Jayne Ann Krentz (6 page)

Snow's Café had changed little in eight years. Whenever she stepped inside, Hannah always felt as if she had entered a time warp. The colorful posters on the walls were always the same—a mix of classic rock band ads and pithy sayings that reflected the conspiracy theories of the owner, Arizona Snow. The large one over the cash register summed up Arizona's worldview. The illustration showed two bug-eyed space aliens in heavy-metal attire. They were armed with futuristic weaponry. The slogan underneath read,
We're from the government and we're here to help.

The café was the main hangout for the faculty and students of nearby Chamberlain College. The Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute was not far away, but the think tank staff tended to avoid Snow's. It was no secret that since the day the institute had opened its doors Arizona had viewed the facility with deep suspicion. She was convinced that whatever was going on there constituted a dangerous threat to all those who cherished a free society.

“Over here, Hannah.” Pamela's face lit up in welcome. Pamela McCallister was now on the faculty of the English department at Chamberlain, and over the years her upwardly mobile path through the thorny territory of higher education had been marked by subtle but highly significant changes of fashion. She still wore a lot of black, but there was less of the romantic poetess about her now and more of the trendy professional. Her hair was much shorter, marking her shift from student to faculty status. The voluminous bag she carried was made of much more expensive material than the one she had favored eight years ago.

“Sorry I'm late.” Hannah gave her a quick hug before sliding into the booth across from her. “I stopped by Dreamscape, and then I had to take my dog and my luggage to my folks' cottage.”

Pamela gave her a knowing look. “You're not staying at Dreamscape?”

“Rafe got there ahead of me.”

“I heard his car was seen parked in the drive all last night.”

“He's definitely taken up residence.” Hannah snapped the well-worn, plastic-coated menu out of the slot behind the napkin holder. “I think he's working on the premise that possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“Well, well, well.” Pamela looked deeply intrigued. “This is going to be interesting.”

“Think so?”

“Yes, indeed. Can't wait to see how it plays out.” Pamela's eyes gleamed behind the lenses of her glasses. “And just think, the whole town will be watching.”

“I'm glad everyone else finds this mess so amusing.” Hannah glanced at the menu and saw that it hadn't changed in eight years, either. It still featured the same eclectic but curiously inspired assortment of vegetarian burgers, French fries, pizzas, quesadillas, and noodle dishes. “I can assure you that from where I'm sitting, there's nothing remotely entertaining about it. Rafe made it clear this afternoon that he's going to be a problem.”

“He always was a problem, as I recall.” Pamela propped her elbows on the yellow Formica tabletop and rested her chin on her folded hands. “So, tell me. Has he changed much?”

“No. He's driving a Porsche these days instead of a motorcycle, but as far as I can tell, he still has no visible means of support.”

“Hmm.”

Hannah looked up sharply from the menu. “What does ‘hmm' mean?”

“There's been some talk that he might have been dabbling in a few less-than-legal activities during the past eight years.”

“Great. You think I'm sharing Aunt Isabel's inheritance with a gangster?”

“No one's really sure, you understand. But you've got to admit, the Porsche is a little hard to explain.”

Hannah thought about that for a few seconds. “Well, one thing's for certain. Whatever he's been up to in the past few years, he still views me as a prissy overachiever. Not exactly the basis for a lasting relationship.”

“Who's talking duration?”

“I refuse to allow you to live out your prurient fantasies vicariously through me, Pam.” Hannah sighed. “I guess I'll know soon enough whether or not he's changed. If he starts spending his evenings down at the Total Eclipse, I'll get a very big clue, won't I?”

“I'd say that would be a hint, yes.”

“Let's change the subject.” Hannah dropped the menu on the table. “Brad and the kids?”

“The kids are great.” Pamela's eyes softened and lit up with enthusiasm. “I promised them you'd come to dinner soon.”

“I'll be there with bells on.”

“And Brad? Did he get that joint appointment at the institute yet?”

Pamela's smile faded. “We thought we were going to have some excellent news on that front to announce later this month. But now we're not so sure.”

“Something go wrong?”

“You could say that. The something is named Perry Decatur. As far as we can tell, he's the one blocking the appointment. He's been jealous of Brad for years. Probably afraid that if Brad joins the staff at the institute, he'll be put in the shade.”

Hannah sat back in surprise. “I didn't know Perry worked at the institute.”

“I thought I told you. He left his position at Chamberlain six months ago. His title is Vice President of Finance and Administration. Brings in big donors. Everyone assumes he's got his eye on becoming director one of these days.”

Hannah shook her head in wry disgust. “Perry always was a fast talker.”

“Never thought you'd come back here for good.” Jed Steadman sat forward in the wicker chair and clasped his hands lightly between his knees. “Figured that with the way things were between you and your grandfather, you'd want to stay clear of Eclipse Bay as much as possible.”

Rafe stacked his feet on the railing, rocked back in his chair, and took a swallow of beer from the bottle he had brought from the kitchen. “One thing I've learned in the past eight years: Never say never.”

“I hear you.” Jed watched a seagull ride a current of air above the cliffs. “Life takes some twists and turns sometimes. I thought I'd be long gone by now myself.”

“That's right. Your big plan was to get a job as a foreign correspondent with one of the big-city dailies. What happened?”

“A man has to be flexible or he'll miss out on some incredible opportunities. When Ed Bolton said he would sell the
Journal
to me a few years ago, I jumped at the chance. As editor and owner, I get to run my own show.”

“A lot to be said for that.”

“You got that right.” Jed slanted him a sidelong glance. “Judging by the Porsche outside, you've done okay for yourself.”

Rafe took another swallow of beer. “Managed to stay out of jail.”

Jed gave a short bark of laughter. “Almost forgot. Not doing time behind bars was your big career objective, wasn't it?”

Rafe raised the beer bottle in a mocking salute. “And here I am today, a resounding success in my chosen field. A lesson for wayward youth across this great land.”

“Exactly what
is
your chosen field?” Jed's eyes glinted with curiosity. “No offense, but I never heard that you ever actually got yourself what folks like to call a real job.”

“I get by.”

“I've noticed.” Jed watched him intently. “There's talk going around that you maybe found some, shall we say, unconventional ways to accomplish that.”

“You're starting to sound like a reporter, Jed.”

Jed held up his hands, palms out. “Okay, I get the point. No more questions in that area. Can't blame me for asking. I am in the newspaper business, after all.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“Heard you and Connie split up a couple of years ago,” Rafe said eventually. “Sorry.”

“It was a mistake.” Jed glanced down at his clasped hands and then looked up. “She went back to Seattle. Couldn't take small-town life. She's remarried.”

Rafe settled deeper into his chair. “I didn't do any better with marriage myself.”

“I'm surprised you even gave it a whirl. You always said you wouldn't be any good at it.”

“Turned out I was right.”

“One thing you should know,” Jed said quietly after a while. “Dell Sadler still thinks you pushed his sister over that cliff. You might want to stay out of his way while you're here in town.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Sure. What are friends for?” Jed looked down the length of the broad front porch that encircled the mansion. “What are you going to do with this place?”

“Open an inn and a restaurant.”

“Whew!” Jed was clearly impressed. “Talk about big plans! Gonna cost a bundle, though.”

“Not a problem,” Rafe said.

Hannah stood on the rocky beach below the Harte cottage and watched Winston chase seagulls in Dead Hand Cove. The tide was still out this morning. The five tall, finger-shaped stones that had given the cove its name thrust upward from the wet sand in a pattern that was eerily reminiscent of the outflung hand of a corpse. Or so she and Nick and Lillian had concluded years ago. When the tide came in a few hours from now, all but the very tip of the forefinger would be submerged.

The cove had been a favorite playground for all three Hartes in their youth. In addition to the macabre rock formation, it boasted an intricate network of small caves in the cliffs that framed the tiny beach. Together with Nick and Lillian, Hannah had spent hours exploring the rocky passages. The caves weren't dangerously deep or convoluted, and they had made excellent hiding places for adventurous children.

Out in the cove, Winston dashed off after another seagull. He was certainly enjoying the stay in Eclipse Bay, Hannah thought. What surprised her was that she was strangely content also, in spite of the looming problem of Rafe Madison.

She and Winston had been here for the better part of a week, but she was no closer to resolving the sticky situation involving Dreamscape than she had been that first afternoon. Rafe refused even to discuss the possibility of selling his share of the mansion. A war of nerves was taking shape. They couldn't go on like this indefinitely, she told herself. Sooner or later one of them would have to make a move toward ending the impasse.

Out on the sand, Winston found a piece of driftwood, seized it in his jaws, and pranced triumphantly back toward Hannah. Halfway across the cove he came to a sudden halt and looked up toward the cliff path.

Simultaneously a whisper of awareness tingled through Hannah. She sensed Rafe's presence just before he spoke.

“Nice to see that Winston doesn't stand on formality all the time,” he said.

Hannah braced herself for the little shock of excitement she always got when she first encountered him. She turned and saw that he had reached the bottom of the path. He came toward her with that supple masculine grace that was so much a part of him.

Time had not refined Rafe. The cool, savvy intelligence in his green eyes was more intense and more dangerous—the result of hard experience, no doubt. The bold, sharp planes and angles of his lean face had always had a strict cast, but the years had added an aura of brooding asceticism.

He had left behind the few traces of young manhood that had still clung to him that night on the beach. Nevertheless, for some reason he actually looked better than ever in a pair of jeans. Beneath the tautly stretched fabric of the black, long-sleeved T-shirt he wore, his shoulders seemed broader and stronger. His stomach was still very flat.

What was the matter with her? she wondered. For eight years she had excused herself for her small, youthful, short-lived crush on Rafe Madison. After all, he had been the bad boy of Eclipse Bay, and he had once walked her home after midnight. That was enough to induce a few lusty imaginings in any healthy young woman. But she was far too mature for that sort of romantic nonsense now. Wasn't she?

She had never admitted the crush to anyone, of course—not even Lillian, although she suspected that her sister had guessed the truth. She had a right to her private little fantasies, she told herself. And it wasn't as if she had spent the past few years wondering what she had missed. In fact, she had all but forgotten Rafe Madison until Isabel's lawyer had called to give her the news about the will.

“Good morning, Rafe. Fancy meeting you here. Come to talk about Dreamscape?”

“I make it a policy not to talk business before noon.”

“Do you talk about it much after noon?”

“Only if I feel real energetic.” He leaned down to greet Winston. “I'm on my way into town to check the mail. Thought I'd see if you and the mutt wanted to go along.”

Her first reaction was surprise. This was the first overture of any kind that he had made since the initial confrontation at Dreamscape. Maybe he was going to blink first.

Or maybe she ought to be very, very careful.

On the other hand, sooner or later they had to start communicating.

“I do need to do some grocery shopping,” she said warily.

“Might as well go into town together.” He gave her an unreadable smile. “Give the good folk of Eclipse Bay a thrill.”

She held her blowing hair out of her eyes and peered at him closely. She could not tell if he was joking.

“All right,” she said finally.

He startled her with a fleeting grin. “That's one of the things I always admired about you. You were never afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.”

She waved a hand toward Winston. “These days I've got my own wolf.”

Rafe eyed Winston with an assessing expression. “Five will get you ten that I can take the dog with one hand tied behind my back.”

“Don't count on it, tough guy.”

An hour later Hannah emerged from Fulton's Supermarket with a sack in each arm. She looked down the rows of pickups and SUVs parked in the small lot and saw the silver Porsche. Rafe had collected the mail and was waiting for her. He lounged against a gleaming fender, arms folded. A pair of mirrored sunglasses added to the gangster look.

Winston stood on his hind legs in the driver's seat, front paws braced against the edge of the door, nose thrust through the open window. It warmed Hannah's heart to see that he was watching for her return. You could always count on your dog.

She was halfway back to the Porsche when, to her astonishment, Rafe gave her a cool, arrogant smile. Very deliberately he uncrossed his arms and reached out to scratch Winston behind the ears.

It was glaringly evident that Winston did not object. Hannah saw a pink tongue emerge to lick Rafe's hand. Irritation shot through her. Winston never got chummy with strangers, especially male strangers. Winston had standards.

Somehow, during the short time that she had been inside the grocery store, Rafe had co-opted her dog.

“Uh-oh.”

She quickened her steps, so intent on the spectacle of Winston and Rafe's buddy-bonding that she never saw the big man who had climbed out of a battered pickup until he was directly in her path.

“Heard you and Madison were back in town,” Dell Sadler said. “Come back to screw on the beach for old times' sake?”

Hannah skidded to a halt, barely avoiding a collision. But the abrupt stop sent a shudder through her that dislodged her grip on one of the grocery sacks, and it slipped out of her grasp. She heard an ominously squishy thud. The tomatoes, she thought. Luckily the eggs were in the other bag.

“Hello, Dell,” she said quietly.

She knew very little about Dell Sadler other than that he operated a towing service and a body shop on the outskirts of Eclipse Bay. He was a heavily built man in his late thirties with thinning hair and beefy hands. There had always been a grim, morose air about him, as though he had found life to be a serious disappointment and did not expect matters to improve.

“You two got a lot of gall coming back here after what you did.”

“If you'll excuse me, Dell—”

He stepped toward her, hands balled into fists. “Think I'd be gone by now? Or that I'd forget what happened to Kaitlin? Or don't you even give a damn?”

“This isn't a good place to talk.” With an effort she kept her voice calm and soothing. “Maybe some other time.”

“Just because everyone else in this town bought that story about you and Rafe Madison getting it on at the beach the night my sister died, don't think I did. I know damn well he killed her and you lied for him.”

“That's not true, and I think that deep down inside you know it.” Hannah took a cautious step back, preparing to dart around him. “Please get out of my way.”

He thrust his face forward, raised a hand, and stabbed a finger at her chest. “Don't you tell me what to do. Maybe everyone else around here kowtows to you Hartes, but I sure as hell don't. Far as I'm concerned, you and Madison are both scum.”

“I'm sorry about what happened to Kaitlin,” Hannah said. “Everyone was. But I promise you, Rafe had nothing to do with it.”

“He must have screwed you silly to get you to cover for him the way you did.”

“Stop it.”

“I hear you're back in town on account of that big house. Word is Madison wants the whole place for himself. Probably thinks if he does you long enough and hard enough, you'll turn over your share.”

Hannah retreated again, clutching her one remaining sack of groceries. She came up hard against the unyielding fender of a big SUV. Dell closed in on her.

“Get out of my way,” she said very steadily, preparing to make a run for Rafe's car.

“When I'm good and ready. I want you to know something. I won't ever—”

Dell broke into a yelp as a hand locked on his shoulder from behind.

Rafe used the grip to spin Sadler neatly out of Hannah's path. With seemingly little effort, he pinned the big man to the door of the pickup.

Simultaneously, Hannah heard a low, fierce growl. She glanced down and saw Winston. The Schnauzer stood braced in front of Dell Sadler.

“She asked you to get out of the way, Sadler,” Rafe said in a very soft voice.

“Screw you, you sonofabitch. You killed Kaitlin, I know you did.”

“I didn't kill Kaitlin. I had no reason to kill her. If you ever decide you want to talk about it, come and see me. But don't bother Hannah again. She had nothing to do with what happened to your sister.”

Dell scowled. “Take your hands off me, you bastard.”

Rafe shrugged, released him, and stepped back. He scooped up the sack of groceries that Hannah had dropped and took her arm.

“Let's go,” he said.

She did not argue. They walked quickly back to the Porsche, Winston marching beside them. When Rafe opened the door, the Schnauzer jumped into the small space behind the seats. He kept his nose close to Hannah as Rafe switched on the ignition.

Hannah was acutely aware of several curious onlookers. “That little scene will keep tongues wagging for a day or two.”

Rafe drove out of the small lot onto Bayview Drive. “Told you we'd give the folks a thrill.”

A short silence fell. Hannah opened her purse and found her sunglasses. She put them on. Winston licked her ear. She stroked him soothingly.

“Two-timer,” she muttered. “I saw you licking Rafe's hand earlier.”

Winston rested his chin on her shoulder and sighed in content.

“Your dog and I decided not to duel at dawn after all,” Rafe said.

“You both chickened out?”

“We prefer to think of it as a negotiated settlement.”

“Huh. Translated, I think that means that neither of you was willing to exert yourself to do battle in my honor.”

Rafe glanced at her, his gaze unreadable behind the shield of his sunglasses. “When a guy reaches a certain age, he has to pick and choose his battles. I think it's called getting smart.”

“Excuses, excuses.” She peeked into the sack that had landed on the pavement. As she had suspected, the tomatoes were little more than pulp inside the plastic vegetable bag. The lettuce and mushrooms looked badly bruised too. “So much for dinner.”

Rafe said nothing for a moment. He drove with easy skill, but he seemed to be concentrating on the road with an unnecessary degree of attention.

“Got an idea,” he said after a while.

“I'm listening.”

“Why don't you and Winston eat at my place tonight? I've got plenty of food.”

Another overture? Maybe he really was weakening. She tried not to look too eager.

“Seeing as how there isn't much that's very exciting in the other sack of groceries, I believe I can speak for both Winston and myself when I say that we'd be pleased to take you up on that offer.”

“Okay. Fine. It's settled.”

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “You appeared to have some hesitation in putting forth your invitation. Was it such a big deal to ask me over to dinner?”

He flexed his hands on the chunky steering wheel. “Had to work up my courage.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I was afraid you'd turn me down.”

“Why would I do that?” She gave what she hoped was a very blasé sort of shrug. “We've got to talk about our mutual business problem sooner or later. Might as well be tonight.”

“Wasn't planning to talk about the house tonight.”

She stilled. “What do you plan to discuss?”

“Old times, maybe?”

She contemplated that for a moment. Then she gently cleared her throat. “You and I have only one incident between us that could conceivably be classified as old times.”

“True. But you've got to admit it was a hell of an incident. I could have gone to jail if it hadn't been for you. That would have really messed up my big career plan. I told you that day I called to say good-bye that I owed you.”