She
wasn’t
a poor little rich girl. And even if she was, then what did that make Dale?
A poor match,
whispered a voice in the back of her head, and Tansy closed her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, not after everything they’d meant to each other. Not after everything he’d meant to her.
He parked the jeep in Churchill’s carefully raked clamshell drive and sat for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes staring straight out into the night, which had fallen with a heavy, stormy abruptness. Lacking the energy for another fight, Tansy reached for the door handle.
His voice came out of the darkness, carrying across the intimate little space like a caress. “Tans… I really am sorry for what I said.” He was silhouetted against the lit front of the mansion, and light glinted off his hair when he turned toward her. “You hit a nerve. I’d been sitting there, thinking of all the things I did wrong, all the things I could’ve done differently…and there you were, like my conscience.”
Tansy’s own conscience nagged at her with the knowledge that she’d slapped at him while he was reeling from Trask’s revelations. That hadn’t been fair, or wise, but there had never been a middle
ground for them. It was always either excitement or anger, love or hate. Nothing in between.
She opened the door and jumped from the jeep, clenching her teeth when the jolt sang through her tired body. “It’s okay, Dale. Let’s just forget about it.”
He followed her to the front door and held it open. The light from the entryway spilled out onto them, gilding his white-blond hair and clear blue eyes. Tansy’s chest ached with the realization that if they survived the storm, they’d never have to see each other again. They’d be going in different directions, still wanting different things.
She wanted a family. He wanted anything but. She wanted honesty. To him, that meant only pain.
A bad match.
“It’s not okay,” he replied. He closed the door behind them, shutting out the night and the storm. Shutting out the stranger who had set a trip wire across their landing strip and burned Dale’s house to the ground. “But I’m going to make it okay. I’m going to get you out of here safely, Tansy, I swear it on my mother’s grave.”
His mother’s empty grave.
Tansy shook off the thought and headed for the stairs. “I’m not your responsibility, Dale.” She’d wanted to be so much more, and he’d only been able to offer less. Her eyes stung with smoke and tears. “I’m going to take a bath.”
When you need to cry,
her mother had always told her,
find someplace private. Men don’t like tears.
Well, Tansy didn’t give a flip what Dale thought about tears, but she needed the time alone.
Upstairs, while filling Churchill’s luxurious guest bath, she tried to relax, and failed. She tried to let the tears come, but they wouldn’t. Her mind kept returning to the exquisite pain on Dale’s face when he’d watched Mickey with his wife and children. There had been a moment of longing, she was sure of it. Then he’d shut it off and scowled.
“Oh, Dale,” she whispered over the sound of water pouring into the tub and the wail of the wind outside. She shivered inside her fluffy robe.
“Tans? You okay in there?” His muffled words came through the wooden panel, as though he, too, recognized the new distance between them and was afraid to even crack the door.
She walked to the carved wood and imagined him leaning against the other side. She pressed her hand to the place his face might be. “I’m fine,” she said softly. “Just fine.”
But it was a lie. She wasn’t fine. She hurt for him. Hurt for herself.
“Can I get you anything?” He must have realized she was beside the door, because his voice came through low and intimate.
Three months ago, or even three hours ago, she might have damned the consequences and invited him to share her bath. But not now. She shook her head, though he couldn’t see the motion. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”
But, oh, the temptation ached through her body. She knew the places he could take her, the things he could make her forget. Worse, she knew the sensations he would force her to remember. And now?
Now she’d have to forget them for a lifetime.
She heard Dale’s sigh through the layer of wood. Finally, he said, “I’ll be out here, keeping watch.”
When he moved away from the door, Tansy stayed there a moment with her hand pressed to the cool wood, feeling the steam close around her and hearing the tone of the rushing water change as the tub filled. But still, she couldn’t cry. Instead, determination built within her, chasing away the weakness and the self-pity. She could help Dale. Damn it, she
would
help Dale, whether he wanted her assistance or not.
A car door slammed and a dog barked. Hearing Churchill and Frankie’s voices outside her open window, Tansy bathed quickly and pulled her borrowed clothes back on.
In the bedroom, she found Dale sprawled across the bed, fully dressed. He was fast asleep. She paused, caught by the frown that hadn’t smoothed from his face, even in sleep.
His shirt was half open, and in the light spilling from the bathroom, the shadow of the lobster tattoo was a dark patch against his smooth skin. She couldn’t stop herself from crossing the big room and touching the place where the faded ink covered his heart. Though she had no right, she leaned down and
kissed him softly on the lips, feeling a sharp sliver of pain when he smiled in his sleep.
She longed to climb into that big bed, snuggle up beside him and pretend none of this was happening. Instead, she turned away and tiptoed from the room.
Downstairs, Churchill was alone in the kitchen. When Tansy marched into the room, he paused in the act of assembling a sandwich. His eyes lit with approval. “Good evening, Dr. Whitmore. I hear your cure has brought some miracles.”
It took her a moment to remember that Eddie was breathing on his own. The event, which should have been a triumph, had been lost amid the rest of the day. She smiled at the memory of Mickey and his family hanging over the motel bed, watching Eddie’s color return. “Hopefully, he’ll regain consciousness tomorrow.”
Churchill smiled. “That’s wonderful!” He gestured to the counter, where he’d spread the makings of a late dinner. “You must be hungry. What can I offer you?”
Tansy took a deep breath and sat. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. Then I want you to tell me about Dale’s parents and the
Curly Sue
.”
Chapter Eight
Churchill frowned, pulled a second plate down from a high cupboard and set about making her a sandwich. “There’s not much to tell. Lobstering is a tough business, and the North Atlantic waters are treacherous this far offshore. It’s a rare year when we don’t lose at least one boat and her crew.”
He set the sandwich in front of her and took his seat, sliding a plate of cookies between them. Tansy dug into her sandwich as he continued, “Kristin, Thomas and Suzie were fine people, and good friends. I mourned them.” Churchill took a cookie and nibbled at one corner. “But as for Trask’s talk of murder?” He shook his head. “Even if Eddie found Kristin’s engagement ring inland, I don’t see how that ‘proves’ anything. Besides, they were good people. Who would want them dead?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Tansy replied between bites. “But someone wants to get Dale off the island, either by scaring him away or by—” she swallowed hard “—killing him.” Us. “That seems
like pretty good evidence that foul play was covered up, and that the perpetrator doesn’t want Dale nosing around.”
“Or…” Churchill looked worried, and from his position beneath the table, the Doberman whined. “Hush, Janus. It’s okay.” He passed a piece of cookie to the dog and continued. “Or else the plane crash and the fire weren’t specifically aimed at Dale.”
“Yes,” Tansy admitted, “I’d thought of that, too.” A big shudder crawled down her back. Churchill covered her hand with his own and she didn’t move away, needing that moment of contact. Though the older man was a stranger, Dale trusted him. Right now, that would have to be enough for her. “But who would want to hurt us? Someone with a grudge against HFH? That seems unlikely, which means that it has to be someone who wants…”
Outside, a harder gust of wind hit the mansion, rattling the storm shutters and the front door. Tansy flinched, and Churchill finished her thought. “Someone who wants the outbreak to continue. Someone who has a vested interest in islanders moving to the mainland.”
Roberts.
He didn’t say it, but the real estate developer’s name hung between them like a curse.
The front door banged again, and this time, over the howl of the rising wind, they heard a man shouting. “Churchill? Frankie?”
It was Mickey’s voice.
Oh, God. Not again. Half-panicked, Tansy shot to
her feet and ran for the door with Churchill and the Doberman at her heels. She flung the door open and raised her voice over the howls of the wind. “Mickey! Is it Eddie?”
She hoped for the best. She feared the worst. But Dale’s cousin, wild-eyed and rumpled from sleeping in his clothes three days running, shook his head. “No, not Eddie!” A strong gust nearly toppled the big man, and he reached for her. “It’s Hazel.”
Panic iced to horror, closing Tansy’s throat.
Hazel!
“What happened to her?” asked Dale’s voice from behind her. She turned to find him halfway down the curving staircase, wearing jeans and nothing else. The faded lobster tattoo crossed his heart, standing out in dark relief against his skin. The worn denim sagged across his hipbones, seeming held up more by habit than by a waistband. Lean, sinewy muscles crowded one atop the other in sculpted layers of hard male flesh.
His eyes flickered to her, then away, and he repeated his question. “Mickey. What happened to Hazel?”
There was a brief lull in the wind, and in the sudden, eerie quiet, the lobsterman’s words seemed overly loud.
“She was attacked.”
TANSY CLUTCHED THE ROLL bar as Dale sent the jeep skidding into the motel parking lot. He stalled the engine and they raced across the parking lot, eyes slitted against blowing sand.
Raised voices carried from the half-open door to Unit 2. “Damn it! I want you to go home, woman! Why are you being so bloody stubborn?”
Dale cursed and punched the door fully open. “Leave her alone, Trask. Can’t you do anything without shouting at people?”
The almost-combatants froze. Hazel was seated beside Eddie’s bed, holding an ice pack to the side of her face. Trask loomed over her, breathing hard. Tansy wondered whether Dale could see the fear in the older man’s eyes, whether he understood it. Probably not, she thought with a shimmer of disappointment. No doubt he saw the anger and missed the love.
Trask surged to his feet, a dull red flush climbing the back of his neck. “This is none of your business, boy.”
Dale took a menacing step forward, and Tansy decided she’d had enough. Enough of this island, enough of Alice down the rabbit hole, and more than enough of Dale and his uncle. Like a pair of bulls, they were too busy pawing and snorting at each other to realize their energy would be better spent elsewhere. Like investigating Roberts, who would profit if the island’s economy collapsed.
“Out!” she snapped, pointing to the door. “This is a hospital room. If you need to fight, do it outside, so I can tend Hazel and check on Eddie. If you’re going to stay, then behave, both of you!”
Surprisingly, shouting worked.
Dale raised his eyebrows and stepped back, leaving Tansy wondering whether she should have started
yelling a long time ago. Even during their worst fights, she’d always treated him as an equal, as an adult capable of making rational decisions. Maybe that had been her mistake.
New, unfamiliar power surged through her.
Keep your man happy and he won’t stray,
her mother had said, so Tansy had tried. She’d tried to keep him stocked with clean underwear in the field and expensive wines at home, but it hadn’t been good enough.
She
hadn’t been good enough.
Now, she wondered whether she hadn’t been tough enough.
Trask glowered, and shuffled his feet. “The woman takes a punch in the face and won’t go home to lie down. What am I supposed to do?”
Giving her some sympathy would be a nice place to start,
Tansy thought as she knelt beside Hazel’s chair.
Maybe some cuddling and a shoulder to cry on.
But that would never happen. Trask and Dale were too alike that way. Too unemotional. Too closed off. How could a woman ever really know a man like that?
She couldn’t, that was the answer.
Irritated with her thoughts, and with the men, she shook her head and focused on her newest patient. “What happened?”
The older doctor pulled the ice pack away from her swollen, red cheek. A tendril of soft gray hair curled across her jaw, making her look younger, vulnerable. “I stepped outside for a breath of air.” Finding solace in the familiar actions, Tansy performed
a routine check and found no injuries beyond the blow to Hazel’s face, as the other woman continued, “It was twilight, and he was dressed in black.”
“He?” Dale asked quickly. “Did you see his face?”
“No. It was dark, and the wind had knocked over one of the lights in the parking lot, so I left them all off.” She gestured outside the open door, where the bare bulbs, were now lit. “Obviously, we turned them on after the attack.”
Tansy thought the feeble light and the flickering, neon No Vacancy sign made the area look creepier than no light at all. The shadows were elongated and strangely colored. Perfect for hiding. The windows were all boarded against the storm.
Perfect for an attacker to do his business, with nobody to hear the screams over the winds of the coming hurricane.
She shivered at the thought of what might have happened to Hazel. What might already have happened to her and Dale.
Hazel continued, “I had just decided to check on Miranda when I heard a noise behind me. I turned, and
wham!
” She slapped her palms together, and both Dale and Trask winced. “He knocked me down. I fell against the biohazard garbage cans outside, and I think the noise scared him away. He took off around the back of the motel just as Trask pulled up.” Hazel cut her eyes to the older man. “Trask chased the man, but there was too much of a head start.”