She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“You’re letting him abuse you,” Aidan said.
She sighed and stood up. “I’m exhausted after the drive out here. I need a drink. Do you want one?”
He nodded. If they had a drink together, she would relax and let down her guard. He could bring her around. She couldn’t be serious about going back to the man who’d cheated on her and robbed her and threatened her life. Jason Stark was a menace. An animal in a fancy suit. Aidan had to make her see that.
Caroline walked into the kitchen and came back with two glasses. Aidan took a swallow and grimaced.
“What is this?” he said.
“Bourbon. You don’t like it?”
“It’s fine. Cheers.”
They clinked glasses and drank.
“You should to listen to me,” he said. “I have your best interests at heart. I’m the only one who does. Why would I lie?”
“Maybe you’re not lying. Maybe you’re mistaken. But you go too far. I need you to back off and give me some space.”
“And then we can be together.”
She sighed. “Maybe.”
“Caroline, please. You’re all I think about. Night and day. Only you. I’m yours, completely.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. At the touch of her flesh, the room seemed to tilt. He felt a hot shiver run up and down his spine. He put his hand over his heart.
“I’m sorry for the way I approached your daughter and your sister. Please forgive me for my bad judgment. It won’t happen again.”
She didn’t absolve him. She didn’t say a word. But when he turned her hand over and kissed the palm of her hand, and then the inside of her wrist, she didn’t stop him. Her pulse was racing. He laid his hand over her breast and felt her heart jackhammering. The knowledge that she wanted him made him dizzy.
“Can I stay?” he said.
“It’s not a good idea.”
“Please? We’ll be together through the storm. That’s all I ask. Let me protect you until morning.”
She looked searchingly into his eyes and sighed. “All right.”
“Would you dance with me? You don’t have to commit to anything more. Just one song. Let me hold you.”
She leaned forward and picked up a remote from a docking station on the coffee table. Everything was moving in slow motion. Sinatra started crooning from hidden speakers in the walls around them, and the music flowed through his bloodstream like he’d injected it. He took her in his arms, and they melted together, swaying to the luscious sound. Aidan understood in that moment that his love for Caroline was fated, ordained. This song was proof. It had been written a hundred years ago, just so they could hear it tonight. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair. Was this how true love felt? Her closeness made him unsteady on his feet. As long as they kept dancing, whatever happened to him, he wouldn’t mind. He would welcome his downfall if she was the cause of it.
The song ended. A fist pounded on the front door.
“It’s Jason,” Caroline said, her eyes wide with panic.
Aidan had been expecting the worst, and yet when the moment came, he wasn’t prepared. He broke out in a cold sweat, made a move for the door, and stumbled over his own two feet. He must be more tired than he’d realized after his hours of labor in the storm. Caroline grabbed him by the elbows.
“You have to leave, Aidan. Go out the back, down to the beach. He can’t know you’re here.”
“He will know. My truck’s in the driveway.”
“I’ll think of a way to explain the truck. He doesn’t know who you are. He’d never know it’s yours.”
“I can’t leave you alone with him.”
The husband pounded on the door. “Caroline! Let me in, now!”
“Please, I’m begging you,” she said. “Let me handle him. I don’t think he’d hurt me. But if he sees you here, I don’t know what he’ll do.”
Aidan felt wrong abandoning her to that brute at the door. But his thoughts were scrambled, and he felt confused and exhausted at the same time. He’d go outside and let the rain lash his face and wake him up. Then he’d sneak around to the front door and jump that asshole from behind.
His coat and shoes were back near the front door.
“My shoes—”
“There’s no time. Go!” Caroline said.
She opened the French doors and shoved him from behind. Aidan stumbled out into the stormy night, barefoot, fighting against the wind.
43
The power had come back on. The lights were on in my bedroom, and Frank Sinatra crooned from the speakers in the ceiling. I was afraid to speak or move. I lay paralyzed, the blood pounding in my veins, my eyes glued to the gun that Aidan cradled in his lap. I remembered picking it up that day at his apartment, the deadly weight of it in my hands. It was pitch-dark outside. The wind shook the windows, and the thought crossed my mind that I might die here tonight. Was Aidan capable of killing me, or did he merely want to frighten me into submission? I couldn’t know for sure, but I had to assume the threat was real. Failing to take him seriously could mean my death.
I moved to get out of the bed and he shifted suddenly in the chair, thrusting the gun toward me.
“Stay there,” he said.
His eyes seemed unfocused, like something was knocked loose inside. How had I ever found this man attractive? I looked at him now and all I saw was crazy. And crazy was a problem—a big problem. A regular guy who got rejected might come after me. He might hurt me, even kill me. But Aidan had gone after my family. My sister. My daughter. That he knew about them at all, that he had a motive to hurt them—that was on me. In order to protect them, to make this up to them, I had to take responsibility for stopping him, even at the risk of my life. But how? I was unarmed and helpless. He was bigger than me. He was blocking the door. And he had a gun. My only hope was to get him talking and play for time, until I found an opening to escape.
I cleared my throat, which was dry with fear.
“How—how did you get in here?” I asked Aidan.
The answer was obvious. He’d broken in, and not for the first time. My alarm went off earlier tonight. It went off last week, and the police supposedly were dispatched and found nothing amiss. The police, right. Tommy Callahan. The cavalry wasn’t going to burst in and save me. They were on the gunman’s side.
“How did I get in?” Aidan said. “You let me in.”
“No, I didn’t. I was sleeping.”
“You invited me in, Caroline. You left the door open for me. You want me here. Admit it to yourself.”
My face flushed with the effort of controlling my temper. I don’t want you here. I hate you, you lunatic. You belong in jail, or in the psych ward. Or better yet, dead. I had to take a deep breath before I could speak.
“Maybe I did leave the door unlocked. It wasn’t intentional. I’m not sorry you’re here, though. There are things I need to say to you.”
“Oh, now you talk to me. After you ignored me for so long? How many messages did I leave? You blocked my number. That’s disrespectful.”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t nice of me to block your calls. I should have been up front with you and told you that your conduct was unacceptable. You did some terrible things—”
“Shut up. I’m not interested in hearing you trash me. That’s over.”
“Aidan—”
“I’m done listening. I hold the gun. I’m the boss now, and I say what happens. Take the blanket off. Show me what you’re wearing. I want to see your body.”
I didn’t move. He pointed the gun at me.
“Do what I say,” he said.
I drew the covers back, showing off my sweatpants and loose-fitting T-shirt.
“Happy now?”
“Don’t provoke me. Take it off.”
His mouth was a grim line. If I didn’t figure out a way to distract him, he’d be on me in seconds. In the heat of the moment, I heard my father’s voice.
The best defense is a good offense. I had to stop cooperating in my own destruction. I needed to stop acting afraid, to assert control, to throw him off balance. Most of all, I had to figure out a way to get out of this room.
“Why should I, you pervert?” I said. “You went after my daughter. Something’s wrong with you. You’re sick.”
The surprise in his eyes was gratifying to see.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” he said. “I didn’t go after her. She came on to me.”
“A mother and daughter. What is that, some kind of perverted fetish?”
His face went deep red. “It wasn’t sexual at all. I was only there to help her.”
“Oh, please. You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“If it’s true, prove it. This is my daughter’s welfare we’re talking about. You can’t expect me to take your word for it. I’m calling her.”
I picked up my cell phone from the bedside table. I knew there was no service, but he didn’t.
He looked at me with suspicion. “What are you doing? Put that down.”
“I’m going to call Hannah right now. If you didn’t lay a finger on her, she’ll tell me that, and then I’ll believe you. I’ll admit I was wrong. But if you won’t let me do that, it says something, doesn’t it? It tells me you’re lying.”
I moved slowly, sitting up, putting my feet on the floor, pulling up Hannah’s number on my phone.
“Give me that!” Aidan said, and lunged for my phone.
I threw myself sideways and tried to run around him. He body-checked me, and I tried to grab the gun. He saw that coming, and grabbed me by the hair, yanking me down onto the bed and straddling me. He leveled the gun at my forehead and gave me that same chilling, empty smile he wore when I woke up to find myself his prisoner.
“Stupid move, Caroline,” he said. “Now I’m mad.”
We paused there, staring at each other, breathing heavily, and I flashed back to the last time we were together in this bed. In pursuit of one night of mindless fun, I’d found my own destruction.
“You need to apologize and make it up to me,” he said.
I stared down the barrel of the silver gun, and my courage deserted me.
“Please,” I said, my voice shaking. “Don’t hurt me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. If you treat me with the respect and love I showed you, I won’t need to.”
“No. Please. I can’t. I’m married. What we did was wrong.”
“Then we can go another way. I can pull this trigger. You won’t even feel it. Either way, I win. You’ll belong to me, and you won’t hurt me anymore.”
“If I hurt you, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“You’re a liar, Caroline. You can’t help yourself.”
He thrust the barrel of the gun hard against my forehead. Tears of desperation flooded my eyes.
“Please. Please, don’t shoot,” I whispered.
Suddenly, downstairs, a crash rang out. Aidan’s head whipped around. He stared at the closed bedroom door. Then, to my amazement and gratitude, he got off me, and stood up, listening.
“It must be the wind,” he said.
The wind rumbled like a freight train outside the bedroom windows, but it was a steady sound. That had been a crash. If it had come from outside the house, I might’ve taken it for a tree limb falling. But it came from inside.
“That’s not the wind,” I said. “Somebody’s downstairs. They knocked over furniture, or kicked the door in. Looters come out in a hurricane, Aidan. They could make off with the TV. You claim to be the big man. If that’s true, go stop them.”
He grabbed my arm and yanked me up.
“You’re coming with me,” he said, poking the gun into my ribs. “Stay quiet and do what I tell you.”
Aidan’s grip was like a vise as we moved to the door. He opened it slowly, careful not to make a sound. We stopped on the landing and listened. It was hard to hear anything over the roar of the wind and the thumping of my heart. Aidan dropped my arm and put a finger to his lips. Then I caught it—the sound of footsteps. It was unmistakable. The tread of shoes against the wood of the floor. Someone was downstairs. Aidan knew it, too. I saw the alarm in his eyes.
“Caroline? Are you here?” the voice called out.
It was Jason. My husband had come to rescue me. I was so overwhelmed with relief that I wanted to burst into tears. But I held my breath, too anxious to make a sound. Because I realized: Now his life was in danger as well, and it was all my fault.
44
“Caroline? Where are you?”
“Answer him,” Aidan whispered. “Say you’re up here, tell him to come.”
Aidan pointed the gun at the stairs. The second-floor landing where we stood was shrouded in darkness. But the lights blazed downstairs. If I called out to Jason like Aidan said, my husband would walk to the foot of the stairs and head up into the dark, the perfect target. Like a fish in a barrel. He wouldn’t stand a chance. And Jason would have been lured to his death by me, his wife of twenty years. Because he trusted me. It didn’t matter what was wrong between us. It didn’t matter that we’d grown apart. Or that he’d commandeered our money, or even that he’d cheated. In that moment, I remembered the love we shared, the daughter we raised, the life we built together. And I had to save him, even if it killed me.
“Call him now,” Aidan said between gritted teeth.
I racked my brain for what to do next, but I had no brilliant plan. The only option was to call out, to do my best to warn my husband, even if it meant Aidan shooting me. It was now or never.
“There’s a man up here and he’s got a gun! Run!” I screamed.
That gun turned on me. Aidan took a step back in order to get the space to fire, and in that moment, I saw what to do. I kicked him with all my strength, and the momentum sent him flying toward the staircase. A boom rang out. The bullet whizzed by my ear like a deadly insect, and plaster rained down from the ceiling. Aidan fell backward and skidded halfway down the stairs before arresting his descent. He hauled himself to standing and started up the stairs for me with murder in his eyes. I ran to the bedroom, slammed the door, and locked it, panting in fear. Then I sank down behind the dresser and waited for him to start shooting.
Nothing happened. I sat there shaking.
A raft of rain sluiced against the windows, so powerful that I jumped.
I strained my ears, too terrified to move. Far below, I heard a cry. Then I realized—Aidan had gone after Jason instead. I’d left my husband alone and unarmed, at the mercy of my stalker and his gun. Jason only showed up here because of my message, begging him to come out to the beach and help me protect the house. Despite the shaky state of our marriage, he’d driven through a hurricane to answer my call. Now I was hiding out in the relative safety of this room while Aidan hunted him down like an animal. Aidan was in our lives, and in this house, only because of my weakness. If he shot Jason—God forbid, if he killed him—I’d have blood on my hands. Jason’s death would be on my conscience for the rest of my life.
The kitchen knife I’d brought with me from the city sat on the top of the dresser. Aidan must have moved it from the bedside table while I slept to keep it from my reach. They say don’t bring a knife to a gunfight. But the knife was all I had. I clutched it close and pressed my ear to the door. I could hear the squalling of wind and crashing of surf outside my windows; but nothing to tell me where Aidan was. Of course, it was possible his silence was a fake-out. That he was standing right outside this door waiting for me to walk into his trap. I might do that. Not because I was stupid, but because I wasn’t a coward, or selfish enough to let my husband march to slaughter without trying to save him.
I held my breath and turned the lock, listening. Still, nothing but the wind, which seemed to be intensifying, if that was even possible. Knife poised, I crept out to the landing, every nerve tense with fear, expecting to get jumped any second. But Aidan didn’t come. H
e wasn’t up here. He and Jason must both be downstairs, yet I couldn’t hear them.
A powerful blast of wind shook the walls. The house shifted and creaked with every gust, as if it would collapse in on itself. I wondered if the glass in the windows would hold. Outside, all was darkness. Inside, the lights flickered and dimmed and then brightened again. With the next gust, they went out completely. We’d lost power for the second time at just the wrong moment.
I stole down the stairs in my bare feet, hugging the wall. I couldn’t quiet my ragged, terrified breathing, and prayed it faded into the deafening wind. I tiptoed into the living room. Earlier tonight, I’d turned on the gas fireplace. Its glowing light suffused the first floor, throwing off shadows that played tricks on my eyes. They were here somewhere, they had to be. But my senses were on such high alert that every piece of furniture seemed like a mortal threat.
Outside the terrace doors, moonlight shone eerily behind the clouds, lighting the sky over the ocean. The world was a writhing mass, with debris swirling in the blinding rain. A movement drew my eye. I watched openmouthed as a tree branch came sailing toward the terrace doors like a torpedo. Glass exploded everywhere, and suddenly the raging wind was inside the house. The tree branch sat on my beautiful floors as water poured in around it. I reeled back, right into Aidan’s grasp.
I was too shocked to fight. In a second, he’d stripped the knife from my hand and twisted my arm painfully behind my back. The tip of my own knife was poised against my throat as I cowered, cursing myself for letting down my guard.
“I came down here, and he was gone,” Aidan said, raising his voice to be heard over the ruckus of the storm. “Fucking coward. He ran. He doesn’t give a shit about you, Caroline. Now you’re gonna pay for choosing him over me.”
He dragged me back toward the stairs. I went limp as a rag doll, dragging my feet on the floor, using my body weight to stop him.
“Move,” he said, and punched me in the side.
I cried out in pain. From the corner of my eye I saw a movement. Not debris—it was Jason, running. But not toward us, around the stairs, so he could come up from behind. Aidan saw him, too, and whirled. While he was distracted, I grabbed for the knife. The blade sliced deep into the flesh of my palm, burning like acid. I screamed, long and shrill, and Aidan let go of me. He dropped the knife and kicked it across the room, so I couldn’t get to it. Just then, the wind hit mercilessly, and what was left of the terrace doors flew open, flapping and banging. I stumbled toward them. But the wind was so powerful that it pushed me back into the house. The storm was all around me. Water and wind and pieces of trees flying through the air. I could barely breathe from the force of it pressing down on me.
A Stranger on the Beach Page 21