Six Night Stand (The Lexingtons Book 3)

by Kevin Sean

  I need to find Ben—and I need to do it fast. Time is running out before the weather goes haywire again and something terrible happens to him. I push past trees and enter the thick forest which encircles my home.

  As I race around the island searching for Ben, troubling images flash through my mind. I can’t help but see him lying there with limbs askew, covered in blood, crying for help. My imagination is out of control. My brain is filling in blanks with pessimistic abandon.

  I shake myself out of it by calling out again. “Ben! Ben, are you out there?” I pause a moment, praying that this time I’ll hear a response. “I’m sorry for everything,” I add to my call, unwilling to give up.

  But I’m met with nothing. Absolutely nothing. The silence is so palpable that it’s suffocating.

  I think I hear something behind me so I spin on my feet and turn in the opposite direction. I’m facing an empty clearing in the woods. It must have been a falling branch or trick of the wind which made that noise, because I don’t see a damn thing, let alone Ben Carpenter. I’m on the verge of admitting defeat and throwing myself to the ground in frustration when I notice that the trees and shrubs on the other side of the clearing have been trampled on and pushed aside.

  Ben was here.

  I realize immediately that the dock lies right on the other side of that clearing. This confirms my far that Ben might try to take a boat out on his own. The thought chills me to the bone. He doesn’t know how to operate one of those things on a good day, let alone in the middle of a freak storm.

  I know Ben, and he would never do anything as impulsive and reckless as stealing a boat. No, he’d never do anything reckless besides… spilling frosting on strangers in bakeries. And coming to my island mansion to hook up with me. And running away from shelter and into a raging storm. Okay, so maybe Ben is capable of making questionable decisions.

  The more I think about it, the more possible it seems that Ben might have attempted to escape from this island using one of my boats if he happened to be overcome by a particularly passionate bout of emotion. Which he definitely has been.

  If that’s what Ben opted to do, it’s a horrible idea. The storm may have calmed for the time being, but it’ll be raging in full force again any minute now.

  Time to pray that I’ll catch him before he gets a boat started. I sprint across the clearing and through the trees, making my way to the dock at lightning speed.

  “Ben!” I yell again, living out the textbook definition of insanity by doing the same thing repeatedly while expecting different results. Yet again, there is no answer to my desperate cries.

  In a minute’s time I reach the weathered wooden dock. Dark, turbulent waves toss against the crooked line of mahogany planks extending out into the bay. Someone, probably Ben, has thrown the gate to the dock open.

  My worst fears are confirmed: a boat is missing. All that remains in its wake is the nylon rope which once restrained the vessel. Now the line lies limp and untied on the wooden dock.

  Ben has made a run for it on my powerboat.

  For a moment I consider taking the remaining boat and searching for Ben on the open water, but I know I’ll regret it in a matter of minutes: the storm is getting worse and worse by the second. Water from the sky isn’t drizzling anymore, it’s pouring hard.

  I squint and see a tiny white dot that I assume is Ben. Second by second it grows tinier, disappearing into the foggy horizon and drawing ever nearer to the storm clouds. I need to go rescue him. But how?

  Quick, Logan, think. Think! I can’t take a boat, because the second powerboat he left behind is slower and won’t be able to catch up to Ben. I can’t exactly chauffeur a limo either. I squint again, watching the dot I presume to be Ben shrinking even smaller and smaller. In a minute or two he’ll disappear completely. I need to hurry.

  How the hell am I going to fix this? A powerful gust of wind pushes me sideways and further highlights that time is of the essence.

  I realize that I don’t stand a chance of rescuing Ben via boat, so I sprint back toward the mansion. When I’m halfway back to my front door, I realize where I ought to head and shift my direction. I need to go to the hangar.

  When I arrive the first thing I grab is a specific walkie talkie handset. I’m positive that its twin is in the supply kit on the boat Ben took. I doubt it will connect with its companion from such an interminable distance, but I’m desperate. I try sending a message to the runaway to no avail.

  “Ben!” I call over and over again into the plastic device’s microphone. I’m answered with static and silence.

  Okay, alternative plan. I turn around and realize that Plan B is staring me straight in the face: right in front of me, ready to go for a spin, is my private helicopter. I have a special helicopter pilot—Mr. Mulligan—chartered to take me where I want to go, but there’s no time for obtaining a professional. This is do or die. Either I do, or Ben dies.

  So I jump into the tiny helicopter and assess the controls. It’s immediately clear to me that I’m unequipped for this job. I do not understand what any of these buttons or levers do.

  I whip out my phone and dial Mr. Mulligan’s number. I hold my breath while the phone rings, begging the universe to lend me a hand and compel the helicopter pilot to answer so he can guide me through starting and operating this machine.

  No such luck: I’m sent straight to voicemail. Fuck!

  I throw the phone back into my pocket and decide to wing it. I’ve already wasted precious time. I should be already be on my way to Ben. I must get this helicopter into the air myself.

  There’s only one button I’m confident in the purpose of: it’s bright red and says OPEN ROOF. The hangar’s roof is retractable and can open up to allow for landings and departures. Before I can take off, I need that roof out of the way.

  So I slam down this button. To my relief it triggers the exact response I expected: the metal above me pulls away and reveals the stormy open sky. Raindrops splatter on the helicopter’s windshield.

  Okay. That was easy. Now let’s get this hunk of metal up in the air. I have a feeling that will be a little more challenging than getting the roof to open.

  Indeed, the next button I press doesn’t lift me up into the air—instead it emits an ear-splitting beeping noise. I scramble, trying to shut the hideous sound off. I’m searching for a way to disable it when a hand reaches in and presses a combination of buttons. The shrill beeps cease.

  I look up and see that my Polish housekeeper has gotten in to the helicopter.

  “Katarzyna?” I ask, surprised to see her.

  “Mr. Logan! I’ve been looking all over the mansion for you and Mr. Ben. Do you know where he is?”

  I gulp. “He ran away. Ben went to the dock, untied a boat and… left.” Saying this out loud makes Ben’s disappearance even more real and sends a wave of fresh pain shooting through me.

  Katarzyna’s face furrows with concern. “What?! In this weather? We need to save him, Mr. Logan!” She throws her hands up in despair.

  “That’s what I’m trying to do, but getting this helicopter in to the sky is hopeless. I have no clue what purpose any of these buttons serve,” I moan.

  “Move over,” Katarzyna commands. I comply. She plops down in the pilot’s seat and returns her attention to the control console. “Okay, let us pray that I remember how to do this…” she grumbles, deep in concentration.

  “You know how to operate a helicopter?” I ask, dumbfounded by this revelation.

  Katarzyna looks at me as though I just asked where babies come from or what two plus two equals. “Of course I know how to fly a chopper! I was in the Polish air force for many years.”

  “Why didn’t you say so before?” I spit out, not sure whether I’m breathless from exhaustion or shock.

  “You never asked!” She says. A sarcastic look accompanies her retort, as if helicopter piloting is the most ordinary, mundane pastime and I’m the weird one.

  “Well, it never came up in con
versation before…” I stammer.

  “Typical American!” She chuckles. Before I have time to ask Katarzyna to expand further on her stereotype of Americans being afraid to ask about one’s helicopter pilot credentials, she has turned away from me and back to the controls.

  As Katarzyna works, I pace and try not to think about how much time has already passed us by. I can’t bear the thought of Ben being scared and alone any longer than necessary.

  Suddenly, my pocket comes alive with ringtones and vibration. I answer my phone with the rapidity of a soldier detonating a hand grenade. I’m hoping it’ll be my helicopter pilot or, by some miracle, Ben. Instead, I’m greeted by the elderly voice of my prim and proper investor, Mrs. Melanie M. Montgomery.

  “Mr. Lexington, I presume,” the wealthy woman says. She sounds like she’s in a foul mood.

  “Can I help you?” I say. Normally I’d be more personable, but I’m a little preoccupied.

  “You should have helped me ages ago,” she says, venom in her voice. “I’ve been trying to get in to contact with you for days so we could discuss your projections for LexTech’s fall quarter profits. I find it unacceptable that you have yet to respond to me after multiple attempts at communication,” she continues, incensed.

  “Whoops, my bad,” I say. Honestly, I’m more focused on Katarzyna’s efforts than this phone call. I hear Mrs. Montgomery cluck her tongue. My nonchalance must annoy her. With so many more pressing matters on my mind, it’s impossible for me to maintain my professional composure. “Listen, lady, I won’t tell you how to live your life, so don’t tell me how to live mine. I’m indisposed at the moment because of a personal emergency, but I'll have my secretary send you some projections. All right?” I hear my aggravation in the tinny echo of my voice.

  “Why I never,” Mrs. Montgomery harrumphs on the other end of the line. “I can’t believe I’m being spoken to in such an unprofessional manner. And by a CEO! Logan Lexington, of all people! I have half a mind to ring Dalton Elijah myself right now and put all of my money into Photogram instead,” she hisses. “At least that company has the decency to inform the investors who are helping them to make a profit.”

  I’m lacking in patience at the moment, so I let loose. “If all you care about is profit, be my guest and jump ship for Photogram. I hope you sleep well after lining your pockets with money made off of the backs of exploited employees and creatives,” I spit into the phone. Dramatic, yes—but not untrue. Photogram’s profits may not be blood diamond levels of dirty money, but they aren’t earned very honestly either.

  I may have just lost an important source of capital for my corporation, but I don’t give a damn. All I care about right now is rescuing Ben and being reunited with the man I love.

  I hear Mrs. Montgomery huffing, but before she can tear me a new one, Katarzyna grabs the phone out of my hand. My housekeeper lets out a string of what must be profanities in Polish and then hangs up, tossing the phone out of the helicopter.

  “No time for that old hag’s silliness!” Katarzyna yells at me. “We have to go now, look at the sky!” She points upwards and I see she’s right. It’s only mid-afternoon, but the storm clouds have blocked out the sun and it appears as if it could be midnight.

  Katarzyna returns her attention to the controls. She works in a flurry as she flicks switches and pulls on levers. The machine sputters to life and the rotor blades spin. They rotate slowly at first, but within seconds increase to an impressive speed. We lift off and ascend into the stormy sky.

  I guess Katarzyna wasn’t lying when she said she had helicopter experience—this thing is taking off, and fast. I don’t want to give myself false hope, but I consider that this means we’ll be able to save Ben.

  “Chroń nasze życie, Boże,” Katarzyna yells out, making a cross in front of herself with her fingers. I don’t know what she’s saying, but it doesn’t sound like a positive message of affirmation.

  Oh, God. Does she expect us to die?

  As if mother nature is reading my mind, a bolt of lightning slices the sky in half, lighting up the interior of the helicopter with its brilliance. I hold my breath until I hear the booming roar of thunder a few moments later.

  Poor Ben is alone in this terrible tempest. There’s no way he could have made it across the water yet, and this insane weather will make matters even worse for him. I’d give anything to hold him right now. I wish I had him here, safe and sound and in my arms. Instead of being with me, he’s all alone on the open water, with nothing and no one to protect him from this storm.

  Soon we’re soaring high and far from the island. To my left I see the Golden Gate Bridge, to my right I see storm clouds and the vast Pacific Ocean. Why can’t I see Ben?

  “Do you see him?” I shout up to Katarzyna, who shakes her head and keeps her eyes looking ahead. Right, she has piloting this damn thing to focus on.

  It’s up to me to find Ben, so I continue scanning the horizon for a white boat. I can’t help but notice that the waves are getting bigger and more intense. Rough waters such as these are too much for the boat Ben took to handle. If they get any worse, the waves could very well capsize him.

  Suddenly, I see Ben: a tiny speck of white amongst the deep navy of the bay waters.

  “There he is!” I shout. I point in his direction.

  “We have to get lower… grab on to something, Mr. Logan, it’s about to get very bumpy,” Katarzyna says. She hunches over and adopts an even more intense expression. I’m scared out my mind, but having Katarzyna behind the controls of this thing gives me some much needed relief.

  I have faith that my housekeeper can get us down to Ben—he just needs to hold out for five more minutes.

  The further we descend, the more turbulent it gets. We’re about halfway to Ben when a powerful bout of wind strikes us, veering us off course. For a moment it feels like we’re about to flip upside down, or that the rotors might spin off. Luckily no such thing happens, but I still feel shaken up. While Katarzyna stabilizes the helicopter I grab onto a supporting bar overhead.

  The lower we go, the more defined the boat becomes. I can see the wood panels on the deck and the outline of the control center. I can also see that the waves are battering the hell out of my boat. Some splash up high enough to cover But I don’t see Ben… where is he? My heart stops for a second while I scan the powerboat from above.

  When we get a little closer, you’ll see him, I try to convince myself—without success.

  I’m about to cry when a mighty wave slams into the boat and nearly tips it over. When the boat lurches back to an upright position, I see a body tumble out from under a tarp: Ben’s body.

  Did he pass out? He must be hurt. I can’t tell from this distance if he’s moving or breathing. I don’t let myself assume the worst, because if I do I’ll be too paralyzed with despair to be of any use in the rescue mission.

  “We’re close enough: let down the rope ladder!” Katarzyna shouts over the roaring of the wind. She points to a pile of rope which is knotted intricately around two enormous hooks to attach it to the helicopter floor.

  I react immediately, heeding her orders by unfurling the rope, tossing open the door, and throwing the ladder down towards the imperiled powerboat below.

  “I’m going down!” I yell in Katarzyna’s direction.

  “Good luck, Mr. Logan!”

  There’s no time for trepidation so I swallow my fears, grab onto the rough rope of the ladder with all my might… and climb down. I’m coming, Ben.

  The journey down the ladder is arduous and feels much longer than I expected. Even though I’m descending as quick as I can, more than once the wind and rain are so bone-chilling and brutal that I have to pause and wait for them to calm before I can continue.

  Finally, I’m near the boat. Ben’s face is in focus now, and I can see that his chest is rising and falling. Thank God. He’s alive. He’s breathing.

  This inspires me to reach him even faster, so I sprint like a madman down the fi
nal rope rungs of the ladder. When I reach the end I jump down, landing with both feet on the boat’s deck, right next to Ben. I tie the rope ladder to a nearby hook on the ship and rush to Ben’s side.

  He stirs when I lean down and shake him. “H-hello? Where am I?” he murmurs. Before I can answer, a wave splashes onto us from behind and sends me onto the floor next to Ben.

  There’s no time for explanation, only action. I can fill him in on the details of this rescue after we’re both safe and sound.

  “Let’s go,” I say, helping Ben to his feet. He stands straight for all of three seconds before his knees buckle and he goes down again.

  It’s clear that he’s in no condition to scale this ladder. It’s also clear that this boat doesn’t plan on staying afloat much longer. I make the snap decision to grab Ben and throw him over my shoulder. I wish I could be more delicate and careful, but time is of the essence.

  Without further ado, I unhook the ladder and pull the two of us up. Ben isn’t very heavy, but even on a sunny day it’s no simple task to haul two bodies up a rope ladder suspended from a helicopter. In the middle of a storm like the one we’re trapped in, it’s damn near impossible.

  “Go!” I scream upwards while flashing a thumbs up to indicate the mission was a success. I hope Katarzyna can see me.

  It seems that she does, because the ladder swings more intensely as the helicopter rises. The windier it gets and the further we swing in each direction, the looser my grip on the ladder becomes. Now I’m afraid that I won’t be able to support both of our weight much longer.

  I can’t stomach the idea of letting go of this rope, but I also can’t dangle like this forever.

  Right on cue, I feel the ladder tug upward. Katarzyna must be pulling us back into the helicopter. But how? My mind swells with questions as another dozen stilted tugs bring us within arm’s reach of the open helicopter door.

  When I’m close enough for both of my hands to reach the chopper I grip onto the door frame and use every ounce of strength remaining in my body to propel both Ben and myself into the helicopter. It works—we go flying and land in a tangled heap on the metal floor.