Naked in the Water

By A. J. Lynne

A stalker, a campsite, a kayak, a storm...
In this tense, sexy story about a woman struggling to recover from a tragic past in order to allow herself to feel love and trust in the present, a troubled young professional becomes the object of obsession for an unstable and aggressive patient. The reader is swept along in a cat-and-mouse game that leads to a terrifying confrontation on the shores of Lake Michigan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483529059

Book preview

9781483529059

Chapter 1

Sharp-smelling mist swirled over the river: a rank haze of rotting sugar beets, as thick and sour as the mood of the young woman piloting a kayak through the currents. Angel Bryce wrinkled her nose against the stench and paddled faster, pulling hard against the murky water, ignoring the dampness that collected in her hair and trickled down her face and neck. Puffs of hot breath mingled with the steam rising off her skin.

Bloated by the snowmelt of an unusually harsh Michigan winter, the Saginaw River pushed the kayak along like a leaf in a rain gutter, past the gray stacks of the sugar processing plant toward the distant low span of Lafayette Street Bridge. Angel fixed her eyes on that bridge; it marked the finish line of her solitary, early morning regatta. A carp splashed in the shallows and she jumped, skipping the paddle on the surface and dousing herself with freezing spray. She muttered a curse and resumed paddling, but as the river curved sharply and the boathouse dock came into view on the eastern bank, bells of a dozen distant church steeples rang out from the surrounding city. Eight o’clock, and she was late.

Angel sat back with a defeated sigh and laid the paddle across her knees. Muscles in her shoulders and forearms twitched, unaccustomed to hard exertion at such an early hour. Breathing deeply, she stretched her neck back, then blinked as the dark underside of the bridge loomed overhead. Car exhaust mingled with the sugar beet fumes here, stinging her eyes and constricting her chest. Angel’s clothes were soaked through with river water and sweat; her arms and legs trembled in the damp cold. As the kayak emerged from the shadow of the bridge into weak morning sunlight, she forced her frozen fingers around the paddle shaft and struck out again toward shore.

Angel Bryce, DDS, had never been late to the office before. In the constant struggle to present herself as the archetype responsible young professional, punctuality was one of the more easily controlled variables - a minor one, for sure, but she had to score points where she could. Now, though, her first patient was probably already sitting in the treatment chair, paper bib tucked under his chin, nervously eyeing the anesthetic syringe and wondering where in the world his dentist was.

For the moment, his dentist had found herself stuck on the river, courtesy of a raucous logjam of sculls, paddles, and teenage boys. The boathouse dock, deserted when she’d set out just before dawn, now swarmed with muscular young men as a crew team from the community college wrestled a pair of racing eights into the water. Angel waited, back-paddling to hold her position against the current, listening to the last echoes of church bells die away. A surge of impatience filled her and then drained away just as quickly. This was what she deserved for taking the kayak out this morning, on a Friday, mere hours away from an entire weekend free for paddling.

But she had been desperate to get out on the water. All night she’d paced around her house, stalking from room to room, unable to sleep or even lie down. Her boyfriend Justin, on the other hand, seemed to sleep well enough, alone in her bed. Occasionally Angel had tiptoed in and stood over him, envious of and slightly angered by his easy breathing and relaxed face. Her insomnia was entirely his doing, but somehow she was the one left feeling guilty. It didn’t help that in sleep, Justin looked even younger than his twenty-two years, making Angel feel older than her twenty-nine. She had watched him until the first hint of light in the eastern sky finally lured her out of the house. Then she quietly pulled the kayak out of storage and dusted it free of a winter’s worth of dead spiders, loaded it onto the roof rack of her car, and drove off through empty city streets.

The city had been dead quiet when Angel put in, the river black through the middle but shimmering at its edges under lights from shoreline parks. She’d paddled south, past the industrial sprawl on the outskirts of town and into spreading marshlands, letting heavy air and the rhythm of the stroke lull her into thoughtlessness as a red sun rose slowly through the trees. The only real distraction had been hundreds of ducks that swooped and scattered around her, brightly colored males chasing speckled brown females into cattails near the shore. This served only to remind her of what she was trying to row away from: that it was spring - the season for lovers - and Angel’s had proposed marriage to her the night before. She had yet to give him an answer.

The dock finally cleared, but Angel stayed where she was, watching the crew teams set away with long oars sweeping over the water in graceful synchrony. In spite of the cold, and probably in anticipation of the punishing workout ahead, the boys (at the thought of them as boys, Angel reminded herself that they were likely close to Justin’s age) had stripped down to tank tops; she admired the way their golden skin rippled in the sunlight. She fought the urge to follow them north up the river channel and out into the bay. Lake Huron would be glittering like a sea of diamonds once the fog lifted. Angel had never once played hooky, not even in her many years at school, and it suddenly dawned on her that she was overdue. A few strong strokes to send her past the boathouse, and she could row the entire day, inhaling that clean lake air and numbing her mind with the simple cadence of paddling, out into open water until shore was a blurred bump in the distance. Just this once…

Something heavy knocked into the kayak hull just behind her seat, and Angel’s heart skipped as the narrow boat rocked slightly then vibrated as something brushed along underneath. A wet scratching sound followed the tremor as it moved slowly under her before finally passing off the end. A log, she thought, catching her breath, I must have drifted over it. Angel peered into the muddy water ahead, expecting to see a submerged tree or dock piling, but nothing was there. So many things buried in this river…

A knot of uneasiness formed in her gut. The damp breeze seemed to go right through her, and Angel suddenly felt smothered, as if she was submerged in the water instead of floating over it. She gripped the paddle shaft with white knuckles and splashed gracelessly toward the dock. A lone figure stood there now, hunched against the chill. She hadn’t seen him arrive.

Justin? How did you…

I just figured. His dark hair stuck up in clumps; he still wore the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d slept in. The kayak bumped into the dock, and he leaned over to pull it in then offered a hand to help her climb out. Together they lifted the boat and tipped it over; cold water came sloshing out. He frowned at her clothes. You must be freezing.

All of Angel’s muscles were clenched, as much from lingering tension as from the cold. The hollow expression on her boyfriend’s face made her wish she had followed the crew boats after all. Not too bad, she lied through chattering teeth. But I’m really late.

Justin glanced at his watch then squinted down at her. From the shadows under his eyes, Angel surmised that his sleep may not have been as restful as it had appeared. She stepped forward out of habit, expecting him to pull her into an embrace, but instead he rested his hands on her shoulders. Angel…

No, J, I can’t. She stepped back, and his arms dropped. Not now, okay?

He stared at her silently until she looked away. Finally he bent down to grasp the bow of the kayak; Angel flipped up the rudder and took the stern end, and together they carried it up to the parking lot where his Jeep was parked beside her old station wagon. Just as they finished tying the boat down, a cell phone rang through his open window.

If that’s my office, tell them I’ll be there in thirty minutes, Angel said, peeling off her wet sweatshirt. Away from the river, the air felt considerably warmer. I need to go home and shower.

Justin put the phone to his ear but kept his eyes on her. Hello… yeah, she’ll be about half an hour… no, she’s fine… bye. He hung up and watched Angel unravel her braided hair and shake it loose into thick black curls that dripped and smelled faintly of fish. This is why you should get your own cell phone, he said.

This is exactly why I don’t want one.

Rachel sounded worried.

Rachel was her dental assistant. Angel felt another flash of guilt. I’ve never been late.

So why today?

She glanced sideways at him. I didn’t sleep well.

Justin sighed. I suppose that’s my fault. When she didn’t respond, he reached up to check the straps she’d fastened around the kayak. Irritated, Angel opened her mouth to remind him that she knew how to tie down her own boat, then she closed it just as fast. The small protective gesture probably made him feel better.

It’s nobody’s fault, Justin -

Look… just forget it. Pretend it never happened. He stared over her shoulder.

Angel stood close, craning her neck to see his face. It was moments like these when she begrudged the near foot and a half that he had on her in height. Hon…

No. I didn’t mean to… shit, babe, it was just an idea.

She hesitated, knowing that this would be a bad place to leave things, but also that neither of them was yet ready to resume the discussion. So Angel slid behind the wheel and winced as Justin slammed the door closed behind her.

He started to walk away but then abruptly came back and leaned through the window, surprising her with a quick, hard kiss on the lips. It’s okay, he murmured, brushing his stubbled chin against her cheek. Nothing changes, right?

Right, she whispered.

But even as they drove off in opposite directions, Angel recognized the lie. Something had changed, not so much by his proposal as by her inability to respond to it. Now there were lines drawn in a relationship that had been free and open. Despite the kiss, she had seen the doubt in his eyes.

She glanced in the rearview mirror as Justin disappeared into traffic behind her. Then, as Angel drove over the metal grate of the drawbridge, her gaze drifted back down to the river. From this height the water looked opaque and stagnant, still half-hidden in mist where sun hadn’t yet touched its surface. The stench of sugar beets was making her nauseous. Shivering, she punched the accelerator and sped toward home.

A half mile to the north, a tanned, well-muscled man jogged alone through the riverside park. Michael Stanley ran hard, ignoring the burning stitch in his side, his eyes locked on an imaginary finish line by the softball dugouts ahead. His legs ached as they pounded the concrete path, and he tried not to think about his former health club, with its line of sleek treadmills facing a bank of televisions tuned to sitcom reruns or the business news. That was in a previous life, one left behind just months before, and remembering it now only made his current situation seem worse.

Thirty-six years old with a master’s degree in software engineering, Stanley thought he had escaped this town years ago, first to university then on to the fast-paced glamour of Silicone Valley. Only eight months before he’d been living in northern California with the perfect job, an overpriced apartment, and a perfect and overpriced girlfriend, Erin. But then much had changed, in a disconcertingly short time, and now Stanley was forced to channel his considerable charm and intellect into the mind-numbing world of residential real estate. As if the involuntary career switch wasn’t bad enough, he worked in his parents’ agency.

He reached the dugouts and stumbled to a stop, bending over to ease the cramp and catch his breath. An amplified voice from the river caught his ear, and Stanley turned to watch a pair of crew boats race by, coxswains screaming at the rowers to pick up the pace. He felt a stab of annoyance at the noise and an inexplicable dislike for the fit young men rowing with such grim determination. Dumb kids, he thought. They’ll find out soon enough how little all that effort really matters.

The crew teams disappeared behind the concrete pillars of the Veterans’ Bridge, and Stanley leaned against the cold fence of the ballfield, grunting with the effort of stretching his hamstrings and calves. He only recently started running again. Winter had been a sedentary hell - he’d forgotten how bad it could be. Month after month of depressingly grey skies and sub-freezing temperatures. Road salt caked on his truck and shoes. One cold or flu epidemic after another. Luckily, spring had arrived just in time to keep him from killing himself. Now in the first week of May, though the temperatures were still cold at night (too cold when he slept alone), the days warmed enough to lift his spirits as much as was possible in this small town purgatory.

One measure of his improving mood was that Stanley had almost stopped blaming Erin for his new situation. Sure, it had all started when she left him, but blaming the ruin of his life on a blind woman, no matter how beautiful she was, made him feel intolerably weak. She’d accused him of being controlling, which was ridiculous. She had been the manipulator, using her handicap to arouse his protective instincts before effectively knocking him on his ass.

The final insult came when his internet company had downsized by fifty percent. Stanley was stunned to discover he rated in the bottom half. The resulting decline in his self-esteem was matched only by that of his bank account, and after a few weeks of unsuccessful job hunting, he found himself trading in his BMW for a pickup truck and packing a U-Haul for the long drive back to Michigan. Stanley had arrived in his hometown with a sick knot in his stomach.

A sweet/sour smell that he couldn’t place drifted on the breeze and turned his stomach. Despite the morning sun, Stanley knew this would not be a good day. He was scheduled to show half a dozen houses to his least favorite clients. Not that he cared much for any of them, but this old couple demanded a mansion for the price of a double-wide trailer. Worse, they socialized with his parents and knew exactly how Stanley had come into the family business. They never seemed to tire of throwing out little jibes about his fall from the good life. And Stanley took enough of that crap from his father.

He finished stretching and retrieved a drink bottle he’d stashed by the ball field fence. When the icy water hit the back of his mouth, he winced, suddenly reminded of another reason he’d been dreading this day. He had broken an old silver filling in one of his lower teeth and was scheduled for a dental appointment in the afternoon. It was tempting to just live with the pain for as much as he hated the very idea of the dentist. Needles, trays of sharp-pointed instruments that they never bothered to hide from you… Even worse was the helplessness he always felt, confined in that reclining chair while some white-coated sadist hovered over him. And his small town paranoia had again set in: surely all the competent doctors and dentists worked in the big cities. What kind of hack job could he expect around here? He shook his head and spit onto the sidewalk, not wanting to think about it.

Stanley checked his watch and began trudging up the river bank. As he walked the few blocks back to his apartment, he unconsciously pressed his tongue against his throbbing tooth. Somehow he couldn’t help but blame the toothache on his crummy situation in this miserable town. Just one more thing to drive him crazy.

Chapter 2

Here we go again.

Angel sat back on her chair and stared down at yet another howling six year old. It was her third screamer of the day. Little David Cross’s face shaded crimson then purple then crimson again, eyes scrunched into tight white lines above the gaping black hole of his mouth. She’d been trying to get him to open that black hole for the past twenty minutes so she could look at his teeth, but now that he was finally open wide Angel had no intention of risking her fingers in there. This was personal, as far as the little guy was concerned. Angel was certain he would have no problem biting down hard, then chewing and swallowing any part he was lucky enough to sever. He had already tried it once, snapping down like a rottweiler, but Angel was too fast, pulling out just as the edges of his incisors grazed her gloves. The look he gave her afterward was essentially a dare to try it again.

David’s mother knelt on the floor next to the dental chair, patting her son’s clenched fist while managing to look anywhere but at Angel. She was quiet and seemed a bit dazed, but that might have been from the copious amounts of nitrous oxide Angel had needed to administer during her own appointment, which had just ended. Angel looked from son to mother and suppressed a sigh.

Angel knew Marlene Cross, formerly Wheaton, from high school, where they had been in the same class but were never good friends. The Wheatons owned a shipping company that sent a fleet of eleven ore freighters all over the Great Lakes. Until ten years ago, the Wheaton fleet had consisted of twelve freighters. The Kawkawlin II, one of the smallest ships on the lakes but distinctive with its dazzling hull of emerald green and gold, had foundered in a late winter storm off Whitefish Point in Lake Superior, near where the Edmund Fitzgerald went down. The overloaded ship sank quickly, and of the crew of twenty-two men, the Coast Guard had only been able to rescue nine. Angel’s father was one of those whose body was never found.

The sinking of the Kawkawlin II was understood to be an act of God, or perhaps just a tragic accident. The shipping company was certainly not at fault. Even so, Marlene Cross had been unable to look Angel or her sister Jenna in the eye since. But when Angel moved back to Bay City to work in her late mother’s dental practice, the Cross family were among the first new patients to call for appointments. Whether this was attributable to guilt or convenience (the office was down the block from the Cross children’s Montessori school), Angel didn’t know or care. She and the Wheatons-Crosses usually avoided conversation whenever they crossed paths.

Now, though, there was no way around it.

Marlene?

Marlene Cross continued staring out the window, seemingly oblivious. Her son’s eyes popped open, though, locking onto Angel’s for a moment before squeezing shut again. He had toned down his howls into a musical monotone; Angel couldn’t help but be impressed by his apparent lack of need to draw breath.

A foot kicked Angel’s shin, and she looked up into the eyes of her chairside assistant. Rachel had worked in dentistry for over twenty years and had a special talent for sitting quietly through anything while hiding her facial expressions behind a paper mask and orange-tinted goggles. Still, Angel could usually get a sense of her assistant’s mood from the arrangement of wrinkles on her forehead, which at the moment bore furrows of both disapproval and amusement. Rachel flicked her eyes toward their patient and his mother, then jerked her head slightly toward the door.

Angel couldn’t agree more. She raised her voice more than she intended to. Marlene?

The woman on the floor finally blinked and turned her head. She focused on a spot somewhere below Angel’s chin. Hmm?

With an effort to keep her voice level, Angel said slowly, I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ll be able to do these fillings for David today.

David went quiet, his eyes darting between Angel and his mother. He shifted his weight, apparently preparing to jump and run. Angel turned her chair and kicked aside some cords to give him a clear path.

Marlene blinked again. Why not?

You’ve got to be kidding me… Angel took a deep breath to steady herself. Well, he just doesn’t seem to be in the mood for this today. Maybe he’d do better if we referred him to a pediatric specialist.

But we like you, Marlene said, one hand absently tousling her son’s hair. He flinched away. You’re the only one he’ll sit still for.

I like David, too, but sitting still isn’t really the issue right now…

David grinned, his decayed-black canine teeth giving his chubby face the appearance of a jack-o-lantern. Angel’s irritation faded slightly at the sight, moderated by the weight of professional failure. She prided herself on being good with children. What was wrong with her today? As if she didn’t know…

Marlene Cross was shaking her head. I don’t understand. What would they do at a pediatric office that you can’t do here?

Sedatives, restraints, general anesthesia… Mentally kicking herself, Angel said, They have special management techniques for children who… She glanced again at David, who had lost interest in the conversation and was trying to wrench the headrest off the back of the dental chair. …Children who sometimes have trouble controlling their behavior.

Marlene jumped to her feet. Her face suddenly became animated, all traces of the nitrous hangover gone. Her gaze shot upward to fix on Angel’s nose. "David does not have trouble controlling anything. He’s only six years old…"

Angel spun slowly on her stool and glanced toward Rachel, who stared stonily back.

…does so well at school, I don’t know what you did to frighten him so badly… Marlene was gaining steam in her tirade, and it suddenly occurred to Angel that this might be serving as an outlet for something other than indignation over an implication of her child’s character. Perhaps the former Marlene Wheaton was tired of walking on eggshells around the Bryce sisters. If so, Angel really didn’t blame her, but she was in no mood to deal with it at the moment.

"Listen, Marlene, I am sorry…"

Again, the other woman didn’t seem to pay attention. She was ranting toward the dental chair now, which her son had recently vacated. Looking behind her, Angel saw that David had pried open the children’s prize box and was grabbing fistfuls of plastic toys and stuffing them in his pockets. When the pockets were full he pulled off his left sneaker and started stuffing that with toys as well. His big toe stuck out like an obscene gesture from a hole in his sock.

Angel’s head had begun to ache and her fingers were sore from having been gnawed on by the two other children that day. She drew a long breath with the intention of letting it out slowly to calm herself but was surprised when her mouth opened and words came out, seemingly of their own accord.

"For God’s sake, Marlene… she began in a tone that stopped David cold and caused him to drop a load of plastic zoo animals on the floor. Would you look me in the eye for a -"

Rachel hopped up from her stool. Dr. Bryce! I… believe Cheryl just called for you to check on a patient in the other room. I’ll give Mrs. Cross the information for the specialist and… She glanced at David, who stood with his mouth hanging open. …And we’ll find David a bag for his prizes.

David smiled up at Angel and stuck out his tongue.

Cheryl, the hygienist, was still out to lunch. Thanks, Rachel, Angel mumbled, meaning it sincerely as she quickly left the treatment room. David’s shout of, Goodbye, Dummy! followed her into the hall.

Angel hurried around the corner and ducked into their tiny lounge. She poured a cup of coffee - her fourth of the day - then slumped into a chair. Needing warmth more than caffeine, she held the mug close under her nose and inhaled the steam. Coffee was her usual comfort drink; it had to be, because the only other choice would have been booze. Of all professions, dentistry ranked near the top for substance abuse, and Angel knew that some of her colleagues even drank mouthwash for the alcohol it contained. Despite being aware of the dangers, there were many days that she went straight for a beer or a glass of wine after work. But each time she drank to calm her nerves, Angel had visions of the proverbial slippery slope tumbling away beneath her. Coffee, at least, was a vice she could manage.

She sat quietly for several minutes, purging Marlene’s blank stare and David’s snapping baby teeth from her system. Eventually the door squeaked open.

Doctor?

Angel didn’t open her eyes. She’s not here. Last I saw she was running down the road, screaming her head off.

Ha ha. Rachel edged past Angel’s knees and settled down noisily beside her. Well, I calmed Mrs. Cross down a bit. Honestly, I don’t think she’d even noticed that you’d left the room. Does everyone in that family act so odd around you?

I suppose.

Well, you can’t really blame them. It’s just strange that they still come here when it’s so uncomfortable. She patted Angel’s knee, then lightly touched the hand holding the coffee mug. Are you gonna drink that garbage or just inhale it?

Angel pried open her eyes against the sunlight that streamed in through the skylights overhead. She peered into the mug, where her coffee had acquired a rainbow sheen like an oilslick. I’m not sure.

Rachel snorted and kicked her feet up onto the table. It’ll stunt your growth, you know. Put hair on your chest.

Too late on both counts.

They laughed, helping to loosen the tension knot that had twisted Angel’s gut all day. She sipped the coffee and made a face; it was five hours old, acidic and greasy. A wave of nausea tightened her throat; in addition to a talent for dentistry, Angel had also inherited her mother’s notoriously weak stomach.

Rachel spoke up again. I really hate to tell you this, but Mary just called. She can’t come back this afternoon. Matthew’s not doing well today so she wants to stay home.

Mary Hagan was the