Finding Eli Read online

  That was two hours ago. I’ve been working my way up the back side of Flagstaff Mountain since, knocking on almost every door I’ve seen. (I avoided the few scary-looking ones: the ones behind barbed wire, with multiple private property signs and skull-and-cross-bones flags).

  I didn’t realize I’d have so much ground to cover, and so many houses to check. I’ve showed everyone who would look the pics I brought, and so far only one woman, a long cigarette in her hand, gave them more than a glance. She squinted at the bearded pic, and when I told her it was longer now, she said, “I think I’ve seen him. I can’t tell you where.”

  “But he does live up here?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t say. Just that I think I’ve seen him around. On a four-wheeler, maybe.”

  I thanked her, and as I turned to go, she said, “Better find him fast. The weather’s gonna get nasty.”

  That was almost an hour ago. The sky was as blue as I could imagine a sky being, the sun was warming my skin, and there was a mountain breeze that smelled like fabric commercials. I was tired and hungry but still enjoying the arm-hair-tickling beauty of the place.

  Like I said, that was an hour ago.

  The breeze blowing across my bare shoulders now has me shivering. I glance at my white Apple Watch: 2:47 p.m. I glance at the sky: blue, where I am, but to the north I can see a line of dark clouds spreading.

  Chris gave me his cell number. He knows I can’t afford to pay him, but he told me he’d give me a ride down anyway, if I need one. I do, but—as it is, there are a lot of homes left to hit. It’s not like this place is super populated, but it’s spread out.

  And I….

  I…

  I’m feeling a panic attack coming on.

  I step away from the road, rest my hands on me knees and lean over, trying to get deeper breaths. I knew this was a long shot when I started. I knew there was a chance it might not work. A big chance. But my stupid hope. My stupid, stupid hope.

  Fuck.

  Fuckity fuck.

  Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck what do I do? Why did I even come here? I blew five hundred dollars on cheap plane tickets and a cheap motel, and I’m up here on this mountain and it’s getting cold and I’m nowhere near finding Eli…

  That giant house. I’m going to pin all my hopes on that house near the top of the mountain. I’m going to crawl under that gate and knock on the door and Eli is going to answer. He’s going to open the door and I’m going to explain that I’m an almost-former employee of The Watcher, and I used my last bit of money to travel all the way out here to find him and save my job.

  If he seems unmoved, I’ll use the damsel in distress routine and get a ride back down the front side of the mountain. That’ll work, right? He’ll drive me, and on the way down I’ll use my charm to be whatever he wants me to be. I’ll convince him that he wants to talk to me. That he has legions of loyal fans desperate to know what he’s doing now.

  He’ll go for that, right?

  It’ll probably take me—hell, another two hours just to get to that house, but that’s fine. I’ve got a sweater in my pack, and those clouds don’t seem to be moving too fast. I’ll stop at other houses on the way. Just the ones that look like they could be Eli’s.

  This will work. I know it will. It has to.

  ***

  It’s snowing.

  In the middle of May.

  First, the temperature dropped, so I decided to put on my sweater. Then it dropped again, so I stopped to put on my long socks.

  Then the breeze became so cold I stopped to check my weather app, and it said snow. But I didn’t believe it.

  Then maybe thirty minutes later I saw the first flake. It was followed a few seconds later by a second. Then a third.

  I’m walking through a legit snow event now. Trudging through it. Not a light snow. A heavy snow.

  To a Virginian, snow is alarming even in the best of circumstances. I lived in the mountains, and even there, anything more than a light flurry prompted a town-wide run on the grocery stores.

  I experienced “real” snow in NYC. I even endured two Snowmageddons. But I was in an apartment with three other people above an amazing Chinese restaurant and one block from a quick stop. It sucked for Laurel and Zidan, our roommates who had to go into work, but for me, who could work from home, it was no big deal.

  But this snow. This snow is in May. I was wearing a tank top! And my sweater is only good for cool breezes, not snow that has now accumulated maybe half an inch on the side of the road. The flakes are thick and wet and sticking to me, and my phone doesn’t have any service so I can’t call Chris, and I’m nervous. Anxious. Worried.

  It’s probably not even 5 p.m. yet, but the sky is so thick with clouds, it seems like nightfall, and I can’t see super far ahead of me, either. Maybe…a hundred feet?

  I’m going to have to stop at the next house. This fucking sucks, but I have to stop at the next house.

  I feel like I’ve been lamenting that fact for a while, though.

  Maybe not. The more anxious I get, the more time I think has passed. Maybe it’s only been fives minutes since I told myself I’d flag down the next passing car. Maybe ten.

  Maybe twenty.

  Where the hell is everyone!? There are enough houses up here that someone should be on their way home from work, right?

  I need to check my phone again, for service, but first I need to find cover—there. Up ahead, three spindly pines have kind of grown intertwined, right by the road.

  I walk quickly to them, and yep, no snow getting under here.

  I brush myself off, then shake out my hair. It’s thick, and has a sort of natural wave that I’m still not entirely sure how to style. I’m thankful for it now though. It’s almost as good as a hat.

  I retrieve my phone from an inner pocket in my pack—where I stashed it and my watch. I wipe the screen, then stare at the time: 4:36 p.m.

  And no service.

  Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit double fucking shit. How did this happen? How did I not notice when Chris— But I did. I remember checking when he dropped me off, and I had at least two bars.

  That was miles away, though. And before the storm.

  Shit. Shit shit shit. What do I do?

  The snow is so unpleasant, I don’t want to leave my little shelter. I could wait here for a car, then try to wave it down—but it’s been forever since I last saw one, and there’s no guarantee anyone would stop to help me.

  Shit shit shit. Should I go back? Turn around and head to one of the houses I know is behind me?

  Fuck, this is so typical of me! I’m always doing these—

  Lights!

  I jump, because….yes, lights! Someone in a car! Coming down the road toward me!

  I move quickly to pack my phone then sling my backpack over my shoulders. The lights are almost to me now. I run up the slight embankment, waving my arms—

  OH! Shit! Fuck! OW! I slipped!

  Oh fuck! My ankle! The snow. The—the pavement. I fucking slipped and fell onto the fucking road and oh shit the lights are speeding toward me. I hear the engine, and oh Jesus please don’t let me get run over.

  Everything slows as my mind speeds up. I hear squealing as the driver brakes. I see the lights zig and zag in slow motion as the car starts to spin. I’m able to calculate the speed at which it’s traveling and the distance between us on some instinctive level and know if I stay here I’ll get hit.

  I have enough time to consider just lying here and letting this be the end of Tara Daniels, but fuck that. I roll out of the way, and the car continues its skid another few feet before spinning to a stop, taillights pointed right at me. I raise my arm to shield my eyes, and the lights turn left as the car pulls off the road.

  Oh, that’s not a car; it’s a four-wheeler. A huge person is climbing off of it. I squint, and I’m able to make out a guy in a brown Carhart jacket. He’s tall, in jeans and brown boots. He’s got wavy brown hair and a thick brown beard.

>   “Are you okay?” His voice is deep and concerned.

  “I’m—ow!” I try to roll over to stand, and pain shoots up my left leg.

  Dude kneels down beside me. “What hurts?”

  I open my mouth to tell him my ankle, but when I look up, I see his eyes for the first time, and they’re blue. Super blue. Like wet blue paint.

  Eli Murphy.

  Holy moly. It—it has to be.

  I stare at him, unable to believe my fortune. I know it’s him. His beard obscures his strong jawline, but the hair, the eyes, the sharp nose, the sinful lips—it’s all him.

  Eli stares back at me, a notch between his brows—oh, he asked me a question. What—right!

  “My ankle, I think.” I try to stand, and wince the moment I put pressure on my left leg. “It hurts.”

  “Sit on the four-wheeler and let me see.”

  The snow is falling even thicker now, puffy flakes that land softly and almost feel warm before melting into cold wet. Eli sits me on his four-wheeler and bends to inspect my throbbing ankle. Even with the pain, and the cold, I feel tinglies when his warm fingers brush my skin.

  “Are you s-some k-kind of d-doctor or s-something?” I manage between shivers. I guess my adrenaline is wearing off, cause I’m suddenly freezing.

  “I was an EMT once upon a time.” During the year he was trying to get The Watcher off the ground. “How does this feel?”

  He moves my ankle ever so slightly, and a jolt of pain shoots up my leg. “Ouch!”

  “Okay, how about this?”

  “It hurts!” I snap.

  He looks up at me for a long second, then smiles sympathetically and leans back over my leg. “This?”

  “Ow ow ow yes!”

  “It’s either a bad twist or possibly a sprain.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Do you have a car?”

  I shake my head. “No. I—I was hiking.”

  He frowns. “We need to get you to my house, then. We can’t go down the mountain on a four-wheeler.” He stands and removes his coat, revealing a black knit sweater underneath.

  Mmmmmm… a form-fitting black knit sweater. I admire the thick slab of his chest as Eli wraps his coat around me. It’s super warm, and smells like coffee and pine trees.

  “Won’t you be cold?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Not really. Need any help getting your leg over?”

  “I got it.” I swing my right leg over, and scoot to the front of the four-wheeler’s seat.

  “You ever ridden on one of these?”

  “I grew up in Virginia. The part that isn’t D.C. suburbs,” I say. “So yes.”

  “Where?”

  “John’s Mill.”

  “A Blue Ridge girl, huh? You oughtta feel at home.”

  “If you know John’s Mill, you know that we don’t get snow in the middle of May. I feel like I’m on an alien planet.”

  I look back at him, and see his lips quirk up into a one-quarter smile. “I remember how shocked I was the first time I got a foot dumped on my deck in June.”

  “A foot of snow in June? I’d have thought the world was ending.”

  “I did. I’m a Southerner myself.”

  I know that, of course. He’s from Georgia, originally.

  Eli sits behind me and drapes his big arms around me to grab the ignition and the handlebars. He twists the key, and the four-wheeler rumbles to life. The vibration of the engine seems to shake Eli and me closer together. Specifically, his crotch to my butt.

  The tires spin for a few seconds before catching the road, and Eli crosses to the other side, to drive back the way he came. Back toward where the giant house is. There are a lot of houses in between, I know, but if that one turns out to be his, I’m going to kick myself with my good foot.

  We zip up the hill, and I allow myself a moment of elation. I found him! I actually found him! I can’t believe this happened, and we’re going to his house! I have a story already, even if he kicks me out the moment he finds out who I am!

  I beam out at the world. Now that I’m warm and relieved, I can appreciate the beauty of this freak weather. The snow is thick and solid, like movie snow. It swirls around us, and through it I see the deep green of the trees.

  Even my stinging cheeks excite me. As does Eli’s driving; he’s going just fast enough that I’m nervous, but excited nervous. If I close my eyes, I can pretend—

  WOOOAH! We just got some air as we came over that hill. My heart pounds, and I cheer, exhilarated, and immediately regret it. I don’t want to look like some kind of Wooooh Girl.

  I shift on the seat, except that feels more like—what? Heat shoots through me as I realize… OMG THAT’S ELI’S DICK; I’M PRACTICALLY HUMPING HIM!

  I landed almost on his lap and I didn’t notice, but he did, and in a big way. That’s at least one office rumor confirmed.

  Or it’s a gun. It’d be a weird place to—it twitched! Oh my holy hell, it just now twitched. Definitely a dick.

  What do I do? I’m holding onto his legs, have been holding onto them since I landed in his lap. If we were anywhere but this four-wheeler we’d be sliding into third base right now.

  I need to shimmy away from him, but he’s driving so fast I’m afraid to move. It’s bad, though; the hum of the engine is vibrating up into the seat, meaning it’s vibrating him, and he’s vibrating me, and I’m starting to feel ways I shouldn’t.

  In my defense, Eli is hot, kinda famous, rich, who I was looking for, and he just saved me from a snowy demise. Also, it’s been a looooong time. Almost six months.

  But still, I should get off. Not that way—I need to slide off. Or, no, that would be even worse. I need to lift myself off his lap. Like immediately. He’s probably embarrassed, poor guy. And I should be.

  I tense to push my foot off the four-wheeler’s foot rest and lift myself off Eli’s lap, and suddenly Eli accelerates, and I slide even more on top of him. He’s going fast, a lot faster than before, and my pule is racing, and not from the speed. The four-wheeler hums and bounces, Eli twitches and bounces, and I hum and bounce on top of him.

  This is—this is nuts. I mean—gah, everything I think is a bad double entendre! We’re both aligned just right, and if I rocked back against him, I could—oh—ah, another bump. He must have some pretty amazing goods inside those jeans, but gah I shouldn’t—ooooh…my God. Dear God.

  Even with the harsh slap of the cold on my cheeks, I feel hot and…bothered. I’ve never really thought about it before, but that phrase pretty much nails it.

  I’m just starting to work myself into a frenzy—one of mortification, and also completely misguided lust—when Eli slows, then takes a sharp turn off the road. I slide away him, and, I—well, I guess that’s a good thing. I can see a house to the left, so I guess we’re here. It’s a geodesic home. The top is basically a large half circle, with the round side pointed up. It’s not a smooth circle—it has angles, which I guess means it’s not a circle. Math isn’t really my thing. The roof is covered in snow, which I could really use a roll in right now. The exterior is made of what looks like cedar. The bottom of the house is a kind of half-basement dug partly into the ground.

  I spot a pickup truck parked in front, covered in snow. Close to an inch at this point, probably. Coating the trees now, too, so they stand out against the darkening sky.

  This is Eli’s home. His secret abode. And that thought just brought me back to reality. I still feel way too hot, and a little shaky, but my head is clearing. I’m here for a reason, and it’s not to hook up with him. I have to tell him who I am. I have to get this story. I have to.

  I tense as Eli pulls the four-wheeler into a large shed, feeling progressively more embarrassed about what just happened—on my end, anyway. Thank God he’s not a mind-reader.

  Eli kills the engine and swings off the four-wheeler. The shed we’re in is about the size of a garage, and filled with the stuff I’d expect to find in a shed on a mountain—firewood, lumber, tools, chains, another four
wheeler, a snowmobile.

  I’m struggling to meet Eli’s eyes. His face looks—I can’t tell. So that means neutral, I guess. Maybe he thinks I didn’t notice his erection. That or he’s so self-confident and comfortable with himself, he doesn’t feel awkward about it.

  “Enjoy the ride?” he asks.

  I got mad composure though. “It was fine. Thanks.”

  He takes off his gloves and helps me swing my leg over the seat.

  “You seem to ride that thing pretty hard,” I say through batted lashes. “The four-wheeler,” I add after just the right amount of pause.

  “That’s how I like it.” His face is perfectly composed. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.” I stand, and a bolt of pain shoots up my calf. “It kinda hurts.”

  “I think it might be faster and easier if I carry you,” he says.

  I open my mouth to inform him that I can hobble just fine, but I’m being picked up, carefully but swiftly, and carried out of the shed. He carries me lamb-style, looking down on me a time or two as he moves toward the house. His eyes are careful; guarded; but also gentle. That’s the way he carries me, too: pressed against him just enough to make me feel like he’s got a good grip on me, but not so tight that it feels cozy.

  He carries me to the side of the house and up three steps, then gingerly places me on the landing. There’s a cedar awning above us, shielding us from most of the snow.

  Eli checks three pockets before he finds his keys. He opens the door and waves me into a large, open space.

  “Wow.” Cool house. Most of the first floor is one large room and it’s open all the way up to the top of the domed ceiling, which is easily thirty feet from the floor. The walls are cedar, with a toned-down stain I like. There is what I assume is a bedroom in what would be the far left corner, if the room had corners. Immediately to the left of the front door is a kitchen/dining area with hardwood floors, lots of shelves, and stainless appliances. The countertops look like concrete. Beside the kitchen is a staircase leading down to the lower level. On the other side of the staircase are two doors.