In Too Deep (Wildfire Lake 1)

“Yes, I need some extermination work done. I was told I could contact Dan of Exterminators Plus through this store.”

“Sure.” He points. “His office is right back there.”

I thank the kid and move down the aisle, thinking this is a bizarre setup for an exterminator’s office, but after spotting a dark shadow darting across the floor last night, KT’s empty traps aren’t providing the security I need, and I’ll beg, borrow, and steal if it means getting a professional exterminator out to the boat.

When I reach the back of the store, I find an open door with a red sign displaying the company’s name. Inside, a middle-aged man sits behind a desk, filling out forms. I knock on the open door, and the man gives me a glance, then does a comical double take before his expression turns interested—and not in a professional way.

“Hello,” he says, giving me his full attention. “What can I do for you?”

I step into the office and smile. “I have mice. I’m hoping you can get rid of them.”

His smile widens. “Rodents are my specialty.”

I almost laugh, but he says it with real pride, so I stifle the hit of humor.

“Have a seat.” He pulls a blank form from the desk drawer and gives me his undivided attention. “What’s your name?”

“Laiyla Saxon.”

“What a beautiful name.”

“Thank you.”

He scribbles down my name then looks at me again. This time, his eyes aren’t on mine; they’re on my breasts. I’m wearing a normal tank and Roxie board shorts. I’m a very basic B+ cup, nothing to write home about, but he acts like he’s never seen a pair of breasts before.

“And where do you live, Laiyla?” There’s the slightest hint of lechery in his tone, making my skin crawl the

same way it does when I think about the mice I’m hiring him to kill.

“I’m out at Wildfire Lake, at the marina on the north end.”

His gaze snaps back to mine and clears. “Otto’s place?”

Ah, shit. Here we go. “Yes, sir. The mice are on several of the houseboats, including the one I’m staying in, and I’d like a full service, whatever it takes to remove them and keep them away.”

He twirls his pen, glances at my breasts again, as if trying to decide whether or not I’m worth crossing some invisible line for. In the end, I’m not, and he returns his gaze to his previous work. “Sorry, can’t help you. I’ve got a lot of work right now.”

I sit there, dumbfounded at the depth of cohesiveness in this town. I should be grateful that Grandpa has such loyal friends, people who loved him so fiercely, they would deny themselves an income to stand in solidarity against the woman who let his business die. Right?

The heat in my chest begs for me to argue, but I’m too exhausted, mentally and physically. To keep my mind busy when I’m not working on a website or promotional development, I’ve been clearing out the broken houseboats. Partially to be closer to Levi, partially to let off steam, partially to keep my mind off the hurt beating in my heart. And, yeah, I keep thinking if I’m in proximity to him, he’ll come around and breakdown the wall of silence. Hell, I was on that boat too. I saw and felt and heard how badly he wanted me. You can’t fake that shit. I have no freaking idea how he just shuts it off.

In the end, I decide not to fight the exterminator. Instead, I leave the office and find the aisle with rodent-killing supplies. And there are shelves and shelves of them, all claiming to be “the best” at ridding a mouse problem.

I sigh and decide to end this unproductive morning. I leave the store planning a research binge on the web and a purchase from Amazon. Luckily, Amazon doesn’t hold grudges.

I leave the store and walk toward my car, head down, shoulders heavy. Seems like the perfect time to call my parents, I’m already pretty close to rock bottom at the moment. And the vacation extension I requested from my boss is just about over.

I dial my Mom’s number, and she answers, sounding rushed. “Hold one second, Laiyla, I’ll conference in your father.”

I realize this is bizarre behavior. I didn’t learn this until I left for college and discovered not all parents conferenced with their children. Early on, I chalked it up to being an only child, but later in life, I discovered it was more of a manipulation tactic, teaming up, two on one. But I also know that many other successful parents barely speak with their kids, leaving them adrift, so I do appreciate the fact that they not only answer every time I call, but they both drop whatever they’re doing to speak with me.

“Hey, sweetheart,” my father says when he’s on the line.

“Hi, guys. I don’t need a lot of time. I just wanted to let you both know that I’ve made a decision about the marina.” I barely sip a breath before pushing on. They’ll ambush me if I give them the chance. “I’ve decided to renovate the houseboat rental business. I’m fully aware that neither of you thinks this is a good idea, but it’s what I really want. It’s important to me for a variety of reasons. This is going to be a big project, and it’s unrealistic to think I could handle it from Los Angeles,” I wince as I continue, “so I’m going to need a leave of absence. If that’s not possible, I’ll have to resign.”

I stop walking, bracing myself for their reaction. My mother stutters. I’ve never heard her stutter in my entire life. My father picks up the slack.

“Sweetheart, we understand you have a sentimental attachment to the property…”