by Leo, Cassia
“Why wasn’t the break-in reported to police?” Stanley asks, his pink face taut with anger.
I shrug. “She didn’t want to report it.”
“And you just went along with it? You weren’t worried about your house being so close to a house that had just been broken into?”
I shake my head. “I’m not the worrying kind.”
“Clearly,” he mutters, pushing his chair out as if he’s going to stand, but he doesn’t. “Any idea who may have broken in? I mean, did Izzy seem upset or surprised she’d become a victim of such a terrifying crime so quickly after moving into her new home?”
I let out a sigh. “She looked scared, but I tried to reassure her she was safe.”
“How would you know if she was safe? Obviously, knowing what we know today, she wasn’t safe. So why would you tell her that?”
I chuckle. “I was trying to set her mind at ease. There’s no use in making her panic.”
He shakes his head. “Maybe you should have let her panic. Maybe then she wouldn’t be missing, huh?” He stares me down for a moment. “You don’t seem to give a shit that your neighbor, who you clearly cared for, is missing. Her blood is all over the scene of the crime. That doesn’t mean anything to you?”
Don’t fall for this asshole’s tactics. Don’t let him rile you up.
My jaw is clenched as I force myself to keep my mouth shut. Stanley and I stare each other down for a long, tense moment, my vision swirling with anger at his accusation. He has no fucking clue how much I care for Izzy. He has no fucking clue how much I regret.
The muscles in his face slacken as he seems pleased to have riled me up. “Did she easily agree to have a security system installed by you?”
I look away and stare at the drab gray wall for a change. “I guess.”
“So you knew the security code for the alarm?”
“No, sir.”
He shakes his head. “Well, do you know why the cameras weren’t operational the night she disappeared? I mean, we got footage every night up until last night. We got you two going in and out of that house every day up until Thursday. Izzy’s alone, coming and going out of the house on Friday and Saturday. Then, poof, she’s gone, and there’s no footage from yesterday. Seems pretty fucking convenient, don’t you think?”
“Actually, I think it’s pretty fucking inconvenient, but what do I know. I just want to find my fucking—friend.”
He smiles. “Your friend?”
I don’t respond.
He nods. “Seems like she was a lot more than a friend… Seems you two were getting pretty close… Care to elaborate on the nature of your relationship? Was it sexual?”
11 Izzy
August 3rd
I wake to find a note on the pillow next to me, Colton’s pillow. It reads:
At your house installing sec sys & new locks
My heart explodes into a hard sprint. Is Colton looking for the suitcase?
Jumping out of bed, I quickly get dressed in the T-shirt and shorts I arrived in last night. Then I fetch Steve from where she’s conked out on a rug in Colton’s living room.
The morning sunlight blazes in the clearing between my house and Colton’s. The glare on the lake burns blue spots into my vision as I race home. I burst through my back door, across the kitchen, and tumble into the living room, where I find Colton standing next to a keypad near the front door.
He looks up from his phone and smiles. “Good morning, sunshine,” he says in that drop-dead sexy country boy accent. “You’re just in time. I just finished setting up a temporary code for your security system. You can log into the manufacturer’s website to change the code. You just have to—” He tilts his head as he looks at me curiously. “Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost?”
I clutch the cramp in my side and nod. “I’m fine. Just… Just worried that… Just thought you might need a hand.”
He cocks an eyebrow as he steps toward me. “I installed glass-break detectors on all the windows,” he says, sidling up next to me so he can show me his phone screen.
He smells freshly-showered with a hint of salty sweat. The smell is intoxicatingly crisp and warm all at once, like cozying up next to a fire after a day on the slopes. His forearm bumps my arm as he sidles up next to me, and it sends a current of electricity crackling through me.
My shoulders suddenly feel weak, like I couldn’t lift my arms right now if my life depended on it. My legs have turned to jelly, and I lock my knees to keep myself upright.
Holy crap. Colton is my kryptonite.
“I also installed contacts on all the doors and windows and motion sensors in the living room and kitchen,” he continues, tapping something on his phone. “Anyone tries to get in here when the system is armed, an alarm will blare, and you’ll have forty-five seconds to disarm before the authorities are automatically contacted.”
Forty-five seconds to disarm? More like five seconds and one long whiff of his manly scent.
He steps sideways and shoots me a funny look. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I shake my head as I attempt to break the spell. “What the hell is that smell?”
He chuckles as he lifts the collar of his gray T-shirt to his nose to take a whiff. “Is it me? It might be me. I’ve been sweating up a storm.”
“Yes, it’s you. I mean—No! Actually, yes. But no, you don’t smell bad. It smells good. Is it, like, some kind of cologne or something? What is it? It’s driving me crazy.”
He laughs again as he lets go of his shirt and steps closer to me. “It’s Versace Eros. You want me to get you some?”
Only if it comes with a big side of Colton.
“No, thanks,” I reply, making no attempt to put more distance between us. “You could’ve woken me up, you know. I would have helped you install all of this. So what’s the temporary code?”
“Like I said, you’ll have to log into the manufacturer’s website,” he says, showing me the website on his phone. “Once you log in, you can change the password and email on your account. Once, you install the app on your phone, you can reset the security code.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and navigate to the website in my browser. “What’s the username to log in?”
“It’s my email address,” he says, then he rattles off a Gmail address for me to enter.
“The password?”
He doesn’t respond right away, so I look up to see what he’s waiting for. Our eyes meet and my breath catches in my throat.
He smiles as his eyes remain locked on mine. “JoJoMa. One word. No spaces. All lowercase.”
I let out a soft chuckle. “Jojoma? Like Yo-Yo Ma?”
“It’s just temporary,” he clarifies, turning his attention back to his phone.
I sigh as I type “jojoma” and tap enter to begin the process of changing the email address and password on my account. “Is there a monthly monitoring fee for this system?”
“You’ll have to contact the customer service number to activate the system and talk about that. The packaging said the system comes with six months free monitoring, but you’ll have to verify that. Do you want me to install the security cameras I picked up? If not, I can easily return them?”
I look up at him and cock an eyebrow. “You’re not going to ask me to pay you back for this system? How much did it cost?”
His gaze travels down my face, lingering briefly on my lips before he pulls back up to look me in the eye. “Actually, I was thinking you could just repay me by going fishing with me on the lake?”
A warm sensation spreads through me, and I can’t stop a goofy grin from forming on my face. “Are you asking me on a date?”
He chuckles. “Well, you’ve already slept in my bed, young lady. I figured we oughta share a meal at some point. Have you been fishing on Rhodhiss Lake yet?”
My smile disappears as I realize what he’s asking. “Nope,” I reply, trying to keep my tone even. “There’s probably gators in there.”
/> He shakes his head. “I’m not asking if you want to go diving for clams with me.”
My eyes widen at the innuendo.
He laughs again. “Not what I meant. I’m just asking if you want to hang those pretty legs off the dock and toss in a line. That’s all.”
I glance down at my bare legs and smile. “You think I have pretty legs?”
He tilts his head as his blue eyes bore into me. “I think about your pretty legs a lot.”
My stomach does somersaults inside me. “Well, you’ve convinced me. I think we should definitely go fishing.”
He flashes me a gorgeous smile. And as I follow him outside to say goodbye — for now — I have a hard time focusing on the words coming out of his sexy mouth. But it’s not just the butterflies in my belly and the pulsing ache between my legs distracting me. It’s our impending date.
I’ve never been fishing in my life. And I’ve sure as hell never gone fishing off a dock where I’ve tied a suitcase full of money to the pylons.
12 King
August 4th
I plunge the shovel into the hardened dirt about twenty feet from the water’s edge. The mineral aroma of fresh earth mixes with the briny smell of warm lake water and reminds me of summers in Tennessee. I inhale deeply, savoring the nostalgia like a fine wine.
When this job is finished, I’ll be lucky if I’m not in federal prison. Hell, I’ll be lucky just to be alive. I have to enjoy these small pleasures while I still can.
Today, I’m digging the ditch and shaping the walls for a new fire pit. After spending most of yesterday installing a home security system and new door hardware at Izzy’s house, it’s nice to get back to work on my own property.
It was almost too easy to get Izzy to agree to let me install a “security system” in her home. And my early-bird schedule, which I never could shake after leaving the military, made it all too simple to get the system set up and running before she woke yesterday morning. Not that she isn’t entirely without her doubts about my motives.
When Izzy woke in my bed yesterday and found a note saying I was at her property installing the security system, I’m pretty sure she panicked a bit. She arrived at her house with Steve about half-past eight looking like she’d seen a ghost.
I quickly set her mind at ease. She even took the bait when I distracted her from asking about the cost of the system. Ultimately, she thanked me profusely for helping with her “security crisis.”
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?”
