One of the guys who ran the shop wandered over and asked if he could help. Ginny waved him off and went back to searching. He turned to me and gave me the look, and we both laughed.
“We’re trying to find me a new jacket. My old one got shredded.”
The guy winced. “Don’t tell me you wrecked your bike, man.”
“No, it got literally shredded. Someone took a knife to it.”
His eyes widened. “Damn. That’s pretty hardcore.”
I shrugged. “I could do without the problem. Damn jacket was vintage, too.”
He gave me a sympathetic look. “What d’you ride?”
“A ’47 Indian Chief. Did the restoration myself.”
“Wait, you’re that Evan kid, aren’t you? Roger told me about you. Said you found the old girl in a junkyard.” He whistled low. “Damn shame you didn’t ride her in today, but with no jacket and all this rain, I get it.”
I smiled at the mention of Roger, who I’d met when I was first restoring the Indian. “I’ll bring her in sometime, let you guys check her out. I had to mod a few things, got a more comfortable seat from Indian, but most of her is original stock.”
We chatted parts and bikes and engines for a while, and I showed him a photo on my phone while he showed me a pic of his rebuilt World War II Harley.
“Evan.”
I looked up mid-sentence at the sound of Ginny’s voice, and the guy laughed under his breath,and made his excuses. I wandered over to see what Ginny had found.
She held up a black jacket with zippered cuffs and snaps at the sides of the waist. It had two thin white stripes across the chest and high on the arms, and a tab collar. And I liked it. Not too retro, not flashy. The white stripe matched the white trim on my bike, too. I slid it on and smiled. She’d even grabbed just the right size.
“Mmm. That is one damn sexy jacket on you, darlin’.”
I looked up and grinned. “You think so?”
“Oh, I know so.” Her eyes raked over me, and she bit her lip with a smile. At least her irritation with me was gone.
I wasn’t so sure, but the leather was butter-soft and it had zipper vents so I wouldn’t die riding in the heat. I reached for the price tag at the wrist to see how much they wanted for it, but Ginny’s hand grabbed mine first.
“We’re getting it, and that’s it. I’m not going to let you freak out about the price, whatever it is.”
“Ginny.”
Those honey-gold eyes of hers flashed. “Don’t, Evan. Just don’t argue. We’ve already been over this.”
I stared down at her, and knew she wasn’t going to budge on this. And after the argument in the car, I didn’t want to push it. So I sighed and held my hands up in surrender. The smile was back in a flash, making my heart beat erratically. She shoved the jacket off my shoulders with one smooth movement and headed for the counter. I just stood and watched her, wondering when she’d gotten so good at stripping me.
We met up with Hanna and Alix to have lunch on the docks, and wandered in the rain through Old Town Charleston. It felt good to just stroll with Ginny’s hand threaded through mine. It felt so…normal. I hadn’t ever been the guy who took walks with his girlfriend just to walk. But then, I’d never dated a girl like Ginny before.
Except I wasn’t really dating her, was I? She’d made it pretty clear I was only here for her fun. So what was I doing? What were we doing?
When we’d gotten completely soaked through in the rain, Ginny decided it was time to go. Alix and Hanna wandered off to do some shopping.
Ginny stopped once she got back in the Jeep, letting a wicked grin creep onto her face.
“Evan, honey. I think you should show me around your side of Charleston.”
I snorted. “Not a chance.”
“Oh, come on now. It’ll be fun!”
Yeah, right. “Really? You think slummin’ it with the foster kid will be fun?”
“Well, if you don’t want to—”
“Hell no, I don’t want to! Oh, let’s go hang out on the wrong side of Charleston, see if we can get mugged, or worse. Get a taste of Evan’s life. No fuckin’ thank you.”
Ginny glared at me. “I just wanted to get to know you a little better, Evan. You don’t need to be an asshole about it.”
I glared right back as she cranked the ignition. “I grew up being shuffled from one shitty foster house to the next, where no one gave a fuck about anything but the money they’d get for housing me. You really want to get to know me better? Then stop telling me I’m just a fling and start actually giving a damn.”
She didn’t answer, just surged out into traffic with a glare. We spent the drive back to Edisto in silence.
The rain picked up just as we crossed onto the island, turning back into a thunderstorm. Winds whipped at the Jeep, trying unsuccessfully to tear it off the road. Ginny flicked her wipers on as high as they’d go and gripped the wheel hard. Her lips pressed together in a firm white line, her eyes determinedly on the road.
I stared out the window at the trees being battered by the storm.
“Damn. Where did it come from?”
“The island’s like this sometimes. It’s fine in Charleston, but World War III here. Just the cost of being an island.”
Another gust plowed into the Jeep, and Ginny slowed down even further. I looked at her white knuckles and intent face.
“You okay?”
She gave a tight nod. “You don’t have to worry about me, Evan. I’m used to this.”
I took the hint and shut up.
The girl was good. Lightning crashed and the winds picked up, but she pulled us into Eyre House safe and sound just as the clouds grew darker and heavier.
I grimaced and looked at the sky. “Damn, this is worse than the fuck-truck of a storm I arrived in. You’d think it was a hurricane or something.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “It’s just a bad storm. Probably taking a Nor’easter track up the coast. It happens.”
We piled out of the Jeep and ducked through the rain that poured between the colonnade pillars. Nobody was around, and small wonder in this weather. Ginny shrieked as we sprinted up the stairs to the back terrace. We were already soaked, so it didn’t matter that much, but the rain had turned vicious, and we wanted to get out of it.
It was just chance that the pool house door slammed open before we reached the safety of the house. The noise was loud enough over the storm that it made me glance over. The door was flapping in the heavy wind. I groaned and pointed it out to Ginny.
“I’m just going to go shut it real quick so the wind doesn’t rip it off.” I handed her the bag with my new jacket in it. “You know I’ll be the one fixing it if it does!”
She nodded. “I’ll wait here!”
I shook my head. “Just go in! I’ll only…” Whatever I’d been about to say was lost in a shock of horror as I registered the difference in the pool.
Ginny’s hand caught my arm. “Evan?”
I couldn’t make it out at first. Just that there was something floating in the pool, and it didn’t look right. Then the rain let up for half a second, like drawing back a veil. I swallowed, not wanting to believe what I was seeing. The color of the water I could have written up to the storm. But not what was in it. There was no mistaking the shape, no rationalizing it away.
“What is it?”
“Ginny, don’t—”
“Oh my Lord! Evan, is that…”
I turned and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her eyes away from the gruesome sight as the storm slammed back down. “Go inside. Get your mother, and call the police.”
“Evan, don’t—”
“Just go!”
She blinked a few times, swallowed, and nodded. I was off and running before the door clicked shut.
The grass squished and splashed under my feet, throwing more water around. The rhythm gave me something to hold onto, which was good, because the horror I was running towards had my brain screaming at me to turn around. And as
soon as my feet hit the concrete pool deck, I froze.
My first thought had been right. There was nothing I could do for whoever it was in the pool. The red water was plain enough testament to that. Blood scattered across the deck, thin and pink from all the rain but there. More painted the door to the pool house, the rain making it run in rivulets down the white paint.
The body was so gruesome I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. It was swollen with water, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the throat had been slit so hard that the head was nearly off. Even face down, I could see that much.
I couldn’t make myself understand half of what I was seeing. Why someone would do this. It was so far over the line I’d hoped the creepiness around us wouldn’t cross. Vaguely threatening notes and even pushing someone down the stairs, if that’s what had happened to Keith, was one thing. This… This was something else entirely.
Nausea burned the back of my throat. I hoped to God it wasn’t a guest or somebody who worked here.
The rain and wind lashed at me as I tried to make some kind of sense of it all, making the body bob in the water. And when it moved, I realized who the body was.
Bile rose in my throat. I scrambled backwards, tripping into the grass and falling.
“Evan!”
Fuck.
I launched myself back up, spinning around to intercept Ginny. She couldn’t see this. She’d blame herself. It would be Jaime all over again. I caught her full-on, wrapping her into my chest, and holding her head so she couldn’t look.
Which meant I couldn’t do the same with her mother, even though I practically clotheslined her in my hurry to stop her.
“Ms. Catherine, wait! Just don’t… Just stop here.”
“Evan, what in hell is going on?”
More of the staff piled out of the house, Tom in the lead. I shook my head at him, and he stopped the others.
I hadn’t noticed it before, but looking at the house, now, I saw. How dark Eyre House looked. How defeated and lonely. It wasn’t the rain, the storm. It wasn’t anything tangible. But I could see it, and I could feel it.
Eyre House looked like it had given up.
“Evan…” Ginny’s voice trembled.
My attention snapped back to the body behind me. “It’s Brandon. Brandon Ingram. In the pool.”
Ginny’s body tightened against me. Ms. Catherine stole a glance at the red water. “He’s dead?”
“Very.” The image of blood on the door flashed through my head. “Murdered—had to be. He didn’t do it himself. He couldn’t have. There’s blood everywhere.”
“My God…” I had to give her credit. She blinked once, and stonewalled her face. “That means this is a crime scene. We need to make sure no one disturbs it.”
“Did anyone call the cops?”
Ms. Catherine took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Yes, they’re on their way. You and Ginny go inside.”
I hesitated. I could see the tiredness in her eyes, the defeat. Like she was connected to Eyre House.
“You shouldn’t be alone out here.” But even as I said it, the sirens cut through the storm. I’d forgotten the sheriff’s department was just down the road. My brain flew through half a dozen thoughts. They’d probably call in the Charleston PD. The evidence was all washing away. As nasty as Brandon Ingram was, why would someone kill him? And just what in hell was he doing here in the first place?
The world spun as the sirens stopped and shouts came around the house. I could feel Ginny freaking out quietly against me, her hands clutching at my wet shirt, her breath coming in soft gasps.
I wanted to get her away from this, but I knew the uniforms running towards us weren’t going to let that happen. Not yet.
But they surprised me. They took one look at the pool, asked if we’d touched anything, and whisked everyone into the house.
The hours passed in a blur of thunder and rain and questions, as the power went out and the generator kicked on. Did we know the victim? Who discovered the body? How? Did we know how it happened? Had we seen anything?
A million questions and more, which we answered and answered again, while wrapped in blankets and dripping water on the kitchen floor. They left us numb and reeling.
I felt horrible for Ms. Catherine. After everything that had happened, this last blow left her looking tired and so much older than the woman I’d met my first day. But the expression on her face after the police left was clear. She didn’t need me feeling bad for her. She wanted me taking care of Ginny.
Ginny, who still clung to my shirt like it was a lifeline and she was drowning.
I carried her upstairs while she shivered against me, pushing the door of her room shut with my toe. Our shoes had long since been abandoned to the mudroom downstairs. Setting her down on her feet, I forced her chin up so she would look at me. There was no light-hearted trouble in her eyes now, just exhaustion. She looked so broken. My thumb stroked the edge of her jaw, and she leaned into it.
“Ginny…”
“I hate him.”
It was the first thing she’d said that wasn’t an answer to a direct question since the police had arrived.
Her eyes shifted back to mine, but they burned now. “I hate him. Brandon. He shouldn’t have been here. What was he doing anyway? He always ruins things. His family always ruins things. They’ve ruined things before, and he’s ruining things now.”
“Ginny, someone killed him.”
Her fingers twisted in my wet shirt. “I don’t blame them! He was a selfish, hateful bastard who only cared about himself, and I’m not sorry!” She burst into tears. “I’m not sorry,” she whispered between sobs.
I wrapped my arms around her and let her cry her fill. When the heaving breaths stopped wracking her body, I kissed the salty tears from her eyes and cheeks and lips until she shivered.
“God, you’re freezing. Come on. We need to get you into dry clothes.”
She didn’t move against me, just clung. It was impossible to tell if her shivers were from the cold or shock or what, and it didn’t really matter.
“Come on,” I whispered again, walking her towards the bathroom. I grabbed for her towel and started rubbing her dry. She only shivered more.
“Ginny.”
No response.
“Ginny, come on. Talk to me.”
It was like her outburst was all she had in her, and now she was just a shell. I sighed, and did my best to dry her off. Tossing the towel over my shoulder, I helped her out of her wet shirt. It made a squishing noise when it landed on the tile of her bathroom.
“Where are your clean shirts?”
She gestured at the dresser. It was progress, at least. I wrapped the towel around her again, and moved over to the dresser. She followed behind me while I pulled out a t-shirt and exercise pants, then reached in the closet to find a hoodie. But the whole time, she didn’t look at me, didn’t talk. Just clutched at the towel and followed in my footsteps.
I helped her finish drying off, dressed her in dry clothes, and sat her on the bed. Her wet things joined her shirt on the bathroom floor.
When she was dry, I pulled my own shirt off, the cotton still heavy with rain, before I remembered that I was in Ginny’s room, not my own.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” I headed for the door.
“Evan, wait…”
My hand paused six inches from the door.
“Please. I don’t… Don’t leave me alone.”
My hand dropped.
“Okay.”
I stared at the door, as her hands spread across my back, and her lips brushed my skin. I sighed, but didn’t move. I stopped breathing altogether when her tongue began to trace my tattoo.
I couldn’t do this right now. I shouldn’t want to do this right now. But I didn’t want to stop her, either.
It had been a horrible, horrible day. I wanted to reach around and pull Ginny to me, hold her and never let go. I wanted to comfort her and kiss her. But the way her fi
ngers wrapped around my waist, following the curves of my tattoo, made me want other things. Things I didn’t want to have linked with death and blood and trauma.
“I just want to forget, Evan. I want to forget what I saw. I need to forget.” Her warm breath sent shivers across my cold skin. The pain in her voice made me desperate to turn and do as she asked.
“It won’t work, Ginny,” I gasped as her mouth drifted up my spine. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“It will for a little bit. That’s all I need.” Her hands ghosted over my abs, circling me. She stood on tiptoe, her lips tracing the lines of my tattoo where it ran up the back of my neck.
Every time. Every time something happened, this was her reaction. Her distraction. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t healthy. “Ginny…”
“Please, Evan.”
Her hands slid down my stomach to tug at my belt, unbuckling it. My hands clenched. I should leave. I knew I should leave. I didn’t want to.
I closed my eyes and leaned back into the warm touch of her mouth. My skin was on fire, my head was on fire. The sound of my jeans zipper seemed louder than a cannon in my ears.
My hands finally moved, wrapping around Ginny’s, holding them frozen for a moment. And then I turned, slowly, her arms still circling me. The weight of my wet jeans, unzipped and heavy, tugged at my hips. My finger tilted her chin up, and her eyes flashed triumphant honey and copper.
I leaned in, and our lips crashed together with the force of storm-surge crashing on the beach. Her mouth dove into mine, taking and taking, devouring me. I couldn’t breathe. My need for her exploded around me, burning me up.
My hands slid down her hips and around her perfect ass, lifting her up to me while I moved my mouth to her jaw and neck. Her legs circled around me, trapping me.
“Door,” she gasped. “Lock.”
I nibbled at her neck, teeth grazing the skin, and backed up so she could throw the lock. It clicked shut, and then Ginny claimed my mouth with hers again. I felt my control slipping. Her arms wrapped around my head, holding me in. Her hips pressed against mine, leg squeezing my waist. Her whole body begged me for more.
I carried her to her bed, climbed on it still holding her. My arm fell down, bracing me as I lowered us, my weight settling over top of her.
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