A Real Live Hero Page 4

  She’d just slammed the trunk closed when the sound of her father’s old truck rumbled down the street. Perfect timing, she wanted to mutter. Another five minutes and she’d have been gone. If she’d been thinking straight, she never would’ve presumed she could stomach staying with her father. She didn’t care if she ran through her savings account like water through a sieve; she wasn’t sleeping one night under the same roof as that man...and his new wife. Hand on the door handle, she contemplated leaving without a word uttered, but a part of her wanted him to acknowledge her—perhaps only so she could refuse the gesture. But when he stopped for the barest moment and gave her a once-over then kept walking, she balled her fists and wanted to scream. Delainey fought the urge to follow him straight into the house to give him what was coming to him. But she didn’t confront him. No, instead she stood like a statue, staring and doing nothing. Nice to see you, too. What a jerk. She climbed into her rental and drove away, not realizing until she was a mile down the road she had tears tracking down her cheeks.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TRACE WANTED TO PUNCH something. No, that wasn’t the right word. He wanted to destroy something. How dare Delainey Clarke show up as if everything was peachy between them. That soul-sucker lost the right to show her mug in his personal space the day she’d thrust his offer of marriage back in his face and left town so fast she broke the sound barrier. And at his bleakest moment! He made it a point not to go there, but seeing Delainey again brought the memory front and center.

  “You’re the only thing that makes sense in my life,” Trace had said, bending on one knee, his voice breaking as he presented the small diamond he’d scrimped and saved to purchase. He didn’t make a lot of money but he didn’t spend frivolously either, and it had taken a year to save up the cash to make the biggest purchase of his young life. But she was worth it, he’d told himself. Delainey was his heart and soul, and he needed her in his life more than anything. Especially after Simone. “Please do me the honor of being my wife.”

  Delainey had stared at the ring as if it had sprung fangs and hissed at her and she actually took a step back, distancing herself from it and him. “No,” she whispered. Her green eyes had misted and widened and she shook her head, almost in horror. A sick feeling lodged itself in his gut and he felt like a fool kneeling, so he climbed to his feet and snapped the ring box shut. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” he asked, confused and hurt. “I know you love me and I love you, so what’s the problem?”

  “The problem? If you don’t know, then you don’t know me at all. I have a degree in film production. What kind of job am I going to get here with that?”

  “You’re serious about going off to California?” he asked, incredulous. “My career is here. You’ve always known that.”

  “And you’ve always known that I have big dreams that aren’t here.”

  “Yeah, well, what does that have to do with getting married?” he asked, irritated and defensive. He’d always thought her talk of running off to California was kid stuff, not the kind of real-life aspirations that adults followed through with. He’d assumed she’d use her degree to get a job with the local television studio in Anchorage, certainly not something in Hollywood. But even so, he didn’t understand why she’d reject everything he was offering based on that reason. “I mean, we could still get married, you know. We’d work something out.”

  “And if we did, you’d want me to stay here, and I’m not going to stay here. I’ve been saving up for a plane ticket to California and first month’s rent and security deposit for an apartment.”

  He stared. “You’ve been planning to leave?”

  “Yes. I told you that was my plan after graduating college. I stayed a year past my plan, and I’m not going to stay here another year.” Her eyes, so beautiful to Trace, seemed to harden into green chips of stone as she continued. “You never listen to me, Trace. You’re a country boy and I’m made to be a city girl. I thought we could make it work, but the fact is I’ve been realizing that we’re not meant to be like I thought we were. I was going to tell you...”

  “When?” he demanded to know. “After I’d purchased our first home?”

  She graced him with a look. “Sarcasm? Is that necessary? This is hard enough to do without you being mean.”

  “Forgive me, I just had my dignity stomped into the ground,” he replied caustically, tucking the ring box into his jeans when he really wanted to chuck it as far away from him as he could throw it. “So, are you breaking up with me, too?” At her silence, he swore under his breath, unable to believe this was happening. It was like a bad, bad dream. “You have excellent timing,” he said, happy to use anger as a shield against the pain that was coming. “Excellent timing. I thought I was at my lowest with my baby sister being murdered, but you showed me I had so much further to fall. Thanks, babe. You’re a doll.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her face flushing. “I should’ve told you sooner, but then everything happened with Simone and...”

  “And what? You wanted to wait to rip out my heart?”

  “I was trying to be considerate.”

  “Well, thank you for your consideration.” He scorned the sudden appearance of tears in her eyes, saying as he walked away, “Good luck in California. I never want to see you again.”

  “Trace...”

  But he kept walking. Closing his heart for good.

  Trace opened his eyes and realized his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles had whitened and he’d carved little half-moons into his palms. Eight years was a long time, but apparently not long enough. Seeing Delainey again brought all the rage and hurt right back to the surface, spilling over the sides and contaminating everything around it. He hated her. God, he hated her. She’d used him, played him, and then when he hadn’t been of any more use to her, she’d left him behind.

  So now Delainey needed him for something? She could go hang herself and see if he cared. Whatever trouble she was in, she could just figure out a solution without his help.

  And what the hell had she done to her face and hair? She looked as fake as a three-dollar bill with her platinum-blond hair and button nose. Not much of an improvement, if his opinion mattered much. He’d preferred her light brown hair, which had complemented her green eyes, giving her a mysterious air that was almost bewitching. Now, she just looked like every other plastic woman running around trying to be someone she wasn’t. And she was way too thin. He could practically count the ribs in her side when before Delainey had always been a little on the soft side—not thick by any means, but soft and feminine with full, rounded hips and nice, healthy breasts. Alaska was a harsh place, and having a little meat on the bones helped insulate against the bitter cold. At her current frail size, Delainey was likely to freeze to death waiting for a latte.

  He groaned when he realized he was still spending way too much energy thinking about Delainey, and he knew he needed to occupy his mind with something else before he lost it. He dialed his sister Miranda and tapped his finger with agitation as he waited for her to pick up.

  “Hey, Trace,” she answered with a smile in her voice. Obviously, she wasn’t aware that her former best friend was strolling around town. Should he tell her? He didn’t want her to be blindsided as he’d been, right? “You’re never going to guess who showed up on my doorstep.”

  “Churchgoers trying to save your soul?” Miranda guessed, half joking.

  “That would’ve been more welcome than who it actually turned out to be.” He waited a half second before continuing, “Delainey Clarke.”

  “What?” All laughter fled from Miranda’s voice, and he could actually imagine his sister sitting straighter in shock. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I would never make a joke in such bad taste,” he said. “She knocked on my door looking for a favor of all things. Can you imagine?”

 
; “Wow, that’s either really brave or really stupid,” she said. “So what did she want? Is she dying or something? Or maybe she’s started a twelve-step program and she’s trying to make amends for something.”

  “It’s work-related, I guess. She wants me to sign on for some show of hers.”

  “You? Plainly she’s forgotten how antisocial you are.”

  “Yeah, plainly.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “What do you think? I told her to get off my property and lose my address,” he growled, surprised his sister had to ask. “I don’t owe her anything, and I certainly don’t feel like handing out any favors after what she did to me and my family.”

  “Yeah, it sucked,” Miranda agreed, but there was something else in her voice that puzzled Trace.

  “She abandoned you, too. You were best friends.”

  “I remember. And trust me, I totally understand why you’re not happy to see her again. But aren’t you the least bit curious as to what she’s been doing for the past eight years?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “Should I be?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’d be curious. How’d she look?”

  “Like someone who spends all day staring at food they’re never going to eat.”

  “Huh?”

  “She’s too skinny.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Her hair is platinum blond and she definitely had a nose job.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot of change. I wonder why she did all that. She was always a pretty girl without all that stuff.”

  Pretty didn’t accurately describe Delainey Clarke. She’d been gorgeous, at least to Trace. She’d always been embarrassed by the bump on her nose, but Trace had found it endearing—just one more part of her that had made her unique. Now? She looked plastic. “She wore fake eyelashes, too. And her forehead didn’t move. She probably had her face shot up with that cow pee that everyone talks about.”

  “Cow pee? You mean Botox? That’s not cow urine. It’s the bacteria that causes botulism. And if her forehead didn’t move, it’s likely she’s had it done. Scary stuff. But I’m sure in Los Angeles that’s as normal as going to the grocery store to pick up eggs.”

  “Yeah, well, she can go right back to L.A. and fit in with her people because there’s sure as hell no place for her here anymore.”

  “Is she staying with her dad, I wonder? They didn’t part on good terms, either. She burned every bridge on her way out.”

  “No clue. Harlan’s a hard man and always has been. I can’t imagine he’d welcome her with open arms any more than I was willing. But she is his daughter, so who knows.”

  “You know he never treated her right,” Miranda reminded him. “I always felt bad for her.”

  “Don’t. She’s like a cat—she always lands on her feet.”

  “You don’t know that. Maybe she’s changed. A lot can happen in eight years. People can change.”

  “You, of all people, are the last person I’d expect to hear say, ‘Maybe she’s changed.’ What’s going on with you?”

  “Maybe I’ve grown up,” she said, teasing. “Having a kid does change you. And, I don’t know, maybe I’m tired of carrying around all this anger for things I can’t do anything about. Besides, we need to conserve our energy for the fight on the horizon, which, speaking of, have you managed to drop by our parents’ place yet?”

  “No.” He withheld a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, knowing he was going to catch an earful. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy doing what? I thought you were taking a breather after the Errington case.”

  “I am, but just because I’m not out with the Search and Rescue crew doesn’t mean I sit around all day.”

  “Trace, no one would ever accuse you of sitting around and twiddling your thumbs. You’re not hardwired to sit still for one blessed second.”

  Trace couldn’t argue that point. “You know that program, the Junior Search and Rescue?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, every chance I get I’ve been spending it with them. I like the kids. They’re eager to learn and it feels good to pass on the skills, seeing as I don’t have any kids.”

  “That’s cool. Speaking of kids...it’d be nice if Talen had a cousin or two,” Miranda said, dropping a not-so-subtle hint.

  “Don’t look my way. Talk to Wade. But now that you mention Talen, you ought to have him join the program. I think he’d dig it. He’s an outdoorsy kid, so it’s right up his alley.”

  “Good idea. I’ll talk to him about it. I worried he might be too young.”

  “Never too young to start learning how to read your surroundings. Dad had us out there as soon as we could walk.”

  At the mention of their father, Miranda returned to his least favorite subject.

  “Trace, I really need your help. I know it’s not your idea of a good time—trust me, it’s not mine, either—but Mom’s out of control and Dad... Well, he’s almost a lost cause, but Mom’s in danger. We need to get that house cleaned up before it collapses on her.”

  Miranda thought their mother had a hoarding problem, but Trace was fairly certain Miranda was exaggerating. How bad could it be? Trace thought the bigger issue was their father’s illegal drug operation. But he’d promised he’d take a look and see for himself. “I’ll go today,” he assured her.

  “Should I meet you there?” she asked.

  “No. You and Mom tend to spark off one another—”

  “Just like you and Dad?” she cut in, knowing him well. “Maybe it’ll help to have a buffer.”

  “With any luck, he won’t be around. But even if he is, I’ll keep it civil.”

  “Okay. Let me know how it goes.” She hesitated, then added, “And give some thought to what I said about Delainey. You never know...maybe she regrets how things were handled, too.”

  Trace bit back an irritated sigh. His sister used to be fierce—almost too much of a ballbuster—but now, she was downright tame thanks to that new guy of hers who’d come in and reintroduced joy to her life. Don’t get him wrong, it was great and all, but sometimes he missed the ballbuster.

  “It’s not that I’m not in favor of the kinder, gentler Miranda Sinclair, but you’re wasting your breath and your benefit of the doubt. If anything, she’s gotten worse. She’s a user. So before you go and invite her to lunch or something, remember how she abandoned everyone when they needed her.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re right,” she conceded with a sigh. “If I see her, I’ll try not to clip her with my Range Rover.”

  At that, he laughed. “Exactly. Knowing her, she’d have you arrested and that new boyfriend of yours would have to arrange conjugal visits in jail.”

  “You’re gross,” Miranda said, but she was laughing as she hung up.

  Trace’s smile faded and he tossed his phone to the sofa. Delainey Clarke...why’d she have to come around again? His life had finally settled into a familiar-enough routine that was devoid of too much emotion. He didn’t date—he found most women too clingy—and he made his life revolve around work. And he liked it that way.

  He saved lives.

  Period.

  What did Delainey do with her life? She’d been in an all-fire hurry to get out of Alaska so she could be famous. Had it worked out for her? Was she some bigwig in Hollywood now? She’d said she was in a bind. What kind of bind?

  Who cared.

  Not Trace.

  For the past eight years he’d worked at erasing Delainey from his memory. He’d burned pictures, destroyed videos and otherwise removed all evidence he’d ever loved her.

  As for the hole she’d left behind?

  It’d become such a familiar feeling, he’d barely noticed it any lo
nger.

  And if there were times when he couldn’t sleep, it wasn’t because his mind was torturing him with memories of how much they’d been in love, because he knew that had been a total illusion. No, Delainey had done him a solid by leaving, because he’d rather be alone than spend a lifetime with someone false.

  The sooner Delainey split town again, the better. She wasn’t good for anyone. Least of all, him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TRACE FROZE AND immediately glowered when he saw Delainey chatting up his boss, Peter, and knew right away that she was there to cause trouble. Peter caught sight of him and motioned him into the office, which he was tempted to blatantly ignore but chose instead to meet the situation head-on. Whatever Delainey had up her sleeve he could handle. She couldn’t force him to participate in her stupid show, and he felt fairly confident that Peter couldn’t make him either without facing some serious legal ramifications.

  “Trace, come here a minute,” Peter said, smiling from ear to ear. “I’ve been chatting with your friend—”

  “She’s not my friend,” Trace corrected him, shooting Delainey a dark look for telling his boss anything to the contrary. “And whatever she’s selling, I’m not interested in buying.”

  “Careful, Trace, you might come off as unlikeable,” Peter said, a tad nervously, and Trace’s senses went on full alert. Something wasn’t right. Peter was practically simpering—not an attractive look on a man closing in on his sixties—and Delainey looked like the Cheshire cat. “Delainey has presented us with an amazing opportunity, and I think we owe it to the department to listen to her offer.”

  “I already know her offer, and trust me, it comes with hidden strings attached. Besides, I’m not interested and without me, there’s no show. Right?” He looked to Delainey for confirmation. She nodded but cast a confident stare Peter’s way as if to reassure him—and that made Trace nervous.

  “Imagine the publicity,” Peter started, and Trace waved away his protests.