A Long Kiss Goodbye Read online

  A LONG KISS GOODBYE By H. D. Thomson

  Copyright © 2022 by H. D. Thomson

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced in whole or in part, scanned, photocopied, recorded, distributed in any printed or electronic form, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Bella Media Management.

  Table of Contents

  A Long Kiss Goodbye

  Author Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Thank you!

  Bibliography

  COMPLETE LIST OF TITLES

  About the Author

  AUTHOR NOTE

  I’ve always been into the supernatural, myths, legends, and folklore as far back as I can remember. A couple of my favorite movies are Jason and the Argonauts and Clash of the Titans. So when I started the Onyx and Mercury series, I was thrilled to start something wholly new and different. I wanted to create a world different than anything else and a new legend.

  The Greeks had their own legends along with the Aztecs and many other societies. I made mercury a prominent focal point in the series. Its history is fascinating, and many before us used it for thermometers, as a medicine, talisman, and poison. I decided to create a new use for mercury.

  Luys’ story is pure fiction, just like his brother, Gabriel’s, and every other character, other than the historical figures mentioned and the gods from Aztec religion, though I’ve taken liberty with some of Aztec and Spanish history.

  I truly hope you thoroughly enjoy Luys and Avery’s story.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Faith is but a breath away from fear. Just breathe and believe….”

  — The Book of Stolen Secrets

  Friday, August 16th – 6:15 pm

  Avery Fleming hurried from her car as heat waves rolled up from the ground, pressed around her and into her lungs, nearly suffocating her with its intensity. Perspiration trickled between her breasts. Almost seven o’clock, and she was sweating worse than a horse after a brutal ride—what fun. The rustle of leaves rattled from nearby trees as a gust of wind thrust her hair into her eyes. She shoved the strands aside and turned her face against the sun’s glare. The wind didn’t ease the relentless hot air but exaggerated it that much more.

  July. Two more months of being subjected to the same hellish conditions.

  Sighing, Avery stepped onto the sidewalk of her condo complex and beneath one of several olive trees shading the route to her place. A car door slammed. She glanced over her shoulder, and her hand tightened on the strap of her purse. Even though the parking lot and common areas were in full daylight, Avery couldn’t relax.

  Last week, someone had murdered a woman less than five miles away. Other than stating the victim had been stabbed multiple times, the press had leaked few details. The news initially reported her boyfriend as the prime suspect, but since he hadn’t yet been arrested, there was a chance the sick psycho was out there. She grunted. Just another to add to the many crazies wandering the Phoenix area.

  Grabbing her mail key, she moved into the alcove of the communal mailboxes and stiffened. Luys, her neighbor, stood rummaging inside his box. She didn’t know anything about him other than his name; she shouldn’t even want to. She started to take a step backward, but then he turned, and she forced herself forward. She wasn’t about to let him think she was avoiding him.

  Straightening her shoulders, she stepped over to her mailbox and three feet from his own. His aftershave drifted toward her, a supple scent of cedar or pine with maybe a hint of orange.

  Avery tightened her jaw. So he smelled nice. Lots of men smelled nice. So what if he was over six feet and looked gorgeous in his tailored slacks, white button-down shirt cuffed at the elbows that contrasted with this dark brown, almost black hair. Lots of men in Scottsdale were drool worthy. She’d even dated a couple. Granted, they hadn’t exactly been keepers.

  This guy didn’t know how to do anything but frown. Not once had she seen him crack a smile.

  She liked friendly. She liked people who smiled. She liked someone who didn’t frown all the time. Life was too short.

  After unlocking her metal cubicle, she found a couple of flyers inside. Most of her bills came via email, but she checked once a week in case she might have missed something important.

  “Excuse me.”

  She blinked. With her hand inside her mailbox, she turned to her neighbor, forcing a bland expression on her face.

  Then she realized he was—of course, frowning at her—expecting some type of response. “What?”

  “You’re stepping on a letter of mine.”

  She glanced down and recognized he was right. It must have slipped from his mailbox and landed on the ground. She stepped off the letter or tried to. Great. The envelope was attached to the sole of her shoe.

  A distinct and impatient sigh passed his lips.

  She shook her foot a couple of times, but the blasted thing stuck. She rested a hand against the wall, but he beat her to the envelope.

  He caught her ankle. “Here, let me.”

  The cool pressure of his hand on her skin shot a tremor of shock up her leg. Before she had the thought to respond, he deftly peeled the envelope from her sole and released her ankle. She had a brief glimpse of her footprint and gum on the once pristine white paper before he stuffed it between his junk mail.

  It was her turn to frown. She stepped backward, widening the space between them.

  That’s when she noticed something by his feet. “What is that? I can’t tell. There’s so much fur—”

  “A kitten.” He scooped up the animal with one hand.

  “I didn’t know you had a cat.” She avoided meeting his gaze to stare at a tortoiseshell kitten. The last time they’d had eye contact was when he’d gotten a full-frontal view of her partially naked body coming out of the community pool. She hadn’t intended to flash him; she’d thought her swimming top was on. He’d acted as if she’d intentionally given him an eyeful.

  “Well, it seems I’ve inherited one today.” He turned his back and walked toward his condo.

  She crinkled her mail beneath a fist, waited a minute, and moved from the mailbox to her condo. As she rounded the corner to her home, the neighbor disappeared into his place next to hers before closing the door behind him.

  Once inside, she quickly stripped and showered, washing away the day’s stresses from her auburn hair and body. She was meeting Cristina and her husband, also relatively new neighbors who lived two buildings away in the complex. She loved this area in Scottsdale, Arizona. A bit of old town but still safe compared to other parts of Phoenix.

  The last two weekends, she’d joined her neighbors for drinks. She usually always met them instead of going together. That way, she could leave when she wanted or needed to. She wasn’t one to stay out past midnight, and they seemed to like the nightlife, at times going to another bar and not getting home until after 3 am.

  After changing into a long flowing white sleeveless dress—anything more and she’d be sweating the second she was outside—she walked the short distance in a pair of flats to The Thing, a restaurant and lounge that opened last month and was considered the place. Give it a month, though, and the next rage will replace it. She reached the entrance of the restaurant then maneuvered through the crowd to get to the hostess.

  Her phone dinged with a text. Cristina.

  Perfect timing.

  We’re in the back right corner. I’m wearing bright pink. You can’t miss me.

  Avery broke free from the lobby to get to the bar, feeling like a pinball as she bumped shoulders and bodies to get through the crowd.

  “So, how goes it?” Cristina greeted her with a grin.

  “Great! It’s the weekend, and a drink sounds pretty good about now.” She dropped into a plush lounge chair opposite Cristina and her husband. “Hey, Stephen.”

  Slouched in an overstuffed chair, Cristina’s husband straightened, leaned forward, and set his drink on the low-slung copper coffee table. Dark brown hair, thick and wavy, reached past his shoulders, while his equally dark brown eyes, prominent jaw, and brow added to a handsome, sexy picture. He was just as attractive as her neighbor, but unlike her neighbor, Stephen knew how to smile.

  “Glad to see you made it.” He flashed a set of perfect whi
te teeth. “Cristina was telling me your new job’s been challenging.”

  Avery shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s not something I wasn’t expecting.”

  “If it involves too much mental or physical effort, I’m gone.” He tapped a finger on the arm of his chair and shook his head before he waved down a waiter. Once he took their drink and appetizer order, Stephen urged, “So tell me about your new position. Not sure I could do what you do. Sounds like work.”

  “That’s why they call it a job.”

  “Funny.” Cristina laughed before throwing an odd look at Stephen.

  “I promised myself I wouldn’t complain. Compared to my last job, they offer far better insurance, which kicks in next month.” Then Avery admitted, “But it’s going to be challenging. I won’t lie. I’m just going to have to learn to compartmentalize better than I ever have being a social worker. I can’t let my clients’ lives emotionally cripple me. Otherwise, I won’t be a help to anyone.”

  Cristina wrinkled her nose. “I’d be too depressed working with the mentally and physically challenged, especially when you can only do so much with your job. I can’t imagine living on the street, and I surely couldn’t handle knowing a mother and her autistic child were living in their car...”

  “Hey, I thought we came out to have fun? Not talk about something maudlin and depressing.” Stephen arched a brow at his wife. “Wasn’t that the purpose?”

  “Yes, of course,” Cristina agreed as the waiter came with their drinks and food.

  “Good.” Stephen took a deep swallow of his whiskey and club soda. Ice cubes rattled when he planted his glass on the coffee table and eyed Cristina.

  With the fingers of one hand, Cristina gripped her fingers around her wrist and circled them back and forth as she stared at her lap and didn’t touch her food. “It’s good to get out. Being behind a desk all day with ledgers and numbers can get a little mind-numbing even when I enjoy accounting.”

  Avery frowned and shifted in her seat. Cristina’s mood had just done a nosedive. But why? Had Avery missed something? Stephen didn’t look upset, but there was definite tension around the coffee table. Unless Avery’s mood detector was out of whack...

  Cristina tugged the strap of her purse from the arm of her chair, strung it over her shoulder, and rose. “I’ll be back in a bit. The restroom calls. Not a good sign when I haven’t even had a drink yet!”

  Stephen caught his wife’s wrist and teased, “Do you have to? I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too.”

  “Do I get a kiss, at least?” Stephen asked with a half-grin.

  “Of course.” Cristina quickly leaned down and kissed him. As she turned, the curtain of her dark chocolate-colored hair obscured her expression.

  “I might as well join you.” Avery swiftly rose and followed her friend to the restroom.

  In the bathroom, Avery blinked at the harsh fluorescent bulbs, a drastic shift from the muted lighting in the main bar and dining area.

  Once done in the bathroom stall, she joined Cristina at the sinks and washed her hands. When Cristina lifted a hand to brush her hair away from her brow, her long sleeve slid backward to expose several black and purple bruises.

  “What happened?”

  Cristina dropped her hand and brushed her sleeve back down. “Nothing. I fell. Going down, I hit my arm on the counter.”

  “It looks awful.” Avery stepped closer and lifted the hem.

  Her friend sidestepped, but not before Avery caught sight of four distinct marks, similar to a hand’s brutal grasp.

  She opened her mouth to argue but closed it at the belligerent gleam in Cristina’s eyes.

  “Let’s go,” Cristina murmured, then slipped from the bathroom, not waiting to see if Avery followed.

  The wontons, edamame, and sliders were tasty and still warm when they returned to their chairs. For the next hour, Avery struggled to keep her expression neutral. But she couldn’t stop thinking of Cristina’s bruises.

  Stephen must have grabbed Cristina hard enough to leave marks. It must have hurt like hell. Avery didn’t have any proof it was her husband, but who else would it be? The abuser was always the spouse, right? Cristina wasn’t having an affair—at least Cristina never mentioned it. And those were finger marks, not some light bruising from hitting the corner of a counter. Avery wasn’t that naïve. She’d seen too much abuse over the years.

  When Cristina sank into the chair next to her husband, Stephen grabbed her hand and brought her fingers to his lips in a brief caress. Her fingers curled into his before she slipped them from his grasp—too quickly? It seemed like it—and reached for her drink on the coffee table. Avery briefly made eye contact with Stephen, unable to read beyond his bland expression. But something in his eyes made her take a deep swallow of her drink. The smooth and smokey texture of her wine didn’t soothe her growing agitation. Her hand tightened on the glass. She shifted uneasily in her chair.

  Avery stared down at her half-empty drink. She hated the idea that Cristina might be in an abusive relationship. Ugh. She could offer help and direct her to various available resources, but she couldn’t force her friend into doing anything.

  The evening had lost any pleasure she might have found in it. She glanced at her phone by her elbow on the armrest of her chair. A little after nine. She placed a hand against a pretend yawn. “I think I’m going to head on home. It’s been a crazy, busy week.”

  “How about we drive you home?” Cristina asked. “We can drop you off on our way to the Dirty Buffalo.”

  “No. No. I’ll be fine.”

  “What about a taxi or Uber?”

  Avery arched a brow. “To drive me two blocks?”

  Cristina shrugged and made a face. “Well, you never know. You heard what happened in North Scottsdale, right?”

  “Yeah, I should be safe. They’re saying it's the boyfriend and not a serial killer.”

  “The suspect’s always the boyfriend.” Stephen reached for Cristina’s hand again and chuckled. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m your very boring husband and not your boyfriend.”

  Cristina groaned with a laugh, but Avery found nothing funny about the topic. Then her friend frowned. “I hear the scene was pretty gruesome.”

  “When it gets personal, it usually is,” Avery said.

  Cristina made a face. “Well, I hate to say this, but I hope it really is the boyfriend. I don’t think I can handle another serial killer in the Phoenix area. The last one had everyone driving on the freeways terrified.”

  Stephen let go of Cristina’s hand and leaned toward the table. “I guess the serial shooter didn’t think of his victims as people.”

  “That’s crazy.” Cristina wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know who gets off by killing some random person. From what I heard, the serial shooter thought it was some type of game. I’ll never get it.” Cristina shook her head, her lip curling. “Using people as target practice. How low can you get?

  “They’re sick.” Avery set her glass on the table.

  “Or evil,” Stephen argued.

  Avery cocked her head to one side. “You think there’s such a thing as evil? What about a person being mentally ill?”

  Stephen shook his head. “There are too many people who are mentally ill.” He waved a hand around the room. “Take this place. I’m sure if we counted everyone here, I’d run out of fingers. Lots of people have mental health issues. You don’t see them shooting down people on the freeway.”

  “True.” Avery shifted in her chair. “But there are degrees of mental illness. Many people can function easily in society and mask their pain and psychosis. Most people don’t like their illness to become common gossip. Even now, with public figures coming out with their depression or other disorder, I think it’s still a big taboo. Society is still too apathetic with snap stereotypes.” She didn’t know how the conversation had turned this dark and morbid.

  “Interesting point.” Stephen leaned further toward the table between them and rested both elbows on his knees. “If you say there’s a large percentage of mental illness in the general population, and evil has nothing to do with it, then the country would be inundated with shootings, stabbings, and continuous violence because of some mental incapacity. The police wouldn’t be able to get a handle on it. Society would turn into pure chaos.” Stephen’s mouth turned into a thin line. “No. I’m not buying that. There’s evil. It’s called choice. A person chooses that fork in the road, they justify their behavior, they pursue self-gratification, and to hell with the ramifications and the ruin they leave behind. And if it becomes personal, it gets even messier.”