Moonshell Beach: A Shelter Bay Novel (14 page)

“They didn’t invite the small-town Irish farm girl to their little festival, dearheart.” He’d brushed off her concerns. “They invited the drop-dead gorgeous, rich and famous movie star. If you show up in your usual jeans and sweater, you’ll disappoint.”

He’d opened up the suitcase he’d brought to her house with a flourish that suggested he was gifting her with the glittering contents of Aladdin’s cave.

“Now, this,” he’d assured her as he held up that scrap of midnight blue dress she’d worn tonight, “will definitely wow them. There won’t be a woman in the room who wouldn’t kill to be you. And every man at the reception will want to drag you off to bed on the spot.”

While she continued to be skeptical of Kate MacKenna’s claim of her possessing the sight, Mary knew enough about men to know that was exactly the thought that had flashed through J. T. Douchett’s head when he’d gotten his first look at her wearing the dress. But then he’d determinedly tamped down the flare of hunger and gone even deeper into that dark, lonely cave where he seemed to dwell.

And now that she’d heard the story of his last assignment, she fully understood why his beautiful eyes, which in his case were definitely windows to the soul, were so tragically sad.

She’d never been the type of woman to be attracted to dark and brooding wounded males. That had been her sister Nora, who was a natural-born
caretaker. When Quinn Gallagher had first come to Castlelough, even the teenager she’d been had realized that he was cynical, bitter, and disillusioned. Although she wasn’t that aware of others in those days, being caught up in the throes of romantic disappointment, even Mary had realized that the rich American boarder their da had brought home from the Irish Rose pub had been a man who believed in nothing.

But Nora had believed in him. And while, to those who didn’t know her well, she might seem all soft and maternal on the outside, she had a steely core of Joyce stubbornness and had refused to give up on him. Although their road to a happy ending had been a difficult one, what she’d told J.T. earlier was true: Whenever she thought about the type of marriage she might someday want, the bond shared between her sister and her brother-in-law remained the gold standard.

J.T. reminded her a great deal of the guarded man Quinn had once been. As unfriendly as he’d been in the beginning, she sensed that he was a good man. Something about his kindness and patience toward his grandmother, the way his eyes warmed when he talked about his family, and didn’t the fact that the Marines had seen fit to assign him to what had to be the most delicate task in the military tell her that he was a very special man?

A man whom, although it was foolish to think about, she’d like to introduce to her own family.

And isn’t that getting ahead of yourself?

She was undoubtedly romanticizing their entire situation. The tug she felt—the pull of a woman toward a man, and not just any man, but a hot, hard,
and handsome-as-sin warrior—was merely chemistry.

Unfortunately, she’d never been any good at chemistry. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Devon Cassidy’s tutoring, she would have failed that part of her high school leaving test. Which was why she’d bestowed his given name on the human her selkie queen had given her heart to. And in doing so, the selkie had risked not only her warm and generous heart, but her kingdom and her life.

“That’s fiction. This is real life.” Unfortunately.

Because, despite Nora and Quinn’s success, only a very foolish woman would give her heart to a man who was unable, or unwilling, to give anything back.

They went into the sunroom, which was usually Phoebe’s favorite room in the house, with its large windows, pretty wicker furniture, and so many plants it felt like being in a rain forest. When she’d first arrived at Haven House, it was where she’d felt the most calm.

Not tonight.

Because her legs felt horribly unsteady, she sank down on the flowered cushion of the love seat. Ethan, who’d come into the house with her, sat beside her. She hadn’t realized she’d been squeezing her hands so tightly together, until he pried them open and began smoothing out the indentations her fingernails had made in her icy skin.

“It’s about Peter, isn’t it?” Her throat burned.

“Yes,” the sheriff said. “He’s gone.”

Gone. If only that were true…But like Freddy Krueger from all those
Nightmare on Elm Street
movies, he just kept coming back.

“Gone as in dead?” She’d imagined that scenario too many times over the years not to consider it now. As it always had, the idea brought relief rather than grief.

“No, I’m sorry.” Kara frowned. “Bad choice of words. He’s missing.”

Zelda, who’d just brought in tea and cookies, gasped at that announcement. But did not drop the pretty china tray.

“He was wearing an ankle bracelet,” Ethan said.

“Unfortunately, while accurate in an ideal environment, they’re not always reliable. The GPS signal can get lost by walking into a building, or dense urban environments, or even during weather interruptions, like a snowstorm.”

“It’s summer. Even in Denver.”

“There’s a safe room in the house,” Phoebe said. “It’s hidden behind a fake wall in Peter’s den. He worried about a home invasion. It’s built out of some sort of armor-plated metal that’s bulletproof.” She did not add that he’d often threatened to lock her in there and leave her to die.

“Do the police know about it?”

“I’m sorry.” Tears burned at the backs of her eyes. “I never thought about telling them.” The truth was she’d tried to forget everything about her years spent in the nightmare that was her marriage.

“That explains why they kept getting so many false alarms. Just like cell phones, ankle bracelets can drop signals. Your husband was on his third.”

“But once he’d leave the room, wouldn’t it come back on again?” Ethan asked.

“I’d guess so. But there’s also the point that even the best ones only work if the person wearing them keeps them on. He didn’t.”

“Which means that the Denver police don’t have any idea where he is?” The others in the room had no idea how much it cost Phoebe to keep her voice
calm and controlled as her world tilted, teetering precariously on its axis.

“I’m afraid not. I also suspect that all those false alarms were how he managed to escape before they made it out to his house. They probably were expecting another error, so didn’t move as quickly as they might have, which makes me think he’d been setting up an elaborate escape scenario all along. Then there was an additional glitch.…

“The sheriff was off mountain climbing in the Rockies, and whoever was on duty dropped the ball calling me right away.”

“How long ago did he escape?”

“Two days ago.”

“You’re coming back to the farm,” Ethan announced.

“What?” Unable to think clearly, Phoebe rubbed her forehead with the hand he wasn’t holding. “Why?”

“Because he knows where you are. And although you all stopped him once, you can’t count on succeeding a second time. And because, as good as Sheriff Conway is, there’s no way her small-town police force can offer you twenty-four-hour protection.”

“Unfortunately that’s true,” Kara allowed. “And also unfortunately, it would be true in a larger city, too.”

“I can take care of myself,” Phoebe said as her head, which had been whirling ever since she’d turned around and seen the sheriff standing on the sidewalk, began to clear. Wasn’t that what all the therapy sessions and working so hard to escape Peter in the first place had been about? Winning back her independence?

“Of course you can,” Ethan said quickly. Too quickly. “In any normal circumstances. But there’s nothing normal about this, Phoebe. If he was crazy determined to get you back and ‘punish’ you for running away the first time he showed up here at the house, think how he’s going to feel now. After all his dirty laundry’s been hung out in the press.”

Oh, God. She hadn’t even thought of the media. She looked up at Zelda. “The reporters are going to try to find you.”

The elderly woman stiffened a spine that was already rod straight from decades of ballet training. “They can try.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I already almost got you killed. I’m not going to risk putting anyone in such a horrible, life-threatening situation. Never again.”

She’d known, the first day she’d walked around Shelter Bay, that she wouldn’t be able to stay. But she’d let herself fall in love with not only the town but the people. Zelda and the other women at Haven House, Chef Maddy, who had helped her regain her confidence and given her a job that she once never would’ve dared dream of, and, yes, maybe even Ethan Concannon. Each and every one of them had helped her make her way out of the dark shadows where she’d been fearfully hiding, into the warm sun of acceptance.

During the years of her marriage made in hell, Peter had battered away at her ego, eroding her self-confidence the same way the Pacific Ocean unrelentingly turned the cliffs to sand.

For the first time in years, in Shelter Bay she woke up each morning, not dreading the hours ahead of
her, but feeling truly alive, willing to embrace whatever the day might bring. Since meeting Ethan in this very house, she’d even remembered how it had felt to be a woman. A woman who wanted. And, from what she’d guessed, and Ethan had confirmed earlier, was wanted in return.

If only…

Refusing to wallow in regrets, unwilling to give way to the tears she felt stinging at the backs of her lids, she tugged her hand free and stood up. “I need to pack.” Now. Quickly.

“I’ll be waiting,” Ethan said.

“No. I’m sorry.” And wasn’t that an understatement? Although this was nearly as hard as when she’d escaped Denver, Phoebe knew she was doing the right thing. The only thing. “I need to leave. It’s one of the first things they teach.” She looked at Zelda for confirmation. “Not to ever plan to remain in any one place very long.”

“I know.” Zelda’s eyes misted, reminding Phoebe that she’d started Haven House because her best friend had been killed by an abusive husband. “And normally it’s how it’s done in the shelter railroad and probably good advice. But you’re no longer alone, Phoebe darling. And you’re building a good life. A wonderful, new, exciting life for you and your child. You can’t let that damn
svoloch’
take it all away from you. Again.”

Although the former ballerina was born in the Ukraine, she’d been taken to Moscow as a young girl to train for the Bolshoi Ballet. So, when she was excited, or agitated, as she obviously was now, she tended to slip into the language she’d grown up speaking. Phoebe didn’t need a Russian/English dictionary
to know that the word, nearly spit with such harsh scorn, was no compliment.

“She’s right.” Ethan stood and put both his hands on Phoebe’s shoulders. Not in any harsh, threatening way, but to hold her attention. “The police are going to know the same thing we do. That he’ll be coming here. The problem is that although he’s a bastard who deserves to be locked up until he forgets what a woman looks like, he’s not stupid. He’ll know that they know. So, he’s undoubtedly spent the past weeks while on home arrest devising a plan to get around that.”

“He probably read about the festival,” Kara said. “What better time to blend in than when the town’s going to practically double in size from the tourists coming for it?”

“All the more reason to leave,” Phoebe insisted. Her heart was racing in a way that was all too familiar. And she was breathing too fast and too shallowly, but she couldn’t seem to make herself stop.

“You must see that,” she said fervently to Kara, who’d told her, after the Denver police had arrived to take Peter back to Colorado, about how Kara’s police officer husband had been killed when he’d responded to a domestic abuse call. “If it was just myself I’d be putting in danger, I might take the risk. Just to keep him from winning.”

She put her hand over her stomach, which had tightened into a knot. “But we’re talking about my child. And Zelda and all the other women who live here. And perhaps one of your officers. Or even yourself.”

“We’re cops,” Kara said briskly. “We’ll worry about ourselves. The question on the table is what
you
should do.” She looked thoughtfully between Ethan and Phoebe, then back to Ethan. “Do you have any weapons out at that farmhouse?”

“I was a Marine before I turned farmer,” he said. “I do have guns and I know how to use them.”

The sheriff was silent, studying him with a hard look that Phoebe thought had probably worked well in the city. Not that she was intimidating him. For the first time, Phoebe had a glimpse of the warrior Ethan Concannon had been before leaving the military to work the land.

“I completely understand the appeal in this case,” Kara said finally, “but I’m not going to allow anyone to go vigilante in my town.”

Ethan nodded. “Understood.” He looked down at Phoebe. “Why don’t you go pack? I’ll wait here.”

She hesitated, torn. There’d been a time, not very long ago, when her existence, perhaps even her life, had depended on the ability to read every nuance in a man’s commanding voice. Every expression to cross his face.

Ethan did not push. Nor demand. He merely waited with the patience she’d come to expect from him. That same patience needed to nurture the tiniest seeds to beautiful vegetables that appeared to have washed off a painting by Cézanne or van Gogh.

As if they were the only two people in the room, he skimmed the rough pad of his thumb over her lips. Lips that only earlier had been warmed by his exquisite kiss, but were now stinging from her teeth sunk deeply into them.

“There’s no one in this room who won’t give you props for being a strong, independent woman,”
he said. “You’ve already proven that you have the heart of a lioness. But even big macho Marines like me know the value of working in teams.” Despite the seriousness of the subject, he smiled down at her to let her know he was kidding about the macho Marine thing.

But it was true.

Peter wouldn’t stand a chance against this man. So, why was she hesitating? Perhaps, a little voice in her mind suggested, this was the first place in a very long time where she’d felt safe? Which was why she was, on some level, afraid to leave it?