Last Chance Harbor (2 page)

Tonight, the lovers had the beach to themselves. In the middle of the night they bunched together, snuggled against the stiff February wind as it slapped around the boats moored in the bay. Watching the tide surge and ebb, Layne and Brooke could have built up a fire for warmth. But that would have drawn attention to themselves which was the last thing either one wanted to do. Grabbing a little alone time was difficult enough without advertising that they’d stolen a few precious hours to be together. Lately, whenever they got within five feet of the other, they had a hard time keeping their hands to themselves. It was the main reason neither one felt the nip in the air.

With moonlight shining its beam like a beacon across the bay, the couple talked about their future together. Sometimes it was a sore subject.

Glancing up at the towering lighthouse above them on the cliff, Layne made a promise. “Soon we’ll be able to leave here. Take the kids and just go, start over. Pelican Pointe will be nothing more than a dot in our rearview mirror. You’ll see.”

“When? You keep saying that but it never happens,” Brooke said in challenge.

“I know you’re anxious to leave, get on with our life together, but… I have commitments, obligations,” a weary Layne reminded her. “I thought you understood that when we started this thing.”

Annoyed, Brooke slapped his roving hands away from her chest. “
This thing
you so casually call it is supposed to be
our
life. And I’m sick and tired of hearing about your responsibilities. I want a firm date. I want in on your plan. Tonight. You seem to think about everyone else all the time but me. I’m sick and tired of it.”

“It isn’t that simple and you know it,” Layne tossed back, beginning to get miffed at her attitude.

“Sure it is. All you have to do is pack up your stuff, put it in the car, and back out of the driveway. What’s so hard about that? Especially when you keep telling me how much you love me. How many times have you told me that you can’t even stand to look at her anymore after everything she’s done, after the horrible way she’s treated you and the kids?”

He puffed out a breath and could see the vapor hang in the air. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Look at yourself, Layne. The stress is making you sick. Your wife’s ruined you financially, bad-mouths you in front of your own children or anyone else who’s standing close enough to hear. She’s reduced us to meeting like this on a cold stretch of dark beach.”

A pained look crossed his face knowing every word was true. But he didn’t like it when Brooke couldn’t understand, when she got a little too pushy, like now. Her attitude had his temper doing a slow slide toward irritation. “It’s much more complicated than that. My kids aren’t doing well.” Layne sent her a pleading look and added, “But you knew that already. What you don’t know is that my middle one sometimes cries at night.”

“And I’ve told you this before. If there’s anything wrong with the kids it’s due to your wife’s erratic behavior, her anger, her mood swings, and less about anything you’ve done. You’re a good father, Layne,” Brooke said, warming as she always did to the way he looked at her with his soft gray eyes.

“But that’s the point. I can’t leave them in that environment—with her. I worry about them all the time when I’m not there.”

“There’s always something happening with your kids. Why do you always let her use them the way she does? She’s a drama queen about every little thing. She’s been that way all her life and we both know it. She isn’t going to up and change now, Layne. There’s not enough medication in the world that will make her into a decent human being. She’s too manipulative. And the fact that you fall for her act all the time does nothing to help the kids. You’ve become her enabler. I’ve never seen anyone get more mileage out of her kids than your wife gets. What kind of a mother uses her own children at every opportunity to hurt those that want to spend time with them? Your father just wants to spend a little quality time with the kids but she refuses to let him anywhere near them. I’ve never understood why unless it’s to wield leverage over you?”

Layne ran both hands through his mop of brown hair. “You know her pretty well.”

“I ought to. We went to school together. I’ve seen her in action for years, seen the devious way she cons people. There’s always been something off about her.”

“She threatens to hurt the kids, or threatens to stop taking care of them, feeding them, if I so much as mention leaving. I can’t risk it or them with her acting that way.”

“That’s what I’m saying. She’s always threatening to do something bad to them and you fall for it every single time. You’re making this a lot more difficult than it has to be.”

“There’s no denying that divorce is tough on kids, Brooke. She’s made me out to be the bad guy to her family and friends, told them what an awful person I am.”

“What do you care what her friends or her family thinks? See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You consider everyone else before you think about me. What about me? If it’s the kids you’re worried about then we’ll fight for custody
after
you get a divorce.”

“No judge in his right mind will award me custody and you know it.”

“You give up too easily. Your wife’s had mental problems since she was in her teens. We both know that. If they tell the truth, her family knows it as well. Her father even had her locked up in a mental ward when she was sixteen. From there she went to a rehab program. Nothing anyone did for her over the years managed to change her into a feeling, caring individual. Not sure anything can at this point. Sometimes I don’t think she even has a heart.”

“I should never have married her. But I had no idea how unstable she was, how volatile, how crazy.”

“Yeah, well, now you do. And you still refuse to do anything about it.”

“I feel trapped.”

“Let me ask you this. Is there something she’s holding over your head? Did you inadvertently become a party to her schemes to bilk people out of money? Is that why you won’t leave?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s like you’ve given up. When’s the last time you slept in a bed? You’ve been sleeping on the couch for the last three years. What kind of wife tells anyone within earshot she can’t stand the sight of her own husband? What kind of wife tells people she has to steal because her husband doesn’t earn enough money? She could get a job, you know, help out with some of the bills, take some money out of that precious bank account she keeps hidden away. But she won’t do that either. You’ve spent how much of your own cash hiring lawyers to get her out of the messes she’s created?”

“I know. I know. But if I try to take the kids she’s promised a long, dirty battle.”

“That’s because dirty battles are the only thing she knows. It makes me wonder what kind of marriage you had before I entered the picture. Our being together didn’t create her mood swings, didn’t make her mean, or didn’t put the kids in a war zone. What kind of a homelife is that for you and the kids? Sometimes I wonder what they think of their daddy. Do they ever ask why Daddy hasn’t slept in Mommy’s bed in three years? Or why she’s angry all the time? Or why she’s so cruel? Don’t deny it. Mental illness aside, she’s mean. There’s no getting around that. It’s time you face that fact.”

He drew in the heavy night air, thought about how three hours earlier he’d tucked his kids under soft blankets in their beds and left them sleeping. “It isn’t their fault I’m stuck in a loveless marriage.”

This time, she took his hand and rubbed it along her cheek. “I worry about the kids, too. Since she tried to set the house on fire last Christmas, living with that woman has to be downright scary. It’s all over town how she screams and yells at them while you’re at work. The neighbors know it, they hear the kids crying, but they never do anything about it. The kids have no friends because she doesn’t want the hassle. She won’t allow them a normal living environment.”

“I promise you that I’ll get a divorce.”

“When? That’s what I’m asking. Don’t you love me? You said you did, that you’d do anything for me. You’ve made an awful lot of promises. But so far, you haven’t kept any of them. You keep backing down to her.”

“Of course, I love you. But…”

“No buts. I’m the one who’s been putting up with all this for almost a year now, listening to all your problems, putting up with your wife’s drama. Not many girlfriends would do it. I’m tired of all this negativity in my life, all the sneaking around that we have to do. I’m ready to get out of Pelican Pointe and start over somewhere else—anywhere else—with you, with your kids. I love you, Layne, but you have to show me that you’re serious. Give me something to hope for.”

About that time, they heard the rocks crunch behind them. It sounded as if someone was having trouble navigating over the stony shoreline. But then it also sounded as if someone had discovered their meeting place.

“Who’s there?” Brooke called out into the darkness.

When no one answered, they both turned to look behind them to make out the noise.

They never saw the .38 until the end of the barrel flashed.

By that time, it was too late.

Present Day

Pelican Pointe, California

R
yder McLachlan stood in the middle of the demolition zone watching the crew of fifteen men gut the inside of the old Pelican Pointe Elementary School.

He considered himself fortunate to be a part of the team chosen for the work. Knowing he’d be creating something from nothing—making over an old abandoned building left unused for decades—gave him a sense of satisfaction he couldn’t shake. Not since getting here had he felt like his life was finally starting to click into place. Right now, this minute, he thought it might be okay.

Even though he didn’t have kids, bringing back a school felt like the right kind of renovation he could sink his teeth into. Good thing he could do more than swing a hammer.

For the next five months the goal was to put up new interior walls, build out new classrooms, administration offices, renovate the cafeteria and the gymnasium. All from the plans Logan Donnelly had designed himself. They had six months to finish before the doors opened in the fall.

Which meant the project was more than ambitious. It was herculean in scope and size. They couldn’t afford to fall behind not even for a day.

Ryder intended to make the most of the experience. So far, the other men on the crew had shown they were proficient and knowledgeable. He figured if he could take with him more than he already knew, it’d be a huge plus that would benefit him on other jobs in the area once they did the final walk-through on this one.

But that was months away. Even now River Amandez, the archeologist, planned on turning one of the older buildings on Ocean Street into a Chumash museum. He wanted in on that project, too.

Even though his days were long and exhausting—he spent his early morning-hours from five a.m. to seven doing odd jobs around Taggert Farms—construction was what he loved the most. Maybe because he was good at it. That’s why he didn’t mind putting in sixteen-hour days, six days a week. God knows, he needed the cash.

Right now, he had a roof over his head, thanks to his buddy from the army, Cord Bennett. The little cottage on the farm allowed him to save money on rent. These days, he didn’t see Cord much. Since the guy was in the process of going to med classes for veterinarian school, they barely had time to exchange hellos.

Wearing a mask over his nose to keep from breathing in flying paint chips, dust from wood and masonry, or any pesky insulation particles hanging in the air, he dropped the cloth down around his chin long enough so he could guzzle a full bottle of water.

When Logan Donnelly and Troy Dayton sauntered up, Ryder sent them a nod in greeting. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad for six weeks in,” Logan said, looking around at the organized chaos. Ryder knew Logan usually made his living as an artist, a sculptor. But since moving to Pelican Pointe and redoing the lighthouse on the bluffs, it was common knowledge Logan had turned into the town’s go-to contractor.

Since Ryder first met him, the boss had cut his hair back. It still draped down to his shoulders, no longer curled around his ass as it had in the past.

“We’re almost down to the brick and mortar and in some places the two-by-fours,” Ryder reported as he watched two of his team knock down ceiling tiles from the foyer.