On Shadow Beach

by Barbara Freethy

  “We can do whatever you want, Lauren. You know that, right?”

  She did know that. She trusted Shane. She loved him. The emotion put a knot in her throat. “Why me?” she asked, needing the words.

  “Why not you?” he countered. He cupped her face with his hands. “You’re beautiful.”

  She wanted him to say “I love you.” But Shane was kissing her and her lips were opening under his, and she was done with questions. Blood rushed through her veins, and her heart pounded so loud she couldn’t have heard the words, even if he’d said them.

  But he hadn’t said them, and she hadn’t cared. She’d thought she had enough love for both of them.

  “Lauren? Are you all right?” Shane asked, jolting her out of the past.

  She realized that he’d stopped walking. “I’m fine.”

  “One last jump.” He tipped his head toward the four-foot drop in front of them.

  She’d come this far; she might as well go all the way. That thought echoed her earlier memory and made her smile. She was definitely not going all the way this time around.

  “What’s so funny?” Shane asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

  “Nothing. Go on. I’ll follow.”

  While Shane made an easy vault to the ground, she sat down and then slid off the edge. It wasn’t particularly graceful, but she made it to the beach without breaking anything. She wiped the dirt off the back of her jeans, then swept her hand toward the ocean. “This is beautiful.”

  Large boulders rose ten, twenty feet from the sea, and the water crashing against them sent a wet spray high into the air. She felt invigorated by the wind, the energy of the sea.

  “It’s called Shadow Beach,” Shane said.

  She could see why. Between the rocks and the jagged cliffs, half the beach was in shadow, the other in dazzling sunlight. The beach reminded her of Shane, who had always had a light and a dark side. It was that dark side she was determined to get to today.

  “Let’s walk,” he suggested, heading down the narrow beach.

  “All right.” She slipped off her sandals and followed him along the shoreline. Eventually they reached an outcropping of rocks that stretched into the sea, and they could go no farther.

  Lauren perched on the edge of a boulder. Shane stood a few feet away. They watched two sea gulls dive in and out of the waves, searching for food. Then the birds squawked and flew away.

  “Shane—I need to know what happened the night Abby died,” she said abruptly, knowing there was no easy way into the subject.

  “You’re not really worried that Mark Devlin will turn you into a murderer, are you?” Shane countered. “No one would ever believe you killed Abby.”

  “No? Apparently Devlin has spoken to people who claimed that I was jealous of Abby’s success, her popularity, her good grades, her athleticism, and her beauty.”

  “What people?” Shane countered.

  “He didn’t give me names. But I can’t deny that Abby had more going for her than I did. She had so much potential, Shane, so much promise.” She felt the moisture well in her eyes. “Abby was going to be somebody. I was sure of it.”

  “You didn’t kill her, Lauren. You don’t have to defend yourself.”

  “Why aren’t you worried, Shane? You were the last person to see Abby alive. You have to know you’re still a suspect.”

  “It’s nothing new,” he said with a shrug. “After I was accused of Abby’s murder, people crossed the street when they saw me coming. My parents got death threats. Our house was egged. The Angel Shark was sprayed with graffiti calling me a murderer. I can’t imagine that Mark Devlin could do anything that would surprise me.”

  She frowned. “I didn’t know it got that bad, that your family was hurt like that.”

  “You were gone by then. Though I wasn’t arrested for Abby’s death, this town put me in prison, and when I left, I felt like I’d escaped. I had no intention of ever coming back.”

  “Why did you?”

  He hesitated for a long moment. “I was working a boat up in Alaska last year. It was rough, a lot of bad storms. I lost a couple of friends, and I got tired of being wet, cold, and days from land. Kara sent me a family picture, and I could see that everyone had grown up and changed. I barely recognized Michael. He’d gone from a boy to a man, and I’d missed it all. Kara wanted me to come home, take a break, and I thought why not—it’s been thirteen years.”

  “Where did you go when you left here?” she asked curiously.

  “Everywhere. I picked up crew jobs wherever I could find them. I didn’t know how to do anything but run boats and catch fish. So I went where I could make enough money to survive. One port blended into the next. One boat turned into another.”

  “It sounds adventurous. You always wanted to see beyond the horizon—and all I wanted you to see was me.”

  “You were the only reason I stayed here as long as I did,” he said, his eyes serious. “I wanted to leave right after high school, but then we got together, and I wasn’t sure I could go at all. You made me want to stay.”

  “You would have gone. It was just a matter of time. You wouldn’t have let me hold you back.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think you would have left Angel’s Bay if Abby hadn’t died. You wanted to open a bakery on Ocean Avenue and compete with Martha for the best cookies. Sugar and spice and everything nice,” he said with a small smile.

  She felt a tug in her heart at the familiar phrase he’d teased her with so many years ago. “I used to hate it when you said that. I didn’t want to be the sugar and spice girl. I wanted to be sexy and hot, wickedly irresistible.”

  “You were that, too. I wanted you from the first second I saw you.”

  Her heart sped up at the look in his eyes. “I never knew why. I was so not your type. Before me, you went with all the beautiful, wild girls.”

  “You were different.”

  She waited for him to elaborate, but he remained silent. “Different how?” she prodded, annoyed with herself because she shouldn’t care.

  He thought for a moment. “Honest. Genuine. Real.”

  “You make me sound like a Girl Scout,” she complained.

  “I don’t think what we did together was in any Girl Scout handbook,” he said lightly. “In fact, being on this beach with you reminds me of the night we—”

  “Don’t go there,” she warned.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve already been there today,” she confessed.

  “Really?” His brown eyes sparkled wickedly. “It was a good night.”

  “Yes, it was,” she admitted, meeting his gaze, the delicious heat of their memories dancing between them. Her fingers bit into the hard rock she was sitting on. She forced herself not to get up and fling herself into his arms and see if it was as great as she remembered. “Stop looking at me like that,” she ordered.

  “You’re looking at me the same way. It’s still there, Lauren—no matter how much we want to deny it.”

  She got up and walked to the water’s edge. On impulse, she rolled up her jeans and waded into the icy sea. She needed to get rid of the heat between them, to put her memories back into deep freeze.

  Then Shane came up behind her, putting his hands on her waist, and she found herself turning into his arms. He gave her plenty of time to move away, but she pressed her palms against his chest and lifted her head to his.

  He dipped down, taking her mouth softly in a fleeting caress that left her hungry for more. She slid her hands around his back, bringing him closer, urging him on. His tongue slid across the line of her mouth, finally slipping inside. She tasted the salt air on his lips, the sweet warmth of memories, and blossomed in the heady heat.

  His hands moved down to her hips, pressing her against his hard groin, making her feel every inch of him. Her hands found their way under his T-shirt, stroking his warm skin, his ripped muscles, and the gentleness in his kiss turned to a raging hunger.

  His mouth mov
ed deeply on hers, his hands restless, their bodies seeking what they’d missed for so long. Her heart pounded, her blood roaring in her ears, as he pulled her down to her knees, down to the sand, down to him. The desire and need she felt were echoed in his eyes.

  “Shane.” His name left her lips, ran through her heart, tore her apart. She’d loved him. She’d hated him. And now . . .

  “Do you want this?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “Yes, you do.” His fingers slid down the side of her face, cupping her chin, as his questioning eyes met hers.

  She did know. She’d always known that she’d never wanted anyone as much as she wanted him. She bent her head toward his mouth, when a sudden rush of water splashed over them. She gasped at the onslaught, wondering what the hell had happened. She was soaked.

  Shane jumped to his feet, pulling her up. “Dammit!”

  She looked in bemusement as the ocean swirled around her ankles, the pull of the tide digging the sand out from under her feet as it retreated from the beach.

  “That was a hell of a cold shower.” He scowled at the sea.

  “Probably one we needed.” She’d drifted far from her original intent. “I wanted to talk to you, not roll around on the beach with you. Let’s sit in the sun and dry out.”

  She headed back toward the rocks and stretched her legs out in front of her, wrapping her arms around her as the breeze made her shiver.

  Shane sat on a boulder a few feet from her, his gaze turned toward the sea, his profile hard and unreadable.

  For a few moments, they sat in silence. Then she said, “Shane, you need to tell me what happened the night Abby died, why you were with her. I’m not leaving until you give me a straight answer.”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “I asked Abby to meet me at the law offices of Harrigan and Miller.”

  “Where she worked part-time? Why?” Lauren asked in surprise.

  He turned to face her. “So she could let me in with her key. I was looking for something. She waited in the hall. Afterward I gave Abby a ride to the high school, just like I told the police. I dropped her off in the parking lot. That’s the last time I saw her. There wasn’t anything personal between us, Lauren.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand. What were you looking for at the law offices?”

  “I can’t tell you that, but it didn’t have anything to do with you or Abby.”

  “Why can’t you tell me?”

  “Because it’s not my secret.”

  She frowned. “What does that mean? Were you in some kind of trouble? Did it have to do with the fight you had with that kid earlier in the week?”

  “No, it didn’t. After I dropped Abby off that night, I drove down the coast. I had a lot on my mind. I got back around four in the morning and went to bed. The police woke me at eight. They told me that Abby was dead, and she’d been seen getting on my motorcycle just after seven o’clock the night before.”

  “I left you messages that night,” Lauren said, remembering her frantic calls, all of which had gone unanswered.

  “I didn’t check my messages until the next day, and by then I was locked up in an interrogation room. I called you back as soon as I could, but you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before about Abby letting you into the law offices?”

  “You were a powder keg about to explode, and I couldn’t risk giving you a match. I was afraid you’d tell the police that I’d broken into the law offices, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “So you protected yourself,” she said with disappointment and anger.

  “Not just myself. Look, Lauren. You can be mad, but—”

  “You’re damn right I can,” she said, jumping up. “You withheld evidence.”

  He jerked to his feet. “No, I didn’t. Abby was alive when she was with me. Nothing that we did together contributed to her death. For God’s sake—all she did was open a door and stand in a hallway for fifteen minutes.”

  “But the police tried to recreate where Abby went that night. We made a timeline.”

  “The timeline was accurate. I gave her a ride from Elm Street to the high school and dropped her off at seven ten. I told the police that, and it was the truth. I don’t know what she did before she met me that night, or what happened after I dropped her off. But I was only with her for thirty minutes.”

  “An important thirty minutes.”

  “Only for me, not for her,” he argued. “Whatever Abby was up to that night had nothing to do with me.”

  She gave him a suspicious look. “What do you mean? You make it sound like Abby was planning to do something more than study.”

  “It was the way she was acting. She seemed nervous on the ride to the high school.”

  “Maybe because you’d asked her to break into her workplace.”

  “No, it wasn’t that. I thought she was meeting a guy. I figured he was in the study group.”

  Since the alleged study group had never been located, no one knew who Abby went to meet that night. A lot of people hadn’t believed Shane’s story; they’d assumed that Abby had meant to meet him all along.

  Lauren shook her head, feeling even more confused. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “If what I omitted would have helped the police find Abby’s killer, I would have told them,” Shane said forcefully. “But it didn’t have any bearing on what happened to her.”

  “I’m not sure you can truly know that,” she said, feeling another wave of anger. “Maybe one of the lawyers got mad that she let you into their offices. Maybe you took something and they thought she did it, and one of them killed her.”

  “I didn’t take anything, and no one saw us.”

  “Mrs. Markham saw you.”

  “On the street, and the ice cream parlor was right next to the law building. She assumed we were there.”

  “Did Abby know what you were doing in the law offices?”

  “No.”

  “So why did she do it? She was risking her job. Why would she help you?”

  Shane shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  He might not, but Lauren did. “Abby liked you. She had a thing for you. Everyone thought so.”

  “They were wrong. Even at eighteen, I could tell when a girl wanted me. Abby didn’t.”

  “Abby told me there was someone she liked that she couldn’t have. Who else would it have been but you?”

  “I don’t know, but there was nothing between Abby and me—not even the most casual flirtation. I was your boyfriend. She was your sister. I wasn’t interested in her. Abby didn’t betray you.”

  She wanted to believe that more than anything. “It wasn’t up to you to decide what was important and what wasn’t. Your first instinct should have been to help me, not protect yourself or whoever it is you care about more than . . .” She stopped, realizing she now had a decision to make. “You took a big chance, confessing to me. It’s not too late for me to go to the police.”

  He nodded, his gaze holding hers. “No, it’s not. Was I wrong to tell you, Lauren?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

  SEVEN

  Two hours later, Lauren walked into the Angel’s Bay Police Department and asked to speak to the chief of police. After her trip to the beach, she’d changed into dry clothes and checked in with her dad, who was absorbed in a card game at Dina’s Café, and then headed down the street to the police station. She was still debating what she wanted to say when she was ushered into Joe Silveira’s office.

  Chief Silveira hadn’t been in Angel’s Bay when she was growing up, and she liked the fact that he was a recent hire. She needed an objective perspective.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Jamison.” The chief waved her into a chair in front of his desk. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  That wasn’t particularly reassuring. Had Mark Devlin shared his theories with the chief ? �
��Really? From who?”

  “Your father. We both like to have our morning coffee at Dina’s,” he said with an attractive smile.

  Joe Silveira was certainly better looking than the last chief of police, with his olive skin, jet black hair, and dark eyes. There was intelligence in those eyes that inspired confidence. Maybe he could help figure out who had killed Abby.

  “There’s a movie that’s going to be made about my sister’s murder,” she said. “I’d like to know if the police department is planning to release my sister’s files to this movie producer, or if you’ve done so already.”

  “We’re considering what information we might be willing to disseminate.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you’re concerned about?”

  “I’m worried about my father having to relive the worst night of his life, and my sister’s reputation being shredded by unfounded speculation. I spoke briefly to Mark Devlin and it’s obvious he has a vivid imagination. I want answers, but I want the police to find them—not some Hollywood writer who’s willing to make up whatever scenario will sell the most tickets.”

  “I understand your concerns, but Mr. Devlin can make any movie he wants and call it fiction.”

  That’s what she was afraid of.

  “I’ve read through your sister’s case files,” Joe continued, “and I spoke with Warren Laughton, who was one of the investigating officers. Unfortunately, the chief of police at the time, Howard Smythe, passed away five years ago.”

  “Did you learn anything new? Was anything done incorrectly? Were clues overlooked? Were there leads that weren’t followed?”

  “Not that I’ve seen so far, but it’s never a bad idea to review a cold case. After a period of years, people remember things they didn’t think were important at the time, or are simply more willing to talk. Unfortunately, the crime scene provided little forensic evidence. There was no evidence of sexual assault, no DNA, no fingerprints.”

  She swallowed a knot at the mention of sexual assault. She’d heard that before, but it was nice to have it confirmed. “What about the materials collected at the beach near the Ramsay house?”