by Christa Wick
Finding the water cold as ice, I reminded myself to check the electric water heater in the utility closet after I looked at the two bedrooms. It hadn't had time to heat the water since I flipped the breaker switch, but I needed to make sure it was safe to keep running. Mice could have chewed through the cord or any number of other things could have happened in six years.
The master bedroom had weathered my absence in the same fashion as the front of the house—dusty, with no working lightbulb, but otherwise intact. My nose told me something was wrong with the spare bedroom the instant I opened the door. With the smell of mold assaulting me, I cast the flashlight up at the ceiling. A water stain covered a third of the area. Moving the beam down the wall, my heart shriveled in my chest.
I had left the room completely empty six years ago. With a life estate left to me under my mother's will, no one else had a right to use the space. Yet "someone" had brought in boxes and trunks. The writing on the labels belonged to a dead hand—my mother's.
Reading the descriptions, I could guess at the contents. "SJ Oak/Cit" had to be pictures and other mementos from my father's years at Oakridge Military Academy and at college in South Carolina.
Its weight pushed down a water-warped box marked "Wedding." My mother had married Evan in the Caribbean, just the two of them while I stayed with my maternal grandmother. Whatever pictures they had taken, the volume wouldn't fill a box, meaning the decaying contents were more memories of my father left to rot.
I didn't care about the box at the bottom of the pile, the one marked "Mia Kindergarten." But other boxes sent the tears that had threatened at the corner of my eyes streaming down my cheeks—the wedding dress my mother had worn when she walked down the aisle to join hands with my father, family bibles and genealogy records from both sides, photos of the stables over the years, albums filled with generations of pictures.
All of it likely ruined.
Half my tears were pissed. Evan had refused when I asked to remove the items from the main house and put them in plastic bags inside plastic bins with other deterrents to the elements or any creature big or small that might damage them. He had refused because he wanted a chance to value each item. Not that he had said as much, but I could tell, my flashlight picking out the labels my mother had written so long ago, that here, in this damaged room, were all the things too "valueless" for him to sell.
Leaving the burnt out light unchanged, I backed quietly from the room and shut the door.
4
Collin
"Out." Walking into Trent Kane's office, I jerked my thumb at the man sitting in the visitor chair. Neither a client nor tactical team leader, whatever business he had with Trent could wait. I watched him slowly gather his papers and inch past me, my temper threatening to boil over at the sloth-like pace. When I slammed the door behind him, the man squeaked on the other side.
I turned to Trent, the growl lodged in my throat barely kept in check. "You've had twenty-four hours to find her."
His cheeks colored. He was pissed, no doubt, at being tasked with my former "playmate" after four months of Reed Henley and a four-man security team keeping tabs on Mia. Those five were equally clueless as to her location, all of them vying for the top spot on my shit list.
I didn't care that Mia had left the Merritt Island facility during a shift change between the two units, leaving on foot through the main entrance on a supposed nearby errand and not in the company car with its locator chip. They had lost four hours because the team didn't realize Mia was missing until six p.m. and called Reed to see if she was working late. Another twenty minutes passed while Reed scoured the building and checked with security, only to receive the envelope indicating Mia had checked out permanently.
They could have intercepted her during those four hours. Instead, they arrived at her townhouse to find that she had already cleared out her clothes. One unit stayed on watch in case she returned, while Reed and the second team began checking the airports, taxi companies, and the bus and train stations.
Trent touched the screen on his laptop, his bottom jaw grinding side to side. "Reed got another envelope from Mia in the evening mail, stamped from the Orlando airport."
"And?" I shoved my hand in my pocket, my finger seeking out the ring hidden inside. Up until yesterday, I had worn it on a chain around my neck. Finding my hand constantly drifting to the chain after the call that Mia had gone AWOL, I moved the ring to my pocket. Trent already wanted to throw me in a padded cell as far as Mia was concerned. He didn't need to see me toying with the damn ring every five minutes.
"TSA isn't cooperating, neither are the airlines."
"Shuttles...cabbies…half the city is running our software for their drivers. One of them—"
Trent shook his head. "It looks like she caught an unregistered cab."
My chest tightened at the possibility. Even on the relatively prosperous peninsula that was Merritt Island, unregistered cabs could be dangerous for passengers, especially women. Mia would have entered the cab upset and thus vulnerable, I knew that much from Reed's review of the office security cameras. She had started her flight away from the building and me after entering the reception area and catching news coverage of me and Vivian.
Maybe a dozen people knew Vivian Lodge was my sister. Even Janice had been in the dark. To the rest of the world, I was merely the largest donor to the children's charity my sister had founded.
So Mia saw a familiar touch and mistaken it as being between lovers. The assumption was understandable. There was no reason for Mia to think that I had taken no one to bed, played with no one, waiting, perhaps, for her to find another lover first.
"Keep looking," I barked, turning to leave. My hand on the door knob, I stopped and looked back. "You checked the airports around Keeling, right? If that was her destination, it would be a hell of a lot easier to get someone at a little county airport to talk."
Trent's cheeks colored for the second time and I knew the possibility hadn't yet occurred to him. Without answering, he started typing on his keyboard, hit enter then reached for his phone.
Before he could punch in the first airport's number, I interrupted him. "Do I need to take over?"
His brows narrowed and his mouth turned into a thin white line as he stared me down. "Do you think you can?"
Blinking first, I turned from the room. We both knew he was right. I couldn't keep my hand off the ring in my pocket long enough to marshal an effective search for the woman I loved. I had already lost her twice and, this time, I might not get her back.
5
Mia
I made the hardware store my first stop. Overall, the house had stood up to six years of neglect except for the two trouble spots on the roof. I would start with some heavy tarps over the spare room while I arranged for quotes from a few roofers. I also needed a breathing mask before I returned to the spare room, and something to treat the mold on the walls before I repainted them, as well as a few tools.
I hadn't intended to walk out of the store smiling because I had a job!
Nothing permanent, three months maximum because the store was going out of business. There was both office work and regular store clerking to do as things wound down. Knowing Keeling like I did, I would be hard pressed to find anyone hiring outside of Walmart within the city limits. I already anticipated having to look for a regular job in Greenville while I tried to build a consulting business online. The job in the hardware store seemed perfect while I got my bearings—some cash coming in, a discount on everything I would need to fix up the guesthouse and no long-term commitment.
I hit Walmart after the hardware store for groceries, more cleaning supplies, dishes, towels, bedding that didn't smell six years old and a very inexpensive laptop and printer. I cringed at the dent I made in my savings account. It didn't matter that I had four months' of too much pay from Stark or that the job at the hardware store would keep me in groceries and utilities while it lasted—I still needed to find a used vehicle and the busines
s would need additional software, a website, maybe some advertising.
Head spinning at how much I had to do and half my torso stuck in the trunk of the rental as I stored my Walmart purchases, I heard someone call my name.
"It is you, isn't it?"
I couldn't quite place the male voice with its local accent. I maneuvered my way out of the trunk without denting my skull and looked up to find a long, lanky figure dressed in the uniform of a county deputy. Hazel eyes, dirty blond hair trimmed close to the sides, a generous mouth, a few years older than me if I had to guess—the man was totally unfamiliar.
I tried to keep my glance at his name tag as discreet as possible.
J. Gillie
I'd known a Madeline Gillie back in high school, blonde like the man standing in front of me. She and I hadn't really hung out together. Her parents were strictly blue collar and my mom had tried to keep me properly corralled among the country club crowd despite my being too fat for the cool, rich kids and nowhere near rich once Evan started running the horse farm.
"You're Maddie's brother, right?" I smiled, hoping this was a friendly encounter and that Evan hadn't taken my hundred dollars yesterday just to pull some sleazy legal move today to keep me off the property. "John?"
"That's me." Grinning, he thrust his hand out. "She'll be glad to hear you're back in town."
I accepted the handshake, my arm getting a good workout as he pumped it up and down.
He released my hand but didn't drop the grin. "Keppler said you're back home. Does that mean you're at the horse farm?"
Keppler was the septuagenarian who owned the hardware store.
I rolled my eyes. "Hard to call it a horse farm when there aren't any horses left."
Deputy Gillie nodded, the grin flattening into something almost grim. "Last of the breeding stock was sold off about a year after you left town."
That meant Evan's money problems had quickly escalated after I left. Sighing, I made a mental note to check the county tax records. I didn't need to lose the guesthouse to back taxes on the entire property. Just the idea made my stomach knot.
"Evan's got a lot of rough traffic going in and out of there." Reaching into his back pocket, Deputy Gillie pulled out a business card. Clearing his throat, he started to hand it to me then hesitated. Flipping it over, he pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and wrote a second number on the back. "You have an emergency, call 911, of course, but if there's anything that just makes you uncomfortable and you want to talk about it, you can call me anytime, Mia."
His mouth pursed as he blew on the ink, his eyes on mine as he made sure the ink was dry before handing me the card.
"Do you think anything illegal is going on?" My stomach clenched another knot tighter as the specter of another type of foreclosure rose up in my mind.
"Lots of woods mixed in with those grazing pastures. He could be cooking meth, could be letting others cook it for a cut of the profits." Deputy Gillie's hands landed on his lean hips, the fingers dancing in contemplation. "We don't have any proof, but I know you, Mia. You're not the type of person who would want anything to do with that."
Gulping, I nodded. Tears sprang to my eyes. I had known coming home would be tough because of Evan. My whole damn childhood after my father's death had been hard because of him, my mother only providing a light layer of protection against his mean spirit. But I hadn't expected to return to an outright criminal enterprise.
"Six years is a long time away, people leave, new ones come in." He placed the card in my hand then squeezed my shoulder, his touch lingering. "I have day shift, so if you want to catch up over dinner..."
He let the words trail off. Looking at him, I saw something more than local law enforcement or my almost friend's big brother staring back at me. He looked like a man interested in a woman.
For me, that was one more complication I didn't need.
I gestured at the half of the car's trunk that held the paint, brushes and air mask. "I have a few health hazards at the guesthouse to fix first, but I'd like that."
A fresh grin surfaced at the partial-acceptance of his offer. He had a nice face, lean but handsome, with hazel eyes it didn't hurt to look into. Protective eyes, not cutting or dangerous.
Nothing in his expression reminded me of Collin Stark.
And that was a good thing.
I drove home from Walmart, my suspicious gaze on the trees that lined the lane to the guesthouse and the wooded acres beyond. Parked, I hauled the ladder from the garage then changed into a pair of work jeans I'd bought that day. I would keep all my Stark International clothes buried deep in my closet until I had clients to impress or found a job that suited them or gave up the ghost and donated them. Evan seeing them would only cause me trouble, and I needed to be ready to move the minute he took too strong an interest in making me miserable.
Coming back to Keeling might have seemed like jumping from the frying pan into the fire, but, as mean and dangerous a bastard as Evan was, I always knew what to expect from him. Not once had I harbored the hope he could be any kind of replacement for my father. I'd never been stupid with my heart around him, not like I'd been with Collin.
Hauling my butt onto the roof over the spare bedroom, I growled at myself because I couldn't keep Stark out of my head. As precarious as the footing was, I couldn't afford a single brain cell spent on that man!
Focusing on the roof, I pulled out a measuring tape to figure out how much of the tarp I needed to cut. Back down I went, cutting the tarp, hauling it and the one-by-fours and nails up. I nailed some boards to the roof, stapled the tarp to the boards, then sandwiched the tarp between the first set of boards and a top layer nailed through. Two hours later, I was soaked through with sweat and done with that part of the roof.
I wouldn't touch the garage. The branch needed removed first but was partially attached to the tree. I'd seen enough bad snap backs to leave that to the roofer or a tree service if the roofer didn't want to touch it. So I put away the ladder and remaining boards then checked my phone to see if any of the roofers I'd called had left a message. Two had. I called them back, both telling me they would come out the following day.
I tackled the interior of the spare bedroom next. Everything that didn't show signs of water or mold damage I moved into the front room. The other items I picked through with gloved hands, putting them in bins of salvageable versus destroyed before starting on the ceiling and wall.
Hours from being anywhere near finished with the room, I took a shower at eleven p.m., changed the bedding in my room and fell into a deep sleep, my first since returning from Dubai in which the dreams went uncorrupted with images of Collin Stark.
6
Collin
Day three and I was on the ground in Keeling, North Carolina. I had an address to the horse farm Mia had grown up on and a description with a license plate number for the rental car she had picked up at the county airport. I started with the horse farm. I had seen pictures of the place online, back when the farm had a solid reputation for breeding champion thoroughbreds. Under its current ownership of Evan Morris, the farm retained none of its former glory. No horses were out of the stable, if any remained. The main house and grounds showed neglect.
Leaving my SUV, I knocked at the front door. No one answered. I walked the length of the porch, intending to peek in the ground floor windows, but all were heavily draped with the fabric pulled tight. I stepped onto the lawn and looked up at the second floor. More heavy curtains sealed out the light. Half expecting some redneck with a shotgun to emerge and challenge me, I walked the house's entire perimeter.
No showdown materialized. I knocked on the front door again with a heavier hand. I didn't like the set-up, didn't want to think about Mia in the house with a man like Morris. No jail time, not even a single prosecution, but he was bad news. The preliminary report from Trent showed Morris had a dishonorable discharge from the Navy in 1980 before he completed his first tour. Some arrests followed that discharge before he married
Mia's mother and some after the woman's death—bar fights on both sides, reckless driving. Mixed in the recent reports were allegations of doping horses before showing them to prospective buyers. One of the horses had died in transit, but Morris bought the corpse back at full price plus a premium from the new owner, narrowly managing to avoid an investigation.
Listening for any movement within the house at my knock, I grew more and more pissed.
I hadn't removed Mia from Dubai and sheltered her in Florida to have her run home to someone like Morris. Fists clenched, I stormed off the porch and into the SUV. I followed a dirt lane, rutted from the same neglect that marked the house. Still anticipating the sound of a round leaving a shotgun or rifle, I stopped at the outbuildings—boarded up stables, maybe a garage for one of them, all with the windows covered over and heavy padlocks on the door, suggesting something of value or secrecy inside.
Given the run-down state of everything I saw, I couldn't imagine anything legitimate of value in the buildings. So the locks, which looked regularly used, had to be in place to secure something illicit. Heading further down the lane into the tree line, I texted Trent to check with the local narcotics unit and see if they had a file on Morris. The information would come in handy in convincing Mia to return to Stark International.
Clearing the trees, I found my first sign of Mia in Keeling beyond the mere address given by the car rental company. A small house, the garage roof punctured by a half-snapped pine limb, but signs that windows had been recently cleaned, the front path cleared and tire tracks that likely matched the tiny Mazda she had rented. Looking through the open drapes after a knock on the front door proved useless, I saw more signs of recent cleaning.