Chapter 15

Marlene.

Friday 3.45pm

I smother a yawn as Kyle Landers hands me my coffee with a grin. “Not such a great day for taking photos.”

I force a smile and follow his gaze to where the harbor is white-tipped against a backdrop of green forest.

Rain is pelting the windows, hammering relentlessly as it has been since yesterday afternoon.

A smile twitches at my lips. He’s wrong. The contrasting shadows, the atmosphere, the ambient light, all make for incredible photos, but I don’t bother to correct him.

He comes from a long line of fishermen; to him this weather probably spells peril and reason to stay indoors.

For me, it gives me reason to put my wet weather gear on and go hike around the cliffs looking for unusual angles, light variations and hopefully wildlife shots I can sell.

My voice comes out a little irritated. “I was planning on shooting the hidden track past the cliffs.”

He gives me a curious smile, but with the line of customers behind me, the owner of Landers Convenience doesn’t have the time to warn me off risky behavior like he usually does. “Well, like we’ve been saying, that storm is getting worse. So, keep an eye on the barometer and an ear on the weather channel.”

I give him a half-hearted smile. “Thanks. I will.”

He smiles, but his attention is on the plump woman standing impatiently behind me.

I don’t recognize her as I turn away from the counter. But then I’ve not been out here on the coast long enough to recognize all the locals.

Elaine Landers, blonde, thin, ten years older than me, and dressed in a raincoat is approaching with a grocery basket and her usual polished smile. “We missed you at the town meeting last night. They think the weather conditions are right for a hurricane.”

I fake a smile as another yawn escapes. I know about the hurricane. I’m prepared, and I loathe politics. I told her husband Jacob when I moved here I wasn’t interested, so I’m not sure why she keeps asking me to go. “Yeah, meetings aren’t really my sort of thing.”

Her piercing eyes lock on to mine. “You’ve barely left the lighthouse in the evenings since you moved in. I’d have thought a young woman like yourself would be out and about a lot more?”

I can’t exactly deny it, so I shrug. “Well, it’s too dark to take photos, and I’m happy being single, so I have no good reason to be ‘out and about.’”

If she catches the sarcasm in my voice, I can’t tell, but her lips pinch together. “Of course. But I can imagine it’s unnerving being all alone out there. Never know who or what is lurking outside. I always feel safer with Jacob around to protect me.”

She laughs, though there’s nothing funny about what she said. “I’m not worried. I can protect myself.”

Her lip curls and there’s an element of mocking in her voice. “Yes. I forget you lived quite the life of excitement and adventure before you moved here. Must be boring for you? No danger, no drama?”

I swallow hard, fake another smile and step away from her, hoping she’ll get the hint, I have somewhere else to be. “I don’t want drama in my life. That’s why I moved here.”

She nods slowly. “Still, with a possible hurricane, maybe it would be best to move elsewhere till it passes?”

I frown at her. “Um, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m stocked up, and the lighthouse was designed to withstand hurricanes.”

Her expression stays as tight as her smile so I gesture to the door. “I need to get home.”

She looks like she wants to protest, and tell me I’m nuts but she nods cordially as I open the door.

I duck my head against the rain, shield my coffee under my jacket and with weary legs, I jog across the street.

My truck is parked beside the boat club, so I jump inside and stare out at the water as I drink my coffee. I pull out my phone and read the text Kurt sent me from Vietnam.

I know a guy and he’s agreed to help.

If you won’t show the cops, he might be able to find out who’s sending this shit to you and stop them. He’ll be there in the morning.

I push the phone back in my pocket and run a hand through my hair. My head is starting to ache, eyes blurry and sore.

Two weeks of sleepless nights have wrecked any peace I found the day I stumbled across the picturesque fishing village of Landers Island.

A cottage with a small lighthouse attached was the last place I expected to fall in love with. But I’ve hardly lived a conventional life, so it’s not too much of a stretch that I sought solace in such an unlikely home.

With nothing to do but face reality, I finish the remains of my coffee and start my truck.

My beat-up Nikon D850 sits on the passenger seat as a reminder of the career I left behind along with Kurt.

I switch on the wipers to compete with the pounding rain and turn the local weather channel up.

I’d missed it before now, but Kyle was right. A tentative hurricane watch has been issued.

I’ve lived in enough tropical locations to recognize the signs, all of which are pointing towards a big storm brewing offshore.

I switch the station to the dulcet tones of the easy listening radio station instead.

But nothing shakes the growing disquiet that has nothing to do with a possible hurricane.

Even the usually soothing drive through the dense woodland leading to my new home doesn’t dent the weight of anxiety filling me.

In the time it takes for me to leave the township and make it to the scenic drive along the cliffs, the seas below are growing as tumultuous as my thoughts.

I drive down the narrow tree-lined path to my cottage, feeling sick to my stomach at the isolation only weeks ago I adored.

I scan the area surrounding my home, the trees sway with the winds gusting down the harbor, rain continues to pour in sheets but nothing but an unkempt garden with rambling rose bushes lurk in wait for me.

I grab my camera and climb out of my truck. Rain mingles with the scent of salty air as I jog the short distance to the sturdy cottage attached to the lighthouse.

Perched atop a cliff, with nothing around me but a sheer drop to the small rocky beach below, there are endless landscapes I can photograph, limitless places to discover, seals, whales, and untold opportunities wait for me.

But I’ve lost what little motivation I had. Lost the desire to capture the essence of the harsh beauty of the coastline that drew me here.

I never lock the doors, but as I pull the door closed behind me, I’m wondering if I should start.

I slump into my sofa, place the camera on the table beside me, and stare out the small window that peers out into the now foaming sea.

I exhale slowly and roll my neck, crossing my legs as I pick the skin around my nails.

Anxiety curls around my body as the seconds tick by. I take a few more calming breaths and try to direct my twisted thoughts in another direction.

Photojournalism was my passion, my hobby and my dream job all rolled into one.

But while bouncing from exotic location to location with nothing but the clothes on my back, my camera, and the man I loved, was a thrill a minute in my twenties, turning thirty and witnessing too many things I wish I hadn’t changed my priorities.

A choked laugh slips past my lips. Normalcy. I wanted to be normal. Wanted to give up living by my wits, but fate has a way of twisting plans into things we neither want or deserve.

Now, thanks to freelancing, I have a good amount of money in the bank and a bunch of memories and photos I wish I didn’t have.

Tension coils my muscles as I hear a vehicle pulling up outside over the rain. My heart jumps in my chest as I pull back, out of habit from the window.

A truck is parking outside my lighthouse. Unfamiliar, unwelcome and because I know Kurt would never leave Vietnam and come here himself, unavoidable.

I hear the crunch of boots outside the window, and through the rain-soaked window, I catch a glimpse of black leather and broad shoulders and can almost picture the brut Kurt will have asked to come.

I ease up and cross the floor, readying myself with an excuse for him to go back from where he came from.

My hands are on the door handle before he has a chance to knock. I open my mouth to speak, but surprise knocks the words from my mouth.

His hair is shaggy, and whiskers cover the lower half of his face. Everything from his scuffed boots, to his frayed jeans, and scruffy blonde hair makes him seem less dangerous than he will be.

His blue-green eyes narrow, but there’s something far too enticing in the half-smile he gives me.

My lips purse as he tilts his head and peers over my shoulder. “Kurt sent me. Can I come in?”

I nod slowly, unwilling to give away any of my nervousness. “It was just a stupid letter and some emails. I never should have mentioned it.”

And if I didn’t still share a damn PO Box with Kurt, and if the PA we still share hadn’t opened it and told him, I wouldn’t have needed to.

The words come out caustic, and if I wasn’t proving a point, I’d soften my tone, but the only thing worse than Kurt knowing I’m living like a hermit out here, is letting him know via a friend I’m scared.

He sniffs and jams his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. He said you’d say that. But since I’m here, and since I’m standing in the rain, mind if I look at them?”

I frown at him, fingers still gripping the door handle as I block his entrance, feeling guilty he’s getting soaked through. “I don’t see the—”

He cuts me off with an unexpected growl. “I get it. You’re tough. And you don’t want me here. But if someone is threatening you and you won’t go to the police because you’re embarrassed, I’m the next best option.”

While I’m struggling to find a retort, his hand creeps out of his pocket and he extends it. “I’m Sawyer. And there is nothing you can show me I won’t have seen before. I promise I’ll make this as painless as possible. Okay?”

He smiles so warmly; it’s impossible not to accept his proffered hand. His fingers are cold as they curl over mine. “They aren’t threatening me. Not really. More….um suggesting things.”

His gaze pierces into me as we stand staring at each other. Even though he’s standing outside getting wetter with each second, he’s not forcing his way inside, but he’s also not going to back down.

With a sigh, I step aside and gesture inside. “It’s not a big deal…I’ve been trolled before. It’s probably nothing.”

He steps past me, bringing with him the scent of pine and solvents, wet leather and musk. “Yeah. But from what Kurt told me, someone tracked you and your home address down. That’s stalking and it’s not something you should ignore.”

I swallow hard and close the door on the rain and air that seems to have gotten colder with Sawyer’s arrival. “The letter came to my P.O. box and was forwarded to my address here. That’s hardly someone tracking me down.”

Sawyer frowns as he looks around the cottage then turns his penetrating gaze on me. “You’re making it too easy for them. You’re active on social media; you have multiple ways for people to contact you. You even posted on your website about moving here after leaving Kurt in Vietnam.”

I manage an attempt at a shrug, wondering what other information Kurt has passed on to his old buddy. “Until a few weeks ago, that wasn’t a problem.”

He runs a hand through his wet hair and rocks back on his heels. “Yeah, well, fans can turn on you in a heartbeat. You’re an incredibly attractive woman who is way too open about her private life, whether you like it or not, you’re going to attract a lot of unhealthy attention.”

My eyebrows rise at the matter of fact summation of my appearance. I keep my lips pressed together as he scratches at the short beard covering his chin. He looks like a muscled scruffy surfer, not anything like what I expected.

He plants his feet and folds his arms across his broad chest as I try to think of a way to convince him there isn’t good reason for him to read them. “What are you exactly? A bodyguard?”

He shakes his head, eyes locked on mine. “Think of me as a jack of all trades.”

It’s worse than embarrassing having to show them to anyone, let alone the roguishly handsome pseudo bodyguard standing in front of me.

I frown at him and cross my own arms, mirroring his posture. “You aren’t going to leave until you see them are you?”

He shakes his head and sends me a pointed look. “Not until I’m sure this is just some harmless geek with a crush on you.”

With an eye-roll and a scowl, I relent that Sawyer’s opinion may just be what I need to set my mind at ease.

“Fine,” I huff. “I’ll get my laptop and I’ll get you a towel.”

***

Sawyer

I knew from her website she was a looker, and I knew she was a talented photographer from her portfolio, but shit, with that body, and those lips, if I was that way inclined I’d probably send her fan mail too.

She’s taller than I expected, curvier, and her black and white headshot doesn’t show just how stunning she is in person.

It doesn’t show the freckles on her sun-kissed cheeks or her toned thighs built from hiking.

Her hair is different from her photo. Brown with streaks of blonde that make me think she spends as much time outdoors as I wish I could.

She opens a cupboard and hands me a towel with a half-smile before she walks away.

An animalistic growl rumbles in my throat as I watch her curvaceous hips sway. I do a mental shake and remind myself I’m here to work, not to lust over a photographer.

While I run the towel over my hair, I do a quick scan of the living space of the cottage, taking in the stacks of books and the photos on the walls.

Some of them are familiar. Landmarks, people and places all in grainy black and white.

I squint and recognize a shot of a Maori warrior in full costume from New Zealand I saw on her website.

They’re her photos covering the walls. A career of photographing all the places she and Kurt visited together.

I don’t know anything about photography, or art, but even I know these are compelling to look at.

It’s no wonder she’s won awards. Even her landscapes capture something remarkable. It’s like looking at a familiar object but with a different set of eyes.

I’m looking at the closest photo of a whale breeching, I think I remember seeing from a trip to the Gold Coast of Australia when she walks back into the room.

Her brow is knotted and her lips pressed tightly together as she hands me a letter. “I got this two weeks ago.”

She pauses.“The emails were coming in once a week; then when I didn’t reply, he sent them more often.”

Her face turns up I distaste as I take the letter from her. “What about text messages, phone calls? Anything like that?”

She shakes her head but doesn’t reply until she’s taken a seat. She answers as she pulls her laptop onto her thighs and opens it, tapping her foot impatiently. “There’s no cell coverage out here. It’s one of the reasons I like living here.”

While she boots up her beat-up laptop, I check my own cell and feel a measure of cold panic she’s right about no coverage.

I work my jaw as I place my phone inside my back pocket and scan the text then go back and re-read.

I’ve read some sick shit in my time, but it’s a struggle to keep my expression impassive as I read in detail what the author of the letter would like to do to and with Marlene.

It reads like a cross between a demented love letter and the worst porn transcript ever.

There’s no signature, just a heart icon at the bottom of the page.

She’s ready and waiting with her email open when I put the letter to one side. She’s already deleted the emails and placed them in a spam folder. If she’s scared, she’s also highly efficient.

Marlene slides the laptop off her thighs so I can look at it. “These are all of them?”

She nods. “I don’t check my email that often. I cant. I don’t have WIFI, so I wait until I go into town.”

I nod as I scroll down and open the emails from a guy calling himself Snap Happy and using a generic email address.

I read them in chronological order. More of the same is within the body of the emails, more expressions of undying love, requests for photos, but when she hasn’t responded, he starts to sound more than desperate.

He’s escalating. Sending emails is one thing, she can block him, or change her email account, but going to the trouble of seeking out her postal address is on a different level.

She leans forward and exhales slowly. “Well? What do you think?”

What do I think? I think she’s in deep shit and I think this person is obsessed with her but telling her that she probably has a grade one stalker isn’t going to help anyone.

I carefully word my reply. “Like I told Kurt, I can help with the cyber part of this, but I have a contact in the FBI. I think she’s better equipped to deal with the physical letter.”

She stares at me then her head tilts to one side. “No. That’s not going to happen. I’m just going to change my email address and cancel my PO Box and get another one. The post office can deal with it.”

Kurt warned me she was stubborn, but this seems ridiculous. “Is there a reason you don’t want to involve the cops?”

Her shoulders tense as her face pales slightly. Before I can say anything else, she gets up so she’s glaring down at me. “So, that’s settled then? I cancel my PO Box and we just all move on.”

I’m pretty sure she’s referring to me moving on, but she’s being too pig-headed for her own good. And even if I didn’t owe Kurt, I’m involved now.

“Sure. Go ahead and cancel, but I still want to check on a few things…”

I let my sentence trail off. I can’t exactly tell her I need to make sure it’s the same weirdo sending her mail.

She’s trying to hide it but this level of stalking does more than just rattle a person; it can turn them into a paranoid recluse afraid of their own shadow.

Even if it makes me want to boil my eyeballs reading it, I need to make sure that there’s just one person involved.

She looks set to argue some more, so I deflect the best way I know how as I fold the paper and shove it in my jacket pocket. “I get it. Your privacy has already been invaded, and you think me looking will make it worse, not better.”

I hand her back her laptop and smile. “How about we drop it for a bit, you can give me a tour while you think it over.”

A flash of irritation crosses her face as she closes the laptop. “Alright. But I’m not taking you up to the tower.”

***

You can read more of Sawyer and Marlene’s story in One Wild Weekend With Sawyer

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Author Bio

Lexi Hart is the pen name of a crazy Kiwi romance junkie who prefers to live in the heads of her characters than her own.

If you want to escape reality with me and love fast burn romances with a splattering of suspense, The One Wild Weekend Series is sure to satisfy you.

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