Law Inc. Cassandra Marcella Mysteries, a continuing series
Case 101: Life on Top
Case 102: Between a Rocker and a Hard Place
The Layers Series
Layers
More Layers
Beneath Layers
Beyond Layers
Go to www.tlalexanderauthor.com for more information on these books and others.
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I dedicate this last book of the Layers Series to my sister Cindy.
Thanks for all your encouragement, your love of romance, and laughter.
Is it possible to be cursed? I was born twenty-eight years ago, the twentieth of July, 10:52 p.m. Was it at a time when Uranus, Mars, and the moon aligned and their gravitational pull stopped time for a nanosecond, and that nanosecond altered my universe? Was my lucky star sucked into a supermassive black hole in the middle of a galaxy ten trillion miles away? Did I step on too many cracks or walk under too many ladders? Or maybe it’s as simple as not owning a pair of lucky socks, panties, or bra?
Maybe I’m not cursed but I curse others? What do you think? My parents and kid brother were killed in a car accident one mile away from my boarding school. On a ski holiday in Switzerland, my best friend and roomie, Hanna, skied into a tree. She died instantly. Karen Ames, a woman who was like a mother to me, died after a long battle with breast cancer just hours after my visit. My best friend in graduate school, Drew, was crossing the street when a drunk driver ran him down. He died on his way to the hospital. My flatmate in London, Joan, was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer. She died three months later. A crazy woman shot my fiancé, Lane, in the heart—dead. And my best friend and beloved sister, Alexia, has tried to leave me twice. I’m not sure she’s done trying.
Cursed or curser, there’s one common denominator: I loved them. Each of them owned and took away a piece of my heart. How many pieces of heart can one lose before it stops beating? How many do you dare love, knowing your love could be their end?
My sister once told me pain kept her going, kept her sane. Fear is my thing. It doesn’t keep me going or sane, it consumes me, devours me. I can count on one hand the number of days I remember living without it. I fear wanting, fear needing, fear loving, and fear losing. So I love who I must, then I close my heart to all others. It’s called surviving; it’s called my life.
“What do you think?”
“I like it. I love these windows, all the light.”
“It’s only two bedrooms, as I mentioned when you called, but they’re good sized and have their own en suite bath.”
I follow the realtor, Pam White’s, petite form down the hall. She walks me through both bedroom suites, looking up at me every few seconds.
“You’re rather tall,” she says, “and beautiful. Are you a model?”
I roll my eyes. “No.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”
Big sigh. “You didn’t. It just gets old.” Like older than dirt.
“I bet. All those men,” she deadpans.
I faux smile. Yeah, like zero fucking—none.
She shakes her head as if she’s read my mind and doesn’t believe me. “Each suite has its own small deck,” she says, and opens a set of French doors.
Looking out at the small deck, I nod.
She closes them and I follow her back to the main living area. “Follow me,” she says with a nod toward another set of French doors.
She leads me out the doors, up a short flight of faux-wood steps and onto a roof deck.
I turn and take in the ocean for the first time. A layered mist floats above its gray-blue waves. Rays of sun penetrate every few feet, reaching out like ghostly trembling fingers seeking to touch, stretching to caress. A finger extends and touches me, speckling light and warmth over my shoulders. I shiver despite the heat as a current of something unknown, something new and strange, prickles my flesh.
“Are you all right?”
Hugging myself, I run my hands up and down my arms. “Just a chill.” I look away from the ocean. “I noticed the roof deck when I checked out the foundation.”
“Oh.”
“Every structure needs a good foundation.”
“Oh,” she says again, weirdo written on her face.
I smile to myself, deciding not to elaborate. She doesn’t need to know I’m an architectural engineer. Foundations turn me into a pool of euphoric goo, like shopping and shoes do for other women.
“Being on the bay, you’ll get the fog in the morning. It usually burns off around eleven.”
I look back at the ocean. The ghostly fingers are spread wider, allowing more sun to infiltrate the mist. The hairs on the back of my neck stand erect as a new chill makes its way down my spine.
“It’s quiet,” I say, steering the conversation and myself in a different direction.
She nods. “Being the off season, you won’t hear or see many folks down this far. Even in the season, it’s not very populated. It’s nice, if you’re looking to get away from it all.”
I follow Pam down the steps, back into the main room.
“What do you think?”
“Would it be okay if I looked around on my own?”
“Sure. I’ll be just out front,” she says and makes her way out the front door.
I walk through each room again. The square footage is small but the cottage is well built, has a solid feel to it. The earlier discomforting chill is gone, turned into something I can’t put my finger on, something… unstoppable, preordained? You’re losing it, girlfriend.
I make my way outside. Pam is leaning against her Lexus, her arms folded over her chest.
“I’m not sure if I’ll be staying longer than a week, but I’ll rent it for the month.”
She smiles. “Okay then. You’ve got some paperwork to fill out.”
I grab my handbag out of my rented VW Bug.
I stand next to her and she hands me a clipboard. “I need the areas in red filled out, your signature and some ID.”
I fill out the paperwork, hand her the clipboard and my driver’s license.
She looks it over, writes the number down, and hands it back to me. “Everything looks good.”
Opening my wallet, I take out two thousand, cash, and hand it to her.
“Let me get you a receipt.”
I nod and look around. I notice a For Sale sign near the edge of the sandy road.
“Is the cottage for sale?”
She nods.
“Are you the listing agent?”
“Yes. Been on the market for almost a year.”
“Slow market?”
“Not the best. The Clarks will be happy about this,” she says, waving the cash and putting it in a manila envelope.
“The owners?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Thinking out loud. They’re friends of mine and it’s rare to rent for a month in the off season, especially this far from town.”
I nod, not knowing what to say.
“Wish I could do more for Mark and Lynn. They built the cottage six years ago, saved for years. Mark lost his job last fall, and two months ago, Lynn was diagnosed with breast cancer.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, sincerely.
“I was diagnosed seven years ago, been cancer-free for almost five.” She flashes me a pin under her jacket that reads Cancer Sucks. “I understand what she’s up against. It’s not fun.”
“I’m sure your friendship, knowledge and experience will be invaluable to her.”
&n
bsp; She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t think it’s possible to prepare someone for something like cancer.”
And she’s right. How could anyone truly understand anything like cancer, unless they’ve had it, fought it, and survived it?
“Looks great, Samantha,” she says, handing me a receipt and key. “I usually call references first, but I have a good feeling about you.”
Looking back at the sign, a crazy thought flitters though my brain. Before I know it, I ask something so not me, I’m not sure it is me. “Pam, may I ask how much the Clarks are asking for the cottage?”
She puts the paperwork into the cash envelope and clips it shut. “We put it on the market for a quick sale at 800,000. It’s now listed at seven.”
“Can I ask what it appraised for?”
“It appraised for 870,000. The cottage is high-end built, but small for this area. It’s the land that holds the value, three acres of bay front.”
I bite my lip. What the hell are you doing? You are so losing it, girlfriend. “Pam, I’d like to buy it.”
She half-smiles. “So would I, dear. So would I.”
I give her the Grant look, a look that’s inbred, as natural as breathing. A look that when coming from my grandmother can make women cry and men fall to their knees.
Her brow lifts. “Seriously?”
“Yes. But I won’t pay seven.”
She bites her lower lip as if stalling an impending frown. “I told the Clarks seven should be their bottom line, but I’ll certainly present your offer.”
I shake my head. “No, I’d like to offer more. One million cash, plus all fees, and your commission, of course.”
She belts out a disbelieving belly laugh.
I gift her with another Grant look, thinking of Gram and adding a lift of my brow.
Her laugher pauses. “You’d pay more than the listing price? Why?”
Isn’t it obvious? I’m going coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs. “I’d like to help your friends, but it’s more than that.” How can I explain what I don’t understand myself?
It’s hot and humid, yet my body is wrapped in a blanket of goose bumps. My heart’s thumping loudly and urgently under my breast, swelling with each beat, yet feeling lighter than it has in years.
“Hell if I know. It just feels right. Like….”
“Destiny?”
I laugh to myself, thinking my brother-in-law Jaxson Ryan would be laughing along with me. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say?”
“Say yes.”
Tears threatening, she says, “Okay. Let’s write up the offer.”
Two days later I’m the owner of a cottage on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, a place I’ve never been. A place for some unknown reason says pause and stay awhile.
As I unpack groceries, putting them in the fridge and cupboards, my iPhone rings. I grab it off the kitchen counter and look at a picture of my sister Alexia. I smile and press Accept. “Hey.”
“You bought a friggin’ house on the Outer Banks on a feeling? A friggin’ whim? What the hell, Sam? It’s so not—”
I laugh. “Not me?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know what to say. It just felt… right?”
“Good God. I thought you were going to say—”
“Destiny?”
She laughs. “Yeah.”
“I don’t know if it’s destiny, it just feels… good, I guess.”
“Well, it’s about time something felt good to you.”
“Yeah, it’s been awhile.”
“Too damn long, sister. I hope you know I’m proud of you. What you’ve accomplished and overcome in the last couple of years…. I’m in awe, Sam.”
I bite my lip, postponing tears. “Thank you, Lex. That means so much to me.”
“Don’t you cry on me! We’ve shed too many tears. Now tell me about this cottage of yours.”
I step out onto the deck and sit in an Adirondack chair. “It’s small, yet large in comfort and character. It’s well built and has a solid foundation.”
She giggles. “Of course it does.”
I laugh.
“Is that Sam?” I hear Jax ask.
“It is. Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Lex asks him.
“Lester made cinnamon rolls,” he whines.
“Sorry, Sam. Give me a sec.”
“Okay.”
“As soon as you’re done gorging on Lester’s rolls, you march your fine ass back up here and finish what you started earlier.”
He laughs. “Horny much?”
“And whose fault is that?”
I hear them kissing. “Yuck. Lex, call me back.”
“He’s gone. Damn man,” she spouts. “Sorry about that.”
“No biggie. How are my boys?”
“Fine. No doubt down in the kitchen fighting over rolls.”
“I miss them.”
“They miss you.”
Hearing splashing water, I look up. “Holy piece of man-heaven-pie.”
“Sam, are you all right?”
“Oh, yeah.” I lick my lips. “One fine piece of man-pie just ran down the beach.”
“Oh yeah? How nice?” she purrs.
“Nice enough to want to be number one on his booty-call speed-dial.”
“Really?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well dang, girl. Find out where he ran from and go a-callin’. See what kind of welcome he’s a-waggin’.”
I roll my eyes. “Not goin’ to happen.”
“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
“How did you—”
“I know everything. And why the hell not?”
“Lex, you know I can’t go there. I’m not ready.”
“Sam, it’s been over two years. You’re so young and have so much to give and—” She stops herself, sucking in a breath, slowly blowing it out. “I’m sorry. I told you I’d let it go. It’s just hard for me to see you so alone.”
“I’m alone, not lonely.”
I know she’s rolling her eyes at me. I’m rolling my eyes at myself. It’s a load of shit. I know it but don’t have the big girl panties to own it.
“I don’t believe you. I wish you’d talk to me, tell me what you’re so afraid of.”
“Lex, I’m fine. I wish you’d—”
“All right, all right. I’m letting it go… for now.”
“Thank you.”
“For whatever reason you bought this cottage, I think it’s a good thing.”
“I think so too.”
“There’s another reason I called you. Are you sitting down?”
Sitting down? Holy hell! This can’t be good.
“Sam?”
“Sorry. Yeah, I’m sitting.”
“I wanted to wait until you got back home to tell you, but if you’re going to be gone for weeks, I….”
“What’s wrong? Just tell me,” I say, my heart beating out of my chest, stomach threatening to heave. “Is it the baby?” Lex is about three months pregnant and this pregnancy has turned her into a hot mess. Even more than her past two combined.
She hesitates, blowing out a breath.
“Lex. If you don’t tell me right now I’m packing up and—”
“I’m sorry. It’s not bad news… well, not real bad, I guess.”
“Lex,” I moan.
Big sigh. “Okay. We went to the doctor yesterday for our second scan and….”
I stand. “Oh, my God! It’s the baby. I knew it. I’m on my way.”
“Sit,” she scolds me in her Sister Mary Margret voice.
My ass hits the Adirondack faster than you can say holy crapoly.
“The babies are fine.”
I exhale. “That’s a relief. Whoa! Huh? Did you say babies? As in multiples?”
Bigger sigh. “Jax has been strutting around like a peacock on steroids. Sam, I… I don’t want to do it.”
“Wait a gosh-darn minute.
I’m trying to read between the lines here and I’m coming up with a big fat zero. You need to help me out.”
Sniffle. Biggest sigh, ever.
“Lex, you’re killing me here. Please just tell me.”
“Fuck,” she puffs out. “Triplets. Can you believe it? We’re having friggin’ triplets.”
Holy hellness! “What? I don’t… that’s just….”
“It’s fucked. That’s what it is,” she cries. “We’re all fucked.”
Feeling as if I swallowed a cow I say, “Holy cow-fuck!” I walk inside and pour myself three fingers of scotch, downing it like a shot.
“If you’re going to drink, drink one for me. Fuck it all! Drink the fifth.”
I pour another three fingers. “Lex, that’s just… I don’t know what to say. Are they okay? Are you? Sorry, that last question was rhetorical. But… there it is.”
“They’re perfect. Me? I don’t know how I am. I’m in shock, I guess? I’m happy they’re fine, but… I know this is going to sound bad but I don’t want to have three babies. Not at the same time, anyway. Honestly, I don’t want any more kids. I’m tired. My body’s tired.”
“No doubt,” I say, feeling a little dizzy. “I think I should come home.”
“No, don’t. You need a break. You’ve been working your ass off.”
“Lex. I think your ass is the last thing you should be worried about.”
Sniffle. Honk. “You know how I feel about my ass. It’s taken me almost two years to get back into shape after Gray. Fuck, Sam. Triplets! Three babies. I’ll never look the same. My ass will be bigger than Mars and I’ll—” She sobs. “What if I get stretch marks, big-ass thighs, and my ta-tas sag to my navel? Jax is flying higher than the Space Station right now, but he’ll come crashing back to earth when he has a big-assed wife to land on.”
I let her cry for a minute. I’d laugh if I didn’t know the real reason behind her hysterics. She’s terrified of losing them.
“I’m coming home.”
“No.” Honk. “I’m fine and there’s nothing you can do. I just needed to cry on my sister’s shoulder for a bit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. How many millions of times have I cried on your shoulder?”
“I’ll be fine, Sam. I’m just… going a bit crazy. And I’m… scared.”
Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) Page 1