The Secrets of Paradise Bay

Devon Vaughn Archer

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Table of Contents

Willie Munroe sat at a booth in the coffee shop eating scrambled eggs and ham. Neither was especially tasty, and the coffee wasn't much better. But after being unemployed for more than a year now and doing what he needed to do to survive, he couldn't complain much, as it was something to fill his stomach. No one would listen, even if he did voice a complaint or two. They would only bitch about their own problems.

Fact was, few employers were interested in hiring someone who could only see out of one eye, and not so good at that. Willie had been half blinded nearly a decade ago, during a fight in which his life had been spared, albeit barely. Few people could tell that his right eye was there only for effect. It might as well have been a patch or piece of glass for its use to him.

It left Willie bitter to this day that a man had taken the best part of his life away, leaving him a shell of what he once was. Been down on his rotten luck ever since.

There had been a few dead-end jobs, but nothing that did much to pay the bills, let alone allow him to indulge comfortably in other interests. He'd even gotten a woman to marry him a few years back. But because they were so high on meth, neither knew what the hell they were doing 'til it was too late. She'd had his baby before moving across the country, taking the kid with her. Willie could have tracked them down, but felt he was better off without that burden.

Now he simply lived from day to day, sometimes hour to hour, getting high and looking for a reason to get up. He hadn't found it yet, but would keep looking.

Willie stared up at the TV monitor over the counter when a familiar name caught his ear. He listened to a newscaster while gazing at the insert of a man Willie knew of all too well.

“Businessman and civic leader Trey Lancaster has pledged to donate five hundred thousand dollars to hurricane victims. Closer to home, the multimillionaire owner of numerous luxury-car dealerships and movie theaters continues to acquire assets for his empire, while generously giving to those less fortunate. . . .”

Willie frowned, turning away from the screen, feeling sick to his stomach. After a moment, he managed to shake it off. The last thing he needed was to let the likes of Trey Lancaster ruin his meal. The bastard would get his someday. And his brother, too.

“Can I get you some more coffee, sir?”

Willie favored the tight-assed waitress with purplish-raven extensions tied in knots. His scowl faded and a sideways grin took its place.

“Yeah, why not?”

She flashed a toothy smile and he could tell that the lady was into him.
Not bad-looking
, he decided. Even were that not the case, at this point Willie wasn't too picky who he took to bed. After all, he didn't exactly have much to offer anyone he got involved with. So why should he expect that the best women around would be knocking down his door?

He trained his one working eye on the waitress and pondered just what he might get for his trouble. Maybe some free meals and money. Even a place to hang his hat from time to time. This made it worth his while to be nice to her and see where it got him.

“I don't suppose a good-looking lady like you would be up for a night out on the town? I just hate havin' fun alone.” Willie offered his best smile and put his well-practiced charms to work.

“Are you crazy?” Ivana Kendall-Lancaster glared at her husband with bloodshot green-brown eyes. She sipped on a chocolate raspberry martini while standing in the gourmet kitchen of their three-million-dollar house.

Trey Lancaster didn't expect this to be easy, but it had to be said. Hopefully she would be reasonable when all was said and done. He wasn't counting on that.

“Not crazy,” he responded calmly.

She regarded him petulantly and slurred, “Well, you're sure talking like you are.”

Trey wondered if this was her third, fourth, or fifth drink. Seemed like his wife had become an alcoholic, even if neither of them would face up to it. He took the blame for this, wishing to hell he could do things over. Or better yet, not do them at all. He'd messed up by having an affair six months ago. Ivana had a miscarriage shortly after he came clean about it, and had been on a downslide ever since. She'd never forgiven him for, as she put it, “destroying my faith in you.”

Trey hadn't exactly forgiven himself for the loss of their child and trust of his wife. The doctor had assured him that, medically speaking, the miscarriage could not have resulted from emotional trauma, and Ivana understood this too. But this did little to make either of them not feel that had he stayed true to the marriage or kept his mouth shut, just maybe things would have turned out differently.

Right now he wanted desperately to try to put the past behind them and rebuild their lives. Hadn't he been punished enough for his sins? He feared that they were close to reaching a point of no return.

Even with those thoughts, Trey knew that what he was proposing would likely drive a bigger wedge between them. But it was something he felt strongly about, if for no other reason than family loyalty. And maybe guilt that he hadn't always been there for his kid brother, possibly contributing to his stint behind bars.

Trey gazed at the beautiful, flawless face that reminded him of a young Tyra Banks. Like her, Ivana had been a top international model before he swept her off her feet and fell in love. She had given up the profession to become the wife of a multimillionaire owner of a string of car dealerships in the Pacific Northwest, including two in Paradise Bay, Oregon, where they lived. Since then, they had added more dealerships and a few movie theaters to their net worth, along with the usual stocks, bonds, CDs, and real estate investments.

But none of that seemed to matter at the moment. What did was the decision he'd made, and Trey saw no turning back, all things considered.

“Clyde's my brother,” he spoke in a firm voice.

Ivana's small nostrils flared. “He's a
violent
criminal, Trey, and I don't want him in this house!”

“That's all behind him now,” Trey insisted. “Or soon will be.”

Ivana rolled her eyes. “I don't think so. People like your brother never change. They only end up repeating history. Well, let him do it somewhere else.”

Trey was hard-pressed for words as he watched her storm out of the kitchen, martini in hand. He resisted the temptation to fix himself a drink, preferring to have a clear mind as they dealt with what was obviously a sensitive subject all the way around.

Ivana felt the coldness on her bare feet as she moved across the Brazilian eucalyptus hardwood floor in the great room. It had all the trappings of success, including European custom-made furniture, a home theater, commissioned oil paintings, and a huge picture window with breathtaking views of the bay and Cascade Mountains. She looked back, certain Trey would be hot on her heels. He had uncharacteristically chosen to remain in the kitchen for whatever reason.

Ivana didn't expect it to end there, knowing Trey could be just as stubborn as she was. She supposed that was one of the things that attracted her to him in the beginning—his strong will. But she didn't want to give in easily to the notion of allowing a convicted felon to live under her roof, coming and going as he pleased. Even if it was her husband's own flesh and blood.

Ivana had never met Trey's brother, Clyde, as he'd been in the state penitentiary for a violent assault against a man before she ever came into the picture. Trey had never talked much about him, as if a dark family secret should remain that way. Now that Clyde was about to be released from prison, suddenly Trey wanted his brother to stay with them for who knew how long. How would Trey feel if the violence in Clyde was directed against his own wife? Did he really want to put her in that position?

Ivana could only wonder just what her husband was thinking with this cockamamy idea. She heard movement and turned to see Trey walking toward her. Sucking in a deep breath, she flopped onto a white custom-made Scandinavian sofa and braced herself for what she suspected would be another plea to take in his brother like a stray dog, even if rabid.

 

 

Trey knew Ivana was pissed at him. Resisting the effort to put his brother up was a way to express this. He was also aware that Clyde had nowhere else to go and no one to help him get back on his feet after spending nine long years in prison. It still angered Trey to no end to know that Clyde had damned near beat a man to death. And for what: an argument or something to that effect? Clyde had never been exactly clear on the specifics. Only that he and the person he'd fought, Willie Munroe, had been best friends 'til that night when they came to blows. Trey blamed it largely on Clyde, and for good reason. He had talked to Clyde time and time again about his temper and hanging out with the wrong crowd. But Clyde, two years younger, had rejected his wisdom as holier than thou or too straight and narrow for his taste, and went about his business on the wrong path in life.

That had not only cost him his freedom, but made him unable to attend their mother's funeral five years ago. Her sudden death had stunned Trey, leaving him without his biggest supporter and the one person who had always given him and Clyde unconditional love. It was even harder knowing that she had not lived long enough to see Clyde turn his life around.

Maybe he never would.

Trey wondered if it was possible that the two of them could even get along, much less live under the same roof. Ever since they were kids, he and his brother had never truly been on the same page. Or even the same book. Was there any reason to believe it would be different this time—even if Clyde was starved for freedom and a comfortable bed? Probably not. Trey was willing to put forth the real effort nevertheless. But he wanted his wife onboard to present a united front.

Can she get past feeling sorry for herself and hating me to think about someone else for once in her life
?

“Give him a chance, that's all I ask,” Trey said, standing behind her. He grabbed hold of some of Ivana's lovable long, cappuccino Senegalese twisted hair. “Clyde's done his time, or nearly, and deserves to be given an opportunity to get his life back in order.”

“And what if he doesn't?” Ivana whipped her hair away from him. “If your brother goes back to a life of crime and violence and maybe brings it into
this
house, are
you
prepared to deal with the consequences?”

Trey contemplated the question. Frankly, he had no idea how this would work, or if Clyde had been in prison too long to know what to do in the free world. Wasn't the rate of recidivism high among violent ex-cons? What if that damned temper of Clyde's was still like dynamite, capable of going off at any given moment? Could he actually hurt someone again—even Ivana?

It was a chance Trey was willing to take, wanting to give his brother the benefit of the doubt. If he turned his back on Clyde now, there might never be another opportunity to try to make things right between them.

“Yeah, I'm prepared for whatever happens,” he said, sounding as sincere as possible. “I'd rather look at the glass half-full and take the man at his word when he told me in the letter that he doesn't want to cause either of us or himself any trouble. I'm sure once you get to know him, you'll see that Clyde has changed for the better.”

“If you say so.”

“We're good with this, then?” Trey asked.

Ivana paused. “Since it looks liked you've already decided for us, let him come and we'll see how it goes.”

Trey took that as her indication that she would at least try to make this work. He kissed the top of her head. “You won't regret it.”

She offered no response.

 

 

Ivana wanted to protest more, but was sure it would only fall on deaf ears. Trey was determined to disrupt their peaceful and relatively uncomplicated household regardless of what she had to say. And why? For a brother he'd never gone to see in prison a single time since she had known Trey. Was that supposed to be tough love, or what?

Seemed to Ivana that Trey was in denial about his brother and the risk he was taking by inviting him into their home. She wouldn't be surprised if Clyde robbed them blind and took off for who-knows-where. Not if she could help it. Trey had already caused her enough pain all on his own. He had also taken away her sex drive, which was once strong enough to keep her man happy all the time. She had little desire to have multiple orgasms with someone who saw fit to give them to another woman, as if he were not getting enough at home—wanting his cake and eating it too. Like most men, Trey chose to think with his penis rather than head, heart, and soul.

Ivana would be damned if she allowed what she had left in their marriage—this big, beautiful home and at least half of a considerable fortune—to be taken away from her by Clyde Lancaster or anyone else.

She finished off her martini and began to strategize how best to deal with this unwanted guest.

Half an hour later, Trey stood outside Ivana's bedroom door. They had slept in separate rooms for the last six months. It was Ivana's choice and, though he hated it, he agreed to give her the space she needed.

But Trey was still a man and had needs that went beyond simply having mechanical sex every now and then at his initiation with a wife who could clearly take or leave it—mostly the latter. He wanted things to be like they were before, when they were passionate about each other and made love with mutual zest and unbridled desire. He couldn't and wouldn't force the issue, though. It took two to make it work, yet only one seemed ready and willing to move things in the right direction.

Trey knocked gently on the door. “Are you asleep, Ivana?” He could hear her HDTV and assumed the martinis had knocked his wife out.

“What do you want?” she asked coldly.

You
.
And only you, baby
. He twisted the brass knob 'til the door opened.

Ivana was sitting up on her four-poster bed in a silk teddy, her long legs straight with feet touching. An open magazine sat on her lap like a prop.

“I don't recall inviting you in.” She fluttered curly lashes at him with annoyance across the long, rectangular split-level room.

Trey ignored this and approached her. She looked sexy as hell and he wanted nothing more than to take Ivana in his arms and make passionate love to her for hours on end. Instead he showed the type of restraint he'd grown accustomed to since she turned her back on their love life.

“I thought you might want some company.”

“I'm not really in the mood for sex, if that's what you're getting at.” Ivana flipped the magazine pages dismissively.

His brows knitted. “When are you
ever
in the mood these days?”

She shot him a hard look. “Never, okay? And ask yourself why!”

Trey ran a hand through his closely cropped ebony hair, feeling frustrated. “I made a mistake and I owned up to it like a man. Don't you think you've punished me enough?”

Ivana slammed the magazine shut. “This isn't about punishing you.”

“Then what the hell is it about?”

“It's about reaching a point where I feel I can trust you again,” she responded frankly. “I'm just not there yet.”

Trey wanted to reach out and touch her soft skin, but he held back. “We can't go on like this, Ivana. I need you to want me as your husband and not simply as a damned housemate in a very big house where we can avoid each other whenever possible.”

Ivana narrowed her eyes. “So now I'm to blame for something you did?”

“No one's blaming you for anything. I take full responsibility for that. But you can't keep holding this thing over me. It's not fair to either of us.”

“You want to talk about fair? Is it fair that I gave up my life for you, Trey? I didn't deserve to be so hurt and humiliated.”

“You're right, you didn't,” he conceded sadly. “If I could take it back, I would, a thousand times over.”

“But you can't, can you? What's done is done and nothing can change it.”

Trey drew a deep breath. “So what is it you want—a divorce?” The mere thought of losing what they had built together to a piece of legal paper unnerved him, knowing it would be costly to them both in more ways than one.

Ivana's eyes watered. “I just want to be happy again.”

“So do I,” he insisted. “No reason why we can't both still be happy with each other if you'll only meet me halfway.”

She wiped her eyes. “I married you out of love, Trey. I still want it to work between us. Just give me more time. . . .”

Trey touched her warm thigh and felt aroused. “I need you, baby.”

Ivana flinched. “If you want to have sex, regardless of my feelings, just say so.” She opened her legs as though preparing to accommodate him.

Why does she have to make this so damned hard?
“It's not just about sex.”