“So if she’s alive, and she’s a movie star, why didn’t she look for me?”
“Aw, honey.” His fury at her forgotten, he stepped toward her and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t jump to any conclusions. Let’s go find her. That’s the only way to really know anything.”
“I don’t know…”
He drew back and cupped her cheek with one hand. “Listen to me, Gracie. I was terrified about coming back here. But now that I have…everything’s different. I’m glad I did.”
“I thought it would be too hard, that’s why—”
“I get it. But you were wrong. I had to come here. Best fucking thing I could have done. And now we found your mother.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, though he didn’t have any doubt. The resemblance was too striking. “Don’t you want to know for sure? Isn’t that why we’re here?”
She chewed some more on her lower lip and screwed up her face. “Maybe?”
“Do you need to get drunk tonight?” he asked. “I can guarantee it doesn’t help a thing, but it’s an option.”
His joke broke the tension, and she laughed. “No, thanks. I think you drooled on a pillow enough for both of us.”
25
Later, after returning Mark’s borrowed vehicle, calling Social Services about Janus Kaminski, and checking out of the truck stop motel, they hit the road in Gracie’s car.
Mark drove this time while Gracie called her brother. She put the phone on speaker so they could both hear.
“Jake, I need some help locating someone. I was wondering if I could get the name of the private investigator you’ve been working with.”
“Not sure that ‘working with’ is the right way to put it,” he said wryly. “She would say that she, a professional, allowed me, an amateur, to assist her.”
“Okay, well, we need a professional. Can you send me her info?”
“How about I call her for you? What do you need?”
Gracie’s eyebrows lifted. She shot Mark a glance loaded with speculation. “Why can’t you just give me her number?”
“Mmm, well, it’s probably better if I do it. She’s very busy. It’s best if we have one point person contacting her.”
Mark gestured to Gracie to go along with that request.
“Okay, whatever works,” she said. “Can you ask her to find out where Laine Thibodeau lives? She’s a movie actress.”
“I’ll ask. That name is vaguely familiar. What movies has she been in?”
Gracie pulled up the IMBD page they’d both scoured. “Mostly obscure, low-budget stuff. She started in movies when she was a teenager, and she hasn’t done much lately. We don’t even know if she lives in LA, but we’re headed south just in case.”
That was Mark’s idea—LA was only a couple hours’ drive from the marina, and he wouldn’t mind checking in on the place.
“Roger that. I’ll call you when I have the info.”
“Quick as possible, please. Thanks, Jake. Love you.”
“Love you too, kid. Notice how I’m not asking questions about why you want to find Laine Thibodeau or about how it’s going with Mark? Does he need any hangover cures?”
“No, we’re-good-thank-you-bye,” Gracie said in a quick rush, then ended the call.
Irked, Mark looked over at her. “You told Jake about last night?”
“He’s a bartender. He knows more about drinking than I do. I was—I was worried. I knew I couldn’t carry you if you got completely plastered. And I knew it was my fault because I was dragging you to see Kaminski.”
Despite his irritation, he caught the real anxiety in her voice. “Look. I’m sorry I did that. Going back to that place, seeing the dogs, facing those memories—it was good. Better to face up to shit than try to drown it out. I’m hoping I don’t forget that. I’ll try like hell not to.”
Before she could answer, he threw up his hand to stop her.
“And no matter what, you shouldn’t have left without me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She turned toward him, clasped her hands under her chin, and batted her eyelashes at him. “Forgive me?”
He gave a double take. “You’re using puppy-dog eyes on me?”
“Are they working?”
“Damn it. Yes. Why do you have to be so adorable? I was pissed. Rightfully so.”
She fluttered those long lashes some more. “You screwed up, too.”
“Yeah, but no one wants to see puppy-dog eyes from me. I’ll have to try something else.”
“What?”
“You’ll see. Next hotel room will be a whole different story.”
That seemed to satisfy her.
Even while she joked and flirted with Mark, a steady drumbeat of questions ran through Gracie’s mind. Was Laine Thibodeau actually her birth mother? Was that her real name or a stage name? Was her mother a movie star? Why hadn’t she tried to find her missing baby?
Were the answers to these questions going to break her heart?
Every once in a while, one of her thoughts burst out before she could stop it.
“Kaminski thought he recognized me when he first saw me.”
“I think he was obsessed with her. I remember that he used to talk about his guardian angel. I didn’t think he meant a real person, but maybe that’s how he saw Laine. She played an angel in one of her first movies.”
“But why would he kidnap her baby?”
“No idea. But he was crazy. So there’s that.”
“Yes, but I still want to know everything that happened, and why he did it. Don’t you?”
He shrugged one broad shoulder. “I’m not sure we’ll ever know it all.”
“That’s depressingly true.”
“Is it depressing? Honestly, if you hadn’t come along, I would still be happy as a clam at my marina.”
“Are clams really happy? They’re stuck inside their shells, they live under the sand. Think about that, there’s a big beautiful ocean right there, and they choose to bury themselves under a foot of sand and only come up when the waves bring them food.”
“I’ve always been a big fan of delivery,” he joked.
“Oh my God, you are a clam!” She swatted him lightly on the thigh. “Ocean Shores is your little hole in the sand.”
“Until you came along and dug me up.”
“Well, I do dig you,” she confessed. “Even more now that you saved me again.”
“I dig you, too.”
Okay, that was a step forward. He’d actually declared a feeling for her out loud, and cold sober—not the most romantic phrasing, but it was something.
But she didn’t dwell on it because she couldn’t stop thinking about Laine and the possibility that she might meet the woman who had given birth to her.
“Do you think she’ll want to see us? I mean, me?” She looked over at Mark, suddenly realizing something. His role in her quest was over. He’d helped her find Kaminski. His job was done. He could go home. “You don’t have to do this with me, you know.”
“What are you talking about?” He frowned at her as he passed a slow-moving driver chatting on her cell phone.
“You came with me because of Kaminski, but you don’t have to come to LA with me. You can head home to Ocean Shores.”
“You’re trying to put me back in the sand?” he asked lightly.
“No. I’m just saying, I shouldn’t assume that you—”
“I’m coming with you,” he said firmly. “What if Laine Thibodeau has a pack of trained dogs? You need me.”
“Okay.” She smiled to herself because he was just so sweet underneath his gruff act.
And face it, he had saved her yet again. How many times could one person come to her rescue? She counted on her hands. Once when she was a baby. Once when she’d gone to the wrong party. Once from a pack of dogs. Three times so far.
And that was just the life-and-death kind of rescues. He’d also rescued her from something else.
All th
ese years, holed up at Rocky Peak Lodge, dating tourists who she’d never see again, she’d never developed deep feelings for anyone. Lord knew she’d tried. Call it experimenting, or call it hope, every time she’d waited to feel something more. Something real.
When it never happened, she’d started to worry that there was something wrong with her. That she could love her family, she could love chickadees and ladybugs and fairy houses and a beautiful new sketchbook, and her friends, of course, and the elderly people she delivered meals to. But she couldn’t fall in love.
Well, now she knew that her fear was ridiculous. She could fall in love, all right. She was perfectly capable of it, because she’d officially done it.
She was in love. This wasn’t just a crush. She loved Mark. She’d known it for sure the second she’d opened her eyes and seen Mark charging toward her and the dogs.
Of course, typical Gracie, she’d gotten it all wrong and fallen for someone who didn’t want to love her back. Someone who didn’t want to love anyone.
He was determined not to feel too much for her, starting at the marina and continuing through now. He saw her as “trouble,” someone who’d disrupted his life.
He was a clam, after all. A stuck-in-the-mud clam.
Gracie, on the other hand…she didn’t know if she could ever go back to her old life. She still loved her family and the lodge. But going back to her aimless existence scooping ice cream and sketching the same woods, over and over?
No.
Her life was going to change; she could sense it. Big changes were coming her way. But would Mark be part of that change? Her intuition had nothing to say about that.
Jake called back soon afterwards with Laine Thibodeau’s address in Malibu. “I couldn’t reach Olivia, so I found this on my own. It’s an expensive place, right on the beach, with a guesthouse and a locked security gate.”
“Does she have dogs?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Thanks, Jake. Anything else you can tell me?”
“She’s a bit of a hermit, apparently. You’ll probably find her at home.”
Maybe it ran in the family, Gracie thought ruefully. “But if she’s a hermit, she might not want to see me.”
“Don’t know about that,” Jake said gently. “But if she doesn’t, it says nothing about you, Gracie. You are loved beyond measure.”
A lump appeared in her throat. “That’s very poetic, Jake.”
“I mean it. Do you want me to come down there and do the big brother thing?”
She laughed. “No, I’m fine. Mark’s with me. Not that I need him, of course.” She squeezed Mark’s hard thigh. “But he’s such a hunky guy, and it never hurts to have a little arm candy around.”
Mark pinched her knee, making her yelp. Then he left his hand there, the pleasant weight sending a tingle of arousal to her lower belly.
At the motel, she’d changed into one of her all-time favorite outfits—cowboy boots, indigo leggings with a mermaid pattern, and an Edwardian burgundy jacket. In this outfit, she felt the most like herself, and that was how she wanted to seek out her potential mother. As herself.
Mark wore his usual combination of simple dark trousers and a crew-necked sweater in a rich shade of brown that reminded her of dark chocolate mousse. He was such a good-looking guy, on top of all his other qualities. Could anyone blame her for falling in love with him?
He caught her eye, and she quickly shifted her expression.
Keep it light. Light as air. Light enough to forget.
26
When evening fell, they were just outside Los Angeles, so they decided to spend one more night in a hotel. They splurged on an actual three-star hotel this time, with bellhops and exuberant orchid displays in the lobby. As soon as they were alone in the room, Mark locked the door and advanced on her with a look of ferocious hunger that made her heart glow.
“Not wasting another night in a hotel room, you can believe that.”
She dodged under his arm. “But I’m hungry.”
“Too bad.” He chased after her. “We can eat later. After a snack.”
“I’m the snack?”
“You know it. And this is a snack attack.” He grabbed for her again, but she ducked aside just in time.
“I could really use a drink,” she teased, jogging backward. “A couple shots. A beer. You know, just to take the edge off.”
“Oh really? Well, you’re a grown woman. You can do what you want. But you’ll have to get past me.”
Laughing, she dodged another swipe of his hand and jumped onto one of the double beds.
“Damn, you’re wily.” Breathing hard, he jumped onto the other bed, and for a moment, they both bounced up and down as if they were on side-by-side trampolines. The exhilaration of it released all the tension of that crazy day, and for a few moments, they were like two kids breaking the rules by jumping on the beds.
When she was in mid-jump, he let out a war cry and leaped over to her bed. Just in time, she bounded off the mattress onto the floor and ran into the bathroom.
“Taking a shower,” she called. “Gonna be naked in here.” She turned the water on but left the door slightly ajar.
“Promise?”
“And wet,” she yelled over the sound of the water running. “Very, very wet.”
Suddenly he was right there behind her, his hands on her hips. She turned and felt the electric joy of being so close to him. She grabbed at his sweater and shoved it over his head. They were both breathing fast, frantic to get their hands on each other.
As soon as they were naked, he put his hand between her legs and pressed against her throbbing sex. A sharp jolt went through her. Not quite an orgasm, but so close. One more touch and—
She pulled away. She wasn’t ready to come yet, even though he had the power right there in the palm of his hand.
She wanted to draw this out longer, so she danced away from him and into the shower. Warm water cascaded onto her head, drawing a gasp from her. He stood outside the shower stall, totally naked and utterly gorgeous. Fully aroused, his penis thick and dusky, jutting forward from its nest of black curls. She blinked water out of her eyes so she didn’t miss a minute of his magnificence. Her mouth watered, and she beckoned to him as she lowered herself into a kneeling position.
For a hotel shower, it was pretty spacious, definitely enough for two people pressed very close together. The closer the better. For instance, if one of them had her mouth on the other’s penis, there was plenty of space.
His eyes flared as he understood her invitation.
He stepped in, legs astride the shower stall, one on either side of her. Adjusting her position so the hard tile under her knees didn’t hurt, she took his erection into her mouth. Warm water streamed over her face as she filled her mouth with his hard flesh. The heat of him inside her mouth and the warmth outside gave her a kind of floaty feeling, as if the two of them were suspended together in a world made entirely of water.
She reached up and ran her hands along the backs of his muscular thighs. He thrust forward, deliberately instead of roughly, feeling his way in the cavern of her mouth. The sensation of him was so elemental—thickness, hardness, smoothness, hotness. Aliveness. Lust. She swirled her tongue across the knob of his penis, loving how it swelled in response. Tilting her head back, she made room for more of him in her mouth, relaxing her throat muscles and giving herself over completely to the experience.
“Oh God,” he groaned, bracing one hand against the shower stall. She squinted up at him, wanting to feast her eyes despite the water cascading over her. The sight of him was well worth it. His bronzed skin was as slippery as a seal’s, every hard muscle emphasized by the wetness. His head was bent backward, the tendons between his neck and shoulders straining, his body screaming with tension, urging toward release.
Overwhelmed by his sheer physical beauty, she squeezed her eyes shut and lost herself again in the sensations. A pleasant hum of arousal spread from the nerve endings on
the roof of her mouth all the way down to her lower belly. She wondered for a wild moment if it was possible to come just from this—without any other physical contact.
But she didn’t have much time to explore that idea because Mark reached down and tugged her to her feet. Just in time, she realized with a slight shock. Her knees were grateful not to be pressed on the tile anymore. She’d been so lost in her pleasure that she hadn’t noticed.
When she was standing before him, he turned her to face the back wall of the shower. Water pounded against her back as she pressed her hands against the tile. His hands were all over her, and now he was holding something hard and slippery—oh, sigh, it was soap. He lathered her everywhere, which felt so divinely good after sitting in the car all day. She rested one cheek against the tile and followed every prompt he gave her, murmured roughly into her ear. “Spread your legs. Back up a little so I can reach your nipples. Duck your head.”
His hand came between her legs and slid the soap across her pulsing sex, finding each fold and crevice. The stimulation turned her into one quivering mass of arousal. She whimpered against the sleek surface of the tiles. “That feels so amazing, Mark. Oh my God.”
“You like this?” He added his fingers to the mix, replacing the slippery bar of soap with rough fingers. He pinched her clit, then circled it with his thumb, around and around, rubbing with just the right amount of friction until she wanted to scream. “What about this?”
A finger plunged inside her, or maybe it was two, all she knew was that a piercing pleasure shot through her. He’d found a spot—that spot—the elusive place within her that sparked rocket flares of ecstasy.
She came apart under the firm grip of his hand as he worked her. Wild moans filled the shower stall, along with urgent whispers from Mark. “That’s right. God, you’re incredible. Come on, baby. All the way, baby.”
She rode his hand until the last exquisite spasm died away, then rested, gasping against the wall. The water was still coming down hard on her back, washing away all soreness. She felt Mark still behind her, then he patted her on the hip, and said, “Be right back.”
The Runaway Page 20
