Paradise Disguised
Page 14
There were too many memories. Of the old farmhouse he and his brothers had been raised in. Of the Christmases and birthdays. Of fighting and carousing with his brothers with equal abandon. The chores, the school programs, his first kiss in the alley behind Gruber’s Ice Cream Shoppe. And then later, his first taste of a woman—the fumbling, sweaty bodies on a blanket in the back of his pickup truck. All of those memories were here, but still he hesitated on the outskirts of town.
Dane opened the car door and got out, ignoring the shudder of the engine and coughs of smoke from the tailpipe. There hadn’t been a lot of options for car rentals when one of his buddies had flown him to the private airstrip thirty miles south of Surrender, so he’d taken the keys of the rusted out Honda and kept his focus on getting home in one piece. But now that he was here he wanted nothing more than to turn around and head back to the airport.
Everything was lush and green in the middle of July. Surrender was nestled snuggly at the bottom of the hill, a gem of white fences and red barns with hundreds of acres of pasture land dotted with roaming livestock that was so many people’s bread and butter in this part of the world. The town itself was one long road, and a row of bricked businesses flanked each side of the street. They all had matching black awnings and wooden sidewalks. It looked exactly the same as when he’d left.
An uncomfortable feeling lodged in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t even know why he’d come home. Partly for his brothers. He missed them more than he cared to admit. And partly because he was tired of traveling. Tired of not having a place of his own—moving from jungles to army barracks to third world hovels to five star hotels. He’d always gone where the story had lead him. He’d needed the adventure. To prove that he could survive outside of Surrender. Without his brothers there to catch him if he fell.
But now he was here. Home.
And Charlotte wasn’t. He’d lost his chance there. It was his one regret for leaving. The pang of memory hadn’t lessoned over the years. He remembered her as fresh-faced and beautiful. Black hair and bright green eyes. A sarcastic tongue, and a laugh always ready on her full lips. A body just beginning to become a woman’s. She’d been eighteen when he’d felt her beneath him for the first time. And in the ten years since, no woman had ever come close to making him feel the same, though he’d try to erase her memory as often as possible.
He rubbed his chest just over his heart and got back in the car. He was here to face his demons. To face his past. And there was no point in dredging up the memory of the girl he’d loved—the girl he’d walked away from because he hadn’t had the courage to stay. He saw her in his dreams most nights anyway.
His brothers had told him Charlotte had packed up and left town just a couple of months after he had, and they didn’t know where she’d gone. It was for the best. The past belonged in the past. At least that’s what he tried to convince himself. She was probably married with a couple of kids by now, never thinking of the boy who’d had to leave her to preserve his own sanity.
Dane shifted the car into first, and ground his teeth together at the unholy sound that greeted his ears. The car took off with a jerk and shudder and he was on his way into the bowels of Surrender, whether he wanted to be or not.
The car died less than a mile from the edge of town. He took it with a shrug of acceptance—he’d been in too many similar situations over the course of his career not to take things as they came—and grabbed his bag from the trunk. The sun was just starting to set—an orange ball of flame nestled between the two hills—and the sky had turned gray, hovering just on the edge of darkness.
Dane pushed his sunglasses up on his head and slung his bag over his shoulder. He hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours. When one was flying out of Afghanistan and catching four different puddle jumpers to get home, a man had a tendency to keep his eyes open and his brain alert.
His shoes kicked up dust as he started the trek into town. Everything was getting ready to close for the night. It was still another five miles before he would reach the farmhouse, but if he was lucky his brother would be on duty for the night, and he could get a ride home in the squad car. He smiled at the irony. There were plenty of people who thought he’d spend plenty of time in the back of one before he’d left. If he was really lucky, there would be dinner still warm on the stove. He hadn’t had a decent meal in a couple of days.
The closer he got to town, the more he realized things had changed. Some more than others. He heard the music before he saw where it was coming from. Classic rock pulsed from a white tin building with a blue awning and several open garage doors. It was the same building that had been there before he’d left, but it was no longer a full-service gas station. A new sign with fluid black letters said Charlie’s Automotive. It wouldn’t hurt to stop in a see if they could tow the piece of shit car he’d left down the road. It would save his brothers from having to help him take care of it later.
Dane stuck his head in the barely air conditioned office. It was stark in appearance—white walls, grey utilitarian carpet and a solid black desk piled with papers and invoices. Another glass door led into the garage, and a restroom sign was tacked to another.
There wasn’t anyone in sight, so he followed the sound of the music into the garage. Three of the four bays had cars in varying states waiting for attention, but he still didn’t see anyone. The jangle of metal hitting the pavement had him moving between an old Chrysler and a brand new Ford pickup. A pair of legs covered in blue coveralls stuck out from beneath the Chrysler, knees bent and boots tapping to the beat.
“Excuse me,” he said, pitching his voice over the music. Or at least trying to. It was hard to compete with Robert Plant.
A grubby hand felt along the ground, searching for a tool of some kind. Dane bent down, picked up a heavy crescent wrench and put it in the roaming hand. He winced as he heard the thunk of a head hit the underside of the car in surprise, and he moved out of the way as the coveralls came out from under the car with a vengeance.
The first thought that came to Dane’s mind was that he’d never seen a man so tiny, but then he realized the baggy coveralls were hiding a decidedly delicate body. A smooth curve of neck and porcelain skin, smudged with grease. Definitely not a man. A grubby hand rubbed at the forming knot under thick black hair. Vivid green eyes framed with dark lashes stared at him in resentment. Mermaid eyes. Or at least that’s what he’d once compared them to. But by the way they were shooting fire in his direction they resembled that of a sorceress, ready and willing to turn him to dust with a flick of her wrist.
He felt the blood drain from his face and took a step back.
She grabbed the remote from the hood of the car and shut the music off, leaving an echo in his ears. Or maybe it was his heartbeat thudding wildly out of control.
“Charlotte?” he whispered, afraid he was hallucinating.
“Well, if it isn’t the Prodigal Son himself. You worthless son of a bitch.”
Dane barely had time to duck as the heavy wrench sailed toward his head.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Liliana Hart is the pseudonym for an author of more than a dozen books. She lives in Texas with her husband and cats, and loves to be contacted by readers.
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LINKS TO MY OTHER BOOKS
The MacKenzie Series
Dane
> Thomas
Riley
Cooper
A MacKenzie Christmas
MacKenzie Box Set (includes the 5 books listed above)
Cade
Shadows and Silk
Secrets and Satin
Sins and Scarlet Lace
The MacKenzie Security Series (includes the 3 books listed above)
The Collective Series
Kill Shot
The Rena Drake Series
Breath of Fire
The Addison Holmes Mystery Series
Whiskey Rebellion
Whiskey Sour
Whiskey For Breakfast
The JJ Graves Mystery Series
Dirty Little Secrets
A Dirty Shame
Dirty Rotten Scoundrel
Standalone Novels/Novellas
All About Eve
Paradise Disguised
Catch Me If You Can
Who’s Riding Red?
Goldilocks and the Three Behrs
Strangers in the Night
Naughty or Nice
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