Undertow

12. Decaying Hope

12

DECAYING HOPE

I shouldn’t be enjoying this, but there’s no other word for the warmth flooding through me as Julia smiles back from the range in her kitchen.

“Make sure you keep the potato slices consistent or they won’t cook evenly,” she warns for the eighth time.

“Hang on. I’m confused. So we need to slice them inconsistently so they don’t cook evenly?”

She whips her head back with a mock glare, and I grin as she throws a potholder at me.

Fair.

I capture it against my chest and pull in a steadying breath when she shakes her head with another smile.

Her face is slightly flushed from the heat of the pan. A strand of hair hangs over her eyes making her look… permanent .

Everything in me wants to brush it away like we’ve earned that exchange, but my hands are embedded in potato juice and my heart can’t afford a moment like that. She’s just another ghost in my life.

I pull my gaze away and focus on my task.

It’s incredible how different this meal feels from the one with Scarlett last night. Julia accepted my vague response when I got home, but she knew something was wrong. I told her I had a migraine. She didn’t get me painkillers, which means she knew I was lying. Why she didn’t call me on it, I don’t know.

Tonight, though.

Tonight I can breathe again.

So much that I decided not to share the “evidence” I spent yesterday photographing. I should have, I will , just… not yet. I can “find” the stash on tomorrow’s shift.

Just one day to breathe.

I flinch when arms slip around me from behind, then relax into her hold. Her lips rest on my shoulder as she presses against my back.

“What’s your favorite adjective?” she asks.

I glance over my shoulder with amusement. “That’s an impossible question to answer. An adjective is nothing without context.”

“Exactly. So your favorite adjective would come from your favorite context, right? It’s a loaded question.”

I let out a breath. This woman.

“Okay. Um… Tangible,” I say quietly.

Substantial.

Lasting.

Real.

Her arms tighten around me, and I close my eyes, relieved she can’t see my face.

Don’t do this, Shaw. Don’t torture yourself. This isn’t… tangible.

“Shaw…”

“What’s your favorite song-piece you’ve collected?” I ask before I get lost.

I feel her breath on my shirt, the pressure of her cheek as she burrows against me. “The intro to ‘Downtown Holiday.’”

“The country song?”

“The song that was playing at Mama’s when I first saw you.”

The blow strikes hard and fast.

I force in a steadying breath.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, sorry. Just cut myself.” I draw the knife along my finger before she can look.

“Oh shit! Come here.”

She drags me to the sink and flips on the cold water. Shoving my hand in the icy stream, she turns apologetic blue eyes up at me. “It doesn’t look deep.”

I manage a weak smile. “No. It’ll be fine.”

I made sure of that. Not on the fingertip, too intrusive and prone to infection. Not on the knuckle. Takes too long to heal. Just the smallest cut on the side where it will be flamboyant with blood but easy to patch up.

I’m a surgeon when it comes to inflicting pain. This was as much a reminder to myself as a distraction for her.

“Good. Because Mama H wants you to help at the general store tonight. I told her that wasn’t fair since you already worked a shift at the Palmetto Grande, but she insisted. Linc isn’t feeling well, and Adrian will need help on a Friday evening.”

“It’s no problem.” I rip a paper towel from the roll and try to ignore her sympathy as I wrap my finger.

“You sure? I’d help but I have some work at the marina.”

The marina. Every night at the marina. That’s the assignment I need to get so I can find out what’s really going on. But I know from experience the best way to get what you want is to give them what they want. Right now, that’s a cooperative, wounded poet.

Literally.

“Of course. It’s really no problem.” I flex my finger with a wince as if it hurts more than it does.

She takes my hand and kisses my knuckle like I’m a child. I laugh at the gesture, for so many reasons, and she returns a teasing glare. But instead of letting go, she threads our fingers and pulls my entire hand to her lips. The warmth of her kiss fires another thawing blast of heat at my frozen heart.

“What really happened yesterday?” she asks, searching my face. “You clearly had a hard day. I know it wasn’t a headache.”

I study her, looking for any signs of a lie, but all I see is sincere concern. Somehow that’s worse.

What really happened…

Acid rumbles in my stomach as the pieces snap into place. My next play is right in front of me, taunting me.

Do it.

I can’t.

You have to.

“There’s this woman,” I begin hesitantly, averting my gaze.

Her grip on my hand tightens, and I scan her in my periphery. A flash of jealousy? Yes, that’s my cue.

Say it, Shaw.

Say. It.

Julia’s expectant gaze scours my face. She really has no idea none of this is real. It’s not, so why can’t I bring myself to do what I need to do?

“She’s had a thing for me since I started here.”

Tell her who. Who has a thing for you?

“I see,” Julia says quietly. “Another employee?”

“Kind of. Not really. I don’t know. It’s… complicated.”

Her brow furrows. “And… how do you feel about her?” I hear the fear in her question. The jealousy.

My chest tightens. The stifling Florida heat suddenly feels cold.

Shaw!

I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath.

Finish this!

“How do I feel about Scarlett?” I finally let the name slip, as if I’m thinking. “I don’t know. I mean, she’s attractive, sure. Of course I’ve thought about it.”

Disgust washes through me at the lie. At the way it makes Julia’s sweet face pinch from the sting—and awareness.

“Wait. Scarlett… McArthur? Montgomery McArthur’s daughter?”

I nod. “She’s been stalking me on my shifts and wanted to have dinner last night.”

“And did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Have dinner.”

Julia deflates when I shrug. She releases my hand, but there’s something besides hurt in her demeanor. It’s the “something” I was hoping for.

When she glances at the microwave, pretending to check the time, I know my latest ploy worked—no matter how much I wish it hadn’t.

“We can take this to go. I need to get to work,” she says stiffly. “So do you.”

I do. And if all goes to plan, that’s where I’ll get a new assignment that will crush both of us.

The only thing distinguishing the “general store” from any other convenience store is the vintage fridge filled with old-fashioned bottles of soda.

Everything else—the snacks, toiletries, and other basic tourist necessities—are the same items that could be found anywhere off the island. Well, everything except the Palmetto Grande Resort-branded memorabilia. I can’t help a small smile at the keychains, postcards, and other dust collectors that most definitely were not properly licensed or sanctioned by the McArthurs. They’re cheap and cheesy. A blatant F-U to their enemies, I guess.

Also, the “general store” is cash-only, too.

“Shaw, you got a sec?” Adrian asks as he locks the front door for the night.

Julia wasn’t kidding. Fridays must be a big day for them, although it was hard to tell if the flood of eager tourists were coming or going. In an effort to be as invisible as possible, I generally make it a point not to chat with people outside of my targets. The less people notice or remember me the better. I save all the charm for the missions… and preserving my own neck.

“Sure, yeah.”

I wipe my forehead with the edge of my shirt and follow Adrian to the backroom of the store. The place is air-conditioned, but, like everywhere else in Undertow, there’s a staleness to the air that makes it feel old and uncomfortably warm.

I’m not surprised to see Mama H and Julia waiting for us. They must have come in through the back door, and my pulse accelerates at what I suspect is coming.

“Hello, Shaw. Good to see you,” Mama H says.

I scan them as discreetly as possible, searching for any clues that could help me.

“It’s come to my attention that Scarlett McArthur has taken an interest in you,” Mama H says.

Well, that was fast. And while it is exactly what I was hoping for, “fake poet Shaw” would feel shocked and betrayed that Julia ran to her mother with his secret the second it dropped. I shoot a hurt look at Julia on his behalf, and she averts her gaze.

“Yes, but…” I shift nervously, fishing for the sympathetic look I get from Mama H.

“It’s okay, darlin’. You’re not in trouble. In fact, this could work out very well for our plan.”

“It could?” I squint back at them.

Neither Adrian nor Julia will look at me, so I know this conversation is going where I expected when I planted the news about Scarlett.

“We know we’re already asking a lot of you, but this could be a golden opportunity to get close to the McArthurs,” Mama H says.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean , we would like you to encourage her attention. We would like you to get close to her.”

I pull in a sharp breath. “You want me to seduce her?”

“Seduce her? It doesn’t sound like you will need to do much seducing, honey.” She adds a sly smile that’s probably supposed to lighten the moment, but fake Shaw has nothing to smile about. Fake Shaw has never done something like this, used and manipulated. Been used.

Something twists in my chest when I catch the lingering guilt on Julia’s face. Everything in me wants to soothe her clenched fist in reassurance.

It’s okay. This is what I wanted, my game piece in play, not yours.

Except it’s not what I want. Never what I want.

“I thought we were pretending I was with Julia.”

Mama H lands a look on Julia. She’s going to be tasked with “convincing” me.

“Yes, and trust me, that little ruse is only going to help your case with Scarlett,” Mama H says.

“Chicks love competition. She’ll be all over that,” Adrian adds with a grin.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Julia mutters.

“What? They do!” he says.

“Well, you think on it,” Mama H interrupts. Her hard squeeze on my arm makes it clear thinking and agreeing are the same thing.

“Okay,” I say, studying the floor as she moves toward the exit.

Adrian clears his throat. “So I, uh, have to close-out the register.”

He stalks toward the main part of the store, also making it clear he wants no part of the coming discussion.

Once Julia and I are alone, the silence gets loud.

“Is this really what you want me to do?” I ask, lifting my conflicted gaze to her.

She winces and looks away again. “Yes,” she lies.

She can’t even face me when she says it. We’re both pawns. Both involuntary villains. She doesn’t want this any more than I do.

“I just…” I’m not even sure if the pain in my chest is scripted this time. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Because of me?” she asks quietly.

I bite my lip as she closes the gap between us. Her arms snake around my waist and she burrows against me. Soft tendrils of jasmine filter into my lungs, making my chest ache with each breath. The warmth of her body should soothe my cold soul, but all it does is burn like frozen fingers first exposed to heat.

“We wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t important,” she says, nestling against me. I squeeze tighter, pulling her close.

The words are on my tongue, but as usual with her, I’m finding it difficult to release them.

You will do this. You will break her heart and let her think you’re going to pursue another woman.

Say it, Shaw.

I close my eyes.

Say it.

“How far do you want me to go?” I ask.

I already know the answer. Both answers. The one she wants to give me and the one she has to.

“However far you’re willing to go,” she says dutifully.

Willing.

Such a strange, useless word.

I force in a deep breath and pretend I have a choice.

Nothing really needs to change with Scarlett to fulfill my obligations to Mama H and the Hartfords. All we have to do is manufacture the appropriate information to feed them.

The part that does change? Scarlett’s interpretation of this development.

And her enthusiasm.

“I should probably visit Undertow to confirm Shaw’s cooperation , don’t you think?” she says, tracing the edge of her wine glass. Her hazel eyes lock on me.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Merrick confirms.

It is, but I try to keep any agreement from my face. I already see an elaborate scheme forming in her head.

My blood chills at memories of her last one.

“Don’t you trust me, Shaw?”

I didn’t. I shouldn’t have. It didn’t matter anyway.

“Just remember this character isn’t me,” I say coldly. “This guy isn’t a seasoned pro. He’s not going to be willing to go too far with his subterfuge.”

I harden my stare on Scarlett with a warning.

You can’t use him like you use me.

Her pout irritates me more, and I clench my fist at my side.

“We’ll let you know when we have a plan,” Merrick says to Scarlett before shifting his focus to me.

“Great. Now, if we’re done with the trivial bullshit, can we review the important stuff?” I say.

Her glare turns cold. Merrick’s lips twitch with amusement.

“Thanks, Scarlett,” he says, formally dismissing her.

She has no choice but to push up from the couch and stalk off.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warns once we’re alone. “I know you two have a bad history, but she’s still a McArthur.”

“She’s immature and petty.”

“Exactly. And combined with scorned love, that makes her incredibly dangerous.”

“Lust,” I correct.

“Lust?”

“Scorned lust, not love.”

Scarlett McArthur doesn’t love anything but herself. None of them do.

“The word makes no difference and you know it,” Merrick says.

“Yeah? So what do you suggest? I fucking marry her like they want?”

His brows lift at my harsh response. “Yes, and with a big fat smile on your face.”

I look away, my jaw tightening. Frustration simmers in my gut at the scolding. This whole damn situation. I’m so sick of this stupid middle school drama consuming our attention when apocalyptic violence looms on the horizon. Every second I spend in Undertow is another second closer to a bullet in my head… or worse.

“I’ll be triggering the staged photos tonight, so be prepared for a quick countermove,” I say.

A flash of humor flickers over his face at my abrupt subject change. “Good. I’ll be ready. Send me an update as soon as you can.”

“There’s more.” I lean toward him, resting my elbows on my knees. “Remember how I said everything is cash-only? I worked the general store last night and helped Adrian sort the day’s sales. He had me count it twice, but that’s not the number he entered.”

We exchange a knowing look.

“Two sets of books,” he mumbles.

I nod. “It’s confirmed. They’re laundering. Now we just have to find out for whom and what level of operation we’re dealing with.”

“You think it’s cartel money?”

His question is just a formality. I don’t even have to respond.

Instead, I stand and shove my phone in my pocket.

“Shaw?” Merrick says, stalling my retreat.

I turn back to meet his warning look. “I know you hate her, but you can’t afford any more enemies. Remember that.”

Right. Kind of hard when you can’t afford any friends either.