Bone Frog Bachelor (Bachelor Tower Series)

by Sharon Hamilton

  Well, I was going to find out. And if I didn’t get all my answers, at least I’d have some new memories of sunsets and leather seats, soft arms and lips that craved to be pleasured. Maybe she was someone who needed me just as much as I needed her. In a few minutes I’d phone her, and make sure the welcome I’d felt was still present. I wanted her to anticipate my coming, to ready herself for someone to rock her world. It was better that she was fully ready to receive me rather than being surprised. Give her a chance to get out all the nice stuff and try to make an impression, because that’s what I was going to do. I was going to woo her in a way she’d never been wooed before. She’d never forget this weekend.

  Maybe we could need each other into oblivion, stop all the pain and hurt, and begin to heal in each other’s arms.

  There were crazier ways to find out, but I liked that it would start with an impulsive private flight to Tampa tonight, as soon as I got confirmation my pilot was ready, and I finished packing. It would continue with a fast drive to the gulf in an even faster red convertible. And maybe it would end with a sunset to all the darkness in my life, a bon voyage to all the misery and pain, and the start of a new day.

  Chapter 10

  Shannon

  As a drinking buddy, Rebecca made a fine one. I was actually having a great time, stumbling around, playing music, mostly oldies for her. Her favorites were all Em’s favorite tunes too: Fleetwood Mac, Van Halen, even some Steely Dan thrown in. All these albums we found on her cell phone. We danced together like two long-lost friends. Except for her cutting wit and nasty language, it was almost like dancing with Em herself.

  “Truth or Dare, Shannon!” Rebecca shouted, holding her glass high above her head. She turned down the music. “Best night ever when you were a teen!”

  The oddness of the statement made my insides flinch. I saw Marco, a much younger version of him, anyway, bending on his knee, presenting me with one of the flowers he’d plucked from the bouquet he’d laid at Em’s coffin. His eyes were red and his cheeks were streaked with shiny rivulets of tears. He couldn’t talk, but I saw in his eyes the tremendous loss my sister caused him. How I wanted to ease that pain. He’d always been so kind to me, even defending me to Em sometimes. He was the bright spot in my Mother’s Day whenever he showed up.

  I was the invisible preteen.

  “Remember her this way, kid,” he’d said as he handed me the scented flower.

  I would have preferred a hug or an itty bitty teeny-weeny innocent peck on the cheek. He probably thought I was dumbstruck, my grief overwhelming me, which of course it did. But my small fingers shook as I took the flower, just to be in proximity to the man who had brought my big sister so much joy. I knew it would be the last time I’d see him, the last time our fingers would touch. I wanted to make it better by telling him how wonderful he made her feel, but I froze up. My knees locked. My insides shredded like an old curtain flapping in a glassless window frame.

  “Yessss!” Rebecca hissed. “That one. What was that one about?”

  I really had no idea why it would have been the best day of my life. It was certainly the most impactful. As the years went by, I saw that tiny flower not as a plant or once-living thing, but a torch given from one sister to another. Like the movie when the actress tells him to come back for her in time. Was he saying he’d see me later?

  Of course not, and I was nearing the edge of sanity to think so. My head spun. I blamed it on the alcohol, which was also partially true.

  “I think the Scotch has gotten to me. All that dancing. I’m dizzy. I need to sit down.”

  She was all over me like a mother, just like Em was, darn it. I couldn’t get the thought of how similar and yet so dissimilar they were. I really wanted her to scrape her hands and arms from my body, but she clung to me because she was drunk too. She sat me down, carefully, on the couch, sat right next to me and pushed my hair from my forehead.

  “You’re burning up, Shan.”

  Oh God! Not the name Em used to call me too!

  I groaned and leaned into the couch back, which distanced my body somewhat from hers. She was on her feet, and, nearly slipping and upturning the coffee table, she made her way to the fully stocked Penthouse kitchen, picked up a tea towel, turned on the fawcett so hard it splashed all over the counter, tile back and her face and front. She screamed, then threw her head back and laughed. I recognized the reaction.

  I resigned myself not to be surprised anymore. She acted so much like Em. Somewhere in my alcohol-sloshed brain I understood that perhaps that’s how he’d picked her. But the comparisons were driving me into a moroseness I didn’t desire.

  “I’m so sorry, pumpkin,” she cooed, patting my face and forehead with the wet towel.

  At last a name Em hadn’t used!

  “Thank you,” I mumbled into the towel, helpless to do anything else and wishing I could get that day out of my head. But with Rebecca, I wouldn’t be so lucky.

  “I’m sorry I brought up something painful, Shannon. What was it? You can tell me.”

  “I-I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  She lowered her chin, stuck out her lower lip and gave me the puppy dog look I hated which won me over all the time with Judie. “Please?”

  Danger! Danger! Pitfall ahead!

  Something inside me was trying to warn me off some course of action I’d regret forever. She laced her fingers through my hair, placing it neatly behind my shoulders. She took my hand in hers and squeezed.

  “Talking about it might make it better.”

  “Believe me—” I started to say.

  Her hand was up, taking no prisoners, shaking her head. Did she know she was really being cruel?

  I pulled my paw from her grip and righted myself, cleared my throat and asked for a glass of ice water.

  “Gas or no gas?”

  “What?”

  “Sparkling or no?”

  “Sparkling if you have it.”

  “Lime, lemon or orange flavored?”

  All the choices right now I really didn’t want to make.

  “Lime.”

  “Good choice. My favorite too,” she said breathlessly as she popped two bottle tops and returned with two tumblers full of ice to pour the sparkling water into. It was the needed delay I was seeking, but I knew I wouldn’t escape.

  Why had I thought of that moment when she asked about my best day ever as a teen? Again, I blamed it on the Scotch.

  “Now. Spill the beans, Shannon. I promise nurse Rebecca will make it all better.”

  If she only knew.

  “What you don’t know is that I had an older sister. I’m not sure why but I was reminded of the day of her funeral.”

  Rebecca clearly wasn’t understanding my words. Her nose scrunched up, her cheeks puckered to cover half of her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, pumpkin.”

  That name again…I was starting to hate it.

  “But why? I mean, how come you thought about that day?”

  I searched for something desperately to say. At last I came out with words I immediately regretted.

  “You kind of remind me of her.”

  Rebecca moved away a couple of inches on the couch as if I was made of molten lava. Still watching me, she considered something. Then her shoulders dropped and she sighed.

  “I’m so sorry, Shannon. She sounds like a wonderful person.”

  That comment sobered me up all of a sudden. Of all the selfish, wrong things to say to someone who was missing her sister, that was about one of the most heartless things she could have said. I was back on top, ready to complete the mission I’d set out to do. I’d just have to be just as good a liar as she was. I could do that now.

  “I think the reason I wanted to interview you partially was because of that. You do remind me of my sister. And, well, I thought I could do an interview that would do you justice, do her justice too, I guess.” I shrugged. “In a way?” I raised my eyebrows into my hairline, opened my palms up on my
lap and waited for whatever was due me. I was such a sneak, such a bad person.

  “I’m touched, Shannon,” she said in her breathy, sexy tone, her expression brightening, almost becoming flirtatious. But I didn’t get any sexual vibes, thank goodness. No, this woman was made of something else, and it was dark and deep. She was damaged goods, clear through. I reminded myself she was dangerous.

  “I hope you didn’t take offense, Rebecca.”

  “On the contrary. If I’d had a little sister, I could only hope that she would have been one half as sweet and cute as you, honey. But you’ve touched me. I want to help.”

  Uh Oh. She. Said. Help.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “She was pretty.” I looked up at Rebecca’s eager face and the wild expression in her eyes and added, “Like you.”

  “Ah, that’s nice of you to say. I’m not as pretty as I was once, but then, my next new boyfriend is going to be a plastic surgeon.”

  “New boyfriend?”

  “My last boyfriend was an attorney who helped me with the divorce. I am eternally grateful, too. But my next one will be a gifted surgeon who loves to travel.”

  I tried to giggle but it came out more like the lament of a pained cat. I coughed and took another long sip of mineral water.

  “Go on. Tell me more about her. I’m fascinated.”

  “She was fun loving. She loved people, and was always the life of the party.”

  “And you always felt mousy instead, am I right?”

  That was not information she was entitled to. It was only half of it, anyhow. I didn’t feel mousy, I felt ignored because Em was such the favorite of my parents. I’d even told my mom one day when we argued years later that I wish I’d been the one killed so they could have had a life instead of the life they had with me. I got a slap for that comment, and then a hug, and then we both burst into tears. My mother did the best she could, but her heart was irreparably broken.

  “You’re perceptive,” I lied.

  “How did she die?”

  “It was an auto accident.”

  “Oh, so sad. You never got to say good-bye.” Her lower lip was protruding, but it almost looked like she was mocking me. I began to see more difference between her and my sister. She didn’t really have an ounce of compassion in her body.

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “Did she die right away, at the scene?”

  The hairs at the back of my neck began to stand up. Did she have some morbid desire to dig into my pain, my past?

  “Yes, we think so. My parents were devastated.”

  Rebecca stood, and stared off into the dark bay, the lights of the pool and landscaped grounds reflecting back into her face, giving it a chilling light from beneath her chin like in some horror movie.

  “What was her name?” she said absent-mindedly.

  Did she suspect who I was? Even Marco didn’t know who I was. I scrambled, but my tongue was thick and my brain didn’t function like it normally did.

  “C-Connie,” I blurted out. “Like Connie Stevens, the singer. Mom named her after her.”

  Rebecca nodded, and opened the sliding glass door slowly, with cat-like movements.

  “Come see the beautiful lights and the early morning air. It will be sunrise soon, Shannon.”

  “I-I’m afraid of heights, Rebecca. I’m so sorry, but I think maybe I should be getting home. I do go in early tomorrow. I have to set up my—”

  Then I thought about the interview. I had neglected to ask her any questions. I had nothing to go work on. I could do background, but I’d already done some of that previously researching Marco.

  “Can I ask you some quick questions for the interview? I’d really rather talk about something else, if you don’t mind. This was supposed to be all about you and the project. And if I stand out there on the balcony, I’ll unload all my dinner over the good people out there.” I gave a sickly whinny.

  She was the one being morose and very, very odd. She looked down. “Lovers. There are only lovers out tonight, walking around the pathways, stealing kisses amongst the large palm fronds, watching the koi and listening to the cicadas.”

  “Sounds beautiful, but I’m still staying put right here. If you don’t want to do it tonight, how about you come into the station tomorrow? It’s only a half hour drive. Would you agree to that?”

  “I can do that,” she said as she closed the glass door, locked it and floated over to sit at a forty-five-degree angle to me. She studied me. “Ask some of your questions now so I know the approach you’ll take and I’ll be prepared.”

  I fumbled for my cell phone, where I’d stored several questions. There was a call I’d missed from Boston, since I’d turned off my ringer. I scrolled to my notepad.

  “Um, we already know you like to dance and sing. Tell me about the project and why this is so important to you?”

  “Because Navy SEALs deserve a home. They fight. They leave their whole lives out there on the battlefield. Sometimes, they come back empty. They lose their families often, everyone but their brothers. So many of them die lonely, and without the support of those who loved them or could help them. They prefer the company of their teammates. And it’s hard for a family to understand how lonely they are.”

  “That’s so wonderful that you do. Having been through it, of course,” I added, thinking it was a safe comment.

  But her eyes morphed into slits. “You don’t know anything about my relationship. It was completely different. But that’s another interview for another day.”

  “Of course. So tell me how the idea came to you, and how do you imagine it going forward?”

  “It didn’t come to me. It was Marco—that’s my husband—my ex-husband, I should say—it was Marco’s idea from the get-go. I actually fought him on it. But after I saw what a mess he was making of his businesses, I decided to resurrect his mission, since he didn’t have the money or the time.”

  “How good of you.” I gulped down more water, taking some of my bile with it.

  “I admit, at first I did it to make him mad, but you won’t put that in the interview, will you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “That’s a good girl,” she said with a strong dose of condescension. I was starting to hate her now. Again, I thought it might be the alcohol talking/feeling/confusing me.

  She began again. “I thought it might be a good idea to hang around some of those hunky silver foxes. SEALs are an odd lot. Strong, yet so weak in the relationship cajones, if you know what I mean. They fall for women easily and then don’t know what to do with them once they’ve gotten them.”

  I blushed. She noticed.

  “Shannon, you’re holding out on me…” She was smiling but I still felt under her thumb.

  “Your comment, well, I was thinking about—what I’d heard—about SEALs. I mean, they’re supposed to be great lovers, and all.” I quickly added, “Not speaking from experience, of course.”

  She chuckled. “My husband was an expert at everything. He qualified expert in his diving, firearms, demolition, languages. He was the fastest runner on his team, even the day he retired. And he could make me wet just by looking at me. He could make me wet with his little finger, with his tongue…”

  I was stepping on my own tongue and quickly closed my mouth. My blush was obvious.

  “It turns you on just to hear me talk about it, doesn’t it, Shannon?”

  “Well, I’ve never had this kind of conversation, and this certainly won’t go into the interview.”

  “Oh, I know it won’t. Because it will reflect badly on you. But come to the interview tomorrow with those thoughts in mind, and then we’ll have a real girl chat, on camera. Let’s not tape it. Let’s go live and bare.”

  I was dumfounded, sure my Program Manager would never approve of this. I was thinking about how I was going to tell him. It was on impulse that I answered her, with more guts than brains, “Okay, Rebecca, let’s do it. Don’t know if it will get approved, but
I’ll try to make that happen. Let’s fly off into the history books—together, like real sisters.”

  She threw her head back and laughed so hard I thought she and the chair would flip over backwards.

  Then my phone rang. I really should have checked who had called me. I knew better. But I didn’t. I was so worried about what I was going to do tomorrow, and how I’d pull this off without ruining the station’s or my reputation, it didn’t occur to me that things were about to heat up even hotter.

  “Hello, Shannon.”

  It. Was. Marco.

  “Oh, hello.” I sounded and felt like I was twelve. “It-it’s kinda late. Could I call you back?” I whispered.

  “Are you with someone I have to come over and strangle? Want me to?”

  “Well, you’re not here—”

  “I’m getting ready to fly to Tampa as we speak. I thought perhaps we could have breakfast when I arrive and then I could book you for dinner at sunset, if you’d be agreeable.”

  I was so agreeable, I was nearly wetting my pants. And then I saw the smirk of the woman across the coffee table from me. She had a Cheshire cat grin.

  “That would be nice. But can I call you back?”

  “You are with someone.”

  “It’s not what you think, M—Mike.”

  “Mike? You’re a nasty little girl, Shannon. I want to know more. I want to hear you whisper it to me when I pump you full of everything I’ve got.”

  My face, my chest, my boobs were fiery red. And my panties were so wet I could even smell them.

  Rebecca was trying to listen, her eyebrows raised. I made sure to press the phone to my ear and wished I’d brought my earpiece.

  “Listen, call me when you get here, please. I’m with a girlfriend and your comments, well, they’re embarrassing me.”

  “But are you looking forward to my visit? Just tell me because I won’t come if you have to rearrange your whole schedule…”

  Marco, you could rearrange my whole life! My brain was shouting, my inner angel was beating up the lonely witch inside me.