In Dark Water (Rarity Cove Book 3)

by Leslie Tentler

  “Please, call me Mercer.”

  He bobbed his head. “As long as you call me Remy.”

  She trailed the men into a kitchen with faded Formica countertops and ancient appliances. A card table and folding chairs sat in the room’s center where a dining table should have been. A cardboard box with an image of an automated coffeemaker had been placed beside the sink and there were also some basic grocery items—paper towels and toilet paper, a case of bottled water, a loaf of bread, jars of peanut butter and grape jelly, bananas, and a coffee tin.

  “We stopped for a few essentials, but it’s slim pickings,” Remy warned.

  Noah nodded. “I’ll make sure you’re reimbursed for anything you’ve spent. Make a list of whatever else you think that we need here and I’ll bring it with me tonight.”

  Mercer placed her purse on the counter and put the remains of her sandwich inside the fridge that she noticed was only slightly cool inside due to the electricity just having been turned on. As the men talked protocol, she wandered back into the home’s front room, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked around. As empty and unadorned as the structure was, she could see what Noah’s friend, Steve, did. The interior had high ceilings, a wide, white-bricked hearth and recessed, built-in bookcases. Shutters covered the windows and a brass-and-glass chandelier, its pendants clouded with age, hung in the room’s center. Old-fashioned panel doors closed off what she guessed was a second parlor. The room was apparently where the other man, Tom, was sleeping. Curious, she took the stairs to the second floor.

  As Remy had indicated, there was a small bathroom, its one luxury a vintage, claw-footed tub that would most likely go for a high price tag in an antique shop. Passing by the unfurnished bedroom, Mercer went into the other one, but all it contained was a slowly moving ceiling fan and a bedframe with a bare, blue-tick mattress—no pillows, sheets, or blankets. Her chest tightened again at the prospect of how long she might be here, and she tried to shove away a growing sense of panic.

  A window with an accordion-style radiator below it was on the other side of the room, facing the property’s rear. Fighting claustrophobia, she moved to the window and opened the shutters, discovering to her surprise that she had a partial view of the Cooper River, including the newer, often-photographed cable-stayed bridge with its diamond towers that led over to Mount Pleasant. Due to the high fence surrounding the property’s rear, she hadn’t realized how close they were to water. From this angle facing outward, there were no other houses behind it and she felt certain that no one would be able to have a view into this room, short of flying a camera-equipped drone. Placing her fingers against the cool, paned glass, she swallowed hard, feeling imprisoned already. She wanted to be back at the St. Clair with her family, not alone here, without Noah and with these men she didn’t know.

  “Are you going to make me keep this closed?” she asked, still standing at the window as Noah entered a few minutes later with her travel bag and computer case. She was unable to keep the strain from her voice. “Because I just might lose my mind if you do.”

  He sighed as he placed her things on the mattress. “I’ll bring some bedding back with me tonight. Some towels, too.”

  She turned back to the window, morose. “Maybe I should just figure out how to pry this window open and throw myself out.” She stared onto the broken flagstone patio twenty or so feet below. “I could do Draper’s work for him. Just get it over with.”

  “Mercer.”

  She was aware that he had moved to stand behind her, but she remained stock-still.

  “Turn around and look at me,” he ordered softly.

  Releasing a breath, she turned and looked up into his face. She couldn’t help it; Mercer felt a carnal pull low inside her. Noah’s strong jaw was masked by stubble so dark it appeared nearly blue-black against his skin. Faint lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes that were the color of a fine bourbon and hooded by thick, sensual brows.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said in a low voice. “Things seem a little bleak right now and this place leaves a lot to be desired, I know. But you’ll be okay.”

  She could only nod in response. Unable to help herself, she briefly touched his shirtfront. Noah swallowed, but didn’t step away.

  “When will you be back?” she asked, an ache in her throat.

  “Around ten tonight. Is there something I can bring you? Any special food you’d like? Maybe a book or some magazines?”

  She shook her head. She wanted to beg him not to leave her here but she understood that he had serious responsibilities, and that she was just one of them. “You need to sleep.”

  “Yeah.” He cupped the back of his neck. “I’m going to get a few hours before I head back here. At least, that’s the plan.”

  Noah drove past the bustling Eastside stores and old homes in various states of repair and decay, but his mind remained on Mercer. He couldn’t shake the despair that he had seen in her eyes. She felt abandoned, he knew, separated from her family and left to fend for herself in a house with two male strangers. But he hadn’t had a choice. He had to get to the precinct, had to figure out who else he could trust to help keep watch over her, then he had to get a few hours of sleep if he planned to stay up all night again. Noah trusted Remy and Tom—he would trust them with his own life. It had to be enough for him right now just to know that Mercer was safe even if she wasn’t happy.

  Braking for a red light, he removed his sunglasses to rub his fingers over his closed eyelids.

  You’re getting too personally involved. You need to take a step back.

  It was getting harder to deny to himself the attraction he felt to her. When Mercer had stumbled getting out of his vehicle, his hands had nearly encircled her small waist. Noah tried not to think of how her blouse clung to her round, heavy breasts, or how her nipples had instantly pebbled against his chest, sending fire through him. Since Allie, he had dated a handful of women but he always kept them at a distance, and he would cut bait as soon as he got the impression they wanted something from him that he was unable or unwilling to give.

  Frustrated with himself, he fisted his right hand and absently tapped it against the padded steering-wheel column. Mercer Leighton wasn’t just his eyewitness, which made her off-limits. She was a widow and she was also a St. Clair. Still, Noah sensed that she felt some draw to him, too.

  A car horn blared and he realized that the light had changed to green. He shot a glare at the driver behind him in the rear-view mirror, then accelerated and went through the intersection.

  He had faced a hard truth, at least.

  His feelings for Mercer were beginning to go beyond protectiveness, and that was dangerous for them both.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What the hell, Mark? What do you mean, you don’t know where she is?”

  Sitting behind the desk in his office with Carter on the phone’s speaker, Mark released a tense breath. He had put off getting in touch with his brother last night since there wasn’t much that could be done at this point, anyway.

  “Someone tried to kill her and then you just let these men take her away—”

  “Not men, police,” Mark interjected. “And I didn’t have a choice. You weren’t here, Carter. This man came after her right here on our boardwalk. Anyone could’ve been caught in the gunfire. If Detective Ford hadn’t been here last night…”

  Unwilling to voice his thought, his words trailed off.

  “God,” Carter murmured. “Does Mom know?”

  “I went to see her early this morning. I wanted to tell her what happened before she caught word of it.” Mark’s heart pinched at the recollection. Olivia had cried, fearful for her daughter. “She’s scared.”

  “I’ll call her.”

  “That’d be a good idea.” Mark knew that Carter had always had a way with their mother, who practically floated in his presence. If anyone could console Olivia, it was him.

  “Carter…we need to present a united front on t
his, even if you disagree with what I’ve done. If Mom thinks that I made a mistake in letting the police take Mercer, it’s only going to upset her more.”

  “You trust this Detective Ford?”

  “I have to. I just got a call from him, letting me know that they have her at a safe house.”

  “For how long? Until there’s a trial?”

  “I don’t know and I’m not sure they do, either,” Mark admitted. “It’s a fluid situation and they’re still trying to figure things out. All they know is that she can’t be here anymore.”

  “Send her to me—”

  “I thought of that, but it isn’t a good idea. You’ve got Quinn, Lily, and a baby on the way. We can’t put them at risk. At least with the way things are now, she has police watching over her.”

  Carter cursed softly. “I’ll be home in two weeks, hopefully. I’m going to meet this detective and I’m going to see Mercer, even if I have to tear through the entire Charleston Police Department to do it.”

  Mark looked at the framed family photos on his desk as he let Carter continue to rail. He understood his upset, since he had been dealing with the same roller-coaster emotions himself, going from disbelief to anger to self-doubt by turns. They talked a while longer, until Carter seemed to have run out of steam.

  “I’m not angry with you, Mark,” he said finally. “I know you tried to do what was best. You had to make a fast decision. But I still can’t believe this. I just talked to Mercer yesterday.”

  “She’s going to be okay,” Mark said, praying that he was right. He promised to keep Carter posted on any detail he learned, no matter how small. Once he disconnected the call, Mark picked up a sterling silver letter opener and absently turned it around in his hands a few times before returning it to his desk and standing. He walked to the window and stared out onto the ocean.

  He wished that Mercer had never gone into that art gallery.

  “Let us know once you’ve worked out a schedule, Noah.” Rising from the sagging couch, Remy picked up his backpack and hauled it over one muscled shoulder, preparing to head out.

  “Will do.” It was nearly eleven p.m., and Noah had arrived back at the house only a few minutes earlier. He had brought in several bags of items that he had purchased, which he had left on the floor near the bookcases. “I appreciate it. Truly. I’ll send you a text.”

  “I’m bringing a television next go-round,” Tom announced as he appeared from the parlor. A powerfully built African American with a shaved head and salt-and-pepper goatee, he was somewhere in his fifties like Remy and also wore a gun at his hip.

  “Good luck with that, Washington. There’s no cable,” Remy pointed out.

  “Then I’ll just have to siphon some by running a line off one of the other houses. Use some of the skills I acquired in my youth before the USMC straightened me out.”

  Remy shook his head at him. “How about just getting in this century, brother? You know you can watch Netflix on your cell phone these days.”

  “Nah. I’m old school, man.” Picking up his own backpack, Tom stifled a yawn. “Any luck with your perp?” he asked Noah.

  “Draper’s in the wind.” Ballistics had determined that the bullets recovered from the St. Clair had indeed come from the same gun as the one used at the art gallery and at Townsend’s home in Savannah—no real revelation, but at least it was evidence tying all three incidents together. Despite the several-hour nap that he had taken after finishing work, Noah tiredly dragged a hand through his hair. He and Tyson had spent most of the day chasing dead-end leads. He glanced to the staircase, figuring that Mercer was upstairs. “How is she?”

  “Seems okay. She’s kept to herself most of the time, though,” Remy said. “She did come down and break bread with us. Good sport, too—no complaints about PBJ sandwiches.”

  “What’s to complain about? Peanut butter and grape jelly are foods of the gods,” Tom declared.

  “That’s another of your better qualities, Washington. Your discerning palate.” Remy playfully shoved at Tom as the two headed down the hall to the home’s rear. Noah followed them, thanked them once more, then locked the door behind them as they exited. When he returned, Mercer stood at the bottom of the stairs.

  “It looks like you survived the Tom and Remy show,” he said, searching for something to say as she came closer.

  “I came down to make some fresh coffee.”

  “You’ll be up all night.”

  “I was making it mostly for you. I heard your SUV pull up outside and I figured you could use the caffeine.” Her gaze held concern. “Did you get to sleep at all?”

  “I went by my place to shower and catch a long nap before coming here.” Picking up the shopping bags that contained groceries and cookware, he followed her to the kitchen and placed them on the card table. “I also brought some towels and bedding, straight from Tarjay, as Oprah calls it. It’s not the thousand-thread-count sheets and goose-down comforters from the St. Clair, but it’ll have to do.”

  Mercer peered into one of the plastic bags. “Mac and cheese?”

  “And frozen dinners and pizzas. The kitchen’s limited, so I went for simplicity.” At her expression, he asked, “You don’t like pizza?”

  “I don’t think I could like someone who doesn’t. But I’m pretty careful about what I eat. You probably don’t remember, but I was a little overweight when I was younger.”

  “I don’t remember you being like that.”

  She shook her head in rueful self-recrimination. “Of course, I suppose now isn’t the time for me to be worrying about being off my running schedule and staying in my skinny jeans.”

  She looked damn good in the jeans she was wearing right now, Noah thought, her shapely bottom in full view as she went onto her tiptoes and tried to reach the top shelf in the cabinet where one of the men had placed the coffee tin. Needing a distraction, he moved beside her and retrieved it. As she measured grounds into the coffeemaker with a plastic spoon, Noah put the frozen items he had brought into the freezer. He’d also bought a skillet and pizza pan, a dozen eggs, bacon, milk, and orange juice, and he placed the food items inside the refrigerator.

  “Do you pay them?”

  Closing the fridge’s door, he turned to her. “Who?”

  “Tom and Remy. For helping out.”

  “No. They, uh, owe me a favor.”

  When she lifted one delicately arched brow, Noah explained. “Tom’s got a twenty-year-old daughter, Keisha. Pretty girl—she’s done some local modeling, which also landed her a stalker who was getting bolder by the day. Tom wanted to kill the creep, but wasn’t too keen on going to prison, so he asked for my help. I pulled the guy over on the pretense of a busted taillight. I let him know who I was and used my badge to put the fear of God into him. He’s left Keisha alone ever since.”

  Mercer hooked her thumbs onto her jeans pockets. “I just bet that you’re the one who busted the taillight, too.”

  Noah merely pressed his lips together.

  “What about Remy?” she asked.

  He grew more serious. “Remy lost his wife to a brain aneurism a few years back. He went through a pretty dark time.” Noah figured that Mercer could relate. “We were worried about his state of mind, so Tom, me, and a couple of others took turns staying with him until he stabilized. To be honest, I think Remy’s enjoying the assignment here. It gives him something to do besides ride Tom’s ass. By the way, you should know that despite their constant bickering, they’re the best of friends. They served together in Desert Storm.”

  The coffeemaker gurgled, for several seconds the only sound in the room. Mercer scraped a hand through her hair. “Since you haven’t mentioned it, the answer is probably no, but is there anything new in the investigation?”

  He filled her in on the little ground they had gained that day, which was practically nothing at all. Despite pressure, none of the arrestees from the compound had given up much on Draper that could be of use. Whether it was because they knew
nothing, Noah wasn’t certain. As of late that afternoon, those who hadn’t been transferred to lockup to await arraignment on possession of explosive materials had been bailed out by a lawyer representing the group. They had learned that Draper had an elderly mother in a nursing home outside Beaufort, but the facility’s records indicated that despite regular visits for years, he hadn’t been there for the past two weeks. Nor was interviewing the mother a possibility, since she was in late-stage Alzheimer’s.

  Mercer took two foam cups from the stack beside the sink and poured coffee, then handed one to Noah.

  “I thought you weren’t having any.”

  “One cup won’t hurt. I thought it might warm me up. When your friend gets around to renovating this place, it could use some better insulation.” She went to the refrigerator for the milk and poured some into her coffee.

  “This cold spell—if you can call it that—is supposed to stay with us for a while,” Noah said. “It’s nice out during the day, but a little chilly at night, at least by Lowcountry standards.” Of course, she hadn’t been allowed outside, so she wouldn’t know that, Noah thought to himself. “Remy said that you spent most of the day upstairs.”

  “I put some of my clothes down to cover the mattress and took a nap, since I didn’t get much sleep last night. I also have some books I’ve been meaning to read loaded onto my iPad, and I did some work on a springtime marketing plan for the hotel on my computer.” She frowned slightly at him. “Although who knows how I’ll get it to Mark when it’s done, considering your no emails policy.”

  “We’ll find a way.”

  Taking their coffee, they moved to the home’s lone sofa, although with the sliding parlor doors now open, he could also see that a single cot—belonging to Tom or Remy—had been set up under a row of tall, shuttered windows. The old house was a bit drafty, and Noah went to retrieve the bedding he had purchased. Removing a blanket from a shopping bag, he broke it free from its packaging and took it over to Mercer. Appearing grateful, she placed it around her shoulders as they sat together on the couch. As she blew on the coffee’s surface before taking a sip, Noah studied her fine features. Despite being in her early thirties, he was certain that she could still pass for a pretty coed at the nearby College of Charleston.