Chapter 15 #2
John leaned back, rubbing his wrists. “I haven’t a clue as to what they have planned for you. I only know they’re coming, and if they don’t hear from me today, I’m scared as to what they’ll do to my brother.”
Dawson nodded, glancing at his watch. “If they have eyes on the town, they’ll know we took you into custody.
They’ll also know I’m, for the most part, a rules man, so you’ll get your one call.
You’ll make it to them, with me listening and guiding you as to what to say.
” He waved his finger. “You don’t fuck me over, and I’ll make sure you walk out of here free as a bird. ”
“Thanks, man.” John blew out a puff of air. “I only did this to save my brother’s ass. We’re all each other’s got.”
“I understand that.” Fletcher opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, Dawson one pace behind. “Do you trust he won’t screw us?”
“I have no idea.” Dawson threaded his fingers through his hair.
“But we’ve got to let it play out, and we’ve got to do it fast. Silas got the town to move the meeting up.
They’re going to hear our plans and our bid tomorrow.
They still believe Decker is on his own, and I’m not about to correct them on that.
But Silas asked the committee not to make a stink about it for fear that some other big company would try to make a play.
He told them everything that’s been happening and how he’s concerned it’s all sabotage. ”
“And what did the committee have to say about that?” Fletcher asked.
“For the first time since Audra’s dad went missing, no one in this town is crying conspiracy theory.
” Dawson arched a brow. He glanced at his cell.
“Chloe, Remy, Tully, and I will handle things here. Why don’t you go back to the B&B and stick close to the girls?
Trinity’s there, too. Hayes will meet you. Keaton’s gonna stick by Decker.”
“We need Decker’s input. We can’t do this without him.”
“You can always FaceTime. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for everyone to waltz into that hospital.”
“You’re probably right about that.” Fletcher nodded.
“Let’s touch base in a couple of hours.” He turned and headed down the hallway, waving a hand over his head at Anna.
Pushing open the door, he let the warm Florida air smack his skin as he sucked in a deep breath.
He tilted his head and stared at the darkening sky.
“What the hell did you get us all into, Ken?”
Baily twisted the corkscrew into the wine bottle, the soft pop echoing through the warm, lived-in quiet of Fletcher’s kitchen.
A soft golden glow spilled from the undercabinet lights, reflecting off the glass of the wine she’d already poured and the neat row of snacks she’d set up—apple slices, sharp cheddar, and a small bowl of pretzels. Nothing fancy but comforting. Familiar.
Except for the three boxes taunting her from the table. Fletcher had brought them down from his bedroom closet earlier. They were all labeled with his name in his mom’s bold handwriting, nice and neat.
She turned, doing her best to ignore them and the past, reaching for the whiskey glass Fletcher liked best. It had a small chip near the base from where he’d dropped it last year.
He refused to throw it out. Said it added character.
But the reality was…it had been his father’s, and Fletcher struggled to toss anything that had belonged to his parents.
She understood. She really did. But sometimes, it wasn’t about holding onto things.
Things could be replaced. Memories couldn’t. Fletcher held himself accountable for not being there for his parents. For not being there when they’d died. But there had been no way of knowing that the end would come in a fiery car crash. It hadn’t been his fault. Nor had it been theirs.
It had been an accident due to poor visibility during a torrential downpour on a night that had destroyed more than two lives. That storm had taken many.
Behind her, she heard him move—bare feet on hardwood, the faint brush of fabric as he leaned against the doorway.
“You trying to seduce me with snacks and whiskey?” he asked, voice low and teasing.
She turned and grinned. “If I was, it’d be working.”
He crossed the room in three long strides and slid his arm around her waist, resting his good hand against the curve of her hip. “You’re all I need, Baily,” he murmured into her hair. “Snacks are just a bonus.”
She tilted her face toward his and kissed him, slow and soft. “You keep talking like that, and I might actually forgive you for keeping a bullet wound from me and give you a little peace and quiet right here in this kitchen.”
He tossed his head back and laughed. Hard. “Do you have any idea where I got the phrase peace and quiet from?”
“I’m scared to ask, and honestly, I’m a little disgusted that I just referenced a blowjob by using it. I mean, really. It’s a little rude if you ask me. It’s like saying the only time you get any peace and quiet around here is when my lips are wrapped around your—”
“Oh, my God.” He pressed his hand over her mouth. “Do not say it. You’ve been hanging around Audra too much.”
“Is that where you got it from? Because coming from her, it’s almost funny.”
He rested his chin on her shoulder. “No. And I can’t believe I’m going to even say this because it’s kind of gross.
I once heard my parents use it to reference the same thing.
I believe they had code names for all sorts of sexual acts they didn’t want their son knowing about.
Or maybe they didn’t want me to know they were kinky old people. ”
“We did catch them in a compromising position in the boat…and in the car.” She chuckled. “Your parents were so adorably in love.”
“That they were.” He took the glass she handed him and lifted it. “To us, finally getting it right this time.”
“To us,” she echoed, clinking her wine glass to his. Her heart swelled. They were finally on even ground again, standing side by side. She sipped, staring into his unwavering gaze.
He set his glass aside, then took hers and did the same thing. “So, shall we go through one of those boxes?” He waved his hand toward the kitchen table and arched a brow.
Shifting her gaze, she sighed. “Do you really think we’re going to find anything other than memories from your childhood?”
“We might not, but it could be fun to rummage through.” He took her hand and led her across the room.
She took a seat as he opened one of the boxes, pulling out his senior yearbook, setting it aside, then digging his hand in and finding a small box of letters.
“Oh, my,” he whispered. “These are all from you.” He waved the stack of envelopes. “I can’t believe my mom stuffed them in here. All of them are addressed to the first Naval Base I was stationed at.”
“Some of those letters are super embarrassing.” Her cheeks flushed. “I hope your folks didn’t read them. In my early letters, I got a little sexually graphic.”
“I know, and I always enjoyed them, but would have to hide them from my friends.” He laughed, setting them aside and pulled out more pictures and a few trophies before moving on to the second box. “You once described in great detail how you wanted a repeat session of sex on my parents’ boat.”
She dropped her forehead to the table and groaned. “I can’t believe some of the things I wrote to you back then.”
He pulled her from the chair and crushed her to his chest, kissing her heard. “I’m thinking I want to defile this room again. Or maybe a different room.”
“We’ve probably had sex in every room in this house.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, careful not to graze his wound. “I thought for sure your mother finally caught us when we tried it in the laundry room. Why on earth did we think that would be sexy?”
“I’m not sure we did.” He smiled. “I believe it started out as my mom scolding me for bringing in half of the swamp and telling me to undress in the mud room and put my stinky clothes in the washer. Then you strolled in…and gave me ideas.”
“You’re the one who had ideas because I didn’t even say hello before you had my sun dress up to my waist.”
“That’s what happens when you go commando.” He arched a brow.
She shrugged. “It was easier because you always had sex on the brain.”
“So did my girlfriend.” He tugged her tight to his chest and kissed her good and hard. It was the kind of kiss that told her she wasn’t making it out of the kitchen without him stripping her of half her clothes if she wasn’t careful.
Not that she cared.
She loved him, and she wasn’t going to fight it anymore. She couldn’t figure out why she’d been fighting it so hard for so long. They were meant for each other.
He slipped his hand under her shirt—
And then came three crisp raps at the side door. They weren’t loud, but they were sharp.
They both froze.
Fletcher cocked his head. “I’m not expecting anyone,” he whispered.
“Neither am I.”
He pushed from the counter and stepped around the island. Baily followed, walking barefoot on the cool wood floor, while snagging her wine glass as she passed it. If she wasn’t going to have her fill of Fletcher, she was going to have her fill of wine.
As Fletcher reached the door and flipped the lock, she caught a glimpse through the side window.
Her breath caught. “No way,” she managed, clutching her chest.
Fletcher cracked the door open, his body angled like a shield. “Julie? What are you doing here?”
Julie Mitchell—if she was still going by her married name—stood on the stoop, a soft pink sundress hugging her frame, blond hair swept into a sleek knot.
She looked put together, as she always did.
An effortlessly calm, easy, and graceful, as if she were meant to line the pages of Better Homes and Gardens or something.
Hard to believe she was the daughter of a ruthless criminal. A killer. Well, perhaps her father hadn’t actually done the murdering, but he hadn’t had any trouble sending a man to sit in a tree and take aim at Fletcher.