Last Resort (7 page)

“How long were they together?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the idea.

She held a finger to her lips and thought. “I honestly don't know. But...awhile. I can tell you that for sure.”

I glanced up at the DJ booth. Jake was standing there and, for a split second, I thought maybe he'd downed a few extra beers and was going to do something he'd never done before: sing karaoke. Wayne Hackerman strolled up next to him. Jake glanced at him, then spoke to the DJ, and Hackerman frowned. Maybe he was just as territorial about the music played at the campground as he was the medallion hunt.

I turned back to Copper. “Did everyone know they were together? I mean, if they weren't open about it...”

“Oh, I'd have to think so,” Copper said, tilting her head down, like it was obvious. “They were together all the time. I think there were fewer people who didn't know about them. It's been the talk of this place for quite a few summers.”

I could imagine. I'd seen the type of mentality that small towns could foster and it seemed perfectly plausible that gossip would be the primary news source for a summer resort, as well. Especially a resort that some people called home for the duration of the season.

“Did you see them together?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“As a couple?”

She smiled at me and the look changed from pity to just plain condescending. “Dear, I know what I know. I saw them together. They were a couple.” Her smile dimmed. “And it had caused a little trouble for both of them.”

“How so?” I asked.

She started to say something, then her expression changed. To one of concern.

She brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh dear. Oh no.”

I sat up straighter. “Are you alright?” I wondered if they had AED devices anywhere nearby.

She removed her hand from her mouth, revealing a hint of a smile, and I breathed a small sigh of relief. “Yes, dear. I'm fine. But it appears Wayne Hackerman and your husband are wrestling.”

ELEVEN

Most of the time, Jake was as even-keeled as they come. It was hard to get a rise out of him. He could laugh off nearly anything. But he did have a temper and it was hair-trigger. When the wrong button got pushed, it was more likely to be a nuclear explosion than a small spark.

I'd once witnessed him back a smug retail clerk into a wall because the kid refused to wait on Will, who was trying to buy a computer cable. The clerk was talking on his cell phone and didn't even acknowledge Will, who was standing patiently at the counter. Jake watched the whole thing and, after waiting a reasonable amount of time, marched over to the counter, took the phone out of the kid's hand and started to let him have it for ignoring Will. The clerk made the mistake of sneering at him and telling him to chill out. Jake verbally took him apart—not abusively but calmly, which was a heck of a lot scarier—until the kid was shaking, apologizing to Will and offering a discount on the cable.

We took the discount.

So to see him wrestling on the concrete floor of the pavilion with Wayne Hackerman made me think the beer-guzzling bozo had probably pushed the wrong button.

I jumped up from the table and rushed toward the DJ table. Jake was on top of Hackerman, pinning his arms to the ground, his face red like a tomato. Pat Benatar's “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” pounded from the speakers.

Irony. Or something.

A camper with red hair with lipstick to match stood poised and ready to sing, a frown on her face as she watched the two men roll around on the floor.

“Get off me!” Hackerman yelled, his face just as red as my husband's.

Jake leaned his weight down on Hackerman. “You gonna keep your hands to yourself?”

“Get off!”

“That doesn't sound like a yes.”

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked. “Get off of him!”

Jake whipped his head in my direction. “He grabbed me first.”

“What are you? Six? Get off him!”

“He grabbed me and told me Springsteen sucks,” Jake said. “He said he'd outlawed all Springsteen here.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Jake had a thing for Springsteen. Man-crush. Bro-mance. Whatever you wanted to call it, Jake had it for The Boss. But I didn't think he was so passionate about his Jersey Boy that he'd take a grown man to the floor for saying his favorite musician sucked. Then again, it was Wayne Hackerman. I thought about the reaction he'd evoked in me earlier that day.

“Springsteen does suck!” Hackerman said loudly, still wiggling beneath Jake. “Anyone who thinks that guy is a musician needs their ears checked.”

“See?” Jake said, his eyes pleading with me. “He won't stop.”

I planted my hands on my hips. “Get off him. Now.”

I must've used my presidential voice, because after only a second of hesitation, Jake let go of Hackerman's arms and stood up. The larger man scrambled to his feet and pulled his shirt down over his gut, huffing and puffing.

He pointed a finger at Jake. “You assaulted me.”

“You think that was assault?” Jake asked. He puffed out his own chest a little. “I'll show you assault.”

“You will not,” I said, grabbing his elbow.

“Assault,” Hackerman growled. “Plain and simple.”

“You grabbed me first,” Jake said. He looked at the guy running the DJ table. “You saw him.”

The man wearing the bucket hat wrinkled his nose, looked at Hackerman, then leaned forward so we could hear him over the music. “You did put your hands on the man first, Wayne. Probably don't wanna do that unless you know you can take care of yourself and, by the look of things, pretty sure this guy here had the upper hand on you—”

“Oh, shut up, Stan,” Hackerman muttered. “No one asked you.”

“I did,” Jake said. “I actually asked him.”

Hackerman shot daggers at Jake with his eyes.

Rhonda Hackerman shimmed up to us, her boobs shaking in a red and blue Twins tube top and her legs poured into ill-fitting denim capris. Her black hair was down from her elaborate hairdo from earlier and she was holding two beer cans. Both of them were open and I wondered if she was drinking for two. “Wayne! What is—” But then she saw Jake and stopped short. “Oh. Hello there. Again.”

Jake ignored her, which was the smart move because otherwise he might've ended up wrestling with me.

“What is going on?” Rhonda asked, looking at her husband and completely ignoring me.

Hackerman jabbed his finger at Jake. “This jackass assaulted me.”

She looked at Jake again and I swore I saw the hint of a smile. “Oh no. That's...terrible.”

“It was,” Hackerman spat. “I came up here to look at Stan's song list and this jackass is standing here, hogging the list.”

“It was on the table,” Jake said, shaking his head. “I didn't even pick it up.”

“And then he started asking Stan if he had any Bruce Springsteen,” Hackerman continued. “And all I said was that I wasn't a fan of that kind of music.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “What you said was 'Ain't no way Stan's playing any of that Springsteen crap  because that music sucks.' That's a direct quote.”

I looked at Stan, who waited a moment, then nodded. Rhonda's eyes were bouncing between the  men like she was watching a tennis match.

“Well, whatever I said, then this fool assaulted me,” Hackerman said. “And I was afraid he was gonna kill me like he did Harvey.”

Button officially pushed again.

Jake took a step toward him. “How about if I take you down to the ground again and hold you there?”

“So hot,” Rhonda whispered to herself. She took a long swig of beer from one of the cans, her eyes never leaving my husband.

I glared at her, then put my hand on Jake's chest. “Look at me.”

After a second, he looked down at me.

“Enough,” I said. “Enough. Let's go.”

“I swear I'll make him swallow his teeth,” Jake said.

“No, you won't,” I said, pressing on his chest. “Because we are leaving.”

“Damn right, you better be leaving!” Hackerman said. “I'm gonna have you kicked out of this place, anyhow. All you've done is cause trouble.” He started looking around. “Delilah? Where are you? I want these people gone.”

“I don't think she can help you right now, Wayne,” Rhonda said, raising an eyebrow.

I turned and followed her gaze. Delilah was passed out on the picnic table, her head resting on the table top, her mouth wide open. She was snoring loudly.

Hackerman didn't seem particularly surprised to see her that way. He pointed at Jake again. “When she wakes up, you are outta here!”

“I'm gonna snap that finger off if you point it at me again,” Jake growled. “Snap. It. Off.”

Hackerman wisely dropped the finger.

“We are leaving,” I said to Jake, enunciating each word. He didn't make a move, just stood there with his arms tight at his sides, his fists clenched. “Right now, if you ever want me to speak to you again.”

Jake stared at me for a long moment, then finally grunted, turned and walked out of the pavilion toward the road.

“So hot,” Rhonda murmured again.

I turned to her. Part of me wanted to snap her fingers off—or her boobs—but I chose a different tactic, instead. “He really is, isn't he?”

She blushed. Maybe she'd thought I couldn't hear her. Or maybe she just didn't think I would acknowledge her comment.

I plastered a bright smile on my face. “You wouldn't believe the kind of sex we have when he's angry,” I told her. Her eyes widened and I added with a giggle, “Can't wait to get back to the cabin!”

I turned away before she could respond, hoping her jealous little mind would fixate on that image for the rest of the night.

TWELVE

The sun streaming in the window warmed my face and I squinted as I tried to open my eyes. Jake and I were both cocooned underneath the sheets. He was flat on his back, his eyes shut tight, his arm tucked behind me. I snuggled in closer to him.

We'd walked back to the cabin after the karaoke night, Jake stone-faced and pissed off. I'd grabbed his hand and asked him to tell me everything that had happened. He told me, his voice measured and even, and I flashed back to the clerk at the store. He said Hackerman had grabbed him first and that he'd had no choice but to fight with him. I believed him. He may have had a hair-trigger temper, but he wasn't a fighter. He'd walked away from plenty of confrontations before. But he was about as mad as I'd ever seen him. He'd downed a beer as soon as we'd gotten back to the cabin, draining the bottle in two long swallows. After, it had taken nearly fifteen minutes for my feminine wiles to kick in and for me to lure him into the bedroom for some much-needed distraction.

If Rhonda had gone back to the black monstrosity and listened closely, she might've heard us.

I hoped she had.

Jake stirred next to me and threw his other arm over my chest. He opened one eye. “Hey.”

I smiled at him. “It wakes.”

He grunted.

“I need coffee,” I whispered.

He grunted again.

“I'm assuming you don't want any yet?” I said.

He closed his eye.

If there was one massive difference between Jake and me, it was that I was an early riser and liked to get out of bed and start the day. He did not.

I kissed his shoulder and slid out from under the covers. I pulled on a pair of shorts and the T-shirt Jake had worn the night before. The scent of his deodorant and aftershave clung to it and I breathed it in, the familiar smells enveloping me. I padded the short distance to the kitchen, the smell of brewing coffee scenting the air. I was glad I'd had enough forethought the night before to set the timer on the pot before we'd retired to the bedroom for camper-rattling sex.

Priorities.

I pulled a yellow ceramic mug from the cabinet, yanked the pot from the warmer and filled the mug. I grabbed the creamer from the fridge and added that to the coffee, silently thanking Delilah for stocking the cabin with food and beverages. And creamer.

I set the carton back on the counter and held the cup to my lips.

And froze.

There was a window above the sink that looked out over the deck.

And on the deck were two men.

One wore cut-off denim shorts and a dirty gray tank top. His long stringy hair splayed out from under a gas station hat that sat backwards on his head. He was short and squat, a small roll of fat visible beneath the tank top. The wish of a beard shaded his bony face.

The other guy was taller, lankier. His black hair was cut in what could only be described as a serious mullet—bowl cut bangs in the front, long curly tendrils down to his shoulders in the back. He wore wraparound sunglasses, a black T-shirt and dirty jeans. I could see the outline of a large pocket knife in his front pocket. He was moving slower than the other guy, disinterested in whatever it was they were looking for.

I ducked beneath the window, set my coffee on the counter and hustled back to the bedroom. I jumped on the bed. “Wake up!”

Jake jerked to a sitting position. “Huh?”

“Wake up,” I said, looking over my shouldering and whispering in his ear. “There are two guys out on our deck.”

He rubbed at his eyes. “Two guys?” he mumbled.

“Yes!” I said, pushing on his back to get him moving. “They're going through the cooler and the storage bench! And they are creepy!”

“I thought you didn't want me getting in any more fights.”

“This is different!” I whispered. “Go see what they are doing. Scare them away or something.”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “You make them sound like raccoons.”

“Just hurry up!”

He pulled on his shorts and sat there for a minute.

“What are you doing?” I hissed.

He looked pointedly at the shirt I was wearing. “Looks like someone else was grabbing things that didn't belong to them.”

I pulled it over my head and tossed it at him.

“I didn't mean...” he began.

I reached for my own shirt and tugged it on. “Shh. No time.”

He shook his head, sighing, but he stood up. I tucked in behind him and followed him out to the kitchen.

The guys were still out on the deck, nosing around.

Jake paused at the kitchen sink, frowned, then walked around through the eating area and living area.

“Are you just going to go out there?” I asked.

“You wanted me to do something, didn't you?”

I felt a little twinge of panic. “What if they're armed?”

He rolled his eyes. “You watch too much TV.”

“I don't watch any TV.”

He yanked the curtains open to the slider. “Then you're just crazy.”

“Hey,” I started to protest but he ignored me.

He jerked the slider open and both of the intruders froze and turned toward the door.

Jake stepped outside and, after a second of hesitation, I sidled out next to him.

“Help you?” Jake asked.

The two men looked at one another, clearly confused. I wasn't sure if it was because they'd been caught or because they didn't understand the question. Or both.

The one with the backward hat said, “Uh, no.”

“Then why are you on my deck?” Jake asked.

“It's not yours,” the one with the sunglasses said. “It's Delilah's.”

“I'm staying here,” Jake said. “At Delilah's invitation. So it's mine right now. What are you looking for?”

They exchanged more confused looks.

“We're lost,” Hat said.

“Lost?”

“Yeah. We were out for a walk—”

Jake stared at the guy in jeans, his eyes zeroing in on the belt buckle looped around him. “You and...” he said, squinting. “Jaw? Is that your name?”

Jaw paled, tugging his shirt out of his jeans and pulling it down over his belt buckle.

Hat's cheeks flushed. “That's not his name...that's his...uh, nickname.”

“Thanks a lot, Chuck,” Jaw sneered. “Jesus.”

“Dude!” Hat, aka Chuck, eyes were bulging. “Now you said my name!”

Jaw's face colored.

“Chuck and Jaw,” Jake said. A thin smile appeared. “Or maybe your name was Jesus? I think I heard him call you both...”

Chuck stared blankly at him.

“I'm gonna go with Chuck,” Jake said, winking. “Anyway, now that we've been properly introduced, let's get back to the question. What are you doing here?”

They looked at one another.

Chuck folded his arms across his chest, trying to look tough. “I told you, dude. We're lost. We've, uh, never been here before.”

“But you know Delilah,” I said, now confident that they weren't armed. I stepped out from behind Jake. “You know this is her cabin.”

Chuck's mouth slid into a firm line and his face turned the color of a tomato. He looked at Jaw, who was getting twitchy and nervous.

“Run!” Chuck yelled.

He took a step, slipped, righted himself and jumped down over the steps on the other side of the deck. Jaw glanced at us, then sprinted after his friend, copying his jump down off the steps. He stumbled when he landed, planted his hand on the ground, got upright again and disappeared around the corner of the cabin.

I couldn't help but giggle.

“Well, that was interesting,” Jake said.

“What do you think they were doing?” I asked. If they were thieves, they were the most incompetent ones I'd ever seen.

“No idea,” he said, yawning. “I'm pretty sure
they
didn't even know what they were doing.”

“So we shouldn't be worried?”

Jake looked at me. “Worried? Uh, no.”

I nodded. It was weird that they'd been rooting around on the deck but their combined intelligence seemed to be that of a four year-old. It was hard to take them seriously, even if they had been trespassing. And they'd clearly been surprised to find us there and not Delilah.

“You sure?” I asked him.

“We just found a dead body in the woods,” he replied. “Finding two idiots on our deck is the least of our concerns.”