by Clare Revell
Luke hefted his bags. “Give me two minutes, and I’ll come with you, Sara.”
She tapped her watch. “That’s one minute and fifty-five seconds, Leftenant, and counting.”
****
Sliding the chalet door shut behind her, Sara locked and double-checked it. Her new cop had been exactly one minute and fifteen seconds—prompter than the previous one. Which was a plus.
The sea beyond the cliff tops glistened in the winter sunlight as she slid the key into her fleece pocket and zipped it shut. She glanced at the leftenant as he pulled shades from his pocket and put them on. Her heart pounded as his good looks and smile seared into her. Sara shook her head. Jamie had only been dead a few months. She had no right to think that way, and she wouldn’t cheat on Jamie’s memory by eyeing up some other man. She stiffened her shoulders and walked faster. “It’s November, and the sun sets soon. Won’t shades be a tad useless in the dark?”
Luke raised an eyebrow at her. “Not at all.”
She shook her head, veering past the chalets and onto the huge playing field. In the summer, the sights and sounds of the children playing usually thrilled her, but not this year. It was hard to be happy when her husband had been murdered right before her very eyes, and she had to go into hiding until the murderer was caught.
Now it was autumn and the children had long gone. The forlorn cry of the seagulls soaring above her, and the soft footfalls of her escort filled the air. Sara took a deep breath. “I can almost taste the salt from the sea.”
“You love it here, don’t you?”
Sara sighed and kicked at the sand, lifting her face to the sky and the breeze. “Aunt Mary brought me here every year when I was a kid. It’s nice to be back, even if slightly ironic. Of all the safe houses in the country, they pick this holiday park. I just wish the circumstances were different.”
“I can’t blame you for that.”
This was her fourth month in protective custody, and she was tired of all the agents on duty. “How much longer will I be stuck here? What if they never catch Austin?”
“We will.” The confidence in his voice gave her the first glimmer of hope in a long time.
Sara took the steep path down the dunes on the East Anglian coast of England. She crossed the valley floor, with its harsh grassland and windswept bushes nestled between the two sets of dunes. She tried not to let things get her down, but some days it was two steps forward and one step back. But with the leftenant’s confidence, maybe today she could take three forward and one back. That would be progress, right?
Her leg ached. “It’s going to rain later.”
He glanced skyward, then at her. “How do you know?”
“My leg is a pretty good barometer.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Aches when it rains or when it’s going to rain, but other than that, the scar is the only sign of what happened. I lost the crutches three months ago.”
Why hadn’t the shooter fired again and shot her in the heart when he had the chance? He’d hit her in the leg, shattering the bone, then he’d stared down at her and smiled with an evil twist of his lips. Then he’d walked away. When would he come back for her? Before the trial? At the trial? Of course there’d never be a trial if they never caught him.
The wind picked up strength as she got nearer the sea. The dune in front of her rose sharply, but she made short work of the exhilarating climb, enjoying her freedom.
Luke’s voice shattered what little peace she found. “We should head back, Sara. It’ll be dark soon.”
She glanced at him, hating the way her name sounded so good coming from his foreign tongue. And they thought only British blokes had cute accents. “We’ve only just got here. I’ve been stuck inside all day. Half an hour, I promise.”
“Sara…”
“Leftenant, there’s no one for miles. It’s you, me, your radio and several other officers within screaming distance. What could possibly happen? Unless that huge seagull up there is carrying a rifle and has me in its sights?”
Luke’s shades hid his expression, so she had no idea whether he meant the sarcasm in his voice or not. “Maybe it has, and it couldn’t miss you in that red coat you’re wearing. Very well. Half an hour, no longer.”
The wind gusted, taking her breath away and whipping her long brown hair into her face. Jamie liked it long. Those few nights they were married, he’d brush and plait it for her. As much as she hated waiting seven hours for it to dry, she couldn’t chop it off and lose another memory. Not yet, not unless she didn’t have a choice.
Jamie would have loved it here at Winterton. He’d have chased her across the sand, trying to throw her into the water the way he did at Bournemouth on the day he proposed.
Sara closed her eyes and twisted her head around in a circle, trying to relieve the tension in her aching shoulders as she brushed away the tears. It didn’t matter what she did, every single thing reminded her of Jamie.
“Are you all right, Sara? Do you need a hand?” Luke offered his assistance as she turned to climb a steep, but low hill covered with loose sand.
“I can manage, thank you. I’ve done this almost every day for the last few months.” She ignored him as she climbed the sand dune and headed down the beach to the sea.
“Don’t go in the water,” said the low warning voice behind her.
She shivered at his deep baritone and rolled her eyes. “Like I’d go and get my clothes wet in November.”
“I don’t want to have to jump in there after you.”
“Can’t you swim?” If it were August, she’d wade in up to her waist with the sole purpose of annoying him. Did he really think she’d drown herself? “Or is it too cold for you?”
“It’s too cold for either of us, but I can swim with the best of them. Dad insists I could swim before I could walk.”
Sara smiled slightly. “Cute.” The view ahead appealed to her artist’s eye as she took in the pale blue and grey of the sky and sea. The sun was beginning to set, casting pinks and oranges over the low, threatening clouds.
“Wow. Look at that sky.” Pulling out her camera, Sara took several sets of photographs. The sun set fast at this time of year, each passing moment giving a different aspect to the hue on the horizon.
She’d come down with her oils at some point. The scenery had ‘paint me’ written all over it. The height of the dunes and the golden sand, set against the deep blues, greens and greys of the sea, would make for a wonderful landscape painting. Sunrise or sunset would be the best time.
Neither time would sit well with the leftenant, but he could sit and watch and keep out of her hair. She wasn’t the criminal, and she was sick and tired of being treated like one.
Sara kept shooting until the sun disappeared below the waves, and a discreet cough sounded from behind her.
“I’m coming.” Sara shoved the camera into her pocket. As much as she wanted to stay out late tonight, she didn’t have the energy to argue. Cops always had an answer for everything and got their own way to boot.
She was stubborn, but even she could learn a thing or three from the protection officers on the art of being immovable. In fact, stubborn wasn’t the only word to describe them. There were several alternatives, including inflexible, bolshie, and boring.
She stifled a laugh. The leftenant wouldn’t appreciate any of them, or the joke being about him. Sara glanced at his set jaw. “Are we going shopping in the morning? Constable Lomas was originally taking me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Fine, I’ll give you a list of the lingerie I need, and you can go buy it. I like it lacy, preferably white, and I dislike red and black.” She didn’t quite grasp the meaning of the expression that crossed his face, but maybe he was merely reacting to her baiting him. He seemed different than the other officers somehow and a small surge of guilt filled her. Was it possible he didn’t like the ‘marriage’ idea, either?
“I’ll check with the people in charge here and wi
th my boss in the States. I need to see if any progress has been made with the case, but as I have orders to move in with you, I assume Austin is at large. So I doubt they’ll want you out and about.” His tone left her in no doubt as to how serious he took his job.
Sara pressed a hand into the small of her back, rubbing it. She’d be doing that a lot more soon. Not just because she’d spent the day on her feet cleaning the chalet, and the evening walking over the dunes on the beach. “I haven’t been able to get to the gym because of my leg. Never mind the fact there isn’t a gym within ten miles of here, and I’m not allowed to breathe without permission. Now my leg’s healed, I need to buy new clothes.”
“What’s wrong with the ones you have? You look fine to me.”
“I’m gaining weight because I’m not exercising.” She paused, thrown by his compliment. Should she tell him the truth? No, she needed at least one piece of her marriage left, at least for a little bit longer. “I could go alone.”
“You will not. I’ll talk to Detective Inspector Wilcox and let you know what he says.” The reply was instant, short and sharp. She wouldn’t have expected anything less.
They reached the door of the chalet. Luke insisted on going in first. Sara shook her head at him then followed, shutting the door. She bent to turn on the small heater before tossing her fleece jacket onto the chair. She really didn’t want to cook for two, but she was hungry and wasn’t about to let the officer starve or eat in front of him.
She pulled open the small freezer. “Do you want chicken curry or lasagna for dinner?”
“Either.”
“That’s no help.” She pulled out two dinners at random. She heated one, put it on a plate, and handed it to him. He’d made himself at home on the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table and the remote control in his hand. “Here you go.”
He smiled, showing a dazzling row of perfect teeth that only the Americans had. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.” Sara went back into the kitchen and heated hers. She ate it at the small bench, then set the plate in the sink. That could wait until morning.
She settled down in the arm chair, not really paying attention to what was on the TV. She watched in order to avoid the male presence on the other side of the room. Just after nine, she rose and announced she was going to bed. Not giving Luke a chance to respond, she headed quickly into her bedroom and shut the door, shoving the chair in front of it. As she removed her watch, she caught sight of the date. Her breath caught. Jamie died five months ago to the day.
Tears fell thick and fast and Sara gave into them. She curled up on the bed with a pillow, her knees pulled as close to her chest as the baby bump would allow. She sobbed as her heart once again broke within her, the pain inside building to a crescendo that would never peak. Why did Jamie have to die? Closing her eyes against the tears, she poured out her heart to the Lord.
2
Sara’s eyes sprang open, her heart pounding in her chest. Were those footsteps outside the chalet? She glanced at the clock on her bedside table and breathed a sigh of relief. Of course. The footfalls belonged to DC Johnston, the night shift officer. He had a perfectly timed plan, and his tread was a lot heavier than DC Lomas, the day shift guard, although they were more or less the same height and build. The steps went away, but he’d be back. It was his custom to circle the building twice after she’d gone to bed.
The front door rattled as he reached it, and Sara shook her head and turned on her side. Of course, she locked it. Did he think she was stupid? She might leave the curtains open longer than her guards liked, but she always locked up.
The windows in the other bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and her room rattled before the steps moved away. Maybe now he’d go away and let her get some rest. Though she didn’t imagine the leftenant would like being disturbed by someone rattling his windows.
There was a brief pause, and the footsteps started again. Sara turned to her other side and punched her pillow. If he wanted to pace all night long, let him. No skin off her nose.
Sara rubbed her eyes. Was she seeing things? There was someone standing at the window. She closed her eyes then opened them again. The shadow was still there.
“All right, that’s enough. Pacing is one thing. Standing right outside my bedroom window like a Peeping Tom is something else altogether.”
Throwing back the covers, she sat up and reached for her dressing gown. Fully intending to give DC Johnston a piece of her mind, she took rapid strides to the window and pulled open both curtains in one swift movement.
She jumped and covered her heart with her trembling hand. “Jamie.”
He was standing right outside her window. He wasn’t dead.
Her feet moved of their own accord. Tossing the chair to one side, she started for the front door, running as fast as she could from the chalet, screaming his name at the top of her lungs. “Jamie!”
The figure vanished over a sand dune, and she set off in pursuit. “Jamie, wait.”
Footsteps clattered behind her, but she ignored them as well as the officers calling after her to halt. She didn’t know how Jamie found her, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was here, and she had to get to him. Someone grabbed her arm and she cried out as he spun her around. “No!”
Anger flashed in Luke’s eyes, as well as his voice. “What do you think you’re doing? Get back inside.”
“Get off me.”
Luke spoke into his radio. “I got her.” He shook his head and turned to face her. “Get back inside.”
Sara tried to pull free. “You don’t understand. Jamie’s here. He was standing right outside my window, looking in. I was following him, and I could have caught him.”
“Sara…”
Sara cut him off. “He was here, and he’s getting away.”
“All right, fine, have it your way. I’ll send someone to search if you come back inside.”
“You don’t have to humor me.” She muttered under her breath as he dragged her back to the chalet. She stood outside the door, refusing to go in. “Go search for footprints if you don’t believe me. The ground’s soft enough for you to find them.”
“Sara, please, let us handle it. It’s our job. Go to bed, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Sara stormed inside, wishing she could slam the door in his face. She’d lost Jamie again. For a moment, she was tempted to go outside and hunt for him herself, but Luke locked the door and disappeared into his room with the key.
With as much vehemence as she could manage, Sara picked up three cushions and hurled them one at a time across the room and into the wall, screaming with each soft thud against the wooden barrier.
She flounced back into the bedroom and slammed that door shut, too. Her anger spent, she flung herself onto the bed, leaving those curtains open in case Jamie came back. Jamie lived. She knew it. She saw him.
She shivered. Who or what had they burned to ashes? Jamie had left instructions in his will stating his desire to be cremated. She’d seen to his wishes and when the police brought her his ashes, sprinkled them into the sea. Or so she’d thought. But if that was the case, whom had she seen tonight?
She’d been too sick to view the body and, as was tradition, it was a closed casket funeral. She shook herself. She wouldn’t let doubts fill her confused mind. Jamie was alive and that was that. Lord, forgive my outburst. I acted like a child, what must the leftenant think of me? But it was Jamie, I know my own husband. Why won’t they believe me?
****
Sara opened her eyes as a pale grey touched the sky. She lay still, hoping the sick feeling would pass. She hated feeling nauseous at the best of times and this certainly didn’t rate as that.
Leaving it as long as she could, she got up and made a rapid dash to the bathroom. She threw up several times before leaning against the cool tiled wall, catching her breath, and wiping her face with a cool, wet cloth. Shouldn’t morning sickness have worn off by now?
By nine, the sickness dul
led, and Sara ventured into the kitchen to make coffee. Last night’s dinner dishes were nowhere in sight, and she assumed the leftenant had done them. Sara poured the coffee and leaned against the counter, sipping it. She was grateful the leftenant had slept in. She didn’t want him knowing about the baby.
Footsteps tapped on the wood floor. Speak of the devil. His beaming smile lit the room from here. How could the American be so cheerful this early in the day? “Morning, Leftenant. I owe you an apology for my outburst last night.”
“Morning, Sara. No apology needed. How are you doing?” Before she had chance to answer, there was a knock at the door, and he moved across the room to unlock it.
She scowled as he let Wilcox into the chalet. This was her home, not his. She ignored his greeting and drew her brows closer together. “I assume you didn’t find Jamie since you’re alone.”
“We did a thorough search. There was no one around. It was probably—”
“My imagination?”
“Kids.”
Sara shook her head and scoffed. “I know what I saw. It was Jamie.” He didn’t look like he believed her, but there was nothing she could do to convince him. Heaving a sigh, she softened her tone. “What about the footprints?”
“There are footprints outside your bedroom window.”
“And they’re Jamie’s. You should put all the cops out on the streets to search for him, including the leftenant here.” She noticed the way the eyes of the two officers met and scowled in annoyance. “What?”
Luke cleared his throat. “Sara, what if the man outside your window last night was Austin? What if he gets in? I need to be inside, with you. Always.”
“Austin? Oh, pl-ease. Don’t you think I’d recognize my own husband when I see him?”
Sara folded her arms across her chest and turned back to Wilcox. “I don’t suppose the leftenant told you, but I have to go shopping in town this morning. I need new clothes.”
