“Did he leave marks? Do you have pictures?” Her lawyer's voice snapped like bullets.
Annie glanced down at her wrist. “No.”
“Look, Annie, as angry as this makes me, I'm going to give you this straight. I've heard some unpleasant rumors about Marsh, but not one has ever stuck. One of his paralegals sued him for sexual harassment about three years back.”
“What happened?”
“He tore her to pieces. He prolonged the case, smeared her personally and professionally, then summoned a who's who of California notables as character witnesses. She ended up losing—and paying all the legal fees.” He cleared his throat. “The last I heard, she was selling shoes somewhere north of Fargo.”
Annie stared at the phone. “Are you telling me to forget this ever happened?”
“I'm telling you to think long and hard about what you want to do next. I'll back you fully. Just call me when you decide and we'll hammer out a strategy. I've always wanted to go shark hunting.”
Annie had to chuckle. “Now I know why I pay you those huge retainers.”
“One last thing. Who's the mystery man who looks like Denzel Washington?”
“You, too?”
“My cousin works at the bank, and we got to talking.”
“Am I the town's only topic of conversation?”
“At least your news is good news. I'm glad you're involved with someone, Annie. It's about time.”
“Save the congratulations. He's just here to do some upgrades on my security system.”
“Sure, Annie. No need to shout.”
“I wasn't shouting. I was …” She took a breath, glaring at the little silver toe ring. “Talking very loudly. And I'm going to say good-bye before I do it again.”
Annie heard him chuckling as she hung up.
Chapter Twenty-one
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SHE'S EATING DINNER AT HER DESK?” SAM glared at Izzy. “Whose mush-for-brains idea was that?”
“Hers. I believe it's called multi-tasking,” Izzy said dryly. “You SEALs have even been known to do it on occasion.”
“Annie needs to rest.”
“I doubt that she can. You've been taking up a big chunk of her work time, if you recall.”
“If that's supposed to make me shut up, think again.” Sam grabbed his crutch. “I'm going down there.”
“It's supposed to make you feel guilty,” Izzy said. “And you're going nowhere.”
“To hell with procedure.” Sam lurched to his feet. “And just for the record, I don't need your help to feel guilty. I know Annie didn't bargain for what she's gotten into. Where's my damned shirt?” Irritated, Sam searched through the exercise equipment at his feet.
A towel struck his face.
He caught it with one hand.
“Try that instead. Annie said you're ready to do some water therapy in her outdoor whirlpool, so let's go.”
“I don't want to do therapy. Not unless she's there to snap at me when I do something wrong.” Sam turned the towel in his hands. “Is it my imagination or am I losing my mind?” he asked quietly.
“Could be that thing.”
“That's helpful, Teague.”
Izzy scratched his jaw. “That transference thing.”
“Between me and Annie? Like hell.” Sam flung the towel over his shoulder and stretched his sore muscles. “We're too smart for that.” He sniffed. “Too experienced.” He slid his fingers around his crutch, then looked thoughtfully at Izzy. “You think?”
“It happens. Annie said it was fairly common.”
Sam's eyes narrowed. “You talked about it with her?”
“Just checking for feedback.”
“I don't want to hear this. Not one damned word. I'm changing into my swimsuit.” Sam lumbered into the bedroom, his crutches tapping. Clothing rustled, then he emerged. “You can tell me what she said when we get to the hot tub.”
Izzy gave an innocent smile. “I thought you didn't want to—”
“Stow it, Teague.”
ANNIE MADE A FINAL SKETCH, THEN PASSED THE PAPER TO HER assistant. “What do you think?”
“The blue glass bottle will be beautiful with the picture of Summerwind's cove on the label. We can sell a million of those rose and sage salt glow scrubs. There's a glass supplier in Oregon who's willing to ship small quantities. I've also found a printer for the labels. He'll do gold foil letters, the way you requested, and he's sending some samples early next week.”
“Great work, Megan. I want this line to be special.” Annie stared at the framed picture of her mother. “Mom and Grandma swore by natural ingredients. They always regretted that they couldn't find a big company to produce their natural products.”
“So you're doing it for them.”
“Maybe I'm nuts. It's going to be a huge amount of work, more than you or I can handle.”
“Reynaldo's niece just finished college. She doesn't want to move back to San Francisco, so maybe you could find something for her here.”
Annie felt the crushing weight of responsibility. With sixty people on her staff, she did not bear the burden lightly. “The line could fall flat. Where would she be then?”
“Packing to move to San Francisco, just the way she is now. At least she'd have some solid work experience under her belt. That's gold on anyone's résumé.”
“What was her major?”
“Journalism.”
Annie shook her head. “She'd be wasting her time here.”
“Journalism was her mother's idea. She wants to own her own chain of beauty supermarkets one day, showcasing natural products collected from around the world.”
“No kidding.” Annie stared at her half-eaten sandwich. “But what if—”
“Forget what-if, boss. Give her the facts and let her decide. You don't have to play God. Even He took one day off to rest.”
“There's blasphemy in there somewhere, but I'm too tired to find it.” Annie stood up wearily. “I'll talk to her tomorrow. After she hears the raw, unvarnished facts, if she's still interested—”
“She will be. She thinks you're a cross between Mother Teresa and Martha Stewart.”
Chuckling, Annie glanced at her watch. “Take an hour off for a massage tomorrow, Megan. Indulge—and put it on my account.”
Her assistant smiled impishly. “That makes my fifth massage this month, but who's complaining? Thanks, boss. You're the greatest.”
The impulsive compliment left Annie strangely touched. With dedicated people like this, Summerwind had a solid future, and that thought pleased her very much.
AT ELEVEN O'CLOCK ANNIE WAS DRAINING HER FOURTH CUP OF coffee, but her paperwork was nearly finished. She'd finished the press release for next month's wine tasting, revised the resort's Web site, and gone over chemical reports on the saltwater hydrotherapy pools.
To top off a long day, Tucker Marsh had dropped by a little after ten. Cocky and grinning, he had perched on the edge of her desk while he tried to look down her blouse. For ten minutes he'd listed all his criticisms of the resort staff and why Annie should handle him personally.
Annie pretended to remember a late appointment with her groundskeeper, but Marsh had insisted he would accompany her to the building at the far side of the complex.
When Marsh finally left, she'd been thoroughly shaken, and she was certain that he knew it.
Afterward, she'd called Reynaldo, her head of security, and ordered all the staff to keep a close eye on the lawyer. At the slightest hint of impropriety to any guest or staff, Annie swore to kick him out on his cashmere-clad backside. Lawsuits be damned.
Annie stretched, glad the day was finally over. Standing alone in the silent wing of offices, she was struck by the personal legacy of the resort and its three generations of visitors. It had been her grandparents' dream, then her parents' pride, and Annie had caught the bug. Summerwind was a magical place, perched above the beach, and Annie liked to think her guests took a little bit of that magic with them when they wen
t home. Now she was tackling her parents' final wish, bringing a line of natural face and body-care products to the world beyond Summerwind.
Crazy, she thought. But designing the spa products was exhilarating and Annie sensed they could be a huge success. Maybe she needed to go crazy more often.
She picked up a framed postcard from Venice, a memento of her parents' honeymoon years before. Beside it stood a huge stuffed gorilla with red sneakers, a gift from Taylor on Annie's twenty-first birthday.
Everything here was business, but it was also intensely personal. Her parents had planned for Summerwind to feel like a home away from home and Annie worked hard to retain that mood. After all, didn't everyone want a place at the beach?
As she was turning out the light, Annie glanced at her telephone log. It was facedown, resting on the left corner of her desk, though she always kept it beside her phone.
She stood uneasily, trying to remember if Megan had moved the log during their last meeting. Or had someone else been in her office tonight?
No, it had to be Megan. They had gone through a stack of files together and probably moved the phone log in the process. That had to be the explanation.
She snapped out the light, plunging her office and the corridor beyond into darkness. As her footsteps echoed in the silence, she was suddenly aware of how alone she was now that the office staff had gone home. Even the security office was two buildings away.
Too far to hear her scream.
“Idiot.” She gripped her handbag tightly and straightened her shoulders. She was imagining things. No one was going to break in, pin her to the wall, and hold a knife to her throat.
The crunching came from the shadows to her left. Annie's pulse spiked and she sank back against the cold stucco wall with her heart slamming in her chest.
“Annie, are you there?”
A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, glancing off her face.
Izzy.
She gasped in relief.
“Hey, what is it? You're shivering.”
“Nothing's wrong.” Only a major heart attack. “I was just …fixing my shoe. The strap was—it was loose.”
Izzy flipped on the light, looking down at her face.
Annie didn't need a mirror to know that she was probably the color of snow on snow. She felt almost as cold, too.
“Annie?” Izzy touched her arm gently. “Talk to me.”
“It's nothing, okay? I didn't expect anyone to be around this late.”
His frown told her he wasn't buying it. “Come on.”
Annie didn't budge. “Why are you down here?”
“Sam sent me to get you. He was worried.”
“I had a press release to finish, a new skin-care line to research and—” She sighed. “Why am I explaining? This is my work, and that's that. If Sam doesn't like it, he can just go—”
Rubber soles squished behind them. “He can just what?”
He was almost the color of snow, too, Annie saw. In an attempt to conceal his face, he wore a baseball cap pulled low and the collar of his jacket turned up. Annie guessed that his windbreaker concealed a holstered weapon.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you. What kind of crazy plan was that, working until midnight?”
“The only crazy one here is you.” Annie glanced around, checking that they were still alone. “Why aren't you up at the house asleep?”
“Why aren't you?”
“Forget about me. Tomorrow's going to be a big day for you. Trust me, what you've done up to this will feel like ballroom dancing compared to tomorrow's workout.”
“I'm quaking all right.” Sam moved closer, studying her face. “Nice haircut.”
“Thanks,” she said stiffly.
“You look worried. What's wrong?”
Annie switched off the light and started toward the door. “You'd look worried too if strangers kept looming toward you out of the shadows.”
“What strangers?” Suddenly tense, Sam pulled her around to face him. “Who was here?”
“You.” Annie cleared her throat. “And Izzy, of course.”
“You said strangers.”
Annie shrugged dramatically. “What do I know? Standing here in the dark everyone looks like a stranger.”
Sam's eyes were cold. “No one else?”
She shook her head. No way would she wring her hands and whine about Tucker Marsh. The man was her problem to handle, and Sam wasn't involved.
“Why do I think you're lying?”
“Beats me.”
“Nice toe ring,” Sam said gruffly. He leaned in closer and sniffed. “What's that smell?”
Probably her circuits burning, Annie thought. “The lingering bouquet of four cups of coffee?”
Sam shook his head. “No, it's sweet like fruit and fresh grass. It smells nice.”
He had good taste in fragrance, Annie conceded. “It's my grandmother's recipe for apple-lavender body cream. An old family secret, I might add.”
“You'll make a lot of money with it. Not that I'm an expert in things like that.”
The compliment softened Annie's irritation. “How was the whirlpool?”
“Izzy isn't tough enough.”
“No?” Behind him, Annie saw Izzy frown, then point to his left shoulder.
So Sam's shoulder had acted up. He had probably tried to push right through until the pain stopped him.
Annie immediately revised the program she'd been planning for the following day. “I'll have to see that Izzy gets tougher,” she lied. “Any other problems?”
“Izzy told me about the fire alarm. I want to look into that.”
“It was a simple circuit problem.”
“Maybe.” Sam stared up the hill as they followed the narrow path through landscaped banks of trees. “Have you known your sheriff long?”
“Buzz? Fifteen years.” Annie raised a brow. “Why?”
“Just wondering. He seemed … taken with you.”
Annie stiffened. “You were watching?”
“German lenses don't miss much. The casita has a good view of most of the resort and all the beach. Good tactical advantage. I like that red tube top you're wearing, too,” he muttered.
“You watched me?” Annie repeated.
“I was worried about you.” Sam's jaw tensed. “Are you two seeing each other?”
Annie just kept walking.
“Well, are you?”
“That's none of your business.”
“Isn't it?” Sam's voice fell. “Not too long ago we were ripping off each other's clothes. Now you look right through me. If you're seeing someone else, I want to know.”
Annie felt heat flood into her face. “Maybe you should define seeing. Do you mean are we dating? Good friends? Reckless, passionate lovers?”
“Any of the above,” Sam said grimly.
Annie heard the crunch of gravel and realized Izzy had fallen back, giving them some privacy. “Who gave you the right to monitor my private life?”
“I guess I have this whole thing wrong. When you yanked off my shirt and went for my belt, I was stupid enough to think it meant something.”
So had Annie, but she didn't like the possessive tone Sam was taking. She didn't need him controlling her private life— not that she had one.
“I guess you thought wrong.” Relieved to see the casita before them, she shoved open the door, stormed into the pantry, and pulled down the first bottle she found.
“Where are you going?”
“Out to get drunk, and you're not invited. Don't wait up.”
“Annie, don't do this.”
“Watch me.” She sailed past him, not stopping for Izzy, who was leaning against the big oak at the front of the drive.
She stalked along the lighted path at the back of her property. At the top, she turned and called down to Izzy. “I know you're there, so you can stop hiding.”
A branch moved.
Silent as a shadow, Izzy appeared on the flag
stone path. “I don't think he meant what he said.”
“I think he meant every word.” Annie cradled her bottle stiffly. “You can go back now. My sister's house is right up the hill through the trees.”
“I'll just tag along. I'd appreciate it if you didn't come back alone,” he added.
Annie sighed. “Stop worrying, will you? I probably won't be back until morning anyway.”
She turned before he could raise any other objections, but when she reached her sister's door, she could still feel him behind her, a silent guardian.
On the fourth ring, Annie heard the scrape of slippers.
The peephole slid open.
“Annie?” The door opened with a creak. “What are you doing with that bottle?”
Annie strode inside. “You and I are about to get seriously drunk.”
Chapter Twenty-two
TAYLOR STARED ANXIOUSLY AT HER SISTER. “GET DRUNK? THIS isn't like you.”
“Maybe I'm tired of the old me. Maybe I want a new me.” Seated on Taylor's overstuffed leather sofa, Annie swirled her glass of scotch, which was considerably emptier than it had been fifteen minutes ago.
She finished the rest in one gulp, coughing slightly. “This isn't working. Let's try some of that vintage port you're always hoarding.”
Taylor looked at Annie's empty glass. “I don't think you should. You've already had two beers, remember?”
Annie swept to her feet, only swaying a little. “In that case, I'm leaving. You're no f-fun.” She blinked at Taylor's Tiffany light, which was moving oddly. “You always get to break the rules and live dangerously, but I have to do the normal things.” She frowned. “The boring things that no one else wants to do.”
“That's not true.”
“Name one time I broke the rules.” Annie crossed her arms, watching Taylor sip her scotch.
“Third grade. You threw up on Tommy Clanahan's spelling book, then buried it in the science fair compost pile.”
“Doesn't count,” Annie said stiffly. “I was sick that day.”
“So?”
“So he'd also put a frog in your locker. I was paying him back.”
“Tommy Clanahan did that?” Taylor shook her head. “You never told me.”
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