All In (9 page)

“I want to eventually wind up near the shore points.
I need the ocean,” Mick told him.

“You’ll have no trouble finding work. Actually, the
earlier you get there, the better,” Ken informed him. “Let’s go in the back and
search some stuff for you.” Ken waved him back into his office.

The train Mick and Cara needed to catch left at ten-forty
the next morning. It would take them to Point Pleasant, New Jersey.

“Ocean City’s a nice town, but it’s also a dry town.
They don’t sell liquor there, so that might limit your job opportunities,” Ken
said. “Point Pleasant’s a good place to start, though. Some towns are still
struggling to rebuild after the hurricane. There’ll be some sort of work there
for you. It might not be in the kitchen, but my brother said you’re quite the
hustler.” Ken smiled, tapping the edge of the desk. He stood and extended his
hand to Mick. “If you need a reference, don’t hesitate.”

Mick made his way back upstairs and reclined on a narrow
patch of mattress. He dozed on and off and woke when the pink hues of dawn
lighted the room. He crept out into the hall and went in search of coffee.

****

When he returned and opened the door, fumbling with
the Styrofoam cups, Cara was already up.

Mick smiled faintly, setting their cups on the
nightstand. He removed a small paper bag from under his arm and handed it to
her.

Cara looked inside. Her mouth salivated at the sight
of two bagels wrapped in waxed paper, the butter and jam bleeding through.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.
He’s so damn aloof!
After years of Mick being a fairly easy read,
this morning he was as illegible as a doctor’s signature.

Things needed to be said, but now wasn’t the time. They
needed to move into the next phase of their plan, whatever
that
phase
was. Work and a place to stay came first.

Cara sat down on the edge of the bed and vented the
lid to what she knew was hot chocolate. She drank it all year round, just like
a coffee lover.

The crinkling of paper filled the silence. They
began to eat. After forcing down two bites, Cara couldn’t stand it anymore, the
unease that lingered due to the previous evening.

“What’s happening?
she
asked, wiping her mouth.

Mick’s eyes flicked to hers.

“We need to move on. Ken’s afraid there could be
trouble. I did assault that guy,” Mick shook his head. How’s South Jersey sound?
Some sand, and the salty sea,” he said, his tone uncertain.

“Sounds good,” Cara smiled, trying to reassure him. “What’s
our mode of transportation?”

“We’re taking a train. It leaves in about an hour,”
he said, looking down into his cup as if a solution was floating on the surface
of his coffee. He looked up at her. His teeth gnawed at his lip.

“You still with me?” he
asked,
his voice barely audible.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Cara laughed, needing to
plow through this thicket of confusion that’d grown between them overnight. She
didn’t like it. The longer she ignored it, the denser it would become. His next
inquiry had her heart tripping.

“You all in, Cara?
Despite everything?”
Mick asked. Lines deepened around his
eyes as they bore into her.

Everything?
Was
Mick referring to the tussle between him and Ken’s customer, their kiss, or
both? Was Mick rethinking his advances toward her? The ground shifted beneath her
feet. The maze she wandered through forked before her, her confirmations now
cloudy. Maybe he wanted her to commit fully to the entire package before he
took a risk and proceeded. It was much to ask, but if it wasn’t for Mick she’d
still be rotting in The Hollow.

Cara stood up and tossed her cup into the trash,
feeling the heaviness of his stare. She zipped up her pack and set it near the
door, glancing back at him.

“I’m still here, and I’m all in.” Her voice wavered.

“Good,” Mick nodded. “Then let’s go.”

Chapter
Seventeen

The train ride to Point Pleasant was the shortest of
their journey so far. When they stepped out onto the platform of the train
station, the sun had barely passed its noontime peak.

They wandered around the station before flagging
down a local cab. Mick tossed their packs into the backseat and they settled
in.

“Where to?”
The
driver shot a backward glance at them in the rearview mirror.

“Downtown,” Mick answered, extending his legs out in
front of him.

“Nothing much there.”
The
driver snorted. “Hurricane’s wiped the place out.
Best off
heading to the outskirts.”

“Are they looking to rebuild?
We’re looking for work,” Mick informed him.

“I believe so. Pebble Beach would better suit you,
at least for the time being.”

Cara looked at Mick.

“Okay, then,” he relented, sinking back into the
seat.

The cab moved through the station traffic, easing
onto Route 35. Cara opened up the window, allowing some air to circulate. It
was warmer here, the tease of a pending spring. She hadn’t really been paying
attention to those fine details, not really having a set routine like she did
at home.

The Hollow was long gone, slipping back into the
recesses of her mind. Ever since they’d left, she hadn’t looked back. Cara
traced the scar on her arm, a souvenir of their first hours on the road. The
skin was candy-heart pink, feeling thin and delicate.

Pebble Beach was a small shore community with
simple, saltbox houses that lined the streets. Though the trees were still bare,
Cara could envision a lush canopy of foliage gracefully arching overhead,
keeping the sidewalk cool during the warm summer months.

A center hub came into view, providing all the
basics, a small grocery store and gas station with a bank and post office. Two
motor inns sat on opposite ends.

“Here is good,” Mick said, leaning over the front
seat.

“Up to you,” the driver said, pulling alongside the
curb.

Mick fumbled through his pocket and handed the
driver a few rumpled bills. They grabbed their packs and stepped out into the
afternoon sun.

“Thanks.” Mick tapped the roof. The driver nodded,
pulling away.

They stood, taking in their surroundings.

“Okay,” Mick sighed. “Which place looks the best?” he
asked, chuckling.

Cara noted that his demeanor had rebounded slightly,
his face free of worry lines. She looked at each end of the main thoroughfare,
assessing his question.

It was either The Sandpiper or The Beachcomber. Both
motor inns were practically vacant. Cara noted that The Beachcomber had an ice
machine. She also noticed a sign above directing guests to the laundry room. It
was a no-brainer. She hated
laundromats
. It was an
ugly memory of home, lugging bags of clothing and constantly having to wait to
use the machines, not to mention how dirty they were.

“The Beachcomber has laundry facilities,” Cara said,
slinging her pack over her shoulder. Mick had been quiet for most of the
morning, making her work hard to achieve any kind of verbal exchange. The issue
of their kiss still provoked a sense of unease. It hadn’t been discussed,
hanging over their heads like an ax about to fall.

“So … how about
The
Beachcomber?”
She cleared her throat. “Are you all in?” Cara stifled her laughter, hoping her
attempt at humor would catch.

Mick’s face contorted, displaying an air she didn’t
recognize. He shook his head, his gaze steady, his brows pulled together in
thought. “Aren’t you
funny.
Come on,” he muttered,
motioning her with a quick jerk of his head.

Once given their keys and fresh towels, they made
their way to the side of the building, their accommodations adjacent to the
parking lot. Cara held a local newspaper grabbed from the ‘free’ pile near the office.
It would be another hunt for jobs. It looked like there might be some
opportunities due to rebuilding after the storm, but she wouldn’t know until
they did some research.

The Beachcomber was an older establishment but it
was evident the owners had been diligent in their upkeep. They passed by
several rooms, the curtains closed. Mick stopped at room number eight, shoving
the key in the lock. His gruff words glued her feet to the sidewalk.

“Lay it on its side … it means infinity.” His mouth
curled into a grin. His eyes flashed. Was this Mick’s tactic for seeking
revenge for her earlier banter?

“The number eight?”
Cara
said, phrasing her reply to the tone of a question. Her pulse jumped a notch. Why
was she suddenly nervous again? Why was this happening? Her face burned. Her
bashfulness was beginning to annoy her.

Mick’s eyes glittered, holding every ray of the afternoon
sunlight, his behavior a bit peculiar.

“That’s right … the number eight. Lay it on its side,
it means infinity,” he repeated as he turned the key in the lock.

Chapter
Eighteen

“I’d like to go to that small market,” Cara told
him, burying her wallet in her pants pocket.

“I’ll take a walk with you,” Mick said, setting his
shaving kit in the bathroom. He stuck his head out into the room. Cara’s hands
twisted in front of her, her brow furrowed. Mick walked toward the dresser and
set his wallet down, turning on a small lamp.

Maybe
she wants some time alone.

“You know what … you go ahead. I’m going to look
through this paper you got,” he told her, stretching out on the bed.

Her face smoothed with relief.

“You need anything?” Cara opened the door, turning
in the threshold.

“Surprise me,” he smiled back in an attempt to
lighten her spirit. Since New Brunswick they’d both been up,
then
down, their moods shifting gears. Mick would work to try and balance them out. Cara
shrugged, closing the door behind her.

Mick got up and filled one of the small plastic cups
with water. As he made his way back to the bed, Cara’s pack distracted him. Mick
peered down, his eyes moving past the open zipper. Below were those two books. He
swallowed, feeling his body react to the words he’d read and never forgotten.

Damn
it!

It was wrong and he knew it. Trust was such an
important thing, but he needed help. He’d made his move. It hadn’t totally
backfired, but now they were at a standstill. His impatience was fueling him,
causing him to be reckless.

Mick bent over and quickly grabbed the top book.

Marred
and Scarred.

The book wasn’t as worn as the other. Mick sat down,
leafing through the pages. His eyes scanned over the print. Seeing the word
breast
had him pausing. His eyes
reverted back, taking him to where he needed to start.

****

“No one will see,” Lee whispered, gently coaxing
her. Kate became lost in his eyes, her body weightless with desire. She
couldn’t feel the floor of the large in-ground pool that dominated Lee’s
backyard. The chlorinated water beaded off his chest, colliding with his
personal fragrance. He smelled like a waterfall. Kate looked down at Lee’s
cock. It was so hard it floated, bobbing in the water like a twitching
marionette.

Lee’s hands cupped her breasts, squeezing them hard.

“Ah,” Kate moaned.

“God, I
wanna
fuck you so
hard. Right here in the water. Let’s make some high-tide waves in this pool.
Say yes,” Lee hissed, his fingers pinching her nipples.

Kate lifted her feet, her body buoyant. She wrapped
her legs around his waist, crossing her ankles behind his back.

“That’s it,” Lee gasped as he steered them through
the water.

Lee directed them to the stairs in the shallow end. He’d
left the house dark, his housekeeper gone for the day.

Kate strained her eyes, trying to see through the
darkness. Rainbow rings of light surrounded the outdoor lamppost of a nearby
neighboring house.

“On your knees,” Lee
ordered,
his tone gruff and hard.

Kate’s knees began to tremble as she climbed the stairs,
resting her hands and knees on the rough concrete. Her feet dangled off the
edge, grazing the surface of the temperate water. The night air chilled her
skin.

Lee’s hands petted her ass, slipping between her
thighs as he fondled her from behind. “Spread your legs wider,” he
said,
his request a raspy whisper.

Kate shifted her weight.

Lee’s hands skimmed up and over her spine, pressing
on the small of her back. “Give me a good arch.” His breaths huffed on her
flesh.