Jayne Ann Krentz

by Eclipse Bay

  Keeping her fingers around Winston’s muzzle, she tugged on his collar to guide him.

  “This way,” she whispered. “Heel, or whatever it is dogs are supposed to do at times like this.”

  If Winston was offended by the command, he was gracious enough not to complain. He paced obediently along beside her. She bent low, not daring to take her fingers off his muzzle as they made their way toward the dense darkness of the cliff caves. She relied on the sighs and splashes of the returning seawater to cloak whatever noise she made as she scrambled over the rocks with Winston.

  The biggest danger would come from tide pools that littered the cove. At night, without a flashlight, each one was a potential trap. Things slipped and slithered under her feet, but Winston detoured safely around the edges of the pools.

  The deeper darkness of a cave entrance loomed in her path. The scent of rotting seaweed enveloped her. But for once Winston showed no interest in the fascinating odors that assailed his nostrils. He was alert and focused. She did not dare release her grip on his muzzle.

  “Hush,” she said again. “Please, hush.”

  He gave a low, almost inaudible whimper and quivered tensely.

  She put out one hand and felt for the wall of the cave. When her palm made contact with the damp rock she started cautiously forward. Winston must have sensed her intention or perhaps he was merely responding to some ancient den-seeking impulse. Whatever the reason, he willingly took the lead as they made their way deeper into the convoluted cavern.

  As soon as they rounded the corner, they lost what little fog-reflected moonlight there was coming through the mouth of the cave. The quality of the darkness took on a deeper, thicker feel. Hannah could see nothing now. She stumbled awkwardly along, blindly following Winston. But after she bumped her head on a rocky outcropping and scraped a knee, she decided to risk the flashlight again.

  She kept the beam pointed straight down toward the rising floor of rock. Winston trotted forward through the sandy rubble that littered the bottom of the cavern. He no longer seemed inclined to bark. Cautiously, she released his muzzle.

  The path led through a series of small, damp chambers. She stumbled over the remains of an old pink-plastic sandal. Probably one that she or her sister had lost when they had come here to play years ago, she thought.

  The cavern branched off in several directions. Some of the tunnels were too narrow for any human to pass through, although Winston could have made it. She selected a passage she had often used in the past. Her brother, Nick, had marked it with an X painted in red. Here in the endless gloom the paint had faded little over the years.

  Winston strained forward more eagerly now, perhaps sensing the fresh air that wafted in from the far end of the twisted passage. They rounded a bend. There was a difference in the density of the light at the far end of the cavern. She realized she was looking at night and fog now, not at rock wall.

  Hastily she doused the flashlight beam again and allowed Winston to draw her quickly toward the exit. His mood had altered. He was still eager, but he seemed excited and cheerful, no longer the hunter confronting danger.

  “Hannah.”

  The shock of hearing her name called loudly just as she and Winston emerged from the cavern sent a jolt through her. The realization that it was Rafe’s voice that echoed in the mist brought a nearly paralyzing sense of relief.

  “Over here, Rafe.”

  Winston whimpered and bounded up the slope that led to the top of the cliff. She rushed after him. They were both running now.

  Hannah did not slow down when she saw Rafe silhouetted against the glare of the flashlight. She kept going at full speed, straight into his arms.

  chapter 16

  An hour later Rafe heard her stalk back into the kitchen behind him. He removed the pan of steaming cocoa from the stove and glanced over his shoulder.

  She had washed and dried her hair and tucked it back behind her ears. A thick white toweling robe was belted around her narrow waist. Her face was pink and flushed. He knew that the high color in her cheeks was not from the hot shower she had just taken. She was still fuming.

  He hadn’t entirely recovered from the roller coaster of emotions he’d been through in the past hour either, he realized. Hannah and Winston had been through a bad experience, but the whole event had not been a picnic for him. He’d endured his own private ordeal.

  First there had been the nightmare images he had envisioned when he knocked on the front door of the house and received no answer. Given the fact that Hannah’s car was in the drive, he’d started out with the worst-case scenario—that she was upstairs in her prissy little bedroom with another man. When he’d finally climbed out of the dark pit into which that vision had cast him, he’d summoned up some common sense and logic. Even if Hannah had been engaged in passionate sex upstairs, he reasoned, Winston would have come to the door.

  Winston had not come to the door. Ergo, Winston and Hannah had gone for a walk. Given the fog and the late hour, however, that conclusion had induced other, equally disturbing scenarios. The tide was coming in. It was a damfool time to go walking on the beach.

  When he’d finally spotted them coming toward him from the vicinity of the caves, the relief that had flashed through him had been stunning. Then Hannah had launched herself into his arms, and he’d realized that she was scared and shivering. Her clothes and hair were wet.

  She’d told him the full story on the way back to the house, and he’d been chilled to the bone by the tale. A hundred variations on disaster had assailed him. She could have been swept up in the churning waters of the cove while attempting to rescue Winston. What if whoever she thought had watched her from the path had pursued her and the dog into the caves?

  After the visions had come the questions, the primary one being, What the hell was going on? He’d made the cocoa partly as therapy for himself. Cooking always centered him and allowed him to think more clearly.

  He’d done a lot of thinking while he stirred the hot chocolate and waited for Hannah to come back downstairs. He’d even managed to reach a few conclusions. He was calm and cool again, he told himself. He was back in control.

  “Sit down,” he instructed. “I’ll pour you a cup of this stuff. Winston has already had his treat.”

  She looked at Winston, who was flopped under the table. Rafe had dried him off and fluffed his fur with some of the old towels in the mudroom. He looked none the worse for his ordeal. In typical dog fashion, he appeared to have forgotten the entire experience.

  The same could not be said of Hannah, Rafe thought.

  “I still can’t believe that that twit at the police station actually said they could not spare an officer to investigate what happened to Winston tonight.” She dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. “The woman acted as if I had phoned in a complaint about some stupid childish prank.”

  “Try not to take it personally.” Rafe poured the cocoa into a mug and put it on the table. “This is a small town, remember? There aren’t many officers on the force. The dispatcher explained that they were all busy out at Chamberlain tonight because of the big rally.”

  “I am taking it personally. Winston would have drowned if I hadn’t found him in time.”

  “Maybe, but once you told the dispatcher that you and the dog were okay and that there was no sign of forced entry here at the house, you lost your status as an emergency.”

  “I know, I know.” She heaved a sigh and then, frowning slightly, she sniffed. She looked down at the mug of cocoa he had put in front of her. “That smells good.”

  “Drink it.”

  Obediently she took a sip. “Just what the doctor ordered. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He sat down across from her. “I went back to the edge of the cliffs and looked for that cage or animal trap or whatever it was. But it’s gone.”

  “Knocked off the finger by the incoming waves, no doubt.” She took another sip. “Maybe it will get washed ashore or left on th
e sand when the tide goes out tomorrow. I’ll watch for it. It’s the only evidence I’ve got.”

  “Even if you find it, I doubt if it will prove useful. There won’t be any fingerprints left on it by the time the sea gets finished with it.”

  She looked dismayed. “You’re probably right.”

  Rafe glanced down at Winston. “Someone must have opened the back door and enticed him into the trap.”

  “Probably wouldn’t have been too hard.” Her mouth tightened. “A nice chunk of raw steak would have gotten his attention.”

  “The real question is, How did the mudroom door get unlocked?”

  She pursed her lips. “I’ve been thinking about that. It’s no secret that Mom and Dad leave a spare key with a realtor here in town who looks after the place when no one in the family is using it. It’s not too much of a stretch to imagine someone stealing the key or copying it.”

  He thought about it. “Maybe. But it seems like more trouble than the average kid would go to just to play a nasty prank.”

  She looked at him with troubled eyes. “You think this was something more than a vicious stunt?”

  He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. “If you put this incident together with the possibility that someone may have been watching your house at night on and off this past week, you’ve got the makings of a stalker scenario.”

  She shuddered. “That occurred to me while I was in the shower. But it would have to be someone who had followed me from Portland, and I honestly can’t think of anyone there who is obsessive about me.”

  “The ex-fiancé?”

  She looked genuinely taken aback by the suggestion. Then she shook her head with grave certainty. “No, definitely not Doug. He’s not the type.”

  “I’m not sure the type is always obvious.”

  “Our engagement ended a year ago. Why would he start stalking me now? And why follow me here to Eclipse Bay to do it? He doesn’t know his way around this town. Whoever trapped Winston and stuck him out on that finger knows a lot about this place.”

  “Good point. Got to be someone from Eclipse Bay. Someone who knew about the fingers and the tides in Dead Hand Cove. Someone who knew how to get a key to this house.”

  “What are you thinking, Rafé?”

  “I’m thinking Perry Decatur.”

  “Perry?” She sat back, startled. “Oh, no, that’s ridiculous. Why would he do something like that?”

  “To get even for the way you finessed his move to keep Brad McCallister off the faculty at the institute?”

  She chewed on her lower lip for a few seconds and then shook her head again. “I suppose it’s possible. But I don’t think so. Not his style. Perry’s a conniving little twerp, but I don’t see him pulling a stunt like this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, whoever carried that cage out to the finger had to get wet and dirty doing it. Perry isn’t the type to get wet and dirty if he can help it. Plus there was a real risk of getting caught in the act if I came home early. Perry doesn’t take risks if he can avoid them. He prefers to maneuver behind the scenes.”

  Rafe was unconvinced. “I don’t know. He was plenty pissed last night.”

  She exhaled heavily. “It just doesn’t feel like the kind of trick he would pull. More likely it was a local kid. A budding little sociopath who has graduated from setting fires to torturing animals.”

  Rafe said nothing.

  “You’ve got a problem with my logic?”

  “I’m just thinking,” he said.

  “I can see that. And it makes me nervous.”

  “Me, thinking, makes you nervous? Why?”

  “Because the last time you did some serious thinking you decided to make us partners in Dreamscape.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Bull.”

  “It’s going to work. You’ll see, partner.”

  She pointedly ignored that. “What, exactly, are you thinking about what happened tonight?”

  He hesitated and then decided there was nothing to be gained by keeping silent. “I’m thinking that whatever is going on here might not be about you.”

  “Not about me? That was my dog out there on the finger.”

  “What I meant was it might not be about you alone.” He paused. “It might be about us.”

  “Us? You mean someone doesn’t like the idea that we’re—” She broke off and made another run at it. “Someone doesn’t like the rumors that are going around about us? But why on earth would anyone care if we’re, uh—”

  “Sleeping together?” he offered helpfully.

  “One time,” she said swiftly. “There was only one time. That does not exactly constitute a flaming affair.”

  For some reason he found that observation both extremely irritating and strangely depressing. “Can’t argue that.”

  She sipped her cocoa for a moment, then put the mug down. “I just had a thought. Maybe whoever did this is one of your old flames. A jealous lover from your misspent past?”

  “Doubt it.”

  She was undeterred. “Good grief. If I’m right, we’ve got more suspects than we can count.”

  His incipient depression vanished in the heat of a sudden, fierce anger. He sat forward quickly, flattening his palms on the table. “My reputation in this town was always a hell of a lot more exciting than the reality.”

  She blinked. “Now, Rafe—”

  “Trust me on this. I was there.”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, yes, of course you were, but everyone knows about your reputation in those days.”

  “This may come as a stunning surprise to you, but contrary to popular opinion, I don’t have a legion of old flames hiding in the bushes here in Eclipse Bay.”

  “I don’t believe I used the word ‘legion.’”

  “Close enough. For the record, virtually all of my dates—and there were not as many of them as everyone seems to think—were weekend or summer visitors who came here for the beach, the boardwalk, and a good time. They knew what they were doing and so did I. There was nothing serious with any of them, and I’ve never seen any of them again.”

  Her jaw clenched visibly. “There was Kaitlin Sadler.”

  “Yes. There was Kaitlin Sadler. She was a year older than me, experienced, and she could take care of herself.”

  “I never implied that you took advantage of her. No one ever said that.”

  “I didn’t have a lot of rules for myself in those days, but I had a few and I stuck to them. I never got involved with anyone who was married or too young or too naïve to know the score. Hell, you ought to know that better than anyone else.”

  “Me?” She gripped the edge of the table. “Why should I know anything about the history of your love life?”

  “Because I never laid a hand on you eight years ago, that’s why.”

  For the space of two or three heartbeats she simply stared at him in utter astonishment. Then she pulled herself together with an obvious effort. “Of course you never touched me. I wasn’t your type. You wouldn’t have looked twice at me if we hadn’t been stuck out there at the Arch together that night.”

  A cold, mirthless amusement shafted through him. “You weren’t my type, and you were squarely in the ‘don’t touch’ category as far as I was concerned, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t look twice.”

  Her eyes widened. “Because I was a Harte? Was I some sort of challenge?”

  “The fact that you were a Harte had nothing to do with it.”

  “Then why did you look twice?”

  “Damned if I know. Pure masochism, probably, because I sure as hell knew that you’d never look twice at me.”

  “That’s not true.” She shot to her feet. “I had a crush on you. Every girl in Eclipse Bay did.”

  “That’s supposed to thrill me?” He was suddenly on his feet, too, although he had no recollection of getting out of his chair. “To know that for you I was just the interesting b
ad boy with the bike and the leather jacket and the dangerous rep? The kind of guy your parents always warned you about? The kind of guy it might be amusing to fool around with but definitely not the kind you would ever marry?”

  A fresh tide of hot color rose in her face. He could have sworn he had embarrassed her. Good. Served her right. But her gaze did not slide away from his.

  “How did you know what kind of man I’d marry?” she asked evenly.

  “You told me that night, remember? You were only nineteen and you already had your damned list of requirements for a husband made out.”

  “I was twenty, not nineteen, and I swear, if you mention that list one more time—”

  He reached for her. He closed his hands around her shoulders and hauled her up against his chest. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t care if I never hear about that damned list of yours again for as long as I live. Furthermore, I’m not real keen on hearing about your new, updated version of it, either.”

  “Uh, Rafe, you’re acting a little weird here. Maybe the stress—?”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  He covered her mouth with his own, letting the fierce tension that was eating him up inside pour into her. She made a soft, muffled sound, and then her arms closed tightly around him and she was kissing him back with all the passion that had infused her anger a few seconds earlier.

  “My God,” he muttered against her throat. “Do you have any idea of the scare you gave me tonight?”

  “Scare?” Her own voice was muffled because she was frantically kissing his jaw. “Why were you scared?”

  “First, because I thought maybe the reason you weren’t answering the door was that you were with some other man.”

  “No. Really?” She went very still. Then she pulled back slightly and looked at him with wide, fascinated eyes. “You were actually afraid that I might be in bed with another man? Did you think that I might have a few old flames of my own here in Eclipse Bay?”