“I think Jesse and Jason were born sponges. They were way above the curve in everything. And I mean that. From lifting their head on their own to crawling to walking to toilet training to reading. They were doing high school coursework in middle school and college coursework in high school. Both of them. Is Jess kicking himself in the ass he missed it? Fuck yeah. Is he gonna stew on it for a while? Definitely. Is he gonna do anything else in the end but learn from it? No.”
“You sure?”
“You don’t think I know my boys?”
I did.
Because it was just obvious he knew his boys.
But I had more time with this family, and this man, and since I’d had it, we’d gone beyond the getting-to-know you through current events, and we could just say, even Bohannan thought there was buried treasure somewhere out there on that land.
Among all that learning, I’d also discovered that investigative, interrogative and profiling techniques weren’t the only training he’d given them.
Bohannan had been a Green Beret.
So there was also that.
In other words, they’d spent a lot of time together.
He wasn’t just their father and their teacher and their badass Zen master, they were a team.
I relaxed.
“There’s a new tree, up on the lookout,” he noted.
Oh, and I’d learned that.
I might not be doing cardio, as such. But when Bohannan wasn’t hunting criminals, he ran, and now, I hiked.
He’d run on trails through his trees on his domain, and I’d hike while he’d run.
Of course he’d run a lot farther than I’d hike, but we’d made it up to the lookout, which was an outcropping of rock, a steady uphill climb from the log cabin that had an amazing view of the lake and the town of Misted Pines.
It was his favorite spot on the land.
The sitting room was mine, but that was a close second.
“Two of them, just that one of them was planted last October,” he carried on.
“What are you talking about?”
“Two red cedars,” he said. “Slow growing, but if nothing happens to them, they could be there forever.”
I decided to just listen to his story. He always got to the point eventually.
“Jess put his up there alone. All three of us went up there when I planted Malorie’s.”
At that, I caught my breath.
“Your pumpkin pieces, those are under Alice’s tree. I got some bits of cardboard from the recycle locker in the city, that’s under Malorie’s. Now, those two girls will be up there long after we’re gone. And they’ll always have the best view all-around of Misted Pines.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
“Jess is fine, baby,” he said softly.
“Okay,” I replied, and from what he just shared, I knew he was.
Bohannan noted I knew it, turned his attention to finishing with the spices, put the lid back on the Crockpot and then came back to me.
“I wanna show you something,” he said.
He reached a hand to me.
I went to him and took it.
He led me to our bedroom.
I’d been hungry for enchiladas.
Now I wasn’t.
He left me at the bed and went to the closet.
He came out with a big box.
And now I was confused.
It was a sturdy brown box, the kind you mail stuff in.
The flaps at the top were loose, though. He’d already cut through the tape.
And therefore, when he made it to the bed beside me, and upended it, all the glory that was inside tumbled in a pile on the bed.
Bohannan reached to it and started tossing things out so I could see everything.
And there as a good deal of everything.
When it was all laid out like a smorgasbord of deliciousness, he straightened and turned to me.
“See anything interesting?”
My gaze drifted back to the bed.
There was the gamut starting from the tame, like silk scarves and blindfolds, and the moderately naughty, like fur-lined handcuffs and feathers, to the hardcore goodness, like paddles, bondage rope, beads, rings, eggs and plugs.
Considering how sensational was The Twisted Tale of The Wives, Husbands and Madmen of Misted Pines, the small fact that my car had been found outside a sex shop had been a footnote that garnered so little attention, if it had any, I didn’t notice it.
The fact Ray Andrews was five thousand shades of fucked up was picked over ad nauseum.
This was so huge, the fact that I, and that I was me, Delphine Larue, was one of his victims was a sidenote.
Jace and Jess studiously avoided any mention that my Volvo had to be driven back from The Joy of Joy that day.
Until now, Bohannan had also not mentioned it.
I honestly hadn’t thought of it because I didn’t need to. What we had in bed was awesome from the beginning, and that hadn’t changed (though island sex was a shade more awesome, as vacation sex was wont to be).
That didn’t mean it couldn’t get better.
“Are you deciding?” Bohannan prompted.
I tore my eyes away from hours…nay days…nay years of fun and looked up at him.
“I’m spoiled for choice.”
“Let me help,” he said. “You do me first, and you get to pick two things.”
My entire body started buzzing.
I knew exactly.
I turned to the bed, picked my two things and put them in front of him.
There was no neutral when I looked back up at him.
It was one of my favorite looks of all.
His eyes were dark and hungry.
“I really love you,” I told him.
That was when he gave me the favorite look of all.
Showing unhidden he felt exactly the same.
One thing I learned after being hunted through the woods, pursued by a supremely narcissistic maniac.
It was the miracle cure for an addiction to the high of the thrill of the pursuit.
Though, upon reflection, that hadn’t been my issue.
My issue was, I got together with Bohannan in the middle of some serious crazy, and when all that was over, part of me was worried that a different thrill would be gone.
Now, lying naked on top of him after the second-best sex of my life, both of us attempting to recover enough to go down and finish the enchiladas, I realized the truth in any relationship.
The beginning was always fun.
All that getting to know each other.
Everything being new.
Day by day watching puzzle pieces fall into place.
But when the picture comes clear, and it’s so beautiful, it simply doesn’t get old.
I will never, ever get used to our view of that lake.
And I will never, ever get used to the beauty of Bohannan.
That said, when the next drama struck.
I’d had practice.
So I was ready.
Mostly.
The End
Discussion/Reflection Questions
Did you figure out whodunit? If you did, what gave it away? If you didn’t, thinking back, do you see the clues?
What do you feel the line is between celebrity and fan? How much of a celebrity’s life is a fan/the public entitled to? Or are they entitled to any of it?
Have you ever lived in a place that immediately felt like home? What does home feel like? What makes a house a home?
Would you live in a place where someone died?
Were you surprised to see so many crossover characters? Kristen Ashley often pulls characters from other books and series, do you have a favorite? Which crossover you’ve read surprised you most?
Delphine’s ability to “read” people and situations is not unusual. Although none of this fully defines a person, we all read cues to who people are and what their values are in everything they do: expressions, behavi
ors, speech, mannerisms, grooming, attire, how they decorate and care for their homes and belongings. Was Delphine’s ability to read people believable to you?
How did you feel about Delphine’s pumpkin carving ritual? Did you feel that scene was powerful? Is that something you think you might try yourself? Have you done other rituals?
What were your favorite tv shows growing up/when you were younger? Who is the person from your youth you’d fan over even today?
The wrongs done to the wives of Misted Pines impacted this community in large ways. Much of this stemmed from reducing them to singular roles (wife/mother/caregiver), rather than treating them as fully rounded individuals. How did you feel about that? If you’re a woman, did you identify with it? What were your thoughts as Lana moved on with her life in ways that are stereotypical of a man in her situation (ending a relationship after finding a younger partner and without much outward emotionality, projecting a stiff upper lip when her daughter was murdered)? Did you think she was cold? Or did you cheer her on?
Delphine, and the narrative, ruminate quite a bit on social issues. The treatment of veterans. The stigmas around bisexuality in men, especially men who are considered “manly men.” The taboos around men who enjoy anal sex. The role of the news media in the division of today’s society. And the potentially hazardous legacy of long-term elected politicians when the electorate becomes complacent. How did you feel about these issues, how they fictionally played out in Misted Pines, and how they affect our society today?
Who do you think killed Kennedy?
Try More Kristen Ashley Suspense
The ‘Burg Series
For You
The ’Burg Series Book One
Lieutenant Alexander Colton and February Owens were high school sweethearts. Everyone in their small town knew from the moment they met they were meant for each other. But something happened and Feb broke Colt’s heart then she turned wild and tragedy struck. Colt meted out revenge against the man who brought Feb low, but even though Colt risked it all for her, Feb turned her back on him and left town.
Fifteen years later, Feb comes back to help run the family bar. But there’s so much water under the bridge separating her and Colt everyone knows they’ll never get back together.
Until someone starts hacking up people in Feb’s life. Colt is still Colt and Feb is still Feb so the town watches as Colt goes all out to find the murderer while trying to keep Feb safe.
As the bodies pile up, The Feds move in and a twisting, turning story unravels exposing a very sick man who has claimed numerous victims along the way, Feb and Colt battle their enduring attraction and the beautiful but lost history that weaves them together.
For You
The ‘Burg Series Book One
Chapter One
Angie
Until that day, I’d made an art out of avoiding Alexander Colton.
All my work would be for nothing, all because of Angie.
Poor, sweet, stupid, dead Angie.
* * * * *
Martin Fink and Christopher Renicki were the first two uniforms who responded to my call. I’d known Marty and Chris for ages. It was good they were partners. Chris was smart; Marty, not so much.
We were out in the alley, Chris doing crime scene stuff, Marty standing by me. A couple of squad cars with their lights silently flashing had pulled in on either side of the dumpster. Other uniforms had been dispatched to hold back the growing crowd and the crime scene tape was secured by the time Alec showed up.
He’d parked elsewhere and didn’t come through the bar like I expected him to. He had keys to the bar, for one. For another, he knew the bar nearly as well as I did and not only because he spent a good deal of time sitting at the end of it, my brother standing inside the bar in front of him, both of them drinking beer and talking about shit I couldn’t hear because I stayed well away.
Another surprise was he also didn’t have his partner Sully with him.
I watched him as he walked up to Marty and me.
The detectives in town, not that there were many of them, wore ill-fitting, inexpensive suits or nice trousers and shirts with ties.
Not Alec.
Jeans, boots, wide leather belt, sports jacket that looked tailored for him (probably a present from Susie Shepherd) and a nice shirt.
Alec was a big guy even when he was a kid, just kept growing and growing. Dad used to say if he didn’t stop his head would touch the clouds. Mom thought Alec and my brother Morrie were best friends because they were both the biggest kids in the class and it just grew from that. Morrie grew out as well as up, however. Alec just grew tall and broad but stayed lean. Alec was tight end to Morrie’s offensive lineman during high school, and in all things life. Morrie did the grunt work and never got the glory. Alec knew how to block and was really good at it but every once in a while he got the chance to shine.
Alec’s dark hair was too long but he’d always worn it too long, even as a kid. But he’d done it then because his mother was such a shit mother. She never remembered to get it cut. My mom finally ended up taking Alec to the barber when she took Morrie. Later he kept it long just because he was Alec. It curled around his ears and neck now and, as with everything Alec, it looked a little wild.
I stood there and watched silently as he made it to me and Marty, his eyes never leaving me. He didn’t even look at Angie.
“Feb,” he said on a short nod.
“Alec,” I replied.
His eyes were a weird color; light brown with a hint of gold. His dad had the same eyes but his dad’s eyes weren’t exactly like Alec’s. Alec’s dad’s eyes were mean.
Those eyes got hard as did his mouth when I called him Alec. They always did. Everyone called him Colt. Everyone. Even my mom and dad started calling him Colt after what happened years ago.
Only his folks and I called him Alec anymore, not that he talked to his folks since his dad was in prison for the second time and his mom was never sober and he never spoke to her. Not that I talked much to him either.
He hated it when I called him Alec but I didn’t call him Alec to be a bitch or anything, just that he was Alec to me, he always had been.
“Colt,” Chris said, calling his attention and Alec looked his way.
That was when he caught sight of Angie.
I looked at her too and wished I hadn’t. I’d already seen enough, too much, so much I’d never forget.
I’d gone to high school with Angie. We’d been friends once upon a time, good friends. You could say we still were, but not good ones.
No, we weren’t anything anymore because now she was dead.
Alec’s midsection came into my vision and cut off sight of Angie. I lifted my eyes to Alec’s face, which was still hard but now he was directing his hard look at Marty.
“Why’s she out here?” he asked, sounding pissed-off.
“What?” Marty asked back, sounding as usual, confused.
“Jesus, Marty,” Alec muttered, still sounding pissed and his eyes cut to me. “Go inside, Feb.”
I stared at him and didn’t move a muscle.
“Feb, inside,” he repeated.
I still stared at him.
He took a step toward me and said low, “February.”
My body jerked and I nodded. Inside would be good. Inside would be fucking awesome.
I went inside, headed directly to Morrie and my office—Mom and Dad’s old office, the office Morrie and Alec and I practically grew up in—and coffee. I could still taste the vomit in the back of my mouth. I hadn’t actually puked but it had threatened.
I was pouring a cup when Morrie came in.
Alec was big but my brother was enormous. He was also demonstrative.
He walked right up to me, took the coffee cup from my hand, plunked it down, yanked the coffeepot out of my other hand, slid it under the filter and then engulfed me in a hug.
I should have started crying then, I suppose. But I didn’t.
“You okay, Feb?”
Morrie asked, and I nodded, my cheek sliding against his big, barrel chest.
I wondered briefly why he was there. It wasn’t his turn to open, it was mine.
My guess, Alec had called him.
“Sis,” he whispered at my nod and I closed my eyes. He didn’t call me “sis” very often anymore. Hadn’t since we were kids. I missed it.
Still, no tears came.
“You want coffee?” I asked.
Morrie pulled away and gave me a look.
He didn’t like what he saw, I knew it but he still said, “Yeah.”
I made him a cup and we were taking sips when Alec filled the doorframe.
In the light I caught sight of the scar under his left eye. It was a little, puckered crescent moon, about the size of your thumbnail. I thought that was weird, it being that small, considering at the time it was made it bled a whole helluva lot.
As it did anytime I saw it, it made flashbacks flood my brain. Flashbacks of Alec, sixteen years old and sitting silent on the toilet seat in my mom and dad’s bathroom and me, fourteen, standing there wiping the blood off his face with one of Mom’s wet washcloths. Morrie coming in, giving me ice, me wrapping it up and holding it to the gaping cut under Alec’s swelling eye. My dad walking in, taking in Alec, his bloodied face, his knuckles torn, bleeding and swollen, the way he held his body like if he moved it would be torture, and saying, “Police are going to your place, Colt, you’re going with me. Jackie and the kids to the hospital.”
That was the first time my father called him Colt. He never addressed him as anything else since.
“Jesus, what the fuck, Colt?” Morrie said upon seeing him. “Mom and Dad’s bar? Seriously? Who the fuck would do that?”
Alec’s gaze flicked to Morrie and he shook his head.
This was a good question, I thought. A dead body behind their bar? Crazy. My mom and dad were beloved in this town. So were their parents. So was Morrie.
Me? I wasn’t sure. Maybe.
The Girl in the Mist: A Misted Pines Novel Page 37
