Page 4 of His

A silver beam of moonlight stretches across the black ocean below. It’s a still, quiet night. Cool for late summer.

When I’d purchased the cottage a decade ago, it was meant to be a vacation home. Surrounded by twenty acres of dense forest and a lush garden, the two-bedroom home sits on a cliff that overlooks the Pacific Ocean. A small walkway zigzags down the side of the cliff to the shoreline. The moment I saw it, I knew it was mine.

After Valerie and I had gotten married and her depression and hatred for me became too overwhelming (for both of us), she moved here, under the care of a medical team. After that she and I rarely spoke or saw each other for years. Now, here we are again. Similar circumstances, although nothing is the same.

I drag in a deep breath, pocket my keys, grab my duffel, and step out of the car.

My back pops painfully as I slowly right myself.

The flight from the beach house to southern Louisiana is just over four hours, one way. So, every Saturday and Wednesday, I am in the air for a total of eight hours, and driving for a total of three. The bi-weekly trips have taken their toll on both my pilot and my body—but not my focus. If my body failed me, I would still find a way to make the trip. Every day if I had to. If that’s what Sabine asked of me.

“Evening, Leo,” I say over my shoulder, hearing him before I see him.

“Hey, boss.”

Leo hikes up the sloped hill of the side of the house. Wearing all black, he’s almost invisible in the night, aside from the long blond ponytail running down his back.

Leo’s position within my company has morphed dramatically since he joined years ago. Originally, the former Marine was hired as a mercenary, but when he injured his back during his third mission, I hired him to manage my properties, where he is on-call 24/7. Now, he doubles as a security guard for the beach house to ensure there are no unwanted visitors—or threats. When he isn’t monitoring the property, which is ninety-percent of his life, he’s bartending at a local seaside pub. Leo is a simple man. Rarely speaks, never complains, and is always on time. We get along well.

“All quiet?” I ask.

He smooths a hand over the top of his head. “All quiet on the loop, boss.”

The loop is what we call the perimeter of the property, including all twenty acres and multiple entry points. It’s a lot to monitor. His security job here entails the outside only. Inside, between Cillian and I, there is always someone here.

I glance at my watch. “You can cut out early, if you’d like.”

“No, it’s fine; I’m on until sunrise.”

“You look like you need sleep, son.”

Leo glances in the direction of his apartment, twenty miles away.

“Go,” I urge. “Get some sleep. I’ll do a perimeter check later tonight. See you tomorrow.”

Leo dips his chin. “Thanks, boss.”

Cillian is sitting at the breakfast nook when I walk in, a laptop in front of his face, a longneck bottle in his hand. I glance at the master bedroom at the end of the hallway and am relieved to find the door closed.

Cillian looks unusually tired and it’s then that I realize my pilot (and my back) isn’t the only person who’s affected by my trips to Louisiana. The moment I found out Sabine was alive, I made Cillian, my right-hand man, the interim CEO of Astor Stone, Inc. so that I could be freed up to deal with something I’ve never dealt with before. Two women, one who owns my last name, the other who owns my heart.

Cillian looks up from his computer, blinks away whatever email he was engrossed in.

He leans back, looking me over, and picks up his beer. “Did she open the door this time?”

“No.” I toss my duffel on the chair, grab a beer from the refrigerator and join him at the table. I’m in a shit mood.

Cillian takes a long drag off his beer.

We sit in silence for a moment.

Suddenly, Cillian frowns and leans forward. “What the hell is on your arm?”

I glance down at the swollen, oozing bumps that cover my exposed skin.

“Bug bites.”

“Gross, man. They don’t have bug spray in Louisiana?”

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