Traded

by Tess Thompson

  The night after the party, aided by too much sun and wine, she fell into a deep sleep. Around 2:00 a.m. she woke to the sound of voices below her window. She rubbed her eyes, disoriented, and turned on her bunny lamp—a leftover from her childhood. Her room had remained untouched since the day she’d left for college. This sentimentality had surprised her, softened her suspicion that she was a possession rather than a daughter. Cheerleading awards and stuffed animals and a corkboard with photos of boarding school friends decorated the walls and the desk.

  Again, the voices traveled into her room. Male voices. Shouting. Had people stayed at the party this late? She traipsed to the window. Instinct told her not to pull up the shade, but to peek through the crack instead. Three male figures dressed in dark clothing stood in a clump near the swimming pool. It took a second for her to realize one of them was her father.

  He pulled a handgun from his pocket and pointed the barrel at one of the men’s head. The man put up his hands. Her father pulled the trigger. The gun lurched but made no sound. As if she watched a silent horror film, the man crumpled to the ground. The third man knelt and dragged the body away from the pool and over to a plastic tarp. She stepped away from the window. A scream worked its way from her belly like an insidious snake. She choked it back, pushed the snake back into her belly where it writhed and hissed. A high-pitched hum sounded in her ears as she went back to the window. What had happened? Was the man a burglar? Had her father shot him in self-defense?

  But even as these thoughts ran through her head, she knew they were not true. The property was a fortress. No one in, no one out.

  The tarp itself damned them. It waited, expecting the body. The man and her father wrapped the dead body in it. She collapsed to the floor. What do I do? What in the hell do I do now?

  She must pretend she did not see. Survival instinct told her so. Do not let them know you were awake. Get back in bed and pretend everything’s fine. They’d killed a man. They would not hesitate to kill her. In the morning, she would go to the police.

  She shivered under her covers, waiting for the light of day. Around four, the sound of a machine drew her back to the window. The third man used an industrial-sized floor cleaner on the tiles where the blood had spilled. She stumbled back to bed. As the clock ticked away long, dark minutes, scenarios ran through her mind. First, excuses. Then, a reckoning, an understanding that her father was involved in a sinister underworld of which she knew nothing.

  She’d never questioned that he was a legitimate businessman. He owned a chain of dry-cleaning businesses, all exceptionally profitable. At least as far as she knew. He owned properties, including the country estate and the apartment in Manhattan. He’d written big checks for her college, paying tuition in full without blinking. Every month, until she graduated from nursing school, he’d had his secretary move money into her account. When she graduated, he gave her fifty thousand dollars for a down payment on a condo in Philly. Why had it never occurred to her that they were richer than they should be? He was involved in something illegal. She knew it in her bones. Why else had he just killed a man?

  She must have finally fallen asleep because she woke to birds chirping and sunshine. She went once more to the window. No evidence of blood or that the tiles had been recently washed remained. For a brief, insane moment, she thought the whole thing was a dream. It hadn’t happened. Please, God, make it a nightmare.

  But it wasn’t.

  She showered and dressed in her tennis outfit. It was typical that she played tennis when she was home in the country. No one would know that instead of the country club, she would drive to the nearest police station. If she’d only known what she was about to step into, she might have just kept driving until she reached her home in Philly. All she could remember now were the words the agents said to her, like headlines in a newspaper.

  An ongoing federal investigation into the business dealings of your father. Organized crime. Money laundering. Illegal drugs. Columbian Cartels. We believe he killed your mother after she’d agreed to cooperate with the state.

  Witness for the prosecution. We can protect you.

  She hadn’t broken. Not once. She’d faced him in court with stoicism wrapped around her like a cape. Face the task at hand. Fall apart later. This was the mantra of every good doctor and nurse.

  Now, she lay her head on the unfamiliar pillow and wept. Minnie pushed her cold nose against her hand and licked her. Finally, they both fell asleep.

  KARA MET NORA RICHARDSON first thing the next morning. Nora’s office was on the first floor of her home with a view of a grassy backyard. Decorated with lace doilies and still life paintings of flowers, the room smelled of lavender potpourri and gingerbread.

  “Tell me, dear. What brings you to Cliffside Bay all the way from Philadelphia?” Nora smiled at Kara from behind a tidy desk, her plump cheeks flushed and full, like a piece of strawberry taffy. White hair, a round tummy, and kind blue eyes made her look like the grandmother everyone wanted. She even had a bowl of toffees on the desk.

  Kara used the same answer from the night before. “Fate.” Vague but with an underlying message that it was no one’s business.

  But Nora was obviously not bothered by social conventions. “You moved here without knowing a soul and with no job? That’s quite something.”

  “Sometimes it feels good to start over.” Perhaps she could merge the old Kara with the new Kara. She was still herself. A fake bio couldn’t erase her essence. Was there a state of almost truth?

  Nora beamed. “Such a brave girl. I did the same twenty years ago. Closed up my agency in San Francisco and moved here. I haven’t regretted it for a moment.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  Nora tapped her pencil on the desk and stared at Kara with a pensive expression. “I sense a sadness in you, Kara. Was it a man? Did someone break your heart?”

  “You could say that, yes,” Kara said. Yes, a man had broken her heart. She might never recover from it. “This is my second chance at happiness, I guess you’d say.”

  “But how in the world did you find Cliffside Bay? We like to keep our little gem of a town a secret. The locals are quite zealous about it. I’ve been here twenty years and they still call me the ‘new girl.’ ”

  “Lucky, I guess.”

  “Delightful.”

  Kara smiled to hide her uneasiness. Don’t betray anything. Stay with the script. She must use her nursing skills.

  Nora looked down at Kara’s fake resume. “You’ve had an impressive nursing career. I’m sure once you’re licensed you’ll be able to find something with no problem. Probably not here, but if you don’t mind driving.”

  “Because there’s already a doctor?”

  “Yes. Doctor Waller and his son.”

  “I met the younger Doctor Waller last night at The Oar.”

  “Oh, yes, isn’t he dreamy?”

  “Yes, extremely handsome.”

  “It’s so sad. He and our town sweetheart, Maggie Keene, were together all through school, but she died when they were only eighteen. The whole town went into mourning. She was headed to New York to become a star and was killed.”

  “That’s awful. Poor Jackson.”

  “I thought it might kill him too. He and Zane and Maggie were inseparable. She worked for Zane’s dad all through high school. What a beauty she was. Hair the color of spun cinnamon and masses of freckles. Our song and dance girl. The town’s never been the same. Jackson either.”

  “What a sad story,” Kara said. Small towns were odd. Everyone knew everything.

  Nora waved her hand in front of her face. “Never mind that now. We need to concentrate on the living, which is you. Doctor Waller and young Doctor Waller have a nurse, Marion. She would never allow someone like you to impede her continuous torture of the young, old, and ailing of Cliffside Bay.”

  “What do you mean?” Zane hadn’t mentioned anything like that.

  “Ever heard of Nurse Ratched?”

&n
bsp; “Yes. Of course.”

  “Well, Marion makes Nurse Ratched look like a saint.”

  “Zane said she might retire sometime soon,” Kara said.

  “That one? She’ll die blissfully giving some scared kid a flu shot.”

  Kara couldn’t help but laugh. “It doesn’t sound like I should get my hopes up about finding a nursing job, but what about a home care nurse?” She shared Zane’s idea of a home health provider. “He thought that with the number of elderly here there might be a need.”

  “I think that’s a splendid idea.” Nora’s eyes sparkled. “And as luck would have it, I may have the perfect position for you.” She rustled through the files on her desk. “Yes, here’s the one. I got the call just yesterday, and their need is quite urgent.”

  “Great,” Kara said.

  “The client’s looking for someone to care for two ladies in their early sixties. One has a broken leg. The other will have brain surgery in the next few weeks.”

  “That sounds perfect for me.”

  Nora, with a delighted expression, studied Kara. “Doesn’t it, though? I love it when this happens. The client’s a private person, so discretion would be required.”

  “That’s not a problem.”

  “Excellent.” Nora scribbled something in her notebook. “How do you feel about living in?”

  “As in living at the client’s house?” Kara asked.

  “That’s correct. He’s assured me that the person will have ample time off to do as they wish, but he travels a great deal and occasionally needs someone there at night.”

  “Sure.” Hope exploded in her chest. This would solve so many of her problems. She could save money to buy a house, or for a move if she found a job elsewhere.

  “He was also adamant that the person not talk about his family on social media.”

  The irony. “That’s not a problem. I’m not on social media.”

  “Good, good.” Nora pushed the bowl of caramels Kara’s way. “Have a candy while I call him to see if he wants you to come out for an interview right away.”

  “I’m available anytime.” God knows I don’t have anything else going on.

  “Excellent.” Nora was already dialing her phone.

  Kara popped a caramel into her mouth and waited for what would happen next.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brody

  Brody’s doorbell rang at three that afternoon. The applicant was right on time. Sore from his workout earlier, he limped to the door wearing slippers, his favorite old t-shirt, and a pair of sweats. According to Nora, the candidate was overqualified, but anxious for a good job. He’d been so excited when she told him the candidate wasn’t on social media that he hadn’t asked any further questions, including her name. But after he’d hung up, doubts surfaced. She sounded too good to be true.

  As he crossed the room to the door, he glanced outside. Angry gray clouds unleashed torrents of rain. A shadow of a woman, blurred by the opaque design of the windows around his front door, hovered under his awning. As he opened the door, an umbrella hid the face of his visitor, reducing her to brown boots and a fringe of blue coat. The umbrella folded in on itself, like the wings of a peacock, to reveal the applicant. What? Standing there was the new girl in town. Kara. Kara Eaton.

  “Kara?”

  Still holding the umbrella, her hands flew to her mouth, spewing drops of water from her umbrella. Several landed on him. “It’s you?” She clutched her purse to her side and stared at him with round eyes.

  “Wow. Okay. Didn’t see this coming,” he said.

  “I had no idea you were the client,” she said.

  “I suppose it should have occurred to me. Zane mentioned you were a nurse.”

  “Nurse practitioner.” Despite the rain, she looked perfectly put together. Her chestnut hair glimmered under his porchlight. She wore makeup, but she was not overly painted like so many women in California, not to mention their fake plumped lips and fillers in their cheekbones that made them look like dolls.

  He motioned her inside. “Come in out of the rain.”

  “She said the client required discretion, but I didn’t even think about it being you,” Kara said. “Now it seems rather obvious.”

  “I’ve been so wrapped up with everything that I forgot to ask for the candidate’s name.” The truth was, he was hungover. His head throbbed. “I stayed out too late last night. And drank too much.”

  “Perhaps it was a good thing I left when I did?”

  “Yes. Wise woman.”

  Her full mouth turned up into a smile as she held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Kara Eaton. Nurse Practitioner. Sometime IPA drinker.”

  His giant hand enveloped her delicate one. He was an oaf compared to her. Firm handshake. Soft skin. “Nice to meet you, Kara Eaton. I’m Brody Mullen. Football player. Sometime tequila shot drinker. Much to my regret this morning. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  She peered up at him through thick lashes. His legs weakened. She was stunning. No two ways about it.

  “I’m sorry. I’m dripping.” Her umbrella was indeed leaking puddles onto the wood floor.

  “Here, let me take it.” He set it outside to dry, then closed the door behind him. When he turned back, Kara had taken off her raincoat. A knit dress clung to every curve of her hourglass figure, leaving little to the imagination. Yes, he could easily envision what was underneath. He swallowed. Do not stare. He could not have this woman living in his house and not lose his mind. He’d cut the interview short. Move her along. Nora could find him someone else.

  Brody took the raincoat and hung it in the closet. “We can talk in the living room. Would you like coffee or tea? Something warm?”

  “No thank you. I’ve had enough today.” As they walked out of the foyer into the living room, Kara commented on the beauty of his home.

  “Thank you.” He’d asked the architect to design an open and airy house with many windows and high ceilings. Dark wood floors contrasted the seafoam walls. The interior designer had married a modern, sleek aesthetic with soft, cozy furniture.

  In the living room now, he pointed to an easy chair by the gas fireplace. “Have a seat.”

  She handed him a piece of paper without meeting his eyes. “Here’s my resume.”

  Did he detect nervousness? She’d seemed so sure of herself when he’d first opened the door, but just then she’d hesitated like she was afraid of something on her resume. Or, was it something else?

  He read through her work experience. Several long-term positions at trauma units, all with references. Nora hadn’t exaggerated. Definitely overqualified.

  “Why on earth would a nurse practitioner want to take a position like this?” He spoke gently to take the edge off the question.

  Despite his tone, she flinched, like he’d flicked her with his finger. “I need a job while I study for the California boards.”

  “How come you didn’t you do that before you moved here?”

  She stared at him for a second longer than it should have taken to answer the question. “I moved here unexpectedly.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Kara fiddled with the zipper on her boot. The color had drained from her face. “Something personal happened.”

  “Personal?” He kept his tone gentle, but he needed to know more details. Did she have a dangerous ex-boyfriend who would stalk her and cause problems for them?

  “I had a bad breakup.” She wiped the tip of her nose with a finger. “I wanted a fresh start.”

  “A breakup? So, you just up and moved all the way across the country. That seems drastic.” It was seeming more plausible by the minute that she was running from an ex-boyfriend.

  “I wanted to live by the beach.” She gazed at him with large eyes the color of melted dark chocolate.

  “And you just happened to find Cliffside Bay?”

  “It’s not like the hidden castle in Sleeping Beauty. Cliffside Bay is o
n the map. People can find it.” She smiled tersely; her shoulders lifted closer to her ears. Was she defensive or hiding something? “I’m not sure what this has to do with the position. With all due respect, my personal life is really none of your business.”

  “It is my business when the person’s going to live in my house. I want to make sure no one from your past suddenly shows up and hurts my family.”

  Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “There’s no danger of anything like that happening. No one from my past knows where I moved to. And they won’t.”

  The spot at the nape of his neck tingled. Could he trust her? “Why? Why does no one know where you went?” What’re you hiding?

  Her graceful neck flushed red. “I have my reasons, none of which are relevant to the position.”

  “Nora told me you aren’t on social media. I find that highly unlikely, given your demographic.”

  “My demographic?”

  “Yes. Young, attractive women. It didn’t happen if you don’t put it on Instagram.”

  She sat forward in the chair. If she were a snake, venom from her poisonous tongue would have caused his slow, painful death by now. “Generalities about my generation of women is an inappropriate topic during an interview. I’m an educated, professional woman. I’ve run trauma teams and hired employees. I don’t know how old you think I am, but I’m not a high school girl with nothing better to do with myself than post selfies on social media. I’ve spent years—yes, years—working in a gritty inner city. I’ve seen things that would make a grown man, even a football player such as yourself, faint.” Her words were clipped and charged, like the air before lightning strikes. “Furthermore, I don’t appreciate the tone you’ve taken in this interview, or your questions. You need a nurse. I am a nurse. If you want to ask me questions about my skills and experience, feel free. Otherwise, this interview’s over.” She pushed her hair behind her ears.

  He gritted his teeth. This conversation had gone completely sideways. How long had it been since he’d been taken to task so thoroughly by a woman? She was right. It wasn’t his business why she was here, only if she could do the job or not. He was acting like a complete horse’s rear. “You’re right and I’m sorry. We’ve had problems in the past. I’ve trusted the wrong people.”