by Misha Crews
Caleb stood by the fireplace, one elbow on the mantelpiece. It was a casual pose, but there was nothing really casual about him. He was furious at himself. How could he have let Blake get into such danger? If he had done his job the way he was supposed to, if he had not gotten involved with her, maybe he could have prevented this.
He looked down at her. Blake was sitting on the soft rug in front of the sofa. Her knees were bent and her arms were wrapped around her legs. She hugged herself as if she were trying to hold her world together. She had just finished telling him the whole story from beginning to end for the third time. He had heard about that night at the beach house, about Rube and Greg and some poor sap named Jake. And she'd told him about seeing Greg at the party, and again at the restaurant. Her voice had trembled as she'd recited the tale, but by the time she'd detailed the facts for the third time she seemed calmer. It was like she needed to say the words again and again, to try to understand them herself.
Caleb knew that it was time to tell her the truth about himself. And really, he should have done it long before now. He could only hope that Blake would forgive him, or at least let him help to keep her safe. "This is all my fault," he began, but he got no further than that.
She sprang up and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck. He could feel the warmth of her tears against his skin. "Don't say that – don't even think it. I don't know what I would do if you weren't here right now."
"But I – "
"No," she said emphatically. When she lifted her head, her eyes were dark and lost-looking. "Please don't say it. Even if Rube knew about you and me – and even if he cared, both of which are doubtful – that wouldn't be the cause of all this. This has been coming for a long time. I've just been too blind to see it."
She dropped onto the sofa and cradled her head in her hands.
"Too blind," she repeated. "Too stupid. Too greedy…."
She had no idea what was going on, he realized. But then again, neither did he. He clenched his hands into fists, feeling helpless. "You're none of those things."
Blake looked up at him and smiled bitterly. "And you're too sweet."
She collapsed back against the cushions, staring blankly into space. He could see a war raging inside her – one side was fear and devastation, the other side was strength and the will to survive. Tears were still battening against her eyes, but she held them at bay. "Oh lord, what a mess." She laughed, but it was a hopeless, mirthless sound. "I have absolutely no idea what to do."
"Run." The word was out of Caleb's mouth before he knew that he had spoken.
She blinked. "What?"
He sat down next to her. "Run," he repeated. "And hide. This situation sounds like it's completely out of control. I think you need to get out of town for a while. Go some place where no one can find you. Do you know of any place like that?"
Blake nodded slowly. There were lots of places she could go, if she chose. There was the apartment in New York, or the lodge in Aspen. There were dozens of friends she could stay with. But Caleb wasn't talking about something like that, and Blake knew it. Some place where no one could find her – that meant somewhere that Rube didn't know about. And yes, there was such a place.
"My parents have a timeshare cottage on Clarion Lake, in northern California," she said. "I don't think I ever told Rube about it."
"Will anyone be there?"
"It's only used in the summer. It's pretty far north and right on the water, so it will be cold this time of year. There's no real reason anyone should be up there. It'll definitely be deserted."
"Sounds like exactly the right kind of place. How long will it take us to get there?"
Blake swallowed and made an attempt at humor. "'Us?'"
"You don't think I'd let you go alone, do you?"
And now the tears did flow. He could see them form in the corners of her eyes, flooding the rims of the lower lids and finally spilling over to cut watery tracks down her cheeks. She swiped at them with the back of her hand, but otherwise did nothing to acknowledge their presence. "If we take the scenic route along the Pacific Coast Highway, it will be a long drive – eleven, twelve hours."
"What if we take the short way?"
"Maybe eight hours."
He reached out and took her hand. She squeezed his fingers firmly. Looking into her eyes, he saw strength and vulnerability in equal measure. He saw humor and humanity. He saw beauty and truth. At that moment, he realized he was in love with this woman, and he wanted as much time with her as he could possibly get.
"Let's take the scenic route," he said.
Blake packed quickly. She didn't need much, she realized, just the necessities. From the back of her cavernous closet she pulled her oldest jeans and sweaters, tucking them into the duffel that she'd owned since that first trip to Paris when she was fifteen. She fished an old photo of her parents from the bottom drawer of her nightstand, and put it carefully between thick layers of sweat socks before zipping up the bag. It felt strange but good to leave behind the hair dryer and the two-hundred dollar moisturizer and the fancy clothes. She felt stripped bare of all the elaborate, ornamental layers that she had built up over the years. And that felt fine.
But before she left, she nipped back into the bathroom and grabbed the moisturizer. After all, the air at the lake got awfully dry this time of year. And it was expensive stuff – shame to let it go to waste.
They spent that night in Caleb's hotel room, lying on the cheap sheets, heads resting on thin pillows. They didn't make love, they just held each other close, and that was enough. Although Blake had thought that sleep would be impossible, she soon dropped off, and she slept more soundly than she had in years.
And in the slate-gray hour before dawn, they hit the road.
From Hollywood to Clarion Cove via the Pacific Coast Highway is a long drive, but it's not complicated. Basically, as Blake told Caleb, you get onto the 101 and head west until you see the ocean. Then you turn right and drive for twelve hours.
The first leg of the trip, from Hollywood to Santa Barbara, was a long rush of cold air and an endless blur of white lights. Elephantine malls and microscopic houses resided in the fuzzy land off the highway. Blake was dreamily aware of them, but for a long hour – or was it more? – the only sure reality she knew was the machine beneath her, and the man who was driving it. She rested against him, drawing on the warmth of his body as she peered over his shoulder into the darkness.
They reached the ocean just as the sun was cresting the hills behind them. The Pacific unfurled itself in front of them, a promise of something magical, something fantastic. Blake tightened her grip around Caleb's waist as they roared into the coming day.
The trip northward was like a dream – ocean on the left, mountains on the right. At Gaviota State Park the road cut east, and they went with it, up into the mountains, then back down again.
By the time Blake and Caleb reached the Santa Ynez Valley it was almost noon. They stopped at a diner outside Los Olivos to gas up the bike and have a late breakfast. Caleb picked a table with a good view of all the doors and easy access to an exit. Blake wondered if he was expecting to see a long black limo roll up outside, with mobsters piling out like clowns at the circus. Tension showed in every line of his face, but when he looked at her he smiled confidently, and she could see the strain easing out of him.
Nevertheless, when the waitress arrived at their table they ordered quickly, wolfing their food as soon as it came. They paid the bill with cash and got back on the bike as fast as possible.
Hours rolled by like the miles of asphalt. The scenery was ever-changing – gray-green mountains, dry flatlands, plunging cliffs with frothing waves at their base. The sunshine was a fickle friend, sometimes shining brightly on them, sometimes hiding behind wooly clouds. But despite the capricious sun, and even despite the danger that they were running from, both of them were in good spirits. They talked little – even when speech was possible over the roar of the engine �
�� but they were comfortable with their silence. They leaned into each other, their bodies supporting one another. Blake slid her hand under Caleb's jacket, felt his heart beating and knew that it was beating in time to her own.
Caleb was used to small towns, but he wasn't completely prepared for the little village of Clarion Cove, California. It wasn't much more than a strip mall off the highway, with a series of twisting roads that led into the wilderness, and beyond the wilderness, to the lake.
After stopping for provisions at the general store, they made their way down a long unpaved road to Blake's parents' cottage. Four bungalows sat on the gravel cul-de-sac, close together but separated by high hedges for privacy. All of them were obviously empty. Their windows were dark, the early spring grass was shaggy and unkempt. Everything about them said vacant.
Beyond the houses, the lake was wide and still. The water reflected the gray sky, rippling gently as a cold wind blew across its surface.
Caleb pulled up in front of the house that was farthest to the right, and they dismounted the bike with sighs of relief. Every muscle in Caleb's body was aching, and his knee was so sore it would barely take his weight. He popped a couple aspirin in his mouth and chewed, flexing his joints carefully.
"When you said small, you weren't kidding," Caleb said, looking around. "I like it."
"I didn't always appreciate this place, but I do love it here," Blake said passionately. She gestured northward. "A dozen miles away there's a huge lake community, all built up, with houses nesting around it like fleas on a dog. My folks never really felt the need for a golf course or a country club. They just wanted a little place on a little lake, and that's what they got."
They wheeled Caleb's bike around back and left it snugged up against the back of the house. Blake looked for the hide-a-key in a fake rock by the back door, smiling as she pulled open the screen. "High security," she said to Caleb.
"No kidding."
He followed her into the kitchen, leaving the door open but making sure to put the latch on the screen. He sniffed the air. "The place has been closed up for awhile," he said. "That's good. Means nobody's been around. Of course, it doesn't mean nobody's coming around, but at least we know it's not Grand Central Station."
"I know it seems crazy," Blake said slowly, "but I just realized that I love the way this house smells when it's been closed up. It's dusty and kind of dank, but the smell reminds me of every summer that I can remember, up until the time I turned fifteen. It's like coming home."
"Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. It sure does."
They got to work making the place habitable, pulling dust cloths off of furniture, digging out bed linens from the cedar-lined closet, clearing cobwebs from the corners of the rooms. They moved in tandem and almost in silence, intent on the task at hand. Both of them were apprehensive about what they had run from, but neither wanted to be the one to bring it up.
Blake asked Caleb to put their luggage in her old room. He dropped the two bags on the floor, then turned around, examining the small space. Twin beds occupied one wall, with a shared nightstand between them. On the other side of the room was a small dresser and a smaller closet. Decorations were minimal – as single lamp on the nightstand, an ancient-looking blue vase on the dresser. "How you managed to fit your wardrobe in here when you were a teenager, I'll never know," he called.
When she didn't answer, he went to look for her, and found her washing out the bathtub. Her hair was pulled back. She had no makeup on, and her face was covered with dust. He had never seen her look more beautiful.
"Did you hear me, just now?" he asked.
"No, sorry," she said, wiping her brow on her forearm.
"Probably for the best," he told her. Then he hurried on before she could ask him what that meant. "Hey, don't you think we should use the room with the big bed?"
She shook her head and grinned self-consciously. "I thought about it, but it would be too much like having sex in my parents' bed, and that would just be gross."
"Who said anything about having sex?" Caleb teased.
"Well, how else do you plan to pay your room and board while we're staying here?"
By the time that dusk was falling, they had made the house clean and cozy. Caleb built a fire in the fireplace while Blake heated a can of ravioli on the stove and made a simple salad. She felt sorely in need of a cup of coffee but she wasn't sure that caffeine at this hour was a wise choice. Regardless of how tired she was, anxiety was enough of a stimulant right now.
After they ate, they cleaned up the dishes together, then settled on the floor in front of the fire. Caleb stared into the flames, and Blake wondered if he was mentally assessing their situation, coming up with plans of attack and counter-attack.
"What did you do in the military?" she asked abruptly.
When he looked at her, startled, she tried to soften her question with a smile. "I mean, you were in Special Forces, right?" she asked.
He nodded.
"So, what does that mean, exactly?"
He sighed and propped himself up on one elbow. "For me, it meant mostly reconnaissance."
"You mean, like, spy stuff?"
"Pretty much. There's some place the government wants to get a look at, but we're not supposed to be there. So I sneak in, get the lay of the land, and sneak back out again."
"You make it sound easy."
"Well, it's simple, I guess – straightforward. But easy, it ain't."
She looked into the fire. "It also sounds dangerous."
Caleb nodded slowly. "Danger is definitely a part of it."
"Part of the job, or part of the appeal?"
"Both, I suppose."
Blake didn't want to ask the next question, but she felt that she had to. "Is that why you came along with me? Up here, I mean?"
He looked at her as if she were nuts. "What? Because I'm 'addicted to danger' or something silly like that?"
"Some people do get addicted, I’m sure," she said defensively. "You just said yourself that it's part of the appeal of your job."
"My former job," he corrected. "And maybe some men do get hooked on the adrenaline, but that's not me. When I was twenty it might have been a rush to jump out of airplanes in the dead of night, into enemy territory, not knowing if I'd make it home again. But these days, the most danger I want out of life is driving my bike a little too fast, or maybe – " he grinned " – maybe hooking up with gorgeous blonds who have crazy boyfriends."
She couldn't help but smile in return. "So that is part of the appeal!"
"Your appeal?" he asked. She nodded. "Baby, danger is the least of your appealing traits." He stretched out his hand and ran it over the arch of her hip, down her thigh and then back up again.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked, although she was pretty sure that she could guess the answer.
"I'm thinking that Mulholland Drive isn't the only place in California where you can find dangerous curves."
Trying not to laugh, she brushed his hand away and leaned over to pin him against the rug. "I'm serious," she said.
"So am I," he grinned up at her.
She sat back with an exasperated hmph.
Caleb sighed. "Okay, fine, what is it you want to know? What is it that you think I'm not telling you?"
"It's not that I think there's something you're not telling me, it's just that I can't imagine any man doing what you've done for me. Coming up here with me, making me feel safe…."
Caleb sat up and gently encircled her upper arms with his hands. "I can't imagine any man not doing it."
"But this so isn't your problem. You have nothing to do with this, and you're probably putting yourself in danger for no practical purpose."
Was that guilt she saw flitting across his face? Greg's words, be careful, and his significant glance at Caleb came back to haunt her. She knew what that look meant. In this crazy mess, she didn't know who she could trust. Except that, as she had reminded herself so many times, she did
trust Caleb, it was impossible not to, whether she had a reason or not.
He spoke slowly, carefully. Maybe too carefully. "Being with you is my practical purpose. And right now, it's my only purpose, and it's all that I need."
Was he just telling her what she needed to hear? Blake realized that right now, she didn't care. She leaned forward and kissed him. His mouth was soft and warm against hers. "I want you," she said. Her voice was low, her need evident.
He didn't need any further encouragement. He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed where she'd slept as a girl, dreaming her romantic dreams, innocent and full of expectation.
Their clothes seemed to melt away between their eager fingers. He suckled on her nipples so gently that it made her cry out and grab for him, urging him not to wait. When he entered her, it was with the keen furor of a man on a mission. Their bodies joined, two halves making a whole that Blake already knew she couldn't live without. Their movements were impatient, questing toward the release that both needed so badly. And when they peaked, Blake knew that no matter what happened, she would no longer be happy without this man in her life.
She loved him.
Chapter Eighteen
Dawn arrived slowly, with the sun taking its own sweet time creeping over the eastern hills and sprinkling gentle morning light over the lake. Blake sat at the kitchen table and watched out the window as a small flock of ducks glided across the surface of the water, calm ripples streaming out behind them in an ever-widening wake.
She stirred her corn flakes before lifting the spoon to her mouth. As much as she was enjoying the simplicity of her current surroundings, she couldn't help but wish that her cold cereal was an egg-white omelet stuffed with spinach and shallots. On the other hand, given her present situation she knew she was damned lucky to have corn flakes at all, not to mention the peaceful environment in which she was enjoying them. She took another bite, chewing and swallowing with resolute enjoyment.
Across the table, Caleb was playing with his own bowl. He looked up at her. "You know what this cereal needs?"