92 Pacific Boulevard

by Debbie Macomber

  The operator assured her a deputy was on his way. Without thinking, Faith disconnected the line. Oh, dear, that was foolish. Then she understood what her heart had been telling her from the first—it wasn’t a 9-1-1 operator she wanted reassurance from, it was Troy Davis.

  Troy had said she should call but she couldn’t. Not in the middle of the night and, really, what could he do?

  He’d been on her mind ever since the evening he’d come into the Wok ‘n’ Roll when she was dining there with Will Jefferson, a friend from her high-school days. He’d been two years ahead of her and a real heartthrob.

  Naturally, Troy pretended he hadn’t seen her with Will. She’d done exactly the same thing and acted as though he was invisible. If anything, she’d gone out of her way to prove she could enjoy another man’s company. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time; now, in retrospect, she wasn’t so sure. She couldn’t resist letting him think she had an active social life.

  Will Jefferson, while charming and as good-looking as ever, didn’t interest Faith. For that matter, he wasn’t interested in her, either. He happened to be eating alone when she came in, and Will had invited her to share his table. They’d spent an hour catching up and exchanging news of mutual friends, laughing frequently at various reminiscences. They’d had a friendly visit—and that was it. Faith hadn’t heard from Will since and didn’t expect to, which suited her fine.

  The footsteps outside her window seemed to be receding. Faith exhaled and then, acting purely on impulse, grabbed the phone again. She hesitated; she had plenty of time to change her mind, plenty of time to be ruled by reason rather than emotion.

  Troy answered on the second ring. “Davis here.” He sounded awake. Alert.

  “Th-there’s someone outside my bedroom window,” she said, struggling to speak coherently.

  “Faith?”

  “I—I shouldn’t have called.”

  “Hang up and call 9-1-1.” Each word was spoken clearly and distinctly.

  “I already did. You suggested I phone you, too—it was silly. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t hang up,” he commanded.

  “I’m fine…Your deputy will be here any minute. I’m sorry to bother you, Troy.” She disconnected. With her fingers trembling violently, she felt more than a little embarrassed to have given in to her impulse. Her weakness.

  Faith could hear a car pull up and hurried out of bed. She threw on a housecoat, then waited by the door until the sheriff’s vehicle came into view. Turning on the porch light, she stepped onto the porch.

  “There—at the back of the house, near the bedroom on the south side,” she called out, pointing in that direction.

  Wrapping the housecoat more securely about her, she returned to the house. As she waited, she paced the living room. When she heard a loud knock at her front door, she rushed to answer it—and found Troy Davis standing there, looking grim and hard-faced.

  “Are you hurt?” he demanded.

  He sounded angry, as he had every right to be. What an irrational, irresponsible thing she’d done in calling him.

  “I’m…shaken up,” she told him, hoping that would be enough to explain why she’d behaved so illogically.

  “Wait here,” he said and left her.

  Faith lowered herself into her favorite rocker. She sat there for long moments, unmoving, not knowing what to think or why someone had targeted her.

  That was obviously the case. She’d done her best to ignore the fact, pretend this couldn’t be happening. Now, whoever this person was, he’d come back, bolder and even more aggressive. After the initial break-in, he—or she—had spray painted her garage. Now—

  “There’s clear evidence of someone outside your bedroom window,” Troy said sternly as he came through the front door. “Deputy Walker saw footprints in the snow.” His tone was almost…accusatory.

  Faith looked up at him and blinked, bewildered.

  Troy’s nod was curt and professional as he prepared to leave.

  But Faith sensed his hesitation.

  “Did you lock the dead bolts before you went to bed?” he asked.

  She confirmed that she had. “I also purchased a pair of old work boots from Goodwill and set them on the porch. I bought the largest size I could find—fourteen. Then I added a huge dog dish and a bone, so it would look as if I have a dog.” She figured that since she was pretending she had a dog, she might as well make him big. Her son and daughter had found her antics amusing. Troy apparently didn’t.

  “Did you get a real security system?” he snapped.

  That she hadn’t done. This was a rental house and she had a six-month lease. She hoped to buy a home within the next few months. It seemed a waste of time and money to invest in a security system when she didn’t intend to live here much longer. And she didn’t feel an alarm system was the landlord’s responsibility.

  “No,” she admitted.

  “Then I recommend you do so.”

  Faith nodded.

  Troy turned to leave again.

  Frightened, she didn’t want to be alone, but she didn’t know how to stop him. “Why are you so angry?” she cried out.

  Troy’s back was to her. He held himself stiff, and then she saw his shoulders deflate as he faced her. He didn’t seem to have an answer.

  “It was wrong of me to call you. I apologize, I really do.” She didn’t remind him that he’d been the one to make that suggestion. It had stayed there, in her mind, like a thorn caught on a piece of fabric. In her weakened state she’d done what she’d wanted to all along and now regretted it.

  Still Troy didn’t speak, didn’t move or give even a hint that he’d heard her.

  “I realize I shouldn’t have…”

  He accepted her answer with a curt nod. “You’ve made it plain you don’t want me in your life.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks, embarrassing her even more. “Yes, I know. I—”

  “Then why, when you felt you were in danger, did you reach out to me?”

  He was obviously determined to make this difficult. She told him the truth, since she couldn’t come up with any other explanation. “I feel safe with you.”

  He glared across the room at her.

  It felt awkward to be sitting while he loomed over her, even if he was on the other side of the room. Faith stood abruptly. She hated to let him see how upset she was by this latest disturbance.

  “I need some coffee,” she said, knowing there was no point in going back to bed now. “Would you like some, Troy?” she asked, refusing to allow his anger to affect her.

  “No.”

  It didn’t sound as if he meant that, so she proceeded into the kitchen, immeasurably pleased when he came, too, a few paces behind her.

  “I have the names of a couple of companies who install security systems,” he said. “I’ll have Megan pass them on to you.”

  Faith continued to prepare the coffee. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you, Troy.”

  He seemed on the verge of leaving again. She resisted the urge to stop him, although she didn’t want to be alone. No, it was more than that. She wanted Troy with her. She needed him.

  “I saw the TV report about the cave and the skeleton on that Seattle station,” she said conversationally. “I hear everyone in the area’s talking about it. I hope all this media attention hasn’t caused your office any problems.” The reporter had started all kinds of speculation, and as a result Kitsap County seemed to be alive with rumors, some of them pretty ridiculous.

  Troy didn’t answer, but he didn’t walk away, either.

  She glanced over at him, waiting for a response.

  “Mayor Benson isn’t happy about it,” he finally said. “Neither am I.”

  “It puts a lot of pressure on you and your staff, doesn’t it?” She brought a mug to the kitchen table and set it down while the coffee filtered into the pot. “Is that the reason you’re so cranky?”

  Again he didn’t answer.

  �
��Or does it have to do with Will Jefferson?”

  Troy’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak.

  “You did see us, didn’t you?” she said.

  Once more he declined to respond, but she went on as if he had.

  “I thought so.”

  Troy remained stoic. “I didn’t know the two of you were seeing each other,” he said tersely.

  “As it happens, we aren’t.” She went on to explain that she’d run into Will at the restaurant. If her explanation satisfied him, he didn’t say. He seemed determined to keep her out of his life. Well, that was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? What she’d asked for.

  The coffee gurgled behind her, and the slow dripping sound came to an end.

  “It’s none of my business who you have dinner with.”

  “True, but I felt you should know.”

  He nodded as though acknowledging the information. That was encouraging.

  “Are you sure I can’t talk you into having coffee with me? It’s almost four, and there probably isn’t enough time to go back to sleep.”

  He hovered uncertainly in the kitchen doorway.

  “Why is that such a difficult decision?” Faith asked, half joking.

  “I should go.”

  It was hard to hide her disappointment. “I understand.” Thankful for an excuse to turn away, she filled her mug and added cream. When she turned back, she discovered that Troy had taken a few steps into the kitchen.

  “Before I do, I want you to tell me again what happened tonight. Start with the fact that someone was at your bedroom window.”

  She sipped her coffee, letting the warmth seep through her. “Yes. I heard the footsteps.”

  “You heard noise out by the garage on another occasion.”

  “Yes, there was that spray-painting incident.”

  “Has there been anything since?” he asked. “Before tonight?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Well, you should be aware,” he said in a brusque voice.

  Faith exhaled slowly, unaccustomed to dealing with Troy when he was angry. This was a side of him she wasn’t familiar with. Troy Davis had never revealed a temper in her presence, not in the past and not recently. Until tonight.

  His mouth tightened.

  “I…I probably should keep closer tabs on the garage and the house, too,” she said.

  “Yes, you should.”

  “You’re making me feel foolish.”

  Troy ignored the comment. “Have the interior security system installed, and ask Grace and Cliff to place a motion light above the garage.”

  “I’ll do that at the first opportunity.”

  “Don’t put it off,” Troy warned.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  He nodded, but didn’t meet her eyes.

  “Good night, Troy,” she said softly.

  For a long moment he didn’t say anything. “I appreciate knowing you’re not involved with Will Jefferson.”

  “Why’s that?” she asked.

  Troy looked down at the floor. “He’s not a good match for you, Faith.”

  “So who do you think is a good match for me?” she pressed.

  This time Troy Davis didn’t hesitate. His eyes met hers. “We both know the answer to that.”

  She leaned forward expectantly.

  “It’s me, Faith. It’s always been me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Will Jefferson glanced at his watch. It was Saturday night, and he’d made reservations at D.D.’s on the Cove. The restaurant was one of the nicest in town and he intended to impress Shirley Bliss.

  They’d seen each other twice now. Once for coffee at Mocha Mama’s, when she’d brought her daughter. The meeting hadn’t gone badly. With Tanni there, Shirley had been relaxed and easygoing. Shaw and Tanni had bantered back and forth, and they’d all laughed. He’d enjoyed it, somewhat to his surprise, and he could tell that Shirley had, too.

  Their second date wasn’t technically a date, either. They’d met by accident late one Sunday afternoon outside the mall. Will had been at loose ends and apparently she had, too. He’d invited her to the movies. The day was dreary and cold, and it’d been an offhand suggestion. He’d been delighted—and astonished—when she agreed.

  He ate popcorn. She didn’t. As the credits started to roll he offered to take her to dinner. He was eager to discuss the movie, which was a complicated drama about the meaning of identity, real and fake. However, as soon as they left the theater, Shirley seemed to find it essential to get home. He let her go but spent the next few days wondering how to proceed with her. It might have worked out better if Tanni had been with her that night, too. One thing was apparent—at least to him. Shirley was frightened to death of falling in love again. Will hoped he’d be the man to allay her fears.

  If he wanted a relationship with Shirley, he’d need to be patient, gentle, persistent. Her nervousness around him had puzzled him at first—but it meant she was aware of him. That gratified Will because he was certainly aware of her. She might be just the woman to tame his restless spirit…

  After their movie date, Will had bided his time. Seven restless days later, he’d risked phoning her. He had a good excuse—another of her pieces had sold.

  Again he offered to deliver the check, and again she’d refused. But she’d come to the gallery the next day. She seemed distracted and a bit troubled, and he suggested it might help to talk about her problems. He’d felt her hesitation, but in the end she’d agreed to meet him at D.D.’s for dinner on Saturday night. Will had been walking on air ever since.

  The waitress brought him a glass of his favorite New Zealand sauvignon blanc. He thanked her with a smile. She was pretty enough. Young, too; no more than thirty-five, with nice legs.

  He savored the wine while he waited. He’d arrived early and was already on his second glass when Shirley entered the restaurant. Standing, he greeted her. Always a gentleman, he helped remove her coat, then lightly brushed his lips against her cheek.

  He recognized his mistake immediately. He’d moved too quickly for her, presumed too much. He needed to remember that.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Shirley said, a little breathless, as she slid into the booth opposite him.

  Caught up in his thoughts, Will had lost track of the time. A quick check showed that she’d kept him waiting twelve minutes.

  “I’m afraid Tanni and I had an argument,” Shirley said, fumbling with her linen napkin as she placed it on her lap. Her face was flushed and he wondered if it was due to the dissension with her daughter or the cold.

  Never having had children, Will wasn’t sure he should comment. “The teen years can be difficult,” he ventured, although he had little or no experience with that age group.

  “She’s seeing too much of Shaw,” Shirley said.

  Will motioned to the waitress to take Shirley’s drink order. He was pleased when she accepted his suggestion to try the New Zealand wine. “Bring us a bottle,” he told the waitress.

  Shirley hurried to stop him. “Oh, no, that’s far too much! I’m sure I won’t drink more than a glass.”

  “This is one of my favorites. What you don’t want, I’ll have.”

  Shirley glanced at the parking lot.

  He grinned. “Don’t worry, I walked. It’s only a few blocks from the gallery.”

  “Yes. Walking…that’s a good idea.”

  The waitress returned with a bottle, which Will examined. “My ex-wife and I visited the Marlborough region of New Zealand a few years ago and discovered their exquisite wines.” He hoped to put Shirley at ease and distract her from the difficulties she’d experienced earlier with her daughter. As he recalled, Tanni was sixteen or seventeen. She’d probably be out of the house soon, attending college in Seattle or elsewhere.

  Shirley took her first sip and he could see that she liked the wine. Settling back in the booth, he studied her.

  “Tanni and I seem to be at odds more and more,” she murmured
, her eyes darting around the room.

  Obviously this situation was weighing on her and she seemed incapable of setting it aside.

  “I wasn’t sure I should still meet you for dinner,” she said. “I would’ve canceled if I’d been able to get in touch with you.”

  Thankfully he must’ve already left the gallery and she didn’t have his cell number.

  “This argument with Tanni is about Shaw, you said.” If talking helped her, then he was willing to listen.

  Shirley gripped the stem of her wineglass and stared into the distance. “They’re constantly together. It’s…dangerous. Tanni’s at a vulnerable point in her life—she was close to her father and she misses him desperately. She and Shaw are too serious, and now that they discovered those remains, it seems everyone wants to question them. I don’t know how the press got hold of their names—probably from other kids at school,” Shirley said. “The sheriff asked Shaw and Tanni not to say anything but Tanni’s been tricked into talking to reporters more than once.”

  Will sent her a look of sympathy. He’d heard about those skeletal remains; it’d been in the news for weeks. Every time there was the tiniest bit of information, it was blown out of all proportion, and interest was revived. One of the Seattle television stations appeared to be leading the way.

  “You’d think, with economic problems, political scandals and natural disasters, there’d be more important things for them to report on,” he said.

  “But that’s exactly why this story is so interesting to people—it’s a distraction. An escape. And it’s local.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. And everyone loves a mystery.”

  “Those reporters have made life for Shaw just as difficult,” she went on, “catching him at Mocha Mama’s, hounding him for more details. The poor kid doesn’t know what to say or do. It’s a mess.”

  Will was finished with this topic—he didn’t have anything else to add—but she seemed preoccupied and unsettled. The more she mentioned the incident, the more agitated she became. “The sheriff’s doing what he can, but for heaven’s sake, those bones have been there for years and years!”