Flash Drive

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  He raced to the front door but then realized he’d have seen her if she’d left by the street side. He ran for the back door, grabbing his binoculars from the bookshelf as he went. Once on the deck, he scanned the beach. Heading west was a fluff of blonde hair. He brought the lenses up to his eyes and focused on her. There she was, marching at a brisk pace, her hands moving ardently with each stride. Oh, she was pissed.

  He took a minute to kick off his loafers and tie on his Asics Gel running shoes. If she didn’t start running, he could catch her. She had her purse, he’d noted, and of course she would have taken her MacBook.

  He ran down the back stairs, leaping down the last three and ran down the decking to the beach.

  As he ran, he tried to figure out what to say. He should have told her. He should not have tried to capitalize on the intimate knowledge of her sensual mind, once things had heated up with them emotionally. He’d been an ass, and now he could see, as the blonde bobbing head in front of him continued moving in a steady line down the beach, that she was going to be a tenacious fighter.

  He caught up close to her at the 4th Street access. She turned when she heard someone running, faced back and began an all-out sprint, when she saw it was him. Dusk was settling and there were only a handful people on the beach, as it was the dinner hour, so she had a clear field. But she didn’t have the power he had, or the stamina to sustain her for a long distance at a full run.

  He managed to come along side but she wouldn’t listen to his pleas to stop and talk. He finally gave up asking and tackled her to the sand. He eased her fall, taking the brunt of it as he landed on his side and then rolled with her until she ended up under him, the center of his body notched into the core of hers, their legs entwined. He levered himself to his elbows and looked into her anguished face.

  “Don’t touch me!” she screamed.

  “Damn it, we’re going to talk—every emotion you can’t handle right now—let it out. Tell me what a snake I am. Yell and scream at me if you need to. But you’re going to talk to me!”

  “You used me!”

  “You wanted me to use you!” he said returning fire with fire. Then he softened his voice and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You loved everything we did,” he stared down at her, “every kinky thing. Admit it. You know you enjoyed it—immensely. And so did I.”

  “You found my flash drive! You had all my private thoughts right at your fingertips. That’s despicable!”

  “Maybe. So I had a cheat sheet. But I had no choice. I was trying to find you so I could return the flash drive to you. Inconveniently, you did not attach a name or phone number to it. I had no choice but to open the files. I spent almost a month trying to track you down just from clues I divined from your stories, and from your entries on Quicken. You don’t know how many times I went to that Food Lion, trying to figure out if each woman getting out of her car and walking into the store could be you. It was your article on flowerboxes and flowering chives that finally led me to you. I played a lot of courses looking for those damn green and yellow boxes.” Their eyes met, hers still fired up.

  “I lost it at Food Lion?” she spat out, disbelief in

  her tone.

  “Yeah. I found it on the asphalt in the cart return area.”

  She pushed against his chest. “Get off me.”

  When he didn’t move, she hissed, “Get off me now or I’ll scream.”

  There were people close enough to come to her rescue, and he didn’t see how getting arrested was going to help the situation. He lifted himself up and offered her his hand. She ignored it and got to her feet by herself.

  She brushed off the back of her jeans, and then forced him to back up as her finger jabbed into his chest. “I don’t have a problem with you finding it, not even with reading what was on it. But I do have a problem with you not telling me. And an even bigger one with you stalking me . . . pretending to get to know me when you already knew a lot more about me than anyone on the planet. You didn’t even tell me when we talked, shared our lives . . . talked about everything that mattered . . . you could have told me!” She was hissing and sobbing between words, the pitch of her voice rising to compensate.

  Now she was deadly serious as she fought to control her trembling chin. “I want you to leave me alone. I never want to see you again. Ever!”

  She spun on her heel and he watched her walk away.

  “Laurel! Please! I was going to tell you. I was waiting for the right time. Laurel, please don’t go!” he shouted. “Let me drive you home at least!”

  She ignored him and continued up the beach, turning toward the Ocean Ridge Club house and walking diagonally up the beach toward it.

  He watched her cross the empty parking lot, stomp the sand from her shoes, and use her coded card to go inside. He stood staring, trying to figure out which floor she was on, and what she was doing. But he knew. He knew she was on the floor in the foyer, crying her heart out. And at that moment he would have bought ten houses in Ocean Ridge just to have the access card to get in there so he could hold her, and wipe away her tears.

  He stood, watching the multi-leveled clubhouse, seeing all the lights on in the windows, but not seeing her. He stood for what seemed like hours, then he saw what he recognized as Roman’s car pull into the parking lot on the street side. He saw Tess get out on one side and Roman on the other. Then they both disappeared inside the house. Fifteen minutes later, he saw Roman carrying Laurel to the car and placing her on the back seat. Tessa slid in from the opposite side and Roman closed the door. Then he got in the car and they drove away.

  As simple as that, she was out of his life. And he was Jack, drowning in the frigid waters of the Atlantic.

  Chapter Seventy

  Roman and Tess took Laurel to their house after they’d heard the story, as Roman was certain that Garrett would come looking for her. One look at Laurel, huddled in Tessa’s arms, and he knew she wouldn’t be able to deal with him right now. So while Laurel poured her heart out, and Tess consoled, he poured wine—copious amounts of it.

  When Laurel finally fell asleep, he carried her to the guestroom. While Tess removed her jeans and tear-drenched shirt, he went to get one of his t-shirts for her.

  Then he left her to Tess and got their own bed ready. He knew as soon as Tessa climbed in that she would go off on Garrett, and he didn’t want to miss his fiery bride’s tirade. Sex after one of her explosions was earth shattering. He was about to capitalize on the poor schmuck’s piss poor sense of timing. Because he was dead certain that Garrett was planning on telling her, that he was just doing what any man would do, and prolonging a good thing for as long as he could.

  “That man! He should have his balls pinched with pliers. How could he do such a thing to such a sweet young girl.”

  “From the gist of her story, she’s not so sweet and innocent. Writin’ erotica . . . wait ‘til Philip gets a load of this.”

  “Oh, by now he knows. She called Viv and Cat from the clubhouse and left messages that they both returned about an hour ago. We’ve agreed to take shifts keeping that bastard away from her.”

  “Are ya sure that’s the best ting?” his heavy brogue completely obliterated the h in thing, but she found it endearing and mimicked him.

  “Aye. I tink it’s the best ting.”

  “Dooo ya now?”

  She laughed. “Yes. She doesn’t want anything to do with him and I promised we’d keep him away.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “As long as what takes?” he asked.

  “As long as it takes for her to realize she can’t live without him.”

  “Ahh, like you not bein’ able to live without me.”

  She smiled over at him. “I did miss you while you we
re gone.”

  “Well, lass, let me see if I can make it up to you . . . show you how much my randy self missed you, too.” He used the remote to dim the lights then covered her body with his.

  “What if Laurel hears us?”

  “As she and Garrett were hot and heavy, I’m thinkin’ she’ll recognize the sounds, and know I’m not truly killin’ you—just doin’ the tiny death thing.”

  “La petite mort,” she corrected.

  “Yeah, tiny death, just like I said.” He shushed her next comment by capturing her mouth under his.

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Garrett knew there was no way he could get to her tonight. Judging from the way Roman and Tess had closed ranks around her, it could be days before he’d be able to see her and talk some sense into her.

  But time would be his ally, of this he was certain. Once she had time to think things through, she’d come around. Because it really was a stupid fight. After all, they loved each other, right? How could her discovering his perfidy change that?

  But knowing that didn’t ease the panic, or take away the gut wrenching fear that he might have fucked up the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  He walked slowly back to the beach house. He forced himself to put one foot in front of the other to climb the steps that led up to the deck. Then he locked himself in and paced. At the front window he looked outside at the flowerbeds he’d helped her install just this afternoon. Was it really less than four hours since they’d laughed at the antics of the red skimmer, and he’d learned more than he ever wanted to know about damselflies and dragonflies?

  As he stood staring out at the street disappearing in the dark, he faced up to the problem. He’d screwed up. And now it was up to him to make amends. He walked over to his computer, tapped the space bar and brought it to life. He went online and ordered flowers, dozens and dozen of flowers. Bulbs, arrangements, dish gardens. Everything beautiful that he thought she’d smile at, he ordered and keyed in her address for it to be shipped.

  Then he went to Mozy.com and had his backups downloaded. He felt a little relieved to have her files back in place on his desktop. In an effort to be close, he opened one of her stories and began reading.

  It was one of her historicals, which he thought she did rather well, considering he only read contemporary fiction because he pretty much hated historicals. It was a story about Primae Noctus or Law of the First Night. In France it was called droit du seigneur or The Lord’s Right.

  It was an eye-popping story about ritual defloration, where newly wed Scottish brides had to spend the first night of the nuptials with the English nobleman governing the fiefdom. The culagium, a required fee the lord could opt to collect, to forego being physical with the new bride, was so steep few bridegrooms could afford it.

  In reading the story, he learned that once upon a time, even the clergy exercised the right of first night for granting permission to marry. Needless to say, it was a jaw-dropping story, as Laurel told of a young Scottish lass of the clan Macintosh, who after surrendering her virginity to the Earl of Kilmarncok, was not released. After taking his rights of first night, he decided he wanted her for all his nights, and refused her husband’s demands to release her to him. He ended up petitioning the Bishop for an annulment and in so doing, battling with most of his clan, so he could marry her himself.

  In his wildest imaginings, he would never have thought a rape scene would have aroused him so. But Laurel had managed to weave the story in such a way that the reader got a foreshadowing of the epic love story that would soon follow.

  The Earl’s subsequent nights of lovemaking to the beautiful Brianna fueled his ardor, and over the next two days, Garrett found himself back on the “sauce,” appropriately named Extra Virgin Olive Oil.

  Of course Brianna ended up with child, and a marriage was facilitated, due to the laws of primogeniture, which regarded the rights of a first-born child of the nobility as sacrosanct.

  In a happily-ever-after scenario, the Earl provided the disenchanted bridegroom with a new wife, one sturdier and more capable of being his helpmate than his own fair and delicate Brianna . . . who remarkably bore the Earl twin sons without so much more than a sneeze.

  He had laughed at her ending, as she had wrapped it all up as a fairytale cum fable with its own moral to the story: Thou shall not covet the promised hand.

  At 1:15, he stood, heaved a big sigh, tossed out the untouched Chinese food, and made his way to bed.

  He was going to win her back. He had no choice. He couldn’t live this way after knowing how wonderful the alternative was.

  He woke up at 3:55, and wrote his own short story, The Things I Love About You. By 9:05 he had proofed it a dozen times, printed it, and taken it to the post office to mail.

  The Things I Love About You

  I love how your neck smells when I nibble on it.

  I love the arch of your foot and how it feels to caress it.

  I love how you give me a wicked smile then dive

  under the covers.

  I love how your breath hitches when I kiss you

  behind your ear.

  I love how you entice and remove your clothes

  ever so slowly.

  I love how you let my eyes linger as long as they

  are inclined to.

  I love how you flutter, hiss, tremble, and call out my name.

  I love how your psyche works—naughty being the first word that comes to mind.

  I love how you look when you sleep, like God’s

  angel on Earth.

  I love how you stand, hand-on-hip, in high heels and a

  mini skirt—confident and sexy.

  I love how you keep losing your panties, while I find them in the strangest places.

  I love how you taste. Everywhere.

  I love everything about your breasts. Everything.

  I love that you like to suck my penis. And swallow.

  I love that you trust me. In all things.

  I love how we thrust together as if we are of one mind.

  One body. One soul. But many climaxes.

  I love you.

  And I am very sorry.

  Please forgive me.

  Garrett

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Laurel woke as if in a fog, and pretty much stayed that way as she went through her morning routine, making the guest bed, brushing her teeth and showering by rote. The heaviness in her heart was downright painful at times, and the tears, well . . . no matter what she did or Tessa said, they just kept coming.

  A cheery breakfast on Tessa’s back deck with both Viv and Cat patting her hand didn’t help. Nothing helped. She was miserable and afraid to go home.

  Sometime during the night, in one of her anxiety-filled spates of wakefulness, she had forced herself to relive the events of the past weeks. Dredging through the banter, the looks, smiles and laughter, and the sex. If for no reason other than to accept the things that had seemed so perfect at the time, that now seemed too perfect to believe were real. She had been a fool. When she thought of the things they did together, she burst out in fresh tears. She had been too trusting. And that hurt the most. Yes, she supposed she had a penchant for humiliation, but not this way. Never this way.

  It took two days to get her home, and then she tugged on everyone’s arms when they tried to leave her.

  When they found the note the local florist had tucked in the door, Viv put it in her pocket saying, “At least he sent flowers—the universal form of apology. I’ll call and take care of this for you.”

  Laurel hung on Tessa’s shoulders. She was still in her pj’s.

  “Laurel, you’re going to be fine. It’s just going to take a little time. Do some normal things—pay some bills, make a bi
g pot of spaghetti sauce, do some weeding in the garden. Do what you normally do.” Tess tucked a curl behind Laurel’s ear and wiped a damp cheek.

  “Except don’t drink any wine, not a drop,” Cat said.

  “We’ll be back later to take you for a walk on the beach and then out to dinner. The guys are playing poker, so it’ll just be us. So take a shower and get dressed. You have to eat.”

  “I can’t. It hurts to swallow. Nothing goes down.”

  “I know, baby,” said Viv. “We’ll try some soup.”

  “Try not to take a nap, so you’ll sleep tonight, okay?” Tessa admonished. “Trust me, things will look better soon. Just get over the next few days. Things will look brighter. Remember, you’re not the only one to go through this. It’s almost a right of passage.”

  “I just feel so stupid.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. Stop beating yourself up over it.”

  “I miss him,” she whimpered, and then began crying all over again.

  Tess pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “I know baby, I know. They wrap themselves around our hearts so quickly. Go dig a hole, burn off some of that angst. Why don’t you start working on that pond you were thinking about?”

  “ ‘kay,” Laurel said with a sniff. ‘You guys go, I’ll be all right.” She sniffed again. “But it’s going to be a big pond.”

  They all laughed, hugged her again and quickly made their way back to the car before the waterworks began again.

  As they got in the car, Viv snarled, “We oughta go find that jerk and call him out.”

  “As we speak . . . ,” Tessa said with a sardonic smile.

  When the vanload of flowers arrived, Laurel held up long enough to help the deliveryman get them all on the terrace. Then she broke down and cried until she fell asleep. When she woke in the afternoon, she began rationalizing from his perspective. Because it seemed he really did love her. Maybe she was making too big a thing out of him keeping the knowledge of her flash drive’s whereabouts a secret from her.