CHAPTER 1
Lust (n.) a passionate desire for something; a sensuous appetite regarded as sinful
Cairns, Australia
3 a.m.
Marissa Calhoun slid her narrow, black, four—inch heels off her feet, dangling the straps from her fingers as she walked along the wooden planks on the promenade. A week before, she had arrived in Australia to celebrate the upcoming wedding of her good friend Layla. It was her first visit “down under,” and although the night’s events hadn’t gone as planned, she’d grown to love the vibrant, laid—back feel of the city of Cairns.
What had started as a group of longtime friends out for a bachelorette party had dwindled down to one, and she found herself all alone, finally. A few hours earlier, downtown had been humming with boisterous activity, people popping in and out of bars, listening to music, sharing a few laughs with friends. With exception of the screeching of bats hiding in a fragrant mango tree nearby, the streets were weary and quiet now. Most people had retired to bed, but Marissa wasn’t ready to call it a night just yet.
Sleep could wait.
Her conscience, on the other hand, couldn’t.
It was restless, struggling with a secret she’d been keeping that charred her skin like it was being branded over and over again.
Marissa didn’t like secrets.
She wasn’t good at keeping them, either.
It wasn’t like her.
It wasn’t how she was raised.
But she’d been keeping one nonetheless, trying to convince herself that in this singular instance, deception was better than destroying the man she loved with a bitter truth she knew he’d never understand.
Now in her thirties, she’d finally married, and life was much different. Evenings out with girlfriends all but ceased to exist anymore. Her husband Nick was more of a “dinner and a movie at home” guy than the “night on the town” type. He liked her to be around when he returned from work, and she’d indulged his fancy because Nick made her happy. With him, she had finally found love unlike any she’d ever experienced before.
Tired of walking, Marissa sat in front of the lagoon, a beach—like swimming hole along the city’s foreshore. She dipped her toes into the cool saltwater and swirled them around, creating a small, circular whirlpool with her big toe before patting it out with the bottom of her foot.
During the day, the lagoon was brimming with families and tourists. Tonight it was hers, and hers alone.
Or was it?
Marissa swore she spotted a brief flurry of movement behind one of the colorful, lamp—lit trees in the distance. She blinked and stared at the area for a moment, and then shrugged, deciding it was nothing more than one of the curious—looking, long—legged birds that frequented the area. Or perhaps it had been a moment of drunken stupor, and she should have been doing what her friends were probably doing—sleeping it off.
The cool chill of the evening’s spring breeze swaddled her face, and she closed her eyes, drinking in the freshness of the air. When she opened them, the same tree she’d eyed before cast a shadow in what appeared to be the shape of a person.
“Hello?” she said. “Is someone there?”
A tall figure stepped out from behind the tree, his face cloaked beneath a dark hoodie. Without uttering a word, the figure stumbled a bit and then took a couple steps in her direction. Her first instinct was to panic, but as she watched him stagger toward her, she noticed something—he seemed just as drunk as she was and far too lanky to trifle over.
Still ...
Something about him seemed off ... and strangely familiar.
To ease her concerns, she said, “Nice night, isn’t it?”
It looked like he’d attempted a nod, but he was still too far away for her to tell.
“What brings you to Cairns?” she continued. “Are you a local or just visiting the city?”
The man stopped and crossed his arms in front of him. He said nothing. And this time, Marissa’s nerves kicked in.
She stood, attempting to remain calm. “Well ... my friends are waiting for me down the street. You have a nice night.”
The man looked over his shoulder, canvassing the establishments along the esplanade. None of their lights were on. Not a single one. He looked back at her, tilting his head to one side.
They were alone.
A sense of unease disturbed Marissa like a phone call in the middle of the night. The last time she’d felt that way she’d returned to her car after a movie with Nick and found a note taped to her windshield—a letter left by her jilted ex—lover, the third she’d received in a week. The note was a simple one. This isn’t over. We’re not over. We will talk about this. Stop avoiding me. She’d looked over her shoulder for weeks afterward, ...
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