A Lie for a Lie (All In 1)

“Yeah. Maybe. Can I help you get settled?”

“You’ve already done so much. I’m sure you have some settling of your own to do.” I grip my purse strap to keep from wringing my hands again. Of course now I’m worried that I should invite him in and that he’ll want to stay and hang out, but I’m tired, and I don’t think I smell very nice under this parka.

“I don’t mind. At least let me help you get your stuff in the cabin.”

I shove down the paranoia that he’s only offering so he can chain me to my bed. If he was really a serial killer, he would have just taken me to his bunker, not dropped me off at my cabin. Besides, it would be awkward for me to carry my stuff in while he sits in the cab. “Okay. Sure. Thank you.”

I grab the groceries, and RJ brings my suitcase to the front door. I find the key under the mat like the instructions said and slip it in the lock, hoping the outside just needs some fresh paint and that it won’t be a reflection of the inside. The door creaks its protest as I shoulder it open. I flick on the light and stare at my new home for the next six weeks, coughing as I breathe in dust.

“It’s rustic.” It smells musty—and possibly like something rotten.

RJ sets down my bags and also coughs several times into the crook of his arm. “That’s one way to describe it.”

He turns a slow circle, taking in my little home away from home. It’s basically a one-room cabin with a bathroom and a closet. In one corner is a double bed made up with a comforter that may have been fashionable when my great-grandmother was my age.

A nightstand also doubles as a side table for the seventies-era recliner in a color that resembles infant poop—sort of a yellowish, browny green. A very old tube TV is set against the opposing wall, complete with rabbit ears, which I didn’t even know still existed.

I’m not sure the information about satellite service was accurate, based on what I’m seeing. On the other side of the cabin is the kitchen, if one could even call it that. There’s a hot plate, a microwave, a sink, and a tiny bar fridge. The kind I had when I lived—very briefly—in off-campus student housing.

The biggest piece of furniture, other than the bed, is the two-seater table pushed up against the far wall. It’s conveniently located close to the tube TV, which is situated in the center of the room. Lucky me: I can watch TV from my bed, the recliner, or the table while I’m eating my noodles, which, based on the hot plate, are going to be my primary source of nourishment. And maybe fried eggs and bacon.

“This is great!” My voice is high and reedy. This place is the opposite of great, and I think I’m on the verge of a panic attack, which I’d like to avoid while RJ is here. So I fake enthusiasm, hoping I can trick my brain into believing it’s true until he’s gone. I clear my throat. “I love it! It’s perfect.”

RJ adjusts his ball cap and squeezes the back of his neck. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay here?”

“It’ll be great!” I pull the curtains open to let in some sunshine and release a cloud of musty dust. This time I cough for a full thirty seconds before I can speak. “It just needs a little fresh air and a good dusting!” I’m much more careful when I open the curtains over the sliding door. The glass is covered in a layer of grime, but the view beyond that is incredible. Trees dot the front yard, framing the lake and the islands beyond, the bright-blue sky reflected in the water.

I turn the lock, lift the security bar, and slide the door open. Or I try to. It takes some serious effort, at least until RJ gives me a hand. A gust of cool air comes off the water, and I pull the lapels of my jacket together. I take a couple of steps onto the deck—which creaks—and almost fall through a hole. Thankfully, RJ is there to save me with his lightning-fast reflexes.

He grabs me by the waist, pulling me up against him. “I really don’t know about this place, Lainey.” He sets me back down inside the cabin, away from the danger.

“It’s fine. I’ll just call the rental people tomorrow and let them know the deck needs a couple of new boards.” Half a board is now missing, thanks to me. An animal scurries around under there. I’ve probably disrupted his home. On the plus side, this is going to be a great place to observe the wildlife. I pat RJ on the chest, noticing how solid it is, much like his arm. “I promise I’ll be fine.”