Patricia Potter (57 page)

She’d had bits and pieces, and perhaps even the heart, of a very complex man who’d sacrificed his identity and country for reasons she didn’t entirely understand yet. She had Lisa, who was a part of both of them, and she’d had Sanders, with whom she’d shared so much. Now she was being given a second chance at a dream. No, not a dream. Not a white fantasy. A chance for something very, very real.

Only Kurt Weimer and her own fears could kill that chance. Meara knew deep down in her bones that Chris Chandler would see to Kurt Weimer. She knew she was safe with him, had always been safe with him. Chris Chandler. She smiled slowly. Chris Chandler. A portrait of deep intricacy and hidden facets. A man who had to be studied a very long time to discover all the nuances.

It was a warm thought.

She walked toward the dock. It was partly gone, only remnants left. She closed her eyes and remembered that night, Rain. Thunder. She could still hear running footsteps, see Sanders kneeling to shoot. There was an explosion and the water itself was in flames, the world a fireball, and she heard herself scream.

Meara opened her eyes. The bright sun blinded her, and she blinked. The day was clear and the water calm, as if it had never seen violence.

He had tried to free her that night. Perhaps part of her had always realized it, just as Sanders had. Maybe that’s why she kept coming back to the island, back to the healing she’d always found here despite the violence. She’d once told Michael Fielding it was her island of dreams. And it had been. She had found two loves here. She had found great happiness, contentment, and tragedy.

And always dreams. Dreams of the future. Dreams of the present, dreams of the past.

Now it was time again for the future.

She returned to her car and drove slowly over to Beachview Drive. The road was cluttered with cars and bicycles carrying tourists, and she thought briefly, regretfully, of the crushed-shell road and the few vehicles that once traveled the island, of the ancient but elegant little cars called red bugs.

But then the island was too lovely to reserve for a few. Let it give others dreams. Dreams and laughter and love.

Meara saw Chris’s rented car in front of his house. She felt nervous and scared and excited. As she had years before. That was one feeling that had never changed. She and Chris were like match and tender together.

He must have heard her drive up, for he had the door open when she reached it.

“Meara?” he said, his voice low and tight and questioning. “Is anything wrong?” Then he flinched at his own words and despite the seriousness of everything, she couldn’t help but smile. It
was
a ridiculous question, given the circumstances.

“I just wanted to tell you Lisa left this morning—she’s safe.”

He stood aside for her to enter, but Meara could feel the tension radiating from him. She turned to face him. “What is it?”

“Weimer boarded a plane for Bonn today.”

“Then it’s over. You’ve won.”

He hesitated, his eyes dark and clouded. “It would seem so.”

“Seem?”

“I just have a feeling he wouldn’t give up this easily. There’s so damn much about him that reminds me of his father. He would have gone to hell himself before giving up.”

Meara looked up at him, her heart pounding. If the danger was gone, perhaps he would leave too. “Then what…”

“I know I promised to leave when it was over, but I think I should stay—” His voice broke off, and his eyes were dark and shuttered, his mouth tight.

She hesitated. He had said nothing about a future, only obligation. “Whatever you think is best.”

He smiled then, a slow almost painful smile. “A few days more until he’s seen in Bonn.”

“The detectives?”

“I have one near your house, but I would still like to stay there the next few nights.” The statement was more a question, hesitantly put.

She tipped her head slowly, looking up at him. “Why?”

“Weimer outsmarted my people before.” He shrugged. “It’s probably just paranoia.”
Or maybe it’s just an overpowering need to be with you for a few more hours.

“Michael…?”

His gaze was steady but neutral.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly, wanting to say more but not quite sure how.

His eyes warmed but he didn’t move. “Don’t thank me yet. I don’t know whether it’s over.”

“What do you think he intended?”

He hesitated. “I can only guess.”

“Then guess.”

“I think he was trying to find a way to hurt you most.”

“And how.”

“If he really has returned to Germany, and turns up active in the Bonn government, it means he trusts us to keep quiet. I made it very clear that even an accident would send what we have to the West German government. It’s not enough to convict him, but it is enough to plant doubts, to ruin him.” Chris didn’t continue. He didn’t say that eventually something more would have to be done.

“And if he doesn’t go back?”

“Then he feels that we will, one way or another, find a way to spread the information anyway, and he’ll go into hiding.”

“How long before we know?”

“A few days.”

A few days. She had a few more days with him. Then how could she let him go again? What if he wanted to go?

“I’m sorry,” he said finally.

She walked over to the picture window that looked over the dunes and the water in the distance. “I went over to the Jekyll Island Club today. It’s sad.”

“I know,” he said in a low voice. “I drove by there.”

“I could almost see everyone the day of the picnic.” It was the first time he had kissed her.

He remembered that kiss.

“And hear the children laugh,” she continued in a choked voice.

His hand went to her shoulder. He remembered how she had laughed. She shuddered under his touch but she didn’t try to pull away. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“No,” she whispered. But she did. She remembered everything, every word. She remembered that he had never told her he loved her. She thought he had with his hands, with his mouth, but he had never actually said the words. Not until he’d returned more than a week ago.

“That I cared. That I always would.”

“Yes.”
But there were so many other things you didn’t say.

“I’ll always be there for you, Meara. Any time you need anything.”

I need
you.
But she merely nodded.

Chris stood silently, helplessly. He wanted to kiss her, to take her in his arms, but he felt her tremble and once more was afraid of frightening her away. He forced himself to move, to put a distance between them.

“You’re probably going to have some questions from Kelly,” he said, trying to make his voice normal again.

“How much did you tell him?”

“As little as possible, but he already guessed some of it. He knew about the kidnapping years ago.”

She stiffened.

“He won’t say anything to Lisa, but I thought you should know.”

A sob tore from her throat. “Where is it going to end? One lie leads to another.”

Anguish crossed his face. No one knew the price of lies as well as he did. He only wished that he alone could pay the price. “You’d better go home,” he said softly. “I’ll be over later.”

“When?”

“After dark. Someone is already watching the house. Just don’t go for any walks alone, all right?”

She tried to smile back at him. It was a wan attempt at best, but still there was courage in it, courage in her will to stay here, to fight back, to protect Lisa. She had so much of it, then, and now.

“You’re a valiant lady, Mrs. Evans,” Chris said.

“No,” she denied. “I feel so helpless, sitting and waiting for something to happen.”

“That’s the most difficult kind of courage.”

“Chris…”

He grinned. “That’s the second time you’ve used the name.”

“I think I’m getting used to it.”

“It’s taken me a long time.”

“I think I like Chris Chandler,” she said softly.

“The name or the man?”

“Both. It’s just a little…difficult to get used to.”

“So is Mrs. Evans.”

Their gazes locked, and electricity streaked between them, as alive and vital as ever. She finally pulled away first. “I’ll get some dinner for us, tonight.”

“All right.”

She forced her feet to move before she made a total fool of herself. There was, after all, tonight.

Kurt Weimer made good time, better even than he’d hoped. He stopped only for gas, pulling a hat down over his eyes as he paid the bill in cash. At this rate, he should reach Jekyll Island around two or three o’clock in the morning. The island would be asleep by then, except for the toll taker, whose little house straddled the road onto the island. But his rental car couldn’t be traced to him, and he would make sure no fingerprints remained anywhere. He had been very, very careful.

He had already planned everything very methodically in his mind. There was a motel near the Evanses’ house. He would park there and wander through the backs of the houses as if he were drunk. Just in case. But from what he had seen, the whole island closed down early, including the regular residents. There were no night spots or late-night dining. The island attracted a sedate, early-to-bed, early-to-rise crowd. He very much doubted many were awake in the early morning hours.

He had brought a gun, a German Luger, but he didn’t intend to use it. Too noisy. A fire would be best. But not before he made sure that everyone inside was unconscious. Then he would place his cigarette lighter near a bed and make sure the flames had taken hold…

The mother first. From his visits to the house, he had a good idea of where the bedrooms were. He would tie the mother, and then the daughter, and use Lisa to make Meara Evans talk. Kurt wanted to know exactly what happened that night twenty-one years ago. He had to know.

Once he was sure they were both dead, he would drive down to Miami and board a flight for South America. It would be worth losing everything to avenge his father, and he had the ready financial resources in Argentina to create a new identity.

He leaned back in the seat, trying to relax his stiff back. His fingers pressed compulsively against the wheel of the car as he passed the sign welcoming him to South Carolina.

When Chris arrived at Meara’s house at eight, Kelly was there.

Kelly flashed a quick conspiratorial smile, and Chris knew instantly that Kelly’s presence was his way of helping Meara avoid gossip on the small island as well as a protective gesture. Everyone knew of the close connection between the two families. Kelly’s face was pleasant and devoid of curiosity, and Chris liked him more than ever. It was obvious that the young attorney was not going to press Meara, but merely let it be known that he was available if needed.

He stayed for a while after Chris arrived, then looked from one to the other. Assured that Meara was in safe hands, he said, “If you need anything…?”

When Kelly left, the atmosphere once more became electric. “Would you like a drink before dinner?” Meara asked nervously as she looked at Chris. He was wearing a pair of charcoal-colored slacks and a light blue shirt, the long sleeves rolled up to his elbows as usual. He had carried a dark blue sports coat when he arrived, and it now hung over a chair. He looked handsome and strong and very confident. She wished she felt that way.

“Anything nonalcoholic,” he said.

She darted into the kitchen and stood there a moment before taking him a Coke. It seemed so strange, cooking a meal for him, being domestic for him. Strange and pleasant. She had a roast in the oven along with some potatoes, some sliced tomatoes, and green beans. She had even baked a pie this afternoon, pleased at the diversion, at having something to do other than think.

They ate together awkwardly. At least at Kelly’s dinner, there were others to initiate and carry the conversation, but now there was no one, and each hesitated to probe into private territory, to probe something hurtful to the other or to themselves.

“Tell me about Lisa,” Chris said finally.

“What about Lisa?”

“Everything. What she looked like when she was born. When did she walk? and talk? What’re her favorite foods? Anything. Everything.” There was a longing in his eyes, a raw, naked hunger that struck to the core of her. He had showed her the picture of Lisa, the faded, much handled picture, but still she hadn’t realized the depth of his need. She still couldn’t, and she knew with sudden clarity she probably never could. But she did understand the courage it had taken to stay away, and now to return, knowing he would leave once more with little more than he’d had before.

She started talking slowly, about Lisa’s difficult birth which made her unable to have other children. He hadn’t known about that, although he had wondered why there weren’t more children. She told him about Lisa’s first steps when she was ten months old, and how she’d found a way several months later to climb out of the playpen and crawl into a cabinet one day. A kidnapping had been feared, and several of Sanders’s FBI friends had been called when Lisa happily popped out of a floor cupboard, rubbing her eyes which were half closed with sleep.