Edge of Sight

  Sharon’s shock of white waves was a distinctive look, so this time, hope took a stronghold in Devyn’s chest. “She’s coming back?”

  “Thursday,” he said. “She told me herself.”

  Two days and she’d be here? She almost kissed him. “Did she say where she was going?”

  He shrugged, but something about the gesture indicated he knew more than he was telling. “Are you family?” he asked.

  This time, she was the one to hold back. “Would you tell me where she’s gone if I were?”

  His blush deepened. “I don’t know where she took off to, miss, but she is coming back. Are you staying here, too?”

  “I can check in this afternoon.” She’d chosen a smaller inn, but the marble and wood feel of the Europa appealed after all the days and nights in less luxurious accommodations. She didn’t need much more encouragement. “Will you call me when she shows up for her bags?”

  “Of course. I’m Patrick.”

  “Thank you, Patrick.” She automatically reached for her bag to tip him, but he gave a sharp wave off.

  “No, not necessary, miss. I’m happy to help you find your friend, as she was real pleasant to me.”

  “Did she seem okay, then?” It would be an enormous relief to know Sharon was fine, off on another adventure or vacation or microbiology conference, but safe. The chilling memory of what had happened in Sharon’s house hadn’t disappeared, not during the days she spent in North Carolina trying to find out where she was, and not since she arrived in Great Britain to follow her trail.

  “She was more than okay,” he assured her. “A lovely lady, right down to the bone.”

  “Can you turn her bags over to me?”

  “I’m afraid I’d lose my job in a heartbeat if I did. But she’ll be back. So be patient and look around. There’s plenty to do in Belfast while you wait.”

  “I’ve seen every inch of this city, I think,” she admitted on a sigh.

  “Go up the coast then, lass. I can arrange a car for you, if you like, and you can see our sights. The Giant’s Causeway is quite famous, and the Rope Bridge at Carrick-a-rede.”

  His thick lilt slurred the words, but not the sentiment. She’d love to get out of Belfast and see the coast, but since she’d arrived in Northern Ireland, her entire focus had been on finding Sharon.

  Now it seemed she might have done that, giving her two days to kill. “I may do that, but I’ll get my own car, thank you.”

  “Be careful if you get a private driver. They’ll rip your pocketbook round here.”

  “I think I’ll rent a car,” she said, making the decision right then. Freedom in a car, up the coast, knowing she’d found Sharon—it all suddenly appealed to her. “I’ll be back this afternoon. Will you be here?”

  “Until six tonight,” he said. “Then again tomorrow. After that I’m on the graveyard, so you’ll only see me if you’re an insomniac.”

  “Patrick!” Another concierge called from the desk with a dark look and a gesture to the line. “We need you, man.”

  “Go.” Devyn gave him a friendly nudge. “And thank you.”

  Feeling lighter than she had for days, Devyn turned to survey the hotel she’d just impulsively decided to move into, heading to the front desk to make a reservation and hold it with cash. It had been pretty easy to do that at the B&Bs. Most, but not all, had taken her cash as long as she showed a passport. Still, she wondered, since this was a swankier, more international place.

  Not at all the hotel she’d have imagined Sharon would pick.

  But a sweet-faced young girl helped her, promised her a room without taking a credit card to hold it, and then iced the cake by nodding and clicking a keyboard when Devyn asked if she could check on the status of another reservation.

  “Yes,” she said, eyeing her screen. “Dr. Greenberg is due back on September 14, holding a reservation until the sixteenth.”

  Life was suddenly all sunshine and roses after weeks of doubt and dead ends. “Thank you so much,” Devyn said, hoisting her handbag over her shoulder, clicking off her mental plans. She’d go back to the Windermere, gather up her bags, get a rental car, get some air and scenery and relaxation, then come back and wait for Sharon.

  She grabbed an Antrim Coast brochure from the pockets of a tourist information rack and opened it, instantly enchanted by the glossy photos of cliffsides and classic, rolling emerald hills. All these weeks in one of the most beautiful countries on—

  She smacked right into the back of a man. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She backed away, feeling a heated flush rise along with a bump where her ankle had slammed the corner of his luggage.

  “Excuse me,” he apologized as he turned and quickly rolled the bag away.

  “Not at all,” she assured him, holding the brochure as evidence of her clumsiness. “I wasn’t… looking.” And she should have been. Because he made the Irish coastline pale by comparison.

  “Not very smart of me.” His voice was melodic, warm. And so American. “To stop in the middle of the lobby,” he added in explanation, probably because she was staring, her jaw somewhere in the vicinity of her chest.

  “No, no, my fault.” She took a step back, a natural move from anything that… hot. “I had my face in a tourist brochure, I’m afraid, and just… pow. Right into you.”

  He melted her with a smile that lit eyes the color of ripe black olives, revealing straight white teeth that stood out from a sexy shadow of whiskers. “You’re from the States. Where?”

  “Boston.” The truth was out before she could think, but then her brain had flatlined the minute he’d turned around. “You?”

  “New York.” He winked at her. “We’re practically neighbors.”

  “Imagine that.” Imagine what? Kissing him? ’Cause that’s where her brain had just gone. “Well, sorry, again…”

  “Are you staying here?” He said it with a little hint of hope, just enough to pull her right back in.

  “I am. But I haven’t checked in yet.”

  “You’re off to the Antrim Coast?”

  She drew back, reassessing him. How did he know that?

  “Don’t worry. Just a lucky guess.” He tapped a long, strong finger on the brochure, the words of her destination in giant red letters. “Heard it’s pretty up there.”

  “Looks like it’s…” She fluttered the brochure. “Pretty.”

  He smiled again, a tease in his eyes that made her stomach flutter. Then he reached out his hand. “I’m Marc Rossi.”

  She took it. Warm, strong, dry, big. “Devyn… Smith.” She remembered to use the fake name, so her brain hadn’t completely imploded with a hormonal burst. Someone from New York might easily have seen a story on the murder of Joshua Sterling. “It’s nice to meet you, Marc.”

  One more flash of a smile, a hint of not-quite-dimples embedded in chiseled cheeks, warmth in his remarkable eyes. “You’re not going to invite me along on your day trip, are you?”

  She withdrew her hand slowly. “No. But I’ll take a picture for you.”

  “I’ll look for you this evening, then. In the bar, right over there?”

  Was he asking her out? “I have no idea what time I’ll be back. Maybe. We’ll see.” She gave him one last smile, stole one last look at his face and broad shoulders. “Sorry for walking right into you like that.”

  “I’m not.” The flirtatious tone gave her an unexpected jolt, making her laugh softly.

  “You’re good at that,” she volleyed back. “But still not getting the invitation.”

  “Then I’ll work harder next time.” Flirtatious rolled right into seductive, and the jolt she felt was farther south than anything she could remember for a while.

  “Bye.” She turned away and headed to the door, her mission and objective momentarily washed from her mind.

  Outside, the sun threatened to break through a gray sky, underscoring the sense that she’d just breathed clean, sweet air and wanted more. More warmth. More flirting. More… of a man like t
hat.

  After the last few years, especially the last few months, of ice and misery and daily disappointments from the man she’d married, that little shot of flirting with a stranger was like downing a glass of Irish whiskey.

  And it left her just as… warm.

  She hesitated at the curb, looking for one of the London-type cabs she’d been using to get around Belfast, already used to the low-rise, open-air feel of the city, although the Europa and the few modern buildings in the little square were taller than most. But she was familiar enough with the main streets and some of the neighborhoods that renting a car and taking a trip seemed like a brilliant and beautiful plan.

  Speaking of brilliant and beautiful… she glanced behind her through the glass doors to the lobby, somehow not surprised to see the man she’d just met watching her from the front desk. Their gazes met and he zapped her with a smile again.

  “Cabbie, miss?”

  She was about to say yes, but then shook her head. The B&B wasn’t that far, and for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like hiding in the back of a cab, cornered and considering her options. She’d found Sharon, sort of, she had time and a place to go… and maybe had a semi-sort-of rendezvous that night with what was quite possibly the best-looking man she’d seen in a long time.

  Was it too soon to talk to a man, too close to Josh’s death to think about kissing someone else? After four years of marriage to one of the coldest cheaters in the world, no, it wasn’t too soon to at least think about having a drink with… Marc Rossi. Beautiful name, too.

  He was probably in town on business, she decided as she headed around the building toward Great Victoria Street. Lonely, looking for company… married? Undoubtedly a charmer like that had a wife and three kids back in New York. He didn’t look young, mid-to-late thirties, with a sexy kind of fierceness under that charm, as if he could slam you up against a wall and pin you there… right before he kissed the living hell out of you.

  She almost stumbled on the uneven sidewalk. Was that why she’d turned him down so quickly? Because what was wrong with a little distraction—assuming he wasn’t married and really was just a friendly, charming guy from New York looking for company on his trip to Belfast?

  Maybe she’d have that drink with him. It couldn’t hurt, and it might feel… really good.

  She had paused at an intersection, reorienting herself to the left-side drivers, when a dark sedan slowed down, inching closer to where she stood. Out of habit and for safety, she stepped back, until the window rolled down and Marc Rossi smiled at her.

  Delivering the same little bolt of lightning through her blood.

  “It’s a long walk up the coast, Ms. Smith.”

  She smiled, her hair lifted by a cool breeze that did nothing to reduce the heat level of his gaze. “I’m on my way to rent a car.”

  “Now that’s just a waste of time, money, and gas. I’ve already got one, and I can’t check in until later this afternoon, so I’m going sightseeing. My offer still stands.”

  She hesitated, but not long. The thoughts of the last few minutes still echoed in her head. Why shouldn’t she have just one afternoon of enjoyment on this mission?

  Still… she wasn’t sure. She took a step closer. His right hand rested on the window, but that wasn’t the one that mattered. The left was on the wheel, and she took a surreptitious dip to see it.

  “Looking for a ring?”

  So much for surreptitious. “Actually, yes, I am. I’m suspicious that way.”

  “Suspicious is smart.” He held up an empty hand. “Truth in advertising. Divorced and traveling alone, wildly attracted to honey hair and blue eyes, and on my way to kill a day sightseeing. Would you care to come along?”

  She laughed, surprised at the dip her stomach took. This wasn’t the reason she’d traveled across the ocean and traipsed all over Northern Ireland. This wasn’t in keeping with her plan to lie low, talking to no one unless that person might know where Sharon was. This wasn’t…

  “If it’s that tough a decision for you, Devyn, I’ll back off.” There was nothing but sincerity in his tone, no more flirting, no more seduction. Just consideration and kindness.

  And, God knew, she could use some of that, too.

  “That’s not necessary,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and smiling back. “I’d love to go sightseeing with you.”

  Giving her one more knee-weakening grin, he hopped out to walk her around to the opposite side of the car, moving with an easy grace. As he stepped in front of her to open the door, she stole a look at his back, lingering on the jeans over a taut backside and a narrow waist.

  She was going sightseeing, all right. And the view was spectacular.

  She wasn’t that suspicious, or following Devyn Sterling—now Smith—around Belfast for two days and orchestrating an accidental meeting that appeared to be entirely her fault could never have happened.

  For that, Marc was grateful.

  He glanced at her through the windshield as he rounded the car, still amazed at how different she was in person than in two dimensions. Gorgeous, yes. Prettier in fact, because he’d expected an ice queen and gotten a surprising blast of heat. He’d expected bland and bored, uptight and withdrawn, but discovered a woman with a smile that came from her heart, a laugh that sounded like chimes, and windblown hair that was ten different shades of milk chocolate and caramel. Not to mention a lithe, lean body that moved with a magical mix of grace and sexiness.

  For that reason, Marc was on guard.

  He didn’t want to like the woman he was about to play, although he had to admit, it made his job a hell of a lot easier.

  “So what brings you to Belfast?” he asked as he climbed in and tugged on his seatbelt. “Business or pleasure?”

  “Both,” she said. “You?”

  “Same, but mostly pleasure.” He threw her another look. “Pleasure today, definitely.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Invest,” he said easily, the cover story he and Vivi had concocted ingrained in his head. “How about you?”

  “Invest in what?”

  He maneuvered through a roundabout, at ease with the left-side driving after a few days of following her cabs around from neighborhood to neighborhood, waiting while she went into various inns, hotels, and hostels. “Companies. I invest in companies.”

  “Like a venture capitalist?”

  “Something like that, but a little more in the background. Angel investments.” A business he knew quite a bit about after the securities fraud he’d spent a year undercover investigating… the same case that had ended his marriage to a woman who worked for the company. “You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded her. “What’s your business here in Belfast?”

  “It’s personal,” she said, the tone not inviting another question, but at his look she added, “I’m waiting for a friend from the States who gets back on Thursday.”

  “From where?”

  She made a show of opening the brochure she’d been holding in the hotel. “There’s a map on the back of this. Pretty scenic.”

  “So you’re secretive as well as beautiful.”

  A lock of hair tumbled down, covering her expression. Stopping at a light, he reached over and lifted the errant strand, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. “Am I right?”

  They locked gazes for the duration of the light, hers sky blue and well guarded.

  “I’m private,” she replied, turning her head just enough to escape his touch. “There’s a difference.”

  “Still beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” The softest flush rose to darken her translucent complexion, accentuating the defined lines of her cheekbones. She pointed to a main highway. “That’s the M2, I believe, that circles Belfast. Take it a little west, then go east up to Ballyclare.” She smiled at him. “Sounds pretty, doesn’t it? Have you been to Ireland before?”

  If it took the day, and the night, to get around her evasiveness, so be it. Nothi
ng about this job would hurt. “I have, actually, but spend most of my time in Dublin. Never been up this far.”

  “Me neither.”

  He knew quite a bit about this woman, but he was looking forward to seeing how easily he could get the truth out of her. “I guess it’s only fair for me to ask what you asked me. I don’t see a ring. Single, too?”

  “I am now,” she said, looking over her left shoulder, out the window.

  “Ah, divorced, too, then?”

  She waited a beat. Was she going to lie? “No, actually, I’m a widow.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, easily genuine. “How long has it been?”

  “About a…” Month. “Year.”

  A year? So she was going to lie. Interesting. “Kids?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “You?”

  Maneuvering onto the highway stole his attention momentarily, the wrong-side driving forcing him to think about what was usually instinctive. “Not yet,” he replied, the answer quick and honest.

  “But you want them?”

  He glanced at her. “What was the clue?”

  “The word ‘yet’ and a little bit of wistfulness in your voice.”

  He laughed. “Private, beautiful, intuitive. Look how much I learned about you in just this little bit of time.”

  “We’re even, then. I’ve learned you’re open, charming, and, oh, let me guess, the oldest in your family.”

  He laughed at that. “You got all that out of ‘not yet’? Second out of seven.”

  “Seven!” She put her hand on his arm in surprise. “That’s a huge family.”

  “There were five kids and two cousins raised with us. Plus a grandfather, Uncle Nino.”

  “You call your grandfather Uncle Nino?”

  “Long story.”

  She turned a little toward him. “I think it’s a long drive. Rossi, right? So this must be an Italian family. Where in New York?”

  Now she’d caught him in a lie, and if he said the family was in Boston, then there’d be a host more questions. He stole his glance from traffic to look at her. “Wait a second. I only have a day with you; I don’t want to talk about my family. Just getting through the lineup would take all day and I only have until… Thursday. Is that when your friend gets here?”