Found

by Karen Kingsbury

  “Besides, we need to talk about that, about how you’re going to handle them,” Dayne had said. “You need a plan, Katy.”

  Now that the trial was only twelve hours away she believed him more than ever.

  The weather was warm as she headed to the beach in her rental car that evening. She had changed into capris and a formfitting tank top under a pale blue, long-sleeve blouse, the kind that tapered in at the waist.

  Twenty minutes later she found a spot in the parking lot at Malibu Beach, not far from where the paparazzi had tried to catch her last time she was here. She looked around the way Dayne had told her to—in case there were transients or photographers, anyone who appeared suspicious. In that case, she was supposed to drive down the road and pull into his driveway. He would open his garage, and she could park inside. But if the paparazzi saw her, they wouldn’t be able to go out on the beach. The photographers would be desperate to know the identity of Dayne’s visitor.

  Okay, she told herself, don’t be nervous. They were just a couple of friends getting together to talk. But no matter what she told herself, as she stepped out of her car, the truth was as clear as the hint of perfume she left behind her.

  Katy moved quickly, glancing around. People were scattered across the parking lot, loading beach chairs into the backs of cars and packing up for the day. A few surfers washed their boards beneath the outdoor showers along the bathroom building. But no one was watching her. She reached the sand and surveyed the beach. The shoreline wasn’t as empty as it had been in January. A few families played near the surf, and an occasional couple sat together, facing the sea.

  The sand felt warm as it pushed over her sandals and between her toes. She wished she could stop and take them off, but Dayne had told her to keep walking. She reached the damp shore where the sand was more compact, and she turned left. She was maybe ten yards into her walk when a guy hurried down the sandy slope toward her.

  Just as she was about to pick up her pace, the man spoke in a loud whisper. “Katy . . . it’s me.” Dayne appeared from the shadows and fell into step beside her. “Keep walking.”

  The feel of him next to her heightened her awareness, made her notice everything about him, how tall and strong he was beside her and how good it felt when their arms brushed against each other every few steps. “Are they out, the photographers?” She tried to keep her eyes straight ahead, but she couldn’t help catching glimpses of him. Strange how being with Dayne in public was like playing a role, like reenacting the scene the two of them had rehearsed for Dream On almost a year ago.

  “No.” He gave her a quick grin. “But I couldn’t let you walk the beach by yourself. The beaches are busier this time of year.” He slipped his hands into his shorts pockets and kept moving. “I watched you park, made sure you were okay.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’m not taking chances with the paparazzi.”

  “Oh.” She kept her voice low, but she allowed a glance in his direction. “I’m glad.”

  They kept a steady pace, and after a few minutes Dayne slowed. They came to a stop a few yards from the stairs leading up to his house. He scanned the darkening beach in both directions, then turned and faced the surf. There were no signs of people anywhere near them. He took a deep breath and smiled at her. “I think we’re alone.”

  She kicked off her sandals. “Mmmm. The sand feels so good.”

  He met her eyes and then looked back at the moonlit surf. “Not as good as seeing you.”

  He was keeping his distance on purpose; Katy could feel that much. The threat of photographers ruled everything about his public moments.

  She breathed in the salty ocean air and worked her toes deeper into the sand. “I can’t believe I’m here.” She angled her face, finding his eyes again. “Something about you is different.”

  “Different?” He grinned and kicked a bit of sand at her foot.

  “In a nice way.” She straightened and let the breeze wash over her. Everything about the ocean felt wonderful, especially after a day in an airplane. “I think it’s your eyes.” She felt shy telling him this. “It’s like I can see Jesus there.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” She stared at the surf. Her heart was pounding harder than the waves. Over the phone she had felt things changing for both of them, growing deeper, stronger. But here . . . in person, the force of the attraction between them was enough to knock her to her knees. It was all she could do to hold her ground.

  For nearly a minute he said nothing, just stood beside her, the ocean wind washing over them, their elbows touching. Then he groaned. “I can’t stand this.”

  He didn’t have to explain what he meant. Katy felt it too. Being together this way and not at least hugging wasn’t natural. She breathed out, tried to steady herself; then she lifted her eyes to him.

  At the same time, he turned and faced her. “Katy . . .” He reached for her hands, wove his fingers between hers, and once more—very carefully—he looked around. Then he did what they were both dying to do. He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her into his embrace. “I feel like I’ve waited forever for this.” He brushed his cheek against hers. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Her hands wound around his neck, and she let herself get lost in his eyes. They shone with a love that could only have come from God. Mixed with the hint of moonlight reflecting off the water, the nearness of him was more than she could take. She let herself be pulled in closer, and she rested her head against his chest. “Why is it—” she looked up and let the light from his eyes wash over her—“I never feel complete until I’m in your arms?”

  At first he looked as if he might answer her, but in the time it took him to blink, the air between them changed. He brought his hands to her face, and with the most tender care he touched his lips to hers.

  But just as the kiss began, just as she was remembering how wonderful it felt to be in his arms, there was a movement in the bushes, a rush of feet, and the clicking of cameras.

  Fear and adrenaline mixed and flooded her veins.

  In a blur of motion, two men appeared from behind the bushes beneath Dayne’s home—one of them the same as last time she was here, the other one much younger.

  Katy held up her hand, but it was too late.

  The men blocked their way to Dayne’s staircase and began taking rapid-fire pictures.

  “Put your hand down,” Dayne whispered to her. He used his body to shelter her, pulling her close, wrapping his arm around her, as he hurried her around the photographers to the door that led to his stairs.

  The cameras didn’t stop clicking until Dayne and Katy were inside the private staircase. Even then the men banged on the seven-foot-high gate. One of them shouted, “Tell us her name! Come on, Matthews. She’s not an actress. Just tell us who she is.”

  The other one chimed in. “She’s the mystery woman, right? The one who’ll be at the trial tomorrow?”

  Only then did Katy fully realize what had happened. The paparazzi had figured it out. All along she really had been the mystery woman. The photographers were desperate for the identity of the woman Dayne had been with back in January, and in the process they’d kept the story alive. They might not know her name—not yet. But the pictures they’d taken tonight would show her entire body—her face and her surprise—and the fact that she had been locked in an embrace with Dayne Matthews.

  And that could mean only one thing: Life as she had known it was about to come to an end.