Eclipse Bay

  “In the most interesting way,” he muttered against her throat.

  “Rafe—”

  “Give whatever we’ve got going for us a chance, okay?” He drew his finger down the curve of her neck. “That’s all I’m asking.”

  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Rafe.”

  He cradled her chin in his palms. “Tell me something.”

  She searched his face. “What?”

  “Do you ever stop talking?”

  “Not as long as I have something to say.”

  “Just wondered.” He kissed her again.

  For a few seconds she hesitated and then, with a tiny sigh, she softened.

  Maybe she no longer had anything to say, he thought. A man could always hope.

  Afraid to risk any more conversation, he kept his mouth on hers as he maneuvered her through the kitchen door. When they went past the light switch, he reached out and flipped it to the off position. Heavy shadows descended. The only light now was a dim, welcoming glow at the top of the stairs. He started toward it with Hannah tucked safely against his side.

  His breathing was heavy and ragged by the time he got both of them to the bedroom at the end of the hall. He did not turn on the lamp, but the light from the corridor was sufficient to allow him to see that the room, with its white wicker furniture, white bedspread, and bleached wooden floors, was just as he had imagined it all those years ago: a pristine retreat for an untouchable princess. He felt like the intruder he was.

  Not that that was going to stop him, he thought.

  Exultation raced through him. Nothing could stop him as long as he knew that Hannah wanted him as badly as he wanted her. The passion between them was mutual. He could work with passion. He was a Madison.

  He stopped beside the bed and untied the belt that bound the robe around her waist. She wore a long-sleeved, high-necked, prim white gown underneath it. Womanly armor, he thought. Did she know the challenge it presented?

  She mumbled something against his mouth as he slipped the robe off her shoulders. He did not catch the precise words, but he had no trouble at all understanding the meaning. She was as swept up in the moment as he was.

  Her arms tightened fiercely around his neck when he started to unfasten the tiny little buttons of the flannel nightgown. She smelled so good. He knew that when he threaded his fingers through the triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs she would be moist. He could hardly wait.

  She unbuttoned his shirt and spread her palms across his chest. “I love the feel of you,” she whispered.

  He was already hard, but her touch and the sultry desire in her words made him absolutely rigid. Electricity flashed through his senses.

  He released her long enough to sit down on the edge of the white bed and remove his running shoes. When he looked up he saw that she was watching him with hungry attention, as if every move he made fascinated her.

  He rose and lowered the flannel gown to her waist. It slipped low on her hips but it did not fall all the way to the floor. He caressed the tips of her small breasts. Her nipples were stiff and full. He closed his eyes briefly against the torrent of need that threatened to drown him.

  She undid his belt, and then she lowered his zipper. When her fingers closed lightly around him he stopped breathing for a few seconds. The sensations tearing through him were so intense that he was sure he could live without oxygen for a while.

  She slid her hands beneath the waistband of his trousers and pushed slowly downward. The pants hit the floor at his feet.

  “Rafe.”

  He stepped out of the trousers and quickly sheathed himself in the condom he took from his back pocket. Then he grabbed her around the waist and fell back across the white bedspread with her. She sprawled atop his chest and thighs, the bottom of her gown tangling in his bare legs.

  She rained kisses on his flesh. Her fingers circled his upper arms. He shuddered under the gentle assault. Then he rolled onto her back, leaned over her, and tore the gown off altogether. It vanished into the darkness below the bed.

  He curved his hand around her hip and kissed the gentle swell of her belly. She trembled beneath him and reached for him.

  “No,” he said. “Not yet.”

  He found the tight, hot place between her legs. And she was wet, just as he had anticipated. He inhaled the secret scent until he could no longer think clearly. Then he separated her thighs and kissed the exquisitely soft skin he found there.

  She shivered again. Her nails dug into his shoulder as she tried to pull him up along the length of her. But he was not yet ready to be lured into the climax.

  He drew a fingertip along the tight nub hidden in the silky thatch of hair and felt her quiver in response. She was clawing at him now.

  He bent his head and touched the tip of his tongue to her full, taut clitoris. She tensed.

  “Rafe.” It was a plea and a protest. “Wait. Don’t do that.”

  “Come for me.”

  “I can’t. Not like this. It’s too—Rafe.”

  “Come for me.” He kissed her again, intimately, and simultaneously eased two fingers into her, stretching her gently.

  Her hands twisted in the sheets. “No, wait. I want—”

  “Come for me.”

  “I . . . Oh, no. Oh, yes. Yes!”

  He felt her climax take her. The sensation was so intoxicating he nearly went with her.

  He held himself together until the tremors had begun to subside. Only then did he shift his position to lie on top of her.

  “Open your eyes,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

  Languidly she raised her lashes and smiled at him, a dreamy smile that was somehow smug and all-knowing and filled with invitation.

  He plunged into her body, driving himself to the hilt. She closed around him and took him deeper still, straight down into uncharted depths and unknowable waters.

  “Come for me,” she said into his mouth.

  He gave himself up to the tides of a mysterious sea.

  A long time later he roused reluctantly from the cocoon of warmth that enveloped them, levered himself up on his elbow, and looked down at her.

  “I just want to know one thing,” he said.

  She raised her lashes halfway and yawned. “What?”

  “Are you sleeping with me because you’ve got some kind of kinky thing about finding out what it’s like to do it with the kind of guy your parents would hate?”

  “That would be extremely immature.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hartes do not act out just for the hell of it, nor do we take risks merely for the sake of novelty. We are not immature. We’re the logical, reasonable, rational ones, remember?”

  “Yeah.” He kissed her breast. “So why are you sleeping with me?”

  She studied him with an enigmatic expression. “You had all the answers earlier.”

  “Earlier I was trying to talk you into bed.”

  She punched him lightly on the arm. “We are not amused, Madison.”

  “I’m serious. I know why I’m sleeping with you. I want to know why you’re sleeping with me.”

  She searched his face. “Is it that important to you?”

  Anger stirred deep inside him, dissolving much of the warm afterglow that had enveloped him. “Hell, yes, it’s important. You think I’d be trying to get through a stupid conversation like this if the answer wasn’t important?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” she said. “I’m certainly not doing this because I still have a teenage-type crush on you or because you’re the guy my parents always warned me about.”

  He rolled onto his back, put one hand behind his head, and gazed moodily up at the dark ceiling. “So what’s the reason?”

  She rose partway off the bed and leaned over him in the shadows. When she spoke, her voice was low and steady.

  “I am sleeping with you because, among other things, I am a mature, unattached adult who happens to be physically attracted to you and a
lso because—”

  An eagerness that bordered on desperation swept through him. Get a grip, he thought. “And also because—?”

  He sensed that she was on the verge of saying something crucial. But in the next heartbeat the intense, important thing disappeared beneath a breezy smile.

  “And because my dog likes you, and I trust Winston’s judgment implicitly,” she said demurely.

  So what the hell had he expected her to say? He wondered. “Sonofabitch.”

  “Yes, but we do not refer to him in those terms in his presence.”

  “Huh.”

  “In my experience, Winston is never wrong in these matters.”

  He thought about that for a while. “Winston didn’t like the ex-fiancé, I take it?”

  “Winston was civil, but he never warmed up to Doug.” Hannah paused. “There was an unfortunate incident one evening toward the end of the relationship that more or less summed up his opinion.”

  “What sort of incident?”

  She cleared her throat. “Winston mistook Doug’s leg for a fire hydrant.”

  “Winston and I are pals,” Rafe said. “I don’t think he’d make the same mistake with me.”

  “He seems to like you very much.”

  “Guess that’ll have to do. For now.”

  She tilted her head slightly. “I guess so. For now.”

  He lay there unmoving, intensely conscious of the warmth of her hip where it rested against his thigh and the elegantly sensual curve of her shoulder. He could not shake the feeling of destiny that rippled through him. It was the same sensation that had come over him the day he opened the letter from Isabel’s lawyer.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  Don’t let the feeling run away with you, he warned himself. Stay on top of it. Stay in control. Don’t think about the future. Stay with the present.

  But the future was so important now.

  He inhaled slowly, centering himself. “I was thinking about the subject that we were discussing before we were so delightfully interrupted.”

  “I believe you were holding forth on a theory that whoever tried to murder Winston might have been attempting to express his displeasure over our relationship.”

  “You don’t have to say it in that tone of voice. It’s a good theory. But I never got a chance to explain the finer points.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that whoever tried to off Winston did so because he was pissed about the fact that you and I are sleeping together. What I was going to suggest was that he or she might be worried about something else altogether.”

  “Such as?”

  “Think about it,” he said patiently. “Ever since we arrived here in Eclipse Bay, there has been talk. It hasn’t all been focused on the speculation that one of us is trying to screw the other out of Dreamscape.”

  She winced. “What a delicate way to put it.”

  He ignored her. “There’s also been gossip about what happened eight years ago.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake. You actually think that some people still care whether or not we had sex on the beach that night?”

  “No. The conversations have circled around the subject of Kaitlin Sadler’s death. You heard the Willis brothers. Others are talking, too. I overheard a couple of folks in the vegetable aisle at Fulton’s chatting about how no one was really sure what happened that night. One of them suggested that Yates might have closed the case a little too quickly, for lack of suspects.”

  Hannah’s lips parted as understanding struck. “Kaitlin died a long time ago. Who would care if there was fresh talk going around about an old tragedy?”

  “Someone who thinks that I really did murder Kaitlin might care. A lot.”

  She froze. “Dell Sadler. But why would he try to harm my dog?”

  “As far as Dell is concerned, you covered for me that night. You’re involved.”

  “You think he would have tried to harm Winston as a way of taking some revenge?”

  “I think,” Rafe said deliberately, “that we’d better talk to him.”

  chapter 17

  The faded sign over the gate read SADLER’S AUTO RE- BUILD. Beneath it, in slightly smaller letters, were the words 24-HOUR TOWING. And below that was the phrase SPECIALIZING IN INSURANCE WORK. But the chain-link fence that enclosed the metal carcasses of ruined automobiles and the big dog with the massive head sprawled in front of the trailer sent a slightly different message. This was a junkyard.

  Hannah took one look at the huge dog and decided to leave Winston in the car. “Whatever you do, don’t let him out,” she said as Rafe opened the door on his side.

  Rafe eyed the animal lying in the shade of the tattered awning that shielded the trailer door. “Have a little faith. We’re talking brains versus brawn here. My money’s on Winston.”

  “We are not going to put that to the test.” Hannah looked at Winston through the two-inch crack she had left between the window and the top of the car door frame. “Don’t do anything to provoke that beast, understand?”

  Winston whined softly. His rear legs were planted on the seat she had just vacated, his front paws braced against the door. Ears alert, nose quivering, he stared through the window, his whole attention concentrated on the other dog.

  Hannah shuddered at the thought of what might happen if Winston got out of the car. She checked the passenger door to make certain that it was firmly shut and then sent Rafe a warning glance over the low roof of the Porsche.

  “Be sure you close that door firmly.”

  “You worry too much,” Rafe said. He gave the Porsche door a rather casual push. “Winston’s smart. He can handle that guy.”

  She watched the big dog heave his bulk to his feet. “I’m sure I’m a lot smarter than that monster, too. But I wouldn’t want to get into a fight with him.”

  “Okay, okay. Winston stays in the car.” Rafe walked to the gate and leaned on a grimy button.

  A few seconds later the door of the trailer opened. Dell Sadler appeared, silhouetted in the gloom. He gazed at Rafe and Hannah, his face shadowed by the brim of a greasy billed cap. After a while he apparently came to a decision. He started toward the gate. The dog paced stiffly after him, moving with the painfully awkward stride of an animal who was either very old or had been badly injured.

  Dell crossed the yard, weaving his way between piles of tires, crumpled fenders, and assorted mutilated auto parts. When he reached the gate he made no move to open it. He stared balefully at Rafe through the chain links. The dog came to a halt beside him and stared too. Dell did not look down, but he put his hand on the creature’s head in a gesture that was at once calming and absently affectionate. The bond between man and beast was evident.

  “It’s okay, Happy,” Dell said.

  Quite suddenly Hannah found it difficult to believe that this man had tried to murder Winston last night.

  “What d’ya want?” Dell asked gruffly.

  “We need to talk to you, Dell.”

  “What about?”

  “Kaitlin.”

  Dell’s shoulders stiffened visibly. He hesitated for a long time. Then he reached for the latch. “You better come inside.”

  The gate swung open. Dell led the way through the piles of dead automobiles.

  The tidy interior of the trailer was a surprise. Hannah glanced surreptitiously around as she sat down on the worn vinyl-covered couch. There was a good reading lamp on the built-in end table. A pile of magazines bearing recent dates was stacked beside it. A new mystery novel by a familiar author lay on the miniature coffee table.

  Dell hovered in the little kitchen. He appeared nervous, uneasy, as if he was not sure how to handle guests. “You want something to drink? I got some soda and beer.”

  “Soda’s fine,” Rafe said. “Whatever’s handy.”

  “Soda sounds great,” Hannah said gently.

  “Sure.” Dell opened the refrigerator and hauled out two cans. He carri
ed them into the living room portion of the trailer and set them on the table in front of Rafe and Hannah.

  Hannah glanced through the screen door of the trailer, studying the dog sprawled outside. “What happened to your dog?”

  “Happy got run over by some drunk bastard on the highway while we was out on a tow job one night. Messed up his rear legs pretty bad. Vet told me I oughta put him down, but I just couldn’t do that. Cost me a fortune, but what was I gonna do? Me and Happy are partners, y’know?”

  “I know,” Hannah said. Definitely not a dog killer, she thought. But if Dell Sadler wasn’t the one who had put Winston out on the rocks in Dead Hand Cove, who had? “Someone tried to kill my dog last night.”

  “Why would anyone wanna kill a dog?”

  “We think it may have been meant as a warning of some kind,” she said quietly.

  “Shit. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You think maybe I tried to hurt your dog on accounta what happened to Kaitlin?”

  “It crossed our minds,” Rafe admitted. “You’re the only one I can think of who might have wanted to avenge Kaitlin’s death.”

  “Shit,” Dell said again. He sank down onto a threadbare chair and stared at the logo on the can in his hand. “I wouldn’t hurt no dog. That little pooch of yours didn’t have anything to do with what happened to my sister.”

  “You’re right.” Rafe leaned forward, legs spread. He held the can of soda loosely in his fingers between his knees. Serious but nonthreatening. Man to man. “I’ll come to the point, Dell. I know you think I killed Kaitlin. I didn’t. That’s the God’s honest truth. You’ll believe what you want to believe, but in the meantime, I really need to know why you’re so sure I’m guilty.”

  Dell turned the can between his hands. Eventually he looked up. “I always figured it was you because you were the last one with her that night. Everyone said you were pissed that she was playing around.”

  Hannah stirred. “But why were you always so sure that it was murder in the first place? Why couldn’t it have been an accident?”

  “Because they found her in Hidden Cove. Said she must have been up on the path in the middle of the night. Doesn’t make sense. Why would she go out there?”