Stranger on the Shore (27 page)

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to..."

"Well, I've admitted I could have been wrong. T.J. likes him, and he's usually a good judge of character. So is the rest of your family, and Hoyston says—"

"Hoyston?" Something about Sam's explanation didn't sound right. Sarah clenched her fist until her nails bit into the flesh of her palms. She tried to hang on to the last shreds of her control. "What's going on? Does Hoyston know Jordan? What does Hoyston have to do with him?"

Sam gave a deep sigh. "Hoyston's my St. Louis contact, Sarah. You know that. And Matthias claims to be from St. Louis. It's just natural I'd check Matthias out through him."

"Right now, Sam. Tell me what's going on right this minute."

"Oh, hell! Look, Sarah, let me talk to Matthias first. Maybe there's nothing to—"

"You can't shield me, Sam," she said, defeat in every word she spoke. "In the end it always makes it worse. You know it does."

Sam's shoulders sagged. The movement spoke eloquently of resignation. With an audible sigh, he reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and handed Sarah a file folder.

Sarah looked from Sam to the folder in her hands. Hardly daring to breathe, she laid the folder on the desk in front of her and lifted the cover.

Photocopies? Newspaper clippings? With numb fingers she shifted through the pile. The headlines, in bold black letters, silently screamed at her:
Madam Savannah Exposed as Fraud
;
Wall Street Psychic's Insider Source Named
;
Faith Healer Charged in Boy's Death
.

There were others, copies of old clipping dating back almost a decade. The words in the headlines swam crazily before her eyes. As her frozen fingers shifted through the flimsy pieces of paper she could focus on only one line of type common to each—the centered words beneath each headline: By Jordan D. Matthias.

Her hands shook as she closed the folder. She fought to control the moisture in her eyes and raised her eyes to Sam. "Hoyston sent you these."

"No, he didn't. He knows Matthias," Sam admitted. "Calls him a friend and a straight shooter. But Hoyston wasn't the only source I checked."

"Jordan is a, what would you call it, a psychic buster?" Her voice trembled.

"Those are all fraud stories, Sarah." Sam's voice was unusually gruff. "It doesn't mean—that's why I wanted to talk to him first. He's got a good reputation. Always makes sure of his facts. Doesn't take anybody's word. Investigates them himself..." Sam's voice trailed off, as if he realized his explanations was only making everything worse.

Sarah gripped the top of the desk for support and slowly pushed herself to her feet. "I know what it means, Sam." She choked back a sob. "This time I should have listened to you."

"Now, Sarah, talk to him first. Maybe..."

"I'll talk to him," she said. "I have to, don't I? But there's really not much he can say."

"I'll admit, it looks like that's what he came here for. But, Sarah, he might have changed his mind."

"Then why didn't he tell me?" She started toward the door, then turned back to the desk and picked up the folder. "Do you know something, Sam?" She stopped, holding her eyes wide and blinking to control the unshed tears. She hugged the folder to her, finally focusing on one inconsequential detail. "I didn't know he had a middle name. I wonder what the D stands for?
Deceit?
" She gave a brittle laugh and slipped quickly out of the office.

Chapter 14

Sarah fought a wave of nausea, paying no notice to the furnace-like heat inside her closed vehicle. She was cold, so cold. She leaned her head against the steering wheel, gulping in deep breaths of hot air, realizing only then that she had entombed herself in the closed car. Her fingers fumbled as she opened the window next to her. Then she reached for the passenger side. The folder slid off the seat, scattering the clippings onto the floorboard.

Fraud. Fake. Hoax. Swindle.
Words from the headlines jumped out at her, laughing. How could she have been so wrong?

Sarah dragged her eyes from the scattered papers, looking blindly out the windshield. Waves of heat rose from the paved surfaces, curving and distorting distinct lines into illusory images. Sarah blinked as the recognized the figure walking toward her from the opposite side of the street. Instinctively she turned the key in the ignition. She couldn't talk to T.J. Not now. She couldn't talk to anyone.

The engine coughed once, then roared to life. Sarah quickly steered the car away from the curb, forced her lips into a semblance of a smile and gave her cousin a wave as she drove past.

The numbness dissolved as she drove the familiar route home. Yet her anguish failed to blank out the vision of Jordan's face, loving and tender, as she'd last seen him. False. All false. The memory intensified her sense of betrayal. She tried to create a scenario to account for his treachery and finally admitted she couldn't.

Jordan came to Mountain Springs to find her, to expose her, and to add another clipping to his portfolio. The conclusion was inescapable. He'd tracked her from St. Louis through Hoyston. He'd invaded her sanctuary, her trust, her life, and finally destroyed her last place of refuge.

It must have been a frustrating summer for him. No exciting mysteries to solve. Nothing spectacular happening to expose her talents. She'd had a good rest with not even a hint of a premonition concerning the disaster sitting on her doorstep. Not that she'd expected one. As usual, her so-called gift didn't operate in matters of self-preservation.

Sarah blinked back the tears blurring her vision. Even without special knowledge, she should have known it was all a lie. The world she'd found in Jordan's arms wasn't meant for her or her kind. She'd had proof of that before.

Jordan chose a good red herring in Monte Ne. She wondered if he'd heard of the old resort before arriving or simply stumbled across it in his search for her and seized the opportunity it presented. What did it matter? What did anything matter?

She was grateful for the emptiness of the farmhouse when she finally arrived home. It would take only one look at her face for the family to realize something was drastically wrong. They would accept her betrayal as their own. She hoped she'd be able to keep the worst of Jordan's sins from them, but in her present state of mind, she knew she'd be unable to hide anything. The wounds were too fresh, the hurt too new.

She never wanted them to know how deeply she'd come to care for Jordan, how completely she'd given her heart to him. Sharing this anguish would only cause them pain and would do nothing to alleviate hers. But, dear God, what was she going to do?

Sarah paced the front room as tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks. If only she knew what he was planning, then perhaps she could try to protect herself and her family from the worst of the notoriety. How long did she have to prepare? When would his story be published?

The heat of her first anger rekindled brightly, then solidified into an ice-cold rage. To say he loved her—to make love to her—only to add another clipping to his collection. That was wrong.

Okay. He'd never told her he loved her. At least he'd spared her that, but the rest....

Sarah struggled to bring herself under control. Wherever he was, Jordan would return to the cabin sooner or later. She'd go there and wait until he showed up. It would be better to confront him away from Mountain Springs. She'd make her tell her his plans, and she'll tell him face-to-face exactly what she thought of him.

Her courage deserted her momentarily she saw his SUV parked on the road above the cabin. The anguish caused by his betrayal resurfaced full force. Desperately she fought to regain control. Her hands, damp with perspiration, clutched the folder that reminded her anew of Jordan's treachery.

The cabin remained silent when Sarah knocked on the front door. With her heart in her throat, she knocked again, louder this time. Seconds later the door was thrown open by Jordan. He was clad only in a pair of well-worn cutoffs, feet and legs bare, water still clinging to his naked chest. The moisture in his hair and the towel thrown casually over his shoulder told the story of his interrupted shower. She blinked, drinking in the sight of him. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep her eyes dry.

"Sarah."

He made her name sound like a caress. She swallowed, tilting her chin to look up into his face.

He stood aside to allow her enter, reaching out at the same time to pull her to him. "I was on my way to the farm as soon as I finished showering."

At the touch of his hand on her arm, Sarah jerked away. His hand dropped. She felt his eyes examine her face, saw his startled expression.

"Sarah? What's wrong?"

Mutely Sarah thrust the folder at him, careful to avoid any physical contact. He gave her a puzzled look and took the folder in one hand, opening it with the other. She watched as the color drained from his face.

"Oh, damn!" He looked up, a strange pleading expression in his eyes. "Sarah, I never meant..."

"I'm sure you didn't. When was I supposed to find out? When I read it in the papers?" Her voice was expressionless. It sounded strange, foreign, even to her.

"You don't understand. I didn't mean to—"

"I understand perfectly, Jordan. This is why you came here. You followed me here from St. Louis for a story—another exposé for your files. Isn't that what you do? Write exposés on psychic frauds? Your credits are impressive."

"No," he said. "I mean, yes, I write them. But it's just a sideline. I usually do them on my vacations—"

"Just a sideline! A way to spend a vacation—" Her voice broke. She turned her back to him, struggling to regain her composure. She knew the moment Jordan stepped closer, knew he was reaching out for her. She flinched. "Don't touch me." She whirled around to face him again. "I couldn't stand it if you touched me."

Jordan backed away, his hand still extended toward her.

"Why, Jordan?" she asked him. "I trusted you. You made me trust you. Wasn't that enough? Did you have to make me fall in love with you, too? Is this how you do it? How you get all those little nitty-gritty details?" Her voice quavered. She took a deep gulp of air in an effort to steady it. "Did I measure up? Make an exciting story?"

Jordan's arm dropped, the knuckles showing white across the top of his clenched fist. "I'm not— I didn't write a story about you."

"I wonder why I don't believe you," she said, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice.

"Sarah! Look at me. Listen to me. There is no story. Why would I lie? I've never lied to you."

"Never lied to me?" she repeated rhetorically. "You said you came here to do a story about Monte Ne. All the time you were here, you were here to—" She shook her head. "Your dictionary has strange definitions."

"I did write a story on Monte Ne. I told you, it's scheduled for publication next month. My agent sold it to a newspaper syndicate."

"It doesn't matter, she said, her voice once again expressionless.

"No, I guess it doesn't. All right, I'll admit I didn't tell you the whole truth, but I didn't lie. Please believe me, Sarah. After I got to know you I knew I couldn't do that story. I never intended to hurt you."

She stood mute in front of him, her eyes wide, shining with unshed tears. "And pigs can fly. I've heard that before too."

"I mean it, Sarah. I was going to tell you about this." The folder shook in his hand. "But I couldn't find the right time and... and somehow it didn't see important."

"The right time? I'll believe that part. There's never a right time to tell someone you're going to betray them."

"I didn't mean it that way. It was just that the time we've had together... We had more important things to talk about, to do, than discuss some stories I once wrote. Those stories have nothing to do with our relationship."

"Didn't they? I don't see it that way."

Jordan pushed the folder toward her. "Did you read them, Sarah? Did you read any of them?"

She nodded her head slowly. "Some," she said.

"Those people were frauds. Everyone of them—conniving, grasping people taking advantage of others. I know. There's no hearsay in any of those stories. I personally investigated. Every one of them deserved to be exposed."