Freefall (14 page)

The sun had set over Somersett Harbor, casting Whispering Pines into shadows. But the night scope on the long-range rifle, along with the chandelier that turned the dining room nearly as bright as midday, allowed the man to observe the scene undetected.

Even if Tremayne and the Swann girl hadn't been seated next to each other, it would have been impossible to miss the connection between them. The brush of her hand against his arm, his light caress of her thigh beneath the tablecloth, the way they'd look at each other when they thought no one was noticing.

Interesting.

He'd been watching the former SEAL for weeks, planning his mission with the attention the Joint Chiefs ought to use when preparing to invade a foreign country.

Which admittedly would have been easier back when the guy was drinking himself into oblivion.

The problem with that was he hadn't wanted Tremayne dead drunk. He wanted the bastard dead.

But he also wanted him sober enough to be fully aware of what was happening to him.

And why.

Then, proving that timing was fucking everything, damned if the guy hadn't sobered up just when he'd been about to make his move. Which had thrown a monkey wrench into his plans.

Fortunately, all those months in a rat-infested prison cell had taught the man a lot about patience.

So he waited.

And watched.

And proving that it was true about a window opening when a door slammed shut, it appeared the big tough SEAL might have a new weakness.

One more easily exploited than the booze.

What would happen, the man wondered, if he allowed things to play out a little longer? What if Tremayne started to care for the woman who'd so obviously caught his attention?

What if—while it was admittedly a stretch, it
could
happen—he fell in love?

Only to have her taken away from him?

It was, the man thought as he watched his enemy skim a finger down the back of Sabrina Swann's slender hand, an intriguing possibility.

Although Lillian had described the evening as a casual family supper at home, to Zach's mind there was, nothing casual about a dining table large enough to seat twelve covered with a snowy white cloth and gleaming with an impressive array of gold-edged china, heavy sterling silver, and crystal.

The she-crab soup, spinach salad, and sautéed local sea scallops over creamy white grits served with a lobster butter sauce were the best meal he'd ever tasted.

But it was difficult to keep his mind on the food and conversation while memories of that damn flashback lingered in his mind. Even more difficult was concentrating when the woman sitting to him smelled like heaven and kept casually touching him. Not to flirt, but to reassure.

Which he would've found humiliating if he hadn't enjoyed it so much.

"So, Sabrina," Harlan said, "what's this I hear about you taking on Lucie's cockamamie plan to expand Swannsea?"

"I'm merely considering it, Uncle Harlan." If she was at all offended by his less than flattering question, her calm tone didn't reveal it.

"Does that mean you're planning to stay here on the island?"

"Well, not permanently, but—"

"Then how could you possibly expect to run a hands-on enterprise like that?"

"Harlan," Lillian murmured warningly.

"Well,
someone
has to say something," he blustered. "Granted, my cousin was a force on the island, and while she had many clever ideas, in my opinion this wasn't one of them."

"Lincoln and Titania both seemed to approve," Lillian said.

"Line did?" Sabrina asked.

"Well, we didn't get into details, but when Eugenia and I stopped by one afternoon last month to pick up some of that lovely herbal infusion tea he's been making, I mentioned it to him and he seemed to think it was worth considering."

"He was undoubtedly merely being polite," Harlan said. "And it's not the least bit surprising that both Lincoln and Titania would be boosters. They would, after all, both benefit from the additional revenue it'd bring in."

"I seriously doubt that's Titania's motivation," Sabrina said mildly. "She seems quite happy, and satisfied running the Wisteria Tea Room and Bakery."

"Oh, that's such a lovely restaurant!" Lillian said. "I'll admit I never cared to go there when it was the Crab Shack, but Eugenia and I do so enjoy stopping by to indulge in Titania's desserts. In fact, we're having her delicious Lady Baltimore cake tonight."

She leaned forward, a bit across the table, toward Zach. "Which, of course, isn't from Baltimore at all, as some Yankees like to claim, but originated right here in South Carolina, at a tea shop in Charleston."

"Is that so?" Zach asked politely.

"Oh, yes. According to the story, the cake was first baked by Alicia Rhett Mayberry, for a novelist who was so enraptured with its taste that he titled his next book
Lady Baltimore
."

"The point I was attempting to make, my dear"—Harlan reentered the sidetracked conversation, saving Zach from having to respond to the cake story—"is that very few people could say no to my cousin once she set her mind to something."

"I haven't spoken with Line yet," Sabrina said, "but I've been friends with Titania for nearly twenty years and have never known her to let anyone steamroller her. And I have to second what Aunt Lillian said about her seeming enthusiastic about the idea of incorporating Swarm Tea into her recipes."

"That's all well and good." Zach could tell that Harlan, who was of a generation of physicians treated like gods by their patients, wasn't accustomed to being argued with. "But that doesn't mean she has the ability to run a business as complex as Swann Tea."

"But that's what her brother is doing." Lillian apparently hadn't received the never-question-the-doctor memo.

"And very well, too," Harlan allowed. A bit reluctantly, Zach thought. "His idea to add herbal infusions is paying off nicely. But that doesn't mean he's going to be amenable to having hoards of tourists tramping all through the tea fields."

"I strongly doubt that's what Lucie had in mind," Sabrina, who also appeared to have missed the memo, said.

"She told me she was thinking of buses for the tourists," Lillian volunteered. "To keep them from wandering all over the fields. Or perhaps, in the beginning, something like those cute little fringe-topped Jeeps. You know, Harlan, like the ones we rode in during our trip to Hawaii that winter."

"It would still be disruptive." He harrumphed. "And costly." He speared Zach with a look. "I saw a bill from Tremayne Construction for blueprints."

"I believe my father and Miss Lucie worked with a Somersett architect on those," Zach said.

"And the plans call for an additional thousand square feet?"

"Twelve hundred, sir."

"Which would be built where?"

"Off the solarium."

"There's a garden there."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you aware of the fact that a great many of those plants come from stock that predates the Revolution?"

"Yes, sir," Zach repeated, even as the doctor's tone grated. All the years in the military had taught him to temper his response to those who outranked him. Except for that one time…

"But Lucie found a landscape architect at USC who believes he can transplant them without much loss. The greenhouse out back next to what used to be the summer kitchen is already being used for regermination."

The older man shook his head. His white brows beetled. "I understand that you're at loose ends right now, Sabrina, dear. And that being the case, throwing yourself into a project like this might seem like the thing to do to take your mind off your problems. However, as executor of your grandmother's estate—"

"Speaking of Lucie's estate, darling"—Lillian broke in again—"has Earl Gardner gotten hold of you?"

He felt Sabrina stiffen at the name of the island's mayor. "I've heard from him. He sent his condolences."

"Did he happen to mention a memorial service?"

"I believe it might have come up."

"I know Lucie's feelings about a funeral," Lillian said, blithely forging on. "I can't fully appreciate or approve of them, but Harlan and I felt obligated to follow the instructions in the will she'd left with her lawyer."

"I'm sure she would've appreciated that."

"I hope she does."

No one in the room could have missed Lillian's use of the present tense. Obviously she felt her husband's cousin's spirit lived on. Perhaps in some bright and shining place with winged choruses of angels playing harps.

Zach found himself wishing that he had even an iota of the older woman's faith. But he'd witnessed a lot of death and not once had he seen anything resembling all those stories he'd heard of a soul rising up from the now useless body.

"But," Lillian continued, "a memorial service is
not
the same thing as a funeral. There are no depressing dirges or lowering of caskets into the ground, or tossing of dirt. It's not just Earl Gardner who's pressing for some sort of service, Sabrina. Nearly everyone on the island wants to do something to commemorate a remarkable woman's remarkable life."

Sabrina lifted her fingers to her temple. "I understand, but—"

"The service is going to happen with or without your consent, Sabrina," Harlan declared. "Wouldn't it be better for us to at least try to make it a party Lucie would enjoy?"

"I don't know." She was obviously conflicted.

The ring of Harlan's cell phone cut off any further discussion. For now.

"It's my service again." He took in the caller ID screen. "I'll need to take this call."

"I have to admit, dear," Lillian said to Sabrina as Harlan strode from the room, "that as much as I can understand my husband's reservations about the tea tours, and even shared some of my concerns with Lucie when she first began planning the enterprise, I'm fully in favor of anything that will keep you here, even if only for a short time."

She turned toward Zach. "Don't you agree, Zachariah?"

Knowing a lot about land mines, Zach could recognize a conversational minefield when he stumbled into one.

"I'm sure Sabrina would do a bang-up job of any project she took on," he said diplomatically.

"Well, of course she would," Lillian said. "In that respect, she definitely takes after her grandmother. As I keep trying to tell Harlan, but—"

"I'm sorry, dear." The man in question was back, seeming less irritated than when the call came in. "But duty calls. It seems Becky's going to be a mother by morning after all."

"It's her first," Lillian reminded him unnecessarily. "You should at least have time for dessert."

"Her water broke," he said simply.

"I should have married George Martindale," Lillian huffed prettily. "I doubt a dermatologist ever has to make house calls."

"Ah, but if you'd married my medical school rival, my love"—he skimmed a long-fingered hand down her hair—"you'd be living in Boise."

She lifted her still-firm chin. "I recall Idaho being lovely that time we were skiing in Sun Valley."

"Spectacular scenery, with great powder," Harlan allowed. "But it's not Swann Island."

"True enough." She sighed. Tilted her head so he could kiss her cheek. "I won't wait up."

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "And I promise to give some more thought to what we've been discussing."

"I've been wanting Harlan to retire," Lillian revealed. "But he doesn't know what he'd do with himself now that he's sworn off golf."

"You have?" Sabrina sounded surprised at that revelation.

"Ever since that jackass Sumner started building his damn course right up against my property line." A dark cloud moved over the handsome face. "That's when I realized that I'd been responsible for other people having their privacy ruined just so I could hit a little white ball around on the grass. But that boy's going to find out he's tangled with the wrong person. Because first thing tomorrow, Judge Karr is going to issue an injunction stopping construction."

"On what grounds?" Sabrina asked.

"On the grounds that he didn't properly survey the property."

"He's building on Whispering Pines property?"

"Probably not," Harlan allowed reluctantly. "It's merely a legal maneuver my attorney came up with to slow things down."

"But as soon as he gets a proper survey, won't he go back to work?"

"Not if we pull another tactic out of the hat. My plan is to stall long enough to drive the bastard into bankruptcy." His face had gone as red as a sunset over the marsh, and a vein pulsed at his temple.

"Now, dear," Lillian said soothingly, "remember your blood pressure. I've been trying to get him to take up boating," she divulged. "Margaret Palmer and her husband recently took a trip down the Intracoastal Waterway to Miami. This summer they're planning to take the route north to Norfolk."

She sighed again, reminding Zach of a little girl with her nose pressed up against a Macy's Christmas window.

Her husband's expression softened, making Zach wonder what it must be like to stay with one woman for over forty years. Although he'd never been one for long-term commitments, oddly, at this moment he found himself almost envying the doctor.

Not for the wealth and respect his profession had brought him but for the love Zach saw shining in his wife's eyes as she gazed up at him.

"I told you I'd think about it." He skimmed a hand over her shoulder. "Now I really need to get to the hospital."

He said his good-byes and was off.

"I do adore my husband," Lillian said. "But if you'll take a word of advice from an old married woman, darling," she said to Sabrina, "unless you enjoy spending a great deal of time alone, never wed a doctor." She smiled up at Zach. "Contractors don't work at night, do they?"

He would have had to be deaf to miss the meaning of that question. "My father spent a lot of evenings going over blueprints and plans. But, no, I don't recall him ever going out to a job site after dark."

"Well." Her mood, which had deflated a bit with that phone call, definitely perked up. "Isn't that nice to know." She beamed her satisfaction.

Feeling a noose tightening around his neck, Zach felt like jumping up and kissing Eugenia when the housekeeper chose that moment to arrive with the frothy white three-layer Lady Baltimore cake.