Shadow's Lady (A Pajaro Bay Cozy Mystery + Sweet Romance) (14 page)

Lori stood in front of Matt, anger written all over her face. "We need to talk."

"Not here," Matt said.

She seemed to pull herself back from the emotion gripping her—which Matt believed was a good thing, because she had appeared to be about to strangle him.

George helped him down the hall to his room, and Lori followed close behind.

"You really do look like Zelda Potter," George said to her while Matt maneuvered himself back into bed.

"So I've been told," she responded.

"About a million times, I suppose. Listen, don't throw him out a window, okay? He's a good guy."

"I am not a good guy," Matt quickly corrected.

"Oh, right. He's not a good guy. How's the dog?"

"Dog?" Lori asked.

"Didn't you take his dog? What was its name?"

"Shadowfax," Lori and Matt both said.

"Yeah, Shadowfax. That's from a book, right? What was that book about? Heroism and self-sacrifice or something like that?"

"Say goodbye, George," Matt said.

"Goodbye, George. I'll see you later, Ms. York. Please don't kill him."

Lori didn't smile. "I'm not making any promises."

Once he'd gone she laid into Matt: "How dare you go to my great aunt behind my back and order me to stay off the island!"

He put on his most dangerous expression and growled, "Just stay out of the way, kid. You've got no business here."

"You don't own the island. The historical society decides who can work at the lighthouse, not you. They wouldn't have given me the job if I couldn't handle it." She paced in the narrow space between the bed and the door. He'd never seen her so mad, even when he'd destroyed her radio.

But he pushed her harder anyway. "The hysterical society?" he sneered. "A bunch of blue-haired matrons trying to preserve the historical integrity of the town? When did they become experts on what it takes to live out on an island alone?"

"Aunt Zee invited me to come here."

"And now she's saying it's not okay."

"Only because you did something to scare her. What did you say?"

"It doesn't matter. You're not going back out there. You could get hurt."

"Hurt? I'm the one standing up, and you're the one in the hospital bed."

"I'm not hurt that badly."

"That's unfortunate."

He laughed. "Nobody's denying you have guts. But it's not safe for a woman to live alone out there right now."

"Charity Aiden lived alone out there."

"And rum smugglers threw her off a cliff. Come on, Lori. I know how smart you are. They're not smuggling rum these days. The stakes are high."

"What are you talking about? Nobody's smuggling anything." She paused, and then she got it. "Except you." Her eyes grew wide.

"Yeah. And don't get in my way, little girl, or you'll regret it."

She looked scared to death. He hated this. But this would keep her ashore.

"I should've let you freeze to death out there," she muttered.

"You don't mean that. That would make you as bad as me."

"And I'm not. But I'm not helpless either."

"No. You're not. You saved my life, Lori. I'm grateful. Now I'm trying to protect you."

"You mean you're trying to keep me from getting in your way."

"Okay, that too." Tell her the truth, Ms. Zelda had said. No. He couldn't. He had to stay undercover. Something else inside him warned that there was another reason not to tell—a reason having to do with risking his heart, with opening himself up to the danger of loving a woman far out of his league, far beyond anything he could ever hope to have for himself. He pushed that thought away. It was irrelevant.

"Stay in town, Lori," he said. "Don't listen to the Shadow. Listen to Ms. Zelda. Call the Coast Guard and ask them if you should be out there on that island alone right now. They'll tell you to stay on shore. Okay, you don't like to be told what to do. So hate me. I don't care. But keep yourself safe."

She seemed to waver, then nodded slightly. "I'll stay with my aunt for a few days. And I'll tell the Coast Guard what you said about smuggling." That was a threat.

"They can't catch me."

She glared at him. "You really think you can walk all over people. Not with me. Don't you ever interfere in my life again."

He nodded.

"Do you understand? You're right—I saved your life once because I'm not the kind of person who'd let an injured man die. But don't count on my softheartedness protecting you twice. Don't get in my way again. Don't mess with me. Don't tell me what to do. Don't even speak to me. I am not falling for your game, Matt DiPietro. Don't cross me."

It was a speech worthy of Ms. Zelda herself. "I understand," he said solemnly.

"Good. Then we shouldn't have any problems."

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again she was gone.

The next morning Matt stood in the waiting room of the medical clinic, ignoring the doctor's final warning that he should stay in bed for another day.

"I can get around just fine with the cane, Dr. Lil," he said.

"And you'll end up falling on your face if you don't take better care of yourself," she responded.

He looked down into the little old doctor's face. She was glaring at him like she had the time he'd broken his arm while cliff diving on the island with his childhood buddies Kyle, Xander and Joe. He still felt like he was eight years old around her, even though he now towered over her slight figure.

"I want you to understand that if you leave this clinic, I can't be held responsible for what happens to you, Matteo."

"My head hurts too much for a lecture, doctor."

"Your head hurts because your body is fighting an infection, exposure and exhaustion."

"I'll live."

"What do you have to do that's so important you can't spend one more day in bed?"

"I could tell you, doc, but then I'd have to kill you."

"I am not amused, Matteo. You are driving yourself too hard. And you're going to end up dead if you don't stop."

"Is that a medical diagnosis, doctor, or have you been talking to my mother?"

"I'm your doctor, not your psychiatrist. I know a bullet wound when I see one."

Matt edged closer to the door. "And you dutifully reported it to the local gendarmes. So you did your duty. I've had my lecture from the cops already, thanks to you."

The visit last evening from the local sheriff's captain had been intense. But Captain Knight couldn't find a reason to hold him, so he was off the hook. And there was nothing the doctor could do to him, either. "I'm going. Now. I have things to do."

"I can't make you stay. But I'm telling you to get some rest."

He glanced out the front window and saw George heading toward the building, this time dressed in a slightly more sane outfit of jeans and a purple polyester shirt. He still had on the gold chains and heeled boots, though, so he bore no resemblance to the Rhodes scholar he actually was.

"I'd promise to get some rest, Dr. Lil," Matt said, "but you'd know I was lying."

"At least take the full course of antibiotics," she said as George came in the door.

"I will," Matt said. "Cross my heart."

"And hope to die," said George. "Come on. We've gotta go."

Matt gave the doctor a final nod and headed out. It was going to be a long day.

George looked him over while they headed to the parking lot. "Is the cane going to be a problem for this?"

Matt shook his head. "I don't think so. But we may need to make a contingency plan if I can't move as quickly as we planned."

"This way," George said, and Matt saw they had stopped in front of the most outrageous car he'd seen in a long time.

"You're kidding, right?"

George shook his head.

"It's insane," Matt said. "Nobody in their right mind would drive this thing. It's perfect." He ran one fingertip over the baby blue metallic hood. "It's a Spyder, right?"

"Yup. Porsche 918 Spyder. Last year's model."

"Well, send it back then. I shouldn't be seen in last year's car."

George handed him the keys. "I need you to drop me off at the wharf. I'll tell you the story of how we got hold of this baby while you drive."

They got in and Matt started the engine. It roared to life, then settled into a rumbling purr that screamed quality. "I could learn to like this," he said with a grin. "This car's worth a cool half-million, right?" He glanced over at George, but his friend didn't smile back. "What's wrong?"

"I'll tell you in a bit," George said. "Just drive."

Matt carefully pulled out of the parking lot onto the empty and rain-washed street. The car purred like a contented lion as he headed down the hill toward the wharf.

George pulled out a small signal jammer and turned it on, then filled him in on the car's history, and how it ended up in the hands of the agency.

At the parking lot at the base of the wharf, Matt pulled into a space and cut the engine, then turned to George. "Now. What is it you didn't want to tell me while I was driving?"

George leaned back against the leather seat and sighed. "You're not going to like this."

"I already don't like it. Spill."

"NSA was monitoring a Moreno organization chat room, and there was a lot of chatter going on."

Matt looked out at the white foam swirling around the wharf pilings. "That's not news."

"I know. As usual, it was mostly coded stuff. Of course they changed the code after you were supposedly arrested."

"Yeah."

"The volume of messages had risen, and the code guys were working on it, but then something came through today and they got in touch with the Project about it."

"Okay. We already knew we'd struck a nerve. Moreno's working on something."

"On something based locally. You know how they ping off those international relays so we can't trace them?"

Matt nodded. He ran a finger over the dashboard. Not a speck of dust. "Everything you've said so far is just part of our plan. I know you're not just talking to hear yourself, George. Get to the point."

"The point is that they tracked a text message sent from within a few miles of Pajaro Bay."

"Got it. So it's happening soon. And our mole is somewhere in the area. None of this is news."

"That's not why I'm telling you about it."

George looked worried, and that made Matt worried. "Come, on, man. Tell me already."

"The message sent to someone local was in code, and they haven't deciphered it yet. But the reply was only two words, sent in plain text." George took a deep breath. "The words were Lorelei York."

•••

When Lori woke up she had to take a look around to orient herself. The first thing out of place was the quiet. The plush guest bedroom in Aunt Zee's house was still. No ocean sounds, no foghorns, no wind whistling through the pine trees. Just the soft sound of a ticking clock on the bedside table, and the now-familiar snoring of Shadowfax next to her on the bed.

When she had come back from her walk yesterday, she'd found the supposed "outside" dog curled up on the white couch in the living room, Aunt Zee feeding him sauteed chicken strips for an afternoon snack. So Shadowfax was officially an inside dog now. Lori didn't mind. She had gotten used to his overbearing ways and big, goofy smile. He wasn't the dog she had pictured herself eventually owning, but she was beginning to realize that in reality, dogs were individuals as much as humans were. And she found herself really liking this particular individual. Could he be trained to become an assistance dog to help her with her epilepsy? That she didn't know. But one way or another, she was keeping him. Unless his former owner tried to take him back....

The dog raised his head to look at her. "Time to get up, sleepy eyes," she said to him. After a kiss and a rub on his big head, she shooed him off the bed, then got up herself.

She checked the time on the gorgeous silver-plated anniversary clock with the inscription
To Zelda, in your debt for all time. Lucas.
She couldn't remember who Lucas was; maybe one of Aunt Zee's husbands. She would have to ask later. In any case, the time on the clock was 9:14, so she knew she hadn't slept too late for a plate of Sandy's wonderful eggs benedict.

Outside the window she could see the steel gray of the sea, but she heard none of the now-familiar ocean noises through the thick walls and triple-pane windows.

All was peaceful and still.

And boring, she thought, but then realized how ridiculous that was. She liked boring. She didn't want adventure, at least not the kind of adventure she'd survived in the last few days.

She went to the en suite bath area and washed up. After dressing in jeans and a gray sweater that matched the sea and her mood, she padded downstairs to the first floor.

The dog headed straight for the lotus door, so she let him out. He did his business, then came right back in. He had followed her all the way into the breakfast nook before she realized he was leaving a trail of muddy pawprints on the marble floor.

"Oh, no!"

Aunt Zee looked up from the
New York Times.
"What is it, dear?"

Lori pointed to the mud on the flawless floor, but Aunt Zee just laughed. "There are plenty of towels. Sandy?"

The chubby little man with the sad eyes glanced up from his spot in front of the burgundy French range. He went and got a towel (pure white), and started toward the muddy prints, but Lori took the towel from him.

"He's my dog. I'll do it," she told Sandy with a smile. While she dried Shadowfax's paws and mopped up the mud on the floor, Aunt Zee read aloud from the
Times'
review of a new off-Broadway play. Sandy listened, absorbed, as she read of the gripping performances by the cast, and the
Times'
praise for the playwright.

Aunt Zee had plenty of comments about the article, but Sandy, of course, said nothing. She knew little about Sandy, just that he was mute, but not deaf, and that Aunt Zee and he were totally devoted to each other. He was part of Aunt Zee's little group of local friends: Ron Sierra, the florist; Penny Prentice, the wife of the famous industrialist; and perhaps some others she didn't know about. They played canasta, went to the city for the ballet and opera seasons, and had their own little social life together. Ron Sierra had been a character actor, Penny Prentice a starlet before her marriage, and of course Aunt Zee had been the movie star of the bunch. Sandy was the only one who hadn't been an actor, but somehow he still fit in. As long as he was kind to Aunt Zee, Lori supposed how they came to be friends didn't matter.

By the time Lori had finished cleaning the floor, Aunt Zee had set down the paper and turned to her eggs, toast and coffee.

Sandy gave Lori a questioning glance and she nodded. "I would love for you to cook me breakfast. You are a wonderful chef."

He smiled and turned back to the range. The stove had even more chrome, knobs and doors than the Aga out on the island, but Sandy seemed to know just what to do, and soon he set a plate matching Aunt Zee's in front of her, with another for himself.

The three of them ate in companionable silence for a bit, then Aunt Zee spoke: "So, my dear. What do you have planned for today?"

"Not much. Since I'm not
allowed
to go back to the island, I can't really work on my photography for the brochures."

"Don't be snippy, Lori. You are not forbidden to do anything. You are being advised not to do anything stupid. There's a difference."

"Stupid? Matt goes out kayaking in the middle of a storm, but that's macho. You have been the queen of reckless decisions all your life, but everybody admires your spunk. I try to live on my own, and I'm stupid?"

"Are you finished shouting?"

Lori looked down at the eggs. "Yes, ma'am."

"And none of that 'yes, ma'am' stuff, either. You are an adult."

"I know that."

"I'm not sure you do. You have been told what to do for so long that I'm really not sure you grasp the point of all this. Independence doesn't mean doing whatever you want; it means doing what you know is right."

Great. Lecture time. She'd known this was coming ever since she'd come slamming in the door yesterday after her fight with Matt. "First you say I'm not a child. Then you say I can't make my own choices."

Aunt Zee set down her fork. "I said no such thing. You've had your little rebellion. Now you need to take some time and reflect on what it achieved."

"My
little rebellion
?"

"Enough!" Aunt Zee said. "You can hardly accuse me of not supporting your bid for independence."

"I don't care what you say. I'm not going back home. You don't know what it's like to live in that house, with everyone watching me all the time like I'm made of crystal."

"I don't?"

"Okay. You do know. But you haven't had to live with it. You never let anybody tell you no in your entire life."

"Right. And I've got the scars to prove it."

"You always say you have no regrets. How many interviews have you given where that was the headline, Aunt Zee?
Zelda Potter: No Regrets
. They're going to put that on your tombstone."

"Hopefully not in the near future," Aunt Zee said placidly.

Even Lori had to laugh at that. "All right. But you have a different standard for yourself than you do for other people."

"I don't have any regrets for myself," Aunt Zee said. "I made my decisions in life and I live with them. But it's different for someone you love. You don't want them to ever feel pain. Do you think your mother acts as she does to hurt you?"

"How did my mother come into this?" She realized she was holding her fork in an iron grip and set it down on the plate.

"Your mother loves you."

"I know that. But she still thinks it's forty years ago, back when epilepsy was some nasty little secret you weren't supposed to talk about."

"Yes," Aunt Zee said. "And now we have progressed to the point where people post pictures of their colonoscopies on Facebook."

Sandy choked on his coffee, and Aunt Zee patted his hand until he got over it. He went back to eating, but with a little smile at the corner of his mouth.

"It's better to be open about things, even if some people go too far," Lori said.

"I agree."

"It's better than locking your disabled relatives in the attic like they used to do with people like me and my mother."

"Most assuredly. But don't you feel you've been enough of a rebel for now?"

"I proved I can take care of myself. No one's locking me in an attic."

Aunt Zee picked up a piece of toast and carefully spread some jam on it. After she took a bite, she said, "I agree, Sandy. The fall crop of raspberries from the Madrigal ranch last year made particularly good preserves."

Sandy nodded, then stood. He cleared his plate and Aunt Zee's, then began loading the dishwasher.