Chapter 102 A Discrete Meeting
The Dusty Spoon’s bell jingled like a taunt as Sierra pushed through the door, the scent of grease and coffee enveloping her. The diner was a relic of another era, peeling vinyl booths and a cracked Formica counter. She scanned the room, her fingers itching for the phone in her pocket, before settling into a shadowed booth in the back corner. The booth was behind a stack of empty coffee mugs, a deliberate choice that obstructed the window view. She hated feeling like a target, but the alternative was far worse.
Nervous energy prickled her skin as she adjusted her cream-colored blouse, a last vestige of her Manhattan wardrobe. The desert heat had already softened the fabric, and she wished for the crisp air conditioning of her office. Her heels, sleek and impractical, sank slightly into the diner’s warped linoleum. This wasn’t her world. Never had been.
The bell jingled again.
Sierra stiffened as a man in a frayed denim jacket and a flat-brimmed hat stepped inside. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes, a sharp, pale green, swept the room with predator efficiency. The Scotsman. Relief, unexpected and dizzying, surged through her. At least this man, cryptic and dangerous as he was, she could trust to answer her questions.
He slid into the booth across from her, the leather creaking under his weight. “Relieved it’s me?” he asked, his Scottish brogue rasping like wind over desert rocks.
She nodded, shocked that her expression had been so transparent. “I didn’t know who to expect.” Her voice was steady, but her hands betrayed her, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. “You told me about the messages. This is about more than idle threats, lass. That man in the photo I showed you the first time we met, the corporate raider? He’s coming here to meet with Julian.”
Sierra exhaled slowly. “I spoke to Julian yesterday. He’s coming to Kngman next week for a meeting with a client. But…” She hesitated, the truth bitter on her tongue. “He’s hiding something. The way he brushed me off. Lied about what he was doing, like he doesn’t want me to know what he’s doing.”
The Scotsman leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Maybe he has a conscience after all. Don’t let his lies and odd behavior rattle you. The game’s too important.”
She wanted to argue, to demand answers about the shadowy organization he worked for, but the warning in his gaze was clear: Don’t make me remind you what’s at stake. “The texts from that unknown number, the call from Julian. He’s moving, and I feel like I’m dancing on a razor’s edge.”
He cocked his head, the scar on his left temple catching the light. “You told me about the texts the last time we met in London. Someone is trying to get into your head.”
“They seem to know every move I make, but they didn’t know I came to Arizona, because Julian thought I was in Manhattan.”
“Either whoever it is doesn’t have access to everything you say and do, or they are not reporting to Julian,” The Scotsman mused. His eyes narrowed, not with suspicion but calculation. “Julian’s a player. He never leaves a piece on the board without taking it. The corporate raider you saw in the photo, he’s not just a background figure.” He tapped his fingers lightly on the table. “He’s the one who’s feeding all of this. He wants land. A luxury resort? Maybe. If I were betting, your anonymous texts are probably coming from his spy, not Julian's."
“I don’t even know the man.” Sierra clenched her jaw. Her thoughts skipped back to Julian. “Julian is trying to make me a pawn in this scheme of his. If I had to guess, he hopes that my local identity will help sell his idea, or he needs me to smooth things over. He’s pulling strings at Sterling, Quinn & Spencer. He wants the firm on his side.”
“Exactly.” The Scotman sighed, a breath that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. “Watch him closely and learn what you can, but don’t confront him. Appear like the adoring girlfriend, the eager partner. He thrives on flattery. If you become a threat, he will find ways to cut the roots at the ranch, your family’s home, your position, everything.”
“So, the threat is not actually coming from your employer,” she said, realizing for the first time that the Scotsman and whoever he worked for weren’t actually threatening her. They were just informing her about what would happen if she confronted him or broke things off.
“No,” The Scotsman said simply.
Sierra’s throat tightened. “It’s becoming more difficult.” She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, not from the diner’s cheap lighting, but from the sting of truth. “He smothers me with luxury and what appears to be concern.”
The Scotsman placed his hand next to hers, his thumb briefly brushing hers, a gesture of encouragement. “It won’t be much longer. His voice was low, almost reverent. “He’s planning a reveal, something public that will cement his claim. Until then, you have a window. Use it. Keep your story straight, keep your emotions in check. You have a gift for reading people, Sierra. Use that on Julian. He won’t suspect the one who smiles the brightest.”
She swallowed, the words of his warning echoing like a drumbeat in her chest. “And you? Why are you hiding what you’re doing from me? You’ve been… guiding, but keeping the bigger picture secret.”
He gave a half‑laugh, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “Because my employer is everywhere, and very powerful. If I gave away too much, you would become a target. My only purpose is to keep you safe enough to do the work I need you to do. Safety and secrets are a thin line; cross one, and you’re out of the game…. permanently.”
The bell over the door jingled again, this time ringing louder, as if announcing an arrival that would shift the course of the conversation. A tall, rugged figure stepped inside, his boots scuffing the linoleum in a rhythm that made the diner’s floor sigh. He wore a faded denim shirt, and the sun‑kissed dust of the desert clung to his shoulders.
Sierra’s breath caught.
Ryder.
He stepped inside and scanned the room. He'd probably seen her SUV parked outside. Time had not dulled her ache for him, especially since she knew that he and Sylvia were together. She studied the way his dark hair curled at the nape of his neck, the way his calloused hands seemed to hold the desert itself in their grip. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Seeing her become uncomfortable as she saw Ryder come through the door, the Scotsman stood. “Stay focused,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear it.
He slipped out of the booth and headed for the door.
The Scotsman and Ryder exchanged nods as they passed.
Ryder approached her booth, his gait easy but his eyes sharp. He nodded toward the empty seat the Scotsman had just vacated. “I don’t think I’ve seen him around here before.”
“An acquaintance from London,” she replied.
“Awful long way from home,” he grinned, glancing over his shoulder as the Scotsman crossed the parking lot outside.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked.
“I don’t mind at all,” she responded. Her expression and voice were under control, but her heart was pounding inside, and her thoughts and emotions were a mess. She forced a smile, though her throat felt tight.
“Cody told me you showed up at the ranch a couple of days ago.”
He slid into the booth, displacing the Scotsman’s lingering warmth. The scent of leather and sage filled the space between them.
She glanced at his hands, scarred and steady, and felt a pang of guilt. This is your fault, the memory of Julian’s voice whispered. You chose a life above the clouds.
“How was London?” he asked. She could tell that he was avoiding the conversation that was inevitable.
“Cold and wet most of the time,” she responded. Sierra wasn’t sure she wanted to have that inevitable conversation either.
There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Si, we need to talk.”