Jayne Ann Krentz (2 page)

“I get the impression that you are not particularly devastated by the breakup in your relationship,” she ventured cautiously.

“Sure, I'm devastated. I just told you, I'm a sensitive guy. But I'll get over it.”

“What about Kaitlin?”

“Worrying about Kaitlin's feelings is not real high on my list of priorities at the moment.”

Hannah gazed at him in amazement. “You mean you've actually
got
a list of priorities?”

“Okay, so it isn't a computer-generated five-year master plan like the one you've probably got tacked up on your bedroom wall. But some of us have to make it up as we go along.”

She winced at the thought of the list of personal goals she had made for herself at the start of the summer. It was, indeed, hanging on the bulletin board over her dresser. It was an updated, more finely tuned version of the list she had made when she graduated from high school. Formulating objectives and then plotting a course to reach those objectives was second nature to her. Everyone in her family was trained to be organized and forward-looking. As her father, Hamilton, was fond of saying, an unplanned life was a messy life.

Madisons, on the other hand, were notorious for their propensity to be driven by quixotic obsessions, quirky desires, and the occasional wild hair. When a Madison was consumed by a passion, people said, nothing was allowed to get in the way. Rafe's casual attitude toward the breakup with Kaitlin Sadler tonight was convincing evidence that she did not rank as his passion.

“Okay, I'll bite,” Hannah said, still uncertain about whether or not Rafe was teasing her. “What's on your list of priorities?”

For a moment she thought he was not going to respond. Then he shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather motorcycle jacket and turned slightly to face the bay.

“I don't think my plans would be of much interest to you,” he said laconically. “It's not like I'm going to get a Ph.D. or anything.”

She watched him, unwillingly fascinated now. “Tell me.”

He fell silent for a moment. She had the impression that he was engaged in some kind of internal debate.

“My grandfather says that when I'm not busy screwing around I have a head for business,” he said eventually. “He wants me to go to work for Gabe.”

“But you don't want to do that?”

“Madison Commercial is Gabe's baby. He's in charge, and that's the way it has to be. We get along okay, but I learned a few things about myself in the army. One of them was that I'm not cut out to take orders.”

“No surprise there, I guess.”

Rafe took one hand out of his pocket, scooped up a small stone, and sent it skipping out across the dark water of the bay. “I want to do my own thing.”

“I can understand that.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “You do?”

“I don't want to work in a corporation or a bureaucracy either,” she said quietly. “I'm going to open my own business as soon as I graduate.”

“Got it all planned, huh?”

“Not entirely. But by the time I get out of college I should have most of the details nailed down. What about you? What's your chief objective?”

“To stay out of jail.”

“That's certainly an impressive career goal. I'll bet you need to study for years and years and probably do an internship and a residency as well in order to achieve that objective.”

“Everyone I know seems to think that not ending up in prison will be a major accomplishment for me.” He swung back around to look at her. “What about you? What kind of business are you planning to open, Ms. Most Likely to Achieve?”

She took a few steps across the pebbly beach and sank down on a rock. “I'm not sure yet. I'm still researching possibilities. I've been talking to my dad. He says that the secret is to carve out a small niche in the service sector. One that big companies can't fill because of their size.”

“Something along the lines of outcall massage, or maybe one of those private escort services?”

“Very funny.”

“I've seen the ads in the Yellow Pages. You know, the ones aimed at traveling businessmen and conventioneers.
Discreet personal services offered in the privacy of your hotel room.
”

“You know, your sense of humor is as limited as your idea of an evening's entertainment.”

“Well, what do you expect from a guy who doesn't have his Ph.D.?”

“Too much, obviously.” She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them.

He moved to stand next to her rock. “Sorry. I shouldn't have teased you like that.”

“Forget it.”

“I'm sure you'll find your niche or whatever. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“Is marriage on your list of personal objectives?”

She glanced up at him, startled. “Well, yes, of course.”

“I guess you'll probably marry someone like the jerk, right?”

She sighed. “I was never serious about Perry. He was just someone to have fun with this summer.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not that he turned out to be a lot of fun tonight.”

“Definitely not Mr. Right.”

“No.”

“Bet you've got a long list of requirements that Mr. Right will have to meet before you agree to marry him, don't you?”

The dry question made her uncomfortable. “So, I know what I want in a husband. So what? Just because you don't make long-range plans doesn't mean everyone else has to play their life by ear.”

“True.” Without warning, he dropped down onto the rock beside her. The movement was easy, almost catlike. “Tell me, what kind of hoops will Mr. Right have to jump through before you'll agree to marry him?”

Stung, she held up one hand and ticked off the basics. “He'll be intelligent, well educated, a graduate of a good school, and successful in his field. He'll also be loyal, honorable, decent, and trustworthy.”

“No criminal record?”

“Definitely no criminal record.” She held up her other hand and continued down the list. “He'll be dependable, kind, sensitive, and capable of making a commitment. Someone I can talk to. Someone who shares my interests and goals. That's very important, you know.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He'll also get along well with my family, love animals, and be very supportive of my career.”

Rafe lounged back on his elbows. “But other than that, just an ordinary guy?”

For some inexplicable reason his mockery hurt. “You think I'm asking too much?”

He smiled faintly. “Get real. The guy you're looking for doesn't exist. Or if he does, he'll have some fatal flaw that you didn't expect.”

“Is that so?” She narrowed her eyes. “How about your Ms. Right? Got any idea of what she'll be like?”

“No. Doubt if there is one. Not that it matters.”

“Because you're not interested in a monogamous commitment?” she asked acidly.

“No, because the men in my family aren't much good when it comes to marriage. Figure the odds are against me getting lucky.”

She could hardly argue that point. His grandfather's four spectacularly failed marriages were common knowledge. Rafe's father, Sinclair, had had two wives before he had engaged in the tumultuous affair with his model that had produced his sons. The assumption was that if he had not died in the motorcycle accident, Sinclair would have racked up a string of divorces and affairs that would have made Mitchell's record pale in comparison.

“Marriage should not be viewed as a lottery or a crapshoot,” she said sternly. “It's a serious step, and it should be treated in a logical, rational manner.”

“You think it's that easy?”

“I never said it's easy. I said it should be approached with intelligence and sound common sense.”

“Where's the fun in that?”

She gritted her teeth. “You're teasing me again.”

“Face it—we Madisons don't usually do things that involve common sense. We probably lack that gene.”

“Don't give me that garbage. I'm serious about this, Rafe. I refuse to believe that you can't change what you see as your destiny.”

He slanted her an appraising glance. “You really think I could be the one to break the mold?”

“If you want to break it badly enough, yes, I really think you can do it.”

“Amazing. Who would have thought a Harte would be such a dreamer?”

“All right, what
are
you going to do with your life?”

“Well,” he drawled, “I've noticed that the cult and guru businesses are profitable.”

“Get serious. You've got your whole life ahead of you. Don't throw it away. Think about what you want. Make some concrete plans. Develop solid goals and then work toward them.”

“You don't think my present career objective is a worthy goal?”

“Staying out of jail is okay as far as it goes. But it's not enough, Rafe. You know it isn't enough.”

“Maybe not, but it's all I've got at the moment.” He glanced at his watch. The dial glowed in the moonlight. “I think it's time that you went home.”

Automatically she looked at her own watch. “Good grief, it's after one. It's going to take at least half an hour to walk home from here. I've got to get going.”

He came up off the rock in a fluid movement. “I'll walk with you.”

“That's not necessary.”

“Yes it is. I'm a Madison and you're a Harte.”

“So what?”

“So, if something were to happen to you between here and your place and your folks found out that I was the last guy to see you, I'd get the blame, for sure.”

She smiled. “And maybe get tossed into jail by Chief Yates?”

“Yeah. And that would put a real crimp in the only viable career plan I've got at the moment.”

The broad, semicircular sweep of the bay began in the distance behind Hannah, near the treacherous waters of Hidden Cove. It ended somewhere up ahead in the darkness, at a jutting piece of land known as Sundown Point. There were no streetlamps on the long, curving bluff road that rimmed the restless waters of Eclipse Bay. The sparse lights of the pier, the marina, and the town's tiny business district lay more than two miles to the rear, in the direction of Hidden Cove.

Up ahead, Hannah could make out only a vast pool of darkness. Sundown Point was invisible in the all-enveloping night. She knew that a handful of cottages and homes were scattered along the heavily wooded bluffs, but she saw no illuminated windows. Her family's summer place was nearly a mile from here, perched over a small, sheltered cove. Her aunt's big house, Dreamscape, was at least another half mile beyond that.

It was, indeed, going to be a long walk.

She glanced back over her shoulder. The faint glare of a well-lit parking lot could be seen on the hillside. It emanated from a clearing in the trees above the town. The parking facility belonged to the Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute, a recently established think tank that had been built close to Chamberlain College.

“My parents are up there at the institute tonight,” she said at one point, just for something to say. “They're attending the reception for Trevor Thornley.”

“The hotshot who's running for the state legislature?”

“Yes.” She was surprised that he was aware of Thorn-ley's campaign. He didn't seem like the type who paid attention to politics. But she refrained from making that observation aloud. “It looks like the event is running late. I may even get home ahead of Mom and Dad.”

“Lucky for you, hmm? You won't have to go into a lot of awkward explanations about why you came home with me instead of the jerk tonight.”

She glanced at him, surprised. “I'll tell them what happened in the morning.”

He slapped his forehead with the heel of his palm. “That's right, I keep forgetting. I'm with Ms. Goody Two-Shoes here. Of course you'll tell your parents that you spent the night on the beach with me.”

Shock brought her to a sudden halt. “I did
not
spend the night on the beach with you, Rafe Madison. And if you dare tell your friends down at the Total Eclipse Bar and Grill that I did, I swear I will…I will
sue
you. Or something.”

“Don't worry,” he muttered. “I'm not planning to announce to the whole town that we did it under Eclipse Arch.”

“You'd better not.” She gripped her purse more tightly and started walking quicker. The sooner she got back to the house, the better.

Rafe fell into step beside her again. She was intensely aware of him. She had walked this road many times over the years, but never at this hour. Crime was minimal in Eclipse Bay, but not completely absent, especially during the summer when out-of-town visitors flocked to the beach. She was very glad to have company tonight. The long walk home alone would have been more than a little nerve-racking.