Love, Lies, & Crime: Anthology Page 3

  “You know, you make it really hard to maintain my positive attitude. I’m in need of more coffee—you’re killing my buzz.” With that, she whips around on her bright orange, Converse high tops, grabbing at the fishing hat that almost comes sailing off her head. With attitude too big for that short little body, she stalks off, and I can’t help staring after the enticing sway of her generous hips in those ridiculous jeans.

  CHAPTER 4

  So much for killing with kindness.

  The man aggravates me way too much to muster up any kind of kindness.

  Bossy, controlling, and grumpy! Other than, “You can cook” last week, when I brought him breakfast—and that wasn’t even all that convincing—all he’s done is either criticize me or ignore me. I’m done trying.

  All day I’ve been holed up in the trailer with my laptop, editing some of my photos from this past week in Lightroom. At this rate I’ll have a coffee table book a week. I’m really pleased with the way most of these have turned out. It’s not until I come across a covert picture I took of Ben, driving past me on his bike one day, that my irritation with him bubbles up again. How dare he look so…super hot? A silver fox on a bike—and yet all the attraction disappears after discovering his serious lack of personality. Okay, well maybe not all.

  Ugh. I slam my laptop shut and go hunt for something to eat. The sun is already setting low in the sky, and I have plans to experiment a little tonight with night skies. Something I’ve not been very successful with thus far, but I’m hoping with my tripod and new wide aperture lens, I’ll have more luck. The tripod is necessary, because free-handing the low shutter speeds you need to capture the light is impossible, I discovered. The lens should help with depth perception.

  I’m sorely disappointed when I pull open the fridge door. All I have left is a few eggs, two slices of ham, and a loaf of bread in the little freezer. Resigned, I throw together a few sandwiches with fried eggs, the ham, and some mayo. Along with a couple of bottles of water, I stuff them in my backpack. The bug spray goes in a side pocket, and I strap a rolled up sleeping bag under the flap. All my camera equipment is already in there. It’s still warm out, but I still dress for the cooler air later, and the bugs waiting to eat me alive. Old sweats, tucked into my high tops, a thin rain slicker over my long-sleeved T-shirt, and my uncle’s fishing hat finishes the ensemble. I could care less, as long as I keep those bloodthirsty mosquitoes from poking more holes in me. The jacket hits me halfway down my legs, which is good because the backs of my thighs are already full of bumps and lumps. Little bastards.

  I forfeit the golf cart, and instead, hoof my way down to the dock, toting the backpack over my shoulder. I wave at the few families gathered around their respective firepits, but most have gone inside now that the bugs are out. There’s hardly any wind, which doesn’t help.

  No one is on the dock, and other than a lone kayaker passing by on the water, I don’t see another soul out here. I cast a furtive glance in the direction of the trailer on site forty-nine, or at least what I can see of it, but there are no lights on inside, nor is there a fire burning.

  The sun is starting to slip behind the mountains, turning the sky a fiery red, and I quickly retrieve the camera from my pack. As soon as it disappears entirely, I can feel the cooler air settling in. I quickly assemble my tripod and switch out the lens on the camera, while I still have some natural light. Of course, I didn’t think to bring a flashlight. Rookie. I make the legs on the tripod as short as I can, thinking it’ll be easier to lie on my stomach when I take the shots. Once that’s done, I spread out my sleeping bag and pull out a sandwich and bottle of water.

  The night is quiet, only interrupted by the occasional call of the frogs, and rare lowing of cattle on the mountain. My egg sandwich is still lukewarm, and hits the spot as I enjoy the quiet lapping of the water under the dock.

  “What’s for dinner?”

  I scramble to my feet, almost toppling off the edge of the dock in the water, if not for Ben’s large hand grabbing me by my upper arm.

  “Jesus!” I power hiss. “You keep scaring the snot out of me.” I want to turn my back but am too distracted by the twinkle in those ice blue eyes of his. That and the fine lines fanning out from them almost make him look mellow. Determined, I tear my gaze away from him and sit down on my sleeping bag, facing the water. Upset at the disruption of my peaceful evening, I chomp down on my sandwich.

  “Got any more of those?” I hear his raspy voice behind me, along with the rustling of my backpack. I whip my head around, just as he pulls out my second sandwich.

  “Hey, that’s mine!”

  “I’ll bring you dessert later.” He shoves half the sandwich down his gullet. “Haven’t had dinner yet, I’m starving,” he mumbles with his mouth full.

  I try to shut him out, but find myself handing him the second water bottle instead. My temper flares like fireworks but dies down just as fast. I just don’t have it in me to stay mad. I have to say, this is the first time I actually appreciate his general lack of communication. I almost forget he’s there as I make myself comfortable, stuffing my backpack under my arms for support as I start tweaking the settings on my camera. I barely notice him lying down beside me, only looking over once to find him staring up at the sky, his hands folded behind his head.

  It’s not quite dark enough but still I start snapping away when the first stars become visible. Without the light pollution you have in most towns and cities, the skies out here are amazingly clear. I have hooked up a remote trigger to the camera to avoid any movement at all and start snapping.

  “Did you see that?” I whisper, after I watched a falling star cut across the sky.

  “Hmmm,” Ben growls. I slightly turn my head to look at him. He’s on his side on an elbow; his head supported by his hand and his focus is on me, not the sky.

  “I can’t believe you missed it,” I huff, a little unnerved by his scrutiny.

  “Didn’t miss a thing.”

  Damn, she’s irresistible.

  Even in that outrageous outfit she’s wearing, flapping her hand at the bugs buzzing around her, she radiates personality. It won’t exactly be a hardship to keep her close.

  The big eyes she makes at me through the netting in front of her face almost makes me chuckle. Almost, but not quite. Just over her shoulder, I notice some movement on the edge of the water; right in front of the mini-compound I’ve been keeping an eye on. Just a shadow, but I see him.

  I know there’s a third man slipping in and out over the water in the rowboat, presumably to avoid anyone noticing. I noticed. It’s my job to notice. As much as I’d managed to insert myself with Luis and Carlos, the two guys running a lucrative business from the campground, they’d never even hinted at the third guy. To them I’m just the hired muscle, recommended by a mutual acquaintance to keep an eye out while they work. Of course, they don’t know I keep an eye on them at the same time.

  In fact, this morning, when I ran into Isla, I’d been checking out their early morning activities. The boat had been pulled into the brush on the shoreline, but there was no sign of the third man. I watched as the two men loaded up the garbage bags and saw Carlos rowing out to the middle of the lake, dumping the garbage bags overboard. It had the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. That’s when I spotted Isla doing a poor job of hiding in the tree line, and sneaking up on the site, as the boat came into shore.

  I’d been pissed.

  Her curiosity is dangerous. I wouldn’t put it past her to march in on a situation that could end disastrously for her. But it leaves me in a rough spot. Al would’ve been easy to deal with, being ex-law enforcement. I’d planned on giving him a head’s up before making a move. His nosy, but cute as fuck, niece is a different thing.

  I’m going to need keep the men’s attention away from Isla, and her focus off them. So that means keeping her otherwise occupied. The last won’t be a hardship, but the first might prove difficult. Luis has more than once made some crude remarks
, which made it clear he is very aware of the pretty camp manager.

  “You’re easy to look at, Pixie,” I quickly say, when she starts turning in the direction of the silent shadow at the water’s edge. Instead, her head whips in back my direction and if possible, those eyes are spread even wider.

  “You’re giving me whiplash, you know?” she says finally. “Have you ever been diagnosed with multiple personality disorder? Because I think I’ve met a few of them already.” This time I can’t hold back, despite the still figure in my peripheral vision, I let out a gruff chuckle. “And what’s with calling me Pixie?” she continues undeterred. “Must you remind me constantly how short, boyish, and unfeminine I am? Trust me, I already know. No need to rub it in.”

  “You’re nuts,” I conclude, when she hits me over the head with that one. “I don’t see that when I call you Pixie. You’re very sexy, a bit otherworldly, full of energy, cheerful—kind of plucky.” Not sure where that all came from, but it sounds good.

  “Oh,” she says a bit dumbfounded, but quickly recovers. “Plucky? How does a badass like you carry around a word like plucky in their vocabulary?”

  When she starts pushing up from the sleeping bag, drawing unwanted attention to herself; I do the only thing I can think of. I pull her down on top of me, pull that weird hat off her face, and kiss her.

  The moment she lands on top of me, she stiffens up like a board, but when my mouth touches hers, I feel her body relax and mold to mine. I should be keeping an eye on our quiet observer, but the slow glide of lips on lips is distracting. Very distracting. As is the little hitch in her breathing when I open my mouth slightly and draw in her plump bottom lip. Her small hands start off pressed palm down against my chest, but are now fisting in my shirt, hanging on.

  Suddenly she pulls back, and I make no effort to hold on, letting her lift her head. Her face only inches from mine, she stares in my eyes. Looking for something—what, I don’t know. Whatever it is, I’m guessing she finds it, because the next second; she’s kissing me with a heat her temper only hinted at, openmouthed and with a passion that knocks me off my feet. Without thinking, I press her against me, one hand on her ass, the other cupping the back of her head, and my tongue slipping inside her hot mouth.

  Christ.

  I’m fucked six ways to Sunday.

  The little pixie is on fire, and I can’t help the deep groan that bubbles up from my gut. She feels small under my hands, her head almost swallowed up by the spread of my fingers against her scalp. Her lips slick and pliable, while her sharp little tongue twists around mine. Squirming against me, her body is like a furnace in the cool night. I almost miss the slight shift in the air. Almost, but not quite. Pulling my lips from her, I use my hand to tuck her head in my neck, while my eyes quickly scan the trees on the edge of the water to our north.

  Gone. The shadow I’m sure was Luis has disappeared. Seeing me make out with the object of his desire surely won’t go over too well, but I’ll take whatever comes my way as long as it keeps his attention off her.

  I lay my head back, trying hard to catch my breath, just like the small woman sprawled on top of me. I’m perfectly content to simply lie there, the heat of her soaking into my skin. When she starts moving, pressing against my hold, I let my arms fall away and watch as she slides off me. There’s no way I can hide my body’s response to that hot as fuck kiss, so I’m not surprised to hear the startled shock in her breathing when she brushes her leg against my painfully hard cock.

  I silently fold my arms behind my head again and observe Isla trying to straighten herself out, avoiding looking at me. That’s okay. I’m not quite sure what to say after that myself.

  I watch as she dissembles her camera with shaking hands, shoving the pieces in her pack, along with the ridiculous hat. I get to my feet when she does, and wait while she expertly rolls the sleeping back, securing it under the flap of her backpack. Slinging it over her shoulder, she starts walking away without having said a single word. That’s not okay. I quickly fall in step and lift the pack off her shoulder and onto mine. That earns me a furtive glance before she focuses back on the path in front of her. The only sound is the crunch of our footsteps on the gravel as we make our way to her trailer.

  Once there, she climbs the two steps, opens the door and turns with her hand held out. “Thanks for carrying that,” she says, but her eyes are somewhere in the middle of my chest.

  “Go inside,” I order her, not about to have her withdraw from me now. With a gentle push, I force her to back up inside. I follow her into the trailer, closing the screen behind me. Dumping her bag on the seat, I quickly take in my surroundings. A small kitchen with a banquette and table on my right, a couch in front of me, to my left the door to a bathroom I guess, and a bedroom beyond. Much more luxurious quarters than my ratty trailer. When my eyes come back to Isla, she’s peeking at me from under her eyelashes, her teeth worrying her still swollen lips.

  “Don’t.” I reach out and stroke the pad of my thumb over the ridges her teeth left behind.

  “What was that?” she finally speaks, her voice softer than I’ve heard it before.

  “A start,” I tell her, leaning in to brush my lips against hers in a quick taste. “That was a start.”

  I leave her standing there, her gorgeous mouth hanging open, as I close the door behind me and walk away from temptation.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Two pounds of ground beef, please.”

  Weekday mornings at the Dolores Food Market are blissfully quiet. That tends to change on the weekend when visitors flood the small town. And a small town it is, its inhabitants quick to embrace any summer ‘locals,’ as judged by the friendly waves, nods, and hellos I’ve encountered this morning. Only my third time in the store and already I’m welcomed like a regular. I love that sense of community.

  The beef is for the meatloaf I’m planning to make for dinner, along with the baking potatoes, and makings for a salad I’m toting in my basket. I tell myself I’m cooking for a few days at a time, when I order more meat than I usually consume in a week. It’s got nothing to do with a certain confounding man, whose imprint I can still feel on my lips after days. Nothing at all.

  “Thank you.” I smile at the woman behind the counter when she hands me my package. Tossing it in my basket, I head to the dairy cooler to pick up some eggs and cream cheese to go with the apples I already picked up. I have maple syrup at the trailer, along with a bag of almonds and some desiccated coconut; the makings of a new cheesecake recipe I want to try out. For myself.

  Cursing myself for not grabbing a cart instead, I tote the overfull basket to the check out.

  I had to get away from the campground this morning. Normally, I clean the few showers and outhouses this time of the morning, but after another restless night, I needed a change of scenery. I stuff the bags in the backseat of my Beetle and climb behind the wheel, just as a familiar rumble hits my ears. Halfway in the car, I turn my head and watch as Ben pulls his bike up right behind my ride. No escape.

  My uncle taught me the best defense is a good offense.

  “Did you follow me?” I snap. Okay, so not a great offense, given the smirk on his face.

  “Purely coincidental,” he claims, lifting three fingers in what I know to be scouts’ honor. The rugged-looking biker dude in front of me is so far from a Boy Scout; I burst out laughing. “Ahhh,” he says, a full smile that has my breath catch in my throat, on his face. “There she is. Was wondering where she’d gone.”

  Good Lord.

  The man left me breathless a couple of nights ago with promises of more to come—unless I grossly mistook his meaning—and promptly ignored me. Until now.

  A quiet broody Ben is a challenge, but an actual communicating Ben has me mentally toss the towel in the ring. Why even try to resist? Especially when his delicious mouth forms such nice words. I’m a weakling, and I know it. That mouth on mine, those strong white teeth nibbling at my lips, that silky tongue stroking mine into s
ubmission; I’m a puddle. I knew it before, I know it now—resistance is futile. It’s been too damn long.

  With a deep sigh, I give in. “I’m making meatloaf and cheesecake tonight. Aiming to have it on the table at seven.” Not waiting for an answer, I finish getting in the car, but I get one anyway.

  “Not gonna say no—I’ve tasted your cooking,” he calls after me, right before I slam the door shut. In my rearview mirror I see him back away from my bumper and with a roar, take off down the road.

  I need liquor—lots and lots of liquor. With that in mind, I turn my car in the opposite direction where I know GST Liquor will have just what the doctor ordered.

  By the time I get back up the mountain, it’s lunchtime. I’d made a quick stop at The Pony Express in town, a great little bakery/coffee shop for some coffee and a bagel to go. I noticed some great photography on the walls and got to talking with the owner. She actually asked to see some of my work, and I’m pretty pumped to get some shots printed to show her.

  After storing my groceries, I sit down at the picnic table outside the trailer, with my coffee and the bagel I’ve been drooling over since they prepared it for me. Slathered with a thick layer of cream cheese, sautéed leeks, and thinly sliced smoked salmon, it tastes like heaven.

  Two more groups of campers show up this afternoon, one a bunch of rambunctious young guys I’ll likely have to keep an eye and an ear on. They look like they’re poised for a rowdy stay. The second sign in is a nice, outdoorsy couple, if the bikes and kayaks attached to their SUV are any indication. I make sure I assign them a site that is nowhere near the group of potential troublemakers.

  With the bathrooms and showers cleaned, and the cheesecake in the oven, I have some time to go over the images I’d like to get printed up. I’ll likely have to head into Cortez for that. Scrolling through my shots on the laptop, I happen upon the couple of pictures I took of the rowboat the other morning. Looking carefully, I notice something I didn’t notice at the time; the bags look heavy from the way whoever was in the boat is handling them. What on earth are they dumping? I print off a copy on regular paper on my small printer, wondering if I should give my uncle a call on how to proceed. If they are dumping in the lake and whatever is in those bags is harmful to the environment; that could be a big problem. This reservoir is used for irrigation water not only for Dolores County, but Montezuma County as well.