Chapter 28
Avery Hunter’s Reporter Notebook: Sometimes, the answer to a mystery is a freight train, and you’re tied to the tracks.
I fucked up.
Big time.
I’m not even sure how I fucked up, but the look on Warren’s face when I told him the tow company was coming to fuel us up alerted me to the mysterious colossal fuckup that I had perpetrated.
Did he want to call roadside assistance?
Was it a guy thing?
I didn’t know how to tell him I wanted to get him back to Pleasure Point so we could figure this thing out between us.
I glanced at my husband in the passenger seat. He refused to look at me, simply staring out the window. And what an exciting view it was. Tree after tree zipped by as I drove like a maniac toward home.
He told me he loved me, so why was he being so distant?
Granted, I was in an orgasm haze when he said it, but I understood: “I believe I am in love with you.”
I frowned.
Believe.
He believed he was in love with me but never quite said the words, did he?
I pressed my lips together to keep from cussing out my own stupidity.
Shit. Fuck. Damn.
The man had just come inside me and blurted out that he “believed” he was in love with me. Not “I love you.”
And he certainly said nothing this morning.
What an idiot I was.
Every woman knows you don’t believe a word a man says when his dick is inside you. You wait til you’re fully clothed for conversations like that. And it looked to me that Warren wasn’t interested in discussing it.
Well, too bad, so sad. We were talking about it, whether or not Mr. Legal Eagle wanted to.
I pulled out onto the main highway, headed toward Pleasure Point, and joined the flow of traffic. “Warren, can we talk about last night?”
He shrugged.
“Sorry, I don’t interpret moody lawyer body language. Please use your words, husband,” I snarked.
I felt him turn to face me in the passenger seat. “Husband. Right.”
I chanced a peek at his face. He looked mad. Big Mad. “What is wrong with you? Do you regret last night? It’s not like we signed a contract or anything.”
“We did, actually.” Warren turned back toward the window.
My stomach dropped, and I wanted to slap myself. Of course. This was all a farce. He didn’t want to be married to me anymore because the whole reason he was doing it was to keep me out of jail. “Right. That.”
“Yes. That.”
“Well, don’t worry. You can have your annulment when we get back to Pleasure Point. Does that make you happy?” I asked.
Warren coughed and pounded his chest. I was about to ask if he was okay when a sign in front of a bookstore captured my attention.
Holy shit!
I flipped on my signal nanoseconds before swerving across three lanes of traffic to turn into the bookstore parking lot. Drivers laid on their horns and showed me how they felt about my driving with their middle fingers. I couldn’t care less. I was about to solve a major mystery.
“Are you out of your mind? You could have gotten us killed!” Warren cried, grabbing onto my thigh.
Even through my pants, his touch made my skin tingle. I cursed my body’s response to him. How would I ever get over the closeness that we built in the last few days?
I felt a rising panic swelling in my chest and shook my head as I pulled the car into a spot near the front door. “We’re fine. I am about to solve a mystery. Come in or don’t. But I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I exited the car and hustled into the building, hoping to make it on time.
Warren caught up with me a second later and placed his hand on my lower back.
I’m not even sure he realized he was doing it.
And there was no way in hell I would tell him to stop.
Even as frustrated as I was, I wanted him close.
I was happy he came inside the bookstore with me.
“What are you doing in here? I thought you wanted to go home,” Warren stated.
My shoulders slumped. “I do, but look.” I pointed toward a sign at the back of the store near a secret doorway.
“Kitty Woodcock?” Warren asked.
“That person is tied to the original Pleasure Point nudist colony.” I grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the room. “I’ve tried to uncover their real identity, but every time I think I have it solved another dead end.”
“Kitty Woodcock is a—” Warren narrowed his eyes at the sign. “Romance author?”
I grinned. “It’s weird, right? What does a romance author have to do with a former nudist colony? This is my white whale. And I shall solve this mystery!” I shook a fist and picked up the pace toward the book signing.
“You know Moby Dick dragged Ahab to his death, right?” Warren yanked me to a stop.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, bad analogy. But this has been a thorn in my side since I moved to the island. Aren’t you curious?”
His jaw clenched, and then he sighed. “Maybe.”
“Great! Let’s go!” We stepped up to the welcome table where stacks of Kitty Woodcock’s latest books were ready to be purchased and signed.
“Hello, and welcome to today’s reading and signing.” A young woman smiled at both of us. “If you just sign these waivers and drop your phones in this box, you may join everyone inside.”
I groaned.
“Waivers?” Warren snatched one off the top of the pile. It was the largest waiver I’d seen yet during my adventures with my not-so-fake husband. “This is twenty pages long!”
“It’s also an NDA,” the assistant added. “Kitty Woodcock is very private.”
“For the love of cheeses,” I huffed before grabbing a waiver and scribbling my name on the back page. “There ya go. Now, can we go in?”
“He has to sign, too,” the assistant said to Warren as she handed him a pen.
He shook his head but followed me in signing his name on an NDA/waiver he hadn’t read. The surprise nearly knocked me over.
“You’re making great progress, husband,” I whispered as I dragged him into the darkened room.
The door snicked shut behind us. We were in a windowless classroom with a raised stage at the far end. Folding chairs were crammed into the area, forming several rows. All of the chairs were full except for two at the very front.
“Two up front,” I said, taking off for the empty chairs.
Warren groaned but followed me. I plopped in the aisle seat, and he gingerly popped a squat next to me.
“What are we doing here?”
“Solving a mystery. I told you,” I whispered.
Thumping music and strobe lights started up, preventing further conversation between us.
“Attention book lovers,” a deep voice announced through hidden speakers. “Please direct your attention to the center stage. Without further ado, please welcome… Kitty Woodcock!”
Everyone in the audience stood and cheered for the mysterious author.
Warren and I were sitting in the front row, so we had an unimpeded view of the man entering the room through a side door.
I slowly rose out of my seat, my jaw dropping as I took in the tailored double-breasted suit, tanned skin, and silver hair pulled back into a low ponytail.
I barely felt Warren’s grip on my arm as the author grabbed a microphone off a side table and settled into a stool on center stage.
The author smiled at the crowd, waving for everyone to settle down, but it wasn’t until his eyes swept our way that they widened.
He pulled the microphone to his mouth. “Good afternoon, dudes and dudettes. Thank you for coming to my book signing. I imagine a lot of you have questions.”