Memories of that night repelled her. She hated feeling as if the word ‘victim’ had been tattooed on her forehead. Forcing the thoughts to the darkest corners of her mind, she put one foot in front of another and marched through the sand.
She tugged at the hem of her linen dress, peripheral vision taking in the flip-flop wearing customers lounging around the weather-beaten deck of her brother’s pride and joy, The Lazy Turtle. Not making eye contact with anyone, she found an empty stool and looked for her brother, Austin.
They’d stopped here on the way from the airport because he’d had to take care of business. The impromptu Jet Ski ride had been her way of passing time while his “one minute to check on something” had turned into an hour.
She folded her hands on the surface of the bar and coached herself to relax. Unwanted images slammed through her brain. Blood roped her skin and striped the tile beneath bare feet. She shook her head again to stop the onslaught and pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose.
She craved distraction...busy work...mindless activity...anonymity. Inactivity brought back too many unwanted memories.
“Did you enjoy your suicide ride through the waves?” Austin asked. “You weren’t exactly taking it easy out there.”
She flinched at the sound of her brother’s voice but covered it up with a forced grin. “Maybe I’m sick of taking it easy.”
“What do you think of my bar?” Austin squeezed her shoulder before sliding onto the stool next to her. White-blond hair fell against his tanned forehead and into slate-blue eyes.
“I like it. Good crowd.” Any more small talk and she would snap the head off all the tropical flowers within reach.
A man with a guitar set up under the shade of the thatched roof. More swimsuit clad customers roamed up from the beach. The smell of hamburgers meshed with the scents of ocean and flowers. Palm trees stirred with the breeze. Moist air licked her skin.
“You probably want to get unpacked, take a shower, and get settled. We’ll head to my condo in a few minutes.” He waved at a customer.
“No worries. It’s not like I’m in a hurry.” She shifted on the stool, unable to get comfortable, and looked beyond the thatched roof to the ocean. Wild energy zapped beneath her skin. Recklessness begged for release beneath the calm façade.
Damn, this had been a mistake. She couldn’t stay here. She needed to go back to Atlanta and fight to get her life back, not sit around healing or whatever other word people used to excuse her leave of absence.
With the tip of her tongue, she absently traced the curve of her teeth, the once perfect arc now misshapen from where a fist had smashed against her jaw. She wondered if anyone would notice the indented smile, right of center.
Austin stretched his arm along the bar behind her back and studied her profile. “Relax, Lauren. It’s okay to do nothing, to not have an agenda for a few months. You’ll be back to your old self in no time.”
Her old self. The grin slipped from her lips. “I’m not sure what you expect from me here, but…”
“You’ve been through a lot, and Grand Cayman is the perfect place to heal. No one expects anything from you.” He shrugged, his nonchalant manner not reaching his eyes. “Let me grab you a drink. Sangria?”
She nodded and once again scanned the tourists lounging and laughing on the deck. Everyone seemed at ease and carefree. She envied them.
“Here you go.” He set a glass of sangria in front of her. “Chill, sis, you look like you’re about to leap from that stool and swim out to sea.”
She blinked at the drink loaded down with cherries and an orange slice. Breath caught in her throat and weighted the words she spoke. “This is a great place, Austin. The Lazy Turtle Bar and Grill…I like it. Mom and Dad would be proud.”
She meant every word, no faking it this time. At least she hoped she meant it…she wanted to mean it. Six weeks spent in a hospital with people hovering around, poking, prodding asking questions, observing, judging, and talking about her instead of to her had changed her in unexpected ways. She’d developed a knack for saying what others expected. She had become an expert liar.
“I like to think that they would’ve been proud. I didn’t exactly follow Dad’s footsteps into the insurance business.” Blue eyes similar to hers studied her face. “I miss them. I’ve missed you.”
All that remained of the Biltmore family now sat here on these stools, just the two of them united by blood but little else these days. They’d lost touch, become Facebook pals instead of siblings. Until he’d picked her up at the airport waving like a fool, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the family connection, the bond that couldn’t be broken by time or distance.
“They’d be proud of you, too, you know,” he said. “Big shot anchor woman.”
“Would have been proud. Now…not so much.” She rested her back against the bar and stretched her legs out in front of her as she faced the sea.
“Self-pity isn’t your style, sis. What happened, happened. It’s not your fault. You’ll bounce back because you always do.”
She couldn’t explain that what she felt was far from self-pity...it was some strange concoction of confusion, fear, anger, and grief. Hope battled hopelessness minute by minute.
“Can we pretend that I’m just another tourist?” she asked.
“But you’re not another tourist. You’re my sister, and I’m not about to let you—”
“I came here to escape all of the well-meaning people who want me talk about my feelings,” she said between clenched teeth.
“You need—”
“A distraction, a diversion, not serious discussions or worried looks. You promised to let me do this…this…recovery…in my own time, remember?” She hated the word recovery. She now had a long list of words she hated. Post-traumatic stress disorder topped the list, followed closely by stalker, time, healing…the list kept growing.
“It’s okay to let people help you.”
“Stop watching me like I’m about to break into a million pieces.” A glance at her too-white legs stretching out from the hem of the dress did little for her ego. All of the exhaustion and frustration she’d battled for months escaped on a sigh. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be bitchy.”
“When was the last time you took a vacation? Let yourself enjoy being here. Relax.”
“I can work for you a few hours a day. Keep myself busy. I was a bartender in college, remember?” Her mind spun into function mode, what to do, what to say, how to say it, keep busy, stay active...don’t think, don’t stop moving.
“You’re here to take a break from busy. For God’s sake, you died and were brought back to life. You’ve had one helluva struggle the past few months. Give yourself a break. One of these days you’re going to have to face what happened to you. You’re safe here.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “Trust that.”
“I know, I know…I need to lighten up, drink sangria and…whatever else it is people do in paradise. Island mode, right? I’m trying. I’ll get there.” A headache rolled from the back of her neck and throbbed behind her eyes. She smiled anyway. “Stop hovering over me. I’m fine. Really.”
“You’re fine, hmm? You say that word a lot...fine.” His grin returned. “I suppose you want me to believe you and drop the subject?”
“You always were quick to pick up on subtle hints.” Her lips trembled from the effort of being sociable.
“Okay, I get it. I’ll back off,” he said. “I’m glad you decided to take me up on my offer to stay with me for awhile. It’ll be good to have you around again.”
“You say that now…give me a few hours to get on your nerves like I did when we were kids.”
“Oh, you’ve already gotten on my nerves, I’ve just matured enough not to let you know it.” His infectious grin got the best of her.
She exhaled all of the apprehension gripping her lungs and breathed in the island air. Relax, breathe, relax, breathe, she silently repeated the words like a m
antra.
“One week from now you won’t even care what time it is. Trust me.” He stood abruptly. “We’ll leave after you finish your drink. Just give me a few more minutes.”
“Do what you have to do.” She poked a cherry with her straw, watched it battle with an ice cube.
Sangria cooled her throat, lightened the fog in her mind, and brought her breathing into a normal rhythm. Sighing, she stared at the waves lapping against the sand no more than twenty feet from where she sat.
“Island mode,” she muttered beneath her breath. Briefly, she considered adding that to her list of hated words and phrases.
A man rising from the sea to the beach snapped her from self-absorption. She edged forward on the stool, back straight, glass gripped between the palms of her hands.
Interest pricked the numbness in her mind.
The word gorgeous failed to describe him. Transfixed, she watched his legs dragging through the pull of the waves. Soggy, orange swim trunks molded to his thighs. Swim fins dangled from the fingers of his left hand. Sand and salt clung to sculpted calves like sugar on cinnamon.
Seawater shook from black hair as he pulled the snorkel mask from his head and tossed it to the sand. With another shake of his head, he grabbed a frayed towel. Unhurried, he moved it across his chest and turned his back toward her. The towel descended over hips hugged with orange fabric before working up his back to rest across his shoulders.
She envied that towel.
Awareness rippled over her skin. A smile, maybe the first authentic one in months, began deep inside her chest, spread outward and upward and found its way to her lips. She wondered if he had a wife, a girlfriend…or a boyfriend for that matter. He looked too good to be unattached, too delicious not to be savored.
Hmm… If watching men like that stroll around half-naked was what island mode meant, she might be able to get behind the concept.
Austin and a woman with wild brown curls bobbing around her face suddenly blocked her vision. She noticed her brother’s hand resting heavily on the woman’s shoulder and picked up the chemistry between them.
“This is Erin, my manager,” Austin said with a boyish grin that reminded her of the early years.
“Just your manager? Looks like more than that to me.” She shook Erin’s hand, her smile automatic and polite, while shifting on the stool to look past her shoulder toward where Merman toweled off.
Austin’s words were lost on her. Her thoughts swirled around the man with the orange swim trunks, the ebony hair and—oh, God—those legs.
* * * *
Noah glanced over his shoulder toward the beach bar. Cold beer and easy conversation sounded like the perfect distraction for an otherwise frustrating afternoon. Snorkeling usually cleared his mind, but not today when a maniac tourist had nearly decapitated him with a Jet Ski.
Restlessness gnawed at him, nibbling at his nervous system to move, to act, to do something...else. Anything else. The fact that some quack had decided to taunt him with his past sure as hell didn’t help his mood. The articles that had been taped to his door this morning had set him off—headlines of a past he tried to forget on a minute-by-minute basis kept showing up in the oddest places lately. His front door, the boat, the mail...it all made him more distrustful than usual.
He raked sandy fingers through his hair and watched the breakers crashing against the reef off shore. Months of writers’ block had finally given way to a flood of words about a stalker’s decent into madness. Every word flowed perfectly onto the page. What should be a good thing felt like a bad thing because he wondered how his inspiration would handle her story fueling his creative juices.
This week sucked, no question. Between the creep harassing him, maniac tourists and guilt over his newfound writing mojo, he couldn’t catch a break.
“Hey, Noah, I’ve been looking all over the island for you.” A shorter man knelt next to him, shaking hair from his face. “Up for a night dive? I booked a private charter, and Gill can’t work it.”
He squinted at the man—a muscle builder gone beach boy—his gaze shifting to the beads braided through a section of brown hair. Those were new. “What’s up with the beads, Larry?”
“Like ’em?”
“Oh, yeah, they’re cute, make you look…um…special.” He laughed before pulling his T-shirt over his head. “No afternoon dive today?”
“It’s Wednesday, remember? We don’t book on Wednesdays, our day to have the boat to ourselves, not that it mattered since you blew me off this morning.”
“I forgot. Sorry.” Again he glanced toward the bar and frowned. “I’ve been distracted.”
“No problem.” Larry followed his gaze. “Austin should be back from the airport with his basket-case sister by now.”
“You’re such a sensitive guy.” He jumped to his feet, dragging the towel with him.
“Oh, c’mon, let’s be real.” Larry continued to look at the bar. “She’s got to be messed up, don’t ya think? I bet she’s scared of her own shadow.”
“Who isn’t a little messed up? You? Me? We’re not exactly people to judge, are we?”
Larry snapped his head around and pushed the sunglasses higher up on his nose. “Nope. Guess we’re not. You comin’ aboard tonight?”
He busied himself with shaking out the towel before shoving it into the snorkel bag. “Why did you quit the business, Lar?”
“You mean the screenwriting business?” Larry kicked his bare toes in the sand. “Are you kidding me? Have you forgotten that I couldn’t get a damn thing produced? Reason number one—no money. What’s up? Still not writing?”
“I’m writing.”
“Well, then, what’s the problem?” Larry stretched his arms behind his back. “If you’re not coming tonight, then I need to find another dive master.”
“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.” He adjusted the bag over his shoulder. “Have a beer with me. I’m buying.”
“You’re going to the bar? To meet Austin’s sister?”
“They serve beer there, remember? And I need one.” He stepped in that direction.
“Why do you want to meet her so soon? You don’t need her drama.”
“She’s Austin’s sister. We’re Austin’s friends. Simple. No drama involved. Let’s go have a beer, be sociable, you know…do the right thing.”
“The right thing, hmm?” Larry propped his hands on his hips. “Austin asked us all to give her time to settle in before bugging her…his words. Remember? Last night on your deck…we had a conversation…any of this coming back to you?”
Oh, he remembered the conversation word for word, but curiosity overpowered willpower. “Like I said, I really need a cold beer. Are you coming?”
“From what Austin says, it sounds like she had a breakdown in Atlanta, refuses to talk about what happened, wouldn’t leave the house at night, couldn’t go anywhere alone.” Larry circled his finger over his ear.
“She traveled here alone.” He couldn’t believe this guy had been his friend for a decade, more like a brother if he wanted to be honest about it. “Why are you being so hard on a woman you haven’t met? You of all people should know what it’s like to have a sister in trouble.”
“Yeah, well, some people can’t let stuff go, know what I mean? Shake it off, get on with life. What’s the big deal? She’s alive. She should be thankful and suck it up.”
“Suck it up? Really? A man she knew and trusted turned out to be the stalker who killed her friend and nearly murdered her in her own home. You think she can just shake that off? Just like that?”
“You sure know a lot of details.” Larry pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and squinted at him. Beads bobbed against his face as he nodded. “Your writer’s block is broken. I get it. You’re doing some research, meeting the subject—”
“It’s not like what you’re thinking.” He gripped the strap of his bag and averted his eyes from Larry’s face.
“I know you too well.” A too-satisfie
d, I-know-all smile spread across Larry’s face. “Let me guess. Changed the names and places—probably even the perspective, right? I’d bet anything you—”
“Austin’s one of my best friends. I’m not going to hurt his sister.” He stepped toward the bar and away from his friend. “Believe me, it’s not like it sounds.”
“Sure it is, but whatever. None of my business.” Larry shrugged and slipped the sunglasses back over his eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”
“Tired of what?” Sick of Larry and his know-it-all attitude, he took a step toward the bar.
“Your martyrdom. You’re doing anything and everything to punish yourself. Instead of embracing your success in LA, you’re down here living like a monk and an island bum. First, you buy the dive boat and start us up in a charter business. Second, you rip apart your house with the excuse of renovations—”
“What’re you doing? Keeping track of my every move?”
“Now you’re writing about Austin’s sister, aren’t you? That’s twisted, man. Screwed up.”
“You have no idea what I’m thinking, so let it go,” he said with as much calm as he could fake.
“Fine. Here’s me letting it go.” Larry stepped backward with an elaborate swing of his arms. “Speaking of Alicia, David Wells called this morning. He wants to throw some business our way.”
“David Wells?” He frowned at the name of his former nemesis from Los Angles. “What’s he calling you for?”
“He wanted to catch up…asked about our dive business…if we do private charters.”
“You told him no, right? The last thing we need is that old crowd coming to the Caymans.”
“No, I didn’t tell him no. He’s coming down here—”
“Damn it, Lar.”
“—in a few weeks to scout movie locations. I emailed him the information on the Angelfish and—”
“Tell me you didn’t.”
“—and he said he’d like to throw some of the studio’s money our way. The last time I checked, we’re in business to make a profit, Noah. Get over it.”