Page 10 of Bait and Switch
“I know.” He gave a short sigh, squeezing my hand again. “It sucks.”
His steady touch slowed my pulse a little.
“If you’re staying, you want that beer we’d planned on?” Kai asked casually but it sounded forced.
“Might as well,” I resigned. Although tequila was probably more appropriate for the circumstances. Something that burned all the way down, maybe, to cauterize the terror inside me.
My grip instinctively tightened when Kai tried to let go of my hand. Panic flared, irrational but unstoppable. He stopped, looking at me curiously, then tightened his fingers back around mine, placing his other hand over the top like he was holding me together.
“You okay?” he asked, quiet now, as if afraid the wrong tone would shatter me.
“Yeah, sorry, just jittery I guess.” My laugh sounded strangled. I forced myself to release him, drawing in a breath to steady my hands. “I’m fine,” I insisted as I stood. My knees wobbled, not convinced. “I’ll go with you. Maybe you can finally give me the tour?”
“Sure, although there’s not much to see,” he said, popping to his feet with a lightness I envied.
Even exhausted, even rattled, there was an ease about him I couldn’t look away from. It made me wonder if danger was just another tide for him, something he’d learned to float with while I was still thrashing.
He stopped on the way to the kitchen, his arm sweeping in the direction of the sofa. “You’ve seen the living room, of course, where we were held hostage.” His dry chuckle was the only hint of nervousness.
The words sent a shiver skating down my spine. The burn from the bindings still stung on my wrists, a phantom tightness.
“And here we have the kitchen,” he said, giving the four stools at the breakfast bar a wide berth as he went to the fridge.
The space was warm and bright, with white shaker cabinets and gray granite countertops gleaming in the overhead light. The double oven looked straight out of a magazine. It felt surreal to stand here, in this gleaming, perfect kitchen, while my skin still buzzed with fear. Like stepping from a nightmare into a catalog page.
“I have kitchen envy,” I admitted, smiling despite myself.
“Yeah? You like to cook?” he asked, handing me a can of Coors Light. “Looks like we’ve only got boat beers. None of the good stuff.”
“That’s fine.” The can was icy against my palm. I looked up at him through my lashes. “Even though I could down a few shots of hard liquor right now, lighter is probably better.”
The first sip hit my tongue like pure magic. I tipped my head back, drinking deep, feeling it slip cool into my stomach and radiate outward, unclenching muscles one by one. “Strange how alcohol relieves anxiety almost immediately.”
“Too bad it’s temporary,” Kai said with a crooked grin. “But you’re in the right business, especially in Islamorada…the quaint little drinking village with a fishing problem.”
His delivery was so deadpan, so unexpected, I let out a startled laugh. “For paying bills, I suppose you’re right. If only the demand for art were so consistent, I might be able to make a living doing what I love.”
I winced even as I said it—the words felt fragile, like a dream that didn’t belong in this nightmare.
“If you keep at it, I have a feeling you’ll make it.”
“Thanks for having faith in me. I’m not sure if there’s a real market for my work here, but we’ll see.”
“You sold a painting today, didn’t you?” He said, chin tipping toward the canvas propped in the chair, a soft smile tugging at his mouth.
“True,” I admitted, chuckling. “One at a time.”
My voice was light, but inside, I squirmed. He had bought that painting. Pointing out his questionable motives for purchasing would have been rude, and I wasn’t sure if I could take the embarrassment if he admitted it had just been an attempt to get in my pants.
“No matter how high your confidence, that is the key,” he said, lifting his beer like he was making a toast. “The best of the best do it one sale at a time.”
I leaned back into the counter, trying to let the words sink in, trying to believe them. “So in your case it’s one fish at a time?”
He grinned. “More like one boat at a time.” He took a slow pull from his can, eyes glinting. “By the way, in case you weren’t aware, the number of boats owned directly correlates with level of insanity. We have six.”
I barked out a laugh, the sound surprising even me. “So that makes you a six out of ten on the crazy scale?”
“That tracks.” He smirked, shoulders relaxing, as if he enjoyed being called out. “Where are you on the crazy scale?”
