Unsafe Haven (9 page)

“You like The Romantics?
I
like The Romantics!” Bright-eyed and happy again, Luna tugged discs from the shelves and placed them on the nearby coffee table. Sifting through them, she let out a crow of triumph when she found a copy of
In Heat.
“You want to listen?” Without waiting for a response, she bounced over to the entertainment center and slotted it into the CD player.

As the first strains of “Rock You Up” filled the room, they turned to each other and grinned.

Denn rapped his thumbs on the steering wheel impatiently. What should have been a fast loop through town had turned into one big hassle. A couple of bored, idiot teenage boys breaking into Fake’s sure wasn’t his idea of after-dinner fun. They’d made off with an entire shelf of candy and packaged cookies. In their lust for snacks, they’d busted Fake’s front door and knocked over an end cap of trail mix and protein bars.

They ran before Denn could grab them, but their pulled-up hoodies didn’t provide any disguise. He’d easily recognized Ernie and Jim Uluk. Nolee, their mother, would pound them both into dust when he swung by their cabin tomorrow morning and told her what her pain-in-the-ass sons had been doing tonight. Not to mention what their father, Teddie, would do to them when he heard about it.

Stifling a yawn, Denn turned from Snowshoe Hare Road onto Main. After a quick stop at the station, he’d head for home. He shouldn’t feel resentful. So many folks didn’t have a job and he groused about having to do his.

Most of his impatience stemmed from missing out on time with Kendall. He’d been gone two hours, and she might already have given up on him and headed back to the Inn. Who could blame her? But he felt certain she wouldn’t leave Luna by herself.

A tingle had shot straight through him to see her in his house and at the dinner table, bonding with Luna. Kendall was gorgeous in a clingy dark blue sweater with her skirt showing off her slender legs. She’d removed her boots as soon as she’d stepped inside the house, and the sight of that firm, silky flesh had him sweating all through dinner.

Everything about her called to his heart. This was someone he could build a future with. The realization had hit him quickly, and he wouldn’t question it. He must have inherited the trait from his own parents, who’d fallen for each other instantly and had married after just a week of dating.

The nicest surprise came from Luna’s acceptance of Kendall. Denn had to admit he’d been worried. His sister could be possessive of him, and anyone he brought home would have to understand the importance of Luna in his life. But Kendall had made a positive impression on Luna right away, and it mattered a lot to him.

As he approached the Four Hills Inn, Denn couldn’t help but recall how Luna had spoken of Wendy Chang. At first he considered her opinion mostly jealousy, and maybe she’d see anyone he dated as a threat. But she hadn’t thought of Kendall as a threat, which meant Luna’s dislike of Wendy had to be personal. He needed to talk to her about it. Wendy
had
been good to Luna, and whether she did it to score points with him or not, it didn’t change the nice things she’d done for Luna over the years.

He passed the inn, taking note of the single light in the kitchen. Wendy liked a cup of hot chocolate in the evening and would often sit at the kitchen table with her mug and a book. Funny, how he knew her personal habits so well, yet he’d never considered her more than just a friend. Until Luna put the idea into his head, and Wendy’s behavior, earlier today, spoke of a desire to be much more than his buddy.

Sooner or later he’d have to deal with her feelings. He released a troubled sigh as he turned onto Iliak Road toward home.

He parked next to Kendall’s truck, relieved to see she hadn’t left his sister alone, although Luna had been a latchkey kid since age eleven. A quick check of the dashboard clock brought some relief. It wasn’t as late as he’d feared. Some of the evening might still be salvaged.

He pocketed his keys as he took the patio steps, hung his windbreaker inside the back entryway, and toed off his boots. A blast of warmth and what smelled like popcorn greeted him when he opened the kitchen door, along with the piercing beat of Metallica. Denn flicked on the coffeemaker’s brew button, then headed into the living room, humming to the last strains of “The Unforgiven.”

He stopped in the doorway and stared. His sister and Kendall sat side-by-side on the floor, heads almost touching as they flipped through the colorful pile of CDs scattered around them. Their murmurs and soft giggles clutched at his heart. He cleared his throat noisily and they both turned as if connected by invisible strings.

Luna jumped up first and danced over to him to fling her arms around his waist. “Please don’t say I have to go to bed already.” She flashed him the most pathetic case of puppy eyes he’d ever seen. “We’re having so much fun. Kendall
loves
everything.”

He swiped a finger down her turned-up nose. “Is that so? What, you ran out of your own music, so you had to steal some of mine?” He nodded toward the CD player as it launched into “Don’t Tread On Me.” In another pile, he spotted at least ten discs she’d grabbed from his room.

“You’re such a little thief.” He tempered his words with a scrape of his cheek along her neck, and she shrieked and batted at him. While Kendall laughed at their antics, Denn caught Luna around the waist and flipped her upside down, easily holding on despite her frantic wriggles. “I’m tossing you out on your head.”

“No, no, not on my head!” Luna grabbed for his legs and tried to pinch him behind his knees. She caught him on the left, hard enough to make him stagger, and they both tumbled to the floor.

Luna took advantage and promptly sat on his chest.

He wheezed, “You weigh a ton. Get off me, twit.”

“Say you’re sorry.” She bounced, once.

Denn reacted with an exaggerated grunt. “Put all my discs back, and I’ll think about it.” He dug his fingers into her ribs and she fell sideways, giggling like a fiend. Denn swiped his hair out of his eyes and glanced over at Kendall, who sat on the floor with her legs curled beneath her as she held her own ribs and laughed.

“You’re a witness, Kendall. She’s a music thief.”

“It’s my fault. I asked her if she liked Nirvana, and she said you had all their CDs,” Kendall explained between chuckles.

“Then why were you listening to Metallica?” He poked
The Black Album
with his sock-clad toe.

“Well, we sort of migrated to other stuff.” She spread her arms to encompass the discs covering half the floor. “Once she mentioned some of the names in your collection, I got glassy-eyed with song greed.”

“He’s got
tons
more,” Luna confided. “He’s got all that metal junk. It’s good junk,” she hastily amended, when Denn sent her a pointed look.

“Better believe it’s good junk. So, why don’t you clean it up, put it back where you found it, then test yourself and hit the sheets.”

“Aww, Denn.” But she obeyed without further grumbles, although her glare could have set fire to his scalp. Within minutes, she’d gathered up his CDs, given him a peck on the cheek, and offered a shy “goodnight” to Kendall. She dragged her feet all the way to her bedroom, and he had to bite his lips to keep from laughing. Thom Banks was right; Luna was an operator.

Kendall rose from the floor and collected the popcorn bowl, then followed Denn into the kitchen and deposited it next to the empty glasses he placed in the sink. He wiped his hands on a paper towel and turned to smile at her. “I’m sorry it took so long. I had a couple of juvenile delinquents who thought they could break into Fake’s and help themselves to dessert.”

“Oh, no. How much damage did they do?” Kendall accepted the cup of coffee he handed her and took a seat at the table.

“Enough. Stole a bunch of junk food and broke some shelves. I called their mother, and she’s ready to murder both of them. Their dad is a cousin of Jo’s, and nobody in her family puts up with kid crap. Those boys will regret the day they were born.”

Denn leaned against the counter with his coffee and tried not to stare too overtly at Kendall. This evening she’d pinned up her hair, and he found the elegant line of her neck fascinating. Hell, he found every inch of her fascinating.

Sweet, kind, beautiful. Brave, for it took guts to buy a business, sight unseen, and move to a remote place like Southwest Alaska. Still, he sensed a deep vulnerability, a nervousness that popped out at odd moments, as if she let her guard down and had to scramble to rebuild it. Such moments reinforced his theory that sometime in her recent past she’d suffered abuse. His eyes moved over her, from the top of her golden brown curls to her narrow feet and cute, pink-tipped toes. Slender, shapely, sexy—

Want and need clutched at him, until he actually found himself reaching for her. He could press her up against the counter and nibble on creamy, exposed flesh . . .

Kendall set her cup down and sighed. “You make wonderful coffee. Mine always tastes like tinted water.” She tucked her used napkin under her spoon and smoothed the paper edges. Her unease around men seemed to lessen whenever she came into contact with Denn Nulo. It puzzled her.

When she raised her head, she caught his intense gaze and felt her cheeks grow warm. His eyes had been on her nonstop while she drank her coffee. She’d never liked being stared at, but Denn’s regard warmed her from the inside, as if he could see into her soul and approved of what he found there.

Yet an awkward silence filled the room as they faced each other. She broke eye contact first. Rising, she carried her cup and spoon to the sink and rinsed them.

“You don’t have to. I can get it in the morning.” His low voice hovered over her ear and his breath fanned her temple, a trace of coffee and heat that made her pulse throb. She hadn’t heard him move. Strong arms bracketed her body, holding her in place, but gently, easily. She could have slipped away. But she didn’t. The brace of him behind her, solid and steady, didn’t scare her. It should have.

But it didn’t.

“Kendall. Turn around.” The raspy command sent anticipatory shivers down her spine. Eyes half closed, she obeyed. Through her lashes, she stared at him. Those warm amber eyes studied her intently. No part of him touched her and yet her imagination easily provided the imagery of his large, curiously graceful hands on her shoulders, how they might slip down her arms, grasp her at the hip, pull her tightly against him. Another few inches and her breasts would brush his shirt. One step, and she’d find herself pressed to him, shoulder to thigh.

Her lips parted to say, “
Yes
. . .”

Instead, “no” came out in a croak. Her eyes met his, and whatever he found in them caused his lips to quirk as if in regret. But his expression stayed warm, tender.

He raised a hand and cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed along the corner of her mouth. “I want to see you again, Kendall. Is that all right with you?” He stroked his fingers over her neck, around to her nape, and drew her in for a brief, loose hug. She found the gesture reassuring instead of worrisome.

Easing away took some willpower. His arms, his very presence invited her to lean on him. Where once in her life she would have found strength like his intimidating, now she thought how nice it might be to let someone take care of her. He wouldn’t smother her, put pressure on her. She just knew it.

Even so, to acknowledge his desire wasn’t easy for her. “Denn . . .” Her voice trailed off at the touch of his mouth, right at the corner of hers, where his thumb had traced.

“I won’t push you. I won’t go fast. I just want to be with you, get to know you.” His sincerity couldn’t be doubted. “Luna really likes you, and that tells me a lot. It reassures me. What do you say? Will you go out with me sometime?” His hand slid down her arm, caught her fingers, held onto her like a bashful schoolboy.

I could drown in this man’s sweetness.

A smile broke across her face. She could feel her lips tremble. It was the easiest thing in the world to nod her head. To take a leap of faith, give his hand a squeeze.

To breathe in and whisper, “I’d like that, too.”

Portland, Oregon, June

Conroy Herington’s nose twitched at the stale and musty smell of the condo. He’d left explicit instructions for airing it out, which meant the maid service he’d hired obviously couldn’t follow a few simple directions. He’d make sure they knew of his displeasure.

He dropped his car keys on the mahogany side table in the foyer and set his suitcase near the coat closet. Striding to the drapes, he pulled them open and grimaced. The windows hadn’t been cleaned, either. What the hell had he paid for these past months, if not for someone to swipe a dust cloth over his furniture and squeegee his damned windows? He released a snort of disgust and pulled a snowy white handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his fingers.

More evidence of neglect in the kitchen, with dust on the dark granite countertops and a spider’s web in one corner, made him curse aloud. If he looked hard enough, he’d probably find mouse shit in the corners. Again, cloudy windows and musty air told its own unacceptable story. Conroy consulted the slim Rolex on his wrist. Too late to call and raise hell with the service tonight, but they’d certainly get an earful tomorrow. Their advertisement had boasted “exclusive catering to the discerning homeowner.” His condo, located in the most expensive section of town, certainly oozed exclusivity.

His cell phone vibrated and he slipped it from his shirt pocket, glanced briefly at the display, and then thumbed the screen. “What did you find out?”

“Hello to you, too,” the cultured voice purred in his ear. “What a lovely way to greet your mother.”

“I’m sorry. I just got in and the condo is filthy. Dust and dirt everywhere. I’m making it my life’s mission tomorrow to get everyone at the damned housekeeping service fired.”

“Well, darling, it’s not as if you live there for long periods of time. Isn’t the condo more or less your home away from home?”

“Yes, yes. Be that as it may, I expect cleanliness at the very least.” He walked into the formal living room as he spoke, perching on the edge of a leather chair. “Of course, it’s nice to hear your voice, Mother. Pleasantries aside, what did you find out?”

“Not a single thing. It’s as if she never existed,” his mother replied. Her quiet sigh and a rustle as if she moved papers around on her desk caused his fingers to clench on the expensive cell phone he held.

Here it comes.

“My dear, you need to give this up. I said nothing when you brought her home and attempted to introduce her into our lives. It was obvious the girl never belonged in our circle. Don’t get me wrong, she was a sweet child and I liked her. But she couldn’t possibly keep up with you.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Mother. Victoria is well suited for me. She just needs more polish, more experience.” He pinched the bridge of his nose where another headache brewed as he spoke. “After I bring her back, I’ll start intensive therapy sessions with her, which will set her on the correct path to fulfilling her destiny at my side.”

“Therapy? To learn how to be the right sort of wife for you? That makes no sense at all. There wasn’t a thing wrong with the girl other than her youth and inexperience. Can’t you see this for yourself?” More papers rustled in his ear. “In the past year, we’ve spent quite a bit of money trying to find her. Of course, I haven’t minded helping you out. But this girl doesn’t want to be found. Are you that obsessed with her?”

The headache now in full force, he rose and strode to the bathroom in search of his migraine pills. He shook several out of the bottle and into his mouth, cupped a hand under the faucet, and drank enough water to wash them down.

“Darling, are you there?” His mother’s voice spiked sharply as he returned to the living room.

“I’m here. Where the hell else would I be?” he muttered under his breath.

“What did you say?”

The expletive he hissed into the speaker had her tsking at him. He cut through her disapproval. “I want her, Mother. From the first moment I saw her, I wanted her. She’s exactly right for me. Weren’t you the one who always demanded I go after what I want? Another year and she’d have been ready.”

“Ready for
what
, may I ask? You can’t mold someone as if they’re a lump of clay. You need to find a woman the right age, from our own social sphere, and stop trying to play
Pygmalion
.”

“For Christ’s sake, Victoria wasn’t a baby when I proposed to her.” His head throbbed harder as he paced and rubbed his temples.

“Not a baby, darling. But she was awfully young at heart and very naïve. Sheltered, too.” Her voice softened and caught a tone of reason he despised. “I know you cared for her. I know you tried to prepare her for the kind of life she’d have to embrace once you married her. But she is
gone
. She’s left you. For pity’s sake, move
on.”

He jerked the phone away from his ear as if it had suddenly betrayed him. Move on? Forget the only woman he’d ever truly wanted? Find another?

With a violent curse, he flung the phone across the room and smiled in grim satisfaction when it splintered against the wall. Conversation with his mother, as usual, drove him insane.

Foolish, worthless bitch
.

He scraped his fingers through his thick blond hair and pressed his thumbs to his eyes, willing the headache to lessen. An exercise in futility, he knew. Control kept the pain at bay. Strict control over his life, his career, anyone who moved within his circle. Including his future wife, for when Victoria was at his side, he’d rarely suffered at all. She’d always been the key to his well-being.

Moving to the window, he stared at the picturesque courtyard below, with its swaying Japanese maples, trimmed boxwoods, and pampas grass. Slowly, Victoria’s face formed in front of his eyes: the silky, soft blond curls, the wide eyes, bluer than the sky above. Her lissome, slender body, her full, lush mouth. Fifteen when he first met her, innocent and angelic and so very, very malleable.

“Victoria.” He whispered her name as his hand fisted in the drapes he’d opened. “Where are you?”

Across town in her office at The Herington Group, Evelyn Herington laid the phone in its cradle and heaved a worried sigh. She’d have liked nothing better than to believe her son would drop this insanity and move on with his life, but she knew better. He wouldn’t let it go. Her only child was brilliant and driven and far too obsessive for his own good.

She understood him more than he knew. The same personality traits ran through her DNA. But she’d learned early in life to curb her compulsive nature, to pursue when advantageous and to retreat wisely. As much as it shamed her to admit, she’d spoiled her son terribly. He’d grown up thinking the world was his for the taking.

Evelyn tapped a finger against her lower lip as she stared at the papers spread out before her. She poked at one and sent it fluttering to the floor. Bent and picked it up. Tossed it back on the pile.

It wasn’t easy to find someone, if they knew how to hide. People disappeared every day. They just walked away from their lives. More than a few times in her past, Evelyn had wished for the talent and ability to lose herself somewhere else in the world.

No one knew better than she how difficult Grayson Herington had been to live with. If he hadn’t died of lung cancer, she might have stabbed him with her letter opener, years ago. She’d loved him dearly, but the man was a first-class bastard and a miserable human being. Making her a widow had been the most unselfish thing he’d ever done.

Victoria would be missed. A sweeter girl Evelyn had never known. So young, not only in years but in her gentle heart. Evelyn didn’t believe in self-deception. She’d raised her son to demand the best from life, to expect it as his due. She’d also tried to instill in him a sense of fairness and resolve when going about getting said due. It pained her greatly to think she might have failed.

She wanted to see him happy, and she wanted grandchildren. But Victoria couldn’t make her boy happy. If only he’d accept it and, as she’d asked of him, move on. Find another, and forge a solid, productive marriage.

Slowly, she pushed away from the desk and stood. Gathering the loose papers scattered over her suede blotter, she fed them into the shredder, one by one. Pulverized clots fell below into a plastic bag. She added them all, then collected the bag and knotted it securely.

At her desk again, she tapped the keyboard, moved the mouse around. Brought up her email account. Deleted everything.

It’s for the best. It’s the right thing to do.

She carried the bag of shredded paper from her office, into the hallway, onto the elevator, and pressed the button for the basement—where the incinerator was located.

Sitting in the parking lot of a Day-Mart, Conroy suppressed a shudder. Disgusting stores. Bad enough he had to park near one. He couldn’t imagine actually walking through the doors and
shopping
there. He certainly couldn’t fathom the daily drudge of working in one. However, one of Victoria’s friends did indeed work here. It could be a long shot, but if he had to enter the wretched store and actually buy something to get any sort of decent information, he would.

He took the new cell out of his pocket and punched a number from memory. It rang. And rang. He let it ring until the message came on, her soft, sweet voice tinged with a hint of sultry promise. His tight muscles relaxed as her gentle tones flowed into his ear and wrapped around his heart. Victoria.

The message, he knew, was on a private line in her suite of rooms at her parents’ house. At first, he’d called it, hourly, for weeks. She never answered. Months later, after he admitted to himself she’d truly left him, he needed to hear her voice. It soothed him, and he took comfort in its availability.

He’d handled their last encounter badly, although the blame for her desertion needed to be placed at her door. Still, if he’d been stricter, firmer with her, she’d never have rebelled against his authority. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Nobody could just walk away and not leave some sort of trail. Yet Victoria had done it, had vanished. No trail of any kind. It galled him to admit it.

He knew his mother’s thoroughness. Better than any bloodhound and more than willing to toss her money around as bribery, if she’d conceded defeat, common sense said he should, too. Except his heart lacked sense when faced with the loss of its singular desire.

I should have married her two years ago.
He leaned his elbow on the steering wheel and cupped his forehead, where residual twinges of the damned migraine plagued him.

No. Two years ago she’d have spooked too easily, and he’d have lost all. The game he’d played with her required patience and delicacy. A rushed courtship would have been a disaster. Even with his superior control, he’d still overplayed his hand.

A movement to the left caught his attention. A young woman walked toward her car, fingers already busy pressing buttons on her cheap cell phone. She wore a tacky green golf shirt and wrinkled tan slacks. The requisite apron, declaring her to be a proud member of the Day-Mart Sales Team, hung loosely around her thin waist.

Luck was certainly with him today. He recognized her from a framed photograph on display in Victoria’s house, though the insipid bridesmaid dress she’d been wearing in the photo wasn’t much of an improvement on her current ensemble.

Conroy exited the car as quietly as possible and strode to her side, just as she dug in her purse for her keys. “Miss Ross, may I speak with you?”

She looked up quickly, fearfully, but relaxed when she saw him. Her head tilted as if puzzled. “Do I know you?” Her eyes raked him up and down and she smiled tentatively.

He could almost hear her brain assuring the rest of her body he was no danger to her. Dressed in an expensive suit, well groomed, and obviously wealthy, how could he be a danger to anyone? He strove to keep the smugness off his face.

“My name is Conroy Herington. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Victoria Wyndham.”

The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Vicky? Do you know where she is?” She stretched out a hand and grasped his sleeve. He barely repressed a shudder. He despised unsolicited physical contact.

With an effort, he kept his temper in check. “I take it you’re aware she’s been missing.”

“Well, sure. I haven’t spoken to her in over a year. I left a few messages on her phone but she never called me back.” She released his sleeve after he tugged against her hand. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to wrinkle your nice suit.”

Since she stated the obvious—that she did, by her actions, ruin the sleeve of his very expensive Armani—he didn’t bother to respond other than to repeat his original request. “So, you can tell me nothing at all, of any use?”

“No, I’m sorry. I talked to her after church one Sunday and then never heard from her again. If you see her, would you ask—hey, wait!” She shot out the same hand to catch his arm as he cursed aloud and turned to leave. The look he flung at her kept her from saying anything more. She stepped back hastily as he strode to his car, fuming with every step. He could sense her eyes on him as he gunned the engine and roared away.

If there hadn’t been shoppers in the immediate vicinity, he’d have swung his car sharply and run her down, right in the parking lot. His headache, having abated, returned with a fury.

How he detested wasting his time, even five minutes of it. He’d gone to the trouble of finding out the work schedule of these wretched Day-Mart employees, then driven to the common side of town and waited in his car for the stupid bitch to exit the damned store. Only to have his sleeve damaged by her clinging, sweaty fingers. And
then
—the crowning touch—to have her reveal she knew nothing, when he could have been asking questions elsewhere. He wanted to go back to the fucking parking lot and stab her a few times before running her over.

Calm yourself. Act normal, for Christ’s sake.
Now wasn’t the time to lose his famed control. In broad daylight, with the police patrolling the streets and potential witnesses everywhere, more than ever he had to hold steady.