by Ann Collins
“Hotels?”
“One. Mostly I designed city buildings suitable for offices. I did, however, try to give them some aesthetic flair. My last project was a mansion on the Chesapeake Bay. The owner had no artistic ability whatsoever, but he admired and appreciated art, and he allowed me a lot of creative freedom, which I enjoyed.” Alex had never gotten to finish that one, though.
“Do you think you might design again?” she asked.
“I … don’t know.” He looked out at the sea, his steps paced to hers. Waves curled in toward shore, and a formation of seven pelicans skimmed the foamy tops. “I hope so.”
She waved him to the right, into the park. Low bushes circled by colorful flowers marked the locations of wrought-iron benches. Pepper trees were scattered here and there, and a grove of pines filled the park’s center. A bushy-tailed squirrel scratched and scampered its way up a nearby trunk.
“San Diego is a growing city,” she said, “as you may have noticed. There will be a lot of opportunities for a talented architect.”
“‘Talented?’ You’ve never seen my work.”
A sea gull cried out above them before wheeling away toward the sea. “You won an award, didn’t you?”
“Three, in fact. The other two after Elizabeth and I married.”
“Then you must be talented.” She said it matter-of-factly, as if there were no question. Alex felt as if his heart were expanding. Julia had faith in him as an architect—a talented architect—even when he no longer had faith in himself.
As they entered the deserted pine grove, he took her hand and stopped her, stepping in front of her. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for believing in me.” He leaned down and kissed her gently, sweeping his lips over hers.
He both heard and felt her sudden intake of breath. When he looked into her eyes, he saw her indecision. Alex urged her toward the decision he wanted by kissing her more soundly, tracing the tip of his tongue over her lips until they parted.
“We … shouldn’t,” she whispered back, even as her arms came around his waist and her mouth opened wider, allowing him in.
He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her flush against him, wanting to feel all of her, wishing they were in a far-off forest where he could lay her on a soft bed of moss and make love to her with utter abandon.
He deepened the kiss, and he heard her moan softly into his mouth. But he also heard something else, an insistent yapping noise that was rapidly growing louder. Also growing louder was a woman’s voice calling out, “Muffie! Where are you, baby? Come to Mother.”
Alex lifted his head. “Damn.”
Julia peered up at him, looking dazed and bewildered. “What’s wrong?”
“We have a visitor.” He aimed his chin at their tiny interloper. Muffie’s belly scraped the lush grass as she trotted over to them. Big brown eyes stared up at them. “Any second now Mrs. Hensley will discover us, too.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Julia quickly stepped back, smoothed her shirtwaist and skirt, and patted her hair. “I knew this was a mistake, but you are a hard man to resist. Do I look all right?”
“You look beautiful.” Not nearly kissed enough, though, he silently lamented. “And it wasn’t a mistake.”
Alberta Hensley emerged from around a tree, her chest and breath heaving. “There you are, you bad dog! Oh, Mr. and Mrs. MacLean, I didn’t expect to see you. I did wonder why Muffie veered off the walkway during our stroll. She has obviously taken a liking to you.”
Alex turned slightly so that his scar would be what she saw when she looked at him. Maybe then she’d keep her eyes on Julia instead.
“She’s a sweet dog,” Julia said, perfectly composed. She bent down and picked Muffie up.
The Yorkshire terrier gave a light-hearted yip.
Mrs. Hensley, her lilac water scent overpowering the pines, withdrew an embroidered hanky from her pocket and patted the sweating folds of her neck with it. “She’s as sweet as can be, but she is loving your spacious hotel grounds a little too much. I simply can’t keep chasing after her like this.”
“Do you have a leash?” Julia asked.
“I do, back in my room. I must get into the habit of using it.” Mrs. Hensley relieved her of the dog. “Before we go, I must say how much I enjoyed your wedding ceremony last evening. It was very special. I’d never attended an outdoor ceremony before.”
“I’m glad you were able to join us,” Julia said, the perfect hostess.
“Well, you two make a lovely couple.” She glanced up at Alex and pursed her lips. “I still can’t get over how much you remind me of someone back home. I just wish I could recall who.”
Alex shrugged to keep himself from grimacing. Or running.
“Where is it you’re from, Mrs. Hensley?” Julia asked, glancing between them.
“Baltimore. Wonderful city. So much culture and society.”
“I’ve never been there myself.” She shot a quick and questioning look at Alex.
He tensed, and Muffie yipped.
Mrs. Hensley stroked the dog’s ruff. “Yes, baby, we’re going. I know you’re thirsty.” She gave them a distracted wave. “See you again.”
She set off with Muffie in her arms, and they quickly disappeared into the trees.
Julia turned to Alex and propped her fists on her hips. “You know her, don’t you?”
He hesitated, their kiss part of the distant past, no chance for renewal. “I ran across her a few times.”
“Why won’t you acknowledge your acquaintance with her?”
He shoved his hands into his back pockets. Alberta Hensley knew enough about his past to ruin him in the West, finishing what his wife’s parents had started in the East.
“She’s a close friend of my former in-laws, whom I want nothing to do with. I don’t want to hear about them or think about them. Let’s go.” He took her by the elbow. “We have rounds to finish.” He glanced around the park. “Where’s the damn gardening shed?”
She motioned straight ahead, a confused and wary expression in her eyes.
Alex didn’t look at her again. He knew he should say something to put her at ease. He ought to explain all the reasons behind his antagonistic feelings toward his in-laws, but he couldn’t.
Not today. Maybe not ever.
Chapter Ten
Sitting at her desk during Alex’s shopping and reconnaissance trip to San Diego, Julia entered the hotel’s most recent expenses into the ledger. She tried to focus on the rising cost of beef, which would necessitate changes on the dining room menu and bring on the wrath of Chef Leuven, but her mind kept returning to the scene in the park.
She should not have let Alex kiss her out where anyone could have seen them, but, heaven help her, she had been powerless to resist. Thank goodness Muffie and Mrs. Hensley had arrived when they did, except that their appearance had subsequently raised troubling questions about Alex. There was no denying his deep-seated anger toward his in-laws. She had heard it in his voice. But what she knew so far of his in-laws didn’t seem to warrant such anger. There must be more to it, but he was being secretive, which reminded her that she had married a drifter without references—a stranger.
Julia laid down her pen, rested her elbows on the desk, and rubbed her eyes. Life was supposed to have gotten simpler after her marriage, not more complicated. The man she married, the man who had protected her, was worthy of her trust. She felt it in her heart. He was a good man. Why, he hadn’t even taken advantage of her in the privacy of her apartment. And his pride had kept him from wanting her to pay for his clothing.
Her office door squeaked open, and she jerked her head up, half-expecting Alex to appear as if conjured from her thoughts.
“Mr. Wolff,” she said through a tight jaw, masking her surprise and trepidation. Was he behind the flowerpot and sabotage? She did not get up. “It is customary to knock on a closed door.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” he said, entering the office and offering no apology. He closed the
door.
She ground her teeth at his arrogance and maintained a wary eye on him. Hopefully somebody had seen him enter her office. If he was her assailant, he wouldn’t dare harm her here, would he?
“I had hoped I wouldn’t see you again,” she said. “Shouldn’t you have returned east by now?”
“I did.” He removed his black fedora, revealing dark, wavy brown hair.
His face was striking, olive-complexioned with hazel, old-beyond-his-years eyes, as if he had experienced more than most men his age. Julia couldn’t help but think, yet again, that there was something familiar about him.
He dropped his hat on her desk and sat down across from her, making himself at home. “I took care of my most pressing business matters and came back here to handle the one that was pending.”
“Nothing is ‘pending’ between us.”
“Oh, but there is. I want the Hotel Grand Victoria, and you are going to sell it to me.”
She picked up her pen, the only potential weapon at hand. The man’s single-minded determination astonished and frightened her. He did not know when to give up and move on. How far might he go to get what he wanted?
“Do you not understand the meaning of the word ‘no,’ Mr. Wolff? I told you before, the Hotel Grand Victoria is not for sale.”
“Under the right circumstances, everything is for sale.”
“What do you mean by that? Under what ‘circumstances’?” Was he implying responsibility for the attacks against her, telling her she would remain in danger until she signed over the hotel? She gripped the pen more tightly and wished Alex were with her. He would not be happy when he found out no one had stopped Tyler Wolff from waltzing into her office. From now on, she was going to lock the door.
“Oh, you never know. Circumstances can change quickly, necessitating other changes.” He plucked a piece of lint off the fine black material of his cutaway suit. Woven into the lightweight wool, silvery silk threads shimmered like a spider’s web. “Congratulations on your recent marriage, by the way.”
“How would you know about that? The announcement won’t appear in the newspaper until tomorrow.”
“Gossip travels quickly, Mrs. MacLean.”
It certainly did, she thought, especially if the gossip was being paid for. Did Mr. Wolff have an informant in her midst?
“I’d like to meet your husband,” Wolff said, examining his manicured fingernails, then buffing them against his jacket. “He would undoubtedly find my offer of great interest.”
“He would not. If you and he were to meet, he’d tell you the same thing himself.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Mr. Wolff, why do you want the hotel so badly?”
He rubbed at the bridge of his slightly crooked nose, the only imperfection she discerned in his looks. “For investment purposes, of course.”
“Of course.” She didn’t believe him for a minute.
He got up and wandered over to the three framed photographs on the wall. One showed the hotel shortly after its completion, another showed it under construction, and a third showed her father breaking ground with a shovel.
“Though many banks are still suffering the effects of the Panic of Ninety-three,” he said, studying the photographs, “the depression is, for the most part, fading from people’s memories. In time, the economy will grow stronger and people will begin spending their money on travel again.”
“And I will be waiting for them.”
“I think not.” He chuckled, then touched the frame holding her father’s photograph. “Who’s the man with the shovel?”
“Lloyd Fairbanks, my deceased father.”
“You don’t look anything like him.”
“Mr. Wolff, as I’m sure you can understand, I have work to do.” She tapped the ledger with her pen. “Please go. And don’t come back.”
“Ah, Julia, I had hoped you would make this easy on yourself. Now I’m going to have to do things the hard way.”
Wolff’s implied threat and his use of her given name sent an icy chill up her spine. She struggled to keep her composure. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He scooped his hat off the desk. “Good day.”
The instant the door closed behind him, she jumped up, locked herself in, and quaked like a frightened puppy. She wanted Alex, needed him, but she also hated needing him. If only she could handle Wolff on her own, but she didn’t know how, and she had already come to depend on Alex.
Too much, she feared.
* * *
Julia paced the increasingly small confines of her office, accomplishing nothing while waiting for Alex’s return.
When someone knocked, she clapped a hand to her heart. “Who’s there?” she called out.
“It’s me,” came his welcome voice. The doorknob shook as he tried to let himself in.
“I’m coming.” She breathed a sigh of relief, but not as deeply as she would’ve liked. She hadn’t managed a truly deep breath since before Wolff’s arrival. She unlocked the door and swung it open, more relieved than she wanted to admit when Alex stood in front of her with an armload of packages wrapped in brown paper. If his arms had been empty, she might have flung herself into them.
He frowned, his broad forehead creased like freshly raked sand. “Has something happened?”
“Yes. No. I mean, first, get me out of here. Please. I feel like a caged animal. I want to walk on the beach.”
“All right.” He dumped his packages onto the chair and motioned her out the door.
With Alex behind her, she hurried through the hotel grounds and scrambled down the pathway to the beach. The surf was higher than yesterday, the waves rolling in and crashing down under the now-overcast sky. No one was bathing, the sea too rough and its temperature too cold.
She hastened her steps until reaching the end of the path. Not until she stood in the sand and stared at the ocean’s horizon did she finally succeed in drawing a full, satisfying breath. It smelled of the sea, and she held it in for a moment before releasing it on a long sigh.
“Feel better?” Alex asked.
“Much better. Thank you.”
“What happened?” He removed his shoes and socks, stuffing the socks inside.
She started walking toward the waves. He fell into step beside her, his shoes dangling from one hand. “While you were checking up on Tyler Wolff,” she said, “he was checking up on me. He paid me a visit.”
He slapped his shoes against his thigh. “Dammit! I should’ve been here.”
A sea gull cried out above them. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I did know he’d gone out. The bellboy I talked to at his hotel didn’t know where, though. Did Wolff threaten you?”
“Not specifically,” she answered, turning north when they reached the high-tide line, “but I felt threatened just the same. He wants the hotel, and he intends to have it. I don’t know what he has in mind, but I do think he’s paying someone on my staff for information. He knew about our marriage.” She felt better already, sharing her fears with Alex.
“Did he seem like he might be behind the attacks on you? I found out he returned to San Diego two days before the flowerpot was thrown.”
“It’s possible, but I don’t know for sure.” She skirted a mound of glistening brown kelp brought up by the waves and tide. Alex stepped over it. As they kept walking, they approached five spindly legged sandpipers probing the wet sand. Every few seconds, a wave would chase them up the beach, then they’d follow the foamy water back down. When she and Alex continued forward, the birds took flight, landing on another patch of wet sand.
“He probably didn’t do it himself,” he said. “He’s a wealthy man and would’ve hired someone who can get close to you, possibly whoever’s passing him the information about you. Did you ask why he wants the hotel so badly?”
“He claims for investment purposes.” She shrugged as the breeze carried the spray from a large wave far enough to mist their faces. A shell crunche
d under her shoe.
“You think there’s another reason?”
“It’s just a feeling, but, yes, I think so. I just wish I knew what.”
“I’m tempted to confront him,” he said, “except that we don’t have any evidence against him. And if he is behind the attacks, we’d be tipping our hand, letting him know we suspect him.”
“Then I don’t know what to do.”
They walked on in silence, passing a little boy of about three who was playing in the sand, safely away from the surf. He wore a navy blue sailor suit with large, bright red buttons. He scooped dry sand into a tin pail, then poured it out. His mother, in a pink skirt and white shirtwaist, stood close by, smiling down at him.
Julia glanced over at Alex. He was watching the little boy, an expression of such painful longing and sadness on his face that her throat tightened. Suddenly he tore his gaze away from the boy and stared at a packet ship sailing past the islands off the coast.
Continuing their walk, leaving the child and his mother behind, Julia heard the boy say, “I’m gonna get some water.”
“No, sweetheart, you stay here.” There was a pause, followed by, “Joshua! What did Mama say? Come back!”
A woman’s scream split the air.
Julia whirled and gasped.
A wave had picked up the child and was pulling him off the beach. Joshua lay like a turtle on its back, his little legs and arms flailing as he tried to keep his head up in the surging mass of white water. He disappeared.
Her stomach clenched. She shrieked, “No!”
Alex had already dropped his shoes and was racing into the waves.
Julia ran to the boy’s mother and threw her arm around her shoulders in an attempt to calm her, but also to keep her from trying to go after her son. Wearing sodden skirts and battling high waves, the woman would certainly drown.
Joshua’s mother’s screams turned to sobs. She clung to Julia as they watched Alex desperately searching for the child in the roiling and numbing water.
“He’ll find your boy,” Julia said, praying she spoke the truth.
