Dear John

By Holly Day

How to break up with your boyfriend when your only means of communication are letters?

Logan Fleet is working undercover on a one-house island. A syndicate leader he and his team have been investigating was meant to arrive a week ago but hasn't shown. Instead, Logan spends his day watching Zion, a talented artist and the syndicate leader's boyfriend. Logan shouldn't care, but he feels drawn to Zion.

One bad decision after the other has landed Zion Dash on an island with no cellphone reception, no internet, and no TV. His only means of communication with the world are letters, and his life is falling apart. He wants to curl up next to Logan, but he must get out of the relationship he's in first.

As the days go by, Logan and Zion grow closer. When news about the syndicate leader being on his way reaches them, Logan tells Zion who he is and tries to get him off the island. But Zion isn't sure he believes Logan. How can he trust someone who's been lying about who he is the entire time they've been together?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Sep 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685505349

Holly Day

Holly Day and Sherman Wick are the authors of several books about the Twin Cities. Sherman Wick received his BA in history from the University of Minnesota and has been a member of the Minnesota Historical Society for several decades. Holly Day has worked as a freelance writer for local and national publications for over twenty-five years and teaches writing classes at the Loft Literary Center.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Logan Fleet looked out over the glittering sea and steered the small motorboat toward the jetty. The air was salty and as he switched the motor off, a seagull ruined what should have been a tranquil morning with its vociferous screech. He had been here for two weeks now and was starting to hate seagulls. He was pretty tired of the scent of slowly decomposing seaweed too. Whoever believed undercover work was exciting was dead wrong.

He’d arrived one week before Zion Dash, a thirty-two-year-old painter, and most importantly, Igor Sidorov’s boyfriend. Why Carr, his superior, believed he needed a week to prepare, he didn’t know. There was nothing here. No internet, no cell phone reception, and no TV. All he had was a satellite phone in case they needed medical help—he hoped they wouldn’t.

The days were still warm, but there was a nip in the air in the early morning when he took the boat to the mainland, reported to his team, and bought the newspaper to bring back to Zion. A newspaper was the only connection with the world he was allowed. And letters. He was allowed to write and receive letters.

Logan had been surprised to find international newspapers in the post office. A lot of tourists must come this way if they bothered to deliver the big papers. They were in the middle of nowhere.

A digital detox retreat. Who’d have believed it would become a thing? He snorted. Idiocy.

Getting out of the boat, he grabbed the basket with freshly baked bread, eggs, cheese, and some vegetables he’d bought for breakfast. And the newspaper, of course. He’d already riffled through it. There was nothing of interest apart from a small piece about a charity thing.

Sidorov often attended charity stuff. He was an art dealer—or that was what he wanted people to believe. Crime syndicate boss had a certain ring to it, but it didn’t go down well with most do-gooders, even if they were only do-gooders for show.

Logan believed some of Zion’s paintings had been auctioned off in the name of charity. It was how he’d come to stay on this forsaken island in the first place. Sidorov had a boyfriend, said boyfriend was a reputable artist, and through some charity lottery thing Sidorov had rigged, he had won six weeks on the digital detox island.

They had assumed some kind of drug deal or similar was to go down, but he now suspected they’d misjudged the situation. A week and Sidorov had yet to show. He’d sent Zion with a promise of arriving the next day, then there had been a letter—a one-sentence letter—saying it’d be a couple more days before he arrived. Those days had now turned into a week, and no information they managed to gather indicated anything would happen on the island.

Since Zion had arrived, Sidorov had paraded around one young thing after the other. They’d known he saw other guys on occasion, but how many dates could a man have in a week?

He let himself into the house—a huge mansion taking up most of the island—and went straight to the kitchen to get started on Zion’s breakfast.

At least it gave him something to do. He’d walked around the tiny island a million times already. His only job was to keep an eye on Zion until Sidorov arrived, read his mail, and report on what he did.

He did nothing.

The first few days, he’d been restless. Had paced the house, and Logan wouldn’t be surprised if he’d worn out the soles of his shoes in an attempt to set a world record for how many times he could walk around the island.

In the beginning, he’d smiled and exchanged a few pleasantries whenever Logan delivered his food, but during the last couple of days, he’d stopped pacing, had stopped circling the island, and most often stood staring out the window.

It made Logan nervous. The pacing he could take, he wanted to pace himself, but the silent staring? It made him want to scream.

He filled a tray with boiled eggs, coffee, bread, cheese, lettuce, sliced tomatoes, and a glass of orange juice. He tucked the newspaper under his arm before lifting the tray. As he pushed through the door of the kitchen and walked into the dining room, he spotted Zion by the window. Again.

He was wearing striped pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt stretched lovingly over his chest. His hair stood on end, and he needed a shave—or not. Logan liked him scruffy.

Good morning. He put some extra cheer into his voice since it was what he envisioned retreat assistants or whatever it was he was pretending to be sounded like.

Zion stared at him.

Lovely weather. Logan smiled and placed the items on the table.

Don’t you ever leave? Zion glared at him.

Eh…Yes, I left to get you the newspaper and bread. It was still warm when I bought it.

Zion said nothing.

When Logan prepared to leave, he pulled a creased envelope from his pocket. Can you post this for me?

Of course. Logan dipped his head slightly before walking closer to take the letter. It was the second letter he’d asked Logan to send. The first had been several pages. He’d described the island, called Logan a houseboy too rough