"Don't you worry." He sank his lean, muscled body into a chair and extended his long legs out in front of him. "If worse comes to worst, I can inflate a lifeboat, fill it with life jackets and make us a fairly cozy bed."
"Bed?" She gaped at him. "Why would we need a bed? You can't mean—" Horror momentarily robbed her of speech. "You don't think we'll have to stay here all night, do you?"
He took a swig of beer. "Look on the bright side. As my father used to say, 'For every dark horizon, there's a sun waiting to rise.' We've got a refrigerator full of drinks, a cupboard of canned goods, and fine company." He lifted the beer to her in an amiable salute.
"But I … I have to get to a phone. I've got people to call, places to go. Things to do. I can't possibly stay here."
He pondered that for a moment. "I'd offer again to outrun the gator, but it's almost dark now." He leaned forward in his chair, holding the beer loosely between his outspread knees, and warned in an ominous tone, "It's a well-known fact that gators go into a feeding frenzy just before dark."
Callie swallowed a cry of dismay and dug her nails into her palms. She was beginning to feel truly trapped. "Let's try to wire that radio."
"We can try," he said with a pessimistic tilt of his head, "but—"
A sudden rapping at the door startled them both.
They glanced at each other in surprise, then moved toward the door in unison. "Who the hell…?" Jack muttered.
"Thank God," Callie cried. In the next heartbeat, though, she gasped. "The alligator! It could attack whoever's there."
Jack pushed the door open, looking more displeased than worried. Callie hovered at his elbow, torn between relief at being rescued and dread of a possible gator attack.
"Sheriff Gallagher," Jack greeted, not exactly in welcome.
"Howdy, Doc," wheezed the squat, balding lawman with a ruddy face. "We got a phone call from someone stuck on Gulf Beach Road
. My clerk couldn't make out much of what the lady said before the connection went dead, but I—"
"I made the call, Sheriff." Callie shouldered her way past Jack and grabbed hold of the lawman's hefty arm, her gaze riveted on the bushes beyond. "Come in, come in, quick!" His squinty eyes rounded as she yanked him into the boathouse and slammed the door. "Do you have a cell phone with you, or a radio? Oh, I see you have a gun. I hope we won't need to use that, but if worse comes to worst—"
"Pardon me, please, ma'am," the sheriff interrupted, blinking at her in bewilderment, "but you seem mighty shaken up over something, talking about guns and all. What's the problem?"
"Uh, Sheriff Gallagher, this is Callie Marshall," Jack interrupted. "You remember her, don't you? Colonel Marshall's youngest girl?"
"Callie Marshall. Well, I'll be!" Wreaths of smiles crinkled his round face. "Haven't you grown into quite the lady! Never would have thunk it, back then. Your daddy would be proud enough to bust a gut if he could see you now."
The usual mix of grief and regret lanced through her at the mention of her father. At one time, she would have given anything to make him proud. But then she'd realized the futility of that yearning. She'd have to be one of his soldiers to earn his approval—one of his best soldiers. A mere daughter could never measure up. "Thank you."
"I was sorry to hear about his passing away. He was my poker-playing buddy, you know, whenever he stayed on the Point. I heard he died during a military expedition overseas."
"Yes." She'd heard that, too—many months after the fact. It had taken the authorities that long to contact her. His colleagues hadn't been aware he'd had any family left, after his wife had died. They'd been more right than they knew.
"My sympathies to you and your sister."
Callie simply stared, unable to respond. She felt as if an old wound had been torn open. She'd known it would be hard, coming back here.
"It's nice to see you've finally made it home for a visit."
Gathering her poise around her like a shield, she turned her thoughts away from hurtful topics. "Actually, Sheriff, I'm here on business. Now, as I was saying, there's an—"
"Meg's a lawyer now, Sheriff," Jack said. "A big-time lawyer in Tallahassee."
"Is she, by God? Always thought she was more the debutante type."
"Sheriff, please!" Callie burst out. "We have a potential crisis on our hands." The sheriff blinked another couple times. Callie pointed dramatically toward the door. "There's an alligator out there, and he's acting hungry. He chased me."
"An alligator?" The sheriff turned a questioning frown to Jack, who, curiously enough, responded with a wince.
Callie couldn't believe that Jack wasn't backing her up. "I swear it's true, Sheriff. Maybe Dr. Forrester doesn't entirely believe me, but a gator chased me down the beach. I've been so worried that he'll attack someone."
"Heck," said the sheriff, "you prob'ly saw old Alfred."
"Old Alfred?" Callie frowned. The sheriff obviously hadn't understood.
"Alfred is the only gator we have left on the Point, ma'am. He won't hurt nobody."
Callie stared at him blankly.
"A family who used to live down the beach started feeding him about ten years ago. Made him into a pet. When they moved away, he sallied over to Doc's property. I doubt if old Alfred remembers much about hunting for food. He'd prob'ly starve to death. Doc takes real good care of Alfred, though."
Callie turned her stunned gaze to Jack. "Alfred?"
Jack didn't seem to be following the conversation. He'd hooked his thumbs into his jeans pockets, pursed his lips and was studying the ceiling.
"Doc even tied an orange tag around him to make sure our local folks don't accidentally trap him," Sheriff Gallagher related, his voice warm with fatherly approval.
Callie felt her insides clenching and her temperature rising. "Dr. Forrester," she said in a deadly quiet voice, "do you have an alligator on the premises named Alfred?"
Jack cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck and awkwardly jerked his gaze back to her. "Come to think of it, Alfred might be somewhere in the vicinity."
Slow, hot anger flared red before her eyes. "And you let me go on thinking we were in danger?"
He cleared his throat again. "How could I be sure that a strange gator hadn't migrated to the Point?"
"Dressed in orange?" she fumed.
Sheriff Gallagher blinked in confusion, shifting his concerned gaze between them. "Calm down, now, Miss Callie." He patted her arm. "Doc prob'ly forgot about old Alfred."
"Forgot!" Callie shook the sheriff's hand off her arm and glared at Jack. "I barricaded the door with my body to stop you from risking your life!"
"Told you I could take on that measly old gator."
She ground her teeth in rage. "What right do you have letting an alligator loose?"
"I didn't let him loose. He's in his natural habitat. And he's harmless. Old. Almost toothless."
"Toothless?" She crossed her arms and softened her voice to a purr. "Does he go into a feeding frenzy just before dark?"
Jack had the grace to flush beneath his tan, although a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "No, but I have caught him a time or two dragging his meat back to his lair to rot."
Her eyes widened in mute fury.
"Prob'ly easier for him to chew that way," theorized the sheriff. "Never knew old Alfred was toothless."
Callie balled her hands into fists, mostly to keep from strangling Jack. "You were going to keep me here until morning, weren't you?"
"No, no. Well, maybe. But—"
"You are despicable!" The words, of course, didn't do anywhere near the damage she wanted to inflict. "The sight of that gator is enough to give someone a heart attack," she raged. "Then the poor sap would have to travel fifty miles to find competent medical help."
The humor vanished from his eyes. "That's a hell of a thing to say, Callie."
"But true. And don't ever call me Callie again. It's Ms. Marshall to you, you … you … liar!" She barged past the sheriff and s
lung open the door.
"Damn it, Callie, wait just a minute," Jack called as she flew down the steps. "I didn't lie. Not really. In fact, I told you there weren't many gators left on the Point."
"Go to hell, Jack Forrester," she called over her shoulder. "And don't come near me again, or I'll have a peace warrant sworn out against you."
"Hey, you were the one who came onto my property. We both know you bodily threw yourself at me."
Her jaw dropped, and she whirled around to stare death rays through him. She couldn't even bring herself to reply, she was so angry.
"Um, excuse me, Miss Callie." The sheriff scuttled down the steps toward her. "It's getting dark, and I saw your car stuck in the marsh. I'd be honored to drive you somewhere."
Through the red haze of her fury, she realized that it was indeed getting dark, and she still had quite a walk to Grant Tierney's beach house. She couldn't very well drop in on him this late, anyway, especially wearing a man's T-shirt over her skirt and looking a complete mess. "Thank you, Sheriff," she replied, striving to unclench her jaw and strike a courteous tone. "I would indeed appreciate it, sir, if you could get me the hell out of here."
From the top of the boathouse steps, Jack called, "Callie…"
"Don't!" She brandished an index finger at him as if it were a gun. "You go ahead and enjoy your chuckle tonight, Dr. Forrester. But remember…" Her words dripped deadly acid. "For every bright horizon, there's a sun just waiting to sink. See you in court."
She marched righteously toward the sheriff's patrol car.
Flexing his lips into a tight, grim line, Jack Forrester watched her leave. "No, ma'am," he murmured to himself. "You'll see me way before that."
* * *
3
« ^ »
The man was a danger.
After a long evening of mentally ranting at him and herself in her suite at the Bayside Bed-'n-Breakfast Inn, Callie had lapsed into a stirringly sensual dream about Jack Forrester with his heated stare and his tightly muscled body, making slow, hard love to her against the boathouse wall.
She awoke in a sweat.
No doubt about it, the man was a danger. He'd made a fool of her, threatened her credibility as an investigator for this case and, worst of all, stirred up dangerous physical longings. She couldn't afford that kind of vulnerability.
Jack Forrester wasn't to be trusted.
She would never forget the first time she'd learned that lesson. She'd just turned seventeen. Meg, two years her senior, had been slipping out at night with Jack, the love of her young life—a hell-raising nineteen-year-old with a budding reputation for fast cars, boats, motorcycles and women.
Meg hid the relationship from her father.
The Colonel had never approved of his daughters' dating, let alone dating wild Jack Forrester. The Colonel's temper, always bad, had grown worse over the years since their mother had died. Without her softening influence, he treated them more like soldiers than daughters, demanding absolute control over every aspect of their lives: no boys, no cars, no parties. No friends at the house. No pets. Straight A's in school, a ten-o'clock curfew, endless chores, grueling inspections, impossible standards.
They couldn't help leading secret lives, whenever and however they could.
When the Colonel learned from a friend that Meg was secretly dating Jack, he exploded into a fearsome rage. For the first time in her life, Meg refused to back down. She badly needed her freedom. Callie staunchly supported her. The Colonel viewed their united stand as an insurrection. He gave them an ultimatum: obey, or leave and never come back.
Callie couldn't believe he meant it. It seemed a terrible betrayal. She had to test him, had to know if he loved her, or if he truly wanted her out of his life.
She and Meg chose to leave.
"Jack has a car and money," Meg had said. "He can take us away from here." She called him, but he wasn't home. They packed their bags, crept from the house in the dead of night and set out to find Jack. They both knew they could count on him. He'd been Callie's pal her entire life, and he'd dated Meg most of the summer.
They found him at a beach bonfire party, cuddling with another girl. Callie still winced at the humiliating memory of the scene Meg had caused. Jack left the party with her, but only to end their relationship. "I'm not ready to get serious about anyone, Meg. If you are, find someone else."
Meg had been too hurt and angry to inform him of their plans, but Callie told him about the Colonel's ultimatum.
"You're just a kid, Cal. You can't make it on your own. Go home. Both of you."
Callie told him to go to hell. Meg seconded that idea. They hitchhiked to Tallahassee, pawned the jewelry their mother had left them and found jobs as waitresses. Life was tough—incredibly tough—but by pooling their resources, they survived.
They heard from friends that the Colonel spent little time at his house on Moccasin Point. It seemed he'd become more actively involved in overseas assignments.
And Jack had gone off to college.
Meg eventually married a wonderful guy who put her through college and law school. With her help, Callie started the investigative business and built it into a lucrative concern.
But the memory of their struggle, the Colonel's ultimatum and Jack's betrayal remained like a painful burr in Callie's heart. The two men she'd loved the most in the world had turned their backs on her when she'd needed them most.
She'd spent the next twelve years concentrating on her career, making sure she'd never need anyone that badly again.
Not for the first time, she wondered if vengeance against Jack had played any part in Meg's acceptance of this case. Meg had denied it. "I barely remember Jack Forrester. Grant Tierney, on the other hand, is a regular client of mine. Why shouldn't I take this case on behalf of his mother?"
"Can you honestly say that your past relationship with Jack won't affect your judgment?"
"For heaven's sake, Callie, I'm a happily married woman and the mother of two. I haven't given Jack Forrester a thought in years. But if his negligence really did cause Agnes Tierney's pain and suffering, I intend to make him pay."
"And if he wasn't negligent?"
Meg had hesitated for only a moment. "That's why I'm hiring you. I want you to dig out the facts. Our case has to be airtight. If we win, Grant Tierney will channel his corporate business through me. He could be my ticket into a partnership."
Callie still had her doubts about the wisdom of accepting the case, but her sister was, after all, the attorney. Callie depended on her law firm for a good deal of her investigative work. If Meg insisted on taking the case, Callie wanted her to go into that courtroom armed with facts and hard evidence.
With a renewed sense of mission, Callie climbed the stairway to Grant and Agnes Tierney's impressive gray brick home built on pilings. How glad she was that she hadn't been forced to trudge up to this stately door in her bedraggled condition yesterday. Dressed now in an immaculate beige linen suit, a cream silk shell and leather pumps, Callie rang the doorbell.
"Callie Marshall. Hello."
She recognized the tall, dark-haired man with winged brows, crystal-blue eyes and a charmingly dimpled smile more from recent visits to Meg's office than from childhood. A little older than Meg and her, Grant Tierney hadn't associated with them much as a kid. He'd spent most of his time away at exclusive schools, residing on the Point only during summer vacations.
Jack, who lived next door to the Tierneys, had known Grant better than any of the other Moccasin Point kids had. He'd considered Grant a friend. Had the friendship soured before the alleged malpractice, or because of it?
With a firm handshake, Callie apologized as she had yesterday for postponing their meeting.
"Don't give it another thought," Grant said in a pleasantly cultured voice that conveyed his moneyed upbringing. "I should have warned you not to take Gulf Beach Road
. It's been closed for years. The sign must have fallen down. Thank heaven, Sheriff Gallagher fo
und you."
Callie nodded in agreement and changed the subject by admiring the opulent decor of the spacious living room with its paintings, sculptures and potted plants. She had no desire to discuss yesterday's misadventures. She hadn't mentioned where the sheriff had found her or with whom. She'd be more prepared to explain those embarrassing details later, if necessary. She hoped it would never be necessary.
"You remember my mother, don't you?" Grant said.
Callie turned to Agnes Tierney with a fond smile. She remembered peering over the fence surrounding the Tierneys' garden to catch glimpses of the willowy, dreamy-eyed sculptress at work. Her hair was still a bright red and her eyes a striking sky blue. Dressed in a long, gauzy purple garment with wide, flowing sleeves, Agnes looked like some exotic, colorful bird.
Clasping her graceful, age-spotted hands together, she cried, "Isn't it absolutely perfect?"
Callie hesitated, unsure of how to answer the vague but enthusiastic question.
Agnes thrust her face closer to Callie's. "Oh, Grant, it is perfect. This nose. This fabulous nose. I must capture it!"
"Uh, Mother." Grant cast an apologetic smile to Callie, who resisted the impulse to shield her nose with her hands. "I believe you're alarming our guest."
Agnes reluctantly drew back. "Did I alarm you? I'm sorry. But your nose would be perfect for my Venus."
"Aren't you forgetting something, Mother?"
Agnes raised her lightly penciled mauve brows. Grant reached out and tapped her right hand. Her gaze went to that hand, and her joy extinguished like a snuffed-out candle. "Oh, that's right. I can't finish my Venus, can I?"
"I'm afraid not," her son gently replied. To Callie, he explained, "She's lost dexterity in her sculpting hand."
The pained look of resignation on Agnes's face touched Callie with sympathy. "I'd like to ask you some questions about your injury, Mrs. Tierney."
"Come, have a seat, and we'll get down to work." Grant ushered his mother and Callie to armchairs shaped like cupped hands near a coffee table of glossy petrified wood. "It's taking Mother a while to adjust. The handicap has been an emotional drain, and a financial one. She has contracts to sculpt busts of a dozen celebrities, but won't be able to do any of them now."
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