So Far Away (California Dreamers #2) Read Online Free

fifteen books in print, all of them suspense thrillers. And he’s sold over 20 million copies. Several movies were adapted from his books and were released in the early 2000s.
    For the last 10 years he’s been a recluse.
    I didn’t have enough time to read any of his books in their entirety, but I did skim through a few of them. Suspense thrillers aren’t really my thing anyway.
    If I’m going to make time to read, which I don’t do very often, it’s usually something non-fiction.
    I’m not sure where he wants me to park so I leave my car in a spot away from the front of the house.
    Not that I have to worry about him having guests if he’s truly a recluse.
    Jackson’s magnificent multi-level home overlooks the Pacific Ocean. My mother dabbles in real estate when she’s not planning her next wedding, so I know a little bit about what oceanfront property sells for. At current market value a place like Jackson’s is probably worth about 30 million dollars.
    I lock my car and stare at the exquisite grand entrance which is bordered by two waterfalls on either side of the front door.
    I’m surprised the guy doesn’t have a moat.
    I take in a deep breath then exhale. It’s time to meet my new boss.
    I ring the doorbell and wait.
    And wait.
    There’s no answer.
    I try knocking. Then I pound on the door. There’s still no response.
    I’m not sure what to do. Jackson’s manager didn’t give me a phone number. He said Jackson never answers his phone anyway. Apparently he doesn’t answer the door either.
    Did his manager even bother to tell him I was coming?
    It only takes me a moment to realize how stupid that is. How could he tell him if he doesn’t answer his phone?
    Something tells me he probably doesn’t respond to emails either.
    On a whim I decide to check the door to see if it’s locked. When I turn the handle I’m not that surprised to find that it isn’t.
    Now the question becomes: do I barge right into Jackson Drake’s home?
    Right now I can’t think of any other option.
    I walk into the foyer as quietly as I can and close the door behind me.
    Now what ?
    The place is eerily quiet.
    I glance around. When I think of the word recluse I guess I think of those hoarders like they show on television who somehow manage to live amongst piles of junk. 
    Jackson Drake’s house is nothing like that. Quite the contrary. It looks more like a model home than a place where someone actually lives. It’s beautifully decorated and immaculate.
    I’m startled by the sound of tiny footsteps. A small gray cat scampers past me without giving me as much as a second look. 
    I decide to follow the feline.
    The cat makes its way into the living area, which is nothing less than spectacular. The ocean views, which are the centerpiece of the room, take my breath away.
    Nature’s artwork never ceases to delight me.
    The cat hops on a large overstuffed leather chair, curls up and goes to sleep.
    That’s when I hear the faint sound of snoring.
    I look over at the leather couch and find what I hope is Jackson Drake, arms and legs sprawled in different directions, almost like he’s passed out.
    My hypothesis is confirmed when I notice the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels sitting in front of him on the coffee table.
    It’s ten thirty in the morning. So he’s either still passed out from last night, or he started drinking really early in the morning.
    I’m not sure which of those scenarios is worse.
    As much as I don’t want to disturb him I know I have to announce my presence. It’s my first day of work and I need to actually work.
    I shake his shoulder as gently as I can.
    He makes an indecipherable grumble and turns over so his face is crammed into an expensive looking decorative pillow.
    A decorative pillow that he is now drooling all over .
    I reach over and shake him a bit harder.
    He lifts his hand and starts swatting at the air around him.
    I shake him a third time even harder.
    This finally rouses him. As his eyes