Chapter Sixteen
Paul moved his truck to the day use area of the campground to make room for Kyle.
As he parked in the pay lot, and bought a ticket from the kiosk, he noticed Emily’s lemonade stand doing brisk business on the busy corner at the campground entrance.
He’d promised to stop by before his brother arrived from Houston.
He was about to head that direction when his phone buzzed with a text.
His brother was already here.
Paul turned and walked toward the cabin, excited to see his brother despite the circumstances, which were less than ideal. He strode the short distance to the cabin and found Kyle standing by his Mercedes. They shared a one-armed hug with the requisite back-slapping and warm greetings.
“Who gave you that shitty haircut?” Kyle asked.
“Some asshole,” Paul replied with a grin. “Maybe I should return the favor.”
Kyle ran a hand over his own dark head. “No thanks. I’m losing enough off the top without your help.”
Paul didn’t see any evidence of thinning in his brother’s wavy brown hair. Kyle had blue eyes, like Paul, and a tall, athletic build. Unlike Paul, Kyle accentuated his physique with gym visits and designer clothes.
“Come in and see what I’ve done with the place,” Paul said.
Kyle followed him inside to inspect the interior.
He’d already told his brother about switching cabins with Vanessa.
At least the unit had A/C, and a working bathroom.
There wasn’t much to look at, other than the two sleeping mats on the living room floor.
They talked about the remodel for a few minutes.
They’d both worked for a construction company in college, so Kyle knew the basics, but he had no nostalgic feelings about it.
He’d also distanced himself from their cattle ranch upbringing.
Paul, on the other hand, was proud of his cowboy roots and still enjoyed manual labor.
“As soon as I resurface the floors, they’re going to deliver kitchen cabinets,” Paul said. “Then I’ll start on the bedrooms.”
“You’re pacing yourself, right?”
“Of course,” Paul said, as if he’d never pushed his body too hard.
Kyle made a snorting sound. “Where’s your hot neighbor?”
Paul hesitated, weighing his response. He hadn’t mentioned his affair with Vanessa.
It wasn’t a secret so much as a new development, and he wasn’t comfortable sharing the details.
He didn’t want Kyle interrogating her. Paul didn’t want his smooth-talking, good-looking brother anywhere near her.
But if he acted weird about Vanessa or tried to prevent them from meeting, Kyle would get suspicious.
“She’s selling lemonade down the street,” Paul said.
“Let’s go,” Kyle said immediately. “I’m parched.”
As they walked the short distance, Paul considered the changes to his cover story.
Vanessa knew Kyle was a cop, and she thought they had different fathers.
He doubted either of these topics would come up over lemonade, so he stayed quiet.
It was better to throw the dice than rouse Kyle’s curiosity about how much time he’d spent with Vanessa.
The lemonade stand had two customers—a father and son.
Someone had added a smiling face to Emily’s carefully painted lemon, and the lettering was adorable.
Paul spotted Jackson in the background, sitting in the shade at a picnic table and staring at his phone.
Vanessa had set up a green umbrella to protect herself and Emily from the blazing sun.
A pitcher of icy lemonade was visible on the table Paul had built, which he had to admit, appeared sturdy.
They had beach chairs, but they weren’t sitting.
The real draw at the lemonade stand was Vanessa herself.
She was wearing her denim shorts with a basic white T-shirt and her hair pulled into a high ponytail.
She looked fresh-faced and honey-sweet. Every straight man in a twenty-mile radius was going to buy a lemonade just to get a closer look at her.
She spoke Spanish to the current customers with a sunny smile. Emily handed the little boy a cup of lemonade. Then it was Paul’s turn.
“Mr. Paul, we’re selling lots!”
“I can see that,” Paul said, glancing at Vanessa. “This is my brother, Kyle.”
Kyle shook her hand with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. Then he launched into a conversation in Spanish, showing off his language skills. Vanessa laughed at something he said as she poured lemonade into two cups.
Paul removed two dollars from his pocket to pay Emily. “Are you watching out for the lemon pirates?”
“Uncle Jack is,” Emily said.
Paul noted that Jackson had pocketed his phone. He gave Paul a slight nod of acknowledgment.
“What’s this about lemon pirates?” Kyle asked Emily.
“They steal lemons,” Emily said. “They took Penelope yesterday.”
The doll was sitting in the lawn chair, holding an empty cup.
Kyle crouched down to Emily’s level. “The lemon pirates are amateurs,” he declared. “There’s a far more dangerous crew in this area.”
“Who?”
“The pickle pirates.”
Emily giggled with glee. “Pickle pirates?”
Kyle winked at her. “They’ll steal every pickle in the jar, and they’ll drink the juice.”
Paul took a sip of lemonade and met Vanessa’s curious gaze. She wasn’t paying attention to Kyle’s cute exchange with Emily. She was staring at Paul’s mouth in a way that gave him an instant, gut-punch memory of what they’d done this morning.
“How is it?” she asked, arching a brow.
“Delicious,” he said, though he’d barely registered the taste. He was too busy remembering her taste, and the slippery heat of her against his tongue. Judging by the flush on her cheeks, she understood his reference.
Kyle rose to his feet and cleared his throat.
Vanessa turned to Kyle with a bland expression. “What are you boys up to this afternoon?”
“We’re going fishing,” Paul said.
“The south side has some nice spots,” she said. “Not too crowded.”
“We’ll check it out.”
“Have fun.”
They took their lemonade to go. As Paul walked alongside his brother, he tried to wipe the dopey grin off his face, without success. Vanessa had been immune to Kyle’s charms. This was a pleasant first.
“So,” Kyle said. “How long have the two of you been fucking?”
Paul’s smile faded. He felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to knock the cup out of Kyle’s hand and shove him into a tree. They were out of earshot, but they weren’t out of sight. He couldn’t start a fistfight without gaining notice. “We’re not fucking.”
“Bullshit.”
Paul sipped his lemonade and said nothing. It was actually pretty good. Sweet and tart and cold.
“You’re going to blow your cover.”
“You’re not my handler, Kyle. I don’t answer to you.”
Kyle didn’t care for this distinction. “I might not be your handler, but I’m your brother, and I made the arrangements for this safe house. If you screw it up, I have to start over. You’re supposed to be chilling out, not banging the sheriff’s daughter.”
Paul frowned at the abrupt change in Kyle’s attitude. A week ago, his laidback brother had dismissed Paul’s worries about Vanessa and encouraged him to enjoy the view. “Is something wrong in Houston?”
“No,” Kyle said, and drained his own cup. “Not really.”
“What is it?”
“We lost track of Aiden Mendez.”
Paul gave him a sharp glance. “How?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my task force. They think his father sent him across the border until the heat dies down.”
Aiden Mendez was the younger brother of Angel Mendez, the man Paul had killed two months ago.
The Mendez family was part of an organized crime ring that specialized in armored vehicle robbery.
Paul had encountered the pair by accident.
Their getaway car had been damaged and they’d been in the middle of a carjacking.
After Paul had shot and killed Angel, Aiden had fled the scene.
“Good thing I’m hiding out near the border,” Paul said.
Kyle pinned him with a withering look. “He doesn’t have any idea where you are. He probably doesn’t even know who you are. There’s no need to change locations. Let’s just proceed with caution.”
“Fine,” Paul said.
Kyle studied him in taut silence.
“We both know Miguel Mendez is the bigger threat.”
Kyle inclined his head in agreement. The father of the deceased was a powerful man, and the leader of the organization. Aiden Mendez wasn’t exactly a boy scout, but he didn’t have a violent criminal record.
“If you think it’s unsafe—”
“I don’t think it’s unsafe. I think you’re distracted. You’ve picked a hell of a time to get led around by your dick.”
Paul scowled, crushing his empty paper cup in one fist.
“Now that I’ve seen her, I get it. She’s stunning. She’s also a single mom, and she’s 100 percent bunny.”
“So what?”
“Who built the lemonade stand, Paul?”
“Fuck you,” Paul said. “It took five minutes.”
“You’re fooling yourself if you think this is casual.”
He tossed his crumpled cup into a nearby trashcan.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m not blowing my cover, I’m not getting led around by my dick, and I’m not too distracted to watch my back.
If you hear more about Mendez, let me know, because I can’t jeopardize the safety of another woman and child. Otherwise, let’s drop it.”
Kyle did drop it, and they went into the convenience store for a six-pack and sandwiches.
Within twenty minutes, they were out on the water.
They cast lures in several different locations.
Paul didn’t catch any fish, but he enjoyed the stark beauty of the environment.
Kyle caught two fish that were both under the size limit and had to be thrown back.
They gave up and headed back to shore in a mellower mood than they’d started.
At sunset, they’d returned to the cabin and polished off the six-pack. By nightfall, they’d made a campfire by the shore and switched to tequila. Kyle bought a half-pint, which they passed back and forth until the edges of the night blurred.
“I told her about Mom and Dad,” Paul said.
Kyle stared at him blearily, and didn’t respond.
“You know what my therapist said?”
“I didn’t know you had a therapist.”
“She said I’m disassociated.”
“Dissociated.”
“What?”
Kyle passed the bottle to him. “The term is dissociated.”
Paul swigged the tequila, though he’d had more than enough. “It is?”
“Yes, and I could’ve told you that for a fraction of the price.”
“My insurance covers it.”
They lost track of that topic and moved on to the next one. Kyle pissed on the fire to put it out, and they staggered toward the cabin together. Instead of going inside, they sat on the porch steps to finish the bottle.
“What happened to those edibles?” Kyle asked.
“I threw them away.”
“Why?”
“Because they gave me a panic attack.”
“You weren’t faking it?”
“Why would I do that?”
“To get the attention of a hot nurse.”
“I didn’t know she was a nurse.”
“She actually took your vital signs?”
“Yes.”
“Did she measure your circumference?” Kyle asked with a smirk.
“Shut up,” Paul said, shoving the bottle at him.
“What happened to avoiding bunnies, brother?”
“Can we retire the term bunny? It’s offensive.”
Kyle drained the bottle, thumped a fist against his chest and burped. “Guess who came to my office yesterday?”
“Who?”
“Gwen.”
Paul hadn’t thought about Gwen since he’d left Houston. After their final conversation, she’d faded into the background of his mind. It seemed like years, instead of months, had passed since they’d last seen each other.
“She’s bored and looking for a replacement.”
“Really?” he asked, squinting at Kyle. “Did she proposition you?”
“Would you care?”
Paul considered the question as carefully as his pickled mind would allow. “Would you care if I slept with Allison?”
“That’s different,” Kyle said.
“How?”
“She’s the mother of my children.”
“You cheated on her.”
“Why are you bringing that up?”
“Why are you bringing up Gwen?”
“She was never going to leave her husband for you.”
“I didn’t ask her to.”
“You got all bent out of shape when she didn’t come to the hospital.”
Paul hadn’t been angry with Gwen. He’d just realized that she felt nothing for him, and he felt almost nothing for her. “You know who did visit? Allison. She’s always been sweet on me.”
Kyle didn’t appreciate the second reference to his ex-wife, or the taste of his own medicine.
He launched to his feet and shoved Paul off the steps.
They stumbled onto the grass together in a drunken wrestling match.
When Kyle put Paul in a headlock, Paul sank his fist into Kyle’s stomach.
Kyle released him with a wheezing sound.
Paul lay on his back and stared up at the night sky, wondering if his shoulder would hurt tomorrow.
“I never touched Allison,” he said finally. “She came on to me, but we didn’t …”
“She told me.”
“She said I rejected her?”
“Yes.”
Paul straightened to a sitting position, with some difficulty. “Did you fuck Gwen?”
“Only once, while you were in the hospital.”
“You’re sick.”
“I know.”
Paul couldn’t tell if he was serious. Then Kyle cracked a smile, and they both started laughing like idiots.
“I didn’t, but I would have,” Kyle said, when they sobered. “I’m not as noble as you.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Paul started a new wresting match, and Kyle got tangled in the garden hose. He was vaguely aware that Vanessa had stormed outside. She kicked Paul with her bare foot. He grunted at the mild sting of pain and released his grip on Kyle.
“You’re both assholes,” Vanessa said. “Clearly.”
Kyle chuckled, rolling onto his back.
“Sorry,” Paul said. “Are we keeping you up?”
“Yes, you are! And you smell like a brewery. Go to bed and sleep it off.”
They both lumbered to their feet, too drunk to feel chagrined, but not so drunk that they didn’t follow her instructions.