A Rare Chance (4 page)

The road curved closer to the water, where the woods gave way to wild blueberry and rose bushes. The tide was coming in, rough and gray in the fading daylight.

“Quite the place,” Lizzie murmured as the house came into view.

“Joshua has a place in town too, but he's been spending more and more time up here. The house is only a year old. He had it designed to look as if it belongs here, part of the environment. The interior's all grays, greens, blues, tans. The landscaping's natural. Joshua won't even add a daffodil.”

“I can see why. It's beautiful as it is.”

Gabriella swung into the parking area below the house. They were among the first to arrive. Lizzie, clearly impressed, shot out of the car and exclaimed about the view, oblivious to the cold breeze that blew in off the water. Gabriella led her to the stone steps up to the main deck but stopped when she noticed Pete Darrow down on the rocks.

Tension gripped her, her pulse increasing just at the sight of him. “Lizzie—would you mind going in without me? I'll just be a minute.”

Lizzie frowned. “What are you up to?”

“I just want to take a peek at the water. Don't worry. Remember, you haven't seen me in a year. I'm a respected businesswoman these days. I got all my tilting at windmills out of my system.”

“Is that possible for a Scagliotti? Go on. Don't worry about me. When have I ever minded making a solo entrance at a dinner party? Go turn your Cape Cod soul loose. Just don't tell me it has nothing to do with your being Scag's daughter. You don't see
me
wanting to traipse down to look at the tide in my high heels.”

“I'm not going far. Back soon.”

Leaving Lizzie to head up to the deck by herself, Gabriella took a wide gravel walk down toward the rocks, below the sprawling house. The walk soon gave way to a narrow path, barely a footstep wide, that wound down to the rocky embankment where she'd seen Pete Darrow. She watched her footing in her strappy black shoes. New England's mercurial springs being what they were, a cold gust of wind off the water had her wishing she'd brought along a coat.

She walked out onto a large, flat boulder that jutted out over the embankment and looked around for Pete Darrow, but there was no sign of him. He must have headed back to the house along another route, or perhaps cut down along the rocks to the security gate.

Just as well, Gabriella told herself. Probably she'd be wise to confront Pete Darrow when she
wasn't
meeting Titus and Joshua Reading and select guests for dinner.

Still, if he'd followed her and Lizzie that afternoon, if what Cam Yeager had intimated was right and Pete Darrow couldn't be trusted—worse, he was dangerous—then where better to confront him than on Reading Point? Let Titus and Joshua see what kind of man they'd hired.

Of course, Pete Darrow might conclude she'd crossed him and pitch her into the ocean before anyone could stop him.

Best to head back to the house, she decided.

The tide was coming in and the air was brisk and clean, so she couldn't resist a closer look at the water. Maybe it
was
her Cape Cod soul at work. She walked carefully out to the edge of the boulder, not daring to venture down the steep embankment dressed as she was. She could hear the ocean. Smell it. The wind whipped her hair into tangles. She didn't care. Suddenly Scag and Lizzie and two ex-cops on her case all seemed far away.

Then a movement down close to the water caught her eye.

A man. He seemed to be sitting among the rocks.

Pete Darrow?

It was a three-foot drop to the next rock. Gabriella couldn't do it in her strappy heels.

The man waved a hand broadly at her, as if flagging down a car. What did he want?

“Oh my God.”

It was Cam Yeager.

She felt a stab of panic, exhilaration, anger. He'd come anyway. She wouldn't take him, so he'd gotten here on his own. Did Pete Darrow know? Was that why he'd been on the rocks?

Yeager waved again. She squinted in the fading light. The rocks he was on were covered with white barnacles, putting him below the tide line. With the tide coming in, he'd be inundated before long. So why didn't he move? Didn't he know he was about to get wet? He was a cop, she thought. Maybe he didn't know anything about the ocean.

She glanced up at the house. Where was Darrow?
Could
anyone see her?

A wave rolled in, swirling onto Cam Yeager's rocks. Still he didn't move. From his awkward position, Gabriella decided he must have caught a foot between a couple of rocks and was trying to extricate himself.

She sat gingerly on the edge of the rock, mindful of her expensive party dress, and slid herself down the three feet to the next rock. Her ankle twisted in her heels. She crept down another couple of smaller boulders, moving closer.

The wind died down. “Are you stuck?” she called.

He glared up at her. “No, I decided to take a spring swim. You going to get down here and give me a hand before I drown?”

“Seeing how you're being so nice about it, sure.”

But she kicked off her shoes and made the drop to the next boulder, then leapt a three-foot chasm between two more. In another few seconds, she dropped below the tide line, barnacles cutting into her feet. She felt the cold spray of water, smelled the dead-fish smells of low tide.

Cam Yeager was sitting in two inches of frigid seawater, his right ankle wedged between two jutting rocks. With the oncoming tide, the water would get deeper, fast.

“You're in a fine pickle,” she said.

In spite of his predicament, he gave her a dry look. “Somehow I didn't expect much sympathy from you.”

“Hoist by your own petard, I'd say. Teach you to trespass. Your ankle's not broken?”

He shook his head. “I don't think so.”

His voice was deep, raspy, his jaw tight. He had to be freezing. Water oozed over Gabriella's feet, so cold it hurt. She bit back a yell.

Cam noticed. “Pleasant, isn't it?”

“Nothing like a spring dip in the North Atlantic. How did you end up in such a mess? I saw Pete Darrow on the rocks. Why didn't you call to him for help?”

“Gabriella”—his gaze leveled on her, his lips turning blue—“we can chitchat later. Right now I'd like just to get the hell out of this water.”

She nodded, slogging through the water for a better look at his trapped ankle. A loose rock lay atop his shin, complicating matters.

“It came down on top of me when I fell,” Cam said. “I can't get a good grip on it from this position. I think you can manage it. It's not that heavy or it'd have broken my shin.”

She glanced at him. “Not to worry. I lift weights.”

He gave her a wry look, the sexiness of his grin catching her off guard. “Then have at it, sweetheart.”

A wave hit, swirling and seeping as it washed up over his legs, up to Gabriella's knees. She shuddered in pain and shock. Cam's jaw was clenched, his face going pale. His chest was the only part not soaked in icy saltwater. Gabriella doubted he could stand much more before slipping into hypothermia.

Feeling a growing sense of urgency, she squatted down the way her weightlifting instructor had taught her, grabbing hold of the loose rock. She made sure she had a firm grip: She didn't want to end up dropping it back down on his shin and breaking bones.

Lifting on the exhale, she managed to half heave, half roll the rock into the water. Her own legs were numb from the knees down, and she could feel her body temperature dropping. After a lifetime with Tony Scagliotti, she well knew the signs of hypothermia. Much more and she'd be risking her own safety.

Before she could catch her breath, a huge swell rolled up onto the rocks, up to her thighs and over Cam Yeager's head. She fought to maintain her balance against the force of the water as the shock of the cold wiped out all thought, all pain.

The ocean sucked the water back, and Cam coughed and spit and swore.

“Are you okay?” Gabriella asked, her own voice hoarse with cold and fatigue.

He nodded, saying nothing.

“You'll have occasional swells like that,” she said, “but I don't think the tide'll get that deep here. You won't drown. You're more likely to die of hypothermia.”

His sea-blue eyes fastened on her. “That's a comfort.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Sorry. Look, I think I can reach between these boulders and get hold of your foot. Can you push up on your calf at the same time?”

“Done.”

With renewed energy, he sat forward and grabbed his lower leg with both hands, pushing up as she pulled on the toe of his battered running shoe, ignoring the cold. With their combined strength, they gradually worked his trapped ankle free.

Gabriella scrambled up onto a rock and out of reach of the tide. Her hands were red and scraped, her dress rumpled and wet from the hips down, her pantyhose close to shredded. The bottoms of her feet had to be raw from the barnacles and rough rock, but she was too numb to feel much pain.

Cam followed her, moving stiffly. He was soaked from head to toe, with slimy yellow-green seaweed snagged on the pockets and belt of his jeans. For a man so thickly built, he seemed agile, sure of his body and what it could do, even after the ordeal he'd been through. Gabriella wondered if his ankle was sprained or even broken and he was just too cold to feel it.

“Are you all right?” she asked again.

He nodded. “Thanks. For a while there I thought I'd die out here on the rocks like a goddamned snail. Lucky you came along.”

“What now?”

“Guess I'll go back the way I came in. I've got my car parked in a scenic turnaround just outside the main gate.”

Gabriella shivered in the breeze. “You can make it?”

He shrugged. “No choice.”

“Pete Darrow: He didn't leave you…”

“I don't even know if he saw me. I fell, Gabriella. That's all.”

She nodded, not sure she believed him.

“What about you?” he asked. “What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. I'll think of something. You should be on your way. You need to get warm.”

“If you run into Darrow—”

“You don't have to worry about me, Cam. I'll be fine.”

He squinted at her, his face pale and purplish from the cold. “You like going it alone, don't you?”

“I'm used to it.”

“Well, be careful. I don't like the feel of this thing. Darrow's got something going, I don't know what.” His eyes narrowed even more, studying her closely. “I'm thinking maybe I ought to be protecting you.”

“Protecting
me?
Who just saved whose skin here?”

“Like it or not, Gabby, we're in this thing together.”

A shiver went from the base of her spine up the middle of her back. She tried to blame the cold, but it wasn't that kind of shiver. “Mr. Yeager—Cam—” She broke off, trying to think. “I don't think we're in this together at all. If we were, you'd tell me everything you know. You'd keep me informed of your movements. You wouldn't keep turning up unexpectedly at the worst possible moment.”

In spite of his cold, he grinned at her. “A thorn in your backside, am I?”

“Let's just say I'd prefer to look after my own interests than have you look after them for me. Now I should get back before Joshua sends someone after me—namely Pete Darrow. I don't think I want to mention I've been down here plucking a trespasser off the rocks.”

“You'll have to think of some way to explain yourself. You look like holy hell.” He grinned, apparently oblivious to his chattering teeth. “Of course, holy hell should have such big brown eyes.”

Gabriella felt a sudden warmth that was decidedly unnerving and wholly inappropriate. Now was not the time to respond to this man. She could feel the tide seeping up onto their rock. “I still have your number and address. If I find out anything, I'll be in touch. But I warn you, I'll only help you if you tell me
everything
.”

“What more is there to tell? I'm checking out Pete's new job. End of story.”

“Ha.”

“Must be fun being so smart.”

She grinned at him, not rising to his bait. “It is,” she said, and about-faced and started up the rocks back toward the house. She glanced back only once, seeing Cam Yeager hobbling along the rocks close to the water, back out toward the main road.

Holy hell should have such big brown eyes.

Just what she needed, she thought. A cop turned prosecutor noticing her eyes. Or was it just a tactic to get under her skin? It didn't matter, she told herself. She needed to concentrate on what he'd hoped to find out on Reading Point, not on what he thought of her eyes.