in a booth at the far end, talking and laughing as they ate. A large man who looked like a trucker sat in another booth, working his way through a huge burger. Writing something on a pad, a bored waitress leaned on the far end of the bar, sipping on a cola.
The rest of the place was empty. Welcome to January in Kitty Hawk.
Mark finished his beer then ordered another one. The kids paid and, still laughing, shoved each other as they tugged on their coats. The trucker mowed through a mound of fries in a basket, the burger now gone. Mark heard the kids go out, the girls squealing at the wind’s bite.
“You Mark Connor?”
Mark glanced up at a tall man. He must have come in as the kids left.
“Yeah, if you’re Josh Myers.”
Josh nodded, sliding onto the barstool next to Mark and ordered a beer. He had to be at least six foot, four inches Mark estimated as he sized up the other man. Tall and lanky, with sandy hair he tied back. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses, a wild tie-dyed shirt that was too big for him and a rough, baggy pair of jeans, all topped off with a flannel coat. But under that, Mark recognized something that only another man who’d been in the military would have picked up.
Myers recognized it too. “Former Marine.” He took a swallow of his beer. “You look like Army.” He gave Mark a considering look. “Infantry.”
“A long time ago. You got your license?”
Josh raised an eyebrow at the directness, but Mark wasn’t here to socialize. Either the guy would work out or not. Mark didn’t care that he was a Marine. Much.
Josh pulled his wallet from his back pocket, slipped something out and slid it across the bar to Mark. It was his union card. “I’m licensed. You won’t have to worry about passing the inspections.”
Mark pushed the card back to him. “I need a guy who can do some carpentry work too.”
“Yeah, I can do that and a bunch of other stuff. So, what you got?” Josh pulled the bowl of pretzels over.
“A fucking big tub I need to get up a flight of stairs into a master bathroom. There’s a lot of other shit. It’s a full-time gig with the run of a house north of here. It’ll be just the two of us but the place has five bedrooms, so take your pick."
“Sounds reasonable enough. When you want me to move in and start?” Josh crunched down on the pretzel. The trucker got up, paid his tab and left, tugging his hat on as he pushed out the door.
“Right now. If you brought your gear and got four-wheel drive, you can follow me.” Mark shook his head as the bartender asked if he wanted another beer. He turned, sizing up Josh with a long look. “It’s a good gig, the place’s huge, there’s satellite TV and internet. I’ve got an expense account for groceries with other odds and ends.”
“Then I’m in.” Josh polished off his beer, then pushed the bottle aside. “One thing I want cleared up before we get there.”
“That being?”
“I’m gay. I’m not gonna lie or apologize for it. You got a problem with that, then it was nice meeting ya’ and I’m on my way back to Norfolk.” Josh crunched down on another pretzel. The bartender stopped wiping and polishing the bar, staring at the two men. Mark ignored him.
“Christ, I don’t care if you sleep with goats as long as you do the damn job and stay the hell outta my way.” Mark shoved off the barstool. “So you coming?”
“Yeah, I’m coming.” Josh eased off his seat, half a head taller than Mark. “But I’ll have you know that sheep are much better than goats.”
“Outstanding. I get an ex-jarhead who’s gay and has a sense of humor,” Mark muttered as he walked to the door.
“That’s former jarhead, dogface.”
* * * *
Josh had never been to the Outer Banks. He’d heard of them, of course, knew of the lighthouses, including the most famous lighthouse in the country, Cape Hatteras. This, however, was his first time to the chain of barrier islands.
After picking up some supplies, Mark led him north, leaving Kitty Hawk behind as they drove up the now empty highway, Josh following in his beat-up Ford F150. There wasn’t a lot to see this time of year, with it all closed up against a backdrop of lowering gray skies. It gave Josh plenty of time to think about the enigmatic Mark Connor and what he got out of that first meeting.
As far as looks went, the guy was pretty unremarkable. At around five feet eleven inches, Mark was shorter, with graying black hair and eyes the same dark gray as the tossing surf. He was solid, though, broad across the shoulders, well-filled-out, somewhere between fifty-five and sixty would be Josh’s guess. A little past his prime, although there was a lot to admire and explore.
Josh did want to explore because he liked what he saw the first minute he met the man. He sensed that Mark wouldn’t be easy to figure out. That appealed to Josh, who loved a challenge.
They passed through the small town of Corolla, storm shutters over the windows of the huge rental houses. Josh glanced at the ocean as the highway swung closer to the shoreline. This time of year it got dark early. Here on the coast, Josh had a feeling night rushed in rather than lingered.
He slowed up as he saw Mark’s brake lights come on. The old Suburban came to a complete stop, Josh curious about what was going on. There wasn’t anything around but a sea fence that stopped on the west side of the road, then started again on the east side, ending in the dunes down by the crashing surf. Mark put his truck back in gear and eased forward.
It took Josh a minute to realize that the road had ended, stopped dead right at the sea fence. There wasn’t a gate or anything else, only open sand with beaches as far north as he could see. Well, Christ, the guy hadn’t mentioned anything about this. The Suburban wallowed through the deeper sand as Mark aimed it for the shoreline. Engaging his truck’s four-wheel drive, Josh watched while he waited until Mark made it onto firmer sand. Wondering what exactly he’d agreed to, Josh followed without much trouble.
Now off the highway, they drove down the coastline on nothing but sand for the next several miles, Josh curious and intrigued. Hell, they had to be practically back to the Virginia border. Mark wasn’t wasting any time on the scenery as they raced down the vacant, wind-whipped beaches.
It was starting to get dark as the Suburban turned back inland, following what Josh could see to be a well traveled path between the dunes. They left the beaches behind, continuing north for a couple of miles along a road Josh had no idea existed here. There were utility poles strung along toward the north. Every so often a large dwelling loomed up then disappeared, empty, closed up for the winter season.
Fucking Christ, people actually lived out here?
Mark slowed down as they neared a house standing alone on the dunes, dark against the even darker east sky. Josh followed him as he turned off the narrow road and drove up to the impressive home. Like so many of the houses here, it was up on stilts, a massive staircase leading down from a screened-in wraparound porch. Mark drove to one side of the stairs then underneath, as Josh realized he could park on the other side.
Well, sweet fucking Christ, talk about your out-of-the-way job. Josh turned the engine off and sat, drumming his fingers
