Page 19 of Tourist Season

“ Y OU’RE SURE ABOUT THIS? T HE Pocket Rocket is basically a deathtrap,” Lukas says as I whip back the canvas cover from the old soapbox racer.

“Aren’t they all?” A cloud of dust envelops us, catching the morning sun through the filmy window of the shed.

I wave a hand in front of my face as I step closer to the makeshift car, its body constructed from two whiskey barrels that have been cut up and welded together with extra panels of steel.

Arthur’s ingenuity might as well be stamped right next to the Lancaster Distillery logo that’s branded into the aged oak.

“I can’t believe Arthur let you name it the Pocket Rocket. ”

Lukas chuckles, sliding a palm over the faded name painted above a decorative wing.

“He wasn’t really up on his penis slang, you know?

When Bert nearly pissed himself announcing my turn and started cracking some pretty obvious innuendos while commentating on my run, he caught on pretty quick.

I was grounded for a solid two weeks after that.

” Lukas’s smile turns bittersweet and his gaze grows distant, as though he’s looking back in time.

“Even still, it was worth it. That was the best day.”

My heart sinks as I watch Lukas run a hand through his short black hair and rest it on the back of his head, something he always does when the weight of his life seems too heavy a burden to bear.

Though he meets my eyes for only a fleeting moment, it’s long enough to see the raw edges of a wound that’s never healed.

A wound named Maxine, the girl he loved all his life.

The one who picked up and left Carnage in the dead of night on their graduation day with no explanation, as though she couldn’t wait another moment to get away.

It broke him irreparably. And despite being tall and fit, independently wealthy before thirty, and painfully good-looking in a broken soul kind of way, I’m ninety-nine percent sure Lukas is a virgin. Not that it’s any of my fucking business.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me using the Rocket?

” I ask, pulling my thoughts away from the “Is Lukas a virgin?” debate I’ve had with myself many times, even though it skeeves me out a bit as he feels like he could be my brother.

Lukas is already shaking his head and dismissing my concern. “I can find something else—”

“No way. It’s totally fine, Harp. I’d love to see it reclaim its former glory.

” Lukas whacks the barrel with a loving pat and something clunks in the undercarriage and falls to the floor, rolling off into the shadows.

“Yeah … I suppose a decade of sitting idle hasn’t done the recycled parts any favors.

You’re gonna have to take her apart and really make sure she’s at least more roadworthy now than when we first made her. ”

I only have two weeks before the race, so realistically a full overhaul is not in the cards. But I just smile and nod. “Yeah, I’ll make sure she’s ready to fly. Might give her a new name, though. I don’t need to throw myself under your grandfather’s judgy bus.”

“I’m still pissed at you for sacrificing me to the bus.

Those gutters are such a bitch. It’s going to take me all afternoon, and I’m not going to have time for a shower before theater rehearsal.

Ross is still jealous that I scored the Beast role in the production.

He’s definitely gonna call me out on my stank in front of the cast.”

“Then you should definitely be thanking me for not suggesting the septic system.” I smile as Lukas rolls his eyes and tosses a dusty rag in my direction. “Don’t worry, I called the guy to come in and fix it. That job is off your shoulders. For now.”

Lukas’s expression softens as he swipes a hand over the surface of a stool and lowers himself onto the cracked vinyl. “Thank you for always looking after my grandfather. This place would be falling apart without you.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“It’s Arthur Lancaster. It’s always trouble.”

Lukas is right about that. Arthur is always trouble, but in a way I admire.

And his most troublesome behavior reflects a hidden life that even Lukas isn’t privy to.

I’m one of only two people who know what he’s truly capable of.

Me, his greatest ally. La Plume, his formidable enemy. And I guess now a third person.

Nolan Rhodes.

My focus cuts toward the bag I shoved beneath the soapbox racer yesterday before Nolan showed up at my cottage. “Actually,” I say, picking up the backpack, “I do need to call in a favor.”

Lukas’s brows hike in a silent question and I give him a grave smile in reply as I hand him Nolan’s backpack. “I need you to hide this. Put it somewhere I won’t find it. And don’t tell anyone where it is. Not unless something happens to me.”

His brows knit. He stares at the backpack as though it might blow up if he touches it. With a swallow, he finally takes it, settling it on his lap. “What do you mean, ‘unless something happens to you’?”

“Like I go missing. Or if I wind up badly hurt, like the kind of hurt where I’ll never wake up to tell you what happened. Or if I turn up dead.”

“What the fuck? Are you in trouble?”

“Everything is fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fucking fine. What’s going on?”

I shake my head, placing a hand on his when he starts to open the zipper.

Lukas is not a man of darkness, despite how it has enveloped his life, often without his awareness.

I’m not about to let Arthur’s lifetime of work collapse because of me.

“This is a need to know situation. And the less you know, the better it is for everyone.” With a single nod, I squeeze his hand.

“Please. Just put it somewhere safe and don’t look inside.

If something happens, send it straight to the FBI. ”

“The FBI? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sheriff Yates is about as useful as tits on a rock. It needs to go to someone with two brain cells to rub together.”

Silence descends in the shed. Lukas searches my face, dust motes twisting in the wedge of light between us, an ethereal boundary between two creatures who might as well belong to different realms. Lukas Lancaster is the angel of Cape Carnage.

And I’m the devil who claims the souls that come to pollute his heaven.

When he tugs the strap of the backpack over his shoulder and gives me a nod, I can’t help but feel like I’m failing to keep his sanctuary safe.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I’m really worried about you,” Lukas says, his rich brown eyes searching mine, concern woven into his furrowed brows.

For a guy who looks the way he does, with his dark hair and stubbled, chiseled jaw, his athletic frame and broad shoulders, you wouldn’t think he is the way he really is, all his worries laid out on the patchwork of plaid sleeves that are rolled to his elbows and smell like malt mash.

“I’m sorry you’ve taken on so much of the work of looking after Arthur. I can spend more time here—”

“No, Lukas.” I toss the canvas back over the Pocket Rocket, a plume of dust erupting around us like a pyroclastic ghost. “I love spending time with Arthur. And it makes him so happy that you’re restoring the distillery. I know it takes a lot of time. I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” I say, patting his arm on my way toward the door.

Lukas rises to follow. “If I need your help, I’ll definitely let you know.

It won’t be long now before you’re back to a more normal schedule, don’t worry.

And it’ll be worth it. The whole town is going to be so excited to see the distillery up and running again properly. ”

Lukas shrugs, turning to thread the chain between the shed’s door handles and close the padlock after us.

He stops at my side, and we take in the view.

You can see the whole town from our perch on the hill of Lancaster Manor.

Puffs of white cloud shift high above us in the relentless coastal wind.

Spears of sunlight pierce through their soft edges in search of the water, boats traversing its shining surface far in the distance.

The Victorian homes in the heart of the downtown face off against the sea, bright colors that fight the gloom of depths that hold death and dark memories for those who have been here long enough.

Every piece of this town exists in the shadow of Lancaster Manor.

Even the people who live on its grounds.

“I don’t know if they will be,” Lukas says, as though he’s plucked my thoughts right out of my head. “Some people, sure. But not all.”

I look up at him, squinting as I take in his pensive expression. “What makes you think that?”

“I dunno. I just feel like they’ll never be ready to let some things go.

Like what happened to my mom.” He lifts one shoulder, not pulling his focus away from the town as his grip tightens on the strap of the backpack.

“When I went into Maya’s this morning to get some stuff for cleaning the gutters, she said some guy had come in to ask her questions about the estate for some documentary he’s filming.

A documentary , Harper. It’s like someone is always looking to exhume my family’s past. You know?

” He shakes his head, not looking down at me, which I’m grateful for.

Because if he did, he might see the tension in my jaw as I clench my teeth, or the color that infuses my cheeks.

“Apparently, he was talking to Daryl Winkle the other day about our piece of land out by the Ballantyne River.”

My eyes narrow, and he looks down at me as though sensing the alarm that suddenly pulses through the chambers of my heart. “Why would he want to know about that?”

“Probably because I sold it last month, though I’m not sure why that would matter to him.”

I nearly choke on a breath of air. “You what ?”

“Sold it,” Lukas repeats, a crease notching between his brows. “We didn’t need it anymore, and the council fast-tracked a development application—”