Vision of Darkness (4 page)

“Maine.”

“No!”

Alex grimaced, held the phone away from his ear. “Jesus. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, God.” His voice shook. “No, listen, you can't go to Maine.”

“I’m already here.”

“No. Oh, no. You have to leave. Get out of there! Al—”

“Theo,” a man interrupted in the background, his voice full of caution. “What are you doing up?”

“Leave me alone!”

“Who did you call? Give me the phone.”

“No, wait—let me—dammit, just let me talk to my brother. I'm not bothering any—don't come near me with any fucking needles!” Something crashed. Feet scuffled. A muffled umph as if someone caught a wayward fist to the stomach.

“Hey,” the hospital aide shouted, “I need help down here! Theo’s having another episode.”

“T, relax,” Alex tried to soothe, feeling powerless lying in a tent in another state while the aides fought with his brother. “Go to bed. I'll call you tomorrow when you’re allowed to use the phone, okay?”

“No, wait, wait—please, I need to talk to Alex. He needs to know what The Guides said—Alex, get out of Maine!” he shouted, his voice echoing as the aides dragged him away from the phone. “Don’t go to the light—”

The line went dead.

Alex stared at the phone. Then he shut it off, dropped it into his bag. He looked at the picture of his grinning brother for a long moment.

And turned it face down.

CHAPTER 4

“Pru, you have a visitor.” Gail, the morning shift waitress, poked her head through the swinging door into the kitchen as Pru rushed around to fill a stream of early lunch orders. The morning had been hectic and she had no doubt lunch would be a zoo. Leave it to Jones, the lazy good for nothing, to call in again. She should ring his greasy neck.

“Visitor?” she said, distracted from the halibut she was slicing for the stew already boiling on the stove. “But Grandma Mae’s not supposed to be back from her trip yet.”

“Now did I say anything about your batty grandmother?” Gail stepped in and planted her hands on her aproned hips. Triton, Pru’s curly coated retriever and the diner’s occasional mascot, whined at the sight of the new person and pawed at the door that led into the diner from the employee parking lot. He sorrowfully eyed the kitchen through the mesh screen, turning on his puppy-dog charms long distance in hopes of a treat. Gail did not attempt resistance. She stole a bit of halibut from Pru’s cutting board, pushed open the door, and tossed it to him. He caught it mid-flight with a short, happy bark.

“It’s a man,” Gail said, watching Triton with a nicotine yellow smile.

The vegetable knife paused for an instant as a thrill raced through Pru’s belly. She turned her back on Gail and continued cutting. It wasn’t Alex. Couldn’t be. He was leaving town. Even if he hadn’t left yet, he wouldn’t come back after the way she acted yesterday.

Oh, who was she kidding? Yes, he would. The man struck her as the tenacious type and having her tell him off probably only whetted his appetite for a challenge. Well, she wasn’t interested. She’d just have to set him straight about that.

She tried to keep her hands steady and voice casual. Of course he’d pick today of all days to come back. She was a sweaty mess from working in the kitchen all morning and her hands smelled like fish. “A man?”

“A very good looking one at that.” Gail wiggled her over-plucked brows. “Miranda said you had a thing going with a man from Boston yesterday.”

“There was no
thing
.”

“Humph. Not to hear her tell it. You’d think you were picking out china patterns with him.”

“I don’t date tourists.”
I won’t date anyone ever again.
She picked up the cutting board and used her knife to swipe the fish into the stew pot.

“Well, this one’s hoping to change that. He brought you a flower.”

She froze. “No, he didn’t.”  Nobody ever brought her gifts, especially not flowers.

“See for yourself.”

Pru ducked her head to peek out the serving window. The diner had emptied some since she last checked, most of the breakfast crowd having finished their meals and gone about their days. She spotted two tables that needed clearing. A family of four tourists waited for their lunch at a table by the front window, the baby in a high chair giggling at the faces the toddler made while the parents talked quietly over a map. Mr. Leary lingered over his coffee at the counter as he did every morning, his breakfast dishes licked clean and stacked in a neat pile in front of him. John Putnam Jr. sat in a booth, tapping his fingers in an impatient rhythm as he waited for his terminally slow brother, Wade, to finish breakfast. Kevin Mallory sat in another booth in the corner, poking at what now had to be stone-cold eggs. He’d been brooding there all morning and didn’t seem inclined to stop anytime soon.

Then there was Alex. He stood beside the counter with a single cheery sunflower in his hand. Dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a black sweater that looked soft and expensive, his hair combed back from his unshaven face, he might as well have the words “city slicker” stamped on his forehead. He looked completely out of his element among the other patrons in their flannels and he knew it. She got the feeling he was not a man that liked standing out.

Sensing her gaze, he turned his head and those intense gray eyes met hers for an instant. She ducked back into the safety of the kitchen and, despite her best efforts to stop it, her heart melted a little.

“How did he know I like sunflowers?” she demanded then gasped. “Miranda. Oh, that little sneak!”

Gail chuckled and gave her a gentle push toward the door. “Go say hi to the boy. He looks uncomfortable.”

Pru dug in her heels. “Oh, no. I can’t get involved with anyone.” Gail pushed harder. She braced her hands on the doorframe to keep from budging. “Gail, stop it! I have work to do. The orders are already backed up—”

“Miranda will be here in a few minutes to take orders and I can handle the kitchen. Take your half-hour.” Gail gave one last shove and almost sent Pru sprawling onto the floor at Alex’s feet. She caught herself on the edge of the counter and straightened, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. She was still wearing a hairnet.

God, could she look like any more of a fool?

With as much dignity as she could manage, she took it off and smoothed down her hair. She hoped her smile didn’t look as wobbly as it felt on her lips. “Back for more pie?”

“No.” He glanced over at the glass case displaying the freshly baked pies. His mouth turned up in one corner—not quite a real smile. “Well, maybe. Like I said, it’s an addiction of mine. I’ve gone to meetings and everything, but I can’t kick it.”

The laugh bubbled out of her in an unexpected rush, half from amusement and half from panic. “You have the oddest sense of humor, Boston.”

Just being this close to him again was doing strange things to her. She could picture it so clearly, him and her naked, straining together—

Oh, God. She slammed the mental brakes on that image. This was definitely a case of lust at first sight. Lust and nothing more. She drew a breath and slapped a muzzle on her overactive libido.

Just act normal.

Hah.

“I was going to take Triton, my dog, for a walk,” she blurted and reached behind the counter for the dog’s leash. She had to get outside. The diner was too warm and cramped all of a sudden, with too many curious eyes studying them.

“I’ll walk with you,” Alex said. “If you don’t mind.”

She did mind, but saying so would be rude and only partly true. He bothered her, but not in such a way that she disliked his company. Besides, it was only a walk.

“I’ll meet you out front.” She pushed through the kitchen door and ignored Gail’s smirk. Triton perked up from the sunny spot he’d found to lay down in and starting hopping like he had spring-loaded paws when he saw the leash. She unhooked his lead from his collar and snapped on the leash, then sucked in a calming breath and walked around the front of the diner. Triton pulled her to a halt as they neared Alex and watched the newcomer with wary chestnut eyes. Alex bent down the pet him and Triton let out a low grumble of warning.

“Huh. I don’t think your vicious pooch likes me much, Pru.”

“He’s not vicious. He’s just suspicious of strangers.” She bent down to give Triton a scratch behind one floppy ear to soothe him. “He can’t decide whether you’re a friend or not.”

“And what about you?” He motioned her down the sidewalk with one arm like a gentleman escorting a gowned lady to the dance floor. “Have you decided?”

“I don’t know you. I’m reserving judgment.”

“Would you like to get to know me?”

She stopped walking and gaped at him. “You didn’t just say that. That’s the oldest line in the book, pal.”

“I… guess I did.” And he looked completely flabbergasted by it. “Wow. Um, I’m usually better at—I didn’t mean that like—” He held up the sunflower. “Peace offering?”

His expression was so repentant that she couldn’t help but laugh. She accepted the flower. “You’re a Catholic.”

He blinked. “Uh, I’m sorry?”

“I can tell. You’ve perfected that sorry-I-sinned look.”

“Yeah, I am. Or was. Guess you’d call me non-practicing.”

“Bet your priests groaned whenever they saw you headed for the confessional.” He walked so close beside her she could smell him, a spicy male musk she liked, and feel the warmth emanating off his strong body. “Bet you sinned a lot.”

She realized, too late, how sexual that sounded and felt the blistering heat of embarrassment color her cheeks. She glanced away, but not before she caught the glint of wicked humor in his eyes.

“Every chance I got. I was a…spirited kid.”

She forced a light chuckle. “Hey, pal, it’s New England. We’re all spirited.” She paused to let Triton relieve himself on a lamppost and caught sight of the lighthouse tower from the corner of her eye. “Even our lighthouses. Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Uh, what?”

“Ghosts.” She turned to face him. “Do you believe in them?”

His mouth opened then closed without making a sound. “You…baffle me, Pru. Do you always change subjects like that?”

Oh, great, she was babbling now. “Like what?”

“Like you—” He studied her for a second with his intense eyes as if trying to figure out an intricate puzzle, then shook his head. “Never mind.” He stuck his hands in his coat pockets and gazed up at the lighthouse. A breeze rolled off the ocean and ruffled his hair, which looked to have been only finger-combed this morning. She watched a shadow fall across his face like a veil.

“Ghosts, huh? No, I don’t believe in any of that paranormal shit. Ghosts, psychics, curses, demons—it’s all crazy.”

“Hm.” She continued down the sidewalk with Triton sniffing every tree and sign along the way. Alex fell into step, watching her twirl the sunflower between her fingers.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Yes.” She angled her head to look at him. “How did you know they’re my favorite? Usually a guy goes for roses when he’s trying to impress a woman.”

He moved his shoulders as if an uncomfortable weight had settled there. She liked riling him, she decided. He looked cute when he was flustered and it gave her a sense of power to do so. He struck her as a man who didn’t fluster easily. Also struck her as a man who did not usually give flowers to women.

“I didn’t know,” he admitted. “I saw that beside the road on my way into town. It reminded me of you.”

“Little late in the year for wild sunflowers.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said. “Gardening isn’t my area of expertise.”

“No? Then what is?”

“I’m, uh…” He was flustered again, his gaze sliding away from hers as his words trailed off. He looked up at the lighthouse tower and she got the feeling he was searching for something, anything to say to change the subject. The man obviously didn’t like to talk about himself, so she decided to take pity on him. For now.

She motioned to the lighthouse. “It isn’t ready to open to the public yet—I still have a lot of work to do on it—but if you’d like, I can give you a tour.”

“Wait.” He stopped walking and stared at the lighthouse, then at her. “You own that?”

“I live there. I’m in the process of renovating it, turning it into a bed and breakfast.” Since he stopped moving, she did too. She set down the sunflower and hoisted herself to sit on the wide ledge of one of the now-empty concrete planters lining the street. The stone was hard and cold on her legs and it fortified her.

Triton hopped along the sidewalk, chasing fallen leaves until his leash ran out, and then gazed back with the expression she thought of as his puppy frown. To atone, she dug a dog biscuit out of her apron and tossed it to him.

Alex sat beside her, close enough to make Triton forget his treat and move protectively between them.

“I got the impression you own the diner,” Alex said, paying no attention to the dog’s low growl as he laid his hand over hers on the cool stone. His hand was large and, except for a strange callus on his pointer finger, surprisingly smooth. As their skin touched, a little thrill raced straight from her hand to her muzzled libido—it hissed, snarled, and demanded release. Oh, how she wanted to let it loose, to turn her hand into his and link their fingers. Instead, she shifted away on the pretense of tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“The diner’s my grandma’s baby.” She tried to keep her voice light. “That’s why it’s called Mae’s, after her. She’s semi-retired, which basically means I run it when she’s off on one of her many adventures. She’s in Africa right now. But the lighthouse…” She picked up the sunflower, twirled it between her fingers again. “Much to Grandma’s dismay, it’s always intrigued me. The ghost stories alone—”

“C’mon. Ghost stories?”

“Oh, yes. It’s said lighthouses are America’s version of castles. Each has its own ghost, and mine is no exception.”

Alex made a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. According to legend, the ghost’s name is Adeline Barnett True, better known as Lovie,” she said, settling into the telling of a story she’d known since childhood. “She’s also called The Green Lady because she’s always seen wearing a green flapper-style dress. She came to town after her husband, a soldier in World War One, inherited the lighthouse from his father. Some of the rumors say her husband took up drinking after the war and beat her to death. Others say she was a city girl at heart, the isolation got to be too much, and she took her life by jumping off the tower. Either way, she died in 1925, but she still roams through the lighthouse and she’s still bitter about whatever happened to her. She doesn’t like men in her territory. She gets blamed for a lot of the accidents that happen around here.”