by Terri Reed
As Mary and then Jarvis talked with Sean, Lauren’s gaze went to the window. The telephone guy and his van were gone.
Jarvis hung up the phone. “Mr. Matthews will take a roundabout way coming back.”
“Detective, would you like a cup of coffee while you and Lauren fill me in on what is going on?” Mary smiled sweetly, but her determined gaze stated she wanted answers.
Jarvis inclined his head. “Coffee sounds great.” To Lauren he said, “Have you heard from your mother? I went by her place but she wasn’t there.”
“She’s on a cruise but said she’d be back in time to celebrate Christmas with me here.”
“Considering Christmas Eve is only three days away, let’s pray we catch Posar before then.”
Lauren’s mouth went dry. Three days. Could they find him by then? Would God make it happen? Did she dare hope?
They moved to the kitchen and sat at the dining table while they told Mary the story. When they were done, Mary sat back with a stunned expression. “Oh, you poor dear. The attack at the beach was horrible enough, but this… Thank God above He sent Sean out jogging the other night.”
Lauren couldn’t have agreed more. Even though God hadn’t stopped Adrian from coming after her, He at least provided her with some protection. That was definitely something to be grateful for. And now Detective Jarvis was here.
“I’ve alerted the local law enforcement agencies all up and down the coast to be on the lookout for Posar. He can’t stay hidden for long. Someone will spot his scarred face and then we’ll be able to catch him.”
“How did he manage to escape?” Mary asked.
Lauren wondered the same thing.
“He’s a wily man,” Jarvis said. “The arson investigators are pretty sure the blaze started in one of the supply closets in the prison infirmary. Apparently, Adrian had been complaining of stomach issues so he’d been taken to see the doc. He was left alone long enough to start the blaze.
“When all was said and done, a charred body with Posar’s ID tags was found. It wasn’t until later that the warden realized one of his guards was missing. Witnesses said they saw a guard walk out of the prison yard. When the crime-scene lab compared the missing guard’s dental records with the dead man’s, they matched.”
Mary’s complexion drained of color. “That’s just so awful.”
Anguished to have put Mary in such a precarious position, Lauren reached over to take her hand. “He’s a monster. I think I should leave, return to my own house or maybe leave town. My presence here only puts you and Sean in jeopardy.”
Clearly affronted by the suggestion, Mary said, “Nonsense. You’re by far safer here.”
“I agree,” Jarvis stated firmly. “Staying with other people is the smartest thing to do while I beat the bushes for him.”
Touched that he would put so much of himself into ending her nightmare made tears burn the back of her eyelids. Gratitude clogged her throat.
“Do you have a place to stay?” Mary asked the detective.
“Not yet. I came straight here,” Jarvis answered.
“Then you’ll stay here, as well,” Mary said. “We have plenty of rooms and you can keep us all safe.”
Jarvis’s blue eyes widened for a moment, then his expression settled into resolve. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”
Mary beamed. “Wonderful. I’ll go make up the Captain’s Quarters.”
When she left the room, Jarvis turned to Lauren. “Nice lady.”
Sensing there was more than just politeness in his observation, she grinned. “Yes. And she’s a widow.”
Jarvis blinked, then barked out a laugh. “Don’t get any ideas.”
Lauren shrugged with an innocent expression plastered on her face. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
For as long as she’d known the detective, he’d been alone. She knew he’d been married once and had grown kids whom he didn’t see often. It hurt her heart to think of him lonely. Loneliness was such a horrible way to live. She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been until Sean brightened her world.
The kitchen door opened and Sean walked in, laden down with painting supplies and several large canvasses. He leaned the unfinished oils against the wall and transferred the rest of his burden to the counter.
Lauren made the introduction. “Detective Jarvis, this is Sean Matthews.”
The two shook hands. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Matthews.”
“Likewise, Detective. And please, call me Sean.”
“What’s all this?” Jarvis looked at Lauren with curiosity and concern in his sharp blue eyes.
“She’s going to paint again,” Sean answered, his tone firm.
Jarvis raised his eyebrows. Lauren bit her lip. The detective knew of her fear, knew that she hadn’t touched a brush since the Nightmare. He’d been the one to arrange for her to see a therapist specializing in trauma victims. The therapy had been good in some ways but hadn’t touched her fear of painting again. The gaping void was still in her life.
“I’m going to try,” she said.
Jarvis’s expression softened. “Good for you, Lauren.” He slid a glance at Sean. “It definitely was divine providence that brought you two together. With your experience, you’re the perfect one to help her.”
Sean paled.
“What do you mean?” Lauren asked, feeling like she was missing something.
Jarvis looked at her speculatively. “I did a background check on Sean before leaving L.A. He’s a guidance counselor at a Christian high school. Or at least he was until he quit six months ago. You didn’t know?”
Surprise vacuumed the air from her lungs as she shook her head. What happened six months ago? Her gaze sought Sean’s. His midnight-blue eyes were guarded as he stared at her. That explained why he was outside her door all night and why he was so eager to help her paint.
She was just another “case study” for him.
Sean could see the questions in Lauren’s eyes. It pained him to think he’d lost some of her trust by hiding his past from her. As he laid down plastic tarps to protect the carpet, his gut clenched. He’d been trying so hard to avoid this moment. And here it was. Of course the detective would have run a background check on him. Sean should have anticipated having to reveal sooner rather than later his past failure. Shame bore down on him like a mallet hitting its mark. He didn’t want Lauren thinking badly of him. He wasn’t sure when her opinion of him had become so important to him. But it had.
Thankfully, the detective had departed for the local police station with the promise to return later, while Aunt Mary had gone to the grocery store. Now Sean and Lauren were alone. The air was charged with nervous energy. His and hers.
Lauren glanced warily at the makeshift art studio he’d constructed. She opened the drapes, which let in some natural light. She moved to settle on a dining chair with her back to the window and stared at a large, unfinished landscape on an easel that he’d brought from her house. This picture was of the quaint California town of Carmel-by-the-Sea. He recognized the Carmel mission in the background. One half of the canvas showed the variations in the color of buildings and sidewalks, flowers appeared to dance in sunlight. The other half of the canvas had the penciled etchings that completed the picture.
She was so talented. He wanted to help her reclaim her gift. The way she bit her lip as she contemplated the easel revealed so much vulnerability and made him want to take her in his arms and hold her close. “Lauren,” he prompted.
The deep red sweats she wore today showed off her pale skin, shiny, raven-hued hair and warm, toffee-colored eyes.
Attraction flared white hot. He forced himself to take a deep, slow breath as he regained control of his pulse.
“What happened six months ago?” she asked.
Resigned to the deal he’d have to make, he held out a brush. “I’ll tell you while you paint.”
Her mouth quirked. “A bribe. Is that a counseling technique?”
“Today it
is.”
She took the brush, ran her fingers over the bristles in a wistful caress. A yearning to have her touch him so gently, so lovingly arched through him.
Moving to the table, she picked up a tube of paint, opened the cap and squeezed pigment onto a plastic palette. Her hands stilled. She sucked in a breath.
Concern lanced his heart. He moved to her side, ready to offer whatever she needed.
“I haven’t smelled paint since that night.”
“Smell is very evocative,” he stated quietly, resisting the urge to reach for her. “Think of a time before that night. A time when you were happy painting.”
She closed her eyes. “The day my father gave me my first set of paints.”
A soft smile touched her lips, drawing Sean’s focus. He longed to taste her lips, to feel the soft tenderness of her mouth beneath his. He forced himself to step back as she opened her eyes.
“Your turn,” she said.
He ran a hand through his hair. A knot formed in his chest. Best to just get this over with. “I was a high school guidance counselor. Six months ago…a teen boy I was working with committed suicide.”
A small gasp escaped from Lauren. She faced him fully, her expression so compassionate he had to look away.
“How awful. How devastating for everyone.”
“It was.” His heart hurt to remember John’s distraught parents. Their anger and accusations. They’d blamed him. And they’d had every right to.
“But why did you quit? Surely, the school needed you more than ever.”
“It was my fault,” he stated, his voice hoarse with guilt and self-loathing churning inside him.
Lauren set the brush down and moved closer. “Your fault? How so?”
Looking into her intelligent, warm eyes, he could only answer honestly. “I was arrogant enough to think I’d helped him after only a few sessions. I told his parents he was going through typical adolescent angst. I should have seen the signs. I should have paid more attention.”
“What signs could you have seen? Did the boy talk about suicide with you?”
Agitation pulsed in his veins. “No. And that’s just it.” Guilt punched him in the gut. “If I’d been really listening, I would have picked up on the subtext.”
“Was there subtext?”
“I—I don’t know.” He’d gone over every conversation he’d had with John, looking for the clues he’d missed, but they still eluded him. Frustration ate away at his confidence. Regret demolished what was left. “There had to have been. And I just didn’t clue into them.” The knot in his chest tightened, constricting his breath.
“What was it you told me the other night? About free will?” She put her hand on his clenched fist. “This kid had free will. Whatever his problems were, he chose suicide rather than facing them. You can’t blame yourself for something that was out of your control.”
Having his words turned back on himself stung and yet… His pulse picked up speed with something that almost felt like hope. Was she right?. But he refused to give ground to the words ricocheting through his heart. She didn’t understand. He couldn’t forgive himself.
He released his fist and turned his hand so that their palms were pressed together. “I don’t deserve your empathy.”
A sad light entered her eyes. “Of course you do. You’re a good man, Sean. With a good heart. This wasn’t your fault.”
He wished he could believe her rationale. He hated the guilt, hated feeling so bad. Hated even more knowing how much he’d disappointed God.
But he’d been given a second chance to help someone.
With his free hand, he reached around her to pick up the brush. “Start with one small stroke. You can do it.”
Swallowing hard, she fixed her gaze on the brush. “I’m not ready for this.”
“Sure you are.” He put the brush in her hand and turned her around to face the canvas.
For a long moment she stood frozen in place. Then very deliberately, she dipped the brush into the gooey paint until the bristles were liberally covered in a color like a summer day. Tears welled in her eyes. With a barely audible groan, she flung the paint against the canvas. Blue splattered over the half-finished work.
A sob caught in her throat. “I’ve ruined it.”
“No. You’ve painted.” Heart pounding, he quickly uncapped another tube and squeezed yellow paint onto the palette. She needed to do this in order to unlock the mental block preventing her from moving forward. He could see it so clearly. “Here.”
With a soft keening sound, she dipped the brush in the yellow, combining the paints in streaks. With a louder cry, she flung the mixture at the canvas again, adding more splattered texture.
As fast as he could, Sean added more colors to the palette. Sobbing openly now, Lauren splattered color after color over the canvas at a feverish pitch until there was nothing of the original design left.
Abruptly, she dropped the brush, buried her face in her hands and wept.
Moved to tears himself, Sean engulfed her in an embrace. “It’s beautiful.”
She shook her head against his chest.
He eased her back and took her face in his hands. “It’s art.”
She took a shuddering breath. “It’s not good art.”
The constriction around his chest eased a bit. He brushed a paint-streaked tear from her cheek. “I’m sure we can find someone in New York or Los Angeles to buy it.”
She made a noise he could claim was a laugh.
“But you painted. Adrian hasn’t won.”
She blinked as his words seemed to register. Before she could refute his statement, he dipped his head and captured her lips, wanting somehow to convey her worth, her beauty in a tangible way. His heart expanded in his chest as she accepted his kiss, returning it with a sweetness that almost brought tears to his eyes. Deep inside, he knew the moment went beyond attraction to a level that both scared and thrilled him.
Slowly, he eased his lips away and rested his forehead against hers.
When his breathing resumed a more normal rhythm, he removed the paint-splattered canvas and replaced it with the unfinished seascape that had taken his breath away when he’d seen it the first night they’d met. He brought out a fresh brush and palette and unopened tubes of paint. He put the handle of the brush in her hand and then closed his hand around hers. “We’ll do it together. Slow and steady.”
With heartbreaking vulnerability reflected in the depths of her dark eyes, she nodded. He turned her toward the painting and moved in close behind her. Awareness of her threatened to destroy his good intentions. He forced himself to stay focused on helping her by guiding her hand, first to the paint and then to the canvas. For a moment, the brush hovered there. He waited, his breath held tight in his lungs. Finally, under her own power, the brush began to move in small, brief strokes. Sean slowly removed his hand from hers as triumph flooded his veins. She was painting again. On her own.
She didn’t need him anymore.
Now, why did the thought fill him with such emptiness?
Adrian watched the monitor on the laptop from the shadowed confines of the white utility van. The LCD screen showed a clear view of Lauren through the open curtain of the bed-and-breakfast’s dining room, even with the drizzling rain splattering the small camera he’d attached to the telephone pole.
She was painting again.
Just like she’d been that night when he’d walked by the art gallery. He’d caught a glimpse of her porcelain skin and shiny black hair and had needed to know what she felt like, smelled like. He’d waited all day for her employees to leave. He’d expected to follow her home but she’d stayed. So he’d found a way inside the gallery. Oh, she’d been a feisty one. He’d been thrilled by the challenge until her candle and solvent burst into flames and burned him. Until she’d ruined him.
Rage clogged his veins. He’d been so close today to making his move, he could have sworn the smell of revenge crackled in the air. But then that dete
ctive, the one from his trial, showed up. Hate boiled in Adrian’s blood.
Detective Jarvis had been relentless in his questions, but Adrian had never confessed anything. They’d got him dead to rights with Lauren, but not the others—the four they knew about and the dozen they didn’t.
He grinned to himself. He was so clever. His mama would be proud—if she’d lived. But she’d been the first to go. The first to realize his power.
Lauren was proving to be by far his most challenging conquest. But he’d persevere and show her she couldn’t make a fool of him. His mama hadn’t raised a wimp. No, sirree. He could almost hear his mother’s cackle as she brought the thin switch down on his back. No wimps allowed. Didn’t matter that he couldn’t help being scrawny and bug-eyed.
No woman wanted a wimp. And if he let Lauren think she’d won, his mama would be proved right. That was something he couldn’t allow. Lauren would have to pay for ruining his life and for making him feel like the wimp his mama had accused him of being. Oh, yes, Lauren would pay.
Tonight, he’d show Lauren just how strong, how patient, how much…more he was than she could even fathom.
SEVEN
The shrill sound of a siren tore Lauren from her dreams. She bolted upright, heart pounding, and clutched the covers to her chest. For a disoriented moment, she struggled to make sense of the world around her.
She’d gone to bed keyed up with her successful return to painting, and the amazing kiss that had shifted her world. It had been so long since she’d felt the intimacy of a kiss. She forced herself not to read too much into the gesture. He’d been moved by her painting, by the healing taking place. Nothing more. Right?
Still, thanks to Sean’s insistent push and attentive support, she’d been able to paint again. She’d managed to finish a piece, which she planned to give to Mary for Christmas. The feat was so cathartic—cleaning out that place in her that Adrian had tainted. Accomplishing something she’d been afraid to attempt for so long bolstered her confidence and felt good. So had having Sean’s arms around her, holding her as she sobbed into his chest. Did all of his “cases” break down like that?
