Obsession Falls (25 page)
Kateri shooed the last children out of the library, and shut and locked the door behind them. Turning, she slumped against the door. “Some days are longer than others.”
Mrs. Dvorkin plugged in the vacuum cleaner. “Not really. Every day has the same number of hours. It only seems as if one day is longer than another.”
Kateri didn’t know whether to laugh or groan.
Their cleaning lady was literal to a fault.
She watched Kateri walk across to the door. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Garik—Sheriff Jacobsen—asked if I wanted to come to dinner at the resort. But it was a long week, so I told him I’d take a rain check.”
“You should go. You could use a treat.” Mrs. Dvorkin was a thirty-something widow, tall and thin with close-cropped brown hair. Life had not been kind to her, but she walked the streets with her shoulders back and her head up.
“We could all use a treat. But not tonight. Don’t work too late!” Kateri walked out onto the porch and used the handrail to get down the stairs. She didn’t really need her cane anymore—her improvement had been, in the words of her doctor, miraculous.
She liked being miraculous. But she used her cane anyway, for those moments when weariness overcame her and balance was illusive.
She walked toward her apartment, enjoying the crisp air, the bright leaves, the last few dribbles of sunshine before autumn stole them away. In the distance, she could hear the faint drumbeat of the waves pounding against the land, the rhythm synchronized with the pump of her heart and the breath of her lungs. Morning and night, sleeping and waking, she was part of the ocean, and the ocean was part of her.
In the shadows ahead a man slouched, leaning on the iron handrail that led to her apartment. Luis Sanchez.
She had not been kind to him. She had sent him away, had not seen him for over two months, not an easy thing in a town the size of Virtue Falls. But she would recognize him anywhere.
When he’d first arrived in Virtue Falls, he had been four years out of the Coast Guard Academy and had worked assignments in the Gulf for the Port Security Unit. He had walked with a swagger, smirked with a know-it-all attitude, been heart-stoppingly handsome and conceited as hell.
One mission on the water during a Pacific winter storm had knocked the know-it-all out of him. He’d come back to port quiet and thoughtful, and she watched him, wondering if he was now too scared to be of use to her. But the next time out, he had been magnificent, working the rescue. Even better, she could never forget how, when they turned to go back to port, he had faced the wind and howled with delight.
Until that moment, she had never loved a man, but she loved Luis then.
And now, unfortunately.
After the tsunami and during the long months of surgeries and rehab, Luis had been a faithful friend, visiting, encouraging, helping, holding. At some point his swagger had become a man’s quiet confidence, his know-it-all attitude, actual knowledge … and he was still heart-stoppingly handsome. Damn it.
Kateri joined Luis and kissed his cheek. “How’re you doing?”
“
Hola
, my darling.” He straightened up from his slouch, and viewed her with an appreciative eye. “You’re looking lovely and strong. You are taller.”
“Think so?” She straightened, pleased at the idea. She’d come into the Coast Guard at five-ten and 140 pounds. One of her politically incorrect boyfriends had told her all she needed was a tomahawk and some leather fringe and she would be the primitive American goddess of love … and savage execution.
When she’d first met Luis, she had topped him by two inches. Since the surgeries, she’d lost her height advantage. And stupidly, now she would like to be taller than him again. “What’s up?” Because she didn’t think he was lurking around, waiting for her for no reason.
“I thought you ought to hear it from me—Ensign Morgan has been honorably discharged.”
Her brief euphoria at seeing Luis faded, leaving her standing on the sidewalk in the deepening dusk and wishing she could do something: change the past, fix the present, push Landlubber off the cliff … “How’s Morgan taking it?”
“His lung capacity is greatly reduced. He has to have breathing therapy a couple of times a day. Can’t run or play sports with his kids. He’s depressed. His wife is tearing her hair out. The family is moving back to Ohio to be close to relatives.” Luis shrugged eloquently. “I don’t think the marriage will make it.”
“I hope Adams is proud of himself.” Actually, she hoped he felt guilty.
But Luis shook his head. “The sad thing is, he is—real proud of himself. His uncle the senator is visiting.”
“I’m sure that makes Adams the hotshit in town.” Her sarcasm bubbled hot and right to the surface. “So Adams is going to get his promotion?”
“Yep. More money for incompetence.”
“I don’t care, as long as he’s leaving for a command at a bigger station on the East Coast.” She waited for confirmation.
Luis said nothing.
“Come
on
.” She smacked her cane against the railing. “His uncle didn’t come to visit merely to tell him he got a promotion!”
Luis leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I
accidentally
got a glimpse of the paperwork. Landlubber doesn’t know it, but he’s staying right here. I’d guess his uncle came to deliver the news himself, and soften the blow.”
“If his uncle thinks that’s going to make any difference with Lieutenant Sulkypants, he doesn’t know his nephew.”
“Maybe Lieutenant Sulkypants’s mama insisted. All I know is we’re stuck with him for at least another two years and another couple of dead seamen.”
“Because this is a small Coast Guard station, and yeah, he’s been responsible for the loss of a cutter, and destroyed the health and career of Ensign Morgan—”
“And your health and career.”
“—but those are small losses compared to the damage he could do in a big facility. They won’t transfer him because here he has less chance of making visible and serious mistakes.”
The two stood there in the gathering darkness. Streetlights flickered on. The shadows beyond deepened.
She said, “Someone’s got to do something about that guy.”
“The military frowns on revenge.”
There was nothing more they could do. Or say. Not about Adams. Not without descending into futile anger, anguish, and heartache.
So Kateri looked up into Luis’s brown eyes, trying to communicate her sympathy and her sorrow. And she allowed herself to be distracted. “Luis … it is not fair that you got eyelashes like that.”
He batted them at her. “
These
lashes?”
“Yeah. You’ve got the most beautiful eyes…” She touched his chin, ran her fingers over the harsh black burr of his afternoon beard.
He leaned in and kissed her. His lips were warm, and he moved them like a Latin dance, smoothly, rhythmically. His breath eased into her, scented with hot coffee and rich cream and bold experience. He slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her into him until they touched, top to bottom, and his body heated her by slow degrees, bringing her to life in a way that was new … because since the tsunami,
she
was new, broken and put back together in a different way.
He stretched back, then leaned in again and rested his cheek against hers.
Tears gathered in her eyes. He was so good, so sweet, and he wanted her despite the scars, the cane, and the handicaps. She had fought him, fought the need and the feelings. He was a good man. He deserved a whole woman, one who could roll wildly on the bed with him, who could bear his children and live a full life every minute of the day. What he wanted was not what he deserved, yet maybe she should trust him … “Come in,” she said. “Luis, come into my home.”
She felt him startle. His arms tightened on her. “Kateri,
mi amor
…” Then he let go of her, stepped away, fast, lifted his hands and held them as if she had burned him. “I can’t. I have a date.” His voice was reluctant. And he looked guilty.
She … she didn’t know what to say. How to respond. Dating was what she had wanted him to do. Or so she’d said.
He said, “I could call and cancel.”
“No. No, that”—she waved a hand as if her plea still hung in the air—“was a momentary weakness on my part.”
He moved closer, filled her senses with Luis. “I like you when you’re weak.”
“All the reasons we shouldn’t be together are still there.”
“They were always your reasons.” He was bitter now, rejected and angry.
God. She hated this. “Luis…” She touched his shoulder.
He shrugged her off. “I’ll let you know how the date goes, shall I?” He turned and walked away.
She watched him, watched his straight back and broad shoulders and fine ass, and all the perfect parts of him as he strode away from her and disappeared into the gathering dusk. She was glad he had moved on. She really was. But … She pulled out her phone, pressed a number and said, “Garik? If that invitation for dinner still stands, I’d love to go.”
Summer parked her car in the Virtue Falls Resort’s parking lot and sat for a few minutes to rehearse some possible imaginary conversations with Sheriff Jacobsen, and his adoption mother, Margaret Smith. In these imaginary conversations, she was charming and evasive, and answered every question without revealing too much. If only she could pull this off …
She glanced at the resort, ran through her imaginary conversations again, then reluctantly removed the holster and pistol from around her chest and locked it in the glove compartment. It wouldn’t do to carry a firearm into dinner with Sheriff Jacobsen. He might demand to see her nonexistent permit.
Getting out of the car, she locked the doors, something few people bothered to do in Virtue Falls. But few people who lived in Virtue Falls had witnessed a kidnapping and a murder, cut off their own finger to escape certain death, and feared that moment when Michael Gracie came hunting for them.
And few people in Virtue Falls had contacted Kennedy McManus and now waited to hear what he would do.
Virtue Falls Resort perched on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, a little too close to the edge for Summer’s comfort. The building looked like a giant, four-story log cabin with a covered, wraparound porch. The wooden door stood open; she opened the screen door, walked into Virtue Falls Resort and into the past.
The cavernous great room reminded Summer of the classic log-and-limb architecture of Old Faithful Lodge in Yellowstone Park. Massive rustic Douglas fir beams supported the high knotty-pine ceiling. A fire in the tall stone fireplace gave out warmth and a sense of intimacy, and attracted a group of guests. They chatted quietly, seated comfortably in a grouping of carefully maintained early twentieth-century furniture.
Cool place, this resort.
No one stood behind the check-in desk, so Summer walked over, rang the bell … and inhaled deeply. The air was rich with scents of grilled meats, roasted garlic, red wine reduction sauce, and something prepared with bacon. Or prosciutto. Or some other smoked pork product.
A woman’s voice spoke from the shadows. “Miss Leigh, welcome to my resort. Most people comment on the architecture first. I can tell you’re a girl after my own heart—you’re more impressed by the food.”
Startled, Summer looked more closely, and realized a tiny, bent, bright-eyed old woman watched her from an oversized chair set against the wall. Summer walked forward, hand extended. “You must be Mrs. Smith.”
“Mrs. Smith was my mother-in-law. Call me Margaret.”
Summer heard the slightest wisp of an Irish brogue. “I do appreciate the beauty of the resort. The architect was brilliant, and you’ve obviously cherished the building as it deserves.”
Margaret took Summer’s hand in both her own, cupped it, and looked her over. “You simply appreciate the more tactile pleasures of food. I find that those of us who have at one time or another been truly hungry share that trait.”
Margaret’s insight startled Summer. Apparently not much got past her.
Great. This evening just got more difficult.
“Hang your jacket.” Margaret indicated the vintage oak coatrack. When Summer had complied, Margaret used the arms of the chair to push herself to her feet. She gathered her cane in one hand, and put the other through the crook of Summer’s elbow. She pointed toward the elevator. “We’ll have drinks in my suite on the fourth floor. The view is excellent, and we must enjoy these lingering, beautiful days of autumn, don’t you think?”
Summer pushed the up button. “I confess I am not fond of winter.” She flexed her fingers, remembering the numbing cold of the Sawtooth Mountains, and her icy introduction to Washington State.
“Virtue Falls Resort has already celebrated its hundredth birthday. Built in 1913 by Noah Smith, Senior, this elegant boutique hotel and spa perches on a rocky precipice over the Pacific Ocean, and was a profitable addition to the immense Smith fortune, which consisted of a thousand wooded acres, a sawmill, and the mountaintop mansion in which the family lived.” Turning to Summer, Margaret said, “I’m a raconteur. You appreciate that, do you not?”
“I do.” Summer laughed. “It’s a gift.”
“A gift of blarney, my father always said.” Margaret got that look the elderly got when they saw things long ago and far away. “He would know. I got it from him.”
The door opened, they stepped in, and the elevator began its majestic ascent to the fourth floor.
“I’m so glad you accepted my invitation to come to dinner,” Margaret said. “You’ve made quite an impression on Garik and Elizabeth. Elizabeth, of course, likes you because you don’t bother her with nosy questions about her past, but you do ask intelligent questions about her work.”
“What she does is interesting. Her past is her own.”
“And
that’s
what Garik finds interesting about you. Most people
are
nosy. Why not you?” Margaret touched her button nose. “He used to be an FBI agent, you know.”
