Still Waters
Rebecca Addison
Still Waters Copyright © 2015
Rebecca Addison (Kindle Edition)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.
Disclaimer: The persons, places, things and otherwise inanimate objects in this novel are all figments of the author’s rather overactive imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living (or dead) is unintentional
To the Secret Book Club ladies,
for helping me nurture one single,
silly chapter until it became
a living, breathing book.
Still Waters simply wouldn’t exist without you.
And for my husband Jeremy,
for selflessly giving me the space, time,
and encouragement to write, and to write well.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
Chapter Thirty Eight
Chapter Thirty Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty One
Chapter Forty Two
Chapter Forty Three
Chapter Forty Four
Chapter Forty Five
Chapter Forty Six
Epilogue
Quotes
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Connect with Me
Prologue
The secure door to the lab opens, and I run to the elevator, pressing the up button over and over when I reach it.
“Come on, come on,” I mumble to myself as I watch the numbers light up, indicating that the elevator is slowly coming down. When the doors finally open I fly inside and press the button that will take me to the top floor. Sappy elevator music plays as we travel up and up, and I mentally check off the floors as I pass them. Lobby: Security and reception; Floors 17 to 20: Administration, sales and marketing; Floors 21 and 22: Legal. Finally, we reach the top floor, the Holy Grail for most junior employees at Preston Industries: Senior management. Personally, I like the basement better. Down there my research and development team is hidden from the office politics and backstabbing that’s rife on the upper floors.
When the doors open, I rush out past Linda, the senior assistant to the CEO. She opens her mouth to say something, but I don’t stop. The boardroom at the end of the corridor is full this morning. Senior executives from every department are in the middle of their weekly meeting. I swing the door open, and search along the line of surprised faces turned in my direction.
“Hartley,” a familiar voice says from the front of the room. “Can this wait? We’re in the middle of a meeting.”
He takes one look at my face and stands up, dismissing everyone with a wave of his hand. “We’ll finish this off this afternoon.”
He doesn’t need to say anything more. In a sudden burst of activity, old timers and young executives alike quickly gather their papers and laptops and file out of the room without a word. I wait until the door is shut behind me before I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to it.
“Hartley, my little mad scientist,” he laughs as he takes in the white labcoat I’d forgotten to take off in my panic. I know he’s only teasing me, but I can’t help but bristle at his joke. I love being a scientist and I’m proud of my work, but it isn’t easy leading a research team of six at twenty-three years old, especially when the rest of your team are men twice your age and you’re the boss’s daughter.
“What’s the emergency?” he says lightly. “Something go bang in the lab?”
My dad is always making light of the work I do, but what he and the other guys on this floor don’t realize is that there wouldn’t be a Preston Industries without the scientists who work in the basement.
“No, Dad,” I say, brushing his comments aside for now. “I found something. Something important.”
The smile on his face fades and he sits up taller with his hands clasped in front of him. I place my hand over the pocket of my labcoat to make sure the small cylinder is still inside. It is.
“I’ve been looking at these findings, for the water over at Bridal Falls? And something doesn’t add up.”
He looks at me seriously and nods for me to continue.
“See, the samples are all wrong for that catchment. The water at Bridal Falls is alive and constantly changing depending on different weather patterns and pollution levels. These samples are dead.”
“Maybe the samples were labeled incorrectly,” he says quietly, picking up a pen and tapping it on the top of the table.
“That’s what I thought.” I reach into my pocket to touch a small vial of water. “But they’re all like that, Dad. I went through all of the records back to 2011, and they’re all exactly the same.”
“Isn’t Howard meant to be in charge of testing?” he cuts in. “That’s a little below the level of my genius daughter isn’t it?”
He says it playfully, but there’s an edge to his voice, and I know from experience that he’s losing patience with me.
“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” I say in a rush. “I caught him, Dad. This morning I came in early, and I caught him swapping out the latest samples for clean water. I’ve sent him home until we decide what to do.”
I wait for him to exclaim in surprise, or explode in anger or something, but he just sits there and stares into my eyes. Out of all of the reactions I expected him to have, I wasn’t expecting this. And then suddenly I get it.
“Dad,” I say slowly, wanting so desperately to be wrong. “Did you know about this?”
He sighs deeply and spins his chair so that he’s looking out the floor to ceiling windows at the small buildings and houses that make up the town. My town.
“Do you have any idea what would happen if this got out?” he says quietly. “Preston Industries has been employing the people of Jefferson for the last fifty years. Those people out there rely on us, Hartley. Without this company, there would be no jobs, no money, no food on the table.” He spins his chair back around and looks at me. “Is that what you want?”
“But Dad,” I say, holding onto the back of the chair in front of me for support. “Are you saying we should just let this carry on and do nothing about it?”
Unbelievably, he manages a smile.
“I’m happy we understand each other.”
“I can’t do that,” I whisper. “You don’t understand what the levels could do to the water system. I have a real sample here Dad, and it’s really bad.”
I pull the vial out of my pocket and hold it up to show him. When I see
the way his eyes suddenly go cold and hard, I’m transported back to my childhood in an instant. I’m six years old again, in trouble for disturbing him when he was trying to read the newspaper. I feel my heart speed up, and I quickly shove my hands back into the pockets of my labcoat so he won’t see them shaking.
“Give me the sample, Hartley,” he says quietly, holding out his hand. When I hesitate, he looks at me in surprise and laughs under his breath. “You don’t trust me?”
Do I trust him? As much as I love my father, I know I have to be careful. Above everything, I need time to look at the samples more carefully and decide what I want to do about them.
“I’m sorry,” I say, dropping the vial into his outstretched hand. “Of course I trust you.” He closes his fist over it, and suddenly the wide smile is back, and he’s my dad again.
“Linda, can you get David in here please,” he says into his phone.
I look at him, confused.
“Why do you need David?”
It makes no sense at all. David is my long-term boyfriend, and he works on the 22nd floor: Legal. Before Dad has time to answer, David walks into the room, his face lighting up when he sees me. We try to be professional when we’re at work, so he doesn’t kiss me on my forehead like he usually does. Instead, he winks and looks me up and down when he thinks my dad isn’t looking.
“Hartley found the samples,” Dad says simply, as if it’s nothing, as if we’re talking about the weather or chatting about my sister Marty’s upcoming wedding.
At least David has the courtesy to look surprised.
“You knew about this too?” I gasp, looking at him wildly. He closes his eyes and presses a finger to his forehead, right between his eyebrows.
“Hartley,” he says, “you’ve got to calm down and think about this. Bridal Falls isn’t even a major waterway. It’s nothing.” He dismisses me with a flick of his hand.
“Nothing?” I can hear that my voice has gone high and thin and I know I’m losing control of the situation. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I whisper, swallowing hard.
“Do you like your house by the water, Hartley?” David snaps. “How about your new car or that watch on your wrist. Do you like those?”
I look down at the Cartier watch my parents gave me for my 23rd birthday and then up to meet my dad’s eyes.
“All of that goes away Ladybug,’ Dad says quietly. “If this gets out we’re looking at multi-million dollar lawsuits. Preston Industries will be shut down while they investigate. And there will be lawyers and court appearances, our photos in all of the papers. Mom and Marty – they’ll be dragged through it too. And all of those people out there, your friends? Their parents will be out of a job. And who will they blame when all this comes out? Not me, Bug, not me. No one out there cares about a little waterfall in the mountains somewhere. They care about food on their table. College funds for their kids. And when they’re looking for someone to blame, they’re going to look right at you.”
“No..” I stammer, my eyes swimming with tears. “This isn’t right!”
“Listen to your dad,” David whispers, moving closer so that he can put an arm around my waist.
I stand still for a moment, trying to digest what I’ve just heard.
“I’m going home,” I mutter, turning to leave. “I have a headache.”
I walk quickly down the corridor, past Linda, to the elevators. I can feel that David has followed me out, but I don’t turn around.
“I’ll come and see you after work,” he murmurs seductively into my ear as I step into the elevator. It’s all I can do not to vomit in my mouth but I smile obediently and nod.
When the doors close, I frantically start making lists in my head. I only have four or five hours until David comes by and figures out that I’m gone. Preston Industries may be happy to pour toxic chemicals into Bridal Falls, but there’s no way in hell that I’m going to stand around and watch.
Chapter One
Hartley
I smile in contentment as the ice cream dissolves on my tongue. Outside, gigantic gray waves thunder towards the shore and the wind is just about bending the trees sideways. It’s too cold for ice cream, but I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, any weather is ice cream weather. I look around the small shop. It’s almost empty, which isn’t surprising considering it’s winter. Across the room, a woman sits with her little boy in one of the booth seats that are in desperate need of repair. Other than the two of them, I’m alone. I reach into my bag and pull out my phone, checking it for messages for the hundredth time that day. There are 43 voice messages and 64 texts. I delete them all.
Behind me, I hear the door open and slam shut against the weather, and I turn to look. A man stands by the door facing the woman and boy. He raises his hand to say hello and then turns towards the counter. He’s tall; his head almost hits one of the tacky seashell lights as he walks. He’s dressed in worn looking jeans and just a white t-shirt, despite the biting cold. I quickly look back at my ice cream sundae before he catches me staring. Even from a distance and even without my glasses on, I can tell that this guy is ridiculously handsome. His hair is almost black, and it’s wet and messed up like he’s just run his hands through it. With his height and longish hair, wide brow and slightly fierce expression he looks otherworldly, more like a Viking warrior or someone who belongs on the cover of some romance fantasy novel than just a guy in an ice cream shop. No one should be that good looking really. Not in real life. It’s not fair to the rest of us. Although I have to admire the workmanship - he is beautifully made.
He walks up to where I’m sitting at the counter and rests his forearms on the bench top. They’re so close to mine that if I leaned to the side just a little, we’d touch. I steal a quick glance and see that his forearms are tanned dark by the sun and thick with muscle. They’re so different from David’s arms that I can’t help but stare at them for a moment. David works out five times a week and has his arms and legs waxed by a beautician who visits the house. His personal trainer carefully sculpts his muscles. They even have planning sessions about it. As with everything he does, David has exacting standards and ridiculously high expectations. He strives for an unattainable level of perfection in everything in life, including his body and lately, mine.
The arms next to me look rough and naturally strong. There’s a long scar running up the side of the arm closest to me, and three of his knuckles have fresh scabs on them. He looks like someone who does hard work, rather than work in the gym. We sit together for a minute, side by side but not saying anything until he leans over the counter as if he’s looking for something. He doesn’t acknowledge I exist, and why would he. I don’t need a mirror to tell me what I look like. The moisture and the wind have sent my long auburn curls haywire, and I didn’t put any makeup on this morning. I look down and immediately regret throwing on my dad’s college sweatshirt and my old pink yoga pants when I ran out the door.
There’s a crashing sound coming from the back room and then the owner appears. He’s a big guy, with a mustache that lies across his top lip and curls down each side to his jaw. His face breaks into a grin when he sees the guy next to me.
“Crew!” he cries, slapping one meaty hand on the counter top. “When did you get back? Jacob! Jacob get out here. You’ll never guess who just walked in.”
The guy next to me chuckles softly and reaches over to shake the man’s hand just as another younger guy walks out of the back room. He lets out a whooping sort of noise and runs at the counter. The guy next to me leans in and then they’re hugging and slapping each other on the back.
“Good to see you Jake,” the guy next to me says. His voice is deep with a kind of gravelly roughness to it. I recognize it from the times I’ve stayed out too late or drunk too much.
“Man, it’s been a long time, you just get here?”
“I just flew in this morning. I would have come straight away, but I needed to get a surf in.”
The other guy
laughs. I look up at him quickly and see that he’s one of those All-American guys, blonde hair, white teeth, and dimples.
“I’ll just get my stuff,” he says and returns to the back room with the older guy. The shop is silent again, and I begin to feel awkward sitting right next to someone who’s obviously pretending I’m invisible. I want him to turn in my direction so that I can see his face again, but he just drums his fingers on the counter top and stares straight ahead. I decide to leave. I’m just sliding off my stool when I feel a warm hand on my arm. I look up, startled, and suddenly I’m staring into the most intense pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re green, but not your usual green. These are deep, river green, flecked with brown. I look down at where his hand rests on my sleeve and then back up at him. His mouth twitches at the corner and then lifts into a crooked smile that lights up his whole beautiful face.
“Hey,” he says quietly, reaching out a finger to touch my lip. “You have chocolate around your mouth.”
“Oh,” I stammer and instinctively poke out my tongue to lick around my lips. Only his finger is still hovering there, and I lick it by mistake. We both flinch at the contact, and I know without looking that my face has flushed bright red.
“I’m Crew,” he says and holds out his hand. I look at it for a second and then realize he’s waiting for me to shake it. I clear my throat, trying to recover a shred of dignity, and put my hand into his.
“I’m Hartley,” I hear myself say. My voice is shaky and nervous even to my own ears. I look up into his face, and suddenly I can see how tall he really is. The top of my head doesn’t quite come up to his shoulder. He looks down at me and smiles a little, and I wonder what he’s thinking. His skin is bronzed and a little weather-beaten like he spends a lot of time outside. There are little creases at the corner of his eyes that give his face character and a spray of dark stubble across his jaw.
“Ah, Hartley?” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “Do you think I could have my hand back now?”
I look down at my hand enclosed in his and realize that they’ve been hovering like that in mid-air the whole time I’ve been staring at him. I snatch mine back just as Jake comes out from behind the counter. He quickly takes in the scene and rolls his eyes at Crew.
Still Waters Page 1
