Sex & Sensibility

by Shannon Hollis

“We’ll see if we can find anything in her e-mail,” Griffin said.

  “And after that I’d like to go down to the beach.” Tessa gazed out the window at the long line of breakers crashing in the distance. “Something about the beach is pinging on me.”

  “When she pings, you better listen,” Jay advised, his voice a little muffled. His head was again in his hands.

  “Understood.” Griffin motioned toward the door, and Tessa preceded him back to their “office” in the cottage.

  “Are we going to be able to get into her e-mail?”

  Griffin leaned over the laptop and tapped a few keys. “If she’s consistent, her mailbox should open right up when I—aha.”

  Tessa smothered a smile. And here she’d thought only detectives in books said “Aha.”

  Griffin paged through screens of messages, then started in on storage folders.

  “Does it occur to you that we are grossly violating this girl’s privacy?” Tessa inquired as he flipped things open and closed them again. “Isn’t there some kind of law?”

  “She’s under twenty-one, and we have her father’s permission.” Griffin’s tone was absent. “You know what? I’m not finding a single thing related to Trey or even a note from her girlfriends about him.”

  “Try the search function. It’s faster.” She picked up her original train of thought. “It’s like reading someone’s diary. An ethical thing, you know?”

  He started the search function and sat back and looked at her. “An ethical thing. How ethical is it for her to let her folks think she was kidnapped? Or to run off with an older guy?”

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  “Are you preaching at me?”

  Me, Ms. Woo-Woo Weirdness? Preach at you, Mr. Totally Straight and No Imagination? Yeah, right. “No. I’m just pointing it out.”

  He turned back to the computer when it beeped to say it had finished the task. “The whole thing is moot, anyway. There’s nothing containing the word Trey in her mailbox. Not a very sentimental girl, our Christina.”

  “Most girls would keep e-mails from their guy,” Tessa agreed. “The modern equivalent of tying them up in ribbon.”

  “Maybe she printed them out and hid them somewhere. She must not have trusted anyone.”

  “Turns out she was right.” Tessa smiled at him. “The question is, why keep it such a deep, dark secret from her family? After all, hooking up with an executive type could be a good thing. Not my cup of tea, certainly, but it’s not like he’s a homeless crack dealer.”

  “Think about it from her point of view.” Griffin closed out the screens and got up. “She’s the daughter of one of the ten richest men in America. She’s been living in a fishbowl her whole life. Everything she does is known, maybe not on a celebrity scale, but in Boston I know she had a companion for when she went out in public. Kind of a combination bodyguard and nanny. I think she went away when Christina turned eighteen, but you get my point.”

  “Maybe it’s not a deep, dark secret in that way, then,” Tessa mused. “Maybe she just wanted one thing that was hers, with nobody else’s nose poking into it.”

  “So yeah, we can empathize with her, but we still have to find her. I was only half kidding about Las Vegas earlier.”

  “I didn’t think you were kidding at all.”

  “So, what was that you said about the beach?”

  “I want to go down there. I just have a feeling.”

  How far we’ve come, Tessa thought as he nodded and handed her a sweater. This time yesterday if I’d said that, he would have made some nasty comment and held things up while I stumbled through yet another useless explanation. Now he just gets on with it.

  How nice it would be if he could have a little talk with Linn, and convince her that she really did have a gift.

  “I want to do one thing first,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I want to check the cards and see what they have to tell me. It might help me focus.”

  “The cards?” He looked completely at sea.

  “Yes. Tarot.” The velvet bag with the cards was still in her suitcase. She pulled it out of the side pocket.

  “What?”

  She sat on the carpet and closed her eyes. “You’ll see. Give me a moment of silence, will you?” She had the feeling he had just been temporarily rendered speechless, poor guy, so silence was not a problem.

  Calming her mind, she pictured the beach and Christina, and with eyes still closed, shuffled the deck. She cut it, turned over the top card and opened her eyes.

  The Ace of Cups. “Hmm.”

  “Hmm? Hmm what? What does it mean?”

  “Would you relax? I’m not summoning a demon, Griffin. The cards are just a tool.”

  To her relief, he did relax. A little. “Sorry. I had a pretty conservative upbringing.”

  “Yeah, I got that. Well, I didn’t. My mom’s a painter. She did this series of nudes based on the Major Arcana—those are cards representing the stages of human experience—and her pieces are in collections all over the world. Of course, people didn’t start buying them until somebody set the studio on fire. The media coverage was great.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Oh, no. She was moving into a bigger space anyway. But it was a PR bonanza. Every single piece sold. Anyway.” She returned her attention to the card. “The Ace of Cups. This card is about emotional force. Love, specifically, and more specifically still, intimacy.”

  “That ties in.” He sounded a little hesitant, as if she’d rap him over the knuckles with a pointer if he got the wrong answer.

  On the contrary. He got a gold star for playing along.

  “It sure does. This card is about going with your gut, falling in love, and acting on it.” She held the card up and he took it, frowning at it the way people frown at a menu in a foreign language. “See how the water is flowing out of the cup and into the lake? And the water lilies blooming on the lake? That can mean love flowing out of someone to make something beautiful.”

  “O-o-kay,” he said. “So that’s the connection to the beach? Water?”

  “Well, it helps.” She took the card and returned the deck to its bag. The Queen of Wands on the exterior of the bag smiled serenely at her, and she smiled back. “But I’m betting it means something a lot more personal.”

  “Like what?”

  “You never know for sure until you ask the person, but chances are good that Christina and Trey first made love on that beach. And that’s why I’ve got to go there.”

  AS ROMANTIC PLACES WENT, the beach didn’t rate very highly in Griffin’s estimation. The northern California coastline wasn’t sheltered, and the surf came rolling in sometimes seven or eight feet high, crashing on the shore with a sound and vibration like the detonation of a bomb. Little kids looked for seashells in vain; any such treasures got beaten to bits by the water long before they reached the shore.

  The sustained noise of the wind and breakers had one odd effect, though. It was like that old Elton John song that talked about “solid walls of sound.” The noise created an insulating effect for conversation, which couldn’t be heard at all past about two feet. People could be seen, unless they were seated behind a rock or log, but they’d never be heard.

  Tessa wrapped her blue sweater around her against the wind, and he briefly entertained the thought of putting an arm around her shoulder and sheltering her with his body.

  He entertained the thought, and then sent it on its way. If she were going to go into another trance down here, the last thing he needed to think about was putting an arm anywhere near her. In fact, he’d just keep his damn distance. He’d stay close enough to do his duty and listen, but far enough away so that if she reached for him in the throes of a dream, he could step away to safety.

  Though the sun was warm, the breeze off the combers was cool and carried the damp mist of spindrift. Tessa didn’t walk where the waves creamed up on shore, but followed the line of kelp a
nd bladder wrack at the high-tide mark, where the sand was firm but dry.

  “Anything?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “I’m heading for those rocks down there.”

  About a quarter of a mile away, a massive chunk of granite was all that was left where the cliff had washed away and receded. Fortunately no one had built on that point of land. Griffin figured anyone who built on these cliffs had a death wish, anyway. You just couldn’t guarantee that one good storm wouldn’t take out your living room and deposit it in the bay.

  “It’s been a while since I was down here,” he said.

  She had a long stride, he noticed, and had no trouble keeping up with him.

  With legs like that, of course she’d have a long stride.

  Do not think about her legs.

  Uh-huh. Or about what that gauzy purple dress does, flapping around her thighs in the breeze. You’re not thinking about that, either, I bet.

  No. He was doing his job.

  “If I lived here, I’d be out on the beach every day,” she said dreamily. “You can see the water from my apartment.” She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “This much of it.”

  “Jay used to run every morning, but the job sucks up more and more of his time.”

  “He should run. He needs to do something with all that stress.”

  “So you’re in San Francisco? Your sister is, too, right? Didn’t I hear she moved up there when she joined CLEU?”

  Tessa nodded. “She’s getting married in a few weeks. Poor thing.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Don’t like her guy?” He hadn’t known Linn Nichols all that well, but he wouldn’t have pegged her for the marrying kind. She was by-the-book, idealistic, and thorough to a fault. Which translated into long hours and carefully prepared cases, and that didn’t mix with a developing relationship, as he knew only too well. Her guy had to be law enforcement. They tended to understand the concept of double shifts better.

  “Oh, I like him, when he’s not on duty and being a scary whack job. They’re in narcotics,” she added by way of explanation.

  Griffin nodded. It explained a lot.

  “No, I meant Linn has joined the demented ranks of brides-to-be. I had no idea. I never expected she would get sucked into all the magazine expectations and stuff.” She shaded her eyes against the sun and gazed out to where a couple of neoprene-clad surfers were riding a big one. “If I ever take the plunge it’s going to be in front of my family only, with flowers I pick on the way down to the beach.”

  “Better bring a microphone, then,” he suggested. “You can’t hear out here.”

  “We’re a close family.” She smiled at him, her dimple flashed, and he lost his train of thought. “Mostly. We’ll cuddle up.”

  If his thoughts were ever to go in that direction, which they wouldn’t, he’d probably choose the same thing.

  “When I got married, I hardly saw Sheryl,” he said. “She was always surrounded by caterers and florists and bridesmaids. Both mothers. It was insane. Then the whole thing culminated in a ceremony at the biggest church in town.”

  But Sheryl had been happy during that time. Happy and busy and full of news every night. To him, it hadn’t been the most interesting news—what did he care whether the favors were china angels or bags of potpourri?—but seeing that glow in her eyes had made it worth it.

  Too bad the glow had faded when the reality of broken appliances and laundry and a budget had set in. She had wanted to do over his little house and when he’d explained that even with both their salaries, there was no extra money for a remodeled kitchen and a new bathroom, the fighting had started.

  “I didn’t know you were married.”

  He blinked and focused on Tessa again. “What, didn’t see it in your crystal ball?”

  “Don’t have one. Too expensive.”

  He laughed. “I’m not now.”

  “Married? Or expensive?”

  “Both.”

  Some people were project-oriented. They had to be doing things or they weren’t happy. The wedding plans had made Sheryl happy in the beginning. Plans to remodel would have kept her happy once the honeymoon was over, but he hadn’t figured that out yet. He had thought that he was enough—that a life together was enough.

  He had been wrong.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up if it’s a sore subject,” Tessa said, coming a little closer and glancing into his face.

  “Oh, it’s not.” Well, it wasn’t a lie. Sheryl wasn’t a sore subject. She was more like a gaping wound into which he periodically poured vinegar. He thought fast for a nice, vague explanation. “Our expectations were too high. And we grew up at different rates, but we got to the same place and decided it had been a mistake.”

  Nice and vague, with the added advantage that it didn’t resemble the truth in the least.

  “How long ago did you split up?”

  “What year is this?” He did some subtraction. “Six years ago.” And a few months and a couple of days.

  “You’re just coming out of the pain zone,” she said, as if she were some kind of counselor. “It takes five years to get over the chemical addiction to the other person.”

  “Chemical addiction? Have you been hanging around with those narcs, or what?”

  “Seriously. Love produces chemicals in the brain, and you get addicted. It was in one of my psych textbooks.”

  “Kinda takes the romance out of it,” he observed, as they arrived at the rocks. “Like this beach. Not what I would pick for a midnight tryst, what with the wind and sand and all. Getting anything yet?”

  14

  DRIFTWOOD HAD PILED UP around the ten-foot chunk of granite like abandoned Tinkertoys, providing shelter from the wind and the intrusive eyes of other people.

  “Is that a roundabout way of saying, ‘Tessa, get on with your job and stop yakking’?” she wanted to know.

  “No. I don’t mind your yakking.” Obviously not, since he’d actually come out and spoken of something as personal as his ill-fated wedding.

  “Thank you so much.” She climbed over a stack of crisscrossed logs and jumped down on the other side. “Aha,” she called up to him as he clambered over after her. “Here we are.”

  He landed in the dry sand beside her. “Here?”

  It looked as if no one had been there in months, but he supposed the tide cleaned things up every night. A stretch of sand was sheltered from the wind by the rocky outcrop and the tumbled logs, and a particularly big chunk of log provided a backrest for a view out to sea.

  “This is the place. Far enough from the house that she couldn’t be found, and close enough to run back to before someone found out she was gone.” Tessa shrugged out of her sweater and tied it around her waist. Then she sat on the sand with her back to the log and arranged her skirt over her thighs.

  “So now what?” He stretched out beside her a safe couple of feet away.

  “Now we open ourselves up to whatever’s here.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again and glanced at him. “If a crab comes up, you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

  He tried to keep a straight face, since it was obvious she was serious. “You talk to the universe. I’ll keep watch for crabs.”

  She settled back against the log and closed her eyes, upon which he promptly broke his promise and allowed himself to watch her instead. Sandy lashes lay on cheeks as smooth as ripe apricots, and as her mouth relaxed he saw that there was a dent in the middle of her bottom lip that invited a kiss.

  This is not smart. Quit ogling her when she’s not looking. You’re supposed to be on crab watch.

  No crab in its right mind would come and nip a human’s toes. They’d only do that in self-defense. Her fear was completely irrational. And he wasn’t doing any harm.

  Not to her, maybe. You’ve got no intention of pursuing anything with her, so why are you doing this?

  There was no answer to that one.

  “There’s a light,”
Tessa said dreamily.

  Griffin snapped out of his self-imposed lecture and glanced at her. “A light?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Coming down the beach. A flashlight. I bet it’s him.”

  Bingo. The universe was evidently feeling chatty. This time he’d make sure there was no danger of anybody’s hands being made to fondle anybody’s body. He would stay objective if it killed him.

  “What do you see?”

  “He’s staying somewhere along here.” She waved a lazy hand south, farther along the beach. “Maybe with a friend.”

  “I thought he was local.” They’d have to check that. He’d just assumed Trey lived around here, and was counting on Mandy to get a number he could match to an address to see if Christina was there. However, the way people commuted coast to coast these days, it evidently wasn’t a safe assumption.

  “She’s been waiting for ages. On a blanket.” She patted the sand. “He puts his coat around her to warm her up.”

  What a prince.

  “She’s laughing. They lie down.”

  “Can you hear them?”

  Tessa shook her head. “Silent movies,” she said, and giggled. “Or a slide show. One picture after another.” She was looking at the granite outcrop as if it had a screen chipped into one side.

  “He’s kissing her. He’s good at it, too.”

  “How do you know that?” Griffin blurted.

  “It’s what she’s thinking. There’s just happiness and desire everywhere. She hasn’t seen him for a week or so.”

  Griffin decided to just shut up and hope that Tessa would tell him what was happening without being prompted.

  “She wants to make love but he shakes his head. Maybe he’s afraid someone will surprise them. Now he’s touching her. Just a little. Then he’ll go.”

  Griffin had touched Tessa just a little, too, and look what had happened there. The memory seemed to be embedded in his fingertips and the palms of his hands, no matter how hard he tried to make it go away.

  “She wore the silk teddy he gave her last time. He pulls it up and leans down and licks her nipple.”

  Oh, God. Could a person pull the plug on the movie? Did he need to hear this?