Wild: Whispering Cove, Book 1 (2 page)

The dial tone blaring in her ear was the last thing Andrea wanted or needed to hear. Pulse racing like a freight train roaring down the track, she tried to gather her senses. Her hands shook as she pressed the end call button. Surely if Byron knew anything he would have said something. If they were waiting for test results it wouldn’t do any good to call the hospital and speak to a doctor or nurse. Should she wait for another call? And what if the news was bad?

No.
She couldn’t think that way.

Even still, she found herself pulling her laptop in front of her. Fingers flew over the keys as she typed in the city codes to search for the fastest way to get to Whispering Cove, Maine.

Ten minutes later she had booked a flight into Bar Harbor. Whispering Cove was an hour-plus trip by car, half the time if she chartered a boat. The mere thought of stepping onto a watercraft sent a tremor throughout her body that chilled her to the bone.

What would thirty minutes mean?

Possibly the difference between life or death.

Palm to her mouth, she sucked back an unexpected sob. She was being foolish.
Boat
. She would take a boat.

The one-way flight leaving from Los Angeles was scheduled to depart in two hours. The other attorneys in the firm would have to take several of her cases, some she could take with her. How much time should she plan for? Several days? A week, maybe two?
Two weeks
, she decided. Adjustments could be made after she knew more about her grandfather’s condition.

Chapter Two

Beneath a lamppost, Andrea stood in a small patch of light that bathed the edge of the pier. Swaying, she fought to find her land legs, which were like two stilts of rubber threatening to give way. While she white-knuckled one suitcase, a briefcase containing her laptop and files, and her purse, she gazed out over the inky black water. No matter how hard she tried to ignore the ocean’s magnetic pull or the fact she heard her name whistling on the wind calling her home, she couldn’t.

Yes. Andrea Adair had returned, but Whispering Cove wasn’t home—not anymore.

A gust of wind swirled around her ankles. The cool night breeze stung her bare legs. There had been no time to change out of her pinstripe suit and flimsy silk shirt. Hell. She hadn’t had the time to do much more than throw several changes of clothes in her suitcase, before it was time to leave for the airport.

The abrupt roar of the boat heading back out to sea startled her. She jumped, losing her balance and striking her hip against the railing. The reverberation from the engine, the crashing of the waves against the rocks, pulsated in her ears creating a wind tunnel in her head that began to suck her into a dreamlike state. She had stood in this exact spot waving that night. Happiness had filled her with anticipation of meeting her fiancé later. Not once had she imagined that she was saying good-bye to her parents for the last time.

Before Andrea could prepare herself she was thrust violently through time. Pulse racing, she closed her eyes, but the ghosts from the past unmercifully attacked her from all sides. Teeth clenched. Every muscle and tendon tensed. Her body jerked with the imaginary explosion. The vibrant burst of flames blinded her. She could almost smell the oily, gassy scent, feel heat licking across her skin, and hear the crackle and hiss of the fire as it began to consume everything it touched. Then the horrific screams started and were followed by a deafening silence that swallowed Andrea up, pulling her under, deeper into to the abyss.

A pang in the center of her chest stole her breath. The sharp, intense stab cut like a knife, ripping her heart wide open. Staggering, she fought to keep her footing, but failed. Knees buckled. Tender skin struck the deck, hard. Splintering pain erupted. Then her baggage scattered across the wooden surface.

One minute she was wide-eyed, watching smoke and fire spiraling into the sky, the next she threw back her head and released a gut-wrenching shriek that tore from the very roots of her soul. Her anguish was only gagged by the sounds of sobbing.

Andrea gasped, choking on tears, before coughing. When her eyelids sprung wide, she found her hands wrapped around her neck. A moan vibrated in her raw throat. She released her hold, rocking back on knees that ached. A palm to the small of her back helped to ease the twinge radiating there.

How long had she knelt on the rough, wooden deck?

How long had she cried?

Man, she felt like crap. Eyes swollen, her mouth dry, she didn’t know whether she could move. Inhaling a shuddering breath that burned deep inside, she knew she couldn’t live like this anymore. Somehow she had to move past the sorrow, the guilt.

But how?

On trembling legs, she pushed to her feet. The line of beach houses along the coastline appeared blurry through her tearstained eyes. A soft cry of a sandpiper made her look skyward. The bird’s shadowy figure swooped down and made a distinctive stiff-winged flight low over the capping waves. The sun would be rising soon. Before long there would be a flock of the grayish brown and white scavengers running through the shallow waters on dark, yellowish legs, foraging for insects, crustaceans and other invertebrates.

Life would begin anew, but not for Andrea.

Her hands shook so badly, it took her two attempts to gather her bags and take that first step. When she did, her heels echoed rapidly across the weathered wood as if the demons of her past chased her. Halfway down the beach she paused, bending at the waist to catch her breath.

“Dammit.” Her heart throbbed so loudly, it pounded like war drums in her head.

One. Two. Three.
Counting was her way of controlling her breathing. It gave her much needed time to pull herself together.

When she could think rationally again, she let out a hoarse chuckle. It was times like these she appreciated a big city where a cab could be hailed anytime, day or night. Here in this little seaport village, everyone slept, so she was on her own to make the mile hike to her grandfather’s home.

A gentle breeze feathered back her hair. Andrea’s plan was simple. Drop her bags off at the house, and maybe by then the local cab company would be available to take her to the hospital. From there she would be able to decide her next move.

Sand in her heels slowed her steps, but even after ten years she could make this trip with her eyes closed. A sudden wave of melancholy squeezed her chest. A long time ago, she had loved this beach, this ocean, this town.

When she reached the front porch of her grandfather’s beach house, she exhaled a weighted breath. She released her bags and they dropped with a thud. Immediately she cringed, remembering her laptop. Kneeling beside an old flower pot filled with white turtleheads, their sturdy blooms closed as if they slept, she tipped the planter and searched blindly for the spare key her grandfather always kept there, but it was missing.

“Great!” Pushing to her feet, she stomped down the stairs and headed around the house.

Mock-orange hedges made it difficult for her to access the first window that led into the living room, but she pushed through. Several of the branches bit into her legs. Getting a firm grip on the frame, she pushed upward and grunted. The window was locked. She had no better luck with the next two.

Exhausted, frustrated and more than a little peeved, she made her way around to the darkened back porch. With each step her temper built. Let there be no doubt in anyone’s mind she was redheaded and Irish. She might have learned to tame her ire throughout the years, but if the door knew what was best, it would
not
be locked. If she had to, she’d toss the old rocking chair next to it through the window.

Consequences be damned.

Andrea didn’t make it to the door before something struck her back with the strength of a battering ram thrusting her forward so she collided with the house. The impact pushed the breath from her lungs. Before she could inhale, strong hands grabbed her wrists and flung them over her head. Forcing and slapping her palms hard enough against the siding so that they stung. Fear paralyzed her.

A scream desperately clawed its way up her throat, but evaporated on a whimper when a solid kick sent her ankles apart. Spread-eagled and helpless against the wall, she trembled and her mind went blank. All her self-defense training vanished. Even when the man pressed his imposing body to her back, flattening her tight against the house, she couldn’t think, couldn’t react. Something deep and menacing was muttered into her ear, but she was too scared, too panicked to decipher his words.

When his large, threatening palms started to move up her naked calves, she choked back a feeble cry. He intimately stroked the inside of her thighs, causing her eyes to widen with knowledge that she was about to be raped. No way could she just let it happen without a struggle.

Red-hot anger flickered to life, fed by her fear. In this position she couldn’t maneuver a strike to any vital areas. So she did the only thing she had available. Breathing in, she released a long, high-pitched scream, which was abruptly ripped away when he jerked her around to face him. At the same time a flash of light blinded her and her eyelids squeezed shut. Before she could regain her senses a surprised gasp followed by a soft murmur of her name made her freeze.

Her heart skipped a beat.

No. It couldn’t be.
      

Squinting, she pried her eyes open and once again found herself without oxygen, robbed of her anger, but not her apprehension. The man’s face bathed in shadows from the porch light was the last person she had expected to run into thirty minutes after she set foot in Whispering Cove.

Andrea wasn’t prepared to see Brody McGrath again. Not here. Not now.

Sometime after the lights had come on, his hands had settled on her hips. The pressure of his fingers teased her senses, sending a wayward chill up her spine. She couldn’t have masked the tremor even if she tried.

When his grip slid to her waist, with only the thin, silky shirt between them, she gulped down a mouthful of air that nearly suffocated her. Unexpected tears gathered behind her eyelids, making her nose tingle and her face heat. Even after ten years, her desire for Brody had not waned.

“Andie?” Her gaze rose to meet his. Hazel eyes, more blue than green against his navy uniform, were wide and filled with something close to disbelief. “Is it really you?”

Maturity hadn’t erased the deep sensuality in his voice. Whether it was on the telephone or in person, she had loved listening to him, especially when he was aroused and holding her, telling her how much he cared.

What was she thinking? She had loved everything about him.

“You’re a policeman?” Her first words to the man she’d loved and hadn’t seen for ten years was about his occupation.
Smooth.

Andrea had no idea where the question came from or even why her mind headed in that direction. Of course, the polished badge, nightstick and gun strapped to his hips were a dead giveaway. Or maybe she was trying to redirect her attention from his full lips, lips that had teased and taunted her dreams over the years. A strained smile tipped the corners of his mouth and all her good intentions flew out the window. Andrea sighed before she could stop herself.

“I’m the sheriff.
Here.
In Whispering Cove.” He shifted his feet, before slightly lowering his head, positioning his mouth a breath away from hers.

Oh God.

Andrea’s pulse jumped into her throat. Moving a foot, she tried to take a step back, but he caught her, pulling her to him. Their bodies melded together. Even light couldn’t slide between them.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe.

Locking one arm behind her, he trailed the fingertips of his other hand across her cheek. “Is it really you? After all this time?” He held her and touched her, as if he still couldn’t believe she stood before him.

Did he still care?

A terse chuckle burst from her mouth on a breathy exhale. “I’m afraid so.” A warm, woodsy scent wrapped around her like a blanket. Brody had always worn cologne, preferring the earthy tones.

A frown creased his forehead. “But I heard you weren’t attending the reunion.”

Good news traveled fast in a small town. “I’m not. I mean…” She paused, working to get her heart to stop beating so fast. “I didn’t come home for the reunion.”

Both of his arms wrapped around her again. “Then why? Why did you come home?”

The need to pull away was strong, a survival impulse, but she didn’t move. “Grandpa is in the—”

The screen door creaked open and the man she referred to stepped out onto the porch. A smile on his face stretched from ear to ear. “Well, laddie…will you be releasing me granddaughter or frisking her?”

Brody’s hands jerked back so quickly that Andrea swayed to recover her balance. “Yes, sir! I mean…no, sir.” He pushed his fingers through ebony hair so dark that it flickered a blue tint in places beneath the light. “Shit,” he groaned, before casting a sheepish glance in her grandfather’s direction. “You said you had a prowler outside your house.”

Heat surged across her cheeks. “
Grandpa!
You called the police?” Andrea couldn’t believe this. No wonder Brody had treated her like a criminal. He thought she was trying to break in.

Oh yeah.
She was trying to break in.