“We spoke Friday. In confidence.” She sipped her drink and didn’t look at him.
He gritted his teeth, wanting to demand she tell him but knowing she never would. His mother was the lead-lined vault of secret-keeping. “There’s something going on with her. It’s not just about our engagement not being ‘right.’ ”
She cocked her head and studied him. “Something like what? Another man?”
He stared at her, shock like cold water freezing his nerve endings. Then he laughed. “Can you believe that thought hadn’t even occurred to me?”
“A bit naïve, aren’t you, dear?” She smiled up at the server, who placed their fancy salads on the table with hardly a clink.
“No, not naïve. There’s something else going on. She sold her company.”
She gaped, her fork in mid-stab. “No.”
That was genuine surprise, which meant whatever Zoe might have told her, it wasn’t everything. “See?”
“You can’t let that happen, Kellen! You must—”
“Mom.” He laid a hand on her arm to stop her. “Don’t worry. I’m buying it.”
She beamed with pride. “That’s my boy. Oh, sweetheart.” The smile faded and she set her fork down, her posture a little slumped. “There is something very wrong.”
“I know.”
“You need to find out what it is and help her.”
“I want to, but it’s hard to do when she won’t let me. I have no idea where to start.”
“Do you know where she is?”
He nodded, feeling a little guilty. He was using one of the firm’s investigators to keep track of her. She was staying in a hotel, which didn’t make sense to him. “But she doesn’t want me anywhere near her.”
His mother straightened and picked up her fork again, digging into her salad. “She’s trying to protect you.” The word “dumbass” was implied.
“It occurred to me.” He forced a tomato between semi-clenched teeth. “I don’t exactly like the notion.”
“No man would. Any idea what she could be afraid of?”
“Not really.” He’d had some wild theories, but dismissed them as being farfetched. The stuff of television dramas. But now here was his mother, hinting, nudging him as if she knew there was something to figure out. It was fact that Zoe had started acting strange the night she got “sick.” Something had happened. Something she hadn’t trusted him with. Why? And why would she tell his mother?
“Do you still love her?” his mother asked.
He didn’t even have to think about it. “Of course.”
“Are there circumstances under which you wouldn’t want to be with her?”
“Probably.” He shrugged at his mother’s glare. “I’m a lawyer, Mom. There are always circumstances. But, no, there’s nothing I can think of that would make me want her to stay away.” He gave her his best courtroom glare and question-that’s-really-a-demand. “What do you know.”
She shook her head and stuffed lettuce into her mouth.
He gripped her wrist. “Mom. Please. If she told you something, you have to tell me.”
With a gentle flick, she pulled free and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “She just wants us all to be safe. I promised her I wouldn’t divulge her secrets to anyone.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Honestly, at first, I thought it was best to let her go. If she’s gotten involved in something that suggests people close to her take security precautions, then perhaps we’re all better off staying away.”
He stared at her, heart hammering, adrenaline flooding him with nowhere to go. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about things you two have to work out between yourselves. I thought it best for you to let her go and work things out later, when she’s ready. But after speaking with you…” She shook her head, lips pursed. “I changed my mind.”
“So tell me.”
“No. That’s still up to her. And I don’t have details, anyway. It would be tantamount to gossip.” She rested her hand on his shoulder and leaned closer. “Think about this carefully, Kellen. Pursuing this, pursuing her, could lead you to worse pain than you’re feeling now.”
“Not possible,” he shot back.
“Then you know what you have to do.”
He nodded sharply, all the agitation setting into a steady hum of intention. “Yeah.”
Except even though he did, he really didn’t.
* * *
Grant saw her before she’d even approached his shack. She rode down the worn asphalt road on a battered rental mountain bike, her blonde hair pulled tightly back but bursting out behind its holder in a bushy fluff. When she got close enough, he saw she was wearing cargo shorts and a plain t-shirt with a pair of sneakers. Her legs almost glowed in the sun, they were so white, and her arms were only slightly tanned. All in all, not the picture he’d have expected to see, given the things he’d been reading about her. Charity balls, a million-dollar company, and engagement to a corporate lawyer had him expecting a shiny convertible and designer clothes.
He wouldn’t have been expecting anything at all if his mother had been a little cagier. He’d realized—a couple of hours after he’d hung up the phone, not that he’d ever admit that—that she was planning to tell Zoe how to find him. His first reaction had been to stop her. But part of him didn’t want to, and he’d given in to that part.
From the time they were fourteen, he and Zoe had spent time together. Every waking minute during the summers, when they weren’t working. And sometimes, when they had the same shift, when they were. So even though he didn’t see her much during the school year, and hadn’t seen her at all since they were in college, he’d recognized her a hundred yards down the road. The way she pedaled, he supposed, or the way she held her head, looking up at her destination, not down at the street watching for stones.
The bike disappeared behind his shack and he heard the crunch of tires on crushed shell. He waited. There was no “front” door on the driveway side of the shack, so she’d be circling around any moment…
And there she was. Despite having watched her come down the road that ran parallel to the beach, despite having expected her for a few days now, Grant felt like someone had slammed a wall at his face.
Maybe his memories had shaded his view a little, because the woman standing in front of him didn’t look like the one he’d just watched. Her hair didn’t bush out behind her head. It hung from its ponytail holder in silky waves. Her shorts and shirt were definitely not Walmart purchases, and the purse she’d slung across her body was true designer. Not a knockoff.
Her face, arms, and chest above the veed curve of her shirt were as creamy white as her legs. But it was a vibrant paleness, one that came from pampering and high-end skin care products.
In short, her appearance proved the hype. She’d achieved her dreams. He could be glad for her—and still resent how those dreams had taken her away from him.
Judging by the look in her eyes, the achievement had only been temporary.
Grant slumped a little lower in his sling chair, propped his beer bottle on his stomach, and looked at her from under lazy lids. “What do you want?”
Zoe’s heart had started beating a triple-speed pattern even before she’d landed on the island. She couldn’t believe she was standing in front of Grant. It was so surreal, the fresh, breezy beach location compared to the memories that had filled her on the flight to Florida. At first it had been the good ones. The friendship they’d built after her escape, taking comfort in each other that first summer when no one else understood what they’d been through or what the aftermath was like. The romantic summers after that, when they’d worked together at the lake, lying under the stars every night, exploring each other physically and emotionally. The last summer before she went to college, when Grant had seemed so happy for her, so optimistic about his own future.
But then the bad ones had crowded in. The way it had all fallen apart. No one’s fault, really, b
ut how the hell had they misunderstood each other so much, for so long? Had such opposing expectations?
The bad memories from the end had brought back the bad memories from the beginning. How she’d spot him across the boathouse parking lot and flash back to her time in captivity. How he’d hated her for being part of the mess that had led to his brother’s death. That had made him a freak with a gross ear.
Now she stood in front of him, his harsh question ringing in her ears, and wondered why she’d thought she could get any help here.
“I’m not used to that.” She schooled her expression as she stepped up onto the low deck where he sat looking so deceptively relaxed.
“To what?” He didn’t move, but his lazy eyes tracked her across the wide planks to the rail, where she leaned a few feet from his stretched-out legs. The skin on her shins tingled, sending a shiver up through her body and over her scalp. The kind of shiver that came with intense scrutiny you weren’t sure you wanted.
“Cutting right to the chase, no preliminaries.” He didn’t say anything, so she continued, “You know, greetings. ‘Hi, Grant.’ ‘Hi, Zoey, so nice to see you.’ ” He snorted, and she continued. “ ‘You’re looking well. Mercenary work has kept you fit.’ ‘Why thank you, how kind of you to notice.’ ”
This time Grant laughed outright and he stood, the tightness easing from his muscles and his wary expression fading to pleasure. He pulled her into a hug, and she breathed in his familiar yet far-more-masculine scent. Tears pricked her eyes and she hugged him hard.
“Jerk.”
Grant leaned back a little, his arms still around her. “Hey, you can’t blame me for wanting a little payback.”
Zoe shook her head. “If you wanted payback, you’d have gotten it ten years ago. What I wouldn’t blame you for is holding a real grudge.” She swallowed hard, the triple-time beat starting up again. So he didn’t hold a grudge. That didn’t mean he’d want to help her, or that he would even if he wanted to.
She stepped away, stalling by approaching the sliding door into the shack. It was the only thing she could call it. The weathered wooden walls had been warped by the ocean air, and the tin roof, while not rusted, still didn’t quite meet the walls in places. She shuddered to think what might crawl inside. The whole place could fit into the bathroom of the Stones’ summer cottage at the Cape. Twice.
Not relevant. She peered through the door, surprised. “I like what you’ve done with the place.” She wasn’t joking. A heavy wooden table centered the left side, where the kitchen counter and small refrigerator were, while a narrow, almost-double bed sat against the far wall, covered in a quilt she recognized. It was a mirror of her own, made by her mother the summer he turned sixteen. A lump formed in her throat and she tightened her arms around herself.
“You don’t seem like someone who appreciates bush-beating.” She turned back to find him leaning against the rail, watching her, his beer bottle back in hand.
“Nope.”
“So you probably want me to tell you why I’m here.”
He shrugged and lifted the bottle to his mouth. For the first time, Zoe let herself fully register his presence. He was tall, bleached blond, wearing ragged clothes, the quintessential beach bum. But appearance wasn’t presence. Looking slightly deeper showed a body too well-developed for someone who hung out all day, even for someone who surfed or ran on the beach or played sand volleyball. And deeper than that was the waiting, watching, training that made him dangerous.
Made him exactly what she needed. What she’d always needed.
Crap. She didn’t mean that. Maybe she’d had a need for Grant-the-man eight, ten years ago. Now it was just a need for Grant-the-mercenary. It was a job. She still loved Kell. Her heart turned itself inside out with missing him whenever she thought his name. He was the reason she was here. The reason she had to try to find the totems and turn them in, so everyone could just leave her alone.
She realized he hadn’t answered her and tuned back in to the present. He saw the shift and finally spoke.
“I know why you’re here.”
She lifted her right eyebrow, and he curled one side of his mouth up. The crooked grin was familiar and tempting. She almost relaxed enough to step forward and kiss him. Horror followed, so cold and intense it was several seconds before she was sure she hadn’t actually done so.
This was such a mistake.
“My mother sent me press clippings,” he told her, seemingly oblivious to what had just happened. “Congratulations on your engagement, by the way. And your business is doing well.”
He was fishing. She responded anyway. She’d have to be completely open with him or he’d never help her. The irony was like a poker in her belly.
“I broke the engagement and sold my business. If you know why I’m here, you probably know why I did that.”
He didn’t look surprised, only nodded approvingly. “You were separating yourself from people who could be used to manipulate you.”
“That wasn’t quite how I was thinking of it, but essentially, yes.”
“So what’s your plan?”
She shifted her weight and Grant pushed away from the rail.
“Sorry, let’s go inside. I only have one chair out here.”
Zoe followed him through the sliding door and took the seat he offered at the table. He detoured past the refrigerator before sitting in the matching wooden chair, offering her a can of cream soda.
“I didn’t know if you still drank it,” he said.
“I don’t.” She popped the top and sipped, unable to help the grin that followed. “I’m not sure why, now. Thank you.” Then she frowned. “You knew I was coming?” He hated cream soda.
“I knew what my mother planned. She didn’t tell me, but she’s not that sneaky. She told me I should help you, and I said I would if you asked for it.”
“She sent me a letter. You know, like those Christmas letters people send, all chatty and recapping the year?”
He shrugged, clearly not a recipient of such letters.
“Anyway, she told me what you’ve been doing and included your address.” Her lips twitched. “She sent it via FedEx.”
He rolled his eyes. “She sends me faxes.”
“I’m glad she did it, because you’re the only one I know who could maybe help me get out of this.” She told him everything that had happened—Henricksen’s visit and attempts to stay on top of things, despite his tied hands, the calls from Freddie, the guy from the cab who gave her the photos.
“What was in them?”
She took a deep breath. This was the hard part. “Me. My employees. My parents.” She swallowed, her throat dry, and took a swig of the soda. It didn’t help. “My…ex-fiancé and his parents. And his thirteen-year-old sister.”
“Shit.” Grant rubbed a hand over his face before fingering his scarred ear. “I thought for sure they’d want you.”
Another mouthful of soda did nothing to ease her nausea. “I’m hoping they still do. The note with the pictures told me to get the totems and rejoin the ‘family.’ ” She gagged and gripped the back of her neck, closing her eyes as if that would hold off the flashes of memory. Freddie brushing her hair. Pat reading her the old, brutal fairy tales and laughing when she cried. The way his people would touch and cuddle her.
Grant’s hand rested against her back, warm between her shoulder blades. It anchored her in the now, and the flashes slowly faded.
“What was the trigger?” he asked. “What made you leave everything and come here?”
He was good. His insight validated her decision, and one of the million coils of tension slid away. “I had some stupid idea that once I isolated myself and everyone was safe…” She trailed off. “I had no ideas. I have to find the totems, and I texted back to indicate I knew what they wanted and would comply. But I don’t have them. Distancing myself from the people who could be targeted was a no-brainer. But then they sent me a real warning.” She swallowed hard again, her eyes on his ear
, which he was still rubbing. “They sent me your earlobe.”
His hand immediately came down to the table. “How do you know it was mine?”
She blinked. “I guess I don’t.” Why would they still have it? How would they have it? She hadn’t thought about that before. “It doesn’t matter if it was yours or not. It sends the same message.” The horror of that day screamed into her mind. The light, the glistening blood, the screams. The sobs of Grant’s brother, Jordie. She blinked again, and again, rapidly, until the visions faded. “They sent another photo of Olivia. Kell’s little sister. With the word ‘perfection’ across it.”
Grant hissed out a long curse. “They obviously thought that would be enough to send you to them with the totems.”
“They don’t know I don’t have them. And they don’t know me,” she added quietly. Grant’s head jerked up. She kept her gaze steady on him as she said, “They only think they do. I am not the compliant twelve-year-old they abducted, or the terrified thirteen-year-old who escaped them. I’m not doing their bidding, no matter what they try to do to me or anyone else. But I want them to think I am.”
Admiration flashed in Grant’s blue-green eyes. “Have they given you any instructions?”
“Just this.” She reached for her bag on the back of her chair and removed the note that had come with the stack of pictures, handing it to Grant. “And Freddie called my office on Friday. She gave my assistant a cryptic message reminding me what they’d done to you and demanding the key as well as the idols. She also said ‘Our perfect delicacy shan’t attend the reunion should you bring our party favors on time.’ I think the point is that they’ll leave Olivia alone as long as I’m doing what they want.” She rubbed her temples, overwhelmed by how everything just kept piling on. “I hope that’s what she meant, anyway.”
A deep breath helped her focus again. “Henricksen—the FBI agent I told you about?” After Grant nodded, she said, “He’s been reviewing all the old records, everything Pat’s people said about what they were doing. He found something that references a special blood moon being the most powerful to unlock the power of the totems.”
Aftershocks Page 7
