CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The cabin lights were still dim as the sweet scent of shampoo and a woman’s soft, supple body coaxed Sawyer awake. Taking even breaths, a warm, safe Angela slept under his arm. He wasn’t sure what to make of pulling her to his side, but he couldn’t imagine a better way to wake. A long time had passed since he last fell asleep beside a woman. An even longer time had elapsed since he’d wanted to fall asleep next to a woman. The appeal hadn’t been there in far too long.
Was it here now? That didn’t matter. Sawyer couldn’t break his rules. Not even for Angela. He breathed deeply and realized the piling tension of the last few days had dissipated, replaced by an entirely delicious pressure in his chest that he wasn’t sure how to handle—or ignore. This wasn’t fair to Angela. Hell, he wasn’t sure it was fair to him.
The jet bumped as the pilot navigated turbulence. Angela stirred and sighed, burrowing into Sawyer’s fragile hold. He didn’t want her eyes to open. Her mind would go into overdrive, fixing and correcting and explaining what he wanted to simply stay.
After another rumble of turbulence, the jet angled up and changed elevation. Sawyer prayed for smoother skies. Too many more jolts might force the flight attendant to ask them to buckle up. He waited, wishing for more than he had a right to request, and when the aircraft leveled smoothly, he stayed awake. How much longer did he have? They were scheduled to touchdown at five in the morning local time. He couldn’t check his watch without possibly waking Angela. Sawyer tried to savor what wouldn’t happen again. His eyelids shut, but he never drifted back to sleep.
Then, her soft posture became rigid. The easy rhythm of her breaths stilted. If he could’ve read her mind, Sawyer would have been certain the wheels were spinning at a breakneck speed.
“Morning,” he whispered, not moving a muscle. She could turn to face him or run away. He wasn’t sure which option was better.
Her body straightened, but she didn’t flee. Instead, with her head still resting on him like he was her pillow, she asked, “What time is it?”
He exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath for an hour and finally checked his watch. “A little after four.”
She lifted her chin, offering him her sleepy, semi-panicked eyes. “We’ll be wheels down soon?”
He nodded. “In forty-five minutes or so.” There was a fifty-fifty chance that Angela would not acknowledge how they slept. The situation would be easier that way, if he were being honest. If she peppered him with questions, all the vulnerability and unknowns would dissolve. He didn’t want her to say a word.
The sleepiness faded. Angela eyed their bodies and then studied him. “Sawyer…” The questions were about to start.
“You’re very good at scripting a narrative,” he said.
Her eyes widened at the apparent accusation. “Oh, really?”
The corners of his lips quirked. “Yup, and I’m wondering how that will work out right now.”
Angela tried to elbow him, but that only brought their bodies closer. She blushed. “Well, I’m feeling a little out of my element at the moment. Scripting might help.”
She wasn’t wrong. Still, he didn’t want her to explain away what had drawn them together. “You know what I think?”
“I have absolutely no clue.”
In truth, he didn’t know what to think. “Me neither.”
Maybe, subconsciously, pulling her to sleep at his side had been an unspoken offer to handle their conversation and erase what she hadn’t wanted to face. She had ceded her tight grip on her world and melted into his. He had her. He’d held her. He’d protect her. Like he always had—but more so.
“Should I move?” she finally asked.
That question wasn’t easy. He couldn’t be anything like she needed. Safe. Secure. Stable. In it for the long haul. The realization made his empty heart ache. Still, he couldn’t stop himself. “Do you want to?” Hope, unfamiliar and unwelcome, danced in his chest. He’d asked too much. “I mean.” He cleared his throat. “If you’re comfortable, stay. No big deal.”
She scoffed and shook her head. “No big deal…” She repositioned herself and stared blankly at the wall. Her walls of control and scripted narrative would arrive shortly. Sawyer hated them and was just as annoyed at himself.
He closed his eyes. Soon enough, the plane would land, and everything would return to normal. He hated it even as much as he needed it.
“Sawyer?”
Her no-nonsense tone made him smile. “Hm?”
“I have a proposition for you,” she said.
His curiosity was piqued. A proposition wasn’t what he had on his bingo card. “What’s that?”
She propped onto her elbow and rested her head in the palm of her hand. “Well, don’t decide right now.”
He grinned.
“You don’t do relationships—”
“Ange—”
“Don’t interrupt either.” She waved him to shut up. “Like I was saying. You don’t do relationships.” She gave him a stern look to keep his mouth closed.
Sawyer managed to stay quiet.
“And I have a lot of figuring out to do,” she said.
Angela paused, waiting for him to slip up and ask questions before she was ready. But this wasn’t his first rodeo when it came to her speeches. He didn’t take the bait, though he was curious as all hell.
“We’re on this trip where everyone has already told me we’ll hit dead ends and have nothing to do…” She blushed in a way that went straight to his groin. “What if we mess around?”
Straight, straight, straight to his groin. The woman had knocked the air from his lungs without moving a muscle.
“Like for practice or something,” Angela tried to explain as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “Or fun. I don’t know.” Her blush intensified. “I don’t have practice doing this. But you do.”
Was that insulting? He couldn’t parse underlying meanings and possible jabs when all the blood in his body had caught fire. Sawyer swallowed hard and arched his eyebrows, failing to assume the unaffected manner he’d hoped to achieve. “I do?”
“Yeah. Sure. Your dates. No relationship. That kind of stuff.”
Everyone he’d dated casually was very different from her.
“For a finite amount of time,” she continued. “For the duration of this job.”
He blinked and tried to match her words to meanings, but his brain wasn’t operating as expected.
“We’d have rules. Expectations. Safe words?” Her brow furrowed. “No, that’s probably not what we’re going for.”
She was negotiating a contract for them to go to bed, and he hadn’t managed to speak yet.
“So that’s my proposition.” Now her face skewed. “If you could say something, I’d feel less like an idiot.”
“Ange…” The warmth from lying beside her was gone. She was leaning into her role as the queen of control, asking for a time-boxed friends-with-benefits situation, all while he’d been enamored with—and confused by—the fact he held a woman while she slept. They’d inched close to something very personal, and she ran. Hell, worse than that, Angela was asking for a walking, talking vibrator to teach her the ropes. A distant cousin of disappointment bubbled thickly in his chest. “I don’t think I can do that.”
Her face fell. She played her change in mood off with a shrug. “It was just an idea.”
She wanted a teacher? Why didn’t she want romance? Angela deserved to be swept off her feet after a ho-hum time with the ex who should not be named. Not that Sawyer was the right guy to shower her with attention. “I’m just… not in the right headspace for something like that.”
“Seriously, Sawyer. A simple no is all that’s needed. You don’t have to make up excuses.” They were still so close, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Can you forget what I said so this isn’t weird?”
“It’s only going to be weird if you move to another seat.”
“Don’t patronize me. Okay?” Angela wriggled and repositioned herself to face away from him but stayed on the couch.
“That wasn’t my intention, sweetheart.”
She hmphed, and he could practically feel her eyes roll. But after a minute, she added, “You’re a very good big spoon, Sawyer. Never would have guessed it.”
“Not so bad yourself, little spoon.” He hid his regret in a forced laugh against the back of her head. “That’s just one of my many talents.”
An hour later, coffees in hand, they had landed, stepping off Titan’s jet and into a waiting SUV. The drive to Emerald Isle wouldn’t take long. Angela was eerily normal. The same couldn’t be said of himself.
Their driver left them at a safe house on the beach that came with a car and a fully stocked refrigerator. An updated briefing book sat on the kitchen counter. Sawyer didn’t know who’d made the arrangements, but they’d done a great job.
He bypassed the kitchen and living room and proceeded upstairs. The floor had two bedrooms, the larger one with an ocean-facing balcony. He tossed Angela’s bag onto that bed and dropped his belongings in the bedroom across the hall. “Good view up here.”
He didn’t hear a peep.
Sawyer wandered to the main floor again and found Angela at the kitchen table with papers spread before her, pen in hand. “You don’t want to see your room?”
“I want to find Mylene.” She had grouped the crime scene photos next to those taken from a vacation rental website. Law enforcement notes were categorized by agency: Local PD. Military police.
He walked around the table and read the notes she’d scribbled in her little notebook. Her proposition was apparently a distant memory. At least it was for her.
Angela dropped her pen on the table. “We’re a block away from where the murders took place.” Her eyebrows arched. “I don’t know what we’re going to find, but we should take a look.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Sawyer grabbed an apple from a fresh fruit bowl. “Can you imagine staying at a vacation rental where a woman killed her husband and sister?”
“Except Mylene didn’t kill them.”
He bit into the apple, chewed, and swallowed. “That’s our working theory.”
Angela glared.
“What’s that look for? If you keep an open mind, the truth will be easier to spot.”
“What? Now you’re Sherlock Holmes?”
He took another bite of the apple. Not only was her proposition a distant memory, but work had her full attention. She wasn’t in the mood to question their working theory. Sawyer reminded himself to let the investigation do the talking. He polished off the apple while she took notes.
What was there to write down? That was the point of a briefing book. Someone had done that already. Sawyer glanced over her shoulder. “You’re making us an agenda?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Good question. He was neither Sherlock Holmes nor Dr. Watson. At least Watson knew when to ask questions and listen. Sawyer could only twiddle his thumbs. “I’m going to look around.”
He left her to investigate the provisions in the pantry and searched for secretly stashed weapons throughout the house. After a minute, he’d completed his search and returned to the kitchen. “Did you pack a vest?”
She glanced up and stared as though he’d asked permission to dance like a fool. “No one knows where I am.”
He shrugged. “Things change.”
“It doesn’t blend in on the beach.” She smiled as though the discussion had ended. “But I did pack SPF and a sun hat.”
He read over her shoulder. The timeline on the note started in fifteen minutes and wrapped with their return at eleven in the morning. “I think we need to compromise on some things.”
“Like?”
“Fifteen-minute increments of planning? We need to get a lay of the land before we check out the other beach house.”
She pursed her lips. “But…”
“But?” Sawyer knew what was happening. She was filling in every second of the day to control the narrative and ignore what she’d said. That might be possible for her. Not so much for him. “Go get dressed in something beachy. We’re going to wing this one.”
“I don’t want to waste time.”
He sighed and opted to compromise. “We’ll walk up from the beach and cut over.”
“We can look at the other house?”
“Sure. We’ll scope it out.”
Angela tapped her index finger on her pen and then relented.
Fifteen minutes later, she returned to the kitchen table, perfectly on an internal schedule. Her dark hair was tied back. A large-brimmed hat covered her face. Angela’s black one-piece curved over her figure and short-circuited his brain. This choice of clothing wasn’t the athletic bathing suit she wore for laps. A black knit cover-up dangled over her hips.
He cleared his throat. “Very beachy.”
She eyed his board shorts and flip-flops then busied herself with the paperwork on the table. Angela gathered the reports and photos and put them neatly in her beach bag. She slid her sunglasses on and returned to hiding behind the oversized sunhat; then she and Sawyer were off.
From the deck, they followed the small boardwalk, which deposited them on the beach. The early June morning hadn’t brought out sunbathers or families yet. A woman threw a Frisbee for her dogs. They galloped into the waves and fought over the toy before they raced back for another throw. The occasional lone runner loped by. An older couple walked hand in hand.
Sawyer and Angela carried their shoes while walking on the damp sand. The occasional wave lapped over their feet. Angela was very quiet. Hell, so was he. Mylene had Angela’s focus. Angela had his. He hoped the sun would bake sense into his brain as they strolled through the lapping waves.
Angela grabbed his forearm and stopped. “There it is.”
This beach house was as close to the water as theirs. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Easy, Ange. We don’t need to stare.”
But if anyone glanced their way, they might have a problem. She was stiff as a knife and stuck out like a woman who needed an escape plan. “You okay?” he asked. His hand smoothed over her hip and skimmed up the smooth swimsuit. “I’ll let you go if you need me to, but you can’t stare at the house.”
She licked her bottom lip. “No. It’s fine. You just caught me off guard.”
“Sorry…” He should have repositioned them to get a better look at the house, but he couldn’t.
Her chin dipped. “I’m—” Angela shook her head. “What I said on the plane…” She raised her eyes to his. “I wish I could take it back.”
Sawyer cinched her closer. “Regrets are no fun.”
“That’s me. Life of the party. Throwing caution to the wind.”
That was what she’d done, and he’d shot her down. Now, who was the one with the regrets? His reflection in her glasses showed his frown. Sawyer forced a grin. “Put your arms around my neck.”
That she did was the slightest balm.
“Look like you can stand me,” he said. “I’m going to get a good look at that house.”
Angela laughed, and he repositioned them.
“What do you see? Anyone staying there?”
No car sat in the driveway. “Looks like nobody’s home.” The shades were drawn. The covers for the grill and hot tub were in place. “Probably no renters right now.”
“Then can we go over and check it out?”
“Give me another minute to be sure.” Sawyer surveyed the area and moved them closer. No people were watching. No security cameras were in sight. “I think so. Let’s go.”
Angela all but yipped. Despite her control and agendas, she didn’t approach anything involving Mylene with an ounce of hesitation, and it would give him heartburn.
“Are you going to try the front door?” She grabbed his hand and pulled for him to move faster. “Break a window?”
“Option C. Scope the deck and see what our opportunities are.” He needed fewer chances for neighbors or nearby security cameras to catch them.
They walked onto a deck that could have used a handyman’s attention. Rickety and in need of bracing, the deck mirrored the beach house, which had good bones but was desperate for upkeep.
Two lockboxes hung on the deck railing. Rental guests and cleaning staff, he guessed. Both were well used. The beach house wasn’t abandoned. The duo’s timing had been lucky.
Sawyer tried the back door. Its lock was simple and standard. He pulled a lockpicking kit from his wallet.
“Option D,” Angela said. “You had a plan to get inside all along.”
He winked and got them through the doorway. The place smelled of musty beach house and lemon air freshener. Sunlight crept around blinds and the sides of drapes. He didn’t know what they were looking for. “What do you want to see?”
Angela twirled as though inspiration would magically hit her but then pulled the crime scene photos from her beach bag. She lined them on the kitchen counter. Law enforcement had done a good job at documenting the entire house. Windows. Doors. Dirty dishes.
“The interior’s the same.” He opened a cabinet. “Same dishes.”
“I don’t know why that would change unless someone sold the place.”
True. The house had the same couches. Probably the same bed where the husband and sister had spent the night before they were shot. Sawyer and Angela walked into the living room. The only difference from the crime scene photos was a new area rug under the coffee table. The original rug had probably been taken into evidence, given the proximity of the bodies.
Angela held up a photograph in which luminol lit up a blood-splattered wall. “That’s there.” She shuffled another picture. “And that’s right here.”
Sawyer wondered if the walls had been repainted or scrubbed with bleach. A little luminol and a black light would likely light them up like the Fourth of July. “Want to go upstairs?”
Her frown deepened. “Yes.”
The layout was not dissimilar from their beach house’s. The same builder likely constructed every house in the neighborhood. Angela stared at one bedroom and then the next.
He didn’t see anything interesting. Did she? “What do you think?”
Angela shrugged.
That look had more to it—or maybe not. Studying crime scene photos and walking around a house that hid a dark secret could weigh heavy. “You okay?”
“Yes, it’s just…” They stood between the two bedrooms. “Why did you give me the room with the balcony?”
“It was the nice thing to do?” He raised a shoulder. “Nicer room for the fairer sex.”
“Imagine if you were married, having an affair, and renting a beach house with your secret girlfriend.”
He frowned. “That’d make me a piece of shit.”
“Yeah, I know.” Angela gave him the side-eye. “But just imagine. Okay?”
“Fine. For investigative purposes, I’m a cheating asshole.”
“And you’re staying at a beach house for an affair. Which bedroom would you choose?”
“The one with the balcony.”
“Right,” she agreed, directing them into the bathroom. “What about your toiletries? Where would you put your stuff?”
“Is this a trick question?” he joked. “I have no clue.”
“Have you ever lived with someone before?”
“Uh—”
“Yeah, me neither.” She stared at the bathroom counter and then shuffled through the photographs. Then she held up the corresponding picture. “I think this is weird.”
He glanced at the crime scene photo and didn’t see whatever she wanted him to. “What am I missing?”
“Look at how everything has been arranged.”
He stared at the toiletries on the counter in the picture and then at the blank counter in front of him. “What?”
“Look at the toothbrushes and toothpaste.”
Again, Sawyer stared at the counter and then the photo. “I don’t see anything noteworthy.”
She pointed at the counter. “The two toothbrushes are right beside each other, a half inch apart, hanging off the edge into the sink. Who does that?”
“What?”
“No one lines their toothbrushes side by side, a half inch apart. Not even if they have been married for years. It’s too precise and unnatural.”
Sawyer scowled at the photo. “Really?” He used an electric toothbrush that had a charger. But before that, he couldn’t remember thinking about the placement of his toothbrush on a counter, much less whether he put it next to or opposite someone else’s.
“If you’re new into a relationship, it’d be too June Cleaver to line up toothbrushes. If you’re cheating and sneaking around and not used to sharing a bathroom, it’s a bold statement to line them up.”
A skeptical look crossed his features.
“You’re proving my point, Sawyer. No one does this.”
“Okay, say you’re right. What’s the point? It has nothing to do with whether or not Mylene killed—”
Loud, excited voices poured into the beach house.
“Shit,” he muttered. They inched out of the bathroom. The voices didn’t sound threatening, but he wouldn’t take a chance. Sawyer tucked Angela behind his back. He wasn’t armed, and she wasn’t wearing a Kevlar vest. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck. “Did you leave anything downstairs?”
Angela shook her head but caught herself. “My hat.”
What sounded like two kids and a shepherding adult boomed from the first floor. Bags were dropped. Kids squealed.
“Forget it.” They had to get out. The kids sounded like a herd of buffalo as they explored the beach house. “The back door is still unlocked—come on.”
“What’s upstairs?” one of the children called.
They stopped short. No-go on the back door. Sawyer took Angela’s hand and beelined for the bedroom balcony as little feet raced up the stairs. He threw open the sliding glass door and flung it closed just as he was certain the kids hit the top of the staircase.
A two-story beach house on stilts meant Angela and Sawyer were three floors up. Directly below, two women unloaded a minivan on a crushed-shell driveway. A concrete patio extended on both sides. Neither would make a pleasant landing zone.
The second-story deck was just off to the side, several feet away. Sawyer could make the jump. He wasn’t sure how Angela would fare.
“No way,” she said, reading his mind. “Absolutely not. I’m going to break my neck.”
“I’m open to suggestions, sweetheart.”
“Maybe we stay up here until they leave?” she half joked. “Or maybe they’ll head straight to the beach?”
The sliding glass door flew open. They froze against the side of the house.
“Whoa,” a kid squealed from inside the doorway. “We are so high up!”
“We’re not supposed to open doors!” a younger-sounding kid chided. “I’m telling.”
The sliding glass door slammed shut.
“Oh God. Okay,” Angela managed. “I’ll jump.”
“This will be easy, Ange.”
“Do not blow smoke up my ass.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “We crawl onto the other side of the rail. I’ll jump down. You lower yourself and then I’ll grab you and pull you over.”
“That simple, huh?”
“Then we stroll off the back deck while the moms bring in their stuff through the front door.”
This situation was a far cry from the most dangerous one he’d ever found himself in, but it might have been the most stressful. If he maneuvered to the second-floor deck and Angela lost her nerve, he’d have a hell of a time getting back to her without catching the eye of someone below.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“That is a bullshit answer, Angela, and this won’t work if you don’t trust me.”
“Of course I trust you. Go on. Be Spider-Man.”
“Atta girl.” Then he didn’t give her a chance to back out. Sawyer jumped to the lower deck. His landing was smooth, albeit louder than he liked as the entire house groaned. The women below him stopped speaking for an eternally lengthy moment before their cheerful banter rebounded.
Another century-long moment passed before Angela peeked her head out from her hiding spot on the top balcony.
Sawyer nodded. “It’s go time.”
Whether she heard him or not, she hooked her leg over the railing. Her flip-flop dangled precariously over the edge. She maneuvered onto the rail but pulled back entirely. The dangling flip-flop disappeared, and his heart stopped. But he waited, not letting a shred of doubt jinx her determination to get off that balcony.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he whispered. “I know you can do this.”
Then, two flip-flops landed next to him, followed by her beach bag. No one below noticed the raining accessories. Sawyer took a breath and grinned.
Angela hooked one leg and the other over the edge and pulled herself over the rail. She squatted, twisted, and crouched until she apparently trusted the deck railing to hold her weight. Carefully, Angela lowered herself until she dangled. Sawyer snaked his arm around her knees before she had a moment to panic and lowered her bottom onto his shoulder. They weren’t graceful, but they were efficient. He placed her bare feet on the deck and hauled her against the wall.
She picked up her flip-flops and bag. “That was an adventure.”
He had a feeling they were just getting started. “Never a dull day on the job.”
The kids ran outside and scurried around the driveway.
“No one is inside.” She nudged him. “Get my hat.”
Not a bad idea. They were by the door with the lock he’d picked initially—although he was surprised she didn’t want to haul ass home. “Give me a sec.”
Hell, by now, if the renters caught them on the deck, they could feign embarrassment and pretend they’d wandered to the wrong cookie-cutter-style beach house.
He braved a quick visit inside, grabbed Angela’s hat, and, with his hand at the small of her back, guided their escape back to the beach as though they were a beach-faring couple out for a stroll.
Adrenaline-fueled laughter overcame Angela by the time they neared the sand that was still damp from a receded high tide. “That was insane.”
He grabbed her hand and walked toward the waves. “It was something.” What exactly? He didn’t know. Certainly not on his top one thousand list of close calls. Still, his heart hammered in his chest. He wasn’t ready to let her go.
Angela scooted in front of him, walking backward, with a smile that reached from ear to ear. “And you saved my hat.”
Sawyer tugged her back to his side. “All in a day’s work.”
They reached the water, and she danced over a retreating wave. “This is such a buzz.”
He laughed.
“Seriously, Sawyer. I feel like I’m high right now.”
He kept laughing and shook his head. “Have you ever done drugs?”
“Nope.” She held onto her hat but tipped her head back for a moment. “But this has to be the feeling people chase after. Because, oh my God. I feel like I could fly.” She tossed her bag and flip-flops out of the reach of the waves. “Get in the water with me.” She untied the cover-up from her hip and flung the garment onto the sand; then she threw her hat like a Frisbee into the vicinity of her discarded clothes.
Angela headed toward the water, casting another big and beautiful smile over her shoulder. “Don’t be a scaredy cat, Spider-Man. Come on.”