11. Luke

It was pure chaos at Sunrise Village.

Camera crews were parked haphazardly on the street. A crowd marched out front, holding signs that said TBG Can't Bulldoze Our Home and TBG Destroys Communities!

A dozen people had chained themselves to the front gate, making it impossible for the stalled construction crew to do much of anything. The three leaders of this movement were waiting for me in the community clubhouse, but the tension radiating from Elijah's shoulders had me wondering if he would even allow me to exit the vehicle.

Maybe I'd just have to make a break for it. And maybe he'd throw his big body over mine again, tackling me to the ground. Growl something into my ear like, Is it your goal to make my job absolutely impossible for the entire length of our time together?

It wasn't my goal. Not really. But it sure was fucking fun. And I was desperate to dredge up anything to replace the red-hot embarrassment crawling through my veins after what had happened between me and Preston in the office.

I so love hearing all the ways you've shirked your responsibilities, Lucas.

Elijah was a professional. Surely he'd witnessed family squabbles and awkward arguments before. Surely he'd witnessed them between my own father and brother even. But it was painfully uncomfortable, knowing he'd seen me and Preston sniping at each other.

Knowing that Elijah now understood that my family considered me to be worthless.

Outside, a news anchor interviewed one of the people chained to the front gate, where they sat surrounded by an array of coastal wildflowers, their pink and yellow petals waving in the breeze coming off the ocean. The village was a collection of fifty sky blue cottages that sat a block away from the beach. Built in the early 1900s, they'd quickly become known for their colorful residents and bohemian artist retreats. Novelists and poets, painters and photographers flocked to the cottages, especially in the summer, and it wasn't rare to find writers scribbling away in journals by the sand.

This wasn't the first time the village had been at the center of a protest or a cultural movement. But it was the first time their very existence had been in danger. The cottages had been passed down through a local family for generations and they'd never considered selling before, not when so many in the community believed this to be one of the last bastions of the "old" Cape Avalon. The one less swayed by wealth and celebrity and more concerned with being an artistic refuge.

Most of the file Preston had given me was beyond my understanding, although one name had stood out—Senator Rosamund Wallace. According to my brother, she was prepared to murder us in cold blood if these new luxury condos didn't get built. She was a popular state senator, heavily favored to run in the upcoming presidential election. But she had been born and raised here, had even been a two-term mayor.

I had no idea she'd been helping TBG grease bureaucratic wheels this entire time.

Elijah scanned the crowd with barely concealed irritation. "I don't like this. Too many variables. Too many people with close access to you, as well as the car."

I raked a hand through my hair and dropped the other onto the door handle. "This is my chance to talk to people who clearly hated my dad. I can see what they know, poke around at what they're hiding. Maybe we'll even get a confession out of them."

Elijah's eyes appeared in the rearview mirror. "You're not a detective, Luke. If you're their potential target, now they can carry out their threats in person."

"But you've got extra agents monitoring the situation," I pointed out. "And I'm heading into this meeting with the Elijah Knight. Aren't you the best in the business?"

"Flattering me won't change my mind."

I grinned. "It's not flattery if it's the truth." Then I opened the car door and stepped out into the crowd, which was even louder and more raucous than I realized. I caught the tail end of Elijah swearing—"For fuck's sake, Lucas"—then he was barreling around the car toward me. Which meant I was too distracted by the stern set of his mouth to notice someone had thrown a full can of soda directly at my head.

I ducked and it missed, smacking the car door and leaving a dime-sized dent. The crowd of protesters roared. Elijah was there a half second later, shoving me behind his back.

"What did I just say?" he hissed.

"Maybe they meant for me to catch it," I said, trying not to stare at the way his hair curled, just slightly, at the nape of his neck. "Maybe it was more of a friendly ‘hey, you look thirsty' kind of throw."

"I swear to god, you are going to be the death of?—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold it," yelled a voice from the crowd. "No more projectiles. It's not who we think it is."

Elijah stilled, though his left hand still gripped a handful of my shirt.

"Who do you think I am?" I yelled back, peeking around Elijah's shoulder. I saw who it was and sagged with relief. Attempted to move away from the glowering boulder of a man blocking me from the crowd, but his fingers only tightened where they gripped me.

"Elijah, stop, it's—" I wiggled again, but no luck. "It's Steve."

"That means nothing to me," he snapped.

A bearded man in head-to-toe tie-dye waved, an apologetic smile splitting his face. "Sorry, Luke. We thought you were Preston for a sec."

"You thought I was my brother? That's fucked up, Steve. I trusted you." To Elijah, I said, "We used to work together before he retired. He ran the Jet Ski tours. He follows Phish on tour, feeds a lot of the stray cats that live near the beach."

"He almost killed you with a soda can."

"The keyword there being almost. Steve wouldn't hurt a fly."

My bodyguard muttered something under his breath that I didn't catch. Another person from his team joined us and the two of them escorted me through the crowd and to the meeting spot.

Steve yelled, "Sorry again, Luke!" and a few of the locals flashed me sympathetic smiles. Though more of them jeered and scowled, sending a tendril of unease up my spine. I'd spent the past six years avoiding my father as best I could. Now I was stuck representing him.

And there was possibly someone here angry enough at whatever he'd done to plant a bomb in a car.

"Wait," Elijah commanded when we got to the clubhouse. The other agent went inside, did some kind of inspection, then nodded us through. I squared my shoulders, plastered on my friendliest smile and strode in to meet the organizers. The room was small and sunny and my focus immediately landed on the three people seated around a worn coffee table.

My smile widened. "Lucas Beaumont," I said, extending a hand. "Thanks for having me out here."

An older white man with silver hair tied back in a bun stood and took my hand. "Clarence Craven. Former village resident and photographer, one of the co-leads of this demonstration. Happened to be on-site today, usually I'm helping virtually from my place in Rodanthe Hills." His voice was gruff, his attention darting everywhere except my face.

"Great to meet you," I replied, turning to the tall woman next to me and shaking her hand. Her black hair was streaked with gray and there were deep lines around her dark eyes.

"Lovely to meet you, Lucas. My name is Mía Estrada, local poet and current resident of Sunrise Village. Also a co-lead."

When the woman next to her stood to greet me, I was stunned with recognition. "You're Nora Jackson."

She beamed a dazzling smile my way, taking my hand in a strong grip. "I am, indeed. I'm also a co-lead, though I no longer live here. It's a pleasure, Lucas. I've heard a lot about you."

Nora Jackson was a Cape Avalon celebrity—a beloved thriller author who wrote her most famous murder mystery, Death on the Dunes, while living in one of the cottages here. That same book had been turned into a celebrated TV series, most of it filmed throughout the South Shore and bringing flocks of her fans every year to visit. She was a short Black woman with dark-brown skin, square-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses and chin-length curls.

"I work at the bookstore on Main Street in the winter," I explained. "You did a reading there, years ago. Total packed house. You very kindly signed my collection of your books."

She pressed a hand to her chest as we all took our seats. "I remember that reading; it was a favorite of mine. As is that bookstore." Her face softened. "Lucas, we're so sorry for your loss. I knew your father; it's one of the reasons I offered to help when Mía reached out to me. I was hoping our…friendship, for lack of a better word, might help us find common ground. But it's been months and we've still got people chained to the fence, so that shows you how well that strategy worked."

My eyebrows shot high. "You knew Lincoln?"

She and Mía shared a glance. "We first met when I needed insight on property development and real estate while writing Mayhem at Montauk Point. He was fascinating to speak with."

My thoughts scattered with the slew of words I'd never, not once, associated with the man who used to lock me in my bedroom every time I cried. Words like "friendship"and "common ground" and "fascinating."

"His ego must have loved that. I'm guessing he talked your ear off?"

"And then some, which ultimately worked in my favor. I'd been having a hard time envisioning the antagonist in the story."

"Percy, right?" I asked. "It's been awhile since I read it but he was a shady politician or something?"

With a nod, she said, "Percy, the shady city councilmember. Lincoln was the inspiration."

I dropped my elbows to my knees. "You're telling me that my father was the villain in Mayhem at Montauk Point?"

"I couldn't have crafted a better character if I tried. Lincoln had no shame. He was arrogant, entitled. Paranoid. But the mistake I made in all of this was foolishly assuming our tenuous connection was enough for me to talk him out of this project." Nora's smile faltered and she reached for my wrist. "Look, here I am, speaking ill of the dead. I'm so sorry. How rude of me."

I waved it off. "It's not rude—it's accurate. This is a small town. His reputation wasn't some kind of secret. He was loathed and beloved in equal measure, depending on who you were and what he thought he could get from you. We didn't have a relationship. And hadn't spoken in six years, so I'm not entirely sure what I can do to help you all. Until today, I had no idea this was going on."

"The artists who live here were given sixty days to get out and some have no place else to go," Mía said. "This is a community, a cultural and historical institution that your father decided to bulldoze for the money."

Clarence was fidgeting with his coffee mug, right knee shaking. "Not the first time Lincoln Beaumont's done something like this in Cape Avalon," he said with a grunt. "There's a clear pattern of prioritizing the rich over everyone else. It's why we're putting up such a big fight. Dead or alive, your dad can't bully this place out of existence. Can't bully us out of existence."

He dropped his mug down too sharply on the table, spilling a small amount. While he and Mía mopped up the liquid, Nora turned and caught my eye.

"You can stop all of this, Lucas," she said. "That's why we're meeting with you."

I whistled under my breath. "I wish I could. I've always supported the village—it is an institution. But I was given this gig a few days ago, and according to my brother, all the protests are doing is delaying a done deal. TBG's losing money by the second. No way the board and investors back down now. As soon as you get out of the way, the crews will break ground."

Mía's jaw set. "Then we won't get out of the way."

Guilt shivered through me, but I pushed past it. I needed out of this job and back to the life I'd carved out for myself. A life I'd fought for. And that meant figuring out what my father was hiding and exposing him for the monster that he was—not just the bastard responsible for turning this town into a summer playground for the wealthy. He'd done that out in the light whenever he wanted, collecting accolades along the way.

I wanted to know what he did in the dark.

I lowered my voice and went for a big swing. "I know the three of you are behind the threats my father was receiving before he died. I'm not mad about it, really. I get it—this is a horrible situation you're in. Though the car bomb was a bit intense. But it doesn't matter, because if you knew something about him, if you were blackmailing him?—"

"If we were what?" Mía said, eyes wide.

Behind me, Elijah cleared his throat. Loudly. I cast him a sideways glance and he gave a minuscule shake of his head.

"Are you talking about that bomb out at the adventure park?" Nora asked. "You think the three of us are…trying to kill you?"

Heat suffused my cheeks as I looked between their genuinely confused faces. "Maybe not kill. Severely injure, perhaps?"

Mía started to laugh, and then Nora joined her. Even Clarence gave a soft chuckle.

"We're a bunch of artists," Mía said. "You really think we're capable of something like that?"

My gaze lit on Nora, who was still grinning. "Maybe the person who's written the most kidnapping scenes has a trick or two up her sleeve."

Nora only laughed harder at this, patting my hand like I was a precocious child at the park. "I'm flattered. But everything that we want to say to you, to your company, to those construction crews out there? We're saying it out loud. In public, in front of as many cameras as we can. We've got no use for secret threats or blackmail."

I felt, more than saw, Elijah's frustration with me. It had me fidgeting in my seat, attempting to regain the threads of an idea that seemed brilliant at the time. "Let me explain better. Someone is…was…pissed at my dad." Twisting at the waist, I took in Elijah's flared nostrils. "Do you want to tell them what you've been up against recently?"

His eyebrows winged up, like he was surprised I'd asked. But then he said, "Mr. Beaumont's security team was handling an increase in death threats prior to his passing. Calls, voicemails, letters. At least one person tailing him in public a few times, his office broken into. Most notably, a bomb was detonated beneath our vehicle yesterday."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Angry protesters. Angry threats. I thought I was putting two and two together. That maybe a group of you had something on him, something you were using as leverage to halt construction."

Nora crossed one leg over the other, her gaze steady from behind her glasses. "Whatever we might have on your father is information that's out in the open and always has been. He was rich and privileged; what did he have to hide? He was always protected, always adored by those with the most wealth and influence. I thought getting to know him better might unlock some vulnerability in him, some secret softness."

I dropped my eyes to the floor, already anticipating what she'd say next. When my mother finally died, succumbing to the cancer they'd diagnosed only a year earlier, I cried so hard that I threw up. Spent an entire week throwing up, in fact, sleeping curled up in Preston's bed and refusing to eat, though my brother did try to persuade me with my favorite foods.

My father's punishment for this was one of his favorites—the silent treatment. He used to pretend I didn't exist so thoroughly that I started to believe it.

"Finding vulnerability in him would have been impossible," I said. "He had no softness."

"No, he didn't," Nora said quietly.

Clarence coughed into his hand, cheeks red and fingers drumming on his knee. His jittery nerves were apparent enough in this small room that I wondered if Elijah was noticing too.

"I'm sorry to be rude, but there's no fucking way it's one of us," he said. "We're risking our careers and our reputations to be out here every day. Why would we try and harm Lincoln and risk going to jail even more than we already are? It's not the point. Half this town wants us to shut the hell up and move on. As if Cape Avalon is just a place for tech billionaires to enjoy a better ocean view."

Mía nodded at her co-organizer. "Clarence is right. Not all of us are protected from the law like the Beaumonts are. Getting involved in anything violent only hurts our message, distracts from the real issue at heart."

I sat back in the chair and dragged a tired hand down my face. "You're right, you're right. And I'm really sorry for accusing you. I didn't think of it that way. I'm just…"

I bit my tongue before the truth spilled from my lips. I'm just overwhelmed and confused and wanted this to be easy.

"Did you ever consider the responsibility you have, taking over this company?" Nora asked. "Maybe these threats would stop if you took TBG in another direction. A positive direction, one that benefited this community instead of what it's been doing for decades. Stripping Cape Avalon of all that makes it unique and wonderful."

Knots twisted in my stomach. Elijah's words came back to me then, jostling for my attention. I don't know what it was like to grow up in a mansion with a private jet on hand. Nor have I had the distinct privilege of having a billion-dollar company handed to me without having to do a goddamn thing.

Memories of my father made my skin crawl. So stepping into his shoes, taking on this role—even if it was to change things—felt even worse. A creepy-crawling feeling that had me breaking out in a cold sweat and wanting to run away, as fast and as far as I was able.

Elijah wasn't wrong about how lucky I was, how privileged this entire situation was. Didn't mean I wanted to do anything about the billion-dollar company handed to me by a narcissistic madman. Anything other than get rid of it.

"If I could change the trajectory of this project, I would," I said. "Right now, the power's in your hands. Maybe, if enough time passes and TBG loses too much money, they'll finally listen to you."

"We'll be out here every day until they do," Mía said. "But you have power too, Lucas. Maybe, if enough time passes, you'll do something about it."