Spring Tides

by Jill Allyson Keene

  “I understand. The rest of the story is once your grandfather found out where he came from, he had an almost fanatical need to restore the Winslow name. Maybe that explains more than just his business motivations,” John said gently.

  “Thanks for the information, John. That gives me a lot to think about.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think he realized he made a mistake. The inheritance was his way of making up for it, maybe?” John said.

  “I’ll think about that, too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Rain pounded against the sidewalk, but Bev told Len to stop the car. “I’ll just jump out and run under that awning,” she said. Len’s lips tightened into a grim line, but she opened the door and took off at a run before he could protest.

  As she reached the awning, someone grabbed her hand and pulled her roughly into the alley next to the hotel. Bev smiled up at him until she saw the hungry look in his eyes. Desire surged through her.

  She circled her arms around his neck. “Eager to see me, Counselor?”

  “Can’t tell you, I need to show you.” He crushed his mouth to hers and Bev returned the kiss with pent-up lust.

  He dragged his mouth from hers. “This was stupid; I should have waited until we got to the hotel room.” He pushed the damp hair from his head. “We’re exposed out here.”

  Bev looked around. “In an alleyway in South Boston? I doubt it.” She grabbed his lapel, pulled him close to her and whispered. “I don’t mind the rehearsal. It makes me wonder what’s in store for the real performance.”

  His eyes heated. He closed them and took a breath. “Well, Miss Winslow,” he nipped at her lips. “Let’s get inside. It’s show time.”

  ****

  “You’ll want to be careful.” He was just opening a bottle of wine to go with the pasta he’d brought from the North End. They had been too distracted by each other to think of food when they finally reached the hotel room.

  The memory of their ferocious lovemaking burned in his brain. The floor was littered with their clothing, and he looked over at her. She looked lovely. She’d pulled back her damp hair with a band and had traded her suit for her usual jeans and black T-shirt. She’d just finished telling him about Serena and John’s visit to her office.

  She raised an eyebrow in his direction. “No kidding, Counselor. I thought I’d all of a sudden start trusting Serena and John. Maybe you and I can start going out in public too. There’s an idea. We could double-date with my aunt—who may or may not be trying to kill me.”

  “Your sarcasm is especially refreshing tonight,” he handed her a glass of wine. “All I was saying is if I were you, I’d be on my guard. Even if it’s been over a month, someone is still after you. Who knows when they’ll crawl out of their hole? There is risk in us being together. If your stalker finds out, that could trigger something terrible.”

  “I’m well aware of the threat. Give me some credit. Why else would I be meeting you in different hotels? My apartment is much more comfortable.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not questioning your very exceptional brain power. I’m worried. And frustrated. I don’t want to stop being with you, but I’m worried about you in this situation.”

  He sampled the pasta, offered her a plate across the coffee table where they sat. He wondered if she wanted more than what they were doing? Did she want some kind of normal? Would that scare her? God knew he hated the sneaking around. He wanted a “normal” date. Something told him she wasn’t ready. He liked where they were too much, despite the threat. He wouldn’t want to give up seeing her. He had it bad.

  She twirled linguini around the tines of her fork. “I’m frustrated, too. I’d like to establish some type of normal life, and I haven’t been able to do that. For weeks I’ve been running Winslow Holdings, commuting between Boston and Maine, and holing up at random locations with you. It isn’t right.”

  “Gee, thanks. Your description of our relationship speaks volumes.” He wasn’t going to let it bother him. She was under a lot of pressure.

  “I just mean I’d like my freedom back. Reginald didn’t deal with this.”

  “That’s true.” He let the freedom comment go. “Let’s look at this logically. On the list of things bothering you, what’s number one?”

  “Besides someone out there hurting people I love who hasn’t come clean with their agenda? Isn’t the unknown threat enough of a worry?”

  “Besides that.”

  “That’s the big one causing all of the other little issues.”

  “Little issues such as…?”

  “I can’t go to Salem to see Megan, I can’t take a ride on my boat, I can’t check on Atlantic Charters when I want. I’m stuck here in Boston every day and night not knowing who to trust, and on top of that, I’m enduring visits from my aunt where she questions my fashion sense.” She tossed her plastic fork in her plate. “I sound petty. I’m just pissy tonight.”

  “I can appreciate pissy. It happens.” He swallowed some wine. How to proceed? With caution. “If you need a hand picking out shoes, I’m sure Jules could help.”

  “Nice to hear my lack of fashion ability is fixable,” she bit out. “How often do you go shopping with your assistant? Probably never.”

  “Why are you mad? I’m not the problem here.”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “All right, then why don’t we take your boat out this weekend?” He thought this was a safer topic than shoe shopping, judging from her previous reaction.

  “Are you trying to handle me, Counselor?” Her voice went up a few decibels.

  “I’m trying to solve your problems.”

  “Last I checked—and this was corroborated by you mere minutes ago—my brain holds the power to solve my own problems.”

  He winced. “I’m just trying to help. It’s what I do. Are we having our first fight?”

  A small grin lit the corner of her mouth. “We’ve fought before.”

  “But not since we’ve been a couple—” He stopped before he said something even more stupid.

  “I told you I don’t do well with complications. Must you pigeonhole whatever we have?”

  “I’m not doing that.” He threw down his napkin. “But so what if I was? Would it be so terrible to put a name to this? To call you my girlfriend or lover? Or is that too much for you too?” Her eyes went wide. He picked up his plate and brought it to the small sink in the hotel room. Took some measured breaths, then sat next to her.

  “Let’s change the subject,” he rubbed her shoulders. “You don’t need to deal with this, too.”

  “Okay.”

  He felt her shoulders relax, tried not to be hurt. They’d figure something out. “Other than Serena, how was your day at work?” he asked, trying to will the awkward out of the room.

  “Good, actually. There’s an issue with the Plymouth property I want to buy, but I think it’ll be fine. I’m waiting on revised contracts.”

  “Want me to look them over?”

  Her fork clattered when she pushed away her plate. “Absolutely not.”

  “What is wrong?” He had no idea what he had done now.

  “I don’t need you to solve my problems, fix my issues, or put me in a neat little compartment.” She shook him off her back. “I like doing things on my own, I like making my own decisions—right or wrong. I don’t need you or your assistant or Serena, God dammit, to help me.” Her fists were by her side, her eyes flamed.

  He leaned against the sofa and folded his arms. He was sick of tiptoeing around this. It wasn’t his style.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help worrying about you or wanting more than you seem ready to give. I’m not trying to rush you or insult your intelligence or question your ability. I don’t doubt you can handle anything that comes your way. It’s one of the many reasons why I’m falling for you. When I care for someone, I tell them.” He took her hand, squeezed. Kissed her mouth and whispered, “I’ll give you some time to get used to it.
” He kissed her again and walked out the door.

  ****

  “You’re an idiot.” Jules offered him a tumbler of Scotch from the cabinet in his office. There was nowhere else to go, and Jules was still working.

  “I know.” He swallowed and relished the burn. “I wasn’t trying to scare her. She just pissed me off.”

  “So you thought confirming Serena’s comments about Bev’s shoes would help your cause?” Jules asked.

  “I didn’t mean for it to come off like that.”

  “I sure as hell hope not.” Jules laughed. “Listen, people in love fight. Beverly Winslow has enough going on in her life, and she didn’t need you to complicate things further. You can’t un-ring that bell, so figure out what to do now.”

  “I can do that. And I didn’t say I was in love with her.”

  “You didn’t have to say you were in love with her. Your actions speak for themselves. Just don’t expect rainbows from her when you try to figure this out,” Jules said.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning your usual style might not work at first.”

  “What’s my usual style?”

  “Like in the courtroom, you have a quiet, relentless charm. You aren’t pushy, but you don’t give up. It’ll wear her down eventually.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Seriously. You let your judges reach their own conclusions after you present the facts. They always go your way. And I’ve seen the way she looks at you. You’re already halfway there. Just let her figure it out on her own. She’ll come around.” Jules patted him on the back. “She probably already misses your gallant attempts at wooing. Who could resist a man who offers his assistant as a shopping buddy?”

  “You’ve made your point.”

  “And yet I feel it can’t be belabored.”

  “Why are you here at seven on a Thursday? Where are the kids?” he asked, changing the topic.

  “With my mother, being spoiled on homemade cupcakes,” Jules said. “I’m here because I got a call from the security company. Someone in a dark hoodie was snooping around our office today.” Jules’s lips thinned. “No ID. They told me they are on the lookout.”

  He sat up. “Did they get into my office?”

  “It looks that way. They came in while I was downstairs delivering papers to Ms. Donigan, and…” Jules hesitated.

  “What?”

  “Could this be the same person who sent the note threatening Beverly Winslow?”

  He set his glass down. “Could be. Did Security say anything else? Was it a robbery attempt? We don’t keep anything valuable here. What were they looking for?”

  “No idea, but from now on, I’ll lock up before I go anywhere else in the building,” Jules promised. “Security said no other office cameras triggered the alert. We can look at the footage if you want. I scanned it, but maybe you could send it along to the FBI for fresh eyes.”

  “Good idea. Be careful too. I don’t like this.”

  “Seems like we’ve had trouble since Reginald died. I’m sorry to say I think it has to do with the Winslows again,” Jules said.

  “I agree, and it’s going to stop.”

  “How do you propose to accomplish that?”

  “I’m missing something. Will you pull all my correspondence to and from Reginald? Send it to me in an e-mail. I’ll start there. I’ve looked everywhere else.”

  “You could be wasting your time,” she said.

  “Maybe, but I have to do something. Beverly’s life depends on it.”

  ****

  “Your informant is wasting our time.” Rage welled inside. Would this moron ever provide any useful information?

  “I’m trying,” the little whiner complained. “They aren’t forthcoming without more money.”

  “Something tells me you’re holding back. I may not want to kill Beverly Winslow, but I will hurt you.”

  “I’m doing the best I can. I just don’t want anyone to die.”

  “I want to watch Beverly Winslow fail in public. The Winslows owe me that much. I’ll have my public scandal. Now before I really get angry, tell me what you’re keeping from me, or it will be painful for you.” The thought of hurting this creature brought such joy.

  “I don’t want any damage to come to Winslow Holdings,” he cried.

  “Too bad. They’ll recover. Now tell me.” The demand echoed in the smelly warehouse.

  “There is some evidence she is seeing the lawyer socially.”

  “So the little slut is fucking Finn Callahan. Tell me why it matters.”

  “It’s a long shot, but the board might consider it a breach of her contract. Everything she does is supposed to be above reproach. If there was a video or picture…”

  “Finally you’ve provided something I can use. I’ll make all the arrangements.” Calm overtook the rage that had been building inside. Now there would be peace.

  “You’ve just saved your skin. For now.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of everything. But I’ll give you a warning. If the time comes for you to turn against Beverly Winslow, you’d better be prepared to do so. You don’t want to disappoint me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  She behaved badly.

  Bev wouldn’t rationalize an excuse for her behavior with him. She wanted to move forward. As she and Len pulled up to the circular drive of the big house in Maine that Friday, there were several cars in the drive.

  Good, she thought. Everyone received her message. Megan’s car parked in the drive, too. Reggie was meddling again. She deliberately kept her friend out of this meeting, but now she was here.

  “I’m going to kill my mother,” she said aloud.

  Her head of security snorted a laugh and then quickly cleared his throat to cover it. “Ms. Reggie cleared the additional guests, Ms. Winslow. I thought you knew.”

  “No, I didn’t. But I’m sure she has her reasons.” She gestured to the entrance. “Let’s get in there. I’m starved, and my mother’s explanation will sound better on a full stomach.”

  Len closed her car door. “Yes, Ms. Winslow.”

  When Len opened the front door for her, Ryan, the guard assigned to her mother, waited to speak to him. Conroy flew around the corner.

  “What is it, Conroy?” Bev asked.

  “This is all highly irregular, Miss Winslow.” Conroy stopped in front of her. He straightened, took her briefcase and raincoat. Her two phones he placed in a basket by the front door. She wouldn’t have to listen to the near constant dings for the night. She was off duty for a bit.

  Conroy pulled his vest down to smooth the wrinkles. “Excuse me, Miss Winslow. Welcome home.” He gave her that slight bow. “Would Miss Winslow like a glass of wine or milk?”

  “No, I’m not upset. Yet.” She smiled. “Please tell me what is so irregular.”

  “Ms. Reggie has taken over the kitchens. Cook is upset, as you can imagine. Ms. Reggie has given all staff the night off. Including myself. It really isn’t done.”

  She didn’t dare laugh. “I get it, Conroy. I’ll speak to my mother. Why can't you take a night off?”

  “We have arrangements for nights off, Miss Winslow. With you in Boston for the week, we would not wish to take time off during your time here,” Conroy said.

  “Thank you. Like I said, I’ll speak to my mother. Perhaps you could smooth things over with Cook? Tell her I’m looking forward to her roast lamb Sunday night.” She thought she caught a ghost of a smile haunting Conroy’s lips. She ventured further into the foyer, intent on getting to the kitchen.

  “Excellent, Miss Beverly.”

  She whipped around to face him. This was the first time he hadn’t called her Miss Winslow. She swallowed and said, “If you are more comfortable with seeing to things for me on the weekends, I’ll let my mother know you are on call if I need you.”

  Conroy’s mouth dropped open, but just as quickly he recovered and gave her
his little bow again.

  She glanced around the foyer. “The renovations look to be going smoothly.” The new paint and artwork adorning the grand foyer was a refreshing change. “Where are the rest of the Winslow portraits?”

  “In the Winslow Room,” Conroy said. “The designer converted one of the ballrooms off the north corridor into a portrait gallery featuring all the portraits once hung here. She is naming it the Winslow Room.”

  “Is there anything else I should know? I’ve come to rely on the fact you’re helping my mother with this renovation. Tell me if I should jump in.”

  “Nothing of note, Miss Beverly. It is on schedule and within budget.” Conroy pointed to the right. “We have full use of your wing, and your suite of rooms is complete. We put guests on that side of the house.”

  “I guess that leaves me to find my mother in the kitchens and ask about our additional guests.”

  “Yes, Miss Beverly.” He bowed and left.

  She was oddly touched by Conroy and his strange traditions. She pushed a stray curl behind her ear. Before she could head to the kitchen, Finn Callahan surprised her by coming around the corner from the drawing room.

  Her stomach flipped. He looked good, like he always did. Gray sweater and jeans, perfect for a cool spring day. Sandy-brown hair smooth and unruffled except for that adorable piece that fell onto his forehead. Her hands itched to smooth it back. To touch him. Anywhere.

  She immediately remembered how much she had missed him. How the last few days had been a little less without him. She couldn’t begin to let herself think of the sleepless nights. She missed his hands on her. Why did he have to complicate things? Why couldn’t he just go with the flow? His words broke through her foggy brain.

  “That was very slick, Ms. Winslow.” He reached her and kissed her.

  She blinked in surprise, and then forgot everything and let herself sink into the kiss. His mouth worked magic. His scent reminded her of the forest, earthy and rich. The familiar warmth of it washed over her. Oddly, he calmed her down.

  He stepped back from the kiss, leaving her to blink away the sexual haze and try to recover.