Johnny Blue Read online

  Azure Boone Johnny Blue

  © 2012 by Azure Boone.

  All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Azure Boone or her legal representative.

  Chapter One

  You need to live again, it’s been ten years, Jewel. It’s time.”

  I clung to my therapist’s admonishment as I stealthily approached the back door to the dilapidated warehouse like a common crook. I made it to the rusted out green metal door and found no knob. Lord, the Doc’d be horrified that I’d chosen breaking and entering as my choice for stepping out of my comfort zone and taking risks.

  Just wanted to see for myself if the mysterious man who painted murals all over town for free, actually lived in such a dilapidation. Not to mention there was the decent reasons. Somebody needed to warn him ‘bout the boys in town. Talk was circulating about them pulling some kind of prank. I’d just look around and slip a nice heads up note where he could find it and be done.

  I pushed softly against the door and froze at the loud creak tattle-tailing my intrusion. A hundred heart beats later, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. You’re fine, nobody’s here, he’s downtown painting. I gave the door a six inch shove, and at my silent success, I quickly stepped inside.

  My nose wrinkled from sharp moldy wheat, and I think, turpentine. It wasn’t a bad smell, just an odd mixture.

  Sliding my purse strap off my arm I rummaged for the small blue flashlight I’d purchased for my expedition while trying to calm my marathon breaths.

  I gripped the plastic flashlight tightly, shining the jittery beam before me. First surprise. A vehicle under a cover. Definitely unexpected from the man who seemed to live out of the grocery buggy he pushed all over. Course maybe it wasn’t his.

  I tip-toe ran then stooped down next to the far end of it, pausing for several thundering heart beats. Maybe he slept in it. I lowered my purse to the floor next to me then lifted the heavy canvas up a little, flashing my light under it. My heart sped up at seeing the old teal paint. Classic truck, looked like. My CSI juices kicked in as I wondered why on earth this guy would hide a vehicle. You don’t even know if it’s his, don’t be careless in this investigation. Investigation? When did this become an investigation? I needed to pipe my nosy ass down before I ended up in a heap of trouble.

  Metal clanged somewhere in the distance, stopping my heart a second. I dropped the cloth back down and flashed the light all around again. A stairway? What’d they have up there? I flashed the light on the wall behind the vehicle and spied a large door big enough to drive through. I turned the beam up and was surprised to find no ceiling. What in the world did they ever use this space for? House a rocket?

  I quickly placed the flashlight between my teeth and aimed the light beam at my bag next to me. Time for some pictures. A moment later, I had my phone out and on, proceeding nonchalantly with my little CSI extravaganza. Pictures were a must for the success of any investigation. A visual journal. Nothing left to faulty memory.

  I lifted the canvas at what seemed like the back end of the vehicle. No license plate. Dang it.

  I clicked several pics then dropped the canvas and took a few of the giant door on the wall, the stairway, the non-existent ceiling, and every other angle I could think of.

  I contemplated those stairs only for a second before I headed to see where they led in this odd building.

  I put the flashlight in my pocket, able to see well enough by the light of my phone. Much stealthier.

  The stair way was enclosed and turned out to be multi-landed, enshrouded by thick, old spider-webs along the walls. Good God, if anything should appear alive in them, this silly little operation was so over. I took pictures as I went, mostly at the spider webs, watching for movement in them.

  I focused on the building’s architectural purpose. Sure didn’t look like much from the outside, just a plain metal, ten-story building out in the middle of a field next to a gravel road, left leading to town, right leading to nowhere land.

  I froze at hearing soft thudding in the stairway above me. A streak of black shot past my feet and I screeched right as the thing meowed. I collapsed in relief then spun around and aimed the light at the spider-webbed wall. I pulled my waist long ponytail in front and stuffed it safely into my coveralls then gave a violent shudder before hurrying my ass through the ancient web maze, past ready to be done with my so called therapy.

  A hundred steps later, I was convinced I’d followed stairs to a dead end. Then came the door. My heart thundered in my ears as I snapped several pictures of the… I paused, realizing the door was solid blue. And I’ll be darned, not that old looking. Was there a house behind it? Wouldn’t that be the shock of the century. Daylight appeared at the crack beneath the door. Wonder if my phone could snap pictures from there? I aimed the light of the phone at the handle first, and reached to slowly try it.

  Unlocked!

  Why should that surprise me? Not like anybody’d think to rob a place like this. Who knew this even existed up here?

  A flutter of fear raced along my spine. Well, if somebody did live up here…that would be quite dangerous. As far as anybody knew, this place was abandoned. And as far as I knew, I was the only person that had the stupid idea to follow him here for the past week to make sure this was where he was staying.

  That familiar nose burning euphoria hit me like it always did when the possibility of death drew close in any fashion. A light-bulb moment slapped me still as a mouse. Maybe suicide wasn’t the only forcible way to the other side after all. I mean, death was all around, elusive to me as it was, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be enticed. I could probably orchestrate it up to the very act if I were creative.

  But then there was one nagging problem. What if I was wrong about forgiveness? What if I didn’t make it to where I needed to go? Temporary separation from them was one thing. Eternal separation was unthinkable. I needed to be sure before I made such a leap, no ifs ands or buts.

  I turned the knob carefully and opened the door. Amazement replaced my unease as I peered into the naturally lit space. I’ll be damned. Not only a house beyond the door…but a damn nice one. Not in a modern convenience kind of way, but an… eclectic, antique kind of way.

  I entered in and shut the door then selected rapid shot on my camera and began capturing the unexpected find. An odd excitement raced through my veins as I rotated the phone, the camera flutters sounding entirely too loud. Just… amazing. And the smell. Turpentine permeated the air along with…I lifted my nose and gave a slow sniff. Something very sweet. And orangey. Smelled…damned delicious. Not the rat urine and human fecal matter I’d anticipated.

  I looked down and wowed at the floors. The old wood planks were a dark mocha, warm and shiny. My tennis shoes squeaked as I slowly walked my way toward the giant space at the end of the little dining room, capturing the petite, almost feminine wood dining table for two as I went. Okay, that was just downright adorable. I snapped pictures of the bowl filled with vibrantly colored wooden fruits in the center then lifted the camera to the white dining walls crowded with framed artwork. I paused and angled my head wondering if the person decorating had been drunk. Chaotic, crooked mess.

  I spotted an arch at the end of the dining room on the right. A few squeaky steps revealed hanging copper pots! A gasp and more snaps. This man was hardly a beggar.

  I finally squalked my way into the giant space of the main area. So much light everywhere. And all the white walls made it even brighter. I considered the windows that lined the longer wall before me in an oddly sporadic pattern before noticing a few even dotted the ceiling in the same way. Well, at least it matche
d the heavily framed art works hanging in illogical pattern on every wall. Did he like the chaos? Or was it more of a roll with the flow? No way could he not understand symmetry. It had to be taste, nobody painted that good without equilibrium.

  I looked left and aimed the camera at a corner full of easels and canvases. The rapid shutter sounds and shoe squeaks sounded like a giant nest of birds taking flight with the momma squawking in protest. I squeak-pivoted right and aimed the camera at black leather furniture and a wall of books beyond it. More delicate antique tables of various sizes and height. Un—believable. S-snap, s-snap, s-snap.

  Okay, Koshak, where are your scruples? This is trespassing.

  I huffed at my intrusive conscious. I’m not stealing, I’m just looking, for Pete’s sake. I quickened my pace to the art side of the space, beginning to tip-toe at halfway, feeling like I could be heard clear to town. Not to mention it just seemed unprofessional for an investigator of any sort to make that much noise.

  Nearing the art space, I noticed a large arch in the left wall, framed with tied-back white curtains. The man liked white, and light, that seemed obvious. My heart sped up at spying bedroom furniture. Whoa-whoa, lookie at Mr. Fancy pants. I snapped pictures of polished, heavy wood. Expensive wood. My CSI unease grew. Our pitiful little peddler was not what he seemed. But why the facade?

  I turned my attention to the art section finally. Moving from canvas to canvas, I snapped pictures until my conscience became unbearable. This is private—a journal—you have no right. But my fingers kept a-snapping all the same. So much blue, and such beautiful hues of it in the row of artwork. I counted seven. I peered beyond the collection before me, and saw layers of paintings along the wall, stacked against one another. Busy little bee, wasn’t he?

  I returned my attention to the pictures before me. The images were mostly various landscapes. But something was…I lowered the phone and let my gaze pass slowly over all of them. What was my brain picking up?

  An entire minute later, I got it. Bright nights. And one person in each. Or a dark figure. More like a shadow of somebody. Male? Hard to be sure.

  Totally fascinating how the pictures were of night, and yet so bright. The contradiction seemed surreal. And inviting. Safe, yet soft light in the dark.

  I stilled the stirring inside me that the images evoked, promising myself I’d ponder it later. Maybe.

  I spotted a lone canvas under a sheet to the far right, facing a single small window. An uncanny and ridiculous anticipation moved my legs toward it. It was one of those unexplainable things, you know it’s wrong, and yet knew you’d look because something inside said you were supposed to.

  I eased my guilt, agreeing not to photograph this one.

  Carefully, I slid the white sheet off and was immediately sucked in by the dark colors. Blues and blacks mostly. I angled my head, trying to understand what he was trying to say with the swirling, almost angry strokes. Or passionate.

  “Hi there.”

  I screamed and spun around to the deep voice just behind me, only to scream again and spin back the other way. Oh shit oh shit oh shit! Half-naked man behind me!

  “Sorry.” His voice lolled, warm and kind. “Didn’t mean to startle you, I uh, saw you here when I got out of the shower.”

  “Uhh…” My mind raced for an excuse. He seemed to think it was fine—why would it be? “I—I heard sounds outside and I followed them in here. Thought maybe somebody… might be in trouble.” I yanked my ponytail out of my trousers and held it like a lifeline while waiting forever in the sudden silence with eyes clenched; waited for the hatchet in my skull, the knife at my throat, my spine.

  “Well, that was nice of you.”

  His towering frame appeared on my right and I strained not to jerk left. “You like it? I’ve been working on it at night for a while. Every full moon.”

  My heart thundered as I devoured his body with only my eyeballs. Like a… god… a moon god. Look at that hair. Black. Straight. Wet. Ending just past his amazing shoulders. My eyes roamed over muscles that seemed to glow with light. Such tight skin. Was it as silky as it looked? And my lord, what a voice. Felt like rough velvet. I swallowed when my eyeballs made it to his jeans that he filled so perfectly. Wait, did he say paint? Surely he wasn’t the town’s mysterious mural painter, no, that man was a beggar with a beard.

  He turned and I averted my gaze to the floor, wondering how the hell I could’ve possibly missed even the hint of such features. He was always layered with clothes that’s how.

  “So, I’ll… I’ll be going. Now that I see—everybody is-is—okay.”

  “Why were you taking so many pictures?” The question was soft, like he was just curious.

  “Oh,” I gasped, squeaking my shoes restlessly on the floor, “Well uh…” I shrugged a little. “I—was amazed actually. It’s so beautiful in here.” I looked all around. “Remarkable in fact.” I nodded and smiled, praying he bought that small bit of truth. I pointed to the ceiling. “Nice windows up there.”

  “You live in town?” he asked, quietly. Or maybe stated as he hooked a thumb in his front pocket and raked his other hand through his wet, gorgeous hair.

  I cleared my throat, praying my voice didn’t give away how much he affected me. “On the outskirts, actually.” I bit my tongue on divulging all my personal information like I normally did when nervous.

  He looked down a second and I waited. I got a little nervous when he didn’t say anymore, but by conversation standards, I was pretty sure it was his turn to speak. He finally aimed his eyes at me and stole my breath. Such brilliant blue. Clear and bright under dark black brows. “Would you… mind staying for coffee? I mean, since you’re here. I don’t get many visitors.”

  Chapter Two

  Stay for coffee?

  He turned his gaze out the window and I studied his profile, trying to see evidence of the loneliness I thought I heard in his voice.

  Guess I owed him that much. “Well, I suppose a cup wouldn’t hurt. Only had one so far today. Usually have at least three.” So hard to make my normally deep voice, light, without sounding like an air head. And minding my Cajun accent took direct effort. But I hated how uneducated it sounded on other people, and it surely didn’t match up with my looks. Not that I was miss America, but I’d had enough compliments from male town-folk to know I wasn’t a toad.

  He gave me those beautiful blues and a bonus smile that made my heart race. “Great. I’ll get it on.”

  I smiled nervously back then watched him move with causal ease toward the kitchen. Never saw such a white man before. Not around here. I stared at the deep dimples on his lower back near his waist band. Heat pooled in my stomach and I realized I should follow him. Halfway there, I stopped. “You mind if I take my shoes off?” I called, “Kinda sounds like I’m calling possums or somethin’.”

  Before I could regret the stupid comment, his deep laughter strummed through me.

  “You call possums?” He shot a glance at me with that sexy half grin.

  Heat flooded my face. “Nah, not really.” I slid off my sneakers and scooted them to the side with a foot then entered the shoebox-sized kitchen, shaped like a U.

  “Not really?”

  “I mean, no, of course not.” I waved a hand, coming to stand at the island for two in the center.

  “It would totally be okay with me.” He set two red mugs on the island’s butcher block top and hit me with those eyes.

  “Totally?” I managed to tease back. “Where you from anyway? You’re obviously not from around these parts.”

  “Eh,” he shrugged, “here and there.”

  I tore my eyes from his broad glowing chest and ran into his direct gaze. I quickly looked around the small kitchen. “Can’t believe what you’ve done to this place. Really nice.”

  He turned to the sink and my eyes swerved back to his body. I watched the beautiful phenomena of rippling muscles in his arms and back as he got the pot ready for fresh coffee. I forced my attention to the
pot. “I love those aluminum drip pots.” I managed to keep my voice between high and low but I couldn’t manage keeping my eyes off his body.

  He glanced over his shoulder and my cheeks burned at being caught gawking. Again.

  Good grief. I scratched my cheek and stared at the copper pots hanging above the tiny island. “You got yourself some nice cookware there.” I nodded at them. “Do they actually work?”

  He set the pot on the stove, turned on a low flame then headed toward me with that smile that could possibly mean he thought I was a fantastic idiot. But at least a fun one. My body gradually tensed as he drew closer, already resisting that gravitational pull he had about him. Lord, standing there like he didn’t affect me one bit was like holding up a mountain.

  “I should get a shirt on.”

  I choked out a gasp, horrified. Horrified that it was quite obvious to him how much he affected me. “Oh, pffft, not at all, you’re fine,” I said, making it clear that it was utterly unnecessary.

  He grinned. “Well thank you.”

  “I meant, I’m fine, as in, not bothered, it doesn’t bother me, I see men all the time like that around here, everybody goes around in the summer time without shirts.” I capped the lie with an overly exuberant laugh.

  “Everybody?”

  I met his teasing gaze and half grin. “You know what I mean.” My voice dropped to its usual low tenor, aka my strong voice.

  “I’m Johnny.” He reached a hand out to me.

  I tore my eyes from his and stared at his hand. I was suddenly very concerned over what touching this man would do to me. “Jewel.” I placed my hand in his.

  My heart raced as he lifted it and pressed my knuckles to his soft, full lips. “Perfect name.”

  His hot breath and lips on my fingers went straight to all those womanly places that I’d barred every man from. I gripped his fingers, needing something to hold on to.

  He eyed me with wonder.

  I forced a disconnection, trying to appear unburned by his touch. But I failed miserably as I pulled back my hand with a series of embarrassing jerky hesitations. My lord, I’d said more without words than I could or wanted to explain, and yet felt the need to. “Johnny, huh?” It came on a squeaky whisper.