The Stranger Next Door

by Lorhainne Eckhart

  Billy Jo said nothing. Mark had refused to back down when it came to how the council felt they could tell him to police this island: kid gloves with some and paramilitary tactics with others.

  “Yeah, I heard about that too,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Wasn’t it Mary Jane whose phone was ringing with a call from the dad, who apparently contributed largely to her campaign? He threatened that he had enough clout to redirect infrastructure funding from the island to another region and halt the upgrade of the water treatment plant, meaning the tax bills of every full-time island resident would be hiked to cover the cost. That would get Mary Jane voted out, so I heard she folded like a deck of cards under the pressure. And you did what?”

  “I charged the privileged little shit,” he said, “although it didn’t do any good. The DA has already thrown it out, calling me and chewing out my ass. But I made it clear to good old dad, who showed up here, breathing down my neck, that he’s to keep his kid off the island, and if ever again we have a problem with him, a video of his racist diatribe will be all over the news.”

  She lifted her brows, leaned back, and crossed her feet on his desk, and he wasn’t sure if she was amused. “You have a video?”

  He reached for the baseball and the plaques and shoved them in the box. “No, but he doesn’t know that. Anyway, I ordered a body camera for Carmen, and she’ll wear it. The council will freak, mind you, when they get the bill, but I’m not having her credibility shredded because of some privileged kid who gets a free ride and thinks he can do anything he wants without consequence. Because her word won’t count against his if shit hits the fan.” He knew he was shoving everything in the box a little harder than necessary. “As far as Hal Green, I reminded him of all the tickets he had the chief write off for him over the years and let him know I have a copy of every one of them, including his emails to the chief telling him to take care of it.”

  Her expression was unreadable. “I thought you didn’t keep any of the chief’s insurance, the dirt he had on the council,” she said. “You said you didn’t want to operate that way.”

  Mark shrugged, thinking of the files in the bottom drawer, the proof of how Herb Walker had dipped into the funding for the island homeless, the tickets for Hal Green, and the photos of the head of the council herself, Mary Jane, with Philip Maddox, the reason the chief was no longer the chief. “If those running things actually played by the rules, I guess you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he replied. “Didn’t say I would use them, but I’d be stupid to throw them out.”

  She nodded. “Heard you eventually paid the license renewal fee for Grace Peters, too,” she said. “Word gets around that you can’t help being a good guy, Mark.”

  He only grunted. Aggressive prosecution against a woman who just couldn’t afford her license didn’t sit right with him. “She’s got kids, no support, and her job barely pays her a living wage.”

  Billy Jo lifted her hands. “Hey, you don’t need to justify it to me. I get it, Mark, and I’m behind you. I’m just saying that the council doesn’t like being backed into a corner, and they especially don’t like having a chief they can’t control, so you’ll need to watch your back. Now, those two, you should call them.” She gestured to the two resumes she’d pulled out, Georgette Walker and Mike Schneider. One was from Salem, the other from Olympia. “And I’m starving, so how much more do you have to do?”

  He took in the box, the girl, and the resumes on his desk. “Tons, but it’ll keep.” He reached for the pile of resumes and tossed them on top of the box. “For dinner, how about steak?”

  She shrugged and stood up. “You’re cooking?” She reached for her bag, and he took in the curves she was no longer hiding.

  “Yeah. I’ll throw steaks on the grill, and you can go through the rest of these resumes…” He lifted the box and started out of his office, following her.

  “And the box?” She gestured back to him as he flicked off the light with his elbow and whistled to Lucky, who was now up and striding to the door.

  “I’ll drop it off at the chief’s,” he said. “As you pointed out, these are his things.”

  She pulled open the door.

  “Lock it, will you?” he said. “The keys are in my pocket.”

  She hesitated only a second before reaching into his pocket, a touch he hadn’t expected, and she pulled the keys out. He strode to his Jeep and opened the back to stuff the box in, then grabbed the papers and pulled open the front door.

  Billy Jo tossed him the keys, which he caught one-handed, before starting to her new Nissan Rogue. She would just follow him to his place, he knew, and he considered for a second this relationship they’d fallen into. Her place or his place didn’t matter. It was always dinner, talking, and then he or she would leave. Maybe tonight he could figure out a way to change her mind and get her to stay.

  Chapter Two

  Mark turned the steaks on the grill and sprinkled on more seasoning. Billy Jo was carrying on a conversation with Lucky, and he couldn’t help smiling at how his dog listened more to her than him at times.

  “Here, put this on and heat it up,” Billy Jo said, handing him a small skillet with broccoli and butter to sauté. He wondered where that had come from, but then, his fridge seemed to be stocked more and more with real food he knew she was responsible for. “Those potatoes done?”

  He used the tongs to turn two baked potatoes wrapped in tin foil. Cooking was something he didn’t normally do, and all he could think was that his domestication had come out of nowhere. “Should be. So, you give any thought to what we talked about?”

  She stood right beside him, and he looked down at her, taking in how cute she was. She never flirted with him, ever, and he didn’t think she’d even know how if she tried. She just stared at him and gestured to the broccoli sizzling in the butter. “Don’t let that burn.”

  He flipped the broccoli and moved it around the frypan on the grill. She was still standing there. “You know, Billy Jo, it’s not lost on me that when you’re uncomfortable about something, you just don’t want to talk. You’re about the worst when it comes to talking things through. Instead, you ignore me and say nothing. But this, with us, only works if you talk.”

  She pulled her arms over her chest. “You get that tattoo scheduled to be removed yet? Because I told you I don’t want to be looking at your ex-girlfriend every time you take off that shirt.” There she went, changing the subject again.

  “You know, Lucky and Harley will get along great,” he said. “You’ve seen them when he’s at your place, no fights… I’m thinking this is more about your comfort level. Harley would do great over here with Lucky. Look at all the outdoors he’d have to wander…”

  She was still looking up at him, breathing in and out, her chest rising. “He’s a three-legged cat. He doesn’t wander outside. He stays inside or sits on my deck. He couldn’t protect himself if he wandered. You want a beer?”

  She was already walking back into his small one-bedroom cabin. He gestured after her with his tongs, fighting the urge to wrap his hands around her neck. She was the only woman he found himself completely off kilter with, unable to reason with.

  “Opinionated, stubborn, difficult…” he said under his breath, maybe because she still hadn’t answered him. He wondered if this was where guys learned to toe the line.

  “Mark!” she called out to him, holding up a beer from the open fridge.

  He gestured with a sweep of his tongs. “Nope. Carmen isn’t on call tonight, and I’m not about to give the council any reason to bounce me.”

  She shoved the beer back into his dated old fridge with a clatter. “Then how about water, or do you want this lonely can of orange soda?” she called out.

  “Nothing, I’m good.” He shook his head, flipped the steaks again, and turned off the grill as Billy Jo walked his way with an empty plate and a glass of wine. She handed the plate to him in comfortable silence. She seemed to just know what he needed, and it le
ft him wondering why they were still dancing around each other. He was trying to figure out how to navigate this maze, treading carefully, recalling his history of screwing up every good thing he’d had.

  “So can we talk about how you avoid answering by changing the subject? I’m serious, Billy Jo…” He let out a rough laugh, trying to dial back his frustration. “You know how I feel about you. Is it about this place, sex, or what? I feel like I’m having to force the conversation when I would rather not talk, but if I don’t, seriously, I’m starting to think dancing around is all we’ll ever do. Are you scared of me, of this between us? Is that why I feel as if you’re one step forward and two back all the time? And don’t think I haven’t noticed your subtle change from baggy comfortable clothes to looking more like a girl.”

  He took the plate from her a little harder than he meant to, and she narrowed her eyes, her mouth tight, her posture stiff. He put the steaks and baked potatoes on the plate and reached for the hot skillet using the mitt Billy Jo had held out without a word. He shook his head as he walked around her with dinner, seeing how she held the wineglass, still saying nothing.

  He stopped beside her and leaned down, so close. “And here you go again, suddenly mute.”

  She flicked her gaze up to him and let out a frustrated breath, and he made himself keep moving because he could feel the edge of her anger. He would gladly have reached out and shaken her if he thought it would do any good.

  “Frustrating…. Like, what the hell am I doing?” he said under his breath as he put the plate down with a clatter and set the skillet on the stove. He rested his hands on the counter and gave his head a shake before reaching for two plates on the open shelf, which he realized had never looked this neat and organized.

  He heard the door close and sensed her walking his way, so he held out a plate to her as she appeared quietly beside him and put her glass of wine down.

  “Just FYI, I’m not scared of you, Mark,” she said. “It’s me I’m scared of. You want to have this conversation, then fine, let’s have it. We’re friends…”

  “We’re more than friends and you know it,” he snapped, cutting her off, forking one of the steaks onto a plate. She rolled her shoulders as he reached for a baked potato and unwrapped the tinfoil.

  “So we’re dating,” she said.

  “Not dating, either. Dating is getting to know someone, testing the waters to see if a committed relationship is possible. I told you I’m not dating. You got under my skin. This, here, is dancing around, and that’s all you, baby.” He knew he sounded like an asshole, but he was tired of this, and he wondered when he’d found himself seeing her as the one.

  “I’m not afraid of sleeping with you, Mark, or sex, so let’s get that straight. But you have issues, one of which is the tattoo of your former girlfriend that you should have removed by now. So let’s talk about dancing around, shall we?”

  “I called and booked an appointment for a week Thursday, but it has to be done on the mainland, and that’s if I have a new deputy trained and here to help Carmen so I can leave the island. So no, I haven’t blown it off, but with the shitstorm that went on here with the chief and me taking over, you know I can’t just hop on a ferry and leave right now.”

  He had her backed against the counter, so close to her that he settled his hands on either side of her so she couldn’t move. She looked to one side and then the other until she was forced to look at him. He knew he was in her space, touching her, pushing her. He could feel the pull of her breath, see the way she reacted to him.

  “You really booked it?” she said.

  He angled his head without stepping back, and she flicked her gaze to his lips. He didn’t wait for her to say yes before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, easy, soft, and let it linger. Her hand on his arm traced the skin up to the edge of his faded T-shirt, and he settled his hand on her hip, over the curve of her waist, and up her back, then slipped his arm around her and pulled her right against him as he deepened the kiss.

  She pressed against his chest but didn’t push him away. It was instinctive and natural as he lifted her, resting her on the edge of the counter, pressing a kiss to her neck, the soft skin at the V of her open blouse, and he heard her hiss. Just then, the dog barked, and Mark jumped. There was a knock at the door.

  He pulled back, still holding her as she slid down, mourning the interruption, the loss. He stepped away, his hand on her for another second, and he angled his head, unsure what was staring back at him.

  “Dammit, always something.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Lucky, come here!” he called out as the dog barked again. He made himself take one step and another, glancing once to his open bedroom door and his holstered gun sitting on the dresser.

  He walked to the door and pulled it open to see a woman with light hair, slender, wearing a loose blouse. “Hi, are you lost?” he said, taking her in. He figured she had to be about five foot five, maybe—young, pretty.

  “So sorry. You’re the chief, right?” she said.

  He didn’t step back, feeling uncomfortable. The young woman looked up at him, and he couldn’t help being a little pissed. Billy Jo stepped up behind him, and he set a hand on her arm. “Sorry, can I help you?” he said before pulling in a rattled breath.

  He’d been so into Billy Jo, that kiss, and having her one step from under him, that he hadn’t heard a stranger arrive. He stepped away from Billy Jo, his hand lingering a second on her to keep her behind him, maybe from the fear of everything that had happened around him.

  “Are you the chief?” she said, her voice soft. She appeared in her early twenties, if that.

  “I am. And you are?” he replied. Lucky was growling behind him, and he turned back to the dog, seeing Billy Jo with her arms crossed, looking intently at the woman. Lucky growled and barked again. “Lucky, come over here,” he said. “Billy Jo, can you…?”

  He didn’t have to say any more, as Lucky warily came over to him, and he grabbed the collar Billy Jo had bought for him and pulled him back. Billy Jo reached for him, making him sit, as Mark took in the open door to his bedroom and the gun still sitting on the dresser. He didn’t know why he was feeling so on edge.

  He stepped closer, standing in the open door right in front of the woman, and he could hear Billy Jo talking to his dog behind him. Her expression was off, maybe from the way the dog had reacted to her.

  “You didn’t tell me who you are. Is this a police matter?” he said. “Your coming out here is unusual. We’re kind of in a crunch right now with staffing down. I haven’t been on the island that long, so I haven’t had a chance to get to know everyone.” He gestured to her, looking over her head to see a sleek silver Jaguar Coupe, likely why he hadn’t heard her pull in.

  She squeezed the silver chain strap of her purse over her shoulder, her mouth tight. “I apologize for intruding, and yes, I hesitated in coming to you. In fact, I’ve sat outside the station—well, just on the road, with plans to walk in and talk to you, but I’m afraid I chickened out. I didn’t want anyone to see me, because then there would be talk, and then he’d know.”

  Her eyes were deep blue, and Mark found himself lifting his hand to invite her inside. “Okay, come in. Why don’t you have a seat?” He gestured to the old leather sectional and glanced back to Billy Jo, shooting her a puzzled look. She didn’t let go of Lucky, who, he realized, wasn’t letting the woman out of his sight. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his dog act that way: wary, watchful. Hmm.

  She took a step inside and over to the sofa, running her slender hands over her deep blue jeans. She wore makeup, thick mascara, and her lips were full. Her identity was still a mystery.

  “So why don’t we start with your name?” he said, his hands going to his hips.

  The woman seemed to track him with just her eyes. “And it won’t get back to my husband?”

  He made himself shake his head. “This is just us here. I can’t help you unless you tell me what it is. Are you in t
rouble, scared? What is it?”

  Odd, he thought as she nodded, glancing past him to Billy Jo before looking back at him.

  “My name is Sunday, and I’m not sure where to start. Did you know child marriages are legal in this country? I’m not old enough to vote, buy a house, join the military, or drink alcohol, but I’ve been married for three years.”

  He didn’t have to look to know that Billy Jo was now standing beside him, and Lucky’s nails scratched on the old hardwood as he lay down behind him.

  “You’re married. How old are you?”

  “I’m sixteen, old enough to drive now. I have two children, my first when I was fourteen, the second when I was fifteen. When I had my babies, the hospital knew, and the school I went to knew, and the courts knew where I was married before a judge.”

  Billy Jo hissed beside him, or maybe it was the sound in his own head. He knew he was staring like a fool, trying to wrap his head around what she was saying. Maybe that was why the woman opened her purse, pulled out her wallet and driver’s license, and held it out to him.

  He found himself staring at her before reaching for the license, seeing a photo of a woman free of makeup, appearing much like a young girl. He took in the year, the birthdate, and the name Sunday Byrd, then flicked his gaze right back to her. The makeup she wore made her look older. Yeah, there it was, the same image. He could see it now, how young she was. He held the license out to Billy Jo and let her take it, maybe because he didn’t know where to begin.

  “I can see by your face that either you don’t believe me or you’re having trouble wrapping your head around this,” Sunday said.

  Billy Jo tensed beside him, and he dragged his hand over his face. He couldn’t figure out what to say, because he knew that her being married, as sick as it was, was legal in too many places.

  “Is that why you’re here?” he said.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m here because the man I was forced to marry killed my family.”