Butterfly Cove (27 page)

Walker turned off the engine. He knew that Olivia was thinking hard, trying to come up with answers to questions that she didn’t even know how to ask.

Walker decided the best thing he could do was listen.

“He’ll have paperwork to finish. I think he may need some time to think about tonight. So I’ll give him that time.” She sat up straighter, looking very determined. “I’ll give him twenty-four hours. Not a second more.”

She had made up her mind. That was a very good thing. There was serious chemistry between Rafe and Olivia. Anyone within a mile could feel the sparks when they were together.

But change could be brutal. It had taken Walker years, and in the end he had succeeded because of Jilly’s courage and absolute refusal to accept anything less than the best for the two of them.

Walker prayed that Rafe and Olivia would find the same trust together.

Neither of them moved, listening to the engine click and pop and the waves crash down in the cove. “I think that’s a good plan, Livie. Give him a little space.”

She nodded slowly. Again something shimmered in her eyes. “I don’t think I’m up for a party right now. Do you think you could drive me home?”

Walker nodded. He understood that it cost you to hold things together when emotions were hammering at you, screaming to take control. “Of course I’ll drive you home. But Rafe doesn’t want you to be there alone.”

“I’ll be fine. He’s making a lot more out of this than he should.”

Walker shook his head. Rafe Russo was a careful man. If he thought that Olivia should not be alone, he was probably right. “I’ll go with you. I’ll call Jilly and tell her you weren’t feeling well. She’ll understand.”

But the night seemed restless and full of unanswered questions, offering no peace. As they drove through the winding streets toward the heart of town, the moon rose over the horizon, shimmering through the trees and painting the cove silver.

There was light now. But it didn’t make Walker feel any better about the things he had seen. Men were capable of great violence. It was far easier to believe in hate and to assume a threat.

Walker didn’t choose to live that way now. It was a struggle, but he had managed it with Jilly’s help.

He had to wonder if Rafe had the courage to make the same leap of trust in his future...and if Olivia was strong enough to help him.

* * *

T
HE FIRST THING
Olivia did after they got home was check the phone messages.

Nothing.

Then she checked her cell phone to make sure Rafe hadn’t called.

Nothing.

She hadn’t expected either, but it was still a disappointment. She made Walker a cup of tea and started a fire in the fireplace so the house would be welcoming in case Rafe turned up. She knew little about law enforcement, but she figured it would be late when Rafe finished. He would have official paperwork and maybe some kind of formal interview with Tom Wilkinson before they could close the case.

She heard Walker outside on the back porch, his voice low and calm. She guessed he was talking to Jilly, saying as little as possible about what had happened, assuring her that everything was fine.

Olivia sank into the big wing chair by the fire. As she had a thousand times before, she reached into her big felted wool bag and pulled out her knitting. The smooth strands slid through her fingers, offering comfort and distraction and the certainty that new things could grow no matter how bad the world became.

In a week or two weeks there would be a finished shawl in that bag. Olivia planned to give it to the hospital for patients awaiting chemotherapy treatments. She tried to knit one thing a month for the hospital. Sadly, they always needed more.

She forced that thought from her mind, along with the memory of the two booming gunshots. As she focused on the complicated lace chart, her fingers slipped into their familiar rhythm, and Olivia felt the dim echo of welcome from other women in other times and places. Through these stitches they shared their own comfort, hard-won in times of war and famine, in religious intolerance and political unrest. Somehow those women had survived to pass down their patterns and all their skills to generations they would never see.

Olivia would survive, too.

* * *

T
HEY HAD FINISHED
one pot of tea between them. Walker insisted on making Olivia a sandwich and more tea. He had barely put the kettle on to boil when car lights appeared in the front driveway. A door opened and closed.

Jilly appeared at the front door, looking very determined. Walker must have gestured to her, because she vanished before Olivia could say anything.

Olivia kept right on knitting. She desperately needed the comfort it brought her.

Dishes rattled. She heard a faucet turned on and then turned off, then low, murmured questions. When Jilly finally emerged from the kitchen, Olivia saw she had her own knitting bag. Without a word Jilly walked to the chair at the other side of the fire, sat down and began to knit.

“You don’t have to stay, Jilly. I’m...fine.”

Jilly nodded. “Of course you’re fine. I know that. You’re the strong one. I always knew that, Livie. But I’m staying just the same.”

Olivia knew there would be no point in arguing. She also knew that with one short call, Grace and Caro would be here within minutes also, if she asked. But she didn’t need to talk or discuss or analyze tonight. She simply wanted to
be.

As stars rose against the deeper shadows of night, wool moved through skilled fingers. Knitting needles clicked and danced. In that slow, measured rhythm of nerve and hand, Olivia found the courage to accept whatever changes would come. She had a clear idea of her future and the person she meant to become. She had touched the shadows of her own heart, faced her own fears and knew she would never be happy without change.

Tomorrow,
she told herself.

Tomorrow it would all begin.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

R
AFE SAT AT
his desk, papers in a neat stack in front of him. He had been briefed by Tom. He had given an oral report to a state investigator, stating that he’d pulled over the man on the highway, but seen no evidence to detain him. There would be more formal investigations in the days that followed. Now he was glad for the distraction of the official paperwork to be completed.

When he finally looked up, two hours had passed. He hated to call Olivia this late, but knew she would be waiting to hear from him. He didn’t want to leave her in limbo.

But something had changed. Rafe felt the cold presence of death and the weight of responsibility for the thing he had done.

He didn’t want that to touch Olivia’s life. He had promised himself that he would keep her safe, and now he had done the opposite, bringing
his
world, with its violence and uncertainty, directly into a line of conflict with hers.

He stared at his cell phone a long time, frowning. Then he took a deep breath and dialed.

She answered on the first ring.

“Rafe, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He considered his words carefully. He didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t reveal very much of the truth either. “I’m stuck here at the station. I’ve got a lot of paperwork. It was...a busy night.”

The silence hung. She started to say something but stopped.

Rafe frowned. He didn’t hear voices or laughter or music. “Are you still at the Harbor House? Did everyone go home?”

“I got tired. Walker drove me back. I’m here now with Jilly. We’re knitting.”

Knitting with Jilly was good, Rafe thought. He didn’t want her to be alone. “Is Walker there, too?”

“He’s here. So...are you coming over?” she asked.

“I’m stuck here for at least another few hours. I think I’ll head back to my place afterward. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

The silence seemed to hang, heavy with uncertainty. “Olivia?”

“I’m here. It doesn’t matter how late you finish. I’ll be here. Come by.”

“I think tomorrow is better.” Rafe needed time alone. The ghosts didn’t go away just because the job was done. This was something he had to manage by himself. “We’ll talk tomorrow, Livie. Get some rest.”

“You, too,” she said quietly.

She hung up first.

* * *

T
HROUGHOUT THE NEXT
day Olivia kept herself very busy.

A locksmith had come, and she now had a sparkling new alarm system that she had to remember to use.

She didn’t really think she needed it. Probably it had just been squirrels up in the attic. But she was willing to humor Rafe.

Meanwhile, there were the little bits and pieces of her life to focus on. She sent out more résumés and job applications. She made follow-up calls for old applications that were pending. She returned books to the library and politely suffered through a drawn-out interrogation by the lady in front of her in the line, a former neighbor. Everyone wanted to know about Rafe.

Was she seeing him? Were they serious? Was Rafe going to stay on Summer Island or was this just a temporary job?

Olivia hid her irritation and said they would have to ask Rafe those questions.

She put air in her tires. She restocked groceries. She went to pick up a package left for her at the post office.

At every stop, someone had a question about Rafe—and about her relationship with him. She was beginning to think she was in a fishbowl. No one had ever questioned her like this before. Olivia realized she had never been half so interesting until Rafe had come back from Afghanistan.

Bad boy + good girl = hot gossip. She told herself to get used to it.

* * *

S
HE CAUGHT THE
sidelong stares and the raised eyebrows at the grocery and the pharmacy and the small local bookstore. When she went to the bank, one of the tellers asked her if Rafe Russo had opened an account yet. If not, the bank would welcome his patronage, assuming he was planning to stay.

Olivia wanted to snap back that it was none of his business what Rafe planned to do with his money. But because she was always polite, she forced a smile and said she would pass on the message.

She wanted to discuss all of it with Rafe so they could share a laugh at the town’s avid curiosity. But she heard nothing more from him. And the silence began to dig at Olivia.

When six o’clock came and went, she called Rafe’s cell phone.

It went directly to his voice mail. She left a brief message and told herself it was nothing. He was still busy from the events of the night before; no reason to bother him with additional phone calls.

Two hours later he called her back. He said he wanted to come by, if it was convenient. There was a distance to his voice. Always hypersensitive where Rafe was concerned, Olivia caught the change immediately.

She was certain that something had changed when he stood silently in her front foyer, turning his service hat between his fingers, looking as if he had something important to tell her.

She didn’t think he would talk about his job or what had happened in that darkened house. It was an official police matter, and she wasn’t supposed to know about it.

She forced a smile. “I hope you got all your paperwork finished? Tom shouldn’t keep you this late. But I have fresh brownies in the oven. I can make you some tea.”

Rafe stood stiffly by the big stained glass window. Light played over the hard lines of his face. “I’m going to pass on the brownies, Livie.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “What about tea?”

Rafe shook his head. The distance in his eyes was growing. He studied her face intently, as if he was trying to memorize the shadows and curves.

As if he wouldn’t be seeing her again for a while.

Fear, anxiety and irritation churned inside her. But Olivia wouldn’t let them take control. She kept her breathing slow and measured and walked into the kitchen, forcing him to follow her. She poured herself a cup of tea and filled another cup for him, then sat down at the small table. “Are you going to tell me or are you going to make me ask?”

Rafe leaned against the counter. “Is it so obvious?”

“To me it is. You’ve got something to say, so say it.” Olivia felt the fear burn deep, carrying the old insecurity. But she refused to go back to what she had been. They would face this problem head-on—whatever it was.

Rafe turned his hat slowly in his hands. “I came by tonight to talk to you, Livie. I didn’t want to call. I thought it would be better like this. In person.”

Olivia felt the room contract, a cold weight on her shoulders. She told herself to breathe. Whatever he said, she could deal with it. “So now you’re here. Tell me about this important thing.”

“It looks like I’m not going to be staying on here. Tom told me today that he had lined somebody else up for the job, someone who took a leave of absence two years ago. He thinks that will work out better. It’s a small community and he thinks a local man is a better fit for the force.”

Olivia blinked, trying to understand exactly what he was saying. “You’re leaving? I don’t understand. I thought you liked it here.”

Rafe nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a good job. I’m just not sure that I’m the best man for it. We both know I’ve got some history with this town. A lot of people have long memories. Tom thinks that it would be better if I took a position in a different place, somewhere that I would be starting fresh.”

Olivia shot to her feet. “That’s ridiculous. This town should welcome you with open arms. So what if you have a past? Everybody has a past.”

She spun around, searching angrily for her cell phone. “I’m giving Tom a piece of my mind. I can’t believe he told you something like that.”

“Don’t, Livie.” Rafe’s voice was harsh. “Tom was only doing what he thought best. I think it’s best, too.”

“So you’re kicking the dust off your feet and getting the hell out of Summer Island, is that it? The little town has bored you already. After all, there’s no point in staying. I’m certainly not enough to hold you,” she said coldly. “I’m certain you can get a dozen better jobs than this one with your skills.”