He inhaled. The early evening mist on his face felt good. The older couples strolled north and south along the water’s edge. The children squeezed out that last bit of play before they had to come inside, running east and west before slipping into well-lit homes for dinner.
Three older gentlemen in flip-flops and swim trunks with pot bellies and well-tanned skin, one sporting a white ponytail, blasted passed him on their balloon tire motorized bicycles. They were easily in their retirement years and yet looked extremely healthy and happy.
Life as it should be.
He came upon a young woman seated on the sand, a blanket pulled around her body. She wore a large floppy straw hat that covered her almost to her shoulders. Most of her face was obscured in the shadow of the wide brim, and her oversized Jackie Onassis sunglasses covered up whatever was left of her face. He knew she was young, because she wore pink frosted lipstick.
As he walked past, he looked down on her. She immediately turned her head to face the other direction. Jason continued his walk.
A few yards later, he felt like running, so placed the canister beneath his arm and assumed a gentle jog. He traveled about twenty minutes, and although he wasn’t winded, it was awkward running with a big blue jar in his armpit, so he slowed to a walk.
He examined the row of little bungalows and beach shacks that lined up beyond sand dunes rising up to the right. The windows were no longer bathed in orange, and warm yellow-glowing lights brightly twinkled within the walls. Some houses had fire pits in the yard, where family and friends gathered.
He did an about-face and turned back in the opposite direction, jogging again. When he encountered the young woman with the hat, he slowed and then walked several paces past her. Maybe it was his superstition, the way he’d been trained, or was really a skill he had, but he could feel her eyes on his back.
He sat to fully appreciate the darkness descending all around him. One by one, everyone had disappeared from the beach.
Except the girl in the floppy hat.
Headlights from a beach park vehicle downwind shone on her briefly—just enough so he could see the hat shaking. Even her upper torso, in that one flash of a second or two, was vibrating. Her hands moved to her face under the hat. As the light was redirected elsewhere, in the darkness, he heard her sniffle.
She’d been crying.
He stood, working his way over to see if she needed assistance. Before he could reach her, she scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping on the blanket she’d thrown aside, and ran straight for the wooden arched bridge and beach access path leading to the parking lot and the main street beyond, leaving the blanket behind.
And then she disappeared.
Chapter 2
Kiley ran as fast as her legs would keep her upright. She clutched the oversized hat with her right hand and in her left, she carried her beach bag, which now felt like it weighed fifty pounds. She nearly stumbled several times in the soft sand, her balance thrown off by the dark night. Ripping off the hat, she stuffed it into the bag and tried to stay on her feet, keeping her forward momentum. She felt bound by heavy chains pulling on her body, yanking her down into the abyss of the ocean. Her feet felt encased in concrete.
They found me!
She didn’t dare turn around to see if the hulking man continued to follow her. That wouldn’t be their style anyway. They would’ve sent two or three goons together. A single guy like this could be the lookout and then they’d come for her later, so she ran until she hit the wooden bridge, stubbing her big toe on a nail that popped out. But she kept going, knowing that her foot was bleeding. At any minute, the floor would collapse and she’d be swallowed up by the earth underneath.
The house she rented was located on the left side, so she abruptly turned right and ran until she came to another access road dead ending at the beach. Just after she rounded the corner, she hid, looking down the narrow alleyway to see if she could discern any movement. There was not much of a moon tonight so her eyesight failed. Movement here and there turned out to be palm fronds or other bushes blowing in the gentle breeze.
Her heart thundered, almost to the point of making her choke with each inhale and exhale. She could hear her breathing inside her head as she stumbled in the dark. Her throat was red hot, starved for moisture, her lips parched and raw from her gasping run.
She was going to have to find some way to defend herself when she ventured out again. The steak knife in her bag wasn’t nearly good enough as a weapon.
What was I thinking? Of course they would find me!
Desperate for something safe, a place without fear of being discovered, she had just wanted to get her life back. She was tired of the months of dangerous investigations, the police interviews which went nowhere, and the phone hang ups—all due to the articles she’d written for several Northwest newspapers, including the Columbia Passage. She’d run away to the land of her childhood. It wasn’t safe back in Portland any longer. Probably never would be safe there again.
She’d revealed information she obtained from an anonymous source about the sex and drug trafficking trade, which had made her persona non grata in the town she loved. She had a target on her back—prey for the monsters who ran the child exploitation and sex trafficking ring in the Portland area. What started out being something she was deeply committed to, saving young innocent lives, had now turned into something that could very well cost her own life.
Alone, even disconnected from her fellow reporters, she didn’t know who she could trust. She wasn’t sure she could trust her own editor, who promised to guard all her secrets and her sources. But somehow these had been inadvertently leaked. One of the college interns helping her was killed in an auto accident, and one of the victims she used as a source had disappeared. Could it have been someone on the paper staff or a worker at the coffee houses she frequented? Everyone around her was a suspect.
Her parents had sold their Beach House in Florida five years before. After their failed attempt to relocate to Northern California to be closer to Kiley’s brother, they moved to Portland to be part of their daughter’s life. She knew her mother was hoping that she’d find a nice young man, settle down, and raise a family. It felt like they moved to Portland just to witness such a happy event.
But that was not to be. A year after their move, both her parents passed.
Her work was taking so much of her time that she even lost touch with her brother, Sam. Now, asking for Sam’s help, would only land him in the same kind of trouble Kiley was in. Even though they weren’t close, she wouldn’t dream or wish this on anyone. She’d decided not to let him in on what she’d uncovered.
Kiley checked her bearings then slipped across the alleyway that separated the first row of beachside cottages with the thicker row of larger homes that bordered Gulf Boulevard. These places occasionally were two and three stories, unlike the bungalows on the gulf side. Smaller shacks were torn down so that huge homes could replace them, all built so they would also have ocean views.
Every dog bark made her jump. Every door that slammed sent her reeling for cover under a tree or beside a fence or hedge.
Gulf Boulevard was busy this time of night, people going to and from dinners or beginning the evening bar hop scene. She could only risk being seen for short periods of time, so she crossed the busy street and entered the subdivision of houses on the canal side of the peninsula. These homes were larger still and away from beach traffic, huge mansions with well-manicured garden areas that would rival a botanical garden. Some of these homes had names affixed the iron gates that kept the occupants safe inside, as if they were huge ocean-going vessels.
She followed the roadway, walking around parked cars and staying in the shadows away from the bright streetlamps occasionally illuminating the area. Sometimes, a car would come from behind, and she would dip inside a gated area as if returning home. Gradually the street veered to the left and ended in a cul-de-sac.
She could see the shivering waters of the can
al outstretched behind the large homes. Beyond the canal were lights from a neighboring island, including a strip of beach shops and outdoor restaurants. Music wafted through the night air. She could even smell freshly barbecued seafood.
The cul-de-sac was a dead end for her, so she crossed the street and returned one block then meandered through the subdivision to the first intersection, where she turned. She wandered back-and-forth until she found herself at Gulf Boulevard again but several blocks north of the beach access.
She pushed the button for the pedestrian crossing and quickly traversed Gulf Boulevard, slipping into the first beach access alleyway that appeared. She heard the sounds of people having dinner or gathering outside their houses, enjoying fire pits or having cocktails on the patio.
She kept her eyes peeled for anything that resembled the huge hulking form of the strange man. She’d developed a sixth sense about being followed over the past few months, and tonight was no different, even though she saw no evidence. Her senses were still on high alert and her heart continued racing due to the close encounter.
After winding her way through the driveways and small alleyways connecting various properties to the beach access, she was at last at her front door. Rummaging through her beach bag, she searched for her keys despite the straw hat stuffed tightly there scratching her fingers. She quickly unlocked the front door, closed it quietly so as not to attract attention, and turned the deadbolt, feeling some semblance of safety.
Tossing her beach bag to the side, she heard all the contents scoot over the tiled floor: her cell phone, her lipstick and sunscreen, her book and the serrated kitchen knife she’d put in there for self-defense. She quickly crossed the room and checked the sliding glass door to the sand dunes and ocean beyond, locking it.
At last she began to feel safe. She slumped into her living room couch, propped her feet up, and tried to relax, inhaling long deep breaths through her mouth then exhaling slowly through her nose. She’d been taught this to avoid panic attacks dogging her recently. After several minutes of growing calm, she poured herself a tall glass of ice water, pulled a kitchen chair up to the sliding glass door, and watched for evidence of anyone coming toward her or looking at her from the outside.
She found none.
Kiley thought about what had happened. She’d been watching the sunset when the big man tossed dust and ashes to the ocean. At first she didn’t understand what he was doing, taking him for a homeless crazy tossing sand. But then she realized he had poured—no, thrown—someone’s remains into the surf. It was fascinating to watch his muscled shoulder and huge arm pull back and then toss the fragments from the jar he held. Someone nearby had gasped. People stopped talking. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone point while others softly chattered like birds on a wire.
Growing up on Sunset Beach, she had never seen this happen before. She thought it was against the law.
But then, he began to run North. Her eyes followed him until he was lost in the crowd of sunset watchers. Several minutes later her reverie was disturbed when he came back, and this time, he slowed down, taking a seat a few yards away from her. Her pulse had raced again as she watched for any further advancement.
She drank her ice water as she continued scanning the beach, still searching for any signs of danger.
Had he sat near her on purpose? Had he watched her the same way she watched him, out of the corner of her eye?
After several minutes, her breathing slowed, and her heartbeat returned to near normal. She’d drained her glass of water. It left her chilled.
My blanket!
Her senses, still not returned to normal, began to perk up a tick or two as she squinted, trying to see where she’d left it. She also wondered if the strange man was still there. If he was homeless, he’d most likely be wrapped up in it. Perhaps infesting it with fleas or using it as a place to cover up peeing on himself. She’d brought that blanket all the way from Portland. It was the fuzzy go-to thing she’d always drawn comfort from, nearly as precious as a child’s blanket. She couldn’t let it become fouled by some berserk behemoth who didn’t respect the laws of the beach.
Kiley unlocked the sliding door and stepped out onto her patio. Breathing in the ocean air several times, she felt her soul fill with courage and hope. She was wrapped in her imaginary safety blanket of happy memories from long ago.
The beach heals everything.
The saying had been painted on a plaque on her apartment wall in Portland. It had been in her bedroom growing up, and it followed her to Europe when she did her semester abroad in Paris. It journeyed with her to London and Scotland and throughout Italy as she made her way traveling all summer before the fall semester.
It was the first thing she unpacked when she came back to Sunset.
Carefully, she traversed the soft sand, noticing what appeared to be the discarded blanket off to the left. As she approached, she sniffed but didn’t detect an odor. But she discovered that someone had folded the blanket and left it there for her. As she bent to pick it up, a male voice behind her whispered, “I’m glad you came back for it.”
She whirled around, clutching the blanket to her chest. She wished she had a knife or a pair of scissors or something to defend herself. But she was going to face this person no matter who he was. She was tired of being so frightened that she could hardly think. She couldn’t sleep. She was exhausted from running, hiding.
Before she could get the words out of her mouth or scream for help, he approached her. His huge shoulders and upper torso blocked what little light came from the stars and the crescent moon rising above him. His size and girth registered quickly. She would not be able to fight him off or outrun him.
“Leave me alone!” she yelled.
“Hey, I mean you no harm.”
“I said leave me alone, “Kiley reiterated, holding her palm out in front.
“I scared you. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to. I apologize. Please, it upsets me to know that I scared you. That’s not me.”
“Did you not hear me? I want you to leave me alone.” She turned to go.
“Wait. Please. Don’t be frightened.”
She hesitated and then rotated halfway in his direction, still ready to run if she needed to.
“What—what were you doing out here with that…” She pointed to the metal canister barely visible tucked under his arm.
“I came to carry out my best friend’s wishes. My buddy lost his life overseas, and I returned him to the sea, to the gulf. This is where he grew up.”
She noticed his English had a slight accent she couldn’t make out. She corrected her focus.
“I’m sorry. But this isn’t a good time for me.”
“Nor for me. But please accept my heartfelt apologies for scaring you. It would bother me if you walked away thinking I meant you any ill will or harm.”
He didn’t sound like a monster or like someone who wanted to take her life. He began to sound like someone she might be able to trust.
That’s a ridiculous thought! But before she could fully adjust, she was speaking again to the stranger.
“I’ve just moved back here. It’s been a very difficult few months for me. I…”
What am I saying?
In spite of everything else, her chest tightened. Her breathing became staccato and dangerous. She knew what it was. It was a full-on five-alarm panic attack. At a very inconvenient time.
“I don’t feel…”
Just before she lost consciousness, she had expected to hit the hard scratchy sand as her body collapsed, but powerful arms cradled her gently, breaking the fall.
And then everything went black.
Chapter 3
Jason had no problem catching the young woman, being especially careful to make sure her head and shoulders didn’t come close to hitting the sand. Completely unconscious, her body rolled into his upper torso, which made it easier for him to scoop her up, his right arm placed beneath the backs of her knees. She was light and
supple. He judged she was about twenty-five years old.
The blanket he had so carefully folded for her was discarded, lying in a heap at his feet. He didn’t want to risk losing his balance and hold her too tight so he didn’t retrieve it. He swung her back and forth as if holding a child, rocking and whispering reassurances that she was going to be fine. He caught himself speaking to her in his grandfather’s native tongue.
Just as he suspected, within seconds, she began to gain consciousness.
Of course she was confused. It was a lot to take in. She’d been afraid of him after all, had been fleeing for her life, and now he was holding her, trying to be as tender as he could. He kept his arms out in front, so that as she came to, she wouldn’t know how close to his upper body she had been.
“You’re going to be okay, miss. You’ll be just fine.”
“What? Where am I?” she mumbled, stirring in his arms.
“Just take a deep breath in. Keep breathing. That’s it. You’re gonna feel fine in just a couple of minutes.”
At last she realized that he’d been holding her, which caused her to clamor to get to her feet, nearly pushing him aside.
“I told you to leave me alone!” she said as she straightened her clothes.
He couldn’t see her face but he was sure she was glaring at him from the sharpness in her voice.
“Okay, okay, take it easy.” He stooped, picking up the blanket and shoving it in her direction until her hands could locate it. “Here you go. Take your blanket. Wrap it around yourself so you don’t get cold. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Of course I am!” she retorted in a huff.
In the blackness between them, he shook his head and allowed a grin to separate his lips, since she probably couldn’t see him anyhow. She was one stubborn and bitter woman, who, unfortunately, still thought he was the enemy. If she only knew.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded.
Escape To Sunset: One Night Stand Romance-Hiding From The Mob (Sunset SEALs Book 4) Page 2
