Forgiving Keven: A Stand-Alone Second Chance Romance Page 9

  I can tell there’s no point continuing to press the issue. He’s not going to fess up. And I don’t want to argue with him. Not when I’ve got much bigger concerns.

  Like whether I postpone or completely cancel my wedding.

  I soften my tone and appeal to him with my smile. “It was just a bit weird that you never mentioned it to me, but it’s not a big deal, so forget I said anything.”

  He stares at me like he’s gauging how genuine my response is. “Okay.” Some of the tension leaves his body. “Sorry for snapping.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder. “Sorry for upsetting you.”

  He slides his arm behind my back, tucking me into his side. “No problem.” He tips my face up with one finger. “But I meant what I said. I don’t want you going back there, and it’s not safe to be walking over that side of the woods. It’s very overgrown, and I don’t want you tripping and getting hurt.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. I put a note up in the local store. I thought we could hire a couple of students to clear the overgrowth.”

  “You did what?”

  I flinch back from his dark growl. “What did I do wrong?”

  “I don’t want anyone going near that barn! You had no right to do something like that without consulting me first.”

  “Consulting you? I’m your fiancée, Dan, and this is supposed to be my house too.” He flips off the covers and gets up. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to the store to remove that note.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’ll be closed now,” I say, glancing at the clock.

  He ignores me, stalking into his walk-in closet, coming out a couple minutes later dressed in a black sweater and black sweatpants. “Don’t wait up.” He snatches his keys and wallet from the bedside table.

  “Dan, please. You’re overreacting.”

  “Go to sleep, Cheryl. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” With those parting words, he storms out of the bedroom.

  I try to sleep, but I can’t. Niggling worries are becoming more large scale in my mind, and I’m wondering what the hell he’s storing in that barn that he wants to keep hidden. The rest of my thoughts are preoccupied with Keven and what he told me earlier today, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t shut my brain down.

  So, I’m still awake when Dan slips into our bedroom at four a.m. I pretend to be asleep as he crawls under the covers. He lies on his side, facing away from me, and two minutes later, he’s snoring like a foghorn.

  This isn’t the first time Dan’s gone out and not come back until the early hours. Add that to his frequent business trips, deflection any time I ask him how his business is doing, his odd reaction over the barn, and his dwindling attention, and I’ve come to one of two conclusions.

  Either Dan is mixed up in whatever Garcia was involved in or he’s cheating on me.

  Chapter 10

  Keven

  It’s been three days since Cheryl came to my place, and I’m concerned I pushed too hard. I wasn’t supposed to say any of that shit. Had planned on going the whole “let’s be friends” route, but when I saw how she reacted, I improvised. Now, I’m worried all I’ve done is scare her away.

  And I feel guilty as hell about planting that listening tracker on her cell while I was cleaning up the broken cup. She never noticed because she was so busy mulling over everything I’d told her. It’s the latest software, so it enables me to listen in to her conversations and to hear everything going on around her while it’s powered on, as well as keeping tabs on her location. I’m recording everything, per the SSA’s instruction, but I wiped the incident in her living room from the memory log. It was bad enough I had to listen to that scumbag grunting and groaning as he fucked her, but I’m damned if I’m letting the whole team have access to it.

  I want to rip the guy from limb to limb. I hate him even more after listening to that. Cheryl didn’t make a sound the whole time, and that’s how I know, for a fact, he’s a selfish asshole who doesn’t give a shit about her needs. When Cheryl and I fucked, she used to scream the house down.

  Why is she with this guy?

  I never thought she’d be the type to settle, but that’s what it seems like. And he’s hardly ever there. She may as well be living in that place all by herself.

  I did pick up some interesting intel though. As soon as Cheryl mentioned a barn, Stanten lost his cool. Clearly, he’s hiding something.

  “Kennedy.” The SSA pops his head into my pod. “I need to see you in my office, now.”

  I trudge after him, and it’s a bit like being summoned to the principal’s office. “I need you to get into that house and onto that property,” he says before I’ve even taken a seat. “Where are things with Ms. Keeland?”

  “She hasn’t contacted me yet, but she will.”

  “We don’t have time to wait. The sting we set up at the border was a bust. Seems someone must be onto our undercover guys, and the intel was bogus. One of our agents confirmed an assignment of weapons, drugs, and underage females have been smuggled into the U.S. in the last twenty-four hours, destined for our Boston streets. We don’t know how they got in or where they’re holed up, but Stanten’s all over this.” He hands me a file. “Agent Wentward tracked him to Mexico last weekend. See for yourself.”

  I open the file, and bile floods my mouth as I flick through the pictures. The first few are of Stanten shaking hands with various men. All of them are wearing suits, looking like their shit doesn’t stink. They are standing beside a couple of articulated trucks while crateloads of boxes are being uploaded.

  The next few shots are a bit grainy, but it shows a room with a row of dirty mattresses on the floor. A handful of guys is defiling naked, young girls while Stanten and a couple of his buddies in suits watch from the top of the room. One of the guys has a camera out, filming proceedings.

  Other photos show Stanten buried balls deep in a girl who looks no older than fifteen. I slam the file shut, raising angry eyes to the boss man. “I’ll move things along.”

  He nods. “See that you do, and be careful. Wentward said Stanten got a whole new security system fitted at his house and on the grounds of his property on Monday. It seems Cheryl stumbling onto the barn has legitimately worried him. I need to know if that’s where he’s hiding the shipments.”

  “Seems unlikely. Cheryl’s been home the whole time. There’s only one way onto the property, and she would’ve noticed trucks pulling up.”

  “I agree, but he’s hiding something in that barn, and we need to get into it. Right now, I don’t have enough to get a warrant, so find something, anything, I can use to move this along.”

  I stand. “Trust me, I’m all over this.”

  I’m at the door when he calls out to me. “Keep me posted, and no crazy heroics.” He pins me with a sober look. “I know you care for her, but you can’t let your feelings get in the way of the investigation. There’s too much riding on this.”

  It didn’t take long for a plan to form in my head, and it took even less time to set it in motion. After seeing those pictures, I need to get Cheryl the hell away from that asshole, and I don’t have the luxury of time anymore. There’s no greater incentive.

  I’m following Cheryl from a distance as she drives out of the city toward Walpole. The slow puncture I inflicted on her front tire should become obvious in the next ten minutes, and then I’ll ride to the rescue, and she won’t be able to say no. Not if she wants to get to the residential home in time.

  Part of me hopes she’ll call me, but I switch the screen on my laptop on, as I’m parked at a rest area a couple miles back, scowling while I watch her place the call to Stanten. Predictably, he doesn’t answer. When her next call is to Triple A, I start the engine of my X5 and maneuver back out onto the road, slowly heading in her direction.

  I act surprised as I roll down my window. “Cheryl? You nee
d help?”

  She blinks repeatedly as if she can’t believe her eyes. I pull in in front of her car on the road and cut the engine. Shutting down the feed on my laptop, I close the lid and shove it on the back seat before hopping out.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, suspicion underscoring her tone as she ends her call, slipping her cell in her pocket.

  I hold up my hands. “Calm the fuck down. I was on my way to a client’s house, and I spotted you. What’s the problem?” I lower my head, inspecting my earlier handiwork.

  “I’ve got a flat,” she says, frustration washing over her face as she sighs.

  “You need me to change that for you?”

  “How long will it take?”

  “About thirty minutes,” I lie. I can change a flat in less than twenty, but I’m not admitting that. My plan hinges on her leaving her car here and coming with me.

  “Shit.” She huffs, stomping her booted foot.

  My lips tug up. “Did you just stomp your foot?”

  “Yes. Trust me, it’s a stomp-worthy moment.”

  “You in a rush somewhere?”

  She looks behind her at my SUV. “Yeah, and I wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t important, but is there any chance you could give me a ride to Walpole?”

  “No problem. Just grab your stuff, lock up, and follow me.”

  “Thank you for this,” she says, a couple minutes later, when she’s securely settled into the passenger seat of my X5. “You’ve gotten me out of a jam.”

  “I’m glad to be able to help,” I say, moving back out onto the road. “Where we heading to anyway?” I ask, even though I already know.

  “To a residential home for kids. I volunteer there; teach a photography class every Wednesday evening. I’ll direct you when we hit Walpole.”

  My proud smile is genuine. “You always loved helping others.”

  She shrugs it off. “It’s not a chore. I love photography, and I get as much of a kick out of it as the kids do.”

  “Tell me about the place.” It’s difficult to keep my eyes on the road when the woman I love is sitting beside me. I just want to drive away with her and keep her safe. Now, more than any other time, I can relate to how Kaden felt when he was in my shoes. I would willingly sacrifice everything to protect Cheryl, no question about it.

  “The home provides a variety of different programs for kids who have nowhere else to stay. They arrive for all kinds of reasons. Some have behavioral issues; others have been neglected or abused. The program gives them structure and focus while they work through their issues.” I can feel her looking at me, and I take my eyes off the road for a second. “Meeting these kids makes me realize how lucky we were to have come from loving families who had the means to take care of us.”

  “We were fortunate,” I agree, “but it’s difficult to see it like that when you’re a kid. When every little thing seems like a big thing and stuff seems impossible to overcome. I was too focused on my problems and blaming my parents for them to properly see all the ways in which I had it good.”

  “True. It’s easy, with hindsight, to look at it objectively. But these kids are different. They’ve seen the ugly side of life at far too young an age. Some self-destruct, and no amount of help can pull them back from the path they’re on. But a lot of them are the opposite. They fight so hard because they want to have a better life, and they grasp the opportunities given to them with both hands. It’s both humbling and awe-inspiring.”

  She’s humbling and awe-inspiring, and I’m more determined than ever to worm my way back into her heart.

  “Thanks so much for the ride,” she says when we reach the home twenty minutes later. “And sorry for derailing your meeting. I hope you aren’t too late.”

  “I canceled it.”

  Her brows knit together. “Why did you do that?”

  “You need a ride back to your car.” I shrug like it’s no biggie.

  “You didn’t have to do that. I’m sure one of the other volunteers would’ve dropped me off.”

  “Well, it’s done now, and I’ve got some spare time on my hands.”

  Her eyes light up. “You want to come in?”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” I say, smiling as I pocket my keys and get out of the car.

  She introduces me to a bunch of men and women who work in the place before bringing me over to the room she uses for her class. There’s about twenty teenage boys and girls, of varying ages, in the room. All their heads swivel in my direction when I step into the room with Cheryl.

  “Who’s your boyfriend, Cheryl?” a girl at the front asks, blatantly checking me out. I wink at her, and she shoves one of her fingers in her mouth, moving it in and out as she licks it in a provocative manner. Holy shit. I smother my laugh, schooling my lips into a neutral line when Cheryl sends me a warning look.

  “Keven is my friend, and he’s going to help out today.” She shoots me a smug look, and I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.

  “Yo, girl, why you not tapping that?” a girl at the back speaks up. “He sure is pretty to look at.” Peals of laughter ring throughout the room, and I cough this time to disguise my laughter.

  “Wanda. Behave or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “Aw, you’re no fun anymore, Ms. Cheryl.”

  “Hey, what you bench, man?” a dude with dreads and tats at the front asks me.

  “Two twenty.”

  “Get the fuck out,” he replies, lifting his fist for a knuckle touch. “You the man.”

  Cheryl is fighting a smile as she sets up the lesson.

  “Are you one of those Kennedy dudes?” a skinny guy with glasses asks. “’Cause I saw a picture online, and you really look like one of them.”

  “Hey, leave Keven alone, or he’ll never agree to help again.” Cheryl pushes me toward the back of the room. “Sit there and try to look invisible. I’ll call you when I need you.” She turns around but not before I spot the wicked glint in her eye.

  Propping my butt on the edge of the desk, I watch her teach the class. I’m fucking mesmerized by her. She’s clearly in her element. Her face comes alive, and she gestures wildly with her hands, as she flicks through photos on the screen. The class discusses color and aesthetics, entering into healthy debate. After a half hour, she gestures me forward with a nod.

  “Next week, we’re going to study portraiture and capturing the human form. I thought we could have a little introduction to it today seeing as we have a helper.” A few hoots and hollers ring out in the room, and I stop my forward trajectory, suddenly very, very afraid. “Come here, big guy,” Cheryl taunts, struggling to contain her mirth. “You’re not afraid of getting your picture taken, are you?”

  “When you say human form, please tell me you mean naked human form,” the girl who did the fucked-up finger licking thing pipes up.

  “Hell to the no.” I drill a serious look at Cheryl, and she convulses into fits of laughter. Half the class joins in.

  “Spoilsport,” she whispers when I reach her side.

  I press my mouth to her ear. “If you want to see me naked, you only have to ask. I’ll strip for you anytime, babe—once it’s a private show.” I lick my lips and discreetly roll my hips.

  Her cheeks enflame and, oh yeah, I think I won this round.

  “Can he at least take his shirt off?” another girl asks, and that starts up a chorus of chants. Even I’m laughing now.

  “Tell me what you’re comfortable with,” Cheryl says with a soft smile. Her entire face is glowing, and she looks so beautiful that I’d happily strip naked in front of the class for her.

  “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

  Ten minutes later, I’m standing in front of a white screen in only my jeans while a bunch of teenagers pretend to listen to Cheryl’s instruction instead of drooling.

>   Two cameras are passed around the room, and each student is given the opportunity to pose me to their liking and take a couple shots. I don’t know how professional models handle this shit day in, day out.

  Cheryl was constantly taking my picture in high school, and I let her use me as her guinea pig, but that was fun because I loved every second in her company, and it was never a chore. I’ve also done a few shoots for sports magazines before, but they’ve been active stuff, shots of me in the gym or outside jogging, and I didn’t mind that, but standing around primping and preening bores me to tears. Still, I don’t mind too much because I’m helping Cheryl out, and the kids seem to be enjoying it.

  After, Cheryl takes a photo of me—with my shirt back on—and all the kids, and then class is over.

  “Thanks for being a good sport,” she says, as she gathers up her things.

  “No problem. It was fun. They’re a lively bunch.”

  “I love this group of kids. They’re enthusiastic.”

  “A few of them seem like naturals too,” I say although I’m probably talking out my ass. I used to take off on long afternoons with Cheryl when she wanted to photograph stuff. I’d drive her everywhere and anywhere so she could capture a multitude of settings. She was always so passionate about it, and bits and pieces rubbed off on me. I remember when I got her this Nikon camera she’d been saving for, as a surprise, our last summer together, and she was so excited I got laid three times that night. Those were some of the best times of my life.

  “They are, and I wish we had more funding, so I could encourage them, but the budget’s always tight,” she says, dragging me out of my head.

  “That’s why you were sharing two cameras around.”

  “Yep,” she says, hefting her bag over her shoulder. “I’m all packed up. Let’s go.”

  I take the bag off her shoulder, ignoring her feeble protest, and place my hand on her lower back as I guide her forward. I expect her to argue or slip out of my grasp, but she doesn’t.

  My hand begs to explore. To slip under her shirt and feel her soft skin. To wander over her body, examining all her new curves. But I hold myself back, because I meant what I said to her on Sunday.