Promise Cove

by Vickie McKeehan

  Nick was thirty miles outside Pelican Pointe when he looked in the side mirror and saw the flashing lights of a police cruiser, a county squad car. Damn. He reluctantly pulled to the shoulder and cut the engine on the bike. Removing his helmet, he waited patiently for the deputy to get out of his car and walk up to the motorcycle.

  “You Harris?”

  “Yeah. Is something wrong? I wasn’t speeding.”

  “Got a request to detain you.”

  “Detain me? Why? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  Nick crawled off the bike and stood directly in front of the deputy. “What’s going on?” They stood there staring at each other through shaded, reflective sunglasses. Finally, the deputy drawled, “That’s a nice bike. What is that a 2008?”

  “Nine,” Nick corrected, beginning to get pissed. Just then, he caught sight of a vintage pickup truck barreling toward them both and watched as it skidded to a stop on the shoulder, spitting gravel everywhere in its wake. Shocked to see Jordan crawl out of the passenger seat, slamming the door, he eyed the deputy. “What’s going on?” And then he realized something might be wrong with Hutton. A sick feeling washed over him.

  But the deputy’s lips curved slightly before he tipped his hat to Nick and walked back to his patrol car.

  Breathless, Jordan ran up to where Nick stood, threw her arms around his neck. She stood there until he slowly, almost reluctantly put his arms around her waist. “What are you doing here? Has something happened to Hutton?”

  Jordan sniffed, “How could you just take off like this without even saying goodbye? I don’t understand you. I thought Hutton and I meant something to you?”

  “What?” He ripped off his shades and set her away from him far enough to stare into those brown eyes. “I’m headed into Santa Cruz to see if I can hire some temp workers. I know it might be Sunday but you never know, maybe one of those temporary day labor places might be open. If not, I can always leave a note on one of the doors for them to call me first thing in the morning. With work so scarce these days, I’m hoping they could send us out some temp workers to help with the final four days of preparation, at least get the drywall in.”

  Relief engulfed her. “So you weren’t leaving?”

  “Leaving? You mean heading back to L.A? No, not until we’ve finished, not until we’re open for business.” But the minute he met her eyes, his breath backed up. Any thought of leaving her now was an absolute waste of time.

  She blew out a breath. “This is ridiculous. I’m tired of playing games.” She slipped out of Nick’s embrace and started to pace up and down on the shoulder of the highway in a huff. Good thing traffic was light.

  Jordan pushed her hair out of her face. “I knew who you were, Nick. From the very first night, I recognized the name. And even if I hadn’t, I would have eventually recognized your face from the pictures Scott sent home of his unit. The first night you got here, I reread Scott’s letters. You were right there, Nick, in every single one.”

  “That’s why you never asked me about my scars. You already knew. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Me?” She looked at him in disbelief. “You didn’t seem ready or willing to open up to me. I kept asking you, prodding you, giving you every opportunity to tell me what was bothering you, to talk to me.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Fact is I didn’t press you because I suspect I didn’t want to talk about it any more than you did. I don’t think I was ready, just as you weren’t. I didn’t want to hear what you had to say. But don’t for a minute think I didn’t want you here with us, Nick. I just didn’t realize I’d fallen in love with you.”

  “You love me?”

  “Idiot. Of course I love you. How could I not? You’re such a good man, Nick. But from what Murphy tells me your memories of that day―in Iraq when Scott―died are just plain―wrong.”

  He scowled at her. Absently his hand flew to the scars on his chest. “I was there. I ought to know what happened.”

  “You’d think you should. But you don’t.”

  “Jordan, you don’t understand. I couldn’t save Scott. I tried, but I couldn’t get him out of that goddamned tin can in time. I wasn’t quick enough.”

  “See, that’s exactly what I mean, Nick. You were the one wounded.”

  “Not at first, not until the thing blew. I should have done something before it blew, reacted quicker. I have to live with that.”

  She sent him a sad-eyed look, wondering why his friend, Ben hadn’t forced him to face the truth long before now. But then she realized Nick probably hadn’t spoken about that day to a single soul, not even in therapy to counselors, least of all, to his buddies. “I know what happened, Nick. When someone dies over there they send you a detailed account of what happened whether you want to know it or not. Plus, his commander, a Colonel Marks, came to see me in person. Scott died instantly, Nick. And there was nothing you or anyone could do about it.”

  “No, no, that isn’t what happened. I talked to him. He was alive in that Hummer. We had a conversation before…”

  Jordan shook her head, denial she thought, as she began to try again to make him see the truth. “I don’t doubt you remember conversations with him, Nick. We all remember how Scott loved to talk. But there is no mistake. Scott died instantly from some type of homemade bomb that hit the vehicle.” She took out a piece of paper from her pocket. “I brought the letter. The day you showed up I didn’t know you were the one who had been wounded beside him. But I called Colonel Marks the next day. He verified it was you in the Hummer next to Scott. You’d lost a huge amount of blood. They had to cut you out before the gas tanks exploded. You were the one wounded, Nick. Scott was already gone. Even after they got you to the hospital they almost lost you.”

  “He died instantly.” It wasn’t a question, as if reality might at long last be sinking in.

  Her breath caught. She started crying. “I’ve no doubt guilt brought you here to me. But I hope to God, you stay because you love us as much as we love you.” Her voice hitched. “The other day Hutton called you Da. She called you that this morning when she asked about Da. Where was Da? I didn’t know what to say to her. I think Scott wanted you to come here, Nick. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

  “Jordan, you don’t know the half of it. I promised him I’d take care of you. I’ve made a mess of this whole thing. He knew you were unhappy. He talked about how sad you sounded in your letters. He must have known you needed me.” His voice broke, tears streamed down his cheeks. “He’s the reason I came here, but he isn’t why I fell in love with you. I love you, Jordan. So much that it scares me. I’ve never loved anyone more. But I couldn’t stand to have you thinking about Scott or his death every time you look at me. And that’s what you’ll do. Eventually I’ll be a reminder of how Scott died.”

  Hearing that just pissed her off. “You don’t give me a lot of credit, do you? You think I don’t know how different you are from Scott. Believe me, I know. Do you want me to stand here listing all the ways? If I did we’d be here until Hutton starts kindergarten. When I look at you, when you touch me the way you do, believe me Nick, the very last thing I’m thinking about is Scott. Do you think for a minute he’d want you to blame yourself for something you had no control over? Nick, no one’s blaming you, except you. If you can’t see how much I love you, then I feel sorry for you.”

  “Marry me. I want us to have more kids, a brother or a sister for Hutton.”

  Jordan slumped with relief. Finally, she’d gotten through. She smiled and took his hand, walked to the bike. “Then you’ll have to come home, Nick, back to The Cove where you belong. Hutton and I need you to come home.”

  He reached for her then, molding her body to his and kissed her with everything he had.

  Epilogue

  You’re choking me,” Nick snapped, as Ben Latham first tightened, and then straightened the black tie around the collar of Nick’s starched white dress s
hirt.

  As best man, Ben brushed off the shoulders of the black tuxedo Nick wore and told him, “Buck up. You don’t want your tie coming undone during the ceremony.”

  “As if. It feels like you’re tying a noose around my neck.”

  “Is that a figure of speech, or some code the best man is supposed to recognize for ‘I’m getting cold feet, please get me the hell out of here?’ Want me to run interference while you make a break for it?” Ben asked in mock tone, as he took Nick by the shoulders and turned him around to face the full length mirror on the door in the studio apartment where, hours earlier, the groom’s party had been relegated to fend for themselves.

  “No. I’d just like to have enough air left in my lungs to say ‘I do’ when the time comes that’s all.”

  “Bitch and moan, bitch and moan. You finally find a beautiful woman who’s willing to set aside your sordid past long enough to marry you and all you do is bitch. Who says there are no miracles left in the world?”

  “I can always get another best man, wise ass.”

  “Ah, but I keep you on your toes. Why’d both of you decide to change the name of this place anyway? I saw the new sign out front. Promise Cove Bed & Breakfast. Has a nice ring to it.” Just then, Ben took out an envelope from the inside breast pocket of his own tuxedo. “By the way…”

  “Aww, you got me a gift certificate. I’m touched.” Nick said absently, as he attempted to fluff some style into his still-long hair with his fingers.

  “Not exactly. Something Scott gave me a couple of weeks before he died. At least I think that’s when he wrote it. All I remember is he gave this to me shortly before he, you know, to give to you should anything happen to him and he didn’t make it back. I put it my gear, forgot all about it. Sheryl came across the envelope the other day going through some of my stuff I brought back from Iraq.”

  “But that was more than a year ago.”

  “I know. What with you in the hospital and me coming back home to Sheryl and the kids I just tried to put it all out of my head. Last thing I wanted to do was sort through that gear when I got back stateside. But Sheryl found this buried in my duffle, asked me about it.”

  Ben handed the envelope off to Nick, but when he saw the scowl on his face, he held up his hands in protest. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I guess Scott must have had one of those premonitions, you know, that he wouldn’t be coming back.”

  “You didn’t read it?”

  Ben looked insulted. “It isn’t addressed to me now is it?”

  Nick ripped it open and took out the single sheet of paper inside. “Is this some kind of a sick joke?”

  “Not at all. What’s it say?”

  “You know what it says, asshole. Scott didn’t write this.”

  “Honest to God he gave it to me.” Ben reached to take the letter back. “You know as well as I do that’s his barely legible scrawl. He had the most god-awful handwriting.”

  Nick’s eyes grew wet.

  The message read: Take care of my girls, Nick. I know you won’t let me down.

  excerpt from

  Hidden Moon Bay

  Prologue

  Four months earlier

  Chicago, Illinois

  Trouble was about to overtake Emile Reed.

  The interview had not only been a disaster but had run longer than expected. The parking garage had almost emptied out, leaving behind the dim glare of cheap fluorescent lighting.

  Not paying attention, her mind on her ruined career, she failed to hear footsteps come up behind her. An arm jerked her back into a hard, muscled chest. Then a huge, sweaty hand covered her mouth. Despite stiffening her body in response, he yanked her backward then sideways, dragging her toward the stairwell.

  She fought. She kicked. She did her best to scream, moving her head wildly back and forth, but the huge hand refused to budge. By sheer force he dragged her in the direction of the stairwell. She resisted the only way she could. She dug her heels into the cement to try and stop his progress. But ultimately he was too powerful and manhandled her into the stairwell, shoving her face up against the concrete wall.

  The hand over her mouth was replaced with a cold piece of steel at her throat. He slowly turned her around. The knife he held came into focus. A pair of icy, silver eyes stared back at her through the slits of a ski mask.

  The second she felt the point of the knife prick her skin, felt liquid trickle down her neck, it crossed her mind if she didn’t find a way to fight she was going to die.

  Her assailant tightened his grip.

  A raspy voice threatened, “I’m here to make sure you don’t testify. Once I give you a Colombian necktie, no one will come forward to squeal.”

  The man stood so close, Emile smelled his stale, cigarette breath. Tattooed knuckles held the shiny weapon with one hand while the other reached to unbuckle the snap of his jeans.

  His mouth curled into a sneer. “But first, what do you say we have ourselves a little fun?”

  The blade left her throat long enough to slice at the buttons of the oxford shirt she wore.

  She gaped in terror as the plastic bits dropped in soundless flight to the cement. The steel made another sweep toward her chest while his free hand squeezed hard the tip of her right breast through her bra.

  Emile brought her knee up, connecting to his crotch. The instant she made contact, the second he doubled over in agony, she closed her fist and with an uppercut to his throat, punched him harder than she’d ever hit anything before in her life.

  The man staggered backward.

  The second she heard the metal of the knife clang to the concrete, she reached out and shoved him with everything she had the rest of the way down.

  She grabbed for the handle on the door. The door came back hard, hitting him in the side of his head. He crumpled to the pavement.

  Emile didn’t wait for him to land. She shot out of the stairwell running in three and a half inch Jimmy Choos until her feet protested and her lungs burned. All she could think about was getting away from the stairwell.

  And the man sent to kill her.

  Now, as she sat inside her little BMW 323, stopped at the light on Lake Shore Drive and the ramp to the expressway, she did her best to stop shaking and catch her breath, tried to calm down.

  Absently, she clutched at her tattered shirt with no buttons. She shuddered. Even though it was mid-May and a warm muggy night, she felt like she’d landed on an iceberg. She turned the car heater up to high.

  She’d fought. God help her, she’d gotten away.

  But for how long? The man sent to kill her, sent to deliver the message, had gotten through. Big time. How long had he been following her through the parking garage? Why hadn’t she noticed him sooner?

  Because she’d been too deep in thought about the stupid interview she’d blown not twenty minutes earlier. It was too late now, she realized. No sense beating herself up. But from now on, she planned to be more careful, a lot more careful.

  When the light turned green, she breathed out a ragged breath and pressed down on the accelerator, screeching onto the 55 ramp, gaining some serious speed. She spared a nervous glance in the rear view mirror. It didn’t look as though anyone had followed her, at least, not yet. Since she couldn’t be sure, as soon as she could, she merged into the steady stream of traffic, changing lanes until she’d reached the farthest one.

  And simply drove and drove and drove.

  She wouldn’t be going home. At least not any time soon. They’d be waiting for her. She thought of her cozy little condo she’d owned for four years and how she’d painstakingly picked out every stitch of furniture there one piece at a time. She let out a sigh, knowing how much she’d miss it.

  But it was too dangerous to go back.

  Her mind raced with options. She could head east to New York State where her mother lived. But that was a fairly obvious destination for anyone looking for her. Same with going south to her sister’s in St. Louis.

 
She couldn’t go to them; she couldn’t risk putting the people she loved in harms’ way.

  No, she’d already made too many mistakes and bad decisions for that. She could head north to Toronto where an aunt lived. But anyone who knew her might be able to find out about any relatives she’d used on past employment applications for personal references.

  Still gripped by panic, she tried to think.

  She couldn’t stay in Chicago. If she had to, she’d drive clear across the country.

  She knew one thing though. No matter what she’d promised the feds, she couldn’t go through with it, wouldn’t put her family and herself in danger any longer.

  If she’d been worried about testifying, appearing in court before today, before that maniac in the parking garage, she was absolutely terrified now.

  Because she was certain of one thing. Jeremy Dochenko had no intentions of giving up until she was dead.

  About the Author

  Vickie was born in Texas, the youngest of three children. She won her first writing contest in Mrs. Brown’s 8th grade English class and knew from that moment on she wanted to pursue writing in one form or another as a career. Now she’s lucky enough to write romantic suspense for a living. The author of six novels, including The Evil Trilogy and the Pelican Pointe series, she masterfully blends romance with real life issues, throwing her characters into twists and turns that never fail to shock and surprise.

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  at https://www.facebook.com/VickieMcKeehan