Cliff's Edge

by Meg Tilly

  Maggie opened her mouth to argue, but Eve cut her off.

  “Yes, I know you had that ‘incident’ this spring,” Eve said, her smile feeling slightly unnatural, “but that was an anomaly, not the norm.

  “However, I will make sure to set the security system so you won’t worry. I’ll keep the Intrepid up and running and do my best not to scare off all the customers before you return to set things right. I want you to rest and relax and enjoy all that the luxuriously romantic Laucala Island has to offer.”

  “You’re the best,” Maggie said, a little teary-eyed.

  “Hey now,” Eve said, giving her sister a hug. “Going away with your gorgeous husband is a happy thing.”

  “I know. I’m just feeling emotional. I don’t want to leave you here alone. Which doesn’t make sense at all.”

  “Hey,” Eve said, dropping a kiss on her sister’s head. “I’m a grown-ass woman.”

  Maggie nodded. “I know,” she said. “Ridiculous, huh?”

  “And it’s not going to be all hardship and Intrepid angst. I’m planning on painting up a storm on my days off. Gonna have the time of my life!”

  Little Nathan—Maggie and Luke’s adopted five-year-old son—tore into the room pulling a huge navy blue suitcase that was almost as tall as he was. “I’m all ready!” he exclaimed as he charged through the living room.

  “That suitcase is awfully big, honey,” Maggie said, snagging him for a hug. “Why didn’t you use the red one I left on the bed beside your clothes?”

  “Nah, this one’s better,” Nathan said, his little chest puffed up with importance.

  “You don’t want to bring too much stuff, Nathan. It’s more practical to pack light. Your belongings will still be here when you return,” Maggie said, trying to gently commandeer the suitcase handle.

  “It’s mostly empty,” Nathan said, tightening his already tenacious grip. “Daddy and I Skyped with Uncle Jake, and he said I need a big one to carry all my booty home!”

  “Oh,” said Maggie. “I see.” She let go of the suitcase, and Nathan sprinted out the door before she could change her mind, the suitcase careening in his wake.

  Luke tromped into the living room, Maggie’s suitcase in hand. “This is all you’re bringing?”

  Maggie nodded. “Swimsuits, sandals, and sundresses don’t take up much room. Who were you on the phone with?”

  “An old friend.”

  “You’ll be going out for dinner, Maggs,” Eve said.

  Maggie flung an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry.” An impish grin on her face. “I raided your closet yesterday, during my lunch break. I’m all set.”

  “You brat,” Eve said affectionately as she pulled her sister in for a tight hug. “I’m gonna miss you.”

  “Gonna miss you, too,” Maggie replied, patting her sister on the back. “It doesn’t feel right leaving you behind. You’re my best friend in the whole world.”

  “Maggie.” Eve laughed. “Romance 101. You don’t drag your sister along on your romantic holiday. Have a wonderful, wonderful time. Okay? You’ve been working so hard—”

  “I just—”

  “Seriously. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got it covered. Now, off you go.” Eve disengaged from her sister’s grip and nudged her toward the door.

  “Thanks, Eve,” Luke said, tucking Maggie under his arm. “See you in two weeks. And,” he added, eyes twinkling, “behave yourself.”

  Which was a weird thing to say. But whatever. He made Maggie happy.

  Eve followed them to the door, one hand on Samson’s collar, keeping a smile firmly on her face.

  Luke tossed Maggie’s suitcase in the back next to his, then “helped” Nathan load his suitcase into the truck as well. “Let’s swing by the pharmacy and pick up some chewable motion sickness pills,” Eve heard Luke say.

  They felt so far away, as if she were watching a TV show. Stuck in her boring life, while everyone around her had adventures.

  Luke glanced at his watch as he opened the passenger door. “The store opens in five. I figure I can zip in and still make the nine fifty ferry. Nathan will probably be fine on the plane, but—”

  “Sometimes he throws up when he gets excited,” Maggie and Luke said in unison, Maggie’s mouth quirking like she thought it was funny.

  Eww. Eve liked her new nephew, but there was nothing cute about vomit.

  “I don’t throw up,” Nathan said, clambering into the truck.

  “You kinda do,” Maggie replied, ruffling Nathan’s hair as she scooted in beside him.

  “Not that we blame you,” Luke said. “I’d be excited, too.” He shut the door behind them and rounded the front of the truck. “Two weeks with your uncle Jake, one of those weeks at Disneyland? That’s a big deal, dude. I’d be tempted to barf myself.”

  He hopped in the truck. Samson leaned forward, straining slightly against his collar, a low whine escaping. “It’s okay, boy,” Eve murmured, her voice soothing, even though she was tempted to whine herself.

  The truck engine roared to life.

  “Bye! Love you. Bye!” Maggie called through the open window, waving happily.

  “Bye! Safe travels,” Eve called back. She waved until the truck disappeared from sight and the electronic wooden gates closed with a thump.

  Samson turned his shaggy head and gazed at her, a slightly accusatory look in his mournful eyes, as if it were her fault that they had left.

  Eight

  HE HAD BEEN sussing the place for some time now. The café downstairs had been easier to penetrate, both front-of-house and the back kitchen. Child’s play how simple it had been. The apartment upstairs, more difficult, but with a little ingenuity . . .

  He smiled.

  The previous night he’d disabled the porch light above the door. She must not have noticed because it was still out. However, a sliver of moon created a faint illumination. So, even though he’d chosen clothes that would minimize detection and sound, it was vital he stick to the shadows created by the overhang of the roof.

  His plan worked well. He blended seamlessly with the dark.

  He jimmied the credit card between the door and the frame. It was proving to be more challenging than the practice runs he’d done on his own door in the past few weeks. Perhaps it was nerves, or the slick of sweat inside his gloves. Whatever the cause, this door was different, more difficult.

  He jammed the card in a bit deeper and jiggled it. “Come on,” he whispered. “Open for me.” The dirty talk worked. He felt his dick start to swell as the lock gave way to his probing and the latch slid back.

  He turned the doorknob, keeping upward pressure on it to avoid unwanted squeaks until the bolt was completely withdrawn. By the time the task was completed, his member was fully erect.

  Slowly, slowly he applied pressure to the door, keeping the knob fully rotated as he passed over the threshold like a wraith. Then he carefully closed the door behind him, pushing it gently, firmly against the frame. Only then did he release the knob, slowly sliding the latch silently back into its metal slot in the doorframe. Adrenaline roared through him. His heart thundered in his chest.

  He was in.

  He touched the soft satchel slung across his shoulders. His handy kit. Everything he would need was there: the plastic cable ties, a roll of duct tape, a syringe of midazolam, the vibrator, the nipple clamps, and the lube, of course. After all, he wasn’t an animal.

  The apartment was quiet. Not even the faintest rustle or sigh. She was sleeping . . . unsuspecting . . .

  Satisfaction coursed through his veins.

  It was going to be one hell of a night.

  Nine

  EVE WAS PULLED from the dream world by the sound of a beep or a chirp. A bird maybe, she thought lazily, so happy it was Sunday. She didn’t have to do anything but lie there and relish the f
eeling of the warm sunlight streaming across her face. Must have forgotten to shut the curtains, she thought with a yawn. She lay there for a moment, then decided more sleep was called for. Sunshine was nice, but it would have to wait. She reached for the duvet and tried to pull it over her head.

  It wouldn’t tug upward. She yanked with more force and was rewarded with the sound of fabric ripping. Could feel the waft of cool air as the previously small tear in the shoulder of her beloved flannel pajamas morphed into a large one. “Dang,” she mumbled, giving the covers another yank, the worn-out fabric of her pj’s tearing a little more. “I should have fixed that last night.”

  A low complaining groan rumbled from the base of the bed. Something large and warm was lying across it, pinning the covers down.

  She opened her eyes, squinting in the bright light.

  Oh yeah, Samson.

  The dog lifted his head an inch or two, looked at her blearily from under his shaggy eyebrows, then flopped his head down. He stretched his incredibly long legs, claiming even more of the bed.

  “My own fault,” Eve muttered, shifting to lie sideways in the large bed so her legs didn’t have to be cricked to the side. Without a large hunk of fresh meat at hand, there was no way she was going to win dominance over the dog. He was at least 170 pounds. “You’re worse than a man, you bed hog,” she said affectionately, reaching down to scratch him behind his ears. He leaned his head into the scratch. “But I don’t mind. You’re a good boy, and I appreciate you changing your sleeping arrangements to accommodate me.”

  Last night Eve had felt restless, unable to settle. She’d switched on her laptop. Checked her e-mails. Nothing. No text messages either.

  A wave of loneliness had swept over her. Where did all my friends go? Granted, she and Maggie had been so busy getting the Intrepid Café up and running, she hadn’t had much free time. Every spare moment she had scraped together she’d used for painting or for the business of trying to get her foot—hell, her big toe—in through the door of the art world.

  She sighed. Maintaining friendships required work. Moving from New York to reside on a small island in the Pacific Northwest was incomprehensible to the majority of the people she knew. The first few e-mails exchanged were normal, but gradually, one after another, her friends back East had drifted away. Eve hadn’t noticed until this very moment how much Maggie, her husband, Luke, and little Nathan had become the nucleus around which she revolved.

  Alone.

  She felt so alone.

  As if she were a minuscule speck of muck that had fallen off somebody’s shoe.

  Enough, she told herself firmly. You are not going to walk down that path. Since you’re awake, do a little work; it’s a much better use of your time.

  She researched a few more art galleries. Found one in Seattle that was open to e-mail submissions by new artists. She scoured their website. The artwork they represented seemed like a match, so she personalized her query letter and e-mailed it to them, along with her CV.

  She shut down her laptop and placed it on the bedside table, the room dark without the glow of the screen.

  She did a relaxation exercise, visualized that her feet were filled with sand slowly trickling out. Then she moved her focus to her calves, her knees. She worked her way up her body bit by bit until the exercise was completed, but still, sleep eluded her.

  She had an anxious feeling, as if she had left the stove on or had discovered the gas tank in her car was below empty and her vehicle was running on fumes.

  Breathe, she told herself. There is nothing to be scared of. You are sleeping in an unfamiliar place is all.

  But the pep talk didn’t soothe her. The home suddenly felt too big, the shadows too dark, and the most inconsequential noises startled her. She levitated a good four inches when the furnace shifted on, even though she’d set the alarms for the house and the perimeter of the property.

  At 11:38 p.m. Eve decided enough was enough. She roused Samson from his bed by the fireplace and made him check the house from top to bottom with her. They looked under the beds, behind doors, patted down drapery. They checked the closets, the pantry, the furnace room, and the window latches. All throughout the search Eve’s heart was banging way too loudly in her chest, her mouth dry as chalk.

  After she was absolutely one hundred percent positive that she and Samson were the only breathing beings in the mansion, Eve still felt jittery. So she dragged Samson’s enormous dog bed down the hall and placed it by her bed. Which he had stayed in last night . . . for all of five minutes?

  A muffled woof rumbled in Samson’s throat, pulling Eve back to the present. She glanced over at him affectionately. “Silly old dog,” she said.

  Samson shifted onto his back, his stilt-like legs splayed out in the air, clearly hoping the ear rub would morph into a chest and belly scratch.

  It did.

  “It wasn’t your fault, was it, buddy?” she crooned. “You thought the invitation extended to my bed.” She’d need to wash the beautiful Frette linen duvet, as it was no longer the pristine white it once had been. She now understood why Luke had chosen charcoal-gray corduroy for Samson’s dog bed. It didn’t show the dog hair, slobber, and dirt.

  Maybe I’ll wait to wash it, though, she thought. Samson might be homesick for Luke and need to sleep up here again tonight.

  It had been a comfort having him in her room. His solid furry presence and gentle snoring had soothed her, and she had finally fallen asleep.

  Eve’s stomach gave a loud rumble. Bathroom first, she thought, getting out of bed and stretching. Then food.

  Ten

  RHYS HAD TRAVELED around the world, seen amazing sights, but whenever he stepped into Luke’s home on Solace Island, it never failed to impress him. The exposed-wood beams lent an earthy quality to the high, soaring ceiling. Large windows showcased the rock cliffs, the ocean stretching outward to embrace the majestic Olympic Peninsula mountains beyond. The sky was so expansive from this vantage point, and for the first time in God knew how long, Rhys felt at peace. Had a sense of coming home.

  A gargantuan prehistoric-looking bird swooped past the window, startling him for a second, then disappeared from view.

  “What the hell was that?” he murmured. “Some kind of bird, clearly.”

  Maybe I should take up birdwatching, he thought, then grinned. Wouldn’t that be something? Rhys Thomas, voted People magazine’s Sexiest Man of the Year, and everyone’s wondering, “Where did he disappear to? Where has he gone?” And I’m bushwhacking through the woods, chasing after a pileated woodpecker, brambles in my hair, binoculars hanging from my neck . . .

  A yawn overtook Rhys. But first things first. Birdwatching will have to wait. He slipped his duffel bag from his shoulder and dropped it to the ground beside his suitcase.

  First coffee. He ambled toward the kitchen. Then a leisurely nap, after which I can start my new ornithology career.

  Eleven

  AFTER RELIEVING HERSELF, she washed her hands with the French-milled soap, the hot water releasing the clean fresh scent of cucumber and sandalwood. “So luxurious,” she murmured.

  Eve made the mild misstep of glancing in the mirror. Clearly, she had seen better days. The restless night had done her no favors. There were violet-smudged shadows under her eyes, exacerbated by the smears of mascara that were always present first thing in the morning, no matter how vigorously she washed her face before going to bed.

  Her hair was flying every which way, and it was apparent the Frette duvet wasn’t the only thing covered in dog hair.

  Eve toyed briefly with the idea of using one of the fluffy fresh washcloths to clean her face. Maybe run a brush through her hair. “Nah. I’m on vacation,” she declared, grinning at her scraggly reflection in the mirror. The gaping hole in her ripped pajama top was exposing the upper swell of her breast and her shoulder. She shrugged. “I’m in char
ge. And I say I look fine just the way I am.” Instead of straightening her hair, she shoved both hands in it and messed it up even more. “I’m gonna be a retro punk rocker for the day!” she crowed. She struck a pose and made a fierce take-no-prisoners sneer in the mirror, then exited the bathroom feeling quite pleased with herself.

  Halfway across the bedroom floor she had to stop and savor the fact that this stunning bedroom was, for all intents and purposes, hers for the next two weeks.

  Life is good. She sighed contentedly.

  She’d coveted this room the moment she’d set eyes on it. Seven months had passed since then, but the bedroom hadn’t lost any of that extra-special fairy dust it was sprinkled with.

  Tons of natural light streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the cliffs and the sparkling blue bay beyond. The view had literally stolen the breath from her chest. And when she’d turned, there was another bank of windows with an entirely different but equally gorgeous view. A spectacular outgrowth of slate-gray rock with lush emerald-green moss covering the majority of its surface. One side of the window framed the tan-and-rust trunk and undulating limbs of an arbutus tree that curved upward and disappeared from view.

  Eve had wanted to stay in that room with an unholy lust. The quality of the light that afternoon had filled the space. Everywhere it touched was made warm and magical. The floor, the bed, the dresser almost seemed like living, breathing beings in the caress of that amber-golden light. And the sheer beauty of it made Eve feel weak at the knees.

  Of course, she’d insisted her sister take the room. Convinced Maggie the bedroom down the hall was the one she wanted. She’d hoped with Maggie and Luke being in such close proximity, the sparks that were flying between them would turn into flames. And, Eve thought happily as an image of her sister’s glowing face on her wedding day flashed before her, I was correct.