Page 19 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

The winding road leads far out of town and the asphalt eventually becomes dirt, then sand dunes, before flattening into an unofficial parking lot. In the morning families, and fitness-lovers make their way down the steep sand to the water. Teens take over in the evening to shoot fireworks or make-out away from their parents.

But my phone tells me to keep going straight. This area is new. The road cuts between tall, jagged rocks reminiscent of faces carved by ancient gods. Pin-straight trees shed leaves in the wind, their height kept low by the storms that rise to cut them down each season.

I reach a smooth road again and see a sign that reads “Private Property”. My headlights glow on the black top, scaring off a rabbit that reminds me to drive slower. It's hard—I'm anxious to get to Dezmond's house and get this over with.

All at once I break out of the tight path shrouded by trees. The world flattens and reaches into the distance. I gasp at the view; the sun is half in the ocean, the waves rippling with orange and yellow as the giant star melts into the horizon. The ocean expands along my right side as I drive, stretching so far land is no longer visible. I pass two more houses, both gorgeous mini mansions. I don't have a clue who lives in them. I never had a reason to drive up here, but Maine lures in all sorts of anonymous people with cash to blow. The sprawling estates hidden on the cliffs behind crops of trees isn’t surprising. The last house, the one at the very end where the world comes to a point that extends towards the endless blue water, does.

It sits on a gravel circle that's been pounded into the ground to make a flat section to build upon. The perimeter is packed with clumps of trees and brush, the ocean peering through the gaps in the espresso-shade trunks. One look at the gorgeous house, and I wonder if it was built from that very same wood. I struggle to place the style—not quite Victorian, not quite a cabin—nothing like the ranch or cape style homes all over Crestwind.

The sharply pitched roof is covered in slate-gray shingles. Massive windows as tall as the tan front-door frame its face, while the second story has an entire section of glass paneling that touches the awning. Anyone standing on the top floor will have an excellent view of the Atlantic Ocean.

I didn't expect Dezmond to live in such a beautiful house,I think, parking my car in the loose pebble driveway that leads to a pair of garage doors. No other vehicles, the windows are dark.Is he not home yet?

It's not that late—barely after five. Mom and I closed the shop together, so it went faster than normal even with the chaos of the day. I'd raced to beat her home, rushing to my room to gather the things I needed for my plan then leave before she saw me.

I slide into my backseat, peeling my clothes off. I hesitate on removing my bra.You're all in on this,I tell myself, clenching my jaw.Don't be afraid. It has to be done.Besides, the scarcer the clothes the better. I'll have less evidence to dispose of.

The black dress is yanked over my head. It fits into all my curves. I look like I was dipped in ink. The silky fabric stops just below my hips and barely above my nipples. Obscene is a polite word for how I look. Once I add the four-inch heels, I'm a walking vision of sexual depravity.

Mom would have asked too many questions if she saw me in this.Fluffing my hair, I look in my car's mirror so I can carefully slather on some firecracker-red lipstick. I pucker, make a smile, then fight down a wave of nausea.Do not get cold feet! He's given you no choice. Dezmond is too dangerous to let him live.

Sucking in a big breath that my tight dress fights against, I exit my car. I'm pretty sure Dez isn't home, but I close my door softly anyway. This place has a different feel to it … a sort of sanctuary in the middle of nowhere. Strange to think that downtown is only a ten-mile drive from here.

My heels crunch on the unstable ground. I look side to side, then up at the silent house. Holding the railing I climb the five wooden steps to the landing. The small porch extends left and right with nothing on it but a hanging swing that could fit two people at most.

It's sinister how quiet it is. Steeling myself, I knock gently. When no lights come on, no footsteps sound off, I knock harder.No one home.Chewing my bottom lip, I rest my hand on the doorknob. It's oiled brass, turning unhindered in my grip.Not locked?A thrill lances through my body.I can work with this.

The hinges don't creak when I open the door. “Hello?” I call tentatively. “Anyone here? Dez? It's Lorikeet. Hello?” It's hard to see inside with no lights on. The sun would do wonders with the big windows, but the blinds are drawn. Shutting myself inside, I move deeper, heels clacking on the wooden floorboards. There's a light switch by the coat rack that stands a few feet away. A navy coat is the only article hanging on it.

I push the dimmer switch to give just enough light for me to see where things are. A round wooden table is on one side of the open space placed in front of a bay window. God, what a spot to sit and watch the sun rise while drinking your morning coffee. I'm jealous that Dezmond lives here.

The other end of the open room is a kitchen with maple cupboards, a granite island, and brand new appliances.Or they just look new,I think, struggling to picture Dez cooking anything ever. I wander a bit more until I discover the hallway behind the stairs. Craning my neck I scan the shadows, making out the shape of three doors. One is cracked, letting me see basement steps. The other is closed, and the third door has a glass window.Must go to the backyard.

My eyes go to the ceiling.His bedroom must be upstairs.Not a single stair groans as I put pressure on it. This house is incredibly well made. How can Dez afford it?I bet his dad pays all his bills.I frown at the thought. Not because of envy, but because my mind fills with images of Jordan Hartford. I don't want to think about him at all, especially right now.

Focus on what you need to do.

At the top of the stairs, I look around, turning in a tight circle. I see what I want—the open door to a bedroom. There's a door on the opposite side of the hall. It's black enough to look blue, shining with polish.It's so different I can't help but feel pulled to it. Straining my ears, hearing nothing but the ringing in my own head, I reassure myself I'm alone. Dez won't know what I did; how would he? I'll just take a quick peek.

But when I go to the door, it's locked. Scrunching my nose, I give the knob a small tug. What would Dezmond lock away?Drugs.That makes sense. I'm not satisfied with my conclusion. I don't have a way to break the door down, though, or a reason to.

Abandoning the mysterious room, I enter the bedroom I saw before. I flick the light on, casting a glow back into the hall. I hover in the doorway while studying everything.King bed … dresser … closet … side table.Pretty boring decor. It doesn't match the rest of the house at all. The blanket is orange ocher like the clay underground. I walk to it, run my palm over the surface.Soft.Gently I sit on the mattress.

There's a clock on the small table that blinks red numbers, 6:10. Adjusting my dress, I cross my knees.Do I wait here for him?Smothering him with a pillow could work. So could getting his guard down during sex—or before, as I was praying—then luring him to the stairs to shove him down. A broken neck would look like an accident.

I'm trying to plot out possibilities when I glance over and discover the bathroom. My heart skips.Of course! That's perfect.Jumping up so fast I stumble in my heels, I turn on the bathroom light. Blue and white tiles, silver sink, strangely clean for a messy guy like Dez. I don't care about any of that.

I see the massive tub. I know exactly how I'm going to kill Dezmond Hartford.

Filling the basin with water so hot it turns the mirror opaque with steam, I strip out of my dress. I'm relieved I don't have to try and seduce Dezmond in that outfit. I would have, if it came to it, but somehow the thought of being purely naked is less demeaning.

And being in water— any water—makes me feel powerful.

When the tub is full to the rim, I dip my toes in and wince at the searing temperature.Perfect.Easing myself into the water is cathartic. I imagine myself being cleansed from old sins before I commit new ones.

I'm sure I can do it. I'm brave enough, desperate enough, to drown Dezmond.

I'm less confident when enough time passes that the tub becomes cold.

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