Freefall (11 page)

"Well, that's encouraging," she said. "Given that it's a historical home predating the war."

"True. But your grandmother never had it listed on the historical register," he countered, surprising Sabrina by revealing that he had investigated Swannsea's status.

"Lucie was an independent thinker. She always wanted to maintain the house's historical integrity." Hence her long-term working relationship with Zach's father. "But she balked at the idea of being forced to apply to some historical committee every time she wanted to make a change to her own home."

Which also explained, Sabrina decided, how she'd been planning to expand the house without jumping through historical or zoning hoops.

"Her independent streak turned out to be a bonus," Brad agreed. "Since the house is not on the register, its owner—"

"Who would be me—"

"Who would be you." His smile was meant to charm, but it reminded Sabrina more of a used-car salesman trying to convince you to buy the old beater that had been sitting on his lot for six months. "May I make a suggestion?"

"What?"

"Come to dinner with me. There's this great new place in Somersett, on the waterfront—"

"Aren't you married?"

"I am. To a lovely woman I adore to pieces, who, as it happens, has our first bun in the oven."

"Congratulations," Sabrina said, amazed that anyone under the age of seventy still used that phrase for pregnancy. Even here in the land of polite sexual euphemisms.

"Mary Sue and I are real excited about the baby," he said. "But you needn't worry, Sabrina. I'm not inviting you out on a date. All I'm asking for is an opportunity to explain my plans. Which I think you'll find attractive."

"I really don't think that's necessary," she said. "Because I've no intention of selling Swannsea."

She didn't need to sit through a meal with Brad Sumner to be told what he was planning to do with Lucie's home. With her family's home.

She'd bet he was planning to use it as a clubhouse. The idea of golfers destroying the home's hand-pegged hickory floors with their cleated shoes was unthinkable.

"At least let me introduce you to my backers." He continued to press his case. "I'm not sure you realize how much money could be involved."

"It's not about the money."

"No offense intended, Sabrina, but that sounds a bit naive for someone who's spent so many years climbing the corporate ladder of an international hotel chain." His tone took on an edge. "It's
always
about the money."

"Not to me." Or to her grandmother.

Although she'd never thought she had a single thing in common with Scarlett O'Hara, whom so many considered the quintessential Southern belle, Sabrina suddenly understood why Margaret Mitchell's headstrong heroine had been willing to do anything it took, even putting on curtains to visit Rhett Butler in jail, to save her beloved Tara.

A thought belatedly occurred to her. "Did you discuss this with Lucie?"

She saw the hesitation flash in his eyes as he tried to decide how much to reveal. Given how small a place Swann Island was, they both knew he wouldn't be able to get away with an out-and-out lie.

"Of course we discussed it."

"And?"

"And, unfortunately, while she professed interest, she died before she had a chance to meet with my partners."

Liar.

Sabrina might have been away from the island for too long. She might, as much as she hated to admit it, even be accused of having neglected her grandmother.

And, granted, things had changed a great deal since the last time she'd been back. But she had not a single doubt that there was no way Lucie would've been willing to turn land that had been in her family for more than two centuries over to this man.

"Times have been tough," he said, as if sensing her arguments. "Profits were down—"

"The company may have experienced a few challenging years. Partly due to skyrocketing real estate taxes."

Harlan had explained that all the new real estate development—such as Plantation Shores—had caused property values to spike, driving many smaller planters out of business.

"But there
were
profits."

She might not have read every clause and subsection of those papers, but she had understood the bottom line. Which had definitely shown what seemed to be a significant profit.

And, thinking about it, hadn't Line said they'd just ended their best sales quarter in a decade? Thanks to all the media reports about green tea being beneficial to health?

"I'll tell you what," he said. "Why don't I give you some time to think about my offer?" He tossed out an amount in the high seven figures. "Talk with Harlan. And Line, of course, and I'll get back to you in a couple days."

He'd definitely missed his calling. If not used cars, he could've been the emperor of vinyl siding.

"That's an attractive offer." She suspected a lot of people would jump at it. "But my answer will still be
no
."

Annoyance flashed in his eyes, but a benign, blatantly false smile stayed pasted on his face. Which, she noted, had a weak chin. Especially when compared to Zach's.

He took a thick manila envelope out of his alligator briefcase and laid it on the marble-topped table between them. "It won't hurt to at least look at the preliminary plans." He laid a glossy black business card with raised silver letters on top of the envelope. "Feel free to call me with any questions.

"I don't want to put pressure on you," he said as she walked him out to the veranda, "but my backers aren't patient people. And they're currently looking at other locations."

"On Swann Island?"

"They're partial to Swann, since the land is still less expensive, relatively speaking, but they're also interested in the Isle of Palms, Seabrook Island, and Edisto Island."

All of which, as far as Sabrina was concerned, were welcome to them.

"I'll look at the plans," she said, just wanting to get rid of the man, "but I can't imagine that my answer will change."

She could tell he wasn't happy as he marched back to his snazzy little BMW sports coupe.

Tough.

She thought she'd gotten rid of him, but after he started the engine, he rolled down the driver's-side window.

"There's one other thing you might want to keep in mind," he said.

"What's that?" She braced herself for yet another sales pitch.

"I realize you had feelings for Tremayne back in high school, but as wild as he was then, he's gotten a lot worse. In fact, if even half the stories about what he's done in the so-called line of duty are true, he's downright dangerous."

Sabrina folded her arms. "I wouldn't exactly call fighting terrorism
so-called
line of duty." Having been a victim of a terrorism attack, she was grateful that men like Zach existed.

"Point taken. But fighting the bad guys probably wasn't what got him court-martialed."

Court-martialed
? Titania hadn't mentioned that little detail while singing Zach's praises.

"I'm certainly no expert on the military, but I thought special operations were pretty much secret."

"They are. Which is, unfortunately, why no one's exactly sure what happened over there to get him kicked out of the SEALs. Though I have heard rumors of him beating an officer to death with his bare hands."

"I don't believe that."

Zach may have been wild, but there was no way she would believe that the boy who'd been surprisingly tender when turning down her advances could have done such a thing.

"Like I said, they're only rumors." He shrugged. "But the fact remains that he's no longer in the service, and it's no rumor that he was drunk most of the time when he first came back to the island. So, whatever happened, I'm sure your grandmother, if she were still alive, would warn you to stay clear of the guy. Because there's a good chance he's dangerously unstable."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. But thank you for your concern."

Which, Sabrina suspected, as she watched him drive back down the oak-lined drive, had a lot more to do with Brad not wanting her to go through with the construction plans than actually caring about her welfare.

After the BMW had disappeared from view, Sabrina went back into the house, and although she'd never been one to act on impulse, skimmed through the phone book and had just picked up the receiver to call Zach when the phone rang.

"Darling, I heard you'd come home early. Why on earth didn't you call and let us know you were coming?"

"It was a spur-of-the moment decision." And one she was already getting tired of explaining. "And I only got in last night, Aunt Lillian."

Although Lillian Honeycutt was technically the wife of Lucie's cousin, which, in the complex and interrelated ways of the South, made her, Sabrina thought—though wasn't quite sure—a second cousin twice removed by marriage, for some reason she'd grown up referring to Harlan and Lillian as aunt and uncle.

"But still, if I'd only known, Eugenia and I could have made the house ready for you. Put in some groceries."

"I didn't mind shopping."

"But, after all you've been through, you shouldn't have to. You should be resting."

"I'm not an invalid, Aunt Lillian. I'm fine. Really."

"Darling, you had a building blown up from underneath you."

"Well, there was that."

Sabrina's tone was a great deal drier than the air. She lifted her hair to allow the artificially chilled breeze flowing through the AC vents to cool the back of her neck.

"Honestly, darling, now you remind me of your father. He may have had a clever talent, but he never took anything seriously either."

"I take what happened very seriously. I just don't want to let a single act of terrorism define me."

"Well, I suppose I can understand that," Lillian Honeycutt allowed. "And isn't it exactly how Lucie would behave? Others might have first seen her brass. But I always admired her steel."

"Me, too."

"Your grandmother is sorely missed." Lillian's magnolia voice thickened with loss, and hearing a sniffle on the other end of the line, Sabrina pictured her dabbing her eyes with one of those lace-trimmed handkerchiefs she was never without. "Well, now that you're home, you must come to dinner."

"I'd like that."

It was mostly the truth. She did want to see her aunt and uncle again but had been happily planning to nuke a frozen sesame chicken dinner and then go to bed early with the paperback thriller she'd picked up at the market.

"Fine. I'll send Eugenia's husband, George, to pick you up at seven."

Realizing that her hopes for a quiet evening had been dashed, Sabrina tried one last negotiation ploy. "I'm perfectly capable of driving."

"After what happened to that poor girl, there's no way I'm allowing you out on the road alone after dark."

"What poor girl? And what happened?"

"You haven't heard?"

"No." If she had, she wouldn't have asked.

"Well"—Lillian lowered her voice, as if afraid someone might overhear her—"she was murdered in cold blood. Then her body was thrown into the marsh. As if she were nothing more than a piece of used tissue."

"Oh, my God. That's terrible." Sabrina couldn't recall ever hearing about a murder on Swann Island.

"It's worse. Although Harlan wouldn't share the details—professional ethics and all that, never mind that we've been married forty-three years—Eugenia happened to overhear him talking with Nate Spencer… he's the sheriff now. Nate, not Harlan."

"So Titania told me."

"They're such a lovely couple. Why, I was telling Nate just today, when he was here for the autopsy, that it's high time he started thinking seriously of marriage."

"That's one of those things people have to do in their own time."

"True. But I was seventeen when I married my Harlan, and look how well that turned out."

Sabrina couldn't argue that point. Forty-three years was definitely an achievement.

"Well, anyway, the poor dead girl appears to have been tortured."

Sabrina's breath caught. She opened her mouth to accuse her aunt of joking, but slammed it shut before the words slipped out. Murder was definitely nothing that anyone, let alone Lillian Honeycutt, would joke about.

"While chained."

Goose bumps prickled their way up Sabrina's arms. Ice hit her veins, freezing away the feeling of being in a sauna.

Okay. That was downright creepy for anywhere. Let alone the island.

"I'd fret myself to distraction worrying about you," Lillian said.

"We wouldn't want that."

When Lucie had first called with the news that Lillian was suffering from post-polio syndrome, Sabrina had researched the illness online and learned that depression and anxiety were not only common in PS sufferers but could also exacerbate other physical problems. Not a good thing, considering that Lillian was, according to Lucie, also showing signs of Parkinson's disease.

"The car will be there at seven o'clock." Lillian's pleased tone suggested she hadn't expected any other outcome. "Don't worry about dressing up, darling. Although I'd love to throw you a big welcome-home party, this is going to be a casual evening at home with family. I'm so looking forward to seeing you again, Sabrina. It's been far too long."

Sabrina couldn't argue with that.

It was only one evening. At least Lillian didn't run her house on European time—Sabrina figured that if she had to wait until nine o'clock to eat, she'd end up falling asleep before the Honeycutts' longtime housekeeper served the first course.

Fighting off jet lag, she dialed the number she'd initially intended to call.

"Well, that didn't take long," the deep, all-too-familiar male drawl came over the wires and slipped beneath her skin.

"What didn't take long?"

"For Sumner to wear out his welcome."

Did Zach Tremayne have to sound so damn smug? "What makes you think I'm not calling to tell you not to bother to come back tomorrow because I've decided to sell Swannsea to Brad's development company?"

"Never happen."

"Why not?" Even worse than his smugness was the thought that she might be so predictable.

"Because you're obviously an intelligent woman, New York. Plus, you're Lucie's granddaughter. No way are you going to hand over the ancestral home to a pirate like Sumner."

"In case it's slipped your mind, Lucie came from pirate roots."

"And was damn proud of them," he agreed without missing a beat. "In fact, she would've been one helluva privateer herself, back in the day. But guys like Sumner and his cohorts give pirates a bad name.

"Besides, the island already has two golf courses. What the hell does it need with a third?"

Which was exactly what she'd wondered. She'd also never understood the appeal of chasing a little white ball around all day.

"I suspect maybe golfers feel differently. So, you don't play?"

"Nah. I tried it once back in San Diego when I was dating an admiral's daughter. Took me two holes to realize I sucked at the game."

"Really?"

That surprised her. From the way he'd been swinging that hammer, and given that SEALs had to stay active, she'd have guessed that he would be good at all things physical.

Including…

Do not think about that
! she warned herself when the idea of getting physical with Zachariah Tremayne flashed through her mind.

"Really. I never could figure out whether to hit the ball when the dragon's mouth was open or closed."

Oh, damn. He'd made a joke. A lame one, granted. But heaven help her, it had her wondering if he might be the kind of man who could laugh in bed.

And definitely don't think about him in bed!

"May I ask you a question?"

"Sure. And the answer is yes."

"You don't even know what it is." She wondered what he'd say if she asked about his alleged court-martial.

"Doesn't matter. I can't imagine any man saying no to you, cupcake."

But he once had. She wondered if—hoped—his statement meant he'd forgotten the episode. After all, she suspected he'd had hoards of women all over the world throwing themselves at his feet. And other, more vital parts of his anatomy. Why should he remember her rash behavior?

"Did Lucie work with your father on plans for the addition?"

"As it happens, I have a set of working blueprints in the truck. I can bring them by this evening. Maybe pick up some softshell crabs to eat while we discuss them."

Smooth. Despite her determination to avoid temptation, she felt her lips quirking. "I'm having dinner with Harlan and Lillian tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough."

"Works for me."

She wasn't interested, Sabrina assured herself later as she turned on the shower. Had no intention of becoming interested. So, why was she irked by the fact that he hadn't pressed her to go out to dinner with him?

It was just as well. She had, after all, come back to the island for some much-needed rest and relaxation. And, unfortunately, although she hated to admit it, there was nothing relaxing about the way Zach Tremayne made her feel.

Swann Island wasn't precisely the same as when she'd last visited. But some things, it appeared, never changed.

"So." She stripped off her clothes and stood beneath the cool water. "Get over it."

Something, she feared, as she smoothed the liquid soap over her body, imagining Zach's hands following that same path, might well be easier said than done.