The Trees Beyond the Grass (A Cole Mouzon Thriller) (11 page)

CHAPTER 27

POINSETT WALKED INTO
the Rooftop Bar at the Vendue Inn in a low-cut white blouse and navy pinstripe pencil skirt wherein she promptly grabbed a free chair at the bar next to a guy probably ten years younger. Tan boat shoes, khaki shorts, and a purple check shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows—
typical Charlestonian style.
His friend had on burgundy Bass penny loafers, no socks, khaki shorts, and a pink polo. Poinsett caught the glimpse of one of those South Carolina belts with mini-monogrammed versions of the state’s flag of a navy rectangle with a white palmetto and crescent moon.

Turning her attention to the bartender, she ordered a glass of pinot gris. Even for late May it was humid, and a warm wine wasn’t going to cut it. The salt in the air made her feel damp and sticky, but a coastal breeze blowing through the bar offered some momentary relief. From the roof Poinsett could see the steeples that dotted Charleston’s skyline. The bar offered a visitor the perfect vantage to see the sights and for a hunter to eye her prey. While in the lobby of Charleston Place, she’d overheard Mouzon and his girl discuss their plans and intentions to hit the Waterfront Park after some ‘fancy-schmancy’ show. It was a little past ten and any show should be getting out soon. She could wait and watch.

Frat-tastic closest to her had his back turned, deep in conversation about some boat he was drooling over earlier in the day. Poinsett heard the word ‘Scout.’ Something about doubled hulls,
blah blah blah
. She couldn’t see his face but youth wasn’t being wasted on him. His body was firm; even in the dark she could see his individual muscles under his shorts. One left Poinsett with the impression that Mom had been a very lucky woman if father was like son.

She had been caught lingering a little too long; his buddy had seen her staring and was seen filling him in. He did that under-sloop look to his left to inspect his stalker. There was a huge grin on his face as Poinsett turned away, intentionally a bit too slowly. Her quick impression was this guy got laid,
a lot.
Sun-bleached shaggy, curly hair crowned a square and tanned, chiseled face. His lips were juicy and red from too much sun.

“Tourist?” He engaged her.

Turning on her stool to face him, she replied to his weak attempt to start a conversation. “In town for the weekend to catch some of the Spoleto shows and events.” She said, while taking a casual look around the room as if to say, ‘you’re not important enough for all my attention,
yet
.’

“Nice. Where are you from?” Frat-tastic was intrigued.

“Mobile. It was supposed to be a girls’ weekend, but my friend had to bail at the last minute. My ticket was non-refundable, so here I am.” She gave a half-hearted frown.

“It’s a perfect time a year to be here. It’s not too hot and you’ve seen all the azaleas and wisteria.”

Was this joker really trying to carry on a conversation about flowers?
He
was
correct on that point. The flowers matched the homes, matched the people, on fire with color. “It really is beautiful. Are you from here?”

“Grew up on the IOP, that’s the Isle of Palms, just north of the city. A senior at the College of Charleston now.”

Poinsett feigned interest, leaning onto hear more. “Oh? What are you studying?”

He smiled and then continued. “Economics, but I’m really hoping to get recruited by the Braves.”

Ah
,
that explains the thick, muscular arms
. A vision of him shirtless over her, propping up his chest with those arms on either side of her, flashed across her mind.

“Doesn’t Charleston have a team?”

“Nawh, not a major league team. We have the Riverdogs, but they’re affiliated with the New York Yankees, new blood and all. Bill Murray from the movie Caddyshack owns the Dogs, and you see him down here at a game every once in a while. So that’s cool I guess. But I’m a Braves man.” His accent got thick as Poinsett played dumb. She knew the city had a team that was once called the Rainbows, an apt name, she thought, for the colorful city.

“Wow. Very nice. I’m sure you’re a great hitter.” With this she brushed his forearm as she returned her empty wine glass to the bar top. He grinned in invitation.

He pulled back in an effort to puff his chest. “I’ve been known to hit a home run a time or two.” The sunglasses that had been previously placed on the back side of his neck fell, pulling the Croakies snug against his Adam’s apple.

“I bet you have.” She returned a playful grin as she watched him tug the black neoprene strap down his chest to resituate his glasses.

“Would you like another?” he said as he turned on his stool to face her completely, thoroughly engaged now. His friend was working hard in the corner on some blonde with a glittery top and cheap heels.

“Sure, that would be nice, another pinot please.” She waved at the bartender.

“By the way, I’m Jackson. I don’t think I properly introduced myself.”

“Katie here.” Poinsett pulled the name out of her ass; it sounded like some sorority girl’s name Jackson would think was hot. It was also the name she selected to use with her girlfriends when they wanted to be naughty by alias. The conversation continued on, with ‘Katie’ glancing over the railing to spy Mouzon if he came. It wasn’t important that she see him. She just liked observing her prey a few times before taking them down.

CHAPTER 28

“YOU KNOW WHAT?
Fuck the hotel, let’s hit the park for a walk and then a night cap at Blind Tiger like we originally planned.”

“There’s the Cole I love! Now we’re talking.” They were halfway to the hotel when they took a left onto Queen Street towards the harbor. Queen would turn into Vendue and intercept the park, but only after passing the Rooftop Bar.

As they approached Waterfront Park they could see one of the newer icons of the city, a giant pineapple fountain. The pineapple had been a symbol for the city since colonial times. Some man said pineapples represented hospitality and welcome, everything Charleston is known for, and the city said count us in for one of those. So it obviously made sense to place a giant one in a park in the middle of the tourist area.

This one was concrete. With a circumference of about fourteen feet, it resembled two round waffles, one tiered higher than the other, and their edges curved up. If it wasn’t for the large ribbon-leafed head at the center top, one might be led to believe Charleston invented the Belgian waffle. And Cole wouldn’t put it past his hometown to make a run at yet another accolade.

“Isn’t it a great night?” Ann was locked arm-in-arm again with Cole as they walked lazily toward the pier that overlooked the Wando River, which separated Charleston from Mt Pleasant and the Patriot’s Point battleship museum with its massive aircraft-carrier turned-museum. As a kid he had played in the tight, grey corridors of the ship while his aunt and adopted mother, Ava, worked the ticket booth at the front gate. Cole could see it all as if he were walking the tight corridors just then. He and Jackie got lost routinely trying to locate the best spots to hide aboard the old aircraft carrier, connected to the real world only by a long, thin pedestrian bridge that traversed fifty feet of water and swarms of bull sharks.

“Damn, my feet are killing me. My ankles aren’t conditioned for heels on these cobblestone streets. I’m glad the four-inch heel thing hasn’t caught on in Atlanta like it has here. I would die.” Ann slipped off her heels and put them in her right hand as she maintained her left arm’s tight wrap around Cole’s. Now walking in her bare feet upon the wooden plank pier, she asked, “Cole, do you miss the South?” He knew what she really meant to ask—
Do you miss me?

As Cole and Ann reached the end of the pier, he grabbed her hands to dance. “Brown-Eyed Girl” was playing in some distant bar. Hand in hand, Cole stepped back and brought their hands together in front of them, then twirled Ann inside and back out again. They were Shag dancing, the local dance.

Unlike the Charleston, which had fallen out of favor some time ago, the Shag had maintained its hold on locals. It made sense that a swing-style dance which encouraged bare feet in the sand and holding a mixed drink would arise from the lowcountry of the Carolinas. The dance was born up the coast from Charleston in Myrtle Beach, quickly spreading and fostering a generation of music and ultimately a movie. Groups such as the Drifters, Embers, Catalinas, and the Temptations, along with the likes of James Taylor and Van Morrison, all had songs considered “beach music” suitable for Shagging. There were books highlighting the dance, including Pat Conroy’s
Beach Music
. The Shag was bred into Charlestonians and percolated up whenever a beach song caught their ears.

Ann’s cheek rested against Cole’s as he brought her in tight, with his arms wrapped around her and hers around his. They swayed as Morrison spit out some “la la la’s.” They were reunited, even if it was just for a weekend. As the music wound down, Cole let himself momentarily feel just how much he missed Ann and Charleston. It truly was a wonderful place to be for him. As they always did, Cole and Ann pretzeled, an intricate move of hand tying that ended with him deeply dipping Ann. They laughed as she stood and then they hugged. He had never responded, but she was satisfied with his answer to his question. The city’s charm had penetrated and now washed over them like the salt breeze.

CHAPTER 29

POINSETT HAD SEEN
it all from her rooftop vantage from across the palmetto and live oak-studded wind-scaped park. Mouzon and his girl had been twirling like seniors in a Viagra commercial for several minutes. It repulsed her, and she liked the idea of ending that in a bloody mess.
Run down there and just do it.
Perhaps she would make Mouzon watch as she took down the girl first with one quick slash of her scalpel. She longed for a more engaging hunt. Regardless, she had seen enough for now.

“Would you like to get out of here?” she said as she turned to Frat-tastic again.

“Uh, definitely.” Poinsett got the impression that he had just said ‘score’ in his head.

Jackson was clearly loving what he was seeing as he sat on the edge of her bed admiring her flowing red hair. ‘Katie’ had an incredibly flat stomach that rivaled his own ripped abs. She stood in front of him, between his legs. His shirt had been removed as soon as the door closed and he was now lifting off her thin white blouse. Earlier in the night he had enjoyed that he could see that Katie was lacking a bra. He didn’t know how much older she was, but it clearly did not reflect in the perkiness of her breasts.

He cupped them as she finished pulling her blouse over her head, having not bothered to unbutton it. They were firm and ample. He rolled his thumb over her right nipple; she moaned with her eyes closed and threw her head back. He moved in and cupped his mouth over her left nipple, lashing it with his tongue. She was obviously enjoying herself as she placed her hands on his head and began to curl her fingers in, pulling him in closer to raise his arousal. He moved his left hand slowly around her body to her back and began feeling for a zipper on her skirt. Once found, he patiently pulled it down until it stopped.

POINSETT WAS IMPRESSED;
this guy knew what he was doing, and he was doing it well so far. Her skirt fell to the floor and revealed her bare skin and black lacey panties. Jackson pulled back to admire the view and then looked up at her, with a soft, “Wow.” She grinned back and admired her view.

As she expected, Jackson was built like a brick house. He was lean, but not so lean as to be a pencil. He had muscle in all the right places. His shoulders and chest were thick and defined, with just a little tuft of hair connecting his pecs and collarbone. Like the hair on his head, his chest hair was bleached from frequent shirtless days, whether from the yard, beach, or that boat he longed for.

Removing her hands from his head, she pushed his chest down and he complied, laying his back on the bed. She moved in slowly to kiss his chest as she leaned over him, first his sternum, then his nipples. She worked her way down the line that separated his eight-pack. His navel had the slightest bit of hair that led further down. She followed with the tips of her fingers like she was reading a Braille map. She moved her hands to the aged brass buckle of his woven leather belt and unlatched it. The buckle of his khaki shorts was next, spreading apart the opening to reveal what appeared to be black boxer-briefs with a silver top band. The light from the bedside lamp accented shadows that defined his devil’s horns, the abdominal V formed by the meeting of his abs and groin. A tingle of anticipation flashed across her skin.

He lifted his butt from the bed to facilitate her attempt to pull off his shorts, and she crawled on top of him. He rolled her and twisted their bodies to place her head at the top of the still-made bed. With her legs bent and him between them, he sat up to again admire the view. He ran his hand down her firm body until he reached her panty line and then moved it to her left leg to return to the lower panty line. He leaned back in and pressed his broad chest against her. His tongue acted with intention as they kissed, chasing hers playfully around her mouth. He withdrew and moved down her face, neck…

She leaned her head to the side as he reached her neck, first at her collarbone and then up toward her left ear. She moaned again, as if to tell him, ‘more.’ He continued while slipping his hands around her lower back and under her panties to cup her ass. He closed his hands around the cheeks as if to pull her up. In response she pulled her knees in more and wrapped her legs around his firm buttocks. He pumped his hips in a serpentine motion, using his frame to knead the dough of her hips. His moans were clear but light. He was enjoying himself. “You are so sexy,” he whispered in her ear. Slowly he pulled down her panties. She unlocked her legs to let them slip off.

He moved again down her body, stopping only when he reached deep between her legs. His tongue was evil, in the best sort of way. He lashed her with the firmness of its tip. This made her body involuntarily curve back, thrusting her hips into his face and leaving a hollow under her back. He continued his moist assault for several minutes, coming up for air only once. Every few moments she would open her eyes and peer down her body to see the mop of his sandy hair between her legs and his arms wrapped around her hips on either side, maintaining a firm grip on his focus.

As he crept back up along her body, she used her hand to pull down his tight boxer briefs. Pressing his hips into hers, he was inside. His chest met hers briefly as they kissed, then he lifted himself up to look at her and occasionally lean down to kiss her neck, all while maintaining his connection to her. Her body went flush, warm and tingly. Heat swelled up from her hips, slowly taking over her whole body. Inside her, he felt even more than average, as she had suspected. She hadn’t seen, but it certainly was hitting all the right places and had substance. She was no size whore, but she certainly wanted to know she was getting laid. Over and over again he kneed his hips into her, penetrating deeper and deeper. He moaned in that deep way that let her know he was fully enjoying himself. Looking down his body on top of hers excited her more—he had a perfect ass for a man. His tan line, low on his waist and halfway to his knees, just made it pop even more. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back.
Someone has clearly read the manual.
Pump by pump, a slight dizziness and tingling snuck up on her from below until her entire body was on fire. Her moans made his body respond and he pumped deeper and deeper and then stopped, laying his body on hers, trembling.

Ugh, I needed that
. She pushed Jackson off of her after waiting the mandatory minute or two for him to enjoy the after-effects of his work.
Who said she wasn’t a giver?
He remained lying face down, naked on the top of the comforter. She was beside him, trying to figure out the best approach for getting him out. After all, he wasn’t prey, he was a distraction, a needed distraction. She no longer had a use for him and needed to get her rest for the hunt.

“So babe, I really enjoyed this and all…but I need you to get out.” He raised his head after hearing her, a look of sleep and confusion on his face. “Huh?”

She looked at him with pity. “Yeah, I kinda need you to gather your clothes and leave. It was hot, very hot. But you aren’t staying the night.”

He was obviously thrown off. “Uh, okay. I mean, that’s cool. I respect that.” As he gathered his shorts and put them on he asked for her number. “Maybe we can get together again while you’re in town.”

She looked away to place her watch on the nightstand, “Hon, that isn’t going to happen. You’re a great lay, but I have other plans.”

“Sure, sure. Well, if you change your mind, I work at FIG tomorrow night, feel free to drop by.”

She looked back sternly. “Jackson, I need you to get your ass out of here before you piss me off. You don’t want to piss me off.” She was losing her patience with Frat-tastic.
The kid couldn’t take no for an answer.

“Fuck,
okay
.” Jackson quickly gathered his things and headed to the front door. Still naked on the bed she heard him mumble under his breath as the door was closing, “Crazy-ass bitch.” She thought to herself,
damn straight.