Picture Perfect (Butler Island) (27 page)

“Does it look like I need help?” She
asked as she placed her hands on her hips.

“Do you really want me to answer
that…?”

“Okay”, she conceded, “point taken.”
She could feel the warmth of his body as he approached from behind. An odd zing
zipped up her spine as one of his hands wrapped around her midsection, tugging
her closer. His other hand assisted her in launching the dart.

“Hey, man, you gonna shoot?—or are
you gonna stand there and eye Olivia all night?” Randall inquired. “I
mean—don’t get me wrong—I’d much rather spend the night lookin’ at her than
you. But—”

“Sorry, bro.”

“Do me a favor: picture Jarrod’s face
on the cue ball and smack the shit out of it so I can hurry up and collect my
winnings.”

Grant walked around the edge of the
pool table and got into position for his next shot. He eased the stick over his
thumb back and forth several times to get the feel of it, when suddenly
movement up ahead at the dartboard snagged his undivided attention.

The dart struck against the board
with a heavy thud. She may have been seeing double, but both images indicated
that she’d just missed the bull’s eye by a fraction. Jarrod tightened his grip
as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Another strange sensation came
over her, and it wasn’t until he spoke again that she recognized why.

“Good shot, Blondie!” Jarrod felt the
overly intoxicated beauty clutched in his arms petrify.

Where do you
think you’re going, Blondie?

 
I sure am
sorry ‘bout all this, Blondie. Things would’ve turned out much better for you
if you’d only cooperated
.

Why don’t you
make yourself useful: pose that pretty lil’ ass in front of the camera instead
of sneaking around, taking pictures of me. Stay out of my way or next time,
things might not turn out so well for you…

Oh. My. God.

“What’s the matter, Olivia?” Jarrod
whispered against her ear. “You act like you just saw a ghost.”

She forced herself to turn her head
toward him. She needed to gage his reaction. It wasn’t as if she were the only
blonde in town; maybe his choice of words had been merely coincidental. “Or
maybe an arsonist…”

Something wasn’t right—something
didn’t feel right. Grant shoved the tip of his stick against the cue ball.
After missing his target, he took a seat on the wood stool along the back wall
and watched helplessly as Jarrod wrapped his arms around Olivia and buried his
face in the crook of her neck.

Rage and fury
saturated his dark eyes and that’s when she knew. “Damn it, it was
you”,
she
mumbled
.

“Careful, Blondie, I don’t want to
see you get hurt again.”

They weren’t moving—they were just
standing there. Grant took another pull from his beer.

Why the hell was he still here? He
should’ve left the moment he realized Olivia was sitting at the bar.

 What was he trying to prove?—that he
was unfazed by her sudden interest in Jarrod?—that he no longer cared what she
did or who she did it with?

If that’s what he was trying to do,
he was failing miserably.

Gripping the bottle, he raised it to
his lips again—and then froze…

Jarrod couldn’t believe he’d slipped
and called her “Blondie”. It’d rolled off his tongue with such ease. He was
hoping that she didn’t remember, but the sudden rigidness of her body against
his and the unmistakable terror in her big green eyes said otherwise.

Now, he had to
think fast—before she screamed
and exposed his identity to everyone in the
crowded saloon. “Let’s take a walk”, he said as he gripped her arm above her
elbow. “You look like you could use some fresh air.”

“No, I—”

He strengthened his grip and lowered
his voice for emphasis. “It’s not up for discussion, Olivia. Either you do as I
ask, or someone you really care about will suffer. Let’s go—
now.”

She didn’t know where he was taking
her or what he’d do with her once they arrived at their destination, but she
did know one thing: she wasn’t going to allow him to hurt anyone she cared
about.

Olivia had turned her head toward
Jarrod. At first, Grant thought he was about to witness a kiss, but then he
caught a glimpse of her expression as her eyes traveled up the contours of
Jarrod’s face: recognition and…
unadulterated fear.

Jarrod leaned in, whispered something
in her ear, and then gripped her arm just above her elbow.

“Your shot, bro”, Randall announced.

Pivoting, the town’s hottest new
couple headed back toward the bar. Jarrod reached into his pocket and tossed a
few bills toward the bartender.

“You spacing out on me again? I said
it was your shot.”

Something wasn’t right. His gut told
him they weren’t planning a leisurely stroll down the boardwalk. Rising from
the stool, Grant reached into his wallet and placed a one-hundred dollar bill
on the pool table.

“Listen, Randall, I’m gonna have to
forfeit this round. Something’s come up.”

“Ah, man—I don’t have change for a
one-hundred dollar—”

Grant slapped him on the back of the
shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t worry ‘bout it—consider it my forfeiting
fee.”

Grant rushed toward the front door
and stumbled into the brisk dark night. The moon was hidden behind a thick
blanket of clouds. He looked left and then right. “Damn it”, he mumbled. There
was no sign of them anywhere.

Jarrod had a death grip on her arm.
His long stride was no match for her small five foot, four inch frame; he’d
practically dragged her alongside him. “Listen, Jarrod, it’s been
fun—really—but it’s been a long day. I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

The laughter that escaped him was
somber and evil-like. Where was the kind, funny, interesting man that’d taken
her to dinner several days earlier? She wondered.

“Like hell you are”, he said as he
steered her toward the wood pilings beneath the pier.

“C’mon, Jarrod—it’s over. I know who
you are and soon, everyone else will, too.”

In one swift motion, he turned her
around and then shoved her body back against the wood piling,
sandwiching her between his body and the solid
struc
ture. “Now that’s where you’re wrong. You see, you’re not gonna be
around to tell anyone about what I’ve done.”

“Damn it, Jarrod—what’re you gonna
do?—kill me?” she asked breathlessly.

Jarrod caressed her cheek with the
back of his hand. “I may be a lot of things, sweetheart, but I’m not a
murderer. I know you may not believe this, but I never meant to hurt you—”

“You left me lying in a puddle of my
own blood, Jarrod.”

“I know”, he admitted softly as he
closed his eyes. “That’s not how it was supposed to happen. I never wanted to
hurt you, but you kept fighting me.” His eyes opened. “I had no choice.”

“And now…?” she inquired.

“Now, you have to leave town”, he
informed her, “tonight. You’re gonna lose contact with every
one on this island: your brother, Kendall and
especially
Womack… Indefinitely.”

“And what happens if I don’t?”

“Oh, you will. You see”—he began as
one of his fingertips traced an invisible line down her right cheek—“I’m real
good at planting evidence. And wouldn’t it be a shame to find out that your boyfriend’s
been setting the town ablaze in order to collect some much-needed overtime to
renovate his beloved beach house…”

“You wouldn’t.”

“To save my ass from going to jail?—I
most certainly would…”

Grant had been searching along the
pier for several minutes when he suddenly came to a halt. Olivia’s expression
at the saloon was a familiar one: it was the same alarm and anxiety he’d
observed during her nightmare last week when she’d stayed with him…

“Holy shit”, he mumbled.
Jarrod
was the arsonist!

Panicked, he removed his phone from
his front pocket and dialed 911. And when the call had been made, he hurried
down the stairs that led to the beach. He just prayed he hadn’t realized
Jarrod’s identity too late.

“So this was all about
money?”
she asked incredulously.

“It’s what makes the world go round…”

At that moment, his hard expression
softened. And she was finally able to detect that Jarrod was afraid, too.

“I have gambling debts to settle. I
owe a lot of money to a very scary man—scarier than me”, he admitted.

“If it’s money you need, I’ll give it
to you… I have a trust fund—you can have it—all of it! Please, Jarrod, don’t
make me walk away from my family!” Tears were stinging the back of her eyes.
She didn’t want to release them—didn’t want to reveal any outward signs of
weakness—but wasn’t able to hold back.

“I have to”, he uttered softly.

“No, Jarrod. I won’t tell another
soul—you have my word! Please, don’t make me do this!”

Jarrod palmed the sides of her face;
took in her beauty. Olivia had captivated him from the moment he’d laid eyes on
her. Just then, the clouds shifted, revealing the luminous half moon. It was
then that he saw her tears, saw the fear in her eyes, comprehended the
brutality of what he was asking.

“As much as I want to believe you,
Olivia, I can’t take the risk. I know—” He paused for a moment: a crescendo of
sirens. “Fuck! How did you do that?”

“What, Jarrod?—I didn’t do anything,
I swear!” she sobbed.

“I’m sorry, Blondie. I’m so sorry”,
he uttered softly as he pressed his lips against hers.

The police sirens had caught her by
surprise—and so had the kiss. And then as he pulled away, he looked into her
eyes and she saw it: fear, panic, regret. He was moments away from captivity,
moments away from
his
worst nightmare.

Kissing Olivia was heavenly. He was
finally able to taste her, to commit it to memory. Her soft, plump lips felt amazing
pressed against his. For as long as he lived, he would remember this.

The sirens were getting louder: it
was now or never…

Reluctantly, he pulled away and
tightened his grip on her face. God, he didn’t want to do this, but he had no
choice. He drove her head back against the wood piling and winced when he heard
her skull strike against the solid structure. And then without a backward
glance, he sprinted…

A piercing scream had Grant racing
toward the pilings underneath the boardwalk. It seemed as though he was running
in place—which was completely absurd; his feet were pounding the powdery sand
so swiftly, he was convinced he could probably dash across the calm Gulf water
and remain afloat.

Moments later, he saw her: hovering
above the sand on all fours.

“Livvy!” he called out as he
collapsed onto his knees beside her. The back of her head glistened against the
faint moonlight as blood saturated her honey-blonde hair. “Jesus, Livvy, what
the hell did he do to you?”

Olivia gripped his shirt as he assisted
her upright. “
Grant?”
she asked confusedly.

God, she looked pale—even in the dim
moonlight, he could see: the color had drained from her angelic face. “I’m
right here, baby.”

“My…my head hurts”, she uttered, just
above a whisper.

“Did Jarrod do this to you?” He
watched as Olivia closed her eyes and nodded her head.
Damn it!
If only
he’d listened to his gut sooner. He could have prevented this; could’ve
protected her.

“It was Jarrod James!” Grant shouted
as the town’s three deputies on duty raced toward them.

“Any idea which way he went?” one of
them asked as they approached.

“Livvy”, Grant uttered as he palmed
the sides of her face, “did you see which way he went?”

Olivia nodded cautiously and pointed
down the
beach toward the marina. The
deputies sprinted away
from them with their weapons drawn. She watched
until their black uniforms disappeared into the dark night. And then she turned
her attention to Grant.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight
of him. And as if her body sensed the safety of his arms, her eyes closed and
serenity prevailed.

CHAPTER 22