Sanctuary (45 page)

“Maybe she took a swim to cool off,” Nathan prompted.

“Susan?” Tom let out a short laugh. “Swim alone, at night? Not hardly. She'd never go in water past her knees anyway. She doesn't like to swim in the ocean. She always says she hears cello music the minute it hits her knees. You know,” he said with a faint smile,
“Jaws.”

Then he turned back, staring out at the water. “I know people are thinking she might have gone swimming, she might have drowned. It's just not possible. She loves to sit and look at the ocean. She loves to listen to it, to smell it, but she won't go in. Where the hell is she? Goddamn it, Susan, this is a hell of a way to scare me into buying a house. I've got to go somewhere, look somewhere. I can't just stand here.”

He raced back toward the dunes and sent sand avalanching down as he rushed up and over them.

“Do you think that's what she's doing, Nathan? Putting a scare into him because she's angry?”

“We can hope so. Come on.” He slipped an arm around her waist. “We'll take the long way back to the cottage, keep our eyes peeled. Then we'll take a break from this.”

“I could use a break. From just about everything.”

The wind was rising as they headed through the trough between the surfside dune hummocks and the higher, inland dunes where beach elders and bayberry stabilized the sand. Tracks scored the ground, the scratches from scudding ghost crabs, the three-toed prints from parading wild turkeys, the spots where deer had meandered to feed on seeds and berries.

Human tracks had churned up the sand as well, and the wind would take them all.

Despite the grazing, thousands of white star rush and fragile marsh pinks spread their color.

Would she have walked this way, Jo wondered, alone, at night? It had been a clear evening, and a lonely beach drew troubled hearts as well as contented ones. The wind would have been stiff and fresh. And even after the tide receded, leaving the sand wet, the wind would have chased it along in streamers that scratched at the ankles.

“She could have left her shoes down there,” Jo considered. “If she'd wanted to walk. She was angry, upset, wanted to be alone. It was a warm night. She might have headed down the shoreline, just following the water. That's more likely than anything else.”

She turned, looking out over the low hillocks to the sea. The wind lifted sand and salt spray, sending the sea oats waving, sifting a fresh coat over the pennywort and railroad vines that tangled.

“Maybe they've found her by now.” Nathan laid a hand on her shoulder. “We'll call and check when we get to the cottage.”

“Where else would she have gone?” Jo shifted, to stare inland where the dunes crept slowly, relentlessly, toward the trees in smooth curves. “It would have been foolish to wander into the forest. She'd have lost the moonlight—and she'd have wanted her shoes. Would she be angry enough with her husband to stay away, to worry him like this because of a house?”

“I don't know. People do unaccountable things to each other when they're married. Things that seem cruel or indifferent or foolish to outsiders.”

“Did you?” She turned her head to study his face. “Did you do cruel, indifferent, and foolish things when you were married?”

“Probably.” He tucked the hair blowing across her face behind her ear. “I'm sure my ex-wife has a litany of them.”

“Marriage is most often a mistake. You depend on someone, you inevitably lean too hard or take them for granted or find them irritating because they're always there.”

“That's remarkably cynical for someone who's never been married.”

“I've observed marriage. Observing's what I do.”

“Because it's less risky than participating.”

She turned away again. “Because it's what I do. If she's out somewhere, walking, avoiding coming back, letting her husband suffer like this, how could he ever forgive her?”

Suddenly she was angry, deeply, bitterly angry. “But he will, won't he?” she demanded, whirling back to him. “He'll forgive her, he'll fall at her feet sobbing in relief, and he'll buy her the fucking house she wants. All she had to do to get her way was put him through hell for a few hours.”

Nathan studied her glinting eyes, the high color that temper had slapped into her cheeks. “You may be right.” He spoke mildly, fascinated that she could shift from concern to condemnation in the blink of an eye. “But you're heaping a lot of blame and calculation on a woman you don't even know.”

“I've known others like her. My mother, Ginny, people who do exactly what they choose without giving a damn for the consequences or what they do to others. I'm sick to death of people. Their selfish agendas, their unrelenting self-concern.”

There was such pain in her voice. The echo of it rolled through him, leaving his stomach raw and edgy. He had to tell her, he thought. He couldn't keep blocking it out, couldn't continue to shove it aside, no matter how hard he'd worked to convince himself it was best for both of them.

Maybe Susan Peters's disappearance was a sign, an omen. If he believed in such things. Whatever he believed, and whatever it was he wanted, eventually he would have to tell her what he knew.

Was she strong enough to stand up to it? Or would it break her?

“Jo Ellen, let's go inside.”

“Yeah.” She folded her arms as clouds rolled over the sun and the wind kicked into a warning howl. “Why the hell are we out here, worrying ourselves over a stranger who has the bitchiness to put her husband and friends through this?”

“Because she's lost, Jo. One way or another.”

“Who isn't?” she murmured.

It would wait another day, he told himself. It would wait until Susan Peters had been found. If he was daring the gods by taking another day, stealing another few hours before he shattered both their lives, then he'd pay the price.

How much heavier could it be than the one he'd already paid?

When he was sure she was strong, when he was sure she could bear it, he would tell her the hideous secret that only he knew.

Annabelle had never left Desire. She had been murdered in the forest just west of Sanctuary on a night in high summer, under a full white moon. David Delaney, the father he had grown up loving, admiring, respecting, had been her killer.

Jo saw lightning flash and the shimmering curtain of rain form far out to sea. “Storm's coming,” she said.

“I know.”

T
HE first drops hit the ground with fat plops, and Kirby quickened her pace. The search group she'd joined had parted ways at the fork of the path. She'd chosen the route to Sanctuary, and now she shivered a bit as the rain fell through the overhanging limbs and vines to soak her shirt. By the time she reached the verge it was coming down hard, wind-whipped and surprisingly cold. She saw Brian, hatless, shoulders hunched, trooping up the road to her right.

She met him on the edge of the east terrace. Saying nothing, he took her hand and pulled her onto the screened porch. For a moment they simply stood dripping as lightning stabbed the sky in pitchforks and thunder boomed in answer.

“No word?” Kirby shifted her medical bag from hand to hand.

“Nothing. I just came over from the west side. Giff has a group that took the north.” Weary, Brian rubbed his hands over his face. “This is getting to be a habit.”

“It's been more than twelve hours since she was seen.” Kirby looked out into the driving rain. “That's too long. They'll have to call off the search until the storm passes. God, Brian, we're going to find her washed up after this. It's about the only explanation left. Her poor husband.”

“There's nothing to do now but wait it out. You need a dry shirt and some coffee.”

“Yeah.” She dragged her wet hair away from her face. “I do. I'll take a look at your hand while I'm here and redress it for you.”

“It's fine.”

“I'll decide that,” she said, following him in, “after I take a look.”

“Suit yourself. Go on up and get something out of Jo's closet.”

The house seemed so quiet, isolated in the violent rain. “Is she here?”

“As far as I know, she's out too.” He went to the freezer, took out some black bean soup he'd made weeks before. “She'll take shelter, like everybody else.”

When Kirby came back fifteen minutes later, the kitchen smelled of coffee and simmering soup. The warmth eased away the last of the tension in her shoulders. Leaning against the doorway a moment, she indulged herself by watching him work.

Despite his bandaged hand, he was neatly slicing thick slabs from a loaf of brown bread he'd undoubtedly baked himself. His wet shirt clung to him, displaying an attractive outline of muscle and rib. When he looked over at her, his eyes were a cool, misty blue that made her stomach flutter pleasantly.

“It smells wonderful.”

“Figured you hadn't eaten.”

“No, I haven't—not since a stale Danish this morning.” She held out the shirt she'd taken from his closet. “Here, put this on. You shouldn't stand around in wet clothes.”

“Thanks.” He noted that she'd changed into some of Jo's dull gray sweats. They bagged on her and made her seem all the more delicate. “You look lost in those.”

“Well, Jo's a good six inches taller than I am.” She lifted a brow as he tugged the wet shirt off over his head. His skin was damp and brown and smooth. “God, you're attractive, Brian.” She laughed when his brows drew together in what was obviously confused embarrassment. “I get to appreciate your wonderful build on two levels, as a doctor and as a woman. Better put that shirt on, or I might lose control, on both counts.”

“That could be interesting.” Letting the shirt dangle from his fingers, he stepped toward her. “Which would come first?”

“I never let personal leanings interfere with professional obligations.” She trailed a finger up his arm, then down to his wrist. “Which is why I'm going to examine that wound first thing.”

“And second thing?” Before she could answer, he cupped his hands under her elbows and lifted her. When their mouths were level, he leaned forward to toy with her lips.

“Excellent upper body strength.” Her voice was just a little breathless as she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Your pulse is a little elevated,” she murmured, checking the one at his throat with her mouth. “Just a little fast.”

“I've got a case on you, Doc Kirby.” Brian turned his face into her hair. It smelled of rain and lemons. “It doesn't seem to be passing. Fact is, I'm starting to think it's terminal.” When she went very still, he shifted her until he could see her eyes. “What do you want from me, Kirby?”

“I thought I knew.” Her fingers tingled when she skimmed them over his face. “I'm not sure anymore. Maybe whatever case you've got is contagious. Do you have this ache around your heart?”

“Just like it's being squeezed.”

“And this lifting and sinking sensation in your stomach?”

“All the time lately. So what's wrong with us, Doc?”

“I'm not sure, but—” She broke off as the screen door slammed. Voices rose and invaded the kitchen. Sighing, Kirby laid her brow against Brian's until he shifted her hips and set her down.

“Sounds like Lexy and Giff are back.” He kept his eyes on Kirby. “Some of the others are likely with them, and they'll be looking for a hot meal.”

“Then I'll help you dish up some soup.”

“I'd appreciate it.” He lifted the lid on the pot, letting steam and scent escape. “We're going to have to finish this conversation sometime or other.”

“Yes, we are.” She opened a cupboard to get bowls. “Sometime or other.”

FROM Nathan's porch, Jo watched the rain and smoked restlessly. He'd tried the television when they came in, hoping for a weather report. The cable was already out, so they settled for the radio. Static hissed out, along with the announcer's listings of small-craft advisories and flash-flood warnings.

They'd lose power if it kept up much longer, she thought. And the ponds and rivers would certainly flood. Already she could see puddles forming and deepening.

“No word yet.” Nathan joined her on the porch. “Some of the search party's taken shelter at Sanctuary to wait this out.” He laid a towel over her shoulders. “You're shivering. Why don't you come inside?”

“I like to watch.” Lightning stabbed the sky and sent an answering jolt into her stomach. “Quick squalls like this are hell to be out in, but they're exciting from the right vantage point.” She took a deep breath when the sky went hot and white. The sting of ozone lingered on the air. “Where's your camera? I took mine back home.”