Cursed by S.J. Harper Page A

fires up the grill, I lean my arms on the wall and survey the beach. It’s the middle of the week, early evening, but there are still a few surfers and sunbathers out. Zack joins me. He notices my beer is empty.
    “Want another?”
    “Sure.”
    He’s gone for less than a minute.
    “I won’t press you about this,” I say when he returns. The beer is ice cold and it goes down easy.
    Zack takes up the position I’ve left at the wall. “I appreciate that. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Things I’d rather forget. Not just for the government.”
    We stare out at the ocean. I understand what it’s like, having to live with monumental regret. “It wasn’t my intention to dredge up bad memories.”
    “You were worried about the money for this.” He waves a hand. “Whether I came by it honestly.”
    “Yes.”
    There’s a long pause. I wait while he struggles to find the words. Finally he does.
    “I spent more than a decade in constant danger, putting my life on the line every day.” He shakes his head as if ridding himself of an unwanted memory. “What I did paid obscenely well. I’ve struggled with what to do with the money. Admittedly, this place is an extravagance. But it reminds me of a life I once had.” He pauses. “Did I come by the money honestly? At the time, I thought what I was doing was legit—for the greater good.”
    “Now?”
    “Now . . . I think some of it wasn’t. I
know
some of it wasn’t.”
    “That’s how you paid for the house.”
    He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Yes. That’s how I paid for the house.”
    I draw a breath, too. I can taste the salt in the air. When I open my eyes again, Zack is watching me. I look out toward the ocean. “You couldn’t ask for a more beautiful view.”
    “I love the ocean. I grew up in Hilton Head. My family had a place right on the beach.”
    I remember Sarah was born and raised in Hilton Head. Perhaps they have even more of a past than I thought.
    “Do your parents still live there?”
    His shoulders tense. “No. They died some years ago.”
    Yet he spoke of his mother in the present earlier.
“My mother will be relieved. . . .”
    Zack turns his back to me, attending to the grill, a not so subtle way to close the subject.
    I walk over to the wall, giving him time and space. I want to ask about his mother. I want to ask about Sarah. But it’s clear he’s already revealed far more to me than he ever intended to. Instead I back off, drink my beer, and watch the waves. In a moment he joins me and we stand in companionable silence, gazing out at the ocean.
    “The crashing of the waves lulls me at night,” he confesses. “Without it, I don’t sleep.”
    A sense of melancholy settles over me. I, too, spend sleepless nights, being chased by past demons.
    He leans in and bumps my shoulder. “I’ve told you my secret. Quid pro quo. You gonna come clean now and tell me yours?”
    The playful tone and gesture lifts my spirits.
    It doesn’t, however, change how I answer. “Probably not in this lifetime.”
    “What happened to partners not having secrets?”
    I return the shoulder bump. “Now, you and I both know you’ve yet to spill all of your deep, dark secrets. You just threw me a little ol’ bone.”
    He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t push.
    Instead he returns to his post at the grill. But the message in the look he sends back over his shoulder is clear.
    I’ve been granted a reprieve, all right. But it’s only temporary.

CHAPTER 7
    “More steak?”
    I lean back in mychair and shake my head. “I’m stuffed.” I take another sip of wine and watch Zack as he refills his own glass. Dinner was far more comfortable than lunch. Zack filled me in on what was happening with the Mason prosecution and I filled him in on his new colleagues.
    I gesture toward the now empty plates. “Everything was great. Do you cook like this often?”
    Zack shrugs. “When I can. You know how it is, crazy hours. Most days I grab something