Devil In The Waters, Book 6, Chapter 6 (part 1)

Out in the sun, Josh turned and closed the sliding glass door behind him.

“Hey,” he said to Devlin, “come on over here.” He sat down next to his goods collected from hell, pointed to the chair opposite him.

Devlin adjusted it so would face him, and sat down. “What’s up?”

He got straight to the point: “I have a feeling you and I talked at the party.”

“What do you mean a feeling?”

“You tell me. Did we talk at the party?” His face was stoic and grim.

Devlin leaned forward. “You’re talking about Tiffany’s party?”

“You said we didn’t talk. I know we talked.”

Devlin shrugged, said, “I guess we talked for a bit. What are you talking about?”

“Did we have whiskey together?”

“You don’t drink whiskey.”

Josh grumbled. “Sometimes I do. I’m off it right now. I had enough at Tiffany’s for a little while.”

“Wait,” Devlin said, “Yeah, now I remember.”

“We talked?”

“No, what’s-his-face brought out the bottle of bourbon. I didn’t have any . . .”

“You like whiskey.”

“I don’t drink that much.”

Josh said, “Neither do I.”

“Right,” Devlin said snidely, “I remember in the morning you looked like a train hit you.”

“So you’re saying we didn’t talk?”

“No, I said hi to you. I’m sure I did. Yeah, in the house, we talked for like two minutes.”

“And that was it?”

“I guess . . .” He took a sip of his whiskey, and then pretended to study Josh curiously.

Was he lying? You could trust the guy to lie. He was a snake.

Josh said, “You can tell me. I know what you said . . .”

“What did I say?” No expression, a hint of mean.

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You think it’s power of suggestion?”

Calm: “What’s power of suggestion, Josh?”

“What did you say to me when I was drunk?”

“I didn’t see you when you’re drunk. Not till the morning.”

“I know you did.”

“Hey, Josh, you tell me what I said, and I’ll tell you if I said it.”

He thought of blurting it out. Of just laying it on the table. Fanning out his cards so he could gloat. But how good was his hand? Not that good. He sniffed, sipped his rum and Coke.

Devlin said, “You’re mad about something.”

“Look,” Josh said. “I don’t think it’s funny. I just think we’re not in high school anymore, okay? I think that we should have grown past this—”

“Grown past what, Josh.”

“Devlin. Stop. You texted me.”

“I texted you what? When?”

“You’re the only one who could have texted me. I’m not stupid.”

Devlin sat up straighter now, took another sip of his whiskey, forearm muscles rippling in the sunlight. He looked around now, too, checked out the windows of the villa and began to smile. Got up, looming over Josh, came over to sit next to him, his weight on the padded lounger pushing Josh’s cushion up and jostling him.

“What did I text you, buddy?”

“See? You one-hundred percent know what you texted. I’m not a fucking simpleton, okay? I’m not a sucker. Not anymore. Don’t fuck around with me. That’s my wife in there. I know you need her. I know what she means to you. Means to your business. You’ve got a fucking crackerjack. That’s my crackerjack. That’s probably why you knocked the texting off. But I just want you to know, I’m onto you. Let’s just get past it. Stop with the foolish games, let’s be adults. My wife is not into games like this. If you fuck around with me—”

“What, she’d fuck me up? Your wife fight your battles?”

And for the first time since high school he had that sizzling snap of anxious dread lace from his balls up to his brain. Fight or flight. His brain choosing flight.

His hands began to tremble as he looked up to the much taller, much bigger, much more manly Devlin Stone. And for a split second he was old high school Josh who cowered before a bully like this guy. It occurred to him to acquiesce. Say, Look, I suspect. I don’t know. But can we just knock it off? Right now, if he spoke, he knew his voice would tremble. He stared dumbly at Devlin. Devlin enjoying this. Feeding off of his energy, soaking up his fright. Devlin smiled.

“Josh, I know I need Kimmy. I don’t know what’s got into you, but I guess . . . Look, it’s gotta worry you, her working for me. Kimmy and I together all the time. In my car, in meetings, at the office. We work late sometimes . . .”

“You do?”

“She doesn’t tell you?”

“No, she does. I know. Like that meeting at the Royal York.”

Devlin’s smile stayed and he locked Josh’s eyes. “That’s right. Like that.” He looked away a moment, then returned his gaze. “Kimmy is a stone cold knockout, Josh. I’m lucky to have her. You’re even luckier,” he said, and he reached over and knocked Josh’s glass hard enough to spill rum and coke over the side.

“Jesus,” Josh said, held it out from his body so it wouldn’t spill on his clothes, then set it down between his feet on the patio tile. He flicked the wet from his hand, Devlin laughing as he took another sip of his whiskey. Josh looked Devlin’s way, not knowing at all what he would say, not knowing what he would do, feeling his heart squeezed tight his stomach slithering around in his belly . . . But now Kimmy was stepping out from the sliding glass door onto the patio and everything stopped. A swimsuit. Here was his wife, his tall, toned, and beautiful wife stepping out into the sunshine in a skimpy shimmering black bikini, every curve on her beautiful lean body exposed. The curve of her ass cheeks, her long shapely legs, the flexing tendons on her pretty feet. Turning, two thin black triangles covering her small but perfect breasts. Her nipples had humped out against the tight black fabric . . .