Whisper of Revenge (A Cape Trouble Novel Book 4) (6 page)

“Out with the old?”  His tone held an edge of anger.

“Seems that way.”  She kept to herself the suspicion that Grady
would have stayed more interested if Ian hadn’t looked so much like her.  “The
way I see it, he’s the idiot and I’m the lucky one.”

Elias’s crooked smile made her breath hitch.

Their entrees arrived then, looking and smelling divine. 
She’d been amused when he ordered a side of mac and cheese to go with his rib
eye steak, but now she peeked covetously at a dish that didn’t much resemble
the everyday version out of a box.  Elias offered her a bite, and held it out
on his fork.  She sighed in pleasure at the melding of unusual cheeses.

“You could still order some,” he suggested.

“No, I couldn’t.  I’ll probably gain a pound from this one
bite.”

His brow creased.  “You don’t diet, do you?”

Heartened by his tone, she said, “I should, but it’s hard
when I cook so much.  I have to sample those peppermint crunch truffles before
I risk selling them, don’t I?”

She loved what a smile did to his usually austere face.  And
then he said, “Forget dieting.  It would be a crime.”

“I am deeply in love with you,” she told him with mock
seriousness – hoping the joke hadn’t slipped out because it was so close to the
truth.

He only laughed.

When he asked, she told him her ex worked for a venture
capital firm in Portland.  Elias wanted to know if she’d taken her husband’s
last name and, if so, kept it.

She shook her head.  “Never took it.  He pretended to
understand but I could tell he was annoyed.”

“Ego.”

“Oh, yeah.”  Hannah sighed.  “I didn’t argue about Ian being
a Cline, although now I wish he wasn’t.”

A few minutes later, she said, “You know most people assume
you and Monica are a couple.”

He only shook his head.  “She sells my work.  We’re
friendly.  That’s all.”

Monica had slipped a few times when she and Hannah were
talking, betraying that she felt more than friendly.  Thinking about it, Hannah
said, “I like Monica.”

His brows climbed.  “You’re not stepping on her toes, if
that’s what you’re getting at.”

She supposed it was.  Partly.  “I guess I’d like to know
more about you,” she admitted.  “I mean, I’ve only lived in Cape Trouble two
years.  That still makes me a newcomer.  Everyone else probably knows who
you’ve had wild flings with, but I’m in the dark.”

The lines on his face deepened, increasing his brooding air,
and momentarily she thought he wouldn’t answer.  But after a minute, he said
with what she suspected was deliberate lightness, “I think I’m most famous for
a mad crush I had on an older woman when I was seventeen.  I worked that summer
over at Misty River Resort for old man Billington.  I trailed Michelle Thomsen
around all summer, drew her, painted her.  She was nice to me, but I knew my
deep passion would never be returned.”  He took a bite, his gaze turning for a
moment to a window overlooking a cottage garden.  Then he shrugged and met
Hannah’s eyes again.  “I’d just arrived for work one foggy morning when I heard
screaming.  Michelle’s little girl had found her shot to death in the dunes.”

Hannah had known where this story was going, although she’d
never heard Elias’s part in it.  “Sophie’s mother.”

“Yes.  Most boys probably fall for an older woman at some
point.  If she hadn’t died, that summer wouldn’t have had such a big impact on
me.”

“You mean, if she hadn’t been murdered.”

“We thought she’d committed suicide, which was worse, in a
way.  I can only imagine how tough that was on Sophie, but even for me…  It was
hard not to keep asking myself why.  She was beautiful, vital, friendly.”  He
shook his head.  “She obviously loved Sophie, who was a kid.  The idea that
she’d not only abandon her daughter, but chance Sophie finding her…”

“You still think about her.”

“Do you know how many years ago that was?  Having it all
come out last summer brought it back, that’s all.”

After Billington had been arrested, the local newspaper had
published Michelle Thomsen’s photo beside a row of others, women the same man
had murdered.  The picture hadn’t suggested the woman Elias described.  “Does
Sophie look like her mother?”

“She does,” he said without any particular inflection.

Sophie was a beautiful woman, in Hannah’s opinion.  Slender,
blonde, fine-boned.  Even though they’d become close friends, Hannah still had
an occasional outbreak of feeling large and clumsy next to her.  Which, of
course, had everything to do with self-image and nothing to do with reality. 
She wasn’t sure she’d ever adjusted her self-image since elementary school when
she’d always been bigger than all the other girls and most of the boys.

And…she refused to let herself get hung up on how Elias had
felt about a gorgeous woman who died tragically twenty – no, now twenty-one –
years ago.

“So that’s it?” she challenged.  “You never lost your heart
again?”

His mouth curved.  “I don’t know about my heart.  But, come
on, I was a hormone-ridden teenage boy.  I had a girlfriend my senior year, and
I’ve had relationships since.  Just none that got as far as thinking about
marriage.”

She was dying to ask why, but figured she’d pushed it enough
for a first date.  Or maybe this was their second, if she counted yesterday’s
lunch.

“I assume Colburn didn’t find prints on the book?” he asked
abruptly, making plain he’d had enough of the ‘prior relationship’ talk.  She’d
been surprised he hadn’t asked earlier what if anything the police chief had
found.

“Lots of them, but smudged.  Who knows how many people
picked up the book at some point?  My computer records say I’ve had it on the
shelf for eight months.”

“Do you usually let your stock sit that long?” he asked.

She decided she could risk a little more wine, a rare
indulgence for her.  “I try to cover a wide span of topics with nonfiction, so
I’m more likely to let a book sit.  This one had really good reviews.  My guess
is, people have looked at it, gone home and ordered it online.  You know what
small towns are like.  Buying it openly could start talk if anyone sees. 
I
could be a gossip, for all anyone knows.”

He grimaced.  “Good point.  If you’re trying to repair a
marriage after one of you cheated, you wouldn’t want the world to know.”

“No.”  An involuntary shiver prickled her skin.  “It’s so
weird that even though I don’t even know who he is, this guy thinks because
he’s given me flowers and candy, I shouldn’t even talk to another man.”

She didn’t want to think about the not-so-veiled threat, but
it hung over them no matter what.  When they arrived, she’d seen Elias sweep
the dining room with the same cool assessment of a cop.  Looking for people he
knew, one of whom might conceivably be her secret admirer?

She might have wondered if he had other reasons to prefer no
one knew he was seeing her, except for his willingness to hold her hand at
lunch yesterday in full view of other diners.

“It’s weird, all right.”  Elias looked and sounded grim. 
“Hannah…you need to think about who he could be.  He believes you two have a
connection.  Maybe you refused to go out with him, but in a way that leaves him
convinced you will.  He could have interpreted whatever you said to mean you’re
teasing him, or that you want to be courted.”

Her frustration flared.  “Or he could be psycho!”

“You could definitely say that.  I won’t deny it’s possible
this guy is someone you’ve never exchanged a word with.  I went online and did
some reading about stalkers.”

She set down her fork.  “I did, too.”

Elias’s gaze appeared more stern now than anything else. 
“But you need to go with the odds, which say you know him.”

It was awful to feel sulky, but she’d wanted tonight to be
an escape, and here he was refusing to let her hide her head in the sand.

“Fine,” she snapped.  “You want a list of everyone who has
ever asked me out?”

His silver eyes riveted her.  “No.”  His voice was rougher
than usual.  “I can’t say I do.”

She had such a hard time believing he was jealous, but…why
else would he sound like that?  “I’ve said no to all of them.”

His eyes never left hers.  “Why did you?”

“At first, I was off men.”  Being completely honest scared
her, but how could she not be?  “None of them interested me,” she admitted,
more quietly.

The flicker in his eyes told her he understood.  After a
moment, he said, “You should make a list for Colburn.”

“They’re customers.  Friends of friends.  Men who are well
known in town.”

“There are that many?”

“I’ve been here over two years!”

Sounding a little cautious, he said, “I asked Monica.  You
were right.  She admitted that men hit on her all the time.”

“
She’s
beautiful.”  The minute the words were out, with
that telling emphasis, Hannah wanted to whack herself.  Way to go.  Lay her
insecurity right out there.

Elias looked stunned.  “You don’t think you are.”

She made herself meet his gaze, tipping her chin up.  “Men
sometimes find me attractive.  But beautiful?  Of course I’m not.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute.  She braced herself for
platitudes.  Only then he said, “I almost never paint portraits, but I’ve been
thinking for weeks about how I’m going to paint you.  Did you see Ian’s sketch
of you?”

Surprised by what seemed a non sequitur, she finally nodded.

“He sees the same thing I do.  His skill isn’t developed
enough for him to depict a smile that makes me feel as if I’ve warmed my hands
over a beach fire.  His interpretation was to draw a sun.  What could be more
beautiful than that?”

Silenced, she was afraid she was gaping.

He spoke with a quiet force that had her quivering like a
tuning fork.  “I just wish Ian and I were alone in seeing that you’re something
better than model pretty.”

“That’s…the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she
said, voice ragged.  And it was hard to top his telling her she didn’t need to
diet.

“Then your husband was even stupider than I already figured
him to be.”

A moment later, he was again the man she’d first met, his
reserve so deep she’d believed it impenetrable.     

Respecting his need to retreat, she took a bite even though
she didn’t really taste the herb-crusted halibut.

“Ron Campbell has asked me out a couple times, starting…” 
She paused to think.  “Last summer?  Or maybe that spring.”  The hardware store
owner had stayed a regular at Sweet Ideas despite her refusal.

After a telling moment, Elias said, “You really don’t need
to tell me.”

“Daniel hasn’t been in town any longer than I have.  You
might know things about some of these men he doesn’t.”

The creases bracketing his mouth deepened in a way they
didn’t when he smiled.  “He’s police chief.  He’ll know things I don’t.”

“That’s true.”

Finally he nodded.  “I’ll go with you to meet with Colburn
if you want.”

Her hand hidden beneath the table curled until fingernails
bit into her palm.  “Please,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Then I will.  For now, why don’t we talk about something
else?”

Eyes burning – but please not damp – she said again,
“Please.”

He’d told her it was her smile that made her beautiful, but
Elias knew that was a small part of what drew him.  He’d hesitated as long as
he had because he knew anything that happened between them would be more than
sex and some good times.

One thing he’d discovered was that seeing her hurting made a
fist close around his own heart, constricting his blood flow and even
breathing.  He didn’t like it, couldn’t understand feeling as much as he did
for a woman he didn’t know that well.  But damned if he wanted to think of her
alone when she was in pain or scared or just needing a shoulder to lean on,
either.

He’d meant to take this slowly.  Carefully, testing the
waters as he inched his way in.  He had dumped that plan the minute he’d
understood that she was being threatened.  This powerful need to keep her safe,
appearing out of nowhere, demolished any caution.

He shouldn’t have taken her out to dinner tonight.  Doing so
was selfish.  Watching, he hadn’t seen anyone he knew – but that didn’t mean he
hadn’t been recognized.  He’d gotten to be too well known, not just his art but
his face.  If he’d used his head, he should have held off on starting anything
with Hannah.  Offering his support wouldn’t have enraged her stalker the same
way.

When it came to his art, he had unlimited patience.  He
could wait for hours for exactly the right light.  Go back to an oil painting
again and again and again until he saw what was missing.

When it came to Hannah, forget patience.  When it came to
Hannah…he didn’t recognize himself.

Here was another example.  After her plea for them to talk
about anything besides the secret admirer, he had asked about her family,
learning that she had only one sibling, a brother ten years older than her. 
The topic seemed safe enough.

“Samuel and I are friendly,” she said, “but not close.  My
parents moved to a retirement community in Arizona.  I don’t love it down
there, they don’t like to travel, and of course I can’t leave the business for
long.  So…”  She lifted one shoulder.

“Have you told them about what’s going on?”

“The secret admirer stuff?”  She looked horrified.  “Not a
chance.  They’d be upset, and what could they do?”

As expected, she asked about his family.  “I know your
mother.  She helped with the auction, you know.  You look so much like her.”

Keeping explanations on the surface came easily.  “Her genes
predominated,” he admitted.  “Mom claims Dad didn’t mind.”

“He died?”

The zing of pain took him by surprise.  “An embolism after
minor surgery,” he said.  “Just a freak thing.  I was eight.”

The compassion that was so much a part of her had her
reaching for him even though she couldn’t know that the memory still had the
power to throw him back to the boy he’d been.  He let himself take her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.  “That must have been really
hard.”

“I had trouble believing he’d died,” Elias heard himself
say.  “I never saw him dead.  There was a funeral, but closed casket.  I
convinced myself that really he’d left because he didn’t want us anymore.”

“You felt abandoned, and that way you could justify being
mad at him.”  Of course she understood; that’s who she was.  He’d seen her
listening to customers, touching them, always saying the right thing.  Maybe he
knew her better than he’d thought.

“Yeah.”  He’d never told anyone about this, not even his
mother.  Then, he’d kept his mouth shut and smoldered.  Now – damn it, now
something he didn’t understand drove him to keep talking.  “It let me be mad at
my mother, too.  If she was lying to me, I had to be, right?”

There was nothing but understanding and warmth in Hannah’s
eyes.   “You said he’d left ‘us’.  Do you have siblings?”

Here’s where he should have deflected, and yet Elias
hesitated only momentarily.  What did it matter if he told her one more dark
piece of his past?

“I meant Mom and me.  But I did have an older sister.”  He
sounded hoarse.  “Marika.  She died of leukemia when I was four.  Sometimes I
think I remember her, but probably all I’m seeing is a picture.  Mom has this
pile of albums.”  Plus handsomely framed photos of all of them – Elias, Dad,
Marika – arranged on a white wall in her new condominium.

“Your parents didn’t try to have another child?”

“I asked once.  My mother said it would have felt too much
as if they were trying to replace Marika.  As if they thought she could be
replaced.  So they chose not to.”

“I understand.  If I lost Ian…”  Hannah shuddered.

Elias squeezed her hand.  “I shouldn’t have started this.”

She focused on his face again, expression apologetic.  “No,
I’m the one who keeps feeling…”  She frowned.  “As if a ghost walked by or
something.”

He scanned the dining room again.  Nobody seemed to be
paying any attention to them.  Probably she was just on edge, which was
understandable, but humans had the same instincts of an animal in the wild that
knew when something or someone dangerous was watching.  Talking about a child’s
death was probably what had set her off – but there was a lesser chance they’d
been followed from her house, where he picked her up.

“My fault,” Elias said.  “Given what’s been going on with
you, we should have kept this lighter.”  Too bad he didn’t know how.  There was
a reason critics pointed to the darkness of his vision, the way his paintings
had of making the viewer feel alone.  Fun and games, he wasn’t.

Which threw him back to thinking he was selfish when it came
to Hannah, and not just because he should have waited to start something up
with her.  He needed her warmth, but what did he have to offer her?  All he’d
succeeded in doing so far was ramping up the danger stalking her.

As an all-too familiar icy chill crept over him, he gently
disengaged his hand from Hannah’s.  “Do you want some dessert?”

“Oh.  No.”  Her smile looked false.  She’d read his change
of mood. “I eat entirely too many desserts.  Occupational hazard.  And Ian
isn’t used to me going out evenings, so I’d rather not be out late.”

Elias only nodded, even though it wasn’t yet eight o’clock. 
The sun was only just setting in an iridescent blaze across the horizon.  Under
other circumstances he might have suggested they go down to the beach to watch
the spectacle.  As it was, he signaled the waiter, paid, and ushered Hannah
out, his hand on her lower back.

They didn’t talk much on the drive back.  He concentrated on
his driving except when the view would suddenly open to the ocean far below and
the orange glow skimming the curve of the earth.  As always, he found himself
trying to store that exact tint and reaching mentally for the paints in his
pallet.

As they crossed Mist River and reached Cape Trouble, he
glanced at Hannah’s averted face and said abruptly, “I’m sorry.  I don’t
usually talk about my father or my sister.”  Especially his sister, whose
death, he had always known, had stolen the happiness from their home, made it a
silent place where hugs and laughter were rare.  Where he had become accustomed
to feeling alone, even when he still had family.

The man he was had been formed a long time ago.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”  Twilight hid her
expression.  “You let me understand you a little better.  It felt…sort of
unbalanced before.  You’re not easy to get to know.”

“I often go days at a time without talking to anyone,” he
admitted.

Her head turned his way.  “Except that you’ve been stopping
by to at least say, ‘My usual coffee’ and ‘Thank you’ four or five days a
week.”  Humor and something more poignant in her voice kept him from being
bothered that he had been so obvious.

Without thinking, he reached for her hand.

Far too quickly, he was pulling into her driveway, where he
had to let go of her hand to set the brake and turn off the engine.  In the
resulting complete silence, Elias didn’t move.  Neither did Hannah.

Finally he said, “Can I give your babysitter a lift home?”

“No, Ian is next door with Edna.  Um, Mrs. Stanavitch.  Do
you know her?  She saves my life on a regular basis.  Right now, she’s my puppy
sitter.”

“Name’s not familiar.”  Her first name suggested an older
woman.  “I’ll walk you over.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do.”  There were streetlights on this block and the
neighbor’s porchlight cast a glow, but Hannah hadn’t thought to leave her own
lights on.  No way in hell he was letting her and Ian walk into a dark house
alone.  Something could even be waiting for her on the front porch.

“Then…thank you,” she said quietly.

Still he didn’t reach for his seatbelt release or his door
handle.  “Hannah?”

She turned to him, her face shadowed.  He shouldn’t do this,
wouldn’t have in daylight, but the fall of night gave them some privacy.  Now
he did push the release for his seatbelt and then the one for hers.  When he reached
for her, she came to him with a small sound his brain chose to interpret as
need.

He did have the restraint to start with a gentle kiss
instead of the deep, devouring one he craved.  He tasted her, tugged on her
lower lip, played with her mouth, while he cupped her jaw and stroked her
cheek.  Her skin was incredibly soft, the fine texture almost childlike.

And then she invited him in.  Her tongue touched his shyly
before he broke, groaning.  He slid his hand under her cascade of hair to grip
the back of her head, adjusting the angle until their mouths found a perfect
fit.  His other hand landed somewhere around her waist, supple and more giving
than he was used to with the kind of woman he’d chosen before.  He couldn’t
help flexing his fingers, reveling in Hannah’s very womanly body.  He
desperately wanted to slide that hand upward, feel the weight of her breast—

Instead, he grabbed for his tattered self-control, barely
catching hold.  He took his time ending the kiss, finally groaning as he rested
his forehead against Hannah’s.

“That…wasn’t as patient as I intended,” he murmured.

Somehow he felt her lips curve.  “Good.”

Surprised into a brief laugh, he was able to take his hand
from her waist.  The other hand defied him, his fingers sifting through her
hair – thick, yes, but not coarse, rather like heavy satin.  Even in the dark
he thought of the colors he’d use to paint that hair.  Cadmium orange as a
base, of course, but also gold ochre, raw sienna, a hint of burnt sienna.  The
way the light caught it – that was the most challenging part.  Reluctantly, he
stroked her nape and finally withdrew his hand.

That was when he realized she was gripping his shirt in two
fists.  He liked being held that way.  He’d like her hands spread on his bare
chest even better, but all else aside, this was too soon.  He couldn’t ask.

Her “Oh!” was more of a squeak.  She let him go.  “I’ve
probably wadded your shirt like a dishrag.  I’m so sorry!”

“I’m not.”

He heard her breathing, fast and shallow.  “That was…really
nice.”

Nice
was not his favorite word in this context, but
he’d let it go this time.  “I’d have used a stronger word,” he said, opening
his door and aware she was doing the same.

“Wait here,” he said.

“What—?”  She didn’t finish the question when he jogged up
to her porch.  There was enough light to see that no surprises had been left
for her, not here.

When he returned, he said, “Clear.”

“Thank you.  I hadn’t thought…”

The hitch in her voice had him reaching for her hand again. 
She twined her fingers with his as if it was the most natural thing in the
world to do. They walked that way across the lawn to the neighbor’s house,
Elias conscious of their surroundings.  He could hear traffic, but none near. 
The roar of the surf was a constant to people who lived here, but he was more
aware of it because he couldn’t hear the ocean at his home, a couple miles up
into the wooded coastal range.

In this neighborhood of older homes that lacked two- and
three-car garages, enough vehicles were parked in driveways and on the street,
he had no way of knowing if someone sat in one, watching them.  His muscles
tightened at the possibility.  Shit, he really shouldn’t have kissed her where
anyone could see.  Dinner out could be friendly; that kiss had been more.  The
darkness veiled them, but someone using high-powered binoculars would have seen
the two figures in his Land Rover merge into one.

Hannah gave his hand a squeeze and let him go, mounting the
steps ahead of him.  Within seconds of her pressing the bell, the door opened,
Ian already talking excitedly.  A puppy burst out, yapping and spinning around
their ankles.

“We watched this show about whales.  Mostly about the ones
we’ve got, hunchback—”

Hannah chuckled.  “Humpback.  Which sounds sort of the same,
doesn’t it?”  She looked down.  “Jack-Jack, calm down.  We’re going home.”

Ian kept talking even as Hannah introduced Elias to the
tiny, white-haired lady with a delicately crumpled face, who nodded.

“I’ve seen you painting.”

Surprised, he said, “I don’t remembering seeing you.”

“You concentrate.  I doubt you notice anyone walking on the
beach.”

He didn’t, not unless they created an interesting
composition.  Someone as old as she must be, though, he thought would have
caught his eye.

“Not that I do much beach walking anymore.”  Her sadness was
a whiff, that’s all.  This was a woman, he thought, who had lived a good life
and knew it.  “I walk my daily mile on a firmer surface now.”

Daily mile?  She had to be closing in on eighty, if the
milestone wasn’t already in her rearview mirror.

“Do you still set up your easel near the ocean?”

“Often,” he said.

“I thought so.”  She wished Ian a goodnight, and told
Jack-Jack she would see him in the morning.