Jenny nodded, tried a smile. “I could do that.”
Could. The telltale word. “You need money?” Not that Harper had it to give, but she’d scrape it up if she had to. “For a plane ticket?”
But Jenny wiped her eyes, sat straighter. “I’m okay.”
“Whatever you need,” Betts said. “It’s yours.”
“Constantine gives me everything I need.” She smiled at Betts. “I’ll think about what you said.”
She’d think about it, but she wouldn’t leave. Because sometimes, the evil you shared a bed with was better than the great alone. Harper understood the lie. She’d lived it.
Marjorie stared at the surf. It seemed she’d allowed herself to believe the same thing. That the familiar trumped the unknown.
Neither of them understood. When you were alone, when you didn’t trust anybody, then nobody could hurt you.
Chapter Twelve
It was nearly midnight. With all the alcohol, Marjorie turned maudlin, Jenny got quieter, and Kitty cracked jokes that became stupider—and somehow funnier—by the minute. Betts, who’d hardly had a drink all night, observed the scene with patient indulgence, like a fond parent.
Harper bid them all good-night. Inside, she crossed the great room to the kitchen table, where the men were still engaged in their poker game. Constantine and Carter had piles of chips in front of them. Derrick looked to be nearly out. His scowl told Harper as much as the lack of chips did. She stopped beside his chair and bent to kiss his cheek. “I’m going to bed.”
He barely glanced at her. “Fine. Good night.”
She stepped back, surprised at his rudeness.
His expression shifted from irritated to apologetic. “I’m sorry. You okay?”
“She’s fine.” Carter’s words were slurred and slushy. “More than fine.”
Derrick glared at the man, started to push back in his seat. “You need to learn to keep your mouth shut.”
Russell’s hand clamped down on Derrick’s shoulder, but he glared at Carter. “Maybe it’s time for you to go to bed.”
“No.” Derrick scooted back to the table. “He’s not going to bed until he gives me a chance to win my money back.”
Harper stood another moment, then realized Derrick had forgotten she was there. Forgotten he’d been about to defend her, take up for her. Not that she wanted anyone to fight, but to see that he cared about her might have been nice. Right now, all he cared about was winning back his money.
Gambling. She’d never understood the allure of it. Money was hard to come by and too easy to lose. She’d seen a lot of people in Las Vegas who’d been destroyed because of gambling.
She headed for the stairs. The heat of someone’s gaze warmed her. Maybe Derrick felt a twinge of remorse for his rudeness. But when she turned to look, it was Carter whose leer had followed her across the room.
She climbed the stairs quickly. Once she got to her bedroom, she closed the door and turned the lock. Then she tested it.
The door pulled open.
She tried again, but though the lock engaged, the door didn’t close completely, rendering the lock useless.
Fear rose like flames, but she tamped it down. Nobody was out to get her. Carter wouldn’t dare come into her room uninvited, not with his wife under the same roof. Not after Harper had shut him down at dinner.
She wouldn’t let fear keep her from sleep. So the door didn’t lock. So what? She was safe here.
She’d spent far too much of her life living in fear. Besides, nobody could hurt her. She’d learned in prison how to defend herself—or at least how to make enough noise to alert the guards.
She’d be fine.
Ten minutes later, she’d scrubbed off the makeup and pulled on the yellow pajamas she’d had since high school. They had tiny pink bunnies all over and were frayed at the hems. Happy to be alone after the long day, she slipped beneath the sheets, wishing she could open the patio door and listen to the surf. But the air conditioner was humming, and she didn’t want to warm up her cool room.
She didn’t know how long she’d slept when she woke. The house was quiet now, no murmurs from the party downstairs. She opened her eyes. What had woken her?
She heard a creak, saw through the darkness as the door inched open. She couldn’t see who it was, but she had her suspicions.
Carter. The creep.
Harper flashed back to night after night of sleeping with one eye open. Most of her cellmates had been scary but not terribly dangerous. But she’d had one she hadn’t trusted. Harper had learned to be ready.
She should have grabbed her pepper spray and her little keychain knife. Stupid. Hadn’t she learned better?
She stayed still, clenched her hands into fists. Waited for him to get close enough. She’d hit him, hard, and then she’d scream. In prison, no guards would have cared. But in this house, she’d get everyone’s attention.
The man inched across the hardwood floor to the far side of the bed, then pulled back the covers.
“Don’t even think about it.” Her words reverberated in the silence. The man froze.
“I thought you were sleeping.”
“Derrick?”
A pause, then, “Who else would it be?” His words were barely a whisper.
She matched the volume. “I thought…” She sat up and faced him where he stood on the far side of the bed. The moonlight beyond the gauzy curtains in front of the sliding door offered just enough to make out his silhouette.
“You thought what?”
She shook off the fear, unclenched her fists. “Nothing. What are you doing?”
He sat heavily on the bed and stared toward the glass. “Rough night. I just thought… I needed to be with you.”
She shifted to face his back and rested her palm there. “Did something happen?”
“I lost. Big time.”
She patted his shoulder. “That’s not the end of the world, is it?”
His laugh was short and filled with bitterness. “You don’t understand.”
“Explain it to me, then.”
He said nothing, just stared toward the sliders.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You can tell me about it tomorrow. Why don’t you go on to bed, sleep it off?”
He shifted so that he was facing her, his bare feet on the bed with the rest of him. He leaned on one arm, pulled her against his chest with the other. “I need you, Harper.” He leaned in and kissed her. He tasted like booze.
She knew what he needed, and it had nothing to do with her. Any warm female body could have satisfied that need. She rested her palms against his chest and pushed. “No. You’re drunk, and I’m not interested.”
He pulled her close again, nestled his face against her neck. Kissed the skin there. “Don’t you understand? You’re the only one who can save me.”
She waited for some twinge of desire, but all she felt was annoyance. Maybe a little fear. She scooted away, tossed the covers back, and slipped out of the bed. “Save you from what?”
“From… from myself.” He leaned toward her, held out his hand. “Please, let me hold you.”
She flipped on the light.
They both blinked in the sudden brightness. Derrick seemed to shrink from it.
“This isn’t going to happen tonight,” she said.
“I’m not… We don’t have to do anything. Just, can I please stay with you? I don’t want to be alone.”
Right. He’d just lie there and let her sleep? Even if he did manage to keep his hands to himself—which she highly doubted—she’d never be able to relax with him there.
But he looked so sad, so lost.
He needed her. She understood that need, that bone-deep desire to be held, to be loved. It wasn’t sex he needed but affection. This man who’d lost both his parents, who had no siblings, whose only relative was an octogenarian grandfather.
Derrick felt alone. Lonely. He needed her.
She was being selfish.
“Pl
ease.” His arm was still stretched toward her.
She started to reach for him, then let her arm drop while the words he’d uttered earlier came back. You’re the only one who can save me. What did he need to be saved from, and why would he think she could do it?
She flashed back to those sweet counselors who’d visited the prison. They’d taught her that her biggest addiction wasn’t substances, but people. Her need to love and be loved. She remembered the pattern they’d pointed out and how she’d spent years of her life spinning around a jagged triangle among the roles of rescuer, prosecutor, and victim. Right now, Derrick was playing the victim and asking her to play the rescuer.
Tomorrow, after she’d rescued him, she’d slide into prosecutor mode, and he’d stay right there as the victim. Only then he’d consider himself her victim, because she’d be angry.
And maybe none of that was on his mind right now. Maybe all he wanted was what all the men she’d known since she left home had wanted from her. It might be as simple as that. Well, that was an ugly, potholed road she’d traveled before. She knew exactly where it led.
But she saw something else in Derrick.
Something darker. Something… there was that word again. Desperate.
He said, “Please come back to bed.”
“You need to go.”
He let his arm drop to the mattress, turned his back to her, and stood. When he faced her again, his expression had shifted. His mouth was tight and angry, his eyes blazing. “You’re serious? I can’t stay?”
“You’re not yourself. I don’t know what happened or why, but if we ever do”—she waved toward the bed—“that, it’ll be when you’re acting like the man I met in Vegas. Not when you’re behaving like this.”
His eyes narrowed. “I had a difficult night. And you didn’t help. You barely paid any attention to Constantine, even though I told you how important it was that I impress him.”
“He’s a blowhard who treats his girlfriend like dirt. I’m not about to suck up to a man like that. Apparently, that’s your job.”
“Yeah, it is my job.” His whisper became vehement. “To ingratiate myself with wealthy people so they’ll invest with me. That’s what I do.”
“Doesn’t your work stand on its own?”
“Men like Constantine need to be respected.”
“Brown-nosed, you mean. Why would you want to work with someone like that?”
“You have any idea what his account would be worth?”
“Money isn’t everything. Not if it makes you behave like this.”
His expression hardened into something she’d never seen on his features before. He moved toward her.
She took a step back and clenched her fists for the second time in ten minutes.
He froze. Blinked twice. His shoulders sagged, and he sat on the bed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m not myself.”
She released her breath. After a moment, she sat beside him. “Go. Sleep. Things will be better tomorrow.”
He said nothing as he stood and walked toward the door. He opened it, turned to face her, started to say something. Then, he clamped his lips shut, stepped out, and closed the door softly behind him.
Harper collapsed onto her pillow and thought about the man she’d just witnessed. If you examined anything long enough, you’d see all its facets. And its flaws.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, Harper slid the curtains back to discover clouds had moved in. She checked the weather on her cell. Apparently, the storm Derrick had assured her was supposed to move offshore had changed its course. So much for the day at the beach.
She dressed quickly in shorts and a T-shirt and tiptoed down the stairs. The house was quiet except for some gentle sounds coming from the kitchen. Maybe she could get in a walk on the sand before the rain started, but it would be rude to leave without at least saying good morning. She headed toward the voices and found Russell and Betts at the table enjoying a cup of coffee. Russell was reading the Wall Street Journal, and Betts had a Bible open in front of her. She looked up. “How’d you sleep?”
Of course Betts would be sweet, even before eight a.m. Harper figured she’d better not tell them about her middle-of-the-night visitor. “Very well, thanks.”
Russell set the paper down and pushed back in his chair. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
He settled again. “If you change your mind”—he pointed to the pot and the cups beside it—“help yourself.”
“I thought I’d take a walk before the rain sets in.”
Betts’s gaze shifted to the wall of glass on the far side of the room. “It’s not the weather we’d hoped for. You need anything before you go?”
“Nope. Just… should I go out the front?”
Russell said, “The porch door’s unlocked.”
She thanked them and left. The air was cooler than it had been the night before but thick with moisture and the scent of rain. She crossed the boardwalk and headed for the water. She hadn’t bothered with shoes. Beaches were for bare feet. Once she hit the damp sand, she turned south. Despite the clouds, the morning was beautiful. The gunmetal-gray water, the slate-colored clouds. It wasn’t idyllic, but it stirred her. Storms always did that. Reminded her of the thunderstorms that used to roll across the prairie when she was a little girl. She’d look out her window and gaze at the lightning, then count until the boom of thunder hit. She’d eagerly watch the news for reports of tornados, even after watching The Wizard of Oz. When she was a kid, Harper’d secretly wanted to be in a tornado, to experience what it would be like to have the wind lift her from her feet, to throw her off balance.
She hadn’t been afraid of storms. No, she’d loved them. The interruption of normal life. The drama.
What a foolish child she’d been. Today, she knew what real storms were. She knew what it was like to have life lift you off your feet and smash you into the wall. She knew what it was like to look around and realize you had no idea how you got where you were, and you had no way out.
Oz had lost its allure.
The wind shifted. The hair on her arms stood, though not from a chill. She resisted the urge to look behind her, to study the dunes and peer between the shingled houses that lined the beach. Because, of course, nobody was watching her. Of course, she was safe here.
The energy of the storm—that’s what had caused her nerves to fire like that, the hair to stand on end.
Even if she’d had a stalker back in Vegas, he wouldn’t have followed her to the East Coast. Even if he’d wanted to, how would he have known where she was? Besides, there were plenty of women in Vegas. Why would anybody bother to trail her across the country?
She was safe.
The words became the beat she walked to as she continued down the shore. She repeated them until she almost believed them.
A drop of water plopped on her hand. She looked at it, then at the surf crashing just a few yards away. Ocean water, not rain. But a second plop landed on her bare shoulder. A third on her nose.
She turned back toward Russell and Betts’s house. The more raindrops that landed, the faster she walked until she was running on the packed sand. The house came into view just as the deluge began. She sprinted the last fifty yards, but it was no use. By the time she reached the door to the screened-in porch, she was soaked.
Betts was waiting for her inside, a beach towel slung over her arm. “I was worried.”
“A little rain never hurt anyone.” She took the towel and dried off, shivering. “Wow, it got cold fast.”
Russell stepped onto the porch beside his wife. “The water in the atmosphere is a lot colder than it is down here.”
Suddenly, he reminded her of her father. The newspaper, the coffee, the weird facts added at just the right moment. She wanted to tell Russell that, tell him and Betts both how much she liked them, but it would sound silly and corny, so she settled for a huge smile. “I’ll take that coffee now.”
“I bet you will.” His chuckle followed her as she headed inside.
“I’m just going to run upstairs and change, and I’ll be right back.”
Harper took a quick shower, brushed out her wet hair, and added a little makeup. By the time she returned to the kitchen, Russell had disappeared, and Kitty and Betts were at the table.
She headed toward the coffee and poured herself a cup. “What’s going on?”
“We’re cooking up a plan,” Kitty said, “since the beach is out.”
Harper added sugar and cream, then looked beyond the glass to the darkness that had settled outside. “What were you thinking?”
“The outlet mall!” Kitty seemed giddy at the prospect.
Harper tried to match her enthusiasm, but the thought of spending all day in and out of shops didn’t appeal at all. Even if she had money to spend, which she didn’t, she hated shopping.
Betts shook her head at her friend’s glee, then focused on Harper. “Does that sound like fun, or do you have another idea?”
“Shopping is fine.” She slipped into a chair at the table.
“We’ll have a nice lunch out,” Betts said, “my treat. That’ll break up the day a little.”
“Will the guys go with us?” Harper asked.
“Geez, I hope not,” Kitty said. “Shopping with Keith is like dragging around a two-hundred-pound bag of sand all day long. Grouchy sand.”
Harper giggled. “Derrick likes to shop, but if the rest of the guys aren’t going, he probably won’t either.”
Betts said, “Considering how late they stayed up last night, I think most of them will sleep the day away.”
“Did Russell stay up?” Harper asked. “Because he was awake early.”
“Until about twelve-thirty. He’ll wake up at six, no matter what time he goes to bed. We’re alike in that way.”
“You two are alike in a million ways,” Kitty said. “Was it always like that, or did you grow more alike as the years went by?”
Betts seemed to consider the question. “I think… Hmm. We’re alike in some ways. Our sleeping habits, for one thing. We both love to entertain. Neither of us likes to watch TV very much. We’re both pretty high-energy. I guess we’ve grown more alike. But we didn’t start that way. Our relationship was built on some pretty sandy soil when we first got married.”
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