She peered dejectedly through the windshield. The night was black around her, the Dust Jacket’s back porch light failing to fully dispel the shadows at the back end of the parking lot. Spanish moss hung still and lifeless, the moonlight silvering the plants in Sarah’s garden with an almost unearthly glow. The night seemed to be… waiting. Great atmosphere for a candle-lit walking tour, but not something she particularly welcomed when she was alone.
Which was silly. Sarah and Tucker were right next door, of course – although she’d seen the master bedroom light click off when she was waving goodbye to the last of her tour group, so she figured they were probably occupied currently. They tended to be occupied a lot.
And hadn’t she just delighted, however secretly, in spooking a group of tourists with stories about some of the local things that go bump in the night? She wasn’t a scaredy-cat.
Usually.
But one of the people on the tour had asked about the severed arm which had washed up – there’d been a story about it in the paper – and that had led to wild speculations about serial killers and ritual sacrifices and angry, bloodthirsty spirits roaming the Low Country in search of revenge.
Personally, Allie thought it was her tour group which had shown signs of being bloodthirsty, but the conversation, while she’d laughed it off at the time, disturbed her. She hadn’t really talked to Mason about it – and she knew better than to ask Will – but the image of a bloody, mangled arm clutched in the jaws of Tucker’s admittedly sweet but enormous dog was stuck in her mind like a pebble in a shoe.
A particularly gruesome pebble.
Allie sighed. She could sleep in the car, go back inside and call a cab, or walk the few blocks to the theater, where she could borrow Bran’s car to drive home. He could always get a ride with one of the cast.
She hadn’t intended to go anywhere near the theater tonight, but suddenly she felt the urge for people and lights and action. Maybe it would dispel the image of the severed arm that wanted to linger in her head.
Grabbing her bag and strapping it across her body, Allison locked up the car. Someone could give her a jump in the morning. Squaring her shoulders, she headed toward the sidewalk with determined steps. Who cared if it was dark, and relatively deserted? She’d just walked all over town for the past two hours, hadn’t she? There was no reason to turn chicken now.
She could hear music and the distant murmur of voices from the direction of the Tavern, tempting her to head that way even though it was the long way to the theater.
But that was silly. She had her pepper spray, and she knew how to walk so that she didn’t look like an easy target. Will had seen to that. And it wasn’t like Sweetwater was suddenly a hotbed of criminal activity. She’d lived in this town her entire life, and despite the occasional rape or theft or homicide, she felt that she was safe. As much as a person could be, anyway.
Though the air was still, the nocturnal inhabitants of the forests and marshes were anything but. Even in town, you could hear the bullfrog chorus, the high-pitched drone of the insects on which they feasted. The spring night had grown just cool enough to make walking briskly a practical decision. Allie preferred to think of it as generating body heat rather than fleeing due to some unfounded paranoia.
Turning off Boundary Street, she walked through the primarily residential area that was the shortcut to the theater. Porch lights glowed here and there, the occasional dog barked from the confines of a backyard picket fence. It was a picture postcard of small town normalcy.
So why did she still feel creeped out?
“Stop it, Allie.” Talking to herself was perfectly normal under the circumstances. So was stopping in her tracks, and looking around. Hand lightly clutching the pepper spray that hung from her keychain, Allie kept her head up and scanned her surroundings. Everything was as it should be.
Except… Allie could swear there were eyes on her. The sensation of being watched prickled along her skin, an instinct deeper than rational thought lifting the fine hairs on her arms. She studied the closest house, looking for a twitching curtain or some other sign that she’d drawn the attention of the inhabitants, but nothing moved. Her gaze shot to the commercial building across the street. Long ago a printing press, then used as a meeting hall, a church and more recently a restaurant that had gone under, the deep gray clapboard siding blended in with the shadows, the windows black rectangles from which no hint of light emanated. She could just make out her reflection in the darkened glass, her face a paler shadow.
A second pale shadow loomed behind her.
Clutching the pepper spray, Allie whipped around, but the sidewalk was empty.
Pulse galloping, she scanned the bushes in the yard of the house beside her, but there was nothing there aside from some crickets.
“And you’ve officially lost it, Hawbaker.” Allie looked toward the window across the street. Her reflection stared back. Only her reflection. It must have been a trick of the light before, causing her to see double.
Shaking her head, Allie started walking again, headed toward the intersection. The brick wall which surrounded the garden of one of the town’s oldest homes – now a museum – appeared on her right, its weeping mortar and hand-forged brick a sturdy bulwark against the marauding deer that Sarah so often fought. Maybe they should consider building a wall around the Dust Jacket’s garden. It would actually add a bit of charm, and extra seclusion for private events. Being in the historic district as they were, they’d have to make sure it was in keeping with the rest of the –
Something creaked behind her.
A gate, Allie thought. Almost certainly the metal garden gate set into the brick wall. Allie thought they kept that gate locked at night, though, to keep out teenagers looking for a convenient place to hang out and drink or do whatever else teenagers did these days. It was probably her imagination again, which was getting away with her far too often lately.
“Get a grip,” she muttered.
She glanced over her shoulder just to prove to herself that the gate was indeed closed. But… had that tall shadow behind the camellia bush just moved?
A sudden icy breath of air whispered down the back of her neck.
Run.
Allie didn’t question the little voice in her head; she simply did as it suggested. Kicking off her wedged heels, she flew as fast as her feet would carry her down the sidewalk, the pepper spray clutched like a talisman in her hand.
She emerged into the intersection like a rock launched from a slingshot.
A horn blared and she stumbled back, blinded by the headlights which were little more than inches from where she’d been standing. Tripping over the curb, she landed hard on her butt, heart pounding so hard she could feel it vibrating in her ears.
“Allie?” A familiar voice sounded above her and she held up an arm to shield her eyes. “Jesus Christ Allie. I could have hit you.”
As her vision adjusted she was able to make out the worried visage of Alan Barger – the man she thought of as Spock to Will’s Captain Kirk, considering he was always so calm as to practically be inhuman – as he emerged fully from his truck. Not his official car, she noted hazily, which meant that he wasn’t on duty. Whether that was worse or better, she couldn’t say.
“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling foolish as he grabbed her elbow to help her up. “I…” got spooked by an imaginary face in the window and a harmless shadow, because she’d been giving too much credence to her own stories? “I thought someone was following me.”
His gaze went eagle sharp as he peered down the side street from which she’d just emerged, and his hand drifted to where his sidearm was normally holstered. When he realized he wasn’t armed, he flexed his fingers, clearly frustrated.
“Let me call it in. I can have a patrol car here in a few minutes.”
“No!” she said when he reached for his phone. “No,” she repeated more calmly. “That’s not necessary.” Particularly since she’d already caused one crisis for her family t
his week. When his face set in lines of disapproval, Allie figured she better explain before he overruled her.
“It’s probably nothing.” Though the chill on the back of her neck remained. “I just got… spooked. My tour group was speculating about the… the arm that Tucker and Mason found, and it sort of mixed together with some of the things I talk about on the tour and…Well.” She shrugged, feeling ridiculous.
Alan gave her a look, but when he glanced back down the sidewalk he didn’t seem inclined to make it an issue. “You sure?”
“Yes.” Allie brushed her hands on her skirt and realized she’d scraped her palms. When she winced, Alan took her hands in his. “Not too bad,” he determined. “I’ve got some wipes in my car.” He glanced up, his eyes meeting hers, and Allie noticed that his were very green. And when she realized that they were standing there, staring at each other from a very short distance, she gently retrieved her hand.
“Let me give you a ride,” Alan said after a moment, his manner brisk but not unfriendly.
“Ah…” despite that momentary weirdness, Allie considered that to be a far better alternative to walking the rest of the way. She might be a paranoiac, but she wasn’t stupid. “Thank you. I was on my way to the theater.”
“Didn’t get enough exercise on your tour?” he asked as he opened the passenger side door.
“Oh. No. My car battery went caput.” She thanked him as she climbed into his truck.
He gave her another look that suggested his opinion of British imports. “I can go over and give it a look after I drop you off.”
“That’s sweet of you to offer, but unnecessary. I’ll just get Sarah or Tucker to give me a jump in the morning.”
“What happened to your shoes?”
“What?” Allie glanced down to see where Alan was looking. Sure enough, her hot pink toenail polish was gleaming in the overhead light. She tucked her toes under, feeling oddly exposed. “I, uh, kicked them off when I took off running.”
“Smart,” Alan allowed. Then he glanced over the hood of the truck. “I’ll run and grab them for you.”
“You don’t have to –”
“Won’t take but a minute.” He closed the door, and trotted off in that direction.
Allie had a brief pang of worry over the fact that he wasn’t armed, but then realized how ridiculous that was. It wasn’t like one of the figments of her imagination was going to come to life and attack him.
“Got ‘em,” he said when he returned after a couple minutes, handing them to her as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “The antiseptic wipes are in the glove box.”
“Thank you. Um, Alan?” she said as he checked his mirrors and pulled away. “Would you mind… not saying anything to Will about this?”
His lips thinned, but the look he gave her was shrewd. “Big brother been treating you like a Hummel figurine?”
That surprised a laugh out of Allie. “You could say that.” She opened the glove box, pulled out the little first aid kit, which contained the wipes as advertised. “I just think he’s got enough on his plate right now to worry about without fussing over me. Especially for something so pointless.”
The man considered. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll keep this between you and me if you promise to stop walking around at night by yourself. You know you can call me – or any of us – if you have trouble with your car and need a ride.”
His tone implied that he expected that to be a regular occurrence. Given her vehicle’s rather extensive service record, she couldn’t say he was wrong. But she also didn’t like being blackmailed. “Not you, too.”
The smile he gave her was surprisingly charming. But then it faded. “Walking around in the midst of a tour group is one thing, but cutting down back streets by yourself is another entirely.”
“You’re not worried about… a killer running loose around town, are you?”
“You mean that thing with the arm?” Alan shook his head. “No. I think that was probably an unfortunate boating accident, and whoever else was involved is too afraid to come forward.”
Which would explain why they hadn’t found a boat floating around unattended.
“What about the rest of the body?” she asked.
“Gone.” He made a gesture with his hand that suggested it had been carried away with the current. And lord knew there were enough predators around to make short work of the remains. “What I’m more concerned with,” he told her “are men and college kids leaving the bars, who – being smashed out of their minds – might not make the best decisions when they encounter a beautiful woman out alone for an evening stroll.”
Allie blinked. Had he just implied she was beautiful? “It was hardly an evening stroll,” Allie said, in her defense. “I was headed to the theater to borrow Bran’s car.”
“Well, I’m not going to lecture you, because I figure you probably get plenty of that from Will. But like I said.” He turned into the theater’s crowded lot. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
Allie turned to offer her thanks, and found herself sitting there with her mouth slightly open, caught again by Alan Barger’s green eyes.
Was he… looking at her? Oh of course he was looking at her, but Allie thought that maybe this was a look and not just a look. Unless she was imagining things. Which she seemed to be doing with regularity.
“Thank you,” she managed. “I appreciate the offer, and the ride.”
He looked at her for several more seconds. “No problem,” he finally said, his voice brisk enough that Allie concluded she had indeed been misinterpreting his behavior. Then he glanced past her, out the window, and his lips pressed together. Allie was just about to turn around to see what had caught his attention when he said “Let me get your door.”
Knowing better than to protest that he didn’t need to bother, Allie slipped her feet into her shoes, then accepted his hand to help her down.
Only he didn’t step back immediately.
And okay, he was definitely looking.
She thought.
“Have a nice night, Allie,” he told her, in a voice that wasn’t the least bit brisk.
“Thank you. You, too.”
He closed the door and she gave him a little finger wave as he went back around to the driver’s side.
She had no idea what had just happened.
Taking a breath, Allie began walking up the path toward the back entrance – she could just sneak into the office and get the keys to Bran’s car – and practically plowed straight into Mason.
“Oh!” she said, her hand reaching automatically for her pepper spray before she realized who it was. “Oh, hell.”
“Not precisely an encouraging greeting.”
“Sorry,” Allie sighed. “I just realized that I lost my pepper spray.”
“Definitely not encouraging.”
She laughed, looked up, and had to catch her breath. Alan Barger’s eyes might be a lovely shade of green, but they were nothing compared to Mason’s. Maybe it was only the way Mason looked at her.
Or maybe it was Mason himself.
He smiled down at her, his gaze finally settling on her mouth. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “If I kiss you hello, you’re not going to karate chop me, are you?”
“I don’t know karate.”
“How fortunate for me.”
He leaned down, pulling Allie up onto her toes in one smooth motion. Their mouths fit together seamlessly, as if they’d been practicing that move for a long, long time. Allie sighed into his mouth, not even bothering to question whether this was something she should be doing. She simply let herself enjoy being kissed by a handsome man in the moonlight. She rather thought she deserved it.
He kissed her thoroughly, but without the almost frantic demand she’d come to expect from him. This kiss soothed as much as it excited, and somehow, was exactly what she needed.
“That was… really nice,” she said when he finally pulled back.
�
��Well, it’s about time I did something other than fumble about like a randy teen. Do you remember the first time I kissed you?”
“You mean when you pushed me into the theater closet?”
“And caused kitchen towels to rain down on your head.”
Allie’s smile was wry. “And then I threw a roll at your head when my brother revealed your true identity.”
Mason ran his thumb over the sensitive flesh of her wrist. “Are you ever going to allow us to move past that?”
Allie considered, and was surprised that the answer was so easy. “Yes,” she said. But she slapped her other hand against his chest when he made a move toward her. “Not that I’m sure about this us stuff, mind you. But I definitely think it’s time to leave the old baggage behind. Ouch,” she said, looking at the palm she’d pushed him back with. She thought she’d gotten them cleaned up, but apparently there was still some sidewalk grit caught in the scrape.
“What happened?” Mason took her palm and examined it in the light from the spotlight over the back entrance.
“I fell,” she said, leaving out a few embarrassing details. Which reminded her that she seemed to have lost her pepper spray. Which was attached to her keys. She was going to have to go back and look for them.
The chill on her neck came back, and she shivered.
“Cold?” Mason asked. “I guess the night has cooled considerably, although I have to admit that I far prefer it to the blasted heat. Let me get you a jacket or something from wardrobe and we can doctor your palm while we’re about it.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” she said. “Alan gave me an antiseptic wipe.”
“Alan.” Mason looked as if he had tasted something unpleasant. “I presume that’s the bloke who was just ogling you as if you were a particularly tasty morsel.”
“So it wasn’t just my imagination.”
“Not unless we were sharing the same hallucination, no. Who is he?”
The irritation in Mason’s voice made her blink. “He works with my brother. Will, I mean. The, uh, ogling thing is new.” And unless she was mistaken, that was three men who’d hit on her, or come close to hitting on her, in the past week. One of them being her ex-fiancé. The other a man who’d known her for years and never batted an eyelash in her direction.
Admit One (Sweetwater Book 2) Page 11
