“As if that would happen,” Tyler snorted.
“Might be fun testing Bishop's loyalties,” Jetta teased while smiling deviously. “Care to find out?”
Tyler and Jetta exchanged icy stares. Jetta could maintain an emotionless stare for hours if necessary. There was no way Tyler was winning this one.
He looked at Bishop and tried to act casual, although he was clearly no match for her. “Let's check out the bar scene.”
“Finish the game or forfeit, Tyler,” Bishop retorted with little emotion.
Bishop was an equal opportunity bad boy. Even those he allowed in his circle weren't immune to his bittersweet personality.
“Fine--”
Tyler slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the pool table and headed for the bar. Bishop casually collected the money and handed Jetta his pool stick.
“We should play pool more often,” Bishop remarked with a grin then joined Tyler at the bar.
There were times Jetta was convinced Bishop was on her side, but he usually found a way to crush that theory. Jetta looked at Desmond and smiled. She was pleased with herself.
“And that's how you own a room.”
“No, that's how you own a room,” Desmond informed her. “I'm not you. I don't have a hardcore Navy Seal team watching my back.”
Jetta appeared humored by the comment and leaned on her pool stick. “You actually think no one messes with me because they fear my father?”
Desmond glared at her and raised his brows in silent comment.
She shook her head and frowned with disgust. “You think you know someone--”
Jetta racked the pool balls then prepared to break. Desmond leaned on his pool stick and watched her break, but his attention strayed to the area surrounding the bar. Jetta was about to make another shot, noted his gaze and the lost puppy dog look in his eyes, and shook her head.
“Get it out of your head.”
“What?” he suddenly asked while attempting to look innocent.
Jetta made her shot and straightened. She glanced at the bar area. Lee was seen flirting with another man while Stacy stood nearby and watched in silent envy. Jetta looked back at Desmond and raised her brows.
“You can't afford her,” she simply stated.
“What about a lease with option to buy?”
Jetta laughed softly. “The price is still too high.” She approached Desmond and placed her hand on his shoulder while looking into his eyes. “You know I love you, Desmond. Please, whatever you do, don't let her make a fool of you by asking her out. She's going to rip out your heart, tap dance on it, and flush it down the toilet.”
He frowned and looked away. “I know she'll reject me in the cruelest possible way,” he announced. “I've seen her do it before to, well, every guy who's ever asked her out.” Desmond looked at Jetta with despair in his eyes. “I just can't stop thinking about her. She's just--so hot.”
“Yeah, and she's dying to burn you.”
“I wish your father was here,” he remarked with a defeated sigh. Because his own father died when he was little, the admiral was the closest thing Desmond had to a father. “He always has great advice when it comes to women.”
Jetta stared at him and appeared almost stunned. Had she heard him correctly? Her father had great advice when it came to women? Who was he kidding? Her father hadn't even dated since her mother died--and that was almost ten years ago. It was no wonder the admiral liked Desmond. He was a great ass kisser.
“You want to talk to my father? Okay, here's my father.” She straightened, threw her shoulders back, and pointed her finger at him while giving him a firm stare. “Stop your whining and grow a pair, boy! You want to be a doormat all your life? You want respect; you have to earn it. Now go out there and get laid!”
Several patrons near the back of the bar looked at them and appeared surprised by her words and the gruffness of her tone.
Desmond stared at Jetta with his mouth hanging open then slowly shook his head with disbelief. “Okay, that was almost frightening.” He suddenly grinned. “Now do Hunter.”
Chapter Two
Isolated on the beach furthest from the tourist area was the perfect little beach house along the island coast. The wood and glass house was obviously custom designed with multi-level decks and wind chimes of varying sizes. It was a little past midnight. Several outside lights were on, but the inside was nearly dark except for the kitchen light. A jeep pulled up to the house. Jetta got out of the jeep looking exhausted and approached the main door facing Millers Road. She stopped several feet away and stared at the partially opened door with surprise and possible concern. Why was the door open? She assessed the situation before cautiously approaching.
Jetta entered the living room and turned on the lights. The quaint living room was in desperate need of a woman's touch, something Jetta obviously lacked. Old military photos, military swords, and framed medals hung on the walls. On the exquisitely hand-carved fireplace mantel, where some expensive family heirloom should be, there was a twelve-inch mortar shell casing proudly displayed instead. The house was quiet with no one around. Jetta heard a faint scratching sound coming from the kitchen. She uncertainly approached the archway to the brightly lit kitchen. Double French doors led out to the beachside deck. The scratching sound was louder now. She looked around the empty kitchen then saw a man's bare feet on the floor sticking out from behind the island counter, which was also the source of the repetitive scratching sound.
“Hunter?”
A man in his early fifties popped out from behind the island counter with a scrub brush in his hand. He wore only a tee shirt and shorts. Hunter stared at her a moment with a look of surprise on his face then appeared enthusiastic.
“Jetta? I'm so glad to see you!” He set his brush down, hurried to her, and pulled her into his arms. “It's been so long!”
Jetta returned the warm embrace and smiled gently. “Yes, it's been nearly four hours.”
Hunter pulled away and stared at her with obvious concern. “Did my reality button get stuck on pause again?”
“Just a little, but I think it's adorable that you're so glad to see me.”
John Hunter was non-impressive and average in almost every aspect. Nothing about him stuck out in one's mind, and he was easily dismissed as harmless. He was possibly the most misunderstood man on the entire island. Once a highly decorated Navy Seal, Hunter was forced into retirement after returning home from a mission that nearly claimed his life. That was the story Quinn and Jetta decided to share with the residents of Winter Harbor. Apart from Desmond, no one in Winter Harbor could possibly understand Hunter's post-coma, traumatic existence.
Hunter's anxiety was evident as he stared at Jetta. “Am I on the island?”
“Yes, we're on the island,” she replied then smiled warmly. “You're at Admiral Cross' beach house, remember?”
The distant look in his eyes conveyed that he did not. “Are we under attack?”
“No, not tonight, Hunter.” Jetta eyed the excessively clean floor alongside the island counter then looked at him and appeared curious but casual. “Did you shoot someone?”
He uncertainly looked at the kitchen floor, considered the question, and then looked back at her while frowning. “I'm guessing I probably didn't.”
“So you can stop cleaning up the imaginary blood, right?”
“I probably could.” His look conveyed distress as his body twitched. He felt compelled to ask her the question most on his mind. “Exactly how many bodies do you see?”
Jetta stared at his serious look, took a deep breath, and slowly glanced across the spotless kitchen. She looked back at him, offered a sympathetic smile, and shook her head.
“None?” Hunter asked with surprise. He uncertainly looked around the kitchen and scratched his brow while staring at the dead terrorist lying face down in a pool of blood alongside the refrigerator. He was a large, brawny man dressed in blood-soaked military attire. Hunter thought it would be a relief i
f he didn't have to clean up the blood beneath the refrigerator. He always found that to be a difficult task. He looked back at Jetta and gave a slight nod toward the dead man by the refrigerator. “Are you sure you don't see that one?” he asked softly, indicating what was left of the terrorist.
Jetta took his hands in hers and stared into his eyes. “Close your eyes, Hunter.”
Hunter frowned and shut his eyes. He knew what he saw, and that terrorist was the real thing. That one had been a particularly tough bastard to kill. Jetta's little mind games weren't going to work this time. She couldn't just make that son-of-a-bitch disappear with her ‘reset button’ bullshit.
“Hit the reset button and open your eyes.”
He silently laughed at her. She was, after all, only a naïve child, which was why he humored her. She was going to look pretty foolish when he proved her wrong this time. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. To his surprise, the dead terrorist was gone. The kitchen was again spotless. How did she pull that off? Ironically, she had even managed to spontaneously transform from a child to a young woman right before his eyes. Hunter stared a moment longer, clutched his head, and groaned softly. It wasn't her; it was him! He tried hard to make sense of what had just happened, but he couldn't.
“Why do I do this, Jetta? Why do I act so crazy?”
Hunter collapsed onto one of the stools as his proud shoulders sagged with defeat. Jetta sat on the stool next to him and took his hand in hers.
“You're not crazy. You have shrapnel pressing against your brain that sometimes causes a rift between the past and present. It'll all come back to you in the morning.”
He gently caressed her hand and avoided looking at her. She had to hate him. Although he couldn't remember any specific incidents, he knew this had happened before.
“Are you tired of me?”
“Are you kidding? I love you, Hunter,” she said cheerfully. “You're a hero, and don't you ever forget that.”
He looked at her with surprise. “I am?”
He wondered where the admiral's daughter got her intel. He didn't remember any such incident. Thankfully, she was on their side. He'd get no pleasure from interrogating her.
“Yes, you saved your entire unit, remember? You saved my father too,” she announced with a broad smile. “And when your reality button gets stuck on pause, I'll always be here to unstick you. You can count on me.”
Hunter appeared relieved and hugged her. She was always so good to him. Maybe he could get her to help clean up the blood on the kitchen floor. He was sure she would help. A thought then occurred to him. He pulled away and appeared curious.
“Is Caroline coming home soon?”
Jetta shifted and appeared uncomfortable. “Not tonight,” she replied gently. “You should probably go to bed without her.”
A strange realization swept over him and all emotion drained from his face. “She's not coming back, is she?”
“No, Hunter,” she said softly. “She moved away a long time ago.”
Hunter sadly nodded then stood with exhaustion. He really needed to finish cleaning up the blood. The admiral would be upset with the state of his kitchen. But then--? Hunter looked across the spotless kitchen. There was no blood, was there? He looked at Jetta with the concern evident in his eyes.
“You won't leave me, will you?”
“You're stuck with me forever.” She stood and kissed him on the cheek. “Stop fighting the war and go to bed. That's an order, Captain.”
Hunter smiled with a nod and headed for the back hallway past the refrigerator. He paused just before the hallway and again looked alongside the refrigerator. He had to make sure the terrorist was really gone before heading to bed. Jetta watched him leave and sank back onto the stool. Growing up, Hunter was the uncle she never had. She hated seeing him that way--even if it was usually just temporary. When he got lost in his own mind, he usually found his way back. She feared, one day though, he wouldn't be able to find his way back, and the thought frightened her.
Chapter Three
The town of Winter Harbor was quiet and relaxed for the early fall morning. The old-fashioned, white church with elegant bell tower landmarked the town square. Beyond town square was the high school. The quaint homes along Main Street were reminiscing of Old New England. Their craftsmanship and detailed woodwork added to the charm of the little town. Cobblestone sidewalks and white, picket fences lined the clean streets. In the opposite direction, the town diner was the happening place in the early morning hours. The sheriff's patrol cruiser was always parked outside the diner early each morning. Sheriff Palmer walked out of the diner and headed for his patrol car with his usual, extra-large coffee-to-go.
Sheriff Palmer was a physically fit man in his mid-thirties. His boyish good looks were often overshadowed by his ‘rule with an iron fist’ attitude. In his sheriff's uniform and gun holster on his hip, he looked the part of a western day gunslinger, and, at times, he lived up to that persona. Brian nearly collided with Sheriff Palmer on the sidewalk. The sheriff was quick to save his coffee from spilling and possibly ruining his mood for the remainder of the day. Sheriff Palmer was addicted to his coffee, and there was no mercy on anyone who parted him from it. Brian appeared unusually cheerful for the early hour.
“What's the fine for running down the sheriff on the sidewalk?” he teased.
“Same as every other fine--a cup of coffee,” Palmer replied. It sounded like a joke, but it actually wasn't. Rumor had it Sheriff Palmer had never paid for coffee since taking office.
“It's like a ghost town around here,” Brian commented as he looked around while shaking his head. “Just last week we were tripping over tourists.”
“Yeah, well, it's great for business, but I don't miss them,” Palmer replied. “I can finally get around to some fishing, if they left any for us locals.”
“Pretty quiet then, huh?” Brian appeared curious and almost concerned. “Nothing exciting happening?”
“Other than a drunk and disorderly whizzing in Mrs. Cooper's flower bed last night, it's been perfectly quiet,” Palmer was pleased to report.
Brian suddenly appeared tense then masked his concern with his usual grin. “I'll owe you that coffee. Good day, Sheriff.”
As Brian hurried away, Sheriff Palmer stared after him with a curious look. The sheriff was smarter then he looked, which most people often didn't give him enough credit. He raised his brows and appeared deep in thought.
“Whose wife have you been banging?” Palmer muttered softly then grinned at the thought while sipping his coffee.
As Palmer turned toward his cruiser, an eighteen-year-old boy, Tanner, ran into him. His coffee flew from his hand and fell to the sidewalk. Tanner appeared startled and stared at the sheriff while out of breath.
“I'm so sorry, Sheriff,” Tanner announced then indicated the school in the distance. “I'm late for class!”
Tanner ran into town, leaving Sheriff Palmer staring helplessly at his spilled coffee on the sidewalk. He looked after Winter Harbor High's star running back.
“You're on my list, Tanner!” he yelled after him. Palmer shook spilled coffee from his hand and appeared disgusted. “Glad you're not the damned quarterback, or we'd be in trouble tomorrow night,” he muttered.
Sheriff Palmer's day was officially ruined. The diner waitress, Stella, hurried out from the diner and handed him another cup of coffee. He looked at the coffee in her hand, grinned at Stella, and accepted the coffee-to-go.
“You're the best, Stella.”
Stella smiled in response. She was obviously smitten with the handsome sheriff, despite being ten years his senior. As long as Sheriff Palmer remained a freelance bachelor, many women in town fantasized their ‘happily ever after’ with him. Stella was no exception. She knew he'd ultimately end up with someone much younger and with fewer curves, but it was a lovely fantasy all the same.
†
Dennis Albright's house appeared unusually quiet in the early morning. Br
ian's car pulled up to the house alongside the sedan. Brian slowly got out of his car, looked at Dennis' sedan, and uncertainly approached the porch. He paused before the door, appeared tense, and then knocked softly. There was no response. Something was wrong. Brian slowly opened the door and peered inside. He looked at the bloodstain at the bottom of the stairs then appeared curious and mildly concerned. He heard movement just down the hall.
“Pam?”
There was still no response. Brian walked along the hallway and approached the nearby study. As he entered, he saw Pam standing before the window in her sexy, white nightgown while staring outside into the morning sunshine. Brian admired the silhouette of her naked body as the sun shone through her nightgown, and he entertained a dirty thought or two. He dismissed his dirty thoughts.
“What happened to Dennis? Why did you alter the plan?” He approached Pam from behind. She didn't respond. “You aren't having second thoughts about us now that you're rich, are you? You know I'm crazy about you.”
Brian pulled the hair back from her shoulder and lowered his mouth to her neck. He immediately noticed the chunk of missing flesh and the large amount of dried blood along her shoulder. Brian suddenly appeared horrified and took a step back.
“Pam--?”
Pam turned to reveal part of her face was missing. Her flesh was gray and her eyes were lifeless. Brian gasped with horror and took a quick step back. Zombie Pam lunged for him and tackled him to the desk. They fell against the desk with a thump as objects crashed to the floor. He cried out and easily threw her off him. Brian jumped to his feet and backed away while staring at her as she approached with a snarl.
“What the hell--?”
As Pam lunged for him, he hastily turned and nearly collided with zombie Dennis, who had the same dead look in his eyes and dried blood down his chin. Brian cried out with horror and shoved Dennis backward and away from him. Pam grabbed Brian from behind and bit him on the neck. He cried out in pain and surprise, shoved her away, and turned to run while clutching his bleeding neck. Zombie Dennis grabbed him and tackled him to the floor. He fought against Dennis, who was now on top of him, and attempted to keep his bloodstained teeth away from his face. Pam dove to the floor, grabbed Brian's thrashing leg, and bit into his calf through his pants. Brian screamed. Dennis overpowered him and sank his teeth into his throat.
Insanely Deadly Page 2