“Including you?”
“I like what I do,” Abe said.
“You’re fortunate. Not everyone is that lucky.”
He glanced at her, his eyes unreadable behind the lenses of his dark glasses. “Don’t you like your interior design work?”
She thought about it. “I used to like it—I loved it, actually. I got a lot of pleasure out of creating a living space that came together the way I had envisioned.”
“But not anymore?”
“I’ve just been a little . . . distracted lately.”
Abe nodded. “How long did you and your mother live here on the island?”
“Nearly three years. We moved here after my father left us. Mom had some notion that small towns were good places to raise kids. Safe.”
“Which only goes to show that bad people can turn up anywhere.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Here we go,” Abe said. “The Cove View B-and-B.” He turned in to the parking lot. “This must be the place where Jack and Ms. Chase are staying.”
The low-grade tension that had been coiling around Daphne ever since she and Abe had left Seattle that morning tightened like a vise. She finally realized what the problem was. For reasons she could not explain she was suddenly, unaccountably anxious about meeting Madeline again. It made no sense, but there it was.
They were forever bonded by the events of a dark night, but their lives had gone in very different directions. She was a modestly successful interior designer. Madeline had just inherited a successful hotel chain. They were not the same two people they had been when they had forged a friendship. So many things had changed for both of them.
Abe pulled into a parking slot and shut down the engine. He looked at her.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “My boss and I are good at what we do.”
“That’s not it.” She unclipped her seat belt. “Well, maybe that’s part of it. I’m just thinking that under normal circumstances Madeline and I would never have met again. And now we’re getting together because of something really bad that happened in the past. It’s . . . awkward. We might not even recognize each other.”
“Yeah?”
“Eighteen years is a long time.” She floundered. “My hair is different now.” Okay, that sounded weak.
He eyed her hair. “I like your hair.”
She was suddenly acutely conscious of her short, honey-brown hair. In the months following Brandon’s death she had made a lot of changes in her life in an attempt to sever her ties with the past. In addition to selling the home she and Brandon had lived in and buying a new condo, she had cut her hair. The stylist had assured her that the look was sassy and arty, but she had a few doubts.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
“Want my professional detective advice?”
She smiled faintly. “Sure.”
“Try not to overthink this reunion thing.”
Abe cracked open his door and got out. He started around to the passenger side, but she jumped out before he could get to her door. He was a security agent, not a chauffeur or a boyfriend, she thought. Opening car doors for her was not in his job description.
The snapping breeze off the water whipped at the hem of her trench coat. There was a storm moving in. It was midmorning but the sky was darkening quickly. In the old days she and Madeline had loved the energy of an approaching storm, but today it felt ominous.
Abe took her rolling suitcase and his backpack out of the trunk of the car. She seized the handle of her suitcase. He shrugged but did not contest the matter.
Together they walked toward the front door of the B&B.
“I never even sent Maddie a note of condolence when her grandmother died,” Daphne said.
She’d been so wrapped up in her own emotions this past year that she hadn’t even bothered to do the socially correct thing for an old acquaintance.
“You’re doing it again,” Abe said.
“Overthinking the situation?”
“Yeah.”
He opened the door for her.
She told herself that sort of door opening was okay—just good manners.
Stifling a small sigh, she rolled her suitcase through the entrance. Abe was right about one thing—she was definitely doing too much thinking. A disinterested observer might say she was probably obsessing on the small stuff so that she didn’t have to contemplate other, much larger things—things like the possibility that two people she had once known well might have been murdered.
She took in the cozy lobby of the Cove View B&B with a designer’s eye. The hardwood floors, open-beam ceiling, and cheerfully blazing fireplace were complemented by comfortably weathered furniture and a lot of warm, earthy colors. The fragrance of warm pastries and hot coffee drifted through the French doors that separated the lobby area from the small breakfast room and tearoom.
It was nearly eleven o’clock and the little restaurant was empty except for two people drinking coffee at one of the tables near a window. Even sitting down the man looked big compared to the woman who sat across from him. She was petite and there was a lot of tension in the stiff line of her shoulders. Her companion looked calm and relaxed, but Daphne knew intuitively that the casual air was deceptive because he was watching the doorway the way a cop or a soldier might watch it.
Abe nodded once to the man at the table and then went toward the front desk.
So that was Jack Rayner, Daphne thought. That meant the tense woman sitting with him was Madeline.
My secret sister.
Jack put down his coffee and got to his feet. There was a small clatter of china as his companion set her cup on a delicate saucer, jumped to her feet, and turned toward the door. For the first time Daphne got a look at the woman’s face.
And just like that, the years fell away. Time had wrought changes, but there was something about Madeline’s eyes. She knew that Madeline recognized her in that same instant.
“Daphne.”
Madeline started across the room, walking quickly at first, and then she was running.
Daphne dropped the suitcase and rushed to meet her. “Maddie. Oh, my gosh, Maddie. I can’t believe it.”
They hugged fiercely, breathless with the wonder of the reunion. Joyous.
Some things never changed, Daphne thought. She would know the sister of her heart anywhere, anytime.
Madeline took a step back and smiled. “Love what you’ve done with your hair.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
He had not handled the scene in the Crab Shack well. He had come close to losing control, just like in the old days. He absolutely had to be more careful. There was too much at stake.
Xavier made his way down the cliff path to the beach. He needed to think. He needed breathing room, a little time to calm the rage that burned inside him. The storm was moving in fast. The waves slashed at the sand and rocks. The gusty winds howled. The energy sparking in the atmosphere resonated with something inside him.
He reached the foot of the steep path, shoved his fists into the pockets of his jacket, and started walking toward the far end of the beach. He was on fire with his fury, as charged as the storm. He wanted to scream his defiance of his fate into the teeth of the oncoming gale, but he did not dare take the risk. The noise of the fierce gusts and crashing waves would probably muffle the sound, but beach winds were tricky. There was a chance they would carry his roar of fury up the cliffs—all the way to the dark house at the top. The last thing he wanted was to have people come searching for him. He needed to be alone.
He walked faster, trying to burn off some of the anger.
It was Rayner’s fault that he had come close to losing it last night. The humiliating fall in the restaurant had not been an accident. Rayner had done something swift and subtle with his foot. Martial arts, maybe. The bastard’s expression when he??
?d extended his hand in that phony offer of assistance had said it all. Rayner hadn’t mocked him—mockery was something Xavier understood intuitively because he practiced it often. But there had been no humiliating amusement in the bastard’s cold, dark eyes—just a chilling promise.
In that shattering moment he had understood that Rayner knew him for what he was. Rayner could not be charmed or bullied or frightened off. That made him the most dangerous piece on the playing board.
Xavier walked faster. He had learned a lot at the Institute, where they had filled him with drugs and subjected him to their stupid therapies. It had taken him a while to realize the truth: The fools actually believed—or maybe simply hoped—that they could fix him. They yearned to make him look normal because it validated everything they wanted to believe about themselves.
Yes, Mrs. Webster, of course we can teach little Xavier impulse control.
The problem, Mrs. Webster, is that Xavier is so much smarter than the people around him. He does not understand or empathize with normal people, so he becomes impatient with them. That, in turn, leads to socially unacceptable outbursts.
I’m sure we can help your son, Mrs. Webster. With our cutting-edge therapies we can provide him with the social skills and medications that will enable him to gain emotional balance and self-control.
It hadn’t been easy at first, especially when he was a kid, but once he had finally realized that the only way to regain his freedom was to adopt the mask of normalcy, he had buckled down and studied hard. He had become a brilliant, polished actor who gave an award-worthy performance every time he went onstage.
Oh, yeah, he had learned a lot at the Institute.
Acting was stressful, of course. There were times when he simply had to relax, let down his guard, and allow his true nature to emerge for a while. He’d discovered a hobby that worked much better than the meds. Once or twice a year he went on vacation to someplace in the world where lovely young women were bought and sold like cheap jewelry. He purchased one and indulged in the pure luxury of a physical and emotional catharsis achieved through sex and violence. There was nothing else like it to make him feel normal again.
The fires always explained the deaths while simultaneously destroying all the evidence. Fire was so wonderfully cleansing.
The therapeutic vacations calmed him and allowed him to return to the main stage.
But lately the vacations had not proven as therapeutic as they once had. He found himself getting restless more frequently. It was increasingly stressful to put on the mask. The truly worrisome thing was that he was pretty sure his family was no longer buying his performance.
It had taken a while but he had finally begun to suspect that Travis didn’t really trust him to handle the campaign’s media outreach. No, Travis wanted to keep an eye on him.
He sensed that he was making the whole damn family nervous. They were all on high alert and probably plotting against him because this was supposed to be Travis’s moment. Travis, after all, was the normal one, the one who was now supposed to become the heir to the Egan Webster throne. But Travis was weak. Soft.
Do you really think I’m going to stand by and let you steal my destiny, you little shit? I’m the golden boy, not you.
In some ways it was very amusing to see them all so scared, but it made for a riskier scenario. He had to be very careful.
It was raining now. Xavier broke into a run. And as he ran into the storm he asked himself a question.
Why would a hotel consultant be an expert in martial arts?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I can’t believe that we’re finally getting together again because of what happened here all those years ago,” Madeline said.
“It’s ridiculous,” Daphne said. “But the adults involved meant well. They were trying to protect us. Mom was terrified after she talked to your grandmother that night. She couldn’t run far enough or fast enough. We actually ended up in Florida for several years, if you can believe it. Mom still lives there.”
“I believe it,” Madeline said. “I saw her face the day the two of you packed up your car and drove away. She was scared to death and she was determined to get you as far away from Cooper Island as possible.”
“And your grandmother was just as determined to keep you safe.”
“I know.”
They were standing in the middle of Tom’s cottage. There were two empty suitcases open on the bed. The plan was simple. Supposedly the four of them were on-site doing initial walk-throughs and evaluations of the property in an attempt to decide if renovations were worthwhile.
The reality was that Jack had assigned them to search for anything of a personal nature that might provide some explanation of Tom’s actions in recent days and months.
Jack and Abe were exploring the maintenance building. Madeline knew that Jack would not ask her or Daphne to go inside the structure unless it was absolutely necessary.
Daphne surveyed the drab bedroom. “Judging by the condition of this cottage, I’d guess that Tom didn’t change much over the years. Looks like his borderline hoarding tendencies took over.”
“Grandma always said that Tom took the concept of recycling to the extreme.” Madeline picked up a stack of old vinyl records. “But he was always clean.”
Daphne opened the closet and groaned at what she saw. “Jack seems fairly certain that Tom was the one who opened up the wall to get at the briefcase.”
“Yes. But I can’t think of any reason why he would do that. I mean, why now?”
“Whatever his reasons, they helped bring you and me back together. I’m glad about that, Maddie.”
Madeline put down the records. “I never got a chance to thank you for what you did that night. I was so traumatized I think I sort of zoned out for a while. By the time I was able to process things, you and your mom were gone.”
Daphne’s expression softened. “All I did was run for help. You would have done the same if the situation had been reversed.”
Madeline felt the tears start to gather. “You saved me. And this is the first time I’ve been able to thank you. I can’t believe it.”
“Consider me thanked.” Daphne blinked several times and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “Damn, Maddie, I’ve missed you. I didn’t even know it until now.”
“I missed you, too.” Madeline managed a shaky smile. “We should probably stop crying and practice being girl detectives.”
“Probably.”
“You take that side of the room.” Madeline opened a drawer. “I’ll take this side.”
Daphne smiled a little. “Okay.”
Madeline shot her a quick, searching look. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just the way you take charge and start issuing orders. You were that way as a kid, too. Bossy. Born to be an executive, I guess.”
Madeline riffled through a small mountain of faded photographs. “You may be astonished to know that not everyone considers it an endearing character trait.”
“Is that so?” Daphne pulled a box down from the closet shelf. “Who doesn’t admire it?”
“I’ve got a string of ex-boyfriends who will tell you that they found my management style irritating.”
“Is that so? How long is that string of exes?”
“Well, it’s not short.” Madeline closed the drawer and opened another one.
“But you don’t take pride in it?”
“Nope.” Madeline examined a pile of assorted flashlights. “Sadly, I can’t take credit for being a femme fatale. I do have secret powers, though. Turns out being the heir to a profitable chain of hotels is viewed as a very desirable asset in a wife.”
“A-ha. I can see the problem.”
“The last bastard I dated wanted me to fund a study to test his theories of couples therapy, one of which apparently involved the therapist sleeping with
the client’s wife, who was also a client. Let’s just say that I discovered that Dr. Fleming was a devoted practitioner of his own theories.”
Daphne looked up quickly. “You’re joking.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“How did you find out Fleming was sleeping with his clients?”
“Had a background check run on him. Standard procedure for me. I’ve been doing it since I started dating. Grandma insisted.”
“Huh. Not a bad idea, actually.” Daphne’s jaw tightened. “These days a woman can’t be too careful.”
“That’s what Grandma always said.”
“So who exactly do you hire to run that sort of check?”
Madeline raised her brows. “Well, in my case I’ve always had access to the services of an in-house security company.”
Daphne’s eyes widened. “You used Rayner Risk Management?”
“Used is the operative word. I got my report, but the investigator who provided it said he wouldn’t do any more for me. He said I’d have to go to another agency.”
“Jack Rayner said that? Those were his words?”
“More or less. I got the message.”
“Why did he refuse . . . Oh, wait.” Daphne got a knowing look. “I get it.”
“You do?”
“He probably views running background checks on your dates as a conflict of interest.”
Madeline dropped the old-fashioned camera she had just picked up. “That is exactly what he went to great lengths to explain to me. How in the world did you figure that out? Are you psychic?”
“No, but I’m also not an idiot, Maddie. There’s something about the way he looks at you. It’s clear that he wants you. What’s more, I think you’re interested in him. There’s a kind of heat in the atmosphere between the two of you.”
Madeline groaned. “Is it that obvious?”
“It is to a sister.”
“Who hasn’t seen me in eighteen years and therefore hasn’t witnessed the string of disasters that I fondly refer to as romantic relationships. Here’s the bottom line—even if I didn’t have to worry that every guy I meet might be after Sanctuary Creek Inns, I have to admit I’ve got some serious intimacy issues. Inevitably, they get in the way.”