My Valdez Valentine (An Odds-Are-Good Standalone Romance Book 4) Page 4

  “Yep. Any orders for help are going to have to come from the state troopers’ office. It’s a chain-of-command thing. Valdez PD will call the troopers, they’ll call the Rescue Coordination Center, and they’ll reach out to the National Guard, SAR, or one of the volunteer operations like the Mountain Rescue Association or the Alaska Mountain Rescue Group.”

  “My head is spinning,” she murmurs.

  “But aside from filing a missing person’s report, they won’t really do anything until…”

  “Until?”

  “Until you have a good idea of where he is. They can’t rescue someone if they don’t have their location.”

  “So…I have to find him first?” she asks. There’s an edge in her voice. “What about the whole ‘Search’ part of ‘Search and Rescue’?”

  “With all due respect,” I say, adding a slight edge to my voice, “you don’t even know where he went. You know he asked for a ride to Berlin Wall, but you have no idea if he got one. He could’ve ended up at Worthington Glacier or could be ice fishing on some lake somewhere. If they send a team up into those mountains to look for him, each one of those people is putting their life at risk. No one’s going to authorize a wild goose chase without, minimally, having a good idea of where he went and his last known location.”

  “You know a lot about this.”

  “No. Not a lot,” I tell her, “but I live here. I’ve helped out from time to time when local police have needed an extra chopper pilot.”

  She leans forward in her seat. “Gideon, I want to hire you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want to hire you for the next…um, five days. For today and the rest of the week.”

  “For what?”

  “One-on-one guidance. Drive me around. Fly me anywhere I need to go. Give me advice. Help me.”

  “Oh. That’s really not what I—”

  “With all due respect,” she points out, parroting my tone from before, “you’re in the tourism business and I need a guide. I’ll be your best client all year.”

  “I really don’t know a whole lot about search and rescue.”

  “You know about Alaska. You know about Valdez. You know about the Chugach’s and Thompson Pass. You know where to find the tourism companies and pilots that Elliot might have talked to. You know the local police. You—”

  “Fine. I get it. I know more than you. But my time—”

  “Of course. Your time. Let’s see…you charged me five hundred dollars for an hour of flying. I assume that a good portion of that cost was fuel, garage, and vehicle fees? Not to mention a possible surcharge because I’m from LA?”

  Fuck. She’s astute too. “Something like that.”

  “Fine. I’ll pay you two hundred and fifty dollars an hour for your time,” she says, “plus all incidentals and—”

  “That’s six thousand dollars a day,” I tell her. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “—and a thirty-thousand-dollar bonus if we find my brother alive by Sunday.”

  Sixty thousand dollars. For five days work. Is she kidding me?

  I pull the van over to the side of the road and stare at her in the rearview mirror. “Are you for real?”

  “I don’t joke about money,” she says.

  “Neither do I.”

  “Which means we’ve both experienced having none,” she observes quietly. She waits a beat then says, “I’m for real, Gideon. Thirty thousand dollars for five days work. Double if we find my brother alive.”

  The next words that come out of my mouth make me want to bite my tongue, but she’s way overpaying for my time and I feel a little guilty about overcharging her for the helicopter ride she just took.

  “You don’t have to pay me that much.”

  “Why not?” she asks, her green eyes wide and fierce. “I make five hundred dollars an hour when someone wants a divorce. Why shouldn’t you make at least half of that to save a life?”

  So she is a lawyer. And with a five hundred dollar an hour rate? A damn good one. So why doesn’t she have people handling this brother of hers?

  “You could hire anyone.”

  “I don’t have time for that,” she says. “I don’t have time to find someone, vet them—no. Forget it. My brother’s in trouble. Time is of the essence. I’m here. You’re here. I need your help. Do you want the job or not? If not, please turn around and drop me back at the airport so I can ask Sven if he—”

  “I want the job.”

  “Great,” she says. “The clock starts now.”

  “Gotta go home for a few minutes,” I tell her, thinking of Livia. “I have to take care of—”

  “Who?” she asks. “You’re not married.”

  Her definitive tone catches me off guard. “N-No. Not anymore.”

  “Dependent parent?”

  “Nope.”

  “Kid?”

  “Never been blessed,” I say, pulling off the shoulder of the road and resuming our drive into Valdez. “Livia.”

  “A…girlfriend?” Her brows furrow like she’s confused, like she’d be surprised if I actually had one. “But why would you place a pers—ah-hem…I mean…you have a girlfriend?”

  “No,” I say, starting to feel a little insulted at the way she decided I wasn’t married and acts like my having a girlfriend is near impossible. What the fuck? Am I so undesirable? Does she have a problem with indigenous people? “Jesus. Would that be so shocking? For me to have a girlfriend?”

  It’s infuriating that she answers my question with a question. “So who’s Livia?”

  “My malamute.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Breed of dog. Looks a lot like a husky. Livia’s three.”

  “Oh.”

  Is it possible for a single syllable to convey relief? Because if it is, she does. She’s relieved that Livia’s a dog and not a girlfriend, which smooths my ruffled feathers. Was she trying to find out if I was single? Something inside of me—something primal, and male, and hungrier by the second—hopes that was her goal.

  “So…no girlfriend,” I reconfirm.

  She takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly, then asks in a lighter tone, “So you got divorced three years ago, huh?”

  “Yeah. How did you know that?”

  “A lot of men adopt a pet soon after a breakup.”

  Right. She’s a divorce attorney. “I bet you’ve heard a lot of stories.”

  “You wouldn’t believe half of them,” she tells me.

  “Maybe I would. I’d like to hear them sometime.”

  “Well, we’ve got five days ahead. Could be you’ll get lucky.”

  I know she doesn’t mean that in the way I wish she did, but my cock only hears her words in a sexual context…and fuck, but he likes it.

  “Um…coming into Valdez now,” I tell her, pointing out the medical center on the right and hoping to distract myself from any further inappropriate thoughts. “Hospital’s over there.”

  “Is it decent?”

  “It’s all we’ve got,” I tell her. “But yeah. Especially for emergencies, it’s fine. There’s always the option of airlift to Anchorage if necessary.”

  “Good to know,” she murmurs, no doubt thinking about her brother.

  We pass by a couple of one-story strip malls before I veer off to the left toward the harbor. Not too far ahead is the mustard-colored, two-story Best Western Valdez Harbor, the best accommodations in town.

  I offer to bring her suitcase inside, so she can head in and get her room reserved. As I slam the trunk, pulling her supergirly rolling bag behind me, I wonder what the hell I’ve agreed to do. Be at her beck and call? Chauffeur her around Alaska? A search and rescue mission?

  I don’t feel especially qualified for one of those three jobs, but she made a convincing reason to retain my services, so I’ll do whatever I can to help her. And that thirty-thousand-dollar bonus sure is a good incentive to help her find her idiot brother.

  That sort of lump sum could do a lot o
f good back at home.

  My mother and much of my extended family still live in Tatitlek, a village on the Prince William Sound where Alutiiq people have lived for hundreds of years. If it sounds familiar, that’s probably because it was the town most impacted by the Exxon Valdez oil spill of 1989.

  Not that I personally remember the disaster, since I was only four at the time, but “the spill” was a frequent topic of local conversation during my childhood. All told, over ten million gallons of crude oil were spilled and a quarter-million birds and mammals were killed, decimating our town’s hunting and fishing resources and threatening my people’s way of life.

  Our survival depended partly on monies held by our Alaskan Native Village corporation, which financed, among other things, my college education. If I can find Elliot DeWitt alive, I’ll donate the whole bonus back into the trust, hoping it helps another Alutiiq youngster get their college degree too.

  As I walk into the hotel, still musing on lofty thoughts of helping an Alutiiq teen get a good education, I’m distracted by Addison DeWitt all over again.

  Standing at the counter, she’s giving everyone who enters the BW the most phenomenal view of her rear end, and I have to wonder if God ever made an ass quite as perfect as hers. Pert and rounded under her cropped jacket, those cheeks would be just the right handfuls to hold onto while I…while I—

  I have a quick mental fantasy of fucking her from behind with that glorious ass pressed against my naked pelvis, and everything inside of me tightens almost to the point of pain. I can feel my cock—which was already turned on by the words, “Could be you’ll get lucky.”—throbbing behind the zipper of my jeans.

  Pulling my T-shirt out of my pants, I billow the bottom over my groin and walk quickly to the counter until I’m standing right beside Addison.

  Seal hunting. Rock climbing. Crude oil spills. Think of anything but fucking her.

  “I’ll take it,” she says to the hotel clerk, turning to me. “All they have is a queen bed with a whirlpool.” She rolls her eyes. “Just what I need.”

  I know she’s being sarcastic, but the thought of her naked in a whirlpool doesn’t calm me down. Blood courses to my cock, making it swell and strain. Because I don’t especially want to walk around with an obvious boner, I suck my bottom lip between my teeth and bite on it. Hard. Until I taste blood and wince softly.

  “You okay?” she asks me, one eyebrow quirking up.

  “Fine,” I mutter.

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “Bit my lip.”

  She focuses on it, her tongue flicking out to wet her own as she stares at mine. Fuck me. Not helping.

  “I have to go,” I tell her in a rush. “I have to go feed Livia.” And rub one out in the privacy of my bathroom like a thirteen-year-old with his first Playboy, apparently.

  “Okay. You feed your dog and come back later. It’s…” She looks at her phone. “Almost eleven. Meet me back here at two? I’ll get a few hours of sleep, and then we can get started. Okay?”

  “Sure,” I say, the reminder of her brother’s predicament curbing my hunger. “What can I do to help while you’re sleeping?”

  “Find out if anyone gave Elliot a ride out to Thompson Pass on Friday,” she tells me, sliding her driver’s license and credit card to the hotel clerk. “We need to know where he went…and with whom.”

  “I know most of the pilots in town,” I tell her. “I’ll go down to the airport and start with them.”

  Before I can back away from her, she puts a hand on my arm. Her skin is warm and soft and makes my own come alive from the contact. It’s been too long since I was with a woman, but I find I like being touched by Addison specifically. I want her to touch me…everywhere.

  “Gideon,” she says, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her fingers squeeze. God help me. “Thank you.”

  I nod at her, then turn around quickly and head back to my van.

  ***

  Addison

  I’m weary.

  In fact, I don’t know when I’ve ever felt this bone tired.

  I roll my suitcase into the room, listen for the door to close behind me, and fall face-first onto the bed. I could fall asleep right this second, I think, except for two things: the sun is shining directly into my eyes, and my boots are fiercely uncomfortable. Shit.

  I force myself to sit up so I can unzip my boots, then pad barefoot across the room to pull the blackout curtains closed. Because I’m up, I also wash the day-old makeup off my face and change into comfy pajama pants and a tank top.

  I sigh with relief as I snuggle under the covers, grateful for whomever does the mattress purchasing for this hotel. It’s plush and deep, and the comforter over me is thick and warm. Unfortunately, just as my eyes close, my phone dings to tell me I have a new message.

  It’s Kitty, who writes to tell me that when we looked at Elliot’s credit card the other day, pending transactions were hidden, but now, there are two new ones from Saturday. Apparently, he rented a car from the Valdez U-Drive, and the card was charged again at the Blueberry Inn, which Kitty informs me is located in Thompson Pass. With a quick burst of elation that makes me feel slightly giddy, I ask her to contact the inn and find out if they booked any tours for Elliot.

  Gideon said that the Richardson Highway would be open again soon. With any luck, it’ll be open this afternoon and we can drive over to the inn to find out what happened to my brother.

  A solid lead. Damn, but this is good news.

  I mute my phone and place it back on the bedside table, leaning my head into the pillow and staring at the ceiling. When Gideon comes back later, I’ll tell him. Hopefully, he’ll agree that it’s a big step in the right direction.

  Gideon.

  Gideon Grigoriev.

  I sigh softly as he takes shape in my mind.

  He’s tall and built, with a barrel-chest and toned forearms. His face is sharp and handsome, his cheekbones high and his jaw square, and his hair and eyelashes are jet black, which only make his blue eyes pop all the more. They’re striking, like a Whitewalker’s, or Ian Somerhalder’s, or Michael Ealy’s. Light and crystal clear, I had to keep myself from staring at them, from losing myself in them. And the struggle was real, because I live in LA where everyone’s perfect, but Gideon’s eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

  Alutiiq with husky-blue eyes. Just like the ad promised.

  “I hope he finds someone nice,” I say aloud, but my voice is unconvincing, and deep inside, another voice, bitchy and jealous, immediately snaps back, No, you don’t.

  The second voice is correct. I don’t. For as long as I’m here, I hope he doesn’t find anyone. I don’t like imagining him with some beautiful girl standing next to him, in his arms, pressed up against his body. No, he doesn’t belong to me, but he is my employee, and for now—for the rest of the week—I want his undivided attention. I’m possessive of what belongs to me, no matter how or why.

  I have a quick mental fantasy of him crawling naked into bed beside me, and my body, which was so exhausted only a moment ago, almost hums with longing. I can’t remember the last time I was so instantly attracted to someone. Would it be the worst thing in the world to indulge that attraction while I’m here? In a no-strings-attached manner, of course. I don’t want a relationship or a boyfriend, for God’s sake, but the tingling between my legs tells me that it’s been too long since I had a man’s cock balls deep in my pussy.

  I rub my finger expertly along my swollen clit, orgasming in seconds, then turn onto my side as I keep the mental image of my black-haired, blue-eyed guide front and center in my mind.

  I’m not positive, because I have so little experience with the feeling, but I think Gideon makes me feel…safe. Not that he’s actually given me a great deal of encouragement about finding Elliot, but just by taking the job, he makes me feel like there’s a chance. He makes me feel hopeful. And I need that. I need to believe it more than anything. Because if Elliot’s dead, I’m a
lone in this wild, white world.

  All alone.

  And totally unloved.

  ***

  The knock on the door is loud enough to wake the dead.

  I launch myself out of bed and across the pitch-black room, supremely annoyed with whomever it is until I open the door and find Gideon standing sheepishly on the other side. In his hand is a cardboard tray holding two cups of coffee, and on a leash at his side is his dog, Livia.

  “Sorry,” he says, grimacing. “I knocked at two, three, and four. I didn’t think you’d want to lose the whole day.”

  “What time is it?” I ask, flicking on the overhead light and scrubbing my hands over my face.

  “Little after four thirty,” he tells me, letting Livia off her leash and following her into my room. “The coffee’s a peace offering for waking you up.”

  “It’s too dark to be four thirty,” I mutter, opening the curtains.

  “The sun set about forty-five minutes ago,” he tells me. “Welcome to January in Alaska.”

  I sit down at the table by the windows, looking out at the twinkling lights of the harbor and remembering where I am and why I’m here.

  That’s right. I’m in Alaska. Elliot’s missing. I need to find him.

  Gideon sets the coffees down in front of me, then takes a seat across from me. “You don’t mind Liv being here?”

  “Is she well behaved?”

  As if to prove herself, she circles twice, then lies down at Gideon’s feet.

  “A perfect lady.”

  “Then she’s more than welcome.” I pick up the coffee and take a big gulp that scalds my throat in a good way. It wakes me up a little more. “Did you talk to any pilots?”

  “Yeah. Everyone I could find at the airport and a few guys over at the Convention and Visitor’s Bureau. No one remembered your brother. No one—”

  “Oh, my God!” I yell, leaping out of my chair and rushing to the bedside table. “Kitty! She left me a message before I fell asleep.” I grab my phone and walk back to the table. “Elliot rented a car at the airport on Friday night, then checked into the Blueberry Inn.”

  “Hey! Now we’re talking!”