by Lane Hart
“Why do you need references to prove you can cook? Can’t you just cook?” I ask.
“Yes, but they also need to know I’m a reliable employee, someone who shows up on time and doesn’t call in sick every day. Although, I did call in sick the past few days, but I really was sick.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her. Holding the steering wheel with my left hand, I reach into the back seat with my right and pull out a stack of papers. “Here are some places for rent if you want to read up and pick a few to see.”
“I get to pick where I’m going to live?” she asks, excitedly.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Wow, these are great,” Cora says as she shuffles through some of the printouts. “But the rent isn’t cheap.”
“You won’t have that restitution payment to worry about anymore,” I point out since everyone will assume she’s dead in just a few days.
“Oh, right. Still…”
“We’ll figure it out,” I assure her again with a sigh. Going the nice guy route is starting to put a dent in my savings. Not that I can’t handle it, but still…
“What about a car?” she asks.
“Won’t need one.”
“Sure I will! I have to get around somehow!”
“You’re going to live on an island where cars aren’t allowed,” I explain.
“An island? Seriously? That is so cool!”
“We’ll get you a golf cart, and I guess I could eventually buy you a car to keep on the mainland…I mean, WITSEC will buy you one.”
“That would be nice, just in case I have to leave.”
“You’ll need to dye your hair,” I tell her while we’re on the topic of changes.
“Dye my hair?” she gasps, as if that’s an idea worse than up and leaving everyone she knows. “But my hair is all natural, always has been. I’ve never dyed it.”
“Do you want to be recognized and found by those assholes who murdered Harold Cox?” I snap at her.
“No, but…”
“But nothing! You’re dying your hair, at least for the first few months to make sure no one recognizes you as a missing person.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “What color?”
“Whatever color you want, as long as it’s not red,” I reply. “Although brown would probably help you blend in more.”
“Brown. Fun,” she mutters sarcastically.
“Being alive is more fun though, right?” I point out.
“I guess.” Cora crosses her arms over her chest indignantly.
“Of everything you have to give up and adapt to, you’re pissed about your hair?”
“A man who shaves his head to the skin obviously wouldn’t understand,” she replies.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I say, apologizing to her for the first time, and meaning for more than covering up her beautiful, natural hair color.
“What’s my new name going to be?” she asks.
“Anita Hutson.”
“Anita Hutson,” she repeats a few times. “That’s simple and easy to remember at least.”
“You’ll have a new driver license, birth certificate and social security number.”
“A whole new identity,” she says as if understanding that for the first time. “A fresh start. Although, it’s probably going to be difficult making friends or dating.”
“Why is that?” I ask.
“Because I’ll have to lie to everyone I meet. All the time. It’s hard to get close to someone when you can’t open up and be honest with them, you know?”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter, knowing all too well what she means. All I’ve done is deceive her since the moment we met.
Chapter Six
Cora
* * *
“Wake up!”
I’ve just nodded off when Agent Sheppard barks at me, startling me awake and making me cough again.
“What? Why? We’re here already?” I ask, lifting my head from the car window to look out at the few vehicles surrounding us in a mostly empty parking lot. According to the clock on the dash, we haven’t been on the road long at all, no more than an hour. I thought he would take me to Texas or Kentucky, at least somewhere a few states away.
“Time to get on the ferry to head over to the island,” he says.
“An island that’s not far from Carolina Beach?”
“Only about fifty or so miles. But then you have to take a thirty-minute ferry. You’ll be surrounded by water and safe there.”
“Sort of like living in a castle with a moat around it,” I reply with a smile.
“Something like that,” the agent remarks. “September after Labor Day is the beginning of the off-season, so there are less people to interact with. But staying close means there’s a higher chance someone could recognize you from the news, though. You’ll need to lay low for a few weeks once we get you settled in.”
“Lay low as in never leave the house except under the cover of darkness with a hat on?” I joke.
“Right.”
“As soon as we get over there, we’ll look at some furnished rentals, decide which house you want to rent. Most will also come with golf carts, so you won’t need much after that, just groceries and all.”
“Okay. I can lay low.”
The agent types a quick message into his cell phone and then reaches in front of me, opening the glove compartment to shove the device inside.
“Do they not allow cell phones on the island?” I ask curiously.
“Probably not much cell reception, so no point in taking it,” Agent Sheppard says as he climbs out of the car. He grabs my bags from the trunk before I can get there.
I follow him up to the ticket counter where he purchases two tickets for the ferry, his round-trip and mine one-way. That’s the first time it really hits me that I’m actually moving to a place I’ve never been before, where I won’t know anyone and will have to start my life over. It’s a little overwhelming since I have a hard time opening up to people anyway, and doing so over there will be discouraged to hide my real identity. Sounds like it’s going to be a pretty lonely existence.
At least I have experience in that area.
My entire childhood was lonely. I was sent to boarding schools where I had maybe one real friend, and the rest of the girls were awful. Then, when I came home, I was treated like a stranger by my parents, an inconvenience. They would have to reluctantly juggle their busy work schedules until I was nine or ten. That’s when they gave up and would just leave me home alone with a maid or the cook. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen, learning recipes from the revolving door of chefs, none of which could please my parents longer than a few weeks at a time before they were fired.
“You coming or what?” Agent Sheppard asks. I realize I’m still standing at the ticket window as he’s heading to the loading area.
“Yeah, sorry,” I say when I hurry to catch up with him.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to keep apologizing,” he grumbles. I can’t tell if he’s angry or annoyed with me. “Just keep up so we don’t miss the ferry and have to wait another half an hour.”
“Right, of course,” I agree, noticing the large boat is currently docked with a few people heading on board.
Agent Sheppard hands over our tickets to a white-haired man in a uniform, and then we’re crossing the ramp. Since we’re the last ones at the dock, the small crew of two or three others get the boat ready to leave the marina.
There are several built-in benches on the stern of the boat, which is where the agent lowers my luggage and sits down. I take a seat next to him.
“Have you ever been to the island?” I ask.
“Yes,” he answers curtly while staring off in the distance in the direction the ferry begins to move.
“Oh. Is it a nice place to live?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else you can tell me about it?” I ask.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
For some reason, I get the
feeling that his mood has shifted. He hasn’t exactly been a friendly, outgoing man to start with, but now he’s even more curt for some reason.
Silas
* * *
It’s impossible to think of Bald Head Island without thinking about Anita. She loved vacationing here and didn’t mind getting around on the slow ass golf carts. Even though she was only thirty-two, she dreamed of buying a home on the island and living there permanently. She had plenty of cash to make it happen, but my father wouldn’t let her leave him. The controlling asshole slapped an ankle monitor on her to make sure he knew where she was at all times.
I can’t help but wonder how many other women have fallen victim to him since Anita. I should’ve stopped him sooner, but I just wasn’t sure I had what it would take to kill a man until recently, even an evil bastard like my father. Killing him was my only option, too, as there was no one I could ask for help, not even the police.
Cora doesn’t say much else on the way over on the ferry, other than to remark on what a beautiful day it is.
How she can still be so optimistic after being dragged from her life, I will never understand.
As soon as we dock, I have one of the golf cart taxi services give us a ride to the closest rental house.
The realtor fell for my whole FBI agent ploy almost as fast as Cora. It probably helped that I sent her a few thousand dollars to make her more amenable to helping me find a furnished home as soon as possible.
She even left me the codes for all three houses so I can get the key out of the realtor box. Besides, even if I wanted to rob the place of televisions or whatever else, it would be impossible to get them on the ferry without someone noticing and reporting it to the island police.
“Here we are,” the golf cart driver says when he pulls up to the yellow two-story on stilts with bright green shutters.
“This house? Really?” Cora asks as we climb off the cart and I grab her luggage. I can’t tell if she loves it or hates it.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“Yellow is my favorite color!” she exclaims as she takes in the side of the house facing us. So, she loves it. Why am I not surprised? I’m starting to think I could’ve taken her to one of the studio shacks at the dock with a Murphy bed and she would be thrilled with the quirkiness of it.
“There’s a deck overlooking the ocean on the other side,” I find myself informing her.
“That’s so nice!”
“You can see the ocean, but it’s still a few rows away,” I amend.
“Can we go inside?”
“Ah, sure,” I reply. Taking her bags up to the porch, I set them down to punch in the code on the realtor box to get the key out. Once the door is unlocked, I push it open and gesture for Cora to go in first.
“Oh, this is a beautiful house,” she declares as soon as she steps foot inside. She barely glances at the foyer or living room before coming to a stop. “I love the kitchen!” she says as she runs her fingertips over the stove and counter. “This is definitely where I want to live. How much is this one?”
“We still have a few more places to look at,” I remind her. “There are three other homes that are available and furnished…”
“No need,” she says. “They can’t be better than this house.”
“You don’t know that until you actually fucking see them,” I remark.
“This house…it’s perfect, even though it’s so big, you know?” She wraps her arms around her waist protectively as if the size is a bad thing. No woman has ever said that phrase as a criticism. Bigger is always better. That’s a proven fact. And great, now I can’t stop myself from imagining Cora saying the same thing about my cock when it’s long and hard…
Fucking hell. I shouldn’t have walked in on her changing, then I wouldn’t be wasting valuable space in my fucked-up head with those sorts of dirty thoughts. I can’t lay a finger on her, no matter how badly I want to, not just because she’s the one person who could potentially send Nash to prison but because I would eat her alive without anyone here to hold me accountable. If not for Devlin stopping me, she wouldn’t be standing here breathing right now. I would’ve shot first and asked questions later.
“So, how much is the rent?” Cora asks when she comes over and plucks the paperwork out of my frozen hands. Gasping, she says, “Four-thousand a month? How am I supposed to afford that? I don’t even have a job right now! I really loved my job…” she trails off. Thanks to the bright, overhead kitchen lights, I finally get a good look at the color of her eyes. They’re a pale, sparkling green, almost crystalline, and right now they look all sad and shit.
“Slow your roll, woman. First things first, we need to check this place out thoroughly, more than just the damn kitchen before we even think about you living here or the cost. Besides, the feds are paying for it, remember?”
“Oh. Right,” she agrees. “So what else do we need to check?”
“It would probably be a good idea to at least look around upstairs to see if there are any leaks in the ceiling from an old roof. Then check the bedroom carpets to see if they need to be cleaned or replaced. And you haven’t even glanced in the bathrooms to see if they’re decent.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she remarks.
“Beggars can’t be gullible pushovers either,” I tell her.
“H-how would you know if I’m a pushover or not?” she asks, shoving a strand of her red hair that fell loose from her ponytail behind her ear.
“You packed up and left your life behind when I told you too,” I point out.
“So? You’re trying to help me.”
Help her, right.
“You need to ask more questions and not trust people so damned easily, especially if you’re going to start over here with a new name in a new town. When people figure out that you’re incredibly fucking naïve, they’ll take advantage of you.”
How ironic is it for me to lecture her on the exact thing that I’m doing to her?
“I’m not naïve,” she challenges, her hands braced on her hips defensively.
“Uh-huh,” I mutter. “Get your ass upstairs and check every inch of every room.”
“Okay,” she agrees just as easily as I expected, which is both infuriating and…enthralling. I can’t help but wonder if she would also be this damn obedient in bed.
Chapter Seven
Cora
* * *
I’m in love with the island cottage. The house I grew up in was four times this size, but it was always too big and empty, not just of people but emotions. Here, with the plush, oversized furniture, bright, happy colors and ocean view, it feels like it could be a home, even though I’ll live here alone.
“Could I have a roommate?” I ask the agent. His jacket is gone, the sleeves of his button down rolled up his forearms as he examines the suffocatingly hot attic for leaks. He seems incredibly concerned about water getting in, which I guess makes sense given the location of the house on an island. There are probably a lot of bad storms that come through.
“No roommates,” he responds.
“What if I want to find someone to help out with rent?” I question him.
“You don’t need a roommate,” he says when he turns to face me, sweat beading on his forehead and making his shirt stick to his massive arms. “And you need to lay low for now, remember? Avoid talking to people, getting to know them and shit. You shouldn’t trust anyone.”
“Right,” I reply. “That should be easy since I haven’t made any real friends in years.”
“Why not?” he asks, his brow furrowed, his perpetual scowl deepening.
“Sometimes I think I’m invisible,” I admit with a sigh.
“Invisible? You’re joking, right? With your bright red hair, I could pick you out of any crowd in a heartbeat.”
“Nope. It’s true. It’s hard for me to get to know people. I don’t usually talk to anyone unless they speak to me first. Otherwise, I could say something and feel stupid when they blow
me off.”
“So you really don’t have any friends?” he asks.
“I really don’t. Pathetic, right?”
“And you don’t date much?”
“Not usually more than once a year. They never stick, though,” I explain.
“Why not?”
“Eh, various reasons. Probably because they don’t want to see me again. Maybe because lately I only go out with typical, boring assholes who are just looking for a one-night stand and move on when I turn them down.”
“You don’t like boring assholes?” he questions.
“No, I actually have a history of dating the wrong kind of man, bad boys who get into trouble and drag me into it.”
“Bad boys? Really? That’s surprising…”
“Well, it’s true.” I start ticking them off on my fingers. “The worst was going to jail for arson thanks to the last one. Another, the one before the arsonist, robbed my parents blind. They were so pissed at me for bringing him home while they were out of town. Then a third, before the robber, well, I should’ve known we weren’t in a real relationship when he only snuck in between the hours of midnight and three a.m. But I swear I had no idea he was married, not until his wife showed up where I worked and beat the shit out of me. Needless to say, I lost that job for bringing drama into the workplace.”
“Holy shit. I don’t even know where to start with all that,” Agent Sheppard mutters.
“Those were the three strikes it took for me to stop making crappy decisions about the men I went out with. So, I’ve only dated boring guys ever since. Supposedly they’re good guys, but I’m not exactly convinced yet.”
“Huh,” he replies. His dark eyes stare at me with what I think could be interest, or maybe it’s just pity. Has to be pity.
“Sorry. You probably didn’t want to hear about my pathetic love life, or lack thereof.”
“No, it’s just…I can’t figure out how someone so beautiful could have such shitty luck with men.”
