Did Laine go pale? It was hard to tell, since her natural skin tone was so light. Where was she from, Gracie wondered suddenly. With that accent and her white-blond coloring, maybe somewhere in Scandinavia?
“The woods. Where in the woods?”
“In the Cascades, in Washington State. Is there…I mean, did you…”
Laine glanced toward Mark and the kitchen.
Finally, it clicked. She didn’t want Diego to hear any of this. Gracie pressed her lips together. This situation had just gotten even stranger.
“They told me my baby was dead,” Laine finally said in the barest whisper.
A rushing sensation made Gracie’s head spin. So it was true. Laine was her mother, and she’d thought Gracie was dead. No wonder she hadn’t looked for her.
Her mother hadn’t abandoned her.
But she didn’t look happy to see her, either.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Laine said slowly.
And just like that, all of Gracie’s joy evaporated. Maybe she’d gotten it wrong after all. “I just…want to know.”
“And you think I have answers. You’re wrong. You should go.”
Gracie’s heart beat like a hummingbird trapped against a window. All of this felt surreal and confusing. Was it that Laine didn’t think Gracie was her child? Or was it that she didn’t want to claim her? Something was wrong. She could feel it along her skin; that was the way her intuition operated.
“Please, just…something. Tell me something. Then we’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
Laine hesitated, shooting one more look toward Mark. He shook his head, indicating the coast was clear.
“Very quickly, then. I did lose a daughter. I was carjacked by a maniac who was stalking me. I fought back and got pushed out of the car. I nearly died. I was in the hospital for weeks and got addicted to the painkillers they gave me. That went on for many years. I’m not the same person now. That time feels like another life.”
Tears trickled down Gracie’s face. She couldn’t stop them, as if a faucet had gotten stuck in the “on” position. This story matched Mark’s perfectly.
“So you are—”
Laine interrupted. “It would have been much better if you hadn’t come here.”
Was that an answer? Why wouldn’t she just come out and say one way or the other? What was going on? Abandoning words, she met Laine’s eyes through her sunglasses. Laine was still examining every bit of her face, from eyebrows to earrings. Would she be doing that if Gracie was nothing but a stranger?
Mark abandoned his position and came to her side. She grabbed his hand, clinging to its warm, solid weight.
“Just tell me my real name,” she whispered.
“Gracie. Your name is Gracie,” Laine said firmly. “And you need to go now.”
Mark tugged on her hand. “She’s right, we should get going, Gracie.”
Gracie sat frozen on the love seat. What was Laine trying to tell her? What was she so afraid of? Was she or wasn’t she Laine’s daughter?
Mark tugged on her hand again, bringing her to her feet. Gracie looked down at her maybe-mother one more time, taking in every little detail she could. This might be her only chance to see her in person. Laine hadn’t mentioned anything about coming back or talking further.
“Goodbye,” she whispered.
Laine didn’t answer. She held herself perfectly straight and still, like an illustration of proper posture.
Numb, Gracie allowed Mark to pull her toward the front door.
In the foyer, she noticed a row of framed black-and-white photos that she’d missed when they’d first arrived. Avidly, she scanned each one as they passed. They all showed Laine on various movie sets, laughing and posing with other actors.
Then her gaze snagged on one shot in particular. In this one, Laine was laughing up at someone, her head tilted back, her hair blowing in the wind—revealing an earring.
A white feather earring with a quartz crystal, just like the one in Gracie’s left earlobe at this very moment.
She touched it and looked back at Laine for one searing moment.
Laine nodded, ever so slightly.
Oh my God. It was true. And now she was supposed to just leave?
She pulled a gas receipt from her pocket and scrawled her phone number on it, then left it on a glass side table just inside the door.
Laine showed no reaction to that move.
Was she imagining all of this? Imagining that Laine had just agreed that they were connected, at least by an earring?
All she could do was trust her instincts. They were screaming at her that something else was going on. That Laine’s distance was a front. That she was trying to chase her and Mark away—but for secret reasons of her own.
28
Outside, they hurried into the Jetta as if it was an escape pod. Neither said anything until they were cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway, putting distance between themselves and that strange encounter.
“It’s her,” Gracie burst out. “We have the same earring.”
“The same earring?”
“Yes, the one I told you and Sophie about.” She touched the soft feather dangling from her ear. “The one I found in the cushions after Mom died. I bet she found it in the bassinet. It’s proof, Mark! Solid proof!”
“Then why didn’t she just say so?”
“I think she’s scared. That’s why she wanted us to leave.”
“Then we should do what she wants. Leave.” His jaw flexed as he shifted up a gear. “If we just keep driving, we can get to Ocean Shores tonight.”
“But Mark, don’t you want to know what’s going on?”
“No. I don’t. She said herself that she’s a drug addict. A lot of things could scare her.”
Gracie felt his harsh words as if they were an attack on her, not Laine. She jumped to her defense. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Gracie, that woman just cut you cold. She doesn’t care about you.”
“You don’t know that. That’s not what I’m picking up. And you know I always trust my intuition.”
He thumped a fist against her steering wheel. “Maybe you should trust me instead of your intuition for once. We should get the hell away from here.”
“I need to stick around,” she said stubbornly. “I want to see her again. And don’t attack my car.”
“I’m not attacking your car, I’m emphasizing my point. And she’s not going to call you. She wants you gone.”
Just then, her phone buzzed with a text. She grabbed it, shooting Mark a triumphant look. “California area code. It’s her. You don’t know everything.”
He shot her a look from under dark eyebrows. “What does it say?”
She read aloud. “Don’t come back. It’s not safe.”
“There. She agrees with me. I say we do what Mama says.”
“But why would she put it that way? It’s not safe. There’s more to this story, Mark.” All her inner alarm bells were going off. She needed to stay nearby and find out what Laine was so frightened about.
“I bet it’s that Diego dude. Something’s very off about him. Did you notice that he had his cell phone out, like he was taking pictures of us?”
“Maybe she wanted him to, so she could take some time to look at my face and realize I really am her daughter, and she really wants to get to know me. She just needs a little time to adjust.”
“You’re so freaking optimistic. Jesus.”
He had a point. Maybe there was another reason, a darker reason. Maybe she was once again pulling Mark into something he didn’t want.
She drew in a deep breath, gathering her courage. This was her battle, not his. “You don’t have to stay, Mark. Let’s drive to a car rental place and you can pick up a car and drive home.”
“My truck is back in Rocky Peak,” he reminded her tightly.
“Right. Of course. Well, I’ll see if Griffin can drive it down. He always loves a chance to drive. My broth
ers are dying to help out, I can feel them virtually hovering. He’d be happy to do it.”
“Damn it, Gracie.” They reached a stretch of the highway that curved close to the shoreline. She’d seen this iconic sight on calendars, in movies, and had always fantasized about driving it in a convertible, with the top down, waving at every celebrity she passed. “I’m not going to fucking leave you here. Not with all the weird vibes I’m getting.”
She swallowed hard, relief flooding through her. “Okay. Thanks.”
“I am going to try to talk you out of it, though,” he said with a touch of his old grumpiness. “Why don’t we go back to Ocean Shores and regroup? You have Laine’s number now that she contacted you. You can text her or call her. Get to know her. If that’s really what you want.”
The distaste in his voice set her teeth on edge. “No, because I’m here, and she’s here, and I’ve been working toward this moment for ages. And why are you talking about her like that?”
“Because I didn’t like the way she treated you! Not one question about where you’d been, what happened to you, how you grew up?”
“I know. It’s a little weird.”
“Maybe it’s not weird so much as fucked up.” A black convertible passed them, the driver’s hair blowing behind her like a bright flag.
“Oh my God, I think that was Emma Stone,” Gracie said excitedly. “Did you see her?”
“No. I don’t care. Focus, Gracie.”
“Wait…you didn’t notice a famous movie star driving past because you’re worried about me?” She clasped her hands under her chin and fluttered her lashes at him. Hey, it worked the last time.
“If you bat so much as one more eyelash at me, I’m driving this car back to Rocky Peak no matter what you say,” he growled.
“Why, because you’re putty in my hands when I do that?”
“I’m something in your hands, but putty ain’t it.” He swung the wheel hard to the left, and they careened across the two-lane highway into the driveway of the Salt Spray Inn.
“Perfect!” She clapped her hands at the charming sight of the “vacancy” sign. “Yay!” Leaning over, she threw her arms around him. “Thank you, Mark. You have no idea how much this means to me. I couldn’t stand the idea of just leaving, after we went through so much to find her.”
“I get it.” He turned off the ignition then cupped her cheek, the warmth of his hand sending a quick thrill through her. “I’ll stay one night. But you have to promise me a few things.”
“A few things? You have a list?”
“I do. Number one, you don’t go back to that house without me. I’m a suspicious, untrusting bastard, but that’s just the way it is.” His dark eyes were fierce with concern. “Promise?”
“Yes. I promise. But you can’t call yourself a bastard. I’m probably the one who’s a bastard. Did she look like someone who’s ever been married?”
“That’s not what I’m implying, and it’s also completely beside the point.”
“Right.” She made the sign of a cross over her heart. “I promise, on my mother’s grave—the other one—that I won’t go back there alone. Honestly, I wouldn’t even want to, so you really don’t have to worry. What else?”
“We contact Jake and let him know what we’ve found. Maybe that investigator he knows can do some digging. I want to know what we’re getting into if we go back there. I want to know who that Diego dude is, and what kind of juice diet she’s on, and if her story matches the public record, and I don’t know…everything.”
She smiled at him tenderly. “You’re really worried about me, aren’t you?”
“Bad habits are hard to break,” he grumbled.
She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, a sense of certainty sinking through her as she tasted that familiar, firm freshness. He might be fighting it, but she knew deep in her bones that he loved her. It was written in every worried line of his face, in the way he curled his hand around her hip, in the fiery light in his eyes as he gazed into hers.
Sure, she was eternally optimistic and secretly believed in magic and generally followed her intuition rather than the rules.
That didn’t mean she was wrong.
Mark couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a mistake. But he couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him. Unlike Gracie, he wasn’t used to relying on his instincts. He was more attuned to logic and facts.
Logically, he’d covered the bases. Jake was already on the job. He’d accepted the task eagerly and promised to call his private investigator friend right away.
And he knew that Gracie wasn’t going to break her promise and skip back to Laine’s house without him.
So why did he still have a nagging feeling that they’d be much better off if they just left? It didn’t have to be Ocean Shores. They could go anywhere; he didn’t care. Rocky Peak. Zanzibar. It didn’t matter. Anywhere that wasn’t here.
But soon his sense of foreboding gave way under Gracie’s determined efforts to cheer him up. When she set her mind to charm and distract a person, no one alive could resist her.
They’d noticed a seafood place right on the beach and decided it was worth a splurge. As they were getting ready for dinner, Gracie launched into a comical reenactment of the moment when Laine dropped the glass plate and Mark kept yelling at everyone not to move.
“Yes, that’s your long-lost daughter that you thought was dead but don’t move!” She mimicked Mark as he doubled over in laughter. “And watch that runaway melon next to your foot. I don’t trust it!”
When he caught his breath, he chimed in by imitating Laine. “Hello, young beauties. Would you like a bit of broken glass with your Beeting Heart?”
“Right! The Beeting Heart! Oh my God, I dare you to order one at dinner. Maybe they’ll think we’re vampires.” She finished tucking her hair into cute little knots and pulled on her silver snowflake sweater.
At the Charthouse Grill, the hostess gave them a table right by the water, so close if felt like they were suspended above the ocean. The moon sparked silver light along the face of each wave as it rippled toward the shore. It was a magical evening, the air soft as a baby’s breath, the restaurant half empty.
“I wonder if Laine comes here,” Gracie said after the waitress left them with their menus. “I can imagine her sitting in a corner with her dark sunglasses, eating nothing but the parsley garnish, with maybe a spritz of lemon.”
He eyed her over the laminated menu. “So what did your intuition tell you about her? Did you feel a connection?”
She glanced out at the dark ocean, twisting her mouth to one side. “Sort of, but it came and went, like a…”
“Bad connection?”
“Ha. Yes. I thought I would feel more. If she’s my mother, I spent nine months inside her body. Wouldn’t I feel that, like part of me would remember?”
“I don’t know. Families are weird.”
“Is your family weird, too? You don’t talk much about yours. Or, you know, anything.” She made a little face at him.
“Not too much to tell. My parents got divorced a few years after I was kidnapped. I always thought it was my fault.”
Her eyes looked almost silver as they widened. “Why?”
“The kidnapping. The stress. I didn’t talk for several months. They fought a lot. I felt like they started to hate each other.”
“So it’s your fault that you were kidnapped? That doesn’t make sense. You might as well say it was my fault because I dropped my pacifier!”
He laughed a little at that. “I didn’t make things easier for them later, either. Got into plenty of trouble in high school. They were happy to hand me off to my uncle Stu. They’re both remarried now.”
“Where’s your uncle?”
“He moved to south Texas and opened another marina there. Says the fishing’s better there. I think mostly he did it to give me space. He’s a good guy.”
“Then you must take after him.”
He
snorted as he dug into his grilled tuna steak.
“I’m serious. You’re a really kind and caring person, Mark Castellani, no matter what you think.”
Uncomfortable, he shrugged off the compliment. “Not really.”
“Are you kidding? You really went out of your way for me. You left your own business behind so you could visit a freaky old mental patient, subdue a pack of attack dogs, and clean broken glass off the floor of a weird movie star’s home. Either you’re crazy or you’re a very kind and caring person.”
There was another possibility. That he would do just about anything for Gracie. That he felt deeply for her, more deeply than he’d ever allowed himself to feel before.
“You left out getting reamed by Mad Max and grilled by the entire Rockwell family,” he said lightly.
“Well, none of it will be forgotten. I promise you that.”
She made good on that seductive promise that night in bed. They cracked open a window so they could listen to the steady lap of waves on the beach, punctuated by cars whizzing past on the Pacific Coast Highway. She wanted to take charge, and he let her. He lay back while she made love to him with a sweet passion that rocked him to his core. She kissed and nibbled every bit of his body. He interlaced his hands behind his neck and watched her take him into her mouth. She tongued and sucked him until he was about to explode. Hips rising off the bed, his cock seeking more, deeper, harder.
Panting, he caught her eye, and silently, invisibly, yet perfectly clearly, she passed the reins over to him. He surged up, flipped her onto her back, and spread her legs apart so he could feast on her wet, soft heat. Pinning her to the bed, he licked her mercilessly, until she was literally pounding her fists on his back, begging to come.
He waited until she’d screamed out her orgasm, the pulse of juices against his tongue driving him mad. Then he plunged into her, all that tight heat clenching around him like a fist.
“I love you,” she whispered, so softly he didn’t know if she’d intended him to hear it. So softly it could have been his imagination.
Except that it wasn’t.
But he pretended it was, because he didn’t know what to do with that confession, and she didn’t repeat it, so maybe he’d misheard.
The Runaway Page 22