Navy SEAL Rescuer (16 page)

“Well?”

“He wasn’t in, but the person who answered said she’d give him
the message.”

“Which means that he’s still living in the same place. That’ll
make it easier to find out more about him.”

“I’ll do an internet search when we get to the coast,”
Catherine offered, but he wondered if she would.

It didn’t matter, because he’d already decided to move ahead
with or without her. Her life was in danger, and they couldn’t wait any longer
to find the answers they needed.

SIXTEEN

W
aves crashed against the shore, the moon
high overhead as Catherine followed Darius and Tango to a small beach cottage on
a bluff overlooking the ocean. The air held the tang of salt and the subtle
scent of briny water. Tomorrow morning she wanted to walk down by the beach and
let the rhythm of the ocean ease her tension.

Right now, she needed to do exactly what she’d told Darius she
would. Get on the internet and search for Gerald Kensington. After all her
protests and putting off, she was suddenly anxious to know who he was and how
he’d been connected to her mother.

“You guys are running late.” A pretty blonde stepped outside as
they approached the front door.

“We took the long way,” Tango replied, setting a duffel bag
inside. “Hate to say hi and run, but I’ve got a plane to catch in three hours,
and I need to get to the airport. See you around!” He jogged back to his Jeep
and drove away.

“Come on in. Everything is ready. I even managed to stock the
kitchen. Of course, if you two are hungry, you’re going to have to cook
yourself. The only thing I can make is toast. I’m Taryn Derringer, by the way,
since Darius hasn’t seen fit to introduce us.” Taryn smiled, dimples showing in
both cheeks.

“You didn’t give me a chance, Taryn,” Darius responded, his
hand on Catherine’s back as he urged her across the threshold. The front door
opened into a small living room furnished with white rattan furniture. A
fireplace stood against one wall, a large oil painting above it.

“There are three bedrooms upstairs. You’re in the one at the
back of the house, Catherine. I’ll take you up there and you can get settled
in.” Taryn hurried up a narrow flight of stairs without giving Catherine a
chance to respond.

Not that she had anything to say.

Darius had planned everything out, and Catherine seemed bent on
going along with the plan despite the warning that whispered through her mind,
reminding her that she’d been hurt before, telling her that if she spent more
time with Darius, she might end up hurt again.

More
time?

She didn’t need that to have her heart broken.

Every time she looked into his eyes, she fell a little deeper,
risked a little more.

“Go on up, Catherine. I’m going to check the perimeter of the
house, then I’ll be back. I’ll bring in your grandmother’s things when I come
in.”

“Thanks,” she responded, wishing she could follow him outside,
follow him around the house, follow him to wherever he went, because being
around him felt better than being away from him did.

She whirled away and hurried up the stairs, trying to ignore
the truth that had been pounding through her for the past eleven hours.

The narrow staircase led into a bright and open landing. Two
rooms were near the top of the stairs and a third opened up from the back wall
of the house.

Taryn appeared in the doorway. “Come on in. You’ve got the
suite. I guess it’s the master bedroom. I stocked as best I could based on the
sizes Darius gave me.”

White curtains framed oversize windows. Dark wooden storm
shutters blocked the view and echoed the darkness of the wide-planked wood
floor. Catherine wanted to open them and let some air in, but she doubted Taryn
would approve.

“You want to check things out and let me know if you need
anything? I can make a run to town if there’s something you want, but I’ll have
to do it soon. The whole place shuts down after nine.” Taryn leaned against the
doorjamb, her blond hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, her skin flawless. If
Catherine had met her anywhere else, she’d have guessed her to be a model or an
actress.

“I’m sure whatever is here will be fine.” She didn’t want to
look through the room while Taryn watched. As a matter of fact, the only thing
she really wanted was some time alone. Eleven hours in the truck with Darius had
only made her appreciate him more.

Then, there had been the kiss.

The soul-searing, toe-curling kiss.

She shouldn’t have let it happen, but she hadn’t been able to
stop it.

“As long as you’re sure, I’ll go ahead and leave you to get
settled. You have internet access, but don’t email friends or family. No phone
calls, either. They can be traced.”

“Thanks,” Catherine responded by rote, her gaze on the computer
that sat on a small white desk.

As soon as Taryn closed the door, Catherine went to the desk
and booted up the computer. She typed in Gerald Kensington’s name, watching as a
list of hits appeared on the screen. She clicked on one, her gaze caught by a
color photo of a handsome man with searing blue eyes and salt-and-pepper hair.
The article below it described Kensington’s thirty years as a senator and his
retirement from public service. His beautiful home on the Oregon coast.

Was this the man who’d written a ten-thousand-dollar check to a
fifteen-year-old girl?

If so, why?

She skimmed a few more articles, pausing on one with a photo of
Kensington’s family. The senator stood tall and lean, his arm around a thin,
pretty woman with red hair and dark eyes. Two young men stood on either side of
them. Both as handsome as their father.

A good-looking family, but what did it have to do with
hers?

Someone knocked on the door, the soft rap jerking Catherine
back to the moment.

“Come in.” She didn’t look up from the computer as the door
opened. She didn’t need to. She knew who was going to walk in, and when Darius
did, every nerve in her body jumped to attention.

“Which one is Kensington?” He leaned over her shoulder, one
hand resting on her nape, the gesture comfortable and easy.

“The older guy. The other two are his sons.”

“A senator, huh?”

“Yes. He retired five years ago.”

“Maybe we should pay him a visit. Let’s see how far he is from
here.” He leaned over and typed the address into the computer, his cheek so
close to Catherine’s that she could feel his heat. If she turned her head, if he
turned his, they’d be a breath apart.

Not a good place for her mind to be going.

“I’m not sure visiting him is the best way to handle things,”
she responded, shoving down the images that danced through her mind. Images of
throwing herself into Darius’s arms.

“I can’t think of a better way. Can you?” he responded.

“I called. Maybe he’ll call back.”

“He hasn’t yet.”

“It hasn’t even been twelve hours. We should give him a little
more time.”

“We don’t have a little more time, Catherine.” He stepped back,
his hand slipping away as he paced across the room and set Eileen’s things on
the bed. His stride hitched as he turned to face her, and the pain that flashed
in his eyes was gone so quickly she wasn’t sure she’d actually seen it.

“Are you okay?” she asked, because it mattered more than she’d
ever thought it could.
He
mattered, and no matter
how much she didn’t want to admit it, the truth was there, burning hot in her
heart as she looked into his face.

“Fine.”

“Then, why are you limping?”

“It was a long drive. My leg is a little stiff.” He rubbed his
thigh and sat on the bed.

“Let me get you an ice pack.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m here to take care of you. Not the other way
around.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She stood and walked out of the room,
hurrying down the stairs and through the living room. A small dining room led
from there into the kitchen. Taryn looked up from a computer screen she was bent
over. “Hey! Hungry?”

“I need a trash bag, some ice and some pain reliever. Tylenol
or Motrin.”

“Pain relievers are in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.
There’s ice in the freezer.” Taryn didn’t ask what either was for. Just pulled a
trash bag from a pantry closet and handed it to Catherine.

“Thanks.” She poured ice into the bottom of the bag and carried
it upstairs.

Darius had moved from the bed to the desk and was reading an
article about Gerald Kensington. She didn’t give him a chance to protest, just
plopped the ice on his thigh and walked into the bathroom.

A small pile of plastic cups sat on the edge of the sink. She
filled one with water and pulled Tylenol from the medicine cabinet. She carried
both out to Darius, setting them on the desk.

He frowned, but opened the bottle and tapped three tablets into
his hand. “Thanks.”

“You’ve done plenty for me, Darius. It’s about time I did
something for you.”

“That’s not the way it works, Catherine.”

“The way that
what
works?”

“Us.” He shifted so they were facing each other, and her breath
caught as she stared into his eyes. Years ago, she’d looked into Peter’s eyes,
and she’d imagined that she saw the future. She’d been more mistaken than she’d
ever thought she could be. When she looked in Darius’s eyes, she didn’t see the
future, she saw the moment, and it stole her thoughts, her resistance. Made her
want to dream again.

“There is no us.”

“Not acknowledging something doesn’t make it cease to exist,”
he responded, turning back to the computer and printing the article.

“Acknowledging it doesn’t make it exist, either.”

“You’re right. We make it exist. The way we feel when we’re
together. That’s what makes it real.” He handed her the printed page. “Take a
look at the photo.”

“I’ve seen it.” But she looked anyway, studying the Kensington
family, searching the faces for some clue that would reveal the truth about
their connection to her mother.

“What do you think of Kensington’s wife?” He tapped the woman’s
image.

“She’s pretty.”

“She has red hair.”

“Lots of people have red hair.”

“You do. Did your mother?”

“No. She was a brunette.”

“Guess that blows my theory, then.”

“What theory?”

“That Kensington had a thing for redheads. That he and your
mother met, and he—”

“My mother was fifteen when that check was written. He must
have been fifty.”

“Forty-three.”

“You think he’s my father,” she said, giving voice to the
thought that had been nudging at the back of her mind. The thought she hadn’t
wanted to consider, because acknowledging it meant acknowledging that everything
she believed about her parents was a lie.

“I’m just throwing out the idea. You and Kensington don’t look
much alike, but you resemble his wife. If your mother resembled her...”

“She didn’t. There’s a picture in the box.” She pulled it out
and handed it to Darius, her heart hammering as he scrutinized the image. Her
parents stood on the porch of her grandmother’s house, young and obviously in
love, their faces wreathed in smiles. Her father’s tattoos showed beneath the
rolled-up sleeve of his white button-up shirt, his hands cupping her mother’s
pregnant belly. Two months before Catherine was born, the day they’d been
married by the justice of the peace, and Eileen had snapped the photo when they
returned home. Catherine had heard the story a thousand times. She’d looked at
the photo as many times, but she’d never noticed her mother’s wild beauty. Her
full red lips and kohl-rimmed eyes. Her graceful arms, her curly hair spilling
over her shoulders. Fifteen, but she looked twenty.

“Your mother was a beautiful woman.”

“I know.”

“The guy with her is your father?”

“Yes.”

“This was taken before you were born, right?”

“Two months before. My parents were married at the
courthouse.”

“And your mother was only fifteen? She looks—”

“I can see that she looks a lot older than she was, Darius, but
I still don’t believe that Gerald Kensington is my father.”

“He wrote her a check for ten thousand dollars. He was a
senator, married with two sons. He had a reputation he needed to protect.”

“That doesn’t mean he had an affair with a minor.”

“He might not have known she was a minor.”

He had a point, but Catherine didn’t want to admit it. Not out
loud, anyway. Inside, though, she couldn’t help thinking about Eileen’s
descriptions of Jessica. A sweet girl who had some problems. A rebel who seemed
bent on self-destruction until she’d gotten pregnant and turned her life
around.

“If they did have an affair, and she got pregnant, why didn’t
she cash the check? It would have made her life easier.”

“Good question. I think we should pay Gerald a visit tomorrow
and ask,” Darius said.

“I don’t think he’s going to be happy to have us show up on his
doorstep.” But she couldn’t refuse to go. Eileen had made a point of telling her
about the box before she’d died, and that meant the contents were important,
that there was something Eileen wanted her to learn from them.

“Do you care?”

“Not really.”

“Good.” Darius smiled, reaching for the box and pulling out the
newspaper article. “Any idea why Eileen kept this?”

“There were plenty of articles about my parents’ deaths. I was
able to access them at the library when I was a teenager. I don’t know why she
chose to keep this one.” But Eileen had never done things arbitrarily.
Obviously, she’d had a reason.

“Maybe there was something in this one that was different than
the others.” Darius scanned the article, his fingers splayed across the
newspaper.

She knew how warm they’d feel on her back, how gentle on her
cheek, and her pulse jumped in response.

“I don’t see how there could be. They all said the same. My
father shot my mother with his hunting rifle. Then shot himself in the
head.”

“The article says he shot himself in the back of the head. Must
have been difficult with rifle.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever held a rifle? They’ve got long barrels. I’m not
sure how a man would point one at the back of his head and pull the
trigger.”