Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense) (4 page)

Just
then, a square of light appeared in front of her.  Nicole looked up and turned
around.  The top floor window of the house next door was illuminated.  The
curtain in the window shifted and Nicole could vaguely make out a silhouette
behind it.  It appeared to be a woman wringing her hands and pushing them into
her hair.  She seemed to be pacing, but then the light snapped off.  Since she
hadn’t met her neighbors yet, she didn’t give the scene much thought.

Once
near the water's edge, Nicole sipped her wine and looked out at the row of
docked boats in the distance.  Suddenly a hand clapped around her neck and
yanked her backward. 

Her
heart lurched into her throat as blackness swam before her eyes.  The wine
dropped, bled on the sand.  She struggled to breathe, to scream, but she
couldn't—it was the grip of a man, strong, ruthless, clutching her neck and
then strangling her stomach with his other arm.

She
reached up, clamping her fingers around his forearm, and pulled.  It was thick
and bulky; it seemed immovable.  His hot breath puffed rancidly on her temple. 
His body seemed enormous.

With
a sudden jerk, he released her neck and she choked out a cough—right before his
hand covered her mouth, and he began dragging her backward at her waist. 

Violently
she struggled, her pant legs dragging, her heels digging in, spitting up sand. 
Frantic, she gripped harder on his arm, digging into the rough fabric of his
coat until her fingers were raw.

And
just as suddenly as she'd been grabbed—she was freed.  Her attacker was pulled
off of her—in a split second—and the force of her resistance sent her flying
into the sand.  She landed on her knees, coughing.  Nearly gagging on her
hair.  She turned back and saw the silhouette of two men fighting.  She could
only make one of them out clearly.  He was meaty looking with a hideous face
that appeared almost crooked. 

Nicole
screamed as she scrambled to her feet, almost falling down again.  Her limbs
felt weak, boneless, but her legs kept on, struggling to make it uphill and
into the house.  Vaguely she heard a loud thump behind her—then a deep male
voice—but she didn't dare look back.

She
kept going until a hand closed on her wrist. 

She
let out another scream as she was pulled back—only this time, she wasn't pulled
hard.  The gesture was gentle.  Comforting.  Her mind and body were still too
flustered to make sense of it, though, and she yelled, “Let go of me!”

“He's
gone, he’s gone,” he said.  “Are you okay?”

This
was not the man who’d grabbed her.  Facing him now, Nicole finally
saw
him.  He had a shaved head and a kind of intensity about his face.  His eyes
were dark and assessing.  Not a combination Nicole would normally think of as
reassuring. 

She
was still too rattled to speak.

Holding
her hand, the man spoke slowly.  “Sweetheart.  Are you okay?”  He enunciated
his words the way a paramedic might and her relief swelled even more. 

“Yes,”
she said finally.  He let go of her hand, but still looked intently at her. 

“Do
you live around here?” he asked.  “Is there someone I can call or...?”

“I...um,
yeah, I live here.”  She cast a glance toward the house.  “Where did he go?”

With
a shrug, the man said, “Well, I popped him pretty good and he took off.  Do you
want me to call the police?”

“Yes...I
guess so…where did you come from?”

“I
was coming up on shore,” he said, motioning back toward the water.  “My boat
crapped out on me about fifty feet out.  I was pulling my dinghy up on the sand
when I saw that guy on you.  Are you sure he didn't hurt you?” 

Before
she could respond, she heard sirens.

An hour
later she and the stranger—whom she'd since learned was named Michael King—were
sitting in a police station on
Arlen Road
.  She couldn't recall if she had ever
been inside a police station before, but this was not how she would have
pictured it.  Woodsy and cozy, it held nautical pictures on the walls, each
with an identifying placard below—
Clam Bake '98.  Nauset Races '04.  Easter
Scrod Parade '06
.  The entire police station looked to be a one-room
operation, a tight cluster of desks, papers, and manila folders.   

When
Officers Donovan and Spackel had escorted Nicole and Michael inside, they'd
greeted the only person there—a woman named Sue who was wearing a dispatch
headset.  Classical music was playing softly from the radio on her desk.  With
a cursory wave, she went back to her paperwork.

Then
Nicole and Michael had given their official statements, which of course were
brief since the events on the beach had happened so quickly.  Apparently a
“concerned neighbor” had called the police.  

Spackel,
the younger of the two officers, had put on a pot of coffee and now it was
gurgling on the other side of the room.  Nicole was anxious to get some of it,
determined—however falsely—for it to calm her nerves. 

“So
do you have any idea who it was?” Nicole asked now.

“No,
but we have some more descriptions.”  Officer Donovan grabbed a folder on his
desk and flipped it open.  “First, Herman MacDonald called in about a
‘suspicious man’ behind the Fish Fry.  And then Chester Northgate reported one
of his motorboats stolen less than an hour ago by a man matching the
description you gave. 

“Both
Chester
’s housekeeper
and Jim White, of White’s Tree Nursery, also saw the perp speeding off in the
boat, headed south.  Presumably the guy will ditch the boat lower down the
coast, so we have an APB out. 

“Apparently
one of our local innkeepers—Todd Finn—thinks he spotted our guy, too. 
Although, according to Finn, the perp was heading north.”  Donovan shrugged. 
“We’ll find him.  The descriptions were thorough enough.  'Looked like a cross
between a monster and an oaf,'” he read from the file, then explained dryly,
“Old Chester's in his seventies, he doesn't mince words.” 

What
a relief!  Nicole's description of her attacker had also been pretty distinct. 
From the dim, fleeting glimpse she'd gotten she could say with certainty that
he was tall, ugly, maybe in his forties.  The words “Sloth from
The Goonies
”
had crossed her lips more than once. 

Spackel
handed Nicole and Michael each a cup of coffee and sat down at his desk; the
coffee warmed right through the lightweight cup and into Nicole's palm. 
Normally she liked sweetener in it, but considering how lucky she was to be
alive, she wasn't about to be picky.  Really, coffee was coffee—

Or
not. 
Blech. 
It was overly bitter, way too strong, almost foul.  She
took another sip.

“Sorry
about the coffee,” Spackel said with a deprecating smile.  “Irene goes home at
five.  After that, we're pretty much on our own.” 

Donovan
continued, “Probably a vagrant passing through on his way to Wellfleet.  It
happens occasionally.  But to tell you the truth, on the off-season, violent
crime around here is practically nil.”

“Probably
figured he could get some money off you,” Michael suggested.

Both
officers nodded in agreement, which made Nicole feel better; she didn't want to
contemplate the grislier possibilities.  

“Or,
for all we know, he wasn't right in the head,” Donovan said.

Nodding,
Spackel stroked his chin.  “Now that you mention it, there
was
that
radioactive experiment at the mental hospital not far from here—the one built
on ancient Indian burial ground.” 

Nicole's
mouth dropped open. 

Spackel
grinned.  “Just kidding with you.”

“Oh...”
she said, exhaling a sigh and laughed in spite of herself.  “God, what a
night.”

“But
I don't want you to worry,” Donovan went on, sitting forward and setting his
amusement aside.  “We have our coast guard patrolling the waters now—if the
perp's still in our vicinity, believe me, he'll come up on their radar.  We've
already alerted the neighboring coast guard stations south and southwest of
here.  Rest assured,
Chatham
is a very small town.  Around here people notice
things—and people—if they're out of place.”

“Which
is a nice way of saying there are a lot of busybodies around here,” Spackel interjected. 
“Basically, people are all up in your grill, whether you like it or not.”

Well,
Nicole was never more thrilled at the prospect of busybodies.  Even though she
had been assaulted tonight, she felt strangely safer
now
than she had
after her apartment was robbed.  Maybe it was because the police here were so
personable; maybe it was because she hadn't even had to call them.  Maybe it
was knowing the violent troglodyte who had grabbed her on the beach seemed to
be long gone. 

Donovan
spoke again, this time addressing Michael.  “And Mr. King, what you did was
really decent.  On behalf of the department, I have to thank you.”

“I
just stepped in the way anyone would have,” Michael responded.  Nicole would
like to believe that, but she was not convinced that the bravery and chivalry
Michael had shown were as instinctive in other men.  Granted, her friend,
Cameron, would have tried to save her.  Of course her dad would have.  But a
total stranger? 

Nevertheless,
Michael King seemed uncomfortable with the praise.  He obviously wasn't someone
who reveled in being endlessly patted on the back.  In fact...

Nicole
noticed that ever since they'd arrived at the station, Michael was different. 
The protective, dulcet warmth he'd exuded on the beach was gone.  In its place
was a far more distant demeanor.  He wasn't unfriendly, but self-contained. 
When it came to the officers’ questions, he was matter-of-fact, almost terse. 
Cooperative when recounting the events on the beach, but disinclined to reveal
much about himself or elaborate beyond the simplest answer. 

In
the light of the police station, Nicole had also assessed his looks.  Dressed
in dark pants and a dark jacket, there was something about him that
portrayed...a quiet confidence.  His face was sort of attractive, in a rugged
kind of way.  The shaved head should have made him look older but with his
light tan complexion and muscular build, he looked young, fit—tough.

Michael
King: reticent, brave.  Mysterious.

“Come
to think of it,” he said now, just realizing something, “I never got around to
bearing down my dinghy.”

“Oh. 
Well if it got washed away, we'll track it down,” Donovan assured him.  “By the
way, you mentioned that you were headed to
Nantucket
.  Business or pleasure?”

“Vacation,”
Michael replied.

“
Nantucket
,” Spackel
repeated, nodding.  “That's a long ride.”

Michael
shrugged.  “Not really, I've done it before.”

“So
you're familiar with the
Cape
then,” Donovan said.  “Are you from around here?”

“
New York
originally.  But
I've lived around
Boston
for a few years now.”

“What
kind of work do you do?  If you don't mind my asking.”

“Sales”
was his only answer.

Yes,
Nicole would venture a guess that Michael King did not particularly want to be
here—but then, who would? 

“We'll
get someone out to you tomorrow, to figure out what's wrong with your boat,”
Spackel said.

“I
know what's wrong with it,” Michael said.  “Broken crank shaft.  The problem is
fixing it—I get my parts from this place in
Jersey
.  I'll call them in the morning,
see about sending me what I need.”

“You
know a lot about boats?” Donovan asked, looking impressed.

“I
worked in a garage when I was in school.  An engine's an engine.”

Donovan
gave an easy smile.  “Okay, it sounds like you've got it under control.  In the
meantime, we have some nice inns right along
Main Street
.  We'll be happy
to give you a lift when we drive Miss Sheffield back—”

“Actually...”
Michael said, “I want to stay with my boat.”

“But—” 

“I
rebuilt that boat years ago and I'm not inclined to leave it.  I'll just sleep
there, stay with it till it's up and running.”  Abruptly, he turned to Nicole,
his gaze catching hers.  “Oh—if that's okay with you, I mean.”

“Yes,
of course,” she said, “I don't mind.”  Truth be told, she wasn't sure how much
longer she would be there.  In her mind, she was packing already.

The
police cruiser dropped them off at the front gate of Nina's house, giving a
friendly toot of the horn before looping around and careening back down
Orchard Street
.

Nicole
faced Michael then.  It was the first time they had been alone since they were
on the beach and that had only been for what felt like seconds.  Smiling, she
said, “Well your vacation started off with a bang.”