16

A half hour later, Grendel was still mad about getting wet. He liked a bath almost as much as he liked Rufus—and Grendel’s impromptu shower in the kitchen had him skulking around the cottage in search of things to destroy. I already twice had to stop him from climbing the drapes. I brought out my best kitty placater—a can of tuna.

As soon as Grendel heard the pop top, all was forgiven as he rushed over and twined his body around my legs, doing feline figure eights as I spooned the tuna into his bowl.

The pipes knocked in the wall as Sean finished up his shower. I was trying to work through what he’d said, but I simply didn’t understand. Yes, I was scared—who wouldn’t be in my situation? But I was willing to take a leap of faith and didn’t understand why Sean wasn’t yet. It was giving me a headache, trying to sort it out.

My cell rang as I was reaching for the Advil bottle. “This is Lucy,” I answered, the phone pressed to my ear as I shook two tablets into my palm. My stomach was also still hurting, but I was trying to ignore the pain.

“Hi, Lucy, it’s Christa Hayes.”

I checked the clock. It was a little after nine. “Are you feeling all right? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Late start today. I was wondering if I could come by and see Rufus after school today. I saw the article in the paper this morning. I miss him.”

“I’m really sorry, Christa, but he’s at the vet’s.”

Her voice rose. “He is? Why?”

“Just for a checkup. He’s not eating very well. Is there a special kind of food he likes?”

“I told my mom he needed his food.… I can bring it over after school today.”

“Actually, Sean and I were coming over to see your parents this morning. I can pick it up then.”

“You’re coming soon?”

“About half an hour. Is that all right?”

She coughed. “I mean, yeah. That’s fine. Just, ah…”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s fine. Thanks. I won’t be there—classes are starting soon—but I’ll have Esme leave it out for you.”

“Esme?”

“The housekeeper.”

“Okay. Rufus should be back tonight if you want to stop by then.”

“I have play practice tonight, but maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I said, imagining that it was hard for her to lose not only her grandfather but her dog as well.

I’d just hung up with her when my phone rang while still in my hand. I glanced at the readout, cringed.

“It’s Meaghan,” she said as I answered.

Her tone had lost some of its joy. She must have heard the news about Tristan. “I’m glad you called.” I downed the Advil with a gulp of water.

“Did you hear the news about Tristan?” she asked.

Grendel was hissing at Thoreau, a warning to stay away from his tuna, as I walked into the bedroom. I wanted to get some laundry started before Sean and I left to meet with Jemima. I stripped the sheets from the bed, dropped them onto the floor.

“Unfortunately, yes.” I tossed a fitted sheet over the mattress as the water turned off in the bathroom.

“The police think it was Tristan who ran him over,” she said. “It’s just not possible. Tristan isn’t the violent type, Lucy; he just isn’t.”

“Meaghan, did you know Anthony Spero told Tristan you were dead and that it was Tristan’s fault you took your own life? It’s what led to the attack eight years ago.”

“He didn’t!” she cried in a quivery voice. “He wouldn’t. That’s so … so cruel. Beyond cruel.”

I couldn’t agree more, but it didn’t change the fact that Tristan now had a very big motive for killing Anthony. I gave up on getting the corners of the fitted sheet to cooperate one-handed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I said, “Tristan just found out last night you were alive. That kind of shock might have led to what happened to Spero.”

“He thought I was dead all these years? How do you know all this?”

I figured it couldn’t hurt at this point to let her know. “Sean and I spoke with Tristan last night.”

“You did? When? How’s he seem? How does he look? Did he say anything about me?”

And just like that, I could picture Meaghan in high school. “He was angry, Meaghan. Anthony had lied to him. Not a little white lie, either.”

“Did he want to meet me?”

I sighed. This was what I was afraid of. “On his own terms.”

“What’s that mean?”

“He wanted to us to hand over your information to him so he could contact you on his own.”

“Did you?” There was an edge of panic in her voice, and I realized it had nothing to do with Tristan being a criminal and everything to do with her thinking she might never see him again.

“No, I needed to check with you first. You’re forgetting he’s a wanted man, Meaghan.”

“I don’t believe it. I just don’t. It’s not in Tristan’s nature.”

Mary Ellen Spero might disagree. “I hate to be blunt, Meaghan, but denial can be dangerous.”

Sean stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. I lost my train of thought for a moment as my gaze skimmed his muscled shoulders, chest, stomach. His scar, a thin red line, marred the skin near his left shoulder. If only it was as easy as kissing and making it better.… He’d be the healthiest guy around.

Sean raised a questioning eyebrow at the phone.

Meaghan, I mouthed.

“What if he’s not involved?” she was saying. “What if this was some colossal coincidence?”

“There’s an eyewitness.”

“Eyewitnesses can be wrong.”

She was sounding desperate, and as I knew her history, it worried me. This news might send her over the edge again. “Nevertheless, as my client, I’m worried about you.”

“You have no reason to be. I’m fine. And I want you to give Tristan my information.”

Sean pressed a kiss to my neck as he crossed the room. He slipped on a pair of black trousers and took the floppy corner of the fitted sheet, pulling it over the edge. “I’ll do this,” he whispered, grabbing the top sheet.

“It’s not that easy anymore, Meaghan.” I scooted off the bed.

“Why not?”

Grabbing the pile of bedding from the floor, I headed to the door. “There’s no way to contact him. He said he’d be in touch with us, which isn’t likely to happen now that he’s a wanted man. Besides, that sort of thing might be considered aiding and abetting.”

“Are you dropping my case?” she asked.

In light of the new charges against Tristan, I really had no other choice. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish it had turned out differently.”

I tried not to dwell on the guilt. That it was because of Lost Loves—of me—that Tristan had any current contact with the Speros at all.

I brought the load of laundry into the kitchen, where a stackable washer and dryer hid behind a pair of bifold doors.

“You can’t be serious.”

I felt the hurt in her tone. “Look, Meaghan, I’m a little out of my comfort zone here. What’s going on now is beyond any service I can provide for you through Lost Loves.”

There was a long pause. “You work closely with SD Investigations, right? With Sean?”

I blushed at how closely I’d worked with Sean last night. I started the wash. “I do. Lost Loves is part of their agency, too.”

“I want to hire Sean, then.”

“Technically, you already have.” The bed was made and Sean was fully dressed by the time I went back into my bedroom. “And I’m afraid he can’t help you, either. He has to follow the same rules.”

“No, not to find Tristan, we can put that on the back burner for now, but to prove he had nothing to do with that accident. I don’t care what it costs. This isn’t fair to Tristan. I have to fight for him, Lucy.”

I worried my lip. On one level, fighting for Tristan would make any romantic swoon, the good girl saving the bad boy. But on a more realistic level, Tristan was a dangerous man and seeking him out was akin to playing with fire.

“It’s not illegal for a private investigator to look into what happened, is it?”

“No.…” Though the police probably wouldn’t be too happy about it.

“Could you run it by Sean? See what he thinks?”

“Hold on a second, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

I covered the phone with my hand.

“What’s going on?” Sean asked.

“I had to drop the case.”

He nodded. We had already talked about it.

“But she wants to hire you through SDI. To clear Tristan’s name. She refuses to believe he had anything to do with it. I told her I’d run it past you, but I really think it’s not a good idea for us to stay involved in this case.”

“I’ll do it,” he said without hesitation.

Slack-jawed, I stared at him.

“Here,” he said, motioning to the phone. I handed it over. “Meaghan? This is Sean Donahue.”

His back was to me as he spoke and I could see his broad shoulders tighten with tension again. Muscles bunched along his spine. Damp dark hair curled along the nape of his neck.

I blatantly eavesdropped as he made plans to meet with Meaghan this afternoon to get the paperwork out of the way.

When he hung up, he slowly turned around.

I lifted an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

“Trust me on this?” he asked.

Trust me. I’d asked him to trust me not so long ago, when I had no one else to turn to. He hadn’t hesitated. It was all about leaps with Sean, no baby steps. No easing into a relationship. It was headfirst or nothing at all.

I softened. Nodded.

He handed me the phone and walked out of the bedroom without another word.

*   *   *

The front gate at Jemima Hayes’s house was open wide. We pulled into the drive, the tires of Sean’s Mustang splashing over rivulets of melting snow. Sunbeams reflected off Mac’s glass house, making it sparkle like the glistening water beyond the bluff.

I’d called ahead to make sure Jemima would be home, and Rick Hayes had answered the phone. Em would have been beside herself with glee to be speaking with a rock icon. To me, he sounded like a normal middle-aged man who wasn’t entirely happy to be talking with me. Especially after I explained why I was calling. To his credit, he relented to a visit.

Tension hung uneasily between Sean and me. There was obviously something he wasn’t telling me about the Rourke case, and I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of hurt at being left out.

I said I’d trust him. And I would. But I couldn’t help wondering.

Wondering about the secrets he was keeping. Wondering when he’d let me fully into his life. Wondering what our future held.

It always came back to that last one. Dovie had once implied that Cupid’s Curse might have skipped my generation or the electrical shock that had scrambled my psychic abilities might have reversed the curse as well.…

I didn’t know. And yes, I lived with the fear. I didn’t know how to get rid of it. I could live with it, yes. Deal with it, yes. Deny it, yes. But get rid of it? How?

Until I figured that out, it would always be one step forward, two back, with Sean.

“Ready?” he asked.

My stomach ached. “Yeah.”

A cool breeze blew in off the ocean, a hint of spring in the spray, as I rang the bell. With no barking from Rufus to drown it out, the gong pealed through the glass door. An elegant woman dressed in a black housedress, white apron, and thick-soled black shoes opened the door. I recognized her from when we were last here.

“Follow me,” Esme said crisply in a British accent. “And I’ll see to it that Rufus’s food is brought to your car.”

“Thank you.”

She tipped her head. “You’re welcome.”

Sean’s hand rested at the small of my back as we walked down the hallway, past the kitchen, and into a large formal family room. Rick Hayes rose to greet us, but Jemima remained on the streamlined couch, her legs tucked under her, a book on her lap. I strained to see the title. Tao: Feeling the Flow. She set it on the glass-topped coffee table as we came in.

Sean shook Rick’s hand, and reluctantly I did, too, wishing I’d worn gloves. With gloves, it was the only time I was able to hold a hand without seeing any visions at all.

In an instant, I was in another state, in a decrepit hotel room with water-marked ceilings, a threadbare coverlet covering the lumpy mattress, and a dark-stained and cigarette-burned carpet. I thanked Cupid for not having a sense of smell along with my visions as I pulled my hand away, having seen a pink guitar pick behind a chipped nightstand.

Rick watched me intently, but I wasn’t in the mood to play “test the psychic.” He was tall, extremely so, at least six foot four, and rail thin, but he looked healthy enough, with good skin tone and a sparkle in his brown eyes. He had an allure about him, a pull. A Hollywood director would call it the “It” factor. Coupled with his musical talents, it was easy to see why Rick had been popular enough for Em to have his poster on her wall but not why he’d never truly reached superstardom. All the elements were certainly there.

Jemima barely looked at us as Sean and I sat in matching Italian leather armchairs. Today she wore a sleek designer pantsuit with a ruffled silk blouse peeking out from the lapel. Her feet were bare, her toes painted a lush red. Her hair was curled and flowed over slumped shoulders. She wore no jewelry except a plain platinum wedding band. Makeup couldn’t hide the dark circles under her eyes.

Rick sat next to Jemima, his long legs stretching out beneath the coffee table. “I must apologize for missing your visit the other day. I had fittings. How’s Rufus?”

I glanced around, looking for any indication Christa also lived in this house, but didn’t see so much as a precocious baby picture. Everything was cold, sleek, sterile. I itched to leave. “He’s settling in. My grandmother is adopting him.”

Jemima slanted me a look. “Christa mentioned your offer to let her visit the dog. I don’t think it’s a good idea. It’s best to cut ties permanently, don’t you think.”

A statement rather than a question, but I didn’t let it go. “No, not really. It might make the transition a lot smoother for the both of them if they’re allowed to see one another.”

“I don’t think so,” Jemima said coolly.

So much for a Taoist attitude. She needed to keep reading that book of hers.

Rick put his hand on her knee. “Perhaps we could keep the visits to a minimum?”

Jemima brushed his hand aside and abruptly stood. She strode toward the windows overlooking the ocean, her arms crossed over her chest. Red hair free-fell down her back. Framed the way she was, with the glass and ocean just beyond the pane, the sunlight reflecting just so, she was beautiful.

Rick said, “It’s been stressful around here, as you can imagine. We want only what’s in Christa’s best interests. On the surface she seems to be handling this situation remarkably well, but she is a teenager, and teenagers are quite adept at hiding their true emotions until all hell breaks loose.” He gave us a charming smile.

Jemima turned on him. “I want what’s best for Christa. You want a quick fix. The sooner Christa can grieve for that dog, the better for her in the long run. She doesn’t need constant reminders of the pain. And that dog represents pain.”

I bit my lip. Suddenly it was crystal clear why Jemima had wanted Rufus to leave. I looked at her in a whole new light and could see the softness under the steel.

“Nonsense,” Rick said. “You’re being irrational.”

Uh-oh. Not the i word.

Jemima’s hands fisted.

I cleared my throat to remind them that there were witnesses. “Did Christa know Mac was dying?” Might as well get it out in the open.

Christa was at school, so there was no chance she might be eavesdropping.

“No. Mac asked us not to tell her.” Rick clasped his hands together and looked down at his feet. “The police know of Mac’s illness, then?”

“Yes, but why didn’t you tell them?” I asked. “It may have helped in the investigation.”

Anger colored Jemima’s cheeks crimson. “It wasn’t my decision.”

Rick said, “I simply don’t see how it would have helped the situation.”

Sean said, “It supports the theory that Mac may have taken his own life, rather than disappeared against his will.”

“And exactly how does that help us?” Rick asked. “Mac is still dead.”

Jemima’s breath hitched.

“Did Mac have life insurance?” Sean asked.

“Of course,” Rick said.

“Did his policy have a suicide clause?” Sean looked between the two of them.

Rick leaned back, draped his arm across the back of the sofa. “I wouldn’t know.”

“What’s a suicide clause?” Jemima asked.

“Certain insurance companies won’t pay if the policyholder commits suicide. The policy becomes null and void.”

Her eyes flashed to Rick. His head bopped as if he was singing to himself. “That explains a lot,” she said.

“Who’s the beneficiary?” Sean asked.

“I am,” Jemima said. Without a word, she stormed from the room.

Rick gave us a weak smile. “Oftentimes Jemima’s anger is misplaced. This isn’t about the money.”

“Isn’t it?” I asked. “I heard you were looking for financial backing for a new reality show.”

“I am,” Rick said easily. Faint lines creased his eyes, his mouth, his forehead. He was holding up well for an aging rocker. “But only because I’d rather not take the financial risk alone. Why should I? There are plenty of people out there willing to back a great project.”

“Are there?” Sean asked.

I heard skepticism in his voice and wondered which comment had sparked it. That there were plenty of people with money to throw around? Or that the show was a great project? Or both?

“Definitely. I received notice that filming starts next month.”

Sean leaned in. “Have you seen Mac’s will?”

“Yes. We’re starting proceedings to declare Mac dead.”

He said “we,” but I had a feeling it was all his idea.

“And?” I asked.

“I don’t suppose it can hurt to tell you. Mac left a good portion of his estate to charity. The rest goes to Christa upon her eighteenth birthday. The life insurance is a separate entity and goes to Jemima.”

“The house?” Sean asked.

“Sold off, with the proceeds going into his estate,” Rick said smoothly, evenly. “It’s just as well. The new project will be filmed in Los Angeles. It doesn’t make sense to keep two homes.”

Sean and I followed Rick’s lead and stood up. I couldn’t help thinking of Mac’s granddaughter. “You’re moving? What about Christa? Next year will be her senior year of high school.”

He led us out of the room. “It will make for great TV, don’t you think?”

I stumbled. Sean grabbed my hand to steady me.

Sean and I were sharing a hammock tied between two palm trees, overlooking ocean so beautifully blue it stole my breath. Vibrant green islands dotted the horizon. A sailboat swayed, anchored just offshore. Sean turned his head, looked at me, a smile in those pearlescent eyes of his. Our bodies were nestled, skin on skin, my hand on his chest, my bare leg draped over his, his arm around my shoulders pulling me closer, tighter. He leaned in, his gaze on my lips, his intent crystal clear.…

Sean pulled his hand away. The images faded into a distant blur, but the emotions remained. Joy. Pure, raw joy filled my every pore, every bit of oxygen I breathed in. I glanced at Sean. He reached up, brushed my cheek with his knuckles. In his eyes, I could see he felt it, too.

The magic.

“The network believes documenting Christa’s readjustment will be a big draw to younger viewers.”

Rick hadn’t noticed my little stumble. Did he ever notice what was going on around him if it didn’t directly affect him? Or care? I suddenly doubted it. His tone made it clear he didn’t mind that Christa would be taken away from the school and friends she’d known all her life. He actually approved of the disruption and its effects being documented for all the world to see? It was disturbing. “Rick?”

“Yes?” he said, pulling open the front door.

“When does Christa turn eighteen?”

He smiled that charming smile again. “Two months from now, in April. I can hardly believe it. Kids grow up so fast, don’t they?”