Next Comes Love

by Helen Brenna

  Erica wished she could fault Hannah, but she couldn’t. The woman was a wonderfully compassionate teacher and gorgeous. Even her blond hair was natural. Her only flaw was being innocent enough to date a two-timing jerk like Garrett Taylor. That man didn’t deserve her.

  Their new hostess showed Garrett and Hannah to a table, and a few minutes later Glynnis stuck an order up on the board. “Linguini, rigatoni.”

  “What table?”

  “Seven.”

  Garrett and Hannah’s table. So he was sorry he’d kissed her, was he? The light shrimp linguini was most likely for Hannah. “Is the rigatoni for Garrett?”

  “Yeah, why?” Glynnis asked.

  “Just curious.” Erica was going to give him one tasty dish, all right.

  GARRETT GLANCED UP AS Glynnis brought the entrees he and Hannah had ordered to their table. What the hell was he doing here? Oh, yeah. Hannah had called and asked him to give it one more shot. He owed her that at least.

  “That smells so good.” Hannah set down her glass of white wine and took a whiff through that dainty little nose of hers.

  Garrett sat back and took a swig from his bottle of beer. “Thank you, Glynnis.” The steamy scent of garlic and sweet Italian sausage rose in waves off his tomato-based rigatoni.

  “You’re welcome, Chief.”

  As their waitress walked away, Hannah twirled several strands of linguini around her fork and took a bite. She closed her eyes and moaned. “I don’t know how we got so lucky, but this island so needed Erica Jackson.”

  The island be damned. He could tell himself he didn’t trust her, that she was hiding something and all he cared about was the safety of Mirabelle’s tourists and residents, but the truth was becoming harder and harder to ignore. He wanted her. In his arms. In his bed. He needed Erica.

  Feeling desperate, he watched Hannah nip off a piece of shrimp, hoping the look of her pink lips wet with a creamy garlic sauce might put his mind where it was supposed to be. His tactic didn’t seem to be working.

  “I’ve never tasted shrimp this perfectly prepared,” she murmured. “Erica is a goddess.”

  He should’ve been physically moved by the beautiful woman sitting across the table from him nearly having an orgasm over her pasta. Instead, all he wanted was to head into that kitchen, take Erica into his arms and kiss her basil-scented skin up one side and down the other.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” Hannah asked.

  He forced a smile. “I’m having fun watching you.” He set down his beer, poked several tubes of pasta with his fork and stuffed them in his mouth. At first, the flavors of basil and garlic, sausage and cheeses combined in savory splendor until the heat hit him. His mouth turned to fire. He forced the bite down his throat and his eyes watered uncontrollably.

  “Are you okay?” Hannah asked.

  “Fine,” he managed to choke out. His tongue, throat and lips burned as if they might blister. “Went down the wrong pipe.” He glanced more carefully at the dish. Crushed hot peppers. Everywhere. I’ll be damned. He glanced into the kitchen and found Erica watching him with a grin on her face. To spite her, he stabbed another forkful and shoved it in his mouth. “Mmm, mmm, mmm.” In truth he couldn’t blame her. He’d been a cad.

  “It’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Never tasted better.”

  From that moment on, the restaurant filled to the brim. Garrett glanced into the kitchen a few times, but it was clear Erica was crazy busy keeping up with the orders.

  When he only finished half his plate, Hannah asked, “Didn’t you like it?”

  “It was great. I guess I ate too much bread.” He dumped it into a takeout container, paid the bill and they took off for Hannah’s house.

  When they got to the front steps, she turned toward him. “Why don’t you come in?”

  He hesitated, thinking he should end it right here, right now.

  “Look,” Hannah said. “I’m getting the impression you’re not that into me. That’s fine, but wanting you to come inside doesn’t mean I want a commitment.”

  “Commitment’s not the problem.”

  “You don’t like…men, do you?”

  He laughed. “No. I like women.”

  “Just not this woman.”

  She deserved to know about Erica. “Hannah, I need to tell you—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No confessions. Nothing serious. Not tonight. I want to have some fun.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on. Let’s see if we can make this work.”

  One last shot. He followed her through the front door and glanced around. The place was meticulously decorated. Every chic and stylish detail had clearly been planned out, from the furniture to the rugs and framed art. The trendy golds, browns and greens all melded together, creating a seamless transition from one room to the next.

  Garrett occupied himself in the kitchen, opening a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses while Hannah went into the living room and turned on soft music and lit several candles. She came up behind him and put her arms around his waist. The heat from her skin felt nice through the fabric of his shirt.

  He turned around and handed her a glass of wine. “Cheers.”

  She clinked her glass with his, took a sip and then drew him toward the sofa in the family room. He sat down next to her and set his wineglass on the coffee table. Leaning forward, he kissed her. “Is this what you had in mind?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She drew him back with her and kissed him again.

  Nothing. They had absolutely no chemistry. He gripped her waist, trying one more time, and let his fingers inch under her shirt to touch her skin. Still nothing.

  She pulled back and her shoulders slumped.

  He looked away.

  “This isn’t working for you, either, is it?” she said.

  Either? At least he wasn’t the only one unaffected. “I’m sorry, Hannah.”

  “It’s not your fault we’re not right for each other.”

  “I thought maybe something would develop.” But every time he looked into her eyes, he ached to see brown instead of blue, dark, short hair, rather than long blond strands.

  “Well, at least now we know for sure.” She smiled. “We were probably trying too hard. It’s not as if there are droves of available singles on Mirabelle. Maybe if we let things develop on their own…”

  Unconvinced, he glanced at her.

  “You’re right.” She laughed. “If things were going to happen, they would’ve happened by now.” She put some distance between them on the couch and took a sip of wine. “I like you, though.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yeah.” She patted his hand. “You know there is someone on this island I think you would connect—”

  “No.” He picked up his wine.

  “But Erica—”

  “Trust me, Hannah, it wouldn’t work.”

  “Maybe the fact that you’re fighting the obvious so much,” she said, swirling the wine in her glass, “is a sign it would. Maybe too well?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “WE BROKE UP,” HANNAH said with a careless shrug.

  Sarah and Erica had been in Sarah’s backyard getting their two boys ready for a day at the pool with the Rousseau twins when Hannah had walked over to visit.

  “That sucks.” Erica did her best to feign disinterest, but she had a feeling it wasn’t working

  School was officially out and it was Saturday, the busiest day of the week for both Sarah—weddings galore—and Erica—lunch and dinner crowds—and Kurt and Lauren had agreed to babysit on this hot June day.

  “Well, I guess you can’t call it a real breakup since we hadn’t been a real couple.”

  “Two dates,” Sarah said, handing Brian a beach towel and a bottle of sunscreen. “Doesn’t technically qualify you as a couple.”

  “When?” Erica asked.

  “A few weeks ago,” Hannah said. “The night you guys reopened Duffys.”

  Erica had seen Garrett at least every day sinc
e then, but him being back to his distant watchful self, they’d barely said a word to each other.

  “You guys have your swimsuits on?” Lauren asked Jason and Brian.

  “Yeah,” they said in unison.

  “Then let’s hit it,” Kurt said.

  The four kids took off with towels in hand.

  “See you later, Zach,” Erica called. “Have fun.”

  “Behave, Brian,” Sarah added.

  Erica turned back to Hannah. “You seem like you’re okay with it? Are you?”

  “Oh, sure,” Hannah said, apparently unfazed. “Breaking things off was very definitely a mutual thing. We’re still friends.”

  “Walk with us, Hannah,” Sarah said. “I’ve got to get my shop opened.”

  “So what happened?” Erica asked, falling in step with the other women.

  “Nothing,” Hannah said. “That was the problem.”

  “Nothing?” Sarah unlocked the glass-paneled front door to her floral shop. “As in no zing?”

  “I don’t get it.” Erica shrugged.

  “Nothing,” Hannah said again. “From the beginning, we never really clicked.”

  She had to be joking.

  The three women walked into Sarah’s shop where half the space was dedicated to her wedding planning business, displaying such things as invitations and table décor. The other half held the typical trappings of a flower shop.

  “I mean, we could talk, carry on a conversation,” Hannah said, flipping on lights. “He’s a great guy, but when we kissed…there was…absolutely nothing there.”

  “Did you ever try, you know,” Sarah asked with a grin, “doing it?”

  Erica put her head down and corrected the placement of a potted plant.

  “God, no,” Hannah said. “Garrett’s the most prudish man I’ve ever known.”

  Garrett Taylor? Were they talking about the same man?

  “He wouldn’t even kiss me on our first date. Wanted to take it slow, he said. From the start, we really didn’t have a connection.”

  “Seriously? You didn’t feel anything?”

  “Kissing Garrett was like kissing a good friend. Kind of interesting, but…yeah. You know what I mean?”

  Erica looked away. She couldn’t imagine a woman not being turned on by the most fundamentally sexual man she’d ever met.

  “Maybe he’d be different with another woman,” Sarah mused. “You should go out with him, Erica.”

  “Me?”

  “That’s a great idea,” Hannah said. “You two are perfect for each other.”

  She headed toward the door. “I’m not interested in a relationship, and Garrett’s definitely not interested in me.”

  Sarah laughed. “Right.”

  “Who said anything about a relationship?” Hannah called after her. “A little fun never hurt anyone.”

  Fun? Garrett Taylor? Hardly.

  “TIME TO CALL IT A DAY,” Herman said, stopping by Garrett’s office door. “You up for a beer?”

  It was almost six. Between full-time shifts at the police station and the work he was wrapping up for some of the locals in his shop, he’d been burning the midnight oil for a few weeks now. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Some guys are heading to Duffy’s.”

  Damn. Garrett rubbed his tired eyes. Although Erica had rarely been far from his thoughts, hanging around her in a social setting was asking for trouble. “On second thought—”

  “Aw, come on. This group is worth it. Jim, Noah, Marty. They’re all good guys.”

  He’d been hoping to visit with Jim Bennett, Mirabelle’s ex-chief of police. Now was as good a time as any. “Okay, let’s go.”

  The tourist season was in full swing, so the place was crowded and noisy with the jukebox playing an old ’60s song. Hannah, Sarah and Missy had nabbed a booth and were clearly flirting with a table full of fishermen. Even Hannah. Garrett grinned and gave a short wave in greeting. He and Herman found the men in the bar side of Duffy’s along with several other locals, the table loaded down with pitchers of beer, burgers, fries and baskets of various appetizers.

  “Looks like we’re late,” Garrett said.

  “There’s still room at the table.”

  Garrett glanced around, looking for Erica and found her behind the bar. She nodded at him and then went back to work. Looked like she was taking a break from cooking tonight and training in a new bartender, some young college kid.

  Garrett walked toward the end of one of the tables and held out his hand. “Hey, Jim, how are you doing?”

  “Good. Good.” He shook hands and motioned toward the chair next to him. “You can sit here if you promise not to talk shop.”

  “Well, that’ll be tough, but I’ll manage.”

  “Garrett, this is my son, Noah.”

  Noah reached out. “So I hear you’re from Chicago.”

  Garrett nodded and poured himself a mug of beer.

  “How’re you liking Mirabelle so far?”

  “Love it. Exactly what I was looking for.”

  Noah laughed. “You’re a better man than me.”

  The conversation around the table was lively and varied, and Garrett found himself relaxing for the first time in weeks. When the waitress stopped by, he ordered one of Erica’s pasta dishes, guessing she’d prepped all the sauces earlier in the day. He was right. The Alfredo sauce with pro-sciutto and some exotic-sounding mushrooms was like liquid velvet over the fettuccine.

  At one point, he looked up to see if Erica was still at the bar and saw a familiar picture of a woman with long hair flashing across the TV screen. Erica Corelli. The song on the jukebox ended and he could just make out the voice of the Chicago newscaster.

  “…recent developments in the Jason and Marie Samson case. If anyone has information with regard to the whereabouts of Erica Corelli, please contact the Chicago police.”

  The screen flashed to a detective answering questions. “No, an arrest warrant has not been issued at this time. We believe she may be able to shed some light on the disappearance of Marie and Jason Samson. At this point, Erica Corelli is considered a person of interest and only wanted for questioning.”

  She was one step away from a suspect. Maybe Garrett had been wrong about Erica. Maybe she was hiding something.

  “Look.” A clearly agitated Billy Samson appeared on the TV screen. “The morning Marie disappeared, she’d asked for a divorce. I told her we’d work it out, but I’m sure her sister talked her into leaving with Jason.” Then he stared directly into the camera. “Marie, if you’re out there, listening, I just want you to come home. Everything will be fine.”

  “You okay?” Jim Bennett grabbed Garrett’s arm.

  “Yeah. Fine.” He searched the bar for Erica. She was in the shadows, her back to him, as she watched the TV screen.

  A PERSON OF INTEREST? What the hell did that mean?

  Erica stared, dumbfounded, as a picture of her, long-haired and frowning, flashed across the screen. Billy had no doubt picked that particular photo in the hopes of eliciting public sympathy. She hoped the cops weren’t buying whatever lie he was selling. They couldn’t all be idiots, could they?

  Everything will be fine.

  Billy was clearly doing what he could to deflect the investigation away from him. Her fist clenched around the cleaning rag. Oh, God, Marie. Please be safe. Please be alive.

  Suddenly, she remembered where she was, behind the bar with a room full of people surrounding her. Slowly, she glanced around. No one was paying the slightest bit of attention to the TV screen.

  She glanced out toward the tables. Garrett was watching her. As if he were impassively waiting for something, anything. My God. He knew. Even more startling was his reaction. Or rather his lack of one. What did that mean?

  Lynn came out of the kitchen and glanced up at the TV. “Damned news,” she muttered, picking up the remote and switching to a sports channel. “Too depressing.”

  Did Lynn know, too? Erica panicked. What if one
of them had already called the Chicago police? She had to get out of here. “Lynn, I need to go home.”

  “You okay?” Lynn said. “You don’t look so good.”

  “I feel like crap.”

  “Okay.” Lynn rubbed her shoulders. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  Erica ran upstairs two steps at a time and picked up her phone. She hadn’t checked her messages for a few days. She said a prayer as she dialed into her voice mail. Please, Marie. Please, please, please. Talk to me.

  There was only one message that began with a long moment of silence. She sensed someone on the line and was about to delete it when a man’s voice sounded. “Erica. I know you have Jason.” Billy. “Better you bring him home, before I find you myself.”

  It wasn’t the words themselves that raised goose bumps on her arms and caused her to lose her breath. It was the menacing tone of his voice. He wasn’t merely angry. He was raging. Erica had seen this kind of uncontrolled anger before in some of the men her mother had dated. She’d sworn that kind of abuse would never, never, ever happen to her. How Marie had fallen into it, she couldn’t understand, but her sister must have lived with that, day in and day out.

  With trembling fingers, Erica called Teddy’s number.

  “Yo, this is Teddy.”

  “Teddy, it’s Erica,” she whispered. “They’re calling me a person of interest.”

  “Yeah, I found out about that a couple days ago, but since you won’t give me a number—”

  “What’s going on?”

  A long, slow sigh buffeted the phone receiver. “I called the son of an old friend. A cop. To see what I could find out.”

  “And?”

  “You told me you left spur-of-the-moment. Never went home. Never packed anything.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then why were your suitcases gone? Your clothes. Toiletries? Your car’s missing, too. The cops are saying it looks like you planned to be gone for a long time.”

  “I don’t…I didn’t—Billy. He must’ve made look as if I’d packed.” She hung her head, feeling desperate and so alone. “So now what?”