Stones Unturned (Meade Lake Series Book 2)

by Taylor Danae Colbert

  Stones Unturned

  The Meade Lake Series, Book Two

  Copyright © 2020 Taylor Danae Colbert

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations in reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, numerous places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. This book may not be resold or given away in any manner.

  Published: Taylor Danae Colbert 2020

  www.taylordanaecolbert.com

  Cover Design: Taylor Danae Colbert

  Editing: Jenn Lockwood Editing

  ISBN: eBook- 978-1-7352169-3-5

  Paperback - 978-1-7352169-2-8

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  26. One Month Later

  27. One Year Later

  Prologue

  The Meade Lake Series

  Acknowledgments

  About Taylor

  Other Books by Taylor:

  Note from the Author

  To you, Will. My real-life Derrick, the calm to my crazy, the bright spot in my days, the headshake to my every trip and fall. I love you.

  1

  I’m sitting in my car outside of Richie’s Tavern, staring at the badge in my hand. It has a photo of me with my absolute best professional smile. Next to it, reads: Kaylee Jennings. And underneath my name, in big bold letters: SALES MANAGER.

  Manager. I have a team of direct reports––many of whom are old enough to be my parents––after just two years of work experience post-college. How? Oh, yeah.

  Because my dad is the CEO of one of Georgia’s biggest tech companies. And he’s been priming me to take over since I was fifteen.

  When I decided I wanted to go to Clemson and told my parents I wanted to get my journalism degree, my dad chuckled.

  “Kid, trust me. Go for the business degree. Maybe eventually an MBA—but you can go for that after you have a job at the company,” he had told me. “That way, the company can pay for it,” he had added with a wink. “Keep writing. It’s a good...er...hobby.”

  And that’s how I landed here, just two years into my professional career, with college barely still in the rearview mirror. And on Monday morning, I start in my new role. And I’ll be in that role for six months to a year. Once I’ve “proven myself”—which is code for “once it looks like you’ve been in the position long enough”—I’ll get my other promotion. The big one.

  Part owner.

  Things have been rocky for the company over the last few years. My dad and his lawyers did some research. Turns out, women-owned businesses are sought-after, especially when it comes to federal contracts. Women-owned. And what better woman to “own” his company than one who shares his last name?

  I sigh and chuck the badge into my bag. I fluff out my long blonde locks fried to the max by my straightener this morning. I was trying to go for the polished, professional look. You know, since I became a boss today. And not on my own merit.

  I unbutton a few buttons on my blouse and tug it out from my high-waisted skirt. I take a deep breath, get out, and head inside.

  The air inside of Richie’s is thick with body heat and the stench of several different types of alcohol. It smells like...home.

  “Well, if it isn’t Miss CEO,” Charlotte says to me as I make my way through the usual Friday crowd. I roll my eyes as I walk in the direction of her and Emma.

  “Manager,” I correct her. “And don’t even start. I’ll take a beer, please,” I order. I slide my blazer off and pull a stool up to the table they’re sitting at.

  “So, how did everyone take it?” Charlotte asks, scooting closer to me. I sigh and shake my head.

  “Pretty much like you’d expect,” I say. “Pretty much how anyone would react when the boss’s undeserving kid gets a shoo-in job at daddy’s company after they’ve all been working since before I was born. The only person who congratulated me was Franklin, but I know that’s just because we’re friends. He can’t possibly think I actually deserve it.”

  Charlotte nods.

  “Can’t you refuse the promotion?” she asks. I shake my head.

  “I tried that. I told him I needed a few more years. He told me that I’d be letting the company down. Our clients expect ‘Jennings blood’ to be present. Plus, I can’t just go from sales associate to partial owner.”

  “Well, listen,” she says, grabbing my beer from the bartender and sliding it across the table to me, “you may have gotten the job because of who you are, but you are not undeserving. You work your ass off in literally everything you do. You’re going to kick this position’s ass, too.”

  I smile at her as I take a big swig, letting the golden liquid slide down my throat, hoping it drowns out this feeling that’s settled in my stomach since this morning.

  Charlotte is a world-class, A-plus best friend. She’s been by my side since first grade in Mrs. Carlisle’s class. From scolding playground bullies, to facilitating my first kiss with Brennan Stern in eighth grade, to threatening my college boyfriend when he dumped me three weeks before graduation, she’s been through it all with me. Her long brown waves hang over one shoulder, and I’m always thrown by how effortlessly beautiful she really is.

  “Yeah, but, I mean, I’d feel the same way if I were those people, ya know? Some kid, basically, comes in and snatches it all out from under them? Yikes,” Emma says, throwing back her vodka shot. I firmly stick my beer bottle down on the table between us as I glare at her. Emma has been friends with us since middle school. Our parents run in the same circles, swimming in money and thrusting us into private schools. Charlotte went to the same schools, but that was because her mom taught at our elementary school, and she got scholarships to middle and high school.

  Emma and I were raised much the same, and yet, I’m always reminded at how vastly different we turned out. She embraces the “Bad and Boujee” lifestyle. She doesn’t let anything touch her skin unless it’s designer, and she—much like myself—hasn’t struggled for much. The big difference between us is that I work. Hard. Classes, running, college. Anything that I take on, I work at. Emma...doesn’t. And so far, her parents’ money has made it so that no work is no obstacle.

  I’m nursing the same beer an hour later, glaring at Charlotte from across the bar. She’s happily batting her eyelashes and seductively chewing on the rim of her glass. The guy she’s been talking to all night looks like he just walked off of a professional baseball field and into Richie’s Tavern. He’s completely jacked with a little bit of scruff looking like it was blown onto his face by some sort of angel. His dark hair is tousled in that model-type way, and he is turning on the charm tonight.

  Emma is giving her best half-ass laugh to one of his less attractive friend’s jokes, and I’m just...here. Alone. Again.

  I know I’m not one of the girls that makes you stop and say whoa. I get it. But I’ve always thought
of myself as, like, a high six, maybe a seven. It’s not that I don’t get hit on when we go out. I do. It’s that I am just unimpressed by the slim pickings of the Georgia, early-twenties dating scene. We grew up in Lenburn, a teeny-tiny town on the outskirts of Atlanta. Charlotte lives in the next town over, and Emma lives downtown with a few roommates in an apartment her parents are definitely footing the bill for. Me? An apartment across town that I have no business living in on my salary. Except that I, uh, don’t pay for it all myself. But it’s less than two miles from my parents, so Dad said it was “perfect” and offered a monthly––an open-ended––stipend. People ask us why we never moved into the city. My dad says it’s the taxes. I think it’s because my dad can look like a king here in Lenburn. Big fish in a small pond sort of deal.

  We bounce back and forth between downtown and here depending on the weekend. Charlotte and Emma seem to find the fun wherever we land. But not me. The whole picking someone out on a phone screen and then summoning them to you with the sole intent of getting in their pants has lost its appeal to me.

  I like to think I’m too intellectual, or maybe it’s because I feel like the bedroom antics of today’s men aren’t up to the standards of the romance novels Charlotte is always thrusting at me. Either way, I’m sort of thinking alone is the way to go. At least for a little while.

  “Kay? Hello? You good?” Emma asks, coming over to the bar to order another round for her and tonight’s catch.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m good. How is tonight’s company?” I ask sarcastically. She rolls her eyes as she picks up the glasses.

  “Well, you would know if you hadn’t told their friend you had an incurable eye-goop disease,” she says, pursing her lips out at me. I can’t help but laugh. I’ve been watching one of the guys in their group sneak stares at me all night since, trying to figure out which eye it is.

  Sometimes I just have too much fun with these jokers.

  “I’m gonna take these back over there. Are you sure you don’t want to just come sit?” she asks. I smile and shake my head.

  “I’m good.”

  Emma pauses for a minute then turns back to me.

  “Ya know, Kay, I’m not saying this to be hurtful, but I just don’t know why you even come with us anymore. You barely drink, and you’re not into anyone who seems remotely interested in you. I guess I just...I hope you figure out what you’re looking for. Watching you sit alone all these nights makes me kinda sad,” she says. Before I can respond, she turns back around and walks back to the table she and Charlotte and their gentleman callers are sitting at. I see Charlotte lift her eyes to me, and I feel shame.

  Emma is my best friend.

  But Charlotte…she’s a soulmate.

  She’s one of those people who knows how I’m feeling, what I’m thinking, how I’ll react to something before I even know myself. She can read me from across the room, and she makes her way to me.

  “What did she say?” she asks. I smile. Charlotte is an angel.

  She’s a nurse at Atlanta’s Children’s Hospital, and they are so damn lucky to have her.

  “Nothin’,” I say with a smile. She puts her hand on her hip and shoots me a look. “It’s not important. Really. How is Mr. Hotstuff back there?”

  She smiles, turning back to him then back to me.

  “He’s...actually really cool. He’s been in the minors for a few years,” she says. I smile and nod. He is a baseball player.

  “That’s cool,” I say.

  “Don’t look now,” she says, stepping in closer to me, “but dude in the black shirt at the back…he’s been eyeing you up for the last half hour.”

  My head perks up, and my eyes start scanning the room because as soon as someone says, “Don’t look,” we, as humans, can’t help but do the exact opposite.

  I see a group of guys in the back corner, but none of them seem particularly interested in me.

  I see a group of women chatting and laughing too loud, and I see their eyes all floating across to the back of the room.

  And then I see the guy.

  He has about five pairs of eyes on him, but his are on me.

  When our eyes meet, he doesn’t shy away. He stares into mine with a fierceness that makes me a little unstable.

  “See,” Charlotte whispers.

  And then the guy stands.

  He’s tall with shoulders that stretch out his shirt. His forearms are toned and hard-looking, and I can see the ripples of his chest underneath the fabric.

  “I think he’s coming over here,” Charlotte whispers. “You should talk to him.”

  Lately, I’d literally do anything in my power to avoid a situation like this. But right now, I can’t move. I don’t want to. I don’t want to take my eyes off of him. Nah, no avoiding this today. I’m taking this one head-on. I keep my eyes on his and reach over for Charlotte’s glass in her hand. I throw back whatever’s left in it then squint my eyes at the bitterness of whatever the fuck that was. I hand it back to her, wipe my lip, and make a beeline right for him.

  Then, he starts walking toward me. This is a small bar, but right now, the distance between us feels huge. I want to close in on it, close in on him.

  Finally, we’re within a few feet of each other. I smile at him, but his eyes are wide, like he’s...in shock? Surprised? Maybe I looked different from across the room.

  Suddenly, I’m self-conscious. I fluff my hair a bit, pulling it down off my shoulder. I cross an arm over my body.

  “H-hi—”

  “Are you Kaylee?” he asks before I can get a full word out. My eyebrows knit together, and I cock my head. “Kaylee Jennings?”

  2

  For one of the very first times in my life, I’m speechless. Who the hell is this guy?

  “How do you—” I start, but he shakes his head and holds up his hands.

  “I’m sorry, that was probably really weird. I just can’t believe I found you,” he says. Found me?

  I should be weirded out, but all I can concentrate on are his eyes. They are a deep brown but with speckles of gold—the most gorgeous I’ve ever seen. And the way it seems like every muscle in his body flexes when he moves––ugh. I can’t remember the last time I was this attracted to someone.

  But let’s get back to the fact that he could be stalking me.

  “This is...ah. I don’t know how to—” He pauses for a moment and scratches his head. “Damn, a ten-hour car ride and you’d think I would have rehearsed what to say to you if I actually found you.” He gives this nervous chuckle, and my heart jumps.

  Ten hours?

  “My name’s Derrick. And this is going to sound so, so weird, but just hear me out. Look, do you think we could talk out front for a moment?” he asks.

  I look at him then turn slowly to Charlotte and Emma. He follows my gaze.

  “Your friends can wait right outside, if you want. We can stand right outside the door, right under the light. I’ll keep my hands in my pockets the whole time,” he says.

  There’s something endearing in the way he doesn’t want me to think he’s a threat, but it’s also kind of sad. There’s something sweet in the way that he’s anticipating what I could be thinking of him. There’s something sexy in the way that he brought it all up before I had to. I nod and lead him through the crowd toward the door. I lean in to Charlotte as we walk by.

  “We’re stepping outside for a moment. We will be right outside the door,” I tell her. The look on her face is loud with worry and confusion, but she just nods. I see her turn to the window before we are even out the door.

  Derrick and I make our way outside, and I turn to him, wrapping my arms around myself. He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

  “So...how do you know me?”

  He takes in a deep breath, his eyes on the ground, then he lifts them to me. He’s got to be a full foot taller than me, but right now, he seems nervous, small.

  “Just hear me out, and then I’ll answer all your questions, okay?” he asks. I give hi
m a questioning look and nod slowly. “I’m a friend of your grandmother’s.”

  I cock my head.

  “Martha?” I ask, picturing my seventy-eight-year-old Granny Martha who lives in a retirement home in Florida. “How do you know Martha?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Not Martha. May,” he says, his eyes on mine, feeling out my every move, my every emotion. I shake my head.

  “She’s dead,” I tell him.

  His eyes grow wide. He shakes his head.

  “She’s not,” he says. “Have you gotten anything in the mail over the last few years? Letters or anything?” I stare at him blankly. What is he talking about?

  “She wrote to you a few times, tried to... Look, Kaylee, she’s alive.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He tugs something out of it, unfolds it, and hands it to me, and my heart stops.

  It’s me and Gran May—a photo I’ve never seen of us before. We’re on a dock somewhere. I’m sitting on her lap, her arms wrapped around me, and I’m staring up at her with such adoration that it makes my eyes water. I remember so little about her, but I do remember this. I remember how much I loved her, how she was the center of my small, five-year-old world.

  “Where did you get this?” I ask him, my hand shaking with the photo. He pulls out his phone and flips to something, then he turns it to me.

  My stomach flips, and I feel this heat in my chest that’s making it hard to breathe.

  It’s a photo of Derrick sitting on a dock––maybe the same one––his feet in the water below him. And next to him, feet in the same water, is a woman that looks an awful lot like Gran May. Only, Derrick’s not a kid. This photo isn’t faded with years of wear and tear. This photo was taken on a phone, and the timestamp was two months ago. I’ve never seen my Gran May’s face with so many years on it, but this is definitely her.