by Cassia Leo
She doesn’t know the crisis was manufactured, or that she was thanking me for putting a spy camera in her crawl space, another in her new dog house, and a listening device in her pickup.
As I thrust the shovel into the dirt again, I keep a close eye on Izzy’s back door. From this location, I can keep an eye on her without being so close I want to shove her up against a wall and rip her clothes off.
Pinpricks of sweat sprout across the back of my neck and shoulders. The dappled sunlight filtering through the branches of the elm tree above me sears my skin, reminding me of afternoons in the scorching dry heat of the Afghan desert.
My muscles settle into a rhythm, and I allow my body to go into auto-pilot as my mind wanders to dark places.
Garrett Hunt alienated everyone when he started using heroin. And his politician father didn’t seem particularly interested in rebuilding their relationship.
I hoped giving Garrett a purpose, letting him handle the drops, would boost his self-worth. Make him feel like he was useful to his father’s organization. Maybe even help him get clean.
I’m starting to realize how fucking naïve I am when it comes to the people I care about.
I shake my head and try not to group Izzy into this category as the muscles in my legs and back begin to burn with exhaustion. Focusing on the movement of the shovel, I mentally prepare myself for today’s fishing trip. Well, it’s not exactly a trip if we’re just going down to the dock.
I can only hope Izzy will finally lower her guard enough to let me in on some of those secrets she’s keeping. My window to get to know her is closing fast. If I don’t find out where she stashed that suitcase soon, we’ll both be swimming with the gators.
I’m done packing the walls of the pit, but I’ve yet to load in the firewood when Steve bolts out of Izzy’s back door and bounds toward me like she’s trying to run down a perp.
To the contrary, the dog slows down as she approaches, and forces her way through my legs over and over again in some sort of figure-eight greeting ritual. I’m about to reach down and pet her ugly mug when she notices the five-foot-wide, two-foot-deep hole at my feet. She immediately hops inside and plops down onto the cool soil, her enormous blockhead bobbing slightly as she closes her eyes and pants with bliss.
“Steven!” Izzy yells as she approaches with a couple bottles of beer in hand. “What is this? Some kind of grave? How many bodies have you buried in there?”
“None yet. This is my fire pit. I was thinking we could go fishing on the lake. Then we can roast our catch over the fire.”
“I told you yesterday, I’ve never gone fishing in my life. I’m from—” she stops herself as if she’s about to say something she’s not supposed to. “Well, like I said before. I was a homebody.”
I pretend not to notice the near-slip. “Like I said, we’ll be fishing off the dock, since neither of us has a boat.”
“My dock or your dock? ’Cause we can’t fish off my dilapidated dock. It’s liable to crumble if you look at it wrong. I really need to get someone out here to rebuild it.”
I try not to smile too wide as I realize I may have finally touched upon an area of her property that makes her extremely nervous. “I can rebuild it for you.”
“No!” she replies far too quickly. “I mean, no, thank you. You’ll probably need a permit or something, and I don’t want to deal with all that bureaucracy.”
Santos and I have been watching Izzy for weeks, and neither of us has seen her sneaking away to check on the suitcase. She’s either hidden it very well, or she’s given it to someone to hold for her, which seems unlikely. When I spoke to Congressman Hunt last night, he gave me eight more days to find it, or I’m dead.
“We’ll fish off of my dock,” I declare.
Izzy’s shoulders relax. “It’s supposed to be ninety-eight degrees today. Staying close to the lake seems like the smart thing to do.”
I let my gaze travel down the length of her body, skimming every one of her curves. “You got a bikini on under there?”
She rolls her hazel eyes, but the flush in her cheeks betrays her cool demeanor. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”
I’m sure I will.
I grab a couple fishing rods, my tackle box, and a plastic bag of bait I bought at Caster’s Fly Shop, then we head out to my dock.
“First thing you have to learn about fishing is how to Texas Rig your bait,” I say as I squat on the edge of the dock and open the black plastic shopping bag so she can have a look inside. “These fat little critters are crawdads. Most bass fishermen will tell you to use a skirted jig your first time out, but I reckon you’re the type of girl who ain’t afraid of getting her hands dirty. Am I right?”
She presses her lips together as she seems to be trying to suppress a smile. “Right you are, Colton.”
I hold her gaze for a moment, imagining a few of the ways I can help her get her hands dirty. “Good. Then get down here so I can show you how to bait your rod.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, as if she’s trying to collect herself, then she squats next to me as I give her a lesson in how to Texas Rig her bait. I spend another few minutes figuring out the headwind and teaching her how to cast her line. Then I dangle my legs — and she her bare feet — off the edge of the dock and soak in the sunshine over the placid waters of Rhodhiss Lake.
No more than five minutes pass before Izzy pulls her phone out of her back pocket and puts on some music.
“Can’t take the quiet?” I tease her.
“I hate silence. It makes me feel lonely. Why do think I became a musician?” she says, almost cutting off the last syllable as she probably realizes she hasn’t shared this fact with me yet.
It takes me a few seconds before I realize the song she put on is “Jolene” by Ray LaMontagne.
“My dad loved this song,” she offers. “Hence, the name. He wanted to name me Ray, but my mom wouldn’t allow it.”
It’s a bit uncomfortable listening to this story about her fake name because it’s probably a lie, maybe with a smidgen of truth in it.
I wish she trusted me enough to tell me something real.
“It’s a beautiful name,” I remark, nudging her bare foot with my boot.
She snorts. “No, it’s not. But that’s beside the point. The real question is: Why the hell are you wearing work boots on a 98-degree summer day?”
I chuckle. “If those robbers who burgled your house come back, I gotta be ready to give chase.”
“Give chase?” She rolls her eyes. “You’d better take off your shoes, or I’m going home. I can’t be the only one risking the loss of a toe from an ornery gator.”
“Ornery gator? You’ve been watching too many Adam Sandler movies,” I reply, shaking my head. “It’s late summer. The water level is low. If the high temps keep up, and we don’t get any summer rain soon, it’ll keep dropping. No gator is—”
“What did you say?” she interrupts, forgetting to use her fake Southern accent again. “The water level’s going to keep dropping?”
I keep my gaze focused on the still water. “Of course. That’s how lakes work. They fill up with rainwater or snow runoff during the winter and spring. Then the water evaporates in the summer heat. They didn’t teach you that in primary school in… Where did you say you were from again?”
She doesn’t answer me as she seems lost in thought.
“Doesn’t matter,” I continue. “As I was saying, a gator isn’t going to leap out of the water to take a snap at your pretty little toes. Besides, aren’t any gators in this lake.”
She blinks. “Actually, I saw a YouTube video with a couple canoeing in Lake Rhodhiss, and—”
“Rhodhiss Lake,” I correct her.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Actually, we locals call it Lake Rhodhiss,” she corrects me, but she doesn’t give me a chance to respond before she continues. “Anyway, this couple, they were canoeing, and the girl was freaking out ’cause there was a gator under her cano
e.”
I smile at her sassy attitude. “You believe everything you see on YouTube?”
She kicks my boot and lets out a soft yelp. “Ouch.”
“Don’t mess with me, young lady. I’ll outsmart you at every turn.”
She shakes her head. “That sounds like a threat. Are you threatening me?”
“No more than that imaginary gator is threatening you.”
She rolls her eyes, and I nudge her shoulder, which gets a gorgeous grin out of her.
God, this girl is infuriatingly cute. She’ll literally be the death of me.
There’s a lull in the conversation as the sun begins to sink closer to the horizon. Even with the music playing in the background, I’m the one who finds the silence between us uncomfortable this time.
“When I was a teenager, our house was robbed, so I hid a gun in a hole in the side of my mattress to protect my family,” I say.
She flashes me a tight-lipped smile. “So you saw my gun hole?”
“No, but I would sure like to,” I chuckle.
She gasps and smacks my arm. “Colton!”
I continue to laugh as I lean away from her. “Is that where you keep your gun when you’re not waving it at strange men in bars? Do you even know how to use that thing, young lady?”
“Probably not as well as you can, but I reckon I can do some damage. Would you like a demonstration?”
I shake my head at her sass. “Someone needs to teach you about gun safety. A mattress is a terrible place to put your gun.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really. In case you haven’t noticed, it gets real hot out here in the summer. Memory foam mattresses retain a lot of heat. You should not be packing heat in something that retains heat. Let me buy you a proper gun case.”
She laughs. “Is there anything you don’t want to buy me?”
I smile as I think of the gift I have for Izzy inside my house. Maybe I should take it back. It’s an expensive gift for someone I supposedly barely know. But I sense our time together is coming to a close, and I can’t deny this intense desire to take care of her.
Besides, if the gift doesn’t scare her off, it will definitely bring us closer together, which is the whole point of this fucked-up operation.
Izzy snags something on her line — something big — but she doesn’t look very excited about it. In fact, she looks downright terrified.
“We should just cut the line,” she says, pulling her hands away as I reach for her rod to give her a hand. “It’s probably too big for us to eat. What if it’s a gator?”
I chuckle as I reach behind her and wrap my fingers around her tiny hand, which is coiled around the handle of the fishing rod. “I’ll help you reel it in.”
She gives a half-hearted tug as she attempts to resist me, but it doesn’t take more than a couple seconds before she completely rescinds control. “Don’t let me fall into the water,” she whispers, allowing me to pull her body closer to mine.
My other hand reaches over her thighs to provide support for the hand she’s using to hold the reel. I try not to, but I can’t help but take a heavy whiff of her brown hair. It smells like coconut and some kind of fruit I can’t quite put my finger on.
Good enough to eat.
Izzy clears her throat. “Excuse me, but I believe we were trying to reel in this river monster.”
I chuckle as I re-exert my grip on her hands. “Right. Got a little distracted by your scent,” I say, tucking my chin over her soft shoulder as she easily turns the reel with my help. “Is that perfume?”
“No, Mr. Versace Fancy Pants. It’s sunscreen. Banana Boat, if you must know,” she replies sarcastically, but the slight hitch in her voice tells me she’s struggling to breathe with me this close to her. Her heart must be pounding a mile a minute. “Oh, God,” she whispers. “I don’t want to know what I caught. Can we please just cut the line?”
I temper my smile as I realize she’s definitely afraid of something in the water getting revealed. If it’s not the suitcase she’s hidden down there, I’ll sell my first-born to the devil.
I lean in, placing my lips right next to her ear as I whisper, “Hold on, Jo-Jo,” I say, maintaining a firm grip on her hand as we slowly turn the reel. “This baby’s coming up fast.”
13. Izzy
August 4th
Colton’s scruffy jaw scrapes my cheek as he squeezes my hand, clasping it firmly in place as he “helps” me reel in my catch. I don’t know if he can tell that I’m resisting his help. I don’t think my suitcase would have come unattached from the pylon on my dock and floated all the way over here, but stranger things have happened. Like pretty much anything that’s happened over the last two months.
I try not to close my eyes and let myself give into him as he holds me so close, but it’s difficult. I want him to wrap those muscled arms around me, pin me down on the dock, and have his way with me.
Finally, he winds the reel back enough, and my catch slowly emerges from the dark green water. It’s a soggy brown parka that looks like it came off the body of a man twice Colton’s size.
I quickly let go of the fishing rod and squeeze my eyes shut in sheer terror. Colton barely manages to catch the rod before it falls into the lake.
“It smells!” I protest as I hear the soft click of the fishing line being reeled in. “Leave it in the water!”
The clicking stops and I feel Colton jostling around a bit before I hear the distinct snip of the plastic line being cut quickly followed by a sludgy splash. Opening my eyes, I see Colton’s hands in front of me, his arms still wrapped around me as he holds the fishing rod in his left palm and a large hunting knife in his right.
“It’s gone,” he mutters in my ear as he tucks the knife away somewhere I can’t see. “I hope that didn’t scare you.”
I shake my head, allowing myself to relax into him. “I’m okay. It just… It smelled like…like death.”
He’s silent for a moment before he replies, “Not the kind of smell you ever forget.”
My stomach sinks as I realize I’m not the only one here familiar with the dark perfume of death.
I turn to face him as he uncoils his arms from around my waist and sets the fishing rod on the dock next to his. “Do you think we should report it to the police?” I ask tentatively.
His eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Report what?”
I glance at the ripples in the water. “The jacket. What if it belongs to someone…someone who’s missing.”
I can barely bring myself to speak the words aloud, as if acknowledging that people sometimes vanish is equivalent to confessing I disappeared on purpose. The last thing I need is the cops sniffing around my property—especially my dock!—for clues to a possible missing persons case. But if that jacket slipped off someone’s body, and that body is still in the water, I’m sure their family would want to know.
As soon as this thought occurs to me, I realize I’m denying my mother the closure she may be seeking by not contacting her to let her know I’m alive and safe. But how can I do that without being found by the people I stole the suitcase from?
And just like that, I circle back to the question that kicked off this entire line of thinking: the police.
As an adult, I have the right to disappear. As long as I’m safe and I haven’t committed any crimes — and I doubt the people I stole the suitcase from reported my theft to the cops — then the police have no legal obligation to give my location to the person who filed the missing persons report in Las Vegas. If I contact the Vegas PD and tell them I’m fine, and I’m not actually missing, they’ll probably close the file.
There’s nothing illegal about changing your name, dyeing your hair a different color, or gaining weight. Is it illegal to abandon a dead body in the bathroom of a brothel?
Colton lets out a sexy chuckle. “Watching you have silent epiphanies is quickly becoming one of my favorite things to do,” he says, ignoring my question as he gets to his feet and offers his
hand to help me up. “I won’t ask what you were thinking about right now unless you want to share it with me. Then I’m all ears.”
I take his hand, and my heart skips a beat as his hard callouses rub against my palm. “More like all muscle,” I reply as he easily pulls me up.
We’re face-to-face now, our noses inches apart as he looks down at me with a quiet hunger in his eyes. “How about you sit tight for a bit, and I’ll use these muscles to catch us some fish from my refrigerator?”
I swallow hard as I nod. “Good idea. Can you catch us three pieces of fish? One for each of us.”
Colton laughs as he lets go of my hand and bends over to pick up the fishing rods and tackle box. “There are three kinds of people in this world: Those who can count, and those who can’t,” he teases me. “Are you eating for two?”
I roll my eyes as we set off down the dock toward the shore. “One for you, one for me, and one for Steve. But if you want to give me some extra protein, I won’t turn it down.”
“I’d be happy to give you some extra protein,” he says with a sly grin.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I reply, giving him a gentle shove. “I was referring to giving me some extra fish.”
“Are you trying to bulk up?”
I want to be honest with him and tell him I need it so I don’t lose weight, but no one can know that. There are a lot of things no one can ever know about me. Will I ever be close to anyone again?
“Just don’t want to lose this,” I say, tapping my backside. “Then what will you spank when I’ve been bad?”
He stops walking and stares at me as I look back at him over my shoulder. “I have a feeling that mouth is going to get you in deep trouble.”
I wait until he’s caught up to me before I begin walking again. “Is that a promise?”
Please let it be a promise. I don’t know how much more of this neighborly flirting I can take.
He chuckles and nods toward some boulders near the fire pit. “Take a seat, young lady, before you hurt yourself. I’ll be back in a few.”
