AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No, not really. “I guess we’ll find out,” she said, pushing him into the coat closet. She looked down at her short-sleeve jersey and sleep shorts, then pulled her hair up into a high ponytail using the elastic band around her wrist to tie it up. Yeah, I can sell this. Opening the door, she looked up at the two burly men towering over her and yawned.
Chapter Seven
“Are y’all back for another warrant?” she said, wiping her eyes with her fists, appearing so unaffected you would have thought she answered the door to strangers every night.
The men looked at each other in surprise, then back to her.
Before they could answer, she threw another question at them. “You want me to wake up the judge or not? This is the second time tonight, so if you didn’t get it right the first time, Daddy’s going to be mad as a hornet.”
They still had not found their tongues. Too baffled.
She reached up and snapped her fingers in front of their faces a few times. “What’s it going to be, boys? I want to get back to bed. Got a tennis date at the country club tomorrow morning bright and early.”
The guy with a shaved head spoke. “We don’t know anything about a warrant. We’re here to see Sebastian Bartoli.”
Sebastian Bartoli? Sebastian Bartoli? Holy cow poop! Nickname, Bash. Well, fiddle sticks. She wanted to swat herself in the head.
“You mean that famous writer?” she said excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Does he have a lake house out here, too? Wait until I tell my friends. Which one is it? The A-frame on the next cove?”
The other guy with a blond buzzcut held up his hand. “No! He’s supposed to be here,” he grunted.
She took a controlled breath to keep her nerves in check. “I wish he was staying here, but he isn’t. My daddy’s a federal judge, and he gets all kinds of interruptions when we’re on vacation. That’s what happens when you’re the kind of judge who issues a warrant at the drop of a hat. The detectives love him. Now. Like I said, this is the second one tonight, but I’ll go wake him up, and maybe he can help you.” As she turned to leave, the blond guy put his hand on her shoulder, sending chills down her back, and then he quickly withdrew it.
“Wait! Maybe we’ve got the address wrong,” he said, handing her a piece of paper.
It read 12 Redbud Drive, Guntersville, Alabama. This address. Think! Think! Think! She could tell by the northeastern accents they weren’t local, so she reasoned they probably didn’t know anything about the area. She took a big chance.
“That’s our address for sure, but Daddy has owned this cabin for years.” She paused for effect and tapped her chin with her pointer finger. “Oh, I get it. I bet you are looking for Redbud North. This is Redbud South. You need to be on the other side of the lake. If you go back to the main highway, it’s the first turn to the left on the other side of the bridge.”
They look at her blankly for a few beats, then back at each other. The bald guy nodded to the blond guy, and they turned to leave. Before she could shut the door, one of them called back in a threatening tone. “If this is bullshit, we’ll be back.” She swallowed hard, closed the door, and leaned against it, waiting for them to drive away.
Bash came bursting out of the closet and stood in front of her. She couldn’t tell by the expression on his face if it was gratitude or shame. For the moment, she didn’t care. Getting her heart rate back in line was more important.
“Fuck. I guess I owe you a thank you,” he said with sincerity.
She pushed away from the door and began walking away. “You owe me an explanation, Mr. Sebastian Bartoli, famous author and major grumpster, but right now, we need to get dressed, pack whatever stuff we need, and leave. Either those guys took the bait and left on the merry-go-round I sent them on, or they are still outside watching the house. Meet me at the top of the stairs in five minutes,” she said, rushing for the stairs.
“Hold up,” he called after her.
She turned to face him.
“Who the hell put you in charge, and why should I…” he stopped, trying to determine how to phrase what she knew would be an insult, so she said it for him.
“Why should you listen to a little redneck kindergarten teacher from the sticks who uses caviar as chip dip? I wasn’t trying to give you orders, Mr. Bartoli. I was trying to help save your life. I thought I just proved that, but I guess whatever you would have done when you answered the door to those two no-necks would have netted a better outcome. I don’t know what issue those men have with you, but by virtue of our brief association, I am now in their sights, too. We can part ways right now if you want. I’m sure you have plenty of agents and lawyers and assistants who are much smarter than me to get everything all fixed up for you. You might want to get them on the phone because I’m thinking you’ve got about 20 minutes max before they come back. I’d appreciate it if you would give me the keys to one of those boats down there because I want to live to see tomorrow. You can think my request over while I get dressed and pack, but Beth already told me I could use the smaller boat. You do what you feel is right for you. My survival instincts are apparently geared up a few more notches than yours.” Then she ran up the stairs.
Chapter Eight
The burglary at the cabin should have been his first clue, but he was irritated and in too much denial to acknowledge it. He had blamed Morgan for everything that went wrong. For inconveniencing him. He was so wrapped up in begrudging an innocent woman from sharing a plot of land with him that he didn’t even consider he was the one who brought the danger to her. And how could Gray and Alex allow this to happen? They had promised he would be alone and safe, neither of which was the case.
When it became clear that it was about him, she still stepped up and lied for him while he cowered in the closet. Everyone had taken care of his needs for so long that he couldn’t even think for himself. He let a 110 lb. kindergarten teacher save his ass, then challenged her for continuing to do so. When had he become such a self-centered, egotistical prick? So, this is what humble pie tastes like.
Bash found a waterproof backpack in the closet of the master bedroom and packed as many clothes and toiletries as he could fit. Then he grabbed his leather shoulder bag that held his laptop, burner phones, money cards, and other essentials. Before he walked out the door, he looked around. Taking a lesson from one of Morgan’s Popsisms, he ripped off the luggage tags, then grabbed the rental contracts and stashed them in his leather case. There was nothing in the car that would identify him.
When he got to the stairs, Morgan was five steps ahead of him. She stopped and looked at him questioningly.
“I’m an asshole. I’ll try to do better.”
She gave him an accepting nod. What a forgiving soul. As they started back down the stairs, they heard a car approaching the house.
