Guarding Laura

by Susan Vaughan

  Hell, his attempt at protection in general was a near bust. First the car brakes, now a sabotaged boat. He hadn’t detected or stopped either. She was still alive and unharmed. Thanks mostly to her own ingenuity and fortitude.

  Pride in success at his missions was part of who he had become. Necessary to his identity and his self-respect. This time that inner drive took a back seat. Failure didn’t enter the equation for a different reason entirely.

  Laura. The only woman he’d ever loved. Her life was at stake.

  He couldn’t fail her again.

  He wouldn’t.

  A commotion among the jumble of children yanked his attention back to the present. The East Pond leader dragged a yowling blond boy aside while Laura headed Cole’s way with the Mohawk-styled Zach in hand.

  Anger pinched the boy’s face into a bulldog snarl. “I don’t care,” he growled. “Somebody done it, and they gotta pay.”

  Laura drew him to a halt beside Cole’s sheltering shrub. “I know you meant well, but whoever switched boats, it wasn’t one of the East Pond sailors.” Softening, she placed both hands on the boy’s shoulders and beamed him one of her million-megawatt smiles. “Zach, I appreciate your caring, but accusing a person without cause achieves nothing.”

  Giving Cole a questioning look, she continued, “Now I want you to sit here by Mr. Stratton and think about this until we’re ready to start.”

  Cole gave her a nod. Sure, he’d watch over the kid.

  “You’re still gonna let me race?” Zach lifted tear-filled eyes that glinted with hope.

  “After you apologize to that boy and his instructor.”

  The spy hunter slumped to a cross-legged position beside Cole. Even his normally rigid Mohawk sagged. He glared at the only adult within range. “Told you there were spies.”

  “That you did.” Cole nodded morosely. “I screwed up, too. Why do you think we’re sitting over here together?”

  “This whole day sucks. My camera’s missing, too.”

  Cole sat straighter. The burglaries. He’d nearly forgotten. “How’d that happen?”

  Zach shrugged. “Mom said I prob’ly left it somewhere, but I didn’t. Kay’s MP3 player’s gone, too. With her fav tunes. Spies or burglars, I dunno.” He slumped, chin on his fists.

  Cole said nothing, giving him time to think.

  The boy heaved a sigh. “That stupid dork shouldn’t have laughed about her boat sinking.”

  Aware he needed to vent, Cole let that pass. He lobbed a pebble into the water. “You think a lot of her.”

  “She listens to a guy. She cares. And she makes the sailing class fun.” Zach found his own pebble and copied Cole’s action. “Without sailing, I don’t got much to do but hang at the beach.”

  “Your folks over there watching the race today?”

  “Nah, my parents are divorced. Divorce sucks. Mom and Dad take turns at our cabin. This is Mom’s month, but she works in Alderport. She’s at work today, so I’m on my own.”

  Cole could relate to that. For most of his childhood, he’d had only the one parent, such as he was. He came home from school more than once to find an empty fridge and his old man passed out on the floor. No need to lay that on the kid. “That’s a rough deal,” he said. “What did you do yesterday, when you had a day off from sailing?”

  The Mohawk perked up as Zach’s eyebrows shot north. “Yesterday was sweet. Butch’s dad took me and him to a Sea Dogs game in Portland. They won, nine to five. And two of the Red Sox players were there. I got their new pitcher’s autograph.”

  “Very cool. I’d like to see that sometime.” Cole heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Too bad you weren’t on the beach, though. Maybe someone as observant as you would have noticed a spy messing with the boats.”

  Zach scooted close and leaned over conspiratorially. “I been asking around. Chuck—that’s Kay’s brother—said they were on the beach except his sister kept hanging out at the boat docks.” He rolled his eyes. “Prob’ly looking for that dumb guy she likes.”

  He cautioned the boy to keep his ears open, but not to confront anyone again. “I have to make it up to her, too, big guy. So if you tell me whatever you find out, we’ll both hit her A list.” What had he come to, running an eleven-year-old agent? “If you put yourself in danger, you’ll only worry her. You leave any interrogations to me. Agreed?”

  He pointed toward the sailing group, where Laura was beckoning to Zach.

  “You got it.” The boy grinned, leaping to his feet. “Geezum, I guess I have to apologize now, huh?”

  “It’s the right thing to do. The honorable thing.” Cole slapped him five before he raced off.

  The handyman again, Cole mused, remembering Kay flirting with Burt Elwell. He’d have to have a talk with Miss Hot-to-Trot Kay. For more than one reason.

  “No aftereffects from your dunking?” Vanessa asked when Laura and Cole arrived at the theater that evening. Her red-blond hair was piled on top her head in a froth of cognac curls. She gave Laura a comforting hug. “What a terrible thing. You’re sure you feel all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She’d been more shaken up by the brake incident. After today she was more determined than ever to trap Janus. Tonight she and Cole would try to find out what anyone in the theatrical troupe knew about the boat sinking. “Of course, having my sailing class win the regatta against East Pond later perked me up considerably.”

  “Good. Congratulations,” said the other woman. “I’ll be down doing makeup. Come talk to me if you get a chance.”

  Bea walked by with a stack of programs. She made a clucking sound. “Two accidents in a matter of days. You should be careful, dear.”

  Laura forced a casual smile. “You’re absolutely right, Bea. And thanks for the chicken soup. Having something good and hot in my stomach made me feel much better.”

  Tonight Bea wore a velvet turban spangled with tiny mirrors. She whisked off in a flutter of paisley shawl and gauze muumuu.

  Laura answered Cole’s surreptitious prodding and made her way backstage, where they were to help with props during the first act.

  “Chicken soup?” he whispered, an accusatory glower knitting his brow. “I saw the pot. You sure as hell didn’t offer me any. I didn’t get any of her lasagna, either.”

  Laura ducked around a tied-back curtain and skirted the old upright piano that was part of the set. “Anyone would think you were starving,” she whispered back. They’d cooked steaks and potatoes on an outdoor grill. “And you should thank me for not sharing. Bea’s sweet and generous, but she’s a terrible cook. I poured out the soup.”

  Cole’s reaction could be described only as a classic double take. His head jerked back as if on springs. Mouth quirking up and eyes glittering with humor, he sputtered, “The powder-puff pigeon is cuisine challenged.”

  Humor rumbled from his chest and burst from his mouth in a Falstaffian guffaw that crinkled his eyes and dimpled the grooves in his cheeks. His wide shoulders shook, and he slapped his muscled thigh.

  Seeing such a rarity as Cole laughing with uninhibited glee was worth a near drowning. Laura covered her mouth as she joined in his mirth. “Bea’s cooking is a bit like her fashion sense—extravagant.”

  He frowned. “A little of this, a little of that?”

  “A lot, not a little. The Van Tassels’ cabin porch is covered with pots of herbs. I think she dumps some of each in it—tarragon, basil, oregano, thyme, lavender, you name it.”

  Still chuckling, Cole looped an arm around her shoulders. “The Van Tassel sisters starred in the last play, I remember. Lucky they’re such good souls. With all the danger around you, I might worry they got ideas from—”

  “Arsenic and Old Lace?”

  They gaped at each other. They shook their heads.

  Both erupted in a fit of laughter. People surrounded them—actors rehearsing lines, other stage crew carrying props, the director checking the lights. The ozone odor of hot lighting mingled with greasepaint. Laura buried her fa
ce in Cole’s shirtfront. Better if the others thought the reason for their merriment a private, romantic joke.

  Cole’s other arm came around her, and his laughter reverberated in her, spiking sensation deep inside.

  “Laura.” His voice was husky, but not from laughing.

  She raised her gaze to his burning one. His masculine scent and the naked hunger in his face scoured heat through her and banished their surroundings.

  “Cole, Laura, you’re just the ones I need to see.”

  They jumped apart as Stan Hart approached. The resort owner was tying Cookie’s white apron around his stocky body.

  “Haven’t got any leads yet,” Stan said behind a hand. He clearly loved considering himself a coconspirator. “A lot of folks are on those docks all the time.”

  “And no one pays attention to what others are doing,” Laura said. “Some kids in my sailing class were on the beach. None of them saw anything unusual.”

  “I put a padlock on the boat shed this afternoon. Stop by tomorrow for a key.” He started to walk toward the stairwell. “You sure it wasn’t like Burt said, kids mixing up the boats?”

  Storm clouds couldn’t loom darker than Cole’s expression. “Whoever shuffled those boats went to a hell of a lot of trouble to transfer the outboard motor to the damaged boat and to conceal the bottom of the good one. No accident.”

  Stan nodded glumly. “I’ll keep checking. I have to go. Vanessa’s expecting me in makeup.” He raised an arm in a dramatic pose. “The show must go on!”

  After Laura finished helping set up the diner props, she whispered to Cole that she was going to the makeup room to talk to Vanessa, who’d been kayaking on the lake that morning. “Maybe she went out yesterday, too.”

  She saw Cole’s eyes snap as he readied a warning. The male potency in his pale eyes took her breath away.

  “I know,” she countered with a sweet smile before he could open his mouth. “Don’t go off by myself. It’s a crush down there. I’ll be surrounded at all times.”

  “You got it, babe. Stick with Vanessa.” He tilted his head toward a trio of kids in the wings. “I got…a tip to ask Kay about what she saw yesterday.”

  Laura scrutinized her sailing student as Cole threaded his way through the milling crowd. Kay, in Rock-Star-Barbie mode with a boatload of mascara and a halter top that displayed her precocious breasts, was gabbing with the girl who played Debbie and flirting with Burt.

  Maybe a talk with her parents was in order.

  She paused at the top of the narrow staircase leading to the lower level, which had originally been the stables. In spite of his good humor about Bea’s cooking, all day Cole had brooded and hovered like a hawk, especially after her apology. Apprehension about what might happen next twisted her stomach in knots, but she wouldn’t let fear rule her.

  Was worry for her the cause of Cole’s lowered brow and hard mouth?

  She had secrets, and so apparently did Cole.

  She’d overheard two more phone conversations in Spanish, one with a woman named Marisol. Whatever relationship he had with other women shouldn’t affect her. Acknowledging her resurrected love for him didn’t mean he reciprocated.

  It didn’t mean she wanted him to. She didn’t want him to love her. He mustn’t love her. There was no future in it. And he deserved a future.

  Whatever he’d said to Zach had put the sunshine back in the boy’s disposition. Cole was a natural with kids. He’d make a terrific father. He needed more than a barren woman.

  Renewing her resolve ought to bolster her, but it only scraped at her heart.

  After their first-act duties ended, Cole and Laura searched for seats in the house.

  On Thursday, Death at the Diner had opened to a sparse house, but tonight the only seats left were in the last row.

  “Good,” Cole murmured, “we can make out.”

  His good humor over Bea’s culinary disasters was making him bold. Or was it his conversation with Kay? Laura elbowed him in the ribs. “Behave.”

  “What did Vanessa have to say?” he asked, his warm breath tickling her ear. Angled toward her, he practically nuzzled her neck. His scent, mingled with soap and charcoal smoke from their cookout, fuzzed her brain.

  Making out, indeed. This had to be part of his act as her lover. They both knew love between them had less chance of being real than a Persian mummy. Still, she couldn’t help the way her pulse reacted to his low voice and his body heat radiating into her.

  She cleared her throat. “She stayed in the inn yesterday with a sunburn, so my detection was a bust.” She ought to move over so Cole didn’t loom over her, but the man on her other side was too close. “And Kay?”

  “Later. The play’s starting.” A wink, and he adjusted his position toward the stage. Placing his long-fingered hands on his knees, he focused on the rising curtain.

  When she realized what the action was at the start of the second act, she swallowed hard and edged away from him. Never mind her neighbor’s bony elbow.

  The couple, Debbie and Cliff, were just returning from searching for an exit, and a romantic evening drive on the motorcycle. Debbie swung off the back of the bike and leaned over to press her lips to Cliff’s.

  Laura waited nervously for Cole’s reaction. This scene came too close for comfort to the first time she and Cole had kissed. Maybe he wouldn’t see the similarity. Or remember. Maybe her stomach was tied in a half hitch for nothing.

  As they kissed onstage, she couldn’t help remembering.

  Long ago, Laura and Cole had left the graduation party crowd to return to her car. Like the play character, she’d delivered a quick kiss, but even that brief contact had stunned her with its heat and power.

  Debbie walked to the diner entrance, away from Cliff.

  Beside Laura, Cole shifted in his seat, stretched an arm along the seat back behind her, his gaze on the performance. Cole’s scent caressed her, ensnared her so she scarcely knew what was memory and what was now. She had to resist the urge to snuggle into his hard strength.

  After the light kiss, Laura had said, “Wondered what that would be like, cowboy.” She’d tried to walk away, like Debbie, but Cole’s sinewy arms had held her. The intensity in his blue, blue eyes had held her as surely as his embrace.

  Onstage, the couple kissed a second, longer time.

  Laura had no awareness of what Cliff said to Debbie, but Cole’s words were branded on her heart. Even now, the memory of his mouth on hers evoked enough heat to speed her pulse and make her tug at her sweatshirt neck.

  She forced herself to concentrate on the action as the young couple entered the diner for the discovery of a murder. Cliff and Debbie were to find the waitress Daisy Rae prone behind the diner counter. One by one, the others would arrive for dinner, only to become witnesses. Laura liked the scene, which brought all the principals onstage together.

  Cole’s breath feathered across her temple. “Remember?”

  She jumped as though her seat had an electric charge. Oh God, he did remember. “Remember what?”

  “I could’ve written that bit. Better. I had a better line. I wondered, too, babe. I still do. Well?”

  “Yes, all right, yes, I remember.” If she scooted farther away, she’d land in her neighbor’s lap. “Although Cliff Trigger’s an improvement over the original. He’s certainly more civilized.”

  Appalled at her snippy outburst, Laura scrambled to her feet and out of the theater.

  “I didn’t mean to push your buttons,” Cole said to Laura’s bedroom door. He knew why the reminiscence had upset her. Any memories of that time carried more emotional baggage than Maine had mosquitoes. “The scene brought back graduation night. I have great memories of that party.”

  He’d followed her out of the theater and back to the cabin, where she’d retreated to her bedroom. To escape him? Or the memories?

  First they’d laughed together. Then sitting close to her in the darkened theater, with that scene… If she hadn’t run out, h
e’d have kissed her.

  He was an idiot. She’d have run out then sure as hell. Faster.

  The door opened.

  Laura stood in the gap, shadows beneath her eyes, the sparkling remnants of tears on her lashes. How she could look regal and perfect in a sweatshirt and jeans, he didn’t understand. “I’m sorry I overreacted. The business with the skiff must be affecting me. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  “You had a big day. Truce.” He held out his hand.

  “Truce.” She placed her small hand in his, but slipped it away almost before he could savor the softness of her skin. She headed toward the couch, but veered to the chair, as if afraid to sit on what had become his bed. “You were going to tell me about your conversation with Kay.”

  He swallowed, watching her remove the clip and fluff her hair onto her shoulders. His hands tingled to be able to caress the golden cloud. Other more vital parts of his body did more than tingle. “Ah, Kay. Yes. She spent some time yesterday afternoon on the finger docks. Some of it sunning herself in Elwell’s outboard.”

  “Burt’s boat that you commandeered.”

  “The very one. She was waiting for him, hoping he’d give her a ride. And not just on the boat.”

  “I see.” The double entendre evoked a stripe of apricot across her cheeks. “I’ll have to talk to her about the dangers of chasing after older boys.”

  “Especially older boys with police records. Definitely jail bait. Did you know that our Cliff Trigger spent some time in the county jail?”

  “Of course.” She tossed her head with haughty assurance. Her hair swung gracefully, a shimmering curtain.

  “How? I doubt he’d brag about being a jailbird.”

  “Stan told me a long time ago. Burt and some other boys stole an outboard motor from a marina in Alderport. He spent a month behind bars. He was a teenager then.” She cocked her head at him. “Did you tell that to Kay?”

  He worked his jaw, chewing his decision again. “I started to, but I asked her only about yesterday. You saw her tonight. All tarted up like a bimbo. Hard to tell how young she really is. And I remember my teenage years enough to know that warning her off him might have the opposite effect, kinda like your folks warning you about the biker.”