Parkers Island Ch. 01

"Shelby, "that girl" has known the Burnett family all her life. Martha Burnett is a matriarch on this island. The secrets in her head will never leave it: her blood line won't allow that. They may not be on par with what's in your head, Shelby, but I know that, if she talks, governors and senators sit up and listen."

"Are you threatening me?" Shelby sounded incredulous.

"I'm merely pointing out that you are who you are and, in our small corner of the world, Martha Burnett is your equal. Please, Shelby! This dumb shit sitting next to me may have run out of favors, so can I loan him one of mine to use?"

The sigh was heard a second before the phone went dead. Amelia looked over to me confused and I smiled back, nodding my head before getting up to finish making dinner. She noticed the new picture as she walked towards the kitchen, but it wasn't until she had pulled cutlery out of the drawer and headed for the table that she commented on it.

"You know Sandy stays in business with what she's sold you in paintings so far?"

Shrugging my shoulders would have been enough yet I still looked over at the picture of Clearwater Cove at sunset. It even had the steps leading into the water that I had used only a day ago when the dinghy dropped me back on the island. It was halfway through dinner that I asked what, to me, was a perfectly ordinary question.

"Now I'm back, when are you leaving?"

Amelia didn't even miss a beat. "Trying to get rid of me already? I risked life, limb and my virtue staying in a house that a single man occupies."

"You also carry a gun, and happen to be overly handy with a night stick."

She gave up trying to hide the smile, finally saying, "You have to admit you had that coming."

"I admit to nothing without a lawyer present."

Amelia dropped one of those sudden conversation stoppers which all women seem to have developed a knack with since puberty.

"Who's the blonde with the big tits?"

Putting my fork down was a good idea. Leaning on my arms as I looked towards her allowed me time to phrase my answer as diplomatically as I could.

"I have little doubt you will see her tomorrow, so I'll make this as plain as I can: don't get into a pissing contest with her."

A shrug of her shoulders as she left the room was the only response I got. The warning was clear to both of us: if she chose to ignore it then it was at her peril. It also struck me that she had never answered my original question, but the sound of the shower running told me where she had gone. It looked as though, if she stayed, I might get permanently stuck with the washing up. I was just putting drinks on the coffee table when she walked down the stairs in a t-shirt and shorts, the jiggle of her tits telling me that what I was seeing was all she had on.

Bedtime quickly became a topic of conversation when I asked where she was sleeping. Amelia told me that, since I hadn't got around to putting a bed in the guest room yet, then in my bed seemed the only choice. She did seem fairly serious when she stated that I was capable of sleeping on the couch if I didn't want to share my bed.

"May I remind you that this is MY house?"

"Well, you can if you want, but wouldn't that be a waste of breath? Hell, the whole island knows it's your house, so what's your point?"

Amelia didn't even hide her smirk.

Feeling at a loss for anything else to say I simply said what I was thinking at the time. "Didn't anyone ever tell you you're just plain weird?"

This time she nodded in agreement. "Oh yes: several people, but none of them are a guy who beats up on women and hides a room in his house that isn't supposed to be there."

She paused just long enough to see if I would rise to the bait. "I sleep on the right side by the way, and I rescued teddy from the floor. I assume she fell off the bed; right?"

Even I would admit to being way outside my comfort zone, and this woman seemed to be happy just to keep on pushing that point. As I lifted myself off the couch and headed for the stairs, my thoughts strayed to my mouth and left before my ears picked up on me talking.

"Where is your gun? You may as well shoot me now."

Her answer followed me up the stairs. "Oh, just great! Leave me to deal with all the paperwork of how I was expected to deal with your request - in unpaid overtime, too, I'll bet!"

I'm sure I had a response; it just didn't come to me by the time I had cleared the stairs and entered my bedroom. Amelia was in bed when I came out of the bathroom. She lifted her head from the magazine she was reading and patted the left side of the bed.

"I sleep naked."

The damned woman looked me up and down and then smiled. "That's fine: want me to join you?"

I had tried most of the evening to get a handle on her, and failed at every attempt. I just couldn't figure out if she was baiting me or was just being Amelia, the woman behind the badge. She also reminded me so much of a dear friend of mine. Taking the coward's way out and leaving my shorts on only made her smile get a little bigger.

The slight gasp carried across the room and caused me to look over to the bed. The "deer caught in the headlights" stare confused me for a moment, until that cold chill crept up my spine and I went to pull my t-shirt back down again.

"NO... Show me, Aiden; I need to see it."

Perhaps it was the pause as I still held onto my t-shirt that made her add the word "please;" I'm just not sure. With a feeling of finality I pulled my t-shirt over my head and away from my body. Amelia pulled the sheets away from herself, and three paces later she was on her knees and had her hand covering the scar that served as a reminder of the time I lost my friend.

Her finger gently traced the scar, as my own fingers had traced that same journey so many times, and I could anticipate her next move. Down the mid-line of the abdomen, running circular around the belly button, and just a little further down, ending about half way between the belly button and the pubic bone. All that cutting to release a piece of metal that kept me pinned to my seat.

It kind of tickled, and I went to take a step back. Amelia placed her hand behind me to stop me doing that, and no sooner had her hand come into contact with me than she let out a strange noise, like a strangled yelp. Her hand quickly came away from my back, and both her hands went to her mouth in an attempt to stifle any more noises.

She went to adjust her position on the floor. Being the curious type, I moved when she did, but the look she gave me let me know that she wanted me to stand still. I didn't remember being this prodded and poked since my last medical, and it was strange to watch a woman on her knees with the fingers of one hand gently circling the scar tissue while her head was around the back and her other hand mirrored what the first one was doing.

The thought that I should tell her that, if she shone a torch in one end you could see the light out the other, was oh so tempting, if for nothing else than to try and deflect the future conversations I just knew we would be having on the subject.

"My God! Just what the hell went through you, and how are you still alive with that much scar tissue?"

Feeling more than a little awkward with the situation, I got Amelia back on the bed and talked once again about the ambush. Amelia for her part totally lost it, and accused me of skating over the details as she pushed me face first onto the bed and straddled my leg while she took a closer look. As her hand rested on my pelvic bone, her face was a study of concentration. The warmth of her pussy seeped through her panties, and both my leg and erection seemed to be enjoying the hell out of the situation.

The rest of me listened to her sigh every once in awhile, and felt more than a little uncomfortable with the time she was spending forcing me to relive a time of great pain and sadness.

*******

The sound of the shower door being closed woke me. Amelia coming out with a towel around her waist while she dried her hair gave me a hard on, and modesty told me that it might be a good idea to wait awhile before I had a shower. Hell, it was my house and even my bedroom, so I felt justified in staring at the damn fine body on that woman.

Amelia clearly saw me sitting up in bed watching her, and yet she wasn't the least fazed by it. The toned stomach clearly showed that she kept fit, and the tan lines were proof that her bikini wasn't in the ball park of risqué. Her areolae held my gaze, and I did surreptitiously check on a couple of occasions to make sure I wasn't drooling.

They were dark, and maybe just over the size of half dollar coins, with the nipples clearly relaxed yet showing some tightness about them. Her breasts were a perfect size for her frame and, as she used the towel around her head to dry her hair, the healthy bounce made me bite my lip so she wouldn't hear me groan. I then had to fight the urge to adjust myself as she sat on the edge of the bed.

The staring competition was all one way as she dried herself off. It was also when another one of those conversation stoppers popped out of her mouth. "Are you gay?"

"No, I'm not. Why do you ask?"

This time she stood and dropped the towel from around her waist while she rummaged around, looking for panties to put on. Her back was still to me when she replied.

"Oh, nothing. Just that, since you didn't start anything last night, and I didn't wake up in the middle of the night with you on top taking care of business, I just figured, you know."

She bent down to put her panties on, and oh, my goodness! It took me a moment to clear my throat enough for a voice to get out.

"Well rest assured I'm not gay; a romantic maybe. I like to bring along flowers, go out to dinner and maybe a dance - that sort of thing."

Panties and socks had adorned her body by the time she heard me. I got an "oh" as I watched her put on her bra and then a shirt. She moved towards the door and then paused; her expression as she turned towards me was still slightly confused.

"Well I'm making breakfast for us both, so you and your hard-on can have a shower now."

The shower was used for more than a wash. I may be a romantic, but I had also been without for awhile and, since it was my house and my shower, I used the images that she had given me to relieve some of the frustration that was building up around that woman. Breakfast was already on the table when I walked out of the bedroom.

"Feel better now?"

I blushed; she caught me and smiled. I blushed a lot harder then. She couldn't know; there is no way she COULD know but she did, just how the heck. Amelia's cell rang just then, and she stood with it to her ear for about a minute before saying "OK" once and putting it back down to finish her breakfast. It was only when we were both clearing away that she said anything.

"Shelby isn't that far out. I figure she's on the morning ferry, so I will no doubt see her at the dock."

"I assume by what you're wearing that you aren't staying."

"Wasn't invited. Martha's meeting only includes you, Shelby and Tessa."

That part did intrigue me. "Why is she bringing her daughter with her?"

By now Amelia had put her boots and jacket on, and she was reaching for her vest when she spoke once again.

"Not my business."

She was out of the house before I could form a reply. Even the view of her walking towards the ferry dock couldn't budge the feeling that something was going on which made me feel more like a passenger than a driver. It was as though Amelia had scripted the whole thing. Within twenty minutes Madison came through the door and scanned the room.

"Morning, Aiden. I met your Deputy coming the other way. When are we going to be formally introduced?"

"When Hell catches a cold, Madison, and not before. Where is she who must be obeyed?"

She had sat across from me by now, her feet on my antique coffee table. "Change of plan, Aiden. All the girls are having a walk and a chat along the path towards the cove. Shelby sent me up here to make sure you don't stick your nose where it's not wanted."

As I went to stand, Madison's legs moved off the table and her foot pushed it up against my legs, pinning me to the couch. When I looked up she was pointing a gun at me.

"Now, Aiden, unless you're getting up to make me a drink, we both know nothing else is going to happen, don't we? But, since we both know you're not, then perhaps you had best sit down. You have value, Aiden, and you will continue to have value, even with a bullet in your leg. I know just where to put it so that you have a limp for the rest of your life to remind you of this very moment."

It was only when I sat back down that Madison put her foot under the table and pulled it back towards her. I sat and glared, but she just smiled right back at me, her legs once again resting on my damn coffee table. Neither of us moved for close to an hour, until her cell phone rang. She picked it up after the second ring as though she was expecting the call. I figured it lasted about twenty seconds and, other than answering the call, she said nothing - not even when the call ended.

Madison rose from her seat and walked over to the window overlooking the street, waited for a moment, and then walked back to place her gun back in her bag.

"You're going to get a visitor in a moment, Aiden. Take her into your office and administer an IQ test; once that's done, the Department will do the rest. Just stand over her and make sure she doesn't cheat."

In one of my rare moments of stupidity I said, "And if I don't?"

She smiled before walking over and sitting next to me.

"Oh, Aiden! We have known each other long enough now for you to have realized that I asked you nicely. Want me to show you what not so nice is like?"

Like I said - a rare moment of stupidity. I got wise real fast after that. The knock on the door got a "Come in!" call from my friend and, as we both got off the couch, Tessa came in. I was still stuck in a "What the fuck!?" moment when she spoke.

"Matriarch says I have to do a few tests. She says you will be next to me, but I have to do them on my own."

I was feeling more and more like the guy who stands in the kitchen when invited to parties, and has no understanding of what is going on around him. Madison came as far as the door and stopped. She did make me keep the door open, and smiled when I held a seat for Tessa to sit down. The Department was waiting for my login: the test was almost instant after that, and Tessa had to play catch up on the first question.

The rest was a variation of the first test I ever took eight years ago. Once she had finished the screen went blank, and I shredded every sheet of paper Tessa had written on. Other than standing and thanking me she simply walked out of the room and my house. It was a further three hours before Madison got another call. It was a slight variation on the first one, inasmuch as she said "Yes" to end the call before closing her cell and leaving my house with her bag in her hand.

I waited another hour for Shelby to turn up, and then got bored and went shopping. The second bed was being delivered at the same time Amelia returned. She talked to the delivery guys for a while, and left me to tip them before they went. I heard her upstairs in the spare room, and assumed she was moving in. An hour later she came down in t-shirt and shorts, and her foot had just touched the base of the stairs when there was a knock on the door and she stopped.

*******

Since I was the closest I opened it. Martha Burnett walked in and, by the time I had closed it, she was standing in the middle of the day room. Amelia hadn't moved; she seemed to be waiting, but for what I wasn't sure until Martha spoke directly to her.

"The Sherriff has given you the day off tomorrow. Get changed and go see your folks."

Amelia went pale, and said "Yes, Matriarch." She shot up the stairs two at a time. Martha then sat on the couch. I offered her a drink, and made a coffee for myself and an iced tea for her. Amelia came down the stairs dressed, grabbed a jacket from the rail, and left without saying another word. Martha didn't even acknowledge that she had left.

"Are you gay, Mr. Thompson?"

In that instant I got thoroughly pissed off. Sipping my coffee gave me a moment's respite, but nothing more.

"My sexual orientation has nothing to do with you, Mrs. Burnett."

After a moment she simply nodded her head. She even glanced at her iced tea, but made no move to pick it up.

"Very well: let me ask you this. Do you plan to stay on this island, or will you move away once again when you have your guilt over my daughter's death under control?"

I suppose I had that coming. We both knew that she expected not only an answer, but also an honest one. My thoughts were like a jumbled kaleidoscope of images: scattered moments of time between Carol's introduction to the Department and a briefing as to what her assignment was going to be and, once finished, her one and only chance to decline without any mark on her record, and all the way through to her death.

For the month prior to leaving for Afghanistan, Carol and I spent every spare moment in the gym. Between her trying to get me fit, and teaching me self-defense moves, I must have felt just about every part of her body. Yet to me she was simply my best friend. Had I known her a little longer she would have slipped from being my friend to becoming like a sister to me. The love I had for Carol was only that: a deep friendship for a person who was there to keep me alive, even at the expense of her own life.

If anything, I felt cheated when the blast caused the Humvee to crumple and the shock wave bashed my head against the side of the vehicle. Those few minutes of unconsciousness stole precious moments of time I could have had with Carol. Instead, I woke in time only to watch her die, being totally unable to do anything about it because I was pinned to the seat with a part of the wreckage that was once our vehicle stuck in me.

For the next twenty minutes I talked to Mrs. Burnett about her daughter. I knew she didn't want patronizing words about loss, so I told her about her daughter's insistence that she stayed at my apartment from the very beginning of her assignment. The exercise regime started the very next morning, and the patience of that woman was something else.

We shared my shower many times because we were so deep into a conversation Carol had started that she didn't want to stop in case she lost her train of thought. She would wash my back, as I would hers. Carol would even wash my erection as she was talking, as I would wash her tits, and all the while her conversation never faltered. Once we had rinsed off she would toss me a towel as she herself left the bathroom.

Finally, the rumor mill in the Department being what it was, Shelby pulled Carol to one side and reminded her that she was supposed to be my bodyguard, not my mistress. Carol was still laughing when she left Shelby's office.

The day of the ambush was the hardest thing I had to describe. It felt like the guilt I still carried about the time I was unconscious and unable to help my friend would forever sit upon my shoulders.

I woke only in time to hear the helicopter overhead, and to see Carol finally turning towards me to reveal the true extent of her injuries. I was in awe of the professionalism of the Marine Rescue Team during the time they took to cut us out of the wreckage, placing their own lives at risk to do it. Despite my own protests that they get Carol out first, I had to watch as four of the team carried one of their own with respect and dignity to the helicopter where I had already been placed on board.

Once out of the line of fire, the Apache was ordered to fire on the twisted lump of metal that was once our Humvee, and continue to do so until it was nothing but a ball of flames. I was already drifting in and out of consciousness by the time we got to the hospital, so sharing details of those moments with her was near on impossible. Members of Bingham Securities took over my life for the next week.