The Girl in the Mist: A Misted Pines Novel

by Ashley, Kristen

  Even though the woods party ended in pandemonium, she wasn’t over it.

  I beat back a smile.

  “Thank you, Cade,” Mr. Greed Is Good said into the microphone. “Now, we know you have a lot to say. But I’ll start with the preamble that it’s our job to weigh the welfare of our citizens and make difficult decisions—”

  There were groans and a loud, “You have got to be kidding!”

  Another gavel strike and, “I said I’ll have order! We called this meeting. We can just as easily adjourn it!”

  Shuffling, muttering and unease as he waited for everyone to bow to his power trip, and I watched this with a sinking heart.

  It sunk further when he stated, “This is a precarious time. In a time such as this, regardless of what you might think, because riot thought isn’t rational…”

  “Way to escalate proceedings, bozo,” I mumbled, because so far, there’d been no riots. Just some unruly kids, terrified parents and trigger-happy cops.

  The woman sitting in front of me turned around and grinned.

  I returned it.

  “…an abundance of caution and a steady leadership is the only way forward,” the gent up front carried on. “Now—”

  His attention was taken.

  Which meant everyone’s attention was taken.

  And what it was taken by was Megan making a show of making her way to the front.

  The line to speak had to be at least twenty-five people deep.

  But the guy up front didn’t hesitate to step aside, and the room could hear her demure, “Thank you, Tony,” before she took her position at the lectern and squared her shoulders.

  I was impressed.

  I was also settled in for her to make mincemeat out of him.

  And this she did.

  She just didn’t start it the way I might have expected.

  She did it by ordering, “Gary, stop being a horse’s ass.”

  The crowd erupted in cheers.

  But Megan was opening her handbag.

  She whipped out a slew of papers and brandished it in the air.

  Once she thumped it on the lectern she announced, “That is two thousand, one hundred and twenty-seven names on a petition to relieve Sheriff Dern of his duties awaiting his recall.”

  And that was a lot of signatures in a very short period of time.

  Though I suspected she’d been on this case for a lot longer, however, she hadn’t mentioned it to me.

  So, the people of Misted Pines couldn’t come together about a mural.

  But when the safety and welfare of their children were threatened, they were a tribe.

  Yes.

  Murders aside, I’d picked the right place.

  “Megan, honestly,” Gary said, his tone somewhat diffident at the same time attempting to retain control, and I sensed she was one of his campaign donors.

  But Megan wasn’t listening to him.

  She was reaching into her handbag and pulling out another slew of papers.

  She thumped it on top of the others and said into the microphone, “And that is a petition with one thousand, three hundred and fifty-four signatures to have you recalled. Both of these I’m hand delivering to the governor’s office tomorrow, Gary, if you do not relieve Dern and reinstate Moran this evening.”

  Another roar from the crowd.

  Well then, that was definitely a lot of signatures in a short period of time, because that was a power play that could only have been conceived of yesterday.

  “It is not the Commission’s position to bow to public pressure—” Gary shouted over the cheer.

  “It isn’t?” she asked. “If you don’t listen to the public you serve, then what’s your purpose?”

  That had him stumped.

  “Megan, and all of you,” he addressed the crowd. “Please know, we appreciate your concern. But mob rule never—”

  He stopped talking and looked to his right.

  Which meant I looked to my left.

  Bohannan was walking down the side aisle, Jace and Jess following him.

  He stopped at the row Celeste and I were in and held out his arm.

  We got up and “excuse me’ed” our way past the people in front of us.

  Celeste got to him first, and he took her hand and gently moved her to his back, between him and her brothers.

  When I got to him, he just took my hand and held it as he led, and we moved with some effort in the limited space afforded by the end of the seating and the wall lined with bodies toward the exit.

  “Cade!” Gary called.

  We kept moving.

  “Cade!” Gary shouted.

  Bohannan didn’t even hesitate.

  “You’re a civic leader whether you like it or not,” Gary, his voice now a shout, so I knew he wasn’t using the microphone, and he was standing. “And you leaving these proceedings in a snit does nothing to assist your community!”

  A snit?

  That was even worse than a hissy fit.

  And thus, that stopped Bohannan and he turned.

  He did not look at Gary.

  He spoke to the crowd.

  “I’m working with the FBI to find out who’s hurting our girls. This is their case, and Dern has no authority over their investigation. The two agents assigned are good men who give a shit. Harry is helping too. He hasn’t abandoned you. I haven’t either. I can’t make any promises except to say Malorie and Alice are in good hands, the hands of investigators who want to find who hurt them and will do everything they can to make sure no one else gets hurt.”

  He shifted his attention to the front of the room.

  “Meg, take your petitions to Olympia. If you need a ride, Jace’ll take you.”

  Only then did he look at Gary.

  “You’ll be dead, so it won’t matter to you that in your footnote in history, your tenure will be recorded at best, corrupt, and at worst, disastrous and life threatening.”

  With that, he tugged my hand and we all walked out.

  Forty

  Romance Novelist’s Heart

  A mixed bag of what it meant to be living with Cade Bohannan in Misted Pines during a crisis that involved the FBI, was that a good place for the FBI to set up their field office when they encountered a hostile local law enforcement agency was the house up the way that Bohannan kept as a rental but was empty.

  Until now.

  It was a good thing that more trained professionals were close, and anyone in their right minds would have added reason to steer clear.

  The thing was, the person they were hunting was not in his right mind.

  Nevertheless, it meant, when Bohannan was done for the night, he didn’t have far to drive to get home.

  I was in his bed with Elizabeth Little’s Pretty as a Picture, hoping with my romance novelist’s heart that Marissa would get together with Isaiah, but with my thriller writer’s mind knowing that was unlikely, when Bohannan strolled in.

  One look at him and I understood Dale Pulaski’s response to getting what you needed in troubled times (or any time).

  If Bohannan tossed out dollar bills and ordered me to crawl to him on my hands and knees picking them up along the way à la Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger in 9½ Weeks, I wouldn’t have hesitated.

  I didn’t hide this thought, which was probably why Bohannan’s gaze darkened, he changed course and entered the bed beside me, stretching out at a diagonal, up on an elbow at my hip, and his hand came out so he could trail his fingers up the back of my calf starting at my ankle.

  It was the most sensual touch I’d ever sustained.

  “Fallin’ down,” he murmured. “Made a promise, fucked you twice, three orgasms when you were owed six.”

  “You’re forgiven that debt,” I told him. “Seeing as it’s about quality, not quantity.”

  His beard grinned.

  I put the book aside.

  He wrapped his arm around my hips and pulled me under him.

  I yanked the tail out of his ha
ir, and it fell forward.

  I ran my fingers through it, pulling it back.

  “Is sucking cock like riding a bicycle?” he asked.

  I trembled.

  “I don’t know.”

  His gaze dropped to my mouth. “If not, I’ll be there to coach you.”

  Yes, he would.

  But in the end, to my delight (and something else for him), he didn’t need to.

  Forty-One

  Hubris

  Outside her shop on Main Street, I sat sandwiched between Kimmy and a life-size stuffed Santa, on a green painted bench abounding with gold fretwork and upholstered in bright red velvet button back.

  She was in a voluminous Christmas sweater, I was in a thin wool heathered-gray crewneck with a slimline, dusky lilac puffy vest over it, and we both had fresh Aromacobana brews in our hands (mine decaffeinated, Kimmy’s with a triple shot) and our eyes to the passersby.

  “What’re we lookin’ for?” she asked, then took a sip.

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  “What’re you freakin’ out about?” she asked.

  “My daughters arrive tomorrow, one with her girlfriend who’s like another daughter to me, one with an unknown fighter pilot who’s stealing her jaded heart,” I answered, then took a sip.

  “Not good timing,” she muttered, then took a sip.

  “I had to call them both yesterday and share that there’s a good possibility there’s a serial killer hunting my new boyfriend’s patch, I’m not actually living in the house they’re going to stay in because he didn’t think it was safe for me to be there alone, and our neighbors are FBI agents running a command post out of a rental. Fenn called from the airport having just landed for the layover, one-night mini-vacation she and her fighter jock are taking in Hawaii, and thus getting the message I ill-advisedly left on her voicemail. She was so loud, I feared TSA would take her down. Camille started and stopped fifteen sentences before she gave up, hung up on me and Joan called back sharing that ‘she’s just worried.’”

  “Got three, two girls and a boy. Got no clue when I stopped bein’ the mom and they thought of me as their kid. But it happened. According to them, I can barely brush my own teeth in the morning.” She took a sip. “It’d crawl right up my ass if it wasn’t about love.”

  Damn it.

  I hated it when people had good responses to stuff that was annoying me.

  “Want some good news?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I stated the obvious.

  “Full Metal Meg marched her uptight ass right to the governor’s office yesterday. Heard tell the man wasn’t ignorant of our situation. Not sure how they do all that with their red tape muckin’ things up. But I suspect Harry’s going to be acting sheriff pretty soon, and we’re gonna have a full ballot come election time. Because rumor is, Megan has very recently decided to aim for Gary’s seat.”

  I turned to her. “That is good news.”

  She turned to me. “You do know that whackjobs don’t have, ‘I murder girls’, tattooed on their foreheads, Manson notwithstanding.”

  “I can read people.”

  “So can I. So can Bohannan. If he thought this nutcase would stroll down the avenue, he’d be sitting where we are.”

  I turned to our quiet compatriot then back to her. “Santa settles the soul.”

  She looked to the street, brought up her paper cup, and muttered to it, “Ain’t that the truth.”

  And she took a sip.

  It was on the ride home from hanging with Kimmy that my car rang.

  I accidentally hit the wrong button on my steering wheel, and instead of declining the call, I got Angelo’s voice filling the cab.

  “What the fuck, Delphine?” he blistered.

  It was Monday. I’d sat too long with Kimmy, assessing the citizenry of MP in hopes I’d zero in on a killer, therefore Celeste would be home before me.

  There’d been a drama in the kitchen yesterday that resulted in her weekend grounding extending for a week.

  I needed to be home for moral support for Celeste and to make sure Celeste came home.

  Megan had canceled book club that night, which was a bummer. I could have used talking about a happily ever after, if just for the distraction of it.

  Though I understood this play. A curfew hadn’t been called, but come sundown, Misted Pines moved behind locked doors and kept vigilant.

  My need for sisterhood and love-of-romance-books solidarity grew as Angelo’s famously gravelly voice came at me again.

  “Hello? I asked, what the fuck?”

  “Camille called you.”

  “So you go from one psycho to another?”

  “I’m not sure it’s politically correct to call them psychos.”

  “Do I give a shit? They’re psychos. I’ll be culturally sensitive to people who don’t rape and kill other people.”

  He had a point.

  “And you’re seeing someone?” he demanded.

  Ah.

  “Angie—” I started.

  “You think maybe you’d give me a heads up about that so Cam doesn’t blindside me with it?”

  Blindside him?

  “Angie, we’ve been divorced for fifteen years.”

  “You dated that record exec, who was an asshole. I knew you were doing that just to get laid and maybe piss me off.”

  For goodness sakes.

  “Then you shacked up for a while with that sculptor, but that was more about the fact he lived on that farm in the middle of nowhere and you needed a break than about wanting to be with that guy. In other words, you weren’t serious about either of them. But you were married to me for eleven years and then you didn’t replace me.”

  It had been so long since I dealt with a man in any day-to-day meaningful way (and I didn’t mean a man like Bohannan, because I think we all can agree he’s a unicorn), I forgot how much hubris they could have.

  So much it was stunning.

  Thus, I was stunned.

  “Are you saying you think I’ve been pining for you for fifteen years?”

  “Del,” he chuffed, like, duh.

  “I haven’t been pining for you for fifteen years.”

  “Babe, you and me, we need some time. We’ll go to my place. Down on the island.”

  We needed some time?

  A decade and a half later?

  “That place you had orgies?” I asked.

  “That right there,” he crowed. “You wouldn’t care if you didn’t care.”

  “I’m simply pointing out how insensitive you’re being, which is only one of the reasons why we ended, and that was the end.”

  “It’s a spiritual place now, babe. I’ve had it cleansed. I meditate there. I swim. I read. You’d love it.”

  I didn’t have time for this.

  Strike that.

  I just didn’t want to do this.

  “Okay, Angie, the truth of the matter is, I loved you once. I did it in a way that parts of that love will never die. And those parts aren’t solely wrapped up in the fact we created Camille and you were an incredibly wonderful stepdad to Fenn. But the other parts, the important parts, the parts around trust and safety and security and unconditional love, the parts I needed because I grew up starved of them, are gone. Never to return. We had this conversation before you even put a ring on my finger, and still, you did what you did. Now, I cannot say that it doesn’t make me feel good to know that you still care about me in that way. But you have to get, I don’t return those feelings.”

  There was a beat before, “Right, then go down to the island to get away from a fuckin’ serial killer.”

  “Bohannan is part of the team that’s trying to find that serial killer, and I’m falling in love with him, and he likes me around, so that’s not going to happen.”

  Several beats of silence before, “Are you safe?”

  “Am I ever really safe?” I asked quietly.

  “I don’t like this, and the girls don’t either.”

 
“Well, they’re not girls and neither am I. It’s sweet, this concern, but I’m not only where I want to be, I’m where I need to be.”

  Many, many beats of silence, so many, the gate to home was coming into view before, “Love you, Del. Always. Yeah?”

  That was very sweet.

  And it was very sad.

  And it was very unlike me not to notice that not only had I not replaced him.

  He had never replaced me.

  But…

  Thank God this was done.

  “Love you too, Angie. Thanks for caring.”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “I will.”

  I heard him accidentally start saying a tortured, “Fu—, before he’d successfully hung up, and my heart hurt hearing that.

  But not enough.

  And not for long.

  Because I cleared the gate and the trees surrounding the front of the house.

  But I didn’t even make the clearing behind it before I saw Celeste standing outside her Mustang, beautiful face pale and haunted, watching a violently gesticulating Will Pulaski shouting at her.

  Forty-Two

  Shine out of the Dark

  The Volvo rolled five feet with my door open and me half out of it before I realized I hadn’t put the bitch in park and turned it off.

  I did that in record time, shot out of the car and sprinted to Celeste.

  I pulled her back and got between her and Will, who could take us both and looked like he was going to, but I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

  “You need to calm down,” I informed him.

  “Delly—” Celeste said softly.

  “You don’t get it!” Will shouted.

  “Take a breath, stand back and calm down,” I ordered.

  He got in my face, nose to nose, and I flinched when he roared, “You don’t get it!”

  We were surrounded by tires-skidding-over-wet-pine-needles noises as a Ram and a Yukon raced to a halt, and it was indisputable Jace and Bohannan were way more badass than I was in angling out of their vehicles.

  Will was already retreating as, unhurriedly but with a mission, Bohannan advanced on him.