Promises I Made (13 page)

“Grace! What happened . . . ?” Scotty stared at me from inside the house.

I opened my mouth as a sob broke free from my throat, but I couldn't seem to get the words out.

“You're soaking wet!” He pulled me into the house and shut the door. Then his arm, strong and solid, was around my shoulders as he led me into the living room. “Stay right here. I'm going to get you a towel.”

I looked down at the water streaming from my clothes and hair onto the expensive rug. “I'm . . . I'm wet. I'll get everything wet.”

He put his hands on my shoulders and pressed me gently onto the sofa. Then he bent in front of me and looked into my eyes. “I don't care about that. Just stay here.”

I sat on the couch and waited. My teeth clacked together,
although I couldn't say whether it was from the rain or some kind of shock. Logan's face was imprinted on my mind, tears mingling with the rain on his cheeks, the look of complete and total loss in his eyes.

“Here, honey.” Scotty handed me a fluffy white towel and sat next to me on the couch. “Dry off. I have some tea steeping for you in the kitchen.”

“Th-thank you,” I said, still shivering. I blotted my hair with the towel and then draped it over my shoulders. “I'm sorry about the sofa. And the carpet.”

He shook his head, but when I searched his eyes for annoyance, I saw only concern. “Can you tell me what happened?”

I started to try, and then it hit me: Logan knew I was in Playa Hermosa, knew I had been staying in Selena's pool house. I was compromised, which meant Scotty and Marcus were compromised, and Selena, too.

I bent forward at the waist, a low moan escaping my lips. “Oh no . . . Oh God . . .”

Scotty grabbed my arm, his grip firm but gentle. “You're scaring me, Grace. What's going on?”

“We have to get out of here,” I gasped, barely able to speak the words around my fear. “Logan knows. He knows I'm here. He found me at the pool house.”

Scotty looked into my eyes. “Tell me everything.”

I skipped over the parts that caused me the most shame—the parts about ruining Logan's family, about being a liar and making excuses for myself. Scotty probably knew that
stuff anyway, but I couldn't bear to say any of it out loud. I took deep breaths as I went, trying to keep myself calm.

When I was done, Scotty patted my knee and told me he'd be right back. He returned with a steaming cup of tea. “Drink this,” he said. “It'll warm you up.”

I looked at him. “Didn't you hear what I said? We have to get out of here.”

“Did you tell Selena—or anyone else—about Marcus and me?” Scotty asked. He wasn't angry like I expected. In fact, he was perfectly calm, his voice low and gentle.

“No, but we can't take the chance,” I said, my voice bordering on hysterical. “I couldn't . . . I couldn't stand it if something happened to you and Marcus because of me.”

He put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze. “Nothing's going to happen to Marcus and me. It's a free country. Even if Logan turns you in, they're not going door to door to see if anyone's hiding you. And Marcus and I have covered ourselves. We're just private citizens—a retired cop and his partner living off an old inheritance and its interest.”

“What do you mean ‘if'?” I asked. “Logan basically said that he was going to the police.”

“People say things when they're hurt. He might change his mind.” He hesitated. “How did he find you? Did Selena give you up?”

“I don't think so,” I said. “Selena wouldn't do that to me. I just . . . I know she wouldn't. And Logan seemed almost surprised. Like he hadn't really expected to find me there.”

“Then how did he find you?” Scotty asked. “If there's a breach somewhere, we need to find it and plug it.”

“I have no idea,” I said. “But I can't go back to Selena's.”

He patted my shoulder and stood. “You'll stay with us. You'll feel better after some dry clothes and a nice, long rest. Everything always looks better after a good sleep.”

I looked up at him. “What about Marcus?” A coil of fear unwound in my stomach. If Marcus was anything like Cormac, there would be hell to pay for the breach, even if it hadn't been my fault. And it had, because if I hadn't insisted on staying at Selena's, Logan probably wouldn't have found me. “He's going to be so pissed.”

“Let me handle Marcus,” Scotty said. “He's out right now, but everything will be fine, I promise.”

I wanted to believe him, but I knew it wasn't that easy. Things weren't always okay just because someone said they would be. Sometimes everything unraveled despite everyone's best efforts. Despite my own. Then again, sometimes you didn't have a choice except to believe. Sometimes
not
believing would open up a well of despair so deep and so dark that you might never find your way back from it.

“Come on,” Scotty said, holding out a hand.

The light was gray when I woke up in the guest room. I lay in bed for a few minutes, my eyes traveling the walls, a pale green almost the exact same shade as the foamy water that rushed around my feet at the Cove.

The room was large and comfortable, outfitted with a writing desk near the window, a large armoire, and a dresser with a mirror. There was a watercolor on the wall: a half-open lotus flower, its petals silken violet. All of it looked old and well-worn. It gave me a strange kind of comfort, imagining someone else opening the dresser drawers, sitting down at the desk to write a letter, waking up to the lotus.

A wind chime rang soft and low from the backyard, and the drapes billowed on either side of the slightly open window. The breeze passed over my face like a gentle hand. Next to the dresser was a door that I knew led to a private
bathroom. I had changed into dry clothes there before texting Selena and dropping onto the pillowy queen-size mattress. I'd fallen asleep almost instantly.

I reached for my cell phone, surprised to see that I had four texts from Selena.

I'm so sorry. I didn't know he was coming.

He found a search on my computer for LA County Jail. I was looking up how to visit Parker. Please tell me you're ok.

I'm worried.

Text me back!

It was 8:32 a.m. I'd slept through the night, and I suddenly had a vague recollection of darkness, the wind blowing forcefully through the curtains, muffled voices down the hall.

I'm ok,
I texted Selena.
But Logan's going to turn me in.

I got up and went to the bathroom, then walked to the door and opened it a crack. I stood there, listening, not wanting to intrude on Scotty and Marcus. After weeks of isolation, it felt oddly intimate to be in a house with other people, to know that they were moving around, having conversations, cooking and listening to music.

I heard the wind chime again. And then the soft clink of porcelain, the sound of running water from the kitchen. Stepping into the hallway, I followed it to the staircase and descended to the foyer. The wood floors were cool under my bare feet. It reminded me that I was wearing boxer shorts and a tank top. I debated whether to turn around and change.

“I thought I heard you coming down the stairs.” Scotty had spoken softly, but I still jumped a little. “Come into the kitchen. Coffee's on.”

I looked down again. “Maybe I should change?”

He smiled. “Don't be silly. We've both seen pajamas.”

I swallowed hard at the
we
. That meant Marcus was awake, and I wasn't sure I was ready to face the music.

“Grace,” Scotty said gently, “it's fine. Really.”

We made our way down the first-floor hall to the kitchen. Marcus was sitting at the island with what looked like a Bloody Mary in front of him.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “Sleeping Beauty has awoken.”

I listened for the sound of sarcasm in his voice and couldn't find it.

“Good morning.” I slid onto one of the stools.

Scotty poured me a cup of coffee. “You could probably use this,” he said.

I took it gratefully and inhaled the earthy scent before taking a drink. “Thank you.”

He nodded and started pulling pans from the cupboard.

Marcus stood, drink in hand. “Let's go, kid. Time to feed the birds.”

I stood uncertainly and followed him toward the open French doors leading to the deck. I cast a glance back at Scotty. He smiled his encouragement.

Marcus began whistling, then singing a carefree tune as he set his drink down and approached a big wooden container on the deck.

I can live in luxury

'Cause I've got a pocketful of dreams

My nervousness grew as he continued to sing. The song was cheerful, too cheerful, and I stood near the outdoor table, still holding my coffee, waiting for him to lower the boom. When he rose from the container, he held a plastic cup full of birdseed and a small silver pouch.

He glanced back at me, the tune waning on his lips. “Well, come on, kid! The birds are hungry!” He looked meaningfully at the container near his feet.

“You want me to help?” I asked.

“Now you're catching on. There's another cup. Grab a scoop and let's go.”

I set my coffee down on the table and scooped birdseed out of the container. Then I followed him down the stairs and onto the lawn.

Marcus approached one of the big oak trees along the fence. He handed me his cup. “Hold this.”

He reached behind the tree and pulled out a folding step stool, then climbed to the top of it and lifted his arms toward a slim red feeder hanging from one of the branches. I remembered watching him, whistling as he filled the bird feeders next door, from my bedroom window at the house on Camino Jardin.

“It's for the hummingbirds,” he explained as he tipped the silver pouch into the top of the feeder. I watched as the clear liquid inside it slowly rose to the top. “They like sugar
water. Some people put red dye in it. Hummingbirds like red, you see. But they don't need something fake like dye to be attracted. Anything red will do, even a simple ribbon tied to the feeder.”

He stepped down and took his plastic cup from my hand, advancing a few feet down the lawn while holding the step stool in his other hand. He set it down in front of another tree. “Your turn.”

I looked up, spotting the bird feeder nailed to the tree. “What do I do?”

“Climb up, dump some of the seed in. That's all there is to it.”

I stepped onto the stool and climbed to the top, stretching to reach the feeder. I had just filled it when I caught a scrap of blue and yellow through the trees. I froze, trying to find it again in the dense green foliage.

“Parrot,” Marcus pronounced. “There are three that seem to live around this house. I'd gotten friendly with the ones on Camino Jardin, but I'm still working on these fellas.”

I'd lost the bird in the branches above my head, and I stepped down, still holding my half-full cup of birdseed. “How do you know which ones are which?” I asked.

He picked up the stool and moved to the back of the lawn. “You get a feel for them,” he said. “At first, they all seem the same. Green bodies, a little red near the face. But when you get a better look at them, you see there's more there than meets the eye: a smattering of blue feathers on the underside of a wing, a little orange on the breast. Then you notice their
personalities. Some of them are shy and hang back while the others eat first. Some are bold and will try to come after the seed while I'm still filling the feeder. There's one here with a yellow ring around its eyes, likes to scare Scotty, dive-bomb him while he's sitting on the deck with his coffee.”

I couldn't help laughing. “Really?”

Marcus flashed a rakish smile. “Really. I think the damn thing knows Scotty's a little afraid of them. I have to try not to laugh.”

I smiled, and he indicated the stool. I filled the next feeder, already more comfortable with the process. We were working our way up the other side of the lawn when he spoke again. “You're sure you haven't told anyone about Scotty and me?” he asked. “It's okay if you did. We just need to know what we're dealing with.”

“I didn't. I told Selena that I had dinner with friends the other night, but she knows I'm used to taking the bus. I could have meant anyone, could have gone anywhere.”

He nodded slowly. “Then we have nothing to worry about, even if Logan does go to the police, and I don't think he will.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. “What makes you so sure?”

We reached the end of the lawn, and he used the step stool to reach the feeder hanging from one of the branches. “If he'd wanted you to go to jail,” he started, continuing as he tipped the seed into the top of the feeder, “he would have called the police with the tip that you might be at Selena
Rodriguez's house. He wouldn't have risked confronting you and having you disappear.”

“Why do you think he did that?” I asked.

“Well,” Marcus said, stepping down onto the grass, “my hunch is that he wants answers. He wants to know why. Or he thinks he does, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

We started toward the deck, our cups empty. “Most of the time when people ask you to explain yourself, they don't really want to hear the answer. What they really want is to hear something that justifies their currently held opinion.”

“What do you think is Logan's currently held opinion of me?”

He spoke without hesitation. “That you're a terrible person. That only a really terrible person could do what you did.”

“Well, he's right,” I said softly.

Marcus stopped walking, and the force of his gaze caused me to stop, too. “It's not that simple, Grace. Life—and people—are all gray area. It's too easy to say all that matters is what we do, that it speaks for itself. But it's not true.” He draped an arm around my shoulder as we stepped up to the deck. “We're all works in progress, kid. The things we do are a reflection of our reality at the time. We make mistakes, we learn a little, we correct as we go. You made decisions with the information you had—the situation you had—at the time. That doesn't make you a bad person. It just makes you human. I suspect Logan knows that. If he was so sure
you were a bad person, he'd want you in jail, and he would have called the police before looking for you. I'm all for personal responsibility, but what Cormac and Renee did to you and Parker was wrong. Don't be in too much of a hurry to point the finger at yourself that you let them off the hook.” He picked up his Bloody Mary glass and finished it, then rattled the ice. “Fuck. I get too philosophical when I drink these things. Should have stuck with coffee.”

I laughed, and he ruffled my hair on the way into the house.