by Quinn Avery
She clicked on the email icon and gasped loudly when discovering his empty inbox. He’d separated everything into folders. “What a monster,” she muttered under her breath.
The folders turned out to be a blessing when she spotted one labeled “BC.” She swiped her phone from her bag before clicking on it, knowing there wouldn’t be time to read them all. There were dozens of reply emails from Willow that started out sweet and flirtatious. The first one she found was dated July 31st.
I had a great time with you too, handsome.
Hope I’ll be seeing you again.
You’re my favorite too. xoxo
You’re too good to me.
Then, after a few weeks had gone by, they started taking on a paranoid tone.
Are you sure I won’t get into trouble with the Commander for this?
I don’t know if we should continue doing this.
I think someone is watching my house.
Bexley’s eyes were drawn to one that showed the sender as “CP” with “STOP” in the subject line. She held her breath while reading the short, but clear threat from the club’s founder.
Stop obsessing over her. You’re going to spook her, and she’ll send us all to the brig. If I hear you’ve visited her house one more time, you’re out of the club. I will make your life a living Hell.
It was dated November 20th. Three days before Willow’s body washed to shore. It had to have been the same CP who paid Willow five grand every week. She wished she possessed the kind of skills required to trace the email back to its owner.
She found one final correspondence between Shane and Willow, dated November 22nd.
Don’t forget to wear those sexy gold shoes with the pink bikini.
Bexley’s hands trembled when she lifted her phone and took a picture of the screen. She had him right where she needed him. It would only take a little coaxing to get Grayson to officially hack into the email account as an official part of his investigation.
Somewhere inside the mansion, a door slammed shut. Bexley’s heart galloped as she tried exiting out of the email program. Her shaking hand missed the ‘X’, so she clicked several times and overdid it, moving a folder on the desktop in the process. She ducked under the desk, breath held. Had security already caught on to the defective camera?
Glancing up, she cursed herself out for not remembering to power off the monitor. Shane’s smug smile glowed back at her from the desktop wallpaper.
The other young woman’s face had been uncovered during Bexley’s moment of panic.
A violent pang spread through her chest.
She thought nothing could surprise her after all she’d seen.
But that was long before she studied the young woman standing between Willow and Shane. Neither of the girls’ smiles were authentic, and there were needle marks visible on their arms. Willow looked much more haggard than in the selfie that Shane had attached to one of his emails. The other woman wore an unusually heavy amount of makeup on her face and neck, as if hiding bruises, and her hair was a tacky shade of green.
Bexley felt the room spin as Faith’s comment about Willow’s friend resurfaced. “Underneath her excessive use of makeup and bad green dye job, I got the feeling she was as beautiful as she was sketchy.”
Bexley’s stomach clenched. The room was shrinking, and she couldn’t get enough oxygen.
The other girl was Cineste.
Part II
14
Papaya Springs, California
November 2nd
Irritation gnawed at Cineste Ferguson’s insides as she stared up at the sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion. The prime location in Papaya Springs was easily worth millions. If Cineste had been there for any other reason, she might have actually enjoyed the view of the dark ocean sparkling beneath the moonlight. But her own careless mistakes brought her there. Not only to this place in life, but to where she physically sat at her father’s side. She hadn’t thought she’d spend what should have been her junior year of college corralling a couple of military brats when she could be hitting the hottest parties on the beach. And she most certainly didn’t imagine she would be the only one of her friends unable to afford a college degree. But she started making regrettable choices with the unstoppable force of a cyclone until her father basically disowned her, and forced her down an entirely different path.
Bexley was the lucky one. She’d left to attend NYU after high school, and never looked back. She called often, and had even bought Cineste a plane ticket earlier in the year so she could go out for a visit, but they weren’t as close as they'd been before their mother’s death.
Cineste was crushed when she learned Bexley had eloped without telling her, even though she claimed it was a stupid mistake.
Their father cleared his throat from the driver’s side of his Cadillac, drumming his fingers on the leather steering wheel. The thick aroma of leather and cigar smoke warring with his aftershave never failed to make her queasy. That night even more so than usual. He was just waiting for her to let him down, again.
“I’d heard the Commander’s wife comes from a wealthy family, but I had no idea they lived in a place like this. Guess Papaya Springs has changed since we lived here.” He swung his head around to face Cineste, lips drawn tight. “Do I have to tell you what will happen if you screw this up?”
“Why would you even bother asking?” Glancing down at her sky-blue fingernails, chipped from being constant victims to her teeth, she longed for the days when her allowance afforded weekly manicures. She would even settle for a time when she was anything other than miserable. “We both know you’ll say it either way.”
“I called in some serious favors to get you this job, Cineste,” his deep voice rumbled with annoyance. “It’s bad enough you’ve become an utter embarrassment to everything I represent—all I’ve worked so hard to achieve. Your lack of maturity has permanently tarnished this family’s name. With the reputation you earned—”
“Oh my god, I get it,” she snapped, turning to him with a deep scowl. Somewhere along the ride, she forgot he’d come directly from work, and his appearance momentarily threw her off. The little girl in her would always be proud of her handsome father in the stark white uniform with gold buttons and an impressive collection of dangling metals. The older and far wiser Cineste saw a manipulative old man with graying hair and wrinkles who would always be cold and unforgiving. “It’s not…necessary, to keep bringing up what happened! I live with the consequences every single day. It was enough that you insisted on giving me a ride here. I don’t need a lecture, too!”
His sharp green eyes, an exact reflection of Cineste’s own, narrowed with anger. “It’s necessary for me to be here to ensure you won’t skip out.” He nudged his white cap perched on the dashboard, probably noticing it had moved a fraction of an inch. “I originally thought it would be enough to quit paying for your education, but Hillary and I have decided it’s time you move out, and get a place of your own.”
Her heart plummeted into her stomach. She figured it wouldn’t be long until she received an eviction notice, but nothing she could say or do at that point would make him proud enough to change his mind, unless she joined the Navy. She would rather take up stripping at the Officer’s Club before giving him that kind of satisfaction. She decided even a stint in prison would afford more freedom than living under Captain Ferguson’s roof. Her chest felt a little lighter with the idea of one day escaping his command.
“You and Hillary decided. I’m glad she has a say in the matter considering she’s only been around a few months, and probably won’t last through the end of the year.” She aggressively pulled on the door handle, wishing she had the strength to break the damn thing clean off. “Don’t worry; I’ll be out by the end of the week.”
She’d be out the next day if she didn’t have to rely on her next paycheck from the restaurant. She didn’t have the slightest idea how she would survive on her own, but she was ready to do whatever it took.
“I’m taking an Uber.”
“You can’t afford—”
“I have credits,” she lied, slamming the door shut. Truthfully, she’d cloned his new wife’s account a few weeks prior. They were blissfully unaware they'd been paying for her transportation to her waitressing job on base. Cineste gripped the door through the open window, reminding herself of all the reasons why she had no other option than to take this job. “One of these days, you’re going to give yourself a heart attack worrying about things that are out of your control.”
Ignoring the lashing from his sharp tongue that would follow, she marched down the elaborate driveway in the warm evening breeze, annoyed when her father’s headlights didn’t budge. A part of her was surprised he didn’t insist on marching her to the door in handcuffs.
Protecting her long brown hair from the ocean’s gentle breeze with one hand, she rang the doorbell with the other. Deep chimes rang through the salty air in an elegant melody. After a second ring, the mansion’s massive curved door swung open.
A tall, well-built man in his late twenties slowly blinked back at Cineste, golden specks in his icy blue irises dancing. Tension clung to his neck despite the casual slouch of his shoulders as he slipped his hands into his back jean pockets.
“What can I do for you?” he asked in a deep voice that rumbled through her core.
Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. She was already drawn to his ruggedness before his lips curved upward, popping a dimple into place. Something urgent rippled down her spine with his smile, all at once reminding her she hadn’t been with a man in ages. Ever since her father locked her under his radar, she hadn’t had an appetite for sex. At least not until that moment.
She never dreamed she’d be working for a hottie. Her father had spotted the flier for a nanny position posted outside the base commissary, and she only communicated with the wife via calls and email. She had no idea what to expect, and only hoped the kids weren’t little sociopaths. Maybe the gig wouldn’t be so bad after all.
15
Cineste took a guilt-free moment to fully assess the man, dragging her eyes down his impressively toned torso, and along the vivid illustrations covering his muscular forearms. The ripped jeans and Volbeat T-shirt he wore weren’t anything she’d seen on a naval officer, and his hair length couldn’t meet regulations. Plus he was young and ridiculously gorgeous. Cineste decided there was no way he could be her new employer.
“Commander?”
He pushed a hand through his brown hair while lifting his thick eyebrows. “Depends who’s asking.”
A warm flush blossom up her neck. She lowered her chin when the heat continued to spread through her cheeks. “I’m Cineste.”
The man’s smile deepened. “You’re Cines-what?”
“That’s my name. Cineste.” When he merely continued to smile with those maddening dimples, she added, “Your new nanny? Your wife wanted to use tonight as a trial run before I start daytime shifts. You know…to make sure I’m the right fit for the girls.”
He quirked a lone eyebrow, seemingly surprised. “Oh yeah…the new nanny.” Maybe his wife hadn’t thought to fill him in on the plan. Leaning to the side, he attempted to peer around Cineste. “Who’s in the Caddy?”
Though the car was too far away to see anything more than her father’s silhouette, Cineste took a step closer to block his view. It would be embarrassing to admit her daddy insisted on giving her a ride when she was twenty-one goddamn years old. “My Uber driver. I asked him to stay for a minute to make sure I have the right place.” She stretched a thumb out behind her, resisting the urge to use her middle finger instead.
By some miracle, the engine shifted into drive, and her father slowly rolled away. A soundless sigh of relief slipped from Cineste’s lips. Good riddance.
The man opened the door all the way, and motioned for her to enter. “Come in, Cineste. I’ll grab the Mrs.”
When she stepped inside, their bare arms brushed and her body ignited like fireworks. His eyes immediately flickered down to her chest, and his tongue appeared to wet his lips. Despite wearing the most modest tank top she could find, his icy blues darkened with hunger. Between his unexpected reaction and his rich, beachy scent, Cineste was a goner, but she absolutely could not afford to get involved with a married man—especially one who worked with her father. Just because she excelled at screwing up her life didn't mean she was suicidal.
Squaring her shoulders back, she fought the strong attraction with everything she had, and continued inside.
Rich marble floors, pristine white furniture, and chandeliers the size of her step-mom’s Prius were only the start of the house’s lavish design. A lot of thought went into every detail, bringing a strong sense of feng shui to the open floor plan. The thought of spending every day in something that extravagant sent a little thrill charging through Cineste’s bones. She’d attended her share of parties in places even more luxurious, but maybe they’d be interested in renting out a room to their new nanny.
Then she remembered she would be watching two little girls under the age of six, and her stomach clenched. It would be necessary to lock the rug-rats outside to keep the place that immaculate.
As the Commander closed the door behind them, she turned to him. “It’s…quiet. Where are the kids?”
“They should be home from their playdate any minute.” He pointed to a cozy sitting area featuring two couches and a fireplace. “Have a seat in there. I’ll be back in a second.”
She shuffled toward the couches. Her eyes caught on the wall of portraits above them. Every picture featured two blue-eyed, blond-haired little girls wearing matching white sundresses. Their bright smiles were practically contagious. With any luck, they’d be as well-tempered as their mother hyped them up to be, and make it an easy paycheck for Cineste.
In the largest portrait, a stunning white blonde—presumably the Commander’s wife—cradled the girls in her arms with an equally fair-haired, attractive man at her side. Cineste stepped in a little closer to inspect them, deciding the couple must’ve been in their late forties or early fifties. That’s odd, she thought to herself. Who’s the man in the picture?
Suddenly a wall of muscle stood between her and the pictures, covering her in the enticing scent of manhood and suntan lotion. A shadow moved over his expression for a sliver of a second before the friendly smile and dimples returned. “Something wrong, Cineste?”
From somewhere inside the house, a woman’s muffled cry pieced the air. With a chill racing down her spine, Cineste wrapped her arms around herself and glanced in the direction of the sound.
“What the hell was that?” she squeaked out before once again meeting her new employer’s gaze.
“That would be the Mrs.” With a disturbingly calm expression spreading across his handsome features, he produced a length of white rope. “And I’m not that bitch’s husband.”
16
The man’s chilling blue eyes locked with Cineste’s. She still found him considerably handsome, only then in a way that terrified her. It reminded her of the time she’d been attracted to a serial killer when watching the documentary on his life. The calm, collected behavior the man displayed didn’t match the threat of the thick rope coiled around his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you, Cineste. You just have shitty timing. Do as I say and everything will be okay, alright?”
Fear ricocheted through her bones. Although the man wasn’t hulking big, her daily running routine hadn’t afforded her the kind of strength it would take to fight off any man bigger than her. More than anything, she didn’t want to find out whether or not he was armed with a weapon.
She nodded, and he rewarded her with another dimpled smile.
“Good girl. Now hold out your hands.”
“I’m not a girl,” she snarled, extending her arms. “And I’m not a dog.”
“You most certainly aren’t,�
� he chuffed with laughter.
Is he seriously still flirting with me?
He quickly went to work in binding her wrists together, and finished it off with an expert knot—the same kind of nautical knot her father taught her as a little girl, back when he was delusional enough to believe she might follow in his footsteps and become a sailor.
“Where are their daughters?” she demanded.
As he tested the knot, his eyes flickered to the ceiling. “Relax…they’re really at a friend’s house. Their mother extended their playdate. They didn’t need to get involved.”
Tears of relief clogged Cineste’s throat. Even though she'd never met them, she wouldn’t be able to stomach violence toward innocent little children. “What are you going to do with me?” she whispered.
“Nothing, as long as you behave.” He released her hands and studied her face reluctantly. “The reason I’m here has nothing to do with you. I only brought you inside before the person in the Caddy decided something was off.”
She quietly laughed to herself. If—by some rare act of God—her father had sensed trouble, and had cared enough to rescue her, Cineste would’ve sent him away. Being held prisoner by a psychopath still beat spending time with her father.
Searching her captor’s handsome face, she forced a swallow down her dry throat. “Are you going to…hurt the Commander’s wife?”
“No reason to.”
Teeth clenched, she shook her head. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Why was she crying?”
Releasing an impatient huff, he glanced around the room, veins in his thick neck once again strained. Something about his otherwise rational behavior made Cineste believe he was no stranger to the family even before he growled, “I’m here to stop a monster.”
