Abel’s mouth opens then closes. “I’ve had an audience all these nights?”
“At rapt attention.”
He grimaces, eyes to the ceiling as if he were reliving his nightly nude jaunts to see if there were anything incriminating taking place. “I’ll try to make the show more entertaining going forward.” His left eye comes shy of winking as if he wasn’t on board with his own flirtation. “And to answer your question, I’m writing a book.”
“On how to hide a body?” Elizabeth perhaps.
“No.” His entire face brightens as if he’s amused. “Why? Do you have a body to hide?”
“I could arrange it.” Holder bounces through my mind—twice in one night, and now it feels as if I’ve summoned a demon. But then, I did have a body. One I didn’t get the chance to bury. “On second thought, I’d much rather stay away. And you probably shouldn’t pen a missive on post-homicide etiquette if you’re planning on doing something felonious to your ex.”
“I’d never hurt a woman.” He ticks his head to the side, his hypnotic eyes never leaving mine. “Unless she begged, and only then would it be safe and sane fun had by all.” His brows hike a notch and I bite down on my lower lip in anticipation of a completely wild time had by all. “But no”—he’s quick to shoot me down—“I’m writing a thriller. A very long and droning, very non-thrilling thriller. When you have a dream all of your life and you finally settle down to make it happen, the nightmare scenario is to find out that you probably shouldn’t be anywhere near that dream.”
I cringe at the thought. “Nothing crushes a man’s ego more than having a dream squashed. No wonder you’re in sexual retrograde. Did I just say that out loud?” We share a short-lived laugh. “But I’m really sorry to hear it. I get it. I’m an artist. I like all mediums. I do sunsets mostly. I’d love to paint a sunrise, but most days I don’t get up until noon.” Nice. Nothing alarming about a twenty-something college dropout who lives in a glorified outhouse, hydrates herself with Grey Goose, and sleeps until noon—well past noon, but who’s keeping track? “Anyway, they look rather impressionist in nature. I guess my hobby will never quite hit a professional level. A third grader could do what I do. And that’s gospel.”
“Don’t knock it. There are plenty of art galleries that house miles of art that a third grader could do but are beautiful in their own right. And that’s gospel. I’d love to see them sometime.”
“Really?” A current tingles through me, right down to my toes. “I’d love to let you. I mean, of course, you can see it, but just the one. You see, I can’t afford any canvases, so I paint over the same one over and over again. I get the paint from my friend Neva. She saves the discards that the contractors leave behind when they refurbish. Mostly beiges and rustic browns, but I’ve added berries to create interesting blues, and cumin for that burst of orange light you get just before the sun dips behind the mountains.”
His features darken. “Where’s the best place to witness this splendor?” His hips dig into my stomach and I can feel him there, pressing into me if only for a moment. “Sorry.” He backs away an inch.
“No, it’s okay.” My cheeks heat on cue. I don’t believe I’ve blushed a day in my life, and here this god, this Caleb lookalike, has me rattled all the way down to my less than innocent bones. “I can tell you where the best place to witness the splendor is, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“I might be able to work the homicide into my novel. You’d better take me.”
“Ha! Maybe I will. I won’t tell you when I’m about to off you. It’ll be a genuine cliffhanger.”
“Duly noted. Never eliminate the element of surprise.”
“I’ll count to three before I hit you over the head with a hatchet—and kill you on two.” I give a cheeky wink and he belts out a laugh once again. “How’s that for a surprise?”
“It would have been a good one.” He tips his head my way. “I meant what I said. I’m looking forward to that sunset.”
“Gunning for a second date. I like that. Lucky for you, the very best place to witness the splendor of a tangerine sunset is from the comfort of my bed.”
His features darken once again and we land right back to that awkward place we started at.
Abel is running from something, trying desperately to seek respite on the godforsaken end of the lake. His demons have wrapped their fingers around his neck, and Abel has turned blue on the inside, eyes bulging, his soul all but evaporated. Abel has secrets, a past so darkened with shadows he would rather rot in a tin cell than face whatever it is that binds him.
Abel has a secret so dark and frightening it’s consumed him completely. And I’m determined to winnow the truth from him.
I’m coming for you, Abel.
And I promise that my secret is far darker and damning than yours will ever be.
This much I know is true.
Abel
At an hour where neither my brain nor my body has fully roused, a fist slams itself over the door again and again. The entire boathouse shakes and the sound resonates like a jackhammer, mostly because this miniature tin can is made to echo with the wind, let alone the aggression the perpetrator is demonstrating.
“Crap,” I grunt, pulling the pillow over my head momentarily. Looking into places for a short-term rental in an elite vacation resort proved impossible. Plenty of leases were available, but even most of those wanted a full six months. Loveless isn’t interested in harboring tourists. That’s what day camps and the two five-star resorts are for at the south end of the lake. No, Loveless is very much in the business of luxury real estate, and my little stint here will be carried out in a boathouse that smells of dying carp and algae.
“Abel,” a deep, decidedly male, voice murmurs from the other side of the door. Zoey blinks through my mind with those big blue eyes the size of silver dollars, those pale tits that required an act of God to stay inside their low-cut boundaries last night. She was sending out the invite pretty hard, which, in turn, made me pretty hard. But after spending thirty-two years on this planet, I’m well aware that handling a hard situation on a whim is never a good idea. Besides, that’s not what I came for. I crack an eyelid at my laptop sitting abandoned on the Frisbee-sized kitchen table and roll over.
The knocking picks up again, this time at the window just above my head. “I know you’re in there. I’m buying breakfast, so get your lazy ass out of bed.”
I pull the curtain up a notch just enough to give my brother the finger.
After a quick shower, tossing on a pair of jeans and a fresh T-shirt, we head over to The Corner Store just like we used to all those summers go. When we were kids, our parents would ship us off to Loveless to spend a couple weeks with our uncle. Once we were older, Caleb kept coming up on his own. Turns out, there was a girl involved in that motivation and not his hankering for our aunt’s Texas potatoes, a casserole that involves crushed Corn Flakes and still to this day evokes a film of nostalgia in me.
“It’s been a week and no call.” Caleb holds the door open for me. The Corner Store is bustling with its early morning patrons. Deep inside the outward shabby appearance gives way to freshly painted walls, white with blue trim along the ceiling that emulates waves. Neva, the tall brunette who seemingly runs this place like a one-woman show, hitches her thumb toward the back and lets us know she’ll get to us when and if we behave.
“The usual,” Caleb calls out as we head on back.
If Loveless is about anything, it’s about cultivating its laidback, pretentious, and very much coarse lifestyle. I can see why it appeals to Caleb and to our lesser relation, Warren. The latter of which has chosen to break the law time and time again rather than serve it. And if he keeps up his accosting spree, his servitude will include time behind bars—much like my brother Solomon, but that’s one family member I decide to push out of my mind for now.
“How’s Kennedy?” My voice comes out groggy, strained, no thanks to the hangover I wasn’t allowed to sleep off.
“I’ll stop by sometime and say hello.” It’s mostly a lie, but lies like that are necessary to keep family ties alive and their nosy interests at bay.
“Dude.” Caleb kicks my foot from under me. “Get a grip,” he seethes as if my personal turmoil somehow managed to offend him. “I’m headed to the office in an hour. You should come with me.” He winces because my brother of all people understands what that might entail.
“What part of I’m taking a break—an indefinite leave of absence—don’t you understand?”
“The part that entails sleeping in until noon and trying to drown yourself in the lake at night. Look, I get it. You were shit on, but there are other far more attractive fish in the sea. Kennedy is having a little get-together tonight. Just a few of her sorority sisters. You can bed or wed any of her sorority sisters, and I’d thank God just to have you back among the living.”
“I don’t do intimate gatherings. I’m taking a break from those as well.”
Neva brings two overflowing servings of pancakes. The pancakes are so huge they literally hang off the dinner plate they’re served on. What The Corner Store lacks in charm it makes up for in heaping carbohydrates.
“And would you stop with the unattractive bullshit?” Elizabeth was, is beautiful. She’s a natural beauty, one who chooses not to adulterate her features with what she called the exploitation of women by the Western World. Yes, she was plain, but she made up for that with integrity, at least in the beginning. Zoey is the anti-Elizabeth, a blow-up doll version of a woman whose features could easily grace the covers of a magazine. I didn’t sleep around all that much before Elizabeth, but even with the handful of women I’ve been with, there hasn’t been one who has even come close to Zoey’s viral beauty.
“I’m talking about the nuts and bolts of that malfunctioning brain of hers.” He grips his hand over the top of my head and gives me a good rattle. “You’re a good guy. Get that thing screwed on straight and get back to the land of the living.”
“Land of the living, huh?” Zoey and that body bounce through my mind. “What do you know about my neighbor, Zoey. She says she’s Gavin’s sister.”
“No.” He doesn’t hesitate with the put-down. “She’s not stable. She’s got shit she’s dealing with, and the list seems to be a mile long. Kennedy hangs out with her now and again, and she doesn’t even know what’s going on. Gavin said she dropped out of school and hit the bottle. The girl needs help, and I’m talking intervention.”
“Sounds like a sad case.” My heart wrenches for her. And now I feel like an ass for taking her to a bar of all places. I would have taken her to dinner if I had known, but at the time dinner felt more like a date. A date is the last thing I need.
“Speaking of sad cases. You up for going over a few of mine? I can use some advice.”
A howl of a laugh emits from me. “You are a liar, you know that? Look, I promise I’m not going to drink my days away—or sleep them away for that matter. But you will not be plotting any sort of intervention with me any time soon. I’ll be off this mountain and back to the daily grind in a few short weeks.” I manufacture a short-lived grin. “Now, get down the mountain and get to work. Tell Dad I said hello, same with Sol.”
“Done.” Caleb gets up and swats me on the back. “Hope to see you tonight, buddy.”
“You will.”
He takes off, and my affect melts to a sour expression as I contemplate how so many lies just spewed from my lips. I used to tell the truth. Hell, I used to be in the business of the truth, and now that my life, my heart has unraveled, I don’t know if the truth even matters anymore.
After finishing both my breakfast and Caleb’s, I trek my way to the boathouse as the sun bites over the back of my neck. The heat is picking up. The air hangs heavy and humid. I walk slowly past Zoey’s place, but it’s shuttered up, unfriendly in general, and her car is missing. I come upon my own door, only to find a note taped to it.
Party at your brother’s tonight. I’ll be there all day prepping. I expect to see you tonight. Wear clothes! Those don’t need to come off until later.
A smile rides on my lips, first genuine one of the day. But there’s something about that note, the words, the flowery loops of her handwriting, the playfulness that veils a slight desperation, all of it grieves me on some level. I don’t know Zoey enough to feel anything real toward her, for her, but I know what it’s like to have your heart ground down to powder and blown in your face. And in that way, we seem to be kindred spirits. I head in and pull out my laptop. That name she said last night ricocheted around my mind like a boomerang. I was set on memorizing it for later. Holder Gleason. I’ll admit, I’m a sucker for a good investigation—and the mysterious asshole who turned Zoey into a walking ad for vodka is the exact asshole to scratch my itch.
I head out to the porch and google the shit out of him. Obituaries of people whose names are a close second pop up, a handful of Gary Holders who seem old enough to be her grandfather. Nothing to look at. I try to rack my brain for the name of the university she mentioned. Portland? Perch? Port. I initiate a refined search for Port and combine it with Holder Gleason’s name and bingo. Up comes his happy, smiling face, toothy grin, squinted eyes—jack-o-lantern smile my mother calls it, one eyebrow consistently higher than the other. A dull huff of laughter rolls through me. Can you really trust someone with one eyebrow out of joint? I click through a few articles. Academic debate instructor, the shining star of the studies of gender equalization programs, a human rights activist with a plethora of leadership positions. A professor. Huh. Nothing but net. This guy is as golden as his picket fence smile. A dark laugh rolls through me. Sure, he looks good on paper, but Zoey is bright, beautiful, and witty. And if I can glean all that in one night, how the hell could he not have seen it? I say good riddance to the guy.
It’s hard to believe Zoey would drop out of school and hole up at the lake to nurse a broken heart over the president of the Gender Equalization Board. It’s laughable. Zoey can get any man she wants at that university or out. Maybe I’ll talk to her later. Offer up a pep talk. I’m pretty good at those. When you have clients that are up against the wall, sometimes a pep talk from their attorney is the only thing that gets them through the day. And more often than not, this was a daily event. I had inadvertently become a legal cheerleader, and yet in my own life I found nothing to cheer about.
The sun presses down its glory over the lake, and I watch as a couple of kayakers and boaters do a careful dance navigating around one another. Down to the left, the day campers are staking their tents, the people as small as my thumb. Summer is just getting started, the heat already pulling the oils from the pines, perfuming the mountain with their goodness. This is what I miss about Loveless, the scented air, the rhythm, the tourists who can’t help but smile because they’re free from real-world responsibilities.
I close my laptop and slump in my chair. I am in Loveless breathing fresh pine-scented air, free from all real-world responsibilities, then why the hell aren’t I smiling?
Elizabeth bounds through my mind like a ghost, reminding me of all the horrors like an indelible stain that has etched over the deepest part of my heart. The memory of what was and what still is lacerates the wound right open. A part of me never wants to smile again.
Caleb and Kennedy live in a colossal home on the ritzy side of the water. Luxury in Loveless isn’t just a requirement. It’s a commandment written in stone and laid out for all the people to see and abide by. Night has fallen, but the property has a lattice roof
top of twinkle lights stretching overhead that reaches all the way to the waterline. The stars hang heavy above the lake like a sea of angels pouring out a benediction over it and the fireflies sway as if they were drunk between the rubber trees that line the periphery. Night magic has always been the lake’s greatest trick.
An entire catering crew works diligently manning the rows and rows of stainless chaffing dishes. The scent of something spicy and meaty has my stomach grumbling for attention, but I’m not looking in that direction at the moment. I’m sweeping my eyes over the hordes of beautiful girls who are laughing, dancing, running around barefoot and carefree on the powder white sand. They all look about Kennedy’s age. Caleb mentioned her sorority sisters would come, and come they did—about five hundred strong. But I recognize a few old-timers from the lake as well, familiar faces that peppered my childhood like stock actors appearing and disappearing on cue.
A firm hand falls over my shoulder. “What’s up?” I turn to find Gavin Jackson with that huge grin I last saw him sporting once he was home free with Demi. Things haven’t been easy for them, and now I suspect with Zoey on his hands, they haven’t improved all that much. Zoey is a handful. I do another sweep around. For the life of me, I can’t seem to get that woman out of my mind. I suspect it has to do with the proposition. Once my dick’s ego is inflated, it’s a hard obstacle to get around. It hasn’t always been this way, but it’s been a dry season going on months now.
“What’s up with you?” I offer up a firm handshake. “Looking good, man. You look happy.”
“Couldn’t be happier.” That grin he’s sporting confirms the fact. Demi shows up by his side, wrapping her arms around his waist, beautiful, bright-eyed, still very much emanating love for this guy right here. “Last I heard you were on your way to Loveless to forget about life.”
Beautiful Deception (Lake Loveless Book 4) Page 3