Finding Summer (Nightwind Book 3)

by Suzanne Halliday

  So Arnie had come back. The shitty luck and bad timing left a hole in Summer’s heart. She had a hard time wrapping her mind around how close they were to reconnecting only to have it come to nothing.

  The question of what did he know and when did he know was answered—at least partially. His returning meant everything, but the story stalled there. He wasn’t the one who fell off the face of the earth. She was. Yes, he came back, but there was nobody to tell him about the baby or the threats.

  And now here they were. At long last, he was putting things together on his end. There was still hope.

  Because nothing about this wanted to be simple or easy, Reed had one last firecracker to loose. Armed with this new information, he took the extraordinary step of using his government access and contacts to rather boldly knock on NIGHTWIND’s cyber door. He didn’t make direct contact, but he found out enough to quietly back away. The name Kingsley Maddison and an eyebrow-raising top secret designation were enough to make Reed back the fuck off in a hurry. It also expanded his understanding of what NIGHTWIND was all about.

  “They ride with the defenders of Gondor.” He sniggered.

  Summer got the reference and wasn’t at all displeased with the imagery. Everyone needed a bit of Tolkien in his or her life. It made things more interesting.

  “Daddy wears a white hat,” she whispered to her sleeping daughter. “Of course if there is an actual hat, he probably looks like an idiot wearing it. The man’s fashion sense leaves a lot of room for improvement.”

  Her nose wrinkled with distaste when sounds cut through her musings. It was the neighbors in their yard. Ew.

  She frowned at the wall separating Bud and Lynda’s property from the house next door. The house where the annoying Todd lived with his mother.

  “That’s enough outdoor time for us,” she murmured, gathering Ari from her seat. Cradling the baby, she made for her door when a voice drifted into the yard. Her feet stopped moving. She barely breathed. Listening with all her might, Summer tried to place where she’d heard it before.

  Even though none of the thoughts parading in her mind fit, she was sure the voice mattered.

  In an uncharacteristically knee-jerk move, she double locked the door behind her. The beauty of guesthouse living was the protective factor of physically existing in privacy. A person had to enter a vestibule in the main house to gain access to the guest quarters. The apartment’s back door opened into a walled backyard. There was a locked gate for the pool guy and gardener. It really couldn’t be any more secluded.

  But something was nibbling on her nerves. Just because she didn’t know what it meant didn’t stop her from paying attention anyway. Now wasn’t the time to ignore the calls coming from her intuition.

  With the baby napping, she sent a text to Lynda asking if she could use the laundry room.

  Go ahead, was the reply. I’m putting together a cookie plate for the new neighbors.

  New neighbors? What new neighbors, Summer wondered.

  She texted back, Thanks and I didn’t know. Which house?

  Our driveway neighbors. A work truck appeared followed by all sorts of deliveries. Bud thinks it’s a flip situation.

  Hmph. Flippers? She’d done her fair share of watching renovation shows at three in the morning. The house hunting and flipping ones were her favorite mindless activity. Perfect for nocturnal nursing.

  Hey, she texted back. Maybe they’d know someone who could build shelves and a window seat.

  On a whim, Bud decided to add built-ins to the guesthouse. Summer wasn’t complaining. She could always use bookshelves, and a window seat was on every reader’s wish list.

  Great suggestion. Let me see how friendly they are.

  On that happy note, she scurried around the apartment, gathering tea towels, place mats, and a stack of washcloths from the bathroom. A laundry basket piled with crib sheets, spit cloths, and baby blankets sat by the door. A new jug of detergent was next to it.

  “I don’t care how spoiled it makes me to wish I had a housekeeper,” she murmured. “Someone like Alice from The Brady Bunch. Part helper, part friend.”

  Hoisting the basket onto her hip, she made it heavier by adding the jug of detergent and a baby monitor. The laundry room was a part of the vestibule connecting the guest apartment to the main house. She propped open her door, took thirty-four steps, dropped the basket at her feet and opened the louvered folding doors concealing the washer and dryer.

  While stuffing the washer with a heavy-duty load, she heard sounds in the driveway. After pushing all the right buttons and dumping in the liquid soap, she shut the lid, wiped her hands on her pants, and turned to peer out a port window she had to lean up on her tippy toes to see out of.

  Lynda was there, laughing and animated. A work truck partially obscured her view so she couldn’t see who else was out there.

  Grabbing the baby monitor, she hooked it to her waistband and marched outside to check things out. Laughter filled the air. Whoever the new people were, Lynda apparently found them hilarious.

  A husky male voice with a friendly laugh was talking. “I swear to you. It happened exactly as I said. One day, all the door pulls were on the right, and then overnight, they were on the left.”

  “Custom order?” Lynda gushed in a decidedly giggly way, earning most of Summer’s attention.

  The friendly laughter rang out again. “It’s all in the details.”

  She stepped around the work truck and was startled to find a rather dishy looking guy in work boots, jeans, and a long-sleeve well-worn Henley. He was older than Summer—she figured maybe thirty-five or thereabouts— and tall, but not NBA tall. He had a head of messy hair, several days of scruff, and a smile she found strangely familiar.

  When he saw her, she couldn’t help but notice how he snapped to attention and boldly checked her out from head to toe.

  “Hello,” he said in greeting. His delivery was slightly amused and curious. About her.

  “Summer,” Lynda greeted her. “Perfect timing. Say hello to the neighbor. Stan. Stan McGee. He’s just bought next door and is going to transform the plain box into a suburban sanctuary.”

  “I have a guy,” he said with a wink and a chuckle. “A guy who comes up with clever words and witty sayings. The suburban sanctuary is his doing. Sounds a lot better than handyman special.”

  Stan extended his hand. She laughed and accepted his handshake. “It’s a pleasure, Summer.”

  Reacting to his manners, she studied his face. There was something about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “Stan,” she murmured politely. “You wouldn’t by any chance hail from New York City, would you?”

  Momentary shock flashed on his face before his expression changed to delight. “It’s a great place to visit,” he replied, “but I’m a Connecticut boy. Why? Is it important?”

  She lifted a shoulder and blew it off by making a joke. “Nah. It’s just that when you said you had a guy, well, I always imagined the expression was a New York thing.”

  He chuckled. “You mean as in, he has a guy for everything?”

  How odd. Hadn’t she had this exact or nearly similar conversation with Arnie?

  Changing the subject, she tilted her head at the house. “She’s been empty for a while.”

  Stan turned and looked at the uninspired box. “Nothing better than a blank slate. We have a bold design to transform the drab cube into a curb appeal dream.”

  “We?”

  Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, Stan withdrew a business card and handed it to her. “Aloha Designs. Me and my older brother.” He snickered. “He’s a bit of a surly asshole so you may want to steer clear if you see him. A beer gut and the black cloud of a shitty attitude make him easy to spot.”

  The charming way he put her off ever wanting to tangle with his older brother spoke of sibling affection coupled with a dose of reality. One didn’t get to choose one’s blood family.

  Lynda cut in
. She was clearly enthralled with Stan’s friendly, jovial manner. “We can’t wait to see what you do.” Waving the card he must have also given her, she said, “I’m going to talk to my husband. We have a makeover wish list. Summer needs some shelves, and I’d almost kill for a new entertainment built-in.”

  Stan looked at Summer. She detected interest in his expression. “You’re in the guesthouse, then?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned to Lynda, and said, “We’d love to see how you did it—the addition and guest suite design. Maybe it’s something we could do on our property. It’s a terrific selling feature. Bonus space.”

  Low squeaks and grunts came from the monitor hanging on her hip. “The baby must be waking up. I better go. Nice meeting you, Stan.”

  She twinkled her fingers and dashed off. Stan’s voice followed her into the house.

  “The pleasure was all mine, Summer.”

  Arnie nearly tripped over a stack of two by fours and face planted on the floor. He was having a helluva time adjusting to his altered center of gravity. The bodysuit Izzy procured rounded his shoulders and had a weighted stomach. He looked like a middle-aged guy with his gut hanging over his belt and a fat ass courtesy of a butt prosthetic.

  Bushy eyebrows, an itchy hairpiece, a mustache he didn’t care for, glasses, and colored contacts made his transformation complete. If he kept his distance and kept his mouth shut, Summer wouldn’t recognize him. Or so he hoped.

  The kitchen door slammed. The sound of heavy feet thumping across the original, cheap linoleum floor got closer. Stan burst into the living room carrying something.

  “Cookies,” he called it. “From the neighbors.”

  Arnie heard the enjoyment in Stan’s words and searched his face. He looked positively giddy.

  “You’re grinning. Those must be some amazing cookies.”

  “They’re not bad.” Crumbs dotted the front of Stan’s shirt. With nodding approval, he shoved another cookie into his mouth.

  Plucking one of the cookies from the plate, Arnie gave it a taste test. “Yum.” He thought for a second and laughed. “Think the neighbor makes brownies?”

  There wasn’t anything peculiar about Stan’s reaction, but he sure was acting sketchy. “Dunno. Maybe you can ask her.”

  Nibbling absently, he finished the cookie and was about to go off on his brother for being an annoying little shit when something dawned on him. Something important.

  “Wait a minute. When you say neighbors, are you referring to …”

  Stan cut him off. “Summer’s house? Why yes, Arnie. Yes, I am. Jesus, man. It took you long enough to catch on. Her landlady caught me at the truck with welcome cookies.”

  He searched his brain and gathered what he knew about the people Summer was involved with.

  Bud Gerry and his wife, Lynda, lived at 369 Wishing Star Lane. They had one adult daughter, Brigit. Bud custom painted cars for a living and did well enough to have a shop with half a dozen employees. Lynda retired from an admin assist job two years ago. These days, she was a do-gooder organizing charity drives and volunteering at a Jewish assisted living center. From all accounts, the Gerrys were good people.

  “Lynda, right? Lynda Gerry.” Arnie asked for Stan’s confirming nod before continuing. “So you made contact. How’d it go?”

  There was no way to miss the way his brother’s eyes danced with merriment. Something had obviously happened, but rather than just spit it out, Stan was going to make him grovel.

  “Lynda is what Granddad would call a hoot. She’s super friendly in an investigative way.” He chuckled. “I recited our cover story, start to finish, and she ate it up with a smile. Gave her a business card, too. Plus, I might have secured us a chance to do an in-person walkthrough of the addition on their house.”

  Arnie jerked to attention as much as the bodsuit allowed. “Summer’s guesthouse?”

  “Correct,” Stan replied with a mocking smirk. “Seeing the layout firsthand falls under the reconnaissance heading, right? Check out strategic features and whatnot.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Are you reading that damn spy manual Dottie’s spent the past three years compiling? You know it’s satire, right?”

  “Being satirical doesn’t make it any less valuable. I’m learning a lot about what NIGHTWIND does. Still don’t understand where your weirdness fits in, but hey, what the fuck do I know?”

  There wasn’t a simple way to answer, so he just rolled his eyes and looked exasperated.

  “Dottie says you’re like Gandalf the Grey, and NIGHTWIND represents a sort of fellowship—miscreants, mutants, and muckrakers was how Dottie put it. You pretend to know what the fuck you’re doing and lead the way. Mystical bullshit.”

  Mystical bullshit. Hmph. Would that make him a mystical bullshitter?

  “I really don’t give a shit if you take Dottie’s junior spy workshop. Can we get back to what’s important like a tour of the guesthouse layout?”

  Stan knew he touched a nerve and didn’t look at all apologetic. As a matter of fact, he kept on needling him.

  “I suppose she’ll have to coordinate with the tenant so we don’t barge in unannounced.”

  “The tenant? You mean Summer, don’t you?”

  “Summer,” Stan murmured agreeably. “Yeah, her.”

  Arnie squinted. Why was his brother’s face contorted into a snarky smirk?

  “She’s quite an eyeful, your Summer. A lot prettier than I imagined.”

  There was an annoying buzzing sound near his ears. He swatted the air and shook his head. Attempting to force more oxygen into his lungs, Arnie gulped a mouthful and reached a hand out to steady himself.

  His voice was no louder than a whisper. “You saw her? Summer?” His eyes darted to the windows as if he expected to find her peering into the house.

  “Whoa, dude,” Stan muttered, his tone projecting concern. “You better sit down.”

  Sit? Down?

  He felt her closeness the moment they drove onto the street. Her nearness was almost more than he could take. The only thing stopping him from pulling the plug on this crazy plan to use her as bait so Giselle could be stopped permanently was reason and good sense. Yes, he could storm across the way right now, kick open the door, and throw a protective shield around Summer and their baby, but he didn’t. Interrupting Giselle’s evil plans wouldn’t make them go away. It’d just give her an opportunity to escape and try again.

  Still, he wanted to see his sunshine girl with his own eyes. He needed the reassurance if he hoped to hold steady and see this thing through to the end.

  Stan rubbing his shoulders brought Arnie back to the moment. He was sitting on a tool chest, leaning forward, and gripping his knees. Probably scared the piss out of his brother. Fainting dead away wasn’t an auspicious start to this mission.

  Mission? Was this a mission?

  Sure, it was. Now that he found Summer, it was up to him and his posse of supporters to save her. Gandalf the Grey to the rescue!

  When his head stopping spinning and he was firmly in control, he barraged Stan with questions.

  “How did she look? Was she okay? Did she have the baby with her?”

  “I’ll defer to Dad for the lecture about age appropriateness and let slide the fact that your baby mama is a teenager.”

  Ouch. Despite knowing the zinger wasn’t reality, it still hit home. Weakly defending himself, he snarled, “Get real. She’s twenty-five now. Not a teenager.”

  “We just had our thirty-eighth birthdays. I took math, Arnie. Thirteen years is noticeable.”

  “It is not.”

  “Is too.”

  He reacted to the fast comeback with a scowling glare. Drunk Stan would have folded immediately. Sober Stan flipped him off.

  “Anyway, she’s way too young and pretty for the likes of you, bro. That’s all I’m saying. As for your other questions, I assume she’s okay, but no, she didn’t have the kid with her.”

  “Arianne.”

&nb
sp; “Yeah, right. She had one of those parent thingies hanging off a belt loop.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, a, uh, walkie-talkie thing. For listening. Oh, and uh, she was wearing a Yankees hoodie.”

  Arnie blinked in disbelief. “Er, uh.”

  “Yeah.” Stan chuckled. “I thought it was strange too. California girl decked out in the logo of an East Coast baseball franchise. I wonder why.”

  If he was supposed to answer, oh well. All his mind could grapple with at the moment was the vision of his golden girl wearing New York Yankees gear. It wasn’t a coincidence. The hoodie was a connection—to him. It was tenuous but wildly important.

  Hang on, baby. We’re almost there.

  “Fun fact,” Stan continued after inhaling another cookie. “The landlords want built-in shelves for the guest apartment. Sounds like a project for Aloha Designs.”

  His eyes swung to Stan’s and held. His brother’s smirky grin said everything.

  “You know I’m gonna owe you like the biggest favor of all time. Right?”

  Stan looked at him like he was nuts. “Dude, really? We’re brothers, man. This is what brothers do. And better than that! We’re doing it with Dad. Considering our history, who would’ve thought one day we’d be riding together to rescue a fair damsel?”

  He laughed and then grew serious. Deadly serious. “Stan. Are you sure you’re okay with luring Giselle into a trap? It won’t end well. You realize this, right?”

  “I know where my loyalties are, bro. Just because she gave birth doesn’t mean she gets a pass for the way she’s led her sorry life. This one is on her. There’s no hesitation on my part, and if there ever is, all I have to do is imagine her scheme working. Anyone capable of trafficking a baby is beyond redemption.”

  “She’s going to regret messing with me.”

  “And me,” Stan added.

  They looked at each other. Things unsaid passed between them. Arnie nodded. He understood.