by Leo, Cassia
After another sweltering afternoon inside The Junk Drawer, I peel my apron off from around my sticky neck and drape it over my arm. Edie watches me digging inside my purse for my truck keys in silence. Smiling as I locate my Tarheels keychain, I extract the keyring and sling my bag over my shoulder.
“You sure have been grinning a lot today,” Edie remarks. “You sleeping well on that memory foam mattress?”
I chuckle as I round the checkout counter. “Yes, ma’am. Sleeping like a baby. And I should be able to pay you back after next week’s paycheck.”
She waves off my suggestion. “Oh, please. That can wait. I’m sure you’ve got mortgage coupons to pay and furnishings to buy. And maybe some nice dresses or something, you know, for dates.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ll be going on any dates soon. I went to have a drink and play some darts this weekend and ended up in a bit of a pickle. I’ll probably be focusing on fixing up my house for a while.”
She shrugs. “Probably best. Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be frequenting bars alone, anyway. You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“Nope. I can handle myself pretty well,” I reply, turning around to head toward the exit. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Bryant!”
“Say hi to your handsome neighbor for me,” she calls back.
Turning around when I reach the door, I flash her a knowing smile. “He’s your neighbor, too. Maybe you should say hi to him.”
She shakes her head. “Honey, I haven’t said hi to a man since my Frederic passed. It’s been almost twenty years. I’ll leave that nonsense to the young folks, such as yourself.”
I push the door open with my butt and laugh. “I might just have to make you a Tinder profile, Ms. Bryant.”
“You will do no such thing!”
I smile as I wave at her through the glass door, noting how I can see her caramel-brown skin turn a deep shade of crimson all the way from here.
As I drive through the winding country road toward my house on the lake, I try to come up with a suitable bio for Edie’s online dating profile.
Seventy-four-year-old small business owner with a heart of gold.
Nah. Sounds like a pushover.
Independent, mature woman seeking the same for fun, friendship, and possibly more.
Nah. Too cliché.
My favorite color is sunshine yellow. My favorite book is “An American Marriage.” My ideal way to procrastinate is by doing good deeds. Life is too short to not eat cake.
Oh, yeah. Much better.
I pull into the long dirt driveway of my house, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. There’s a faint cloud of dust in the air, hovering between the line of trees flanking the path, as if someone just pulled out or into the driveway recently.
I pull forward slowly, adrenaline flooding my veins as I find the front door agape. My heart gallops in my chest as I reach for the Glock 19 in the glove compartment.
I leave the car running, in case someone is still inside, then I switch off the safety as I slide out of the truck. Glancing at Colton’s house, I don’t know if I’m more disappointed or suspicious that I don’t see him anywhere. Slowly, I creep up the creaky porch steps and enter the open front door.
The new deadbolt I installed when I changed the locks appears to be damaged. The side table next to the sofa is toppled over, the lamp that rested on top of it is lying unbroken on the floor. The cushions are upended, and the couch has been pushed all the way back against the dining table.
The burglar was probably trying to see if I had a secret compartment under the sofa. Do they think I’m stupid enough to hide money in a secret compartment in the floor?
Recalling the dust hanging between the line of trees, and the lack of a vehicle in the driveway when I pulled in, I realize the intruder is almost certainly gone.
I rush outside to stash my gun in the glove compartment and turn off the truck. Stuffing the keys in my pocket, I grab my purse off the passenger seat and head back inside.
The kitchen cabinets are flung wide open; their contents spilled across the counter and floor. It looks like someone took a sledgehammer to the walls in my bedroom. It’s almost as if they were looking for something hidden in the drywall.
I head to the bathroom to begin the process of checking the many small stashes of money I’ve hidden around the house. I start with the toilet tank. Unsurprisingly, I find the tank lid shattered on the floor and the money gone.
I head to the spare bedroom and open the closet, but the access door to the crawl space below the house looks undisturbed. Performing a sweep of the rest of the house and the backyard, I find the intruder only found the stash of money in the toilet tank. Either the intruder wasn’t looking for money, or they were simply a bumbling idiot.
It definitely wasn’t Colton.
Unless the break-in wasn’t a burglary. Maybe it was a way to send a message: We know what you did, and we know where you live.
They could be watching me right now, waiting to see if I attempt to check on the suitcase.
I need to move it again.
As I head toward the kitchen, something catches my eye. A trail of blood drops leading out the back door.
I keep Steve in a large area on the side of the house with plenty of water and shade while I’m at work. I used chicken wire and wooden stakes to enclose the area until I can “afford” to put in a proper fence. But I didn’t hear her whining with excitement when I got out of my truck a few minutes ago, the way she typically does whenever I arrive home from work.
Where’s Steve?
I race outside, and my heart drops when I find the chicken wire fence toppled over.
Steve is gone.
My stomach is a tight ball of anxiety as I set off westward into the woods separating my property from the next house on the lake. Shouting her name at the top of my voice, it’s not long before tears well up in my eyes, and my throat constricts with emotion.
The hilly terrain is divided between me and the middle-aged couple who live on the west side of my house. Colton’s cabin is to the east. But my house is half a mile from my westerly neighbors, and the woods between us are thick with cypress trees, from sapling to fully grown fifty-footers with fluffy bottle-brush branches.
Not to mention, I’ve illegally booby-trapped my property with concealed ditches. It’s not exactly legal to booby-trap your home in North Carolina, but those pesky rules don’t apply to outlaws such as myself.
A deep sense of despair washes over me as I realize I’m never going to live a quiet, peaceful life.
I should have never taken that stupid money.
“Steve! Stevie!” I bellow as I fall to my knees to collect myself while I take a brief rest. “Come back. Please come back, Steve.”
The crunching of leaves underfoot startles me, and I swivel around as I spring to my feet.
Colton approaches me warily. He’s wearing a dirty tank-top and worn-in jeans, black dust smeared all over his hands and forearms. His icy-blue eyes narrow as he studies my face, but his glare softens as he seems to notice my tears.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice tender with concern. “What’s going on? Did you lose Steve?”
I wipe tears from my chin as I glare at him. “Why are you so dirty? What were you doing?”
He looks confused. “I was working on my truck. What’s going on, Jo? Are you hurt?”
I shake my head as I swallow my emotions. “Someone broke into my house… There’s blood on the floor, and I can’t find Steve,” I say, pulling up the collar of my gray Junk Drawer T-shirt to wipe the moisture from my face, but also to hide any possible twitch in my expression that may betray my underlying suspicions.
The pained expression in his eyes is unreadable. Is it guilt or pity, or something else entirely?
“I’ll help you find her,” he replies without hesitation. “How do you know she came this way?”
I shake my head as I lower the shirt from my face. “I don’t know. I
just assumed she came this way because the wire fence was down near the woods. But I’m really just guessing. I don’t know where she is,” I reply, unable to stop fat tears from rolling down my cheeks.
He steps toward me and folds me into his arms. “Don’t you worry, Jo-Jo. We’ll find her.”
“Jo-Jo?” I reply with a brief chuckle.
“Would you like me to call you something else?” he asks as he strokes my hair.
Clutching the front of his T-shirt, I inhale deeply as I bury my face in his sculpted chest. His shirt is saturated with the sharp tang of sweat mixed with gasoline. He was working on his truck.
“You didn’t see or hear anyone making a ruckus at my house?” I ask, praying he can be my knight in shining armor again.
He doesn’t respond right away, but he lets me go before he does. “I’m sorry. I had my music on while I was working in the garage. I didn’t hear anything until you started yelling.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I just…” I take a step back. “I seem to attract a lot of bad luck, I guess. It’s frustrating. You must really regret buying that cabin now, huh?”
He smiles. “No regrets here.”
His words make me feel like a giddy teenager, and my instinct is to take another step back; as if putting more distance between us will help me maintain a sense of objectivity. But as soon as my foot moves backward, searching for solid ground, I know something’s wrong.
My stomach flip-flops as my foot plunges through the layer of dried leaves and pine needles I laid on top of the netting. I let out a loud yelp as I reach toward Colton, but there’s no way he’ll be able to react fast enough.
Except, he does.
With ninja-like reflexes, he grabs my forearm in his left hand, immediately jerking me forward so he can catch the front of my T-shirt. I’m still leaning too far backward, and I gasp when I hear the seams in my T-shirt start to rip apart.
Without hesitation, Colton let’s go of my shirt and quickly wraps his arm around my waist to pull me away from the ditch. The sudden movement sends us both tumbling onto the forest floor.
His arm is still wrapped tightly around the small of my back. My gray Junk Drawer T-shirt is now torn on both sides, exposing my pink cotton bra. Our chests heave as we attempt to catch our breath, but it’s really difficult when our bodies are this close.
I look up, and our eyes meet. “Thank you,” I whisper.
His icy eyes are dark with desire as his hand tightens around the fabric of my shirt. “Don’t mention it.”
I close my eyes, waiting for him to kiss me, savoring the sensation of his breath on my face. But his lips never touch mine.
He lets me go abruptly and gets to his feet, holding out a hand to help me up. “We should find Steve.”
I turn away from him so I can breathe onto my hand, checking my breath as I get to my feet on my own. My breath smells fine.
Why didn’t he kiss me?
Ugh. I totally misread him.
He probably has a girlfriend. Heck, he’s probably gay with a gorgeous face and body like that. I always pick the wrong guys.
“Did you dig that hole yourself?” he asks as I turn around to face him.
I stare at the ditch, where the leaves and netting have collapsed into a heap. “Obviously, a girl can’t be too careful these days,” I reply, unable to hide my frustration as I think of how the holes didn’t seem to deter the burglars. “They trashed my house. It looks like they took a sledgehammer to the walls.”
“They what?” he asks, sounding far angrier than I would expect for a guy who won’t even kiss me. “Never mind. Let’s go grab some flashlights and look for Steve.”
It takes us a couple of hours, but we find Steve in one of my booby-trap holes.
“Steve!” I exclaim with glee as I jump into the ditch with her and give her a suffocating hug.
“Do you want to file a police report?” Colton asks as I examine Steve for injuries.
“No,” I reply quickly. “No, I doubt they took anything of value. A police report would be more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, fixing me with a skeptical glare.
“Yes. It doesn’t look like Steve is hurt, so there’s no reason to press charges. Getting burgled is just the cost of living out here in meth country,” I say, my anxiety ratcheting up higher with every excuse.
“Yeah, it’s a good thing this hole was here for Steve to hide in. Did you really dig all these holes yourself?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“Some of them were here before I moved in,” I reply.
They weren’t.
I dug both of those booby-traps. And there’s a bunch more of those — as well as more guns and money — hidden throughout the property.
“All right, Stevie. You’re looking good. Is it time to go home?” I ask as I rub her sides vigorously. “Thank you so much for helping me find her.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I can still leave you both in that hole,” Colton replies, laughing when my eyes widen with fear. “I’m kidding. Give me the dog.”
Back at the house, he insists on helping me clean up the broken dishes and drywall. Despite him constantly proving his benevolence, I watch Colton closely, making sure he doesn’t snoop in my belongings.
Paranoid.
I think that will be the title of my next song.
“You should probably sleep at my house tonight,” he declares as he tosses the contents of the dustpan into the waste bin under the kitchen sink, as if he’s making a casual suggestion. “I’ll go to the hardware store first thing in the morning to get some security cameras and deadbolts and stuff.”
I look at him like he’s crazy. I’m about to ask if he’s trying to get in my pants when I remember his refusal to kiss me earlier. Mr. Nice-Guy, who claims he’s “anything but sweet,” probably wants to make sure I sleep soundly tonight…alone in his bed while he sleeps on the couch.
I let out a huge sigh, unable to hide my sexual frustration. “Okay.”
He chuckles. “That didn’t take much convincing.”
I glare at him like a teenager who’s just been informed they’ll have to spend the night at Grandma’s house without their cell phone. “You can’t tell, but inside, I’m brimming with excitement. I’ll go get my jammies.”
After a few hours spent searching for Steve and cleaning up my house, it’s nearly nine p.m. when Colton and I set off across my backyard toward his cabin. I have a strong urge to fill the silence with a joke as we walk across the dry grass, but I manage to control myself.
As we pass through his backyard, I notice a shovel and some timber on a small patch of dirt near his dock. Maybe he’s planning to build me a wooden coffin and bury me there.
His back porch is nicer than mine, but I do remember him hammering away at it recently. He’s wasting no time making this cabin a home. I find myself feeling guilty as a sad thought crosses my mind: Maybe I could get over not having a family anymore if Colton would just kiss me.
Pathetic. That should be the next song I write after “Paranoid.”
He opens the back door, and his kitchen lights automatically turn on. “Welcome home,” he says with a smile that makes my skin tingle.
I shake my head. “Do you have motion-activated lights?”
He waits for Steve to enter, then closes the door behind us. “You never know when your hands will be too full to hit the switch.”
I swallow hard to keep myself from asking him to hit my switch. I’m about to remark on the lack of sofa and the pile of tools and lumber in the corner of the living room when he suddenly yanks off his T-shirt.
“Gotta take a shower. I’m still covered in grease,” he proclaims. “You wanna join me?”
I cock an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
He laughs as he heads toward the hallway. “Make yourself at home. There are snacks in the cupboard, water in the fridge, cozy mattress in the bedroom,” he says, pointing at an open doorway next to him. “I won’t
be long.”
I let out a sigh as he disappears into the bathroom and I hear the shower turn on. He didn’t give me enough time to think about joining him.
I beckon Steve away from the tools in the corner and head for the bedroom, where I drop my overnight bag on the bed. Is it a coincidence that my house gets broken into and my smoking hot neighbor — who only has one bed and no sofa — offers to let me spend the night?
I’m about to grab my bag and get the hell out of there when I hear the shower turn off. I decide to sit on the edge of the mattress looking like a complete idiot as I wait for Colton.
He enters the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, exposing his abs and the top of the V-shaped groove in the muscles that disappear below the terry cloth. His tanned skin glistens with beaded moisture, and the grin on his face tells me he knows he looks good enough to devour.
“Just grabbing some clothes and I’ll be out of your hair,” he declares as he pulls some gray boxer briefs and a white undershirt out of a dresser in his closet. “I’m gonna get the rolling cot out of my garage and sleep in the living room. If you need anything at all, I’ll be right out there.”
Even if what I need is a good hammering?
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I reply. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”
He smiles at me as he stands in the doorway looking like a Greek God. “I just want you to feel safe. Goodnight, Jo-Jo.”
I barely manage to suppress my nervous laughter. “Goodnight, Co-Co.”
10 King
Present Day
Agent Stanley’s frustration with me is growing along with his suspicions. His angular face is a slightly darker shade of pink now, and a new line has formed between his ginger eyebrows. His jaw is set, and he appears to be gnashing his teeth, almost like he’s geared up on cocaine. Maybe it’s finally time for Bad Cop to make an appearance.
But I’m not worried. Not one single bit.
Once you’ve been bitten by a tiger, a mosquito bite doesn’t hurt.
I allow myself to think about that tiger, but only briefly. I let myself smell the gasoline and Garrett’s burnt flesh. Let the panic rise in my chest for just a brief moment, then I shut it off like a leaky tap. No use crying over spilled milk…or gasoline.