by JoAnn Ross
The bell on the door jangled as the couple finally left.
Understandably not appearing at all happy to see Tess and Kara, after offering them something to drink, which they refused, Dana led them into the small office, where rather than sitting behind her white French-style desk, she perched on the edge of a hardback wooden chair. The turquoise color of the chair was far cheerier than its owner’s demeanor.
“It’s not that I don’t want him punished…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes darting around the room like frightened, trapped birds looking for an escape.
“It’s understandable that you’d be uncomfortable about testifying,” Tess assured her.
“I have my daughter to think of.” Dana dragged her hands through her short blond hair. “Laura’s eleven. That’s an impressionable age. How can I expect her to listen to my advice when she starts dating if she finds out that her own mother’s track record with men is so miserable? It’s important for parents to set a good example. If we don’t…”
Her voice trailed off again and she shook her head, turning away from Tess’s openly sympathetic gaze.
Tess leaned forward in her chair, taking one of the woman’s icy hands in both of hers. “You’ve done a wonderful job with Laura,” she said earnestly. “She’s far more mature than most girls her age. I don’t think you have to worry about her.”
“And you and Bill had a great marriage that would still be going strong if it hadn’t been for his accident,” Kara pointed out. A surveyor for an Astoria logging company, Bill White had slid off the cliff road in his truck during a winter storm. “One mistake, which wasn’t your fault because Schiff is a practiced con man, won’t ever negate that.”
“Whether you testify or not, you can’t protect Laura from finding out exactly what kind of man Schiff is,” Tess pointed out.
“So far, we’ve been able to keep the publicity low-key, and you’re loved here in town, so everyone’s on your side. The guy would be in a world of hurt if he did try to show his face back in Shelter Bay,” Kara said. “But once Tess takes the case to trial, believe me, Dana, it’s going to turn into a three-ring circus. Print and TV reporters along with court and entertainment bloggers from around the country are going to descend on the courthouse like a flock of vultures.”
“But at least, if I don’t testify, Laura won’t have to watch me on national television telling the world how stupid I was,” Dana argued. Although Tess had fought against it, the judge, undoubtedly realizing the career-boosting audience potential of showing up on Court TV, had agreed to allow the trial to be televised. “She won’t have to go to school and explain how she ended up with a cheating, lying, son-of-a-bitch bigamist for a stepfather because her mother was so desperate for a man.”
“Which wasn’t the case at all,” Kara said. “You aren’t the least bit stupid, and you weren’t desperate. The guy’s a scumbag sociopath whose weapon is charm, Dana. You’re certainly not the only woman to fall for his act.”
“It’s not just Laura. I can’t bear the idea of Bill’s parents trying to explain to all their friends and neighbors how their widowed daughter-in-law could possibly have followed their perfect son with an infamous bigamist.” Jerking her hand free of Tess’s, Dana jumped to her feet and began pacing.
Tess’s heart went out to her, as it did to each and every one of the victims she dealt with. They were the reason she’d gone to work in the district attorney’s office. She might not be able to solve all the world’s problems—she’d never find a cure for cancer or establish world peace—but every time she won one for a crime victim proved hugely satisfying.
Melvin Schiff was going to go to prison. There was not a single doubt in Tess’s mind about that. But this case involved a great deal more than simply putting yet another criminal in prison. There was the matter of restoring the self-esteem of all those women whose lives he’d devastated.
“We’ll arrange for a counselor to talk with Laura,” Tess said. “Privately and as many joint sessions as you need.”
“I don’t know…”
“You mentioned setting an example for your daughter,” Tess persisted quietly. “What kind of example do you think you’ll set if you don’t testify?”
Dana stopped pacing. Her expression turned from distraught to suspicious. “What do you mean?”
Tess rose and crossed the room to stand directly in front of the woman she knew was going through her own version of domestic hell. “Consider this. We all know that life isn’t always kind. Or fair. What if Laura someday finds herself married to a man who’s constantly unfaithful to her? Or even worse, abuses her? Maybe mentally. Perhaps even physically. By testifying, you’ll be teaching her that she can be strong enough to get herself out of a bad domestic situation.”
Even as she hated what she was about to do and knew stooping to such tactics would keep her awake tonight, Tess reluctantly decided it was time to take off the kid gloves. For Dana White’s own sake. “Or you can remain silent and teach your daughter to keep her mouth shut and hope for the best.”
Dana’s complexion went pale as sea foam. Her fingers trembled as she ran them through her hair again. “I have to think about it.”
“You do that,” Tess said mildly, deciding she and Kara had pushed enough for today. She turned to leave, stopping momentarily in the doorway. “If you need to talk—woman to woman, not witness to prosecutor—or if you’d like me to set you up with a counselor trained to talk to children involved in legal actions, which I hope you’ll decide to do, please don’t hesitate to call.”
Dana studied Tess with renewed interest, as if seeing the woman behind the dogged prosecutor for the first time. “You really sound as if you understand.”
“Believe me, I do.”
The irony in Tess’s smile was barely discernible. If her work, along with eighteen long months in a miserable mistake of a marriage, had taught her anything, it was that women were natural survivors. They often had no choice.
5
After leaving the gift shop, feeling a bit more optimistic than when she’d entered, Tess drove with Kara to the bakery, parking at the seawall across the street.
They ordered coffee and two salted caramel chocolate cupcakes from the hot, ripped guy who didn’t look like any baker Tess had ever known and whose deep southern accent had her thinking of mint juleps and magnolias, then took a table in front of the window, which offered a view of the bay.
“So,” Kara said. “What’s your best guess?”
“It’s a coin toss.” Tess bit into the buttercream-frosted cake with caramel drizzled over the top and nearly swooned. “This is the best. Cupcake. Ever.”
“Tell me about it. I woke up nights craving them when I was pregnant. Of course I spent much of those nine months working my way through the menu.”
Tess automatically skimmed a look over the sheriff’s slender body. “You’re not…”
“Oh, no. Though I think Sax would be thrilled with a baker’s dozen, I’m pacing myself. Right now two kids are plenty.” She took a bite and studied Tess as only a cop could. A seemingly swift glance that missed nothing.
“Why don’t you join us for dinner?” she asked. “Marcus Strong, that drool-worthy guy who made that cupcake you nearly swooned over, just happens to be a former Navy SEAL. He’s friends with Sax and is staying with us until the apartment above the bakery is finished being renovated.”
“Okay. I’ll bite. How did a Navy SEAL end up baking for a living?”
“It does seem counterintuitive. Especially since he enlisted because he wanted to get into action, but when the Navy found out he learned to bake from his grandmother and mother, who owned a bakery in South Carolina, they put him to work in the kitchen of an aircraft carrier for two years. Then he essentially jumped ship for SEAL training. And although, like all those guys, Sax included, he never talks about what he did while deployed, I’m betting he got that action he’d been looking for.”
“Which may be why he returned to
baking,” Tess mused. “I’ll bet the sailors on that carrier went into mourning when they lost him.”
“No doubt. So, how about it? Sax is making gumbo and dirty rice.”
“That’s tempting. But I have two trials tomorrow.”
“We could make it an early evening. Did you notice Marcus is really, really hot?”
“A woman would have to be blind, dead as a doornail, and six feet under not to notice that,” Tess said. “But I’m already juggling too many things to fit a man into my life.”
“Been there, done that. Then I burned the T-shirt when Sax came back into my life. Maybe you and Marcus can get together for coffee or drinks once you get your cases wrapped up,” Kara suggested.
Why was everyone suddenly so interested in her love life? Or more specifically, lack of one.
“Sure,” Tess said, thinking about the caseload that seemed to stretch into eternity. “Once I clear them all, the hottie SEAL and I can set up a coffee date at the old folk’s home I’ve moved into.”
Kara laughed. “There are times when I vaguely remember living that workaholic life when I was juggling being a wife, mother, and Oceanside cop. But mostly—thank God—I’ve forgotten them. Fortunately, here, I’m mainly dealing with barking dog complaints, TP attacks, or vandalized mailboxes. And since I can’t convince you to stay for dinner, I’d better get going. Have a safe drive back home, and I’ll keep an eye on Dana for you.”
“Thanks,” Tess said as they tossed their empty cups into the recycle bin. “Perhaps one of these days, you and Sax can come up to Portland. While I can’t cook anywhere near his standards, I do make great reservations.”
“It’s a date,” Kara said. Then turned down a ride the few blocks to her office. “I need to walk off that cupcake before Sax’s calorie-laden dinner.”
As she headed toward her car, Tess thought that coming home at the end of the day to a meal waiting for you could definitely be a perk of marriage.
“Note to self,” she murmured. “Pencil in time for a husband. Sometime in the next fifty years.”
6
Anticipation. That’s what he was suffering from, Nate diagnosed. His vague edginess had turned into a premonition that had grown increasingly stronger as he walked along the seawall.
A second later the reason for his heightened feelings suddenly appeared on the sidewalk in front of him, her face—that lovely face that had been haunting him for weeks—illuminated by an old-fashioned gas streetlight’s amber glow.
It was her. The woman from his dreams.
“Hey! Wait a minute!”
Tess saw a tall, dark-haired man hurrying toward her. As he passed beneath the light, his behavior caused a sudden flashback she’d mostly overcome.
She’d been a carefree eight-year-old tomboy who enjoyed playing hide-and seek with her cousins in the cask room, hanging out with her dad and grandfather in the tasting room, and running wild and carefree in the Lombardi family vineyards.
Then the day came when a man in a white van stopped to ask her for directions while she was walking home from her then bestie’s slumber party.
Now, as this man got closer, Tess’s mouth went dry. She swallowed. Fighting for the control that had once been taken from her, she wished she’d ignored his shouted command. Then she’d already be safely inside her locked car rather than standing toe-to-toe with a tall male who was looking down at her with such raw intensity.
“Are you by any chance speaking to me?” Her tone was as chilled as her blood.
His gaze didn’t waver from hers. “Do you see anyone else around here?”
No. Unfortunately, she didn’t.
“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he ground out. “I have to know. Who the hell are you?”
After she’d finally been rescued, along with a therapist who’d helped her return to a reasonably normal life, her father had hired a former Marine to teach her self-defense. Since her career involved interaction with criminals, she’d occasionally take a class to stay sharp. Although she’d never had a reason to test her moves, just knowing them kept her from shaking in her pumps now.
“I really don’t think that’s relevant.” She turned back toward the safety of her car.
He caught hold of the sleeve of her jacket. “You can’t go until you tell me your name.”
You can’t go. Those words were all it took to send her into self-protection mode. Later, when she had time to dwell on the event, Tess would recall the desperation in his deep voice. At the moment, far more concerned with saving her life than sparing her attacker’s feelings, she stomped her high heel on his instep and slammed the heel of her hand upward, hitting him right beneath his nose.
The result was as instantaneous and effective as her instructor had promised. As his nose began to bleed like a faucet, the man released her arm.
Leaving him cursing a blue streak, Tess sprinted toward her car, fumbling through her purse for her keys, which, dammit, should have been in her hand all along.
* * *
It didn’t take long for Nate to regain his equilibrium. Limping painfully, he followed after her.
“Damn!” Slowed by what he hoped weren’t broken bones in his foot, he was forced to watch the silver Audi roar out of the parking lot and disappear around a corner. He’d lost her again.
Hours later, back at the house, with a package of frozen peas pressed against his swollen but unbroken nose and his foot aching like a son of a bitch, he sat alone in the dark, staring out at the sea. High above the silvery water, in a midnight-black sky, a bright circle of light haloed a full werewolf’s moon.
Or a lovers’ moon, Nate amended silently, his fingers tightening on the slim wallet he’d discovered lying on the asphalt by the seawall. The photo on her driver’s license gave him the name of the woman who’d been haunting him. The laminated courthouse pass gave him her occupation.
Finally. As he smiled with grim satisfaction, the air in the room turned icy.
“I figured you’d show up sooner or later,” Nate said grumpily. “I don’t suppose you feel like explaining what Deputy District Attorney Teresa Lombardi is doing invading my dreams?”
A figure, clad in the dark garb of an old-time seaman, slowly materialized in front of the window. Nate waited, having grown used to MacGrath’s penchant for the dramatic.
Having a ghost as a housemate didn’t necessarily disturb Nate. He’d returned home from war with a few of his own, and Sax Douchett had shared a story about having his former battle buddies show up and follow him around when he’d first arrived back home in Shelter Bay.
Still, he’d initially worried that the captain might resent his home being occupied after over a century of having the ramshackle, falling-down place to himself.
But when there were no accidents, when contractor Lucas Chaffee’s renovation stayed on schedule and was completed without a hitch, Nate had relaxed, deciding pragmatically that the captain had as much right to the place as he did. And hey, maybe the guy was grateful for some company after all that time alone, stuck haunting the formerly crumbling halls.
Then the dreams had started.
“Teresa Lombardi,” Nate repeated dryly. “Does the name happen to ring a bell?”
“Belay that notion,” the captain answered grumpily. “I’ve never even met the blasted woman.”
“Give me an effing break,” Nate complained. “I know you’ve been somehow putting her into my dreams. What I want to know is why.”
His harsh, demanding tone had the captain’s dark eyes filling with open re-sentment. Turning on his booted heel, he walked through the tall window, disappearing into the moonlight.
Nate swore softly. “For a supposedly tough, seafaring man,” he called out, just in case the captain was hovering within hearing distance, “you can sure be damn sensitive.”
Shaking his head with mute frustration, he remembered the wallet. Deciding he had nothing to lose, Nate reached out and picked up the phone.
7
&nbs
p; Tess’s heart didn’t stop its wild beating until she was safely inside her townhouse with the double deadbolts locked. Although her fingers ached from having clutched the steering wheel too tightly all the way back up the coast and across the mountains, she was home. Safe.
She took a deep breath. Counted to ten. Breathed it out again. Then repeated nine more times. Feeling steadier, she turned on the gas fireplace, went over to the kitchen, poured a glass of Lombardi Pinot Blanc from the bottle in the fridge. She then settled down on the couch to listen to a Celtic Woman CD that never failed to calm her after a difficult day.
The wine had taken her cousin Gabriel two years to develop. A bright, crisp white that delivered aromas of orange flower, star fruit, almond and apricot. As she sipped the refreshing, mood-brightening wine, Tess instructed her whirling mind to relax.
Melvin Schiff wasn’t the only prosecution she was working on. Tomorrow morning she was due in court for a double-header money-laundering trial that would last all day. As diligently as she’d prepared, it was equally important to show up well rested. Which wasn’t going to be all that easy when her mutinous mind kept churning up vivid pictures of her attack.
She could see the man’s eyes even now, looking down at her, filled with anger and some other emotion she couldn’t define swirling in their depths.
He’d claimed that she had been driving him crazy.
As she’d done during the entire drive back to Portland, Tess racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d ever prosecuted him. But she knew she hadn’t. Whatever else he was—mugger, kidnapper, lunatic—the individual who’d grabbed her arm in Shelter Bay was not a man any woman could forget.
