The Sweetest Summer: A Bayberry Island Novel (20 page)

Clancy feathered his lips against hers, trying to be gentle when all he wanted was to disappear deep inside her, bite down into her flesh and consume her. It took everything he had to hold back, to simply enjoy her gifts of sweet, soft, luscious kisses. His hands went around her firm waist. Evie gently held the backs of his thighs, pressing him a little closer, demanding a bit more from his kiss.

They were on the edge and they both knew it. His hands went to her hips, back, thighs—oh, God—these kisses and these touches were not the cautious exploration of two kids. This was the real deal. Evie’s flesh felt firm and hot and her legs were open to him. She wanted him. And he wanted her so badly he was about to explode.

“This is very dangerous,” he said.

“Danger is my middle name nowadays.” She slapped her hands on his ass.

They went there again—raging, hot, and wild, her legs flying around his waist. Clancy felt all of her, the delicate juncture between her thighs, her perfect breasts pressed up against his chest, her heat, her need, the muscle strength of those thighs and calves claiming him. He
kissed the living hell out of her until they were both gasping for breath.

So this was Evie—all grown up.

They panted, staring at each other in silence. She looked stunned, and Clancy was sure he did, too. There was no logical explanation for what was happening. They hadn’t said a word to each other for nearly two decades. She was a fugitive on the run and he was a cop who had decided to risk everything to help her. This detonation of lust made little sense.

Clancy smiled at her. All he had intended to do was comfort her, ease her sadness. Instead, he’d unleashed eighteen years of desire. Clearly, it was mutual.

“Oh, dear God,” Evelyn whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Where do we even start?”

“Wherever you want.”

She bit her lip and looked past Clancy into the house. “She won’t be asleep too much longer—maybe a half hour at the most.”

“We can cover a lot of ground in a half hour.”

“If the last three minutes are any indication, you’re right.”

“Talk to me, Evie.”

“All right.” She sighed, her moment of soft vulnerability gone. Once again her face was etched with mistrust and fear. “Why did you bring us here? What are you doing?”

“I want to help however I can.”

“But you know I’m wanted for kidnapping, right? That I’ve committed a federal felony and broken the heart of a doting father.”

“If you say so.”

She laughed bitterly. “Everything’s right out there for you and the whole world to see. All my friends, my patients, blog readers . . .” She stopped, then imitated the deep and serious tone of a news anchor. “‘Neighbors and coworkers of this otherwise law-abiding sports therapist and blogger called her ‘quiet’ and ‘disciplined.’”

“Yeah. It did have a serial killer ring to it.”

“And this doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it does, Evie! I look at you. Then I see the FBI bulletins and TV reports and I know something doesn’t fit. You’re in a seriously shitty situation, but I believe there’s got to be a good reason you took Christina and ran. And now’s your chance to tell me what it is.”

Evie breathed deeply, then rubbed her hands over her face. When she looked up at Clancy again, there was intense grief in her expression. “I was living and working in Augusta when my father called to tell me Amanda had come home unexpectedly and refused to tell him why. Within a few weeks, she admitted she was pregnant. She told us the identity of the father wasn’t important and she would give us that information when—and if—she thought it was necessary. She asked my dad and me to drop the subject, so we did. We just assumed the father was some young professional she met on the job, another overworked, ambitious, too-smart-for-their-own-good twentysomething who wanted to be at the center of it all. We thought maybe he was married.”

Clancy reached out for her hand. “You’re doing great. Go on.”

“Well, one day, when Christina was about a year old, Amanda and I went out to the main road to get the mail like we sometimes did, and on our walk back to the house, she just pulled me to the stone wall, set me down, and it all came spilling out.

“She was twenty-five when she started working as Wahlman’s personal assistant in DC. She described how she had admired him, saw him as eloquent and sexy and larger than life. Everything started out as innocent flirting, she said, but Wahlman began slipping in an innuendo or two whenever they were alone for more than a few seconds. He seemed to really enjoy how smart she was and how she could go toe-to-toe with him in conversation. Soon they were sharing ideas and confidences.
My sister said Wahlman treated her more like a colleague than a scheduling assistant.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that,” Clancy said.

Evie nodded sadly. “Amanda said there were rumors, you know, that he had a thing for much younger women, but she told herself that she was different. She convinced herself that they shared something real and she wasn’t just another diversion.”

“Ugh, poor kid.”

Evie laughed a little. “She said he told her he loved her and would leave his wife for her.”

“Oh, God. What a bastard.”

“She really beat herself up for being so naive.”

“I’m sorry she went through all that, but how does that justify you running away with Christina?”

Evie’s mouth pulled tight. “It
doesn’t
.”

“So . . .”

“So that day Amanda cried her guts to me, she told me she’d made me legal guardian of Christina in case anything happened to her. And she made me swear I would never, ever let Wahlman be a part of her life.”

Clancy felt his eyes widen. “That’s pretty intense. Did she say why?”

Evie turned her head away, trying to compose herself.

“Sure. Amanda said that when Wahlman found out she was pregnant, he tried to give her an envelope full of money, insisted she get an abortion, and made reference to how young women in her situation had been known to disappear from Capitol Hill and are never heard of again.”

“What?” Clancy’s jaw dropped. “He threatened to physically harm her?”

“The conversation took place between my sister and Wahlman’s chief of staff. He sent her to Amanda’s apartment to deal with the situation because he didn’t have the balls to do it himself.”

“But Wahlman claims he never knew your sister was pregnant.”

Evie laughed bitterly. “Yeah. He says a lot of things that aren’t true. Like that he won custody.”

“He didn’t?”

“No. I can’t figure out what he did, but he used his influence somehow to steamroll us. He basically stole Christina from her family.”

Clancy stared at her. She did have her reasons. And they were good ones, if they could be proven.

“So.” Evie lowered her chin and frowned at him. “Why would you automatically assume I’m not guilty as charged? You don’t even know me.”

Clancy realized he had just become the subject of this interrogation. “I
did
know you, once, a long time ago, and I am looking at you right now. You’re right here in front of me. I’ve watched how devoted you are to Christina, how much she loves you. And I see you carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, more crap than any one person should have to deal with. But you know what I
don’t
see when I look at you?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t see a ruthless kidnapper. And I will do whatever I can to help you sort this out.”

Evie’s chin trembled. It took her a moment to pull herself together enough to speak, and when she was ready, she lifted her sea-glass eyes to Clancy. “So you’re not going to turn us in?”

“Ah, Evie. No. I’m not. But we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Clancy held out his arms and she fell into his embrace. He felt her begin to shake slightly. He knew she was trying not to cry.

“It’s going to be all right.”

She shook her head against his chest, then sat upright, wiping her eyes. “I really do need your help. I have nobody else to turn to.”

“You’ve already got it.”

“What are we going to do about my name? My alias is all over TV. I picked Cricket because that’s Chris’s nickname for me, which only my immediate family knows. Dickinson is my mother’s maiden name. But now I can’t be Cricket
or
Evelyn.”

“I guess you’re Evie again.” Clancy gave her a gentle smile. “At least until we sort this out.”

She blew out air and looked away for a moment, like she was summoning courage. “Before we go any farther, I have to know—did you ever think of me? Even just a little?”

Clancy wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Of course I did. For a very long time.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you ever write me back?”

He took a step away. Apparently, she was serious, which made absolutely no sense. Tears began to flow down her cheeks. He was baffled. “I’m sorry . . .
what
?”

“Clancy, I’ve missed you. I think I’ve missed you my whole life.”

His pager went off, and before he could answer it, his cell phone rang. Clancy shook off the mind-blurring confusion and retrieved his utility belt off the deck chair. He answered the phone at the same time he checked the beeper.

“Flynn here.”

“Chief, it’s Jake. They’re on their way from the Vineyard. ETA is fifteen minutes. We’re meeting them at the airstrip.”

Clancy spun around on his heels, checking out the horizon. At the same time he motioned for Evie to go inside. “I’m on my way.”

“We were told to expect media, too. Everybody’s got a helicopter these days.”

“Great.” He opened the door for Evie and placed his hand on the small of her back, hurrying her along. She flashed him a confused look but didn’t resist.

“And the congressman is traveling with the FBI.”

Ugh
. “On my way.”

Once they were inside, Clancy locked the double doors and jogged into his bedroom to batten down the dog door. He found Evie standing in the kitchen, leaning up against the cabinets, arms crossed.

He walked right over to her. “Listen to me.” Her eyes widened. “Do not leave the house. Do not answer the door for anyone but me.”

“What’s happening?” Her voice sounded shaky.

“Come over here a second.” He took her hand and pulled her with him into the living room. “Look, I’m sorry to be dragging you around but I’ve got very little time.” Clancy yanked on his police department cap and grabbed his keys from the hook, then picked up the costume bags.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a mermaid costume for you and a pirate costume for Jellybean. If, for whatever reason, you think you absolutely must leave the house—as in a dire emergency—these will give you something to hide behind. I don’t know when I’ll be back. You should be able to find stuff to eat.”

“Who was that on the phone?”

He wouldn’t bullshit her. “The FBI and Wahlman are on their way. Please lie low.”

She pulled her lips tight.

“Do you have any hard evidence about how Wahlman gamed the custody system?”

“Not yet.”

He nodded. “We’ll continue our conversation later.” Clancy grabbed her by the upper arms and kissed the bejesus out of her. “But there’s one thing you need to hear before I leave. Please listen to what I’m telling you.”

“Okay.”

“I never got a letter from you, Evie. I didn’t write you back because I never heard from you. I thought you weren’t interested in me. I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and was gone.

A bewildered Evie stood in the doorway. He waved to her as he peeled out from the gravel drive.

*   *   *

Richard always enjoyed the drama inherent in helicopter travel. Disembarking involved ducking to avoid being beheaded, feeling the violent whip of trouser fabric against his legs, and being escorted off across the tarmac or landing pad. Today was no exception.

A few of the local yokel police officers were at the airstrip to meet them. Richard and six FBI agents endured quick greetings and were given the keys to two Jeeps they could use while they were on the island. But it was the same story they’d heard on Martha’s Vineyard—no witness sightings, no photos or smartphone videos, no credit card use, no cell phone pings, no conclusive store videos, and no indication that Evelyn and her niece had ever been there. But they would look anyway.

Special Agent in Charge Teresa Apodaca rattled off a list of questions directed at the head yokel, who seemed friendly and cooperative enough.

“Any reports of squatters in any of the boats in the harbor?”

“No, Agent. Every boat is occupied by owners or rented out during festival week. The marina is fenced and locked. Slip tenants aren’t very welcoming to strangers.”

“Any empty buildings?”

“Some industrial space by the shore is unused. Feel free to check it out for signs of habitation, but it is secure and we do patrol the area. I don’t think it would be the first choice for a woman and child, since there is no power or water and you’d have to scale the walls to access the interior.”

The agent frowned at him. “The suspect is a trained athlete and she’s desperate—anything is possible.” She went back to her list. “I’ve been told the girl and her captor may be dressed in costumes for this, whatever it’s called. . . .”

“Mermaid Festival.”

“Yes.”

“Of course,” the Chief said. “We have thousands of visitors each day, and a good number of them are in costume—mermaids, sea captains, pirates, sailors, and sea creatures of all varieties. Plus we have our share of fairies and just plain unidentifiable stuff.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sounds like Miami on a Tuesday. So what about the beaches? Do you conduct a sweep every night? Is there any chance they’re camping out illegally?”

“We do patrol via boat, vehicle, and on foot, but we have limited staff and the island has six miles of beaches. Three of those miles are owned privately—by an invitation-only club, the marine research facility, or individual residential landowners. Only the club has camping facilities—you know, running water, fire pits, electric hookups.”

Richard had to give the chief credit—he sounded on the ball.