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The only edible things she had in her car were a large bag of BBQ potato chips, two bottles of chardonnay, and a package of Skittles that she confiscated from 5-year-old Benny Stewart. Her intention had been to return them to his mother, but she was now kind of glad she had forgotten. No nutrition but a few calories. It would have to do because the road was too narrow for her to turn around and head back to the store.
By the time they hung up, she had fully reassured Beth that a crisp mid-October week at the lake with access to one of the boats was going to be blissful.
The cottage was the very next driveway from the main house. It was not as steep as the driveway to the main house, but unfortunately, it was covered with loose gravel. Her nails dug into the leather steering wheel as her compact car literally slid down the rain-saturated driveway until the front tires stopped on a log with a jolt, keeping her from rolling into the lake. See, there is a silver lining. Yeah, log.
By the time she dragged her luggage through every mudpuddle between the car and the front door, she was soaked to her underwear. The key was thankfully under the stone turtle by the welcome mat, as Beth had instructed. As she inserted the key in the lock, she had an eerie feeling she was being watched. She turned her gaze up the hill toward the main house and could barely make out the form of a man. He was standing on the main deck, his face obscured by dark-colored rainwear. Wiping the rain from her eyes, she took another look to make sure it had not been her imagination. He was leaning over the handrail of the deck, watching her. Not wanting to appear rude, she waved. He pulled his hood back to get a better look. Their eyes locked for an instant before he turned and walked into the house without acknowledgement. Maybe he couldn’t see me, she reasoned, not wanting to believe she had been ignored.
Pushing the door open, the stale smell of beer, marijuana, and sweaty gym shoes crinkled her nose. The rain was still too heavy to open the windows, so she was forced to wait to air the place out. She found the light switch on the wall inside the door, but when she flipped it, nothing happened. Not to be discouraged, she tried the switch in the kitchen. Nothing. Inwardly sighing, she peeked in the cabinets to see if the guys had left anything worth eating. The only things she found were a 48 oz. jar of muscle-building powder and a half-used bag of toasted wheat germ. Yummy.
“Water it is,” she said, grabbing a glass from the cabinet. She turned on the cold-water faucet, but nothing came out. Forcing down a groan, she walked back to her dirty, rain-soaked luggage, zipped it open, fished out a warm bottle of wine, screwed off the top, and took a long gulp.
Despite the faint vomit smell emanating from the couch, she plopped down and put her feet on the cigarette-burned coffee table. All her attempts to get the utilities turned on had failed. She thought about the man on the deck, who she preferred to believe had not intentionally snubbed her. It wasn’t in her nature to think the worst of people. She hoped he would be the kind of neighborly guy who would help her get the water and electricity in working order.
A half bottle of wine, coupled with the stress of her long drive, was making her drowsy, so she decided to take a short nap. Hopefully, when she woke up, the rain would be gone. Then she would swallow her pride and ask the man renting the lake house for assistance.
Chapter Three
Despite Sebastian’s objections, Gray, Bryan, and Alex had insisted he leave town as soon as their clandestine meeting was over. Apparently, the three of them had cooked up the emergency escape plan within days of the first call Gray received from Maximillian Fontana’s assistant. He felt he had no choice because their escalating concerns were contagious.
Alex handed him four burner phones, all purchased at different locations, and Bryan gave him $5000 in cash and $20,000 applied to various bank gift cards. Gray confiscated his cell phone, then handed it off to a woman who took out the battery and sealed it in a metal box probably lined with kryptonite. After they laid out the strict rules for his communication and movements, Bash was driven by a detective friend of Alex’s to a parking lot in Naperville, IL. The detective handed him the keys to a blue sedan with instructions not to speed. It was no surprise when he recognized his overnight bag in the backseat. The detective assured him the rest of his luggage was in the trunk. He was to drive to Indianapolis, stay overnight in a pre-arranged Airbnb, then pick up a black Highlander the following evening at 7 p.m. in the parking lot of a local movie theater. Inside the glove compartment would be the contract, keys, and location of his temporary hideout. By that point, Bash was beginning to feel as though he was going into witness protection.
The drive from Indianapolis to Guntersville, Alabama, took most of the night. With all the cloak and dagger stuff, he almost jumped out of his skin every time a car got too close. Once he reached Guntersville, he had to pull over to read a hand-drawn map with instructions to the cabin. When he turned onto the driveway at the designated address, the car tilted downward at an almost 90-degree angle, giving him the illusion that he was barreling into the depths of the lake sparkling in the headlights. Luckily, the lighting along the steep driveway led him around a curve and to the three-car garage of the two-story house. He quickly entered the code provided and pulled the car inside. Once in the house, he threw his luggage on the floor and stumbled into the first bedroom he found and face-planted on the bed, fully clothed.
Bash woke up later in the afternoon, totally disoriented. Once he remembered where he was, he glanced down at his wrinkled, sweaty clothes and moaned. After taking a long leisurely shower, he grabbed a ham sandwich from the fully stocked kitchen. He moved his luggage into the master bedroom and explored the house. In the light of day, he found it was a beautiful, rustic house made of dark wood. It had a glass front with floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a magnificent view of the lake, with each floor having its own spacious deck. The rental contract guaranteed that all sides of the private cove were part of the homeowner’s property, and it was posted with no-trespassing signs to prevent unwanted visitors.
Bash was just about to go down the long stone stairway to the water to check out the dock and boathouse when the sky opened its wrath. The main deck was covered by the deck above, so he found a comfy padded lounger and read through the brochures and maps to familiarize himself with the area.
He didn’t realize he had nodded off until he was startled awake by the whine of a car engine. The house was too far from the road to hear the infrequent passing cars, so it had to be close. As the sound got louder, it seemed to be coming from the left side of the house, which made no sense because the driveway was on the right side. Dreading the idea of confronting an intruder in the pouring rain, he went back into the house to find an umbrella.
Pulling the black rain slicker he found in the entry closet over his head, he walked to the edge of the deck and leaned over the rail. Annoyance gripped him as he watched a small car skidding and sliding its way down a narrow drive on the left side of the house. So much for privacy, he thought. His pulse quickened as it appeared the car wasn’t going to be able to stop its current trajectory toward the lake. He was going to be doubly aggravated if he had to go for a swim to rescue the trespasser. Before he had time to react, the car came to an abrupt stop. Thank God for small favors.
A few minutes later, someone got out of the car carrying a plastic bag. The driver, who he assumed by the smaller statue was a woman, was drenched within seconds with her shoulder-length hair plastered to her face and neck. She wore a dress that clung to her slim frame like lycra. Watching her splash through puddles, lose a shoe in the mud, and hang on to the car as she maneuvered around to pull a huge piece of luggage from the trunk was worthy of a slap-stick comedy skit. If he had not been so upset about being lied to about the privacy and the cottage, he would’ve enjoyed the show. Now, his only concern was how to get rid of her.
The woman barely made it to the door without landing on her ass. Then it occurred to him that she might be his housekeeper or perhaps a cook, which would be a good thing. As if she sensed him watching her, she stopped outside the door and glanced up at the house until she spotted him. She waved a hand in greeting, appearing polite despite her uncomfortable circumstances. Being the arrogant asshole he was, he turned and walked away.
He immediately texted Gray to find out who the hell the woman was and why she showed up unannounced on his rental property.
Bash: A woman just pulled into a small cabin next door. Do I need to explain to someone what privacy means?
Gray: What the fuck are you talking about? Are you messing with me? Stay inside until I can make some calls.
Obviously, no cook or cleaning fairy as he had hoped. He decided to explore the kitchen to see what he could cook for dinner.
An hour later, he received a text from Gray.
Gray: The owner’s daughter made plans to use the lake house with a friend, not realizing he had already rented it. The owner didn’t think it would be a problem if they stayed in the old caretaker’s cottage. It has a separate driveway and dock. The daughter ended up eloping to Las Vegas with her fiancé without telling him or her friend, so the woman is alone for the week.
Bash: Shit. Now, what am I going to do? Is she a college kid?
Gray: Her name is Morgan Skylar. She’s 25, not an irresponsible kid. A kindergarten teacher. How much trouble can she be? Do what you do best. Growl and send her packing, but she sounds harmless. Before you go all apeshit on her, you should know she just lost her only relative. Your call. To be a dick or not to be a dick, that is the question.
He didn’t respond. “Fucking great,” he muttered.
The chicken picante, fettuccini with olio, and Caesar salad were on the table. He was about to open a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc when he heard a knock at the door. Either his friends had done a shit job of hiding him, or it was the woman he had seen earlier. Taking a swig from the bottle of wine and gritting his teeth, he walked to the door. A look through the peephole confirmed it was his neighbor, a little drier than she had been earlier. He opened the door, forcing himself to keep his aggravation in check.
“Hi! I’m Morgan!” she said, with a bright smile and cheery southern drawl. She stuck out her delicate hand to shake. Suppressing a groan at the intrusion, he reluctantly took it and was surprised by her firm grip. Her demeanor was expectant. “Sorry to disturb you, but I just moved into the cottage next door and ran into a few little quirks. Do you mind if I impose upon you to give me a little assistance? I’m kind of in a jam.”
He stared at her for a few moments, debating a response as she patiently waited, her cornflower-blue eyes opened wide. She was a slim young woman, around 5’ 7”. Ginger-red hair hung in loose natural waves from her bangs, brushing her eyebrows to her shoulders. Her facial features were delicate, with a small, slightly turned-up nose. Light freckles covered her face. An adorably cute “girl next door” type. Thankfully, Gray had mentioned she was 25, or Bash would never have let her in the house, assuming she was closer to sixteen.
