Three Southern Beaches: A Summer Beach Read Box Set

by Kathleen Brooks

  “Your grandmother is worried about you.”

  That got her attention. She paused for a second, and he saw a flicker of reasoning in her eyes.

  “How did you know I was here?” she asked.

  “Your grandmother told me.”

  Reese shook her head. Her hair shimmered in the sunlight as it stirred over her shoulders. “She doesn’t like you.”

  “I know,” he said, and had to bite back a smile. “Believe it or not, she doesn’t try to hide that fact. But she cares more about you than she dislikes me.”

  “None of this is making sense,” she muttered.

  “I know. That’s why we need to talk.”

  She shook her head again. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Reese, Jonnie Harper is trying to hurt you.”

  “He’s in prison,” she said, her brow creased.

  “He has friends who aren’t.”

  She pressed her palm to her forehead and closed her eyes as if her head was spinning. Dropping her hand, she looked up at him. “I’m in Georgia. No one but my grandmother . . . and you . . . know where I am. I’m safe.”

  “Some guys went to your grandmother pretending to be cops.” He recalled that brief conversation he’d had with his boss, telling Turner no one had spoken with Mrs. Cannon. Swallowing, he wished he could spare her all the ugly news. “They got to Ricky.”

  Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widened. “Is he . . . ?”

  “He’s okay. I talked to your grandmother just a little bit ago.”

  She snatched her phone out of her back pocket, turned away from him and dialed.

  While she spoke to her grandmother, Turner looked around for any possible threats. If Harper’s men thought they’d taken her out, they might not be here. But how long before the real victim’s name was released to the press?

  When Reese hung up, he moved around to face her. She turned on her heels and started back to the diner.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Ricky’s fine. I talked to my grandmother,” she said, not even looking back.

  He fell in step with her. “I asked where you’re going!”

  “And I don’t see where this is any of your business!”

  “Reese, this is serious. We’re not going to play this game.”

  She stopped and glared at him. “I’m not playing any games. My brother was stabbed in prison. You sent him there. Now, would you be so kind as to leave?”

  He caught her arm. “I’m not leaving.”

  “Well, I am,” she snapped. “I’m finishing my shift. Then I’m getting in my car and going home.”

  “You aren’t getting anywhere near that purple car. It’s like a neon sign that says ‘here I am.’ As a matter of fact, where is the car right now?”

  She tried to pull away, but he held her. “Reese, please.”

  “Get your hands off her!”

  Turner looked at the man standing about eight feet away. He was still wearing eggs and grits on his shirt. But it was the Glock aiming right at him that got most of Turner’s attention.

  “I’m police,” Turner said, his hand twitching to go for his own gun. For all he knew, this guy could be sent by Harper. He moved in front of Reese, who stared wide-eyed at the gun.

  “Yeah, but if you go for that weapon you’re hiding under your shirt, you’re gonna be a dead cop.”

  “Stop this,” Reese said as if she’d come out of her stupor and she tried to move around him, but he caught her.

  “Do you know him?” Turner asked her in a low voice, suddenly noting the way the man stood and held his weapon. He was either ex-military or an ex cop. Not that it meant he wasn’t also a hired gun.

  “That’s Frank,” Reese answered.

  “Is he a local?” Turner asked, certain the guy Jonnie Harper would have hired would have been from Texas.

  “Walk away from him, Reese,” Frank said in dark voice.

  Reese looked at the older man and then back to Turner. “Why?”

  “Because,” Frank answered, “if he gets shot, I don’t want it to include you.”

  “You aren’t going to shoot him!” Reese snapped. “He’s not lying, he’s a cop.”

  Turner looked from the old man back to Reese. Well, at least she didn’t want him shot. Later on, when he didn’t have a gun aimed at him that might feel good to know.

  “I didn’t mean me shooting him, I’m worried about Casey. I’ve heard she’s fast on the trigger.”

  “You heard right,” the woman’s voice rang out behind them.

  Turner looked back at the old woman with the barrel of her shotgun aimed at his ass. “Shit.”

  “Which one is the bad one?” Black Beard came running up with his sword drawn. Then another pirate moved in and pulled his gun. Surely the thing didn’t work, but with two guns and a sword on his ass, what was one more?

  How had this gotten so crazy?

  Chapter Four

  “Why don’t we all put our weapons down and have a calm chat?” Turner suggested.

  “You trust him?” Frank asked Reese.

  Turner looked at Reese, and damn it if she didn’t pause. “Nope. But I don’t think he’ll shoot anyone.”

  “Good enough,” Frank said and dropped his weapon. “Casey, let’s go have a chat.”

  “Ahh, hell, shooting is more fun,” Casey said and never moved her gun.

  “What now?” Another voice jumped into the mix of things. A voice Turner recognized.

  “Sheriff,” Turner said, feeling slightly better.

  Sheriff Wilson nodded, but never stopped frowning. “Casey,” he growled, “put your shotgun down. If you shoot one more person, I’m gonna have to lock you up.”

  Okay, now Turner didn’t feel better. Oh, hell, he should have guessed any town named Hung had to be crazier than shit.

  “What if I just wound him a little?” Casey asked, her gun aimed right at Turner.

  “Put it down,” Sheriff said. “You too, Henry, and put your sword down, Peter.”

  All the weapons dropped.

  Turner looked at Reese. “Can we just get out of town now?”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” Reese said, and she turned on a dime and went back to the diner.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, the diner was almost cleared, all of her tables were empty. Neither Frank nor Turner or the sheriff had come back inside. For all she knew, someone might have shot Turner. The thought sent a rush of adrenaline through her veins. She peeked out the window and saw them standing by the sidewalk talking like old friends.

  She kind of liked it better when they had guns on him.

  Moving away from the window, Reese dropped down into her favorite booth and felt a frog-sized lump appear in her throat.

  “Here, have some blueberry pancakes.” Casey slid a plate in front of her. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

  Tears suddenly filled Reese’s eyes and she heard Casey sigh. “You didn’t tell me you were in trouble with the law, girlie.” Her new boss -- of the job she was about to quit -- slid into the booth on the other side. “I probably would’ve hired you a lot quicker.”

  Reese batted at a tear rolling down her cheek. “I’m not. Ricky, my brother, is. He called me to pick him up, and I got there just in time to see the really bad guy shoot another guy.”

  “How did Mr. Cutie Pie out there get involved?”

  “He was working the case undercover. Pretending to be my brother’s friend. Then he pretended to be my . . . friend.” She looked down at her hands and started twisting the paper napkin. “I trusted him. I was telling him things about Ricky that had me worried. I practically helped him arrest my brother.”

  Casey leaned forward. “You want me to go back out there and shoot him?”

  Reese looked at the woman, worried she was serious, but she had a smile on her face. Good thing, after seeing someone shot for real, the whole gun thing unnerved her. “The sheriff was lying. You reall
y haven’t shot anyone, have you?”

  “Only when they deserved it. I didn’t shoot to kill. Just to teach a lesson. Gave that would-be robber something to think about when the doc was extracting buckshot from his ass.” She glanced down at the plate. “Eat. There’s some magic in those there pancakes. You’ll feel better.”

  Reese picked up a fork, and then stared at the empty spot beside Casey. Her mom had sat there.

  He’s your little brother, Reese. Take care of him.

  She’d taken care of him alright. He was in the hospital, probably handcuffed to the bed.

  “We sat right here every day,” Reese said, feeling Casey studying her.

  “Who did?” Casey asked.

  “Me, my parents, and Ricky. It was a great three weeks.” More tears filled her eyes. “Three days after we got back, they were killed in a car crash.”

  Casey’s hand came out and rested on top of Reese’s. “Oh, Honey, you really need to eat those pancakes.”

  “No,” Reese said. “I need to go. I’m afraid I should head back to Texas. Can you cash me out?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Frank, who’d walked in without Reese realizing it. Her gaze shot to the door to make sure Turner hadn’t followed him in. He hadn’t. Then she looked back at the older man who still wore his breakfast.

  “Boy Wonder out there has some concerns,” Frank said. “And I don’t think he’s overreacting. We need to get you and your car out of the public eye.”

  * * *

  “Are you sure he’s going to be alright?” Reese stood outside on Frank’s patio, talking to Granny on her phone.

  “Right as rain,” Granny said.

  “I just want to come home.”

  “I know you do, Hon,” Granny said. “But Ricky’s fine and the weasel’s right. It’s not safe you driving back in your car.”

  “He called you?” Reese asked, angry that it seemed everyone was suddenly pro Turner. Before leaving the restaurant, Casey had even cooked him some pancakes to apologize for threatening to shoot him.

  “Yeah he called. Said he thought you’d listen to me.”

  Reese closed her eyes for a second. The sound of the waves rushing in and rushing right back out sounded hypnotic and reminded Reese she hadn’t slept well for a week.

  Oh, heck, she hadn’t slept well in two months. Witnessing a murder, having your heart broken by a sexy, hot-bodied undercover cop, and feeling halfway responsible for your brother being locked up, led to some sleepless nights.

  “I’m not riding back to Texas with him. I can’t just leave my car.” She dropped down in a wicker swing and stared up at the flowering Bougainvillea hanging from the planter. If Reese’s life wasn’t as screwed up as a movie of the week, she might have enjoyed her surroundings. Frank’s beach house had southern charm oozing from its pale yellow walls.

  Especially if you liked . . . Her gaze landed on a planter, shaped like a turtle, on the patio. Inside she’d spotted at least four turtle figurines.

  “Well, you’re not riding alone. I’d get hives worrying about you. And I hate hives. They itch like chiggers and it’s rude to scratch in public.”

  Silence echoed on the line as Reese thought about her granny scratching in public. Not a pretty visual.

  “Did the weasel tell you what he did?” Granny asked.

  What did he do? “I don’t care what the weasel did.” A big yellow cat came slinking around the side of the house, heading right at her.

  “Look, Hon, I’m not saying you shouldn’t be madder than a rabid raccoon at him for pulling the wool over your eyes. It hurt ya, and I know it did. And for that, I’d like to open a can of whoop ass on his butt. But the truth is, you can’t blame him for Ricky’s doings. Your brother got himself in this mess. And maybe a few months in jail will straighten that boy out.”

  “Years, Granny. He could get up to fourteen years.” The cat rubbed its face on her ankle and then started doing figure eights around her legs.

  “Not anymore. That’s what the weasel did. Ricky’s attorney called and said Turner went to bat for Ricky. He got them to agree to a lesser charge since Ricky has agreed to testify. The most he can get now is a year, but Ricky’s attorney thinks he might get as little as three months. That might be just enough time to scare that kid straight.”

  Reese swallowed another lump down her throat. She glanced back through the French doors to Turner sitting there chatting with Frank.

  “You know what this means, don’t ya?” Granny asked.

  “What?” Reese answered on automatic, her thoughts stuck on why Turner was even here.

  “I’m probably gonna have to find him another nickname. And I kind of liked weasel.”

  “No, you don’t need to change it,” Reese said, remembering all the time she’d spent with Turner. She’d opened up her soul. Told him about Jacob, the love of her life. Told him about losing her parents and how for years she’d been angry at them for dying. Told him she was worried about Ricky and what he was doing hanging out with some shady characters. She’d told him how much she wanted him to make love to her. And he hadn’t done it because he knew it could ruin his case. “He’s still a weasel.”

  She hung up. Why had she ever trusted him? What had the waitress, Margaret, said, if he was gravy and I was biscuit, I’d sop that plate clean. Was Reese so shallow she’d been taken by his good looks?

  Then she remembered those long talks they’d shared sitting at the kitchen table drinking the iced tea he’d made for her. She hadn’t been the only one bearing her soul.

  He’d told her about his ex-wife and wanting to surprise her on a business trip, only he’d been surprised when he caught her and her boss dirtying up the hotel sheets. He told her about losing his mom to cancer, and a year later his dad, to a broken heart. Lies. No doubt, all lies he’d spewed to get her to trust him.

  And it had worked.

  What was that saying? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.

  She turned sideways, reclined back, put her feet up over the side of the swing, and kicked her shoes off. She stared at her pink painted toenails thinking of all the things he’d told her about himself, details of his life that she’d memorized as she’d practically fallen in love with a man who didn’t exist.

  A slight meow filled her senses, she looked down and the cat sat there reaching its paw out as if begging for attention. She dropped her hand down and petted the animal.

  “Still a weasel,” she said to the cat then closed her eyes and tried to think about nothing but the sound of the waves.

  * * *

  Reese woke up. Her heart raced with that startled feeling of where-the-hell-am-I? But before her eyes completely focused on the hanging plant above her, the sound of the waves worked some calming magic. It only lasted a few seconds and then she remembered Turner, and that her brother had been stabbed.

  How long had she slept? An hour, more? She noted the sun was hanging a lot lower in the western sky. Probably more.

  Then, suddenly, she felt it, the I’m-not-alone sensation.

  She shot up, sending the swing to swaying, and planted her feet flat on the concrete patio, bringing it to a jerky stop. Her gaze locked on Turner sitting in a wicker chair across from her, the cat in his lap.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, feeling his eyes on her.

  “Enjoying the view,” he said in his deep calm voice, that in no way, no form, matched what she felt.

  “The view is that way,” she said, pointing out to the beach, feeling the flutter of her pulse at her neck, and not liking her awareness of how blue his eyes were.

  He leaned back in the chair and the cat jumped down. Turner glanced out at the ocean. “We need to talk,” he said, without looking at her.

  Her thoughts from earlier rushed back. “Talk about what? Oh, I know, you can tell me the story of how your dog died, or do you just want to tell me the sad tale of how your father died of a broken heart? Why the hell should I list
en to you?”

  Glancing back at her, emotion filled his gaze. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. Lowering his eyes, he stared down at his hands.

  After several beats of silence, he looked up. “We need to talk for a lot of reasons, but for one, so I can apologize.”

  “Apologize? For what? Which one of your many indiscretions are you wanting to apologize for? Putting my brother behind bars, the lies, or coming here and ruining my perfect getaway?”

  “I’m here because I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He paused again. “I . . . I didn’t set your bother up, Reese. He brought the trouble on his own. But I realize if I hadn’t been so intent on doing my job, I could have probably helped him get his head on straight. He’s not a bad kid. He just got mixed up in something and then got pressured by Harper to finish what he started. But . . .”

  Having heard enough, she stood up to leave.

  “Please hear me out,” he said.

  She looked down at him.

  “Please.”

  Just call her a masochist, because she dropped back in the swing.

  He swallowed and continued, “The only thing I lied to you about was . . . my name, my occupation, and . . . not having condoms that night.”

  Oh, he had to throw that one in there, didn’t he? She looked back to the beach to hide the watery weakness in her eyes. “You expect me to trust you now?”

  “I can see where you might have a hard time believing me,” he confessed, again in that calm, easy voice. She hated that he could be so calm. Didn’t seeing her tear him apart? No, it probably didn’t. She was the only one hurting. He hadn’t been foolish enough to really care about her.

  After blinking away the wash of tears, she looked back at him. “You got that right. I can’t trust you.”

  “You can stay mad at me,” he said. “You can hate me. I wish you wouldn’t. I’d give anything if you could find it in your heart to forgive me. But you’re going to have to trust that I’m here to help you. I’m not going to let Harper’s men hurt you, even if I have to fight you tooth and nail to do it. But it would be a hell of a lot easier if you’d just listen to reason.”