Free A Just Deception by Adrienne Giordano

people don’t usually park there. There was a man in the car.” She shook her head. “He was probably picking up his kid or something.”
    “I’ll check it out.”
    “Nah. It’s not a big deal.”
    But she’d brought it up. “You wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t bugging you. I’ll check it out. I have to get my clothes out of my truck anyway. I’ll meet you inside.”
    He hefted his board and walked up the beach to the entrance. Whoever was sitting there when Izzy came home was not there now.
    And Peter had a nagging feeling it hadn’t been someone waiting for their kid.

Chapter Eight
    After pizza with Izzy, fatigue dragging at him, Peter drove back to his parents’ estate and spotted a large appliance box— what the hell is this now? —on the porch of the cottage. He wasn’t expecting any deliveries.
    He parked in the driveway and sat eyeballing the box. Had his mother mentioned anything? Nothing came to mind. Damn . He blew out a breath, ran his cupped hand over his mouth and scratched his neck. He’d just check it out.
    Except his heart was damn near beating itself to death. He’d probably have a coronary before he even reached the porch.
    Another deep breath. It’s a box, asshole.
    He got out of the car, stole a glance around the side wall and waited. No movement. Definitely not anyone hiding behind the box. Inside maybe? Peter reached for the weapon that should have been at his waist. Shit. No weapon. Vic took it from him. Psychos shouldn’t carry guns.
    The resourceful prick even boosted the one in the safe at his condo. For backup reasons, he had given Vic the safe’s combination after Tiny died. Tiny had always kept the combination so someone could open the safe in case Peter got injured or killed.
    Not a problem. Wearing his boots had come in handy because he could take a flying leap and land feet first on top of the box. The boots would do some damage. He could snap a neck with these boots.
    Sweat trickled down his face and he swiped at it. Time to go.
    He blasted from his spot, got some speed going and leaped. He landed on his feet—a solid ten for sticking it—and pulverized the box.
    Empty box.
    Fucking idiot.
    The front door of the cottage smacked open. “What are you doing?” his brother yelled. “You just wrecked Mom’s box.”
    “What?”
    Stephen pointed at the destroyed box. “She wanted that. The new dishwasher got installed and she sent me down here to get it. I figured I’d wait for you.”
    Peter bent at the waist and sucked in air. Who the hell did he think would be in there? Almost as bad as knocking over the deadly potted plant. He either needed to get back to work or deal with this freaking anxiety.
    Laughing at himself, he straightened up and shoved past Stephen who still wore dress slacks from work, but his jacket was off and nowhere to be seen. The sleeves of his white shirt were folded to his elbows.
    “So, you decided to make yourself at home?”
    The pretty boy’s face lit up. As he aged, Stephen’s looks had come to resemble Elvis in his prime—the long straight nose, angular face and dark hair had the women going wild.
    “Why not?” Steve said.
    Peter stalked to the kitchen for a couple of beers. “Do you people not understand boundaries?”
    That’s it, redirect the conversation so he won’t ask about the assassinated box.
    “Sure, we understand boundaries. We just choose to ignore them.”
    Peter made a scoffing noise. “Of course. What a perfect explanation.”
    “Mom sent dinner for you. It’s in the fridge.”
    Peter glanced toward the fridge. “I already ate. Thanks though. She does this every night. I come home and find a plate in the fridge. She’s killing me with guilt.”
    “That’s the plan, big brother.”
    He walked back to the living room and handed Steve a beer. They clinked and took a slug while Peter moved to the cushioned side chair.
    “How do you handle her? She’s never pissed at you.”
    That got Steve puffing