Playing by the Rules Read online

  Playing by the Rules

  Secrets and Lies, Book 1

  D’Ann Burrow

  Three Owl Press

  Playing by the Rules, Secrets and Lies Book One

  Copyright © 2015 by D’Ann Burrow

  All rights reserved.

  Except in the case of limited quotes used in critical reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the author.

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  www.dkburrow.com

  ISBN: 978-1-942239-01-7

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and places are the products of the author’s imagination or are fictionalized for this story. Any resemblance to actual happenings, people – living or deceased, is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

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  Cover design: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  ISBN: 978-1-942239-01-7

  Created with Vellum

  For Steve, Madeline, and Nicholas

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  My first cheerleaders.

  My biggest fans.

  The reason this book exists.

  Also by D’Ann Burrow

  Dangerous Games

  Secrets and Lies, Book 2

  Releasing 9/28/2015

  1

  Carlsbad, Califoria

  7:39 p.m.

  * * *

  The wooden door banged closed with a thud, echoing louder than the roar of the waves breaking in the distance. Tower Six was officially closed for the night. In two more weeks, I’d be saying goodbye to the seaweed, salt spray and ever-present sand between my toes for yet another school year. A dull ache filled my chest as I took in the fading orange-tinged light. Fourteen sunsets until senior year.

  My dad not-so-secretly hoped I’d give up my spot on Carlsbad State Beach forever, not just for the school term. I loved it here, and it gave me something to do over the summer other than the ever-popular shopping and flirting. Neither was an activity I excelled at.

  But being a lifeguard—that was something I could do. It wasn’t that he had anything against me being a lifeguard. It was more that his only daughter was working…something inconceivable to his decidedly-upper-class, British upbringing.

  Thankfully, my mom was all for the summer job. She’d been working since she was thirteen, first at her mom’s daycare and later at the busiest pie shop in Piney Bluff, Texas. She’d stick a hand on her hip and challenge dad to take issue with how she turned out.

  Maybe my mom wasn’t the best example.

  “Closing up for the night?” A cheerful voice called up from somewhere under the stairs. Grant always sounded cheerful. Even when he was lecturing the junior lifeguards within an inch of their lives, his grin was bright enough for a toothpaste commercial. It kind of diluted the threatening effect he was going for.

  “Yep.” I took two steps down the ramp before turning back. I tested the door with two quick tugs.

  He ducked and came around to meet me at the base of the stand. He smelled like coconut sunscreen. Only Grant would re-apply before sunset. No sunburns on his watch. “And how was my star lifeguard’s day?”

  “I’m not your star lifeguard.”

  “Really?” He flashed a look that said we both knew he was playing with me. “You know anybody else with their picture on the front page of the paper for saving a three-year-old?”

  “I was just doing my job.”

  “In swells I’d be afraid to go into.”

  I didn’t buy that for a minute. He had won more surfing trophies than I had awards for one-act plays. They sparkled on the shelves in his office. When the junior lifeguards didn’t follow orders, they got stuck polishing the awards until he could see his reflection in them.

  “You wouldn’t have been afraid of them. And it didn’t matter if I was.” Because I had been afraid. I was terrified. That’s why we’d been under a red flag warning in the first place. Building sand castles or not, the little girl’s mom shouldn’t have let her get that close to the water. And the former-lifeguard in the tower next to me should have noticed the kid wandering into the water. “I didn’t really have a choice. She was going to drown.”

  The glimmer in his eyes told me I’d walked straight into his trap. “Exactly. And that’s why I don’t want to lose you, Kennedy. You sure I can’t talk you into staying on this school year? I could make sure you just work weekends. Maybe a Friday night here or there.”

  I closed my eyes, letting the soft night breeze rustle my bangs hanging limply over my forehead. When I left the beach each day, I looked like a train wreck. Grant didn’t seem to care. He raised an eyebrow, and his gray-green eyes roamed my face. He knew how much I wanted to say yes.

  “No.” A portion of the stillness that came over me disappeared. “You know that’s not an option.”

  “Your dad?”

  “Who else?”

  For a minute, he reached out, his hand hovered just above my arm. That was right before one of the police buggies drove past. Even from ten feet away, I could feel the set of eyes condemning us from behind the too-dark-to-see-what-he-was-looking-at sunglasses. Dude was deadly serious about the rules, including the one about no supervisor/lifeguard fraternization. I think he had the rule book memorized. He reminded me of my father. Speaking of…

  “I’ve got to go.” I hated looking into those puppy-dog eyes. I knew I was the best lifeguard he had, and not just from the nine employee of the week signs hanging on the wall of the office that I’d earned during this summer. And not from the ten from last summer. I knew I was the best lifeguard because we’d had this conversation every night since I gave my three-week notice last week.

  “Don’t tell me. You’ve got a curfew.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Bright and early.” I sounded too chipper, too perky. Crap, I said I was bad at the whole flirting thing.

  Grant’s curly, sun-lightened brown hair bounced against his neck as he jogged away toward a group of pre-teens who didn’t seem to understand the meaning of the phrase Beach Closed.

  I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and began walking through the sand toward the deserted parking lot. Most of the lifeguards took public transportation, one reason I tended to hang out until everyone else had left. No one needed to see me getting into my car.

  The sky blue convertible was too flashy for me. I’d told my father that when we visited the dealership and while we were on the test drive. I lived three blocks from my school and less than five minutes’ drive from the beach. He’d just narrowed his eyes, listening to the salesman prattle on about the list of safety specifications and all the reasons the convertible was fitting for someone of my status.

  Our status.

  Before my grandparents disowned him for coming to the States after listening to one-too-many speeches about democracy, he was the Earl of something. Once the phrase “when I was back in England” was uttered, I found a way to leave the room.

  He might not still technically be an earl, but he was still convinced his family would live like he was. If his parents ever darkened our threshold, they’d be comfortable at our house. He didn’t have the title any longer, but he still had his family’s money.

  And I had a convertible I didn’t want.

  I dipped my hand into my bag as quickly as humanly possible and unlocked the car with a single press of the button. I checked the back seat. Twice. Then, I slid behind the wheel and started the car. Before backing out, I checked the windows and the rear view camera. Turning around in my seat, I looked around just in case someone was behind the car the camera didn’t catch. So far, it hadn’t been wrong but better safe than sorry. I checked the camera again. Clear.
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  I backed out, waiting until I was far enough from the parking lot not to be seen before I rolled down my windows and opened the roof with a press of a button. I could almost walk home quicker than I could drive home, so I tried to take advantage of the time with the roof down. I couldn’t let the early-evening sea breeze go to waste.

  Just because I didn’t want the car didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it.

  All too soon, I pulled up to the wall. The wall separated the residents of La Costa de Oro from the rest of the community. The 15-foot electrified blend of wrought-iron and stone fence kept out any unwanteds that might attempt to sneak past our armed private security guards.

  “Hey, Paul.” I eased my car to a stop at the guard station, waiting for him to make sure no one was hiding in the completely open back seat.

  “Good evening, Miss Thatcher. Pleasant day at the beach?”

  It was always the beach. Never work. I think I was the only teenager here with a job. Of course, in the ultra-exclusive twenty-house community, I was one of the only high schoolers who wanted one. Most everyone else was content with playing musical-pools and spending their parents’ money over summer break.

  Not my thing.

  “It was a good day. No rescues.”

  “Sounds lovely.” He nodded, tipping his hat to me, and keyed in the code to open the gate.

  “Thanks.” I pulled forward, away from his watchful eyes. The heavy iron gate slammed shut behind me. Once again, the residents were safely out of reach from the outside world.

  At least that’s what they liked to pretend.

  The world out there had a way of sneaking in here. Gates couldn’t keep my classmates from stealing liquor out of their parents’ bars. No guard at the entrance could prevent drugs from creeping into the neighborhood, safely stashed in backpacks filled with books from fancy private schools that probably weren’t even being read. No walls could stop the parties that went on while parents were gone and my friends had too much time on their hands.

  My mom had hated it in here.

  But my dad hated it out there. Southern California wasn’t his cup of British tea.

  I kept driving through the just-a-little-too narrow brick streets. The subdivision was intended to mimic an old Italian city—minus the age, decay, and population. Fewer than 100 privileged residents called this cliffside area home.

  A right turn. Another right. And a slight veer to the left to follow the winding path tracing its way to the topmost point in the area.

  Then I was home. Six bedrooms, seven baths, a pool and three distinct hot tubs. Just perfect for a family of three headed by a man too paranoid to have guests over. Not a soul from my school had ever even seen the end of our driveway, much less stepped foot in the house.

  I eased past a car that once was probably a dark shade of brown. Now the three colors of paint and fair amount of rust made it a little difficult to tell which color claimed the title of original. That meant Maggie was still here. Without bothering to pull into the oversized garage, I put my car in park and hopped out, careful to shake the last of the loose sand from my flip flops.

  No sand could get in the house—a difficult rule when I was a lifeguard. But I liked my job and wanted to keep it, so I shimmied like I had a bee up the back of my shorts. When the flow of sand switched from rain to just a few specks, I declared de-sanding complete and made my way up the brick pathway toward the front door.

  The porch lights were already lit. Real flames burned inside the fixtures, giving the entry a warm, almost homey glow. I paused and placed my fingertips on the keypad. Only a biometrics scan usable at any of the most security agencies in the country was good enough for us.

  Of course, since my house contained government secrets that could likely bring down several small governments, that made sense.

  The door opened with a soft, melodic tone followed by a hiss. I no longer flinched as I walked through the red laser beam at my ankles. The scent of peppers, onions, and some kind of roasted meat drifted to meet me at the doorway.

  I carefully arranged my things on the pegs in the mudroom off the front entrance to the house, making sure I placed my keys in the cubby. I started to make my way into the kitchen but paused to double check my keys’ location. Exactly where they were supposed to be.

  “Maggie!” My voice echoed off the tile and granite more than I intended as I walked into the cavernous kitchen.

  She thrust a finger to her lips, giving me the brown-eyed warning I’d become overly familiar with during the past year. “Your father’s home early. He’s taking a conference call in his office.”

  His office. The reason we had security system.

  “Will he be having dinner with me?”

  Maggie looked like she wanted to say yes. A flash of a frown threatened to overtake her grandmotherish smile before she turned away from me to stir the pot on the gas stove. When she answered, she didn’t turn back to look at me. “I don’t think so. He asked me to put his plate in the warmer oven.”

  Her shoulders hung, defeated. She took a few measured breaths in and out, muttering to herself, unaware my Spanish skills had improved.

  “It’s okay. Really. I’ll just eat on the patio.” I walked beside her, picking up an earth-toned plate before she could offer to stay or threaten to pull my father away from his meeting.

  Her eyes were too bright when she turned back to look at me. “You shouldn’t be alone so much, cariño. I’ll call Marcos and tell him I’m staying to eat with you.”

  “No. You did that last night and the night before that. Go home. Eat with Mr. Gonzales. I’m fine. I don’t mind. Really. Can you start the fireplace for me?”

  Another series of muttered Spanish phrases poured from her mouth. I was amazed some of those words were in her vocabulary. They definitely weren’t in the approved vocabulary list the Sisters taught.

  She faked a grin. She’d never make it in Hollywood. “Just give me a minute. Fix your plate, and the fire will be nice and ready for you outside.”

  “Thanks, Mags.”

  She chuckled at my use of her forbidden nick-name, shaking her head and closing the door to the terrace closed behind her. I was really pushing the envelope tonight. If my dad heard me addressing the maid by anything other than her given name, I was risking her dismissal for getting too familiar with the family members. But that would have to mean he was close enough to hear me. Which, as usual, he wasn’t.

  The door opened, accompanied by a chime announcing her return. “The fire’s lit, and I’d already left your tea and blanket outside.”

  “Thank you.” I jogged to her side, feeling unusually sentimental. Careful not to tip my plate over, I bent down and kissed her warm, squishy cheek. “What would I do without you?”

  2

  Government Class

  8:15 a.m.

  * * *

  LSU vs. Florida. Easy. Florida already had that win in the bag.

  Baylor over TCU. No contest.

  Auburn would take Mississippi, especially since Mississippi’s quarterback was down, and they’d be playing their third-string freshman this weekend. God, I wanted to end up on that team. Mississippi needed someone with a good arm. An arm like mine.

  But did Espinosa send them my tape?

  Knowing him, probably not. I’d bet a hundred dollars that he’d sent them one with Alex, though. Not that I had a hundred dollars, but it was a safe bet.

  I was letting myself get distracted. That wouldn’t get me a scholarship.

  Georgia Tech or Texas? I tapped the end of my pen back and forth between the names of the two schools as if the pen was the one deciding who’d win the game. Georgia was nationally ranked. Still, they didn’t deserve it. They definitely weren’t top-five material, even if they were undefeated. So far, their team had a light schedule.

  Hell, my team could have won most of their games.

  And their star running-back went down in the first half last week. They’d barely scraped out a win after lo
sing him. Texas had the best defense in their conference. The game was at home, and I’d played against their quarterback last season. That dude knew what he was doing.

  I underlined Texas twice, deciding that was the game to watch on Saturday. We needed to beat Pineville next week. Watching the almost-certain-to-win-the-Heisman quarterback play might just do the trick.

  A sharp pain stabbed my throwing shoulder. “Careful. I’ve got a lot riding on that arm.”

  “Pay attention.” Amberly leaned forward, hissing into my ear. The girl was a lot taller than she looked. I mentally moved her up on the potential-date ladder. “She’s staring at you.”

  She had a point.

  The classroom was way too quiet. When I’d started thinking about Saturday’s games, Ms. Shelton was droning on about a new campaign ad in the upcoming governor’s race. Now the only sound in the room was the humming of the overworked air conditioner.

  And a few hushed giggles directed at me.

  Because that’s where the teacher was looking right now. She stood in front of the currently-blank whiteboard, popping a black pen off the palm of her left hand. “Since you’ve been taking such copious notes, why don’t you share them with us, Tanner? I’m certain your classmates would benefit from your focus.”

  Notes.

  She had to be kidding.

  I didn’t take notes.

  In a system I’d perfected before leaving elementary school, I had a girl in each class who was willing to hand hers over to me at the end of every class, freeing me to focus my attention on what was really important. In some classes, I even had two. It never hurt to duplicate. They didn’t mind. Especially not now. homecoming was early this year.