She tapped on the door. “Dad? Are you in there?”
When he didn’t reply, she opened the door, scanned the room quickly, and then pulled the door shut, her breath coming hard and fast. Abby’s side of the room was frozen in time, as if it were still waiting for her to return. Lauren let out a long, shaky breath, then turned away.
Where the hell was her father? She’d called him that morning and told him she was coming, and he’d seemed fine. But according to the neighbors, who had sent numerous letters to her mother over the past three months, her father’s Alzheimer’s was getting
worse. It was time for someone in the family to come back and take care of him. Her mother had refused. She’d divorced Ned Jamison eleven years earlier, and she had no intention of reuniting with him now. David was back east at college. So Lauren had returned to Angel’s Bay to deal with a man who was little more than a stranger to her. But he was still her father, and she needed to find him—she just wasn’t sure where to look. She had only spent a half dozen weekends with her dad since she’d left home at seventeen, and all those visits had occurred in San Francisco. Where would he be on a Friday night? She didn’t know who his friends were anymore, what he did, where he went.
Or did she?
Her father had always been a creature of habit. During her childhood, he’d spent most of his time in three places: home, the bait and tackle shop he’d run until two years ago, and his fishing boat
Leonora,
named after his great-great-great-grandmother who’d been one of the founders of Angel’s Bay.
Lauren headed out the front door toward the marina, which was only a few blocks away. Buttoning up her sweater, she hurried down the street. It was seven o’clock and there was already a chill in the darkening September sky. Soon there’d be pumpkins and Halloween decorations on every porch, but for now the neighborhood was quiet.
While some of the homes had been remodeled, the streets were very familiar. She’d been born in Angel’s Bay, and this neighborhood was where she’d taken her
first steps, learned to ride a bicycle, roller skated into the Johnsons’ rosebushes, gotten her first kiss in the moonlight, fallen in love . . . and fallen out of love.
She blinked away the sudden moisture in her eyes and picked up her pace. She had a great life in San Francisco now, an interesting job and good friends, and she had no regrets about leaving her hometown. She just wished that she hadn’t had to come back.
By the time she reached Ocean Avenue, she was breathless. She quickened her pace as she passed the Angel’s Heart Quilt Shop, where she and Abby and their mother had partaken in the town’s longstanding tradition of community quilting. Quilting was the way mothers and daughters, sisters and friends connected the past with the present. She’d once loved to quilt, but she hadn’t picked up a needle and thread since she’d left. She didn’t want those connections anymore. Nor did she particularly want to see anyone she knew now. She was hoping to make her visit short, with as little community contact as possible.
Crossing the street, she kept her head down as she passed Carl’s Crab Shack. The line was out to the sidewalk and the delicious smells of clam chowder and fish and chips made her stomach rumble. She’d done the four-hour drive from San Francisco without stopping for food but she couldn’t stop now.
As she reached the marina she saw a new sign on her father’s bait and tackle shop, now called Brady’s instead of Jamison’s. The store was closed. She moved down the ramp that led to the boat slips.
Luckily the gate had been propped open by a slat of wood, so she didn’t need a key. Her father’s old trawler had been moored at the second to last slip in the third row since she was a little girl. She hoped it was still there.
The marina was quiet. Most of the action occurred in the early morning or late afternoon, when the sport and commercial fishermen were going out or coming back after a day of work or pleasure. Her pulse quickened as the lights on her father’s boat suddenly came on, followed by the sound of an engine. She could see his silhouette in the cabin. What on earth was he doing? He couldn’t go out to sea by himself.
“Dad!” she yelled, breaking into a run. She waved her arms as she screamed again, but either he couldn’t hear her or he was ignoring her. By the time she reached the slip, her father’s boat was chugging toward the middle of the bay. She had to stop him. She needed to call the Coast Guard or find someone to go after him. “Hello! Anyone here?” she called.
A man emerged from a nearby boat and Lauren hurried down the dock.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
The familiar voice stopped her dead in her tracks, and as he jumped onto the dock and into the light, her heart skipped a beat.
Shane. Shane Murray.
He moved toward her with the same purposeful, determined step she remembered. She wasn’t ready for this—ready for him.
She knew the split second that he recognized her. His step faltered, his shoulders stiffened, and his jaw set in a grim line. He didn’t say her name. He just stared at her, waiting. Shane had never been one for words, he’d always believed actions spoke louder than explanations. But sometimes the truth needed to be spoken—not just implied or assumed.
“Shane.” She wished her voice didn’t sound so husky, so filled with memories. She cleared her throat. “I—I need help. My father just took off in his boat. I don’t know if you know, but he has Alzheimer’s.” She waved her hand toward the
Leonora,
whose lights were fading in the distance. “I need to get him back. Will you help me? There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around.” When he didn’t answer right away, she added, “I guess I could call the Coast Guard.”
For a moment she thought he might say no. They weren’t friends anymore. If anything, they were enemies.
Finally Shane gave a crisp nod. “Let’s go.” He headed back to his boat.
The last thing she wanted to do was go with him, but she couldn’t stand by while her father sailed off to sea with probably no idea of who he was or where he was going.
Shane’s boat was a newer thirty-foot sport fishing boat with all the modern conveniences. There were rod holders in the gunwales, tackle drawers and ice coolers built into the hull. As she stepped on board, Shane released the lines and pulled in the
bumpers, then headed toward the center console. He started the engine and pulled out of the slip.
She stood a few feet away, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. How long would it take before he’d actually speak to her? And if he did, what would he say? There was a lot of painful history between them, and while part of her wanted him to break the silence, the other part was afraid of where that might lead.
She’d fallen for Shane just after her seventeenth birthday. He’d been only a year older in age, but a half dozen in experience. She’d been a shy good girl who’d never done anything impulsive in her life, and he’d been the town bad boy, moody, rebellious, and reckless. He’d drawn her to him like a moth to a flame.
Shane definitely wasn’t a teenager anymore. In his faded blue jeans, gray T-shirt, and black jacket it was quite apparent that he was all man now. His six-foot frame had filled out with broad shoulders and long legs. His black hair was wavy and windblown, the ends brushing the collar of his jacket, and his skin bore the ruddy tan of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors.
The set of his jaw had always been his “no trespassing” sign, and that hadn’t changed a bit. Shane had never let people in easily. She’d had to fight to get past his barriers, but even as close as they’d been, she’d never figured out the mysterious shadows in his dark eyes, or the sudden, sharp flashes of pain there. Shane had always kept a big part of himself
under lock and key.
Her gaze dropped to his hands, noting the sureness of his fingers on the wheel. His hands were strong and capable, and she couldn’t help but remember the way they’d once felt on her breasts—rough and hungry, the same way his mouth had felt against hers, as if he couldn’t wait to have her, couldn’t ever get enough.
Her heart thumped against her chest, and she forced herself to look away. She was
not
going back to that place. She’d barely survived the first time. He’d swept her off her feet, into a whirlwind of emotions, then broken her heart.
“It took you long enough to come home,” Shane said finally. He glanced at her, his expression unreadable.
“I just came to get my dad. I’m planning to take him back to San Francisco with me.”
“Does he know that?”
“He will when we catch him.”
Doubt filled Shane’s eyes. “Your father has lived in Angel’s Bay his entire life. I can’t see him moving anywhere else.”
“His illness will only get worse. It’s the best solution.”
“For you or for him?”
“For both of us.” Her father might not like the idea of leaving Angel’s Bay, but it was the most practical decision. If she moved him closer to her she could take care of him, and perhaps her mother would help. His family was in San Francisco, and
that’s where he should be.
Her dad hadn’t cared to be with his family the past thirteen years, but she was trying to look beyond that fact. And if the neighbors were right, and her father was rapidly losing touch with the world—would it really matter where he was?
Shane opened a compartment and pulled out a jacket. “You might want to put this on. It will get colder outside the bay.”
She accepted with a grateful nod, relieved with both the change in subject and the warm jacket. She’d left San Francisco straight from work, wearing a navy blue skirt, silk blouse, thin sweater, and high-heeled pumps that were perfect for her job but offered no protection against the elements. Shane’s big coat enveloped her like a warm hug, reminding her of the way she’d once felt in his arms.
She quickly pushed the thought out of her mind. “So, this is a nice boat,” she said into the increasingly awkward silence. “Is it yours? Or is it part of the Murray charter fleet?” Shane’s father had run a charter fishing business for as long as Lauren could remember.
“It’s mine. I picked it up last year when I came back,” he said shortly.
“Came back from where?”
“Everywhere,” he said with a vague wave. “Wherever there was water and fish and a boat to run.”
“Sounds like you got the life you always wanted.”
He shot her a look that she couldn’t begin to decipher. “Is that what it sounds like, Lauren?”
Her name rolled off his tongue like a silky caress. She’d always loved the way he’d said her name, as if she were the most important person in the world. But that wasn’t the way he’d said her name now. Now there was anger in the word, and God knew what else.
She sighed. “I don’t know what to say to you, Shane. I guess I never did.”
His gaze hardened. “You knew what to say, Lauren. You just wouldn’t say it.”
Thirteen years ago he’d wanted her to say that she believed in him, that she trusted him, that she knew in her heart that he hadn’t killed her sister.
All she’d been able to say was good-bye.
“I don’t want to talk about the past.” The words had barely left her lips when she found herself compelled to speak again. “You lied to me, Shane. I trusted you more than I’d ever trusted anyone, and you lied to me.”
He gave a little nod, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Yeah, I did.”
“And you’re still not going to tell me why, are you?”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about the past.”
She debated that. There were so many things she wanted Shane to explain, but what was the point?
“You’re right; it won’t change anything. In the end, Abby—Abby will still be gone.” A chill ran through her, and she glanced at the coastline. It was
too dark to see the Ramsay house, where her sister had been found murdered, but she could feel its presence even if she couldn’t see it.
“Someone set fire to the house about nine months ago,” Shane said, following her gaze. “One wing was destroyed.”
“It’s too bad the house didn’t burn to the ground.” She’d never understood how her father could stay in Angel’s Bay, could wake up every day and see the house where her sister had spent the last violent minutes of her life. But there were a lot of things she couldn’t understand about her dad.
Lauren grabbed hold of the back of the captain’s seat as Shane increased their speed. On the open sea, waves slapped against the boat and the wind increased, lifting her hair off the back of her neck. Her nerves began to tingle with fear. She could handle being on the water when the day was sunny and bright and she could see the shoreline, but she’d never liked going out at night, or being hours away from land, where she’d be vulnerable, at the mercy of the unpredictable sea.
“Where is my father?” Panic made her voice rise. “I don’t see any lights. How are we going to find him out here? Maybe we should go back.” She hated being a coward, especially in front of Shane, who had never felt a fear he didn’t want to meet head on.
“Your father didn’t disappear. He’s just around the bluff.” Shane pointed to the GPS on his console. “See that dot—that’s him. We’ll catch up in a couple
of minutes.”
“Okay. Good.” She gulped in a deep breath of air and wrapped her arms around her waist.
“Are you scared of me?” Shane sent her a speculative look.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You seem nervous.”
“I just want to get this over with.”
A few minutes passed, then Shane said, “Your father loves this town. Do you really think you can drop in after all this time and sweep him away without an argument?”
“I have to do
something
. When I arrived at his house tonight, the stove was on. He could have burned the house down. And who knows where he’s headed now?” She shook her head in confusion. “This shouldn’t be happening. He’s only sixty-seven; he’s too young to be losing his mind.”
“Some days are worse than others,” Shane commented. “Other times, he’s the same as he always was.”
“You talk to my father?” she asked in surprise.
“He’s on his boat almost every day. Mort took his key away from him a while ago. I don’t know where he got another one.”