It had been much harder to ignore the play of lights gleaming in her enticing hair. Back then it had hung in shimmery red-gold curls nearly to her waist. Her hair had practically begged his hand to tangle in its flames. Drew spent a lot of time taking cold showers that summer while trying not to imagine how all that hair would look spread across his naked chest.
Physical attraction aside, Brie knew how to listen. He liked that about her. In fact, he liked everything about her.
He had a lot of respect for the goals she’d set. She was bright and eager with big plans for her life. Plans that didn’t include him, as she’d made perfectly clear the last time they had talked.
The memory was bitter even now. Not because she’d told him to get lost. He deserved much worse. He’d betrayed her trust. He’d betrayed his own honor. Worst, he’d hurt a valued friend.
Drew grit his teeth in regret. He couldn’t undo the past, but seeing her here today, he needed to understand. Why was Brie still serving customers instead of justice? What had become of all her dreams and plans? For some reason it felt important that he understand.
“Don’t let him kid you,” Carey was telling Nancy. “Drew had the hots for Brianna one summer. Then he found out she was just a kid. And from the wrong side of town at that.”
“She isn’t a kid anymore,” Nancy said.
“No. She sure isn’t,” Carey said thoughtfully.
Drew nearly leaned across the table with his fist. The primitive urge to turn that handsome face to pulp surprised him, particularly when it didn’t go away. He had to force his fingers to unclench.
“This is a very nice side of town,” Drew enunciated in a deadly soft tone of voice. “People who live over here don’t need expensive cars and lots of money to have a good time. They understand what’s really important.”
Carey blinked. His lips parted as the barb slid home. Zach perked up in his seat, alert to his brother’s shift in mood. Only Nancy appeared puzzled.
“Aw, hell.” Carey said. “You still have the hots for her, don’t you?”
“Don’t say another word, Carey.”
Carey clamped his mouth closed. Drew slid out of the booth and stood.
“Where are you going?” Nancy asked in concern.
“I need some air.”
“But you haven’t eaten yet.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Please sit down, Drew. We don’t want a scene. And we didn’t come here for the food, anyhow, if you’ll recall.”
He stepped out of reach of the hand she moved toward him. “No scenes. And there’s nothing wrong with my memory. I just don’t feel like campaigning right now. Excuse me.”
He strode outside without looking back. He was very much afraid if he did, he’d give in to his desire to grab Carey and use his friend’s face to relieve some of the tension roaring inside him.
Hazy, late afternoon heat shimmered in the air. The boardwalk teemed with people. From skimpy scraps of material daring to be called bathing suits, to the colorful garb worn by a local fortune-teller, people strolled and chatted gaily—in direct contrast to his somber mood.
Wheels, a bar a few doors down, opened to disgorge a tall black man in a biker uniform. Music blared at decibels that couldn’t possibly be good for the human ear. Drew changed direction. A cold beer suddenly appealed far more than a club sandwich and fries.
The biker gave him a hard stare. Drew’s expression must have been as fierce as his thoughts, because the man deliberately flexed his fingers and waited. Anticipation hummed through him. If this joker was looking for a fight, Drew was in the perfect mood to accommodate him. He hadn’t been in a brawl since—
“The last time you made that mistake, she paid the price.”
Drew pivoted, startled. The fortune-teller, known as Yvette, stood on the sidewalk only a few feet away, watching him with a fathomless expression.
“Excuse me?”
“You won’t find answers in the bottom of a bottle. Nor in a barroom brawl.”
His insides twisted. People passed between them. The seer didn’t move. Her utter stillness was uncanny. So was her knowledge of what he’d been thinking.
“Can I help you with something?” he finally asked.
She let out a troubled sigh. Almost reluctantly, she shook her head. Her thick, dark hair was as long as Brie’s had been that summer.
“No,” she replied sadly. “Nor can you help her. Not yet.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I wonder if she remembers that a kiss can break the spell,” she muttered under her breath.
A fruitcake. He hadn’t heard that about her, but that crazy outfit and all the jewelry she wore should have tipped him off. No one in their right mind would dress like that on a day like this.
“The beach is crowded,” she continued. “Still, a walk might clear your head. You’ve made a serious enemy, Mr. Pierce. Tread with caution.”
So she knew who he was. She probably also knew what had happened at the gun range yesterday. Did she think he’d killed Ursula Manning as Leland Manning seemed to believe?
A noisy group of teenagers cut between them, laughing and jostling one another as they passed. He followed the orange and green swirl of her skirt as the gypsy trailed the group into the busy diner without another word.
He was tempted to go after her and demand an explanation. Only what sort of explanation could he expect from a crazy person?
Besides, Brie was inside. For several long seconds he stood there uncertainly, more unnerved by the gypsy’s strange words than he wanted to admit.
The biker had given up the wait. He pulled out of the parking lot with a roar. Drew headed for the bar. At the last moment, he walked on past, heading for the entrance to the public beach.
The sand writhed with tan bodies, loud music and yelling children. The scent of water and suntan lotion mingled in the heavy, hot air. There wasn’t even a breeze to stir the mix together.
Had there been a breeze that night four years ago?
Drew couldn’t remember. Jake and Rider, two Vietnam veterans and co-owners of Wheels, had thrown him out after his second beer. Antihistamines and beer had made his head swim dizzily as he staggered to his car that night. His fingers had struggled to make the key fit in the lock without success.
Brie had appeared at his side, still wearing her uniform. Her hair had been slipping from its haphazard knot on top of her head, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a trace of makeup. Yet he’d wanted her with devastating intensity. It had been awfully hard to remember just then why he couldn’t have what he wanted.
He’d gone all gruff and macho when she’d tried to get him to go into the diner for a cup of coffee. He’d turned back to the car and dropped the keys. Brie had snatched them up, refusing to give them to him. When he tried to grab them from her, she took off running.
That had been all the stimulus he’d needed. He could still remember how his body sang with desire as he chased her down these rickety wooden steps. Stumbling, lurching across the empty sand, he’d wanted her more with each breath. So he caught her, tumbling them both down against a still-warm dune.
She’d tasted of pie and woman and she’d kissed him back with a hunger that had first startled, then stoked his ego enormously. He couldn’t get enough of her mouth. She strained against him, incredibly soft.
He hadn’t known. Hadn’t even suspected the truth. Brianna hadn’t kissed like a virgin. She’d kissed like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. And she’d wanted him.
If she’d told him to stop he was pretty sure he could have. He liked to think he would have despite his condition. But she didn’t tell him to stop and his hands and his mouth had separated from his fuzzy brain.
Drew closed his eyes against the memory, but he could feel a swell of passion as clearly as if it were happening right now. The lush roundness of her breasts when he’d unbuttoned her uniform and pushed up her bra. The heady reaction to his mouth on he
r tender skin. She’d been so wild. A match to the tinder of his desire.
Maybe if he hadn’t mixed the drugs with the beer…but the combination hadn’t been nearly as potent as her mouth. He’d been wanting her for so long.
His hand tightened on the wood railing. In the dark, on that very public beach, he’d succumbed to primitive urges and claimed her innocence. Drew inhaled, surprised to find his body all but shaking at the memory. To this day, he couldn’t remember anything after that stunning shock and the incredible, mind-blowing pleasure of his own release. He had no idea how he got back to his car, or how Brie had gotten home.
One more ghost to prod his conscience.
He’d awakened hours later, alone and cramped, inside his car, sand all over his clothing. His keys had dangled from the ignition. If it hadn’t been for the lingering scent and taste of her, he would have told himself he dreamed the entire scene.
Guilt had been his harsh companion driving through the empty streets that morning. He had showered and changed, returning to the diner as soon as he could get away without complicated explanations.
If he lived to be a million he would never forget the smile of her greeting, or the way it had withered and died when he’d sputtered out an apology.
Brianna Dudley had haunted him for four years and he hadn’t realized how much until just now. He stared at the murky horizon and tried to force his stiff muscles to relax.
“You should take off your shoes.”
“What?” Drew looked down and found a small boy staring up at him.
“If you’re going walking on the beach you should take off your shoes. Otherwise they get sand in them and they feel yucky.”
The boy pushed at the bridge of his wire-framed glasses and regarded Drew solemnly.
“Yucky, huh? Isn’t the sand hot on your feet?”
The boy nodded.
“Then I guess I won’t walk down there after all.” Not even if the urge to see if that dune was still there was eating a hole inside him. The dune was probably gone, anyhow, or at least changed beyond recognition. And even if he recognized it, so what? He couldn’t undo the past.
But maybe he could find out why the present hadn’t changed. Maybe instead of a walk on the beach, he’d take a walk up the hill to where the clapboard houses sat like little boxes. If he was going to run for mayor he should see how his constituents on this side of town were coping with their lives.
Chapter Three
Reflected in the late afternoon haze, the houses appeared shabbier than he remembered, the neighborhood more run-down. The narrow cobblestone street was in bad need of repair. Yet flowers bloomed, even though most had a wilted look, as if they, too, struggled to survive.
Drapes were drawn tightly, doors and windows shut against the heat, adding to the neglected air. Even the noisy hum of window air conditioners didn’t detract from the deserted appearance. The late afternoon sun baked the neighborhood without the faintest whiff of a breeze.
Drew paused beneath the drooping leaves of a tall, gnarled tree that rose from the withered ground at the curb of the only house sporting open doors and windows. More weeds than grass covered the ratty lawn, while scraggly, misshapen bushes hid the peeling paint that covered the front porch with its sagging steps and broken railing. Brianna’s house. Or it had been. Did she and her mother still live here?
A group of young children in bathing suits suddenly erupted around the corner. Squeals split the depressing silence.
Rooted to the spot, Drew watched as the group clattered noisily up the steps. The screen door opened and a woman who could have been Brianna’s twin sister stepped outside. Only, Brianna didn’t have a twin sister. She also didn’t have a daughter, but the tiny little redheaded urchin leading the pack was definitely related.
The woman bent down and laughed at something the child said. She wiped at a smudge of dirt with a mother like flick of her thumb. The resemblance between the three was extraordinary.
Did they share the same intriguing spray of freckles across their faces?
The miniature Brianna threw her arms around the woman’s neck while the other four children chattered excitedly. High-pitched giggles completely destroyed the gloomy silence of the neighborhood. As the woman ushered the group inside, her gaze came to rest on him.
Now that he saw her features more clearly, he recognized Pamela Dudley. Old enough to be Brie’s mother, she was also young enough to have a three-or four-year-old daughter, he realized. The man he’d seen with Brie yesterday must have been her father.
Pleased at that thought, he became aware that the woman continued to stare at him. Exactly the sort of protective look a mother might give a stranger out of place in her neighborhood and paying too much attention to her child.
He offered her a friendly nod and started walking, trying to look casual. Great. She probably thought he was a child molester. He should have gone over and introduced himself.
As what? Her daughter’s first lover? The man who would be mayor? Drew lengthened his stride. He should have gone walking on the beach, after all. He only hoped Pamela Dudley didn’t call the police. He’d spent enough time with the forces of law and order yesterday.
Detective Cullen Ryan had been thorough. Ursula Manning was dead. Accident or not, Ryan needed to determine who had fired the fatal shots and why the woman had been there in the first place. Drew had had to curb his temper more than once as he answered questions repeatedly. He had never even met the woman. But he understood Ryan’s frustration. The man was a good cop and he had a job to do.
What had the woman been doing there?
Drew slowed his pace as he approached the corner where the crumbling brick strip club, Girls! Girls! and the Wharf Rat bar, shadowed the narrow sidewalk. This was not the greatest neighborhood to be raising a child. All sorts of unsavory types hung out down here.
When a figure suddenly stepped from the shadows of the bar, Drew’s heart jumped, even as he recognized Leland Manning. At least those rumors of Manning being a vampire weren’t true. Drew had seen him in daylight twice now, though both times those eerily cold eyes seemed to burn right through him.
“Dr. Manning,” he greeted. “I didn’t have an opportunity to offer my condolences yesterday. I really wish I could have reached your wife in time.”
Drew stopped, stunned by the malice in those deep-set eyes. In that instant, Drew had no trouble believing there was something unearthly about Leland Manning.
“You’ll pay,” Manning said coldly. “I’ll see to it.”
“Hey, I didn’t kill your wife,” Drew protested.
Manning strode past. Only then did Drew notice Jake Carpenter, co-owner of Wheels, standing on the sidewalk a few feet away.
“I was there yesterday,” the ex-marine said gruffly. “Damn fool thing, running out there like that. Only luck kept you from getting shot, too.”
“Tell it to Manning,” Drew said ruefully.
“Don’t think that dude’s of a mind to listen.” Jake gazed after Manning and his features puckered into a frown. Drew found his own heart thudding unevenly. Manning had vanished.
The men exchanged uneasy looks. Manning could have stepped into one of the shops lining the street, but it seemed unlikely given the nature of those establishments. Come to think of it, why would a grieving widower be in this neighborhood the day after his wife’s death?
“Guy’s weird,” Jake muttered.
Privately, Drew agreed. He didn’t know Manning, though his Uncle Geoff did.
“Hard to picture someone like him married to a woman like Ursula Manning.”
Drew rubbed his jaw, nodding in agreement. He still expected Manning to step out of one of the shops.
“Cops know what she was doin’ there?” Jake asked conversationally.
Drew turned his attention back to the beefy biker. “If they do, they aren’t saying.”
But Ursula Manning had been scared. Drew had seen her look toward the line of trees right before she fe
ll. David Bryson had been lurking in those trees only a short time earlier—a fact Drew had been only too happy to share with the police.
So had Leland Manning.
“At least ballistics will show who fired the fatal shots,” Jake said. “That should change Manning’s attitude.”
“Hopefully.” While all the weapons had been confiscated for testing, in the confusion immediately following the shooting, things had been pretty muddled. It was possible the police had missed a gun or two.
“Understand Manning’s wife was a nature photographer from Salem,” Jake said thoughtfully. “Guess that might explain what she was doing in the woods, but you have to wonder what made her climb a clearly posted fence that way. She must have heard the gunfire.”
He was right. Which meant she’d deliberately run toward the sound, probably looking for help.
Jake tipped his head, consideringly. “Buy you a beer?”
Touched by the unexpected offer, Drew shook his head. “I’d like that, but I have some people waiting for me over at the diner. Another time?”
“Sure. Stop by Wheels any time you’re in the neighborhood.”
Drew headed for the diner without catching a glimpse of Leland Manning. Carey was standing outside, hands thrust in his pockets. There was an unusual slump to his posture. He straightened as soon as he spotted Drew.
“Where’d you go?” Carey demanded.
“For a walk.”
“In this heat? Are you nuts?”
“Drop it, Carey.”
Carey raised his palms in surrender. “Sure. Consider it dropped.” He sent a speculative gaze toward the bar. “Zach ran Nancy back to the estate. She’s not too happy with you right now.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“A little sweet talk wouldn’t hurt. She kept muttering something about damage control.”
“Nancy doesn’t need sweet talk from me. She works for me, remember?”
“Whoa. You are in a mood. Uh, look, I’m sorry if I ticked you off inside. You aren’t—you know—still interested in that waitress, are you? I mean, she’s got…” Carey took a hasty step back. “Oh, hell.”
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