"That’s right."
"Were there any suspects?"
"I can't tell you that. I was a boy when it happened, only five years old. And, if you remember, my mother was very sick."
Cara nodded, accepting that. Even though he was the police chief of Secret Sound, Gray couldn’t be expected to be versed in the details of an ancient crime.
"There is something you can tell me." Gray sat down in the chair positioned at an angle to her. "Why are you so interested in something that happened so long ago? How can it possibly matter to you?"
"It matters," Cara said softly and didn’t know what else she'd say until the words slipped from her mouth, "because I see him, Gray. I see Skippy Rhett in the street."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There, Cara thought. She’d said it. She’d told Gray the truth, and it only served to make the surreal seem more real.
Now that she’d started her story, there was little point in stopping until he’d heard it all.
"That’s why I was screaming the first time you saw me. It wasn’t because of a bat. It was because everything in Secret Sound was familiar, from the trees along the road to the gas station. Then I saw the car slam into Skippy, just as it did all those years ago."
The room grew silent as he studied her with those unfathomable eyes. She heard him draw a breath and release it. She wished he’d say something, but she preferred his silence to open doubt. She swallowed.
"I went out tonight hoping to make him appear. I saw Skippy once in my hotel room, but the image was more clear at the gas station. At first I thought I wouldn't see him, but then there he was on the shoulder of the road. It was different this time. It seemed like he was talking to me, and he was telling me to run. That’s why I was in the street when the car came."
Silence stretched between them once again. The breath caught in Cara's throat at the sound of a prolonged hum. A moment passed before she realized it was only the refrigerator.
"Are you sure you’ve never been in Secret Sound before?" His voice was so flat she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. "That would explain why things seem familiar."
"That’s the first thing I thought of. I called my Aunt Clarice to double check, and she confirmed what I already knew. I’d never been out of South Carolina."
"Then maybe you ran across photographs of the town in a newspaper or magazine and you're remembering that."
Cara shook her head. "That would explain why some things seem familiar. Why did I know what Skippy looked like before I saw the family portrait in Curtis Rhett’s office? Where would I have seen a photo of him?"
Gray blew out a breath. "So what you’re saying is that you’ve been seeing Skippy’s ghost?"
Cara thought about that and frowned. A friend had once claimed her house was haunted, even going so far as to call in a purported exorcist to rid it of ghosts. Cara had nearly suggested she see a psychiatrist instead. Now she reconsidered her position. She’d never believed in ghosts. Perhaps it was time she started.
"I guess that is what I’m saying," she said finally. "It’s Skippy Rhett I see, Gray."
He got up abruptly and paced across the kitchen. Either he didn't believe her story or he didn't want to believe it. It hurt that he doubted her. She not only wanted him to believe her, somehow she needed him to.
"I suppose you’re not a journalist, either."
"I wanted to be a journalist. I wanted it a lot." She rose, crossed the kitchen to where he stood and smiled wistfully. "What I actually do is work in the circulation department at a magazine. Saying I was a reporter seemed like a good way to get my questions answered."
"And I guess that next you’ll tell me you’re asking questions because Skippy wants you to find out what happened to him."
"If I say yes, will you think I'm crazy?"
He blew out another breath that rustled the hair above his brow. "I never said you were crazy."
"You never said I wasn't, either," she pointed out. It didn't seem the time to tell him she believed her anxiety attacks and dreams of the eagle were somehow connected to the boy. She met his eyes. "Crazy or not, somebody doesn't want me to find out the truth. You can't deny that."
"Tell me again about the threat. Are you sure you couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman on the phone?"
"I already told you, the caller disguised their voice. My vote's on Sam, but it could have been anybody."
"Has anybody besides Sam been openly hostile to you?"
"A lot of people have been unfriendly. Sam's the only one who's been belligerent." She frowned. "Wait a minute. That's not true. Stoney Gillick threatened me, too."
His eyes rounded. "When?"
"This afternoon when you were dealing with his wife. He saw me in your patrol car and said he'd pound in my face."
"I thought he was talking to Mary."
"From what I saw, he has enough rage to go around."
"Gillick made bail earlier tonight and he drives a Pontiac," Gray muttered. "It's dark green, but at night it could look black."
Cara bit her bottom lip, unable to believe the driver's motive had been pure meanness instead of Skippy Rhett. "Lots of people drive dark-colored cars."
Something flashed in his eyes before he gripped her by the upper arms. "Listen to me," he said urgently, "I want you to leave Secret Sound."
"Leave?" Confusion swirled through Cara along with the heat that invaded her whenever he was close. "I can’t leave. Not until I find out what happened to Skippy."
"Your safety is more important than something that happened thirty years ago. Didn’t you figure that out tonight?" His eyes bored into hers, and she had the sensation of a blue-gray blanket enveloping her. He was trying to protect her, but she couldn’t let him.
"I’m not leaving, Gray." Determination rang in her voice. "I have to find out what happened. I couldn’t live with myself if I left now."
An emotion crossed his face that could have been pain, and he made a sound low in his throat, as if he hurt. "Then I’ll have to help you."
"Why?" she breathed, but she already knew why. He exhaled, and the breath caressed her lips, making her sigh aloud. That he was going to close the distance between them was inevitable. Even before he kissed her, she knew she’d been subconsciously waiting for it to happen again.
Their mouths melded together as if they’d never been apart, and she felt as though she were clinging to something even more substantial than the muscled hardness of his body. The kiss on the beach had been tinged with anger. This one was laced with something she didn’t understand. She doubted he did either.
She tilted her head back, giving him freer access to her mouth, and he took it greedily, plunging his tongue inside as though he wanted to possess her.
His hands were everywhere, the backs of his thumbs running over her breasts, his palm cupping her rear to bring her flush against his arousal. Her hands tangled in his hair, keeping his mouth on hers. She sighed and moaned and very nearly cried with pleasure.
One of his hands snaked under her dress, climbing up her bare thigh and rubbing against the silky material of her underwear. Wet heat settled low in her stomach, and an almost unbearable ache spread between her legs.
Sensation spiraled within her, frightening in its intensity. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t catch her breath. She could barely breathe. He reached his fingers inside her panties, and she was damp before he even touched her.
"No," she said against his mouth, shaking her head from side to side as the desire threatened to engulf her. "No."
He slowly withdrew his fingers from her underwear. His hand still cupped her rear, holding her securely to him. He backed up slightly so that his lips were no longer on hers. His eyes were glazed.
"No?"
“Stop, Gray. I want you to stop!" Cara’s voice, like her insides, shook. His jaw clenched, and a muscle ticked there. Slowly, very slowly, he released her and studied her with barely banked heat in his eyes.
She staggered ba
ckward in her haste to get away from him, banging her hip against the edge of the kitchen counter. She didn’t notice the pain. The emotions churning within her took precedence, and they were so strong she feared they would eat at her from the inside out.
"What just happened here?" His voice was low, insistent.
"What?"
"Why did you tell me to stop when you want me as much as I want you?" He took a step forward, like a predator in the jungle, and she hastily backed up. He stopped, confusion written on his features. "Why are you running away from me?"
Cara cast about wildly for something to tell him other than the truth. He wouldn’t understand that he made her feel as though she were standing in the dark on the edge of a cliff, poised to jump into the unknown. He wouldn’t understand that she needed to know for certain what was at the bottom of the precipice.
"Richard," she said.
"Richard?" His eyes narrowed. "Who the hell is Richard?"
"He’s my, uh, fiancé,” she said. His gaze immediately dropped to her hands, and she rubbed her empty ring finger self-consciously. "Or, uh, at least he’ll be my fiancé when I get back to Sumter."
"You haven’t accepted his proposal yet?"
"I’m going to. I’ve been, uh, thinking about it."
"That’s crap, Cara," Gray bit out. This time he didn’t stop in his advance, and she didn’t have anywhere to go since the counter was at her back. His face was inches from hers, and passion flared again with a white-hot flame. "If you wanted to marry this Richard, you would have already said yes. You brought him up to keep me away from you. I’ve got a news flash for you, lady. I’m not going anywhere."
"You’re not?"
He swore and backed away from her. "For Christ’s sake, Cara. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to attack you. I’m also not going to let you get away with lying about what you want. I’ll leave you alone for now, but I won’t leave you alone for long.
"And, if you can’t accept that, maybe you better rethink your refusal to leave Secret Sound."
His husky voice sent ribbons of heat tingling along her nerve endings. For a moment, the fact that he wanted her made her feel powerful. Then the doubts swept in. He wasn’t a safe man. How much would he demand from her? How much would she be able to give? She shivered as she thought of the challenge he would pose.
No, he wasn’t safe. She’d always admired the lions and tigers when she’d gone to the circus, but she’d never wanted to get close enough to pet one. Richard, on the other hand, was no more dangerous than a house cat. Better the familiar than to brave the unknown.
"I can’t get involved with you," she said and made herself continue, "but I can’t leave either."
His muttered curse made her shiver. She didn’t have the courage to ask if he were swearing because he wanted her to leave Secret Sound or because he didn’t.
"If you’re staying," he growled, "I need your promise on one thing."
"What?" Her voice was small.
"I’ve got something I have to do tomorrow morning. I don’t want you to leave this house until I’ve done it." He ran a hand through his dark hair. "Do I have your promise?"
She nodded, very much afraid that he could get her to promise him anything.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gray cradled his mug of now-cold black coffee and watched the minute hand on the wall clock move with glacier speed toward seven o’clock. Six more minutes, he told himself. Six more minutes before he could assume the world was awake and get some answers.
He rubbed his gritty eyes as the numbers on the clock blurred. No wonder. He’d barely slept since he’d left Cara the night before. He’d been so aroused it had been hours before he’d had his body back in control. He’d had even less success with his mind. It had turned over and over Cara’s fantastic claim that she had seen Skippy Rhett’s ghost.
Gray didn’t believe in ghosts, but Cara’s description of the little boy’s huge, haunted eyes had pierced his soul. What had happened to Skippy remained a mystery to this day. He understood, though, why she'd think the child’s spirit should be restless and out for justice.
Gray frowned into his coffee. He understood it. He didn't believe it.
Ghosts were figments of overactive imaginations, inserted into horror movies to send chills skittering down the backs of popcorn-eating viewers. He shouldn't have remained silent at the utter absurdity of Skippy walking the earth as a ghost. Neither could he have told Cara she needed her head examined. Something strange was going on that a psychiatrist couldn't fix.
He rubbed his brow. The entire situation defied sense. If Gray had believe in ghosts, it would make more sense for Skippy to haunt him instead of Cara. Gray was the one who had agreed to keep a terrible silence.
If wouldn’t matter to a vengeful ghost that Gray had no proof, only suspicions. It wouldn’t matter that he was keeping a promise to a woman who had never done anything except love him. It wouldn’t matter that his debt was great, because he hadn’t loved that woman return.
"Ah, hell." Gray swallowed the rest of the bitter black coffee. He rose, so tired of waiting he couldn’t sit still for another minute. He snatched up his keys from the kitchen table and headed for the door.
"Gray?" He stopped, turned and found his father watching him from the archway separating the kitchen and the living room. His white hair was mussed, his face deeply lined, his posture betrayed by gravity. Gray’s heart turned over at the realization that his father was an old man. "Are you heading to work already, son? You usually take it pretty easy Saturday mornings."
Gray wondered how his father knew where he was going until he looked down at what he was wearing. With his badge prominently pinned to his khaki shirt, he was dressed like a cop instead of a man intent on enjoying his morning. "Some unexpected business came up. I’ve got to take care of it."
"What kind of unexpected business?"
The curse of being a journalist’s son was the questions never stopped. Usually, Gray answered them. But Gray wasn’t going to break his promise lightly. Still, he could give his father a bare-bones account of what had happened to Cara. Leaving out, of course, that she claimed to see dead people.
"So I told her she could stay in the guest house," Gray said when he’d finished relating the tale. A slight frown crossed his father's face. "Is that a problem? I didn’t think you’d mind."
"Of course I don’t mind." His father’s usual bluster infused his voice. "Of course you should help a damsel in distress. I just have an appointment to show the house today, that’s all. Farley Jones’s freeloading son finally wants a place of his own."
"I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you kept the appointment," Gray said. "Just give her notice that somebody will be looking through the place."
His father walked across the kitchen with a gait that had gotten heavier with age. He poured himself a cup of the coffee Gray had brewed, doctoring it liberally with cream and sugar.
"Nonsense. Farley’s boy can stay at his father’s house a little longer. I’ll cancel the appointment and let Cara know she can stay here as long as she likes."
In spite of the day he expected to have, Gray smiled. "Have I ever told you that you’re the best father a son could have?"
"All the time, son." His father took long swallow of coffee. "You tell me all the time."
Ten minutes later, Gray walked through the deserted newsroom of the Secret Sound Sun. In the early morning hours, it was entirely free of the bustle that produced a daily newspaper. No reporters strode purposefully from door to desk, no heads bent over keyboards. With the exception of a solitary office, there weren’t even any lights on inside the building.
As he made his way toward the lighted office, Gray could hear his footsteps even through the cushioning of the carpet. He could also hear the odd little catch in his breathing.
He stopped at the door to the open office, watching the man who was so deeply involved in what he was reading on the computer screen that he didn’t glan
ce up for a full minute.
Even though it was Saturday, Gray had known to come here. He’d known this man wouldn’t be asleep when he could be enmeshed in the workings of a newspaper that should have been his but wasn’t.
As if he sensed he were being watched, Curtis Rhett’s head finally turned. He smiled, lifting his severe features.
"Gray, my boy!" he exclaimed. "Have you been standing there long? You should have interrupted me. I’m trying to get this story in shape for tomorrow’s paper, but, just between you and me, it’s a major head scrambler. I’ll have to give the reporter a lesson about the inverted triangle. I bet even you know what I’m talking about, Gray. You lead with the most pertinent fact. I’ve been staring at this story for fifteen minutes, and I’ve yet to find such an animal."
The managing editor was being his usual intense self, squarely focused on what he could do to improve the quality of the Secret Sound Sun. At another time, Gray might have smiled. Today, he didn’t. He couldn’t.
"Do you have time to talk, Curtis?"
"For you, I always have time," Curtis answered.
Gray pulled the door shut on the off chance that some other workaholic might arrive. He took the seat opposite Curtis's desk. The other man frowned.
"What’s this all about, Gray? You’re scaring me. Did somebody die?"
Gray thought of little Skippy, dead for three decades. Yes, somebody had died. "Somebody tried to run down Cara Donnelly last night with a car," he said and watched Curtis for a reaction.
"The out-of-town reporter?" Curtis looked shocked. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine."
"Do you know who did it?"
"I know it’s somebody who drives a big, dark car."
"That’s not much to go on. Why, that even describes what I drive." When Gray didn’t answer, comprehension washed over Curtis's face like a tide. "Wait a minute. You can’t possibly be implying I had anything to do with it."
Something wrenched at Gray’s gut. He didn’t want to be here, in this office, with this man, implying anything of the sort. He kept his face impassive. "You tell me."
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