Beach House No. 9 (29 page)

Her dad had stuttered, he’d stumbled, he’d even managed to give her an awkward pat on the back. Progress.

Yes, she thought, closing her eyes, her life would move forward too.

The sound of her name startled her, and her eyes flew open. But no, she was mistaken, she must be, because she’d come up here to be alone for her goodbye and there weren’t any others on the bluff. Below, though light shone in some of the Crescent Cove bungalow windows and farther off was the glow from Captain Crow’s, the nearest dwellings were dark. She’d packed and put her belongings in her car and closed up No. 8. Beach House No. 9 still appeared deserted.

Yet something caused the downy hairs on the back of her neck to rise. Rubbing her nape, she edged closer to the rim of her jutting promontory. This protrusion was nowhere near the bluff’s highest point, but it seemed a long twelve feet to where the water swirled and lifted in white tufts against the jagged edges of rock below. She shivered and took a wary step back, then her gaze shifted left and caught on the sight of a dark figure scaling the cliff. Swift and sure, he swung up arm-over-arm, something—a bag?—caught in the grip of his teeth, just like a pirate clenching a dagger, climbing the riggings of an unsuspecting ship.

Jane retreated two more steps, until her back pressed against the rough surface of the bluff’s face. It still left little room for the buccaneer who reached her ledge and tore the paper from his mouth to address her in a raspy, breathless voice. “What the hell are you doing?”

It wasn’t fair, she thought. She’d come up here to gain perspective. To begin the process, finally, of abandoning hope when it came to her and Griffin. But seeing him again, even wearing a grim expression and with his chest heaving with jerky breaths, made her skin feel tender and her heart soften with exquisite yearning, both painful and sweet.

“Well?” he prompted, clearly agitated.

Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans, she met his gaze in stubborn silence.

“It’s dangerous up here,” he said. “You shouldn’t risk it.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” she said, then managed a little smile. “Hey. Irony again.”

The line of his mouth flattened. “Let’s go, Jane.” He held out his hand to her. “I’ll help you down.”

She shook her head, shuffling away from his touch. “I don’t need your help. I got up here just fine on my own, though by an admittedly tamer route than yours.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “I took a shortcut when I spotted you. I was worried…”

“Worried about what?”

His gaze cut away from hers, and she suddenly knew what had gone through his mind.

“No,” she said, a laugh escaping. “You thought I was going to do myself in? All because you don’t love me?”

“No. I don’t know. Not exactly.” He still wouldn’t look at her. “Go ahead, call me Mr. Ego again.”

Except the idea of jumping in
had
crossed her mind. Not because she wanted to end it all—yes, Mr. Ego indeed—but because she wanted a temporary end to her current unhappiness. Griffin wasn’t in love with her. He was going toward danger, and she might never see him alive again.

According to Tess, the jolt of jumping off could offer some reprieve. It had a numbing power.

Jane moistened her lips. “Does adrenaline really get rid of the pain?”

His glance was wary.

“Is that why you’re going to Gage? To get away from what’s hurting you here?”

He made a dismissive gesture, drawing both their attention to the bag he was holding.

“Look,” he said. “I brought you presents. Come down and you can have them.”

“Presents?” Jane frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. Gifts to appease his conscience? “I don’t need anything from you.”

“I missed your birthday,” Griffin said.

“For heaven’s sake…” Couldn’t he just go away? The shelf of rock was so small that she could feel his body heat from here. It pressed against her breastbone, making it hard to breathe. Putting stress on her already battered heart.

“Come on down,” he coaxed again.

“I won’t,” Jane said. She’d depart on her own terms. Alone, just the way she’d arrived that day when she’d foolishly disregarded the skull and crossbones, scoffing at the idea of danger.

He sighed, apparently accepting her stubbornness. “Fine, then,” he said, his tone disgruntled. Then he rummaged in the bag. “I was at the mercy of that convenience store a couple of miles away, you understand.”

“If it’s one of those icky beef sticks, I’m tossing it over the cliff,” she warned.

“You just stay where you are,” Griffin said. With a little flourish, he presented her with a slender plastic-and-cardboard package.

Jane stared down at the item in her hands. The bright moon was as good as a flashlight. “A toothbrush?”

“Are you aware you hum when you brush your teeth, honey-pie?”

“The ‘Happy Birthday’ song. Twice. Dentists recommend brushing the length of time that takes for optimum cleaning.”

He quickly averted his head, but it didn’t hide the swift grin.

“Don’t laugh at me!”

“It’s either that or kiss you, Jane.”

She took a half step away from him. “None of that, either.”

Still smiling, he pointed to her gift. “This one’s special. You can record any song you like, then listen to your favorite while keeping your dentist happy morning and night.”

“Oh.” Jane regarded it with more interest. “Clever.”

His hand dipped back in the bag. “Here.”

Out came a small square of cardboard threaded with a pair of earrings. Pink with purple polka dots, they were probably intended for a child, given the color combination.

“They’re bows,” Griffin said. “You always wear bows.”

She looked up at him. His amazing eyes were focused on her, as if he was trying to read her thoughts. Her feet moved again, taking another step away from him and his piercing gaze. “Th-thank you,” she said, her voice unsteady.

No man had ever seen so much about her.

He shrugged and then rummaged in the bag. “Last one.” His hand stilled inside the paper, and he locked eyes with her. “No matter what happens, Jane, I want you to know…” And then the daredevil reporter seemed to run out of words. Instead of handing over the final gift, he pushed the bag into her hands.

Feeling both curious and oddly cautious, Jane tucked the toothbrush and the earrings into the pockets of her jeans, then reached inside the sack for the next present. Her fingers curled around something plastic and mostly round. Her breath caught in her throat as she drew it out.

A snow globe.

How had he known?

A cheap tourist trinket, it had probably been made thousands and thousands of miles from here but was stamped “Crescent Cove” on the base. Clutching the bag in one hand, Jane let the globe sit on the shelf of her other palm, ignoring how it trembled. Inside the bubble was a dab of blue ocean and a painted beach. On that sat a little grass shack beside two palm trees and strung between them was a tiny hammock, upon which reclined an even tinier woman in a yellow bikini.

Griffin gestured at the plastic capsule. “You have a suit just that color. So it’s as if you’ll always be here. Forever.”

A prickle ran across Jane’s scalp. Always and forever unable to forget this place or the man she’d fallen in love with. Always and forever wishing for him, worrying about him, wondering if he ever thought of her with regret. Always and forever his, even if he didn’t want her. That wasn’t any kind of progress.

Panic clutched her throat and wrapped her ribs with heavy bands.

God knew what expression overtook her face, because Griffin suddenly started forward. “Sweetheart…”

But she couldn’t be touched by him, she thought in hasty alarm. Not now. Not ever again. Her feet shuffled in retreat and she put out the hand holding the bag to keep him away.

A sudden gust of wind fluttered her hair and caught at the paper. It was torn from her grasp and instinct had her snatching for it. Unsteadied by the sudden move, she took another step back to keep her balance.

Her foot found air. She felt herself going over the ledge.

* * *

I
N
COMBAT
,
TIME
stretched like a child’s imagination, allowing in every boogeyman, every monster-under-the-bed, even as one’s vision sharpened and dexterity heightened. Griffin’s heart knelled like slow thunder as he saw Jane wobble and her body arch over the edge. Fear tasted like ash on his tongue as he lunged for her. Image after image shuffled through his mind as he made the long reach.

Jane plummeting onto sharp rocks, Jane plunging into chilly water and never coming up, Jane falling toward her greatest fear as her body slipped through his hands. She’d go down thinking he’d failed her like every other man in her life.

Your kind always lets go.

But then—miracle!—he caught her upper arm. His fingers closed over her slender biceps, locking them together. Just as he prepared to yank her back to safety, though, he realized that her momentum was too much for him to battle.

In this, the librarian couldn’t defy the laws of physics.

They both went over, the ocean a second or two away. But it took a very long time to fall when you’d really rather not.

Enough time for Griffin to realize that Jane wouldn’t know to swim away from the rocks to keep from being bashed against them.

Enough time for that thought to plow with the power of an ice-breaking ship through his frozen heart.

Enough time for him to be certain he wouldn’t survive one more loss. That he wouldn’t survive without her in his life.

Dark, cold water closed over him like a thick shroud. It tried tearing Jane from his grasp, but knowing what was at stake, he hung on to her, kicking powerfully with his legs to take them both away from the dangerous crags. To his surprise, she was kicking too, doing her share, but the unexpected dousing, fully clothed, made it a heavy slog.

For every movement forward, the water washed them back. He’d lost his flip-flops, and he felt the bite of rock on his sole as he pushed off to propel Jane away from danger. “Let…go!” she gasped out, then coughed. “Let. Me. Go!”

Let go? He couldn’t let go. He’d never let go.

But then she wrenched free of him, and without the hamper of a second body, she started stroking away. Heart pounding in his ears, he followed behind, matching his arm pulls to hers. It wasn’t easy getting away from the surf breaking against the bluff. It still fought to wash them back, just as they fought to break from it. He was breathing hard, anxiety taking its toll, and his panic didn’t lessen, even when he realized the shoreline was a straight shot ahead.

People drowned in bathtubs. In puddles. In their own blood.

Those thoughts were still in his mind as their bellies hit sand. They combat crawled and coughed their way onto the beach. Safe.

Lying on the sand beside her, he tried coping with the aftermath of horror and the sharp spike of survival euphoria. And the new sudden yet certain understanding that his life was about to take a drastic turn.

He glanced over when he finally caught his breath. “We have to talk.”

Then he jerked upright and put his hand on her shoulder. “Jane!” She was sodden and cold as a corpse, her eyes open and staring straight at the sky. Jesus, was she dead?
“Jane.”

“I’m right here,” she said, sounding slow and drunk. One hand flopped on the sand like a fish. “Right. Here.”

“Oh, thank God.” He pulled her into his lap, curled his chilled and wet body over her chilled and wet body. Pressing his cheek to hers, he rocked them a little. He couldn’t lose her now.

His arms tightened. “I was terrified, damn you,” he said, his voice rough. “Beyond terrified. And if anything had happened to you, I would have killed you!”

She reached up to pat his dripping hair as she would Private. “Calm down.”

“I am calm. I’m always calm!”

Her hand gave him another pat. “No, you’re not. You throw things—plates, fists, fits. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but those aren’t really the actions of a ninety-nine-percent no-feelings guy.” She allowed that a minute to sink in. “Just saying.”

“Jane, I…” But a shiver racked her small frame, and new alarm rushed through him. “We have to get you warm.” He picked them both up off the sand and half carried, half led her to Beach House No. 9. Private greeted them with a worried whine and stealthy licks at the salt water running off their bodies.

Griffin escorted her to the guest bath when she insisted on privacy, then hit his own shower. Standing under the spray, his restless mind replayed the event: his alarm upon seeing her on the cliff, his panic when she started to fall, that absolute certainty that he couldn’t go on without her.

She’d come to mean so much. And yes, she was right again, damn her. He wasn’t a ninety-nine-percent no-feelings guy.

Even as anxiety beat its vulture wings in his belly at the idea, he could no longer hide from the truth. His heart was no longer untouchable. Hell, it was no longer his own. He hadn’t wanted this, had never wanted this, but the battle was lost.

Dry and dressed again, he stood outside the bathroom where Jane was cleaning up, overwhelmed by the need to see her and touch her. Each moment that passed ratcheted his tension higher. His hand rubbed a nervous path on the thigh of his jeans, and he had to keep telling himself to unclench his back teeth. Nothing had prepared him for this feeling.

Never had he felt so vulnerable.

And still Jane didn’t emerge from the shower.

“It’s taking too long,” he muttered. Then he banged on the door with his knuckles. “You’re wasting water!”

She came out long minutes later, wrapped in a towel and flushed with heat, a pink cast to her cheeks, her shoulders, her chest.

“Are you all right?” he demanded.

“It seems I am,” she said, her expression bemused. “I saved myself from the giant eels and the whale snot.”

Griffin wanted to claim that he had saved her, but of course it wasn’t true. “You did,” he acknowledged. “You did.”

“I’m sort of an ocean stud now,” she added, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.