Until Forever Read online

  

  Maple Grove 13

  Until Forever

  [The Lynn Hagen ManLove Collection: Contemporary, Alternative, Paranormal, Shape-shifters, Werewolves, Romantic Suspense, MM, HEA]

  Kester Oliver is on the run after witnessing his uncle killing an undercover federal agent. When his truck gives out on him in the sleepy town of Maple Grove, Kester takes cover at the local motel. He not only has his uncle after him, but an agent hell-bent on Kester testifying. That was never going to happen. Kester just needs to lay low until Strabo Garcia goes to trial. But after meeting the sexy delivery guy, Kester has a new plan. To get laid.

  Mike Cage knew his mate was hiding something. He asks his friend Deputy Christopher to run a background check on Kester. What he didn’t know is that the search will bring trouble to town. Death, deception, and betrayal are only the beginning of their problems, and it’s Mike’s job to keep Kester alive. It’s gonna take more than Mike to get the job done. With the help of his friends, he prays time doesn’t run out.

  Length: 37,100

  UNTIL FOREVER

  Maple Grove 13

  Lynn Hagen

  

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  Until Forever

  Copyright © 2019 by Lynn Hagen

  ISBN: 978-1-64637-038-2

  First Publication: December 2019

  Cover design by Emma Nicole

  All art and logo copyright © 2019 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  If you find a Siren-BookStrand e-book or print book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at [email protected]

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lynn Hagen loves writing about the somewhat flawed, but lovable. She also loves a hero who can see past all the rough edges to find the shining diamond of a beautiful heart.

  You can find her on any given day curled up with her laptop and a cup of hot java, letting the next set of characters tell their story.

  For all titles by Lynn Hagen, please visit

  www.bookstrand.com/lynn-hagen

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  UNTIL FOREVER

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  UNTIL FOREVER

  Maple Grove 13

  LYNN HAGEN

  Copyright © 2019

  Chapter One

  “Come on, you piece of shit.” Kester gripped the steering wheel as he navigated the icy back road. “Just get me somewhere safe, please.”

  His red Bronco had been making strange noises for the past ten miles, and now it shook so badly one would think it was shivering from the cold outside. The heat had gone out, making it nearly impossible to see out of his windshield. Twice Kester had to rub the glass to remove the thin layer of ice and create a small hole he could see from.

  His worst fear was that his truck would cut off and leave him out in the cold on this deserted back road to freeze to death.

  No, that was his second worst fear. The first one was that FBI Agent Raymond Gugino would find him. Agent Gugino was the reason Kester had run from Arkansas in the first place. No way was Kester going back there. Not anytime soon. If Gugino caught up with him, that was exactly where he would drag him.

  A breath of hope puffed out of his mouth when he saw a sign for a motel not far down the road. Maple Inn. That sounded cozy. He imagined a warm fireplace in the lobby, hot cider, and a comfortable bed.

  Maybe his luck was finally turning around. His nearly bald tires spun when he drove over an icy patch, but by some miracle, Kester managed to keep the ancient vehicle from sliding into a ditch.

  He eased the truck into the parking lot, thankful it had been plowed and salted. No sooner had Kester parked than the Bronco shuddered and made a strange whining sound before it died.

  Kester’s hand shook as he reached for the door handle. He was so cold that he wouldn’t be surprised if he turned into a walking icicle. Before he headed to the front office, he patted the snow-covered hood and thanked the vehicle for not stranding him.

  The truck was fifteen years old, a gift from his dad when Kester had been in high school. He’d never bought a new car because the truck had sentimental value, but it looked as though the relic had given its last mile.

  It had lasted Kester ten years.

  He curled his arms around his midsection and walked hastily toward the office, his teeth chattering along the way. Kester walked inside to the sound of a television. He looked past the counter and saw a backroom. “Hello?”

  A chair squeaked. Someone grumbled. Kester shivered. He wasn’t sure if the heat wasn’t on in the office or if he was so cold that he couldn’t warm up.

  A woman who looked to be around seventy emerged from the room, shuffling toward him in her slippers. She had gigantic rollers in her gray hair and large glasses resting against her chest by a string. She was also wearing a fuzzy pink robe that was one size too small for her, showing off her floral-print nightgown underneath.

  Her face was withered as she gave him a tight smile, her green eyes filled with annoyance. “Need a room?”

  “Yes.” Kester rubbed his arms as she slipped her glasses on and started typing on her computer. The monitor looked ancient, like it belonged in a museum or junkyard.

  “How many nights?”

  That was a damn good question. With his Bronco dead and Kester on the run, he wasn’t sure. “I’ll take two nights, for now.”

  “Driver’s license and credit card,” she said in a dull drone as if she was giving a boring lecture.

  Kester handed over his driver’s license but hesitated giving her his credit card. Those could be tracked, and he didn’t want Agent Gugino to ping it. “All I have is cash.”

  She looked at him over the rim of her round glasses. “That’ll be a hundred dollars, plus tax, and you’ll need to put down a deposit in case you break anything or steal the towels.”

  Kester had five one-hundred dollar bills in his wallet. He handed two of them over. That was all he had to last him until the trial was over and he could return home.

  However long that would take. The FBI still had to locate Strabo Garcia and arrest him. Kester didn’t think that would ever happen. He might be stuck in this Podunk town for a while.

  She handed him a key. An actual key. Who used those anymore? Most places used keycards, and Kester would’ve preferred that. It would’ve easily fit into his wallet.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re in room three.” She handed him a receipt and shuffled back to her room. If it had been two in the morning. Kester would understand her weariness, but it was four in the afternoon. Did she always wear her pajamas and her hair in curlers at this time of day?

  He wasn’t a fashion d
iva, but he cared about how he looked, especially in public.

  Kester turned and stared out the window. He dreaded going back out into the cold, but he had no choice. Bracing himself, he hurried outside and grabbed his bag from his truck before running to room three.

  It took five tries before Kester got his door open. He suspected the lock was frozen. He knew how it felt. After closing the door behind him, Kester tossed his bag onto the bed and hurried over to the heater unit just under the window. It was off.

  “I’m gonna freeze before I warm up.” He turned the heater on to full blast. The unit made a weird noise then began to smoke.

  “Ack!” Kester turned it off, praying the room didn’t catch fire. This was not his damn week. The smoke fizzled upward then dissipated. Kester watched the unit for a second to make sure he didn’t see sparks.

  After returning to the office and getting another room, Kester finally had a heating unit that worked. It took a good hour for the room to warm up, but finally, he could remove his coat.

  He wanted to call his mom to tell her he was okay, but Kester didn’t dare turn on his phone. Instead, he cut the tubed television on and tried to find a news report, but none were on.

  “Gah, I hate my life.”

  Then he recalled the burn phone he’d bought after he’d fled. Kester took it out of the package and completed the setup before he dialed his mom.

  “Hello?”

  Kester wanted to cry at the sound of her voice. His throat grew tight and burned as he said, “Hey, Mom.”

  “Kester! You shouldn’t be calling me. The FBI agent has come by twice. Agent Gugino probably tapped my phone. You need to hang up, right now.”

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m okay and that I love and miss you.”

  “Oh, honey. I love and miss you, too. Now hang up.”

  With a sigh of resignation, Kester ended the call and turned the burn phone off. Just in case. He flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and wondered how much more grueling his life could become.

  * * * *

  Kester woke to the sound of banging. He shoved the pillow over his head, but the noise continued. With an irritated grunt, he got up and went to the window. When he parted the curtains, his brows furrowed. He didn’t see anyone.

  Curious, Kester got dressed and left his room, remembering to take his key with him. The sound was coming from room three. The woman from his earlier check-in was in there, a pipe wrench in her hand, and she was banging away on the heating unit. She was also still in her robe and hair curlers.

  “Excuse me,” Kester said above the noise. When she didn’t acknowledge him, just kept on banging, he said the two words louder. He didn’t dare touch her shoulder. She might’ve gotten spooked and swung that wrench at his head.

  She still didn’t turn around, but she sure cursed a lot. Kester blushed at some of the words that came out of her mouth. Sailors the world over would’ve been proud of her.

  “Ma’am?” Kester rapped his knuckles on the door. Finally, she stopped banging. He was pretty sure the dead were grateful for the cessation of noise. Unfortunately, the banging was still echoing in his ears. “Do you need some help?”

  She turned and waved the red-and-silver wrench that appeared old and a bit rusted. “All I need is this and to be left alone.”

  Well, okay then. “But it’s ten at night,” he said. From the looks of the room, it hadn’t been rented to anyone after Kester had switched to the next room over. “Can’t this wait until a decent time?”

  He’d driven for hours on end to get away from Arkansas and Agent Gugino. Kester was not only exhausted but starving. If it hadn’t been so cold outside, he would’ve walked to town. He just might have to do that in the morning since this place clearly didn’t serve a continental breakfast.

  And even if it had, Kester wasn’t sure he would trust this woman’s cooking…or want to eat it.

  His GPS told him Maple Grove was a mile away. In this weather, it might as well have been ten miles away. He was gonna freeze his balls off by the time he made it there.

  She moved toward him. Kester moved back. He backpedaled until he was outside the room. The woman—he had no clue what her name was—exited room three and slammed the door. She gave him a heavy glare before shuffling back to the office.

  Great. Now he was wide awake and his stomach was rumbling fiercely. An arctic blast of wind shot past him. Kester hurried to his door and dug out his key, his hand shaking badly as he tried to slide it into the hole. After two attempts and another gust of wind, he made it inside as his teeth chattered.

  He was just going to have to be hungry, because any thought of walking to town this late at night and in that weather wasn’t going to happen. The cops would find his frozen dead body on the side of the road if he attempted the walk.

  Kester saw a long, rectangular card by the ancient television. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? He snatched it up and realized it was a menu for some tavern. Kester searched the card, but he didn’t see anything that said they delivered.

  Crossing his fingers, Kester turned his burn phone on and dialed.

  “Tilted Tiger Tavern,” someone said when they answered. Kester was taken aback by how deep and sensual the voice was. Had he called some sex hotline instead? He snickered at the thought and started to imagine what the guy on the other end looked like.

  “Hello?”

  “Um. Yes.” Kester cleared his throat as his humor faded and his hunger pangs intensified. “I was wondering if you delivered.”

  “Only to the motel,” the guy replied.

  “Great!” Kester wanted to dance a little jig. “I’m staying in room four.”

  He looked the menu over and ordered half a dozen barbecue wings, some fries, a hamburger, and a slice of key lime pie. Hopefully the food didn’t suck. Too bad they didn’t have any healthy choices, but Kester figured he could eat like a pig for at least one night.

  “Need anything to wash it all down?”

  Duh. “Whatever soda you have is fine.” Kester thought about not having a vehicle. “Make it three sodas.” He’d need something to drink while he lay there counting the stains on the ceiling just to pass the time.

  “About thirty minutes.” The guy hung up before Kester could ask how much the total was.

  He shrugged, turned his phone off, then tucked it into his pocket as he looked around the room. Kester was used to being on the go all the time. He’d been a cardio aerobics instructor before he’d had to flee. Kester was used to running from one class to the next and sweating it out for at least six hours a day. His body was small and compact, but he was flexible and in excellent shape.

  Now he sat in this room that smelled like old cheese, with its weird stains, and felt so homesick he wanted to cry. He missed his mom, his daily chai tea, and his tiny apartment. He even missed the pesky ankle biter that lived across the hall from him.

  Half an hour later, Kester nearly jumped off the bed when a hard knock sounded at the door. He got up and peeked out the curtain. His jaw dropped. He’d definitely called some sex hotline because the guy standing on the other side was sinfully gorgeous.

  And nothing how Kester had imagined him, because Kester didn’t have an imagination this good.

  He checked his breath with his hand then walked over and opened the door. The guy smiled at him and walked in. Kester closed the door and returned the smile. “What’s the damage?”

  The guy pulled a receipt out of his pocket. “Twenty bucks.”

  He looked the deliver guy over. Kester could tell, even under his jacket, that the stranger was muscled. He also had a five o’clock shadow that Kester was dying to run his fingers over.

  And those pretty brown eyes. Ung. They reminded him of rich, earthy soil.

  Kester dug out his wallet as he tore his gaze away. “Thanks for bringing me some food. My Bronco died, and I didn’t have a way into town to feed myself.”

  Like the stranger cared. Kester was just lone
ly and wanted someone to talk to. Too bad Mr. Sexy couldn’t stay for a while. He handed the money over, plus tip, and took the bag from him before he received his change.

  But the stranger didn’t leave. He cocked his head to the side and studied Kester.

  “Was there something else?” Kester set the bag on the rickety table and hoped it didn’t slide off. Even if it did, he’d eat the smashed food anyway.

  The guy looked him over. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “That’s because I didn’t throw it.” Kester didn’t want to give his name. The less people knew about him, the better.

  “I’m Mike.” He extended his hand.

  Boy, small towns sure were friendly. “Kes.”

  That was what his mother called him when he was younger. Kester didn’t see any harm in giving out the condensed version of his name.

  When their hands touched, Kester felt an electrifying jolt race up his arm. He snatched his hand back and gave a nervous chuckle. “I think you rubbed your boots across the rug. You just shocked me.”

  “Sorry about that.” Mike gave an easy smile. “You said your truck doesn’t work?”

  Kester nodded.

  “I can come by in the morning and give you a lift into town. If that’s all right with you.” He pressed a hand over his heart. “I promise I’m harmless.”

  The guy didn’t look harmless. There was an air of authority to him that screamed he was an alpha-type male. Dangerous with a hint of deadly.

  “That’s…uh…very nice of you.”

  Mike winked. “Then I’ll see you around nine?”

  He walked out before Kester could answer him. What a very strange day he’d had, and it seemed that weirdness had crept into his night, too.

  Kester looked out the window and saw Mike climb into a silver pickup. “What a dreamy man,” he said with a sigh.