Resist Me (Change Me Book One - standalone): McCoy Raven Boys

by A. O. Peart

  The afternoon sun sparkled on the almost smooth surface of the Lake. There were a few boats, sleepily rocking in the water. Two kayaks sat in the middle, the people in them basking in the sun. Mid-August was a great time to come here, because most of the town festivities were organized in July, and now the area started to quiet down.

  A thicket of tall pine trees welcomed me as I drove the truck toward my cabin. The driveway was covered with pine needles. Small rocks crunched under my truck’s tires. My log cabin stood quiet, with the Lake in its background.

  I stopped the truck in front of the garage, which was my latest building project. The old carport I had here before was an eye sore and had to get replaced with a proper garage.

  I glanced at Lisbeth, but she didn’t move or say anything. She was probably deeply asleep. I almost shook her shoulder to wake her up, but I decided to let her sleep a few minutes longer until I unloaded everything. I pressed the button on the garage door remote that I had clipped onto my truck visor. The door rolled up, screeching a little as if in a protest to be put to work. I drove the truck in.

  I got out and quietly closed the driver’s door. Lisbeth still didn’t wake up.

  The cabin was a good size for three or four people, although I often had more members of my family here at once. There were three small bedrooms and one bathroom upstairs, plus another bathroom on the main floor, where the kitchen and the rec room were located. Everything I needed for a few days of a peaceful escape was here, including an extra bed sheets, towels, and all kitchen necessities.

  I closed the garage doors and unfastened and carried each of two coolers into the garage. A small chest freezer stood next to the washer and dryer. On the other side, were a rack of weights and the workout bench.

  The freezer was plugged in, although not much was left in it—some bread, hamburger buns, and several containers of mixed frozen berries that made killer shakes. I transferred all frozen foods and ice bags from the coolers into the freezer, and then unlocked the door leading from the garage to the inside of the cabin.

  When our backpacks and large jugs of water were in, I walked around to the passenger side. Lisbeth was sleeping with her face near the window. I stopped to look at her. Her eyes were tightly closed, long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted, and I could see her chest rising and falling slowly. Long strands of wavy hair escaped from her ponytail and clung to her face, trembling in the breeze of her breath.

  There was something very peaceful in this scene, and I didn’t want to disrupt it. I considered carrying Lisbeth inside, but I quickly dismissed that idea as weird. She would have thought I was some crazy maniac.

  Before I made a move to open her side door, her eyelids fluttered and lifted. She blinked a few times and focused her eyes on me. We stared at each other for a long moment, until I wrapped my fingers around the door handle and slowly pulled on it.

  “We’re here,” I said quietly, as if not to disturb the air of sleep that embraced her.

  Lisbeth sat up and looked around, blinking. She yawned and asked, “I can get out of the truck, right?”

  I nodded and then did something my mom would be ridiculously proud of—I actually offered Lisbeth my hand to grab onto. She did and thanked me, but she let go off me as soon as her boots touched the ground, as if my skin burned her. Maybe it did.

  She walked out of the garage and spun around, her eyes round. “Wow, it’s beautiful.” Her voice was full of genuine awe. She looked at me. “So calm and quiet.”

  As soon as she said that, a roar of a jet ski came from the direction of the lake, and we both laughed. She seemed to be in much better spirits now, which I was glad for.

  “Early mornings are the best around this area, when everyone is still asleep. The afternoons—not so much,” I commented.

  “Makes sense. Do you drink coffee in the morning?”

  “Sure do. You?” I said.

  “Yes. Black?”

  “Black. You?”

  “With milk.” She nodded.

  “Okay. I’ve got your backpack. Let’s go inside, I will show you around.” I motioned for her to follow me.

  Chapter Twelve

  LISBETH

  This was so much better than hiding in the underground panic room in that old warehouse. But was it safe? No, I wasn’t safe anywhere as long as they were after me.

  I stood outside on a small deck, looking at the shimmering in the sun water of the Devil’s Lake. A few kayaks and small boats bobbed here and there. The jet ski we heard before was gone, and so it was quiet and peaceful. I took a lungful of breath and held it in, enjoying the calm that enveloped me. I could stay like this forever.

  But I had to call my lawyer, Jessica Leothon. I took the cell phone out of my pocket and pressed the power button on. I switched the phone off a few hours before, right after I called her this morning, not wanting to talk with her or anyone else for as long as possible. Not that anyone else would know this number. Only Jessica and the FBI knew it. The number was restricted, the phone issued by the Bureau. Maybe I should’ve returned it when I said I’m withdrawing from the witness protection program. But I didn’t have another one, and I needed to be able to call Jessica. Or whomever…

  I remembered the cards Special Agents Drasco and Cornell gave me. I dug in my pants pocket—Chris’s pants actually—and pulled the cards out.

  I examined the Special Agent Drasco’s card. The round, stamp-like Bureau’s logo was displayed in the upper left corner, and the U.S. DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE was printed in large, capital letters on top, with the FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION in a smaller font under it. In the middle of the card was positioned his name, JEFFREY DRASCO, and underneath were two lines, in a much smaller print: SPECIAL AGENT, and PORTLAND DIVISION. Then there was his office address in the left lower corner: 1288 OLD MAIN PKWY SE, STE 303, PORTLAND, OR, and in the right lower corner another three lines were displayed: TELEPHONE (458) 555-5444, FAX (458) 555-5443, and his email: JEFFREY.DRASCO@IC.FBI.GOV. Above the phone number, someone handwritten X2022, his extension number.

  Special Agent Cornell’s business card looked exactly the same. The only difference was his name—ROBERT CORNELL, and his email address—ROBERT.CORNELL@IC.FBI.GOV. There was a handwritten X2031 above the phone number as well.

  I put the cards back in my pocket and looked at my cell phone screen. There were two missed calls from Jessica and a voicemail. I sighed. I didn’t want to listen to it, but, nevertheless I needed to put my big girl’s panties on and go through the inevitable.

  As I suspected, it was a short message, delivered in Jessica’s professional, measured voice. It instructed me to call her right away. I was sure the FBI put a pressure on her to convince me to go back.

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes to enjoy the serenity around me for a moment longer. Then I dialed Jessica’s cell phone.

  She answered on the first ring, “Gloria! Where are you? How could you disappear like that? The FBI won’t tell me anything!”

  “Calm down,” I told her. “And stop yelling, or I will hang up.”

  “Gloria, I need to know where you went. You know you’re in danger. I think you should have stayed in the program,” she said sternly.

  “Why should I stay? Yes, I’ve been in danger ever since I witnessed Helen raped and murdered. Obviously, the FBI can’t protect me. Don’t you get it, Jessica? The gang found me. They blew up the safe house. How safe was it really? You want me to hang around and wait for them to actually succeed?”

  She went silent. For a moment I thought we got disconnected. “Jessica, are you there?”

  “I am,” her voice sounded strained. Maybe she really cared about me more than I thought. “Look, the Bureau’s investigating the incident. They will find out how it was possible for you to be located.”

  “Tell you what then. When the Bureau finds out and the threat is removed, let me know, and I might reconsider. Until then, I’m not going back.”

  Sh
e sighed. “I understand that. But where are you? Do you have a safe place to stay? I’m really worried about you, kiddo.”

  “Safer than the warehouse was,” I said quietly. I could only hope the gang wouldn’t somehow find me here. “Listen, I’ll be in touch. I gotta go now.”

  “Gloria, please be careful!”

  “I am.” I hung up. Was I careful, putting all my trust in a man I didn’t even know? But what other choice did I have?

  I sat down on the warm wood of the dock, drawing my legs close to my chest and encircling them with my arms. I rested my chin on top of my knees and watched the water gently lapping against the tiny marina. There was so much serenity in this place, so much peace. I felt safe. I wanted to feel safe. I wanted to live without the threat of getting hurt, or worse—dying. Would I ever?

  I heard steps behind me and turned my head to see Ethan standing in front of the dock, hands in his pockets, looking at something in the distance. I followed his gaze, but didn’t see anything alarming. Just a few boats still lazily bobbed on the Lake.

  “It’s so pretty here,” I said.

  He walked up and sat down next to me. “It is. This is my escape.”

  “Your special hiding spot. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  He looked at me with those dark, piercing eyes. “It’s a good place to hide. From anything one needs to.”

  My heart skipped a beat and then another. I wished Ethan stopped looking at me. His gaze was mesmerizing. I felt a strange tingle in my body. I couldn’t move, not that I even tried. It was probably just a few seconds before he glanced away, but it felt like hours and it left me so confused.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “No, that burrito I had was huge.” I grinned, thinking of how great it tasted and how messy it was.

  He looked back at me, smiling. Oh, no—those eyes were spellbinding me again. I quickly averted my gaze. The boats and the water were much safer to concentrate on.

  “I’m going to chop some wood for the stove. There isn’t much left. Colton used it all up when he was here last time and obviously didn’t bother to replenish the stash.”

  “Something tells me you’re gonna have a little talk with your brother about that.” I chuckled.

  “You bet. At least he had a decency to wash the bed sheets. I just checked.”

  I looked at him questioningly.

  “He brought his girlfriend here for the weekend. She likes to fish, so he decided this place would impress her.” He shrugged and then shook his head. “They left a whole stash of condoms in the bedside drawer though.”

  An unexpected rush of heat shot through my body. It must have been a natural response to what Ethan implied at—that someone recently had sex in this cabin. I scolded myself for reacting like a hormone-driven teenager. Why should I care if some people I’ve never even met had sex or not? But I did care, no matter how much I wanted to deny it. This was making me extremely uncomfortable and even more confused.

  Ethan smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I keep talking as if you were one of my brothers or male cousins. I spend way too much time with them.”

  “Oh, no worries.” I tried to sound indifferent, but failed. And my cheeks turned red, which made me even more self-conscious than I already was. This was becoming ridiculous. Why couldn’t I relax around Ethan?

  He watched me for a moment, but I was afraid to look at him. These spellbinding eyes were too much for me to handle. Suddenly, I felt very vulnerable. I got up and said, “Will you show me around?”

  “Yes, I was planning on that. Just wanted to check if everything inside was left in order. Colton knows better than to leave a mess in my cabin, but you never know.”

  “How old is he?” I was curious.

  “Just turned twenty-one. He’s the baby of the family.”

  “How old are you, in you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Twenty-four. You?”

  “Only one year younger than you.”

  “Cool. Come inside.” He motioned for me to follow through the back door.

  We stepped into, what I assumed was a living room, or maybe a family room, or something else all together. I didn’t know if there was a specific name for the rooms in such cabins by a lake. It was spacious, although far from lavish. Everything in here seemed to have its own place. The furniture looked comfortable and was positioned with one simple purpose in mind: the usefulness, not just looks. There were two identical, oversized recliners, a matching sofa, and a coffee table which reminded me of a sturdy block of wood. A few fishing magazines and books laid neatly placed in one corner.

  A heavy duty wrought-iron log holder, presently housing just two logs stood in front of the fireplace. I looked to the mantel and saw a row of framed photos.

  Ethan caught my gaze and pointed to each of them, while explaining who were they of, “This is my mom and dad on their thirtieth wedding anniversary cruise; this one here is Colton’s high school graduation picture; and here are the twins in the bar, getting shitfaced after graduating from college; that’s me and Nash, fishing; and this photo was taken of all of us on Grandma Ruth’s birthday, I forgot which one. She’s my dad’s mother.”

  Grandma Ruth appeared tough. I suspected she wouldn’t put up with any crap from her huge family or anyone else for that matter. Ethan’s brothers looked so much alike, there could be no doubt they were related. I wouldn’t be able to tell the twins apart, at least not from the photos. Nash looked almost identical as the twins, and all of the brothers, with the exception of Colton, seemed as if they were same age. Not only their facial features and hair were so much alike, but their body type was totally the same. I wondered how it would feel to be surrounded by that many gorgeous males who shared such perfect genes. Probably very confusing.

  I picked the photo of Ethan and Nash, each holding a huge fish and a fishing pole. They were grinning, looking carefree and suntanned. “When was this one taken?” I asked.

  “Last summer in Key West. Nash and I went on a fishing trip with the twins. You see that fish? It was a good catch,” he sounded proud.

  The scales on both fish shone silver in the bright Florida sun. I longed for that sun. I longed for my life there—the life I had before the nightmare had started. I put the photo back on the mantel and kept staring at it.

  “You miss it,” Ethan said quietly.

  I looked at him and nodded. Tears blurred my vision, and I turned away, hiding them from him.

  “Hey.” He touched my arm.

  A shiver ran through me, stirring more yearning inside. This time it wasn’t the yearning for my home town. “I’m okay.” I put on a smile and blinked the tears away. I had to stay strong—on all fronts.

  “Do you want to see the rest of the place?” he asked.

  “Oh, sure, I would love to.” I nodded maybe too eagerly.

  “Kitchen is right there.” He pointed and walked away from the fireplace.

  I followed. The kitchen was quite roomy. There was a lot of counter space, a fridge in the corner, and a solid-looking, square table with four heavy chairs. It was one of those tables that could be made bigger by placing an insert in its middle. There must have been more chairs for it somewhere then, maybe in some storage outside?

  But the most eye-catching object was an old wood-burning stove, standing against the red brick wall. It has been obviously restored, because it looked clean and shiny. The stove was black with a nickel trim and antique handles. A large name plate adorned, what I assumed, was the oven door. It read QUAKER PRIZE. The stove stood on a short, stocky base decorated with elaborate scrolls.

  I walked closer and ran my hand over the front of the stove. “This is really cool. Looks antique. Is it?”

  “I guess anything over a hundred years old can be safely called an antique, right? This stove belonged to my great grandma, Olivia, Grannie Ruth’s mother. I had to nag Grandma Ruth for two years to give it to me, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Finally, when I left the Marines and bought this
cabin, she decided it was a good home for her family heirloom.”

  Ethan opened the little door with the QUAKER PRIZE plate and continued, “Here’s the oven. Like the rest of this stove, it works perfect. I even bake bread in it sometimes.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this up close. It’s really cool. So that’s what you needed the chopped wood for?”

  “Yeah. And for the fire pit, to make s’mores.” He smiled a little. Gotta have s’mores by the lake.

  “You’re going to make s’mores?” I laughed.

  “Of course. Why not?” He shrugged. “So how do you like my kitchen? I did the whole remodel here with Nash and my cousin Jack. The one you met today.”

  “It looks wonderful. There is so much light in here,” I praised. It was a cheerful kind of place, with its off-white cabinets and a beige granite tile on the countertops. One wall was done in red brick, while the others were covered in wooden planks.

  Two windows, facing the Lake let in a lot of daylight. Ethan didn’t have any curtains in them, just the simple, wide-plank wooden blinds, as I would expect from a guy.

  “Okay, let me show you the upstairs,” he said.

  I followed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ETHAN

  Lisbeth looked around the cabin with such an appreciation in her eyes. She seemed genuinely interested in everything. Little exclamations of awe and surprise escaped her from time to time. She was either easily impressed, or a very good actress. But I leaned toward the former, because there was a certain degree of an undeniable honesty with which she acted.

  We went up the stairs to the second floor. I pointed to the two doors on the right from the staircase, “Here are the bedrooms. Mine is that one. You will stay in this one,” I indicated the room to the left and then the door on the right. “There is one more bedroom.” I pointed to the room on the opposite side of the stairs. “But it’s the smallest, so you would be more comfortable in the one I chose for you. And here’s the bathroom.” I walked up to it and pushed the door open.