Page 53 of The House Beyond the Dunes

I close my eyes. “I don’t want to see you.”

“But I want to see you.” An amused smile radiates behind the words.

“I need to call my attorney.”

“Call away. See you in ten minutes.”

The line goes dead, but my head pulses with his words.I want to see you.Why is he pushing this? What could have changed in a day and a half to redirect him back toward me?

He can’t know that Stevie has been sending me her diary entries. Right? I glance at the PDF on my phone, open to the entry I read last night. Maybe she can tell me why Becker has focused his attention on me.

Chapter Fourteen

STEVIEPALMER’SDIARY

Tuesday, July 4, 2023

7:00 p.m.

Happy birthday, America!

The bar is packed. Normally, there’s a slowdown on a Tuesday night, but not on the Fourth. Everyone wants to have a good time. Everyone wants to make toasts. Keep the happiness flowing from the beer taps.

I’m on the move from almost the moment I step behind the bar. I got lucky last night and found an unrented cottage, parked in the carport under the house, and slept five whole hours. I also slid into the YMCA and grabbed a shower. It felt good to wash the grime and sweat off my body. As I dried my hair, I could see that the brown rinse had faded a little. Not a big deal, but I do prefer the darker shade. After a big lunch, the heat drove me toward the outlet malls, where I wandered for hours. I bought a new black Graveyard of the Atlantic T-shirt, which I’m now wearing.

Joey carries a tray loaded with sandwiches toward a table of guys as I fill drink order after drink order. I move in a steady rhythm. I guess you could say, I’m in the zone.

I’m two hours into my shift when Bourbon walks into the bar. He looks much like he did days ago, wearing a navy-blue sport jacket, white open-collar shirt, and tan pants. I suspect if he has a tie, it’s tucked in his pocket. If there was ever a guy that didn’t fit in here, it’s him. Not sure what brings him back, but I’m glad he’s arrived. He’s the last person I saw talking to Nikki.

He takes the same seat he had on his last two visits. Joey hustles behind me, grabs his order, and fills a tumbler with aged bourbon. Bourbon sips his drink slowly as his gaze roams the room.

His body language isn’t relaxed or chill. He’s tense and very alert. Several times Bourbon stares at a woman separated from her wing women, hesitates, then moves his gaze on to another woman. His fleeting interest suggests he’s horny, but he’s particular about Ms.Right-for-Now. If he hooked up with Nikki, she’s a distant memory.

Over the next half hour, I keep my distance from Bourbon. My nerves tighten when I’m close. Though I’m tempted to shoot questions at him, time and life have taught me to move a little slower.

Joey gets distracted by a group of guys looking to do shots. As he lines up the five glasses and pours, I decide I’m not going to let my nerves keep me away from Bourbon. Run toward trouble, not away from it.

I duck around Joey. Bourbon’s glass is half-empty—or half-full if you’re an optimist, which I’m not.

“Can I top that off?” I ask.

Bourbon regards me with an intensity that sends a shiver sliding through my body. Even white teeth flash quickly, but not fast enough to blind me. This guy is trouble. He’s dangerous.

Nothing like being on the receiving end of evil to know what it smells and tastes like. Pain has a way of honing your instincts and nurturing a sixth sense about bad people.

He slowly pushes his tumbler toward me, but his hand remains on the glass. In this moment, he controls my attention. Yep, control is his thing. His fingers release the glass. “Sure.”

My smile widens. I grab the bourbon bottle and fill the glass beyond Joey’s limit. I set the glass closer to him. I want him to think I’m into him. “Bottoms up.”

He doesn’t touch the glass. “What’s your name?”

I grab a rag and wipe down the bar. “Stevie.”

“You were here Saturday night.”

“I was. I’m new here. Are you a regular?”

He raises the glass to his lips and pauses. “I get by a couple of times each summer.”

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