Yasmine

 

Three days of bliss had passed. Although Hawk begged me to stay some more, I had to get home and breathe it all in. Everything had happened so fast. One day, I thought we would never try anything more. The next day, he beat up my ex, made love to me, and then kept me hostage in his bedroom.

Fuck. I miss him already.

I checked my watch. It was five in the morning. Right as I touched the knob, Cindy held the door open.

“Welcome back,” she said.

“Thanks.” I walked through. “Do you ever sleep?”

“It’s a bed and breakfast,” she said. “I always have to get up early to oversee breakfast. Besides, it’s Brooke’s day off.”

“That sucks. Do you need help?”

“Always.”

I headed toward the kitchen. “Then, Yaz to the rescue.”

“Thanks, as usual. I’ll be there in a minute. I have to check on that fighting couple from earlier.”

“The blonde chick and the dark-haired guy?”

“Yep. They were fighting again last night.” She traced a holy cross in the air. “I was scrubbing plantains off the walls until midnight.”

 “Are you freaking kidding me?”

“No, and Lord help me, I was real close to scrubbing her behind.” She waved her hand in the air like she was signaling for God. 

“What a waste of good plantains.” I frowned, thinking about all that delicious food ruined.

Fried plantains was a universal Caribbean favourite, but while other islanders made them as spicy, crisp chips, Bahamians loved them soft and sweet. Chef Brooke executed plantains that made me want to fall on my knees and marry her.

“What is the deal with those two?” I asked.

“They married before arriving, but he’s not a fan of keeping his snake in his pants. They’re supposed to be on their honeymoon and the whole time he’s been courting other female guests.” She headed up the stairs. “I’m just going to make sure she didn’t kill him last night.”

“Stay safe.”

“I will.” She disappeared.

I headed for the kitchen. Mouthwatering aroma drifted from there, a perfumed buffet of sweet and savory scents twisting around each other. Silverware rattled. Classic hip hop boomed. An erratic drum beat came next, sounding like someone was hitting wooden spoons to a pot. Victor must’ve been in the kitchen.

Everyone else prepared food at a reasonable volume level. However, Victor made the most noise. He was always drumming pots on countertops with wooden spoons to whatever beat blasted over his old radio. If not that, then he was free-styling phrases that didn’t rhyme or singing with the chorus out of tune. And then there was his dancing—hip circles to anything with a Latin beat, jumping to hard-hitting street ballads, and if a slow groove played, he grabbed anybody near him and spun them around the space. It was a wonder that while he cooked, he didn’t harm himself, the dishes, or anyone else.

Cindy and I usually avoided the kitchen when he cooked. With all his loudness and craziness, it was just a bit much.

However, we never deterred him from laying down his dishes. While he didn’t cook as good as Cindy or Chef Brooke, his claim to fame rested in morning meals. I would bet all of my money his breakfast dishes were what made Cindy fall in love. Victor made a mean shrimp and grits with just enough savory and spice with a squeeze of key lime on the top. Like us, he had Bahamian roots so he always did bowl of boil’ fish to start the day, usually using freshly caught grouper, creamy grits on the side, and a sweet wedge of Johnnycake. 

As I entered the kitchen, Victor sang out with the rapper crooning from the radio. “Better have my money with no delay. Better have my money or you’ll see this AK. Don’t want to make your mother drown in tears. Don’t want to make your brothers die in fear.”

Grinning, I waved at him. “I see we’re playing gospel music today.”

“It’s gospel in a sense.” He winked and turned the radio down.

“Gospel in a sense? The guy is talking about killing people.”

“True, but everyone needs to have one favorite gangster rap song in their life.”

“Everyone?”

“Yes. These are facts. There’s always a time in your life where someone is messing with you, and you let them because you forgot who you are.” He went to the fridge and took out a carton of eggs. “So, you go to your room or car and you put on that favorite gangster song to amp you up. You turn it on and it just rushes through your blood.”

He yanked out a tub of butter. “And then, it’s on. Whether you go back to that person who bothered you or not, it doesn’t matter. That song reminded you that nobody can mess with you.”

“Hmmm.” I strolled over to the stove to get a better view of those delicious smells.

“Get away from the stove.”

“Okay. Okay.”

The other problem with Victor and his cooking was that he was possessive of everything in the kitchen while he worked. No one could touch anything or get too close to the food while he was preparing. Granted, it was probably because once we smelled it, we liked to sneak a taste when he wasn’t looking.

“Hungry?” Victor asked as he pulled out a tray of Johnnycakes.

“Yes.” I sat down at the island counter. “However, I came in to help.”

“Don’t worry about that for now. Go ahead and sit down.” Victor finished what he was doing, shut off the radio completely, and then handed me a Johnnycake covered in butter and jam. “I recieved a coconut telegraph yesterday.”

Of course you did.

Everyone around here called gossip a coconut telegraph. I wondered where Victor was going with this.

“What did you hear?” I asked.

He washed a fork, dried it, and handed it to me. “I’ve heard you’ve been with Hawk for these past days.”

“Oh. Well, that wasn’t a big secret.” I pointed at Hawk’s house. “I was right next door.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Clearly, I did since I’d been fucking him from morning, noon, and night for the past three days. However, Victor didn’t deserve my smart mouth and he was only looking out for me like he always did.

“Yes, I was with Hawk.” I grabbed the fork. “And yes, I think it’s a good idea.”

“Be careful.”

“I am.”

“You’re over here in the same dress from three days ago, grinning from ear-to-ear like you’d just been on a Disney ride.”

I have been on a Disney ride and now I’m wondering why I jumped off.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shoved a piece of Johnnycake into my mouth with the fork. “Most of the time, Hawk and I read his bible and sang psalms about our dear Lord.”

Victor snorted. “Here’s my brotherly advice.”

I shoveled food into my mouth, dreading whatever he was going to say. At least, the Johnnycake was perfect, warm and melting on my tongue. I decided to get two more.

“Men are good at sexual relationships because we approach most women with our heads instead of our hearts.” Victor made a show of placing his hand on his head and the other on his heart. “Only a few women will have us thinking with our hearts. Those are the ones we end up marrying.”

“So, you’re saying women don’t use their brains when it comes to men?”

“Don’t tell your sister I said that.”

I pointed my fork at him. “I totally am and you’re going to be in so much trouble.”

He waved my threat away and continued, “I’m not saying it’s a biological thing. Society made it that way. A little boy cries about something, he gets yelled at by his parents. They tell him to man up. Unlucky sons with stupid parents are demeaned and called ugly names like faggot and punk. From the very beginning, boys are trained to not deal with their emotions. Girls on the other hand are free to be emotional.”

“Well, at least that’s one freedom females are given.”

Victor shook his head. “This is not an invitation to argue about feminism. I’m just trying to get you to understand Hawkins. I just don’t want you to see salt and think it’s sugar.”

I stuffed my mouth and mumbled between chewing, “Fine.”

Sadly, Victor wasn’t done.

“Emotions rule the heart. Logic rules the head. Women tend to be more emotional. And emotions have no logical basis. There’s no reasoning. And when they come strong, they’re not open for discussion.”

I didn’t like where this was going.

“Basically, if you’re going to spend time with Hawkins, make sure you’re both using your hearts or heads. Not you giving away your heart while the whole time he’s using his head.”

“And how would I tell if he’s using his heart?”

“Because he’ll start acting irrational.”

“Al-righty.”

“Don’t be a motel room. Be a home.”

“Jesus, Victor. I got it.” I finished my Johnnycake, grabbed two more, and decided to make a con leche, pouring steamed milk and sugar into a cup of coffee.

Like a possessive cat, Victor monitored my movements near the stove the whole time. “Don’t sneak any more food.”

When I took my cup and food back to the island counter, he returned to what he was doing.

I giggled. “You’re so territorial of the kitchen, it’s starting to worry me.”

“You are always nibbling on everything and Cindy is always tasting stuff and adding her little bossy opinions.”

“They’re not bossy opinions, they’re suggestions.” Cindy strolled into the kitchen. “Well, the guy is alive. Granted, he’s sleeping outside of the room with a black eye, but he’s definetly breathing.”

Victor wiped down his side of the counter. “I can’t wait until they check out.”

“Me either.” Cindy checked the pots steaming on the stove.

Victor scowled. “Get away from my pots, please.”

Cindy rolled her eyes. “Did you tell her about Greg?”

“No,” Victor said. “I was just finishing up on my advice about Hawkins.”

“Oh, God.” Cindy stirred one of the pots and then placed the top back on it. “I told you not to give her that misogynistic speech. Men are just as emotional as women. And by the way, you need more salt for the fish.”

“The fish is fine. I don’t want to give the guests hypertension.”

Not caring to rehash the gender debate, I asked, “What about did you have to tell me about Greg?”

“He never left.” Cindy went to the fridge and pulled out a large jug of milk. “That boy checked in here yesterday and said that he is staying on the second floor.”

I set my fork down on my plate. “I can’t believe he’s still here. What the hell does he want?”

“You,” Cindy said. “That’s what he wants. And he’s been asking Victor and me who you were with this whole time.”

“It’s none of his business.”

“That’s why I didn’t give him any anwers.”

“Sorry about that. He shouldn’t be bothering you.” I took a sip of my coffee to swallow down the bad news. “I know you’re busy with the guests. The last thing you need is to be my answering service.”

“It’s no problem.” Cindy smiled. “I hated the way he treated you. I’ve enjoyed watching him squirm.”

Victor set another tray of Johnnycakes on the table. “Meanwhile, Greg said he wasn’t leaving until he talked to you.”

I checked my watch. “I should wake his dumb behind up and finish the talk so he can check himself out of here today.”

“That easy?” Victor asked.

“He cheated more than once. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Victor nodded. “Good. Deal with him with no emotion. Now, you’re using your head.”

“Oh, please.” Cindy checked Victor’s other pots as if she was a kitchen supervisor. “I don’t care how you deal with Greg as long as he gets his butt out of here today. He’s been pushing his sci-fi dvds on all the guests. Every time some of them see him, they rush off in the other direction.”

“I’ll take care of it. No worries.” I finished my con leche and rose to help them.

Hours passed. I helped Victor cook, served the breakfast platters with Cindy, and then told them to rest as I cleaned up the kitchen. The whole time, I couldn’t get Hawk off my mind. When I finally finished, I sent Greg a text and then went upstairs. I should’ve been exhausted, but those past days with Hawk had given me a rush of energy.

Once I hit my room, an urge came over me to write. It burst out of nowhere. Since coming back to Key West, I was finally starting to feel like my old self, and the person that I had to thank for that was Hawk.

He’d inspired me, soared down and tore away my writer’s block.

The passion has returned!

Books weren’t paint-by-number masterpieces where an author matched a word with a color and then voila—she had a bestseller. The hardest part of writing a book wasn’t coming up with the idea or story. It was the commitment to sit my butt in the chair every day, no matter what, and produce more pages. It was the actual act of putting what I dreamed about on paper, and then following it through without fear of who may like it or not.

That feeling had come back to me. The sensation of dedication. The drive. The burning need to write, write, write, until my fingers cramped and my stomach growled and my eyelids struggled with staying open.

These past days with Hank had changed me. I found love inside of me that I didn’t know I had. My compassion strengthened. My heart grew bigger, hoping to fit him inside of it.

Hawk was this massive man made of muscle and heartbreak. A storm rose inside of him, chaotic and spinning enough power to trigger a hurricane, and he believed he could stand against his storm all by himself.

He’s wrong. I’ll always be there to hold the umbrella.

And although I’d only been focused on his healing, somehow he’d fixed the broken parts of me. I felt reshaped. Renewed. Sewn and glued back together. And his hot kisses started it. That lovely cock continued it. The love bridging between us finished the job.

He’d healed me.

Hawk gave me the energy to start again. After making love to him for days, a pulse-pounding sensation took over me. A book hit my head filled with strong, powerful scenes. Wildly creative characters sprouted in my mind and then walked within my skull touching everything and defying rules. Not only was I good for him, he was beginning to be good for me.

When I finally returned to the attic, I showered, bundled my locs into a quick twist, sat down in front of my laptop, played some music, and imagined a rugged, muscled hero standing outside.

Why is he out there? Who is he?

I looked around the room, searching for more inspiration for my plotline. One of the pages from my drunken night with Hawk was on my desk. I had no idea what had possessed me to write those two sentences over and over, but there must’ve been a reason.

I picked up the page and read them aloud. “I don’t want a mermaid, motherfucker. I want my money.”

Al-righty.

Sparks of something hit me. It scared me as visuals started to form in my head.

I cracked my fingers and dove into the story. I decided the hero was a human gangster in a world where supernaturals existed, and dealt in the black market. He’d grown up rough with no parents to take care of him. Due to that, he’d never experienced love or knew true acts of kindness.

And so the scene started at night, in front of a huge fish tank that had been dragged to the back of his nightclub. The first page opened with my hero punching a burly character in the jaw. Burly owed him money, and so he’d found a mermaid in the murky waters of their city, slung her in a huge fish tank, and figured he could use her to clear his debt.

But, my hero wasn’t having that.

“I don’t want a mermaid, motherfucker! I want my money.”

Although my hero tried to be a bad guy, deep down inside he didn’t want to kill anyone. So he took the mermaid and cleared the debt, studying the fish tank after the Burly left.

“Mermaids? What the hell am I going to do with her?” He leaned his forehead against the glassy surface to get a better look.

The water was too murky for him to get a good view. Shadows formed a silhouette of a feminine image with a tail, but that was all he could make out…a black shape within green darkness.

And suddenly, right at the center, the mermaid rose.

It was a breathtaking sight.

Turquoise and gold eyes and rippling, sea-green hair flowed around a perfect face with lips so plump, he could suck for days. Her glittering tail splashed behind her and then she vanished into the waters.

A knock came at the door, yanking me out of the story.

Cindy peeked her head inside. “Yaz?”

“Yeah.”

She stepped in and looked at my hands on the computer. “Oh. You’re writing?”

“Yep.”

Her face brightened. “Thank you, Jesus.”

“I’m back.”

“Good.” She looked outside for a few seconds and frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Greg is downstairs with flowers. I hate that I’m disturbing your writing for this jack ass.”

Fuck his flowers.

“Thanks. I guess this is a good time to take care of that.” I grabbed my mouse and saved everything on my laptop.

Minutes later, I rushed down the stairs and went to Dolphin View’s siting room.

“Yasmine.” Greg rose when I entered. A bouquet of flowers lay in one hand. He gripped a manila envelope in the other. “Where have you been?”

“I think the question for today is what do you want,” I said. “You want to explain your innocence? I don’t have the time. You want the books? They’re upstairs. Take them and leave.”

“I want you.”

“We’re over.”

“Give me another chance.” He brought the flowers over to me. “I was trying to tell you this nights ago, before that ogre showed up and took you away.”

A family walked in. The father carried his daughter on his shoulders while the mother held two boys’ hands. I gestured for Greg to follow me outside. There was no way I would have his drama causing Dolphin View to get negative reviews.

He had to leave. I’d given him five years of my life. He’d had a chance and squandered it with lies and cheating, complaints, and a complete lack of gratitude for the woman he claimed to love.

I took his flowers and gave them to the mother.

“Oh, wow.” She grinned. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I left the sitting room.

He followed me outside. “You could’ve kept the flowers.”

“You could’ve kept your behind in LA.”

“Just hear me out.”

“Fine, but make it quick.” I scanned the grounds, searching for a private place to curse him out.

A nice crowd lounged on the beach. Most were my sister’s guests. I figured the gazebo would be a good place to talk. Guests usually hung out there and used the grills surrounding the space, but no one was out there today.

I glanced toward Hawk’s house. We would be in the view of his studio, if he happened to look outside. I hoped he didn’t go to the window until I took care of Greg and sent him on his way.

When we arrived at the gazebo, I turned to Greg and crossed my arms over my chest. “Go ahead.”

“So, this situation.”

“You mean the situation of you getting a blow job in our bedroom,” I corrected.

“Look. I didn’t even know that girl. She had keys to our house and—”

“Stop right there.” I held my hand up in front of me. “If you think I’m going to believe that—”

“I have proof.” He waved the manila envelope in front of me. “I had an investigator check her out.”

“An investigator?” I leaned my head to the side. “What do you mean you have proof?”

“It’s all going to sound unbelievable, but I’m not making this up.” Greg pulled the photos out. “I was set up. This girl is a top paid prostitute from New York.”

The pictures showed the woman I’d caught him in bed with, same long blonde hair and blue eyes. Of course, she was wearing more clothes in the photos.

When I’d walked in, she’d been sucking Greg’s cock into her mouth as he squeezed a huge breast with his left hand and pinched her nipple with his right. If he thought a photo of her being a prostitute was going to change things, he was dead wrong. In fact, I was five seconds away from sticking those photos up his ass.

“Okay.” I shrugged. “She’s a hooker. So what?”

“My investigator found her and she told him...wait.” He stuffed his hand into the envelope and pulled out a typed statement with her signature at the bottom. “Okay. It’s right here. She explained everything.” He pulled out another photo. “This guy paid her $5,000 to come to our place and have sex with me. He even paid for her flight to LA and covered the hotel that she stayed at.”

I didn’t even take the sheet from him. “Why would someone pay her?”

“I didn’t figure that out until I got here. Look at this. It’s this guy.” He showed me the picture.

Brett’s face greeted my eyes. Shock hit me, but I pretended to be disinterested. “This guy paid a hooker to come have sex with you?”

“Yes.” Greg frantically bobbed his head. “Yes and yes.”

I studied the photo of Brett again. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Greg thought a photo would prove his innocence? I had my own images that proved his guilt. The image of Greg moaning as she sucked him off hit me. While Brett’s involvement ranked high in insane oddities, it still couldn’t wash my head of the blow job image.

“Okay. He paid for the hooker, and you let her take care of you.” I directed my attention back to him. “So what?”

Greg tapped the picture. “This is the guy who paid her. She flew out that night and was sucking me off the next morning.”

Why would Brett pay a hooker to have sex with my fiancé?

Greg continued, giving me no time to process it all. “So I had no idea why this guy would do this. Weeks later, my investigator searches for him and follows the guy out here, right next to your sister’s place. I had to come out here and make sure you were okay as well as explain my innocence to you.”

Innocence? Is he smoking something?

“No. I don’t think so.” I wagged my finger at him. “First of all, I’m fine. His name is Brett and I’ve known him since I was a kid. Second of all, this doesn’t prove your innocence.”

I’m just confused as fuck. Did Hawk know about this? Even worse, did he have something to do with it?

“You’ve known him since you were a kid?” Greg’s face twisted in confusion. “This is crazy. Do you see why you have to come back with me so we can figure this out?” He grabbed my hand. “People are up against us, baby. Do you see it? And it’s all because they know we’re beautiful together.”

I did my best to not vomit in my mouth.

Greg shook the picture. “I don’t know this guy, but he’s an enemy to me. He’s an enemy to us. He’s a sore—”

“Stop.” I yanked my hand away. “Regardless of her being paid or not, when I walked in, you were close to coming. You were having a blast. It sounds like you owe Brett a high five.”

“I-I’m a man. She woke me up.”

“Really? She woke you up? You didn’t let her in?”

“S-somehow she got into our apartment.”

I frowned. “You didn’t let her in?”

“What?” His right eye winked uncontrollably—a major tell for when he was lying. “No. Of course not. Why would I let her in? No way. This guy must’ve figured out a way to get the key to our place. I don’t know. She...she just got inside.”

“You’re full of shit.” I walked off.

“Okay. Okay.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me back. “Sure. I let her in. She was half-naked and—”

“You’re disgusting.” I yanked my arm away from him. “We were engaged and you let a half-naked woman into our house like you’ve never seen a vagina. You let her into our bedroom and you decided to get a quick blow job before I came home. That’s the truth and no matter how many photos or signed statements you have, there is no evidence on this planet to prove that you’re not a deceitful asshole.”

“It was too much temptation. She...she tempted me.” He slung the envelopes and pictures on the table next to him and put his hands together as if in prayer. “Please, listen to me baby. You’re not listening. How are we going to move forward, if you don’t give me a chance?”

“I heard you.”

“Not really. You ask any man on this planet if they would do the same thing and they would say yes. I can grab any guy out here and if I stopped him and said, ‘Excuse me sir, what would you do, if a half-naked woman knocked on your door and asked to fuck you?’ Every guy out here is going to say yes to fucking her.”

Hawk’s voice came from behind me. “I would say no.”

I turned. Hawk stepped into the gazebo. I had no idea he’d even walked out of his house and headed our way. I’d been too busy shoveling Greg’s bullshit.

“Hold up.” Greg rushed to my side. “Who are you and why are you and your brother trying to ruin my life?”

I jumped between them. “Calm down, Greg. Don’t make a scene.”

Greg pointed at Hawk. “He was the one who attacked me in the nightclub, right? I know your name. I know your brother’s name. Keep your brother away from us.”

Hawk walked around me. “What are you talking about?”

“He paid for a hooker to have sex with me.” Greg picked up the photo of Brett from the table and waved it in front of him. “I see your game, motherfucker.”

“What?” Hawk snatched the picture of Brett and studied it. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m going to take your brother to court and make his life a living hell.”

“You don’t want to deal with Brett in court.” Hawk handed the picture back. “They call him The Butcher of NY.”

“Fuck him and fuck you. The both of you are going to jail.” Greg showed him the photo of the hooker. “I know everything.”

Hawk stared at it. Anger flashed across his face. “Brett paid Nadia to sleep with you?”

“Yes. That was her name.” Greg nodded his head like a crazy man and then looked at me. “You see? I’m not lying.”

“Fucking Brett,” Hawk muttered under his breath.

“I’m taking you to court.”  Greg yanked the photo back. “And Yasmine, you’re coming back to LA with me.”

Greg tried to grab my hand.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I backed away. “Paid hooker or not, you still opened the door and let her in. You still took her to our bedroom, pulled your pants down, and put your dick into her mouth. When I walked in, you were having the time of your life.”

Greg touched his heart. “I’m only a man. There’s only so much temptation I can run from.”

“That was the third time you cheated. I’m not going back with you so there can be a fourth or fifth time. I’m done. We’re done. Go home.”

“This isn’t my fault. Not this time.” Greg tried to grab my arm.

Hawk stepped between us and remained silent.

“Please leave, Greg.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

The idiot shook his head. “But, they set me up.”

“I didn’t.” Hawk picked up the manila envelope and handed it to Greg. “My brother did it for some reason, and I promise you that I’ll find out why. But she’s right. You should leave.”

Rage dotted Greg’s face. “Who are you?”

“I thought you knew my name.”

“That’s it.”

“Then, does it matter?” Hawk asked. “Don’t you really want to know who I am to Yaz?”

“No. You know why?” Greg formed his hands into fists. “Sure, you probably kissed her and you think she’s yours. No. She’s hurt. It’s not you she’s thinking about when she kisses your lips. It’s me.”

I laughed. “Okay. Let’s stop this. Greg, I heard you out. We’re done. Please, go back to LA.”

Hawk smiled and remained silent, and then everyone else decided to join the party.

Victor walked up. “Alright. Alright. I don’t know what’s going on, but the party’s over.”

Cindy strolled over with him. She kept her hand in her purse. I was sure a gun lay inside and her hand was on it.

Really, sis? A gun? You just want the chance to finally shoot Greg.

“Are you okay, Yaz?” Cindy asked.

“Yes.”

“What’s going on?” Victor looked at Hawk and then Greg.

I decided to speak for everyone. “It’s a long story, but Greg will be checking out today.”

“Please, Yaz,” Greg begged. “Just give me another chance.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m all out of chances for you.” I grabbed Hawk’s hand. Thank God, he simply walked off with me and didn’t try to knock Greg out. Victor and Cindy left too, although I did catch my sister telling Greg the official time for check out. I didn’t know if Greg remained in the gazebo or not. I was finally done with him and hoped to never see his face again.

What the hell? Brett set Greg up to cheat? Why?

Instead of heading to Dolphin View, we strolled back to Hawk’s house in silence.

What’s going through his head?

A large group passed us carrying scuba gear and heading to a boat off in the distance. Divers loved to come down and experience the stunning underwater world of the Keys. The blue waters surrounding the Southernmost City offered world-class diving. The government had intentionally sunk a few old naval ships seven miles off Key West to create an artificial reef. The ships provided shelter for large marine life and money from all the diving tourists.

Hawk disturbed my thoughts. “You’re okay?”

“Yes, but you didn’t know about what Brett did?”

“No, I had no idea. I knew he kept in touch with your sister. That was it. When we talked about going to Key West, he mentioned that you were engaged to a movie producer. A week later, we flew off to Key West.”

“Cindy and Brett.” I shook my head. “I’m sure Cindy told him about all the problems I was having with Greg.”

I didn’t add that Cindy thought Brett liked me and maybe she was trying to set us up.

Hawk looked at me. “When did you catch your ex with Nadia?”

“It’s been about a month ago, but basically a few days before I saw you down here.”

“So, it sounds like it was around the time Brett knew him and I would be coming here. He’d said he had some things to take care of before we flew down. Did Cindy know you were coming back?”

“Yeah. I called her the day I caught Greg cheating and jumped on a place that night.”

“So, there’s a good chance Brett knew his plan had worked and you would be here when we arrived.”

Brett was trying to be a fucked-up cupid.

Hawk stopped us in front of his door. “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have done that. Because of him, you were heartbroken.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. All Brett did was dangle cheese in front of a rat. Is it Brett’s fault that the rat ate the cheese? I don’t think so. If not her, it would’ve been someone else. I should give Brett a thank you card.”

Hawk ran his fingers through his hair. “For now, don’t bring this up to Brett. Let me handle it, please.

“I will, but why?”

“I want to see how far his plotting has gone. He knew I was messed up after the trial. He probably figured you would’ve been the only person to get my head together.”

“Do you agree?”

“You know I do.” He opened the door. “It’s just...what else has Brett been doing?”

“I’m sure that was it.”

“I doubt it.” Hawk led us up the stairs. “I have to check something. Brett and one of his females were arguing a couple nights ago. She mentioned something about letters. I have to check on something.”

“What?”

“The letters.”

“What letters?”

“The letters that Lisa wrote me from jail.”

“Your ex-wife?” Panic filled my chest. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to read any of her letters?”

“No, but Brett is being extra devious. Something is going on. There’s two things that he’s been pushing with me since we’ve been here—you and these damn letters. I don’t know why, but I have this feeling and I won’t ignore it like I did long ago.”

Those last words triggered panic in my chest.

What’s wrong?