Secrets in Sunset Beach 1 Read online

  Rod's eyes, for a moment, went flat. His smile was a little more forced, the same kind she had seen him use more than once when preparing for a business deal. "Derick, huh? About this high?" He put his hand to his temple. "Young?"

  "My age," Heather replied with a shrug. "Why?"

  "I think I know him."

  "It's a small town, Dad," Heather said, rolling her eyes and putting her gaze out on the water again. "Everyone knows everyone."

  "Mm."

  "And it's my bar. I can hire who I want. If he sucks, I'll let him go." She shrugged again, kicking at the waves that lapped gently at her ankles. "Sometimes people just need to be given a chance."

  Rod sighed and crouched down, cupping her shoulder and kissing her hair. "You've got a good head on your shoulders," he murmured, smiling at her. Then, he straightened, wincing when his knee popped as he stood to his full height. Heather hid her smile into another sip of tea. "Alright, I have to go out of town for a couple of days to Seattle. Be good, and maybe when I come back, we can go to dinner."

  "Sounds good," Heather replied. Rod left, jogging up the small walkway and disappearing back into the house. Heather sighed, setting down her tea, and pulled her feet out of the water so they would have time to dry before she went back inside. The mornings were always peaceful here; she lived deep enough in the neighborhood that the only noise pollution came from boats. There would be more of them as the tourist season approached. People liked to rent out boats and party on the water.

  Her phone chimed, and she unlocked it to a text from Chasity. Chasity was posing, one eye closed in a wink, fingers parted in a peace sign around her protruding tongue. In the background was a bed, one that Heather knew was not her own, and the bared shoulder of a sleeping man with a mop of unruly black hair.

  Found myself some meat without your help, Chasity's text read. Broody boy's all yours.

  Heather rolled her eyes, setting her phone down with a smile. Honestly, Chasity was so much sometimes, but Heather loved her to pieces. As long as she stayed safe and kept her head on straight, Heather didn't begrudge her excessive love life, though her own was sorely lacking.

  She sighed, wrapping her arms around her shins, lips pursed as she tapped a rhythm against the edge of the dock with her toes. She had a policy against sleeping with her employees – which was just good business sense, in her opinion – but Chasity had a habit of putting ideas in her head that were as stubborn as she was.

  Derick was cute; she wasn't blind. She had a thing for brooding men, and when she'd first seen him, alone and people watching, well, who could fault a girl for just letting herself have a taste? And when combined with Derick's broad shoulders, square jaw, pretty blue eyes…. Well, she was only human.

  And thoughts were just thoughts. She bit her lower lip and looked behind her, checking that she was alone. She shifted back so that when she stretched her legs out her feet hung over the edge of the dock but out of the water. She sighed, her eyes on the shoreline, and slid a hand down her stomach, below the waistband of her shorts.

  Thoughts were just thoughts, she reminded herself, closing her eyes and tipping her head back, but Heather had a lot of thoughts, and she knew what she liked. If there was one thing Sunset Beach thrived on, it was letting oneself enjoy the occasional indulgence.

  Chapter Six

  T hree in the afternoon came, and Derick rolled in right on time. Heather smiled at him, gesturing for him to come behind the bar. "Alright, so, what do you know how to make?" she asked him.

  "Pretty much anything that's a shot with soda combo, I'm your man," Derick replied with a grin. "But I can also make a few cocktails. I practiced mixing drinks for my mom when I was younger, before I moved out."

  Heather's brows rose. That certainly was a comment that had a backstory. Chasity was sitting at the bar because she was from money too and didn't care to have a job. Chasity gave Derick a winning smile, wriggling her fingers in greeting, tongue flicking a toothpick around the corner of her mouth. "We have a guinea pig, who so graciously volunteered," Heather said, gesturing to her friend. "Chasity, this is Derick. Derick, Chasity."

  "Nice to meet you officially," Derick said with a smile.

  "Charmed," Chasity replied with a flirtatious wink. Derick's cheeks turned pink, and Heather rolled her eyes. God save her from her friend's antics.

  Heather pulled Derick away from her friend's primed claws, showing him the back rooms; the stock room that was stacked high with additional bottles, non-perishable foodstuffs that she served at the bar, and additional syrup bags for the soda machine. There was another stack of shelves in the kitchen with cups and plates, all of them freshly washed by Marcos.

  "When you have a full dirty tray, put them here," she said, gesturing to the end of a long metal table, at the other end of which was a giant industrial dishwasher. "You don't need to worry about helping Marcos unless it gets really slammed. He'll put clean ones back on the shelves, so you can rest assured if they're here, they're clean."

  "Got it," Derick said with a nod, attentive, his eyes following Heather's hands as she gestured to every part of the kitchen. It was a rather utilitarian space, all things considered. At first, Heather had considered expanding the bar to accommodate more food than bags of chips, peanuts, and other typical bar food, but that required hiring a cook, additional licenses to serve food, and she would have needed to install an oven and a grill, and there were already so many restaurants on the beach, it didn't seem worth it.

  "Your official shift will be five until close," she told him, leading him back out to the bar. She showed him the bottles of olives, maraschino cherries, cut-up limes, lemons, and oranges. "I'm here at two every day to prep the space, so if you want to come in early, you can, but it stretches your salary thin, and I don't want you running yourself ragged."

  Derick nodded again. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured politely.

  Heather halted in her tracks, fixing him with a raised brow. "What did I say about you calling me ma'am?" she asked, hand on her hip, head tilted expectantly.

  Derick's cheeks went red, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He'd shaved this morning, so he no longer had stubble, and it made him look younger.

  "Sorry," he said. "Heather?" he hazarded.

  "Passable," Heather replied with a teasing smile. She turned and gestured to the bar. "We separate by type, up here. Vodka, tequila, whiskey, rum, mixers along the bottom. Put shit back where you got it, so it doesn't get messed up, and don't give the idiots the good shit, even when they ask for it. I refuse to indulge people who don't know they have bad taste." She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin.

  Derick laughed. "How do people know what's good if you never give it to them?"

  "Hear, hear!" Chasity called from the end of the bar. She'd managed to reach over and snag herself a bowl of olives, stabbing them one by one with her toothpick and sucking them off the little stick.

  "She," Heather said, pointing with her thumb to her friend, "is a prime example. Some people never learn."

  "I'll take your word for it."

  "Good. First lesson, Mister Tall Dark and Broody; I know what I'm talking about and I'm always right."

  Derick smiled again. He even had dimples. God help her.

  "Derick," Chasity called, waving him over, stretching his name out far longer than necessary. "Make me a Cosmo!"

  Derick's brows rose, and he looked to Heather in question.

  "You heard the woman," Heather said and gestured for him to proceed.

  Derick pressed his lips together, rolled his shoulders as though readying himself for a fight, and Heather watched him shrewdly as he located the martini glasses, setting one down on top of a small, square black napkin in front of Chasity. Chasity's head tilted, her eyes narrowed, absently picking at her teeth as she joined in on the show.

  He had very little flair, but he was fast, quickly locating the shot measure and taking down a bottle of vodka, triple sec, lime juice, and the open c
arton of cranberry juice. He poured each measurement carefully, but obviously well-practiced, into a shaker, scooping ice into the mixture, covering the shaker, giving it a vigorous shake.

  Chasity met Heather's eyes, grinning widely.

  Derick set the shaker down, took off the cap, and covered the opening with a grate, pouring the bright pink mixture into Chasity's glass. He finished it with a garnish of lime and slid it toward her with a winning smile.

  Then he hesitated and looked to Heather. "I have no idea how much anything costs."

  Heather laughed, startled despite herself. "I'll give you a menu to take home and study," she promised and stepped forward as Chasity abandoned her half-eaten bowl of olives and toothpick, took the Cosmo in a delicate grip like a starlet in the next blockbuster movie, and took a cautionary sip.

  She hummed. "A little too much lime for my taste," she said, Derick nodded. "But technically you weren't wrong."

  "We get a lot of regulars here," Heather added. "You'll learn how they like their stuff. I don't mind twisting some of the recipes to suit. You'll learn."

  She grabbed the drink from Chasity's hand, earning an outraged gasp from her friend, poured it out, then set the glass on a rack to take back to the kitchen later.

  "Now make me an old-fashioned," she commanded.

  Derick grinned at her. "Yes, ma'am."

  Heather's eyes narrowed, and she swatted his arm. He laughed

  Chapter Seven

  T ending bar was not like it was in the movies.

  For starters, there was a lot more downtime than Derick was expecting. The only true rush came between ten in the evening and last call, which was between one and two in the morning depending on how many people were still in the bar at the time. Heather seemed to have an innate sense of when to call it quits, and Derick had to hand it to her; she took no shit and didn't let anyone argue with her. The few who got uppity, a little too drunk or handsy, were promptly escorted out by Marcos or Derick, and when and if they did return, they were a lot more sober and profusely apologetic.

  Derick had never particularly thought about bartending as a career. Growing up with an ex-beauty queen for a mother, who tried to preserve herself inside and out with bars and Botox, had left a sour taste in his mouth to be actively contributing to the culture. But the demographic of the Hummingbird was younger people just looking to have a good time, and he certainly couldn't fault them for that.

  He learned how to make drinks, and those he already knew how to make he learned how to make better and faster. Heather was a patient but strict teacher. She didn't like repeating herself so Derick had damn well learn to pay attention to everything she said because she wouldn't say it twice.

  He liked tending bar. The late nights suited his schedule more; he didn't see Jake as much since Jake's income lived and died with the sun, but it also meant he didn't have to deal with Jimmy either, and that was a blessing, a silver lining if ever he could find one. Jimmy had this way of making everything awkward and uncomfortable; Derick could just imagine him salivating over the idea of getting close to the Montgomery family, of getting his hands on that damn car. It was all he thought about, Derick knew, and it seemed to be only a matter of time before something gave.

  So when Jimmy waltzed into the bar at eleven on a Saturday night, every muscle in Derick’s body went tense.

  "Bonjour, my man," Jimmy greeted, a cream-filled cat smile on his face as he shouldered his way between patrons at the bar and shouted to be heard. "Give me something with some kick. On the house, too – we're celebrating!"

  "You'll pay just like everyone else," Derick said tightly, finishing up his pouring of a daiquiri and handing it over to a pair of giggling girls. He wasn't sure they were old enough to drink, but their IDs had seemed legitimate enough, and Sunset Beach was the 'safe' kind of place where you couldn't get into too much trouble. In theory. Jimmy always seemed to get into too much trouble.

  Jimmy rolled his eyes but slid a twenty across the bar, and Derick took it, pocketed it, and poured him three fingers of Jameson on the rocks because Jimmy was the kind of person who wouldn’t know what 'the good shit' was if it hit him in the face. "What are you celebrating?" he asked.

  "I just landed myself the motherlode," Jimmy said with another wide grin, winking at him from over the rim of his glass. Derick frowned, blinking in confusion at his cousin. "Daddy's home, and his hotrod is parked right outside his house. The guys are gonna go take it for a test spin before we meet our buyer."

  Derick's fists clenched, and he shook his head, jaw clenching. "I swear to God, you are not touching that fucking car."

  Jimmy's eyes narrowed, in that way supervillains do when the quaint young protagonist tries to put up a fight. He wet his tongue on the Jameson and set the glass down with a sigh. "I suppose I could always hang out here," he said, eyes sliding down the length of the bar to where Heather was serving the same group of bikers who frequented the area on their trips up and down the coast. "Get to know some people. See what's what."

  Derick opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Heather's attention was drawn by his lack of activity. She tilted her head and approached. She had braided her hair, flyaway strands standing out all over her head, curling from sweat. Her eyes snapped to Jimmy and narrowed as though in recognition.

  "Everything good over here?" she asked, in that tone of voice that suggested things better be good.

  "Of course," Jimmy said with a charming smile. "I was just complimenting your new hire. He really knows his stuff; you must have trained him well."

  Heather didn't respond.

  "I think I'll go mingle," Jimmy said, straightening and grabbing his drink. "See you later, cuz."

  He disappeared into the crowd, and Derick quickly lost sight of him. He blew out a breath, wanting to give chase, but it was a busy night and he couldn't afford to abandon the bar or Heather. And he didn't want to tell her to call her dad, because that would just implicate him if Jimmy did something stupid. He was always up to something stupid and illegal. Derick liked Heather and didn't want her impression of him to sour.

  "You good?" Heather asked, touching his arm.

  Derick swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. Won't happen again."

  Heather eyed him a moment more and then nodded to a man at the end of the bar who was giving him a pointed stare. "Get back to work then," she ordered, but her voice was soft and sympathetic. Derick had told her about his living situation, and Heather was smart; he was sure she had put two and two together already. He forced himself to smile, giving her a thumbs-up, and she turned her attention back to the bikers.

  Last call came and went, and Derick didn't see any further sign of Jimmy. He tried not to worry, but not knowing where Jimmy was and what he was up to was like leaving a toddler unattended. He was sure he'd go home to find the equivalent of crayon on the walls and a torn-up couch. He sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair as he helped Heather and Marcos load up racks with glasses to be washed and began wiping down the tables as people began to disperse.

  "Can you go check the men's room?" Heather asked.

  Derick nodded, heading toward the back of the bar where the bathrooms lay tucked into a corner, both doors on adjacent walls. He shouldered his way into the men's room, grimacing at the sight of the floor where guys had clearly missed their mark. The soap dispensaries were empty, and the paper towels had been thrown pretty much all over the sinks.

  He sighed, gathering them up and pushing them into the trash, then froze when he heard a soft, high-pitched moan. A moan that didn't sound like it was coming from a man. He turned his head, eyeing the single stall that sat in the corner of the bathroom. He pressed his lips together, bending down, seeing the lower half of someone kneeling over the toilet.

  It was a woman, or at least she was dressed like one, with familiar stripper heels and a hiked-up jean skirt. Derick cleared his throat, straightened, and knocked on the door. "Hey, if you can come out, the bar's closed. I can get you an
Uber home."

  Another moan came, this one weaker and a little more frantic. "Derick? Mister Cosmo?"

  Derick's eyes widened. "Chasity?" he asked, pushing the door open cautiously. It was her, bent over the toilet bowl. She hadn't been throwing up, at least it didn't smell like she had, but she was clearly wasted. Her shirt was hiked up around her waist, revealing her black thong, which sat askew as though someone had pushed it to one side. Her pink tube top was pushed up as well, bunched at the back like someone had grabbed her.

  Derick rushed forward, kneeling down and cupping her face, helping her straighten. Chasity winced, her lipstick smeared around her mouth, her makeup smudged. "Hey," he said gently, tapping her cheek as her lashes fluttered, and her eyes slanted over to him, glazed and bright. "Hey, you okay?"

  "Can't hold my liquor," she slurred, laughing. She turned and rested her cheek on his shoulder, and Derick sighed, petting her sweaty hair back from her face. She hummed and didn't seem to be in any distress, which was good. He slowly pulled her clothes back into place and hoped that the answer to his next question was a good one.

  "Did you take anything? Did someone give you something?"

  "Just drinks," she said, blinking slowly. She looked so out of it; Derick had been around Jimmy enough to know what a roofie looked like. She stank of sex, but Chasity kind of always stank of sex. "I'm okay, really. Just got a little carried away." She laughed again.

  "Do I have to go hunt someone down and beat his ass?"

  She giggled, covering her mouth, and shook her head. "No, white knight, I'm good," she purred, smiling at him. Derick helped her to her unsteady feet. She stumbled, but he kept her steady as she pulled her hair back from her neck and gave him another bright smile. Her knees were reddened from kneeling on the tiled floor, and there was a thin streak of dried, crusting liquid at her mouth. Derick knew what that was.