Lazy Days: E&M Investigations, Book Three

By LJ Bourne

The long, lazy days of summer are interrupted by murder in this thrilling and suspenseful new mystery novel by LJ Bourne.

Lazy summer days. Dark secrets. Death.

True crime writer, Eva Lah and her partner, Mark Novak, a former US Military Special Investigator, are on a long overdue vacation. But the carefree days of swimming and fun are shattered when the body of Eva’s childhood friend is discovered at the bottom of the nearby picturesque sea cliffs.

The hunt for the killer is on, yet the body count keeps rising. Eva and Mark are certain that dark secrets from the past are behind the deaths. But whose past? Eva is determined to find justice for her old friend. No matter what it takes. And no matter who it hurts.

But the person she’s hunting already proved how easily they can kill. And they’ll do it again in a heartbeat.

A must read for fans of Donna Leon, Lisa Gardener and Karin Slaughter!

LAZY DAYS, the third book in the E&M Investigations series, is a standalone, fast-paced and gripping crime mystery novel that is impossible to put down!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Waterside Dreams Press
• Release date: Dec 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9789619646014

Book preview

1

The sun is setting into the open waters of the horizon, dark lilac cushioned by purple and blue clouds. Here on this wild beach where time stopped in a time when people still mainly lived off the land, and life was simple and laidback. Even now, it still looks like it did a hundred or two hundred years ago. Here, it’s easy to imagine that we’re alone in the world.

His strong arm is around my shoulders, I have his taut, muscular body to lean on, his fresh scent—soap, seawater, and the remains of sunscreen covering his natural musky, intoxicatingly all-male scent. Perfection.

I never imagined, not even in my wildest fantasies, we would be sitting here like this. Ever. What does he see in me? How is it possible he sees anything but an awkward, too skinny, pimply teenager? He’s already almost a man. And he’s gorgeous enough to date anyone he wants.

I can’t stop questioning it all. Even though I know I should just lean on him and enjoy it while it lasts. It can’t possibly last long.

We’ll have to walk back home in complete darkness. Past crumbling houses and a long-abandoned mansion that used to house poor and mentally disabled elderly people. I never go near it after dark, since everyone says it’s haunted. I hope we don’t find out if that’s true tonight.

But even that doesn’t scare me. Not if he’s with me, holding my hand. He’s strong enough to chase all my fears away. I know it. I feel it. Deep in my chest, even deeper in my belly.

His hot palm, rough from the endless windsurfing and rowing he does all day, every day, slides up my back, across my hot, soft skin under my t-shirt, sending blindingly exhilarating shocks through my core.

He faces me and gives me a look of longing that sends my heart racing. Then he leans down and as his lips touch mine, the circle of sparkling, electric bliss is complete.

But he wants more than just a soft kiss. His hand is on the back of my neck now, the pressure of his strong fingers painful. With his other hand, he’s pulling at the drawstring of my shorts. Even his kiss is hard and almost painful now.

It’s all too much. Too fast. I’m not ready.

I gently push him away with my hand on his chest, and try to back away from the kiss. His hand on my neck won’t let that happen.

Don’t be like that? he whispers as he leans back to look at me. His large blue eyes very dark and glowing like two glass orbs. Oracle orbs. Showing me my future. It’s not a good one.

Let’s just kiss, I whisper back.

I don’t want to just kiss, he says and his voice is no longer as soft as the sweet evening breeze off the summer sea. It’s like the strong scary wind that comes before the storm frightening.

Come on, stop it, I plead, chuckling a little.

Suddenly the walk back through the darkness is already a nightmare playing out in my mind.

No, he says and that’s my next word too, as he grabs me by the throat and pushes me down onto the rocks covering this beach.

The back of my head hits a sharp one, dazing me for a few moments.

The next thing I know, he’s lying on top of me. His intoxicatingly strong body now pushing me painfully into the ground. His strength is no longer a good thing. Now it’s terrifying. I can’t move, I can’t even shout because he’s clasping his calloused hand over my mouth. I wiggle, but that just hurts worse.

We both know this is why you came here with me tonight, so stop fighting, he hisses.

I shake my head and my, No! is only loud inside my head. It comes out muffled and feeble. Just like I am. Weak. Too weak to fight him off.

This will be our little secret, he whispers, his voice once again soft, but no longer pleasant. You won’t tell anyone.

And I didn’t.

I just buried that night in my mind, where it lurked, dark and scary, always a dark, menacing shadow at the edges of everything I’ve done since.

Will the pain ever stop?

I asked myself that question for the first time after he was done that night. And many, many times since.

I don’t have an answer yet.

2

MARK

The sun is a huge yellow ball dropping straight into the sea, coloring the horizon in fiery tones. We’re at the beach house that belongs to Eva’s parents in the small seaside town of Floria in Croatia. This house is right on the beach, and several other such properties line the shore of this bay. As well as several rows of houses rising to the main road. So according to population size, this could be called a town, I’m sure. But it’s more a seaside resort, I guess.

The bay is wide, long, and sheltered, and currently, about twenty sailboats are moored in the center of it. I’ve never been sailing, never even wanted to go, but looking at all these sailboats for the past two days, I’m kind of curious to try it.

The beach is still crowded and alive with all types of noises known to man, with some I never thought I’d hear. The cacophony is made up of children of all ages crying, screaming, laughing, or, in the case of teenage boys, talking much too loudly. There are also mothers and fathers shouting instructions to their kids, and the whole bouquet of noise is nicely brought together by the loud booming basses and tenors of the older guys who’ve had too much to drink and spent the whole day in the sun. More than once since we arrived at this beach house, I was sure someone was drowning when the level of screaming reached such a frenzied pitch, I couldn’t hear myself think. But each time it turned out it was just too much sun, sea, and alcohol.

I guess all the noise is the flip side of having a house right on the beach with only a low wall separating you from the sea. But after spending two days here I hardly hear the noise anymore. It’s just part of the scenery now. And the scenery is gorgeous.

Though I can still hear Eva’s furious typing coming from inside the house behind me as I sit on this large, cool, breezy porch alone. I can hear that even in my sleep.

Coming here, on this vacation, was Eva’s idea. I hardly remember the last time I took an actual vacation. Must’ve been back when Eva and I first started dating in Berlin. Her parents live here almost year-round these days, but they’re currently on a Scandinavian cruise. I don’t blame them for either of those choices, especially the living here. It must be heaven on earth most of the time, except maybe in the high summer heat.

The house itself is a one-floor, two-bedroom home, with a spacious living room that opens right onto a huge covered porch, with a dining nook on one end, enclosed by wraparound windows that offer awesome views of the sea. The table can easily seat six people and there’s plenty of space left on the porch for at least four deck chairs. I’ve been sitting in one of them practically since we got here, just watching the sea. The garden, Eva’s mother’s pride and joy, is one gorgeous, well-tended, flowering bush next to another, the lawn is meticulously cut, the sea is warm, calm, and shallow and the sunrises and sunsets are spectacular. The day in-between is too.

But I’d enjoy it all a lot more if Eva hadn’t spent the last two days and nights since we arrived working on her latest book. It’s about the serial killer we caught at the beginning of the year, the one she’s dubbed The Mist Killer. Or was it The Chameleon? I refuse to give these psychos names. They’re just freaks of nature, and I don’t think hearing their life stories is something the world needs. All the world needs is for them to be hunted down and caged.

Eva does. She’s made quite the career out of telling their stories.

Her current obsession with work is a stark reminder of the one who started it all—the Fairytale Killer. She buried herself in work after that one too. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now. Nor do I appreciate the throwback to the weeks and months as our relationship slowly but steadily fizzled out. She spent them working on a book about him, the book that launched her into bestseller true-crime writer stardom. But those months also spelled the end of our relationship. That last vacation I remember taking was with her, she wrote the whole time, and we broke up soon after we returned home.

I only just got her back. I don’t want to lose her again.

The last case, and I’m pretty sure the one before too—the one she’s writing the book about—really took a toll on her. She’s having some sort of a delayed PTSD reaction to all the stress, and I’m sure that’s closely tied to the psycho in Berlin. I hope I’m wrong.

What do I know anyway? I’m no psychologist and I’ve been working too much too. I just want her to be happy. I want us to be happy. But so far, the only us time we’ve had on this vacation was a quick drink at a nearby beach bar and an even quicker dip in the sea.

We don’t even sleep in the same bed because she’s not sleeping. Not at night anyway.

I realize I can’t hear the typing anymore in the same instant that I feel her long silky hair brush against my chest.

I’m all done, she whispers into my ear, leaning down so her lips are right next to my skin.

The urge to grab her and kiss her is strong, but before I can act on the impulse, she straightens.

Done as in done with the entire book? I ask, sitting up in the lounge chair I’ve been reclining in.

She smiles wider than I’ve seen her smile in a long time. Done as in I’m all yours. I already sent the book to my editor so I won’t be tempted to tinker with it anymore.

I stand up and face her, take a moment to soak up the smile on her face and find hope that I’ve been worrying over nothing again. Then I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close. Finally. And congratulations, of course. What’s this, book number ten?

She beams up at me, her eyes the exact color of the cloudless sky.

Eleven, actually, she says. Now, how about a swim and then dinner?

That sounds like a very good plan.

Since day one of meeting Eva almost six years ago now, I’ve had the feeling that everything else can wait while we’re together. Everything and anything. And that’s exactly how I feel right now.

EVA

A cool breeze is coming in off the sea as we cross the narrow stone walkway to get to the water, instantly causing goosebumps to erupt on my arms. But the shallow water has been warmed by the sun all day and erases them as I wade in. And groan in pain.

The Adriatic Sea might be one of the most pleasant seas in the world, with its calm, sheltered waters and absence of any large, scary creatures, but the shores are predominately rocky and the one by the beach house is no exception. Quite the opposite. The stones you have to walk across to get anywhere near to taking a swim are large, sharp, and many. I’d forgotten how painful it was to attempt this without some sort of footwear.

I’d offer to carry you, but I doubt we’d survive, Mark says, correctly interpreting my groan. He’s having as much trouble on the rocks as I am.

Not so the other bathers currently occupying the small cove. Children are yelling, shrieking, and laughing as they splash each other in the shallows, as though determined to make the most of the last of the day's light. The adults aren’t far behind in making as much noise as they can. I can smell all the sunscreen they’ve applied during the day, and see it in the oily splotches on top of the gently rippling waters.

Eva? Eva, is that you? a woman’s voice calls from behind me. I turn to see a slim brunette in a yellow strappy beach dress standing at the very edge of the water, squinting in the bright setting sun as she waves at me. Her skin is a rich golden brown color that I can only achieve in my dreams.

Her, thick curly, shoulder-length hair is the only reason I recognize her. I assume she only recognized me by mine too.

Barbi? I ask already splashing towards her.

She wades right into the water in her neon yellow and black flip-flops and joins me in ankle-high water.

I can’t believe it, she says giving me a good whiff of the alcohol on her breath as she embraces me. How long has it been? Ten years? Your mother said you might be coming.

At least that long, I say, not really able to recall the last time I was here.

How long are you staying? she asks.

For at least a week.

And you’re not alone, I see, she says as she releases me. She’s squinting past my shoulder at Mark. I can just tell he’s debating whether he needs to wade all the way to us across the rocks, or if he can just greet her from there.

Mark, this is my old friend, Barbara, but everyone calls her Barbi, I tell him, then turn to her. And that’s Mark, my⁠—

You’ve done well for yourself, she says and winks suggestively. She’s not wrong.

Mark looks good in a bathing suit, but that doesn’t mean she should be pointing it out. I’m not sure I like it, or the coarse, drunk chuckle she emitted right after she said it. I smile regardless, but don’t respond.

They’re busy exchanging hellos from a distance so there’s no need to.

Come by the house after your swim, she says. We’re having a small barbecue party and we need to catch up.

An excuse is on the tip of my tongue, but she notices and forestalls it with, I’m not taking no for an answer. Everyone will be there. It’s been too long, Eva.

She has a point and I can’t think of a good enough reason to miss it anyway, so I tell her we’ll be there. She squints at Mark some more then waves and wades back to the beach.

I can’t stand the hard, sharp stones poking my feet a second longer, so I just drop into the water. It’s chilly, but in a refreshing, breathtaking way and wonderfully rejuvenating, as always. Mark follows suit, dunking his head under the surface and performing a few strokes before scooping me up in his arms making me shriek in surprise, adding my own loudness to the noise all around us.

I kind of wish you’d made an excuse for tonight, he confides.

Me too, I admit. But she put me on the spot and it’s true that I haven’t seen any of them in ages. We used to play together all summer long when we were children.

Mark balances me against his chest and I love the weightlessness of it all, and the feel of his skin against mine. It’s warm despite the cool water we’re submerged in. Sounds like you had a lot of fun here.

I’m not sure if he means it or is just being sarcastic.

What about you, didn’t you have a summer vacation spot growing up?

Sure, the local pool, he says and this time I know he’s being sarcastic. My grandparents always talked about taking us on a seaside vacation, to California or maybe Florida, but that never happened.

Because your grandfather died? I ask before thinking.

He doesn’t like talking about it, since his grandfather died so suddenly and so tragically when he was sixteen, and I wish I hadn’t asked now. He sort of tightens, but his arms around me are just as supportive as they were.

Yeah, that, but there was also never enough money, he says. Though that all changed when my mom moved to Florida with her husband. But by then we weren’t exactly a close-knit family anymore.

He was very close to his mother and grandparents growing up, especially since he never knew his father, but they had some sort of a falling out after she married. Both his grandparents were dead at that point, the grandfather from a heart attack and the grandmother of cancer two years later. So it’s no wonder he so rarely talks about it. I’d like to finally meet his mother, but I’m not sure this is the right time to be taking this conversation down that road. We’re supposed to be taking some time off, and here I am dredging up the painful past. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

We’ll just stop by for one drink and then straight back home, I tell him instead of continuing the other conversation.

We can stay as long as you want, Eva, he says and I know he means it. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll go for a swim.

He releases me and as I watch him glide off towards the sunset yellow waters of the horizon, I do know how lucky I am. And I also know I could still sabotage everything we have because that’s just something I do. Something I’ve been doing since the last case we worked on in Bosnia.

Subconsciously, but still. This feels a lot like the weeks and months after we caught the Fairytale Killer, as our relationship slowly died. Is that where we’re headed again?

I’ve always been at my best when I’m alone, with no one to worry about but myself. Is my subconscious trying to lead me back to that?

Man, I hope not.

But can I even stop it?

Barbi invited not just Mark and me, but everyone that we’d ever known while growing up, along with their spouses and children. There were around fifteen people here when we arrived and the number just kept growing as darkness fell. I’m sure it’s in the thirties now.

She had set up three large tables and three smaller ones in the garden, which is almost right on the water. Only a low wall and the stone walkway separate it from the sea. From where I’m sitting at one of the smaller tables, the sea looks like one of those infinity pools the rich and famous have at their Florida or California mansions. Gorgeous, in other words. There seems to be some sort of party going on down on the beach too, or maybe a part of ours has spilled down there. A bonfire is burning there, I hear faint guitar notes and children laughing and shrieking.

Most of the guests are milling around the large garden, drinking beer or cocktails and talking, while not really minding the fifteen or so children of all ages running around. A group of teenagers had found an unattended bottle of red wine and are hiding behind a rose bush near the gate as they pass it around. I’m sure I’m not the only one who sees them doing it, but no one is reacting, so I’m not going to mention it either. Let them have their fun, I guess.

Mark is with a group of men by the large stone fireplace/grill, where Barbi’s husband has been tending a fire for almost an hour, so he can start barbecuing.

Barbi’s family is super-rich and they have a large, two-story beachside house here, with a garden three times the size of ours. It looks even bigger because there are no hedges between the four other properties on this side of the beach.

She always liked throwing parties, even when we were teenagers. At first, I was too young to attend—all us younger kids around here just weren’t cool enough to hang out with Barbi and the older ones. But after my family moved to New York when I was ten, that changed. She even invited me to one of the parties she held at their family villa in Ljubljana. I went and regretted it, detesting the snobbery of it all. She wasn’t interested in me at all. She was only interested in telling all her other friends that she had a cool friend from New York. I think that’s the only other party of hers I’ve been to, though that hasn’t stopped her from inviting me over the years.

Clearly, Barbi’s only gotten better at throwing parties over the years. The tables are covered by identical white tablecloths with a floral design, the folding chairs each come with a comfy cushion that matches the tablecloths and she even lit a bunch of torches. The smoke rising from them is starting to give me a headache, but luckily they are starting to go out. Or maybe the headache is the result of my seemingly bottomless glass of gin and tonic.

I’m sitting at one of the tables with Barbi and two more of my—well, more her—summertime friends, the twins from the next house over, Lea and Tea. They’ve been asking me all sorts of questions about my life, or mostly about Mark, and not really listening to my answers. Annoying to say the least. Or lucky, since I don’t much like talking about myself.

And they all stop talking as a slim, tall woman in a strappy black dress and red high-heeled sandals comes over to the table. Her hair is long and wavy, full of highlights and lowlights and the shine in the light given off by the torches. Ines. She was a fairly successful model back in the day and still looks like she could be on the cover of some magazine or the star of a catwalk show.

Good evening, she says with a wide smile as she offers me her hand. I haven’t seen you in decades. How are you?

She always was the most pleasant of the lot of Barbi’s friends, so my smile is completely genuine as I greet her back and shake her hand, exchanging a few pleasantries. The twins are rolling their eyes at the scene behind Ines’ back, trying to involve Barbi too, but she’s pretending not to see them.

I bet I know why. Ines was never truly from their clique. Her family’s beach house is up the hill by the main road, which is as far from the beach as you could get back in the day. But she was always the prettiest of them all and started modeling early so she was always grudgingly welcome at the cool kids’ table. Barbi, Lea, and Tea have already filled me in on who’s who and who’s basically a nobody at this party. I wanted to leave so bad, I almost did.

But I’m still waiting for my two actual best friends—Hana and Bor—to arrive. If at least one of them doesn’t show up in the next half an hour, I think Mark and I will have some urgent business elsewhere. Our eyes lock and I get the distinct feeling we’re thinking the same thing.

This is a great party, Barbi, Ines says as she sits down. As always. But tell me, who’s that hunk by the BBQ? Haven’t seen him around here before?

She means Mark and I realize that only after Barbi answers her question.

And now it’s time to tell us, Eva, where did you find him? Barbi asks in a haughty, suggestive voice, checking Mark out in a very obvious way by looking over her shoulder. He looks like he should be in the army.

He was, actually, I say and grin too, because despite myself I’m glad to hear the envy in her voice. I blame all the gin I’ve already drunk for that reaction. We met while he was trying to catch a serial killer in Berlin.

I blame the gin for blurting that out too. I did not mean to bring any of that up.

Lea, Tea, and Barbi all look shocked, but Ines nods knowingly.

Yes, I read all your articles about that case, Ines says. I’m glad you caught him.

The other three clearly didn’t hear anything about the Fairytale Killer and ask about a hundred questions apiece. Ines answers most of them and I’m glad for it. But she goes into too much detail. Literally, too much.

The murders were gruesome and disturbing, but no, he didn’t cut out the victim’s hearts and keep them in a jar, I say to correct her.

You wrote a book about the case, didn’t you? Ines asks. I started reading it, but never finished.

I nod. Probably for the best.

Why? You don’t like talking about it? Ines asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

Not especially, no, I say. It was a bad time.

Well, you got a guy out of it so that’s something, Barbi says and laughs harshly.

Her husband, Lea and Tea’s cousin as it were, is chatting to one of the young mom’s the beach is full of by day by the edge of the garden. The light from one of the torches is illuminating both her perky, bikini-clad breasts and his grinning face.

Barbi glares at him, but he doesn’t notice, because he’s too focused on making the younger woman laugh with some very involved story, that he’s telling with his hands as much as his voice. Clearly, not everything is sunshine and roses in their marriage.

Remember all those beach bonfire parties we used to have on the beach? I ask, more to change the subject than anything else.

They were never all that, Lea scoffs. Cold and miserable and they attracted all sorts from all over. Just like the one down there tonight. I hope none of them decide that coming up here would be a good idea like they sometimes do.

I think you were sufficiently rude to them the last time they tried, sis, Tea says.

They deserved it, Lea counters, and against my better judgment, I ask why.

They regale me with a long-winded tale, which they tell by speaking one over the other while describing events out of order. I only have my long journalistic career to thank for understanding the gist of it. Basically, a group of kids from the beach got into some kind of argument with Lea’s children. Insults were exchanged, Lea’s kids got bullied and the parents did nothing, not even after she asked them to discipline their children.

They said we should just let them work it out on their own, Lea concludes. Can you imagine? Parents are supposed to teach their kids, not let them run around like wild beasts.

I’m sure it’ll all work out, Ines says in a distracted voice. Say, have any of you seen Hana today?

They all turn to scan the garden, but I already know Hana isn’t here. There are more people around though, and more small children, and I’m sure that despite Lea’s wishes, some are from the beach party since they’re in their bathing suits and shoeless.

Her husband, Jan is there, Lea says, pointing to the guy next to Mark. If I’m not very much mistaken he’s a friend of Barbi’s husband and did spend a couple of summers here. I think that’s how Hana met him.

I ran into her earlier today, Lea says. I was going to the store and she was heading for a run along the cliffs. I don’t know what she’s trying to prove. She’s not a teenager anymore and the terrain there is treacherous. It was really hot out.

I have no idea where the venom in her voice is coming from. Jealousy? Most likely.

In their own dysfunctional, snobby way, the four of them seem to be good friends. They’ve clearly been coming here every summer and now have a tight-knit friendship group of the kind I’ll never have with anyone here or likely anywhere.

All my good friends are scattered across the world, and I rarely get to see them. I’ve been working so hard these last three years that I haven’t made any new friends. Or had time to deepen any of the old friendships I left behind when I moved to London at eighteen. I’m ready to start fixing that. It’d be nice to see Hana and Bor, we used to have a lot of fun together.