See How She Runs (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 2) Page 5

  “Jesus.” He had trouble tearing his eyes from her torso. Women in southern California tended to bake themselves in tiny bikinis whenever possible. Had Naomi Varner when she lived down there? If so, she’d lost any vestige of a tan. There was something about the purity of her snow white skin that spoke of innocence. Her ribs looked as delicately made as the rest of her body. It was all he could do not to lay his hand flat on her belly, feel the texture of that skin, the give to the softness beneath.

  He cleared his throat and made himself let go of the thin stretchy fabric of her T-shirt. It fell to cover her bare flesh. Too bad he was still eye level with her small, high breasts. “Okay,” he managed to get out. “What about your back? Can you bend over?”

  He had her do some careful twists, too, and concluded she’d probably strained a muscle. She took some painkillers, insisted he do the same, and went off to get a bag of cotton balls.

  After dampening several at the kitchen sink, she added tiny drops of soap. “I can...wash your cheek, if you’d like.” She sounded shy. “Since you can’t see to do it.”

  Adam didn’t point out that he could go use the mirror in her bathroom, although that might have been smart. Instead he said, “If you think it needs it.”

  Again he laid down the frozen pack. Naomi stepped close to him and touched one fingertip beneath his chin to tilt his face up to her. Damn. Her eyes dominated that pixie face. With her focused utterly on him and not her own fears or inner pain, her eyes weren’t just brown, they were the color of melted caramel, warm and swirling.

  Her touch was gentle, too, until the soap stung and he winced.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

  “I’m being a wimp,” he said gruffly. “Ignore me.”

  This smile produced a dimple at one side of her mouth. He wanted to lay his finger over it, feel the pucker.

  Damn it. He blinked and tried to fix his gaze anywhere but her face. Unfortunately, her breasts were strategically placed straight in front of him.

  They weren’t especially impressive, he reminded himself desperately, trying to picture what-was-her-name’s generous bounty. The image came and went without being any help. He couldn’t so much as summon the former lover’s name, either.

  He closed his eyes. Please finish. Get this over with.

  There were another couple of soft touches, after which she stroked her finger over the scrape. It felt cool. “Ointment,” she murmured. “I hope the ice pack doesn’t wipe it off. Oh, well. We can put more on.”

  He opened his eyes, groped for the towel-wrapped peas, and held it up to his face, wishing he could hide behind it.

  “Why don’t I clean up your knee, too?” she suggested.

  Oh, hell. She was going to kneel in front of him? How was he supposed to hide his reaction to these...intimacies? He couldn’t think what else to call them.

  Say, Gee, no, thanks.

  But it was too late. She’d already taken a handful of those cotton balls to the sink and was dampening them with warm water and soap. The next thing he knew, she crouched in front of him. Not quite as bad as kneeling - not so symbolic - but bad enough.

  He wasn’t sure he could have gotten a word out.

  Her hair looked baby fine, wisps clinging to her forehead and cheeks, baring neatly formed ears. Tiny gold birds took flight on her earlobes. He’d noticed the glint of gold before without focusing on the earrings. Were they symbolic for her, of the flight she’d made? And if that was so...what did it mean?

  Recovering his usual state of cynicism was taking more effort than usual. To accomplish it, he had to turn his head and look toward the gingham curtains closed over the small kitchen window. Closed curtains, because she was hiding. Remember why?

  Yeah, okay. His arousal didn’t immediately subside at the dose of reason, though. Apparently his body didn’t care whether she was an amoral bitch or not.

  Could she really be, and still feel the obligation to take care of him out of gratitude? Could hands as gentle as hers have thrust a knife up beneath a man’s ribcage into his heart?

  Adam sat forward, slightly hunched, hoping his chinos tented enough to keep him from shocking her.

  “There,” she said at last, brightly, and rose to her feet. Her gaze didn’t quite want to meet his.

  “Thank you,” he said roughly. “I think my face is numb now.”

  “Good.” She accepted the now dripping pack from him and carried it to the sink. “Would you like a cup of coffee or...or something?”

  “No, but thanks.” He frowned. “You think this guy was after something in particular?”

  Her pupils flared before she looked ostentatiously around. “Like what? Do I look wealthy? I don’t have a single valuable possession. I mean, the laptop is probably the priciest thing I own, but second-hand?”

  “If he searched your house and then went after your bag, that’s pretty persistent.”

  Her teeth closed on her lower lip. “I really think I imagined that someone had been in the house. Why would anyone bother? It just doesn’t make sense.”

  His thoughts were more clinical now. Sure it makes sense, Ms. Varner. And you damn well know it.

  “So, listen,” he said. “Let me give you my phone number. I’m barely a block away.”

  “When you’re not at the beach or whatever you plan to do for fun.”

  Was there a hint of a question there?

  “I just...needed to get my head together,” he said. Nicely vague. The last thing he wanted was for her to ask what he did for a living, although she probably would eventually. Truth or lie? “I’ll probably do some hiking, walk the beach. The usual. No nightlife, though, so I should be around evenings or during the night if anything scares you.”

  Those warm eyes searched his. “If you mean it.”

  “I mean it. You have a pad of paper?”

  She produced one along with a pen. He scribbled down his name and phone number. Looking at his name, there in blue ink, he suddenly wondered if anyone had ever mentioned the name of Frank Donahue’s partner to her.

  Couldn’t have. She wasn’t that good an actress.

  A certainty that gave him pause, because if she wasn’t...

  Letting the troubling thought go, he dropped the antibiotic ointment back in his small white sack and rose to his feet. He felt an ache or two along with a creak in his knee, all from the violent encounter in the alley. Could have been worse. Man, he’d have liked to rip that mask off the guy’s head. Then he’d know who he was dealing with. Getting a license plate number wouldn’t have been as good; the car was sure to have been rented under a fictitious name.

  He might have been smart to have used one himself, except he didn’t have a choice of fake I.D. lying around the way anyone in Cobb’s organization would. Too late to worry about anyway.

  He went to the front door, pausing when he opened it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her surprise made him grin. “I had breakfast at that beachfront hotel this morning.”

  Naomi Kendrick’s nose wrinkled the tiniest bit.

  “Your French toast is better,” he said simply.

  Her dimple flickered. “Live and learn.”

  He was laughing when she closed the door behind him.

  His drive was short. The furniture, as basic as it came, had been delivered in his absence. He stood in the kitchen looking around. Her cottage was homey. His wasn’t.

  Feeling irritable, he dragged one of the cheap metal and vinyl-upholstered chairs to one side of the front window in the living room. While he was at it, he grabbed a beer - one should be safe - and his binoculars. Then he sat back to examine his troubled awareness of contradictions between the woman she appeared to be and the one he had expected her to be.

  To think, and to wait.

  *****

  Naomi was grumpy and exhausted when she let herself into the Sea Watch come morning.

  She would have given a lot yesterday afternoon to go for a run, but had been afraid she’d aggravate the sorenes
s in her back. Plus, running wouldn’t have the usual zen-like effect if she had to listen for footsteps behind her and search every outcropping or tree for a predator lurking behind it.

  And then, of course, she couldn’t sleep. Despite her fears, she had slept better in Cape Trouble than she ever had before. The steady sound of the surf, so near, was like a mother’s heartbeat to a baby, she’d come to believe, reaching deep into her psyche, where the most primal instincts lurked. Nights were otherwise miraculously quiet, traffic almost nonexistent, sirens rare. None of her neighbors threw wild parties. She suspected she was the youngest resident of Jasper Beach by at least twenty years if not closer to thirty. The small enclave might almost qualify as a retirement community. With her nonexistent social life, she fit right in.

  Last night, though, she’d heard every faint sound. She would stiffen at what she knew was only the passing of a car on Highway 101. A tiny creak - the house settling. What might have been a voice - she did have neighbors. A car occasionally driving slowly by – patrol car.

  Her eyes seemed to have sunk into deep holes when she’d looked at herself in the mirror this morning. She shuddered, remembering the holes in the ski mask that had seemed so empty until that last, inimical stare.

  In defiance of the agreement every downtown merchant had signed, she parked on Schooner Street this morning and unlocked the front door of the cafe instead of the back. The time might come when she’d feel safe - semi-safe - to park in the alley again, but not this week.

  Tomorrow was Monday anyway, the one day of the week the cafe remained closed. Normally she looked forward to it. Now...well, she’d have to do her shopping, but otherwise she knew she’d huddle at home, listening for more creaks.

  Alone in the cafe, she indulged herself in a strangled moan.

  She didn’t always have a breakfast special, but today she carefully wrote on the blackboard, Huckleberry crepes. After breakfast, she’d make those two promised cobblers. She’d frozen plenty of huckleberries she had picked herself.

  “Oh, yum,” Anita announced, after she’d arrived and seen the blackboard.

  They were so busy this morning, Naomi didn’t have a chance to think about anything but cooking. Anita popped into the kitchen once and said, “A Mr. Rostov sends his compliments on the crepes, and says to tell you as good as they are, they don’t let you off the hook. Does that make sense?” she added doubtfully, before tacking on, “What a gorgeous man!”

  Naomi smiled. “It makes sense. And he is. He also came to my rescue yesterday when a guy in the alley slammed into me and snatched my bag.”

  Anita gasped. Naomi had to give her a few more details, but they were too busy for her to exclaim too much.

  A couple of hours later, the orders trickled to an end, and Anita told her another man had asked to speak to her. “It’s the guy who wanted to know your name, I don’t know, a couple of days ago? He was at the corner table?”

  Naomi nodded, hiding her perturbation. She could hear voices from the dining room, so she wouldn’t be alone with whoever this man was.

  She dried her hands and went out. Half the tables were still occupied with people finishing their coffee. She knew most. Adam, of course, was long gone.

  This time, the large man with auburn hair sat by the window. He was over-sized for the small table. He saw her immediately, not looking away as Naomi pinned on a smile and wended her way across the room to him.

  “I understand you asked for me?”

  “Yes, do you have a minute to sit down?”

  She hesitated, then pulled out the chair opposite him. “Literally a minute. I need to get started on lunch.”

  “I understand.” He extended a big hand to her. “Randall Bresler.” He appeared expectant.

  She recognized the name, but not, she suspected, for whatever reason he thought she should. She let him engulf her hand and shake. He didn’t try to hold onto her longer than felt comfortable.

  After a moment, he smiled faintly. “I’m building the new resort on the bluff.”

  “Oh.” Duh. She should have recognized his name from articles in the Cape Trouble Tribune, not only from his credit card slip. It did ping in her memory now. He wasn’t a construction worker; he owned the whole shebang. “I hope you’ll join our merchants’ association even if the resort is outside the city limits.”

  “The chamber of commerce has already sent a representative.” He sounded wry. “Somewhat prematurely. We won’t be opening until spring. Late spring, probably. I hope.” The last was muttered.

  Her gaze strayed toward the kitchen.

  He noticed. “You’re a superb cook, Ms. Kendrick. I do understand the pleasures of owning your own business, but I know the hassles, too. If you came to work for me, the hassles would be gone. You’d be free to cook - and I’d give you a completely free hand with the kitchen, I promise. You tell me what you’re taking home after expenses here.” There was the smallest hint of condescension in his tone. “I’ll top it. Substantially.” He shook his head when she started to open her mouth. “No, don’t say anything yet. Obviously, you have months to consider my offer. But please do give it serious consideration.”

  He only wanted to hire her. She almost laughed.

  “I can promise that much,” she said. “But be warned. If I had to make a decision today, I’d say no.”

  He nodded and held out his hand. Once again, they shook, after which she returned to the kitchen.

  Naomi prepared and baked three cobblers, cutting one up to offer as a dessert during lunch. The other two, she cooled and covered. When she was eventually ready to close, she had to make two trips to get both to her car.

  This being Sunday, she left the last two days receipts locked in the cafe’s small safe, which made her even more nervous than usual, given the events of the week. Taking a large amount of cash home didn’t seem like a good idea, either, though. She was careful never to have more than two days take sitting around. If she ever was robbed, that way the loss wouldn’t be crippling.

  She stopped first at the police station. Daniel greeted the sight of the pan in her hands with a huge grin.

  “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  “Don’t tell Sophie it took my huckleberry cobbler to take you there.”

  He gave a shout of laughter. “Don’t worry, she takes me to heaven pretty frequently.”

  The reminiscent gleam in his blue eyes made Naomi’s cheeks heat. The pang she felt wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. It wasn’t as if she’d ever wanted Daniel Colburn. In fact, if she’d been alone, she’d have snorted at the idea of her having any kind of relationship with a guy in law enforcement. Even this tentative step toward friendship with Daniel made her nervous. Her experience with cops was more than a little tainted.

  Daniel thanked her again for the cobbler and walked her out to her car. The last thing he said was, “You be careful, Naomi.”

  Seeing that he now serious, she nodded. “Cowardly me, I parked on the street today instead of the alley. Don’t tell on me,” she added, trying to lighten the moment.

  His chuckle told her she’d succeeded. “Keep doing that for now.”

  Some hesitation at the end told her he had intended to tack something else onto that sentence. Until...? Until what? Until nothing else happens for weeks and weeks? Is that when I’ll start to feel safe again? Or...almost safe?

  She didn’t know. Maybe she’d never feel safe again. She imagined herself in her eighties, rocking slowly away, head cocked as she listened for the creak of floorboards outside her room in the nursing home.

  When she reached the traffic light at the highway, a black SUV loomed in her rearview mirror, stopping right behind her. She tensed. For some absurd reason, the blink of its turn signal reassured her. Did bad guys signal their intentions? Probably, she realized ruefully. They’d pass unnoticed better if they were careful not to commit any trivial infractions.

  The windshield of the SUV was tinted enough it took her a moment to be sure Adam
was the driver. Coincidence that he should happen to come up behind her, or something more sinister?

  Oh, God, she was so tired of living in fear.

  He followed her sedately back to her neighborhood. She drove to his cottage instead of hers and pulled to a stop at the curb. He turned into the driveway. Naomi was taking the baking dish from the passenger seat when he walked toward her, carrying a bag she recognized. Sweet Ideas: Books ’n Fudge. Hannah Moss’s bookstore, across the street and a block down from the Sea Watch Cafe. Naomi’s relief was so enormous, her knees wobbled. Although the wobble might have had something to do with the lazy, purely masculine stride that held such leashed strength, she had no doubt of his ability to hit a dead run between one step and the next.

  She nodded at the bag. “You’ve been shopping.”

  His grin was devastating. “Spent a mint. Hey, pun. Mostly on books, since I’m not much of a chocolate eater. But she has these caramel truffles with a scattering of sea salt on top...”

  Naomi laughed. “And here I come, daring to bring more sweets.”

  “Is that my cobbler? You actually meant it?”

  She opened her mouth to say I don’t lie, which of course was a lie, so instead she went with, “I keep promises.”

  “Do you.”

  She couldn’t quite read that.

  “Come on in,” he said. “I think I can make room for a first helping right now. I just happen to have some French vanilla ice cream.”

  “Do you.” She made it as bland.

  His low, rough laugh gave her satisfaction, until it occurred to her in alarm that she had almost sounded as if she was flirting with him. Was she? Horrifying thought.

  “May I offer you some dessert?” he asked.

  She’d skipped lunch altogether, except for a few tastes, a necessary part of cooking. Her stomach cramped. And…it wasn’t as if she looked forward to going home to her empty house.

  “Actually...that sounds good.”

  “Good.” He led the way up a concrete walkway buckled by the thick root of an aging, now leafless, maple tree. As he let them into the house, he asked how her back was. “I suppose you’ve been on your feet for hours.”