by Annie Dean
And now, he sat staring at evidence that something was very, very wrong. Camille hated nature; she'd have the Grand Canyon paved over if she could, and yet she'd returned to the same bed and breakfast four times in the last five months, each pretext flimsier than the last. There were two likely explanations—either she was meeting someone there, or she wasn't going at all. Well, he'd spent a couple years fact-checking for other reporters before moving up, so that was easy enough to verify.
Sean picked up the cordless phone, and then dialed the number she'd left him. The connection hummed with the soft static sometimes present on older telecomm lines, and then rang through, once, twice. On the third ring, a woman's voice said, “Thanks for calling the Grail, how may I help you?"
"Yes, I'm calling to confirm a reservation for Camille Duncan."
The receptionist paused a moment, and he heard muffled sounds in the background as she checked for him. “Yes, I have it here. She's scheduled to check in this afternoon at four, departing Sunday, checkout at noon. Did you want to make changes, sir? I'll need her authorization number..."
"No, that's all I needed. I'm calling from the accounts payable department to verify her business expenses. Can you confirm that she stayed with you on three other occasions, ma'am?"
"Certainly."
He thought he heard an intake of breath before her reply, although he couldn't be sure. That could be the connection, but her tone definitely chilled to careful and cautious. Why would that be?
"Do you need me to fax an authorization form?"
"No, sir,” she said too cordially. “Checking into a hotel is a public action, and I'm not here to make your job more difficult. Ah, here we are. Ms. Duncan stayed with us in December, February, and March."
"Was she with anyone?” It was a bald question, one that probably shot holes in the pretext that he was calling on a professional basis.
"Sir, that goes beyond routine disclosure.” He heard censure in her tone. “But there were a number of other people here for training sessions."
"You host a lot of retreats and seminars, do you?"
"We get our share,” the woman answered. “Did you want to book us for your corporate sensitivity training? We do a lot of that."
"Er, no. Thanks for your help.” He clicked the off button on the phone and set it back on the charger, drumming his fingers against the pale oak of his desk.
Something wasn't right. Was he just paranoid? Or did the fact that Cami didn't want him anymore mean there had to be someone else, as the suspicious bastard in the back of his head insisted?
Thursday morning and he had nothing to do but think. Pushing up from the ergonomic office chair, Sean headed over to the window to stand gazing down at the well-manicured street. He was between stories at the moment, editor's orders. “Go fishing,” Carter had said. “Get laid. Stay out of the office for a couple weeks."
"Yeah, yeah,” he'd answered, rinsing out his favorite coffee cup and shutting down everything inside his cubicle.
Sean hated fishing, and he wasn't going to tell his boss that he had a better shot at catching a swordfish in the Serengeti than at getting laid. So he filed the necessary forms with HR and took some much-needed vacation time, earned by months spent digging into the town's murky political past. Far from being a hero when the truth came out, people seemed to blame him for Aaron Sharpe's downfall.
Not that I had anything to do with him taking kickbacks and putting his brother-in-law's construction company to work on the new city hall. I just wrote about it.
That didn't make him more popular. The Sharpe family had money and they'd spent twenty years doing as they wished, which made him a whistle-blower. Camille hadn't said anything, but he knew she was annoyed because people had stopped inviting them to parties, and she picked up a lot of business that way.
Two kids were playing ball across the street, and he watched them shoot for about five minutes before turning away with a sigh. Not for the first time, he wished he'd been able to convince Cami to start a family, but then again, given their current circumstances, perhaps it was for the best. Should just stop picking at it. If you messed with something too much, it was liable to leave a scar.
So, vacation. Right. He could watch a movie, work on some old fiction he'd been tinkering with since college, or play some online games. Maybe read a book. He had a huge to-be-read pile on his bedside table, and somewhere downstairs, there was even an old Playstation. They'd bought it when Cami's nephew came to stay during the summer, three years ago now.
"I can't let it go,” he said aloud.
Instead of doing something fun, he went back to his desk and sat down at the computer. She probably didn't realize he knew, but Cami had been using the same password for years. He went to Expedia and called up her account and—
Nothing.
Goddamn it. Changing her password could only mean she had something to hide. For the first time, he wished he had access to her business bank accounts and credit card statements because he had a feeling he wouldn't like what he found. His stomach lurched; before it had only been a feeling, a hunch he could dismiss, but now he was almost sure. He knew things weren't what they should be, but he hadn't realized—or maybe didn't want to accept—that it had gotten this bad.
First he had to determine the truth, and then he had a decision to make. It hurt, just thinking about it, but maybe deep down he'd seen it coming. He'd been with Cami for fifteen years, longer if he counted the years they'd dated. And they'd been friends even longer than that; there just had never been anyone else. He'd never even considered it. But a lot could change between seventeen and thirty-seven, and clearly it had. He just hadn't kept up.
That fast, he made up his mind and started checking flights out of Richmond. He looked at three sites before he decided he wasn't going to find a deal. With a shrug, he booked himself onto a red-eye that cost about a hundred dollars more than it should have.
He could hit the airport in less than an hour since they'd wound up in Sharpeville, a Podunk town outside Williamsburg. Several times he'd mentioned moving, but Cami's business was taking off so he contented himself with writing human interest stories, until this past year, when he tackled something with meat to it. Now it looked like he could move anywhere he wanted, just ... without his wife.
Sighing, he switched off his computer and slammed his chair up against his desk. His bare feet sank into the immaculate pile of the wheat carpet that covered every inch of floor, except for kitchen and bathrooms. Already he couldn't help but wonder about property division. They'd need to sell the duplex-style condo—
"Isn't it fantastic?” Cami had said. “Two bedrooms, two baths, skylights, a den and a garden room ... and it's near the park."
Truthfully he didn't like it much; it was too sleek, too new. The place looked vanilla, bland and lacking in character. He'd wanted a house in the historical distract, a fixer-upper where he could putter on weekends. But in the end, he gave in because he didn't care that much and he wanted her happy. Sean claimed the den and she appropriated the garden room, and they saw each other seventeen minutes a day.
Sean shut those thoughts off as he threw some things into a bag. Too late for regret. Once packed, he dialed a friend, best photographer at the Herald, on his cell phone. He got voice mail, so he left a message.
"Wes, it's me. Need you to take check on the place for me now and then. The spare key's still in the usual place. Both of us are going to be away for a while.” He paused, feeling like he needed to say something else, conscious of a burgeoning anticipation of life-altering events. “Take care, man."
That wasn't what he wanted, and there was an odd finality to his tone that bothered him. Stupid, he mocked himself, shouldering the bag. He'd rather get on the road than sit around here driving himself crazy, so he locked up and went out through the garage. His black Mazda truck could use a washing; maybe he'd do that before heading to Richmond airport.
And while he sat watching it run through Mighty K
leen, Wes called him back. “You sounded weird. Is this job related? I thought you were supposed to be on vacation."
"Working on it,” he answered. “I'll be in the air by midnight."
"Look at you, a poster-boy for modern marriage,” Wes teased, as the attendant pulled the Mazda around front, buffed and gleaming.
"Huh?” He fixed the phone between neck and shoulder as he tipped the man and climbed into his truck.
"Taking separate vacations...” The other man trailed off like he was thinking better of the joke.
Sean sucked in a breath. Without looking in the rearview mirror as he pulled onto Riverside Avenue, he knew his face looked tight, angry, mouth compressed into a thin, white line. He forced a laugh.
"Yep, modern as the GPS in your Escape. How's that thing run anyway?"
Wes accepted the change of topic. “I like it. Connie loves it, and I get to brag about how green-friendly I am when people bitch about me driving an SUV."
"Glad to hear it. Tell your better half I said hi. I'll be out of touch for a while, by the way, doubt I'll get reception where I'm going.” He cut the call before Wes could ask what he meant.
Taking a long look at his cell phone, he turned the damn thing off and threw it onto the seat beside him. The truck roared as he mashed his foot on the gas, heading for open highway. Less than an hour to Richmond, and then he'd hang around the airport, people-watching.
He'd always liked speculating about where they were going and what they were up to. Hopefully, it'd make him forget, at least for a while, that he had the same questions about his wife. One hand on the wheel, he dug through his collection of CDs and then fed Tommy to the stereo. Nothing like rock opera when your world's falling apart.
At the end of this trip, he'd have some answers, like them or not.
Chapter Two
He was going to be trouble, Addie just knew it.
When he pulled into the fresh gravel of the parking lot in his shiny silver Mercury Milan, she expected him to turn around. People did that occasionally—easy enough to lose your bearings out here—and she didn't mind anymore. No, the bed and breakfast was thriving these days, although they still didn't have any guests.
Instead, he popped the trunk and shouldered an army green duffel bag. He strode past the new landscaping Addie was so proud of, ignoring the rock garden at the center, ringed with the Easter lily cactus, grape hyacinth and purple coneflower, but she couldn't believe he didn't even spare a look for the desert willow. Now that she had a little cash for upkeep, she remembered why she'd stayed here, despite everything. Nothing came closer to heaven on earth than the night sky, glittering with stars.
She'd planted herself everything to save money, broke her back over it in March, but it was worth it. Addie had chosen plants that gave their scent to the wind like a kiss, drifting through open windows to spark sensual thoughts. But she didn't know why she'd be thinking along those lines, watching a determined and possibly angry man stalk along the corredor. Soon he'd be inside.
That roused her, and she sprang away from the window as if she'd been peeping on her neighbors, although the closest house lay five miles away. By the time she heard the bell ring, she'd made it to the small office near the front doors. She paused in the doorway, summoning a welcoming smile.
"Welcome to the Grail, our secret flower in the desert. I'm Addie Alger, owner and proprietor.” Well, technically, the deed was in her dad's name, but he wouldn't come out of the cellar unless he smelled brownies, so it wasn't like anyone would dispute her. “Do you have a reservation, sir?"
The stranger's left eyebrow shot up, and he turned with deliberate irony toward the parking lot, where his car sat all by its lonesome. “Do I need one?"
Oh, but he had honey in his voice, low and smooth with a whisper of a drawl. He was tall and broad, a high-school athlete starting to go soft, but still powerful through chest and shoulders. Her heart surprised her by giving a raucous little thump, and Addie had to check herself from thumping back with a curled fist.
Settle down, she told it. You only do that over men who are bad for me. When she noticed the wide gold band on his left hand, she barely managed not to nod in vindication. If only she'd realized this tendency in herself before, she wouldn't have married Fast Eddie Alger, and she wouldn't owe ten thousand dollars to Orchard Bank.
"I suspect we can work you in.” Mostly for show, she tapped a few keys, made a study of the screen, before reaching for a key. “I'll put you in 201, so that the bathroom's right next door."
"The rooms aren't suite style?"
"Our rooms are sweet,” she answered. “But not suites."
She saw him work out the homophone, and then he smiled reluctantly, a slash of white teeth in a sun-bronzed face. With broad, open features and curly dark hair, he wasn't movie-star handsome, but Addie didn't go for that type anyway, except the once. Goddamn Fast Eddie anyway.
He was still smiling. “Right. Do you need my driver's license?"
"If you don't mind.” Damn, it had been so long since she checked in a real guest that she'd almost forgotten how it was done. “I'll also need a credit card or a $200 cash deposit against damages. Our rates are $70 a night during the week and $85 on weekends. I'll give you a discount if you want to book a full week."
"I wish I knew what I wanted,” he answered with a moody twist of his mouth.
"Even if you don't know what you're looking for, you might find it out here."
He looked as surprised as she felt. That sounded like something her mother might have said. She was the one who had the gentle homilies and a subtle charm that made troubled travelers want to stay.
"I'll leave the cash, if you don't mind."
She certainly didn't, although it smelled like he had something to hide. The man handed his driver's license over without elaborating. Sean Duncan, from Sharpeville, Virginia, she noted, typing him into the antiquated registry. This old paperweight ran on DOS, but she'd mostly spent the influx of cash on the house and grounds. They were in the black, finally, but the situation felt oddly precarious, especially with the arrival of this puzzle wearing an LSU t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts.
He looked rumpled, weary, and altogether too tasty for her peace of mind. Then again, living way out here, any man without a peg leg, a glass eye or a hump looked pretty good. Hell, sometimes Manu started looking doable. Anytime she caught herself checking out the Samoan, Addie knew she needed some quality time with her vibrator. But something besides general horniness was bothering her at the moment.
Duncan? Now why does that—
Her sharp inhalation sounded like a hiss in the quiet office. Duncan. It couldn't be a coincidence. He'd leaned up against the doorjamb, watching her work, but now he seemed to be studying her expression a little too intently. Addie's stomach tightened; she'd never imagined anyone would come in person. But why didn't he just ask outright instead of pretending he wanted to rent a room? Well, she'd just have to act like she wasn't up to something shady. Somehow.
"I'll take that deposit now,” she said brightly. “We have a lockbox built into the floor, so your money's safe here."
"Good to know.” He forked over two crisp hundred dollar bills, and she saw they had some friends in his brown leather wallet before he folded it and stuffed it into his back pocket again.
"So how long are you staying with us, Mr. Duncan?"
"Let's just take that a day a time,” he said, flicking a fifty and a twenty her way.
Addie tucked that into the cash box and stepped past him into the refurbished foyer. She'd found it cheaper to drive across the border for pottery and art, livening the place up again little by little. Her dad hated to see her mother's pieces replaced. Addie knew it hurt him, but in some fashion she couldn't articulate, she needed this place to be hers. She needed to dispel the shadows, and new things played an important part in that.
She dropped the key into his palm, and maybe she let her fingertips graze his skin a little too long as she murm
ured, “Take the stairs over there. Your room's easy to find, straight up and to the left. Ring the office if you need anything you don't have. Dinner's in an hour, so you'll have a chance to wash up and rest."
He'd reached the stairs, only half seeming to pay attention, but at that, he turned, bracing against the smooth plaster wall. “No menu?"
Addie shook her head. “This is a place people come when they want something that feels more like home. Your mama doesn't let you look at a menu or boss her around in the kitchen, and neither do I."
She surprised another smile out of him along with a short bark of laughter. “You're right about that. So what're we having?"
"Arrachera a la parrilla, nopales, and fresh fruit,” she told him.
"I'm not even sure what that is.” His sheepish grin made her heart thump again.
"Guess you'll just have to wait and see because I need to get in the kitchen."
He frowned. “Don't you have any help? A woman alone in a place like this..."
"My dad's downstairs in his workshop,” she said quickly, lest he think he could chop her up and feed her through a wood chipper uninterrupted. “And Manu is probably already out back, warming up the grill."
With that, she headed for the kitchen and heard his tread on the solid stairs that wrapped around to the second story. Addie found Manu out back, tinkering with the charcoal, as predicted. The air smelled of possibility and mesquite, and she inhaled deeply, turning her face up toward the night sky. He seemed happier these days, and he did enough work that she'd felt compelled to offer him wages.
"You marinated the skirt steaks?” Manu never used ten words if five would do.
She nodded. “Overnight. I used chilies, lime juice, onion and garlic."
"Should be good."
"We have a guest,” she told him, stepping back into the kitchen to get started on the nopales. “He'll be down for dinner."