Читать книгу Deadly Reckoning - Elle James - Страница 10

Kayla woke from a nap on the couch, surprised she’d fallen asleep at all. Drawn to the picture window overlooking the ocean and the road leading up from town, she noted the sun hovering over the horizon. It would be dark soon. A shiver of dread slithered down her spine.

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Kayla’s heart skipped a beat and then thudded against her chest. Her hand rose to her throat where her breath lodged, as a solitary figure appeared walking along the road. At first all she could see was a dark silhouette, until the figure moved closer.

Finally, Kayla could make out a teenage boy pushing a bicycle.

She let go of the breath caught in her throat and laughed shakily. She really was a mess. “Your mommy’s losing her mind, Baby. But don’t worry, I have six months to get it back before I can start driving you crazy, too.”

Maybe coming to the coast wasn’t such a good idea. Alone on the edge of a cliff almost made her feel more of a target than if she’d been surrounded by people in a bustling city.

The boy stopped, dropped down by the rear wheel of his bicycle, fiddled with something and then stood, his gaze panning the area.

When he spotted the cottage, he resumed pushing the bike. Instead of passing by on the road, he turned onto the gravel drive leading down to the lighthouse cottage.

Moments later, the teen knocked on the door, the sound jolting Kayla from her stupor. When she didn’t move to open the door, the boy leaned to the side and peered into the window. He blinked and stepped closer, his hand cupping around his eyes and pressing against the glass. “Hello?” The teenager’s gaze landed on her and his face brightened. “Miss, could I use your telephone?” he called out, his voice muffled by the thick panes of glass.

It would be rude to ignore the boy. “Is everything all right?” she asked, her voice little more than a squeak. Oh, no, what if someone else had been hurt? Had another woman been attacked?

“I got a flat tire on my bike. I need to call the police station.”

“The police?” Kayla inched toward the door. “Why the police?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “It might give them something to do.”

Something to do? Kayla shook her head. Had the boy not heard about the murder? Curiosity warred with wariness, pushing it to the side. The teen looked harmless enough. A glance at his bicycle confirmed the flat tire. He was as tall as she was and lanky, but not very muscular. Certainly not big enough to overpower a woman and strangle her to death. And surely he wasn’t the man in Seattle two weeks ago who had tried to kill her. The boy didn’t have the build. What did Kayla have to worry about?

“Just a minute.” Kayla left the chain secure over the door, while she unlocked the doorknob and the dead bolt. She eased the door open and stared out at the young man. “I’m not sure the landline’s been turned on yet. Give me a minute, will you?”

“Sure. I guess I could push the bike all the way to the B and B, but the old man will go ballistic if I’m late. Thinks I’m a little kid or something.” The boy turned his back to the door and scuffed his tennis shoe against a porch column. “This place is so dead, it’s lame.”

Kayla cringed at the young man’s choice of words and closed the door, racing for the telephone on the kitchen counter. She lifted the receiver. No dial tone. With a sigh, she replaced the phone on the charging unit and dug in her handbag for her cell phone. The display showed two bars. Maybe.

Back at the door, she unlatched the chain and handed the phone to the kid. “The landline isn’t connected yet. But you can try using my cell phone. No guarantees—the reception isn’t great. But I got a call through yesterday.”

The boy punched in the numbers and hit the send key. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Nothing.” He pressed the redial key and waited again. With the same response, he closed the phone and handed it back to Kayla. “Guess I’m walking. Thanks anyway.” He turned and stepped off the porch.

Kayla watched him amble down the gravel road, shoulders slumped. She called herself every kind of fool. If she let herself be afraid to step out of the house, she’d more or less create her own prison. That was no way to live. If she retreated from life in fear, her attacker back in Seattle had won.

Bull on that!

Kayla was made of sterner stuff. Officer McGregor was right. Her attack had nothing to do with the woman killed last night. No one knew where she’d gone. She’d told no one. He couldn’t have followed her.

Guilt and determination pushed her out the door to stand on the porch. “Wait!” she called out. “I have an SUV. I’m sure I can fit the bicycle in the back. Want a lift?”

He turned, shielded his eyes from the sun falling toward the sea. “No, thank you. I don’t want to bother you.”

“I insist. Just give me a minute to get some shoes on.” When she turned to close and lock the door, she stopped herself. The boy wasn’t going to bother her, and she’d be damned if she acted like a pathetic old lady, locking herself inside every minute of the day. She purposely left the door unlocked and opened as she ran for her room to dig out her sandals.

When she returned to the living room, she gasped.

The teen stood beside her easel, holding up the palette and paintbrushes. When he heard her gasp, he dropped the items to the table beside the easel. “I’m sorry, the door was open. I thought you wanted me to come in.”

Kayla laughed, her voice shaky. “I did want you to come in,” she lied. “I just didn’t expect you to be so quick.”

“A guy would be stupid to pass up a free ride.” He nodded at the easel. “You paint?” He snorted. “Dumb question. Of course you do, why else have paintbrushes and an easel?”

Kayla stared at the empty canvas and sighed. “I used to paint.”

“Used to paint?”

She shrugged and gathered her keys from the kitchen countertop. “Haven’t felt much like it lately.” Hooking her purse over her shoulder, she stared across at the boy.

He didn’t seem at all in a hurry, intent on studying the paints, pressing his finger to the globs of oil on the palette. “I like the way the colors blend and make new colors.”

“Me too. It’s one of the reasons I took up painting in the first place.” Kayla moved closer to where the boy stood. “Seeing as I’m giving you a ride home, it might be nice to know your name.”

“Dakota.” He glanced at her. “Are you any good?”

“At driving?”

“No, painting.”

Kayla almost laughed out loud. She never took her talent for granted, nor her success over the past five years. From selling her paintings on the sidewalks of Seattle to being sought out by rich-and-famous art aficionados, she’d come a long way. Good at it? The laughter died before it could emerge. “Sometimes.”

The teen turned away from the palette, the canvas and the brushes and strode to the door. “At least you don’t get fined, put on probation and kicked out of your home for your art.” He pushed through the door and jumped off the steps to the ground below.

“Fined?” Kayla followed him out, locking the door behind her.

When he didn’t respond, she didn’t push. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but the stormy look on his face didn’t invite confidences.

With a tap on her key fob, she popped the latch on her SUV and the back door rose. The backseats were still folded down from when she’d loaded all her suitcases and art supplies for the trip south from Seattle.

Between the two of them they managed to get the bicycle in place, laying it on its side. Kayla let Dakota handle the heavy lifting. Once it was inside, Dakota climbed into the passenger seat while Kayla closed the hatch and rounded the vehicle to the driver’s side.

As she settled behind the steering wheel, the sun glinted off something shiny, blinding her for a moment. That something dangled off the rearview mirror. She blinked and held up her hand to keep from being flashed again. She touched a thin chain, her fingers curling around it. When she looked down, her heart stopped, her breath lodging in her throat. In her palm lay a golden locket—the locket she’d worn the night of the art show in Seattle. The night she’d almost lost her baby. The night she’d almost been murdered.

Gabe stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and scrubbed the water from his hair, his thoughts poring over the events of the day, the murder weighing heavily on him.

He’d been with the sheriff when they’d given the young woman’s parents the news. His chest was still tight from witnessing their disbelief and then the overwhelming grief in their eyes.

Adding to his crapper of a day, Dakota hadn’t been home when he’d gotten off work. Another ten minutes and he’d be late for dinner.

Not that Gabe cared so much about punctuality. He worried where the boy was and whether or not he was in any kind of trouble.

The front door opened and closed on the big old house.

Gabe looped the towel around his neck, slipped into a pair of jeans and padded barefoot through the bedroom door and out onto the landing overlooking the large foyer. “Dakota?”

When no one answered, he hurried down the stairs, reaching the bottom just as the door opened again and Kayla Davies entered, followed by Gabe’s sister, Molly, with Dakota bringing up the rear.

Kayla stopped so suddenly that Molly ran into her back, bumping her forward and into Gabe’s bare chest.

His hands automatically rose to steady her, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. “Hello, again.”

She stared up at him with deep green eyes, her hands resting against his bare skin.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I was too busy looking down I didn’t see you stop. Hi, Gabe, meet our new neighbor, Kayla.” Her brows rose. “You might want to put a shirt on.”

“Yeah, really,” Dakota agreed, edging past the women and his father to lope up the steps two at a time, his face a mottled red.

“Wash up, dinner is on in a few minutes,” Molly called out to the retreating teen. She shook her head. “I don’t know what it’s gonna take to get through to him.”

Kayla stepped back, twin flags of color rising in her pale cheeks. “Excuse me. I’m not usually so clumsy.”

“Blame me.” Molly hooked her elbow and dragged her toward the kitchen. “Gabe, get dressed while Kayla and I put the finishing touches on the soup. Oh, by the way, she’s staying for dinner.”

Kayla glanced over her shoulder at Gabe as Molly pulled her through the swinging door and out of sight.

For a long moment, Gabe stood staring after them, his skin still tingling from where Kayla’s hands had rested on his chest. He dragged in a deep breath and let it out, stunned by the impact she had on him. His pulse beat faster than normal, his blood burning through his veins. He’d thought his reaction over their earlier meeting had been one of fear for her life, but this kick in his gut had nothing to do with fear and more to do with physical attraction.

Gabe shook himself, grabbed the towel from around his neck and followed Dakota up the stairs. He needed to remember to keep his head clear. This was no time to get caught up in an untimely attraction. He had too much going on, between trying to connect with his son and finding a killer.

He also had to remind himself that women weren’t on top of his most trustworthy list since Siena showed up at his door with a son she’d kept secret from him for years. Growing up in a small town, he’d always assumed that the people he felt close to—family, friends, lovers—were as open and honest with him as he was with them. He couldn’t assume that anymore.

He suspected his lack of trust was part of the strain in his relationship with Dakota. He doubted Dakota would feel any better about it if Gabe explained that he was suspicious of everyone, not just teenagers with juvenile court records.

Gabe even had his suspicions that Kayla was keeping something from him. He wanted to know everything he could about this stranger with the porcelain skin and long silky hair. But the timing was all wrong—not least because he was afraid she might be in danger.

He’d spoken to the detective on her case back in Seattle. It sounded bad. Very bad. It obviously hadn’t been just a random attack. There had been phone calls leading up to it—threats, harassment. And then, on the night at the gallery, the attacker had told her that it wasn’t over.

No, this definitely wasn’t a time when either one of them needed the distraction of a relationship.

Three minutes later, he stepped out onto the landing, securing the buttons on a crisp white dress shirt, his hair combed back, shoes on his feet.

Well, just because he wasn’t looking for a relationship was no reason not to look his best.

He’d stopped to knock on Dakota’s door. “Ready?”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” the teen muttered, the steady thump, thump of music carrying through the wood paneling.

Gabe descended to the ground floor and headed straight for the kitchen, where he found Molly pouring a stockpot full of clam chowder into two large soup tureens.

“Hold that, will ya?” She handed him the stockpot, hot pads and all, and scraped the last drops of soup into the serving dish.

“That’s an awful lot of soup for the four of us.”

“We have additional guests coming for dinner.”

Gabe’s gaze drifted around the kitchen.

A smirk lifted one corner of his sister’s mouth. “She’s out on the porch, taking in the sunset.”

“Who?”

Molly shook her head. “Don’t play dumb with me. You had your hands on her long enough to grow roots.”

Heat rose around Gabe’s collar. His sister knew him all too well. Probably better than he knew himself. “She stumbled.”

“Yeah, but you held on—never mind.” Molly took the stockpot from him and plunked it into the sink. “Tell me all, and make it fast, I have to get this on the table before the guests start bellyachin’.”

Gabe stiffened. “There’s nothing to tell.” And, really, there wasn’t, just a feeling. He barely knew the woman.

Molly snorted. “Bull.”

Gabe refused to elaborate. Molly was stubborn, just like their father, but so was Gabe. “How’d she end up here?”

“She brought Dakota home. His bicycle tire is flat. You’ll need to help him fix it. Since she was nice enough to bring my nephew home, and I had enough clam chowder to feed an army, I invited her to stay for dinner.” His sister grabbed a tureen and backed into the swinging door. “Don’t just stand there, bring the other,” she commanded.

Gabe grinned, lifted the tureen and carried it into the large dining room where a long table had been set with seating for eight.

“Who do we have joining us?” Gabe asked, not really interested, but stalling for a chance to freely observe Kayla through the window.

“The Johnsons are still with us and while I was in town purchasing supplies, I ran into Jillian and one of her clients. I told them I was making clam chowder and asked if they wanted to come to dinner.”

As if on cue, an older couple emerged from the first-floor hallway, hands joined like newlyweds, which they were, having chosen Cape Churn and the McGregor B and B for their honeymoon.

Dakota shuffled down the stairs, headphones jammed in his ears, carrying his iPod, shirt untucked, hair uncombed, the crotch of his jeans drooping nearly to his knees.

Gabe closed his eyes and fought against the urge to tell the young man how to dress. He’d been a teen once. He’d worn weird clothes, listened to his music and basically drove his parents crazy.

He let Dakota’s appearance slide, his thoughts shifting to the woman he could see through the front window, leaning on the porch rail, staring out at the steely-blue waters of the cape.

Molly came to stand beside Gabe, wiping her hands on her apron. “We’re just waiting on Jillian and her client. Why don’t you go talk to our guest. She seemed kind of quiet, and very jumpy. Why, I don’t know. I’d try to get her to open up, but I have to get the food on the table. Until Jillian and her client arrive, you have time.” Molly’s mouth slid sideways. “You know you want to.”

Gabe shook his head. Molly’s exuberance didn’t hide the fact that she was also very intuitive when it came to people and their feelings. She had a way of seeing through him, not that he’d been trying to hide anything.

Kayla Davies intrigued him. He tried to tell himself it was because of her involvement in the murder investigation.

Dakota plopped into an overstuffed leather chair in the sitting room as Gabe passed by, headed for the front door.

When the screen door squeaked, Kayla glanced his way, her green eyes widening for a moment, that haunted look lingering in the shadows beneath her eyes.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she said, turning her back to him, her gaze skimming across the rugged, rocky coastline.

“I’m kind of partial to it.”

Kayla’s fingers twisted a strand of long auburn hair, her attention on the view, not him. “Is this your hometown?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He leaned against one of the wide columns and stared at her rather than the scenery. “Lived here most of my life except the time I spent as a Seattle street cop.”

“Seattle?” Her gaze shot to him.

“Hard to picture me fighting crime in the big city?”

“No. It’s just that we came from the same city.” She shrugged. “Just shows you what a small world it is.” Kayla glanced out at the sea. “What made you come back to Cape Churn?”

“My son, Dakota.”

She spun to face him, her eyes wide. “Your son?”

“You look surprised.” Gabe grinned.

“I’m sorry.” She glanced down at where her fingers tugged at a loose strand of hair. “I’m so new to town, I didn’t know.”

“Trust me, you can’t be half as surprised as I was when I found out I had a son.”

She frowned up at him. “When was that?”

“Four months ago.”

Her auburn brows rose up her forehead. “Four months?”

Gabe scrubbed a hand across his short hair. “His mother dumped him at my apartment in Seattle. Before that, I didn’t know he existed. Since an apartment’s no place to raise a kid, I brought him to my hometown.” His lips twisted. “I’m pretty sure he hates Cape Churn. And he’s not that fond of me, either. Honestly, other than strange music, I’m not really sure what he likes at all. I’m clueless when it comes to raising teens.”

“Can’t help you there.” Kayla’s hand smoothed across her flat stomach. “He seemed really interested in my art.”

A chuckle rose from Gabe’s throat. “I’m not surprised. He’s on probation for defacing private property.”

Kayla’s head tipped to the side. “He doesn’t strike me as someone who’d be deliberately destructive.”

“Graffiti.”

Her smile, though fleeting, lit her face. “Was it any good?”

Gabe stared at the waiflike woman, hoping her smile would last longer, but her lips tipped downward again, the shadows in her eyes returning.

“From the picture he showed me on his cell phone, yeah.” He shook his head. “Not that the courts saw it as anything other than a crime.”

“He needs an outlet for his art. One that isn’t against the law.” Again, that hint of a smile curved her lips.

Gabe’s breath caught. He could imagine how much more beautiful she would be with a full smile that reached her deep green eyes. “I brought Dakota here to give him a fresh start.” He glanced out across the rough waters of the cape and back to Kayla. “I wonder if it’s too small-town for him, though.”

“Any place is what you make of it. He could be just as unhappy in Seattle as here.”

Intelligent as well as beautiful. Gabe’s chest tightened. “So what brought you here? Why did you move into the lighthouse cottage?”

“The attack in Seattle two weeks ago.” Her fingers rose to her neck absently, but she grimaced and pulled them away before they touched the skin. “It was too close a call. I couldn’t walk down the street without seeing danger in every dark corner.”

He tried to suppress the urge to take her into his arms and hold her until her fear faded. After he’d learned what had happened to her in Seattle, he’d no longer been surprised that she’d struggled against him when he’d pulled her away from the cliff’s edge. It all made sense.

She fished in her jeans pocket. “He tried to kill me, but he didn’t have time. Before he got away, he yanked off the necklace I was wearing.” She held up a thin gold chain with a broken clasp and a locket dangling from the middle. “I found this in my car when I got in it to bring Dakota home. It’s the same necklace he took that night.” Her voice was steady, but he could see the way her hand shook slightly, sending tremors through the necklace chain. “I left Seattle to get away from him. I’m certain now that he followed me here.”