Heat Wave

by Jill Marie Landis

  Ty hung up, his eyes were bleak, his mouth set in a hard, determined line.

  “Bad news?” She wiped her fingers on a paper napkin and waited for him to explain.

  “Amy’s dead.” His voice sounded thick. He had trouble swallowing and cleared his throat. “She died eight years ago.”

  No stranger to hurt, she wanted to reach out but she was out of practice. Tentatively, she touched the back of his arm, hoping to communicate her sympathy.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  “So am I.” He turned toward the window. She followed his gaze. There was no sign of the hawk.

  Young love, first love. Old memories with the power to fuel fantasies and what-ifs that last for a lifetime.

  Ty’s first love was forever gone. There would be no chance of a reunion, no communication with Amy, if and when he found their child.

  “Did they know anything about the child?” She tried to draw him out of his dark mood.

  He nodded, looking into a shaft of sunlight streaming through the window. She let him have his moment. Finally, he shot up and started pacing back and forth.

  “Amy had the baby at River Ridge. All the Simmonses know for certain is that she gave birth to a girl, sometime in September of eighty-four. She named the baby Sunny. The first they’d heard of the birth of their granddaughter was eleven years later, when one of her friends called to tell them that Amy had o.d.’d.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, stopped pacing, and stared down at Kat without really seeing her.

  “What happened to the little girl?” She’d been picturing a boy child, one who looked just like Ty with striking dark-blue eyes and dark hair.

  “The residents of River Ridge were busted for drug dealing by the authorities shortly before Amy died.”

  Ty finally sat down heavily in the chair beside her. “When the place was raided, the children were placed in various foster homes in L.A. County. The Simmonses tried to trace Sunny but by the time they got word, she was already lost in the system. Their case got bogged down and they didn’t have the money to pursue it.”

  “They didn’t think to contact you?”

  “They called my mother.” His hand fisted on his knee. “I can’t believe she didn’t help them. She always fought for worthy causes, raised money to save old buildings, and solicited funds for civic beautification. She had no love for Amy, but I can’t believe she turned her back on her own grandchild.” His eyes were dark with anger, shadowed by guilt. He shook his head, mumbled a curse and added, “I thought I had my mother all figured out. What a joke. I never really knew her at all.” Kat took a deep breath, hoping to get him to calm down enough to relate the rest of his conversation with the Simmonses.

  “Do they know if Sunny was ever adopted?” She doubted his daughter ever had a chance at a real home life. Adoptive parents wanted infants, babies with no past, no memory of their birth mothers or previous lives to overcome. They certainly didn’t want an eleven-year-old raised by druggies in a communal situation.

  “The Simmonses have no idea what happened to her.”

  It might be better if he stopped looking, because at this point, there was no telling what he’d find, but the hope and determination in his eyes stopped her from saying so. Besides, she would try to move heaven and earth if it were her own daughter she was looking for, no matter what she might find.

  Unwanted emotion welled up inside her and threatened to spill over. Her eyes smarted with tears. She quickly looked away and grabbed her coffee mug.

  “Hey.” Finally, she was in control again. “It’s not over till it’s over.” He looked at her, but he wasn’t smiling anymore. “So what’s next?”

  “Sunny’s last name would help.”

  “They had no idea. We could try Simmons, or Chandler.”

  “Did the Simmonses indicate whether or not Sunny was a nickname?”

  “No. That’s all they know.”

  He was a bundle of nervous energy. When he wasn’t using the keyboard, he was checking out every pen in the holder or lining up paperclips.

  “Do you ever sit still?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Somehow I figured that out.”

  “Your investigative skills are astounding.”

  “You’re stuck in here for now, so let’s get to it. If you really want to find your daughter, you’re going to have to settle down and help.”

  He stared at her intently, then nodded. “Just tell me what to do.” They ran birth and death records for Sunny Simmons but came up empty-handed. She had him send off an email to reunionnetwork.com, a website that connected adoptees and their birth parents.

  He sobered even more when she had him bring up the Social Security death index.

  Two hours flew by and by the time they checked out ancestry.com, her stomach was growling and her butt was numb.

  “I can’t sit here anymore.” Ty shoved away from the desk just as she was about to suggest they take a break. He gave her a half smile.

  “Okay, let’s stop.” It was almost four.

  He leaned back, stared at the screen saver.

  “Is there really any hope, Kat, or am I just kidding myself and wasting your time?”

  She had hoped this would be an easy find, that all they’d have to do was make a couple of calls and Ty would find his daughter. It worked that way sometimes, but not often enough.

  “We can go other routes. Misdemeanor criminal records.” She watched him blanch. “Filings of civil cases. Marriage licenses.” She had planned to call Jake later, just to check in and tell him everything was going fine.

  She decided to run the details of Ty’s case by him, hoping he might have some other ideas. She looked at Ty and said, “I’m beat. Let’s call it a day.”

  His eyes filled with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Just tired of sitting. We’ve covered a lot of ground.”

  They both stood. She walked him to the front door, and when they stepped outside, the breeze off the ocean rejuvenated her almost immediately.

  “I probably should go back and see if there are any new reservations posted,” he said. “What time should I pick you up?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m fixing you dinner.”

  “I don’t recall you asking me to dinner.”

  He shrugged. “You need to eat.”

  “I make it a habit never to go out with clients.”

  “I didn’t say anything about it becoming a habit. I’d just like to show you around town and make you dinner.”

  “A tour of Twilight Cove takes all of five minutes. Besides, you’re too late. Jake and Carly already did that.”

  “Are you calling Twilight small?”

  She found bickering with him immensely enjoyable. “Is it even on a map?”

  “Depends on which map you’re looking at. I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”

  “Hold it right there, Mr. Chandler.”

  He paused on the top step. The breeze coming up the canyon ruffled his dark hair. “I don’t give up easily, Ms. Vargas.”

  “I don’t go out with clients.”

  “Are you telling me you don’t meet with clients to discuss a case?”

  She hesitated. “We’ve already discussed it. Call me tomorrow. Jake’s number is in the book.”

  He threw her the kind of smile that no doubt brought weaker, less determined women to their knees.

  “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll have to share all the fresh fish I was going to barbeque with my neighbor.”

  Her mind flashed on Jake’s refrigerator. There was nothing in it but a collection of condiments and the few start-up supplies that Carly left her; a carton of watery nonfat milk, some fruit, a couple of yo
gurts, a sadly dried-out baked chicken, and half a loaf of bread.

  Had he tried to tempt her with dinner at a fancy restaurant, a bouquet of flowers, or a box of candy, none of them would have worked like his offer of barbequed fresh fish.

  At heart she was still an island girl raised on fresh ahi, mahi-mahi, ulua, ono. And she was the only one of her father’s daughters who truly loved fishing. She adored spending hours bobbing on the open water waiting for a strike, motoring miles out to sea, following the birds to schools of fish.

  It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

  “What kind of fish?”

  “I caught a thirty-pound yellowfin tuna yesterday afternoon. It’s been on ice since. I’m headed home to filet it.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and sounded quite proud of himself.

  Kat sighed. She was here for a little R&R, and Jake had advised her to get out, to meet people, to give the local guys a chance.

  The offer of fresh yellowfin tempted her into spending time alone with Ty as much as the thought of getting to know him better.

  “Okay. I give up. Pick me up at six-thirty.”

  She ignored the flash of victory in his eyes, but not the spike in her heartbeat when he smiled.

  Chapter 4

  DINNER. THAT’S IT. Dinner and polite conversation.

  Kat made that her mantra before she opened the front door to Ty again a couple of hours later.

  He offered her what looked like a folded map. “You look great.”

  “Thanks. What’s this?” She noticed the warmth of his hand when their fingertips met.

  “A map of Twilight. Just to prove it’s on one. Thought you might need it. It lists the stores and shops in town, and historic sites, too.”

  “Thanks.” She was surprised by his thoughtfulness. He was making himself way too easy to like.

  He drove through Twilight, down Cabrillo Road where the shops were full and lines of tourists waiting for tables spilled out of crowded eateries. Through quiet residential neighborhoods they passed all manner and style of homes, from nondescript stucco boxes to Craftsman, California ranch, Tudor, and even a few Victorians.

  As he pointed out the town’s most prominent features—the Plaza Park on the bluff, his favorite ice-cream parlor, a shuttered, turn-of-the-century hotel on the coast road—there was a hint of pride in his tone, as if he’d founded the place himself.

  When Ty turned down a narrow dirt road with a handful of older cottages built on lots covered with sand and succulent ground cover, she fought a tinge of uneasiness.

  The houses thinned until there was only one left standing alone on the point against the panoramic view of the Pacific. The view was as spectacular as the one from Lover’s Lane, and the area was just as isolated. She felt more than a twinge of uneasiness.

  Could I have read him wrong? Trusted him because he seemed like a nice guy? Why is he stopping out here?

  “Don’t you think it’s a little early in the game to bring me to a make-out spot, Chandler?” Kat tried to keep her tone light, but she was dead serious.

  Ty frowned, puzzled for a second, then threw back his head and laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Vargas, but this is where I live.”

  Blushing again, she turned her face to the window as he pulled into a driveway beside a two-story, wood-shingled cottage with a bay window on the first floor and a small deck off the room upstairs. The house faced the spectacular view.

  Like the handful of other homes situated along the road, this one was on the edge of the point and had been buffeted by the wind, baked by the sun, beaten by years of salt air and sea spray that drifted up from the rocks below the cliff. Like a wizened old man it remained proud, almost defiant, though a bit faded and worse for wear.

  The peeling wood trim needed a new coat of white paint. Here and there some of the shingles were cracked or missing, but Kat loved it at first sight, from the old mast in use as a flagpole in the overgrown flower garden, to the faded red front door at the end of the crooked stone walk.

  A white picket fence surrounded the yard. The roofline sagged like the back of an old nag. A dilapidated garage stood off to one side.

  She hit the car door handle before she realized Ty was already headed around to open the door for her. He stood back while she stepped out and took in the setting.

  “My great-great-great-grandfather built this place in the eighteen-forties.”

  “It’s really charming.” Eager to see the inside, Kat was astounded by how much she liked the feel of the place.

  She tried to ignore the warm touch of his hand on her waist as he opened the gate and let her lead the way up the flagstone path. The front door was a rustic footnote to all of the rest. A small brass porthole had been set into its weathered planks.

  The door was unlocked, reminding her of the way things were when she was growing up on Kauai. She stepped inside and found herself surrounded by wood-paneled walls covered with photos and memorabilia of Twilight Cove.

  Old shop signs, framed topographical maps of the California coastline, wooden pulleys and thick rope, nautical clocks and barometers were on display beside cork carvings of ships at sea. A bare-breasted mermaid that once proudly adorned the prow of a ship now hung on the wall above a wide-screen television.

  “You could give tours. It’s like a museum in here.” Kat turned full circle. It would take hours to see everything.

  “Not likely.” Ty shrugged. “It’s just old family memorabilia. My great-great-great-grandfather settled Twilight and named the town. The story goes that he was on the run from the law back East, and when he got to California he jumped ship. He married the daughter of a wealthy Spanish landowner, and through that marriage acquired quite a bit of land along the coast. He’d been the ship’s chandler, so he took Chandler as his name. We’ve no idea what our real family name was. He took it to his grave.”

  She walked to a side table covered with various-shaped jars filled with colored beach glass, and her thoughts drifted back to Kauai. Her mom had kept glass containers of all shapes and sizes full of beach glass that she’d collected on the windowsill in the kitchen, where their muted colors were highlighted by sunlight. She once had her own collection, but she’d left it behind with everything else when she moved to Long Beach.

  She picked up a small jar, studied the bits of frosted color inside. “Did you collect these?”

  “My grandmother did. Sometimes I can’t resist picking a piece up myself when I see a good one.”

  “Some of the best places to hunt for beach glass on Kauai are secret.”

  She’d half expected a few awkward silences, some moments when they’d be ill at ease, but there were no such lapses. He told story after story about the town, reverently relating his family history. It was impossible not to notice his pride, and yet he wasn’t in the least boastful.

  She sipped wine and watched him put together a crisp green salad, garlic bread, and sliced red and gold bell peppers to grill along with the yellowfin.

  She found herself more relaxed than she’d been in a long while. His voice was as smooth and warm as good brandy. His eyes were constantly straying to her lips, his gaze colliding and locking with hers.

  Her heartbeat was erratic by the time she held the door for him and he carried the dishes out to the brick patio lined with terra-cotta pots filled with geraniums, impatiens, petunias, and rosemary.

  The only drawback to the perfect setting was the tinkle of an old glass wind chime hanging in the branches of a dwarf lemon tree nearby.

  The house was situated so that the sea and a showy, smog-tinted sunset took center stage. As if he’d choreographed the moment, Ty poured two glasses of wine in time for a toast as the blazing sun kissed the horizon. They watched until it sank out of sight, leaving behind a sky stained bright pink and hot orange.

/>   In the glow of twilight, Ty lit the hurricane lamp in the center of the table while she took a sip of wine and closed her eyes. The sun was still shining in Hawaii. In three hours’ time, it would set again in the islands.

  “Are you all right?” His concern sounded genuine.

  She opened her eyes. He had leaned closer. She finally found her voice.

  “I’m fine. How about some of that yellowfin?”

  He filled her plate, made certain she had everything she needed, waited until she took the first bite. The fish was fresh, firm, grilled to perfection. Pure ecstasy.

  “Fabulous.” She sighed and quickly forked another piece. “You really caught this yourself?”

  He nodded, took another sip of wine. “I just bought my own boat. Keep it moored over at Gull Harbor a few miles down the road. I try to go at least twice a week.”

  “I used to go fishing with my dad off Kauai.” She stopped abruptly. She’d made it a rule never to talk about her past.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Kat shook her head. “Nothing.”

  He didn’t need to know her story. Like him, she’d lost her first love. Hers wasn’t such a pretty tale, either, but it was no one’s business but her own.

  “You haven’t told me very much about yourself,” he noted.

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “You know all about me and way more than anyone ever needed to know about my family.”

  “You didn’t need much prompting.” She couldn’t help but laugh when he feigned offense.

  “Are you saying I talk too much?”

  She lifted her wineglass for a refill. He obliged, then thoughtfully tore off a piece of buttered baguette for her and set it on the edge of her plate.

  “I can’t help but wonder what happened to your hand.” He picked up his fork again.

  “I ended up between an irate wife with a gun and her cheating husband.” She shrugged it off. “That’s what comes of getting involved with clients.”

  “Rest assured I have no intention of shooting you.”