by Sharon Sala
Just as she was about to turn away, something moved between the window and her line of vision. Startled by the motion, she leaned closer to the glass, her gaze fixed on the place where movement had been, but she saw nothing.
Finally she convinced herself that it was nothing of consequence and turned away. After dressing quickly, she exited her bedroom, pausing in the hall to listen, but the house was silent. Satisfied that Tony was still asleep, she headed for the kitchen. If he had the fixings, she was going to make them a proper breakfast, New Orleans style.
Tony woke slowly, stretching his long body in lazy increments, just as a cat would wake. Then he pillowed his head on his hands and lay staring at the ceiling as the first light of morning slid through a part in the curtains. He closed his eyes momentarily, and as he did, his thoughts went straight to the woman who slept in the bed just down the hall.
Sarah Jane Whitman.
A plain and proper name for a New Englander, and yet there was nothing plain, prim or proper about her. She was lithe and sexy, with a go-to-hell look in her eyes. And the thick fall of dark hair that framed her face swayed in an enticing manner in direct opposition to the sway of her hips. It was a trick nature had unwittingly given her that kept causing him to lose focus around her. He never knew where to look first, at her face or her body, and either way, he kept getting lost in thoughts he couldn’t pursue.
His body hardened and pulsed, eliciting a groan that drew him out of bed and sent him stumbling to the shower. Sometime later, he emerged from his room only to realize that he was not the first one up after all. The scent of cooking food wafted down the hall, and the faint but familiar sounds of lids banging on pans told him that breakfast was about to be served.
Sarah was taking a pan of biscuits from the oven when she realized she was no longer alone. She turned around. Tony was leaning against the doorway, with his arms folded across his chest.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.
Tony grinned. He was beginning to learn that Sarah Whitman did not like surprises.
“Good morning to you, too,” he said, and sniffed the air appreciatively. “Something smells wonderful.”
Sarah sighed and reached for a hand towel, then wiped her hands.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like such a shrew, and I hope you don’t mind that I cooked.”
Tony’s grin widened as he made a beeline for the pot of coffee.
“Mind that you cooked? Woman…have you gone crazy? There isn’t a man standing who minds if someone’s about to feed him.”
Sarah laughed before she thought, and when she did, Tony turned abruptly, his gaze fixed hard and fast on her face. Breath caught in her throat as she watched his expression change from humor to something she couldn’t name. But she knew what it meant. Her belly knotted as heat fired and spiraled downward. Stifling a groan, she looked away and began breaking eggs into a bowl while wondering what she would do if he decided to act on what he was thinking.
The moment she turned away, Tony realized she’d seen the wanting in his eyes. He frowned, frustrated with the situation in general. He wasn’t used to denying himself a woman when the mood struck, but Sarah wasn’t just any woman, and the circumstances under which they were sharing a roof were certainly less than conducive toward any kind of romantic moment.
But it had been that laugh. Unexpected. Exuberant, and so full of life. He wanted to hear it again, when she was in his arms with her head thrown back and her long, slender throat exposed to his mouth. In that moment, he realized that what he was feeling for her was not typical of him, nor was it going to go away.
“How hungry are you?” Sarah asked.
Hungry enough to eat you up. He didn’t say what he was thinking. Instead, he made himself concentrate on the egg in her hands. “I’m thinking it’s a three-egg morning.”
She nodded and broke the other egg in the bowl, then started to beat them as she added, “You don’t have any grits.”
“Any what?”
“Grits.”
“I don’t have grits because I don’t like grits,” Tony said, and poured coffee into his cup.
“Breakfast isn’t breakfast in New Orleans without grits.”
He turned, looking at her from over the rim of his cup, and then murmured, “Yes, Dorothy, I understand, but you’re not in Kansas anymore.”
Sarah stifled another grin as she added cooked sausage and a variety of chopped fresh vegetables to the beaten eggs, then turned the whole mixture into a large skillet.
“What are you making?” Tony asked.
“It’s a cross between an omelette and a frittata. You’ll love it.”
“Yes, I believe I will.”
Sarah heard what he said but wouldn’t look at him for fear there would be more in his expression than she was willing to face. Instead, she focused on serving the food and carrying it to the table.
“Breakfast is ready,” she said. “As Aunt Lorett would say, come and get it before I feed it to the hogs.”
Her humor was just the right note to set things straight between them again.
He grinned as he sat down.
“Did you and your aunt Lorett raise hogs?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Of course not.”
“Sorry,” he said, suitably chastened as she slid his plate before him.
“Only chickens—for that voodoo she wasn’t supposed to practice.”
He started to chuckle, then realized she wasn’t laughing along with him.
“You’re serious again, aren’t you?”
“Eat your eggs,” Sarah said, and reached for a biscuit as she sat down at the table across from him.
Despite yesterday’s unruly weather, the day promised to be clear and sunny. Only a few clouds still lingered, stringing across the sky like wisps of cotton batting. The tension of not knowing what had happened to her father, along with the constant waiting, was getting to Sarah. She’d called the sheriff’s office this morning, only to be told that he was out and wouldn’t be in until later in the afternoon. Used to being her own boss and making things happen in the proper time, she was both frustrated and bored with the process.
After they’d eaten breakfast, Tony had excused himself and gone to the library to make some business calls. Thinking she would do the same, Sarah had called her restaurant. Upon learning that all was running smoothly without her, she didn’t know whether to be grateful or miffed. Then she’d tried to call Lorett, but with no success. She’d hung up in frustration, not for the first time wishing her aunt could be persuaded to use an answering machine. Now Sarah was left with nothing to do but wait, and she’d never been good at waiting. She moved to the windows and parted the curtains, looking out toward the trees beyond the perimeter of the yard. The glorious colors of the leaves seemed a little dimmer than they had the day before, and she suspected it had more to do with her mood than the approaching winter. Beyond the trees, she could catch glimpses of the lake. This morning the sunshine on the surface of the water cast a glittering reflection, masking the somberness of the dark secrets that lay beneath. She stood for a few moments longer, then retrieved her coat from the closet, where Tony had hung it.
The air was brisk but inviting. She pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck and stuffed her hands in her pockets as she started to stroll about the grounds. She paused at a flower bed and bent down to pull out a handful of weeds. Tossing them aside, she brushed her hands on the legs of her jeans and continued her walk. There was a small wooden bench encircling one of the larger trees. Sarah made a mental note to sit there for a while after she’d finished her stroll.
Twice she paused and looked back at the house from different angles, appreciating the line and presence of the home that Tony had built. It fit perfectly within the available space, as much a part of the forest as the trees themselves. She thought of Tony again, and the fact that he’d chosen Marmet to create his hideaway, then wondered what else in him might surprise her.
As she was looking at the house, a bird suddenly flew across her line of vision, and she remembered what she’d seen from the window in the dark. Curious, she wondered if it might have been a bear or even a moose, and decided to see if she could find tracks. She started to walk, every now and then checking the ground, making a bet with herself as to what tracks she might see.
She was looking down when she saw them, and the moment she did, her heart skipped a beat. She stopped, staring at five perfect boot tracks that had been captured in the mud.
Immediately she spun and looked back at the house. As she did, she realized that from where she was standing, she had an almost perfect view of the windows to her room. She began to move away from the tracks, as if their mere presence alone posed a threat. She took a slow, shuddering breath, then turned her attention to the trees, telling herself the tracks probably meant nothing. It could have been a hunter out after dark, or a local used to passing through Tony’s property, knowing that the house was rarely occupied. But the longer she stood, the more uneasy she felt. Suddenly she started back to the house. The closer she got, the faster she moved. By the time she reached the steps of the deck, she was running.
“Sarah…is anything wrong?”
Sarah gasped as Tony’s fingers curled around her arms.
“Oh! You startled me!”
“You were running.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward the place where she’d seen the tracks, debating with herself about telling Tony, then decided against it. No need making herself out to be some helpless female, because it was the last thing she thought of herself as.
“Just getting my exercise,” she said shortly, and pushed past him on the way into the house.
Tony frowned as she tore free of his grasp, then peered out beyond the deck where she’d been standing. He’d seen her from the windows and wondered what had been so interesting as she’d looked first at the house, then into the trees. He’d seen her pivot suddenly and move toward the house. When she’d started to run, he’d panicked. Now she was brushing him off as if it meant nothing, but Tony knew fear, and it had been on her face.
He glanced back toward the house, then stepped off the deck, moving in the direction of the place where she’d been. When he got there, he began searching the ground, on guard for something that would tell him what had set her off.
He examined the area for several minutes without any luck, and even after he saw the tracks, he almost missed their implication. It was the deep treads and larger size that finally alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t looking at Sarah’s footprints. He stood for a moment, staring down at them and wondering what it was about them that had alarmed her. Curious, he checked to see if she was out on the deck, but she was nowhere in sight. His gaze then slid from the deck upward, and as it did, he realized that, from where he was standing, he had a perfect view of her room.
The hair on the back of his neck suddenly rose. He spun toward the trees, certain he was being watched, but saw nothing that would cause him concern. He glanced up and then toward the lake, and as he did, remembered that she’d come back not just to claim her father’s remains but to clear his name, as well. His gut clenched. It was the first time he’d thought of her as being in real danger, but if the killer was still in Marmet, then he would have every reason to want Sarah Whitman gone.
He stepped away from the tracks and headed for the house. If she was withholding information from him, she was going to tell him what it was. After that, he was calling the police.
Seven
“Sarah!”
Still rattled from the footprints, though she had no reason to believe the person who’d left them there had meant her any harm, she jumped at the sound of Tony’s voice. Then he walked into the room, and she found herself back on the defensive.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he snapped.
She recoiled as though he’d slapped her.
“I don’t know what you—”
He stopped only inches from her face.
“Don’t lie to me. Not to me, damn it! I’m not the bad guy, here, remember?”
Sarah’s chin jutted as she met his gaze.
“You’re standing in my space,” she said shortly.
Tony relented, but only slightly, as he stepped back.
“I’m still waiting,” he said.
She shrugged. “It’s probably nothing, okay?”
“How about you let me decide if I think it’s nothing, too?”
“Fine. I woke up really early this morning…before daylight…and wanted to see if it was still snowing. As I stood at the window, I saw something moving outside. I didn’t think much of it and had actually forgotten it until I went out for a walk later.”
She brushed her hands down the front of her sweater, as if smoothing out wrinkles, although none were there. She looked up at him then. His face was expressionless. She sighed, then made herself continue.
“It was later that I remembered and thought maybe if I located the place, I would find bear or moose tracks. It’s been years since I’ve seen anything like that, and I was simply curious…you know?”
Tony’s demeanor softened as he watched panic come and go on Sarah’s face.
“But it wasn’t animal tracks, was it, Sarah?”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything, does it? I mean…surely this is hunting season of one sort or another? It was probably a hunter out early, or maybe just a local.”
She waited for Tony to agree. Instead, he threw her assumption back in her face.
“Do you think it was a hunter?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“And neither do I,” Tony said. “Is there anything else you’re not telling me?”
“No.”
“Then come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“To call the sheriff.”
“He’s not in.”
“How do you know?” Tony asked.
“I already called his office this morning and was told he’d be out of town until sometime this afternoon.”
“So he can come back early,” Tony said. “This can’t wait.”
Sarah put her hand on Tony’s arm, stopping him as he turned to leave.
“Tony?”
“What?”
“Do you think this is a bad sign?”
He didn’t know what to say, so he hugged her.
“I don’t know what to think, except that we’re not taking chances,” he said.
Sarah stiffened when his arms encircled her. “This isn’t your problem, you know.”
Tony stifled a sigh as he turned her loose. “Someone trespassed on my property, and that made it my business. Besides, we’ve been all through this before, and I don’t want to hear it again.”
“Yes, okay, but don’t feel bad if at any time you want me to—”
“When I want something more from you, you’ll know it,” he said, and headed for the phone.
Sarah watched him go, measuring his anger by the length of his stride, and knew that he was holding himself back, probably on her behalf. It wasn’t until later that she thought of what he’d said and how he’d said it. Want something more from her? She didn’t know whether to be interested or insulted.
Within the hour, Ron Gallagher was on Tony’s doorstep.
The doorbell rang while Sarah was making a fresh pot of coffee. Her nerves tightened as she heard Tony greeting the sheriff. Moments later, they were coming her way.
“Sarah.”
She turned, recognizing the man she’d met at the lake the day she’d arrived.
“Sheriff Gallagher is here,” Tony said.
Sarah nodded. “We’ve met. Is there any news regarding my father’s case?”
Regretfully Ron Gallagher shook his head. He would have liked nothing more than to put a smile on her face.
“I understand you had a bit of a scare this morning.”
“I wasn’t sca
red,” she told the sheriff, and glared at Tony.
“Fine,” Tony said briefly, then turned to the sheriff. “She wasn’t scared. I was. The tracks are out back. Follow me.”
Sarah stifled a grin as they left the kitchen. She’d just been dismissed, and quite thoroughly. She was beginning to understand that Tony DeMarco didn’t play by any of the normal rules of society. Not once since he’d taken her into his house had he treated her disrespectfully, but he also, as Aunt Lorett might say, didn’t take any crap. Curious as to what the sheriff would say about the tracks, she grabbed her coat and followed them out into the yard.
Gallagher had squatted down beside the tracks and was feeling the imprint with the tips of his fingers.
“When did it start raining here?” he asked.
Tony frowned, thinking back.
“It was before dark,” Sarah said.
Both men turned.
Ignoring the knowing grin on Tony’s face, she focused her attention on the sheriff.
“I remember because I was standing at the windows and watching the rain turn to snow. It’s been years since I’d seen snow. It was still snowing when I went to bed last night, which was around eleven.”
Gallagher nodded. “Tony tells me that you saw something from your window?”
She nodded. “Yes, early this morning, just before dawn. I woke early and was curious to see if it was still snowing, but of course it wasn’t.” She smiled slightly. “I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed not to see the ground covered in white. Anyway, as I was looking out into the darkness, I saw movement between the house and the trees. It was too dark to tell what it was, but I knew something was there. As I told Tony earlier, I’d forgotten all about it until I went for a walk. That’s when I saw the tracks.”
Gallagher nodded. “They probably don’t mean anything. However, I’m going to look around a bit…see if I can pick up the tracks out in the woods. Why don’t you two go back to the house? I’ll let you know what I find before I leave.”
“I’m going with you,” Tony said, and Gallagher nodded an okay.