Desperate Lovers by Adam Carpenter (good beach reads TXT) 📕

Edgar. Call me when you get this message. I’ve recently obtained some information on that sham deed that Parker St. John produced at the meeting. Talk to you later.”

Suddenly, a noise downstairs caught Edgar’s attention. At first he dismissed it as the sounds of an old house settling on its foundation but the little dachshund, who had been busily fussing at Edgar’s feet, noticed it, too, and walked to the door to peer into the hallway. Edgar looked at the clock on the wall. It was far too early for the alarm company to have arrived. Instinctively, Edgar took the key to the file cabinet from his key chain and stashed it between the pages of his dictionary. He put the recorder into a pocket of his jacket and the pistol in another and cautiously stepped out into the hallway.

“Hello?” he called.

There was no answer, so Edgar inched down the stairs, followed by the dachshund. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he could see that the front door was standing open. Edgar reached to close it, and a blow from behind struck him in the head. He toppled to the floor and quickly lost consciousness.

An earlier wailing ambulance had sunk beneath Jack Fish’s skin, a chill hitting him for no other reason than his nerves were shot after what was going on. Just finishing up with a yoga class, his studio’s phone rang, and again, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. To his surprise, it was his neighbor, Marc.

“Is everything alright, Marc?” he asked nervously.

“Jack,” said Marc, sounding very distressed, “some guy came to your house to install an alarm system and, well, I’m not sure how to tell you this but…he found Edgar unconscious on the floor.”

Jack’s heart skipped a beat.

“Is he alright?” he demanded. “What happened?”

“It looks like someone hit him over the head, or he fell…we’re not sure. They took him to the hospital.”

“Which hospital?” Jack asked. He suddenly felt very dizzy. He couldn’t lose Edgar…Edgar was his life.

“The medical center in Down Wonder,” replied Marc.

“Okay, good, that’s not far. Did…did Eddy have a tape recorder with him?” asked Jack. He hated himself for worrying about the damned recorder when Edgar’s life maybe hung in the balance, but knowing would tell him who had done it, whose ass he had to kick.

“I don’t know,” replied Marc. “I didn’t see one. Listen, Jack, we’ll drive you if you want. You’re probably in no condition to…”

“I’m just blocks away, at my studio.”

Before Marc could finish his sentence Jack hung up the phone, locked the yoga studio and stared running down the street.

Tears filled his eyes when he saw Edgar, his head bandaged and an IV hooked up to his arm, lying in a bed in the intensive care unit. Edgar was still unconscious and Jack rushed to the bed and touched his arm.

“You beautiful, stupid man,” he said, tears running down his cheeks. “I told you that you were going to get hurt.”

He leaned and kissed Edgar’s bandaged head.

“Wake up, Eddy,” he said, squeezing his hand. “Come on, don’t leave me.”

Jack wiped the tears from his eyes and strode to the wardrobe cabinet standing at the foot of the bed. Inside, he found Edgar’s clothing, shoes and wallet but no tape recorder.

And no gun. At least he hadn’t been shot.

Jack closed the wardrobe and walked out into the hallway, where he located the nurse’s station.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, addressing a young blonde woman in a white smock. “My partner is in room 311…Edgar Newcastle.”

“Yes,” the nurse replied, “how may I help you?”

“Is he going to be alright?”

She smiled kindly.

“He’s in stable condition and has suffered a mild concussion,” she explained. “He should be fine. Just a little groggy right now from the medication he was given.”

Jack sighed, waves of relief washing over him.

“Thank you,” he said. He turned to go, but stopped.

“Are all of his belongings with his clothes?” he asked the nurse.

“Everything that he had on him when he was brought in should be in his room,” replied the nurse. “Is something missing?”

“No,” lied Jack, “not that I know of.”

He cursed softly as he walked back to Edgar’s room. Did

Converse manage to get the recorder from Edgar and destroy it? Jack didn’t know what to think, but was at least grateful that he still had his Eddy.

It seemed that they were suddenly back to square one, even though they had barely left it. Jack was suddenly filled with an anger that rarely showed itself with his more contemplative personality. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Rich and Marc’s number. Marc answered on the second ring.

“Marc,” Jack said, “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure,” Marc replied. “How’s Jack?”

“He’s fine, they assure me he’ll be just fine,” Jack replied.

“The old fool is lucky to have only sustained a mild concussion and they say he should be able to go home tomorrow.”

“That’s great,” Marc replied. “So what’s the favor?”

“I need you to keep what happened a secret. Don’t tell Rich, don’t tell Aaron or Paolo, or even Dane and Sawyer, if you can ever find them.

Right now I think it’s important we not show our hand, or imply in any way that we’ll be intimidated. I mean, we won’t, no matter what.”

“Of course,” Marc replied. “I’m not sure that’s wise, but yeah, for now…”

“Thanks, Marc.”

“No problem,” Marc replied. “Listen, Jack, try and get some rest.

Give Edgar my best.”

“Will do,” Jack said. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Jack ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. He looked at Edgar, his head wrapped in bandages, and wanted to cry. First the threat of losing their homes and now this…if he ever lost Edgar, he didn’t know what he would do. Or who would suffer the consequences.

What next?

PART THREE

Behind Enemy Lines

by Adam Carpenter 

He was home, thankfully having the morning off from his work at the Bayside Hotel, and while he was grateful for the time to himself, he knew his day would be spoiled by one subject. The notion of betrayal.

See, by day he worked behind enemy lines,