Hold on to Me (31 page)

“Friendly,” Mitch muttered.

“Most of the houses in Seadrift are vacation homes.” Simone leaned back in her seat, and a wave of disappointment rushed over Mitch. Not that he could handle more, but damn, that had felt good. “The owners come here for peace and quiet, not to be chatted up by the locals.”

“Is that what this is? A vacation home?”

“No. The place was pretty run down when Ray and Betty bought it. Ray’s an architect. He loved the lines and art deco style of the house as soon as he saw it. They’ve been remodeling the place room by room for years, whenever they have time off, but he’s so worried about preserving the integrity of the original design, he won’t just hand it over to any contractor. They’re planning to retire here, once it’s finally finished, if they ever get around to it.”

“Is that why you moved out here? Because of them?”

“Yeah.” She glanced toward the security house, looking for the guard. “When I left Baltimore, I didn’t really know where I was going. Ray and Betty are the ones who suggested I use their house. They’ve remodeled the downstairs, but the second floor’s still a mess. Originally, I was going to take them up on the offer, but after I thought about it, I couldn’t do it. It’s their nest egg. Then I figured if I had to go somewhere, at least I could go to a place where I might know someone…eventually.”

“And your husband’s stuff?”

A troubled look crossed Simone’s features as she continued to stare out the window. “I didn’t want it at the house. When I was trying to figure out what to do with it all, Betty suggested I store his boxes here, until, at least, they move in.”

The logical part of Mitch wanted to ask why she didn’t want Steve’s stuff at her house, but the emotional part, the part that was still having trouble processing everything, wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. He looked out the driver’s window, toward the Pacific. Dark clouds were rolling in from the ocean, a storm brewing in the distance, already blocking out the sun and casting a shadow over the beach. “Do you bring Shannon up here?”

“No. I don’t bring anyone here. I haven’t wanted to be around any of this.”

If he’d gone through what she had, he might not want his daughter around the reminders either.

His
daughter.

Shannon.

His chest grew tight. She was never going to be his daughter now. And no amount of wanting or crying about it was going to change that fact.

The guard came back and handed Simone her gate card. She nodded and tucked it back in her wallet. The guard pointed directions, then disappeared back into the building, and, seconds later, the gate lifted.

Mitch put the car in gear and turned left onto the street. They wove roughly half a mile down the strand before she pointed to a modern, geometrically shaped house that faced the ocean, with various rooflines and decks. Flowering plants and shrubs rustling in the breeze surrounded the house. Mitch glanced in the rearview for the hundredth time, but no one was following them. For a moment, at least, they had a respite. Something else he was thankful for.

He cut the engine in the driveway. Simone drew a deep breath, reached for her bag at her feet, and popped the door. “Come on.”

Wind whipped Mitch’s hair back from his face when he stepped from the car. The trees were already blowing vigorously. While Simone found the key, he grabbed their bags and followed her inside.

The walls were white, the floor a rustic sun-bleached pine. The main room was vast, with vaulted ceilings, a river rock fireplace, and a white couch and side chairs that seemed to blend into the background. A few books lay haphazardly on the shelves, a seascape painting leaned against the wall, a couple of mismatched lamps on the wooden end tables gave the room a rustic, outdoorsy feel. A hallway ran off the main room, disappearing toward the master bedroom, Mitch guessed, and a set of stairs led to what he suspected were the unfinished rooms above that Simone had mentioned. The house was definitely old, but Mitch could see the classic lines and geometric shapes, and the view of the beach, the way the designer had obviously engineered the house so it felt like it was an extension of the beach rather than an obstruction, was clear even to him.

“Wow.”

Simone crossed to the kitchen and flipped on lights. The counter wasn’t regular granite. It was sandblasted, with rough, textured edges showcasing the white and black specks all through the marble. “It’s not close to being done, but it’s coming along.”

Mitch turned a slow circle and took it all in. “It’s amazing. It’ll be a showpiece when they’re finished.”

“Yeah. I figured you’d like it. As soon as Ray saw what you’d done with your place, he told me I’d found the perfect guy.”

Mitch looked at her, the soft kitchen light picking up the highlights in her dark hair and the soft, creamy texture of her skin. That ache intensified, burning in the center of his chest, urging him to go to her, to be that perfect guy her adoptive father thought him to be. But he couldn’t.

As if she’d just realized what she’d said, her face paled, and she turned away, cleared her throat, and brushed a lock of hair back from her forehead. “Steve’s stuff is upstairs.”

She didn’t wait for him, just moved out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs. Drawing a deep breath, Mitch took one last look out the windows overlooking the patio.

Every minute he spent with her, so close to what he wanted but so far from what he could have, his body physically hurt. And as much as he wanted to go with her and find whatever it was her husband had stashed, another part of him wasn’t sure he could handle it. Because finding it meant walking away from her for good. And even though his mind was already there, telling him that was the only thing he could do, his heart hadn’t quite caught up.

S
imone shifted boxes in the attic. Dust swirled in the air, and she coughed, then waved her hand to move the particles away from her face.

A dim light from a bare bulb illuminated the exposed rafters and plywood floor. Since Ray and Betty had yet to totally move in other than basic necessities when they were here working on the house, there was nothing in the attic besides Steve’s assortment of boxes. Simone’s pulse beat faster as she lifted what she knew was a collection of pictures and moved it away from her so she didn’t have to see them. Part of the reason she didn’t come here was because she didn’t want the memories, didn’t want the feelings, didn’t want to focus on anything but doing what she had to do next to get through each day.

That was how she’d lived her life since Steve’s death. One foot in front of the other, baby steps not toward being happy, but just getting by. Somewhere along the way though, that had changed. As she pulled the lid off one box and stared down at Steve’s rugby jersey from college, she realized it had all changed the day she’d met Mitch.

“
I’ve been looking for someone exactly like you
…”

The words from that stupid Van Morrison song—the song that had been playing when Mitch had danced her through his entry hall that ill-fated evening—came back and slammed into her, sending a sharp pain of loss through her.

He was exactly what she’d been looking for, too, only she’d been so stupid, she hadn’t realized it until it was too late. She’d loved her husband, could have lived happily with him for the rest of her life, but when she was with Mitch, she realized what had been missing from her relationship with Steve. That burst of heat, of chemistry, of uncertainty and excitement at never knowing what was going to happen next. With Steve, it had been safety and stability. And as much as she liked stability, it wasn’t what she needed now. Now what she needed—what she craved—was something she’d screwed up so badly, she was pretty sure even if they could somehow get out of this mess, they were never going to be able to fix what she’d broken between them.

Shuffling echoed behind her, and Mitch cleared his throat. “Not as many boxes as I expected.”

Blinking several times, Simone pulled the jersey out of the box, dropped it on another box beside her, and methodically began searching every item for something of value. She didn’t look at him…couldn’t. Was too close to the edge of reaching for him even though he’d made it clear that wasn’t what he wanted anymore. “I gave a lot of his stuff away after he died. Only kept a few things I thought Shannon might want someday. Most of the boxes over there”—she pointed to a grouping of five or six—“were from his home office.”

Mitch moved that way and pushed the top off a box. “What about items from his work?”

“There was nothing there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean”—she moved a Snoopy tie Shannon had bought for him for Father’s Day one year to the other box—“when I got to his office, his staff had already cleaned everything out.”

“No personal pictures? Not even a paperweight?”

“No.”

“Interesting.”

Simone hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but he was right. It was interesting. As if someone had confiscated all his personal belongings.

They worked for over an hour in silence, shifting boxes around, sifting through papers and files, the only sound the wind rustling past the house outside. Pages and pages of numbers filled Simone’s head, blurring her vision. It was possible Steve had hidden something in a file, maybe even encrypted a message on some of these papers that made no sense to her, but if that were the case, Simone was going to have to hire someone to look through it all. Because to her all it looked like was a giant mess.

She moved the last box in her stack to the floor, sighing when she came up empty, yet again. It was possible whatever they were looking for wasn’t here. Depression sank in. If they couldn’t find what the Cyphers so desperately wanted, it meant she was back to square one. Trying to figure out where to go next and how to disappear with her daughter.

Brushing a hand over her sweaty forehead, she pushed to her feet, her knees aching with the movement. Mitch was sitting on the floor across the room, a box between his legs, flipping through papers with an intense expression.

Part of her wanted to know what he’d found. Another part just wanted a break. From everything.

“I’m gonna go make some tea. Do you want any?”

He grunted a response, one that could have been a yes but could have also been a no, but didn’t look up from what he was currently studying. With no energy to get into it with him at the moment, she headed for the stairs.

Floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she descended into the living room. She could go to Montana. She’d always wanted to see that part of the country. There was lots of open land for a person to get lost there. She crossed to the gas fireplace and kicked it on, hoping to take the chill off the room. She’d banked money, just in case she and Shannon ever had to disappear. But eventually she’d have to think about a job. In a new field, of course. If the Cyphers knew she was now a lawyer, she wasn’t going to be able to practice again. They’d be watching.

The thought of starting over in a new career field sent her mood spiraling down even more. Focus. Plan. Execute. That was all she needed to do. She found a teakettle in the kitchen cupboard, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. While it heated, she moved to the pantry and searched for something to fill her empty stomach.

“You loved him.”

Mitch’s raspy voice slid over her skin, sending a shiver down Simone’s spine. Her hand froze against a box of oolong tea on the shelf, and her pulse picked up speed. Slowly, she lowered her heels to the floor, turned from the small pantry, and glanced at him, then wished she hadn’t.

The intense look she’d seen in his meadow green eyes upstairs was still there, but now it was fixed on her, his hair ruffled as if he’d run his hands through it several times, his jaw tight and filled with the same damn stress she felt. And in his hand he was holding a picture, one she recognized at first glance without even getting a close look. One of her and Steve and Shannon laughing in the sun at Hershey Park on Shannon’s fifth birthday.

It wasn’t a question but a statement, and she didn’t know how to answer. But she was done lying. And she was done running from uncomfortable situations, regardless of how they made her feel. “I did.”

“When we were on the mountain, you made it sound like you went into WITSEC with him because you didn’t have any other choice. That you resented him for that.”

“I did,” she said again.

He held up the picture. “This doesn’t look like someone who’s resentful.”

“I did resent him. For a long time. But eventually”—she glanced at the photo and Shannon’s beaming face, remembering how her daughter had squealed in delight on the roller coaster, how Steve had bought them all an ice cream to share, and how, at the time, Simone had felt it was the best day ever—“I grew to love him. He was a good man. Regardless of what he had or hadn’t done, when he was with us, he was a different person. The guy Ryan talked about, the one who kept secrets and double-crossed a secret society… I didn’t know that guy. I knew the one in that picture. And yeah, I loved him.”

Mitch looked down at the photo in his hand. He was clear across the kitchen, but she felt the heat rolling off him in waves, as if he were right next to her, warming her skin, making her ache for his touch even more. She wanted to add that what she felt for Mitch wasn’t the same, that it was more intense, more exciting, and so much deeper, but she pursed her lips, holding the words back. Because she’d spilled her feelings last night and it hadn’t seemed to help. And right now, this wasn’t about her. It was about Steve. And finding a solution for the mess she’d created.