He walked past the lat machine to the open doorway and scanned the empty hallway beyond. Muffled sounds, like distorted voices, emanated from the end of the
corridor. He inched along the wall, pausing at each step, until he recognized the noise as a television blaring in the distant room. His shoulder brushed a framed poem on
the wall. It jarred loose and leapt for the solid oak floor, but his skillful fingers darted out and intercepted the unintended alarm before it could signal his approach. He
examined the cross-stitched writing, To my Beloved Wife, Crystal, and grinned. He placed the frame on the floor against the wall and continued his journey quietly,
deliberately, toward his objective ten feet away. Finally, he peered cautiously through the crack provided by the partially opened door, but quickly pulled back when he
saw a shapely female tying the reflective laces on a pair of pink tennis shoes. He watched her pull long, silky, blonde hair back into a ponytail, then start a series of
stretching exercises while she paid partial attention to the local news report on the wide screen television.
The mysterious disappearance of twenty-one-year-old Amber Campbell from the Brandon College campus four months ago still baffles the Piedmont County Sheriff’s
Department. Yesterday, I interviewed Sheriff Lundgren regarding leads as to the whereabouts of Ms. Campbell.
“Sheriff, is there anything you can share about this case with our viewers?”
“Nothing substantive. We’ve investigated dozens of phone calls and potential sightings, but they all resulted in dead ends.”
“Can you speculate on the cause of her disappearance or give us some idea as to what might have happened?”
“Nothing solid. It’s possible Ms. Campbell was suffering from some emotional stress, perhaps the tension of her heavy course load, a fight with her boyfriend – who
knows. We’ve seen it before where a young girl runs offs and reappears months later in some other state.”
“Is that what you think happened: that she ran away?”
“We just don’t know at this time.”
“No leads, only dead ends; just more sad words for the waiting parents of a beautiful young girl with a promising future. This is Jamie Davis for channel 12.”
His eyes locked on the swaying motion of her rear taunting him to reach out and stroke those feminine curves. Then something penetrated his nose. Even from this
distance, he sensed a sweet fragrance; a faint blend of tangerine and lime: her shampoo.
The lure of her tiny waist and firm buttocks contorting with each bending motion worked their magic. He could no longer deny his thoughts. She would resist at first,
wrestle against his superior strength. Finally she would accept his offering and they would merge as one. The vision of her smooth, shaved legs entangled around his
waist flooded his brain along with the sensation of her muscles tightening while she squeezed and surged in rhythm with each thrust, further, deeper.
He wanted her. No, he needed her. Beneath him. He needed to take her completely and resolve the urge racing through his loins. The buzzing in his ears and the blood
throbbing in his temples drummed out all reason. Without a sound, he edged forward. As she started to turn, he reached out and locked her tightly around the waist from
behind, his massive arms gripping like a vise. She gasped and tried to escape, but it was useless. His warm hand slid down inside the elastic band of her jogging shorts,
and the sensation of her cool, smooth flesh drove more blood straight into his groin.
Kurt rocked restlessly in the white wicker chair on the bottom deck of his two-story cedar cabin. Its location at the entry to Cattail Cove off the mouth of Gills Creek
afforded an expansive view of the lake. At the edge of his vision, he caught movement to the right toward the main channel. A pair of mated mallards led their brood of
five, fuzzy little brown ducklings in a tight formation into the cove except for one straggler two feet back. Must be the weakling. There’s always one.
The plop of a lure being coaxed across the shallow end of the cove to his left diverted his attention. He watched a crimson bass boat with metallic stripes along the side
ease just outside the bedding area of spawning largemouth bass. The fisherman tried to agitate the male bass from their beds, but they weren’t taking the bait.
Splash!
Kurt turned back toward the line of ducks, but where there were five before, now only four waddled along. The weak, trailing newborn was gone. The parents of the
little critter had just paid a terrible toll for swimming in a lake occupied by large predator fish like muskies and stripers. While they would never know the truth about
what had happened to diminish their family, Kurt knew. In the shadows beneath the ripples of small paddling feet, a massive beast with serrated teeth waited for an
opportunity to strike. The innocence of the unsuspecting morsel was irrelevant; the loss to the parents of no consequence. The answers they would never find meant
nothing to the soulless devil. Only hunger and greed mattered. There was no guilt, no remorse for its actions; it was driven by pure, self-centered instinct.
Kurt rubbed the tip of his thumb and forefinger slowly, deliberately, as he considered the irony of what he had just witnessed. On the surface, Spenser Lake conveyed a
portrait of natural beauty, but the peaceful surroundings were deceptive. The struggle for life and death played out each and every day, yet the lake residents chose to
ignore the brutal elements that existed in the serene vistas just outside their picture windows. He compared this scene to the sad reality of the inept society in which he
lived – an existence where people were unable to protect their own and where evil lurked in the shadows, at the edges, waiting for a chance to consume the unsuspecting.
He actually shivered at the image of the parents of the young girl missing from Brandon College and the sleepless nights they would share, filled not with answers, but
with tears. They, too, would never know the truth about their offspring – the beautiful young girl full of life with a future unlimited by its potential. Were her last
moments too horrifying to consider? Her parents must feel helpless to reach out, pull her back, and save her from things that consumed without a conscience or a soul.
Kurt returned to the confused pair of mallards as they searched back and forth for the duckling they would never find. He combed his fingers through his thick black
hair, then stopped and studied the hands on the dial of his gold-toned watch again. “Shit.” The rhythm of his thumb and forefinger increased, the pressure of skin-on-
skin contact made a shallow popping noise. “Damn it, Crystal. Where the hell are you?”
He reached for his cell phone on the narrow plastic table at his side and pressed a speed dial button. After the sixth ring, a canned message began. In an aggravated tone,
Kurt demanded into the mouthpiece, “Answer your phone, Crystal! Stop playing around.”
When the call back recording came on, he slammed the phone shut and smashed the mayfly resting on the small drink tray with his fist. The impact sent his half-full beer
bottle into the air. The amber container made a somersault before bouncing on the wooden floor. The contents sprayed across the freshly stained deck, forming a trail of
cream-colored foamy liquid oozing from the mouth. Kurt sat transfixed, like a statue, ignoring his surroundings. The bottle rolled over the edge of the porch, gyrated
down the steep hill and plopped into the lake. It bobbed up and down, resisting the inevitable, until it released a gurgling sound as it disappeared beneath the dark waters
of Gills Creek.
Kurt stuffed the phone in his pocket, leaped up, and raced for his truck. He was angry that she had ignored him and gone ahead by herself after she’d promised never to
do so again. But worse, he was frightened – afraid of the possibilities, what might have happened to the only woman he loved, and had loved, for the past seventeen
years. While he searched along Shady Hollow Road, images flashed in his mind of someone, something, harming his wife.
His search became more frantic as he neared the end of her jogging route. She wouldn’t have gone off the road. Not even Crystal would be that crazy after the neighbor’
s dog was found mauled just days earlier, possibly by a cougar that had strayed down from Alders Mountain. She must have turned right on Ridge Lane. She would be
there, she had to be, and when he found her he would read her the riot act.
“Crystal, I’m going to literally kick your pretty little ass this time.”
But the words were a gruff façade hiding his real emotions; the apprehension that his worst fears were about to come true.
The damselflies were out early this morning. Half a dozen darted randomly back and forth just above the back end of Cattail Cove. One dove toward a swarm of
waterdogs suspended by surface tension above the lake, interrupting the ballet of water insects dancing erratically along the surface. The reflection of the diving, four-
winged marauder trying to single out one small bug among hundreds scattered the swarm in all directions. This time they all escaped to hunker down amidst the swamp
grass until it was safe to venture out and begin their ballet again.
Danielle smiled slightly. She was the intruder on nature’s deadly game, not the other way around. She shook her head, clearing out the cobwebs, as she took one final
hamstring stretch with the help of the porch railing and then set out on her morning ritual – a jog along the scenic path following the lake.
It didn’t take long for her feet to find their rhythm. Danielle adjusted the ear buds of her iPod briefly, humming subconsciously to the Toby Keith tune playing, I Ain’t As
Good As I Once Was. She followed the inlets and outlets of the lake, glancing every now and then at the profusion of houses – all graced with expansive porches facing
the water and most of them ostentatiously large. She never could figure out why folks were so eager to build the biggest structures possible; all those empty rooms left
unoccupied most of the year when the summer vacationers returned home to the city, all that unused solitary space that had to be cleaned.
Before she realized it, she was flush with the back porch of her best friend’s house. Marina was sitting in a silvered wooden deck chair; a cup of coffee in one hand and
a cigarette in the other. She spotted Danielle and waved through her last puff of smoke while she took a sip from her favorite, old, cracked mug.
Danielle ran in place for a few steps before accessing the porch via a set of stairs ascending from the lake pathway up to the porch. Danielle drew a chair up next to
Marina and plopped down, wiping a hand across her dewy forehead and pulling the buds off her ears.
“Coffee’s right there on the table, hon, help yourself. You know the routine.”Danielle pulled the thermal container closer and poured some of the steaming coffee into an
empty mug identical to the one cuddled in Marina’s hands. It was thick and off-white, devoid of decoration, but sporting an intricate network of stained micro cracks
distributed across the surface. The hairline cracks in the porcelain glaze conveyed a pattern similar to the wrinkles and crevices in Marina’s face, the effect of years of
chain smoking. Even with all its cracks and stains, its worn and imperfect exterior, the old cup was still strong and dependable– much like Marina herself.
Marina’s eyebrows rose over the rim of her mug. She put down her cup and emitted a low whistle. “Do you see what I see? Hubba, hubba.”
Danielle’s eyes followed her friend’s gaze towards the lake. A male swimmer was coming up out of the water to sit on the edge of Marina’s boat dock just a few yards
down from the porch. The man flicked water from his longish, dark hair and droplets sprayed out into the morning air, briefly sparkling against the rising sun before
falling back into the lake. His arms were braced straight against the pier and Danielle could see the clearly defined muscles, long and firm. His back and shoulders were
incredibly broad and narrowed down to a flab-less waist which disappeared into a pair of swim trunks not much bigger than the tiny pieces of Lycra worn by
professional divers.
At this angle, the swimmer’s strong profile was canted out from the creek toward the main lake, but what Danielle could see was rather alluring and strangely familiar. It
was him. The man she had seen around town, up at Ruth’s place, but usually planted in the lounge chair on his deck staring off in the distance and searching for
something that wasn’t there. The features of this man she had seen through her binoculars from her own porch countless times in the past year revealed strength and a
spirit of confidence, yet there was sorrow reflected in his dark eyes. Danielle had to admit that Marina had assessed correctly. He was one hell of a specimen.
Danielle opened the door to a redheaded female stepping up to the foyer. “Oh, hello there.”
The unfamiliar woman smiled cautiously, transferred a large brown paper bag into her left hand, and extended her right. “Hi. I’m Lucy.”
“Hi Lucy. I’m – ” Lucy scanned Danielle’s attire and offered a quirky expression. “You’re Danielle Gillette. I know. Hawk told me about you.” She studied the formal
outfit one last time. “Well, hope you two have a good time.” Lucy tried to issue a smile, but it was clearly forced to the surface, covering a more solemn expression.
Then she slipped slowly out the door. Kurt caught the sound of heels on the ceramic tile in the entry and offered directions. “Hey, girl. I’m back here in the den.”
Within moments his nose picked up on the sweet notes of her perfume, only it was a fragrance different from that he had become accustomed to, something much more
powerful, more pronounced. He glanced up, “I’ll be right with you. Just finishing... Hello, what have we here?”
Danielle frowned as she examined his flannel shirt, old jeans, and fishing cap with trout flies stuck in the sunshade. She plopped a small grocery bag onto the seat of the
bench next to the door. “Seems I’m early?”
Kurt glanced at his watch, “Oh, maybe ten minutes or so,” then he noticed she appeared perturbed. “Is something wrong, Dani?”
“Who was that woman at the front door, Hawk?”
“That woman? Oh, that was Lucy. She …”
“A bit young, isn’t she, Hawk? What, late twenties? And what was she carrying in that bag? Let me guess. It was a change of clothes, right?”
Damn. She’s jealous. I kind of like that. Let’s have some fun with it. He noticed a peculiar expression on her face, as if she were holding back something, and he
changed his mind. Kurt took her hand and confessed, “I pay her to clean my house every month or so, Danielle. She has her own home cleaning business here on the
lake. My place was a mess and I wanted it to look nice for when you came by tonight, that’s all.” Then her expression changed, moved inward. At first he thought she
was embarrassed at revealing her emotions toward him, but it was deeper. She almost looked sad. No, those emerald eyes conveyed feelings of guilt, but for what? Just
a misunderstanding? “What is it, Dani?”
She acted ashamed, as if she wanted to cover her face with her hands so he couldn’t see, so she could hide what she did. Instead she curled her fingers into her palms
and tucked them beneath her arms as she angled away slightly. “Damn it, I did it again.”
“Did what again? What are you talking about?”
He saw her lip tremble slightly. “I jumped to conclusions, like before.”
“Like before? When did we...” But it was too late. He saw a single tear escape from her eye. He stood up, turned her gently, and pulled her tenderly, but firmly into his
chest. She’s so fragile, almost like a little girl that’s lost her way and doesn’t know where to turn. I know her spirit is reaching out, but every time I try, it pulls back,
like she’s afraid, but of what? I don’t understand how she could have grabbed me so damn fast. I think I’m falling…
He bent down and kissed each eyebrow, ever so softly for such a large man. “It’s alright, Danielle. Really, it’s no big deal, just a misunderstanding. I’m sure if I came to
your house and found a young studly hunk, I’d be pissed as hell and storming around demanding an explanation. But for future reference, I would never – ”
“I know that, Kurt. And you deserve better then that.”
“Better than what – you? I don’t think they come any better, at least not in my eyes.”
The distress on her face melted into a small smile, almost an expression of relief. “Really? You really feel that way?”
“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. Now let me look at you. Damn, you look exquisite. But you’re not planning to go like that, are you?”
Danielle’s face registered confusion. “What? Am I overdressed?”
He took account of her exposed shoulders in the black sleeveless dress, the swingy skirt which stopped a good three inches above her knees and the pair of high-heeled
pumps on her feet. Kurt shook his head. “Uh, just a bit. You’ll freeze to death out on the water at night, even this time of year.”
“Don’t worry; I have a sweater in the car.”
“No, it’s not that. I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Like what? You said you were going to take me out to dinner on the lake.”
“Dani, we’re going fishing tonight.”
“Tonight? I thought you said you were taking me to dinner on the lake.”
He chuckled, “No, I said we were going out on the lake and that I would take care of dinner, and I have. It’s waiting for us in the kitchen.”
Kurt watched Danielle’s expression slowly change to one of sly amusement, a quirky smile dimpling her cheeks. “All right, Hawk. I’m up for that. Let’s go.”
She pivoted on one slender high heel and Kurt was afforded a glance at her shapely calves, encased in a pair of smoky hose.
Kurt felt his mouth suddenly go dry. “Where are you going?”
“Down to the lake. Isn’t that where one would fish? We are going out in your boat, aren’t we? Or do you have a pair of waders I can wear?” She bent forward from the
waist, sliding one hand along the silk of her hose as if examining them for their ability to hold up beneath rubber waders.
Damn this woman’s got spunk. “We’re not going fly fishing, sweetheart, we’re going striper fishing. And you’re not going anywhere near the lake dressed like that.”
“Is that right?” Danielle’s eyes narrowed flirtatiously and just a bit dangerously.
Kurt cocked his head slightly and displayed a curious expression. What is going on inside that pretty little head? “C’mon, you can wear my clothes again. I rather like
the way you look in them anyway.”
“I just so happen to have your shirt and sweats right here. I washed them.” Danielle held the bag out in front of her. “And then, Mr. Hawkins, I spent most of the
afternoon and evening bathing in scented bubbles, rubbing lotion over every inch of my body, curling my hair, giving myself a manicure and pedicure, doing my makeup,
and selecting just the right outfit. So now,” Danielle continued, bending ever so slowly over the bench to slide one high heel off her foot. “I will just undo what it took me
hours to accomplish so that I can put your baggy clothes back on and go fish for my own dinner.”
He was completely unprepared to be hit in the arm with her shoe. “Ouch, that hurt!” It was quickly followed by the second shoe, which sailed across the room but
luckily glanced off the back of his laptop screen and landed tamely on the carpet. “Dani!”
She ignored him, instead raising one foot and placing it on the bench. He watched her fiddle with something beneath the hem of her skirt and then she peeled away the
thin covering of her smoke-tinted hose, drawing the silky material down to her knee, across her calf and finally raising the whole stocking in one hand. With a growl, she
flipped the stocking at his face. Kurt hurriedly slammed shut the screen of his laptop and got the stocking plastered across his forehead. He swiped it from his face and
stood up from behind the desk. By the time he’d reached the bench next to the door, Danielle had managed to remove her other stocking and her fingers twisted behind
her back, grasping for the zipper on her dress.
“Dani! Would you stop? Please?” Kurt’s voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears.
“I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your plans, Hawk,” she replied, yanking the zipper down. With nothing else to hold the bodice up, the dress quickly slithered to the
floor and she was left standing in front of him in a pool of crepe, wearing nothing but a tiny black lace strapless bra, matching thong panties, and a midnight satin garter
belt. “I think the bra needs to go, too, don’t you? It will look so trashy underneath a white shirt.”
Kurt stood there, dumbfounded, as the bra joined the pile on the floor.
“What’s the matter, handsome? Cat got your tongue?”
All thoughts of fishing fled as he gazed at her breasts and then lower, along the trail of light brunette hair that traced down the center of her body. He couldn’t keep his
eyes from following her hands as they slowly unhooked the garter belt and tossed it aside.
“Oh, Lord.”
Her fingers hooked the tiny triangle of her lace thong. Kurt’s pulse was throbbing as she slid the scrap of material down her thighs and then kicked it to the side. His eyes
were drawn inexorably to the folds and curls forming a dark apex between her legs.
“Damn.” Kurt drew the word out until it sounded like more like a phrase. If this is the way the little vixen wants to play it, fine.
Kurt held her gaze as he ripped the cap from his head and flung it to the carpet, and in a defiant voice declared, “On second thought, maybe I’m not dressed
appropriately either.”
He started to loosen his shirt one button at a time, but became frustrated with his progress, “Shit.” He yanked it off, along with most of the buttons.
His hands reached down and released the brass button on his jeans. Then he slowly inched the zipper down, pausing several times until he reached the bottom of his
crotch. OK, bud. It’s finally time to come out and play.
Kurt yanked the denim and jockey shorts down over his legs and stood like a rigid statue in nothing but a pair of socks.
It was Danielle’s turn to gape dumbly at him. Her eyes narrowed as they swept his body from chest to legs and her tongue came out to moisten her lips.
corridor. He inched along the wall, pausing at each step, until he recognized the noise as a television blaring in the distant room. His shoulder brushed a framed poem on
the wall. It jarred loose and leapt for the solid oak floor, but his skillful fingers darted out and intercepted the unintended alarm before it could signal his approach. He
examined the cross-stitched writing, To my Beloved Wife, Crystal, and grinned. He placed the frame on the floor against the wall and continued his journey quietly,
deliberately, toward his objective ten feet away. Finally, he peered cautiously through the crack provided by the partially opened door, but quickly pulled back when he
saw a shapely female tying the reflective laces on a pair of pink tennis shoes. He watched her pull long, silky, blonde hair back into a ponytail, then start a series of
stretching exercises while she paid partial attention to the local news report on the wide screen television.
The mysterious disappearance of twenty-one-year-old Amber Campbell from the Brandon College campus four months ago still baffles the Piedmont County Sheriff’s
Department. Yesterday, I interviewed Sheriff Lundgren regarding leads as to the whereabouts of Ms. Campbell.
“Sheriff, is there anything you can share about this case with our viewers?”
“Nothing substantive. We’ve investigated dozens of phone calls and potential sightings, but they all resulted in dead ends.”
“Can you speculate on the cause of her disappearance or give us some idea as to what might have happened?”
“Nothing solid. It’s possible Ms. Campbell was suffering from some emotional stress, perhaps the tension of her heavy course load, a fight with her boyfriend – who
knows. We’ve seen it before where a young girl runs offs and reappears months later in some other state.”
“Is that what you think happened: that she ran away?”
“We just don’t know at this time.”
“No leads, only dead ends; just more sad words for the waiting parents of a beautiful young girl with a promising future. This is Jamie Davis for channel 12.”
His eyes locked on the swaying motion of her rear taunting him to reach out and stroke those feminine curves. Then something penetrated his nose. Even from this
distance, he sensed a sweet fragrance; a faint blend of tangerine and lime: her shampoo.
The lure of her tiny waist and firm buttocks contorting with each bending motion worked their magic. He could no longer deny his thoughts. She would resist at first,
wrestle against his superior strength. Finally she would accept his offering and they would merge as one. The vision of her smooth, shaved legs entangled around his
waist flooded his brain along with the sensation of her muscles tightening while she squeezed and surged in rhythm with each thrust, further, deeper.
He wanted her. No, he needed her. Beneath him. He needed to take her completely and resolve the urge racing through his loins. The buzzing in his ears and the blood
throbbing in his temples drummed out all reason. Without a sound, he edged forward. As she started to turn, he reached out and locked her tightly around the waist from
behind, his massive arms gripping like a vise. She gasped and tried to escape, but it was useless. His warm hand slid down inside the elastic band of her jogging shorts,
and the sensation of her cool, smooth flesh drove more blood straight into his groin.
Kurt rocked restlessly in the white wicker chair on the bottom deck of his two-story cedar cabin. Its location at the entry to Cattail Cove off the mouth of Gills Creek
afforded an expansive view of the lake. At the edge of his vision, he caught movement to the right toward the main channel. A pair of mated mallards led their brood of
five, fuzzy little brown ducklings in a tight formation into the cove except for one straggler two feet back. Must be the weakling. There’s always one.
The plop of a lure being coaxed across the shallow end of the cove to his left diverted his attention. He watched a crimson bass boat with metallic stripes along the side
ease just outside the bedding area of spawning largemouth bass. The fisherman tried to agitate the male bass from their beds, but they weren’t taking the bait.
Splash!
Kurt turned back toward the line of ducks, but where there were five before, now only four waddled along. The weak, trailing newborn was gone. The parents of the
little critter had just paid a terrible toll for swimming in a lake occupied by large predator fish like muskies and stripers. While they would never know the truth about
what had happened to diminish their family, Kurt knew. In the shadows beneath the ripples of small paddling feet, a massive beast with serrated teeth waited for an
opportunity to strike. The innocence of the unsuspecting morsel was irrelevant; the loss to the parents of no consequence. The answers they would never find meant
nothing to the soulless devil. Only hunger and greed mattered. There was no guilt, no remorse for its actions; it was driven by pure, self-centered instinct.
Kurt rubbed the tip of his thumb and forefinger slowly, deliberately, as he considered the irony of what he had just witnessed. On the surface, Spenser Lake conveyed a
portrait of natural beauty, but the peaceful surroundings were deceptive. The struggle for life and death played out each and every day, yet the lake residents chose to
ignore the brutal elements that existed in the serene vistas just outside their picture windows. He compared this scene to the sad reality of the inept society in which he
lived – an existence where people were unable to protect their own and where evil lurked in the shadows, at the edges, waiting for a chance to consume the unsuspecting.
He actually shivered at the image of the parents of the young girl missing from Brandon College and the sleepless nights they would share, filled not with answers, but
with tears. They, too, would never know the truth about their offspring – the beautiful young girl full of life with a future unlimited by its potential. Were her last
moments too horrifying to consider? Her parents must feel helpless to reach out, pull her back, and save her from things that consumed without a conscience or a soul.
Kurt returned to the confused pair of mallards as they searched back and forth for the duckling they would never find. He combed his fingers through his thick black
hair, then stopped and studied the hands on the dial of his gold-toned watch again. “Shit.” The rhythm of his thumb and forefinger increased, the pressure of skin-on-
skin contact made a shallow popping noise. “Damn it, Crystal. Where the hell are you?”
He reached for his cell phone on the narrow plastic table at his side and pressed a speed dial button. After the sixth ring, a canned message began. In an aggravated tone,
Kurt demanded into the mouthpiece, “Answer your phone, Crystal! Stop playing around.”
When the call back recording came on, he slammed the phone shut and smashed the mayfly resting on the small drink tray with his fist. The impact sent his half-full beer
bottle into the air. The amber container made a somersault before bouncing on the wooden floor. The contents sprayed across the freshly stained deck, forming a trail of
cream-colored foamy liquid oozing from the mouth. Kurt sat transfixed, like a statue, ignoring his surroundings. The bottle rolled over the edge of the porch, gyrated
down the steep hill and plopped into the lake. It bobbed up and down, resisting the inevitable, until it released a gurgling sound as it disappeared beneath the dark waters
of Gills Creek.
Kurt stuffed the phone in his pocket, leaped up, and raced for his truck. He was angry that she had ignored him and gone ahead by herself after she’d promised never to
do so again. But worse, he was frightened – afraid of the possibilities, what might have happened to the only woman he loved, and had loved, for the past seventeen
years. While he searched along Shady Hollow Road, images flashed in his mind of someone, something, harming his wife.
His search became more frantic as he neared the end of her jogging route. She wouldn’t have gone off the road. Not even Crystal would be that crazy after the neighbor’
s dog was found mauled just days earlier, possibly by a cougar that had strayed down from Alders Mountain. She must have turned right on Ridge Lane. She would be
there, she had to be, and when he found her he would read her the riot act.
“Crystal, I’m going to literally kick your pretty little ass this time.”
But the words were a gruff façade hiding his real emotions; the apprehension that his worst fears were about to come true.
The damselflies were out early this morning. Half a dozen darted randomly back and forth just above the back end of Cattail Cove. One dove toward a swarm of
waterdogs suspended by surface tension above the lake, interrupting the ballet of water insects dancing erratically along the surface. The reflection of the diving, four-
winged marauder trying to single out one small bug among hundreds scattered the swarm in all directions. This time they all escaped to hunker down amidst the swamp
grass until it was safe to venture out and begin their ballet again.
Danielle smiled slightly. She was the intruder on nature’s deadly game, not the other way around. She shook her head, clearing out the cobwebs, as she took one final
hamstring stretch with the help of the porch railing and then set out on her morning ritual – a jog along the scenic path following the lake.
It didn’t take long for her feet to find their rhythm. Danielle adjusted the ear buds of her iPod briefly, humming subconsciously to the Toby Keith tune playing, I Ain’t As
Good As I Once Was. She followed the inlets and outlets of the lake, glancing every now and then at the profusion of houses – all graced with expansive porches facing
the water and most of them ostentatiously large. She never could figure out why folks were so eager to build the biggest structures possible; all those empty rooms left
unoccupied most of the year when the summer vacationers returned home to the city, all that unused solitary space that had to be cleaned.
Before she realized it, she was flush with the back porch of her best friend’s house. Marina was sitting in a silvered wooden deck chair; a cup of coffee in one hand and
a cigarette in the other. She spotted Danielle and waved through her last puff of smoke while she took a sip from her favorite, old, cracked mug.
Danielle ran in place for a few steps before accessing the porch via a set of stairs ascending from the lake pathway up to the porch. Danielle drew a chair up next to
Marina and plopped down, wiping a hand across her dewy forehead and pulling the buds off her ears.
“Coffee’s right there on the table, hon, help yourself. You know the routine.”Danielle pulled the thermal container closer and poured some of the steaming coffee into an
empty mug identical to the one cuddled in Marina’s hands. It was thick and off-white, devoid of decoration, but sporting an intricate network of stained micro cracks
distributed across the surface. The hairline cracks in the porcelain glaze conveyed a pattern similar to the wrinkles and crevices in Marina’s face, the effect of years of
chain smoking. Even with all its cracks and stains, its worn and imperfect exterior, the old cup was still strong and dependable– much like Marina herself.
Marina’s eyebrows rose over the rim of her mug. She put down her cup and emitted a low whistle. “Do you see what I see? Hubba, hubba.”
Danielle’s eyes followed her friend’s gaze towards the lake. A male swimmer was coming up out of the water to sit on the edge of Marina’s boat dock just a few yards
down from the porch. The man flicked water from his longish, dark hair and droplets sprayed out into the morning air, briefly sparkling against the rising sun before
falling back into the lake. His arms were braced straight against the pier and Danielle could see the clearly defined muscles, long and firm. His back and shoulders were
incredibly broad and narrowed down to a flab-less waist which disappeared into a pair of swim trunks not much bigger than the tiny pieces of Lycra worn by
professional divers.
At this angle, the swimmer’s strong profile was canted out from the creek toward the main lake, but what Danielle could see was rather alluring and strangely familiar. It
was him. The man she had seen around town, up at Ruth’s place, but usually planted in the lounge chair on his deck staring off in the distance and searching for
something that wasn’t there. The features of this man she had seen through her binoculars from her own porch countless times in the past year revealed strength and a
spirit of confidence, yet there was sorrow reflected in his dark eyes. Danielle had to admit that Marina had assessed correctly. He was one hell of a specimen.
Danielle opened the door to a redheaded female stepping up to the foyer. “Oh, hello there.”
The unfamiliar woman smiled cautiously, transferred a large brown paper bag into her left hand, and extended her right. “Hi. I’m Lucy.”
“Hi Lucy. I’m – ” Lucy scanned Danielle’s attire and offered a quirky expression. “You’re Danielle Gillette. I know. Hawk told me about you.” She studied the formal
outfit one last time. “Well, hope you two have a good time.” Lucy tried to issue a smile, but it was clearly forced to the surface, covering a more solemn expression.
Then she slipped slowly out the door. Kurt caught the sound of heels on the ceramic tile in the entry and offered directions. “Hey, girl. I’m back here in the den.”
Within moments his nose picked up on the sweet notes of her perfume, only it was a fragrance different from that he had become accustomed to, something much more
powerful, more pronounced. He glanced up, “I’ll be right with you. Just finishing... Hello, what have we here?”
Danielle frowned as she examined his flannel shirt, old jeans, and fishing cap with trout flies stuck in the sunshade. She plopped a small grocery bag onto the seat of the
bench next to the door. “Seems I’m early?”
Kurt glanced at his watch, “Oh, maybe ten minutes or so,” then he noticed she appeared perturbed. “Is something wrong, Dani?”
“Who was that woman at the front door, Hawk?”
“That woman? Oh, that was Lucy. She …”
“A bit young, isn’t she, Hawk? What, late twenties? And what was she carrying in that bag? Let me guess. It was a change of clothes, right?”
Damn. She’s jealous. I kind of like that. Let’s have some fun with it. He noticed a peculiar expression on her face, as if she were holding back something, and he
changed his mind. Kurt took her hand and confessed, “I pay her to clean my house every month or so, Danielle. She has her own home cleaning business here on the
lake. My place was a mess and I wanted it to look nice for when you came by tonight, that’s all.” Then her expression changed, moved inward. At first he thought she
was embarrassed at revealing her emotions toward him, but it was deeper. She almost looked sad. No, those emerald eyes conveyed feelings of guilt, but for what? Just
a misunderstanding? “What is it, Dani?”
She acted ashamed, as if she wanted to cover her face with her hands so he couldn’t see, so she could hide what she did. Instead she curled her fingers into her palms
and tucked them beneath her arms as she angled away slightly. “Damn it, I did it again.”
“Did what again? What are you talking about?”
He saw her lip tremble slightly. “I jumped to conclusions, like before.”
“Like before? When did we...” But it was too late. He saw a single tear escape from her eye. He stood up, turned her gently, and pulled her tenderly, but firmly into his
chest. She’s so fragile, almost like a little girl that’s lost her way and doesn’t know where to turn. I know her spirit is reaching out, but every time I try, it pulls back,
like she’s afraid, but of what? I don’t understand how she could have grabbed me so damn fast. I think I’m falling…
He bent down and kissed each eyebrow, ever so softly for such a large man. “It’s alright, Danielle. Really, it’s no big deal, just a misunderstanding. I’m sure if I came to
your house and found a young studly hunk, I’d be pissed as hell and storming around demanding an explanation. But for future reference, I would never – ”
“I know that, Kurt. And you deserve better then that.”
“Better than what – you? I don’t think they come any better, at least not in my eyes.”
The distress on her face melted into a small smile, almost an expression of relief. “Really? You really feel that way?”
“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. Now let me look at you. Damn, you look exquisite. But you’re not planning to go like that, are you?”
Danielle’s face registered confusion. “What? Am I overdressed?”
He took account of her exposed shoulders in the black sleeveless dress, the swingy skirt which stopped a good three inches above her knees and the pair of high-heeled
pumps on her feet. Kurt shook his head. “Uh, just a bit. You’ll freeze to death out on the water at night, even this time of year.”
“Don’t worry; I have a sweater in the car.”
“No, it’s not that. I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Like what? You said you were going to take me out to dinner on the lake.”
“Dani, we’re going fishing tonight.”
“Tonight? I thought you said you were taking me to dinner on the lake.”
He chuckled, “No, I said we were going out on the lake and that I would take care of dinner, and I have. It’s waiting for us in the kitchen.”
Kurt watched Danielle’s expression slowly change to one of sly amusement, a quirky smile dimpling her cheeks. “All right, Hawk. I’m up for that. Let’s go.”
She pivoted on one slender high heel and Kurt was afforded a glance at her shapely calves, encased in a pair of smoky hose.
Kurt felt his mouth suddenly go dry. “Where are you going?”
“Down to the lake. Isn’t that where one would fish? We are going out in your boat, aren’t we? Or do you have a pair of waders I can wear?” She bent forward from the
waist, sliding one hand along the silk of her hose as if examining them for their ability to hold up beneath rubber waders.
Damn this woman’s got spunk. “We’re not going fly fishing, sweetheart, we’re going striper fishing. And you’re not going anywhere near the lake dressed like that.”
“Is that right?” Danielle’s eyes narrowed flirtatiously and just a bit dangerously.
Kurt cocked his head slightly and displayed a curious expression. What is going on inside that pretty little head? “C’mon, you can wear my clothes again. I rather like
the way you look in them anyway.”
“I just so happen to have your shirt and sweats right here. I washed them.” Danielle held the bag out in front of her. “And then, Mr. Hawkins, I spent most of the
afternoon and evening bathing in scented bubbles, rubbing lotion over every inch of my body, curling my hair, giving myself a manicure and pedicure, doing my makeup,
and selecting just the right outfit. So now,” Danielle continued, bending ever so slowly over the bench to slide one high heel off her foot. “I will just undo what it took me
hours to accomplish so that I can put your baggy clothes back on and go fish for my own dinner.”
He was completely unprepared to be hit in the arm with her shoe. “Ouch, that hurt!” It was quickly followed by the second shoe, which sailed across the room but
luckily glanced off the back of his laptop screen and landed tamely on the carpet. “Dani!”
She ignored him, instead raising one foot and placing it on the bench. He watched her fiddle with something beneath the hem of her skirt and then she peeled away the
thin covering of her smoke-tinted hose, drawing the silky material down to her knee, across her calf and finally raising the whole stocking in one hand. With a growl, she
flipped the stocking at his face. Kurt hurriedly slammed shut the screen of his laptop and got the stocking plastered across his forehead. He swiped it from his face and
stood up from behind the desk. By the time he’d reached the bench next to the door, Danielle had managed to remove her other stocking and her fingers twisted behind
her back, grasping for the zipper on her dress.
“Dani! Would you stop? Please?” Kurt’s voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears.
“I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your plans, Hawk,” she replied, yanking the zipper down. With nothing else to hold the bodice up, the dress quickly slithered to the
floor and she was left standing in front of him in a pool of crepe, wearing nothing but a tiny black lace strapless bra, matching thong panties, and a midnight satin garter
belt. “I think the bra needs to go, too, don’t you? It will look so trashy underneath a white shirt.”
Kurt stood there, dumbfounded, as the bra joined the pile on the floor.
“What’s the matter, handsome? Cat got your tongue?”
All thoughts of fishing fled as he gazed at her breasts and then lower, along the trail of light brunette hair that traced down the center of her body. He couldn’t keep his
eyes from following her hands as they slowly unhooked the garter belt and tossed it aside.
“Oh, Lord.”
Her fingers hooked the tiny triangle of her lace thong. Kurt’s pulse was throbbing as she slid the scrap of material down her thighs and then kicked it to the side. His eyes
were drawn inexorably to the folds and curls forming a dark apex between her legs.
“Damn.” Kurt drew the word out until it sounded like more like a phrase. If this is the way the little vixen wants to play it, fine.
Kurt held her gaze as he ripped the cap from his head and flung it to the carpet, and in a defiant voice declared, “On second thought, maybe I’m not dressed
appropriately either.”
He started to loosen his shirt one button at a time, but became frustrated with his progress, “Shit.” He yanked it off, along with most of the buttons.
His hands reached down and released the brass button on his jeans. Then he slowly inched the zipper down, pausing several times until he reached the bottom of his
crotch. OK, bud. It’s finally time to come out and play.
Kurt yanked the denim and jockey shorts down over his legs and stood like a rigid statue in nothing but a pair of socks.
It was Danielle’s turn to gape dumbly at him. Her eyes narrowed as they swept his body from chest to legs and her tongue came out to moisten her lips.
Excerpt 1 for Veil of Deception
Michael W. Davis
Stories to touch the heart and mind
Copyright 2007 by Michael W. Davis
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Excerpt 2 for Veil of Deception
Excerpt 3 for Veil of Deception
| "2008 Best Romance Suspense nominee" |
| "Best Novel 2008" |
Excerpt 4 for Veil of Deception