Rising Tides (6 page)

‘‘Can I—’’

‘‘No,’’ Ethan and Phillip said together, anticipating Seth’s question.

‘‘Why the hell not?’’ he demanded. ‘‘I’m not stupid. I won’t shoot anybody with a stupid screw or anything.’’

‘‘Because we like to play with it.’’ Phillip smiled. ‘‘And we’re bigger than you. Here.’’ He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and found a five. ‘‘Go on down to Crawford’s and get me some bottled water. If you don’t whine about it, you can get some ice cream with the change.’’

Seth didn’t whine, but he did mutter about being used like a slave as he called his dog and headed out.

‘‘We ought to show him how to use the tools when we have more time,’’ Ethan commented. ‘‘He’s got good hands.’’

‘‘Yeah, but I wanted him out. I didn’t have the chance to tell you last night. The detective tracked Gloria De-Lauter as far as Nags Head.’’

‘‘She’s heading south, then.’’ He lifted his gaze to Phillip’s. ‘‘He pin her yet?’’

‘‘No, she moves around a lot, and she’s using cash. A lot of cash.’’ His mouth tightened. ‘‘She’s got plenty to toss around since Dad paid her a bundle for Seth.’’

‘‘Doesn’t look like she’s interested in coming back here.’’

‘‘I’d say she’s got as much interest in that kid as a rabid alley cat has in a dead kitten.’’ His own mother had been the same, Phillip remembered, when she’d been around at all. He had never met Gloria DeLauter, but he knew her. Despised her.

‘‘If we don’t find her,’’ Phillip added, rolling the cold
can over his forehead, ‘‘we’re never going to get to the truth about Dad, or Seth.’’

Ethan nodded. He knew Phillip was on a mission here, and knew he was most likely right. But he wondered, much too often for comfort, what they would do when they had the truth.

E
THAN’S PLANS AFTER A
fourteen-hour workday were to take an endless shower and drink a cold beer. He did both, simultaneously. They’d gotten take-out subs for dinner, and he had his on the back porch alone, in the soft quiet of early twilight. Inside, Seth and Phillip were arguing over which video to watch first. Arnold Schwarzenegger was doing battle with KevinCostner.

Ethan had already placed his bets on Arnold.

They had an unspoken agreement that Phillip would take responsibility for Seth on Saturday nights. It gave Ethan a choice for the evening. He could go in and join them, as he sometimes did for these movie fests. He could go up and settle in with a book, as he often preferred to do. He could go out, as he rarely did.

Before his father had died so suddenly and life had changed for all of them, Ethan had lived in his own little house, with his own quiet routine. He still missed it, though he tried not to resent the young couple who were now renting it from him. They loved the coziness of it and told him so often. The small rooms with their tall windows, the little covered porch, the shady privacy of the trees that sheltered it, and the gentle lap of water against shore.

He loved it, too. With Cam married and Anna moving in, he might have been able to slip out again. But the rental money was needed now. And, more important, he’d given his word. He would live here until all the legal battles were waged and won and Seth was permanently theirs.

He rocked, listening to the night birds begin to call. And must have dozed because the dream came, and came clearly.

‘‘You always were more of a loner than the others,’’ Ray commented. He sat on the porch rail, turned slightly so he could look out to the water if he chose. His hair was shiny as a silver coin in the half light, blowing free in the steady breeze. ‘‘Always liked to go off by yourself to think your thoughts and work out your troubles.’’

‘‘I knew I could always come to you or Mom. I just liked to have a handle on things first.’’

‘‘How about now?’’ Ray shifted to face Ethan directly.

‘‘I don’t know. Maybe I haven’t gotten a good handle on it yet. Seth’s settling in. He’s easier with us. The first few weeks, I kept expecting him to rabbit off. Losing you hurt him almost as much as it did us. Maybe just as much, because he’d just started to believe things were okay for him.’’

‘‘It was bad, the way he had to live before I brought him here. Still, it wasn’t as bad as what you’d faced, Ethan, and you got through.’’

‘‘Almost didn’t.’’ Ethan took out one of his cigars, took his time lighting it. ‘‘Sometimes it still comes back on me. Pain and shame. And the sweaty fear of knowing what’s going to happen.’’ He shrugged it off. ‘‘Seth’s a little younger than I was. I think he’s already shed some of it. As long as he doesn’t have to deal with his mother again.’’

‘‘He’ll have to deal with her eventually, but he won’t be alone. That’s the difference. You’ll all stand by him. You always stood by each other.’’ Ray smiled, his big, wide face creasing everywhere at once. ‘‘What are you doing sitting out here alone on a Saturday night, Ethan? I swear, boy, you worry me.’’

‘‘Had a long day.’’

‘‘When I was your age, I put in long days and longer nights. You just turned thirty, for Christ’s sake. Porch sitting on a warm Saturday night in June is for old men. Go
on, take a drive. See where you end up.’’ He winked. ‘‘I bet we both know where that’s likely to be.’’

The sudden blare of automatic gunfire and screams made Ethan jerk in his chair. He blinked and stared hard at the porch rail. There was no one there. Of course there was no one there, he told himself with a quick shake. He’d nodded off for a minute, that was all, and the movie action in the living room had wakened him.

But when he glanced down, he saw the glowing cigar in his hand. Baffled, he simply stared at it. Had he actually taken it out of his pocket and lit it in his sleep? That was ridiculous, absurd. He must have done it before he’d drifted off, the habit so automatic that his mind just didn’t register the moves.

Still, why had he fallen asleep when he didn’t feel the least bit tired? In fact, he felt restless and edgy and too alert.

He rose, rubbing the back of his neck, stretching his legs on a pacing journey up and down the porch. He should just go in and settle down with the movie, some popcorn, and another beer. Even as he reached for the screen door, he swore.

He wasn’t in the mood for Saturday night at the movies. He would just take a drive and see where he ended up.

G
RACE’S FEET WERE NUMB
all the way to the ankles. The cursed high heels that were part of her cocktail waitress uniform were killers. It wasn’t so bad on a weekday evening when you had time now and then to step out of them or even sit for a few minutes. But Shiney’s Pub always hopped on Saturday night—and so did she.

She carted her tray of empty glasses and full ashtrays to the bar, efficiently unloading as she called out her order
to the bartender. ‘‘Two house whites, two drafts, a gin and tonic, and a club soda with lime.’’

She had to pitch her voice over the crowd noise and what was loosely called music from the three-piece band Shiney had hired. The music was always lousy at the pub, because Shiney wouldn’t shell out the money for decent musicians.

But no one seemed to care.

The stingy dance floor was bumper to bumper with dancers, and the band took this as a sign to boost the volume.

Grace’s head was ringing like steel bells, and her back was beginning to throb in time with the bass.

Her order complete, she carried the tray through the narrow spaces between tables and hoped that the group of young tourists in trendy clothes would be decent tippers.

She served them with a smile, nodded at the signal to run a tab, and followed the hail to the next table.

Her break was still ten minutes away. It might as well have been ten years.

‘‘Hey, there, Gracie.’’

‘‘How’s it going, Curtis, Bobbie.’’ She’d gone to school with them in the dim, distant past. Now they worked for her father, packing seafood. ‘‘Usual?’’

‘‘Yeah, a couple of drafts.’’ Curtis gave Grace his usual—a quick pat on her bow-clad butt. She’d learned not to worry about it. From him it was a harmless enough gesture, even a show of affectionate support. Some of the outlanders who dropped in had hands a great deal less harmless. ‘‘How’s that pretty girl of yours?’’

Grace smiled, understanding that this was one of the reasons she tolerated his pats. He always asked about Aubrey. ‘‘Getting prettier every day.’’ She saw another hand pop up from a nearby table. ‘‘I’ll get you those beers in just a minute.’’

She was carting a tray full of mugs, bowls of beer nuts, and glasses when Ethan walked in. She nearly bobbled it.
He never came into the pub on Saturday night. Sometimes he dropped in for a quiet beer midweek, but never when the place was crowded and noisy.

He should have looked the same as every second man in the place. His jeans were faded but clean, a plain white T-shirt tucked into them, his work boots ancient and scuffed. But he didn’t look the same as other men—and never had to Grace.

Maybe it was the lean and rangy body that moved as easily as a dancer through the narrow spaces. Innate grace, she mused, the kind that can’t be taught, and still so blatantly male. He always looked as though he was walking the deck of a ship.

It could have been his face, so bony and rugged and somewhere just at the edges of handsome. Or the eyes, always so clear and thoughtful, so serious that it seemed to take them a few seconds to catch up whenever his mouth curved.

She served her drinks, pocketed money, took more orders. And watched out of the corner of her eye as he squeezed into a standing spot at the bar directly beside the order station.

She forgot all about her much-desired break.

‘‘Three drafts, bottle of Mich, Stoli rocks.’’ Absently, she brushed at her bangs and smiled. ‘‘Hi, Ethan.’’

‘‘Busy tonight.’’

‘‘Summer Saturday. Do you want a table?’’

‘‘No, this is fine.’’

The bartender was busy with another order, which gave her some breathing room. ‘‘Steve’s got his hands full, but he’ll work his way down here.’’

‘‘I’m not in any hurry.’’ As a rule, he tried not to think about how she looked in the butt-skimming skirt, those endless legs in black fishnet, the narrow feet in skinny heels. But tonight he was in a mood, and so he let himself think.

Just at that moment, he could have explained to Seth
just what the big deal was about breasts. Grace’s were small and high, and a soft portion of the curve showed over the low-cut bodice of her blouse.

Suddenly, he desperately wanted a beer.

‘‘You get a chance to sit down at all?’’

She didn’t answer for a moment. Her mind had gone glass-blank at the way those quiet, thoughtful eyes had skimmed over her. ‘‘I, ah . . . yes, it’s nearly time for my break.’’ Her hands felt clumsy as she gathered up her order. ‘‘I like to go outside, get away from the noise.’’
Struggling to act normally, she rolled her eyes toward the band and was rewarded with Ethan’s slow grin.

‘‘Do they ever get worse than this?’’

‘‘Oh, yeah, these guys are a real step up.’’ She was nearly relaxed again as she lifted the tray and headed off to serve.

He watched her, while he sipped the beer Steve had pulled for him. Watched the way her legs moved, the way the foolish and incredibly sexy bow swayed with her hips. And the way she bent her knees, balancing the tray, lifting drinks from it onto a table.

He watched, eyes narrowing, as Curtis once again gave her a friendly pat.

His eyes narrowed further when a stranger in a faded Jim Morrison T-shirt grabbed her hand, tugging her closer. He saw Grace flash a smile, give a shake of her head. Ethan was already pushing away from the bar, not entirely sure what he intended to do, when the man released her.

When Grace came back to set down her tray, it was Ethan who grabbed her hand. ‘‘Take your break.’’

‘‘What? I—’’ To her shock he was pulling her steadily through the room. ‘‘Ethan, I really need to—’’

‘‘Take your break,’’ he said again and shoved the door open.

The air outside was clean and fresh, the night warm and breezy. The minute the door closed behind them, the noise
shut down to a muffled echoing roar and the stink of smoke, sweat, and beer became a memory.

‘‘I don’t think you should be working here.’’

She gaped at him. The statement itself was odd enough, but to hear him deliver it in a tone that was obviously annoyed was baffling. ‘‘Excuse me?’’

‘‘You heard me, Grace.’’ He shoved his hands in his pockets because he didn’t know what to do with them. Left free, they might have grabbed her again. ‘‘It’s not right.’’

‘‘It’s not right?’’ she repeated, at sea.

‘‘You’re a mother, for God’s sake. What are you doing serving drinks, wearing that outfit, getting hit on? That guy in there practically had his face down your blouse.’’

‘‘Oh, he did not.’’ Torn between amusement and exasperation, she shook her head. ‘‘For heaven’s sake, Ethan, he was just being typical. And harmless.’’

‘‘Curtis had his hand on your ass.’’

Amusement was veering toward annoyance. ‘‘I know where his hand was, and if it worried me, I’d have knocked it off.’’