by Alexi Venice
#SandyBottom
A Romantic Drama
_____________________________________
The San Francisco Mystery Series, Book 6
ALEXI VENICE
Copyright © 2019 Alexi Venice. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, corporations, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
ISBN: 978-1-4566-3393-6
Publisher: eBookIt.com
Editor: Rob Bignell
Cover Design: Bo Bennett and Alexi Venice
Books by Alexi Venice
The Monica Spade Series
Conscious Bias
The San Francisco Mystery Series
Bourbon Chase, Book 1
Amanda’s Dragonfly, Book 2
Stabscotch, Book 3
Tinted Chapstick, Book 4
Sativa Strain, Book 5
#SandyBottom, Book 6
The Pepper McCallan Series
Ebola Vaccine Wars
Svea’s Sins
Victus – Margaret River Winery (Part I)
Margaret River Winery (Part II)
The Starr Series
Australia’s Starr
Dedicated to your favorite beach
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Sex
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Message from Alexi Venice
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Bonus Material
One
San Francisco
Tired and hungover, Amanda joined Jen and Kristin in the morning sunlight of their modern kitchen. Despite the ache in her constricted brain cells, she leaned over and kissed Kristin’s mop of curls. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Morning,” Kristin said in her almost-two-year-old voice. An empty bowl of cereal sat before her with a few banana slices beside it.
As soon as Amanda sat down at the table, Kristin left her spot and squirmed onto Amanda’s lap, resting her tiny head on Amanda’s shoulder.
Amanda cradled Kristin while fighting back the nausea of wine consumed the night prior. “How’s my girl?”
“Good,” Kristin said.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Jen asked while rinsing a wash cloth.
“Swell. You?”
“Fine, but I didn’t drink much. You and Tommy hit it pretty hard last night.” A hint of disapproval bled through Jen’s tone.
“Yeah, well, the trauma of bullets flying over my head, and Kara Montiago jumping out of a window were a little much.” Amanda rested her palm on her forehead to hold her throbbing head in place. “Wine helped.”
“I can’t believe you were in the line of fire again. It’s becoming a dangerous habit for a District Attorney.” Jen wiped banana from Kristin’s sticky fingers. “Kristin and I love you, and we’re afraid you won’t return home from work one day.”
Amanda covered Jen’s tanned hand with her own. “I know. I’m not sure how much longer I want this job if it involves me in the field so much.”
“You? Not San Francisco’s fearless District Attorney?” To soften her remonstration, Jen kissed the side of Amanda’s head.
Amanda closed her eyes and leaned in for a fleeting second. She struggled to choose her words wisely to avoid fostering false expectations, because she wasn’t sure in her heart-of-hearts whether she wanted to leave her current post. “I’m just saying, either I need to redefine my role, or I need to do something else. Being shot at from point-blank range by Montiago was pretty terrifying.”
Jen sighed. “I can only imagine. I’ll fix you a cup of coffee and get you an Aleve.”
“Thanks.”
Jen returned to the counter, whipped some half-and-half in a cup, then added black coffee and a heaping spoon of sugar. “You sound serious about looking for a normal job, and that makes me very happy.”
“I’ll think about it.” Amanda needed to shut down the topic before Jen took the conversation to the next level, perhaps googling suitable careers for ex-DAs. “Are we still planning to go to Wisconsin for some R&R for a couple of weeks at your parents’ lake cabin?”
Jen brought Amanda’s coffee to the table, her deep blue eyes full of excitement. “Yes! If you want to, I mean. I was serious last night when I offered it, so I hope you aren’t messing with me. Kristin and I really want to go.”
“Go!” Kristin imitated from Amanda’s lap, raising her head to see Jen’s reaction.
“I want to get to know your family better, and there’s no time like the present,” Amanda said.
“Is it still okay if Tommy joins us?” Jen whispered in case he walked in on them any second.
“Of course, but I’m not sharing a room with him.”
Jen laughed. “The guest house is a four-season home with two bedrooms. You, Kristin and I should stay there. Tommy can stay with my brother, Jake, in his cabin.”
“How many cabins does your family own?” Amanda gingerly raised the coffee mug to her lips around the side of Kristin’s head.
“We have ten acres of shoreline, and my parents live in the main cabin. Jake built one next door. Duncan, with his fat professional football player salary, built an ostentatious cabin next to Jake’s. Patrick, my smart, idealistic brother, is still planning his dream cabin, and I have nothing but 100 feet of wooded shoreline on the south end of the property. Who knows if I’ll ever build.”
Amanda regarded Jen over the rim of her mug. “I didn’t know you owned shoreline property. Now I really have to see this place.”
Jen shrugged. “It was generous of my parents to give each one of us a parcel. I think they were trying to get us in one spot, so they could have easy access to their current and future grandchildren.”
Amanda’s heart flip-flopped. “Not thinking of moving back, are you?”
Jen returned to tidying the kitchen. “No. Just describing my family situation. Shall I work on plane tickets today?”
“I don’t want to fly commercial,” Amanda said. “Let me talk to daddy.”
“Jack,” Jen corrected. “Let’s leave in the next few days though, okay?”
“I’m all for that. I’d like to relax on a beach with a good book.”
“We regularly put a plastic Adirondack chair in the lake—“
“Just a sec,” Amanda interrupted, picking up her vibrating phone from the table. “Chance Greyson just texted me.”
“Ah, the media fixer takes precedence,” Jen mumbled.
Amanda shook her head while reading Chance’s text. “Ah…Jen?”
Jen straightened. “Yeah?”
Tears clouded Amanda’s eyes, still puff
y from staying up too late with Tommy. “I have to tell you something that you won’t like.”
“Chance just ruined our vacation, didn’t he?” Jen joked, but not really.
“I seriously hope not,” Amanda said in an ominous tone. She took a breath before continuing. “I’m so sorry, but I didn’t see this coming. Chance and I planned for the North Koreans to release the nude selfie of me that I texted to you, but this—” She waved at her phone. “I didn’t know this pic even existed.” Amanda set her phone face down on her leg, rubbing it back and forth. “You know I love you, and only you, right?”
“Yes.” Jen moved to Amanda’s side and held out her hand. “Show me.”
“Please forgive me.” Amanda reluctantly handed her phone to Jen. “I had no idea.”
Jen stared at a photo of Amanda and Roxy MacNeil in bed, their heads resting on the pillow next to each other, satisfied looks on their faces, the tops of their chests bare, obviously naked in the afterglow of sex. Even through the photo, Roxy’s mysterious eyes—like indigo-colored coral leering from the bottom of the sea—provoked Jen’s fury.
Amanda watched equal parts of anger and pain claim Jen’s face. After what seemed an eternity, Jen asked in a low, barely-controlled voice, “When and where?”
Over the intensifying roar of the locomotive in her brain, Amanda said, “Remember when Roxy and I went to New York, and I was shot? The CIA extracted us to Cape Cod, and…ah…well… This is what I told you about previously. It’s the same day. It isn’t a different time. Like, just one night, you know? I already told you about this, but Roxy must have taken this pic. I don’t remember because I was so wasted.”
Hearing Amanda say Roxy’s name was like an ice pick to Jen’s heart. “You were in Cape Cod too?” Jen’s lips compressed into a thin line, her aquiline nose flaring with anger.
“Uh, yeah. Remember? That’s where the team brought us—to the summer house of Peter Sinclair, the director of the CIA. He needed a report, and he took good care of us.”
“I’ll bet he did.” Jen started snapping her knee back and forth while resting her hands on her hips. “You shared a bed with Roxy the entire time you were hiding out on the Cape?”
Amanda looked up at Jen like a school girl being disciplined, Kristin still sitting on her lap. “We were there only one night, maybe two. I can’t remember now. The physician gave me Vicodin, and I was high on valium and wine. It was at the peak of my addiction. Unbeknownst to me, Roxy took this selfie. I know I’m looking at the phone, but I honestly don’t remember her taking it. I’m so sorry…”
Jen’s eyes turned to ice, and her voice dove dangerously low. “You texted me, telling me how much you missed me. Were you in bed with her when you sent those texts?”
“Um, no?” Amanda said cautiously, hoping that was the truth, and if not, that Jen would believe her anyway.
Jen raised a blonde eyebrow.
“I don’t think so,” Amanda said confidently.
“Yes or no?” Jen asked.
“Definitely not,” Amanda said emphatically, her eyes growing wide.
Jen’s eyes narrowed into combative slits, her voice now a menacing growl. “Let me guess, and now this pic is going public, so Chance texted you.”
“I’m so sorry,” Amanda covered her face with her hands. “You know I had no idea, right?”
“I’m not stupid, Amanda. You obviously had some idea a selfie might go public . That’s why we took the engagement photos, so you could counteract this slimy pic with our wholesome look in the outdoors— ”
“It’s not like that,” Amanda cut in. “We took the engagement photos to counteract my nude selfie to you . I didn’t even know this pic existed.”
“Like I believe that! I’m beginning to wonder whether you sent your nude selfie to Roxy too. Was that part of your covert affair?”
Amanda blinked in shock. “No! Of course not. You know better than that. I took it and sent it to you during my campaign when I was trying to win you back. I was a fool. Please forgive me.”
“How can I believe anything you say?” Jen snarled. “You seem hellbent on living a dangerous life on the edge. A double life. You’re one person at home and another when you go out the door.”
“That’s not true and you know it,” Amanda pleaded. “You know I regret my one indiscretion with Roxy more than anything else in the world—”
“Don’t lie to me, you B-I-T-C-H,” Jen hissed. “One indiscretion, my A-S-S. You probably shagged each other a thousand times in New York, Cape Cod, and on the fancy CIA jet back to California.”
Amanda chose to lie under the circumstances. “Of course not. It was just the once. Please, Jen. Please forgive me.”
The tiny wrinkles on Jen’s forehead smoothed away as her eyebrows flared, and her ears pulled back like an angry, pedigreed dog. Amanda had seen that murderous look before, and it didn’t bode well.
Still clutching Amanda’s phone, Jen calmly walked to the sliding door and went out on the balcony. Amanda and Kristin watched Jen draw back her athletic arm and hurl Amanda’s phone as far as she could up and over the fence of their small yard.
Amanda shuddered in disbelief when she heard the crash on the street.
Kristin clapped.
Jen returned to the kitchen, shook out her arm and stared at Amanda. “You are no longer welcome at my family lake cabin. Kristin and I, and Tommy if he wants, will leave as soon as I can get a flight. We’re so done. Goodbye, Amanda.” She leaned down and picked up Kristin, then stormed toward the staircase.
Amanda stared in disbelief at the rapidity with which their relationship had gone from sunshine to dust. She rubbed her eyes in an effort to help her bruised brain process what had transpired.
Tommy chose that moment to enter the kitchen.
She splayed her fingers over her watering eyes when she heard him rattled the coffee pot. Wearing a white T-shirt, plaid boxers and black dress socks, his bedhead was sculpted into the shape of the TransAmerica Pyramid. There were blood stains on his right deltoid where a white bandage protruded under his sleeve.
He turned and rested his butt against the counter. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Amanda moaned in return, her throat clenching around Jen’s tirade.
“Are you hungover or crying?” he asked.
“Both.” She let her hands fall to her lap.
Clothing his question in a gentle tone, he asked, “Did I do something stupid again?”
“No. I can do stupid all by myself.”
“With Jen?” he asked.
“Who else?” She drank from her mug then said, “The North Koreans published a pic of Roxy and me in bed when we were in Cape Cod.”
His eyes flashed, but he quickly sipped his coffee, masking his expression.
“I’d show you, but Jen threw my phone over the balcony onto the street. I heard it break from all the way up here.”
“You should go get it,” he said. “You’ll need the SIM card for your new phone.”
“I suppose you’re right. If a car hasn’t run over it, that is.” She dragged herself from her chair and went to the front door, impervious to her appearance in her tank and nylon shorts. Once she reached the sidewalk, she quickly rounded the corner and nabbed her phone from the edge of the street. It wasn’t flattened by a car tire, but the screen was spider-webbed.
When she returned, Tommy was pressing slices of bread down in the toaster. “Do you have any eggs?”
“I’m sure we do. Look in the fridge,” she said, cleaning her phone with a paper towel.
“Can you make some scrambled eggs?” he asked.
She pierced him with a what-the-fuck? look.
“Right.” He shrugged. “I just thought, ‘if you were making them for yourself, then...’” He caught sight of her disbelieving expression. “I’ll tell you what—why don’t I make some bacon and eggs for both of us?”
“I don’t want anything,” she murmured while entering the passcode into her phone.
“That sucks,” he said.
“Tell me about it. Those bastards.”
“Where are Jen and Kristin?” he asked.
“Upstairs. She disinvited me to her family lake cabin, but you’re still welcome apparently.”
“Pretty serious, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll go talk to her.” He turned off the burner and disappeared up the stairs with his coffee in hand.
Amanda was afraid to follow for fear of igniting another outburst in front of Kristin.
Instead, she slinked down to the basement and showered in the bathroom off the yoga space. The hot water felt good, as she attempted to wash away the nightmarish events of Kara Montiago’s death and Jen’s obdurate insistence on making Amanda pay over and over for her hookup with Roxy.
Amanda could’ve sworn they’d already confronted, and recovered from, her one-time indiscretion with the Scottish MI-6 agent, but apparently Jen’s feelings could be reignited with one fucking photo. Amanda cursed Roxy, wine, valium and Vicodin, and pot while she was thinking about all her vices. One tryst of reckless sex with Roxy had brought everything to a head.
Jen had been right, of course. Amanda and Roxy had fucked each other a thousand times from Cape Cod to San Francisco. While good, the sex hadn’t been as good as what Amanda felt with Jen. She regretted every second of it, but Jen didn’t need to know any of that.
She had already told Jen that Roxy meant nothing. Hadn’t they already moved beyond this? Hadn’t Jen made Amanda pay? Amanda had gone to inpatient rehab for drug addiction. She had stayed away when Jen had asked her to. She had even watched Jen date some muscle-bound woman from the CrossFit box. Amanda had juggled an entire re-election campaign while carefully courting Jen. Then, working tirelessly and romantically at sobriety and loyalty, she had won Jen back, even buying her a new engagement ring. What more could she do? She couldn’t erase the past. She thought she had properly atoned, but apparently she was mistaken.
They were engaged for God’s sake. Shouldn’t they be using the next few weeks to plan a wedding instead of fighting?
