Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Fuck.” He stared at it so hard he damn near willed it to be a figment of his imagination.

  But it was real. Three-dimensional, nine years old, and chock full of so much love and so many promises that, in the right hands, it might have changed everyone’s lives.

  If it had ever gotten into those hands.

  He picked up the envelope, vaguely remembering the postal worker who’d shaken his head and told Oliver no, that box was closed, no forwarding address. Turning it over, he could see the envelope had never been opened.

  Small consolation to know that no one had ever read it. It wasn’t like Pasha had read his outpouring to Zoe, but still, she had kept it. Hadn’t she?

  He looked around the room, imagining her last few moments before she had run off and hoped to die. She must have left the letter as an explanation or apology. Or because she knew they’d reunited and everything he’d said in this letter would get said again, in person.

  Hell, he was ready to say half of it tonight.

  Zoe mustn’t have gone into Pasha’s room, so she’d never even seen it. How would she feel when she did? Furious? Frustrated? Worried that he wouldn’t do his job right tomorrow in vengeance against a woman who, unwittingly or not, had controlled their future?

  Because he believed in his deepest heart that if Zoe had read this letter, she would have come back to him before he ever married Adele.

  Had Pasha known that?

  He examined the seal again, admittedly no expert in steaming and resealing; maybe she had read the letter.

  He stuffed the letter into the side pocket of his old scrubs and turned to Zoe’s room to get what he’d come for. His hands shook a little in anger as he pulled open a drawer and found a mess of pastel silk, plucking out a polka-dot thong and a purple bra.

  His hands better not shake tomorrow, he thought ruefully. Not when he’d be working to save the life of the woman who had ruined his.

  Pushing the thought away, he yanked open the next drawer, grabbed a navy tank top, and tossed it all on the bed next to an open laptop. Turning to the closet, he examined a row of long skirts, imagining which Zoe would want.

  Behind him, the laptop hummed to life, probably bumped by the clothes. He should turn that off and not let it go to sleep, he thought, plucking the white skirt he remembered her wearing to his office. It was wrinkly and soft and a little bit see-through.

  The letter still burned in his pocket as he gathered up the clothes. What would he say to her? Would he give it to her tonight? Tomorrow morning? Wait until she told him she loved him? She was so close.

  Maybe after the treatment, when Pasha was healed.

  When was the best time to break the news to Zoe that her beloved aunt—

  The computer lit up, the black letters of a large headline filling the screen. Where was the power button? He searched the keyboard, reaching for the shut-off key with his pinky since his hand was full of skirt and underwear.

  Just as he hit the button, he glanced at the screen.

  Police Reopen the Cold Case of Murdered Seven-Year-Old.

  Frowning, he read the smaller print below that.

  New DNA Evidence Uncovered but Prime Suspect, Patricia Hobarth, Released after Mistrial, Now Dead.

  A whole new wave of emotions hit him so hard he dropped down on the bed. The screen flickered, then turned blue.

  No, no. He had to know. He stabbed at buttons, his hands still so damn shaky, desperate to call the story back up, but the computer went silent and dark.

  For a long moment he sat there and stared at it.

  He could have turned on the machine, found the Internet browser, and followed the electronic trail to read to the end of the story, but did he have to? Didn’t he know enough?

  The reason why Pasha lived on the run. The reason why she’d sacrificed Zoe’s happiness for her own safety. The reason why she’d never given this love letter to her niece.

  Not her niece—some stray she’d picked up and decided to use, probably to help change her identity when she got herself declared dead.

  All the facts rolled from his logical brain and landed in his stomach with a thud.

  The letter made him mad. The news made him sick. But the fact that Zoe had known this when she’d shown up at his door looking for comfort but didn’t trust him enough to share…that hurt like hell.

  Finally, he pushed himself off the bed and grabbed the clothes.

  Did she think he wouldn’t do his level best to save Pasha if he knew this? If so, she really didn’t know him at all. And he didn’t know her.

  I kind of…do. I always have.

  That might have been the closest thing to the “I love you” he wanted that he’d ever had. And as meaningless as the sex they were about to share.

  And anything she said or did with him tonight was meaningless, too. She ran and she hid—everything. How the hell could he ever love a woman like that?

  On his way out, he threw the letter back on the dresser where he’d found it.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Zoe climbed naked in between the sheets, making a mental note to compliment Lacey on the fine Egyptian cotton she’d chosen. She sighed and rolled onto Oliver’s pillow, taking a whiff of his spicy scent, which still lingered from the night before. She was anxious to smell the real thing when he got back.

  And say the real thing. Not just allude to it.

  While she was at it, she needed to come clean with everything. She’d tell him what she’d discovered and how firmly she believed Pasha was innocent. While he was administering the treatment that would save Pasha’s life, Zoe would be meeting with the sheriff, talking over the facts, and asking for help and arranging for Pasha to submit DNA evidence.

  It would be a long, grueling legal process, compounded by the crimes Pasha had committed along the way. But if she were alive and healthy, she and Zoe could fight this. Lives could be saved and then changed.

  Oliver would do the first and she would do the second, without running away, not once. He’d like that. They’d be fixing things together.

  She heard the front door open and close and she tensed in anticipation, ready, willing, and right where he wanted her to be when he got home. No doubt he expected her to pull a Zoe and—

  “Dad?”

  Dang it. Evan was up.

  “Hey, son. What’re you doing down here?”

  They were right outside the room, close enough that Zoe could hear the exchange perfectly.

  “I can’t sleep.”

  Okay, no sex tonight. But that was fine. She stayed still and soundless, waiting for Evan to go back upstairs.

  “Go on,” Oliver said. “I’ll be right up to tuck you in again.”

  “Can I just go in your room again, Dad? I’ll be really quiet.”

  Whoa.

  “No, that’s not a good idea, son.”

  “Dad, please. I’m so excited about the dog that I can’t sleep and I’m starting to get really nervous.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  Zoe could hear tension in Oliver’s voice and didn’t want him to be in this bind. She rolled out of the bed, tiptoeing toward the bathroom.

  “Dad, I’m scared I can’t take care of him or something will happen or Mom will hate him or…” The litany of Evan’s fears quieted when she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door silently, grabbing the clothes she’d worn over here.

  Now what? She could hardly get out without being seen.

  She opened the door a crack and listened. Evan’s voice had risen to a soft whine and she could hear him sniffing back tears.

  “Just a second, son. Wait here.” Oliver came into the bedroom and Zoe inched the bathroom door a little wider.

  “Pssst.”

  He looked over and saw her, pointing over his shoulder toward the living room and giving her a “What can I do?” shrug.

  “Should I leave?” she whispered.

  For a moment he looked at her, and even in the dim light she could see s
omething unreadable and confusing in his expression. He looked sad, not amused at the slightly comedic situation. No, he looked like a man disappointed by far more than his child’s nighttime problems putting a crimp in the plans.

  “Yes,” he said simply, the one word like a block of ice. “You should leave.”

  Zoe blinked at him, not quite believing what she heard. Just because Evan was awake? “Oh, okay.” She stepped out of the bathroom dressed in the shorts and T-shirt she’d been in all day, the bottom strands of her hair still damp from the shower dribbling cold water down her arms.

  He didn’t move, but stared at her, that look so…harsh.

  “Dad, please, can I come in?”

  “I’ll go out the patio and climb the fence,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I’ll take him upstairs and you can leave.”

  Something about his face, his words. Something was wrong. “What’s the matter?”

  He didn’t say, just stared.

  “Oliver, what’s the matter?”

  He shook his head, almost as if he couldn’t speak.

  She frowned, stepping closer, hoping with her whole being that he’d pull her into a kiss, whisper that she should wait so they could have that long night of holding each other they both wanted and needed so badly.

  But his expression was raw and icy.

  “Dad!”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Daddy!”

  “I’m coming, Evan.” He took a step back, his face pale and angry and hurt. That was what he was—truly, truly hurt. “You’d better leave, Zoe.”

  He backed out of the room, leaving her paralyzed with disbelief. She didn’t move until she heard his footsteps on the stairs and his voice fading as he walked his son back to bed.

  She stared at the door, stunned. Did Oliver really want her to leave? After all this time he’d been trying to get her to stay?

  She listened for the voice and the usual mental instructions, but her head was as silent as a balloon midflight. She didn’t want to run tonight. She wanted to stay and tell him everything, no matter what he had to do tomorrow. She wanted to…

  You’d better leave.

  At the echo of his command, she quietly walked through the villa, opening and closing the front door without making a sound except for her soft gulp as she swallowed back a lump of tears.

  It was warm and clear, and the last thing Zoe wanted to do was go back to that bungalow and feel utterly and completely alone. Instead of rounding the path and picking her way through the gardens, she walked down to the water, drawn to the moon-drenched Gulf of Mexico and the cool sands of Barefoot Bay.

  She kicked off her flip-flops and made her way across the beach, inhaling the salty air and counting the stars that seemed to multiply the longer she looked at the heavens.

  The moon was just about cut in half, bright enough to cast shadows and highlight the beachside tables and chairs on the pool patio of Casa Blanca’s main building. Those were new, she thought, since the restaurant hadn’t opened yet and Elijah’s arrival had put a delay in Lacey’s poolside decorating efforts.

  Maybe she could sit up there and lick her wounds.

  About twenty feet from the tables, Zoe heard a voice.

  Was someone out here? Up by the tables?

  Her heart rate increased, and she suddenly realized how vulnerable she was, despite the safety of Barefoot Bay and the security of the resort. But someone was definitely out there.

  From the unfinished patio restaurant, she heard the low tenor of a man, the softer high pitch of a woman.

  “You can’t do that!” The woman’s voice got lifted by the Gulf breeze, the cry serious enough for Zoe to pick up her pace and begin walking toward the patio, cocking her head to hear more. If the discussion seemed benign, she’d slip away without being seen. But if someone was hurt…

  Stepping into the shadows near a side entrance, Zoe slowed her step when she heard the woman sob.

  “What will I do if you leave? I don’t want to live without you.”

  Oh, a lovers’ quarrel. Join the club, lady.

  “You have to decide what matters to you, Glo.”

  Glo…that would be Gloria Vail, an employee in the spa, so the man must be—holy shit. The sheriff, Slade Garrison.

  Zoe stayed still now, hidden by a low wall near the side entrance but able to hear the voices from the patio.

  “My family matters and you matter,” Gloria replied. “But…”

  “But what?” Slade’s voice rose with frustration, pulling more empathy from Zoe. Was there a bad moon rising over Barefoot Bay tonight?

  She glanced around, looking for an escape route. Just then, one of the chairs scraped over the pavers, and Slade got up and walked to the railing to look out at the water, making it impossible for Zoe to escape unnoticed. She had to stay perfectly still in the shadows.

  “I know what’s going on in your head, Gloria. You think Charity is right.”

  “I don’t,” she replied. “Not…really.”

  Eeesh, yes she did. Whatever they were fighting about, Glo agreed with Charity; anyone could tell from that response.

  Slade certainly could, because he turned and even in the dim light Zoe could see the hurt look he gave Gloria. “Well, I have news for you, Glo. That’s about to change.”

  “What is?”

  “My career.”

  Now Gloria stood, making it even more difficult for Zoe to move. She really didn’t want to get busted eavesdropping on this conversation. Couldn’t they go inside or walk the beach?

  “What’s going on?” Gloria asked, coming up next to him.

  Zoe could see their silhouette against the moonlight. They stood face to face, leaning toward each other like they couldn’t resist the pull. Why did people who loved each other fight it so much, she wondered, lost for a moment in the image of the handsome young deputy and the hairdresser who loved him.

  “I’m going to be a good catch. You’ll see.”

  He was a great catch, Zoe wanted to call out. Good looking, well respected, and he carried a big gun. What did Gloria want? Or what did that old bat Charity want?

  “It isn’t going to be speeding tickets and expired car tags anymore,” he said.

  “Don’t take that transfer,” Gloria pleaded. “Working in Orlando is going to be dangerous. And so far.”

  “Well, hell, I want the job in Naples, but I don’t have the record they’re looking for. Although…”

  “Although what?”

  He didn’t answer right away, then, “Look, I can’t give you the details because it’s big, but I really think I’m on to a case that could change my career.”

  “Oh my God, what is it?”

  “I can’t tell you until after I have a meeting with…someone,” Slade said.

  “Slade, you have to tell me!”

  Yeah, you do, Zoe thought, invested in the conversation now.

  “It’s a cold case. A murder.”

  A bad, bad feeling slithered up Zoe’s spine. There was that word again. Murder.

  Gloria gasped. “A murder on Mimosa Key?”

  “Not here. It was in Pennsylvania, years ago.”

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Zoe swayed a little, holding the wall for support.

  “What does that have to do with you and your jurisdiction?”

  Zoe took a careful step closer, praying for a different answer than the one she already knew she’d hear.

  “I can’t tell you who, what, or how, Glo, so don’t ask. But I can tell you that someone who’s been living for years under a fake name, moving from place to place, is involved and living right here on Mimosa Key.”

  Zoe bit her lip to silence any noise. She leaned against the wall to keep from running forward and demanding to know more. Or running away altogether.

  But if he saw her, he’d be the one demanding to know more.

  “Don’t you dare say a word to anyone, Glo. Especially Charity.”

  “Oh, Slade,
how is this going to change anything?” Gloria’s voice lifted up a few notes, and Zoe knew she was taking the conversation away from murder and back to love. Not yet, Glo. I need more information before I go in and see him tomorrow.

  “It’s going to change everything,” he insisted. “If I can solve this murder, I can get the promotion in Naples. That’s more money, better cases, and I’m still able to live here. Then we have to get married, Gloria.” His voice cracked a little as he pulled her closer. “We have to.”

  Gloria wrapped her arms around his neck. “Lacey said we could be the first wedding at Casa Blanca and she’d use all the pictures in her new ‘wedding destination’ brochure. It would be free for us, too. Just expenses.”

  “Honey, trust me on this.” He pulled her in for a kiss.

  Oh, puhlease. There’s a murder we need to discuss first. How much did he know? What was he going to do? Would they arrest Pasha or just question her? “If I can solve this case, and I really think I can, we’re going to be Mr. and Mrs. Slade Garrison.”

  Gloria’s sigh was audible, and so was the noisy kiss.

  Zoe’d heard enough and she sure as hell didn’t want to stick around and watch the make-out session. She bent over and picked up a seashell, raising her arm to pitch it to the other side of the patio.

  At the sound, they broke apart and looked in the other direction.

  “What was that?” Gloria asked.

  Slade started walking across the patio, holding out a hand to keep Gloria back. So protective, and so loving.

  In a moment, he waved her closer and they both disappeared from sight, off to make out or spend the night together or plan their future. All he needed was to…find a killer.

  Who was right over in Naples in a clinic.

  No. No! Shut up! She actually put her hands on her ears to silence the voice.

  She couldn’t let herself even think that for a moment. The minute she could talk to Pasha, she would.

  Certain she was alone again, Zoe slid down the side of the wall and let her backside land on the sand, hating that she’d even think the unthinkable about Pasha.

  Pasha had protected her. Or had Pasha protected herself?