Chapter Fourteen

Seth untangled Devereaux’s garden hose and wound it in even loops before he hung it over the curved hanger on the wooden post beside the now clean iguana habitat. He’d washed the blood away, while Cord had raked the loose gravel inside the cage and around the neatly framed wooden border surrounding it. Devereaux had done a bang-up job building a home for Gru.

Ensconced beneath a huge flowering tree, Gru should’ve lived to be a hundred—or however old iguanas lived, in this clever, multi-level playground. It was a shame to leave it vacant, yet Devereaux was right when she’d told Cord very clearly, “Don’t you dare go out and buy Scottie another iguana just because you can’t stand to see him sad. This isn’t about you. It’s about a little boy who’s learning that life isn’t fair, and how no one gets a participation trophy. I said no.”

Shutting the door, the top corner of the habitat didn’t fit quite right. It took less than a twist of Seth’s thumbnail to tighten the screw on the upper hinge. There. That’d hold until he located a screwdriver and tightened it properly.

“You’re still here,” Devereaux said behind him.

“Where else would I be?” Man, she was pretty, standing on her back step with one hand on her hip, the other on the open screen door. He couldn’t help the grin that cracked his face as he took stock of her waitress outfit, navy blue and turquoise. His favorite colors. “Need someone to walk you to work?” He cocked a thumb at his chest. Damn, she was pretty. “I happen to know a guy.”

She looked past him to the habitat. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said like she was annoyed. Or something. She hadn’t yet smiled, not even a little.

He lifted both shoulders. “’S no big deal. Cleaning up the yard gave me a chance to work with Cord. Your brother’s a real Devil Dog to his soul, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, umm… about that. I’m not going to work. I, umm, called in and took the night off.” Devereaux told him, her chin still up and her eyes clear, but—wrong. There was no light in those deep blues. She looked downright unhappy.

Seth took a step forward but stopped when her hands came up, when she said “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“This. Whatever’s going on between us. I don’t… I don’t have time for more drama in my life. I’ve got a kid and a job and more… and people depend on me to be there for them.” Her gaze dropped to her feet. “I can’t.”

That made no sense. He’d brought no drama to the Shepherds’ doorstep, and calling Scottie a kid seemed out of character for Devereaux.

“So…” And there she stalled. Not making eye contact.

Seth swallowed past the dry knot in his throat. He got the drift. So this is how it ends. That was what she meant to say. It’s been nice, but don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out. So long. Goodbye. And all that crap.

“Guess I’d better be going then,” he said when he could speak.

She nodded but didn’t take a single step toward him. Not even one. She meant this to be a no contact goodbye. Somehow, he’d gone from being the hero of the day to nothing more than hired help you could fire without regret. Not that he’d expected anything for helping retrieve those women and girls, but another kiss from Devereaux’s sweet lips would’ve been—

“Bye,” she whispered.

Yeah. Not happening. No kiss. No hint of what he’d done to piss her off, either. Just the cold shoulder and another bucket full of unmet expectations.

Seth gave her what she wanted. Swallowing his pride, he walked away. Then he ran. A couple blocks down the street, he decided he’d had enough being everyone’s patsy. For a moment out there on Uncle George’s dock, he’d contributed to Cord’s rescue operation. Those little girls had needed him. He’d done a good thing today, and he’d do it again.

Cord had said next time, damn it, like Seth’s sticking around might be a good thing. Yet he’d also given off the vibe that he didn’t need an Army guy on his six. Obviously, Devereaux didn’t either.

Fine.

Seth settled into an even run that ate up the miles to the dock. Instead of revving up the pontoon boat and taking off like a madman, he jumped in and idled it to a different location across the bay, out of sight. He emptied his pockets into a waterproof ziplock bag and secured the boat, covering it with the heavy canvas tarp to keep out the leaves and sun. Once he’d winched the cable on that tarp good and tight, when he was certain the watercraft would be safe, he tucked the ziplock bag into a larger, waterproof bag with an over the shoulder handle. The handle went around his neck. It’d still drag, but Seth was past that. He’d cared enough for one day.

The water jolted when he dived off the dock. He’d expected it to be as warm as it looked. Not that temperature mattered. Life sucked sometimes, and he needed a drink. One click was nothing to swim.

By the time he reached the north side of his uncle’s few acres of ocean front property, he’d lost his anger and every last good intention. His arms ached, his hamstrings, too. The sun had set, painting a brilliant lemonade glow in the western sky. A clear purpling midnight blue commenced in the east. Night would soon fall dark and deep.

He stood there panting and dripping, marveling at how the atmosphere distorted a simple sunset into a truly spectacular light show at the end of what had begun as a good day, but ended being crap. How it melted those pinks and blossoming orange against the gathering night. How that perfect blue hue reminded him of—

Nope. Not going there.

Seth took a deep breath and left that stupid thought behind, too. What he wanted didn’t come in pretty colors, and it wasn’t sweet. Jack-fuckin’-Daniels was calling his name.

Tugging the bag off his neck, he rubbed at the welt around his neck that his foolishness had cost. Small price to pay when a man needs to be somewhere—anywhere—but on Molly’s dock. The air inside Uncle George’s two-room shack was stale when Seth unlocked the place and shoved inside. Must be why George never invested in locks. This place needs to breathe.

He emptied the bag, secured his weapon for another long night, set the satphone on the nightstand where it belonged for now and forever, then told his old friend Jack, “Hello, there.” Didn’t grab a glass or ice. Didn’t need them, just grabbed onto the neck of Old No. 7, and he was good to go.

Devereaux was spot on when she’d said Gru would’ve liked the view. Seth liked looking south to Cuba, too. There wasn’t any sense sitting on the north beach, was there? Not where every light blinking would remind him of a tow-headed pixie and her impish son. The taste of her lips. The glow in her eyes. No one smiled like Devereaux when she was happy, and for sure no woman had ever gotten to Seth as easily or as quickly as she had.

Still. Not. Going. There.

Dragging out of his wet clothes, Seth tossed his shirt and shorts to the sand and settled in for another night alone on the beach. The first gulp burned all the way down to his gut. The second gulp went down easier. The third, quick and smooth.

There was still enough light in the sky and on the ocean to see everything. The night was young. Hell, Latoya Franklin might show up and wouldn’t that be terrific? Other guys ended up with a girl, but not me. I ended up with a ghost. Yeah. Fuckin’ good times.

Seth upended the fifth and took another long swallow. Then another. Whiskey used to sit in his gut like a chunk of molten lava, and eventually, it made him upchuck. Not anymore. He’d had practice. Now it made him numb, and he liked that in a bottle. A bottle of forgetfulness, that’s what Jack Daniels was. Dizzy. Blessed. Forgetfulness.

But he should’ve seen it coming. Karma, that was what this day was all about, a bitch slap for cheating on Katelynn and failing to be all that he could be. That was the real problem. Loneliness had become an integral thread in the fabric of his life. He’d tied his future to Katelynn and secured it with knots so tight, they couldn’t be broken. One night of lust did not an eternal covenant make, and what he’d honestly thought he’d felt for Devereaux hadn’t been real. Couldn’t have been or he wouldn’t be sitting here all by himself, would he?

How did a man simply forget the woman he loved, the one whose smile turned him inside out when he’d been a younger man? The one who skipped their prom after he’d broken his leg in a skiing accident the previous winter? Even now, Katelynn’s memory remained eerily vivid.

Staring at the swell of the ocean and the never-ending march of breakers as they curled into themselves and rolled ashore, he could still feel the soft curls of her honey-blonde hair between his fingertips. The satiny warmth of her skin against his cheek. The heaven of her lush lips on his mouth and the scent of rose petal. The soft sweet lilt of joy in her laughter. The way she struggled to pronounce ‘perpendicular’ because of her stuttering issues.

Blowing out a gut full of regret, Seth yearned for a way to change what had happened. If he could do things over, he wouldn’t have been so all fired up and eager to get home to Katelynn that last leave. He wouldn’t have told her his arrival date. That way, she wouldn’t have been on the freeway that day. She wouldn’t have been in that lacy white dress and she wouldn’t have gotten in the way of that drunk driver. She’d still be alive, and they’d be happy, and…

Shit! Seth kicked both heels into the sand, so damned weary of the never-ending what-ifs rattling around in his head. The truth was that life wasn’t fair. He got that. Bad things happened, and when they did, they left good people with holes in their hearts and sorrow in their souls. Time, the Almighty Healer, was supposed to make everything right in the long run. Things were supposed to work out and life was supposed to get better. Well, bully for that son-of-a-bitch. All Seth had gotten from Time was one disappointment after another.

It was past time to go home. Uncle George’s place would be fine. If he never came back, Seth would return long enough to put the island on the market and be done with it. He’d sell the pontoon boat, and he’d discount everything to put this wasted day behind him. Like he’d been doing since he’d lost Katelynn, he’d keep moving on.

With another deep breath, Seth stuck that half-empty jug in the sand to his right and let his head drop back on his shoulders. More and more stars winked on in the inky darkness overhead, just like those lights off his north shore were winking on right about now. Devereaux would probably be putting Scottie to bed about now. She’d tuck him in. She’d kiss him. He might blow her a goodnight kiss like little boys did. Then he’d stall and ask for a drink of water. Maybe ask her to read him a story. Not Walt Disney’s “Old Yeller” though. Nope. Unfortunately, that story was off limits for the sweet little guy.

Aw, shit. I’m doing it again.

Seth settled back on his elbows, determined to erase the sight and taste of Devereaux Shepherd from his memory. He stretched both feet toward Cuba. With another stinkin’ long night ahead of him, he had nothing to look forward to but his usual midnight visit from the ‘gangsta’ girl who’d tried to kill him.

Yeah. Life’s a bitch and then you die. Don’t I wish?

It shouldn’t have turned out like this. He’d worked hard to get to where he was today. The long days of depression were far behind him—mostly. He’d conquered depression and PTSD, and by hell, every day was a damned good day. Mostly. He lived a life of control now, and until his uncle’s stroke, Seth had avoided taking much downtime. By hell, a man alone doesn’t need a yearly vacation in sunny Florida. Adventure was not his middle name.

Yet over and over, that was where he’d ended up, in life-or-death situations where by the grace of God, his fast thinking, and the Army’s muscle training had kept him and others alive.

“God,” he groaned to the darkening sky. “There’s got to be something better than this.”

A pelican arrowed into the water offshore hunting another meal. The waves rolled in. The tide went out. God never answered a prayer. Why would He answer this one? Life fuckin’ went on and on… and on… and it was time for another drink.

Too bad Jack was already half gone. That made Seth legally drunk on the beach. Ha! He’d need a designated driver if he wanted to go anywhere. That deserved another snort. Might just deserve another drink, too. Seth McCray wasn’t going anywhere. Hadn’t been for years. He’d been stuck. Mired to that single day in his life that changed his world.

Shit. Everyone knew that.

Katelynn seemed closer tonight for some ungodly reason, but Seth didn’t want to talk with her. Or to her. Since she’d gone away, not once had she sent him a message of her undying love from the other side. Not once. Can you believe that? He’d stayed true and faithful to her memory—well, almost—for years, but had she looked down from her heavenly perch even once? Had she sent him a dream or the smallest hint of her undying love? Uh-uh, no she most certainly had not. If she had, he’d have known it, wouldn’t he?

So why’d the hairs on the back of his neck stand up like a ghost was hovering over him tonight, leering at him. Watching. Warily, Seth twisted his neck and glanced at the island behind him. The palm trees swayed like an army of drunken sailors at his six, but there was no ghost. Not even Latoya.

That made him laugh. “An army of drunken sailors,” he told the waves crashing offshore. “Get it? Army? Sailors? Aw, never mind.”

His fingers came unbidden to his scarred brow, the back of his nails rubbing over the lines that some bastard a world away had carved into him before Seth killed him. Masters. That was his name. Another Marine. Another asshole. Like Cord. The world was full of them and every last one of them packed a ton of shit they had no trouble dealing out to anyone unlucky enough to cross their paths.

Something or someone rustled behind Seth. He looked over his shoulder one last time, which was getting mighty difficult, his equilibrium being what it was. Palm trees. Sand. Uncle George’s shack. Yeah. Not a whole lot of anything going on there.

Settling his back to the warm, soft Florida sand for another lonely night, Seth reached for the neck of that cozy brown bottle before he closed his eyes. The sun would wake him up come morning. Until then… blah, blah, blah.

Wait. What was I talking about?

He startled awake, his heart racing and his head still spinning. Someone was on his beach. He might be drunk, but he’d heard—it. Them. There was that noise again, the slow rasp of sand. A muffled hiss. Couldn’t be Latoya, not out here.

Seth glanced down the length of his arm to where his friend still sat in the sand. But Jack didn’t look so friendly anymore, and the sand had turned cold and damp. Yeah. Time to crawl into bed and sleep off another fuckin’ great day.

That annoying sound again!

Seth lifted to his elbows. A definite scratching noise came to him from the trees. A rat? A parrot? Guess I’ll have to check it out. Might be another desperate woman burying her lizard. Only this time, there’ll be no kissing. Ah-uh. Absolutely none and never again. Not going there, no sirree.

Rolling over to his hands and knees, Seth instantly regretted the vertigo that came with motion. The sand might not be moving, but his head and stomach sure were. Make that spinning. He spit, angry with himself for stooping to this level. He was better than this.

On a good day…

Yet whatever was making all that noise out there needed investigating. Deranged woman or not, this was his island. He couldn’t let Uncle George down. Wouldn’t think of it.

But Seth couldn’t exactly stand either, so he crawled on his hands and knees toward that… that sound. By the time he made it into the shadows, he was a very sick man. Drinking on an empty stomach was never smart. Morning would not be fun.

This time, the scratching sounded closer, which was a good thing. He hadn’t crawled all this way for nothing. Seth blinked to his left. Then he started digging. The sand had moved. He knew it. He only scooped a few big handfuls when—Lordy, Lordy!

Seth tugged a wiggling, hissing Gru out of his shallow grave and instantly received the whip of an angry iguana’s tail across his cheek. “Whoa, boy,” Seth soothed as he placed the big fellow’s belly to the sand but kept his fingers around Gru’s very muscled neck. Flick, flick went an extremely long tongue. Two beady black eyes blinked sand out of them then stared up at Seth. Who in their right mind could love this ugly guy?

Devereaux Shepherd, that’s who.

“You okay?” Seth asked his new friend. “Need a drink? Of water?”

Flick, flick went Gru’s tongue. Still covered with a coat of fine sand, his neck wrinkled when his scaly head rotated toward the ocean. Then…

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Seth called out as the lizard took off running. For a critter fresh out of the grave, Gru had no trouble hot-footing it straight for the water. Pushing up to his feet, Seth beat the lizard to the beach by, well, not much. But he did catch a writhing, clawing Gru by his hind leg before he made it into the open water.

“You’re not going anywhere, big guy,” Seth told Gru as they set a new azimuth. Uncle George wouldn’t mind an iguana inside his shack for one night. Okay, make that two. One to make sure Gru would live. Another to make sure Seth did.