Adelaide Upset (4 page)

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 was
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.”

“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?”