Windward Whisperings (15 page)

“I’ll take it with bread and iced coffee.” He handed the man a five-dollar bill, and the man went
behind the counter and came back with three dollars in change. Garrett turned to sit down when he
recognized the huge white yacht rumbling at the end of the pier. A redhead sat on the stern cushions
with a small dog. A middle aged man had his hands on the wheel. Wearing a light weight jacket, Bud
Logan was casting off.

Bud blinked in amazement. “However you managed to survive, I’m glad. My apologies for what
happened on the boat. Did not know, I swear. Jovanovich has never flipped out like that.”
He looked at the man at the helm. “Is that you there, Grayson? We’ve only met once. “I’m
Garrett Mackenzie. Looks like you’re in a hurry to shove off.”
“Hello, Mackenzie. I’d buy you a drink, but you’re right. I don’t have time. I’ll make you an
offer. If you walk away now, I’ll give you two units at the Paradise. That’s a million-dollar value.”
“I don’t take to bribery.” He walked toward Bud.
“Come on. Take it.” Bud backed up. “You’re not going to kick my ass, are you?” He laughed.
“Garrett, let’s shake and be friends.” Then his face tightened. He took his right hand out of his coat
pocket. A gun came with it.
Startled, Garrett crouched and then leaped forward, plowing into Bud’s stomach. The gun
clattered along the pier and then slid into the water. Bud collided against a wooden post, and Garrett
kicked him. Straddling him, Garrett grabbed the front of Bud’s jacket. He pulled him up and then
slammed him down.
Garrett raised his arm to hit him when he heard a shot and felt a sharp sting. A second shot tore
through his biceps, and his arm began to drip blood.
The redhead held a derringer. “Ready for the third bullet? You won’t live through it.” She took
aim. He ducked.
Garrett held his arm and darted around the shack. Nearly gagging with pain, he heard the diesel
motor fire up a few notches. He must have passed out and didn’t know for how long. Somehow he
managed to raise himself into a crawl position and get to his feet. He was staggering along when two
Black men ran for him. He stopped dead.
“You’re coming with us.” The accent was Caribbean.
Before Garrett could run, the other man grabbed him from behind and twisted his good arm
against his back. He went to his knee and then was flattened to the ground.
“Do you have any weapons?” the other one asked.
“No,” he gasped. He felt plastic cuffs go around his wrists. He was hauled up and shoved
forward along the pier. A car came alongside them. One man opened the back door. A hand went
on top of his head and pushed him inside.
Garrett smiled, and then he laughed.
The Black Caribbean closest to him asked, “What’s so funny?”
“I know who you are.”
“Who are we?”
“You’re undercover cops. You need to read me my rights.”

Coming down the airport escalator to baggage claim, she spotted him, looking way too
handsome. He saw her, too, but wasn’t making progress through the thick crowd. He seemed to be
favoring his right side as he made his way diagonally through the throng. He stopped near a column
and waved her over. She couldn’t read his expression. Maybe someone else bought Piermont.

She rolled her luggage close to him and set down a cat carrier. “Hello.” She stood on her toes
and kissed him. Only one arm went around her. “Hey, what’s with the halfway hug?”
“My left arm, but it’s okay. Had a little injury, a muscle tear.”
“Trying to get buffed up while I was gone?”
“Me?” He wore a white pullover and crisply pressed navy shorts, revealing pale skin and a fuzz
of dark hair down to his boat shoes.
A meow and a white paw came through the narrow bars of the carrier.
“I heard all about the cat. Pop was thrilled that you brought Snowball the Second to visit.” He
picked up the carrier and gave a low laugh. “Did Louie get you around? No problems?”
“None. He’d shoot them if there were.”
“Ouch.” His right arm went to his left bicep.
“Your loft is lovely. Your grandparents are incredible. You know about the stray I found. What’s
the word on Piermont?”
“You said not to call.” He jerked the handle of her luggage to its full height and readied to pull
it.
She sucked in a breath and felt distressed.
“Shall we? I’ll tell you all about it.” He started toward short-term parking.
She didn’t budge. “I need to know now.”
“Your contract to buy Piermont was sealed the second day.”
“Thank you, Jesus.” Underneath her stodgy, cold-weather clothes, she’d never been so thrilled.
The checklists she’d made for Piermont could be put into use. She shut her eyes, but tears of joy
squeezed through.
He placed a hand on her cheek and wiped away her tears with his thumb. “I’m happy for you.
To celebrate, we’re going straight to Duke’s. Snowball has traveled this far. He’ll be fine, and you
can pester me for more details.”
Her dream coming true had given her an appetite.
Traffic was light. They parked in an illuminated lot, almost vacant. When they got out, the scent
of the sea came up with smoky undertones. They walked west to cross the Pacific Coast Highway.
At the crosswalk, a cop peddled past on a bicycle, blue shorts, white shirt, and a gun at his belt.
“Good evening, officer.” After the cop passed, he said, “I like cops.”
“You always were on the side of the establishment.”
He took her hand and started to go.
“Hold on there, mister.” She moved in front of him. Feeling playful, she wedged a thigh
between his.
His hand closed around a breast.
“Do you think, as a man, your goals are linear?”
“Linear in the extreme.”
“When you want to go, you go. Signals don’t matter, even when you’re way off.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “I’m very much on. And, we’ve got the light.” As they walked, he
took her hand. “Just to let you know, I’m learning.”
“Tell me about Woody. Did he bargain?”
“His approach was subtle. He waited for signals.”
“I’ll bet your fancy broker from the New York Boatyard underestimated his talent. Woody
can
negotiate.”
“I was surprised myself. Christian Spencer baited the hook with the asking price and backed it
up. The buyers agreed it was fair but hedged. One buyer worried over a stiff rival in Newport Beach,
Elliott/Pattison Sailmakers. He told Christian Spencer they’d never get past fishing for scup.
Everyone believed him, and then Woody came in with an offer.”
“I’m on cloud nine. Words can’t express my happiness.” She smiled into her compact, powdered
her nose and cheeks, and then snapped it shut.
“I like seeing you excited. It’s good you don’t discourage easily. You and Woody have an uphill
battle. You know how Grayson Biltmore does business. Piermont Sails, your new company, won’t
be paid for Starr-14 sails until they’re sold.” He shook his head slowly.
She watched the concrete move under her feet. “I figured that in. In fact, I’m glad to have the
time to remake them. My seamstresses can take stitching apart near the mast and add reflective
cloth. I want bigger windows on the main. I . . .”
He pressed against her. “Safety concerns, I know. You thought if your parents’ sails had those
improvements, they would have been spotted.”
There was a gloomy silence while she thought of them.
“You have fine ideas, Kitzie.”
“I need to tell you, I’m entering
The Windswept
in the Channel Island Regatta.”
“I never got around to buying sails. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ll have Vectran sails made for her. Would you like to crew?” She slid a hand under
his shirt.
“Of course, since you asked so sweetly. My left arm should be healed up by then.”
He slid his hand down to cup her backside. He squeezed. She felt a funny little twist in the pit of
her stomach and lower. Across the street, they stopped. His lips found her ear and then her mouth.
He kissed her lightly at first, playing, and then his tongue stroked into her mouth. She broke away
when a crowd of people approached in the opposite direction.
The brisk ocean breeze caressed her skin as they made their way along the boardwalk. She
looked out at black water of the San Pedro Channel. Above them, a line of streetlights twinkled
through trees. They walked past garden beds bordered by brittle grass. Yellow leaves of rose bushes
were dying. There was a faint smokiness in the air.
More fires
. She shuddered and hugged herself,
making a silent wish for rain.
Inside Duke’s, a hostess seated them and handed them menus. They had so much to say to each
other but managed to put in their order.
He said, “It’s an ancient tradition to feed a woman, and then make love to her.”
“It’s entirely conventional.”
Their table by the window would have given them an endless ocean view, but it was late, way
past sunset. Surfing memorabilia adorned the walls. Statues and photos depicted Duke during his
long, adventurous lifetime.
He nodded toward an antique long-board. “I’d like to get better at surfing one day.”
“Let’s go to Capistrano Beach. It’s wide and sandy, no rock outcroppings. I have a couple
surfboards. It’s not crowded.”
“After, we should build a fire in a pit, babe, camp out.”
“I have a tent.” She wished they were in a booth, a dark one. She wanted to sit next to him, lean
against him. As they ate, she noticed how he held his left arm and contorted his body. He was
experiencing pain. She took the last bite of their appetizer, crab cakes served with passion fruit sweet
and sour sauce.
Entrees were set before them. The prime rib was for him. Duke’s famous Maui onion and
tomato salad was for her.
“All of a sudden, Nana and Poppy miss California.” He slammed down his fork in a mock
complaint.
“Do tell.”
“You have no responsibility in this?” A soft laugh.
“Your grandparents are wonderful. You’re so, so lucky.”
“They’re crazy about you. The cat, everything. You blow my mind.” He flipped back a napkin
from a basket of rolls. He broke one open, warm enough to steam. She took it, buttered it for him,
and set it on a small plate. He wore a lizard strapped watch.
She took a sip from her wineglass. “This is nice. Thank you. I’m incredibly glad to see you.”
He took her hand and brushed his lips over it. “Thor and I missed you, too.”
“How is he?”
“For the first few days, he boarded with Woody.”
“You were so busy. And, then you had the injury.”
“After that, he was with me. The pooch took off every time I let him out. Went straight to your
house. I had to buy it for him.”
She was dumbfounded and looked away for several seconds. She had to. His eyes were that
intense.
He said, “An alarm system will be installed tomorrow. So you know, the code is 0214,
Valentine’s Day.”
“Thanks for the easy code.”
“Thanks for not fighting me over this. These days, everyone needs one. I can’t control who
you’ll let in.”
“You think I’m too trusting.”
“I think you’re sweet and very trusting. I want to watch over you. Or, have you watched over.”
He lifted a bite of meat to his mouth and then made a little noise of satisfaction, a rumbly growl in
the back of his throat.
“I love when you do that.” She left her sneaker on the floor and slid her sock-covered toes up
the side of his calf.
He looked at her and smiled. “I’d like to take you now for dessert.” He clamped her foot
between his knees.
“I’d like that.”
He caught the waiter’s attention and requested two glasses of mineral water with a twist of
lemon, a doggy bag, and check.
He leaned back in his chair. The gray was just beginning to show in his rich brown hair. “Can
you stay the night? I’d like to welcome you to my new home.”
She faked a sigh of regret. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe I should settle into
The Windswept
.” The
air in the restaurant felt warm, and she undid the top two buttons of her blouse.
His bourbon brown eyes climbed to her face. He gave her a slow smile that made her insides
feel like an elevator cable had snapped.

Garrett pulled into the driveway of 409 Sycamore behind the van of Blake Security. “Looks like
Leviticus stopped by.” He nodded toward the front porch.
“Leviticus?” Wind opened his black trench coat and flipped it around his knees as he walked.
She snuggled Snowball against her, stroking the top of his head with a finger. “He looks like he’s
about to burst with information. Makes me wonder what cat he’ll let out of the bag. I don’t mean
Snowball.”
Garrett shrugged. “A meeting at this hour is usually a long one. I know you’re beat. You don’t
need to wait up for me.” He got out and took care of both pieces of luggage, one at a time. As they
walked from the car, he bent down and whispered, “Tonight, before you go to sleep, put your hand
where I want to put my mouth.”
“You’re bad.” She waved to the PI on the porch.
“Hello, Leviticus.” Garrett put her carry-on on top of her rolling luggage and wheeled them.
Leviticus had a sober expression, she noticed. Tonight he wore wire-framed glasses. He took a
sip from his Starbuck’s paper cup. “Not much of a watch dog.” He leaned on the wooden
balustrade as they walked up.
She laughed. “What dogs know, they know well. You probably didn’t smell dangerous.”
Thor gave them a friendly bark and then went after something small and wiggly in the corner.
Garrett shook his hand. “You’re back.”
“Back from where?” she asked.
“St. Vincent, an island in the Caribbean. A bunch of us from here went down to look at
property.”
Immediately, their attention went to Thor. The dog rushed down the steps. At Kitzie’s feet, he
yelped and then barked at the cat in her arms.
Snowball didn’t react until he came too close. The cat took a swipe across the dog’s snout, and
Thor whimpered.
Kitzie said, “Remember, Thor, the cat rules.” She lifted Snowball, his forelegs straight out under
his chin.
Garrett held the door open and gestured for all to enter. Inside, he dropped her luggage and the
feline carrier beside the grandfather clock.
When she put Snowball down, he headed into the carrier. Thor crouched down beside it. He
pushed a paw toward its tiny entryway.
“I’ll make coffee for you two. Then, I’m off to bed.” She rushed for the kitchen, started the
coffee, and returned.
Leviticus’s legs moved apart as he stood. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He adjusted the
bridge of wire spectacles on his nose.
Kitzie sensed the tension and decided to make cookies in the kitchen while she listened to what
Leviticus had to say. She turned on the oven and pulled out a roll of frozen cookies.
The man’s tone was dull but carried scorn. She couldn’t make out words except for the name
Biltmore. Something bad had happened in St. Vincent. She pulled out a cookie tray, sprayed it with
oil, arranged frozen clumps on the tray, and popped it in the oven. She returned to the living room
and sat beside Snowball on the floor.
Garrett sat opposite him. Leviticus looked over at her while he talked. “Biltmore’s a loser. So
many lies, so many games he’s played. Garrett, she should know.”
“She should. Not tonight. Kitzie’s been up twenty hours.”
“You know, I am tired. I’ll leave solving Biltmore’s problems with the two of you. I’ll grab the
cookies before they burn.” It was an effort to get up and walk to the kitchen. She scurried about and
brought out a plate of cookies with mugs of steaming coffee on a tray. She said goodnight.
Humming to herself, she climbed the stairs. Looking over the rail, she grinned. “Take a look.”
In front of the carrier, Snowball and Thor were curled up together.
Garrett said, “Tomorrow Thor will teach his little sidekick to hunt. They’ll give those roaches a
run for their money.”
“Snowball has a good swipe.”
* * * *