Dragonfly Summer (A Smith Mountain Lake Novel Book 2)

by Inglath Cooper

  “I always behave,” I say.

  “With guys you’re not attracted to,” he says.

  “Evan.”

  “Are you denying it?” he asks, taking aim at something on the TV screen and blasting away.

  Since I can’t, I just say, “Come on, Noah, Molly. I’ll be home early, Ev.”

  “Believe it when I see it,” he calls out as I shut the door behind us.

  Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.

  – Percy Bysshe Shelley, Prometheus Unbound

  Bowie

  IT’S ALMOST DARK when we take our wine glasses down to the dock, pulling chairs to the edge, facing Smith Mountain where the fireworks should soon begin.

  The dogs are in the house, snoozing in a connected huddle.

  “That was an amazing meal,” Keegan says, setting her glass down on the dock.

  “Lasagna was my mom’s specialty. Mine doesn’t compare to hers but I like to make it because it makes me think of her and my dad. He loved her cooking.”

  “Tell me about them,” she says.

  “I lost them both about ten years ago. They had gone to New York City for a shopping trip before Christmas. They were on the subway headed back to their hotel when a man tried to rob the passengers. An undercover police officer was in the car and tried to stop him. The guy just started shooting. My parents and three other people were killed.”

  “Oh, Bowie,” she says, looking at me with horror in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “They didn’t deserve to die like that. No one does, but they were kind people. Tried to live right. Give back.”

  Keegan reaches over and covers my hand with hers. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. I feel her sympathy.

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  “No. I was the only one.”

  “That has to make it a lot harder.”

  “It would be nice to have someone else who remembers them the way I remember them. To share memories with.”

  We’re quiet for a good bit, and then I say, “I try not to lead with that when I talk about my parents. It’s not what they would want to be remembered for. My dad loved this lake so much. He really wanted to retire here. I wish he’d had the chance to do that.”

  “I bet he’d like knowing that you’re here.”

  “I think he would. He always wanted the place to stay in the family.”

  “It’s nice that you have those kinds of roots. It’s what I always wanted most. Having family. I wanted to give that to my own children.”

  “I know it’s what you’re giving Evan.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Have you heard from your daughter?”

  She shakes her head, looking down at our joined hands. “Sometimes, I feel so worried about her I can hardly bear it.”

  I consider what I’m about to say because I don’t want to overstep lines I’m not certain I should cross. But the pain in her voice prompts me to say, “I still have friends who could possibly help, Keegan. Do you want me to talk with someone about looking for her?”

  “More than anything, I would like to say yes,” she says. “But she’s asked me to leave her alone.”

  “Maybe you just need to know she’s okay.”

  She meets my gaze then, and I see in her eyes how much she needs to know exactly that.

  The first lights blast out against the black sky then.

  “There they are,” I say.

  “Oh, wow,” Keegan says. “It’s beautiful.”

  The fireworks are an incredible display of color and sound. We sit, holding hands and watching the celebration for the next half hour or so.

  When it’s over, Keegan looks at me and says, “Can we sit out here for a while longer?”

  “As long as you like,” I say.

  “May I ask you something, Bowie?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Why isn’t there anyone in your life? I mean, a man like you—”

  She breaks off there, and while I could make light of the question, I decide that I owe her honesty. “I think I came to the conclusion at some point that being alone is better than being with the wrong person. Getting divorced was really awful.”

  “And you don’t want to go through any of that again?”

  “No,” I say.

  “Do you believe there’s a right person and that it’s just a matter of finding her?”

  “I always have. I think I still do.”

  “But it’s a risk.”

  “And Carson is pretty good company.”

  We both laugh, and then she says, “I’m not letting you off that easily though. You must get cakes and pies left at your door all the time.”

  “I could turn the tables and ask you the same question. Without the cakes and pies, of course.”

  She smiles.

  “So why isn’t there a man in your life?” I ask.

  She looks out at the lake for a moment, as if considering her answer. “I’ve had serious boyfriends over the years, but honestly, it just became easier not to have anyone in my life. People usually bring a lot of baggage with them.”

  “Yeah. But if it’s right, I guess their baggage should fit in the closet right next to your own.”

  “It should,” she agrees.

  “And then again, if it’s right, it probably wouldn’t matter if the fit was a little tight.”

  “Probably not.”

  We sit there for a good while, not saying anything further. Boats crisscross the lake, heading home after the fireworks display. A dog barks somewhere in the distance.

  I look over at her, reaching for her hand. She slips it into mine, and I pull her up from her chair. We study each other, neither of us bothering to hide the longing that has been building between us.

  She steps closer and places her hands on my chest, looking up at me, her lips parting slightly.

  Without any more thought about what might happen beyond this moment, this night, I pull her to me, kissing her long and full and deep. Without letting fear of being hurt creep in and crowd out what feels utterly right and good.

  And it is good. Kissing Keegan is like finding the purest spring water at the end of a mountain climb. I had no idea how much I needed this, needed her.

  She kisses me back as if she needs me in the very same way. I feel the heat of her skin, run my hands through the silk of her hair.

  “Should we go inside?” I ask against her ear.

  “Yes, please,” she says, urgency in the words.

  I swing her up in my arms then, walking back to the house while she keeps kissing me.

  “If I trip,” I say, my voice uneven, “it will totally ruin the romance of this gesture.”

  She giggles, and I feel better once we only have the stretch of grass to cover.

  Inside the house, I walk through the living room where all three dogs are curled up asleep on the couch, cracking an eye open to see what we’re up to and then promptly ignoring us. I carry Keegan straight to my bedroom, pushing the door open with my shoulder and then kicking it closed behind us.

  At the bed, I lower her carefully onto the mattress. She links her hands behind my neck and pulls me down beside her.

  Everything goes a little crazy then. She’s shoving my shirt off. I’m trying to unbutton her blouse. All the while, we’re still kissing and exploring each other’s body, heat and sweat and undeniable desire building between us.

  A slice of moonlight slashes through the open curtains, and I stop for a moment to study the incredibly beautiful woman lying in my bed.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I say.

  “Why?” she asks, sounding suddenly worried.

  “Because you’re too good to be true.”

  “I’m not, Bowie. I’m a regular girl who’s found a guy she finds amazing. If you feel the same way about me, then let’s just go with that. Okay?”

  I could think of plenty of reasons to argue with her, insist that one of us is likely to end up regretting this. Bu
t I push all that aside, close out everything except what is right here, right now. This crazy-good feeling of having found something worth stepping out on the limb for. And it is. She is.

  “Okay,” I say and kiss her again.

  But, instead of what our imagination makes us suppose and which we worthless try to discover, life gives us something that we could hardly imagine.

  ― Marcel Proust

  Keegan

  MY PHONE IS buzzing. It takes a moment for me to realize it’s in the side pocket of my dress.

  “Sorry,” I say as Bowie reluctantly pulls his mouth from mine, his hand on my waist.

  “Go ahead and get it,” he says, his voice low and desire-filled.

  “Just let me make sure it isn’t Evan,” I say, raising up on one elbow and squinting at the screen.

  Reece’s smiling face, along with her number, are all I can see. I fumble to pick it up, swiping the answer icon, and saying, “Reece? Are you there?”

  There’s no sound, and I’m terrified she’s already hung up, but then I hear her crying. Soft and low as if she’s trying to hide it but can’t.

  “Reece! Where are you? What’s wrong?”

  Bowie sits up in the bed beside me, a reassuring hand on my arm.

  “Mom?”

  Her voice is barely recognizable to me, weak and broken.

  “Reece,” I say, starting to cry now. “Tell me where you are.”

  “They took him,” she says, adding something I can’t understand.

  “Who?” I manage, trying to keep myself together when it’s all I can do not to sob. “Took who?”

  “My baby,” she finally says. “They took my baby.”

  Hope is patience with the lamp lit.

  – Tertullian

  Keegan

  I TRY TO PROCESS what my daughter has just said to me. A dozen questions scramble together in my brain so that I can barely form one.

  I’m sitting on the edge of the bed now, elbows on my knees, my head dropped forward in an attempt to ward off the dizziness swooping over me.

  Bowie takes the phone from my hand, clicks on speaker phone and hands it back to me. I realize that he wants to hear the conversation in case he can help, and I’m swamped with sudden gratitude.

  “Reece,” I say. “Honey, please, slow down. Tell me what you’re talking about.”

  “I just want him back,” she says.

  I hear the slurred edges of the words and feel panic hit the center of my chest. “Reece—”

  Call failed flashes on the screen, and she is gone.

  “Oh, no,” I say, hitting the green call icon to try and get her back.

  But the phone rings until her voice mail picks up. I try again with the same result.

  I look at Bowie and start to cry. “She has a baby. She kept the baby.”

  Bowie pulls me to him. I press my face to his chest and sob. “What can I do?” I ask, feeling helpless as I have never before felt.

  He leans back to look down at me, pushing my hair away from my face. “Let me make some calls. See if I can get a trace on her phone. We’ll start from there. Okay?”

  “Bowie. Oh, thank you. Thank you.”

  He pulls me to my feet, smoothing a gentle hand across my hair. “Don’t worry,” he says. “One step at a time.”

  I nod, biting my lip in an effort to hold back the sob at the back of my throat. I don’t know what to think. What to feel. Until terror for my daughter rises above everything else. Terror for her and for a baby I never knew she had.

  We secure our friends not by accepting favors but by doing them.

  – Thucydides

  Bowie

  I START WITH Mitch Kane, my oldest friend in the bureau. We had worked together for a half-dozen years until he moved to an intelligence analyst position. I’m hoping he still has the connections to get me a trace on the call Reece just made.

  I glance at the time, realizing it’s almost midnight. Mitch answers with a groggy hello.

  “Hey, Mitch. It’s Bowie Dare.”

  “Bowie? Hey. Hold on a minute.”

  I hear a rustling noise, a door opening and closing, and then he’s back with, “Hey, man. How are you?”

  “Good, Mitch. Sorry to be calling you so late.”

  “Not a problem. What’s up?”

  “I have a friend whose daughter might be in trouble. And she just called her mom from a cell phone.”

  “Need a trace?”

  “I’d owe you one.”

  “I don’t think you’ll ever owe me one, Bowie. You saved my life, remember?”

  “Still. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

  “I know that. Let me see what I can do. Give me the number.”

  Once he’s jotted it down, I say, “Thanks, Mitch. I’ll wait to hear from you. Hope I didn’t wake Darla up.”

  “Aw, you know she’s used to the phone ringing in the middle of the night. She’s gotten really good at ignoring it.”

  “Tell her I said hello.”

  “I will, man. Check you in a bit.”

  I end the call, looking up to find Keegan standing in the office doorway.

  “I hope it won’t take long,” I say.

  “Thank you. I really don’t know how to thank you.”

  I get up and walk over to her. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t. Let’s just work on finding her first and then take it from there.”

  “I know you’re right. I’m just imagining—”

  “Don’t,” I say, rubbing my thumb across her cheek. “Just wait, okay?”

  She closes her eyes and nods, saying, “I should call Evan.”

  “Go ahead,” I say. “I’ll let the dogs out.”

  “Thank you, Bowie. For everything. Thank you.”

  No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.

  – Charles Dickens

  Keegan

  I HAD TOLD Evan I would wait at Bowie’s until we heard back from his friend. It’s almost two o’clock when Bowie’s cell rings. We’re in the kitchen, drinking coffee, and the sound of the phone vibrates through me like thunder.

  Bowie answers, writing down what is being said to him on a yellow notepad. I sit on the barstool across from him, my hands clenched tightly together.

  He speaks to the man on the other end for a minute or two, then puts down the phone and looks at me. “The call came from a residence in Knoxville, Tennessee.”

  “Knoxville?” I repeat. “Are you sure?”

  He nods. “We can call the police there and ask them to check—”

  “No,” I say, becoming frantic. “I have to go there. I have to leave now.”

  “Keegan, wait. I’ll drive you. By the time you get a flight, it would be faster to drive.”

  I want to tell him that’s okay, that I’ll go myself. But the thought of having him with me, drawing on his strength, is one I can’t turn down. So I don’t.

  Let your advance worrying become advance thinking and planning.

  – Winston Churchill

  Bowie

  WE DRIVE TO Keegan’s house to leave the dogs with Evan. I wait outside while Keegan runs in to grab a few things from her room.

  She’s back in less than five minutes, jumping in the passenger seat of the Range Rover and insisting I drive.

  “Is Evan okay?” I ask, backing out of the driveway and gunning down the road.

  “He doesn’t know what to make of the call any more than I do,” she says. “He’s worried about her. Bowie, what if she’s—”

  “Let’s just get there as fast as we can,” I say. “You try to sleep. I’ve got the driving.”

  She’s quiet then, leaning back in her seat and staring out the window. I know she won’t sleep. Fear won’t let her. And so I do the only thing I know to do to help. Get her to her daughter as fast as possible.

  Come away, O human child: To the waters and the wild wit
h a fairy, hand in hand, For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

  – William Butler Yeats

  Keegan

  IT’S BARELY SEVEN in the morning when we hit the outskirts of Knoxville. Bowie has keyed the address into his GPS. It’s telling us we’re ten minutes away from the location.

  I’m so filled with anxiety that my chest feels tight with its inability to pull in air. Bowie reaches across and squeezes my hand, still saying nothing, because what is there to say?

  I have no idea what we’re going to find when we get there, and I can’t let myself consider all the possibilities.

  The GPS indicates we should take the next exit ahead. As soon as we reach the end of the ramp, it is apparent that the neighborhood is questionable at best.

  “Go right and proceed three-quarters of a mile to destination,” the GPS voice says.

  Bowie does exactly that, slowing the vehicle to a stop in front of a very rundown two-story house that might have once been a nice home. Now, its paint is peeling in huge layers. Tiles hang from the roof and the window shutters lean drunkenly from their once-straight perch.

  “This is horrible,” I say. “She couldn’t be in this place.”

  “You wait here,” Bowie says. “I’ll knock at the door.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I start, but he stops me with a raised hand, indicating I should stay put.

  I watch as he walks up the cracked concrete walkway and knocks at the door.

  A full minute passes before the door opens a little more than an inch, and a young girl sticks her head out.

  I watch Bowie talking to her, see her shake her head and try to shut the door. He stops her from closing it with one hand.

  I can see her better now. She’s dressed in torn jeans and a tattered T-shirt that is either brown or really dirty. Her teeth are the same brown as the shirt. I try to remember which drug has that effect on its users and come up with the word meth.