Just Between Us (The Kings)

I hadn’t sleptfor shit.

All morning I had been restless and irritable.

And really fucking horny.

My mind kept wandering to the previous night at Trawler’s Cove. I had assumed that when we did finally have sex, he would just take me—throw me down and maybe be a little pushy in bed.

I certainly hadn’t expected that.

Getting ready for work, I glared at the light-blue silicone vibrator that I had taken out the night before. It taunted me from my bedside. I’d wanted to do it—to get myself off and finally get some relief, but Royal’s dirty words played in my mind.

I craved his praise. I wanted to earn it.

My phone buzzed and I picked it up, curious who would be texting me before 6:00 a.m.

Royal

Did you make yourself come last night?

I bit back a smile. An annoyed part of me wanted to lie and throw it in his face that I was still an independent woman who was more than capable of doing whatever she wanted, despite our agreement.

Instead, I fired off a response.

I hate you.

Royal

Hate me all you want, but you know I’m right.

Well, I didn’t and I should get brownie points for actually listening to you, even though I really REALLY didn’t want to.

I have something even better than brownie points.

A buzz from the apartment intercom system had me jumping. I moved to the wall and pressed the button. “Hello?”

A teenage voice crackled through the intercom. “Ms. Bauer?”

“That’s me,” I answered.

“I have a delivery from the Sugar Bowl. Should I just leave it outside?”

A smile split my face. “Yeah. I will be right down. Thank you!”

You had breakfast delivered for me? Why?

Royal

Breakfast and a hot macchiato espresso, upside down. Just how you like it. You should probably get used to me taking care of you.

I stared at his words in disbelief. Who the hell was this guy?

Before I could type out a thank-you, he texted again.

Royal

Take a breath, lower your shoulders. It’s going to be a great day.

I did as he said, already feeling better. When I closed the text thread, the Pulse app icon stared at me from my home screen. I wanted to check to see if he had posted, but a part of me didn’t want confirmation that he was still creating content for however many anonymous women online. That particular rejection stung a little too much.

Instead, I slipped on a comfortable pair of sandals and slung my overloaded work bag onto my shoulder. I locked up and headed down the stairs and into the early-morning light. When I pushed open the apartment’s main entrance door, movement caught my eye and I screamed.

The gangly teenage boy waiting on the stoop startled and screamed right along with me.

I pressed a hand to my beating heart. “Oh my god. I’m sorry. You scared me.”

He let out a nervous laugh. “Same.”

I looked over my shoulder and hooked a thumb behind me. “Are you waiting for someone?”

He rubbed his palms together. “Waiting for you, actually. Mr. King instructed me to deliver your breakfast and carry your bag for you.”

He held out the to-go coffee cup and a white paper bag as I stared at him. “Mr. King? You mean Royal?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

I shook my head. “You can’t be serious.”

The kid looked nervous. “Please let me do this. I just started at the tattoo shop as an apprentice, and I really want to make a good impression. I don’t want to fuck up my first real job.”

A ridiculous giggle bubbled inside me. “How old are you?”

The boy offered a shy grin. “I’m nineteen.”

His face was so hopeful it was almost pathetic. I slipped the heavy bag from my shoulder and held it out for him. “You know there are labor laws about this kind of thing.”

He chuckled and grabbed my leather bag as I took the coffee cup and food from him. “I don’t really know about that kind of thing, but I’m happy to help.”

I eyed the young man as we walked down the sidewalk toward town. “What’s your name?”

“Brian, ma’am, but most people call me Sketch.”

“Sketch?” I eyed him warily.

He shrugged and adjusted my bag on his shoulder. “I’ve always been into drawing.”

I smiled. “Ah . . . not because you’re a sketchy character, but an artist. Makes sense.” I let the early-morning sun warm my face as I took a sip of my coffee. It was still hot and creamy and absolutely perfect. I hummed in appreciation.

“The nicknames in this town are something else.” I eyed my companion as we strolled past Royal’s house, and my chest fluttered. “Any idea what Royal’s name really is?”

Sketch’s shoulder bounced. “Don’t know . . . but if I did, I probably wouldn’t tell you.”

I laughed at his honesty as we walked. “Fair enough. Thanks, Sketch. When I talk to him, I’ll let Royal know you knocked it out of the park.”

I snapped my fingers impatiently as I stared down at the faded piece of paper in my hand.

Letter of Intent to purchase Wabash Lake and surrounding land property.

I thumbed through the other papers haphazardly stuffed into the rumpled file folder.

Homestead Act of 1862.

Plat of Survey.

“Hey.” I snapped my fingers again, attempting to get my boss’s attention. “JP, look at this. What is this?”

He finally glanced at me and accepted the sheet of paper I held out to him. He read it and immediately tried to hand it back to me. “It looks like King Equities was trying to buy Wabash Lake. Doesn’t seem like anything special.”

Something was poking at my insides, telling me this was not nothing. “What is Wabash Lake?” I asked.

Annoyed at my insistence, JP sighed. “It’s a piece of land that runs between Sullivan Farms and their family home.” His words slowed as they rattled out of him, and he frowned, looking at the paper again.

I held up the file folder. “There are all kinds of documents about a Homestead Act and property division between the Kings and Sullivans. I know your dad has it out for them, but buying a lake seems really misplaced. Historically, King Equities buys businesses for profit, not remote woodland property. And look at the date.”

I leaned forward to point at the date at the corner of the page. “When did your mom go missing?” My skin prickled.

“September thirteenth.” His flat voice made my blood run cold.

I sat back and crossed my arms. “So why would King Equities be drafting a letter of intent to purchase land to Red Sullivan only three days after she leaves?”

His dark brows pinched together. “Business can’t stop just because your wife leaves you.”

I toyed with my lip. “Yeah,” I conceded. “I suppose you’re right about that. It just seems really odd. As far as you know, Sullivans still own the land?”

JP shook his head. “Their property borders the trail that winds around the lake, but the Department of Natural Resources owns and maintains the lake and the walking trails. I think the Sullivans sold it to the DNR when we were kids. It’s federal land now.”

My eyebrows popped up. Some things could be written off as coincidence, but there was something here. I could feel it. I shifted to my laptop and clacked away on the keys, pulling up the archived business expense ledger. Sure enough, around the time of Maryann King’s disappearance, there were two uncategorized payments to someone named Terrance Sinclair.

Follow the money.

I tucked the papers back into the file folder and closed my laptop. “Hey, I’m going to look into it . . . maybe see if there’s something there.”

“Fine by me.” He swiveled in his chair to face the computer. “It’s your time you’re wasting.” He leaned back in his chair and blew out a heavy breath as he checked his watch. “I’m heading out too. I have a meeting with my father in about an hour.”

“Oh.” I straightened. “I didn’t realize your father was back in town.”

JP rubbed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “He is. I’ll be telling him about your employment at our meeting.” Our eyes locked and my stomach tightened. “I intend to keep it vague.”

I still wasn’t clear on JP’s intentions and whether or not he was playing both sides. At a loss for words, I nodded. Keeping your mouth shut was an integral part of business consulting and something I’d perfected over the years. It was when you didn’t keep it shut that you found yourself up to your elbows in trouble.

The Outtatowner PublicLibrary was in an aging building at the edge of town. A banner on the outside of the brick building advertised upcoming renovations. Despite its age, the inside of the library was bright and inviting.

Summer sun streamed through the high windows, illuminating the displays of books with everything from contemporary romance to memoirs to domestic thrillers. I had learned through the Bluebird Book Club that Emily had recently been put in charge of the children’s department.

I smiled to myself, wondering whether I might see her friendly face. Instead, as I approached the main circulation desk, I was greeted by Bug King’s signature scowl.

For a fleeting moment, I wondered whether she was having a bad day, or if, like me, her features tended to skew naturally toward resting bitch face. I took a deep breath, hoping for the latter, since I needed her help. I was also hoping for a little insight into the King’s patriarch, Russell.

“Good morning, Miss Bug. It’s nice to see you again.” I smiled and stepped up to the circulation desk.

Bug nodded. “Likewise. Can I help you find something?”

I looked around, appreciating the quiet buzz of a busy morning at the library. “I didn’t realize you worked here.” I hoped my smile appeared genuine, despite the white lie. “I guess I assumed you worked for the family business.”

Her tight smile gave away nothing. “Why be a glorified secretary when I can be here and read all day?”

I shrugged. “Well, you got me there.” I set my shoulders, determined to get what I came for. “Mr. King—the younger one, that is—needed me to come up here and look at a few old records.”

One skeptical eyebrow crept higher. “Is that so?”

“He has a big, important meeting with the boss, so he sent me. Mr. King’s office is at your place, right?”

Her chin lifted as she assessed me. “My brother works out of the King estate from time to time.”

I tilted my head. “Your house, you mean.”

She gave me a plain look. “Not that it makes any difference to you, but the King estate has always been, and forever will be, in my brother’s name.” I opened my mouth to speak, but she continued: “The records department is down that hallway. The stairs will lead you to the basement, or there’s an elevator to your right. Anything older than 1982 will likely be on microfiche. However, historical records are still being digitized. Some may still be in paper copies, but those do not leave the library.”

Excitement skated under my skin. “Understood. Thanks. See you at book club.”

I made my way to the stairwell and descended into the lower library space. The cheap fluorescent lighting hummed and flickered like some horror movie, but thankfully I wasn’t alone in the basement archives.

Seated at two computers were other library patrons—a man and a woman—sifting through the archives. I slipped the tattered beige file folder from my bag and contemplated where to start. Any backdoor business deals likely wouldn’t be a part of public record, but I needed to start somewhere.

Follow the money.

The ancient computer groaned to life, and I took a moment to reorganize my thoughts. After logging in as a guest, I started hunting. I typed the name Terrance Sinclair into the search bar and waited for it to load. Only one result came up, and I clicked on it.

The entry was a somewhat recent obituary for a man named Terrance “Bowlegs” Sinclair. The grainy black-and-white picture stopped me in my tracks. Staring back at me was a face I recognized as the man who walked through town wearing Moon Boots.

My brows pinched. Had I seen a ghost?

I scanned the obituary, noting Mr. Sinclair was not in fact a ghost, but had a twin brother. It was then I recalled Royal saying the man I had met was named Bootsy. With no other information to go on, I scribbled down a note to poke around about the mysterious Bowlegs and his brother Bootsy, to see how many other times King Equities had paid them for some unknown reasons.

I rapped my finger against the worn wooden table and ruminated. There had to be something else I could dig up—something that shed light on what King Equities had been up to at such a significant time in the family’s lives.

The Department of Natural Resources acquiring Wabash Lake and the surrounding properties would have been a sizable payout to the landowner. If I followed the money, maybe I would find something that shed light on why King Equities had an interest in that particular section of land before the DNR took it over. At the time there was a decent amount of local news coverage regarding the old railway being converted into a state park heritage trail.

A charity bike ride.

Additional fundraising efforts.

Even a few protests from landowners afraid that the trail would lead to people trespassing on their farmland.

It took a few years, but eventually there was a ribbon-cutting ceremony and a special dedication of the trail.

For all the news coverage, it was what wasn’t included that scratched at my brain. It appeared that after King Equities attempted to buy the land and was scooped by the DNR, that was the end of it.

I frowned and leaned into the hard wooden chair with a huff.

My tired eyes were burning, but I flipped through the paperwork again. It included the Homestead Act information—records of divvying up the land between Kings and Sullivans dating back to 1862. The land allocation included the property surrounding Wabash Lake, but why did Russell want it? Why keep all this information in a file if it meant nothing?

I shifted, cursing the unforgiving seat.

A soft voice drew my attention. “Those chairs ought to be burned.”

I turned to see Bug leaning her hand on the chair next to me. Though time had aged her, I could still see the strength and beauty in her features.

I rubbed my eyes. “My ass is fully asleep.”

“Can I help you find something?” She gestured toward the computer screen that displayed an article about the trail’s dedication ceremony.

I calculated how I might explain what I was looking for while simultaneously not disclosing the real reason JP had hired me. “JP wants to reorganize. Streamline a few things.” I lifted the old file folder. “We came across some documents that we couldn’t make sense of, so he sent me to look into it.”

She hummed and nodded. I still couldn’t get a read on the woman.

She leaned in to look at the article still pulled up. “I remember this. One day, out of nowhere, Russell decided he wanted that lake and land for himself. Red wouldn’t sell, and he was enraged. Money never could sway the Sullivans, and my brother hated that. For a minute he thought to make a case that the land had always been rightfully King property.”

I scanned the Homestead Act paperwork again. “Didn’t seem to work out for him.”

She chuckled. “Not at all. The historical society swooped in and presented the idea of a historical trail to the DNR.”

My wheels were turning as I was fitting all the pieces together. “Once it was purchased and converted to federal land . . .”

“No one could touch it.” Bug’s lips pressed together as she nodded.

“Thank you . . . for helping me piece it together.” I closed the file folder in my lap. “I guess I’ll tell JP he was right—it seems like a business venture that didn’t pan out and nothing more.”

Before I finished closing out the computer, Bug paused, her voice low. Her hand covered mine, and a shiver ran up my spine. “Some things only become clear when they’re looked at with a different light.”

I stared at her. My eyes bounced between hers as I tried to figure out what she was trying to tell me.

“Well!” A rich, booming voice filled the quiet basement. “They said I’d find you down here.”

We turned to see Russell King, dressed in a suit and tie, exiting the elevators. He swept into the room with a smooth smile accompanying an air of sophistication and pretension.

His crisp white shirt strained against the paunch of his midsection. His dark eyebrows were prominent and, to be honest, he reminded me of a crusty Mafia shrew I’d seen in a cartoon once. Only that character turned out to have a few redeeming qualities, and I was still searching for one in Russell King.

“Janine Windsor, is that you?” Russell said.

The woman across the table from me beamed at him and blushed. Russell moved to her, reaching for her hand. “You look lovely, as always. It’s been too long.”

Her lashes fluttered as he lifted her hand to his mouth. “Oh, thank you, Mr. King.”

The man a few seats down stood and outstretched his hand. “Mr. King. A pleasure, as always.”

Russell shook his hand. “Please, Eugene. Call me Russell. We’re old friends!” He slapped the man’s back.

Eugene blushed harder than Janine had, and I had to stifle an eye roll. Russell turned his focus to us.

“What are you doing here?” Bug asked.

Taken aback, he planted a hand on his chest. “Can’t I take time out of my day to see my favorite sister?”

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “I’m your only sister.”

“True, but still my favorite.” He winked at Bug. “I came to say hello to my newest employee.” Russell turned his attention to me. “While I’ve been away, it seems my son has been busy.” He offered his hand, and I stood to accept it.

I straightened my shoulders and fixed my skirt, but I didn’t miss the appreciative gleam in his eye while I adjusted. My stomach turned, but I swallowed it down and slipped into my professional facade. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” Bug turned to leave.

“Darling, tell my driver I will be up in a few minutes. We need to be getting back to work.”

No, please. No, thank you. Russell King was used to making a command and having everyone follow it.

My heart sank as I watched Bug nod and quietly ascend the stairs. I could feel his eyes on me, and I pulled my shoulders back, determined not to shrink under his assessment.

He sucked his teeth and lifted his chin. “My son claims we needed a business consultant. Can’t say that I agree, but here we are.” He glanced around, and I prayed the file folder was closed. “What brings you down to the archives?”

I swallowed. “If I’m going to be of value to King Equities, it’s my job to know as much about the company, and its competition, as possible.”

It was mostly true.

I stared up at him, unwilling to break eye contact. His dark eyes held no warmth or kindness.

He stepped closer so only I could hear. His stale, hot breath hit me in the face. “Everything—and I do mean everything—goes through me. Do you understand, young lady?”

My hands wanted to tremble, so I clenched them into fists. I painted on a courteous smile. “Of course. I understand, Mr. King.”

His soulless eyes raked down my front, assessing me one last time before he turned to leave without a goodbye.

Once he disappeared inside the elevator, I exhaled and quickly gathered my belongings, unable to shake the warning behind his dark stare.

I may not have known the exact reason JP had hired me, but I knew one thing for certain—those were the eyes of a very bad man.