by Sandra Brown
After a moment, her eyes moved back to his. They were light brown, flecked with gold. Tiger eyes. And the intensity of that amber gaze shocked her out of her momentary fog. “I’ve got to go. They’ll wonder where I am.”
He let her pass, but said to her back, “I apologize for frightening you. You’ve been put through hell. I don’t want to contribute to your troubles.”
“Then don’t,” she said without turning around. “Stay away from me and my children.”
* * *
Eva Headly barely allowed her husband through the back door before demanding to know where he’d been.
“Nowhere.” He brushed past her and continued down the hallway and into his den.
She followed. “You’ve been gone for hours, Gary. You didn’t answer your cell phone.”
“You’re keeping track? I can’t go out now without asking your permission?”
“Don’t take that tone with me.”
Headly knew better than anyone that Eva, who had the face and disposition of a saint most of the time, was no shrinking violet when riled.
“Are you seeing another woman?”
He gave her a look.
“Well, it happens, you know. Men your age—”
“My age? Now I’m a classification? What, sixty-five to death?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
She stared him down. He was the first to relent. “I didn’t tell you where I was going because I didn’t want an argument.”
She sat down on the upholstered arm of the sofa and looked up at him expectantly, with a listening aspect. He muttered beneath his breath and turned toward the bar. “Want a drink?”
“No. And you’re not having one until you tell me what’s going on. Where did you go?”
He sat down heavily in his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. “I went to Dawson’s place.”
“He’s not there.”
“That’s why I went.” He waited for her to erupt and call him on invasion of privacy, but she surprised him.
“I’m sure you had a good reason for going, knowing full well that he’s in Savannah.”
“Is he?”
“Isn’t he?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. He’s supposed to be, but he’s lying to me, Eva. To us. To everybody, I think.”
“About what?”
“I’m not sure. Something. Everything. I talked to him earlier this afternoon, and he sounded okay, but the conversation was off. When I thought back on it, I realized that his answers didn’t quite fit the questions I asked.”
“You felt he wasn’t being straight with you?”
“I didn’t feel it, I know it.”
“Why would he lie?”
“It might have something to do with this.” From his pants pocket, he withdrew the brown plastic bottle and passed it to her. “Antianxiety drug.”
She uncapped the bottle and shook out a few of the tablets. “I knew something was wrong. First he avoids us for two weeks. Then he shows up looking like a scarecrow. These pills explain it. He’s being treated for anxiety and doesn’t want us to know.”
“I agree with everything you said except the last part. He admitted to me that he’s not sleeping. But he’s not seeing a doctor for the anxiety. Notice there’s no label on the bottle. He’s getting his ‘medication’ from some other source.”
The implication distressed her as much as it had him. “Did you find anything else in his apartment that we should worry about?”
“No. And I felt guilty for being there and pawing through his stuff.”
“Only because you care. Seeing the horrors he saw in Afghanistan affected him more than he wants to admit, even to himself. Should we confront him about it, insist that he see a therapist?”
“He’d just get defensive and deny that he needs one. You know how he is. Mr. Self-sufficient.”
“Which, of course, is something you know nothing about.”
He looked over at her and smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been a grump recently, haven’t I?”
“No, you’ve been a regular son of a bitch. But I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She got up and moved to the arm of his chair, leaned over, and kissed the top of his head. “As for Dawson, he knows that we’re always here for him, and how much we care, and that anything we do or say, it’s for his own good.”
“That’s the hell of it, Eva. That’s what’s eating at me. Knowing that he’s barely hanging on, instead of helping him through it, I sent him to look for Carl Wingert and Flora Stimel.”
Chapter 6
There’s a hot, hot, hot guy sitting at the bar who keeps staring at you.”
Amelia turned her head in the direction Stef had indicated and met Dawson Scott’s steady gaze. Quickly, she came back around, only to notice that everyone else at her table had also turned to look.
“Boys.” She patted the tabletop, bringing their attention back to her. “Finish your dinner, please. It’s getting late.”
Stef fluffed her hair and said, “I’ll be right back.”
Before Amelia could stop her, the younger woman slid from her chair and struck off in the direction of the bar.
“Where’s she going, Mom?”
“Can we go?”
“No! Eat. Grant, your bottom in the chair, please. Hunter, turn around and finish your hamburger.”
Whatever was going on at the bar had grabbed Bernie’s attention, too. To draw him back to her, she gently admonished him. “I saw you carrying boxes out to your car this afternoon. You really should let us help.”
He launched into a diatribe against his bad hip and its probable replacement. “I’ve got an appointment with the orthopedic surgeon soon as I get home.”
Amelia murmured sympathetically and tried to follow everything he was saying about the tribulations of aging, but she was curious to know what was taking place behind her.
She got a fair indication when Bernie stopped talking and became fixated on something behind her. Something tall. About six foot four, if she had gauged correctly.
“Everybody, this is our neighbor,” Stef announced. “He’s staying in the house next door. Alone.”
Amelia didn’t miss the emphasis Stef had placed on that last word, and it was mortifying to know that it probably hadn’t escaped him, either. She had no choice except to turn and acknowledge the introduction. “Hello. Amelia Nolan.” Her tone was polite but cool. Discouraging, she hoped.
“Dawson Scott.”
He extended his hand. She looked at it for several seconds before reluctantly taking it in a quick handshake.
Stef continued the introductions. “This is Bernie Clarkson, Amelia’s neighbor on the other side.”
“Hi, Bernie.” His arm grazed the top of Amelia’s shoulder as he reached across the table to shake hands. “You were rocking that kite today.”
The old man’s face lit up. “You saw that?”
“Hard to miss.”
“Hard contraption to fly, too.”
“Lucky for you, you had these two buccaneers to help.”
To Amelia’s dismay, he rounded the table to address her sons, both of whom had disobediently gotten out of their chairs and were curiously regarding the tall stranger.
He hunkered down to their eye level. “Hi. I’m Dawson. What’s your name?”
“Hunter.”
Dawson gave him a high five. Hunter happily slapped his palm. “That’s my brother, Grant. He’s littler than me.”
Grant, not to be outshone, shouldered his brother aside in order to move closer to Dawson. “What kind of car do you have?”
“Car? Well, while I’m here, I’m driving a rental car.” He told Grant the model, which was apparently a crushing disappointment. His only response was an unenthusiastic Oh.
Dawson turned his head and looked across the table at Amelia, as though asking What’d I say? “He’s into cars,” she explained lamely. “He likes fast—”
“Sexy ones.”
�
�Ah, I see,” he said, looking amused at Stef’s flirtatious quip. Turning back to the boys, he asked if they liked to play with Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars.
They nodded vigorously.
“Me too. I collected them when I was your age.”
“We have to keep them picked up and in their box,” Grant informed him. “Or else Mom takes them and puts them up high where we can’t reach.”
Dawson nodded solemnly. “My mom did that, too. But it’s a good idea. You’d hate for somebody to trip over one of your cars and get hurt, right?”
Hunter asked, “Do you have a dog?”
“No, I don’t.”
“But you like them, right?”
“Oh yeah. Dogs are great. But I’m away from home a lot with my work. A dog would get lonesome.”
Hunter shot Amelia an accusatory look. “We don’t have one, either. Mom says maybe we can get one when things settle down. But I don’t know when that is.”
Amelia came to her feet so quickly, she painfully caught her hipbone on the edge of the table, rattling glasses and silverware. “Boys, it’s past your bedtime. Say good-bye. Nice to meet you, Mr. Dawson.”
“Scott.”
“What?”
“Dawson Scott.”
“Oh, sorry, well, enjoy your stay on the island.”
While the boys were reluctantly telling him good-bye, she slipped the strap of her purse off the back of her chair, then shepherded her sons around tables and out of the café. Stef and Bernie followed.
Her little group had almost reached the parking lot at the rear of the building when she was hailed from behind. Dawson was jogging toward them. Amelia asked Stef to go on ahead. “Get the boys buckled in. I’ll see what he wants.”
For the first time of the summer, Stef looked a little put out by Amelia’s request, but she did as asked and shooed the boys around the corner of the building. Bernie went along, too, but not before giving Amelia a knowing grin and an exaggerated wink.
To his credit, Dawson Scott cleaned up well. He still had the scruff, but it worked for him. As did the long hair. Somehow. He’d changed into a more presentable pair of khaki shorts and a black linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. And he smelled good.
But none of that made her feel any more kindly toward him. “I told you to stay away from us.”
“Your nanny invited me over to your table to meet you. If I had refused, it would have looked like obvious avoidance, wouldn’t it? To say nothing of being rude.”
She didn’t address that logic, because he was right. “What do you want?”
“An interview.”
“Have a nice life.” She started to turn away.
“Wait, that was a joke. That’s not why I came after you.”
“Well?”
“Do you always carry the pepper spray?”
“No. I have two curious children who could come across it when they’re looking for something else in my purse.”
“So where do you keep it?”
“Where it would be handy if I had an intruder.”
“It wasn’t handy when Willard Strong surprised you in your kitchen that afternoon?”
“No. But even if it had been, he had a loaded shotgun and his finger was on the trigger.”
“If you don’t keep the pepper spray with you at all times, then what good is it?”
“It got your attention today, didn’t it?”
He smiled with chagrin. “Ah, you got me with that one.”
“We’ve exhausted the subject anyway. Good-bye.”
“Where did Jeremy work?”
The abrupt switch of subject threw her off.
He said, “You testified that you’d called his workplace. Where was he working?”
“Your flea-on-a-single-hair lady came up empty?”
“Easier just to ask you.”
Seeing no reason to withhold the information, she cited the name of the construction firm. “They specialize in commercial buildings. Large facilities. Schools, factories, medical complexes. Jeremy was one of their electrical engineers.”
“Okay.”
“He was very good at it,” she said, hating herself for sounding defensive.
“How did he get to that from sniper training for the Marines?”
“So, you have done your research.”
“Some. I’m still in the process.”
“Jeremy held a degree in that field. After leaving the corps, he applied for a position with the firm, met the qualifications, and—”
“Congressman Nolan called in a favor.”
She stiffened her spine.
“Okay, that was a cheap shot.”
“You’re damn right it was. Good-bye.”
“Just one more thing.”
“I don’t think so.”
“This isn’t even a question.”
“They’re waiting for me in the car, Mr. Scott.”
“Check under your front doormat.”
“What?”
“I left something there for you.”
“Under the doormat?”
“The photographs.”
“Oh, the photographs. How cavalier.” She gave him a drop-dead look. “You could replace them with a keystroke on your laptop. Or just take more.”
“I won’t. I promise. I know they made you uncomfortable.”
“Pictures of me and my children, taken by a total stranger. You bet they made me uncomfortable. Especially since you failed to explain the reason for them.”
“I didn’t explain?”
“No. And I asked.”
“Oh. I took them so I could study you.”
“As part of your research?”
“No, so I could get to know you.”
“I don’t want you to know me.”
It could have been a trick of the lights along the dock, reflecting off the water. Or his gaze really did move down to her mouth when he said in a low and stirring voice, “That’s too bad.”
Mistrusting herself to come up with an appropriate put-down that would have any oomph behind it, she turned away from him without speaking another word.
* * *
Stef was on her way downstairs as Amelia was making tired progress up.
“What was that about?”
“What?”
“Why’d you brush him off like that?”
“Who?”
Stef propped her fist on her hip. “Seriously?”
“I didn’t brush him off.” She wanted to add that she also didn’t need to defend herself to anyone, but especially not to an employee. But that would have sounded as peevish as she felt, so she let it go. “I’ve lectured the boys about being cautious with strangers. I was setting an example.”
“He’s not a stranger. He’s renting the house next door.”
“Anybody could rent the house next door.”
“Point taken. But if that guy had looked at me like that, I would have—”
“Like what?”
“Like he wanted to lick you all over.”
“Stephanie!”
The younger woman only laughed. “What did he want when he called you back?”
“He asked about, uh…garbage collection.”
Stef’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, don’t tell me.”
Time to change the subject. “Are the boys down?”
“They were waiting for a story from you, but they went unconscious the second their heads hit the pillows.”
“Thank you. I had to see to some things in my office. Reply to some e-mails.” Look under the front doormat.
“Mind if I borrow your car again? I’ll cover the gas.”
“Seeing Dirk?”
“Um-huh.”
“You’re welcome to invite him to come here one night.”
Stef wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so. He wouldn’t exactly fit into the cozy family scene. He’s not the type.”
“Oh? What type is he?”
“Hip. Tattoos and a beard. He�
��s older than me.”
“By how much?”
She laughed. “I think my instinct is right. You’d take one look at him and disapprove. But that’s cool. It’s not like I’m that smitten. At the end of next week, I’ll be going back to Kansas, and Dirk will be a blurry memory of my summer.”
After Stef left, Amelia continued upstairs and went into the boys’ bedroom. She kissed each of them, then sat on the edge of Hunter’s bunk and watched them while they slept. Usually that brought her a sense of peace and well-being.
Tonight, it only served to remind her how vulnerable they were, how young and innocent, and totally dependent on her to protect them. Many times, she’d had to shelter them from Jeremy’s dark moods, his heavy drinking, his rants about her working at the museum. After returning from his second tour in Afghanistan, her job had been one of the first things he’d picked quarrels over.
He’d wanted her waiting at home for him when he got off work every day and had resented any evening event or meeting that she was expected to attend. He became increasingly belligerent over having to stay at home with the boys until, finally, she began making excuses to George Metcalf as to why she had to miss work-related occasions.
But their evenings spent at home together were far from idyllic. She couldn’t say anything that didn’t spark a touchy reaction or full-throttle fight. The boys’ constant activity and noise grated on him.
At first Jeremy had been a proud and boastful father to both boys. She had photographs of him cuddling them. In those, he looked happy and content. He’d been playful and had dazzled them with tricks, such as pulling pennies from their ears. He’d indulged them with treats and small gifts, which she allowed because he had missed much of their infancy. His desire to spoil them was understandable.
But after that second tour, his interaction with them became unpredictable. He’d become too short-tempered and impatient to be a hands-on dad. The overindulgent daddy became an angry man that her boys grew wary of, and their wariness irritated him, making the time he spent with them volatile. Ultimately she became afraid to leave them alone with him. Which was one of the main reasons she’d left. Protecting her children had become more important than saving the bad marriage.