“Hey,” I said. He spun around, clearly surprised I’d outmaneuvered him. “Who are you?”
“I’m Darius, Miss Kelly,” he said when he approached. His voice had a slight eastern European accent.
“Why are you following me, Darius?” I asked.
He gave me a tight smile. “Just making sure you don’t get lost.”
Right. I’d bet he was assigned to keep an eye on me. What the hell was William afraid of? I really had questions now. “So, Darius,” I said, “Where is Mr. Lambourne?”
“He’s fine,” he said. “He will be in touch shortly.”
How many times had I heard that already? My definition of shortly didn’t seem to mesh with my absent boyfriend’s.
I stopped near the far edge of the olive grove, which I could see was completely charming, even under my frustrated gaze. A table and chairs were set up in one area under the shade of a large tree, and I wished I had my camera. I tried again. “Will William be back for dinner?” I asked Darius casually.
“I can’t say, Miss Kelly. You’ll hear from him soon.”
The answer didn’t placate me, but clearly Darius wasn’t going to tell me anything. And I couldn’t help but feel William was in some sort of danger. Why else would he leave without telling me?
I spent the remainder of the afternoon back on my chaise by the pool, my stomach knotted with worry. I heard nothing from William. No texts, no phone calls, nothing. The staff was as cheery as ever, acting as though the communication blackout was the most normal thing in the world.
Around six o’clock, I walked into the kitchen to demand some answers from Sam and Nancy. I wanted to know what the hell was going on, but I was met with tight lips and the unmistakable scent of pasta sauce. They were cooking, probably for me, but I didn’t want to eat another dinner alone. Both Sam and Nancy remained pretty much unresponsive to me, but I saw them exchange a few nervous glances. Then Darius appeared and escorted me out of the kitchen, saying, “Relax and enjoy your stay, Miss Kelly. Mr. Lambourne will be in touch very soon.”
Why wouldn’t he stop saying that? It was a lie. I wanted to scream that I wasn’t relaxed and I wasn’t enjoying my stay. Food was the last thing on my mind, so I escaped to the master suite. An hour or so later, Nancy timidly knocked on my door and brought in a dish of pasta and a carafe of wine, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. I picked at the food, but I drank all the wine and flipped channels on TV for a while. Finally, I fell asleep, alone, my heart breaking as my eyes fluttered closed.
So much for Napa. And so much for my boyfriend.
***
I woke up Tuesday morning sweaty and agitated, with my throat sore and my pulse raging. My cheeks were still wet with tears. There were no telltale signs that William had ever made it to bed and I was kind of glad I was by myself: I’d had the dream. I hadn’t had it in a long time, but it was a familiar one. And a bad one. William didn’t need to see me like this.
In my dream, Jace and I were out on our boards beyond the break at Pleasure Point, the spot we always surfed in Santa Cruz, and we were waiting for the next set to roll in. It was early, just before sunrise, and overcast, so the cliffs had an eerie dark cast in the distance. We were silently bobbing up and down on our boards, our wetsuits black and glistening in the grey Pacific, and Jace kept turning his head over his shoulder to watch the water. “The next one’s yours, Cat. Get ready.”
I maneuvered my board and laid down in position. My arms started to move furiously as I propelled myself forward. I could feel the water rising beneath me as the wave started to crest. “Go, Cat! Go!” I could hear Jace yelling in the background.
Just as I popped up and got my footing, ready to ride the wave into shore, I was hit hard in the back and knocked off my board. It knocked the wind out of me and I couldn’t breathe. I was pulled down, down into the frigid dark water, deeper and deeper. It was a dream, so I could still scream even though I was submerged and my throat and lungs burned as I struggled for air.
“Jace, Jace, help me! Help me! Pull me up!” But I couldn’t lift my arms. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t lift them up. I struggled, I twisted, but it was like they were tied to my side. “Jace, I can’t move! Help me!” I continued to sink down, down, down. I kept twisting and turning, trying to break free of whatever was holding my arms and start swimming toward the surface. But I just kept sinking deeper into the cold darkness and all I could hear was Jace, his voice getting fainter and fainter, saying “Go, Cat! Go!” And then I woke up.
The location changed sometimes, and sometimes it was daytime and sunny. But there was always the weird grey cast to everything and the same events occurred: my catching the wave, being knocked off my board, not being able to breathe, and then sinking like a rock with my arms unable to move, and Jace in the background saying, “Go Cat! Go!” I’d talked to Beckett about the dream lots of times over the past three years. Ever since Jace died. Sigmund Freud Beckett thought it meant I was afraid of being swallowed by forces hidden in the depths of my unconscious. Like the guilt I felt about the accident. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew it scared me and stirred up too many painful and upsetting memories, that I always felt unsettled and on edge after I had it.
I took my bad dream as a sign that I need a change of scenery. I got up, showered, and dressed, then I marched into the kitchen and demanded, “Is there a car I can use? I want to go into town.” St. Helena was nearby, and when William and I had driven through it Saturday night, it looked like it had some cute shops and historic charm.
At my request, Nancy and Sam exchanged a look. Sam cleared his throat. “I’ll ask Darius.”
“I can drive myself. My license is perfectly valid here,” I called after Sam.
I ignored Nancy’s offers of breakfast while we waited. A few minutes later Darius appeared, looking as big and buff as ever, but carrying car keys. “Where would you like to go, Miss Kelly? I’ll drive you.”
Big surprise. Darius was going to keep playing shadow.
“I want to go into St. Helena and do some shopping. And I might sit in one of the cafés and work. For the entire day.” Anywhere but here, obsessing about William. I reached for the keys.
“I’ll drive you, Miss Kelly.”
I raised a brow. “I know how to drive, and I don’t need a babysitter.”
He didn’t even blink. “Mr. Lambourne’s orders, ma’am.”
“Whatever.” I knew I was being a petulant brat, but I didn’t care. I grabbed my laptop, camera bags, and purse and joined Darius in the remaining big black SUV.
St. Helena was surprisingly quiet on a Tuesday morning. Darius parked outside one of the shops that lined the main street, and I climbed out, shouldering my bags. I looked in a few boutiques that showcased local artists and clothing designers and all the while, Darius stood guard outside the shop or lumbered behind me as I walked. What did he think was going to happen here?
I’d been so happy with William the night we’d gotten back together and I really thought everything was going to be perfect between us. And things had been going pretty well, but now we were right back to what broke us up in the first place. Except now I loved William—at least I thought I did. But I was starting to think maybe love wasn’t enough to forgive all the secrecy and the way he had closed himself off to me. I needed more. I deserved more. I knew that, but I still felt totally miserable at the thought of breaking up with William again. I didn’t want to. At all. But then there was the Anya Pierce situation to contend with, though even I had to admit that I was grasping at straws there.
Just then, my cell buzzed, and I paused in front of a boutique and pulled it out of my bag. A dozen steps behind me, Darius paused too. I guess the cell service wasn’t so great because it had gone straight to voicemail. As soon as I heard my dad’s voice, my stomach tightened into knots.
“Hey! How’s my favorite girl? Just checking in. Call me, Cat.”
I pocketed the phone and took a deep breath. Darius wa
s watching me, so I made a point of wandering a bit more, feeling a weird sense of nostalgia and unease. It was strange to be back in Northern California again. It felt so familiar, but with Darius never far from sight, I felt like I was hiding out in the witness protection program or something. My parents had no idea I was here. I wondered what my dad would make of William and all of his bullshit. He would definitely be hurt to know I was in Napa and hadn’t come to see him. There was a thought. Maybe I should steal the keys to the SUV from Darius or find a rental car agency and drive to Santa Cruz and play it off like an impromptu visit. I could say I was homesick or something.
I was caught up in my fantasy escape planning when my phone buzzed again. This time it was a text from Beckett.
Sorry I didn’t reply yesterday. Super busy. Trying out new recipes. You?
I stopped walking again and Darius stopped too, so I could answer.
Sulking. William is AWOL. Again.
Tough hanging out at the mansion by yourself.
I knew I didn’t make a very pity-worthy subject, but I didn’t care about mansions and vineyards. I just wanted William.
More like a gilded cage and I ditched it. Now I’m shopping, I answered.
Boo hoo you, but that sucks. Maybe you should just come home.
Maybe I should.
Hutch Morrison is waiting.
I’d totally forgotten about that voicemail. So who is he? Big shot chef?
Biggest of the big. He’s so hot right now. Seriously hot. And Morrison Hotel is the most sought after ticket in town. Literally. You have to buy a ticket to get in.
A ticket?
Check it out.
A moment later a link came through. I clicked on it, and it took me to the Morrison Hotel restaurant website. It looked like a high-concept restaurant with really elevated cuisine. From what I gathered, the entire menu and concept changed on the chef’s whim, and Hutch Morrison’s whims leaned toward rock albums. It was global news when he announced his next theme: Sticky Fingers was coming next. Interesting…
A few moments later, another text came through. Here’s the man himself.
An image of a tattooed guy appeared on my phone. A seriously hot tattooed guy.
This is Hutch?
Oh, yeah. He’s a Southern boy, lots of charm but with a hard rock-and-roll edge. He used to be in a band, so the rocker thing is legit. Ticket to the restaurant is worth it just to ogle him.
There was no doubt Hutch Morrison was a sexy bad boy type. He had the bedroom eyes, the slow, sexy smile, and the hard body—a nice canvas for the tattoos. I was intrigued at the thought of meeting him. I bet he was just as hot in person; guys like him always were.
I’ll give him a call tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Don’t forget. Big chance for you, don’t miss it.
Right. See you soon.
I put my phone in my purse, then pulled it out again and stared at the picture of Hutch Morrison. I’d call his publicist tomorrow or later in the week. It might be interesting to do some shots of this guy’s food. Or of the man himself.
My mind was going around and around in circles and I was too. After I passed the same wine bar three times, I decided to take a break. Coffee and work sounded perfect.
With Darius right on my heels, I went in a café called the Bean and Brew, dropped my bag on a couch, and went to the counter. I studied my choices and ordered my old standard—café latte. The coffee shop wasn’t busy, and my drink was ready quickly. I carried it back to the couch where I’d left my laptop as the door to the café opened.
I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at the man who walked in. I heard someone—probably me—emit a small cry and then I felt hot liquid splash on my feet. The mug I’d been holding smashed on the floor. Jace was standing in front of me.
Eight
Seeing Jace’s face again, seeing him live and in the flesh, sucked the air right out of me. I gripped the back of a chair for support and struggled to gasp in a breath. My whole body shook, and my knees felt like they were about to give out. I had to lean heavily on the chair to stay upright.
Of course, I knew it wasn’t Jace. He was dead. I’d seen his lifeless body on the table at the morgue in Hawaii and then I’d buried him outside of Atherton. This wasn’t my husband. Of course it wasn’t. And there was only one other person who looked this much like Jace: his brother.
“Jeremy,” I stuttered.
He looked as shocked to see me as I was to see him. “Cat?”
I nodded, blown away by how much his voice sounded like Jace’s. I heard that voice in my dream this morning—or a version of it—but it had been so long since I’d heard it for real. So long since I’d seen Jeremy, not since…I didn’t want to remember that.
I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to hug him and another part just wanted to run. Jace and Jeremy weren’t twins. Jeremy was almost a year younger than Jace, the same age as me, but the resemblance was striking. I remembered remarking on it the first time I met him. I tried to focus on the little differences between the two brothers now. Jeremy’s hair had always been darker than Jace’s and his eyes were a little closer set. He didn’t have the surfer tan Jace always sported, and though he and Jace shared many of the same expressions, the one on his face now wasn’t one of Jace’s. I thought of it as Jeremy’s smug look.
“What are you doing here, Cat?” Jeremy asked, stepping closer. Clearly, he could see I was shocked, but he wasn’t going to give me any room.
“I…”
“God, it’s good to see you, babe.” Jeremy pulled me into his chest in a warm embrace. I had two options: I could push out of his arms and make an excuse to go, or I could let it happen. I could go with it and take a step back into the world I once knew.
Yesterday I probably would have made a beeline to the exit, run right back to Casa di Rosabela, and told William everything. But William wasn’t there waiting for me and I didn’t know where the hell he was. I was confused and in desperate need of a friend. Right now, Jeremy felt like home.
“Do you want to sit outside and have a cup of coffee?” I asked.
“Sure.” He nodded to the one I’d dropped on the floor. “Let me get you another. Latte, right?”
“Right.”
He moved to the counter, and with a mumbled apology to the barista cleaning up my mess, I moved outside and sat at a table in the sun. I shouldn’t be with Jeremy right now. If Beckett knew, he’d tell me to get the hell out of here.
And he’d be right.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about the way William was behaving. He’d completely ditched me for basically three days in a row, and I didn’t understand why. I’d felt closer to him these past few days and, sexually, we couldn’t get any hotter. Whatever distance was between us now was all his doing, for reasons he refused to tell me. And it hurt. It wasn’t as though he could throw stones. He was probably sipping coffee with Anya Pierce right now.
I hadn’t wanted to come back to Northern California—for good reason—but I’d done it because William asked me to, because he said he needed me. But ever since we stepped foot off his plane on Sunday night, he hadn’t seemed to need me at all. And now I was in the exact situation I most feared, without any backup.
I looked through the glass of the coffee house window and saw Jeremy heading my way, cups of coffee in both hands. I can handle this, I told myself. My relationship with Jeremy might be weighted down by a ton of baggage—by things I wasn’t proud of—but if I steered us clear of difficult topics, we could both get through this. Maybe it would even be pleasant.
“Latte,” Jeremy said, handing me a cup and taking the chair opposite mine. “So what are you doing back here? I thought you moved to Chicago.”
I sipped the latte, giving myself time to think of an answer. “I did. I’ve only been here a few days. I came with a friend who was unexpectedly called away on business. I’m still living in Chicago.” My gaze strayed across the street to where Darius was stationed. He was making
no secret of the fact he was watching me. As I stared at him, he lifted his cell and spoke into it. So he wasn’t only a babysitter, but an informant too.
I wondered what Darius was saying—and to whom. That I was having coffee with an attractive man? William probably wouldn’t be happy to hear that. Good. Maybe he’d wonder what I was up to for a change.
“Good time to visit,” Jeremy said. “I bet the weather in Chicago sucks right now.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cold. It’s taken some getting used to.” I was surprised Jeremy didn’t try to press me for more details, though I wouldn’t have offered any if he had. I wasn’t ready to make my relationship with William—whatever the state of it was—public knowledge, especially not to Jeremy. He didn’t need to know what I was doing here. Hell, right now I didn’t even know what I was doing here.
“How are you?” I asked.
Jeremy’s whole face brightened. “I’m great! I graduated from law school last summer, and I’m engaged.”
“Really? That’s terrific. Congratulations. Anyone I know?”
“Nah.” He shook his head and sipped his espresso. “Her name is Amy, and we met at Stanford. She’s a lawyer too, but she works for the state in child advocacy.”
I nodded, a little surprised by his enthusiasm. I might not want to share the details of my life, but Jeremy was happy to tell me everything.
“The wedding is at the end of June,” Jeremy revealed. “We thought we might do it at the beach, but we haven’t decided yet. Amy is kind of freaking out because she says it’s getting late. Guess you gotta book wedding stuff way far in advance.”
I didn’t want to talk about weddings with the guy who had been one of the only witnesses to mine. “So where are you working?”
“With Dad’s firm in San Francisco. Corporate law, which pays well, but the work weeks are brutal. I’m only out of the office today because I’m up here meeting a client. I’m talking ninety-hour weeks, and…”
I realized I was just watching Jeremy talk and not listening to his words at all. It was hard not to stare at this man who looked so much like the man I’d married, so much like the man I’d thought I would share my life with. I remembered Jace so clearly. My heart clenched when Jeremy twisted his mouth in just the way Jace used to.
A Sip of You (The Epicurean Series) Page 10