BAD Beginnings

  BAD

  Beginnings

  Would you take a chance at a new life if it fell in your lap?

  Shelley K Wall

  TITLE Copyright © 2015 by Shelley K. Wall.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information:

  http://shelleykwall.com

  Copyright © 2015 Shelley K Wall

  ISBN-10: 0989341518

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9893415-1-6

  First Edition: Mar2015

  Dedication

  Sentiment isn’t easily expressed for all the things that have occurred in my life for which I owe so many, but I will try.

  To my husband for years of supporting me in my many lofty goals and endeavors. To my children, don’t let anything or anyone stop you from going after the things that matter to you—whatever they may be. To my parents, thank you for raising me with good morals, great common sense, and a solid work ethic that has made so many wonderful things possible.

  To everyone that has supported my writing efforts over the years, I hope I can repay your favors and kindness. To those who have not - may you forever have a thorn inside your sock(kidding.)

  And…

  To every reader that hopes for a chance to walk in someone else’s shoes—to try on a new life, regardless of how brief.

  Enjoy.

  Chapter One

  Baden Tranor looked down on the bashed and bloodied face that had smiled gleefully at him only moments before. It must have been good to squelch that expression, but for the life of him, he felt nothing. He watched the gasps for air as the man sucked in his last breaths of life. How curious that the chest continued to heave when the wheezing stopped.

  He had hoped there would be remorse from the guy, a need to confess, something that would lessen the burden. It had not come. Instead there was just a smug interchange of smiles that confirmed each person’s place in their destiny. Baden wasn’t a murderer.

  The voice in his head that had always guided him down the wrong path before had egged him on, though he’d tried to resist. Stop. A fleeting feeling of fear caught him and was quickly displaced. He deserves this. Two words had pummeled his brain throughout the interchange and now those words had silenced. Only one remained. Victory.

  “You should leave.” The woman’s voice was calm like wind dying after a storm, accepting of what occurred. He grasped a tissue from the bathroom counter and offered it, not mentioning the streaks on her face. Was it wrong to touch the possessions of a dead man in his home? She nodded thanks and leaned to the mirror to clean herself. Baden studied her efforts, unsure whether to state the obvious. There wasn’t enough makeup in the world to cover the marks the man had left.

  “You should see a doctor.”

  Her clothes were torn from the shoulder, a ragged edge trailing to her elbow. Baden pointed at the scratch on her collarbone where the man had bitten into the skin in an attempt to gain control.

  She yanked the torn cloth off her head, wadded it, and stuffed it into her back pocket, leaving frayed edges to hang and flutter. She grabbed a collared shirt from the hook on the door and slipped an arm through one sleeve, then the other. “He won’t miss this, I guess.”

  Baden gasped as the man on the floor chose that moment to fling out a hand and grasp her leg. Unexpectedly strong fingers clasped into the denim at her ankle as if to say “I’m not done with you yet.” She screamed a short staccato squeal and kicked his hand away. When his eyes rolled shut, she leaned over and checked his pulse. “Well, he’s not dead--at least you didn’t kill him. Let’s get the hell out of here before he wakes up.”

  “How? I drove his car. He insisted, said—”

  “I was there, remember?” With her hand plopped to her hip, she leveled her chocolate eyes on him. “You’re not going to freak out on me, are you? Just take me home—in his car. You can bring it back later. Judging by the looks of him, he’ll be in better shape after a little rest anyway.”

  “And seriously pissed.”

  She rolled her eyes and stepped out of the bathroom. “At me, not you. He won’t even remember who you are. Besides, you can just leave the keys in it and bail. He won’t give a shit. As wasted as he is, he’ll struggle for days to put any details together.”

  Baden could do nothing but follow down the hallway to the door, grabbing the keys from the counter where he’d drop them.

  “Although you do kind of look like him. If you cut your hair, you’d probably be a dead ringer.” She laughed. “A dead ringer for the biggest asshole on the planet. Poor you.”

  In the car, he adjusted his seatbelt while she dropped her bag in the back. “Oh, shit.” She leaned over the seat, dug around in the purse for a second, then threw the car door wide. “Hang on a second. Lost something.” She jumped from the car, ran inside and returned seconds later stuffing something in her back pocket. Once she was strapped in, he backed out and eased the car away. There was no need to call attention, although if evaluated, they probably just appeared like the man and his date—leaving.

  Baden couldn’t wait to get rid of this dark-haired chick that deceptively hid some extensive taekwondo skills. He readjusted his bruised jaw which had gotten in the way of a kick she intended for the dirt bag they’d left.

  “Where to?” He waited for a response. She rattled off an address he recognized and he scowled. It was an area he knew well, an area he worked sometimes. The home he took her to was no home at all, it was a hotel.

  At the curb, she bailed from the car and leaned back through the door for a second. The smell of asphalt swept into the car. “Have a nice life, man. Thanks for your help.” She analyzed Baden briefly, then shook her head. “Shit, you really look like him. If I didn’t know better--it’s a damn good thing you’re not.” She pushed the door closed, tapped it twice with her palm and strode away.

  He hadn’t even gotten her name. The next morning when he dropped the car at the house, he realized the monumental mistake he’d made by not asking. The house looked even bigger up close—and clean. It had been dark the night before, and the lights were a soft blue-white that made the place almost surreal. In the daylight, Baden evaluated the man’s affection for shades of blue and gray. Cold was the first word that came to mind, followed closely by sterile. The outside landscaping consisted of low-hanging bushes cut in harsh lines to hug the house like a straitjacket.

  Baden tapped the door with the key and received no response but a coo. Was that a bird? Maybe from the yard. He shot a glance around to the trees and the neighboring houses. Nothing, not an animal nor a person. Tap, tap, tap. He tried once more. The door shifted a crack--it was open.

  “There you are!”

  He whirled around to the sound of footsteps rushing across the grass. The fortyish woman with mahogany hair and skin-hugging yoga pants waved. In his direction.

  “Huh?” Not very original, but he wasn’t sure exactly who she meant. You—as in—him?

  “I’m so glad you’re back. I fed Tora yesterday. I think he missed you. He’s been tossing the seeds out on the floor. I’m not sure he really eats any of it. And he doesn’t drink the water, he swims in it. Splashes the crap everywhere. What a mess. Here’s your mail. I
t was piling up so I took it in—you never know who’s watching for that. Everyone says burglars look for houses with mail overflowing, you know.” She thrust out a box of paper that she’d carried in the non-waving hand and smiled, apparently pleased with her efforts.

  “Uh, thanks. That was real thoughtful.” She obviously thought he looked like the guy too. It would have been polite to correct the mistake, but he’d never been very polite. He simply wanted her gone. He grasped the box and dropped it to the step.

  The woman scowled. “You look like shit, Logan. Don’t they have barbers in Cozumel? It’s not like you to let yourself go.”

  He scratched his chin, realizing it wasn’t just hair that probably surprised her. His five-o’clock shadow from yesterday itched. He hadn’t bothered with it. It had been more important to return the car early than clean up. Then he silently kicked himself. Since when did you worry about shaving or haircuts? She really thinks you’re him. Funny.

  “Yeah, too much sun and fun, I guess. Thanks again.” He lifted the box and pushed through the door, closing it solidly behind. “I owe you,” he called through the wood. Seconds later her feet tromped down the drive and back to her house. He inspected the entry and adjacent rooms—all empty. Yet the man had taken the time to straighten up after the brawl the night before.

  Baden smiled at the missing lamp from the coffee table. She had smashed it over his temple just after he put the bite mark on her neck. It had shattered. Tiny glass shards speckled the floor. He swept a shoe over the tile; not a speck there now. The man was nothing if not meticulous. And quiet.

  Where the hell was he?

  “Helloooo?” Baden dropped the keys where he’d deposited them before. “Your keys are by the door.”

  A female voice scratched a response, “Hello…hey, asshole.”

  “Huh? What?”

  “Hey, asshole.”

  Seriously? He strode down the tiled expanse to a kitchen. The guy beat the shit out of his date last night, and this woman called him an asshole? That’s rich. The kitchen was stainless—everything. Baden hadn’t been in this area during the kick-ass session but he sure as hell liked it. Two years as a cook’s helper had trained him well. He ran his hand over the granite counter. “Nice.”

  “Shut up,” the voice screeched.

  “Who are you talking to?” He rounded the corner and searched across to the window and the African grey parrot that must be Tora.

  “Hey, asshole.”

  Chapter Two

  Well, he’d been called an asshole by everyone he knew at one point or another but this was the first time a bird had joined in. Normally animals adored him.

  “Yeah, I love you too.” He walked to the cage, stopping when his feet crunched on seed hulls. The floor was covered with them. Yep, this had to be Tora. The bird bobbed up and down then reached his head through the cage seeking attention. Baden cupped fingers around and scratched its chest just under the wings, smiling when the bird opened them for more. “You like that, don’t you?”

  The bird cooed and wrapped a foot, or was it a talon, around his index finger.

  Baden searched the room for signs of the resident. Nothing. The place was so clean it smelled like a hospital. All bleach and shine. The sun glinted through the shuttered slats of the window shades and blinded him. Nice place. Nice car too. Too bad the guy was such a dick. Figures. All this shit was wasted on a man like that.

  Completely wasted and unappreciated.

  Trumpets blared on a stereo system overhead. It startled him out of his pity party and he searched for the source. A shadow appeared through the door’s glass, then the sound of metal announced a keyed entry. Yikes. The man was home? Unlikely because he had been seriously injured. He had to be in a hospital somewhere, right? The clickety-clack of heels dispelled his arrival and Baden rounded the corner, thumping head-on with a petite brunette.

  Oomph.

  He reached hands to arms to keep her from falling, but she just nodded and adjusted the packages in her grasp. “Good, you’re home. I was beginning to wonder when you didn’t call. Here’s your office mail.” She shuffled packages and envelopes to her other hand and dropped them on a table. “You have a ten am conference call at the office, then an eleven meeting with Foster. Looks like we need to drop you by Chaco’s on the way though.”

  He had no idea who Foster or Chaco were but decided he’d better not ask. Apparently, if he actually were the resident of this place he would know. He glanced at the name on an envelope at the top of the heap she had dumped. Logan R. Indiris. So, that’s my doppelganger.

  He snickered. Well, at least he probably never got nicknamed something like Bad.

  “What’s funny?” The woman shoved the strap of her purse to her shoulder and took a look at the time on her phone. “Hurry up, Jim’s waiting outside. He already put your car in the garage. We’ll take the Bentley if that’s okay. I know you like the space when you’re tired. And you look like hell right now.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate that.” He followed her toward the door, mainly because the tightness of her skirt had captured his eyes and there wasn’t going to be a release anytime soon. Damn, she was fit. He bet she spent hours at the gym when she wasn’t kissing Logan’s ass.

  She whirled back and his eyes collided with hers for a second before she averted to the window. “I wasn’t trying to insult you. I just meant you probably wanted a haircut before you waltzed in on your mother and her new husband. Right?”

  What? He needed to nip this mistaken identity immediately. “Look, I’m not really—”

  She held up a hand and closed her eyes. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t get upset about it. It looks good, the hair. You look—incredibly relaxed. Besides you haven’t seen her in years anyway, right? Why does it matter? She’ll be thrilled to see you and if history serves us, this guy will be gone before she comes back next time.”

  “Really? You think so?” His head was spinning. She still hadn’t figured it out.

  “Of course, number four, right? He’ll be exhausted in two years and dead within five.”

  “Well, you have to admire her style.” What exactly did a woman old enough to be his mother do to a man to wear him out? The thought was laughable.

  The tight little skirt snapped toward him, hugging her ass like a second skin. She tapped a short and chipped nail against his chest, surprising him that it must regularly have been bitten to the quick. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Your shirt is stained, come on.”

  The woman clamped her fingers around his arm and pulled him toward a door that resided across the large living room. He wondered how she had become so intimately familiar with Logan’s home—a girlfriend? Wife? He glanced at the hand that pinched his bicep. No, her fingers were bare of jewelry and it was unlikely a woman used to this level of wealth would go sans ring. No, she’d have a big-ass diamond the size of a Mini-Cooper.

  Inside the master bedroom, which was larger than his entire apartment, she grappled for a switch. Lights flickered on, one of the walls parted like the Red Sea, and if he didn’t know better, he was sure he’d heard an orchestra playing. Jesus Christ! This man had more clothes than the Salvation Army, and half of them still wore tags. At least twelve feet of shirts in white and light blue, another four in various other colors, then a line of jackets as well. Baden tried to keep his eyes steady. She didn’t. She surveyed the entire space with bland amusement.

  The woman released his arm and tiptoed toward the shirts, a keychain hung from her purse and wagged back and forth in rhythm with her stride. Good, a name. He hoped it was hers. He cleared his throat.

  “Gemma?”

  She pulled one of the shirts from the sea of white and turned to hold it out. “Here, put it on. What’s up?”

  Whew, there’s a start. “There’s been a mistake. I can’t re
ally do all those things with you.”

  She pressed the hanger to his chest and raised a brow. “So now you have a problem with me going? You practically begged before you left. Using that stupid voice you use on the girls you want to sack—please Gem, don’t leave me alone with them. I’ll kill the old bat for sure. You’re going to be late if you don’t get this on. Move it.”

  He grabbed the hanger and started to unbutton what he wore. Well, this would be the test. No way would she think he was Logan Indiris when she saw him naked. Well, without a shirt. She’d know right away. “You’re going to watch me?”

  She shrugged, leaned against the wall, and crossed her arms. The light above her head filtered a soft halo over her hair and shoulders. “Hurry up. You’re late.”

  “Okay, but I tried to warn you.” He quickly loosened the buttons and pulled his arms from the shirt, waiting. Would she call the police? Scream?

  “Wow!” He paused, sure she would punch a call into her cell or scream. No, the look on her face was completely different—almost animalistic. For an instant, a need surged through him that he hadn’t felt in quite some time. Her eyes devoured every inch of the tattoos he’d inked into himself over the years. His badges of honor that represented all he’d been through. She pulled the purse strap from her shoulder and he was sure she’d reach for her phone this time.

  Thunk. The purse hit the floor and she swooshed toward him in three steps, her palm up, her eyes moving to his. She traced fingers across the image on his left bicep.

  “Don’t get upset. I’m not—” She put a finger to his mouth and silenced him.

  “You got that right. You’re not the stick-in-the-mud, tight-ass I thought you were. Who would have thought all that was under those fancy shirts of yours. No wonder, you wear long sleeves even when it’s scorching.”

  Huh? But I really am the stick-in-the-mud, oops, he really is. Not just a tight-ass though. The man was a royal ass. A dangerous one. She still hadn’t figured it out? This was crazy.