Sand Cove

by Niyah Moore

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

Sand Cove is a beautiful secret haven tucked away from the city, entirely off limits to everyone except for its residents. Sand Cove seems like the picture-perfect place to live, but when Luca Moretti is found dead in his home, FBI agents Tyler and Stanton expose the residents' deepest secrets to find his killer.

Release date: August 27, 2019

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

The sweltering sun set hours ago, and the sky had become a thick, dark curtain of silk as I sat on a white lounge chair in front of my pool from the deck of my beach house. I drew in a deep breath of the salty air and could hear the gentle waves of the ocean caress the sand back and forth the way a man’s hands stroked a woman’s curves. The song of the waves lulled me. My backyard was among one of the most desirable beaches in Southern California, and whenever I wanted to go to the beach, it was only a staircase away.

Sand Cove was a small community of four beach homes lined up in a straight line; our secret haven tucked away. Our beach was entirely off-limits to the public. Though it was against the law to claim a beach as private property, the designers separated the houses with tempered glass fences, trees, and ceramic potted plants so that it was impossible for unwanted guests to touch any parts of the sand. The only way to the beach was through invitation.

While enjoying a few glasses of Rosé, my glossy eyes continued to stare out at the beach that was shaped like a shepherd’s hook of gold. I was on the brink of being tipsy, but I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t celebrating anything special. I drank champagne often for no reason at all. I worked long hours during the week as one of the head advisors for my father’s financial company, so drinking champagne was one of the things I looked forward to at the end of my day.

Though it was dark, I could vaguely see Tru and Noble Mason holding hands and walking, taking advantage of some free time while their 4-year-old fraternal twins were sleeping. The young African American couple lived in the very last house of the row. They were some of the most genuine people I had ever met. They were successful entrepreneurs, and the love they had for each other was resilient. One day, I hoped to have what they had—real love.

The moon was full and shining brightly. Underneath the moonlight, I could make out Tahira walking toward the shore. She lived in between my house and the Masons’. Her robe became one with the sand before submerging herself into the ocean. Disappearing beneath a wave shortly, she popped back up. The 21-year-old actress was born in the UK and married to 55-year-old Luca Moretti.

I hated to admit that I was slightly jealous of Luca, and I wasn’t the kind of man who wanted anything or anyone who belonged to another man, but Tahira was everything I would want in a woman. I had never seen her act crass or rude to anyone.

With Luca and Tahira’s thirty-four-year age difference, I wondered what she saw in him other than his money. With all his wealth and status, I was sure plenty of thirsty women wanted to walk in her Red Bottoms.

Who was I fooling? I wasn’t slightly jealous. I was insanely jealous. He was too old to know what to do with a woman like that.

As soon as I heard the sliding door of my dining room slide open, I tried to act like I was fooling around with my iWatch.

Kinsley stuck her head out and asked, “When are you coming inside, sexy?”

Kinsley and I were sort of, kind of, in a situation. She wasn’t my girlfriend, and I wouldn’t say we were working toward that either. Kinsley had been working for Amos Kelly Advisors for ten years, but we had only been fucking for two weeks. She was a few years older than I was and much more aggressive. She was bad in her own right—light creamy-brown skin, dyed red hair that resembled the color crimson, and natural hazel eyes that sparkled each time she looked at me. This was complicated because it wasn’t my intention to mix professional business with pleasurable nonsense. Sex was going to happen because she wanted it to happen. I usually was good at ignoring sexual advances from the women I worked with, but Kinsley’s sexual advances were strong, like a mad bull, and irresistible like a favorite treat.

I glanced at the time on my iWatch. It was getting late, and I needed to get to bed. Taking the last drink of champagne, I let the taste linger in my mouth before swallowing.

“Did you hear me?” Kinsley asked with her lips out in a pout.

“Give me a minute,” I replied without turning to look at her.

Kinsley lingered for a couple of seconds. Once she realized I would come in when I was ready, she left the sliding door open as she walked away.

I smirked.

She may have had a bit of an attitude when she didn’t get my attention right away, but she did all the right things to turn me on. I was going to give her exactly what she wanted, but not right now.

I returned my eyes to my guilty pleasure while I poured some more Rosé into my glass. The moon gave me some light to see enough of Tahira. The way she swam made the water look warm and inviting, but it was colder than an Alaskan Eskimo’s rosy cheeks. Once she was done swimming, she looked up toward my house and waved warmly.

I waved back.

She picked up her robe from the beach and walked toward me.

I got up from the chair and walked around my pool. I rested my arms on the tempered glass encasing the pool to peer down at her. When it came to showing off her plump breasts, her tight tummy, her slender legs, and her hips that accentuated her ass in that black bikini, she wasn’t shy. It was hard for anyone not to look. Nothing was wrong with looking. I mean, looking was all I was doing. Tahira was mouthwatering, like a perspiring glass pitcher of lemonade.

She said in her British accent, “I decided to come over and say hello. How are you tonight?”

She was intoxicating when she spoke with that British accent, and whenever she flashed that cute grin, I would feel all crazy inside.

I kept my cool, though, as I replied, “I’m good, you?”

“I’m well. It feels so good out tonight, yeah?”

“It does. How was the water?”

“Bloody cold,” she said with a slight little sexy laugh, though she wasn’t shivering.

“Well, you definitely don’t make it look like it’s cold.”

“Oh, that’s because I’m used to it . . .”

The air between us became thick like our sexual tension was rising. I could feel it, but could she?

“What are you drinking?” she asked.

Even in the dark, I could see her curious chestnut-brown eyes shimmering the same way the moon’s reflection danced upon the ocean.

“Ace of Spades. You want some? It’s nearly gone, but I can go grab another bottle from inside.”

“No, thank you. I’m trying to give up liquor for a few weeks . . . Well, I gotta get up early. You have a good night.”

“Same to you, Tahira.”

She smiled, turned, and slowly walked next door. Her hips swayed from left to right the way a series of swinging spheres did inside of Newton’s cradle. All the blood rushed to the top of my head, and the hairs on my body stood straight up. I had to shake this feeling off and quickly. I finished my glass before heading inside because my thoughts were starting to get too carried away.

Inside, the house was tranquil. I closed the sliding door behind me, placing the bottle and flute on the dining room table. Only one light was on above the stairs leading to the second floor, and I couldn’t hear Kinsley moving around. It was funny how after just two weeks, she took it upon herself to spend the night without an invitation. The only reason I didn’t say a word or ask her to leave was that I hated to be alone. I had gotten used to her warm body being with me.

I turned off the light after I made it to the top of the stairs. Once in my bedroom, Kinsley was underneath the covers, cuddled up, and naked. I admit that Tahira had me aroused. I got out of my clothes, leaving them on the floor before getting underneath the covers with her. I scooted to Kinsley’s backside. She moaned, sounding aroused by my presence. I rubbed her breasts. She wrapped her arms around my neck to pull me down on top of her.

I removed the wet bathing suit and placed it on the master bathroom counter. Staring at myself in the mirror, naked and natural without makeup, I examined myself. All the makeup and airbrushing my stylists did for hours to make me look fabulous on screen was strictly for the cameras. I wished I could wake up looking the way I did in pictures on a regular. Tyra Banks said it best when she said that she wanted to wake up looking the way she did in photo shoots. Hell, me too. When someone called me pretty or beautiful, it was hard for me to believe it myself. Call me insecure, but I didn’t feel beautiful.

My mum always told me that it wasn’t the makeup that made me beautiful. She said I was beautiful because of who I was, but how come I didn’t see it? People needed to see these dark circles and bags underneath my eyes that my husband so often nitpicked. Luca had an extensive list of things he didn’t like. My hair was too short, so he demanded that I wear hair extensions and wigs. He paid for D-cup breasts and liposuction in my fatty areas performed by the very best plastic surgeons. Daily, Luca was applying more pressure for me to look impeccably faultless. I spent a lot of time in the mirror picking at myself, finding flaws before he could so it wouldn’t make me feel as bad when he pointed them out.

Yawning, I ran the water hot for a shower. Thoughts were skipping through my head. Am I happy? I asked myself. I didn’t know if I was. I wanted so much more than the life I had, and I wasn’t talking money either. I had plenty of that. I didn’t have any children, and my husband didn’t want any because he already had two daughters that were older than I was. Because of my acting career, he said that children wouldn’t be good for me, so I quit nagging and focused on my career. He made sure to go with me to my appointments to watch me get the birth control implant to make sure that I wasn’t going to get pregnant behind his back. I wasn’t a sneaky person, but he was going to make sure of it.

Luca was money-driven and one of the best directors, producers, and screenwriters around. He was older, but he was youthful, adventurous, and had a net worth of a little over $2 billion. I knew what people thought when they stared at us. He was white. I was more black than white because my father was biracial. The age gap made people believe that I was nothing but a gold-digging black whore. They couldn’t have been more wrong. What was all this black and white nonsense anyway? I wasn’t a stranger to dating outside of my race. Growing up in London, interracial dating wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. It was more common than uncommon. I thought things would be the same in America, but people were so fucking judgmental.

The only people who didn’t seem to mind were our neighbors. They loved us, and we loved them. I didn’t feel self-conscious when I was with them, and that was one of the many reasons why I loved them so much.

We were the very first people to buy one of the four homes in Sand Cove three years ago when we got married. The Masons moved in on the right side of us a few months later, and Alohnzo moved in on the other side of us a year after them. The first house of the row has never been occupied.

Tru Mason had become my best friend, and her husband was close to Luca. We had dinner dates as often as possible. Tru and Noble gave excellent marriage advice that I valued. I don’t think Luca appreciated it because he figured since he was older, he was wiser. Tru had this gorgeous dark skin. Noble and their twins even shared the same rich cocoa complexion. They were a beautiful-looking family.

What would Sand Cove be without Alohnzo? Now, he was handsome. His hair was neat and lined up to perfection. His five o’clock shadow never grew out a full beard, but I bet he would look just as handsome with one. His skin was a smooth, creamy caramel. For a single man, I didn’t see many women come in and out of his home, which was something that Tru and I couldn’t believe. It was no wonder why I felt the way I did. It started with a crush, but lately, I had been feeling like I was falling for him. Whenever he was around, I had the kind of butterflies that flapped around in my stomach. The feeling was scary; yet, it felt good . . . but it was also nerve-wracking.

I had his number in case of an emergency if anything was going on at his house while he was away, but I didn’t dare use it. For two years, I kept my feelings for Alohnzo to myself. I found myself Facebook-stalking him. I told myself that I was only going to check out his profile for a few seconds, but an hour later, I would still be looking at his photos.

I stepped into the shower, and the steam instantly rose from the tip of my white polished toes to the top of my head. Allowing the water to cascade down my face, I reached for the shampoo. The top was already removed, so I squeezed the thick, silky liquid into my hand and rubbed it into my scalp. Working up a rich lather, I massaged the shampoo thoroughly into my hair before rinsing it out.

Why am I not happy anymore? I was back to that thought again.

Maybe it was because my husband had been cheating on me since the beginning of our relationship. I mean, I did not have any proof. After three years of marriage and six months of dating, I should’ve had one piece of solid proof, but I had nothing. I was going to have my evidence one of these days. Naturally, Luca was a flirt, and he thought it was harmless, and I used to think it was harmless . . . before I realized he wasn’t going to change. My husband was fucking everything walking. I heard the rumors, but I thought they were just rumors. The vibes I got from other women were suggestive, but when I asked him, he would shrug it off as if it were no big deal. To be honest, I was terrified to know the truth. It was easier to ignore the problem than confront it because I hated confrontation.

I conditioned my hair before I washed and rinsed my entire body. Then I got out of the shower, dried off quickly, and slipped into my white cotton robe. Wrapping my hair in a pink towel, I turned off the bathroom light and walked downstairs to my husband’s office to see if he was ready to come to bed. Most likely he would be working on his new script until the wee hours of the morning. When he wasn’t at home, he was shooting a film that was supposed to be his biggest film yet.

He made me audition for the leading role and said that if I got it, it would be the role that would turn me into a star. I was so excited, but then someone else got the part. He said the casting director didn’t think I was a good fit, but I knew he was lying because it is always the decision of the producer and the director who was cast. I was disappointed that he would lie and expect me to believe that he didn’t have any power when he was the director.

His office door was partly opened, and I could faintly hear his voice. He was talking low. I didn’t have to open the door completely to see him talking on the phone because it was opened enough. He was pacing, smiling at whatever the other person was saying. His hair was black on the top and white on the sides, cut with a razor by his barber. His pencil-thin mustache made him look as debonair and as dashing as the actor, Vincent Price.

He used to be so kind to me, or I thought he had always been good to me. I wondered how long he had been seeing other women and if he had any intention of stopping. I was straining to hear, concentrating so much that I accidentally bumped the door open. He turned toward me and ended the call without telling the person goodbye.

“Fuck, Tahira! You scared me,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to startle you.”

“When did you come in from your swim?” he asked.

“Around twenty minutes ago . . . I took a shower and came down here to see if you were ready to come to bed.”

“No. I have to finish writing this scene.” He hardly looked at me before he walked over to his desk and sat down. “I hate it when you sneak around the house like a fucking mouse.”

“I wasn’t sneaking around the house, Luca. You probably didn’t hear me because you were on the phone.” I thought of asking who he was talking to, but I was too afraid.

“Go dry your hair. I hate it when you get the pillows wet.”

I replied, “Of course. I’m going up to blow-dry my hair right now.”

“Close my door all the way when you leave.”

I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from cursing at him. I was getting sick of the way he treated me. If he wanted to be able to do what he wanted, why didn’t he leave? I closed the door until it shut and walked upstairs. Fighting my tears, I thought, I’m going to have to find a way to get back to my own happiness.

I plugged the blow dryer and removed the towel from my head. After twenty minutes of replaying what happened in my mind, my hair was thoroughly dry. I stopped the dryer, turned off the light, and walked into our bedroom. Luca wasn’t in bed. I wasn’t surprised. My heart used to sink into my stomach, but now, I was numb because I was used to this.

“Trudee, I’m leaving you in two minutes,” Noble said, fixing his tie in the mirror behind the door of our walk-in closet.

He stood a little over six feet. Noble had the physique of an NFL defensive linebacker, and I was still head over heels as the first day he swept me off my feet three years ago.

He rubbed his freshly shaved chin as he watched me struggle to pull my hair out of the spiral rods that I had slept in. I was dressed for work, but I still needed to do my hair and makeup.

“Let’s go,” he demanded again as if I didn’t hear him the first time.

I fluttered my eyelashes, looking at him as if he were crazy. “Do not rush me, Noble Mason.”

“I’m leaving right now.”

We went through this back-and-forth dialogue in the mornings. It didn’t make any sense to me. I wanted him to wait for me because I didn’t want to drive. Beauty took time, and he knew this already. It was his fault why we were running late in the first place. He wanted to have sex as our alarm clock went off. Asking me to hurry up while getting ready for work was like asking him for a quickie. He hated quickies.

“You’re not going to leave me, Noble,” I reiterated. “Besides, it’s Friday. We can stand to be late for once in our lives.”

He looked at the time on his gold Rolex. “No, I’m never late. You know that. I’m leaving in two point five minutes.”

“You don’t love me if you leave me,” I said, trying to lay it on thick.

He laughed a little. “Don’t be silly. I’ll see you once you get to work. Don’t forget that we have a scheduled meeting at eight o’clock sharp. At least if I’m there, it won’t make everyone else’s schedules fucked up.”

I removed a roller. “Yeah, but—”

“You think I should wait for you to finish playing with your hair and risk showing up late?” He grabbed me by my waist and pulled me toward him in a playful manner while biting his lower lip.

“Noble, you better quit. See, this is why we’re late in the first place. Look, if you must leave, then go. I’ll be there before the meeting is over.”

He studied my eyes, not letting go of my waist. After kissing my forehead, he let me go. “You need to do whatever it takes to get there no later than thirty minutes. I don’t need anyone talking crazy.”

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t have sex in the morning before work.”

His eyebrows furrowed, looking as if I were talking like a crazy woman. “You know how grouchy I am if I don’t get my fix.”

A grin graced my face, and I stared at him in the mirror. “Mmmhmm. I’ll talk to you later.”

Noble strutted out of our master bathroom, looking refined in his suit and tie.

I opened my makeup case and took my time putting on my makeup. I wasn’t going to rush. Since he left me, there was no need to hurry. As soon as I was done, I went downstairs, made some coffee in my Keurig, and put it in a travel mug before kissing the kids.

I turned . . .