He had no time for games, and if he did, this was not one he wanted to play. "What are you up to, Rebecca?"
One finger was perched by its pointed nail on the edge of the table, till with a snap it released and Rebecca stood before him, head tilted to the side.
"I’m just concerned that she perhaps killed one Murphy brother—what’s to stop her from going after the other? I think—" Rebecca stepped even closer, so close he could feel her breath. "I think it’s not healthy for you to spend so much time with her."
Brett leaned over so that his gaze was even with hers. Her head tilted back and her lips went slack.
"And it would probably be best for me to spend some time with you?" He uttered with the ice in his voice going undetected by the redhead.
"Yes," she murmured, closing her eyes.
"What gives you the impression that Serena killed my brother?"
Rebecca seemed annoyed that he had ignored her blatant come on.
"Serena didn’t understand Alan," she explained. "He had plans, great plans, and she never supported him on any of them—"
"But you did?" His eyebrow inclined as the picture began to unfold. "Were you sleeping with Alan?"
Amber flashed. Rebecca’s gaze floundered for the briefest second giving him his answer.
"No," she cried, indignant. "Of course not."
Now totally provoked, she continued. "Look, I just came up here to warn you that Serena is the proverbial ice queen. She never put out for her husband and she’ll never put out for you."
"But you will." Brett sneered and reached for the doorknob. He had had enough.
"Your concern for my welfare is touching, Miss Sorrenson. It’s fortunate I don’t have any other brothers for you to rifle through."
"You’ll see," Rebecca hissed. "You should leave Victory Cove before you end up out there." Her scarlet mane twitched towards the window and the gray Atlantic beyond.
"Was that a threat, Rebecca?"
Brett yanked the door open and jerked his head to motion her outside. "Because if it was, I’m sure the police would be interested."
Coral lips parted briefly, closed, and then opened again. "Look, I was just trying to be a friend. I thought you could use one in a town full of strangers, and with a woman like that."
He looked her over, and in a deceptively soft voice, asked, "How much do you charge?"
The oath that slipped from Rebecca’s mouth as she rushed past him had Brett wincing, or perhaps it was the assault of the blustery November wind.
Contemplating the closed door, he stood for a moment, listening to the ocean. He heard the faint cry of spiraling seagulls, and the pounding of blood vessels inside his head.
Victory Cove certainly had its cast of characters.
But the only one he cared about was downstairs. The person who had kissed him last night and opened a door both were afraid to pass through.
CHAPTER XI
"Whew!" Rebecca hustled into the tavern, red hair billowing around her until the door closed and the wind abated. "Serena sweetie, please tell me you put coffee on."
Glancing up from her seat in the booth, Serena smiled. "Would you expect any less of me?"
She returned to a stack of receipts and paid little heed to the woman that flounced into the adjacent seat.
Rebecca cocked her head, and then sighed.
"Something on your mind?" Serena asked without looking up.
Rebecca’s fingertips tapped. "How well do you know that Brett Murphy?"
"Excuse me?"
"Let’s face it, I’m not blind, I see that he’s been up there for the past few nights." Her fingers still tapped. "I’m worried about you. You’re very vulnerable right now, and I don’t want him taking advantage of that."
Serena sat back and gave Rebecca her full attention.
"I’m not so vulnerable any more, Becky. I’m getting angry more than anything else," she drew in a breath, "and that feels good in a way. Healthy."
"Angry? At what?"
As much as she enjoyed Rebecca’s confidence, there was a line to be drawn when speaking about your possibly undead husband who haunted you for the purpose of driving you insane.
"Angry at my—inability to cope." Serena smiled as she drew the conclusion for the first time. "I’m not a babbling idiot anymore that you have to coddle. I’m going to be okay. And as for Brett, he’s been a help, that’s all there is to it."
Rebecca shoved her hands through her hair in a great show of sentiment, but the gesture barely concealed the tension in her eyes. "That’s great, Rena honey." She cast a tentative smile. It’s about damn time. Nothing like a man to distract you from your woes."
Frowning, Serena scooped up the stack of receipts and slid out of the booth. "It’s nothing like that, I told you, he’s just been helping me out, that’s all."
"With what?"
"Sorting out some issues Alan hadn’t addressed."
Rebecca darted after her. "Business issues?"
Curious, Serena glanced over her shoulder and caught what she thought was a scowl on Rebecca’s bright lips. The short woman quickly flounced her hair and grinned mischievously.
"Sorry," Rebecca said, "you know I’ve always been such a busy body."
"That you have, Becky dear, but it’s part of your charm. Don’t worry, everything is under control. Right now we just have to concentrate on getting ready for Thursday. How is Simon making out with his preparations? Should I be afraid?"
Rebecca scratched her eyebrow. "Don’t worry about Simon. I’m sure he’ll surprise us all."
Wind permeated the sun-drenched tavern, terminated by the slam of the door. Two faces looked up. Two conflicting expressions welcomed Brett Murphy as he responded to each in kind.
"Ladies."
"Rena, I gotta go." Rebecca rushed. "We’ll talk later, okay?"
Preoccupied, Serena nodded. "What time will you be in this afternoon? I may be running a little late."
"Again?"
The disdainful reply made Serena fumble for an apology. "I—uh—well yes, I’ve got to wrap some things up at the police station."
Scrounging for a smile, Rebecca managed tightly. "Why? Is anything wrong?"
"No, no, not at all. Just filling out some final paperwork."
"Oh." Rebecca bustled past Brett, stabbing him with her eyes. She tossed a brief farewell over her shoulder.
"How odd." Serena stared at the door seconds after it slammed shut.
Brett rested his elbow on the counter of the bar. "How well do you know Rebecca Sorrenson?"
"I’ve known her real well for about five years now." Serena dropped her stack of paperwork back into the safe beneath the cash register. She stood and crossed her arms.
"She’s had a bad time of it. Her husband left her for another woman, and she had no job, little education and no way to support herself. She came into the restaurant one morning, desperate for work, but still with that Rebecca-ish attitude that screamed ‘I’m not going to beg.’"
Smiling at the recollection, she continued. "Now she makes a good income with tips here, plus she works at daycare in the morning—she’s come a long way."
"Okay," Brett stood up. "But how well do you know her?"
"I just answered that."
He wasn’t about to mention this morning’s interlude. He felt that was best left for another time when Serena might find humor in the tale. He did, however, want to dig at her glowing review of the woman.
"Let me rephrase that." How well did Rebecca know your husband? No, he thought, that wasn’t the right approach either.
"What are you getting at, Brett?" Serena approached the bar so that only the nicked counter separated them.
"I want to ask you something, and you’re going to get angry, but I need to ask it anyway." he drew in a deep breath and plunged on. "Do you think Alan was faithful to you?"
With Serena’s fingers splayed out on the bar, it was easy to discern them turning white. Other than that one small sig
nal, her expression remained impassive.
"No." Her voice was soft.
Brett nodded before the response registered. His head snapped up. "No?"
"What? You sound so shocked. Do you want me to go on lying like I’ve been doing? To everyone? To myself? How could I think otherwise?" Her pale skin blushed with anger. "Aside from the gaps of time away, and the fact that he seldom touched me, sometimes there was the scent of perfume—"
She turned away and met his reflection in the mirror.
Brett thought he’d never cease being shocked by his brother’s lack of propriety, but he still managed a stunned reaction. "I wish it was different between you two. You deserved better than him."
Her eyes pierced him in the reflective glass.
"Did I?"
"Dammit." He stepped up and reached for her hand. "Of course."
He wasn’t going to argue this point to someone who was hell bent on crucifying herself. Someday, when this was well behind them he would show Serena what she deserved. Until then, he had a plan, and he needed her help and courage to execute it.
"Look," he said, "if I asked you to trust me, would you?"
Serena stared at his hand atop hers. Her lips curved into a tired smile. "Not too long ago I trusted so many people." She gently withdrew from his grasp to reach for a dish towel. "I guess I’m seeing what a naïve fool I’ve been."
Brett knew he was responsible for that enlightenment. "Alright, stupid question."
"No," she continued. "The point I was making is that I do trust you, but I’ve been shown recently that my judge of character has been lacking."
"Well then," He managed a grin, which grew when he caught the fact that she slowly mirrored it. "I better not let you down."
"How dare you!" Serena screamed. "Who the hell are you to accuse my husband of sleeping around? You don’t know anything about Alan. You’ve neglected him for ten years, and you’re just—you’re just bitter."
Brett’s face was red as he yanked the front door of the tavern open. "No, maybe it’s you that neglected him if he needed to look elsewhere."
Straight on his heel, Serena wrapped her fleece jacket around her shoulders and stalked upstairs, yelling back down at him.
"Go back to your goddamn ten thousand dollar a month flat in Manhattan. I don’t need your help—your sympathy. Go back to your own kind, you don’t belong here."
"Fine," Brett glared up at her. "Can I at least get my bag, Mrs. Murphy, or would you prefer to ship it to me?"
Retracing her steps so that she remained one stair above him, Serena’s look of utter contempt was clear to anyone who may be watching. After all, that was the idea.
"I’m taking a walk," she said. "When I get back I expect you to be gone."
"You don’t have to worry about that, honey." Brett rebuked. "You’re a head-case and I don’t need to deal with your problems anymore."
"Fine." Serena marched past him.
"Fine." Brett threw back over his shoulder.
Slamming his fist on the roof of the Jeep, Brett drew in a deep breath tinged by salty air. He opened the door and ducked into the vehicle, glancing at his passenger before he hauled the door shut.
"Whew, that was ugly." His head craned to ensure they were alone.
He quickly launched the Jeep into reverse and sped down the snaking road towards Victory Cove. For two miles he surveyed the rearview mirror until finally he rolled a shoulder to release some of the tension.
He glanced uneasily at his companion. "Are you okay?"
Serena was looking away from him, her forehead tilted against the window, watching rivulets of water across the glass. "Mmm hmm."
She started when the Jeep came to a halt at a roadside vista. Incredulous, she turned to find Brett with his fists bunched against the steering wheel, his profile strained, with a muscle pumping near his jaw.
"What’s the matter?" she asked.
"I hated that."
"It was your idea."
Cloudy eyes converged on her. "I hated it, Serena. Even if it was an act, it was—" Running a hand up into his hair, Brett shook his head. "You know that was an act. You know I didn’t mean a single word that was said there."
Serena glanced down at the hands resting in her lap and caught sight of her simple gold wedding band. She swiveled it around her finger several times. It was loose, so she started to tug it off.
"Don’t." Brett’s hand covered hers.
"Why? I want it off, Brett. It—it’s cutting off my circulation." Though the ring was loose, what it represented was no better than a tourniquet.
Brett’s hand left hers and rose to cup her chin, his thumb sweeping across her cheek.
"Serena, I wish I could have thought of another way. I wish we didn’t have to go through that." His voice was quiet and rough at the same time…a gravelly blend as fascinating as the pitch of the surf. "But you’re probably right, we’re going to hit a dead end with the police. We have to take care of this."
She turned into his palm, but caught herself and dragged her attention back to the bleak coast. It was mutually agreed that whoever her enemy was—that if by some sordid chance Alan was still alive, the attack against her was impeded by Brett’s presence. If this person assumed that she was alone again at night, perhaps he would become brash, not realizing that Brett would be lying in wait. It was simple enough logic, foolhardy perhaps, but it made sense at the time.
Brett merged back onto the road.
"You managed to get a few zingers in there," he forced a chuckle. "Pretty convincing I thought."
She did not respond.
"Did you mean it?" he asked. "That I don’t belong here?"
"Did you mean it—that I was a head case?"
Again the Jeep veered to a halt on the shoulder of the road, masked by a fringe of fir trees. Yanking on the emergency brake, Brett reached for her shoulders, his grip demanding.
"No." The denial pounded as hard as the rain. "Goddammit, Serena, no."
"Then we don’t have a problem."
Air hissed out of his lungs. He fell back against the seat, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
Serena turned at that moment and caught his frown. For a spell she just stared at him with that intense focus that made him feel defenseless. But then a timid smile touched her lips. She reached up to dust his forehead with her fingertip, brushing aside a stray lock of hair.
"I think," she whispered softly, "that you would fit in fine around here."
"Oh?" One hand was still fisted casually on her jacket collar. Brett leaned into that grip and brought his head down close to hers. "—and I think," his voice was husky, his lips a breath away from hers, "that you are one of the most stable, beautiful women I’ve ever met."
The touch was wraithlike. A soft brush against her lips—gone before he could fully savor it. He wanted more, but not now. Not this way.
"And I think," he added. "That I better stop before I do something that’s going to make me forget about everything I’m supposed to do."
Just looking at Brett made her throat go dry. Serena swallowed, but it didn’t help. A moment ago she had felt his soft kiss, as gentle as the rain against her lips. For someone so rugged to exhibit such tenderness, it made her feel cherished. She wanted to lean across the gap in the seat and take more than that ghost of a kiss.
But Brett wasn’t hers. He was just a fantasy.
"Okay," her voice wavered and then gained confidence. "We’ll run this past the police, just so it goes down in the records that we tried, and then we find out who’s trying to drive me insane."
She tossed a pained smile his way. "Sound like a plan?"
The discussion with the police was met with incredulity that both Brett and Serena had anticipated, yet they were not discouraged. Serena returned to O’Flanagans alone. She caught Rebecca’s eye as the young woman dodged past with a pen stuck in her hair and a look of determination driving her at full tilt. That brief eye contact caused Rebecca’s strid
e to falter.
"So—how did it go?" she asked. "Get all your paperwork checked out?"
"Yes. Glanced over is more like it." Serena corrected. "Hey, Rebecca, do you have a minute?"
Rebecca shrugged and sidled up to the service bar. "What’s up?"
Serena grabbed an apron from a hook on the doorframe and wound it around her waist, while studying her friend. "Is anything bothering you? I mean are things okay at home, do you want to talk about it?"
"What do you mean? I’m fine, you’re the one who’s not sleeping at nights—or has that been cured?" Rebecca sneered.
Serena inhaled. "See, now that was an implication I don’t deserve, and honestly it’s not like you. What’s wrong Becky?"
"I’m fine." Rebecca rushed. "Busy, that’s all."
"You seem different. Something’s up."
Rebecca was saved from the inquest by Harriet’s boisterous voice.
"Rena, where have you been all day? Hello Sorrenson."
Backpedaling, Rebecca tipped her head and dodged Harriet. Harriet hoisted herself onto a bar stool, nodding agreeably to Serena’s offered mug.
"So, where’s that Murphy boy tonight? Snooping into something else?"
Hesitating only briefly, Serena brought the mug out from under its spout and set it down before a set of hands that retrieved it so fast the amber liquid sloshed down the side.
"He left."
"Left?" Harriet raised her eyebrows. "Don’t like staying at your place anymore—not good enough for ‘im?"
"No." She busied herself with a list of drink orders. "He just left. I don’t know if he’ll be back."
Over a sip of beer, Harriet frowned. "That’s odd. He seemed very determined to me. I thought he was hell bent on finding out what happened to his brothah," she took another sip. "Did he just up and lose interest?"
"I don’t know, Harriet. Do I look like someone who can analyze men?"
Snorting into her mug, Harriet cackled. "Rena honey, I hate to laugh, but no."
Serena’s eyebrows narrowed to feign anger, but her smile won. Her laugh was curtailed as she glimpsed over Harriet’s shoulder at the dark individual crossing the floor.
Widow's Tale Page 12