back to me with a grimace. “Guess whoever’s harassing you didn’t have the stomach to actually sacrifice a goat on your hood.”

  I cringe, then hug myself, my joy at seeing Renly fading in the knowledge that somebody had at the very least, wanted me to think it was blood.

  “It’s not just your car,” Damien says from a few yards away. I hadn’t realized he’d stepped away, but now he’s walking back toward us along the row of cars parked parallel to the sidewalk. “Two of the cars between you and the intersection have the same stuff on their hoods.”

  Hope flutters in my chest. “So this wasn’t about me? I don’t need to worry?”

  “I want to hear more about these calls,” Renly says firmly. “But if there’s only been a few hangups and no escalation, then you’re probably okay. The question is—is this goo an escalation?”

  “I’d be more concerned if it was only your car. Or real blood,” Nikki says as Damien frowns at his phone screen. “The fact that it’s fake already has me feeling less worried. And now that we know you’re not the only one, it doesn’t really feel like you’re a target.” She looks at Renly. “What do you think?”

  “Probably someone filming a movie nearby,” he says. “Something low budget, with a volunteer PA who decided to get their jollies on after the filming.”

  I look at Renly. “Wow. That’s very specific.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve been doing a lot of work on movie sets these days. I’ve seen a lot of the interns, and I know how college kids can be. Especially if one of them is trying to impress their friends. It wouldn’t happen on a big budget action movie, but someone from one of the film schools doing a short film that needed some fake blood? I can see some idiot on the crew spreading it around a few cars just for kicks and grins.”

  “Good call,” Damien says. “There’s a student crew from UCLA about three blocks over filming a horror movie. One of their buckets of fake blood was stolen last night.”

  “How do you know—”

  He grins at Nikki. “I texted Rachel,” he says, referring to
his executive assistant. “She called the local precinct. The supervising professor reported it. Some folding tables and equipment were also pinched.”

  “So it’s just some kid screwing around,” I say, relief sweeping through me.

  “Probably,” Renly says. “To be sure, we’ll pull the video footage.” He glances at our office building and the others nearby. “I’m not sure any of the security cameras have a street view, but it’s worth checking. I’ll ask Ryan to put someone on it.”

  “Perfect,” Damien says as I do yet another mental reset.

  “Wait,” I say to Renly. “Ryan? Does that mean you’re…” I trail off, looking from him to Damien and then back to Renly again. “Holy crap, that’s why you were with Nikki? You’re working at Stark Security?”

  “Renly’s the second newest member of the team,” Damien adds. “He joined right before Winston went off to Texas to find out how his dead wife had come back to life.”

  I grimace. I don’t work at Stark Security, the agency founded by Damien after the kidnapping of his youngest daughter. But I hear stories from Nikki, and the one about Winston Starr learning that the wife he’d believed dead from a car bomb was actually an assassin who’d faked her death was the kind of story that could be a movie. Fake blood and all.

  But it’s not Winston and Linda’s story that’s making my head spin, and I twirl my finger as I focus on Renly. “Let’s rewind, shall we?” I look between the three of them. “You’re working at Stark Security? I thought you were off in the Middle East doing SEAL stuff.”

  “You knew that?” His brows go up, and it’s clear he’s surprised.

  I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “I ask my mom about you every once in a while. She doesn’t know much, but she hears things from your mom. They’ve stayed in touch. A little, anyway.”

  “Well, she’s behind the times. I didn’t re-up. And I’ve been in LA for almost two years now. I thought you’d gone up north to MIT after doing time at UCLA.”

  “And after graduation, I came back here and I ended up—” I cut myself off. “You know what? I think we have a lot of catching up to do. I’ve got a place not that far away. Do you want to come over? Have some wine and swap stories?”

  I glance at Nikki and Damien. “You two are welcome, too, of course. I am so grateful that you came to my rescue, and I’m so sorry that it was a false alarm.” I make a face. “And I really need to run through a car wash before that stuff destroys my paint.”

  Nikki laughs. “Do not be sorry that it was a false alarm, and thank you for the invite. But I think we’ll go back to the party and let everyone know you’re fine.”

  “You’re sure? I mean, shouldn’t Renly be there?”

  “I don’t think Linda or Winston will mind,” Renly says.

  “They won’t,” Damien says. “And although this whole thing is probably going to turn out to be just a few prank calls, I’m going to call it right now and say that Renly’s officially assigned to keep you safe. Okay by you, Cooper?”

  “Hell yes,” Renly says.

  “But—” I begin but am cut off by his hand in the air.

  “It’s my job. And I wanted to make sure you got home safe, anyway. And,” he adds with that same smile that turned me to goo during The Renly Crush years, “we really do have a whole lot of catching up to do.”

  Chapter Four

  I head toward a self-serve car wash not far from my place, and he follows me there on his bike. I keep sneaking looks at him in the rearview mirror as we drive, still not completely able to believe that Renly’s back in my life.

  The thought brings me up short, and I wonder if he really is. Back, I mean. After all, while our few moments on the street were full of excitement and adrenaline, it may turn out that we don’t have a single thing in common. He may end up at my house, and all we’ll have between us is some horrible, lingering silence.

  Dear God, I hope not. Because right now, I’m buzzing with happiness from seeing him again. And I really don’t want that feeling to end.

  I turn into the car wash lot, then pull into one of the little stalls. I take a deep breath before I kill the engine to center myself. No matter what happens, it’s good to reconnect with him. And so long as I keep reminding myself of that, everything will be fine. It’s all about managing expectations, after all, and I do that every single day with clients.

  In the rearview mirror, I watch as he gets off the bike, then walks toward me across the lot. I get out and meet him at the rear of the car.

  “I haven’t got a single quarter,” he says. “Do you?”

  I laugh. “Not a one. But I do have a credit card.” I’m about to walk over to that side and start the system running, but he gets there first, sliding in his card and then grinning at me as the machinery starts rumbling.

  This particular car wash has a hose on each side of the stall. I’ve always assumed that was so that you don’t have to drag a dirty hose over your newly cleaned half in order to wash the other side. Now I consider another purpose.

  Renly apparently has the same thought, because I see the gleam in his eyes as he goes to the far side, then grabs the coiled hose, his hand poised on the nozzle.

  “Don’t you even think about it,” I say, going for my own hose.

  His eyes widen, all innocent and guileless. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I burst out laughing. Then, still laughing, I pull the trigger on my own hose and spray him, accidentally getting him full-on in the crotch.

  “Seriously?” he says. “Sweetheart, you are so going to pay for that.”

  “Phhbbt.” I dance away from the spray he aims at me. “I would have thought someone in the military would have a faster reaction time.”

  He aims again, and this time manages to completely soak the T-shirt I’d worn to work this morning. “Hey!” I protest. “This is a genuine discount bin Old Navy T-shirt. How dare you defile it?”

  “Well, it fits you very nicely,” he says, letting his eyes skim over me in what I know is an exaggerated leer.

  I glance down, realizing that since I knew I was going to be the only one in the office today, I hadn’t bothered to wear a bra. That’s something I can usually get away with, but in a wet T-shirt, even my barely-B-cup breasts look pretty perky.

  I roll my eyes. “Perv.”

  “I apologize for nothing.”

  “Behave,” I order, then point to the Fiat’s hood. “And clean.”

  He does, this time aiming the spray so that it doesn’t splash goo on me. I join in from my side, and soon enough we’ve not only eradicated the fake blood but have thoroughly cleaned the entire car.

  He steps back, looking it over like a foreman on an assembly line before meeting my eyes over the roof. “Do you remember all those times we’d run around in your backyard, me with the hose from the back of the house, and you with the one from the side?”

  “I nailed you almost every time,” I say.

  “Like hell you did. I let you get away with it. I’m a year older than you, remember? I had to watch over you. Be careful not to bruise that fragile child’s confidence.”

  I make a face. “A week,” I say. “Our birthdays are only one week apart.” December and January, true, but still only a week.

  “It is what it is. Two different years. I’m clearly older and wiser.”

  “Wiseass, I think you mean.”

  “Well, that’s true enough,” he says, then shakes his head.

  “What?”

  “I just…I just can’t believe it’s been so long since we talked.”

  My whole body seems to go soft. “I know. Me too.”

  For a moment, silence lingers. Then, just before it gets weird, I clear my throat. “Right,” I say. “So, um, we should probably get to my house. I could use some dry clothes.” I grimace. “I’m sorry I sprayed you. I didn’t even think about the fact that you probably don’t keep a change of clothes folded up somewhere on your bike.”

  “If you
have a dryer, I think we’ll be just fine.”

  “Right,” I say, trying not to blush as I think about what he’s going to wear as his clothes are spinning. “I’m a full-service hostess. I’ll even wash them for you if you want.”

  “I never turn down a free wash,” he says with such mock seriousness I start laughing all over again.

  I get myself under control, then clear my throat. “Okay, let’s go.”

  He takes a step, then stumbles. He reaches out, steadying himself with a hand on the hood of my car as I hurry that way. “Are you okay?”

  He holds up a hand. “Yeah. Yeah, I just slipped on some leftover stuff on the ground.”

  He glances toward his bike, then back at me. “Why don’t I ride with you and get it tomorrow or later tonight?”

  “Um, yeah, if you’re sure.” I nod to the car. “Hop on in.”

  It’s not far to my place, and I score a spot right in front of the duplex. It’s probably just as well that he left his bike at the car wash since parking on my street requires a permit. Besides, I know the car wash’s owner and he won’t mind. In fact, I send him a text just to let him know.

  We get out, and right away I see Lilah sitting on the front porch, watching us with an eagle eye. It’s a friendly neighborhood, and Lilah and I like to drink wine on the shared front porch and chat with the neighbors. Especially the forty-something TV writer who moved in across the street and has completely captured Lilah’s imagination. So I’m not surprised to see her on the porch now, especially since we’d planned to do that very thing tonight.

  “Look at you,” she calls as we get out of the car. “Bringing home random men?”

  “Ha ha,” I say. “Lilah, meet Renly.” I keep my eyes on her face to watch her reaction. I’m immediately rewarded, and she actually stands up, pushing herself out of the chair as if in reflex.

  “Empty locker Renly?”

  “Yup.” I turn to face Renly directly. “I know Lilah because of you,” I say. “Lilah, Renly. Renly, Lilah.”

  “I inherited your locker,” Lilah tells him. She holds out her hand to shake his as we reach the porch. “You kept it clean. There was no sweaty boy smell at all.”