Lovely, Dark, and Deep (The Collectors)

by Susannah Sandlin

“I got the perfect person to help you.” Charlie thumped toward the living room, and Shane and Gillian exchanged startled looks and scrambled to help him. But he’d managed to maneuver the heaps of junk just fine without them. Guess he’d had lots of practice.

  “Who is this person?” Shane said, catching Gillian by the arm when she tripped over a footstool hidden beneath a pile of papers.

  Charlie’s voice floated toward them from the back of the house, where they found him pulling out drawers and opening cabinets in the room that used to be Shane’s bedroom. The same little window looked out on the water, and the same dresser Shane had used was the one Charlie now ransacked. Finally, from a bottom drawer, he pulled out a small address book with a blue and white lighthouse on the front.

  He held it up and grinned. “I’m going to introduce you to the most ornery old fisherman who ever walked the earth. His name’s Chevy.”

  Great. Shane thought he’d grown up with the world’s grouchiest fisherman. Nice to know there was someone even Charlie found ornery.

  CHAPTER 19

  The number of people buying groceries in the Southport Sav-A-Center on a Friday night totaled three, counting Shane and Gillian. She had identified their fellow shopper as a college kid by the piles of ramen noodles and boxed mac and cheese in his cart.

  After discovering Charlie’s food supply had dwindled to a couple of frozen dinners and some canned tuna, Gillian had suggested putting some of Tex’s money to use and stocking up.

  Shane had been quiet since their discussion about the dive took place, and Gillian could tell he was bothered by it. She’d also overheard more than Shane realized of his conversation with Charlie about their past, and about how if he had to choose between saving Gillian and surviving, he should choose to live. She hadn’t been eavesdropping, but sound carried in the little house and she’d been putting her dirty clothes in the back compartment of her suitcase when they were talking.

  Jagger had hinted at something in Shane’s past that had torn up his self-confidence, and while Charlie’s tone was gruff, he was clearly worried that history might repeat itself.

  When she’d gone back into the dining room, Shane’s face had looked haunted. It was the only word Gillian could come up with to describe it. Both scared and anguished. She was torn between leaving the festering wound alone and asking him to tear it open so she’d know what kind of issues he was dealing with. So much depended on his ability to do this dive.

  “Think Charlie would cook a vegetable?” She picked up an eggplant and waved it across the aisle at Shane.

  He frowned at it. “Not on a bet. Get stuff he can eat raw that’s already chopped up.”

  Gillian watched him plow methodically through a shelf of peanut butter, reading labels and trying to decide what his uncle might eat. His hair was still damp from his own shower, and the fluorescent lights of the store gleamed off the blond highlights a person could only get from genuine sunlight and not from a bottle in a salon. The forest-green shirt he wore untucked emphasized his broad shoulders and trim hips.

  Even from the back, he was too sexy for his own good. Yet he didn’t seem to know it, which was the thing Gillian liked about him. Oh, he had that arrogant male thing going at times (and she certainly saw that he’d learned at the foot of a master), but it was based on what he could do and not how he looked.

  She asked herself again: why had Shane Burke been wasting away in Cedar Key, drinking at Harley’s and taking just enough day-tour work to survive? Barely survive. The answer had to be tied to whatever had happened with that life-and-death decision he’d had to make.

  By the time they finished shopping, they’d managed to spend several hundred of Tex’s dollars on food and toiletries and cleaning supplies—at Gillian’s insistence—and filled the back of Charlie’s old blue van. The haul was heavy on nonperishables, but Shane insisted that he’d grown up on that stuff and he doubted, based on the containers strewn around the living room, that Charlie had developed a taste for cooking.

  “Mind if I take a detour?” Shane steered the van around a pothole, but Gillian still felt as if she were on a carnival ride—or a wild mustang.

  “This thing must have no shock absorbers on it.”

  Shane laughed. “Hell, I don’t even know how old the van is. I learned to drive in it when I was fifteen, if that gives you a clue.”

  Gillian had to smile at the mental image of the beanpole Shane had probably been at fifteen, bouncing around town in his uncle’s blue van. He’d probably thought he was one hot-chick magnet. “So what’s this detour?”

  “I thought I’d circle around by the boatyard, see if The Evangeline’s out of the water yet. I talked to Jag earlier, and he and Harley were headed to dinner. He thought they were gonna move her about now.”

  “What are they going to do, exactly?” “Retrofit” was one of those words that, it seemed to Gillian, covered any multitude of activities.

  “Sort of like winterizing a car. But if we have to work in open water out of season in that area, September’s probably a decent time.” Shane slowed down, minimizing the bounce as he maneuvered the van around a tight curve. “But to answer your question, what the work orders included was checking the hull for cracks or weak areas and reinforcing it. The Evangeline’s got a fiberglass hull, so the good news is that it’s pretty impervious to cold.”

  Whenever anyone pointed out the good news in a given situation, the bad news inevitably followed. “But? I’m sensing a ‘but’ there.”

  Shane nodded. “But the area’s rocky as hell, and fiberglass doesn’t dent like metal. It’s really durable but if it does get a big hit, it breaks like, well, glass. So they’ll reinforce it. Double-check all the seals and joints. Go over the engine and fuel systems.”

  It did sound like winterizing a car or giving it a seasonal tune-up. Not as extensive as she’d feared, so maybe not as time-consuming, either. Thinking of time reminded her of their deadline, which had dwindled to twenty-one days. So much was at stake. “I think I should call Gretchen tonight and make sure things are OK.” She looked out the window at the boats docked in the vast marina, many probably tucked in for the winter now that Labor Day had come and gone.

  “It’s probably a good idea.” Shane reached over and squeezed her knee, and she covered his hand with hers. “We might not have another chance until this is all over, and it will make you feel better to know they’re fine.”

  “Are you comfortable leaving Charlie here by himself?”

  Shane retrieved his hand to take another tight turn, and Gillian mourned its absence. She could get used to touching him and being touched by him.

  “No, I’m not at all comfortable leaving him behind. I thought about taking Charlie with us, but that was before I saw him. He’s in no condition to go on that kind of trip, so I’m not even putting that idea in his head.”

  Gillian could understand why. Charlie would want to go, given the least bit of encouragement. But the boat was already crowded with the four of them, and one more—one with a mobility issue, at that—would complicate things even more.

  “Is there anywhere else he could go? Family or friends he could stay with?”

  Shane shook his head. “None I know of, and I seriously doubt he’d leave that house, especially if he thought he was being forced out. I did think of one thing, but…no, forget it.”

  Was he joking? “Well, now you have to say what you were thinking. It’s a rule.”

  He smiled. “I was going to ask if you’d consider leaving Tank with him, but I know he’s like your kid. It’s not a fair thing to ask.”

  She looked out the window as they slowed in front of the entrance to the boatyard. Two vessels sat atop metal stands of some kind, tall enough for their keels to clear the ground by several feet. Arching high overhead was a covering that looked like a giant’s greenhouse. “There it is—the second one down.”

  The Evangeline didn’t look that big sitting in the water, but up on stilts she looked enormous.
“I didn’t realize how much of the living space was below the water line,” Gillian said, trying to mentally place where the salon and lower rooms were located. She kind of wished she hadn’t seen it out of the water.

  Shane stopped and looked at the boat a few seconds, then nodded. “Looks like they have her secured really well, and there’s only one other boat in the work area. Hopefully, that means they can get the work done in a couple of days max.”

  He did a tight U-turn and drove back toward the marina while Gillian gave more thought to his question about leaving Tank behind. On the one hand, it broke her heart. After losing Ethan and Sam, she’d bought the pickup and moved into the trailer, and a couple of months later, she’d found Tank abandoned on the side of Highway 24, a fur ball of a puppy with a bad attitude. They hadn’t been separated more than a day in the past five years.

  On the other hand, shipboard was not the place for a dog, especially under these conditions. She didn’t know what lay ahead for any of them, but she sensed Tank would be safer here than traveling with them. Plus, she’d seen Charlie drop his hand beneath the table several times, touching Tank, and she’d never seen her big old guard dog take to anyone but her like he’d latched onto Charlie.

  “Yes,” she said, knowing it was the right choice.

  “Yes what?”

  “I’ll leave Tank with Charlie.” Tears welled up and she turned toward the window again before Shane could see them. “I think it’ll be better for both of them.”

  Shane pulled into Charlie’s driveway a few minutes later but made no move to get out. He reached out and took her hand again. “I know that’s not easy, so thank you. Charlie likes the hellhound.”

  Gillian chuckled. “Yeah, you’re just glad he’s staying because you knew he’d bite you one of these days.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re right. But thank you anyway.”

  She turned and curled her fingers around the back of his neck, holding him close to her, their foreheads touching. In the dim street light, his face was formed of shadows and light, but she saw his gaze drop to her lips before he angled his head and moved closer. She’d kiss him once, and then they’d go inside.

  His lips were soft against hers, but as she opened her mouth to his, he angled in deeper. When he moved to kiss her jaw line, her neck, her earlobe, she pulled him back to her mouth. She’d kiss him once more, and then they’d definitely go inside, because this was a bad idea.

  He sucked gently on her lower lip before setting up a gentle rhythm to his kiss, one that shot straight to her guts and damned if her toes didn’t curl involuntarily inside her tennis shoes. Okay, this would be the last kiss, and then—

  Bright light flooded the front seats of the van, propelling them apart. Shane scowled at the open front door, where Charlie and Tank could be seen standing side by side. Gillian groaned. “Why do I feel like I’m sixteen again and just got caught making out with my prom date?”

  Shane grinned at her. “Did that happen?”

  Yeah, it had. “His name was Bobby Harper and he had a lisp.” He’d also grown up to be a senator, last she’d heard.

  “I’m not saying a word.” If Shane’s cough was an attempt to hide the fact that he was laughing at her, he needed a new tactic.

  They walked to the back of the van and began to unload groceries. “At least Charlie was so intent on catching us he forgot to be paranoid about opening the door,” she said.

  “Or maybe Tank’s already distracted him. He didn’t even have his shotgun.”

  Well, not within view anyway.

  They got the groceries put away and then found there was nothing they’d bought that either of them considered fit to eat. Charlie, however, was pleased and immediately set about the task of making himself two peanut butter sandwiches.

  “Where’s the best place to eat around here?” Shane asked, watching as Gillian emptied some of Tank’s food into his bowl. She’d restocked his supply at the Sav-A-Center while they shopped for Charlie, so at least the older man wouldn’t have to worry about what to feed him. She’d have to give him the “no people food” lecture before she left, although she doubted it would do much good. She’d already caught him dropping a peanut butter–covered bread crust onto the floor for the dog to gobble up.

  “I heard the old Cod Piece is pretty good,” Charlie said, leaning down to hand Tank his peanut butter crust in person this time. Gillian bit her lip. She wouldn’t chastise him, not when she was going to ask him to take her dog in case this mission failed and she never came home. Not that Shane had said it that way, but it was the truth, and they both knew it. If Charlie wanted to feed Tank peanut butter, so be it.

  Then the restaurant name sunk in. “Um, there’s a restaurant called the Cod Piece?” She so did not want to eat there.

  Shane laughed and opened the door, motioning her back outside. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

  To Gillian’s relief, the Cod Piece had undergone both a name and menu change, and by the time they finished their appetizer of crab cakes swimming in rémoulade sauce, Gillian felt herself relax for the first time since they’d arrived in Southport. Shane had regaled her with stories of the Cod Piece and other bizarre tales of coastal Carolina life until she’d actually giggled, which hadn’t happened since long, long before Tex came into her life.

  Conversation died down when the entrées came, and Gillian picked at her shrimp and grits. The thought of Tex had sobered her again, reminding her that even if she were interested in dating anyone, which she wasn’t, this wasn’t a date. She thought again of the conversation she’d overheard, and whether it was fair to ask Shane to talk about his vulnerabilities when she hadn’t shared hers.

  Tex had found the right strings to pull in order to control both of them. Now, maybe it was time for both her and Shane to come clean. As he’d said back at Charlie’s, the time for playing games was done.

  CHAPTER 20

  Shane didn’t understand women. He wasn’t sure any man did, but if so, he wasn’t one of them. One minute he’d had Gillian laughing at his admittedly embellished tales of growing up in Southport. The next, she looked somber and jittery, and he suspected it wasn’t because she didn’t like the shrimp and grits she’d been picking at since the entrées had arrived.

  He mentally girded his emotionally deficient loins and waded into the deep pool of feelings women seemed to comfortably occupy. “Okay, out with it. What’s wrong?”

  Yeah, soul of sensitivity, thy name is Shane. The Burke men were known for it.

  She took a deep breath and set her fork down beside her plate, so Shane did the same. This was going to be bad; he could tell.

  “I overheard part of your conversation with Charlie earlier. I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about until a cold realization hit him. That conversation. About California. He thought frantically, trying to remember exactly what Charlie had said and how he could spin it in a way that would satisfy her curiosity and spare him the pain of reliving his soul’s darkest hour. Right now, Gillian liked him. She liked the Shane he presented to the world. If she heard that story, she’d not only dislike him but be very afraid to know the fate of her niece was in his shaky hands.

  “I can tell by your expression you know which conversation I mean.” She studied his face with brown eyes that apparently saw way too much. “Here’s the deal. You said earlier that we needed to stop playing games, and I think you’re right. One of the games we’ve been playing has been to keep our private stuff private.”

  Damn straight. That’s why it’s called private stuff. He didn’t want to be a smartass, however, at least not until he was backed into a corner. “Okay.”

  She speared a shrimp and stuck it in her mouth. Shane got distracted by that mouth. She was even sexy chewing up a crustacean. “Okay. I think we should tell each other what it is that Tex is using to control us. We might be able to help each other. At the ver
y least, I’ll know where you’re vulnerable, and you’ll know the same about me. It might help us figure out how to fight back.”

  Despite his intense urge to cut and run, Shane had to admit her logic was sound. Following through was another matter. “Did you ever think you might be better off not knowing some things?”

  Those eyes dug deep into his brain again; he could feel the tentacles of her curiosity clawing their way inside, trying to pull out feelings he didn’t want to acknowledge, much less share with a woman that—okay, he admitted it—he hoped to get into bed one of these days. Assuming neither of them died first.

  Strong, smart women like Gillian Campbell didn’t want to have sex with cowards.

  “Is it that I’m better off not knowing, or that it’s easier for you if I don’t know?”

  Well, when she put it that way. “Both?”

  She smiled and looked down at her bowl, stirring the tines of her fork idly through the grits, forming figure-eights of corn and butter. “How about I go first?”

  Curiosity quieted Shane’s inner whining. As near as he could tell, the thing that brought Gillian firmly under the evil thumb of Tex and his employer was the threat against her niece. She’d gotten her friend Vivian out of the country, but it was the threat against the little girl, Holly, that had rattled her. He’d asked her once if she had lost a child but she hadn’t answered.

  “It has something to do with a child, doesn’t it?”

  She stirred the grits some more before finally letting go of the fork and pushing the bowl away. “Five years ago, my son and my husband died in a car wreck. Ethan was three—the same age Holly is now. And I killed him. Killed both of them.”

  Shane looked down at his own plate, where the grilled oysters looked back at him like dark, soulless eyes. “Tell me what you mean.” It was ludicrous, of course. Gillian would no more kill a child than he would. The woman wouldn’t even kill an alligator, for God’s sake, which Shane didn’t think he’d have any qualms about at all.