Sunset Point: A Shelter Bay Novel (4 page)

Even as she hated what she was about to do and knew stooping to such tactics would keep her awake tonight, Tess reluctantly decided it was time to take off the kid gloves. For Dana White’s own sake. “Or you can remain silent and teach your daughter to keep her mouth shut and hope for the best.”

Dana’s complexion went pale as sea foam. Her fingers trembled as she ran them through her hair again. “I have to think about it.”

“You do that,” Tess said mildly, deciding she and Kara had pushed enough for today. She turned to leave, stopping momentarily in the doorway. “If you need to talk—woman to woman, not witness to prosecutor—or if you’d like me to set you up with a counselor trained to talk to children involved in legal actions, which I hope you’ll decide to do, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Dana studied Tess with renewed interest, as if seeing the woman behind the dogged prosecutor for the first time. “You really sound as if you understand.”

“Believe me, I do.”

The irony in Tess’s smile was barely discernible. If her work, along with eighteen long months in a miserable mistake of a marriage, had taught her anything, it was that women were natural survivors. They often had no choice.

After leaving the gift shop, feeling a bit more optimistic than when she’d entered, Tess drove with Kara to the bakery, parking at the seawall across the street.

They ordered coffee and two salted caramel chocolate cupcakes from the hot, ripped guy who didn’t look like any baker Tess had ever known and whose deep southern accent had her thinking of mint juleps and magnolias, then took a table in front of the window, which offered a view of the bay.

“So,” Kara said. “What’s your best guess?”

“It’s a coin toss.” Tess bit into the buttercream-frosted cake with caramel drizzled over the top and nearly swooned. “This is the best. Cupcake. Ever.”

“Tell me about it. I woke up nights craving them when I was pregnant. Of course I spent much of those nine months working my way through the menu.”

Tess automatically skimmed a look over the sheriff’s slender body. “You’re not…”

“Oh, no. Though I think Sax would be thrilled with a baker’s dozen, I’m pacing myself. Right now two kids are plenty.” She took a bite and studied Tess as only a cop could. A seemingly swift glance that missed nothing.

“Why don’t you join us for dinner?” she asked. “Marcus Strong, that drool-worthy guy who made that cupcake you nearly swooned over, just happens to be a former Navy SEAL. He’s friends with Sax and is staying with us until the apartment above the bakery is finished being renovated.”

“Okay. I’ll bite. How did a Navy SEAL end up baking for a living?”

“It does seem counterintuitive. Especially since he enlisted because he wanted to get into action, but when the Navy found out he learned to bake from his grandmother and mother, who owned a bakery in South Carolina, they put him to work in the kitchen of an aircraft carrier for two years. Then he essentially jumped ship for SEAL training. And although, like all those guys, Sax included, he never talks about what he did while deployed, I’m betting he got that action he’d been looking for.”

“Which may be why he returned to baking,” Tess mused. “I’ll bet the sailors on that carrier went into mourning when they lost him.”

“No doubt. So, how about it? Sax is making gumbo and dirty rice.”

“That’s tempting. But I have two trials tomorrow.”

“We could make it an early evening. Did you notice Marcus is really, really hot?”

“A woman would have to be blind, dead as a doornail, and six feet under not to notice that,” Tess said. “But I’m already juggling too many things to fit a man into my life.”

“Been there, done that. Then I burned the T-shirt when Sax came back into my life. Maybe you and Marcus can get together for coffee or drinks once you get your cases wrapped up,” Kara suggested.

Why was everyone suddenly so interested in her love life? Or more specifically, lack of one.

“Sure,” Tess said, thinking about the caseload that seemed to stretch into eternity. “Once I clear them all, the hottie SEAL and I can set up a coffee date at the old folk’s home I’ve moved into.”

Kara laughed. “There are times when I vaguely remember living that workaholic life when I was juggling being a wife, mother, and Oceanside cop. But mostly—thank God—I’ve forgotten them. Fortunately, here, I’m mainly dealing with barking dog complaints, TP attacks, or vandalized mailboxes. And since I can’t convince you to stay for dinner, I’d better get going. Have a safe drive back home, and I’ll keep an eye on Dana for you.”

“Thanks,” Tess said as they tossed their empty cups into the recycle bin. “Perhaps one of these days, you and Sax can come up to Portland. While I can’t cook anywhere near his standards, I do make great reservations.”

“It’s a date,” Kara said. Then turned down a ride the few blocks to her office. “I need to walk off that cupcake before Sax’s calorie-laden dinner.”

As she headed toward her car, Tess thought that coming home at the end of the day to a meal waiting for you could definitely be a perk of marriage.

“Note to self,” she murmured. “Pencil in time for a husband. Sometime in the next fifty years.”

Anticipation.
That’s what he was suffering from, Nate diagnosed. His vague edginess had turned into a premonition that had grown increasingly stronger as he walked along the seawall.

A second later the reason for his heightened feelings suddenly appeared on the sidewalk in front of him, her face—that lovely face that had been haunting him for weeks—illuminated by an old-fashioned gas streetlight’s amber glow.

It was her. The woman from his dreams.

“Hey! Wait a minute!”

Tess saw a tall, dark-haired man hurrying toward her. As he passed beneath the light, his behavior caused a sudden flashback she’d mostly overcome.

She’d been a carefree eight-year-old tomboy who enjoyed playing hide-and seek with her cousins in the cask room, hanging out with her dad and grandfather in the tasting room, and running wild and carefree in the Lombardi family vineyards.

Then the day came when a man in a white van stopped to ask her for directions while she was walking home from her then bestie’s slumber party.

Now, as this man got closer, Tess’s mouth went dry. She swallowed. Fighting for the control that had once been taken from her, she wished she’d ignored his shouted command. Then she’d already be safely inside her locked car rather than standing toe-to-toe with a tall male who was looking down at her with such raw intensity.

“Are you by any chance speaking to me?” Her tone was as chilled as her blood.

His gaze didn’t waver from hers. “Do you see anyone else around here?”

No. Unfortunately, she didn’t.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he ground out. “I have to know. Who the hell are you?”

After she’d finally been rescued, along with a therapist who’d helped her return to a reasonably normal life, her father had hired a former Marine to teach her self-defense. Since her career involved interaction with criminals, she’d occasionally take a class to stay sharp. Although she’d never had a reason to test her moves, just knowing them kept her from shaking in her pumps now.

“I really don’t think that’s relevant.” She turned back toward the safety of her car.

He caught hold of the sleeve of her jacket. “You can’t go until you tell me your name.”

You can’t go
. Those words were all it took to send her into self-protection mode. Later, when she had time to dwell on the event, Tess would recall the desperation in his deep voice. At the moment, far more concerned with saving her life than sparing her attacker’s feelings, she stomped her high heel on his instep and slammed the heel of her hand upward, hitting him right beneath his nose.

The result was as instantaneous and effective as her instructor had promised. As his nose began to bleed like a faucet, the man released her arm.

Leaving him cursing a blue streak, Tess sprinted toward her car, fumbling through her purse for her keys, which, dammit, should have been in her hand all along.

*     *     *

It didn’t take long for Nate to regain his equilibrium. Limping painfully, he followed after her.

“Damn!” Slowed by what he hoped weren’t broken bones in his foot, he was forced to watch the silver Audi roar out of the parking lot and disappear around a corner. He’d lost her again.

Hours later, back at the house, with a package of frozen peas pressed against his swollen but unbroken nose and his foot aching like a son of a bitch, he sat alone in the dark, staring out at the sea. High above the silvery water, in a midnight-black sky, a bright circle of light haloed a full werewolf’s moon.

Or a lovers’ moon, Nate amended silently, his fingers tightening on the slim wallet he’d discovered lying on the asphalt by the seawall. The photo on her driver’s license gave him the name of the woman who’d been haunting him. The laminated courthouse pass gave him her occupation.

Finally. As he smiled with grim satisfaction, the air in the room turned icy.

“I figured you’d show up sooner or later,” Nate said grumpily. “I don’t suppose you feel like explaining what Deputy District Attorney Teresa Lombardi is doing invading my dreams?”

A figure, clad in the dark garb of an old-time seaman, slowly materialized in front of the window. Nate waited, having grown used to MacGrath’s penchant for the dramatic.

Having a ghost as a housemate didn’t necessarily disturb Nate. He’d returned home from war with a few of his own, and Sax Douchett had shared a story about having his former battle buddies show up and follow him around when he’d first arrived back home in Shelter Bay.

Still, he’d initially worried that the captain might resent his home being occupied after over a century of having the ramshackle, falling-down place to himself.

But when there were no accidents, when contractor Lucas Chaffee’s renovation stayed on schedule and was completed without a hitch, Nate had relaxed, deciding pragmatically that the captain had as much right to the place as he did. And hey, maybe the guy was grateful for some company after all that time alone, stuck haunting the formerly crumbling halls.

Then the dreams had started.

“Teresa Lombardi,” Nate repeated dryly. “Does the name happen to ring a bell?”

“Belay that notion,” the captain answered grumpily. “I’ve never even met the blasted woman.”

“Give me an effing break,” Nate complained. “I know you’ve been somehow putting her into my dreams. What I want to know is
why
.”

His harsh, demanding tone had the captain’s dark eyes filling with open re-sentment. Turning on his booted heel, he walked through the tall window, disappearing into the moonlight.

Nate swore softly. “For a supposedly tough, seafaring man,” he called out, just in case the captain was hovering within hearing distance, “you can sure be damn sensitive.”

Shaking his head with mute frustration, he remembered the wallet. Deciding he had nothing to lose, Nate reached out and picked up the phone.

Tess’s heart didn’t stop its wild beating until she was safely inside her townhouse with the double deadbolts locked. Although her fingers ached from having clutched the steering wheel too tightly all the way back up the coast and across the mountains, she was home. Safe.

She took a deep breath. Counted to ten. Breathed it out again. Then repeated nine more times. Feeling steadier, she turned on the gas fireplace, went over to the kitchen, poured a glass of Lombardi Pinot Blanc from the bottle in the fridge. She then settled down on the couch to listen to a
Celtic Woman
CD that never failed to calm her after a difficult day.

The wine had taken her cousin Gabriel two years to develop. A bright, crisp white that delivered aromas of orange flower, star fruit, almond and apricot. As she sipped the refreshing, mood-brightening wine, Tess instructed her whirling mind to relax.

Melvin Schiff wasn’t the only prosecution she was working on. Tomorrow morning she was due in court for a double-header money-laundering trial that would last all day. As diligently as she’d prepared, it was equally important to show up well rested. Which wasn’t going to be all that easy when her mutinous mind kept churning up vivid pictures of her attack.

She could see the man’s eyes even now, looking down at her, filled with anger and some other emotion she couldn’t define swirling in their depths.

He’d claimed that she had been driving him crazy.

As she’d done during the entire drive back to Portland, Tess racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d ever prosecuted him. But she knew she hadn’t. Whatever else he was—mugger, kidnapper, lunatic—the individual who’d grabbed her arm in Shelter Bay was not a man any woman could forget.

When the mantel clock chimed midnight, Tess decided she’d let him invade her mind for too long. Tomorrow morning she’d call Donovan, who’d been handling the recent rash of threatening calls she’d been receiving and tell him about the stranger. Then, having handed the problem over to someone else, she could hopefully put the man out of her mind.

As she rose from the sofa, her phone, which she’d put on the side table to recharge, shattered the silence.

She didn’t have the slightest doubt that it was him. The man in Shelter Bay. Even as she assured herself that it was impossible, Tess knew.

Always before, the calls had come from what the police had determined was a string of untraceable burner phones. This time a name appeared on the caller ID. A name that was vaguely familiar. Once again she wondered if he was someone she’d sent to prison?

But no, she’d definitely remember that face.

Perhaps an attorney, wanting to cut a deal for one of his clients? No, again. Those discussions were always conducted in her office, occasionally in the hallways of the courthouse or judge’s chambers. Never had she received such a call at home.

There were people who could ignore a ringing phone. Tess was not one of them. Cursing beneath her breath, she scooped it out of its charger.