Off the Record (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 10)

by Amanda M. Lee

  “The bug,” I replied, running my hand over my blond hair to make sure nothing crawled through the windblown tresses. “It was trying to eat my face.”

  “Oh, well, good,” Eliot declared. “You haven’t melted down about bugs in almost an hour. I thought perhaps you accidentally swallowed your tongue and were in danger of choking without my knowledge or something.”

  I narrowed my eyes to blue slits. “This is a real problem,” I snapped. “Do you want my face to be eaten off?”

  Eliot remained calm despite my tone. “I’d prefer your face remain the way it is. I’m rather fond of it.”

  “So why aren’t you freaking out about the bug?”

  “Because I didn’t see a bug,” Eliot replied. “Also, I can’t work myself into a frenzy over a fly.”

  “It wasn’t a fly.”

  “What was it?”

  “Do I look like a bug expert to you?” I challenged. “I don’t know what it was. It was red and it had wings.”

  Eliot cocked a dubious eyebrow. “Red?”

  “Yes, it was red. That’s the color of blood. That means it’s probably a poisonous, blood-sucking bug. I’ve probably been infected with some insect-born parasite that’s going to hollow me out from the inside. Then, when you least expect it, my brain will fail and I’ll fall to my knees, the ability to enjoy life literally drained from my weakening body.

  “We’ll go to the doctor. He’ll be confused, because initially he won’t be able to find anything wrong,” I continued, warming to my topic. “Slowly my strength will fade, though, and you’ll go from worried to terrified.”

  “Terrified? Really?” Eliot didn’t look convinced.

  I solemnly nodded. “My illness will slowly steal the color from my cheeks, the strength from my muscles and the oxygen from my lungs.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re a writer,” Eliot teased. “That sentence might sound ridiculous coming from anyone else’s mouth.”

  “I’m a reporter, not a writer.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “So much that I don’t have time to break it down for you,” I replied. “Can I continue my story, or do you want to focus on my adverb choices?”

  “Oh, by all means, continue.” Eliot waved his hand to prod me forward. “I’m dying to hear how this cheery tale ends.”

  I ignored the sarcasm. “So, as my lungs fail, my doctor will finally come up with an illness. When he brings it to us, his shoulders will be stooped, his will to live sapped by the overwhelming realization that my life will inevitably end.”

  Eliot pursed his lips. “Uh-huh. Just out of curiosity, what illness will claim your life?”

  “I have no idea,” I replied. “I can’t pronounce the name. And it’s foreign.”

  Eliot’s eyebrow winged up. “It’s foreign?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s French or something,” I answered, shaking my head to make sure no bugs crawled through it before righting my chair and sitting. “You’ll sit by my bedside for weeks, holding my hand until I die. Then you’ll cry and be depressed for the rest of your life, sobbing every time you walk into a room of the new house we bought and never got to share, memories of what could’ve been haunting you.”

  “Sounds awful,” Eliot noted. “I especially dislike the part about us not being able to enjoy the house we just bought. The French bug illness sounds terrible.”

  “You don’t look terribly broken up by my death,” I pointed out.

  “That’s because it hasn’t sunk in.” Eliot smirked as he grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips. “How long do you think I’ll mourn your death, by the way? Will I be down for the count or will your untimely passing merely be a speed bump on my way to happiness with a supermodel?”

  I scowled as I jerked my hand away. “You’ll take to your bed for six months, growing so fat that no other woman will ever want you.”

  “That sounds nothing like me.”

  “Then you haven’t been paying attention to the story,” I shot back, my annoyance flashing. “You’ll never find another woman to love. You’ll pine for me until your final days. And when you go – exactly one year after me – the doctor will be flummoxed again because he’ll come to the inevitable conclusion that you died of a broken heart.”

  Eliot pursed his lips, amused. “So … no supermodel?”

  “No.”

  “That’s really disappointing. I thought for sure my payback for putting up with you would be a supermodel.”

  If he was trying to hurt my feelings he was going to be bitterly disappointed. “I’m better than any supermodel.”

  “You are indeed.” Eliot grabbed my hand and tugged, pulling me until I landed on his lap. He wrapped his arms around my waist and forced me to remain close to him no matter how hard I struggled. “I would definitely want to die if something happened to you,” he whispered, kissing my cheek. “I’m not sure I buy the French bug disease, though.”

  “It’s real.”

  Eliot snorted. “Well, I promise to protect you from as many bugs as possible for the rest of the day.”

  “Speaking of that, what are we going to do today?”

  It was our second day in Hell – better known as Lighthouse Park in Port Hope. I’d lived in Michigan my entire life and never heard of Port Hope until I decided to surprise Eliot with a camping trip for Valentine’s Day. That was in February, of course, so snow covered the ground and a summertime week in the woods seemed far off and intangible. It was up close and concrete now, and I was starting to regret my soft heart.

  “I was thinking we could take a walk around the lake,” Eliot suggested, brushing my hair from my face and smiling at my scowl. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I was thinking we could go in that cabin and get naked,” I replied, not missing a beat as I jerked my thumb at the small hut behind us. “We can pretend that we’re the last two people on Earth and the zombies are outside. I’m pretty sure I can make it worth your while not to leave that bed until we return to civilization in a few days.”

  Eliot chuckled, amused. “That kind of defeats the purpose of camping. To be fair, getting a cabin defeats the purpose of camping, too.”

  “I don’t do tents.”

  “You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

  “We can still do the bonfire thing. I was a big fan of the s’mores last night.”

  “Yes, there’s nothing better than a sugared-up Avery. That’s one of my favorite versions of you.”

  That was an interesting way to phrase it. “What’s your all-time favorite?”

  “The ‘I’m going to make Tad Ludington cry’ Avery.”

  Tad is a former college boyfriend and current nemesis. I’ve had plenty of enemies over the years – and I’m never limited to just one at any given time – but Tad is definitely the Sauron to my Aragorn, the Jabba the Hutt to my Han Solo, the Voldemort to my Harry Potter … wait, what were we talking about again? Now I totally want to watch the Harry Potter collection.

  “What’s your least favorite Avery?”

  “The one who puts herself in danger to get the story,” Eliot answered without hesitation. “I find that much more distressing than the remote possibility of an unpronounceable French illness transmitted via ladybug.”

  “It wasn’t a ladybug.”

  “Oh, baby, I saw it,” Eliot argued. “It was a ladybug. I’m pretty sure they don’t even bite.”

  “I’ll show you something that bites,” I grumbled, shaking my head. “It wasn’t a ladybug. It was a Fire-Breathing Mantis or something.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not a real thing.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re not a bug expert.”

  “No, but I am an Avery expert.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I took one look at you and thought, ‘That is the most amazingly mouthy and obnoxious woman I’ve ever met.’”

  “When did you stumble across that epiphany?”

  Eliot shrugged.
“The day you walked into my store and announced you needed a gun because someone was stalking you. My favorite part of that interaction, by the way, is that you admitted you’d pissed off so many people you couldn’t narrow a reasonable suspect list. I knew you were the woman for me at that exact moment.”

  “We barely said a hundred words to each other that day,” I pointed out. “How could you possibly know something like that so soon?”

  Eliot ran his hands over my cargo shorts, tilting his head as he considered the question. “I can’t say. I just knew.”

  On a normal day I would’ve made fun of him. He acted schmaltzy and I often believed schmaltz was to be ridiculed. He seemed so earnest, though – and this entire trip was a gift for him – so I bit my tongue.

  Eliot noticed my silence and cast me a curious look. “Why did you go quiet all of a sudden?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s hard to make fun of you when you’re being sweet.”

  Eliot poked my side. “I guess I found your Achilles heel, huh? All I have to do is be sincere and you’re rendered speechless. That’ll come in handy down the road. I can feel it.”

  “I said it was hard to make fun of you when you’re being sweet. I didn’t say it was impossible.”

  “There she is.” Eliot snuggled closer and rested his chin on my shoulder as he blew out a sigh. “I know this isn’t your idea of fun. When you surprised me with the trip I thought you were crazy. I was still touched by the effort.”

  “You being touched doesn’t negate the fact that I might be crazy,” I pointed out.

  “Avery, I don’t care where we go,” Eliot explained. “The point of this week isn’t to camp … or hike … or fish … or sleep in a tent. The point is to spend some time together. Alone. Just the two of us. No crazy family … or ex-boyfriends … or potential stalkers. Do you know this is the first vacation you’ve taken since we met?”

  That couldn’t be right. “I’ve been off several times.” I was almost positive that was true.

  “You’ve been off several times after injuries, but that’s not the same thing,” Eliot countered. “You chose to take time off and spend it with me. That means a lot.”

  He sounded sincere, which made me realize how difficult I am to deal with on a regular basis. He shouldn’t be thankful to spend time with me. Wait, that came out wrong. Still … .

  “I’m excited to spend time with you.” I found I meant every word as I relaxed against him. “I’m not a big fan of the bugs, but I’m the president of your fan club, so we’ll make it work.”

  Eliot snickered. “Well, I’m a fan of any woman who would risk dying of some rare French bug disease just to make me happy.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m an amazing woman.”

  “You are definitely amazing.” Eliot pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “You hate it here, though. We could leave and go back home. We have a lot to do now that we’re packing for the move to the new house. I don’t care where we spend time together. We can do it just as well in the city.”

  I immediately started shaking my head. “No. You deserve this.”

  “I don’t want you to be miserable because you’re trying to make me happy. That’s not how this will work.”

  “I’m not miserable.” That was kind of true. “I’m with you. I can’t be miserable when I’m with you.”

  “That’s not what you said when I suggested we go to a Kenny Chesney concert.”

  I snorted. “Yes, but that was a joke.” Eliot’s expression told me otherwise. “Okay, well, that should’ve been a joke,” I corrected. “I only do country music if it’s Kenny Rogers. You know that.”

  “Why Kenny Rogers?”

  “Because you have to know when to hold them.”

  “Ah, well … .” Eliot rolled his eyes. “I’m willing to head home if that makes you happy. But if you want to stay you need to lay off the complaining.”

  That seemed a fair request. “Can I have twenty more minutes to get the complaining out of my system?”

  Eliot’s lips curved against my cheek. “That sounds like a compromise I can live with. Then I thought we’d head into town for dinner. There’s supposed to be a carnival tonight. I thought that might interest you for a bit.”

  “I don’t like carnivals. They have clowns. Clowns are creepy.”

  “Well, that’s a given,” Eliot said. “They also have crappy dessert food that is guaranteed to put a smile on your face.”

  He had a point. “Okay, that sounds like a plan. You have to protect me from the bugs, though. That means you can’t sit there and laugh at me when the deadly Fire-Breathing Mantis returns to finish the job. You have to kill it if you want me to reward you with s’mores and sex … and we both know that’s going to be the best reward ever.”

  “Deal.”

  I stilled, surprised. “That easy?”

  “That easy,” Eliot confirmed, bobbing his head. “Now get your complaining out of the way. I’m ready to start the vacation of a lifetime.”

  I shrugged as I got comfortable. “Have I ever told you the story about the time I went on a snipe hunt?”

  “No, but that sounds like a delightful story. Lay it on me.”

  I did just that.

  2

  Two

  “Why’d you let me eat so much?”

  I cast an irked look in Eliot’s direction as he led me toward the Port Hope festival later that night, ignoring the exacerbated expression on his face as I rubbed my stomach.

  “You should’ve stopped me after the first round of crab legs,” I groused. “My insides feel as if they’re swimming in buttered lemon juice with bits of chum thrown in for color. I’m the shark in Jaws and the crab legs are Quint.”

  Eliot snorted as he slung an arm over my shoulders. “Who else has a girlfriend who can fill his head with such delightful imagery? I’m the luckiest man alive.”

  I ignored the dig. “Seriously, why did you let me eat so much?”

  “I told you after the first round of crab legs to focus on your steak,” Eliot reminded me. “Then you proceeded to add sour cream to your baked potato and eat the cheesy cauliflower off my plate because, and I quote, ‘Cheese can only be enjoyed by the pure of heart.’”

  “You said you liked it that I had a healthy appetite!”

  “Then you decided that those crab legs were the best thing you’d ever eaten – even better than the kebab you had at that Middle Eastern restaurant we discovered three months ago when you hadn’t eaten in more than twelve hours and were convinced you’d die of hunger if you had to wait five more minutes – and ordered a second round.

  “Now, I enjoy watching you work,” he continued. “You have a certain … special something … when it comes to stuffing your mouth. I once watched you eat an entire box of Samoas while reenacting your favorite House of Wax death scene, which was both the most entertaining and terrifying hour of my entire life.”

  “Paris Hilton gets a rod shoved into her head while running around a garage she found in the middle of the woods,” I whined. “She’s in lingerie, too. It’s her best performance ever.”

  “Is that saying something?”

  “You like lingerie.”

  “Only because yours consists of adult Star Wars Underoos,” Eliot shot back.

  “I have Wonder Woman ones, too.”

  “Ah, my favorite.”

  “And Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

  “Cowabunga, dude. How could I forget those?”

  “And She-Hulk.”

  “Those are actually my favorite,” Eliot conceded. “You make growling noises when you’re irritated and ready for bed, and you pretend to rip off my shirt before rubbing yourself all over me. It’s oddly sexy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “None of this has anything to do with the fact that you let me eat food I couldn’t fit in my stomach. The fact that I feel like puking is your fault.”

  “Oh, well, at least I have something to add to my business cards,”
Eliot teased. “I can make my girlfriend puke. I think that’ll open me up to an entirely new avenue of business prospects.”

  “I’m sure that talent will be in high demand,” I muttered, ruefully rubbing my stomach.

  Eliot pursed his lips as he tugged a strand of hair behind my ear. “I love you, Avery.”

  The statement was simple, and it was hardly the first time he’d uttered it, yet my heart flipped all the same. “I love you, too.”

  “Even though I let you eat too much?”

  “Because you let me eat too much,” I clarified. “You never try to change me. You’re the only person I can say that about.”

  “That’s not true. Carly loves you the way you are. Lexie loves you the way you are. The majority of your family loves you the way you are. I’m hardly alone when it comes to your fan club.”

  “You’re different.”

  “Because I buy you crab legs?”

  “Because even though other people love me – which boggles the mind, right? – you’re the only one who doesn’t try to change me. Carly loves me, but she wants me to be more kid friendly and less likely to incite a riot while in public.”

  Eliot smirked. “She clearly doesn’t understand how funny that is to watch.”

  “Lexie wants to make me do yoga and become more socially conscious.”

  “Socially conscious?”

  “She wants me to help fight for peace in the Middle East instead of causing war in Macomb County.”

  “Ah, well, that makes sense.” Eliot pressed a kiss to my forehead. “They clearly don’t understand that you’re perfect the way you are.”

  I couldn’t help but be suspicious. “Are you just saying that because you want to get lucky tonight?”

  “Oh, I’m getting lucky. I shelled out a hundred bucks so you could inhale crab legs as if they were an endangered species … or on limited offer, like the McRib.”

  “Ooh! I love the McRib!”

  “You and me both.” Eliot gave me a brief hug, rubbing his cheek against mine before releasing me. “Do you feel okay to attend the carnival, or do you want to head back to the cabin?”

  That was a tricky question. I’d never been big on carnivals – carnies give me the heebie-jeebies and clowns should be outlawed, along with anyone who thinks Jar Jar Binks added to the Star Wars experience – but there was nothing to do at the cabin but get naked. I was feeling too fat to get naked at the present moment.