Authors: EC Sheedy
When she was unable to get any closer by car, she parked beside a couple of cedar trees that looked older than sin and turned off the motor. The surging roar of the surf below replaced the vehicle’s mechanical growl.
She opened the car door and stood, feeling woozy and off balance. When she got the beat of her heart under some kind of control, she took her first shaky steps toward the house.
Leaving the cover of the trees, the sun momentarily blinded her. She shielded her eyes and glanced up.
He was standing on the deck.
Phylly’s stomach kicked, and her heart did a monkey-in-a-cage routine. From this distance and with the sun mostly behind him, he was in shadow. Phylly didn’t know whether his back was to her or his eyes were on her. But she assumed the latter, put her shoulders back, and made for the stairs. Easier said than done on pebbly gravel over uneven ground— even in her mini stilettos—mini being anything under five inches. When she wasn’t listing to one side or another, her heels kept sinking into the earth under the gravel.
God, she probably looked drunk.
The shadow on the deck didn’t move. She didn’t know why, but she was sure his arms were crossed over his chest. A dog sat beside him, big and golden, and as still as he was, except for an occasional sweep of his tail.
With Noah watching, it made the short trek to his stairs a hundred times harder than any bare-ass, bare-breasted strut she’d ever done on a Vegas runway.
“You need new shoes, Phylly.”
At the sound of his voice, the smile in it, she looked up from the bottom of the stairs. She still couldn’t make out his face. “And you need some asphalt.”
When she stepped onto the deck, the dog stood and wagged his tail. Phylly put her hand out, let him sniff her, before stroking his head. As a temporary diversion, he was a soft one.
“His name’s Chance,” Noah said.
“He’s nice.”
Phylly stopped petting the dog and faced Noah, and for a long moment neither of them spoke. Phylly didn’t know what he was seeing, but what she saw made her breathless.
Noah looked as if the years had skipped over him. Oh, his dark hair had some gray, and there were a few new lines forking out around his eyes, but he was as lean and . . . potent as she remembered. When she’d thought of Noah through the years, it was never his physical presence that came to mind—in that he was ordinary compared to most men she’d been with. No, it was always his personality. Strong, decisive, and focused, that was Noah then, and she had the sense it was Noah now.
He took her hand, stood staring at her. “You’re more wonderful than I remember. The same fantastic dream. But this time come to life.”
She bent to kiss him. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to say, you haven’t aged a day?”
He smiled at her. “You’re telling me ‘wonderful’ and ‘fantastic’ aren’t enough? You want me to lie as well.”
She laughed. “Bastard.”
“Come here.” He pulled her into his arms, held her. “I’ve been waiting to hold you since Mike called me. The kid could barely get the words out, but when he said the most spectacular woman he’d ever seen was coming to knock on my door, I knew exactly who he meant.”
God, she was going to cry.
His arms felt so good, so safe. “Oh, Noah, I’ve missed you so much.” She let herself relax for the first time in days. “I never stopped thinking about you.”
He stood back from her. “And I thought we never lied to each other.” He said it without ill humor and stroked her cheek.
Phylly’s thoughts flew to Cornie, the daughter he didn’t know they had. As lies went, that one packed the wallop of an A-bomb. Instead of answering, she smiled, put her hand over his.
“I’ve been right here, Phylly. All these years,” he went on, resting his warm hand on her neck. “I waited for you. For a long time. A very long time.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing.
“I married. A few years ago now,” he said. “It didn’t work out.”
“I know.”
He raised a questioning brow.
“Mike told me.”
Shaking his head, he smiled, his expression wry. “Small towns. Gotta love them.”
“I’m sorry—that it didn’t work out,” she said. “Knowing you, that would have been tough to take.” She swallowed and added, “Any kids?”
“No, which, as things turned out between us, was probably for the best.” He ruffled the dog’s head. “There’s just Chance and me.”
She nodded, unable to read anything into his pat phrasing, while wondering why she’d asked the question in the first place.
He put his hand on her shoulder, moved his thumb over her throat. “But none of that matters now. You’re here, and that’s not ‘tough to take’ at all.”
“No questions?”
“A million of them.”
“Think you can hold off on them for a while?”
He studied her, with that calm expression she remembered so well. “Sure, I can do that,” he said. “After all, we have all the time we need to get to them.”
No, we don’t, Noah. We don’t have any time at all.
It was as if a dark fist clasped Phylly’s heart and squeezed. She closed her eyes and again went into his arms, hugging him fiercely, not wanting him to see the fear in her eyes. Holding him, feeling the strength and goodness of him, she was suddenly paralyzed by the realization that she’d run to him blindly, without thought—that she’d put him in danger.
Noah hated lies, and she’d come to him with two: One painfully tangled—Cornelia, and one life-threatening—Henry Castor.
The truth? Now?
Impossible. She wouldn’t know where to begin.
Noah ran his hands down to her waist, set her back from him, his expression puzzled. “Are you okay, Phylly?”
“No,” she said, dredging up some showgirl verve and a smile as real as silicone implants. “What I am is tired and hungry. So if you’ve got something trapped in a can somewhere, how about letting it out, and tossing it in a pot?”
He didn’t answer right away, only stared at her for an uncomfortably long moment. “Food it is, then a night’s sleep.” He put his arm around her and started toward the glass doors leading into his house. Before sliding the door open, he added, “Like I said, the questions can wait. But you will answer them, Phylly. Something’s wrong or you wouldn’t be here.” He paused. “We were more than lovers, you know. We were friends—even though you were, and obviously still are, the world’s worst liar.”
Chapter 21
Joe, April, and Cornie arrived in Seattle in the late afternoon, and the three of them were standing outside Julius Zern’s mansion on the hill—at least that’s what it looked like to April—within an hour of leaving Sea-Tac.
After passing through the gate security system, they reached the front door. Doors, really. Massive doors. Made of oak planks. High and wide with burly black wrought-iron hardware, they looked as though they were built to withstand a battering ram. It was Kit who opened them.
“Everything a go?” Joe asked Kit, herding April and Cornie into the house ahead of him.
“First thing tomorrow morning,” Kit said. “A hop to Vancouver, then another to Tofino. You should be there by noon. And I’ve arranged a car.”
“Good.”
April and Joe exchanged glances, grateful that Kit’s answer was vague enough that Cornie wouldn’t figure out the reservations were for two. Time enough for that incendiary information later.
Joe said, “Is Julius home?”
“On the back patio.” Kit jerked his head toward a half-open door, but kept his eyes on Cornie. His eyes behind his glasses looked both curious and hesitant.
Joe made the necessary introductions, and while April listened, she couldn’t stop her head from swiveling. The foyer was white, its floor black marble, and the art on the walls a clash of colors and style. All of it expensive. A round table sat in the center of the foyer, but where she would have expected an extravagant floral display, there was only a soft, worn leather briefcase. There was no other furniture. Julius Zern’s house was seriously minimalist and stunning. April was impressed.
Cornie, after she stopped frowning at Kit—for God knew what reason—and scanned her surroundings, actually looked cowed. “One guy lives here?” she asked. “In all this?” She waved a hand to encompass the massive foyer.
“One guy, two dogs,” Kit answered, before looking at Joe. “He’s been waiting for you.”
Joe, familiar with Julius’s house, started toward the far end of the foyer. April, Cornie, and Kit followed in his wake. Midway to an entry that obviously led to the patio, he stopped, gestured to a door on his left and said to Kit, “Why don’t you take Cornie to tech central, show her around.”
Cornie’s expression turned suspicious. “You trying to get rid of me?”
“Yes.” Joe’s expression, until now preoccupied and intense, softened when he looked at the girl. “I’ve got some business to discuss with my partner, Cornie—and it’s not all about Phyllis Worth. We’ll only be a few minutes. Promise.”
“I don’t—”
Kit interrupted, “Trust me, they’ll bore you stupid.”
Cornie’s mouth went in motion before her manners. “And you won’t?”
He blushed a fiery red. “I might . . . but Julius’s magic room won’t.”
“I didn’t mean . . . I’m—Oh, hell,” she said, gesturing with her head toward the door Joe had indicated. “Let’s go.” To cover a blush even pinker than Kit’s, she shot Joe a firm look. “Fifteen minutes tops,” she instructed then strode off.
Before Kit followed Cornie, he gave Joe and April an unreadable look, then stated firmly, “Fifteen minutes or I go on triple-time.”
Joe strode the last few steps to the door at the end of the hall, opened it, and let April pass him into an expansive living room. The room, its drapes closed and with no other light, was cavernous and shadowed.
One step inside the room, and Joe had the door closed and April pinned against it. He took her face in his big hands and devoured her with a kiss so hot, so hungry, and so potent, she didn’t even try to breathe when he finally set her free.
“I’ve been waiting to do that all day.” He rested his forehead against hers. “And because I set a timeline for my bossy adolescent sister”—he smiled and brushed another kiss across her lips—“I’m going to stop now, because if I don’t, there won’t be any stopping until”—another brush of his mouth against hers, then a long harsh exhalation—“forever.”
“Joe, I—”
He kissed her again, addled her brain enough that whatever she was going to say floated away like petals in the wind.
“Tonight,” he murmured in her ear before taking her hand and leading her across the stadium-sized room to a set of French doors.
They stepped out into the brilliance of a late afternoon sun. Its searing intensity bore down hard on the west-facing patio; the luminosity obliterating the darker shades and casting the area in shimmering hues of ashen pastels.
April momentarily closed her eyes against the light and used the time to steady her breathing. Joe’s kiss—fast, hard, and promising—hadn’t only taken her breath away, it also took away her ability to think straight. One touch of his mouth, his lips against hers, and her brain had gone from cool and logical to crazed and frenzied.
In the best possible way
. . . She looked down as if to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare, touched her mouth, and smiled.
“You okay?” Joe said, his tone thick with innocence.
“You,” she said, “are a very bad boy. And I owe you one.”
“I sure as hell hope so.” His grin was easy and seductive—and quick.
Beside the pristine pool, a man rose from a chair and made his way toward them. April had both her smile and hormones under control by the time he reached them. The man nodded at Joe, then looked at her. “You’re April,” he stated and offered his hand.
She took his hand, noting his grip was strong and his hand cool. “And you’re Julius, Guardian B . . . or A depending on who’s in the office,” she said, remembering the odd signage in their office.
“That’s me.”
With his back to the sun, his features were a blur of shadows. Her first sense was how tall he was, even taller than Joe. Standing between them made her feel like a shrub between two oak trees. When Julius released her hand, she lifted it again to shield her eyes, to see him more clearly.
Lean, darkly tanned, a hard face, maybe thirty-five. His smile was swift
—little used,
she thought—and showed even white teeth. Not handsome, not like Joe, but compelling in a dark, mysterious way. She could barely make out the color of his eyes, but put them somewhere between gray and green, with straight slashes of eyebrows above them. “Come out of the sun,” he said. He indicated the table and chairs he’d just left. Sitting beside the pool, they were shaded by a tan umbrella. The table held some books and papers.
Heading for the shade, Joe asked, “Where are the dogs?”
“Kenneled. I leave tomorrow. The client moved up their departure date.”
Joe grimaced, rubbed his forehead. “Shit. I’ll be at least a couple of days.”
“No sweat. I can handle it until you’re done.”
April looked at Joe. His mouth moved, as though in concern, then tightened in acceptance. “I owe you,” he said to Julius, echoing her words of a few minutes before. It seemed the ripple effect of Phylly’s mad dash to nowhere had no end, even interfering with Joe’s work.
“Yeah.” His partner’s answer was noncommittal.
They were barely seated at the table before Joe asked, “Did you get it?”
Julius nodded. “Address and phone number. Tofino’s a small place, some fifteen hundred people—a lot more during tourist season. Whale-watching, surfing, ocean kayaking, that kind of thing. Noah Bristol lives outside the town a few miles. He’s something of a naturalist. Writes books on wilderness gardening.” He shoved two books across the table toward Joe and April.
One of the books had Bristol’s picture on the back, a good-looking man, high forehead, with a warm smile. Maybe mid-forties, with quiet, thoughtful eyes. April glanced at the book titles:
Wild Interior Gardens
and
Wilderness Landscapes.
She noted all the initials that followed his name, three degrees at least.