Blood In The Sand: Betrayal, lies, romance and murder. (A Jack Le Claire Mystery)

by Kelly Clayton

  “Yes, I am afraid that Harriet was disgruntled.” Grace sipped the cold white wine that had arrived.

  “From what I hear, she was kicking off big time, saying she’d been robbed of Kate’s house. That it was meant for her. And now to hear that Kate’s death is being looked into is just crazy.” James paused at her look of surprise. “Sorry. I’m afraid most secrets are open ones in island life. I guess you’ll be going back to the States soon?”

  The starters arrived. She waited until the plates were laid in front of them, bread chosen and water glasses poured.

  “I have no plans to do so. My life has, well, I guess you could say it has taken an unexpected turn.” Grace sipped from the squat water glass. “And I find myself with no real reason to return to New York.”

  “Surely you and Sam will want to sell the place. Or do you intend on living together forever?”

  Grace laughed. “It isn’t so much about not wanting to sell; it’s more about not being able to, not for a while anyway.”

  James looked intrigued, but Grace simply smiled. She wasn’t going to give him any more information. Apparently, he knew enough already.

  They turned to their food, and Grace was grateful that James hadn’t probed further. She wasn’t ready to start speaking freely about what had happened with Carter or the growing feeling that she hadn’t just acceded to Kate’s wishes to keep a distance between Carter and herself—maybe she also hadn’t been ready to leave the possibility that might be Sam.

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire awoke with a start, his chest tight and throat constricted. He couldn’t breathe properly, quick, shallow gasps were all he could manage. Disorientated, he looked around, and it took a moment for him to realise he’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Usually, you awake from a dream, or nightmare, and can barely remember the detail. But not this nightmare. He recalled every excruciating moment. Every single time. Swinging his feet to the ground, he rested his forearms on his thighs and, leaning forward, concentrated on slowing his breathing.

  In. One, two three. Out. One, two, three. Gradually the tension eased, but the images still played out in his mind. Running like a video stuck on replay.

  Her dead body, face contorted in agony. The airless box that had been her last home and final resting place. The smell of decomposing flesh suddenly exposed to fresh air. It was his incompetence, arrogance and temper that caused her death. He pushed the images aside. He wouldn’t think of this. With a practised flick of his mind, he blocked the mental pictures and shoved the memory back into its box.

  He rose to his feet with a groan and headed to bed. He needed to rest and be on his game. There was a killer to find. He couldn’t allow himself to be trapped in the nightmare of his greatest failure.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Grace rummaged in her handbag, fumbling fingers searching for keys. The outside light hadn’t come on automatically, and she made a mental note to ask Luca to have a look at it. A shaft of moonlight helpfully illuminated the door lock. Now all she had to do was find her keys.

  She was conscious that James sat in his car, politely waiting for her to get safely inside. Here was another indication of his thoughtfulness. Grace almost wished she was more attracted to him. He would make for an uncomplicated, brief romance. Mind you, affairs of the heart should be her last consideration right now.

  With a sigh of relief, she felt the cold metal of the chunky key. Within seconds, aided by the same helpful moon, Grace unlocked the heavy wooden door. Turning, she waved a last goodnight to James and locked the door before making her way upstairs. She could hear his car revving as it headed away from the house.

  Halfway up, she stopped. Balancing on one foot, she kicked the other back and hooked off one heel. Swapping feet, she dealt with the other sandal. Sweet relief surged through her as her bare feet made contact with the wooden treads. The offending high heels dangling from one hand by their straps, she finished climbing to the first floor.

  About to pass the open kitchen door, she stopped and argued with herself for a moment. She had only sipped at the glass of wine that had accompanied her meal. What she fancied now was an indecently large glass of rioja and her Kindle. A relaxed hour sitting on the balcony would ease some of the inexplicable tension she felt. The evening with James had been perfectly pleasant, so it had nothing to do with that, but something had her wound tight.

  A virtually full bottle of red wine lay open on the counter next to a completely empty one. Grace raised an eyebrow. Sam had certainly indulged himself in her absence. No doubt he was sleeping off the effects.

  At the thought of Sam, Grace’s pulse flickered and started to race. She had done her very best to keep him off her mind, and the evening with James had helped distract her from wayward thoughts. Grace knew she couldn’t afford the complications an affair with Sam would bring.

  She also knew that none of this was down to any latent hankering for Carter. What did it say about her that she could so easily see through the facade of her relationship with her ex-fiancé?

  She grabbed a long-stemmed glass from the cupboard and poured herself a generous measure of wine. Taking a long drink, her senses were assailed with deep, heavy blackberry tones and an intoxicating aroma. This was a seriously good wine. At least Sam hadn’t been downing the cheap stuff.

  She leaned against the glossy white island, nursing her drink, and marshalled her thoughts. She hardly knew herself. There was a restlessness within her, which sharpened her senses, making relaxation virtually impossible. Perhaps she would finish her wine and go to bed and give reading a book a miss; she didn’t want to give her mind any more stimulation.

  A sudden noise had her turning towards the balcony. She stared into the darkness, her heart hammering, her breath came in shallow gulps as she tried to stay quiet. Was someone there?

  Something was moving. She strained her eyes to get a better look. All she could see was a slight flicker reflected in the glass. A candle was burning, and she sagged in relief. There was no intruder.

  Picking up her wine, Grace walked towards the wall of glass. As her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she could see what she had missed before—the sliding doors to the balcony were slightly open.

  As she stepped outside, Grace was enveloped by the balmy night air. She slowly inhaled the tang of the salty sea air and stood for a moment listening to the incessant crashing of the waves. She turned to go back inside. And then she saw him.

  Sam sat on a low-slung rattan couch. His head was thrown back against the plump cushions, his jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed. He wore a casual, wrinkled linen shirt that hung open and loose, the soft white material further emphasising his tanned, muscular chest.

  Grace felt the air grow heavy, her senses on full alert. She moved to go back inside. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to disturb him.

  “Did you have a good evening?”

  She jumped as Sam’s gravelly, sleep-laced voice broke the silence. “Oh, yes, I did. Thank you.” Feeling nervous, she decided that a strategic retreat might be best. “I heard a noise and came to investigate. I’ll head off to bed. I don’t want to disturb you.”

  Seeing Sam was unexpected. Following the pattern since she had met him, there was a visceral pull, a tightening inside whenever she saw him. Now she recognised this for what it was. Desire. She had never been one for casual encounters, but maybe, in different circumstances, she would have allowed herself to indulge her baser nature with Sam. But she had to confess that she didn’t know whether her reaction was due to their living closely together this past week or to the sense of danger that now surrounded them. Her insides knotted—she had to stop this.

  With one long movement, Sam rose and moved towards her. Grace instinctively moved back inside the house, and Sam followed.

  He waved his empty wineglass in the air. “Stay. I’m just going to get a refill.” Grace’s eyes followed Sam as he crossed the room to pour himself another glass of wine.

  L
eaning against the central island that separated the kitchen from the sitting and dining area, Sam sipped his wine, contemplative, assessing eyes on Grace.

  “So. How was lover boy?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You know who I mean, the lovely James. Show you a good time, did he?” Grace was even more amazed now. Sam sounded combative and angry, with a tinge of what she thought might be jealousy. Surely not.

  She was so taken aback at Sam’s words—at his tone—that it took Grace a moment to focus on something else. His speech. Sam had slightly slurred his words.

  “You’re inebriated.”

  “No, Grace, I am not inebriated. I am, however, well on my way to being pissed. There is a difference.”

  “Well, whatever you are, I think you need to go to bed.”

  “Great idea. Your room or mine?” He reached out and, strong arms encircling her, pulled Grace towards him. She drew back immediately—an instinctive move. “What? Are you mad? Let me go, Sam. Don’t be ridiculous!”

  Sam held on tight and slowly shook his head. “Just for once, Grace—just once—don’t think, don’t have a discussion. Just act.” And with that, he slowly lowered his mouth to hers. A part of her realised that Sam was no longer holding her tightly; his hands were just lightly resting on her forearms. She could move away if she wanted to. But she didn’t.

  Grace leaned back slightly and tilted her head to the side. They didn’t break eye contact as Sam’s mouth covered her own. With the first gentle touch of sensitised flesh against flesh, Grace’s mind blurred. She couldn’t recall why she thought this was a bad idea. Sam deepened the kiss, the previous gentle pressure giving way to a hard, determined onslaught. Grace reached up on tiptoes and curled her arms around Sam’s neck, one hand at his nape, as she drew him closer still.

  ◆◆◆

  Sam hadn’t meant for this to happen. He had been stewing all night, although he hadn’t at first realised that was what he was doing. He’d had a beer with dinner, then he’d slouched on the sofa and tried to watch some TV, but he felt too restless. After an hour, he was sick of mindlessly flicking through channel after channel. Nothing could capture his attention.

  Through the window, he had seen the setting sun as the first rays of deepening red lit the sky in vivid streaks. He’d opened the long sliders and stepped out into the cooling night air and seen loving couples strolling on the beach, hands entwined, and turned back inside and headed for the kitchen, where he had opened the first bottle of wine. A couple of beers was usually his evening max, but tonight Sam had felt reckless and more than a little on edge.

  He hovered on that edge for hours after Grace and James left. He’d never really taken to the other man, but his reaction this evening was, he knew, over the top. And finally, he had come to grudgingly admit that it wasn’t about how he felt about James. It was more to do with what he suspected were growing feelings for Grace. And that was how he’d ended up in this situation.

  Sam could sense Grace’s growing desire, could taste it in her hot kisses. He was overwhelmed with the intoxication of the barriers having dropped between them. His hands roamed, unable to keep still. He touched and caressed wherever he could reach. Grace’s breath was quickening, and he could feel her tentatively return his caresses. Sam’s breath hitched as Grace carefully raised a hand and let one finger caress his jawline, trailing downward to rest on his upper arm.

  He replied to her invitation by moving closer, covering her mouth with his as her soft lips surrendered and triumph surged. He’d played this game before and had mastered the next steps years ago. He drew back, ready to ask her to come to his bed, and looked into her dazed eyes.

  Reality hit like an ice-cold shower. Stepping back, he drew a slightly shaky hand through his hair and looked at Grace. “God, I am so sorry. That was unforgivable.” As she made to reply, he rushed on, “Please, I’m sorry. I promise that it will never happen again. I must’ve had too much to drink after all.”

  ◆◆◆

  Really, thought Grace, so not only is kissing me an unforgivable act, he is drunk to boot!

  The words were like a vicious slap. She felt foolish and wanton and more than a little embarrassed. Moving away from Sam, she laughed—God knows how she managed that—and dismissively waved her hand. “No problem. We both had a moment of madness. It’s been a tough time recently, and we all need a little release now and again. Goodnight and... thank you.”

  And with that, she headed off to bed, cloaked in bravado, leaving a bewildered Sam standing in the kitchen.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Grace awoke as the persistent light crept through the slatted blinds. She had tossed and turned and counted sheep until she felt she’d seen most of New Zealand’s livestock, but sleep was late in coming. All she could think about was Sam, how stupidly she’d behaved and—most worrying of all—how on earth she was going to face him.

  Avoiding him was definitely not an option, not when they shared a house. Grace knew she had to somehow smooth this over. They were stuck here together for another ten weeks. And she couldn’t let Kate down just because she was acting like a foolish teenager whose hormones were running amok.

  With a sigh, she kicked back the covers. Best get this over with.

  ◆◆◆

  Sam was talking on the telephone as he leaned against the kitchen cupboards. His hair was still wet from the shower, and a dark blue shirt hung loosely over his navy trousers. The phone handset was jammed between his chin and raised shoulder as he made a cup of instant coffee.

  “What? It can’t have come round already. Look, Mum, I’m busy tomorrow. Yeah, France.” There was a pause as Sam’s face looked more and more pained.

  “I’ll see what I can do. Yeah, I’ll get on it straight away. Yes, I’ll call back soon.” He hung up and looked at the phone as if he wanted to hurl it across the room. Instead, he set it down on the counter and sighed.

  Her heart thumped, and her palms were moist. She took the opening. “Good morning. That sounded like a fraught conversation.”

  Sam’s head whipped around at the sound of her voice. What looked like a faint blush crept along his cheekbones. “Morning. Yeah, I forgot that Mum and Dad were going to a wedding tomorrow and planned to stay overnight at the hotel where it’s taking place.”

  Grace was puzzled. “Why is that a problem for you?”

  “Barney and Daisy. Mum’s dogs. Barney is a terrier, and Daisy is a Doberman—but the softest, dopiest Doberman you could ever meet. Mum won’t leave them alone for more than a few hours and never, ever overnight. Those two have never seen the inside of a kennel. I usually look after them when Mum and Dad need help.”

  “But you can’t this time?”

  “My friend Peter is having his stag-do in France tomorrow. To be honest, there’s been so much going on that I totally forgot all about it.”

  “Stag-do? What on earth is that?”

  “What? Oh yeah, I guess in the States they call it a bachelor party. Peter is getting married next month. The plan is to leave on the first boat tomorrow and get back around lunchtime on Saturday. Well, that was the plan, but now I have this issue with Mum. I don’t know what to do.”

  Grace spoke without thinking. “I’ll do it.”

  Sam’s surprise was evident. “That’s a really kind offer, Grace, but the dogs are pretty boisterous. They need to be walked twice a day and require a lot—and I mean a lot—of attention. So maybe it would be a bit too much for you.”

  “Seriously, Sam, I’ll be fine. Shall I let Susannah know, or will you?”

  “Why don’t you call Mum? She’ll really appreciate this. So do I. Thank you.”

  There was a pause, which led to a weighty silence. A silence which Sam eventually broke. “Grace, about last night...”

  Grace was sure her face was on fire; she could feel her cheeks burning. “Please, Sam, there is absolutely no need for us to discuss this.” She laughed, but even to her own ears, it sounded artificial and brittle.
“We both had a little too much to drink, so please just let us forget it. Okay?”

  Sam looked at her, and Grace inexplicably felt that he was seeing beneath her careful veneer, that he knew she was feeling a little shaky and deeply affected by their actions of the night before. Then he looked away and picked up his mug of coffee.

  “Sure. Anyway, I better get ready for work. I’ll leave you to call Mum.”

  As Sam walked away, Grace couldn’t help wondering if she had misplayed the scene. Should she have listened to what Sam was going to say?

  ◆◆◆

  Le Claire and his incident team were in a briefing session when the door swung open, and their main boss came in.

  Chief Officer Charles Wilson was a career man. He’d worked in London for most of his life. He’d started off walking the beat, where his arrest record and case-solving abilities propelled him up the ranks. His diplomatic skills took him the rest of the way. The chief was a tall, well-built man with thick greying hair, a hooked nose and penetrating blue eyes.

  Eyes that were now searching the crowded room and, when they alighted on Le Claire, sharpened ever so slightly. “Apologies for the disruption, but something couldn’t wait. Le Claire, I would like a word please.”

  Le Claire stood and squeezed past those closest to him until he reached the door. He would like to have pretended that he didn’t know what this was about. But he could think of only one recent issue that could have caused the chief’s thunderous look. As he closed the door behind them, Le Claire saw the smirk that pranced across Masters’s face. No doubt this had made the creep’s day. He hadn’t wanted him on his team, but it would have been petty, and obvious, to overlook him.