Читать книгу Lost and Found - Gwenna Sebastian - Страница 5

Chapter 1

Currituck Lighthouse sliced through the gray skies, the unpainted brick dull in the weak winter light. Mark Connor barely noticed it as he drove down Route Twelve, heading south to Kitty Hawk. During the summer, this road was crowded with tourists, making the narrow two-lane highway slow going. But in January, the height of the off-season, it was an empty road until you reached Duck.

The barrier islands along the coast of North Carolina were by and large deserted during the coldest part of the winter. People came for the beaches, the lighthouses, and the fishing. This time of year, you got miles of cold beaches with bitter ocean spray whipped at you by the blustery weather. It was damp, raw, and uninviting.

That suited Mark fine. The less he had to deal with people, the happier he was. Home remodels were what he searched for, this one being sweeter than most. Back in the eighties, a couple had bought the land above Corolla, building a massive house there, renting it out over the years as an investment. They were ready to live down here full time, but the place needed a major overhaul. When built, it had been outfitted for tourists. Now the owners wanted to turn it into the luxury retirement home they’d waited years to enjoy.

The wind buffeted Mark’s old Suburban, throwing salt spray over the hood and windshield. He put his cigarette between his lips in order to use both hands on the steering wheel to keep the truck on the road. The sky was a dull gray with dark clouds. It would probably rain before he got back.

He drove through the small town of Duck. There wasn’t a lot here during the winter months except some essentials for the locals: a post office, market, a couple of small restaurants. A pair of four-wheel drives were parked at the plaza. Someone walked their black Lab along the shoulder of the road as he drove on toward Southern Shores. The walker was so bundled up against the elements, Mark couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. Not that he cared.

The owners had made sure that everything Mark would need in the way of supplies had been delivered to the house. That included hardwood floors, boxes upon boxes of tiles, fixtures, molding, new cabinets for the kitchen and four bathrooms, countertops, paint and much more. Most of it was stacked in the great room.

Mark agreed to have the work completed by the end of April. He traveled, mostly along the east coast, looking for rehab jobs just like this one, where he'd have complete run of the place while the owners were away, even living there. Mark stipulated that he'd wouldn’t accept payment until they returned and were satisfied with the results.

He had started work after moving in at the beginning of November. It was only him, in one, big-ass home located in the northernmost part of the Outer Banks.

This part of the island was more developed, with enormous vacation rentals lining both sides of the highway, all in the classic “Outer Banker” style. They stood empty during the cold months, windows shuttered against the elements. Mark came into Southern Shores, a town a little bigger than Duck. He rolled the window down far enough to toss what was left of his cigarette outside as he drove past a couple of large gated communities with more expensive homes built up on stilts. Like the dwellings along the road, they were vacant for the season. Even the docks, lashed by the winter surf, were bare of the boats that would return in April and May.

A truck drove past him, heading north as Mark continued south. More vehicles now, he no longer had the highway to himself. He was coming into the heart of the Outer Banks where it was the most built-up, the stretch of Kitty Hawk to Nags Head. Here, land was at a premium with cottages built right next to each other along with the condos, hotels and businesses. Most of the rentals had names, a charming custom that Mark didn’t understand.

He didn’t like coming into town, so he kept his trips to a minimum. Groceries, kerosene, batteries, the odd item at the local Home Depot or Walmart. There were a couple of pizza places that stayed open all year where he’d often pick one up after going through the Brew-Thru, getting three or four cases of beer.

Mark waited at a light in front of the Kitty Hawk fire station, glancing at his watch while he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

He was in town to meet a potential employee. The owners had bought a massive spa tub to go into the master bathroom. At fifty-eight, Mark was still in excellent shape. He could hold his own just fine. But there was no way he could muscle that bastard into the bathroom by himself, let alone up the stairs to the second floor. The plumbing was becoming an issue as well. Mark was a big enough man to admit when he was in over his head.

He continued driving after the light changed.

One of the perks of this job was a satellite hook-up for the multitude of TVs and the internet. Realizing he needed someone to help him, Mark ran an ad on Craig’s List looking for a licensed plumber who could do some carpentry and was willing to move in for a few weeks, possibly more.

He spotted the restaurant he was looking for up on the right side of the highway in a small strip mall. It was one of those places done up for tourists with the usual pirate and seaside theme. Mark wouldn’t normally come here, preferring one of the bars off the main road, but it would be easy for the guy he was meeting to find.

He’d only gotten one response, from a guy who said he'd drive down from Norfolk. He sure as hell hoped he wasn’t wasting his time by meeting up with this man. He put the truck in park and climbed out. The wind whipped past, snatching his breath with its bitterness. He ignored it, slamming the Suburban’s door before heading for the entrance.

God, the place was tacky. The bartender, a tall, slim guy with thinning hair, nodded to him as he sat at the bar. Mark asked for a longneck and tossed his money on the glossy surface before sitting back to wait. There were four or five teenagers in a booth at the far end, talking and laughing as they ate. A large man who looked like a trucker sat in another booth, working his way through a huge burger. Writing something on a pad, a bored waitress leaned on the far end of the bar, sipping on a cola.

The rest of the place was empty. Welcome to January in Kitty Hawk.

Mark finished his beer then ordered another one. The kids paid and, still laughing, shoved each other as they tugged on their coats. The trucker mowed through a mound of fries in a basket, the burger now gone. Mark heard the kids go out, the girls squealing at the wind’s bite.

“You Mark Connor?”

Mark glanced up at a tall man. He must have come in as the kids left.

“Yeah, if you’re Josh Myers.”

Josh nodded, sliding onto the barstool next to Mark and ordered a beer. He had to be at least six foot, four inches Mark estimated as he sized up the other man. Tall and lanky, with sandy hair he tied back. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses, a wild tie-dyed shirt that was too big for him and a rough, baggy pair of jeans, all topped off with a flannel coat. But under that, Mark recognized something that only another man who’d been in the military would have picked up.

Myers recognized it too. “Former Marine.” He took a swallow of his beer. “You look like Army.” He gave Mark a considering look. “Infantry.”

“A long time ago. You got your license?”

Josh raised an eyebrow at the directness, but Mark wasn’t here to socialize. Either the guy would work out or not. Mark didn’t care that he was a Marine. Much.

Josh pulled his wallet from his back pocket, slipped something out and slid it across the bar to Mark. It was his union card. “I’m licensed. You won’t have to worry about passing the inspections.”

Mark pushed the card back to him. “I need a guy who can do some carpentry work too.”

“Yeah, I can do that and a bunch of other stuff. So, what you got?” Josh pulled the bowl of pretzels over.

“A fucking big tub I need to get up a flight of stairs into a master bathroom. There’s a lot of other shit. It’s a full-time gig with the run of a house north of here. It’ll be just the two of us but the place has five bedrooms, so take your pick."

“Sounds reasonable enough. When you want me to move in and start?” Josh crunched down on the pretzel. The trucker got up, paid his tab and left, tugging his hat on as he pushed out the door.

“Right now. If you brought your gear and got four-wheel drive, you can follow me.” Mark shook his head as the bartender asked if he wanted another beer. He turned, sizing up Josh with a long look. “It’s a good gig, the place’s huge, there’s satellite TV and internet. I’ve got an expense account for groceries with other odds and ends.”

“Then I’m in.” Josh polished off his beer, then pushed the bottle aside. “One thing I want cleared up before we get there.”

“That being?”

“I’m gay. I’m not gonna lie or apologize for it. You got a problem with that, then it was nice meeting ya’ and I’m on my way back to Norfolk.” Josh crunched down on another pretzel. The bartender stopped wiping and polishing the bar, staring at the two men. Mark ignored him.

“Christ, I don’t care if you sleep with goats as long as you do the damn job and stay the hell outta my way.” Mark shoved off the barstool. “So you coming?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Josh eased off his seat, half a head taller than Mark. “But I’ll have you know that sheep are much better than goats.”

“Outstanding. I get an ex-jarhead who’s gay and has a sense of humor,” Mark muttered as he walked to the door.

“That’s former jarhead, dogface.”

* * * *

Josh had never been to the Outer Banks. He’d heard of them, of course, knew of the lighthouses, including the most famous lighthouse in the country, Cape Hatteras. This, however, was his first time to the chain of barrier islands.

After picking up some supplies, Mark led him north, leaving Kitty Hawk behind as they drove up the now empty highway, Josh following in his beat-up Ford F150. There wasn’t a lot to see this time of year, with it all closed up against a backdrop of lowering gray skies. It gave Josh plenty of time to think about the enigmatic Mark Connor and what he got out of that first meeting.

As far as looks went, the guy was pretty unremarkable. At around five feet eleven inches, Mark was shorter, with graying black hair and eyes the same dark gray as the tossing surf. He was solid, though, broad across the shoulders, well-filled-out, somewhere between fifty-five and sixty would be Josh’s guess. A little past his prime, although there was a lot to admire and explore.

Josh did want to explore because he liked what he saw the first minute he met the man. He sensed that Mark wouldn’t be easy to figure out. That appealed to Josh, who loved a challenge.

They passed through the small town of Corolla, storm shutters over the windows of the huge rental houses. Josh glanced at the ocean as the highway swung closer to the shoreline. This time of year it got dark early. Here on the coast, Josh had a feeling night rushed in rather than lingered.

He slowed up as he saw Mark’s brake lights come on. The old Suburban came to a complete stop, Josh curious about what was going on. There wasn’t anything around but a sea fence that stopped on the west side of the road, then started again on the east side, ending in the dunes down by the crashing surf. Mark put his truck back in gear and eased forward.

It took Josh a minute to realize that the road had ended, stopped dead right at the sea fence. There wasn’t a gate or anything else, only open sand with beaches as far north as he could see. Well, Christ, the guy hadn’t mentioned anything about this. The Suburban wallowed through the deeper sand as Mark aimed it for the shoreline. Engaging his truck’s four-wheel drive, Josh watched while he waited until Mark made it onto firmer sand. Wondering what exactly he’d agreed to, Josh followed without much trouble.

Now off the highway, they drove down the coastline on nothing but sand for the next several miles, Josh curious and intrigued. Hell, they had to be practically back to the Virginia border. Mark wasn’t wasting any time on the scenery as they raced down the vacant, wind-whipped beaches.

It was starting to get dark as the Suburban turned back inland, following what Josh could see to be a well traveled path between the dunes. They left the beaches behind, continuing north for a couple of miles along a road Josh had no idea existed here. There were utility poles strung along toward the north. Every so often a large dwelling loomed up then disappeared, empty, closed up for the winter season.

Fucking Christ, people actually lived out here?

Mark slowed down as they neared a house standing alone on the dunes, dark against the even darker east sky. Josh followed him as he turned off the narrow road and drove up to the impressive home. Like so many of the houses here, it was up on stilts, a massive staircase leading down from a screened-in wraparound porch. Mark drove to one side of the stairs then underneath, as Josh realized he could park on the other side.

Well, sweet fucking Christ, talk about your out-of-the-way job. Josh turned the engine off and sat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. This was going to be interesting.

He started when Mark rapped his knuckles on the window. Josh stared at him.

“You planning on staying out here, jarhead?” Mark’s voice was muffled by the closed window, but Josh didn’t miss the man’s sarcasm.

Shaking his head, Josh pushed the door open and climbed out. “Are we still even in North Carolina or did we cross the state line somewhere back there?” He went around the back then opened the cap on the back of the truck. Leaning in, he snagged the straps of his duffle and backpack, pulling them to him.

“Does it matter?” Mark unloaded the supplies he’d picked up in town.

“I suppose not, I’m fucking curious is all.” Josh shouldered his backpack.

“Well, if it’ll help you sleep better, cupcake, we’re still in North Carolina.” Both arms full, Mark slammed the door shut with his hip. He headed for the stairs as Josh followed in his wake.

* * * *

This far north and isolated, Mark saw no reason to lock the door. Who the fuck would be crazier than him to be out here in January where the damp and bitter cold ate into your joints? Josh came around the corner of the screened-in porch, shouldering his gear with a bag of supplies in one arm. Okay, so now there were two crazies. Mark slid the glass door open, stepping into the great room.

It was stacked with building supplies in boxes, along with cans of paint, spackle and grout. Tools, tarps, paintbrushes and rollers were everywhere. Mark ignored all of it, walking over to the left side of the room where a large open kitchen took up the entire southern wall. The east wall that faced out over the ocean was all glass. When there was daylight, even Mark admitted the view was impressive. The north wall was also glass, but a stacked stone fireplace held court dead center.

Josh let out a low whistle as he stood inside the door, looking around him. “Sweet baby Jesus, will you look at this place?”

“Can we do it with the fuckin’ door closed?” Mark dumped one bag on the large kitchen island before going over to the counter by the refrigerator.

Josh dropped his gear as he flipped him the bird, but pulled the door shut. Still gawking like a hick in the big city for the first time, he brought the bag he carried to the counter, setting it down. “You’ve got a shitload of supplies here, man. We’re talking more than a master bathroom, aren’t we?” He walked among the boxes, reading labels, flipping back the tops of those that were already open. Leaning against the counter in front of the sink, Mark opened a beer.

“Yeah. Most of the upstairs. And the kitchen.” Mark indicated the cabinets with the beer he held. He pulled out his cigarettes, tapping one loose.

“I’m not gonna knock ya’, man, because I don’t know you, but there is no way you’re gonna get all this done by the end of April.” Josh still prowled around the boxes and supplies.

“You work out in the master bath, I’ll keep you on for the rest of the job. I’ll split the fee, forty-sixty with you.” Mark lit up and inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs.

Josh looked at him from across the room, standing in front of the massive fireplace. “Forty-sixty?”

Mark didn’t reply as he watched Josh pull off his coat and toss it on the back of the couch. Looking at him, Mark wouldn’t figure him for a former Marine, but rather Army like he’d been once. But then, he had to remind himself, not all Marines were squared-offed no necks good for little more than brawls and breaking in doors.

“Sounds like a fair enough deal.”

“That’s if you work out on the master bath. You said you could do some carpentry?” Mark tapped the ashes off his cigarette into the sink behind him, without turning around.

“Cabinetmaker.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.” Josh pointed to the boxes at the far end of the kitchen, stacked three high and two deep. “You’re gonna need help hanging all those cabinets.”

“Master bath first, cupcake, then we’ll talk about the rest of the place.” Mark finished the beer, then tossed the bottle into the garbage can. “You got your choice of the four guest rooms to bunk in. They all got TVs. There’s wireless internet if you’re into that.”

“Seriously? Well, hot damn, I won’t have to go without my internet porn fix, now will I?” Josh flashed him a smile as he circled around the supplies again. Mark started to reply as Josh stopped, staring at one of the bigger boxes.

“Well, dip me in shit and roll me in corn flakes.” He stroked his hand reverently over the top of the box. Mark came around to see what had Josh in raptures. It was the impressive new flat screen TV that was to be mounted over the fireplace. Josh looked up at him, eyes huge. “How could you not have installed this bad boy yet? Holy shit, man.”

“It’s a fucking TV, jarhead.”

“A fucking TV? Are you insane? Plasma, high-definition and fifty-five inches of pure orgasm, that’s what this is!” Josh continued to stroke the box like it was alive.

“Oh, for Chrissakes, give me a break.” Mark crushed out his cigarette before stomping back to the refrigerator. He pulled out a couple more beers. Shaking his head, he started up the stairs. “I’ll give you two some privacy. Tomorrow you can start on that master bath.”