Crash Into Me

by Jill Sorenson

  “How far?” he pressed.

  “A mile,” she lied, not meeting his eyes. He was very intense close-up, and although she was an expert manipulator, the situation unsettled her.

  He unsettled her.

  “We live right here,” he said, indicating the back door with a jerk of his head. “The least I can do is invite you in to warm up.”

  She shrugged her assent, teeth chattering, and followed them up the stone steps, staring at his back as he held his daughter close. They passed through an unlocked gate, walked across a dark patio, and stepped over the threshold into the kitchen.

  Just like that, Sonny was in.

  Surrounded by the comforts of her own home, Carly reverted back into a normal teenaged girl-prickly, insensitive, and self-absorbed. “I’ve got to get out of these wet clothes,” she said with a shudder. As Ben led Sonny from the kitchen to the living room, Carly dashed up the stairs, her shoes making squishy sounds on the hardwood flooring.

  “Carly,” Ben called after her, “why don’t you bring something for, uh”-he didn’t know Sonny’s name, and she didn’t offer it-“her to wear?”

  At the top of the steps, Carly’s pretty face puckered. “She won’t fit into anything of mine,” she said, studying Sonny’s blanket-clad form with a critical eye. “You get her something.” With that, she tossed her wet mane over her shoulder and flounced away.

  Ben wore a pained expression. “Sorry,” he said. “She’s-” He broke off, finding no words to describe his daughter’s disposition.

  “It’s fine,” Sonny replied, admiring the interior of the house. The living room was spacious, inviting, and blessedly warm. A couple of overstuffed chairs and a leather couch faced a fireplace rather than a television set, and a live Christmas tree was set up in one corner, bedecked with a ragtag collection of ornaments that had obviously been made by a child.

  Her heart melted at the sight.

  “I like your tree,” she said. “No one puts up lights around here anymore. I’d forgotten it was Christmas.”

  “We’re all environmentalists,” he explained. “Conserving energy.”

  “Is that it? I was afraid that acknowledging the change of seasons, in such a warm climate, had become passé.”

  He arched a brow. “Where are you from?”

  “Out of town,” she said, looking away. A fire crackled in the hearth. Sonny wanted to crawl inside it and curl up there to sleep, to stare into its depths until it reached out to eat her, to open up her blanket and let the flames lick at her body.

  “You’re too small to wear my clothes,” he said with a frown. “But I suppose I can find you something.”

  And then he left her there, standing by the fire.

  She felt a strange lassitude, a reluctance to benefit from this emotionally charged circumstance, and a disdain for the inherent ugliness of undercover work. Ben Fortune’s love for his daughter was genuine and his gratitude was sincere. Sonny Vasquez would have accepted his thanks and walked away. Summer Moore was obligated to milk it for all it was worth.

  He returned with a couple of neat, folded items. “These are mine. Carly may have been right about her clothes not fitting you. I don’t understand how she fits into some of them herself.” He shrugged, smiling, immensely appealing as a clueless single dad.

  Her stomach fluttered in awareness.

  Ben Fortune had the kind of face that photographers, sponsors, and advertisers loved, a natural charisma that leapt off the pages of magazines. His features were strong and rugged, not perfect enough to be boring, and his smile was becomingly off-center.

  On paper, he was tall, dark, and handsome. In person, he was irresistible.

  And how trusting he was, to allow a complete stranger in his home. It certainly didn’t gel with his standoffish public image.

  She didn’t smile back at him. Instead, she accepted his clothing, changed in his bathroom, and with a derelict disregard for duty, curled up in his chair and fell asleep, alone, in front of his fire.

  “Who is she?” he whispered.

  “How should I know?” Carly whispered back.

  “She saved your life.”

  “I didn’t catch her name while we were drowning.”

  “Maybe she’s your guardian angel.”

  Her response was an unladylike snort, her apathy so honed to perfection that he almost bought it.

  “Why did you go out there? Really? Were you thinking about-”

  “No! God, why does everyone think I’m freaking out over Mom? I’m not.”

  “Carly?”

  “Yeah?” She rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance.

  “I love you.”

  For a moment, he had her, the old Carly, the girl who smiled at him radiantly, hugged him spontaneously, and loved him unconditionally. Then her eyes became shuttered, and that girl was gone. “I know,” she said carefully, as if his love hurt her.

  He turned his attention back to the stranger, for this Carly would retreat if pressed, and he couldn’t bear to see her slip any further away from him than she was right now. “Should we wake her up?”

  “Hell, yes. I won’t be able to sleep with some random person in the house.”

  “Why do you think she’s random?” he asked, adopting Carly’s word for strange. He was irritated by her lack of gratitude, but he was also curious, and the woman was unusual.

  “Just look at her.”

  In repose, she looked cute and cuddly, like a fuzzy kit fox or a wolverine cub, the kind that would mulch your arm into shreds if you reached out to pet it. He didn’t know how he knew she was ferocious, but he did, and for some reason it endeared her to him. She also must be strong for her size; pulling a person out of the undertow isn’t easy. Before she’d changed, he couldn’t really tell what she had going on underneath that scratchy blanket, but he’d caught a few glimpses of something…curvy. Now her body was swallowed up by his loose jeans and oversized sweatshirt.

  His gaze wandered back to her face.

  Ben wasn’t the type of man who noted the color of a woman’s eyes, unless he was looking into them, and only then if he was trying to get her into bed. Hers were so striking he remembered them with perfect clarity. So light they should have appeared colorless, but didn’t. They were strange, ice blue, electric. Hot and cold at the same time.

  And her skin was warm. Especially now, in front of the fire. Her hair was drying in straggles around her face, hair the color of warm honey, like her skin. And her lips-

  “Dad.”

  “What?”

  “Are you retarded? You’re staring.”

  He dragged his attention from the sleeping sylph. “What would have happened to you if she hadn’t been there?”

  Carly didn’t want to answer, so she shoved at the stranger’s shoulder, waking her abruptly. “Here’s some tea,” she said, pushing a cup into her hand.

  Something dangerous flashed in the woman’s light eyes, and for a second, Ben thought Carly was going to get a well-deserved faceful of Earl Grey. Then it was gone, as if he’d imagined it, and she accepted the tea with a tentative smile.

  “We’d give you something stronger, but Dad’s an alcoholic, so we don’t keep any hard stuff around.” When he glared at her, she blinked innocently. “Well, it’s true.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Summer,” she replied.

  “How old are you?”

  “Dad!”

  Summer laughed. “Old enough to know better.”

  “Know better than what?” Carly asked.

  “Than to fall asleep in a stranger’s home,” she said, casting Ben an amused glance. When their gazes locked, a warmth passed between them, as though they’d shared a secret.

  Taking a sip of tea, she turned to Carly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Me? I’m fine.” She studied her sock-covered feet, probably ashamed she had refused clothing to the person who had saved her life.

  “Thanks for the tea.”


  “Dad made it,” Carly allowed.

  Summer’s eyes met his again, over the rim of the cup, and his pulse thickened. “It was my pleasure,” he said with a slow smile.

  Carly jumped to her feet. “He thinks you’re pretty,” she blurted.

  Summer sat up very straight, running a hand through her disheveled hair. It had dried in clumpy locks that were sticking up in some places and smashed flat in others. “I’m not,” she said ruefully.

  Carly nodded, almost impolite enough to verbalize her agreement.

  They were both blind, Ben decided.

  Summer peered down into her empty teacup, as if she might find some leaves down there to chart her future course. “I should go,” she said.

  “No,” he protested, too loudly, rising to his feet.

  Carly’s sleek black eyebrows drew together.

  “I mean, you’re…you don’t even have any shoes on,” he said.

  She shrugged. “I’ll find them on the beach.”

  “I’ll drive you,” he offered, desperate to extend the visit. There was something about her. He didn’t believe in angels, but he was unnerved by her, and it had been so long since he’d felt…anything.

  “No,” she said. “It was nice meeting you-Carly.” She tasted the name on her lips, smiling as if she liked it. Then she looked at him expectantly.

  “Ben.”

  He stared at her mouth, waiting for her to test his name out the same way. “Good-bye,” she said instead, glancing at Carly.

  “Bye,” Carly said, offering a tight smile.

  “I’ll walk you out,” he said, willing Carly into silence with a pointed glare. Amazingly, she complied.

  Behind Summer’s back, he mouthed “Thank you” to his daughter.

  She said You’re welcome by flipping him off.

  The tide was going out, not coming in, so her jeans, shoes, and cell phone were all where she’d left them on the beach. Ben looked out across the water, a grim expression on his face. To his trained eye, the undertow couldn’t have been more apparent.

  “Does your daughter know about currents?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  “A lot of people can’t discern them from the shore.”

  Ben let out a heavy sigh. For him, and most surfers, all of the elements of the ocean were discernable at a glance. Not seeing a rip current would be like ignoring the water, or being unaware of the sand. “I think I’ll lock her in her room until she’s thirty.”

  Sonny smiled, because he sounded serious. “I’ll give you back your pants, but I need to borrow your sweater, if you don’t mind. Mine got swept away.”

  “Keep it,” he replied absently.

  Since his sweatshirt covered her to midthigh, and he wasn’t looking anyway, Sonny dropped trou right there on the beach, stepping out of his jeans and into her own. By the time she zipped up, he was looking. She folded his jeans and returned them, still warm from her body, finding something unbearably intimate about the gesture.

  They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment, the pounding of the surf the only sound in the dead of night. Then her cell phone rang, breaking the mood, and she was so flustered that she almost said, “Vasquez,” ruining her cover.

  “Hello?” she answered instead.

  “Sonny?”

  “Yeah, it’s Summer,” she said, in case Ben had radar hearing, and tipping Grant off she wasn’t alone.

  “What the hell were you doing? I was worried.”

  “I’ll call you later,” she said, clicking her phone shut and pocketing it.

  “Who was that? Your boyfriend?”

  “My boss,” she said, surprised by the invasive question. “He can be a nuisance.”

  “Want me to take care of him for you?” he teased.

  She studied his broad shoulders, his athletic musculature. She could take him down in less than three seconds. “I can take care of myself.”

  The hint wasn’t subtle, so he would have no trouble picking it up. Still, he made no closing remark.

  She stuck out her hand.

  He accepted it, but instead of giving her a polite handshake, he held on to her, as if he wanted to keep her. “Let me take you out to dinner. To thank you properly.”

  She pulled on her hand, but he held fast. “Are you asking me out?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  He frowned, giving her the impression he was unaccustomed to rejection, and found it less palatable than he’d imagined. “What if Carly comes along? She loves to enumerate my flaws. You’ll be in no danger of liking me.”

  She doubted it, but considered the invitation, if only to get her hand back. He radiated warmth, and at his touch, her body felt alive from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She’d underestimated him, mistaken his laid-back attitude for congeniality. In the water, his movements were so graceful as to appear effortless. On land, he was just as smooth.

  If he were any more intent on seduction, she’d be flat on her back.

  Sonny would have to tread lightly. Grant wanted her to spy on Ben, not moon over him like a silly schoolgirl. He’d also be furious if she refused to foster this acquaintance.

  “Someplace casual?” she asked.

  He smiled, taking that as a yes. “What’s your address? I’ll pick you up.”

  “No, I’ll walk over.”

  He let her have that one. “Five-ish? We eat early.”

  She nodded, and he released her hand.

  “Tomorrow night, then.”

  Sitting down on the sand, she put on her shoes, waiting until he was out of sight to retrieve her SIG.

  It wasn’t until she was safely ensconced in her apartment across the street that she placed a hand over her racing heart. It was beating fast and hard beneath her palm. Swallowing dryly, she closed her eyes and rested her back against the door, breathless with anticipation.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ben met John Thomas Carver at the rock wall on the south side of Windansea Beach.

  “Merry Christmas,” he muttered, tossing him half a joint.

  JT caught it midair. He’d always had quick reflexes. “Whoa-ho,” he said, opening his palm. “What’s this?”

  “A little holiday cheer.”

  Ben’s former drinking buddy and longtime surfing companion brought the partially smoked joint up to his nose and inhaled. JT was Ben’s age and he looked it, with his suntanned face and the lines bracketing his mouth. Sometime over the past twenty years, Ben had blinked, and his skinny, sleepy-eyed friend had grown into a man.

  JT had filled out considerably since his teens, and shorn his sun-streaked locks to a more conservative style, but he hadn’t exactly sold out. He still cared more for waves than work, preferred bad girls to good, and couldn’t say no to a recreational high.

  Smiling, JT tucked the joint behind his ear. “You off the wagon?”

  Ben leaned against the side of the wall, looking out at the mash of water. Choppy form, one-to-two-foot swells, nothing but foam soup and a crappy onshore flow. “Nah,” he said, dragging his gaze back to land. “I took it away from Carly over the weekend. Last night, she threw herself into the Neptune rip.”

  That wiped the grin off JT’s face. “Is she okay?”

  Ben didn’t know how to answer that. Feeling the hot press of tears behind his eyes, he took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Physically, she seems fine,” he said, hearing the strain in his voice. “A stranger went in after her. A woman.”

  JT just stared at him, waiting for him to finish.

  “I was inside, asleep. The cops called and woke me up, saying she’d been in an accident.”

  JT let out a low whistle. “That girl could drive a saint to drink.”

  “Yeah, well. I never claimed to be that.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Ben shrugged, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. JT was more of a good-time guy than an intimate confidant, and having had few responsibilities
in his devil-may-care life, he was hardly an expert on parenting.

  The person he really needed to talk to was Olivia.

  “Smoke that, would you?” Ben said, feeling maudlin. “I want to make sure it’s just pot she’s messing with.”

  JT plucked the joint from behind his ear and moistened his lips, glad to be of service. “With pleasure.”

  Ben took a lighter out of his pocket, leaning forward to offer the flame while JT cupped his hands around his face, blocking out the wind. It took him a few tries to get the joint started. When it lit up, JT’s eyes widened and he sucked in a lungful of smoke. “Tastes all right,” he croaked, holding his breath.

  Grunting, Ben pocketed the lighter and glanced around to make sure no one was looking, although he’d smoked pot on this beach a thousand times and never been caught.

  JT took another few hits for good measure and doused the cherry with his wet fingertips. Then he split open the paper and studied its contents.

  “Well?”

  “Give it a few minutes to kick in, bro. Maybe it’s creeper.”

  Ben laughed a little, touching the bridge of his nose, as close to hysteria as he’d been to tears a moment ago. If memory served, the term meant that the high snuck up on you.

  “Looks like regular shit to me,” JT added, pocketing what was left of the joint. “No black tar or white residue. No funny taste.”

  Ben nodded, trying to feel relieved.

  “Are you really that worried about her smoking dope, man? We did a lot worse when we were her age.”

  “Maybe I don’t want her to end up like me.”

  JT squinted at him, shading his eyes from the sun. He opened his mouth to respond, then got distracted by a pretty girl walking by and lost his train of thought.

  Ben watched him with growing impatience.

  JT waved a hand in the air, remembering what he was going to say. “Carly’s a great kid. With a face like hers, you’re lucky she’s not out running wild with boys.”

  It made Ben uncomfortable that JT had noticed his daughter’s good looks, but the truth was that everyone did. Like Olivia, Carly drew stares wherever she went, and someday soon her beauty would surely be Ben’s agony.

  It was no less than he deserved, for all the womanizing he’d done in his youth.