Page 1 of Wicked Games

CHAPTER ONE

Seth

The drive from Ashfield to Lakehaven Falls was long and boring and it didn’t do anything except make my foul mood even worse. It’s why I needed this vacation, this time away. I’m not the same person I was four months ago, and I don’t want to be this person. This bitter asshole who’s hurting so much he can’t see straight. Violet said she’d keep things under control, but I don’t care about any of it. Can’t. There’s no room in my heart for something like that.

Grief, she kept repeating, fades in time, but I don’t believe her. Not this kind of pain.

In just one week, I lost everything.

My truck’s GPS guides me through the pretty little town. I chose it for the name. I need a haven right now, somewhere to hide and lick my wounds, and maybe, by the end of the summer, I’ll feel something.

I drive by a small grocery store. Post office. A bar that sells off-sale. Good. Once I get settled, I’ll come back and buy them out of whiskey. A diner. A gas station that sells tackle and live bait. Not much else, but I don’t need much else.

I turn a corner, leaving the town behind, and I catch glimpses of the lake between trees and houses. It’s been a long time since I was on the water, though I doubt I will this summer, even if my rental came with a boat. All I’d do is jump in and hope I didn’t come out. Not great. That’s what this vacation is supposed to keep me from doing. That horrible feeling that nothing’s worth living for. Before I left the office, Violet shoved a piece of paper at me. 988 was written in thick black marker. Nothing else.

“What’s this?” I asked, frowning.

“The suicide hotline, Seth,” she said. “Use it. Or call me. Find someone to fucking talk to, okay?”

I scoffed, balled the paper up, and shoved it into my pants pocket. Later, after I got home—well, back to the place I’d been living for the past seven years, can’t exactly call it a home now, can we, when it’s full of ghosts—I smoothed it out and put it in my wallet.

My maps app orders me to turn down a street close to the water, and a minute later tells me to turn left and that I’ve reached my destination. The driveway isn’t long, but it’s not short, the house off the street a bit. I won’t have to listen to traffic, though in a town of a thousand people, I doubt there’s much anyway.

There are several trees on the property, and a hammock is tied between two near the side of the house. Don’t know if I’ll use it, but it looks like it could be comfortable. I park in front of a two-stall garage and get out, but I leave my luggage in the truck. I’ll come back for it later. The porch is wide and there are a couple of large planters sitting near the steps. I don’t know how to take care of plants and I hope they’ll survive on their own without my help.

The realtor offered to be here when I came into town, but I told her it wasn’t necessary. She’d done what I wanted her to do and that was enough. She said there would be a key box hidden in a dark green planter, and I dig around the flowers for it. I find it and unlock the front door.

The foyer’s small, but it has a decorative bench near a wide closet and a set of coat hooks. No one lives in this house, the owners turning the place into something that’s not quite an Airbnb. No one has been here in a while and the air’s musty, but that’s fine with me. I don’t need to smell some woman’s perfume or the lingering traces of a family dinner. I told the realtor I wanted the place clean, and it looks like she took care of that. There aren’t any personal items in the living room, no framed photos or leftover newspapers, and the wide French doors that look out over the cove sparkle in the sun. A woman is standing outside, in what I assume is her part of the yard. She has her arms wrapped around herself like she’s cold, but it’s eighty-two degrees outside, so I doubt it’s that.

I’ll come back to her if she’s still there. It’s better to take care of the “meet the neighbors” crap right away. I check out the kitchen and it’s got everything I need—pots and pans in the lower cabinets, and glasses, plates, and bowls above a counter that has a coffeemaker and toaster on it. The realtor left a vase of flowers and a bottle of champagne on an island that has three stools shoved underneath it. Don’t know why she bothered because she knows why I’m staying here, but maybe their office does that for everyone who rents or buys through them. I don’t care. Booze is booze.

Toward the rear of the house there’s a library that has shelves full of books, a fireplace, and a medium-sized TV sitting on a large entertainment center. I might watch a movie or something sometime. It’ll give me a chance to get my mind off what I know I’ll be thinking about while I’m awake.

All the bedrooms are upstairs—a master suite and two smaller ones. I’ll put my clothes in the master bedroom since that would be expected, but more than likely I’ll just fall asleep on the couch in the living room.

The house has a couple of bathrooms, but I don’t need to look for them now. I don’t have to go, and that they’re here is enough.

I go back downstairs, tempted to pop that champagne open and guzzle half the bottle. Not the best way to start this vacation, but what the hell.

I sigh. The woman’s still out there, looking over the water, and her arms are still wrapped around herself. She’s wearing shorts, a cell phone shoved into one of the back pockets, and a top that’s too dressy to be called a t-shirt. Her brown hair is wavy and loose and has blonde streaks running through it. Barefoot. She’s not skinny but she’s not chubby, filled out in all the right places. If I was looking for that, and I’m not.

There’s a large patio in the back, and if this woman leaves me alone, I might spend some time out here. The wicker furniture is padded with thick, light blue cushions, and it looks like it would be a nice place to sit with a beer and read. There’s a bug zapper hanging in the corner, but the realtor said the town sprays, so maybe the mosquitoes won’t be too bad.

She doesn’t move when I walk down the steps, doesn’t even turn around when I come up next to her.

“Do you live next door?” I ask to force her to look at me. Otherwise I think she would have ignored me completely.

She looks over her shoulder and wipes a tear off her cheek. “Ah, that one,” she says, pointing to the house behind her, “but I’m only here for the summer.”

I hold out my hand, unable to tear my gaze away from her face. Her eyes are a golden brown framed by dark lashes, and there are shadows in them, just like I know there are in mine. Her skin is pale, but not pallid, a glow, maybe, from the sun, keeping her from looking sickly. Her nose is narrow and not too big, and her lush lips are a light pink. She’s gorgeous, and fucking hell, nothing that I need right now. “I’m Seth Lockwood. I’m renting the house over there for the next couple of months.”

She knows who I am, her eyes widening just a bit. I’m not surprised since there aren’t too many people around who don’t know who I am, especially after what happened.

“Avery McKay,” she says, gripping my hand for a second then letting go. Her fingers are wet.

“Do you know who lives next to me?” I ask, jerking my thumb to a house I couldn’t see from the road.

“Ah, Lara . . . Lara something. I forgot. Old lady. I mean, older than us. You. Me. Whatever. She has a dog, some kind of collie, I think. I’m not good with breeds. She lets her dog run around. If you don’t mind dogs, she won’t bother you.”