When he was finished, Michael laughed. “Ah, a tragic fire, an unexpected hurricane and the legend of an old salty sailor, definitely the stuff that breeds curses.” He turned his attention back to Britta. “But I do want to apologize for sending you here. I thought it would be a good fit, but obviously I sent you into some kind of danger.”
“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t know that something bad would happen to me,” she said. She didn’t blame him for the missing four days. She didn’t blame anyone but herself for being foolish enough to go out alone on a fog-shrouded night.
Michael drained his coffee cup and stood. “And speaking of the inn, I should probably get back there. It’s getting late.”
Ryan and Britta also got up from the table and followed the FBI agent to the door. “What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asked Ryan.
“I’m not sure. I thought we might head out to the docks and ask some more questions there,” Ryan replied. “What about you?”
“I may just wander a bit, get a feel for the place. How about I come by around seven tomorrow evening and we can compare notes.”
Ryan nodded. “Sounds good.”
They said their good-nights and then Michael Kelly left.
“I don’t like him,” Britta announced.
Ryan looked at her in surprise. “What’s not to like?”
“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling. I especially didn’t like it when he touched my hand.”
“Maybe subconsciously you blame him for all that’s happened to you?” Ryan suggested.
“Maybe.” She sank onto the sofa. “Or maybe it’s just because I’m still a little shaken up by what happened this morning.” And by their lovemaking, she mentally added, but knew now was not the time to explore all her feelings where Ryan was concerned. Nor was it time to tell him that she had every intention of their lovemaking happening again.
“We should probably get to bed. I’d like to start out early in the morning. If we’re going to talk to some of the fishermen, then we need to get an early start,” Ryan said.
She nodded, stood and started for the bedroom, then paused and looked back at him. “Ryan, sooner or later we’re going to have to talk about us, and don’t even try to tell me there wasn’t an ‘us’ in the past.” She didn’t wait for his response, but instead went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.
It seemed to take her forever to fall asleep, but she awoke before dawn. The scent of coffee riding the air let her know Ryan was already up and about.
A peek out the window let her know it was going to be a dismal day. A thick fog blanketed the earth. She knew it would take hours of sunshine to burn it off, and on most days sunshine was in short supply in Raven’s Cliff.
She took a quick shower, and minutes later as she stood before the bathroom mirror drying her hair, a vision unfolded in her mind. She was in the gazebo and a man approached. He was friendly and they exchanged pleasantries. He came closer and suddenly he pressed a cloth against her nose. Then nothing.
The memory was very clear. She could feel the moist warmth of the fog surrounding her and the terrifying pressure of the cloth suffocating her. What she couldn’t remember, what she couldn’t get a picture of no matter how hard she tried was the man.
She finished drying her hair, then went into the kitchen where Ryan was seated at the table with a cup of coffee before him. “I was abducted from the gazebo that night. It was definitely a man and he covered my nose and mouth with a cloth soaked in chloroform or something like that. I just had a vision while I was standing in the bathroom.”
“I don’t suppose that vision included the name and address of the man responsible,” he said with a touch of wry humor.
“Afraid not.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. “In fact, it didn’t even give me a picture of the man’s face.”
“Did you talk to him? Do you think you’d know his voice again if you heard it?”
She joined him at the table and grabbed a strand of her hair and twirled it around her finger. “I know we talked small talk, but I don’t remember his voice at all. Isn’t that strange?”
“Maybe strange, maybe not.” He took a sip of coffee, then placed the cup back on the table. “The doctor told us that one of the properties of the Stinging Flower drug was a high suggestibility.”
Britta stared at him as comprehension struck. “So you think maybe this man hypnotized me so I wouldn’t remember anything about him.”
He shrugged. “It’s possible.”
She could tell there was something else on his mind. “What are you thinking?” She dropped her hand from her hair and leaned forward in her chair.
“I’m wondering if maybe some other kind of hypnotic command was planted in your head.”
“Like what?”
He curved his hands around his cup. “I don’t know, but you definitely looked as if you were in a trance yesterday when you walked into the ocean.”
“That’s a frightening thought,” she replied. “Why would somebody plant that kind of command in my brain? For what purpose?”
He leaned back and frowned. “I don’t know, it’s just one more mystery in a host of mysteries this place has to offer. And speaking of this place, we need to get moving. These fishermen won’t remain docked for long.”
“Just let me finish my coffee and I’ll be ready,” she replied.
It was just after seven when they left the cottage. The smokelike miasma still shrouded everything, making visibility difficult.
“I doubt if many fishermen are out this morning,” she said.
“They’ll be out. They just won’t be on their boats. But the minute this fog lifts they’ll be sailing. That’s why I wanted to get an early start.”
It took them only minutes to arrive at the docks where Ryan parked and they got out of the car. Britta fought the impulse to reach for Ryan’s hand as the pounding of the waves resounded in her ears and the tangy scent of brine became nearly overwhelming.
The last time she’d been this close to the ocean, she’d walked into it. Why would she have done such a thing? Maybe Ryan was right, maybe somehow a hypnotic command had been planted in her head while she’d been drugged.
As if he read her thoughts, Ryan reached for her hand and closed his fingers around it tightly. She gave him a grateful smile.
Through the veil of the fog she saw a couple of old picnic tables and a group of men seated at them. One of the older men greeted Ryan with a smile. “Well, if it isn’t Texas back again and it looks as if you found your lady.”
Ryan returned the smile. “That’s right. Guess the weather has you grounded this morning, Captain Claybourne.” Britta noticed Ryan’s Texan drawl had emerged.
“That’s a fact,” the old man said.
“Hopefully this will burn off by midmorning and we can get out on the water,” a younger man replied.
Ryan introduced three of the men to Britta. Captain Claybourne, Sam Lanier and Alex Gibson all made their living from the sea.
“Want to sit for a spell?” Captain Claybourne asked, and scooted over on the splintery bench.
“No, thanks. We’re just out here asking some questions about my girl here, Valerie. She seems to be suffering some memory loss and we’re just checking to see if anyone remembers seeing her around the area last week. I know I showed you all her picture, but I figured the real thing was better than any photo,” Ryan replied.
“I’d remember her if I’d seen her,” Captain Claybourne said, his eyes twinkling with good humor.
“You found her, so all’s well, right? We have bigger things to worry about,” Sam said, his face mournful. “There’s talk that people are getting sick and it’s the fish we’re bringing in making them so.”
“Dr. Jamison at the clinic mentioned something about people getting sick,” Britta said.
“It’s just idle talk,” Claybourne said. “Nobody knows for sure what’s making those folks ill. You know it’s probably one of those fore
ign flu bugs. Every year there’s talk about the Asian flu or the Hong Kong flu. People get sick and that’s that.”
“It’s the curse,” the young sailor named Alex said, his voice low. “Captain Earl Raven’s curse is going to destroy us all.”
The fog seemed to thicken around them and Britta couldn’t help the shiver of apprehension that edged through her.
Chapter Twelve
It had been another frustrating day. They’d wandered the streets, going in and out of specialty-food stores and quaint little gift shops. They’d spent an hour in one of the pubs, sipping a beer and hoping for what? An odd look? A gasp of surprise that would identify the guilty?
They had finished up the day by eating dinner at a place called the Cove Café, where the owner had introduced herself as Dorothy Chapman. She’d been a friendly blonde with warm blue eyes and obviously well liked by everyone who’d come into the café.
But ultimately frustration gnawed at Ryan as he unlocked the cottage door and they went inside. As far as he was concerned, this was a useless waste of time. He should forget about Britta’s missing four days and just get her settled someplace else.
There was a strong possibility that they would never get answers to the mystery of what had happened to her during those days she couldn’t remember.
“Want me to make some coffee?” she asked as they got inside.
“I’d rather have a stiff drink, but yeah, coffee will work.”
As she got busy, he threw himself in one of the kitchen chairs, his mind going over what little information they had. A man had taken her, he’d kept her for four days and injected her with a drug that had probably been locally made. He’d then dressed her in a white gown and a seashell necklace and let her go? Or had she somehow managed to escape her captor and wound up wandering the Beacon Manor lighthouse?
He watched her work, noting the fit of her jeans around her shapely butt, the long legs that had wrapped him close and held him tight. As she turned to face him she offered him one of the smiles that warmed him someplace deep inside, in a place he rarely accessed.
Was it possible he was intent on staying here and attempting to get answers to impossible questions simply to spend more time with her?
Certainly aside from the frustration he felt at not getting any answers to their questions that day, he had to confess to himself that he’d enjoyed the time they’d spent together.
She poured them each a cup of the coffee and sat at the table next to him. “We seem to be spending a lot of time at the table, drinking coffee,” she observed.
“Yeah, well, there’s not much else to do in the evenings.” Ryan checked his watch. “Michael should be here in a few minutes for an update. Maybe he’s had more luck at finding answers than we have so far.”
She frowned. “I still can’t shake that creepy feeling he gave me last night.”
Ryan smiled. “Maybe it’s because he scared the hell out of you by peeking in the window.”
“Maybe,” she agreed with a touch of uncertainty in her voice. She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes staring into his with an intensity that made him shift uncomfortably in his chair.
How easily he could fall into those pale blue eyes of hers again. But he couldn’t allow himself to do that. He’d been a fool to make the same mistake twice.
Thankfully at that moment there was a knock at the door, and Ryan answered it and ushered Michael inside. Michael greeted Britta then joined them at the table.
“It’s interesting. Part of the economy of Raven’s Cliff comes from tourism, but I found the locals pretty tight-lipped with strangers,” he said. “What little I learned was a bunch of history about the curse and the town. Did you know that the original lens in the lighthouse is constructed of a rare gemstone that supposedly has mystical and healing powers?”
Ryan shook his head. “Nope, didn’t know that.”
“I also heard that for years on the anniversary of Captain Raven’s shipwreck he’d row out and place flowers on the rock where his ship and his family went down. They say that when the lighthouse beam shone on the rocks where his family was lost, people swear they saw the ghosts of his wife and children.”
“Everybody loves a good ghost story,” Ryan replied.
Michael took a sip of his coffee, then continued, “Have you been out to Beacon Manor?”
“No, we’ve seen it up on the bluffs, but we haven’t been up there,” Britta said.
“It’s a beautiful place,” Michael said. “It’s a two-story brick mansion with formal gardens and a pool house and private beach. Must have really been something in its day. Even though you can see some of the damage from the hurricane that hit this area, the house is still amazing. You know it was at one time the home of the bad boy who didn’t light the beacon when he was supposed to.”
“Nicholas Sterling III,” Ryan said.
“Yeah, I’ve heard conflicting rumors about him. Some believe that he burned to death along with his grandfather the night of the fire. Others think he jumped from the top of the lighthouse and drowned.” Michael cocked his head and directed his attention on Britta. “Kind of weird, isn’t it, that Nicholas Sterling started the curse by not lighting the lighthouse when he was supposed to and you found Britta wandering the lighthouse?” he said.
“A strange coincidence,” Ryan replied, although it was a coincidence that bothered him.
“I also heard that people are getting sick around here,” Michael continued.
“We heard the same thing,” Britta said. Ryan noticed that her eyes were a pale cool blue as she gazed at Michael. “We haven’t met before?” she asked.
Michael frowned. “Not before yesterday. But we did speak on the phone several times to get you set up to come here.” He smiled suddenly. “You know how it is, we FBI agents all look alike.” His smile fell. “Are you all right?”
Ryan looked at Britta worriedly as she began to twirl a piece of her hair. “I’m just tired,” she said, and broke her eye contact with Michael.
“If you don’t have any other information, maybe we should call it a night,” Ryan said. She did look tired, he thought. The days were beginning to wear on her. If they could just get a break, a lead of some kind to follow.
Michael stood, obviously aware that it was time to leave. “Get some rest, both of you,” he said as Ryan walked him to the door. Britta remained at the table.
Michael opened the door but turned back to look at Ryan. “Have you thought that maybe it’s time to get her out of here? She doesn’t look so good. Maybe the stress of this whole situation is getting to her. I can have her relocated within a couple of days.” He kept his voice low so Britta couldn’t hear him.
Ryan hesitated, weighing his personal desire against what was best for Britta. “I still want her here,” he finally replied.
He told himself this was what was best for her, that until he understood why she’d walked into the sea the day before he wasn’t willing to cut her loose. He needed to know what was going on with her, what had happened to her while she’d been in the clutches of whoever had taken her.
Michael shrugged. “Okay, it’s your call for now. Has she remembered anything else?”
“Nothing about the missing time, but she’s getting bits and pieces of the shoot-out. I think it’s just a matter of time before she remembers everything.”
“Good. If she can eventually identify the shooter of our agent, then we’ll have new evidence to present and will need her in court again.”
“Right now we’re just taking things one day at a time,” Ryan replied.
Michael grinned. “It’s the only way we can take them.”
The two men said their goodbyes, and Ryan locked up behind him, then returned to the kitchen where Britta still sat at the table staring out the window where the darkness had become profound.
He saw the strain on her face, the tension that held her shoulders rigid. Maybe it was time to get her out of here. Maybe he was being selfish in keeping
her here.
“Michael thought it would be best if we relocate you as soon as possible,” he said as he leaned against the doorjamb.
“I don’t want to leave here until I know what happened to me,” she replied, not taking her gaze from the window.
Her words soothed his conscience somewhat. “You ready to call it a night?” he asked from the doorway.
She turned to look at him, her eyes filled with a light that instantly put him on edge. “No, I’m ready for you to take me into the bedroom and make love to me again.”
“I told you that last night was a mistake and it wasn’t going to happen again,” he replied.
“Why? According to what you told me we were lovers before. You said we both knew the score, that there was no future. We were just wasting time together. Well, I feel like wasting some more time with you again.”
Every muscle in his body tensed as she got up from the table and walked toward him. Her sexy rolling-hip walk made every muscle in his body tense.
“What makes you think I’m even interested in making love with you again?” he asked.
“Oh, you’re interested,” she said with a woman’s confidence. Seduction was in her eyes, in the curve of her lips as she smiled at him. “I can tell by the look in your eyes. What are you afraid of, Ryan? You told me it was all good between us before, no harm, no foul, just a fling between two consenting adults.”
He wanted to take back the lies he’d told her, lies that had her believing they could have an intimate relationship and nobody would get hurt. He knew better.
Maybe he was being ridiculous in thinking he’d only break her heart again. It was possible when they’d parted before by the next day she’d gotten over the hurt of him saying goodbye.
All these thoughts whirled around in his head as she moved closer…closer still. The familiar scent of her perfume drifted toward him, the floral scent stirring his senses with pleasure.
With the Material Witness in the Safehouse Page 12