Pelican Pointe Boxed Set Books 1 - 3 (A Pelican Pointe Novel)
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“Then where is he, Murphy? Ferguson’s is closed on Sunday. In fact, Ferguson is standing right behind you. I knew it. He’s gone. He didn’t even say goodbye.” She finally let out the choked breath she’d been holding.
“Nick made us remember our hearts. He wouldn’t just leave like that.”
“What are you talking about, Murphy? Made you remember what heart? You aren’t making any sense.”
“Exactly. We lost ourselves for awhile, the whole town did, but Nick brought us back. He made us remember we’re here to help each other. When rough patches hit us, all of us, we save each other from disaster. Nick made us remember how we’re supposed to care for each other as a town, how we should see each other through the rough times. Scott was one of us. Nick reminded us that Scott would have wanted us to help. In fact, he expected better from all of us. We just needed Nick to remind us, to shake us up.”
“Start talking Murphy. You’re starting to scare me.” Truth was, she’d actually gone straight past scared to downright fear.
Murphy sucked in a breath. It wasn’t his place, but what the hell. “Nick was there—in Iraq with Scott. He was with Scott when he died.”
“I know all that. Get to the point.”
“What do you mean…you know? Jordan, Nick blames himself for not being able to get Scott out of the truck fast enough.”
“Oh, God. I was afraid of that. That isn’t what happened at all.” Jordan started to pace the length of the porch. “I knew who he was after that first day. I recognized the name from Scott’s letters. He always mentioned Nick this, Nick that. I was just waiting for him to talk to me, to open up, tell me about it himself. I was trying to be patient, give him time to do it his own way. I knew he must be suffering from post-traumatic stress or survivor’s guilt. I wanted him to talk to me and tell me in his own time, in his own way.”
“Do you know he’s in love with you?”
That had her stopping in mid-pace and turning back to Murphy. “I was hoping. Are you sure?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I have to talk to him, Murphy. Where…”
“He left the church a good thirty minutes ago.” Murphy scratched his head at that, and added, “Maybe he didn’t think you’d want to see him. After all, he felt like he’d failed Scott, maybe he felt like he’d failed you too, and took off.” But that didn’t sound like the guy who had told the congregation he wasn’t about to give up.
“He didn’t fail Scott. Oh, God, Murphy you have to get him back. We’re wasting time just standing around. I have to talk to him, tell him. I have to straighten this mess out.”
Murphy pulled out his cell phone, punched in a few numbers on his speed dial. “Brent, this is the mayor of Pelican Pointe. I need a favor.”
Nick was thirty miles outside Pelican Pointe when he looked in the side mirror and saw the flashing lights of a police cruiser, a county squad car. Damn. He reluctantly pulled to the shoulder and cut the engine on the bike. Removing his helmet, he waited patiently for the deputy to get out of his car and walk up to the motorcycle.
“You Harris?”
“Yeah. Is something wrong? I wasn’t speeding.”
“Got a request to detain you.”
“Detain me? Why? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
Nick crawled off the bike and stood directly in front of the deputy. “What’s going on?” They stood there staring at each other through shaded, reflective sunglasses. Finally, the deputy drawled, “That’s a nice bike. What is that a 2008?”
“Nine,” Nick corrected, beginning to get pissed. Just then, he caught sight of a vintage pickup truck barreling toward them both and watched as it skidded to a stop on the shoulder, spitting gravel everywhere in its wake. Shocked to see Jordan crawl out of the passenger seat, slamming the door, he eyed the deputy. “What’s going on?” And then he realized something might be wrong with Hutton. A sick feeling washed over him.
But the deputy’s lips curved slightly before he tipped his hat to Nick and walked back to his patrol car.
Breathless, Jordan ran up to where Nick stood, threw her arms around his neck. She stood there until he slowly, almost reluctantly put his arms around her waist. “What are you doing here? Has something happened to Hutton?”
Jordan sniffed, “How could you just take off like this without even saying goodbye? I don’t understand you. I thought Hutton and I meant something to you?”
“What?” He ripped off his shades and set her away from him far enough to stare into those brown eyes. “I’m headed into Santa Cruz to see if I can hire some temp workers. I know it might be Sunday but you never know, maybe one of those temporary day labor places might be open. If not, I can always leave a note on one of the doors for them to call me first thing in the morning. With work so scarce these days, I’m hoping they could send us out some temp workers to help with the final four days of preparation, at least get the drywall in.”
Relief engulfed her. “So you weren’t leaving?”
“Leaving? You mean heading back to L.A? No, not until we’ve finished, not until we’re open for business.” But the minute he met her eyes, his breath backed up. Any thought of leaving her now was an absolute waste of time.
She blew out a breath. “This is ridiculous. I’m tired of playing games.” She slipped out of Nick’s embrace and started to pace up and down on the shoulder of the highway in a huff. Good thing traffic was light.
Jordan pushed her hair out of her face. “I knew who you were, Nick. From the very first night, I recognized the name. And even if I hadn’t, I would have eventually recognized your face from the pictures Scott sent home of his unit. The first night you got here, I reread Scott’s letters. You were right there, Nick, in every single one.”
“That’s why you never asked me about my scars. You already knew. Why didn’t you say something?”
“Me?” She looked at him in disbelief. “You didn’t seem ready or willing to open up to me. I kept asking you, prodding you, giving you every opportunity to tell me what was bothering you, to talk to me.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Fact is I didn’t press you because I suspect I didn’t want to talk about it anymore than you did. I don’t think I was ready, just as you weren’t. I didn’t want to hear what you had to say. But don’t for a minute think I didn’t want you here with us, Nick. I just didn’t realize I’d fallen in love with you.”
“You love me?”
“Idiot. Of course I love you. How could I not? You’re such a good man, Nick. But from what Murphy tells me your memories of that day―in Iraq when Scott―died are just plain―wrong.”
He scowled at her. Absently his hand flew to the scars on his chest. “I was there. I ought to know what happened.”
“You’d think you should. But you don’t.”
“Jordan, you don’t understand. I couldn’t save Scott. I tried, but I couldn’t get him out of that goddamned tin can in time. I wasn’t quick enough.”
“See, that’s exactly what I mean, Nick. You were the one wounded.”
“Not at first, not until the thing blew. I should have done something before it blew, reacted quicker. I have to live with that.”
She sent him a sad-eyed look, wondering why his friend, Ben hadn’t forced him to face the truth long before now. But then she realized Nick probably hadn’t spoken about that day to a single soul, not even in therapy to counselors, least of all, to his buddies. “I know what happened, Nick. When someone dies over there they send you a detailed account of what happened whether you want to know it or not. Plus, his commander, a Colonel Marks, came to see me in person. Scott died instantly, Nick. And there was nothing you or anyone could do about it.”
“No, no, that isn’t what happened. I talked to him. He was alive in that Hummer. We had a conversation before…”
Jordan shook her head, denial she thought, as she began to try again to make him see the truth. “I don’t doubt you remember c
onversations with him, Nick. We all remember how Scott loved to talk. But there is no mistake. Scott died instantly from some type of homemade bomb that hit the vehicle.” She took out a piece of paper from her pocket. “I brought the letter. The day you showed up I didn’t know you were the one who had been wounded beside him. But I called Colonel Marks the next day. He verified it was you in the Hummer next to Scott. You’d lost a huge amount of blood. They had to cut you out before the gas tanks exploded. You were the one wounded, Nick. Scott was already gone. Even after they got you to the hospital they almost lost you.”
“He died instantly.” It wasn’t a question, as if reality might at long last be sinking in.
Her breath caught. She started crying. “I’ve no doubt guilt brought you here to me. But I hope to God, you stay because you love us as much as we love you.” Her voice hitched. “The other day Hutton called you Da. She called you that this morning when she asked about Da. Where was Da? I didn’t know what to say to her. I think Scott wanted you to come here, Nick. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
“Jordan, you don’t know the half of it. I promised him I’d take care of you. I’ve made a mess of this whole thing. He knew you were unhappy. He talked about how sad you sounded in your letters. He must have known you needed me.” His voice broke, tears streamed down his cheeks. “He’s the reason I came here, but he isn’t why I fell in love with you. I love you, Jordan. So much that it scares me. I’ve never loved anyone more. But I couldn’t stand to have you thinking about Scott or his death every time you look at me. And that’s what you’ll do. Eventually I’ll be a reminder of how Scott died.”
Hearing that just pissed her off. “You don’t give me a lot of credit, do you? You think I don’t know how different you are from Scott. Believe me, I know. Do you want me to stand here listing all the ways? If I did we’d be here until Hutton starts kindergarten. When I look at you, when you touch me the way you do, believe me Nick, the very last thing I’m thinking about is Scott. Do you think for a minute he’d want you to blame yourself for something you had no control over? Nick, no one’s blaming you, except you. If you can’t see how much I love you, then I feel sorry for you.”
“Marry me. I want us to have more kids, a brother or a sister for Hutton.”
Jordan slumped with relief. Finally, she’d gotten through. She smiled and took his hand, walked to the bike. “Then you’ll have to come home, Nick, back to The Cove where you belong. Hutton and I need you to come home.”
He reached for her then, molding her body to his and kissed her with everything he had.
Epilogue Book 1
“You’re choking me,” Nick snapped, as Ben Latham first tightened, and then straightened the black tie around the collar of Nick’s starched white dress shirt.
As best man, Ben brushed off the shoulders of the black tuxedo Nick wore and told him, “Buck up. You don’t want your tie coming undone during the ceremony.”
“As if. It feels like you’re tying a noose around my neck.”
“Is that a figure of speech, or some code the best man is supposed to recognize for ‘I’m getting cold feet, please get me the hell out of here?’ Want me to run interference while you make a break for it?” Ben asked in mock tone, as he took Nick by the shoulders and turned him around to face the full-length mirror on the door in the studio apartment where, hours earlier, the groom’s party had been relegated to fend for themselves.
“No. I’d just like to have enough air left in my lungs to say ‘I do’ when the time comes that’s all.”
“Bitch and moan, bitch and moan. You finally find a beautiful woman who’s willing to set aside your sordid past long enough to marry you and all you do is bitch. Who says there are no miracles left in the world?”
“I can always get another best man, wise ass.”
“Ah, but I keep you on your toes. Why’d both of you decide to change the name of this place anyway? I saw the new sign out front. Promise Cove Bed & Breakfast. Has a nice ring to it.” Just then, Ben took out an envelope from the inside breast pocket of his own tuxedo. “By the way…”
“Aww, you got me a gift certificate. I’m touched.” Nick said absently, as he attempted to fluff some style into his still-long hair with his fingers.
“Not exactly. Something Scott gave me a couple of weeks before he died. At least I think that’s when he wrote it. All I remember is he gave this to me shortly before he, you know, to give to you should anything happen to him and he didn’t make it back. I put it in my gear, forgot all about it. Sheryl came across the envelope the other day going through some of my stuff I brought back from Iraq.”
“But that was more than a year ago.”
“I know. What with you in the hospital and me coming back home to Sheryl and the kids I just tried to put it all out of my head. Last thing I wanted to do was sort through that gear when I got back stateside. But Sheryl found this buried in my duffle, asked me about it.”
Ben handed the envelope off to Nick, but when he saw the scowl on his face, he held up his hands in protest. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I guess Scott must have had one of those premonitions, you know, that he wouldn’t be coming back.”
“You didn’t read it?”
Ben looked insulted. “It isn’t addressed to me now is it?”
Nick ripped it open and took out the single sheet of paper inside. “Is this some kind of a sick joke?”
“Not at all. What’s it say?”
“You know what it says, asshole. Scott didn’t write this.”
“Honest to God he gave it to me.” Ben reached to take the letter back. “You know as well as I do that’s his barely legible scrawl. He had the most God-awful handwriting.”
Nick’s eyes grew wet.
The message read: Take care of my girls, Nick. I know you won’t let me down.
Hidden Moon Bay
Book 2 of The Pelican Pointe Boxed Set
A Pelican Pointe Novel
by
VICKIE McKEEHAN
Welcome to Pelican Pointe
Prologue Book 2
Four months earlier
Chicago, Illinois
Trouble was about to overtake Emile Reed. The interview had not only been a disaster but had run longer than expected. The parking garage had almost emptied out, leaving behind the dim glare of cheap fluorescent lighting.
Not paying attention, her mind on her ruined career, she failed to hear footsteps come up behind her. An arm jerked her back into a hard, muscled chest. Then a huge, sweaty hand covered her mouth. Despite stiffening her body in response, he yanked her backward then sideways, dragging her toward the stairwell.
She fought. She kicked. She did her best to scream, moving her head wildly back and forth, but the huge hand refused to budge. By sheer force he dragged her in the direction of the stairwell. She resisted the only way she could. She dug her heels into the cement to try to stop his progress. But ultimately he was too powerful and manhandled her into the stairwell, shoving her face up against the concrete wall.
The hand over her mouth was replaced with a cold piece of steel at her throat. He slowly turned her around. The knife he held came into focus. A pair of icy, silver eyes stared back at her through the slits of a ski mask.
The second she felt the point of the knife prick her skin, felt liquid trickle down her neck, it crossed her mind if she didn’t find a way to fight she was going to die.
Her assailant tightened his grip.
A raspy voice threatened, “I’m here to make sure you don’t testify. Once I give you a Colombian necktie, no one will come forward to squeal.”
The man stood so close, Emile smelled his stale, cigarette breath. Tattooed knuckles held the shiny weapon with one hand while the other reached to unbuckle the snap of his jeans.
His mouth curled into a sneer. “But first, what do you say we have ourselves a little fun?”
The blade left her throat long enough to slice at the buttons of the Oxford shirt she wore.
Emile brought her knee up, connecting to his crotch. The instant she made contact, the second he doubled over in agony, she closed her fist and with an uppercut to his throat, punched him harder than she’d ever hit anything before in her life.
The man staggered backward.
The second she heard the metal of the knife clang to the concrete, she reached out and shoved him with everything she had the rest of the way down.
She grabbed for the handle on the door. The door came back hard, hitting him in the side of his head. He crumpled to the pavement.
Emile didn’t wait for him to land. She shot out of the stairwell running in three and a half inch Jimmy Choos until her feet protested and her lungs burned. All she could think about was getting away from the stairwell.
And the man sent to kill her.
Now, as she sat inside her little BMW 323, stopped at the light on Lake Shore Drive and the ramp to the expressway, she did her best to stop shaking and catch her breath, tried to calm down.
Absently, she clutched at her tattered shirt with no buttons. She shuddered. Even though it was mid-May and a warm muggy night, she felt like she’d landed on an iceberg. She turned the car heater up to high.
She’d fought. God help her, she’d gotten away.
But for how long? The man sent to kill her, sent to deliver the message, had gotten through. Big time. How long had he been following her through the parking garage? Why hadn’t she noticed him sooner?