My Killer Vacation — Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Taylor

hand the bounty hunter his bottle of beer and heI grimaces at the label.

“Sorry.” I take the chair across from him in the living room. “It’s all we have.”

“Peach-flavored beer.” He turns it over and reads the nutrition facts, as if he suspects we’re playing a practical joke on him. For once since the hunter arrived, he’s not inspectingme very closely, so I use the opportunity to return that scrutiny. Based on appearances alone, this man might have just walked out of a criminal underworld. If the permanent scowl on his face didn’t screamvillain, then the long, unkempt hair and poorly scrawled tattoos do the trick, as do the scars on his knuckles and the side of his neck.

And then there is his attire. Filthy boots covered in suspicious substances, jeans and a black T-shirt in dire

need of washing—or burning—and worn, brown leather cuffs on his wrists.

Sitting on the fluffy white couch and frowning down at the peach-flavored beer, the giant—at least six foot five— man looks comically out of place. He belongs in the back room of a roadside bar playing pool and inciting violence and causing general mayhem. He’s been plucked from that sketchy scenario and dropped into yet another nautical- themed living room, surrounded by tasteful reminders of the ocean and throw pillows covered in little ship wheels.

For all intents and purposes, he should be terrifying.

He might be. If it weren’t for a few little clues that he is, in fact, the opposite of scary.

In regards tome, anyway. I’m sure everyone else’s terror is warranted.

When I informed the bounty hunter that I’d discovered the body, he turned white as a ghost. Looked like he was preparing to toss his cookies right there in the street. For that fleeting handful of seconds, his scowl dropped and he shifted straight into protective.

Tell me you got out of the house immediately.

In case the murderer was still on the property.

He was worried about me. How unexpectedly heartwarming.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t take into account his smile.

Upon finding out that he was correct and I am, in fact, a teacher, we shared a smile across the street and I’m still feeling…kind of jumbled over it. When this man smiles, he’s actually quite handsome. His teeth, though white and

straight, look like they could chomp straight through a leather belt or crush a rock, but yes, when he smiles, he’s undeniably attractive. His own brand of attractive. Not the classic kind. Not like the men I usually go on dates with.

Tidy businessmen with neat fingernails and upward mobility in their line of work. They are searching for the right partner with whom to purchase a starter home and eventually have children. It’s all outlined in our dating profiles. Serious prospects only.

I wonder if the bounty hunter has an online dating presence.

He’d probably be flashing the middle finger in his profile picture.

All the right women would match with him. Adventurous souls who desire to tear down the highway on the back of his motorcycle and…who knows. Eat fresh clams at some hideaway that only the local baddies know about. Or something.

My last date was at the Cheesecake Factory.

I don’t realize I’m frowning at the bounty hunter until he raises an eyebrow at me.

“Have you ever been to the Cheesecake Factory?” I ask

him.

“The what?”

“I knew it.” I force myself back to a pleasant frame of mind, gesturing for Jude to sit down. He’s still caught halfway between the kitchen and the living room, as if undecided about whether or not to call the police. “Well.

Would you like to share your first impressions of the crime scene?”

He sets down the peach beer on the distressed white coffee table, sliding the offending drink away with the tip of his finger. “No, half pint. I would not.” He clears his throat.

“Anyway, you two are technically both suspects until I rule you out. Wouldn’t exactly be wise to give you the pertinent details.”

“Suspects?” I sputter, incredulous. “But we have alibis.

We weren’t even in Cape Cod yet when the murder took place.”

“How can you have alibis when time of death hasn’t been determined?”

My mouth snaps shut. I need to start paying closer attention toEtched in Bone. Working on my lesson plans at the same time has clearly led to some important lessons being missed. “I suppose I made an assumption based on the smell of decomposition.”

“Guess we’ll see. Barnstable PD is pulling toll bridge footage to make sure you didn’t get here sooner.” The bounty hunter rolls a shoulder. “Where is the guest book?”

Now that he has shocked me by calling us suspects, I feel a strong urge to return the favor. To surprise him. Let him know he’s not just dealing with a bumbling podcast junkie. I’m a pandemic-era teacher, dammit. That basically qualifies me for a presidential run. A little caught off guard by this new glimmer of self-confidence, I sit up straight.

“Did you happen to notice the wood grain of the peepholes?”

His head comes up fast. Ha! So hedid notice. And while his gaze is drilling into me, curious and irritable,I notice his eye color is a lovely mixture of brown and mossy. Why

do I find that combination so pleasing and hard to look away from? “You’ve been back over there since the night you discovered the body, haven’t you?”

“Of course she hasn’t. It’s surrounded by caution tape,”

Jude points out, mid-yawn.

“Yes, and I replaced it exactly as I found it,” I explain, hoping my cheerful tone will make it sound altogether less illegal. “That’s more than I can say for some people.”

Jude leans a shoulder against the wall, expression dazed. “You really went back over there without telling me?

Alone?” He studies me closely, half impressed, half horrified. “That’s not like you, T.”

Suddenly I’m jumpy. “I know.” Now they’re both looking at me like a bug under a microscope. My brother is totally right, this is not like me. Do I love a riddle? A mystery? Yes.

I love wrapping up debates or discussions with a resolution.

No open ends. But those qualities are usually applied to a game of Clue. I am not the type of person who breaks into a crime scene. What I told the bounty hunter is true, though.

I surprised myself when I discovered Oscar Stanley’s body.

A foreign sort of calm permeated my blood, settling the flow and I started operating on the high wire of adrenaline.

I’m extra awake. Noticing every detail. I don’t want to lose that feeling. I want to keep exploring the boost of

confidence it gave me to be so…hardy.

Maybe this will be short-lived.

Maybe I am just play-acting as a brave person.

But I would like to know one way or the other.

“Sorry, Jude. I’ll tell you next time.”

My brother stares without blinking, amusement making his eyes twinkle. “Next time?”

“There isn’t going to be a next time,” states old gravel- voiced party pooper, aka the bounty hunter. “Give me what I need so I can leave.”

I ignore him, still speaking to my brother, because we weren’t finished. “I promise not to let this interfere with your vacation. I want you to go home relaxed.”

“We both need to relax, all right?” Jude says softly. “Not

just me.”

“I know, it’s just…that.”

“It. Yeah, I know.”

Silence lands in the room. The bounty hunter treats both of us to a frown. “Are you two talking in fucking code or something?”

Jude chuckles. “That’s probably what it sounds like.” He pushes off the wall and moves into the living room, dropping down onto the opposite end of the couch from the hunter, ankle thrown over knee. “My sister used a big chunk of her savings—despite my protests, I might add—on this vacation because I lost someone close to me.”

The surly man sort of chugs through an apology. “Sorry.”

That word appears to taste like old bathwater in his mouth.

“It’s fine. It was time,” Jude sighs, looking down at his hands. “Bartholomew made it all the way to twenty-two.”

The bounty hunter’s frown deepens. “Twenty-two?”

“Bart was a panda. I’m a panda caretaker.”

“You’re more than that,” I say, trying and failing to keep the pride out of my voice because I don’t want to

embarrass him. I’m the queen of embarrassing my brother.

When they called his name at his college graduation, I leapt onto my chair and screeched louder than anyone. I was sobbing so hard, I knocked over a tuba player and twisted an ankle trying to get down. Never stand on a cheap plastic chair in high heels. “Displaced or abandoned pandas are brought to the animal sanctuary where Jude works. Some of them are so young they haven’t learned to survive on their own yet. So Jude dresses like a panda and teaches

them.”

“You dress like a panda?”

“Yes. Teach them how to forage, eat and climb, socialize with the other pandas.” Jude winks at the man on the other side of the couch. “The suit looks great on me.”

“Bartholomew was sort of the…unofficial forest dad, wasn’t he?” I dab at the moisture in my eyes. “He was sort of disagreeable, like you, bounty hunter, but once Jude taught the newbies the ropes, he started to warm up to them.”

“Hate to break it to you, but none of that heartwarming shit is going to happen here.” Our guest appears to be contemplating the peach-flavored beer out of pure desperation. “I’m a bounty hunter and you are some of the weirdest people I’ve ever met.” He’s silent a beat, then looks at Jude. “Do you actually eat the leaves?”

Jude grins. “I don’t swallow.”

The bounty hunter does a double take at that, then abruptly points at me. “Guest book. Now.”

“Okay, okay. It’s upstairs.” No one has ever risen from a chair more slowly in their life. “I’ll just go grab it now. But

while I’m still here in the living room…” One step toward the staircase. Pause. “You don’t seem quite as sold on the original trucker dad theory anymore.”

“I’m just performing my due diligence.” He scratches his upper arm absently, giving me a more complete look at his tattoos. Wow. That skeleton has fireballs for eyes. “The working theory stands, though. As far as we know, no one else had a motive to murder Oscar Stanley.”

“See, that’s whatI thought.”

“But then we lived on this street for two days,” Jude drawls.

“And we met some of the permanent residents. You might say one of them stood out.” I wiggle my fingers in my brother’s direction. “Show him, Jude.”

“I don’t want to be shown anything,” gripes the bounty

hunter.

I shush him.

He gapes at me.

Jude’s finger moves across the screen of his phone, locating the music streaming app. He hits play on the first song on his list and Bleachers begins to drift through the Bluetooth speaker situated on the fireplace mantle. After a nod from me, he cranks the volume—and right on cue, there is a loud crash outside. A door slamming. And then the side of our rental house is being bashed by the handle of a broom.

“That would be Sal,” I inform the hunter. “Our neighbor.

He also does this when our tea kettle whistles and when I…” Great. I’m blushing. “When I sing in the shower.”

Do I detect a slight lip twitch from the big tattooed meanie?

That burgeoning smile disappears when Sal begins his tirade.

“Keep it down in there. I can hear your music through my walls! This is supposed to be a quiet community and you fucking renters are ruining it!I’m sick of this shit!” That’s when he really starts to wail on the house. “I’d like to kill the bastards who allow this. What about my right to peace on my own property, dammit?”

Jude turns off the music, tosses the phone up in the air, catches and holsters it in his pocket like a Wild West gunslinger. “You should hear Sal when Taylor sings anything by Kelly Clarkson.”

“Something about ‘Since You’ve Been Gone’ just triggers him,” I add with a shiver. “Then again, it might just be my singing. I sound like a choking cat.”

“No, you do not,” Jude argues. “You’re amazing.”

My eyes are moist again. “Thank you.”

The bounty hunter drops his head back and sighs at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ.”

I take one more very slow step toward the staircase.

“Aren’t you going to say anything about Sal?”

“I’ve made a mental note,” he responds through his teeth. He looks like he’s about to say more, but apparently Sal isn’t finished.

From outside the kitchen window, our temporary neighbor yells. “Tell that bitch to close the window when she sings, before she breaks every mirror in my house!”

I’ve never seen anyone move so fast in my life.

One second, the bounty hunter is there. A dangerous glint occupies his eyes. So dangerous that it actually makes me shudder. And then he’s on his feet, storming out of the house and down the front porch. Sal makes a muffled exclamation followed by something low and unintelligible from the bounty hunter.

Jude and I stare at each other, jaws in our laps.

“What’s he doing?” whispers my brother. “Whois this guy?”

I don’t have a chance to answer because our guest is stomping back into the house, slamming the door behind him loud enough to rattle the hinges. “Guest book. Now.”

I run for the stairs and take them two at a time.

On the top one, I stumble a little bit. When I glance down the steps to determine whether or not anyone saw me, I give a closed-mouth scream. The bounty hunter is right behind me and I didn’t even hear him move.

Glowering, he wraps his gorilla-sized hands around my waist and lifts me back onto my feet. “Move.”

“Okay,” I whimper.

He follows me down the hallway and into the master bedroom. My heart is bouncing back and forth between my ear drums and my jugular. My bikini top and cut-off shorts were appropriate downstairs as we are mere steps from the beach and this is Cape Cod, but now? In this plush, inviting —nautical-themed, of course—bedroom, I am suddenly feeling very underdressed and exposed, goosebumps launching to attention on every inch of my skin.

In my self-consciousness, I get defensive. “You don’t have to shadow me.” I kneel in front of my suitcase and

frown at him over my shoulder. “I’m getting the book.”

From my position on the floor, he towers over me like a skyscraper. “You were stalling.”

I shuffle aside the sudoku puzzles I brought in search of the guest book. It would be much easier if I opened the suitcase, but my fancy panties are in the mesh side pocket and I think if this man saw them, I would die. “What did

you say to Sal?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Uh…Taylor. Are you okay up there?” Jude calls from downstairs. “I’m coming up.”

“No, it’s fine,” I call back. Do I have a sort of weird— possibly misplaced—confidence that this man won’t hurt me? Yes. Is he a wild card where everyone else is concerned? Yes. The last thing I want is Jude putting himself in jeopardy. “We’re just talking.” I wet my lips, searching for a way to reassure my brother. “Jude.

Coconuts.”

“Be a little less obvious about giving a code word, half pint,” mutters the bounty hunter, his knees hitting the ground beside me. Before I can stop him, he’s thrown open the top of my suitcase. And there they are. My frilly red panties. Right there in the dead center of the case,

impossible to miss.

Don’t panic.

Maybe he’ll do the polite thing and ignore them.

“What are those?” he asks, jabbing them with a blunt

finger.

“They’re…you know what they are!”

He glances between my suitcase and the dresser. “Why didn’t you unpack them like everything else?”

My face is a deeper shade of red than the panties now. “I didn’t…know if I was going to need them.”

Understanding dawns. “You brought them in case you meet someone.”

I stay staunchly silent. After some very brittle digging, I hand him the guest book. Only now he doesn’t seem as interested in taking it and leaving. He’s watching me from beneath those thickly drawn eyebrows. “You have a pair of hook-up panties?”

“No. I don’t,” I blurt. “I’d have to hook up in them at

least once to call them that.”

Why?

Why did I say that?

Can I please fast forward to the end of my life now?

“You date, right?” He’s not letting this drop? Mere moments ago, he was dying to get out of here, now he looks like he’s settling in for a conversation? “You must date

constantly.”

“Why would you assume that?”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, we’re going to play games?”

“Games?”

“You’re going to pretend you don’t know you’re beautiful to get a compliment out of me. Is that how this is going to go, half pint?” His laughter is strained. “It’s not happening.”

I’m not going to point out that he just referred to me as

beautiful.

Meaning healready complimented me.

That would be childish.

“I date, yes. But I wouldn’t call it constantly. More like… occasionally.”

Is there a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead that wasn’t there a moment ago? “And you’ve never gotten to use your hook-up panties.”

“Stop calling them that.” I smack him hard in the shoulder and he doesn’t even flinch. “I’m not a virgin. I’m just…I’m picky. Unforgivably picky. It’s why I’m going to end up alone.”

He processes that with an unreadable expression. “Let me guess. You want a man who wears a suit and argyle fucking socks to work and reads the finance section of the newspaper at breakfast while mumbling ‘yes dear, no dear’

like a robot.”

“That’s a pretty bold assumption.”

His upper lip curls. “Am I wrong?”

It’s the challenge in his eye that pushes me past polite into uncharted territory. Maybe discovering poor, dead Oscar brought me to this place, too. A place of clarity. I’m not sure. But as I kneel on the floor beside this behemoth, I hear echoes in the back of my mind. People throughout my life, college friends, colleagues and especially my parents, telling me I’m sensible. That I always play it safe. Even my second graders like to point out my idiosyncrasies. Giggling over the way I check the temperature of my coffee with a pinkie before sipping—even after five or six gulps. Just to be sure. Sending out search parties for kids who take longer than five minutes in the bathroom, like a nervous nelly. And I’m not claiming that my recent proximity to

murder has transformed me into the new Lara Croft or anything, but I’ve felt bolder and more in charge in the last two days than I’veever felt before.

This bully isn’t going to knock me back a step.

Besides.

I haven’t alwayswanted to play it safe. Not in every aspect of my life.

I’ve always had a little…or maybenot so little…desire for some added…zest.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind the suit and socks and finance section type of man. No, that would be fine with me. As long as he doesn’t treat me like porcelain in bed.” Lord, it is incredibly satisfying to witness the smirk fade from his face. Takethat, muscle head. “That’s where the pickiness comes in. It seems I can’t have both. On one hand, I’d like a man who makes a good living and wants a family someday.

On the other, I’d like to be manhandled once in a while. Just sort of thrown down and told who is boss, you know? Is that so much to ask? But on the three occasions I’ve dated a man long enough to…to do…it, they insisted on treating me with respect in bed. It was incredibly disappointing. Zero stars. Would not recommend.”

That sheen of sweat is a lot more obvious now.

Along with his utter shock.

Ilike the bold new me. I’ve just rendered a bounty hunter speechless!

And I still have four days left of this vacation!

“There.” I pat his massive shoulder. “You have your

book. Time to go.”

“Book?” he rasps.

“The guest book.” This is the best day of my life. “The

one you’re holding.”

“Right.”

“Youmight be interested to know that prior to the group of girls who stayed there last week, no one had rented the house since last summer.” Using the edge of the bed for balance, I climb to my feet. “Because Oscar himself had been living there for a full ten months.”

“That so?” the bounty hunter murmurs. He is staring at my belly button like it’s the one speaking. I could pretend I don’t like his attention on me, but I think that ship is leaving port at full speed. I found him attractive before, despite his wildly rude personality. Now, in the setting of the bedroom, having given him very personal details about my sexual longings, intimacy builds between us. Potent.

Visceral. And I can’t help it, there’s no way to stop my body from responding to him. Because this man isdefinitely not the one I’m searching for to settle down with. But I bet he’d give me that elusive physical excitement I can’t seem to track down for the life of me. Or at least come close? I’m starting to think animal attraction, paired with actual love and respect, only exists in scripted movies and romance novels.

His gaze travels down and lingers on the zipper of my shorts, inching lower to the apex of my thighs. He wets his lips. The air in my lungs evaporates. Oh God, what’s going to happen? Nothing. Nothing can happen. Right? It’s daytime and my brother is downstairs.

Apparently I’m the only one making a mental pro/con list, because the bounty hunter reaches out and grips the

waistband of my shorts, the heat of his touch searing my hips, and he drags me forward. Fast enough to make me stumble a little. His hot breath curls in my belly button and I reach for his hair, tangling it around my fingers, exhilaration pouring through me like a mile-high waterfall.

And thenhe licks me. He licks across my exposed belly from one hip to the other. Then bites down on my abductor.

Hard enough to make me gasp.

“I’m Myles,” he says hoarsely. “That’s my name.”

“Myles,” I whisper, my knees seconds from giving out.

“Taylor,” calls Jude from downstairs, beginning to sound alarmed. “You good up there?”

“C-coconuts,” I try to say, but it comes out sounding like gibberish—and that gives the bounty hunter pause. With a rocky sigh, he rises to his full height and looks down at me through narrowed eyes. He takes my chin in his hand and tilts it up, scrutinizing every inch of my face. “You might feel unsatisfied after being treated with kid gloves. But…at least there was affection there. I don’t have any of that in me. None. Trust me, you’d feel a lot worse after us sleeping together. Being respected is better than empty sex. That’s

what I’d give you.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

His pupils dilate a touch more and he steps closer, eyelids drifting down, his fingers sliding up into my hair and gently fisting my hair. “And goddamn, I’d like to provide it. That mattress would never be the same if you put on those red panties for me. But it’s the worst idea I’ve had in years, and believe me, half pint, that’s saying something.” With a visible effort, he drops his hand from

my hair and backs away, dragging a shaking hand down his open mouth. “Stay out of trouble, Taylor. I mean it.”

Does that mean he’s not coming back?

I nod absently, trying to hide my immense disappointment that he’s no longer touching me. My body is hot and exposed and I’m twisted up in knots in the most intimate of places. And he’s leaving. My brain tells me there is no other choice. He’s right. I can’t just have a fling with a bounty hunter. A mean one who looks—and acts— like he just escaped hell, no less. Maybe I’m overestimating my ability to have a wild fling? Maybe I’m just on a high from this new courageous behavior, but I’m notactually built for meaningless sex?

“The neighbor won’t bother you again. Sing Kelly Clarkson as loud as you want.” He looks like he feels stupid for saying that, cursing under his breath and wheeling around on a booted heel to leave the room. A moment later, the door slams downstairs. Without thinking, I cross to the window and look down, watching Myles climb onto his bike —a Harley Davidson, I notice now—and strap a helmet on.

He looks up at me and kicks the engine to life, and God help me, I have to cross my legs, the ensuing clench of my sex is so intense and prolonged.

Finally, he breaks eye contact and roars off down the street.

I drop down on the bed and stare blankly into space, willing my libido to shrink back down to the usual, reasonable level. Something is off in the room, but I don’t quite realize what it is for several moments. Not until Jude walks in to check on me and I automatically reach for the

suitcase lid to close it, so I don’t have to explain my frivolous purchase twice in one day.

And that’s when I realize the red panties are gone.

Myles’s business card sits in their place.