Adelaide Upset Page 3

  “Did you bring a date, Stephen?” I heard Francesca ask.

  In some ways she was eons ahead of me in experience, but in others she was completely inept. “Come on,” I said before Stephen was forced to think of something to say. “Let’s go see if they have that ride that makes people puke.”

  Chapter 4

  The festival was torture. Children were out en masse, laughing, screaming, running, crying. Their highs and lows wreaked havoc on my muscles as my body coiled tight, the strain of emotions manifesting physically. The rides were worse. I couldn’t even get close to a Tilt-A-Whirl, the excitement and thrill, the occasional fear, it made me manic. It required a concentrated effort to mask my expression at all times, the slightest slip and I’d be smiling from ear to ear for no apparent reason, which freaked people out. So I tended to scowl, trying to stay in touch with my own feelings, trying to insulate myself with them.

  I noticed Lucas scowling too, frowning forehead, lips tight. So I encouraged him to tag along with Stephen, not wanting to hold him back. Conner had teased me, labeling me the party pooper, though Francesca and Stephen were used to my odd behavior and didn’t bat an eyelash as I continued to refuse the rides and fun.

  At one point, when they had all gone off together, even Lucas, though he’d been less inclined to leave me, Smith appeared, his airy figure taking shape beside me. He watched Stephen get on the swinging ship, watched Stephen’s fingers turn white as the ride lifted up, and listened to Stephen laugh when the ride plunged down. It might have been the most depressing moment of my life, standing there, next to a ghost, and feeling equally isolated, living the solitude so thick that only a dead man could understand.

  I was so wrapped up in our mutual depression that the shift of his emotions took me by surprise. A flurry of feelings assailed me, intense and overlapping, so fleeting I couldn’t grasp their meaning. My head jerked in response, an involuntary desire to look where he looked. Smith was no longer staring at his son, but down a line of booths, the sponsor’s booths.

  The local radio station had a flashy little tent, passing out free stickers and pins. The local grocer’s stand was a bit staid by comparison, though they drew in women with generous coupons. And the booth just beyond that sported a vinyl banner that read: SOUTHEASTERN LOGGING AND SAWMILL.

  It was where Smith had worked, the Brunswick company Stephen had described. I’d been planning a visit ever since looking it up... but there was no time like the present. So saying I marched forward with little to no idea how I should present myself, and in retrospect, I understand why Smith tried to stop me.

  He swept forward, a roiling mist that formed to block my path. The idea of walking through him was utterly disgusting, but I was too conscious of my surroundings to stop short or go around, not wanting to attract attention by avoiding something only I could see. When Smith realized he couldn’t stop me he began to panic in earnest, his feelings reaching me before his hand. His grip was firm, but it didn’t feel like a normal touch, no warmth, no texture, just a solid pressure encircling my arm above the wrist.

  Pausing mid-step I glanced down at his hold on me, disturbed and perturbed in equal measure. “Let go or I’ll never speak to you again,” I hissed under my breath.

  People were looking. I’d stopped in the middle of the thoroughfare, muttering to myself like a crazy person. Pulling the messenger bag off my shoulder I pretended to search inside for a cell phone, walking on as if nothing was amiss. I didn’t actually have a cell phone, but it hardly mattered.

  Smith had gone off to sulk. He was nowhere in sight, which wasn’t unusual as he often hid himself away for various lengths of time. But oddly, I could still feel him, as if he lurked about watching from some hidden place. His concern was hard to miss, the worry and fear radiating out. It made an impression, begging for caution where his bullying had failed. Though I couldn’t imagine what it was about the company’s booth that upset him. When I arrived there was nothing sinister there.

  Beneath the banner and tent, sitting behind a flimsy table on an even flimsier foldable chair, was a man. His hair had nearly left him, the top of his head shiny with sweat as he fanned himself. The paunch and tacky sneakers I couldn’t help but note. The woman standing in front of the booth, pamphlets in hand, smiling at the crowd, commanded more of my attention.

  “What’s this,” I said, pointing behind her into the booth where a small poster had been propped upright on the table.

  She smiled, handing me a sheet of paper that conveyed the same information. “SL&S is celebrating their fifty-first birthday next week! It won’t be like this,” she said gesturing to the festival all around us. “But it’s a wonderful event. There’s a tree planting ceremony followed by a picnic and then everyone gets to seed the fields, kids love it. There’s always a huge turn out because everyone from the company gets off work that day and they bring their families along. But you should come, everyone’s invited, we love getting the community involved, we welcome the support.” She finally stopped gushing to take a breath. Strangely, her excitement was in earnest.

  “Well with the whole going green trend I can see why,” I agreed. Her face fell a bit, and I could feel a lecture coming on. I hurried to add, “But you’ve convinced me. I’ll be there.”

  She smiled, a row of perfect teeth flashing out at me. She had golden hair and a smattering of freckles that covered her face and arms. Despite the speckled skin though, she was pretty.

  “Do you do PR for SL&S?”

  “I guess it’s obvious, huh?” she said, plucking her T-shirt where the company’s logo was printed across her chest.

  I could tell by her emotions: friendly, open and eager, that she would answer my questions, no matter how odd, now that she’d finished her spiel. So I didn’t hesitate to say, “You can’t be much older than me, so I suppose you haven’t been working there long.”

  “Oh pshaw, I’m sure I have a few years on you, missy,” she replied good-naturedly. “But I’ve been with Southeastern now for four years, and I’ve loved every minute!”

  Her exuberance had just surpassed acceptable levels and was officially annoying. The enthusiasm buzzed around me, an annoying fly I had to swat constantly to keep at bay.

  I simply couldn’t play nice any longer.

  Leaning around her I asked the paunchy guy, “And you? How long have you been working at SL&S?” It was doubtful he’d know anything about Smith, but surely the ghost would have had one or two friends at his old job. Either way, I expected an answer. I didn’t expect the past-his-prime guy to lurch off the chair, mutter about lemonade, and wander away.

  The freckled woman waved a hand. “Don’t mind him, he only tagged along to avoid the office. Accounting,” she confided. “A dull job, don’t blame him for wanting to escape. Though we hadn’t anticipated the heat,” she added, swiping her forehead with a lazy smile.

  Ugh. She was so nice it was revolting. “Well, I guess I’ll see you there,” I said, backing away before she could latch on with more conversation.

  She called out, saying some friendly farewell, but I’d already turned my back, content to walk on as if I’d heard nothing. I eased back into myself the further from her I got, the upbeat attitude slipping away. The lack of it seemed to enhance my own frustration. Why couldn’t Smith just throw me a bone? He had all the answers as it was his death I was looking into. But he didn’t want me to go poking around Southeastern Logging and Sawmill, and was even afraid that I might. But afraid of what? For the first time I let myself really consider the thought that had been fluttering around the back of my brain. Maybe Smith’s death wasn’t an accident, maybe he’d been murdered.

  * * *

  I wandered the crowd in search of my friends, though I paid little attention to my surroundings, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of Smith. When someone grabbed my arm I was only a little surprised, thinking I’d turn to find Lucas. But it was an angel I saw, the mold of a perfect man from which all others were merely cast. His face w
as chiseled, the lines and planes cut to perfection, striking, intense. Dark hair and bright eyes, blue, icy blue that knew how to pierce and peer deep within you.

  He was pulling me, tugging me along. I didn’t look down or around, my feet moving of their own accord, my eyes fastened to the perfect creature at my side. He smiled down at me, pleased by my response, and when we finally stopped moving he brought me closer. His hands drifted down my arms, slipping to my waist, tipping me forward. It was like drowning, dizzy and breathless. I wanted his admiration, his love and approval. I needed it. He was the only thing that mattered.

  And there it was! I felt it, his interest and attraction, his pleasure in my presence. I knew the summation of that combination, easily reading the meaning from every emotion. I recognized them from... from myself. This was how I felt about Lucas.

  Lucas!

  I jerked away, stumbling back as I tried to clear my head. Reed Wallace reached out for me, concerned. “Don’t touch me,” I snarled, afraid he wouldn’t listen.

  His ability to charm had never struck so hard or fast. I hadn’t even registered his identity, just that I wanted to be with him always. I shivered, a bit frightened at the hypnotic effect he’d had, reaping reactions from me that were humiliating to remember. It was as if he’d saved up all his magnetic charisma, from our last encounter until now, waiting to overwhelm me.

  As my comprehension returned, so did the smell. We were wedged behind the porta-potties, bright blue and stinky. His ‘gift’ was truly strong if it could block out that smell. From experience I knew it was strong enough to attract attention, hence the hiding. I also knew he was too snobby to stand behind the toilets, or attend a lowly festival. He’d sought me out.

  “Stalker,” I spat.

  “You remember the ring I gave you,” he said slyly, giving my hand a pointed look. His eyes lingered where the Tibetan band filled up a large portion of my middle finger with its opaque stones and chunky metal. “Ah, I see you know the one I’m speaking of, the one with a tracking device. Since you’re still wearing it, one can only surmise that you want to be found.”

  “That’s a load of bullshit and you know it. I’m not taking the ring off until I’m safe, and speaking of which, why are you here? Didn’t you say it was dangerous? That you had to leave the island or Lars would get suspicious?”

  “I have business arrangements to attend in Miami. My jet needed to refuel on the way,” he said, shrugging innocently.

  The surrounding area had a number of small airports. They were often used by the wealthy and privileged, those lucky few who preferred to drop by the island on a private plane. But stopping to refuel? The lie was so blatant I knew better than to argue.

  “Refueling, how convenient. And lucky. If you had stopped to ask about the diary it would have been a wasted trip. Haven’t seen it,” I lied.

  Reed’s gift didn’t help him sense deception like mine did, but he could be just as critical, just as perceptive, and I was afraid he’d somehow sniff out my dishonesty.

  After a prolonged moment of watchfulness, his eyes roving, thoughts gauging, he finally eased back. “A shame,” he admitted casually. An understatement, I knew. He wanted Demidov’s diary, very much so. It was thick in the air, his craving, consuming and absorbing. “But,” he went on with feigned levity, “the silver lining is that our continual relationship is ensured for a bit longer.”

  I considered that the drawback of my lie, the disadvantage of not forking over the diary. But I said only, “In that case, I’ll try harder to find it.” Having concluded our business I turned to go, but at the last minute I paused. “What would you have done if I hadn’t regained my senses? Kiss me?”

  He shrugged, unapologetic. “I’m an opportunist, you know that.”

  “And I’m unforgiving. The next time you try and take advantage I’m going to make you regret it.”

  Chapter 5

  “Thanks for going with me today,” I said, kicking off my shoes in Lucas’ living room. “I’m sure it wasn’t your favorite way to spend a Saturday.”

  Reed had only served to blacken my already awful mood, and it hadn’t been long after finding my friends that I’d hastened our departure. After dropping Stephen off, Lucas and I had retired to finish the day at his house, doing what we usually did, cooking, eating, some TV, and plenty of making out.

  “I didn’t mind,” he replied, dropping his keys onto the coffee table. “I should probably take you out more often.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked, thinking I liked the fact that we were equally antisocial.

  “You keep calling me your boyfriend. Isn’t that what boyfriends do?”

  “You said that to Francesca earlier, that I ‘call’ you my boyfriend. But you either are or you aren’t,” I challenged, sinking into the couch as I watched him flip through his mail.

  He was only half paying attention, his eyes still on the envelopes. “Isn’t that something people usually discuss?”

  “Oh,” I said, totally abashed. “I just thought...” What had I thought? That claiming someone was your boyfriend made it true? I was an idiot, a humiliated idiot.

  Having lost interest, Lucas dropped the mail next to his keys and decided to save me from my floundering. “It’s fine,” he cut in. “We’re a couple then.”

  I threw up my hands. “Then what are you giving me a hard time for?”

  “Are you mad?” he asked, watching me closely, though his face was expressionless as ever.

  “No,” I admitted. “But you have to call me girlfriend now,” I answered. “And,” I added, “this means you get to have as much sex with me as you want, you know, now that we’re official and all.”

  “You’re still not ready,” he remarked calmly.

  “Sure I am,” I said, needing to convince him. “Watch, I’ll get naked right now.”

  He sat down, putting his boots up on the coffee table. “Go ahead then,” he dared, moving his hands behind his head, elbows out, relaxed as ever.

  “I will,” I sassed, standing to move to the center of the room, suddenly less certain. I fought the urge to turn my back, forcing myself to face him as I peeled my shirt up and over my head. “See,” I said, dropping my shirt to the floor. “I’m totally in my bra.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to my chest.

  I glanced down, self-consciousness making me see my sports bra as if for the first time. It was old, the elastic dying and saggy, not to mention marred with a brown stain, the thing that had caught Luke’s attention. I’d once dribbled cake batter down the front, but maybe he’d think it was sexy if he knew it had been chocolate flavored. “Uh—”

  “You seem uncomfortable,” Lucas offered, saving me from explanation. “Here, I know how to get you in the mood.” He leaned over, grabbing my purse from the floor to root through.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  He pulled a book out. The front cover was a picture of a chesty woman in an artfully draped gown.

  “That’s not mine!”

  He started flipping pages, unperturbed by my obvious lie. His fingers moved quickly, with dexterous coordination, the result of working under a car for years, piecing parts together in small spaces. Currently leafing through my romance novel, a secret addiction I’d diligently tried to hide. He paused. “Sebastian parted her creamy thighs,” he began to read aloud.

  “Shut up!” I said, yanking the book away from him.

  “That page was creased,” he said. “A favored scene?”

  I threw the book across the room, embarrassed, but unable to deny the humor of our situation. “Alright,” I sighed. “You made your point. I’m not ready.”

  By his eyes I knew that he was amused, that small sign of emotion warming me. “But,” I added, sliding myself into his lap, no longer shy about wearing my bra. “Maybe we could make out without our shirts on for a while?” I asked, plucking at his hem.

  He grabbed the back of his collar, pulling it over his head with one de
ft move. “Just don’t call me Sebastian.”

  “Shut up,” I said again, this time laughing.

  * * *

  “Sterling’s Motel, how may I help you?”

  “Did you sleep with him yet?”

  “No,” I told Francesca, sighing into the phone. “But I’m sure it’ll be soon,” I added, thinking of the night before.

  “What are you waiting for? You need to hurry if you want to secure a guy like that.”

  “I told you he was good-looking,” I said a bit smugly.

  “Good-looking? He’s hot!” she gushed. “He should be in a jeans commercial, shirtless, with a horse or maybe a truck in the background.”

  “He has a truck actually, this cool old Ford he’s always fixing up—”

  “Ugh,” Francesca interrupted. “I don’t care.”

  “You’re right,” I apologized. “Sorry.” I must really like Lucas if I thought his boring hobbies were somehow newsworthy.

  “Yeah, so he’s hot,” Francesca admitted. “I was surprised. But it was weird. When you weren’t around he sort of turned into a robot.”

  “I know what you mean,” I told her. “He can be a bit... withdrawn, but he’s been better lately,” I assured, thinking of those few feelings I’d seen, the rare smile and frown.

  “Withdrawn? Uh, no. He was a robot, seriously. I mean it wasn’t so bad when you were around, at least then he seemed almost human, but without you he was, like, the terminator.”