8 Sandpiper Way

  “…shopping.” Teri’s voice faded in and out.

  “I didn’t ask what you were doing, I asked where you are. I need to talk to you, pronto.”

  “Seattle,” Teri told her. “Bobby and I are shopping for cribs. We’re driving to a mall.”

  “Oh.” Christie’s heart sank. “I went over to your house when I got off work…I thought you’d be here.”

  “Sorry…disappoint you, but…” Once again Teri’s voice faded out.

  “Are you with James?” Christie asked.

  “Who? I didn’t hear you.”

  “Never mind.” Obviously she was.

  “What’s wrong?” Her sister must have detected the note of panic in her voice.

  “Someone was here.”

  “Where?” Teri shouted back.

  “At the house. By the gate.”

  A short pause followed, and Christie didn’t know if it was due to the bad connection or her sister’s worry.

  “Who?”

  “A reporter, and he wasn’t interested in talking to Bobby.”

  “Then who…” Christie heard some static. “Me?”

  “No, he wanted to talk to James.”

  “Really? What about?”

  “Well, for starters, his name isn’t James Wilbur.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Her head was whirling with what she’d learned. “His name is James Gardner.”

  “That’s…interesting.” Since Teri was in the car with Bobby and James, the conversation was risky, but Christie had to chance it. Teri seemed to realize intuitively that she couldn’t reveal what Christie was about to tell her. Still, there was a limit to how much she could say over the phone, especially with both men in earshot.

  “What else did he tell you?” Teri wanted to know.

  “The reporter thought I was one of the help, so I played along. I let him assume I was the housekeeper and said Bobby and you, plus James, were out of town for the next few days.”

  “Good idea.” Teri’s voice was louder now; wherever they were, cell phone reception had clearly improved.

  “I need to talk to James. It’s important, Teri. His cover is about to be blown.”

  “Cover?”

  “I’ll explain later. Ask Bobby. He knows everything—he’s known all along.”

  “Okay,” Teri said calmly.

  Christie felt as though she might break into tears. “Haven’t you ever wondered about James?”

  Teri’s voice fell. “To be honest, yes.”

  “James and Bobby go way back—back to when they were in their early teens.”

  Her announcement was followed by a short silence. “Bobby and I are staying in a hotel downtown, so you can—”

  “I need to talk to James,” Christie broke in. “It’s vital that he know what’s going on.”

  “James is driving home to Cedar Cove. He should be there by six-thirty.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can you tell me any more?”

  “It’s too complicated.” With a shaking hand, Christie brushed her hair away from her forehead. “I never guessed…Not in a million years would I have guessed.”

  “Christie, you can’t keep me in suspense like this.”

  “I can’t tell you right now, so don’t ask me again. Only…”

  “Only, what?”

  “Tonight when you and Bobby are alone, you might ask him a few questions about James.”

  “You think I haven’t already?”

  “Just ask, and this time tell him the whole world’s about to learn…everything.”

  Christie wanted to kick herself. She’d intended to keep her mouth shut and here she was, practically blurting it all out.

  “What do you mean by ‘everything’?” Teri demanded, and from her tone of voice, Christie knew her sister wasn’t going to let this drop.

  Teri was like a bloodhound tracking a scent. She was after details, and she wanted them now. Sighing heavily, Christie muttered part of what she’d found out. “Apparently James was born in a town called Wilbur—I think it’s on the East Coast. That’s where he got his surname.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “The reporter…This is going to be big, Teri. Very big.”

  “You’re positive this person is who you think it is?” she asked carefully.

  “Yes.” Christie didn’t have a single doubt. “I saw the photos. It’s James, all right. He’s much younger in the pictures, but there’s no mistaking him.”

  Her sister spoke in a whisper. “We’re at the hotel. Give me ten minutes and I’ll call you back.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Sure enough, exactly nine minutes later, Teri phoned. “You want to talk to James, right?” she said without so much as a greeting. “Alone,” she added. “In a private setting where you won’t be disturbed.”

  “Yes…of course.” Christie had to let him know, as soon as possible. “What do you mean, a private setting?” Teri had something in mind.

  “Now listen,” Teri continued, sounding authoritative. “James is driving back to Cedar Cove and I’ve asked him to bring some packages into the house.”

  “No, he can’t do that!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the reporter might still be around, looking for him.” Once the article hit the newsstands, it would only be a matter of time before the Seattle stations were hounding James. Then would come CNN and Fox and the other networks, the Internet…

  “I thought you told that reporter James was out of town.”

  “I did.”

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about.” The reassurance in her voice calmed Christie. “No one can get into the house, so as soon as James arrives he’ll be safe. The gate’s electronically wired and we have the best security system money can buy. No one’s getting in there without a whole lot of trouble, so don’t concern yourself with that.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. Trust me on this. The safest place for you and James is the house.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want you there waiting for him, got it?”

  It was just like Teri to start issuing orders. Except that in this case, Christie didn’t object.

  “When James gets there, you’ll have cooked a nice, romantic dinner, complete with soft music and lit candles.”

  “Why would I do that?” she asked. They were in the middle of an emergency, and her sister was planning a honeymoon retreat.

  “I don’t know what that reporter’s about to expose, but don’t hit James with it first thing. Let him relax and have a nice dinner and then tell him…gently.”

  “That’s what you do with Bobby, isn’t it?”

  Her sister laughed. “I try, but it doesn’t always work.”

  “So you have this all figured out, do you?”

  “Yes, and I was pretty clever about it, if I do say so myself.” Teri did seem excited. Weeks earlier she’d given Christie a key so she could house-sit. She and Bobby had spent a getaway weekend at the ocean, and Christie still had the key. She also had the code to the security alarm.

  “There’s a salmon fillet in the refrigerator and a really nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in the wine cooler. You’re welcome to them both.”

  Christie was overwhelmed. “I doubt I’ll be able to eat a single bite.”

  “You can and you will.” Once more her sister sounded like a general barking orders to the troops. “Bobby’s promised to tell me everything. Now, get going. You haven’t got that long.”

  “Does James know anything?”

  “No…I didn’t tell him you’re going to be at the house.”

  “You need to warn him!”

  “No,” Teri countered. “For the moment, the less he knows, the better.”

  Her sister was probably right.

  Nervous though she was, Christie showered, washed her hair and borrowed Teri’s makeup, which was of a much higher quality than the bargain brands she bought for herse
lf. Then she followed her instructions to the letter. The salmon was just about finished baking and the wine was on ice when the security alarm beeped, indicating that someone had entered the house.

  Christie panicked.

  Teri hadn’t given her one word of advice on what to say to James. Her impulse was to rush forward and blurt out what she’d learned—to protect him. But as Teri said, she needed to lead up to this carefully.

  James must have sensed someone else was in the house, but when he stepped into the kitchen, he stopped cold. “Bobby didn’t say you were here,” he murmured. He didn’t seem pleased to see her.

  Christie remained standing in the middle of the kitchen. She fiddled nervously with the top button of her blouse, then hurriedly removed the apron.

  “Hello.”

  James looked more than a little uncomfortable.

  “Teri told me to prepare the salmon,” she explained. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’m actually a fairly good cook.”

  Still silent, he glanced at the bottle of wine, nestled in a pewter wine cooler.

  When he didn’t answer right away, she decided to take action. Focusing her attention on the salad she was making, she said, “You could open that for us.”

  Instead James walked out of the room and Christie was convinced he wasn’t coming back. To her relief, he returned a moment later—without his heavy winter coat.

  “I know it must be a shock finding me here at the house but let me assure you there’s a perfectly logical reason.” The oven timer buzzed; using two pot holders, she opened the door and took out the salmon. The kitchen was instantly filled with the scent of fresh dill and lemon.

  The wild rice mixture on the stove started to boil over, and they both moved toward it, bumping shoulders. James looked at her; she looked at him. Grinning, he calmly reached over and removed the pan from the burner.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

  His words almost made her cry. “I’m glad I’m here, too,” she said, and to her acute embarrassment she blushed. It was harder than ever not to tell him everything.

  He raised his hand to her face and slowly ran his finger from her temple down the side of her jaw to her chin. It was the most sensual thing any man had ever done to her. The only part of his body that touched her was his fingertip, yet Christie was ready to melt in his arms. She closed her eyes and struggled against her natural inclination to sway toward him. This wasn’t the time. She swallowed and eased away.

  When her eyes opened again, she found him studying her. She moistened her lips. “Are you planning to…kiss me?”

  James nodded.

  “Would you mind…could you do it later?”

  He grinned again. “I think I do mind.” With excruciating slowness, he lowered his mouth to hers. The kisses started out soft and easy, then gained intensity.

  James was the one who took control. After several minutes, he broke the contact and simply held her. His breath was ragged.

  Christie leaned against him. She couldn’t believe she’d had the most sensual encounter of her life standing in her sister’s kitchen—with all her clothes on.

  “James, I…I have something very important to tell you,” she said once she found her voice. Keeping this news inside suddenly became impossible.

  His hands were in her hair and it seemed as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “Please,” she murmured. “Let’s sit down.” Taking James by the hand, she led him to the family room and they sat on the sofa.

  Christie angled her body so that their knees touched. She reached for his hands and held them in her own. For a long moment she contemplated how to begin. Finally she told him in the simplest, most direct manner she could. “I came by here earlier and there was a man at the gate looking for you.”

  “Me?” he asked with a frown.

  “He seemed to think I was the housekeeper and I didn’t set him straight. It turned out to be a good thing.”

  “Why?” His frown deepened.

  “He asked me questions about you.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “About your past…How long you’d worked for Bobby, whether you ever played chess, whether you mentioned where you were from. Stuff like that.”

  James avoided eye contact.

  “I know, James. I know everything now, and it doesn’t matter. None of it.”

  His eyes widened and he tried to jerk his hands free of hers but she wouldn’t let him. Scrambling up on the sofa, she knelt beside him. “I can’t figure out how you and Bobby kept it a secret all these years.”

  Again James tried to get away, and this time she stopped him by sitting on his lap. “James,” she whispered, pressing her hands against the sides of his face. She couldn’t resist, so she kissed him.

  Her kisses seemed to calm him. She could see the pulse in his neck pounding frantically. “Twenty years ago, you were the chess prodigy, not Bobby.”

  He looked away, refusing to meet her gaze. “I had a nervous breakdown.”

  “I know.”

  “I haven’t played chess since I was thirteen.”

  She nodded. By dint of questioning and appearing to know more than she did, she’d persuaded the reporter to fill in what happened next. James and Bobby were rivals. James’s parents drove him, expecting perfection, demanding that he beat Bobby each and every time. Then he’d lost the biggest chess match of his career and ended up in a mental hospital.

  After James was released, he never played again. At least not publicly, according to the reporter, but Christie suspected that was the case in his private life, too. As far as the chess world was concerned, James Gardner had dropped off the face of the earth. He disappeared, and despite numerous and varied efforts to locate him over the next few years, he was never seen or heard from again.

  Apparently he’d been forgotten. From the questions the reporter asked, she knew James’s appearance had changed. He’d shown her a photograph of James at thirteen. The soft features of early adolescence had hardened, become defined. His hair had darkened. He’d shot up ten inches or more. He didn’t look the same and yet she’d recognized him. She hadn’t tried to hide that recognition from the reporter; there was no point. As the man, a stringer for one of the newspaper syndicates, had said, the information was out there, hidden in articles, public records, even photographs, if anyone cared to search for it.

  “Bobby Polgar was my only friend back then,” James murmured.

  “Yes.”

  “He still is.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Christie straightened. “I’m your friend, too.”

  “How did this reporter find me?”

  “I don’t think it was that difficult. He started with the kidnapping. He decided there was more to that story, so he dug up information about you and Bobby. He did the research, asked the questions and one thing led to another.”

  “When will it be published? His article.”

  “Soon.”

  His arms circled her waist and he held her as if he intended never to let her go.

  His disappearance from the chess world, the reporter had said, seemed particularly puzzling because he hadn’t entirely disappeared. He remained on the fringes, since he took Bobby to all his matches. That had begun when both men were in their early twenties. It must have felt risky at first, even staying in the background, but people hadn’t really noticed him.

  “Bobby was the only one who cared,” James told her. “He came to see me in the hospital.”

  Christie had always been aware of Bobby’s kindness and loyalty. When she met him, she’d been envious of Teri, unable to understand why her sister should have all the luck.

  She’d even thought she could steal him away from Teri. Bobby, however, had quickly disabused her of that notion. He was a one-woman man, and he’d made sure Christie knew that.

  “You never pla
yed chess again?” she asked, her head still on his shoulder. “At home? By yourself or with Bobby?”

  “Never. I have the mind for it, but not the heart.” His hand was warm on her back. “Bobby has both. He has the heart of a champion, far more than I ever did.”

  Christie sighed. Like her sister, she barely understood the rudiments of the game and didn’t have the patience or the interest to learn.

  “What do you do with your time?” she asked. He always seemed to be busy and she wondered if he’d tell her. She sensed that he didn’t want anyone intruding on his life.

  “This and that,” he told her. “I read, especially history. But mostly I work on creating computer games. That’s my creative outlet. I…I don’t like being in front of the public.”

  Christie realized that James didn’t need or want much interaction with others. He seemed happy with his own company, his own thoughts and routines.

  “It keeps me busy when I’m not driving for Bobby,” he added.

  Christie could have stayed exactly as she was at that moment and found contentment. Was this love? She couldn’t say; Christie wasn’t sure she knew what it was to be in love. Lust, passion, desire—those feelings were familiar to her. But they never lasted. Every single time, what looked like a promising relationship had failed. The flames of attraction always died out, leaving nothing but bitterness and anger behind.

  In the past she’d been quick to jump into bed, and the fact that she hadn’t slept with James, that they’d only kissed on three occasions, would shock her previous lovers. They’d wonder if there was something wrong with her—or with James. The reality was that for the first time there was something right.

  “You know my secrets, too,” she said. “And mine are a lot more disreputable than yours.” She wished he’d told her about his past earlier. She thought he might have continued to keep it to himself if the reporter hadn’t shown up today. That hurt, but she tried not to dwell on it.