No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

But I never let missing him make me a monster.

I never let it make me cruel.

That’s where any pity, any sympathy, any similarity between us dies.

Especially when her nasty smile reveals everything as she reaches back and clicks the lock on the door with a decisive turn.

I’ll never get any pity or mercy from this woman.

“Well now, sweet Fe-lic-i-tee,” she purrs, her grin widening into this horrible Cheshire cat gash. “Look who finally came to play at the big girls’ table.”

“Big talk from someone who looks like a doll.” At this point I’ve got nothing to lose by being honest. “Nice of you to send your new shithead as the advance guard.”

“Mmm, Coakley’s disposable. Just in case you had any nasty tricks up your sleeve.” She mock-pouts at me with a sick gloss of girlish giggling. “But you’re going to play real nice with me, aren’t you?”

“Just take your crap and go.”

“Ooh, feisty.” She wrinkles her pert little nose at me. “Not until you tell me what you were talking about with the kid. What child had you so scared?”

“Misunderstanding,” I say slowly. Carefully. I can’t breathe a word about Eli to her. I won’t put him in more danger, even if she knows he exists and he’s close to me. “Some tourist’s kid got lost in the woods. Thought you stole him to make a point.”

With an exasperated sigh, she props her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes. “So paranoid. As if I’d bother with children. They’re loud, annoying, and smelly.”

“Such a delightful sentiment.”

“You’re cranky today.” Paisley smirks. “I think I like sassy Felicity better.”

“You done?” I stare at her flatly.

“And cut this bonding moment short?” She gives a little twirl, then sighs. “Fiiine.”

My fingers creeps toward the panic button, but Gavin emerges from the back, and I freeze.

From where he’s standing, he’ll see.

“Hey,” he says, grinning like he actually did something. “There’s really a metric fuck-ton of gold in here. It’ll be a workout just to carry it all.”

Paisley’s smile vanishes, and she gives Gavin a look of such loathing I almost laugh.

At least we agree on something.

“Is that your problem?” she asks icily—then flicks her fingers at me. “You. Go. Show me where it is.”

Gavin’s face falls. “I just said it’s—”

“And I said shut up, Mr. Man!” Paisley hisses.

Jesus. I’m sure they’re all armed. If they start fighting right on top of me and it escalates into a shoot-out...

Keep it calm. Breathe.

I straighten, let out a nervous yawn, and use the motion to disguise hitting that small silent panic button. Langley should be here in fifteen minutes or less, the Missoula police maybe another hour or two.

Let’s hope I’ll still be alive.

I step into the hall, staring Gavin down coldly until he backs up to the storage room door. I get one step forward.

And then feel something cold jabbed in the small of my back.

A gun.

My stomach turns over.

Paisley leans in close, hissing in my ear, her breath scalding hot on my neck.

“In case you get any funny ideas. I know what a comedian you are,” she whispers. “Even if you live, you’d enjoy your retirement as a paraplegic. So behave, Fe-li-ci-tee.”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” I croak dryly, and let myself be frog-marched forward into the storage room.

Paisley stops me just inside the door and my eyes flick to the side.

The string’s hanging right there.

I could pull it right now, but I’ll get shot, so I can only stand there and watch helplessly as her men muscle past and move to the shelves, whispering to themselves as they count the loot.

“Yo, why are you counting it?” Gavin frowns.

“Because,” Paisley says mockingly. “You’ve already made it clear you’ve got very big, very hungry pockets. You better not have lied to me about how many bars there are, Coakley.”

“I told you,” Gavin snarls. “Seventy-two. Seventy-one, now that you’ve got one. I counted them way back at their old hiding place in the woodpile.”

“He’s lying,” I interject quickly.

Paye’s doll-like face snaps toward me.

He’s actually not lying, but this is my chance.

“There were eighty bars, Paisley,” I say. “I left him alone in here and he must’ve swiped a few. I don’t know where he hid the others.”

Gavin whirls on me. “What the fuck? You bi—”

“Enough!” Paisley snarls—and suddenly the gun swings away from me and dead onto Gavin. She jerks her chin at her men. “Search. He probably stashed them behind those coffee sacks.” Then she turns her narrowed eyes on him with a cruel smile, all teeth, so coy and yet so terrible. “Unlucky for you that little Miss Fe-li-ci-tee here has a well-honed sense of self-preservation. Do you know what I do to people who steal from me, Coakley?”

I hold in a searing breath.

Finally, something’s going right. I think.

Paisley’s men are right under the shelves, rummaging around in sacks for gold that isn’t there.