by Lisa Hughey
My sense of panic had receded into slightly frantic distress, but a low level buzz of discomfort still zipped through my system. The stress competed with a sense of loss that had nothing to do with my inability to attend college and stretch my brain, and more to do with an aching unrelenting emptiness in my arms now that he was out of them. How could I miss something I’d only had for the briefest of moments?
I wanted his attention off me. I was pretty sure he was harmless but what if I was wrong? The rush of the surf behind him gave me the distraction I needed and I gestured with a shaking hand. “Your board....”
“Not mine. Borrowed.” As if he didn’t want me to think the slick surface with a nearly naked hula girl sporting large breasts on the fiberglass bottom was his.
“....is floating away.”
He looked at me, then turned to sight the board, his body tense, as if he were trapped between two opposing forces.
“Shit.” He ran toward the water, and made a grab for the borrowed board. He called over his shoulder, “Don’t leave.”
***
Zeke realized he probably looked like a total idiot racing toward the surf. Way to impress her. Except, he shouldn’t be trying to impress her, he was supposed to be surveilling her. Watching out for her. Not impressing her. Not interacting with her. Just keeping an eye on her.
The wash of surf against his legs was frigid, wicked cold. “What the hell was I thinking?”
After a few aborted attempts to capture the wax-slick board, Zeke finally got ahold of the lead and pulled it onto the beach.
He dragged the board to his stuff, but she was gone.
Zeke stared at the wet hotel towel. She’d been afraid of the water. Seen a potential threat in the harmless little wave that had teased the cotton edge.
Nothing in the file on Sunshine Smith about thalassophobia...even though she clearly had a massive fear of the ocean. But the file had been pretty damn light. Just a name, address, and a grainy picture that captured the arrangement of her features but not her essence.
He stood staring dumbly after her as she scurried along the shadowed path to the parking lot, and he wished things were different. Wished he wasn’t under suspicion of supplying encryption programs to wackos, wished he was here on vacation—of course what dumbass goes surfing in the middle of the night?—instead of secretly tasked with watching over her. Wished that he had the normal experiences of a normal twenty something guy and could talk to a woman he found attractive.
His first response to her departure was a frantic, “No!” He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted another minute, or five, in her presence while he was conscious rather than un.
Shit. He should be happy she hustled off the beach since he wasn’t supposed to have contact with her. Instead he had feeling of loss so profound it shook him to his core.
Zeke tugged his sweatshirt over his head, slung the towel around his neck, hefted the board under one arm, and trudged toward his rental SUV.
And suppressed the urge to run after her.
Five
October 20
8:00 am
Seattle, Washington
Oliver Krychef waited in the customs and immigration line at SeaTac, in the state of Washington. Snippets of different languages, Russian, French, Italian, Cantonese, Vietnamese, eddied around him as passengers weary from transpacific flights waited to be welcomed into the United States.
This was the most dangerous leg of his return to the U.S.
He inhaled slowly, carefully, drawing in the scents and sounds of international travel. The aromas of green tea, burnt coffee, cigar smoke, heavy pungent odor of curry, and even possibly borscht, all masked by generous spritzes of floral perfume and stale body odor.
Officially he was entering from Vancouver.
He’d packed very carefully for this mission, making sure that nothing in his bag would draw the attention of the U.S. customs agents. Clothing, some toiletries, all Canadian of course, and a bottle of duty free Lucky Lager.
In truth, failing his superiors was far more dangerous than entering the United States. This gauntlet might stop him from entering the country if his paperwork and fake passport didn’t stand up to the new homeland security protocols. Which would be a disaster. His credentials should be above reproach since his superiors were as invested in him achieving his objective as he was.
Oliver Krychef was on the U.S. State Department’s watch list. He’d been kicked out of the country a little over a year ago and he was still angry about it. Fortunately his forged passport identified him as Lars Andersen, and he’d altered his appearance slightly. A little nose job and padding in his cheeks and chin. This particular airport didn’t have advanced facial recognition technology according to the man who facilitated his entry back into the country.
But if his contact was wrong, Oliver was trakhal.
Blood pumped faster through his veins, and he could literally feel his blood pressure rising with the sheer fury he felt toward that bitch. She had ruined his career. Both here in the U.S. and in his native Russia. His superiors were not happy with him. And when they were not happy, bad things happened.
Ten years of work destroyed because she couldn’t handle it when she found out that he’d injected their daughter with the DNA-altering drug. Their child, Liliya, was incredibly intelligent. Of course, that was inevitable with their combined IQ. The formula had been designed to work on confidence centers, enhancing traits and making the individual stronger. He’d only thought to both augment his daughter and test the drug. All scientists knew you could not obtain accurate results on yourself so he had bestowed the honor on Liliya.
But Susan clearly wasn’t as dedicated to the science as he was. She’d been unbelievably angry, most especially when they discovered the drug had some unfortunate side effects. In addition to enhancing confidence it magnified weaknesses.
He tried to tamp down his fury at her inability to see the benefits of human testing, knowing that the anger would cause his face to burn bright red. Oliver cursed his fair coloring as he approached the customs counter.
He handed over his customs declaration sheet pleased to see that his pale-skinned hand was steady.
“How long will you be staying, Mr. Andersen?”
He wasn’t going back to Russia until he had the formula. Until he’d retrieved his work and taken care of Susan Chen. “Two weeks.” Maybe even less. If he could find Susan, get the research, and get back to Russia sooner, he would get out of this damned country once and for all.
“What is the purpose of your visit?”
“Just a little pleasure. Las Vegas.” Oliver blinked once, his heavy lids dropping over his ice blue eyes, blond lashes brushing the puffy bags under his cheeks, before he stretched his mouth into what he hoped passed for a smile as he contemplated gutting his former lover.
“I’m feeling lucky.”
Six
October 20
8:45 am
Cambria, California
What was wrong with me?
Everything seemed out of place, out of whack, out of sync.
I plowed through rote tasks without really paying attention, my thoughts scattered like the strands of kelp on the sand last night.
When I flipped on the display lights over the gleaming glass bottles of hand-blended oils and scented salt scrubs, the clear light hit the rippled glass and reminded me of the moonlight on the water and the man tumbling through the surf.
I put the opening till money in the cash register, laying out the bills in sequence, and then realized I’d forgotten to count them.
Did it really matter? I shrugged and slid the drawer shut.
I wandered through the store, ostensibly to check for anything that needed to be re-stocked, and my fingertips brushed lightly over the jars and pots. The pleasing fragrance of geranium and lavender emanated from the sample brazier filled with my signature potpourri. The light touch of my fingertips along the shelf reminded me of the smooth feel of the sur
fer’s skin beneath my hands. Reminded me too of the tensile strength in his shoulders and the little shivers of sensation that followed me still. I shook my head, and tried to shake out the tactile memory of his skin, so unbelievably warm despite the frigid water.
Gazing out the front window, I noted the pyramid of Fall candles had shifted, the balance somewhat precarious, probably after those twins were in the store with their mother yesterday.
I wandered to the display and adjusted the base square into a more solid foundation, my actions mechanical as I stared into the street without really seeing anything.
Hanlon’s razor, he’d whispered. He couldn’t really have referenced the obscure law, could he? Don’t assume a situation is motivated by evil if it can easily attributed to stupidity.
What are the odds that he would even know that law? And why would he think he might be the subject of malice?
A particularly loud scrape from upstairs startled me out of my thoughts. Mama was moving around, her tread heavy.
Heavier than usual. I frowned.
Mama had gotten home late from the business association meeting last night. I knew because when I snuck out for the beach she still hadn’t come home from the meeting. Of course, our local commerce bureau gatherings were more of a social event than a true business meeting. They discussed town advertising and promotion ideas, any theft problems they’d been having, and general issues that plagued the local merchants for a few minutes, and then commenced to the more social aspect of their tight knit group.
The monthly meeting was more of a casual get-together at the bar in the middle of town, tucked away between art galleries and clothing boutiques, than a serious meeting. Blue’s Bar and Surf Shop had been here practically before the town existed and had managed, in a town that made its living off of tourists, to stay mostly local. Not that there was anything wrong with the tourist bars.
I’d snuck back home last night, more concerned with getting in and past Mama’s bedroom without waking her up. Luckily her door had been closed. I knew she was worried about me. She didn’t like the fact that I’d been wandering the beach at night, the only time I could go to the ocean and attempt to tame my fears. During the day, the beaches were too full for me to test my dread of the water. And exposing my weakness to anyone was a level of trust I couldn’t reach.
I was twenty freaking years old. I should not be afraid of the water.
Mama didn’t understand.
I tried hard to keep my restlessness, my recent lack of excitement and joy in my life from her. Guilt was a companion neither of us wanted. We’d made our choices long ago and I would do anything to protect her from that monster.
I turned the sign that hung from an iron scrollwork hook on the front door from Closed to Open.
“Time for business,” I called out, infusing a peppiness that I really didn’t feel into my voice.
The door leading from the back storage room swung open with a creak. We really needed to oil the hinges, I thought absently.
“Morning sleepy heh—” I stopped dead. Gulped. “—ad.”
Blue Harrison grinned sheepishly at me. “Morning.” His deep, gruff voice rumbled from behind his bushy beard, his flannel shirt rumpled and his feet bare.
“Oh, uh, Sunny,” Mama stammered. “What are you doing up so early? It’s...it’s my day to open.”
Mama completely disregarded the fact that there was a man with her. A big, unkempt, burly man’s man who’d clearly not just come over to fix a squeaky hinge.
I blinked. Blinked again. A man.
Blue rubbed a big, masculine hand through his brown, shoulder length strands. “I think she’s a little surprised, honey.”
Honey? Had he just called my mother honey? I swallowed and tried to wrap my brain around the sight in front of me.
The last time I’d seen my mother with a man had been thirteen years ago. To the day. “Mama?”
Mama brushed past Blue to come stand in front of me. Her hands were clasped together in front of her. She was wearing a pink cotton sweater I particularly loved on her. The color gave a delicate blush to her cheeks and a sparkle to her brown eyes.
Or maybe it was the man.
She hunched her shoulders up to her ears, twisting her hands in front of her chest. “I have something to talk to you about.”
I snorted. “I’d guess.” Involuntarily, I moved my hand to my forehead. My heart began to pound. The lights in the store suddenly seemed inordinately bright.
“Well, I was waiting for the right moment.”
Too late. “For what?”
“Blue,” she faltered, her eyebrows crinkled into a little frown as she obviously searched for the right words. “Blue and I....”
Blue and I. As if they were a couple. As if they were together. Which could not possibly be correct. It was Mama and me against the world, against the monster.
My head throbbed, a deep pain at the base of my skull made me feel as if I were the one who’d gotten dumped off a surfboard and into the waves.
“It’s fine.” I patted her shoulder. They’d hooked up. She didn’t need to say it out loud. I’d seen enough television to know, to understand what a hook up was. There was no need to embarrass anyone further.
Mama glanced back at Blue, her shoulders slumped helplessly. Then she straightened, lifted her chin. “I don’t think you understand.”
“Boy, that association meeting must have gotten really crazy, huh?” I smiled and pretended I wasn’t completely freaked by the situation. “Blue, next time go easy on the tequila. Mom’s a lightweight.”
“Sunshine.” Blue moved closer to me until they were both practically surrounding me. “This has nothing to do with tequila.”
Of course it did. That was the only logical explanation. Although Mama sure didn’t look hung over. Her body was strung tight and she radiated tension, but she was practically glowing.
“Sunny,” Mama reached out, took my hand in hers, and when I looked at our clasped hands, a ring with a beautiful oval moonstone surrounded by silver filigree on her left hand shone back at me.
“We’re getting married.”
Seven
Routine and discipline were the cornerstones to any fitness regimen. And Zeke religiously exercised to keep his body and mind in top shape. Exercise also helped to keep his OCD from overtaking his conscious thoughts, physical activity calmed his brain, and helped him concentrate. Most days he loved it. The problem was, today he didn’t feel like working out.
Zeke finished his crunches and started on his pushups.
One, two, three, he counted to ten, then rested for a beat of ten. He tried to let his mind wander as he levered up and down, completing his daily reps, but his thoughts kept returning to last night.
To the way the moonlight rippled over Sunshine’s shiny black braid just like it rippled over the waves. To the shadowed fear in her eyes. Not fear of him. Fear of the water. To the attraction that he thought flashed between them.
Zeke tugged on his running shoes. Ugh. He’d rather be swimming but he needed a wet suit—no duh, he’d been crazy to get in that water last night—and none of the swim/surf shops were open yet. He’d pick one up later today but for now he’d take a quick jog around town, get the lay of the land, scope out the logistics.
And he was abso-freaking-lutely lying to himself.
He was going to look for a certain midnight-haired sea nymph who had enchanted him. And who he should stay far, far away from.
Even if she was a puzzle. And he loved to solve puzzles.
Patterns existed everywhere, you just needed to find the repeat and suddenly everything would make sense.
He’d lain in bed long after he’d gotten back to the hotel thinking about the mystery of Sunshine Smith. Who goes walking on a beach in the dead of night when they’re clearly scared of the water?
Yeah, she’d definitely been afraid. Terrified really.
Details he’d overlooked in the heat of wanting to kiss her clarified w
hen he’d reviewed the night’s events. Her skirt had been soaked, her sweater too.
Who went into the surf to rescue a boneheaded idiot when they weren’t just afraid, but flat out petrified, of the water?
Yeah, he’d thanked her last night.
But the more he’d gone over every detail of their encounter, the more the reality of what she had done for him sunk in. And the more he wanted, no needed, to seek her out and thank her again.
Zeke tied his old-fashioned room key to his shoelace and headed out. Fog, thick and soupy, shrouded the street, but the reflection was bright and white, not gray. The air was crisp, clean. When the fog burned off, it was going to be an ideal day.
Zeke took off for the only drag in town. Main Street.
He knew Sunshine Smith lived in the town proper above a store. Running up and down the main thoroughfare looking for a certain woman was about as stupid as searching New York City for one, but it had worked for his friend Jordan, and Cambria was a lot smaller than NYC. So...what the hell.
His hotel was one block off the central road, tucked behind a grove of eucalyptus and adjacent to a total dive bar. He wasn’t much of a drinker but something about the place reminded him of his grandfather and he thought maybe later he’d go in and raise a pint in his honor.
His grandfather. Yesterday had been the anniversary of his death. His grandfather’s murder, he now knew.
As Zeke took off down the street, it occurred to him that today was the anniversary of Sunshine’s grandparents’ deaths.
Her situation was a little different. Her grandparents had died in a car accident. Their tire had blown out and their car had rolled into a raging creek and they’d drowned. Based on the fact that it had been labeled an accident and she’d only been a little girl, she probably didn’t even remember or register this day in her mind. But she had a right to know that their deaths were not an accident. A right to closure.
Knowing now that his grandfather’s death was, in fact, murder helped some, but the man he’d loved was still gone. The man who’d taught him so much was still missing from his life. The loss left an empty ache in his heart.
