For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.
He figured it would be a good place to start.
“Excuse me,” Jones said as he jogged toward them. Most of the women glanced up. The few that didn’t were wearing headphones. “I’m sorry to bother you, I really am. But I just ran over a tourist in the parking lot and was hoping to hide the body. Could I possibly borrow your shovel?”
“That’s not funny,” said a breathtaking blonde in a red bikini who was reading a book on her Kindle. “Tourist lives matter.”
Jones laughed. “Sexy and sassy — that’s a deadly combination.”
“But not as deadly as you.”
“Damn, girl, that’s racist! Just because I’m black doesn’t mean I’m deadly.”
“True,” she said with a smile, “but you just asked to borrow our shovel because you killed someone in the parking lot. If I’m not mistaken, that makes you deadly.”
“Good point.”
“I’ve been to known to make a few. I’m a lawyer.”
“What a coincidence!”
“You’re a lawyer, too?”
“No, but I just killed someone in the parking lot, and I need a good attorney. Let me buy you a drink, and we can discuss my case.”
She laughed as she shielded her eyes from the sun. “As tempting as that is, I’m here with my friends…”
“Me, too.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re standing there alone. Does that mean you have no friends?”
“Wow,” Jones said. “You’re relentless.”
“I prefer ‘tenacious’, but ‘relentless’ will do.”
“Hold on. Let me see if I got this straight: you’re smart, sexy, sassy, and tenacious? The hell with drinks. Let me buy you dinner. Or a car.”
She laughed. “What kind of girl do you think I am? I don’t even know your name.”
He immediately stuck out his hand. “My name is David Jones. But my imaginary friends call me DJ.”
She smiled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, DJ. I’m Nicole, but my friends call me Nicki.”
He glanced at the group. All of them were transfixed by the conversation. Even the ones with headphones had turned off their music to listen to the banter. To them, it was like they were on an episode of The Bachelor. “Nice to meet you all.”
The group waved in unison.
“Unfortunately,” Nicki said as she motioned toward her friends, “it would be wrong to leave a ladies’ day for dinner with a guy. We all ditched work to spend time together, and I refuse to bail on the group. That would be rude.”
“Then bring them with you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ladies,” Jones announced to the others, “my friends and I would like to treat you to dinner this evening. What’s the best restaurant in the area?”
A brunette answered, “The Island Way Grill.”
“Yep,” a redhead agreed. “Great seafood. Very expensive.”
“Sounds perfect!” Jones said with confidence.
Nicki stared at him, unsure if he was serious. “There’s, like, ten of us. Plus you, and, um, how many of your imaginary friends?”
“Two. They’re waiting for me in the Palm Pavilion. You can meet them if you’d like. I swear they’re real.”
“Unlike Emma’s boobs,” cracked the brunette.
A blonde, who had been lying on her stomach, immediately sat up to defend herself. As she did, her bikini struggled to hold her massive breasts in place. “Best alimony I ever spent. My ex cheated on me with a stripper, so I got tits bigger than hers. The bastard paid for my boobs but will never, ever get to touch them.”
Nicki smiled at Jones. “But your friends might, if they play their cards right.”
All the women laughed while the blonde nodded.
“I’ll let them know,” Jones said with a wink.
“Are they cute?” the brunette wondered.
“Very,” said the blonde as she jiggled her breasts back and forth.
The brunette rolled her eyes. “I meant his friends.”
“I know,” the blonde insisted. “I was joking.”
Jones answered the original question. “That depends, do you like muscular war heroes from prestigious families? If so, you’ll like my friends.”
“War heroes?” Nicki asked.
“Yes, ma’am. All of us served.”
“Where?”
“You name it, we’ve been there. And a whole lot of places you’ve never heard of. One of my friends — Jack — just left the service, and we came to Florida to celebrate his newfound freedom. Hopefully, you ladies will join the celebration.”
Nicki sighed. “When you put it like that, how can we say ‘no’?”
“You can’t — which is why I put it like that.”
She laughed. “Well played, Mister Jones.”
He bowed theatrically. “Thank you, Miss, um…”
“Bergen. Nicole Bergen.”
He bowed again. “Thank you, Miss Bergen.”
Just then thunder rumbled overhead, much closer than before. As if on cue, all the women started to gather their things.
“Can I help carry something?” Jones asked the group.
“Sure,” Emma said as she pulled a T-shirt over her bikini. “You can carry my shovel. I don’t want to get zapped by lightning on my way to the parking lot.”
“Me, either,” he admitted, “but I’ll carry it for you under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell me why you brought it.”
“See!” Emma said to her friends. “I told you no one would notice.”
All the women laughed at their inside joke.
“Notice what?” Jones demanded.
Emma grabbed her blanket and pulled it off the ground with a flourish. Hidden underneath was a twelve-inch trench in the sand. “Ta-da!”
Jones stared at the trench, completely confused. “I don’t get it.”
The women laughed louder as they continued to pack up.
Nicki shook her head. “C’mon, DJ. You were doing so well. Don’t disappoint me now. It’s not exactly the Riddle of the Sphinx.”
“Which I actually know the answer to,” he bragged.
“Then this should be simple!”
Jones crouched and stared at the sand before glancing up at Emma, who had been lying on her stomach on top of the trench. She smiled at him while pointing at her massive implants. He wasn’t sure if she was helping or flirting.
A few seconds passed before the answer came to him.
“Oh!” he practically shouted. “It’s a boob tube!”
Chapter 6
Payne stared across the table at Cobb, whose body language had changed dramatically during their brief conversation. When Payne had first arrived, Cobb looked as if he were ready to climb a lifeguard tower and start shooting unarmed civilians. Now he appeared relaxed, like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.
Obviously the visit had made an impact.
Cobb had always been wound tighter than Payne or Jones. He had grown up in a strict military household where fun was off-limits. His mother had passed away when he was young, but his father refused to fly home for the funeral because he said he had “more important things to worry about in the Middle East”.
It was a slight that Cobb would never forget.
Or forgive.
Over the next decade, Cobb bounced from one military school to another. Not because he struggled — his grades and behavior were impeccable, no matter where he went — but because his father hadn’t wanted his son to get comfortable in any one spot. According to his father, “comfort led to weakness”.
Cobb kept his mouth shut and never complained because he knew it would fall on deaf ears. His father was a hard man — a Marine, through and through — who treated Jack like a soldier he was preparing for war because that’s how he viewed the world.