Mowed Over (Sonoma Book 2) Read online

  "What are you doing tomorrow?" he drawls.

  "Sleeping in," I answer blissfully. "I have one day off a week and I like to use it wisely by sleeping until noon."

  "Could I take you to brunch after you wake up?"

  I freeze, mouth open, hanging on the precipice of something scary, because a part of me really wants to say yes. He seems sweet, but what do I really know about him? Nothing! He could be a super charming serial killer for all I know. He could be setting the trap with his devastating good looks and raw sex appeal.

  I mean, that's not likely, is it? But my mom thought my father was a sweetheart and all it got her was a gold-digging scumbag of a husband.

  "Ah... thanks for the offer, but I don't think I can," I squeak. Before my brain can catch up with my dumbass mouth, I blurt out, "but maybe another time."

  Ben grins at me, unfazed, and for a second I wonder if he even heard me turn him down. "I'd like that. See you around, Lilah."

  I try to ignore the way the women watch him as he taps his fingers on the bar and grins at me as he leaves. My brain is patting itself on the back for getting out of a date with Ben, but the land down under is planning a mutiny in my skirt. Tamping down my irritation, I offer the two women a free drink. Anything to distract them from watching Ben's tight rear end walk out the front door.

  I'm still thinking about Ben and his glorious ass when I walk into my new home at 2am. This has been the longest damn day of my life. You'd think I would have had the foresight to request the entire day off, but I didn't realize how exhausting moving would be. It's not like I had to move a bunch of furniture. Most of the big stuff in the apartment was my roommate’s, and my brothers moved the heavy stuff for me. All I had to worry about were my clothes, some bathroom stuff, and my tortoise, Frankie.

  The move still took hours longer than I thought it would, and I barely made it in for my shift this evening. And then the pickles and Ben... I showered, but I can still smell the pickles on me. I wish I smelled like Ben instead. Just the thought of him makes me wish all kinds of dirty things.

  Chapter 3: Ben

  I'm not a stare-at-the-ceiling-and-ponder-life kind of guy. I've never needed a ton of sleep and I get restless lying around in bed. There's too much to do. People to help, things to fix, workouts to do. You get the idea. This stupid house bothers me most. A vintage California bungalow sounds so great in theory, but there's a never-ending list of upgrades and replacements to take care of. Like the ripple in the drywall centered straight over my headboard.

  For the first time since I can remember, I wake up and don't move. I open my eyes and stare at the poorly crafted ceiling, my mind working. I can't get that bartender Lilah out of my head. Not that I'm trying very hard. Images of her cleaning up broken glass in that short skirt keep creeping back in, sneaky as a fox in a henhouse. She was sexy as fuck, even with pickle juice splashed all over her. Something about the hungry look in her big green eyes is haunting me and won't let up.

  Throwing an arm behind my head, I debate the merits of going back to the speakeasy tonight to see if I can get her number. She said, "maybe another time" and technically tonight is another time. It didn't feel like a complete brush-off, either. The way she blurted it out was almost hopeful, even if she looked like she wanted to take it back a second later.

  I pick up a book from my nightstand on FBI interrogation tactics, but after a few minutes I toss it away again. All I can think about is Lilah. She's out there somewhere, sleeping in, and I bet she looks like a fucking angel when she sleeps. All that long, dark hair fanned across her pillow, lips parted as she breathes peacefully...

  My phone buzzes on the nightstand, interrupting much more exciting thoughts. There are three people in this world who call me. Everyone else has the decency to email or a text. I doubt Jack is up after his night out with the douchebags, so that leaves my mother and my sister. The call ends and the messages start dinging. So that’ll be Ella, on a burner phone most likely. I could make her wait, but she's not known to be patient when someone needs help.

  About half of my work consists of legitimate consulting. Call it cyber security testing or white hat hacking. Either way, it boils down to a cushy paycheck for very little effort. Plus, it’s a suitable cover for what I do the rest of the time. The thing that Ella probably needs me to do for someone right now.

  The message waiting for me is a cakewalk. I don't mean to brag, but I’m amazing with computers. Okay, I mean to brag a little, but I’ve found the perfect way to put my skills to good use and make a decent living without ever having to set foot in a stuffy office or, perish the thought, work for the government ever again. Most of what I do isn’t exactly legal. If we're being technical, it’s very, very illegal. But illegal doesn’t mean the same thing as unethical. The way I see it, I’m providing a necessary service and making the world a better place.

  Look, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s a scumbag who terrorizes innocent people. And if said scumbag has his bank account wiped, his world turned inside out, and all of his dirtiest secrets made public and/or handed over to the police... well, justice has been served, hasn’t it?

  I'm not hugely picky on which scumbags I’ll deal with. Pedophiles, stalkers, abusive boyfriends, coaches or teachers that cross the line... you’ve got a dirt bag the cops can’t nail? I’ll fix it. Occasionally, though, being a digital vigilante isn’t enough. Sometimes it’s safer for a woman to disappear and start a fresh life; a necessity that is almost impossible in the digital age.

  Unless you have me.

  Given enough time, I can hack any system on the planet. I can build a completely legitimate new identity for someone, down to a new social security number and job references. I can even hack facial recognition databases and fix it so that not even those systems will recognize my client. I say client, but I've made it a policy not to charge for that side of my work. For one thing, I don’t need the money. Legitimate corporate consulting makes me more money than I could spend in a lifetime. For another, I can’t have anything leading back to me or my family. I’m not an idiot. Nothing is foolproof, but 99% of the time the money trail is what gets people caught.

  I bury myself in my work and within a couple of hours, Katie Dohner, of Colorado Springs is no more. Welcome to the world, Bridget Dixon from Tulsa. L’chaim.

  As soon as I wrap up her new digital identification, I send it to my sister. All Bridget Dixon has to do now is order a "replacement license" from the state of Arizona and slide into her shiny new life.

  Unfortunately, there’s nothing left inside the house to distract me and my thoughts immediately shift back to last night at the bar. There’s no point in trying to analyze my attraction for Lilah. I want to get to know her better and it’s an impulse I don’t think I’ve ever had before. The pressing need to be close to her is as unfamiliar as it is intense. I’ve never been one for small talk or meeting new people. I only had a few short minutes with her, but I’ve never been that comfortable or relaxed with anyone, and I’m going to chase that feeling.

  Chapter 4: Lilah

  Ben picks me up and puts me on the bar, stepping between my thighs as he kisses me, hard and full of need. His hands grip my hips as he drops down in front of me, biting and kissing the inside of my thigh. Throwing my head back on a moan, I’m distracted by the sound of a leaf blower. I try to block it out and focus on Ben talking dirty to me with his Texas twang, but the guy with the leaf blower walks right into the bar.

  "Excuse me, do you mind?" I shout over the ruckus. Ben buries his head between my legs, ignoring the guy with the leaf blower. But now I’ve lost my concentration and no matter what kind of oral wizardry is going on downtown, I can’t come when I’m distracted.

  "Hey!" I shout. "Get out of here!"

  Somehow the leaf blower gets even louder, and I start awake, jackknifing in my bed. Blearily I look around to find there’s no bar, no Ben, and a heartbreaking lack of super-dirty foreplay. You know what I do hear? A goddamn lawnmower right out
side my window. Checking the time on my phone, I growl. 8:45 on a Saturday morning. Someone’s about to get it.

  Getting out of bed, I dig through a box labeled "closet" and try to find my robe and some shoes. All I can find is an oversized hoodie and the Tweety Bird slippers Asher gave me for Christmas. Whatever. I can be a badass even in cartoon slippers. My new next-door neighbor is an asshole and I don’t care if I’ve never met them before, they’re going to get a piece of my mind.

  Making my way through the maze of boxes to the front door, I practice my speech. I’m almost positive we have county-mandated quiet hours that my douche canoe of a neighbor is violating. I nearly trip over Frankie, my tortoise, in the front entryway. I seriously don’t know how she keeps getting out of her cage. I really need to set up some kind of escape-proof box for her this week.

  Scooping up Frankie, I carry her outside with me, holding her close to keep the chill off her. March seems to be crawling by, colder and wetter than most years. Dew soaks my slippers the second I step onto my lawn. Dual Tweety Bird heads flop wetly as I stomp across my yard. I try to ignore the fact that my yard could use a little love, but my overgrown oak tree has strewn sticks everywhere that I have to avoid.

  The Valley Oak really is a monster of a tree, lording over the entire front of my property. The previous owners planted a little garden in front of the porch with lots of succulents and drought-resistant greenery. They reassured me over and over that the tough little plants need little attention, but I'm terrible at gardening. I’ve killed every plant I’ve ever been responsible for. Little purple flowers are blooming on a row of bushes and I silently apologize to them, both for the fate which they cannot escape and for the ass-chewing they are about to witness.

  I eye the guy mowing. Even with his back to me, he’s an impressive sight. He’s wearing a torso-hugging Henley, muscles flexing everywhere I look and, god help me, I can’t stop looking. His body looks like someone carved it out of marble and breathed life into it. He’s huge. Crazy tall and just... thick all over. He turns the mower back towards me and I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open as I watch him get closer.

  It’s Ben.

  Ben from the bar.

  The same Ben who was just starring in my super-dirty dream like four minutes ago.

  Oh no. Jesus, god in heaven.

  I should just turn around and run back inside before he sees me in all of my rumpled, soggy, Tweety-Bird-slippered glory. I just have to stop watching him, which is a lot harder than it sounds. Maybe I can duck behind those bushes?!

  Too late.

  Ben looks up, and we make eye contact. The engine on the mower cuts out and the sudden silence is deafening. There’s a rogue blade of grass on his cheek. He brushes it away and straightens his glasses. And oh god, I really like those glasses. His curly hair is rumpled, falling in his face as he scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. He looks around like he’s trying to figure out where I came from.

  "Lilah? What are you doing here?" Even as he asks, his mouth pulls up at one side in a crooked grin.

  "I just moved in yesterday," I blurt out as Ben steps close enough that I can see the shots of gold that run through his brown eyes. Holy mother of god. He was handsome in the dim atmosphere of the bar, but in broad daylight? This man is a god. And his voice! I wish I could just roll around in that Southern accent. People shouldn't be this pretty outside of magazines. I have to make a conscious effort not to melt into a puddle of goo at his feet.

  Ben cocks his eyebrow at Frankie, who is making the world's slowest bid for freedom and snapping his jaw in Ben's direction.

  "Nice attack turtle," Ben says with a smile.

  "She's a tortoise, not a turtle," I say, defending my pet.

  "Cute," Ben says. I think he's still talking about Frankie, but he's looking straight into my eyes and there's something hungry about his gaze. I'm suddenly aware of how close he's standing. When did he get so close? And why does he have to smell so good? He is... intoxicating. I just want to lean in and sniff him.

  "I haven't seen a tortoise in years. What's her name?" Ben says as he reaches out to touch Frankie's shell, brushing his fingers over mine.

  "Frankie," I murmur. His hands are so big they make mine look almost childlike. It makes me wonder what those big warm hands would feel like on other parts of my body. I really wouldn't mind snuggling into his chest. He looks like he gives amazing hugs. Hugs could be platonic, right? I guess it wouldn't be platonic if he had his shirt off. And it definitely wouldn't be platonic for very long if he ran those hands up and down my body...

  Ben is looking at me like he's waiting for a response and I realize that I've been standing here like an idiot staring at his chest, thinking dirty, sexy things about him for way too long. He is so, so far out of my league.

  "Sorry, I spaced. What did you say?" I shake my head and pray I'm not blushing.

  "Since you're already up, how about that brunch?" Ben repeats himself with a winning smile.

  "I... I..."

  I what?! I want to have brunch? I want to have your babies? I want to climb you like the majestic man-tree you are? If my lady taco was in charge she'd be screaming "Yes, Yes, YES!" right about now. Why can't I just drag him inside and have my way with him?

  "I can't. I have to unpack," I say lamely as my vagina cries out in misery. I swear he has some kind of voodoo magic over my hormones, which is all the more reason for me to get away from him.

  His face falls a little, betraying his disappointment for a split second before blinding me with the full force of his devastatingly dimpled grin. "Maybe another time. Let me know if you need anything. I work from home, so I'm usually around."

  I'd be lying if I said I didn't watch his ass walk back to the mower. I'm in trouble. So, so much trouble.

  ***

  A few hours later, I’m still feeling tired and grumpy from my rude awakening. I walk into the bakery and hear my sister Olive squeal with excitement. The sound alarms me, but the giant hug she gives me is so full of joy that I can’t help but smile.

  "Lilah, you’ll never guess," Olive says, practically bouncing off the ceiling with excitement.

  "You’re probably right about that," I reply. "Also is there coffee? My sleep-in was disturbed by this total asshole--"

  "Did you tell her yet?" calls a male voice from behind the counter. I look behind the glass countertop, surprised to see my soon-to-be brother-in-law Brooks placing a cookie on a small delicate plate. Brooks is a contractor, and he doesn’t usually work behind the counter at Olive’s bakery. He looks ridiculous in the little blue apron, but the grin he’s giving Olive makes it clear he doesn’t care. He'd probably wear a tutu if he thought it would make her happy.

  "Not yet," Olive says with a smile.

  "Ok, what is it? You’re both driving me nuts. Also give me a cookie."

  Brooks hands me a cookie and I take a big bite as Olive steers me to a small table by the window. "So, I’ve been doing the math, and things are going really well, especially with the classes, and I think I can finally afford to hire you full time!"

  I blink at her. "Wait, are you serious?"

  "Dead serious!" Olive crows. "Isn’t that exciting? No more Terry for you. No more artisan pickles. Only artisan cookies and cakes from now on!"

  "Olive, are you sure? I don’t want you to stretch yourself too thin--"

  "I’m sure. I wouldn’t do it unless I thought it would be better for both you and me. You’re too smart. You’d figure it out."

  I take another bite of my cookie and shake my head.

  "Are you happy?" Olive asks, suddenly concerned. "If you’d rather not be here, that’s ok too, I don’t want to force you--"

  "Are you kidding? I’m delirious! I’m just in shock."

  Olive squeals again and jumps up to get me a coffee. I sit back in my chair and sigh, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. Now all I have to do is give Terry my notice. I can’t fucking wait.

  Chapter 5: Ben

 
I'm in the zone, going through every file on the Senator’s computer one by one, looking for the proof I need. This might be the easiest hacking job I've ever picked up. His passwords are all the same: his first name followed by 69. Even his security pin is 6969. I mean, come on. I could have used a challenge.

  I only need half my brain for this job. The other half is wondering where Lilah’s been. I haven’t caught so much as a glimpse of her since the mowing incident. She didn’t even come out to yell at me when I cut my grass this morning. So disappointing.

  I find the file I'm looking for, make copies, and send it to the major news outlets and police from his own email address. I put a base-level encryption on the file so he can't delete anything without the help of someone who has at least double his IQ. It’s a low bar.

  I'm backing out of the system when I'm startled by the beeping of my security alarm. Somebody or something tripped the sensor by my front door. Judging by the time, it's probably just a fox or the raccoons again, but I quickly pull up my app and check the video feed. Lilah is on my porch.

  Why is Lilah pacing my porch? Better question, why is Lilah pacing my porch at 2:45 in the morning? I try to turn the volume up, but the cameras have terrible audio quality. I make a mental note to replace them as I watch her.

  The way she’s pacing suggests she's not in trouble… but unless I’m mistaken, she’s drunk. The little stumble and sway are a dead giveaway. I hurry to the door in my pajama pants. I don't like the thought of her being outside, alone, in the middle of the night. Does she have any sense of self-preservation at all?

  When I open the door, Lilah has her back to me and she's walking away. She either doesn't notice or doesn't hear the door open as she takes another step and mutters, "... stupid. So, so stupid."