by Natasha Boyd
“Fuck,” I yelled and leapt out of the bath, stumbling backward. I yanked off my shoe with shaking hands and then slammed it down on the grotesque thick body, once, twice, feeling the give and pop as it squashed.
And did it hiss?
I think it fucking hissed. The sound of my shoe against the cast iron tub boomed in the small tiled room. My stomach heaved. “Die, motherfucker!” I screamed with all the pent-up tension from the last ten minutes of panic. I lifted the shoe. Black and brown lumpy remains were smeared all over the white tub. I dropped the shoe and retched into the sink, tears finally springing from my eyes.
The faint sound of yelling brought me back. I ran the cold water, splashing it over my face, then dried myself and grabbed the phone off the floor.
“Liv?” Tom shouted.
“I’m here.” I sniffed, breathing hard. God, I was a wreck. “I’m here.”
“Jesus H. Christ.” It sounded like he was running. “Are you okay? What the hell was that?”
I let out a hysterical laugh, my heart pounding in my throat again. “I’m okay.”
“Fuck, do I need to come and help you hide a body?”
“Yes, a big ass spider. I hope he wasn’t a friend of yours. Shit, he was huge. Ugh.” I shuddered again, my stomach still not feeling great.
The sound of Tom running had slowed. “Oh, you mean Bert? Aw, man, poor guy. Wow, you killed him.”
“You knew there was a massive spider in here and you didn’t tell me?”
“Well, I only saw him once, and I didn’t want to freak you out when I couldn’t find him again.”
“So waiting for me to come face to face with him was a better option?” I snorted. “I just, literally, died a thousand deaths. I think my heart actually flat-lined. And I threw up the meager amount of food I ate today. In fact, maybe it was Bert out for a stroll who left the door open and moved the paint. He was certainly capable.”
“Sorry,” Tom said, still out of breath, but I could hear the relieved laughter in his words that I was joking around, and that I was okay.
“Yeah, right. You better bring a litter box and supplies when you come back. I’m going to see a man about a spider-killing feline tomorrow. I need a henchman.” I hoped my little guy was still alive, and that he was fierce and loyal.
“I’m proud of you for killing Bert. Just goes to show you have some fight in you.”
“Survival instinct,” I muttered. “It was him or me.”
Tom laughed. Damn, that was a good sound. Warm, but with bite. Like a shot of whiskey in my chest.
“But I’m never touching those shoes again. Were you running?” I asked, suddenly remembering.
“I’m on my way home.”
A surge of guilt. “You don’t need to, I’m okay. Maybe… maybe you can just stay on the phone for a bit while I get ready for bed? You should go back to your, uh, meeting or whatever.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded and shook my head at the same time. “Yep,” I said cheerily.
He let out a long breath. “Go get ready for bed and then call me one more time before you fall asleep so I know you’re okay.”
“I will, and thank you,” I said and hung up.
I brushed my teeth, then stepped into the hall. Instead of going to my room, I veered into Tom’s. Stripping down to my T-shirt and underwear, and leaving just the desk lamp on, I slid into the cocoon of his woodsy, spicy scent with my phone, wrapping him around me, and dialed his number.
I PACED BACK and forth along Bay Street. Having already ditched my let’s-grab-a-drink after class meetup, I was now questioning the point in staying overnight here when Liv would probably be better served having someone in the house with her. She sounded so freaked out when she’d first picked up the phone after I’d texted I was in Savannah. I didn’t blame her, it must have been scary to come home and see things out of place.
Jesus, and the spider-killing episode? My heart was still pounding from the adrenalin pumping through my veins. I thought a wild animal had gotten in the cottage or something.
Should I jump in a cab to the marina? It was still early enough, and the water was calm, that I was pretty sure I could get a ride with someone.
My sailboat was ready to be out there, the engine having been completely overhauled, but did I want to risk testing it out in fading light through the marsh creeks to get to the Intracoastal Waterway? There were lighted markers in the waterway, but not the creeks, I could easily run aground on a sandbar or, worse, oyster beds. Just because the oysters around here were too poisonous to eat, didn’t mean they weren’t prolific and lying in wait to gouge the bottom of a boat or rip anyone to shreds who thought to get out and push their boat free.
There was no harm in going down to the marina and seeing if someone was around. I hailed a passing cab and climbed in just as my phone buzzed.
“Hi,” I answered, then covered the phone with my hand as I directed the driver to Bull River Marina.
“Hi.” Her voice was muffled.
“You in bed?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I still feel a bit freaked but better since talking to you. I… I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Glad I could help. And you can call me anytime, okay?”
“I got so used to you being next to me when I was sick, it’s weird not to have you home at all.”
Neither of us had spoken much about us sharing a room, and then she’d put an end to it herself after our board games. Responses suddenly jumped over each other in my head, trying to get out, trying to be the right one. There was no guile in her tone, no trace of the vixen trying to be flirty; she was simply stating a fact.
I breathed out. “I’m sorry I have to be gone so much. It’s not that easy to get back to the island after an evening class,” I said neutrally, even as the cab zoomed along the Islands Expressway toward the marina so I could try and do exactly that. And why was I doing it exactly? I wasn’t sure.
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have to be babysat.”
“It’s not babysitting it’s—”
“Yeah,” she cut me off. “It is. I’m just sick of not being in control of my body and my mind. When stuff like this happens I feel like I’m… like I’m going crazy. Imagining stuff, you know?”
“I don’t think you’re going crazy. Maybe forgetful. And maybe I did move the paint this morning, and I don’t remember.”
“You didn’t. I was sitting outside on the porch when you left, remember?”
Of course I remembered. I remembered the way my gut clenched when I walked out, ready to go, and she sat all curled up on the wicker love seat, face completely devoid of makeup, pale eyes telling me not to go. But she didn’t say a word, except to ask me if she could go with me next time.
For the first time in a long while, I dreaded going across to Savannah. I’d rather be there with her. Which was the weirdest feeling.
“Yeah, I remember. So how did the baking go today?”
“Great.” I heard the smile in her voice. “Thanks for your help. I made a lemon cake for Big Jake and they may put it on the menu at Mama’s permanently. And I made cupcakes for you.”
“Us.”
“Us.” She laughed, then yawned.
My cab was nearing the marina. I hated to hang up when it seemed that chatting with me was helping her relax. “You sound tired. Why don’t you try and get some sleep.”
“Okay.” She yawned again, and I couldn’t help smiling at the sound.
“Sleep well, good night.”
“Night. Wait… Tom?”
“Yeah?”
“I, uh, I hope it’s okay, but I… I’m sleeping in your bed. I like the way you smell.”
Just like that, the blood left my head, and went straight to my groin. My gut cinched tight.
I gritted my teeth in horror at my reaction.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she whispered at my sile
nce. “I… it’s just, if I can smell you, I can pretend you’re here. God, I’m sorry. I really do sound nuts. And creepy. I’m sorry, I’ll go to my own room.”
“No,” I barked out. “I mean…” I cleared my throat, “it’s fine. Stay. Stay where you are.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I swallowed. “Yeah, I’m sure. If it helps, you should stay there.”
But there was no way in hell I was going back to that cottage tonight. Not until I got my head in the game and my priorities straight. What the fuck was wrong with me?
I paid the cab driver and stepped out into the bracing salt wind that blew in off the water. A perfect substitute for a cold shower. The Harbor Master’s light was still on, but there were no other boats that looked to even have occupants who might be up to making the trip. That solved that.
I walked down the long pier, past the marina office, then turned right along the weathered, floating dock to my little Catalina sailboat. My indulgence. One of the few good things that came out of who I’d been once upon a time.
“Tommy, that you?”
“Hey, Gator,” I called back up to the marina office balcony, squinting under the outdoor floodlight. The Harbormaster’s large frame was a shadow.
“You sleeping out here tonight?”
“Thought I would.”
“Glad you got your boat back. I’ll bring you some joe in the mornin’.”
I thanked him and climbed on board. Lifting the berth, I pulled the waterproof bag out of the storage compartment that held the pillows and sheets. They smelled musty, but were otherwise clean.
As soon as I got settled in my cramped space, I lay there wide awake. I didn’t want to waste the battery on my cell, but it was too early to sleep. Besides, it was too cold to be sleeping out here unless you had a warm body next to you. I was nuts to even be trying.
I’d told Bethany we could come over to Savannah and stay on the boat, which we’d been planning to do the night I’d had to go rescue Livvy from Tyler’s clutches. Now I was relieved. The idea of Bethany sharing this private space with me just seemed wrong somehow.
I dozed to the gentle rocking motion, never fully going to sleep. There were only so many times I could check if my phone still had charge without feeling like a tool. I should have stayed out and gotten a few drinks.
Having finally dozed off sometime in the night, I woke a little before five a.m. I was painfully hard—some classic morning wood—but with an ache deep inside me I couldn’t ever remember feeling. It had been a while since Bethany and I had slept together. Deciding that the best way forward was to quickly deal with it rather than try to will it away, I slid my hand down my stomach and pulled myself free of my boxers. I tried to remember the last time I’d been with Bethany, her ample breasts bouncing in my face as she sat astride me, and gritted my teeth in frustration as the image failed to set off the necessary reaction.
The image of Olivia kneeling between my legs slid into my head, her pale eyes looking up at me.
I swallowed.
Just between me and my sick and twisted conscience, just this once, I imagined smoothing my fingers over her jawline and sliding into her hair where I’d take a fistful of it. She would open her mouth and take me in… fuck.
The buzz raced down my spine and up my legs, pulled from the top of my skull and the blackest parts of my soul. I erupted quickly and violently, in a collision that had me hissing in agony at my weakness.
I rolled over and punched the pillow next to me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
THE MARINA WAS waking up as I stowed my bedding and changed. I pulled my big fleece jacket on and opened up the cabin to the chilly morning air. The sky was gray, the water choppy. Gator was heading down the stairs from the marina office with two coffee cups.
“Hold up, Gator, I’ll come to you,” I called.
“How d’ya know this one’s yours?” he groused and turned around. I grinned and jogged up the jetty.
“Got my first dolphin tour of the season today,” he said as soon as I entered. “Group staying on Tybee.”
“Thanks,” I said as I grabbed the cup he held out. “The sky says otherwise.”
“P’shaw. It’ll hold off ’til late afternoon.”
And based on Gator’s prior predictions, he was probably right.
“It’s gonna be a good summer. You give any thought to doing some sailing classes for me?”
“Not yet. It’s not that I don’t want to, but with school, and helping out Pete, I’m not sure I’d have much time,” I evaded.
The truth was I didn’t want to be in the public eye. The chances of running into someone I knew would go up exponentially. Not that my old blue-blood crowd who grew up spending summers at the country club, or learning to sail at Camp Seagull, would be taking lessons as an adult on a ropey looking Catalina moored at Bull River. They’d probably be farther up the creek at the Savannah Yacht Club if they weren’t summering in Nantucket.
But they might come this way. And that was reason enough.
Gator studied me from under his duckbill cap as he brought his mug to his mouth, nestled in a long, shaggy gray beard. The fisherman’s version of Santa Claus. “How about we put you on a schedule two afternoons a week—”
I shook my head.
“Now, now, I’m not done. And, and, I take their names and call you first before you decide whether to take the job.” He took a long, noisy slurp of coffee.
Pursing my lips, I now shook my head again, this time with resignation as I watched him put his coffee down, a smug grin on his face. “You’re not called Gator for nothing. You’re a tenacious old fart, aren’t you?”
He swung his feet down to the floor with a thud and grabbed a rolled-up newspaper. “Who you callin’ old, boy?” he boomed and swatted at me.
I raised my hands to cover my head. “Get off,” I groused, laughing. “Old you object to, but fart’s fine?”
“Now, now,” Pete’s gruff voice cut in.
We both straightened ourselves up.
I saluted Pete as he walked in, then headed to the small bathroom to wash up and brush my teeth. I tried not to look myself in the eye. When I stepped out, I caught the tail end of something Gator was saying about the Department of Natural Resources patrol in the marshes having been stepped up. “Fisheries are joining up with the Coast Guard to cover more area. That means there’ll be less competition for y’all who do it by the book. Be a good season for you.”
Illegal fish being brought ashore in Georgia was a common problem, either because the fish weren’t reported in trip tickets to the Department of Natural Resources or because they were being fished by people without valid licenses. Add the fact you had to be a legal U.S. resident to even get a commercial vessel license, and it meant you tended to run into people on the wrong side of the law fairly frequently.
It was great for us that they were cracking down, and it was not great for us that they were cracking down. I caught Pete’s eye and wondered if we should let Gator in on what we were planning with Tyler in case we needed someone to vouch for us. But Gary “Gator” Hill would want us to call law enforcement right away and have them handle it. They’d miss Cal Richter that way.
No, the fewer people who knew, the better. For now.
“You’re over early, Pete,” I said, changing the subject.
“Weather service issued an advisory for this afternoon. Not sure how long this front will last. Figured if I didn’t get those crab traps dropped this morning, it would be a few days before I could do it.”
Gator took my empty cup and walked it over to the small kitchenette along the back wall that had seen more fish gutting than cooking. “Hopefully, it’ll bring some warmer weather on its tail.”
Pete and I bid him farewell and headed down to Pete’s boat.
“Well, that’s gonna make it trickier,” he said when we were safely out of earshot.
“Or easier to get the jo
b done if the authorities are closer,” I said.
Pete scratched at his beard. “I guess so. You ready for a ride back? Mind if we stop for an hour or so in Wright River for a nibble?”
I nodded. I could spend all day out here on the boat rather than go back and look Liv in the eye. And my bed would probably smell of her tonight.
THE COTTAGE WAS quiet and still when I got back at nine a.m. and considering I’d been up since five, with barely a wink of sleep, it felt like mid afternoon. Liv was right, the paint can was literally right in the middle of the porch in front of the door. Weird.
Her door was cracked, but mine was closed so I figured she was still in my bed. I started the coffee and took off my boots, then padded past the bedrooms to the bathroom.
Her spider-killing shoe was the first thing I saw, abandoned on the floor. Grinning, I took care of the mess, then tossed her shoe out on the porch to deal with later.
The smell of much needed coffee finally hit me, and I poured a cup while I eyed the container of cupcakes on the table. Taking the lid off, I picked one of them up and inhaled the smell. Wow, that was good.
“Drop. That. Cupcake.” Liv’s voice morphed from dramatic to laughing as I jerked and literally dropped the cupcake face down on the table. I looked up and found her watching me in her skinny jeans and a tight long sleeve white T-shirt, hands on hips and one foot turned in. Her rare smile was infectious and I tried not to smile back. Her dyed hair was fading into a dull dark blonde and growing out, and on anyone else it would be ugly as hell.
“Shit,” I said dumbly and scowled. “I was really looking forward to that.”
“Five second rule,” she said and lunged forward to save my cupcake. She picked it up carefully and smoothed out the icing with her finger. A finger she proceeded to suck clean in her mouth with a pop.
Then she shoved the entire cake into her mouth.
I stood there in complete shock, my own cupcake-sized mouth hanging open and empty.
