Low Tide: Rarity Cove Book Two

by Tentler, Leslie

  “I used her in ways you can’t imagine. She’s damaged goods—”

  “Go to hell.”

  Smirking, Medero took a step back. “Enjoy her.” He reached for the door handle, but Carter’s words halted him.

  “Just so you know, the restraining order isn’t my end game. It’s just gravy.”

  Medero turned back to him.

  “That footage from the coffee shop? Yeah, I handled getting that personally. It sealed the deal today, but it’s got legs way beyond that.” Carter raised his chin, his blood hot in his veins. “It’s going to the FBI and to the Charleston County DA’s office. You screwed up by cyberstalking her across state lines—it makes all this a much bigger deal. I’m not letting up until one of them pursues criminal felony charges. I’m making it my personal mission to destroy you.”

  He took pleasure in the spark of unease he saw in Medero’s eyes before it was choked out by a growing rage, his face reddening and the cords in his thick neck standing out against the collar of his dress shirt. Medero took a step toward him, but halted as the door opened and two uniformed officers entered. They were in conversation with each other, oblivious to what they had walked in on.

  With a seething look at Carter, Medero stormed out.

  * * *

  It was nearly midnight, yet Quinn lay awake in the hotel suite. Carter slept beside her, their legs tangled together under the silken sheets. He had taken her with an intense, unfettered possessiveness. Likewise, she had given her body to him willingly, wantonly, just as she had now for so many nights.

  Turned onto her side facing him, she listened to his quiet breathing and studied his even features.

  I want you to be free.

  She understood what he had meant outside the courtroom. Carter wanted to give her freedom—from fear, from Jake’s intimidations. But his words had also driven to the heart of her insecurity about their future, about what would happen when he fully belonged to Hollywood once again. She would be free to go her own way.

  A lump forming in her throat, she vowed to be thankful for all he had done for her, but to also be wise and self-protective. To be strong enough to let go when the time came. She had lost so much of her dignity to Jake. She wouldn’t lose more of it.

  But lying in the darkness, Quinn admitted to herself that freedom was not what her heart wanted.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Los Angeles, California

  He wasn’t certain what he had expected—fading crime-scene tape, smudges of fingerprint-powder residue—but everything appeared normal, a testament to the cleaning crew Mark had hired. Having disarmed the security system, Carter stood in the dramatic, two-story foyer with Quinn. Although they would be staying in the smaller guest cottage on the property, he had felt compelled to come here first.

  Moving to the wall, he flipped on the crystal chandelier, half surprised when it glimmered to life, although he’d known the utilities, phone and other bills were paid while he was away. Looking up at the curved staircase, his stomach fluttering, he had an image of Bianca ascending the steps that night, one hand on the wrought-iron banister.

  “Are you sure you want to stay here?” Quinn asked. “We could still get a hotel room.”

  They had already discussed his intentions. He planned to put the property on the market. He didn’t want to live here anymore. But this had been his primary residence for the past three years, the place he had called home when he wasn’t filming on location or traveling to promote a film.

  “We’ll be fine at the cottage. It’s just weird being back here.”

  He traveled with her into the vast formal living area with its coffered ceiling and high, arched windows that overlooked the canyon. The home had been built in the 1920s by one of the stars of the silent screen. Since then, it had changed hands multiple times before Carter had purchased it. He’d had renovations done throughout.

  “It’s beautiful.” Quinn looked around the space. “If you’re sure you want to sell, I’ll handle finding a Realtor.” She walked to the doors leading out to the terrace, her gaze on the infinity edge pool. Carter joined her, noting the brown leaves floating on the stagnant-looking water. “I’ll get someone here for pool maintenance, too,” she said.

  “You don’t need to do all that.”

  “Didn’t you bring me here to help out? I’m in your employ. What else should I be doing?”

  “Quinn…” He shook his head, not wanting to think of her in that manner anymore. If he’d ever thought of her that way.

  “You’re going to be crazy busy, and it’ll give me something to do. I’m not much for shopping on Rodeo Drive or taking tours of movie studios.”

  She started to turn away, but he caught her delicate hands in his. He lifted one to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “You know you’re much more to me than that, don’t you?”

  Despite her soft smile, he detected a distance in her eyes. The passion between them remained strong—they were both sexually charged people—but during their time in San Francisco, he’d also felt something had changed. He had hoped getting the restraining order against Medero would buoy her, but if anything, Quinn had become at times withdrawn, seeming to avoid any attempt Carter made to articulate his feelings for her. She had become his best friend, his lover. He might very well be in love with her, although he didn’t want to tell her that in this house. Not after what had happened here.

  “I suppose I should give you the full tour if you’re insisting on working,” he said.

  They started with the expansive living areas on the main floor that included a gourmet kitchen, a dining room that seated twelve and a media room. Next, they moved to the recently added rear wing, which included a wine cellar and home gym, complete with a custom-built infrared sauna and European shower. There was also a garage that contained several cars and motorcycles. Quinn ran her fingers over one of the bike’s leather seats, and he wondered if she was thinking of his late-night rides through the canyon.

  “The batteries are probably dead.” He kicked at one of the Aston Martin’s tires, which had gone flat from disuse. He had battery maintainers for when he was out of town for long periods of time, but they hadn’t been used. After the attack, no one had been thinking about practicalities. At least they had the rental car they had gotten at LAX.

  “If you give me the phone number for your mechanic, I’ll have them towed there so they can work on them,” Quinn suggested.

  “I don’t feel right about you doing all this,” he said again.

  But she had turned her back to him and was looking at a leather weekender bag that sat on a workbench behind his Range Rover. Carter was aware of what the bag contained. It was unzipped and open, revealing a red, heart-shaped pillow among his things. It was something the hospital gave patients after open-heart surgery, instructing them to hold it against their chests to alleviate pain when coughing or moving. There were also pajamas, a bathrobe, slippers and toiletries inside the bag. Mark had taken it from the hospital for him and must have forgotten it in the garage. Carter picked up the pillow.

  “I was told they did two rounds of CPR. One for over ten minutes in the ambulance,” he said in quiet reflection. “I was technically dead for a while.”

  He recalled how weak he had been after surgery. How much pain he’d been in.

  Quinn touched his arm. He returned the pillow to the bag. Then, his hand at her waist, he guided her back to the foyer where the staircase was located.

  They might as well get this over with.

  * * *

  Entering his bedroom on the second floor, Carter felt the beat of his heart. His eyes were drawn to the brownish stains that had set into the hardwood flooring, something the cleaning crew hadn’t been able to fully get rid of. A sour tang in his throat, he noticed they resembled shoeprints—most likely his since they led from the bathroom to the nightstand, where he had apparently retrieved the telephone to call 911. Standing beside him, her arms clasped around herself, Quinn remained
silent.

  He moved to the bathroom’s threshold. The key was still in the door’s lock as the detective had confirmed. Flipping a switch to illuminate the chandelier that hung from the high ceiling, he stepped inside. A tufted ottoman sat in the room’s center and, beyond it, the large shower and entrance to his cedar-lined, walk-in closet. The bathroom was pristine, the events that had taken place here scoured away except for the brown stains in the grout of the Italian marble-tile floor. An image of Bianca, bleeding out, made his skin prickle. Dropping onto his haunches, he laid his fingers on the cool tile. He had been in this room, stabbed and bleeding, too. But he could still remember nothing of the attack on him.

  “Are you all right?” Quinn asked.

  He had nearly forgotten her presence. He found his voice. “Yeah.”

  * * *

  “Of course, we’re having a drink to celebrate your return.” Elliott winked at Quinn as he popped the cork from one of the two bottles of champagne he and Ariel Carrington had brought with them to the cottage. “1990 Moët & Chandon Dom Pérignon,” he announced as he began filling the champagne flutes Quinn had retrieved from the kitchen. He raised his glass to Carter. “Only the best to usher in your return.”

  They stood in the cottage’s living area that featured a brick fireplace and sliding glass doors all around that could be opened in summer to catch the breeze. As she sipped the champagne, Quinn recalled Carter telling her that his agent had spent time not long ago in rehab.

  “Relax,” Elliott chided at Carter’s critical expression. “It’s just champagne. It’s not like I’m drinking hooch from a paper bag and lying in the gutter.”

  “Champagne’s practically water around here. Cheers.” Ariel sipped from her glass, as well. She and Elliott had arrived unexpectedly a short time ago. Ariel was exotically attractive—tall and lithe, with almond-shaped hazel eyes and dark hair that fell to her shoulders. She was also well dressed in a short tweed skirt, cashmere turtleneck sweater and designer jewelry. She laid her hand on Carter’s arm. “You should’ve taken my advice and stayed at The Four Seasons, darling. It would be so much more convenient since the interviews are being held there.” She smiled at Quinn, a gesture that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Ariel’s right. I worry about you being here, Carter.” Elliott grew somber. “This place, what happened here. It isn’t healthy for your state of mind.”

  “That’s why we’re staying in the cottage,” Carter said. They were still attracting the paparazzi’s attention, and he had told Quinn he thought they would have more privacy behind the closed gates of his property than at a hotel.

  “Quinn, would you be a dear and get some napkins?”

  It wasn’t the first task Ariel had given her since she and Elliott had arrived. Quinn didn’t mind, but she got the feeling it was a power game. She hadn’t been able to help but notice that since their arrival, Ariel had been openly flirtatious with Carter, who in turn had been polite but unaffected.

  Quinn returned with napkins from the kitchen. She noted that although Ariel had been the one to request them, she made no move to take one from the table where they had been placed. Ariel and Carter were now seated on the overstuffed couch, her hand intermittently touching his knee as she briefed him on the interviews that would take place tomorrow, the first day of the junket. Meanwhile, Elliott had refilled his flute and now stood looking out through the glass doors toward the main house.

  Feeling out of place, Quinn excused herself a short time later and went into the kitchen. She had already shopped for groceries and made dinner, and she began emptying the dishwasher she had run afterward. She was midway through the task when a voice caused her to look up.

  “So you’re the physical therapist who’s turned out to be so much more.” Ariel had the same bland smile on her face. “He looks good. So good, in fact, you must be worried you’ll be out of a job soon.”

  Ignoring the backhanded barb, Quinn placed a dish in one of the cabinets. She could hear Carter talking with Elliott in the other room. “He’s still receiving therapy to strengthen his shoulder,” she said. “We’ll be using the gym at the house while we’re here.”

  “You must have some kind of magic.” Ariel came closer, her gaze coolly assessing. “First Jake Medero and now Carter. You should leave some of the hot ones for the rest of us girls.”

  Quinn stiffened, but continued unloading the dishes.

  “Did Jake start out as a patient, too?”

  “As a client,” she corrected, although she didn’t want to discuss it. “I’m also a certified strength and conditioning specialist.”

  “The tabloids said Carter went with you to San Francisco for the hearing. That’s very protective of him. A restraining order means your husband was abusive to you, doesn’t it?”

  “I’d rather not talk about—”

  Elliott appeared on the kitchen’s threshold. “Ariel, it’s time we got out of here and left these two alone. Carter’s going to belong to you for the next couple of weeks. Let Quinn have him for tonight.”

  He walked to Quinn and warmly clasped her shoulders. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear. You’ve done a fabulous job patching him up for us.”

  Forcing a smile, she thanked him, then followed them into the living room where Carter stood.

  “Let Ariel drive,” Carter advised.

  Elliott made a face. “I’m fine—”

  “Just do it, all right?”

  With a put-upon sigh, Elliott handed Ariel the keys to the black Jaguar parked in front of the cottage. Ariel kissed Carter’s cheek and told him a limousine would arrive for him at nine the next morning. Hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, he stood at the window and watched them depart. Quinn went around the room picking up the glasses and champagne bottles—one empty, the other nearly so—and placed them on a tray to carry back to the kitchen.

  Carter nodded to the bottles. “He finished most of that himself. I just hope he’s staying away from the cocaine.”

  “How big a problem did he have?”

  “Big enough. He kept it together for work, but he had a couple of embarrassing public incidents that cost him clients. His wife—his third—also left him.”

  “But you didn’t.” Quinn admired his loyalty.

  “Elliott’s been a good agent and a good friend.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from asking. “And Ariel? Has she been a good friend, too?”

  He sighed softly. “I saw her slip into the kitchen. I figured she was raking you over the coals, which is why I suggested to Elliott they get going.”

  “She’s interested in you.”

  She could tell her statement didn’t come as a surprise. Carter walked to where she stood. He gently pushed her hair behind her shoulder. “Ariel’s my publicist. That’s all she’s ever been. I’m sorry they stopped by.”

  “It’s okay. They’re excited you’re back.”

  Outside, night had fallen, the shadows deepening in the cluster of trees the cottage was situated in.

  “It’s still early,” he pointed out. “It’s just us now.”

  His nearness and the cadence of his voice brought her senses to life. He brushed his lips over hers.

  “I’m going to get a shower,” he said.

  “I’m just going to finish picking up a few things.”

  Checking the door to ensure it was locked, Carter lowered the lights in the living area and then departed to the cottage’s rear while Quinn carried the tray with the glasses and bottles into the kitchen. But as she returned, her eyes were drawn to the larger residence through the glass doors. The house stood in shadow.

  Despite the cottage’s warmth, Quinn felt a small chill. She tried not to think of what had happened there in November.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “That’s all for now, Jared. I’m afraid Carter doesn’t have time for more questions.”

  Carter heard Ariel’s apology to the journalist as he left the room. He entered the luxu
ry suite adjacent to where the interviews were taking place and closed the door behind him. Irritated, he stared at a massive, fresh-cut floral arrangement, then rubbed his fingers over his closed eyelids.

  “Bode is an important publication,” Ariel scolded as she entered a minute later. “Its circulation is over three million—”

  “I don’t care. The guy was briefed on what’s allowed. He refused to stay on topic.”

  “We talked about this, Carter.”

  It was barely two o’clock, and already he had given a dozen interviews, half of them on camera. Despite his wishes, he had been asked questions about his health and emotional state, about Kelsey Dobbins and how he felt about Bianca’s murder. He had done his best to be polite, but the last reporter had pushed especially hard, even with Ariel’s reminders. He had inquired repeatedly about his relationship with Quinn and the restraining order she had been granted. Carter felt the reporter was baiting him, trying to get him to say something negative about Medero.

  “You knew you’d be asked these questions,” Ariel reminded.

  He rubbed at the stiffness in his neck. “I’m contracted to promote the movie and that’s all.”

  “Walking out of an interview isn’t going to win you fans. Rub these reporters and bloggers the wrong way and they’ll paint you as petulant and sullen. Have you forgotten the hatchet job they did on Heath Burke last year?” Ariel sighed sympathetically and touched his arm. “It’s been a long day already. You’re tired, and you’re out of practice. Your next interview is in ten minutes, but I can stall it. Why don’t you relax and have something to eat?”

  Carter paced a few steps, then sat in one of the wing chairs. Ariel handed him a bottled water from a table that held refreshments, then went around behind the chair. As he took a sip from the bottle, she began to massage his neck. He wanted to ask her to stop, but instead, after a moment, he rose and walked to the table, feigning interest in the food to put some distance between them.