Heart of the Hunter (17 page)

“I'll bet her favorite pastime when she was a little girl was pulling the wings off butterflies.” Annabelle delivered one last salvo. “She must have been a horror in the barnyard.”

Nicole had said nothing. Now, as she fumbled for her chair and sank down in it, she responded absently. “I doubt Mrs. Atherton has ever seen a barnyard.”

“More's the pity,” Annabelle grumbled. “She certainly belongs in one. And I know just the place. The pigpen.”

Jeb barely listened as he struggled with the dilemma of needing to go to Nicole, to comfort her, and knowing it would only make things worse. He'd been as angry at the rumormonger as Annabelle. But was he any better?

He hadn't lied, but he hadn't been honest. Not with Nicole. Not with himself. Now he'd brought even more disorder and misery to her life than he ever intended.

And still there would be more the day Tony Callison came to her. The day she discovered the man she had given herself to—heart, soul, mind and body, without reservation—was an opportunist. A dishonest man, a greedy man.

* * *

Nicole sat in the darkness, in a darker world. Even the moon and stars had deserted her. The surf lapping at the shore beyond her house failed to soothe her.

The last hour in the gallery had been a horror. Ashley wouldn't listen. The entire time she'd spent trying to reach him, he'd sat staring into the distance. As immutable as stone, as unforgiving as the self-righteous.

Matthew, who had called heavily on the mystical rapport he shared with children and animals to find Ashley and bond with him, could not reason with him then.

Arguing brought little response. Pleading even less. Ashley was a child in the throes of a punishing sulk. Too young in mind to listen to reason, too mature in body to discipline. In the end she'd admitted defeat and, in language she prayed he'd understand, she'd given him his choices and explained their consequences. He could accept her friends and be her friend, or not. She'd been a part of his life for years, and he of hers. She would miss him if he continued as he was. Her one wish was that in denying her, he wouldn't deny his talent. The rest she'd left to him, the final choice was his.

Against her every hope, Ashley left the gallery without speaking. Even worse, he left the new bag of paints and supplies.

Jeb had withdrawn as quickly. A sympathetic look, a compassionate touch, and he was gone, with Matthew a step behind.

Many sleepless hours later, she moped on the steps of her deck in a night as somber as her mood. A surrogate mother who had lost her jealous child.

A lonely woman without her lover.

“So much for that.” Rising from the steps, with her hands shoved deeply into the pockets of her jeans, she wandered the sand. She had no destination in mind, but her footsteps turned toward the ruin.

* * *

His report to Simon complete, Jeb sat with his head down, his hands lying limply on his knees. He'd delayed longer than he should to confirm that Nicole knew nothing of her brother, nor had she had any contact with him in years. That she'd offered the information without prompting made it more credible. The truthful sort of thing that could have come up in any conversation, anytime, anywhere.

The journey to Eden wasn't necessary, it needn't have happened. But it had. He was left to deal with it, and he had no idea how.

A radio beeped. Matthew was speaking before he lifted it from the table. “...walking toward the ruin. Shouldn't be alone. Should I call Mitch?”

“No,” Jeb responded. “He should stay with the
Gambler,
we can't be sure when we might need it. Simon's convinced our quarry is moving again. The Merino family has stepped up the search for him, he's down to his last option. The only one he ever had. Watch the house, Matthew. I'll see to the lady.”

Under the cover of darkness he started down the beach. He knew he needn't be concerned about Matthew. By rotating between two stations, every angle of Nicole's house was visible. No one could approach without alerting the canny Apache. Mitch would be as responsible with the
Gambler.
That left Jeb and his responsibility.

Nicole.

He saw her ahead, a shadowy form in the nearly unrelieved black of the night. Keeping a steady pace that wouldn't alarm her, he reached the base of the ruin seconds after she scaled the slanting stones.

“Jogging this late, Jeb?” Her voice floated down to him, flat, without inflection.

“I came to see about you.” The truth, as far as it went.

“What about me?”

“Have you heard from Ashley?”

“No.”

“Do you expect to?”

“No.”

“Can you say anything but no?”

“Such as?”

“Such as come join me.”

“All right,” she said with the same apathy. “If that's what you want to hear, come join me.”

“Thought you'd never ask.”

When he climbed the ruin with an enviable ease, he sat beside her. Her legs were drawn up, her arms wrapped around them, her chin rested on her knees. She stared out to sea, at a flashing buoy.

“Tough day.” He touched her cheek, regretting the livid scratch.

“I've had better.”

Unable to stop himself, he stroked her hair. His hand wandered to her shoulders, finding the taut muscles. His fingers were skillful, soothing. “I'm sorry. For everything.”

“Don't. Don't be kind and don't touch me.” Despite her command, she didn't move from him.

“Why not, sweetheart?” A fingertip trailed down her spine.

She drew an unsteady breath. “Because I don't want to fight you, or myself.”

He gathered her hair in his palm, turning her gaze to his. “Then why fight at all?”

“Because...”

His lips brushed over hers, warm, caressing. “Because?”

“Because...”

He kissed her again, his tongue teasing the sweet inner softness of her mouth and lifting away. “You were saying?”

“Was I?” He'd walked away from her a second time, but it didn't matter. He was here now, and he cared, she heard it in his voice, felt it in his touch. Her arms crept about his neck, her fingers burrowed in his hair as she brought him back to her. “I can't seem to remember.”

“Neither can I,” he murmured into her kiss as he drew her down with him to the marble of Folly's Castle.

He hadn't planned this, not consciously, but he couldn't say he hadn't wanted it. On another, primal level, he'd known from the moment he stepped on the shore that he would make love to her.

Like a greedy man stealing one last taste of heaven, while fires of hell licked at his soul, he would make love to her.

If she would have him.

Her yielding body curling into his was his answer.

And the clock in his head ticked down to disaster.

“A
nything?”

Nicole looked up from a small bronze, her eyes focusing on Annabelle as she rushed through the door. Her mind was a beat behind, assimilating the abbreviated question. “I'm sorry.” She frowned at the curio case with other similar bronzes arranged on its shelves. “What did you say?”

“I was asking about Ashley,” Annabelle answered. She hadn't bothered with good morning, or how are you, because it wasn't a good morning, and how Nicole was showed in the haggard lines on her face. “You haven't heard from him, or had any news.”

“Nothing,” Nicole answered in a tight voice, though the latter was an observation, not a question. “Three days, and nothing. This time even Matthew found no trace.”

“For a while late yesterday, Harry thought he might have seen him down by the Ashley river bridge. He never got close enough to see for sure, but Ashley wouldn't stray that far away from his familiar grounds. At least, not as a rule.” Nicole's instant disappointment dragged Annabelle's spirit another notch lower. “Anyway, turned out there were two of them. From a distance, looked like two old guys basking in the sun.”

“He was hiding before, gone to ground. I'm afraid he is again, even from Matthew. But for so long?”

Annabelle made a clucking sound and heaved her shoulders. “Who knows what the poor, confused man could be thinking.”

“More than that, Annabelle, how is he living? The few dollars he made shining shoes bought the little he needed, now he hasn't been around to earn even that much. I talked with the grocer who helps him with his money and supplies, and even the barber who shaves him and cuts his hair. Neither has seen Ashley.”

“There's something you need to consider.”

“I know, but not yet.” Nicole leaned her head briefly in her hand. A customer who browsed just out of earshot looked up, clearly aware of her distress though she didn't understand it, then good manners got the better of curiosity and she turned away again.

“Waiting won't make it any easier.” Softly, as a mother would, she said what must be said. “We may never see Ashley again. He's never in his life been able to keep an idea in his head long enough to bear a grudge, but this time might be different.”

“I'd hoped not.” Nicole closed the glass doors of the cabinet with a sharp thud.

“We all hoped it was a tempest in a teapot. Something he would get over like a disappointed schoolboy's crush.”

“But he hasn't. I hoped painting would lure him back and I tried to leave that door open, at least. Jeb has stayed away, thinking it would help.”

“So that's why he's been conspicuously absent.”

In Charleston and at the gallery, maybe, but not on the island. Every time she looked up, or took a step, Jeb was there. If not Jeb, then one of his crew. Mitch and Matthew had never been as visible as they were now.

“We both thought it best.” Nicole moved away from Annabelle's perceptive gaze. She'd run an emotional gamut for three days, and her astute assistant was certain to see.

“Just like it was best he walked out of here when you needed someone. No,” Annabelle amended, “when you needed him.” She would be some time forgetting he'd walked away from Nicole. She'd made no bones about it over the days since.

“Jeb felt that by being here, he was responsible for how badly it turned out.”

A group of customers poured into the gallery. Nicole prayed they would prove a distraction, ending the conversation. But beyond responding to her greeting, they continued to laugh and talk among themselves. Annabelle's unwelcome attention remained on her.

“You
think,
” Annabelle said, moving closer, her hands on her hips, dark eyes flashing. “You don't know.”

“But I do know, Annabelle.”

“Has he told you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then how?”

“I know Jeb. That's enough.”

“Do you?” Through narrowed eyes she watched Nicole, as if by shutting out the rest of their surroundings she would discover some enlightening truth. But, oddly, she felt the truth hadn't been written, yet. “I wonder if you do. I wonder if anyone knows Jeb Tanner.” Then thoughtfully, “I wonder if Jeb Tanner knows Jeb Tanner.”

A customer chose that time to ask for information about some small bauble, something to take home to his wife. Nicole gratefully addressed his question, and a pattern was set. It was the last day of a convention, husbands and lovers who'd spent their days on golf courses, the tennis courts, deep sea fishing and even occasionally the convention, rushed in to buy the definitive gift that would prove how hard they'd worked, and how much the loved one had been missed.

Nicole didn't question the hypocrisy, or quarrel with it, she was simply thankful to be too occupied to think on Annabelle's last observation. By the end of the day, she was exhausted. For one brief moment she considered staying over in the Charleston, then realized that would make her too easily accessible to Annabelle. She loved the woman dearly, but tonight she wasn't ready for any more of her incisive analysis. It was a distinct possibility that the same incisiveness could be brought to the island. Annabelle was certainly familiar with it, and all its news. But the island had a deterrent Charleston didn't.

“...Jeb?”

Nicole whirled from her last chore of the day to stare at Annabelle. Her first thought was that Annabelle had finished a thought she'd spoken aloud; her second, that this clever woman who seemed attuned to her had added mind reading to her skills. Then she realized it was only a question.

“Hey!” Annabelle backed away from Nicole's hard, intense look. “I was only asking. You act as if I committed a sin.”

“I'm sorry, I was thinking of something else, I didn't really hear you.”

“There's a lot you don't hear lately. Or see.”

“What does that mean?”

“Be switched if I know. Just a passing thought. But you will be seeing him tonight, right?”

“Jeb.”

“Who else?”

“He usually drops by sometime during the evening.”

“For what reason?”

“Does he have to have a reason?”

“Most people do.”

“I'll be sure to ask him,” Nicole said dryly.

“You do that. The answer might surprise both of you.”

Nicole refused to ask what the cryptic remark meant. “You don't like him very much now, do you?”

“Are you kidding?” Eyebrows rose theatrically. “As far as I'm concerned, its a toss up to decide which of the three of them is the hottest number to come to town in a long, long while.”

“You didn't answer my question, Annabelle.”

“Let's just say the jury's out on that question, and leave it at that, shall we?” To make sure Nicole didn't press her for an answer she couldn't give, Annabelle gathered up her keys. “If that's all for the day, I'd like to get on home. Harry's making a special dinner.”

Nicole was quick to grasp this straw that offered escape. Their conversation was going nowhere. “Let's both go home,” she suggested. “And forget this day.”

* * *

Dressed in slacks, a long flowing shirt and barefoot, Nicole tarried in her kitchen, spending more time putting away food she'd prepared, than she had eating. In Annabelle's words, she'd skinnied down some in the past week or so, but she hadn't bothered with stepping on the scales after her shower. She'd worry about her weight when there was nothing else to worry about.

A tread on the stairs leading from the beach signaled what she'd been waiting for. She was at the door, sliding it open, by the time he stepped on the deck.

She thought he would kiss her as he had the other evenings he'd finished his nightly stroll with dropping by her house. Instead, grim-faced and without a word, he slipped his arms around her, and tugged her to him. His fingers ruffled through her hair, drawing her cheek to his chest. His embrace was tight, hard, the slow, easy beat of an athlete's heart played a steady rhythm in her ear.

He held her so tightly, so silently, alarm crept through her immediate pleasure. “Jeb?”

She would have struggled to lift her head, but his lips were there at her crown, brushing light kisses over dark tresses. “Shh,” he ordered, his warm breath rushing over her. “Just for now don't think, don't worry, just let me hold you.”

She didn't understand, she hadn't for some time, but nothing in the world would have kept her from answering the strange, fierce hunger she heard in his voice. Slipping her arms around him, she nestled closer, filling her lungs with the crisp, clean scent of him. Alarm quieted, lulled by the sure, vital strength of the heart beneath her cheek, the arms that held her. Her mind drifted, blocking out thought and worry. Her body softened, responded.

As if he'd been waiting for this moment, needed it, he muttered softly and held her closer in a dance without steps, with only the sound of the sea for their music. There was feverish desperation in his touch as if he would never let her go. Yet, after a minute, he murmured something unintelligible and relaxed his embrace.

Nicole stepped back, hoping she wouldn't see the haunted look that had become disturbingly familiar. Yet knowing she would.

“You look tired, sweetheart.” Jeb stroked circles like bruises under her eye, wishing this ordeal were over. That Tony Callison would come, not within the few days projected, but now. Then he could get out of her life, and she could restore what order she could.

All the gentleness left him as he lifted his gaze from her face, letting it sweep the room as if he were searching for something that should be there. Something abominable.

His eyes were cold, icily perceptive.

Gray ice.

Nicole shivered, every vestige of warmth fled from her. Stunned by the meteoric transformation, she stepped back again. As she looked away, a brutally honest part of her admitted the change in him wasn't so stunning after all. It had begun with the restless watchfulness. Perhaps it had always been there, but she hadn't been so keenly aware of it until the super-cautious approach to Eden.

Restless. The day she'd warned Annabelle he was restless and would sail away one day, loomed like a ghostly specter. A reasonable warning, for Annabelle, for herself. But her heart hadn't listened.

Jeb's gaze returned to her. He saw her pallor, the tremble of her lips. The stark hurt in glittering eyes that branded his soul with a look that matched the mood that had plagued him all day.

She knows.
The thought struck him like a thunderbolt. Not what I am, he thought, but what I can never be.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. She knew, but didn't understand what she knew. But she would when this was done. “I shouldn't have come.”

“Jeb...”

He didn't mean to touch her again. But he found himself taking the hand that reached out to him. A small hand, delicate, but not fragile. Like the woman. She would be all right in time.

Time. There would never be any for him. Only to say goodbye.

“Rest, sweetheart. This will be over soon.”

“What?” Her hand convulsed in his. “No!”

“Shh,” he soothed. Lifting her hand to his lips he kissed her fingers. As he released her he stepped back. Lover had become hunter, as he always should have been. The smile that curved his lips gently did not touch his eyes.

Forgive me.

Long after his footsteps were swallowed by the night, the words fluttered in her mind like moth wings. Hushed, surreal. Had he said them, or had she only imagined?

Dry-eyed, she stared into the darkness, as still as stone, as blind. Hours might have passed, or only minutes, when she roused. She didn't know or care.

Forgive me.

He'd made no promises, she'd wanted none.

For a while she'd been happier than she ever thought she could be. What did that leave to forgive? Nicole turned her back on the brooding darkness.

“There's nothing, Jeb. Nothing that needs forgiveness.”

* * *

Matthew caught the first hint of movement at the edge of his vision. A clump of sea oats shuddered where there was no wind. Sand tumbled without reason from the top of a dune. If he were a man given to assumption, his first would have been a foraging animal. His second that Jeb had returned.

The Watch lived by fact, and died by assumption.

Swinging the night glasses toward the disturbance and holding his breath, he waited. Nothing. Still he waited. His hand itched for the radio.

“Not yet,” he muttered. Sweat trickled in his eyes. He didn't blink or wipe it away. Another stem of oats shook, the heavy head shivering in still air. Sand slipped in a miniature avalanche, this time closer to the house. His eyes strained.

Nothing.

The Apache word for patience rolled softly off his tongue. Then, as if assimilated by refracted light, a figure appeared at the base of the first piling of Nicole's house. Matthew reached for the radio, as instinct and intuition sounded a silent warning.

A rare curse ripped from him.

His face was hard, his eyes angry slits, his lips a cruel slash when he finally spoke. “Jeb.”

Jeb was lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, damning the long hours of waiting. His name sliced through his thoughts, a disembodied whisper summoning him from hell. In one fluid move he was on his feet, listening.

“He's here.” The radio hissed its alarm.

Every nerve and muscle was honed, ready, in a chaotic mix of relief and fear. “Where?”

“Close enough that he'll be inside in thirty seconds.”

Jeb grabbed a shirt. “I'm on my way.”

“Jeb! There's more.” Matthew's urgent voiced crackled through the room. “Listen.”

With a sinking feeling that turned to rage, Jeb listened.

* * *

Nicole stirred as something scratched at her mind, drawing her from her shallow sleep. She'd slept fitfully, dreaming of riddles with no answers, waking often. Yet never as completely as now. Never with the feeling of...