Hidden Away (6 page)

Eggs, stuff for his protein shakes. Then he frowned. What were the odds of his cottage having a blender? He was lucky to have a few pots and pans to cook in. Cheese, bread, mayo, mustard and ketchup. Definitely ketchup. What meal was complete without it?

He smiled at the memory of his mother grumbling about his need to pour ketchup on everything.

When he finally rolled the cart to the front of the store, he was treated to several curious stares. It was then he realized that most everyone else had a basket with maybe one day’s worth of food. It took a while to check out since there was only one clerk, and the line piled up behind him as everyone waited for all his groceries to be tallied.

A young guy who looked to be in his teens approached Garrett as he finished paying.

“You want I deliver the groceries to where you stay? I can get my friends to help. We work cheap.”

Garrett eyed the eager kid. “How cheap?”

“Twenty euros apiece.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Garrett said dryly. “I’ll give you twenty American and you split it with your friends.”

The kid beamed at him. “Deal.”

Garrett pulled out his wallet. “I’m the last cottage down the beach from the coffee shack.”

“Yes, I know it. I’ll bring them down and leave them on your porch. Don’t be long. You wouldn’t want your meat to spoil.”

No, he didn’t want his food to spoil. Who knew how long it took the grocery to restock their non-fish meat items.

Since the kid was taking the groceries, Garrett ambled down to one of the shops that boasted fishing supplies. He walked in to see the shopkeeper sitting behind the register with his feet propped up on the counter. He had a floppy hat pulled low over his eyes, and it looked like he was taking a nap. Garrett was nearly by him when the guy tipped up the brim, gave him a cursory onceover and then nodded.

“Feel free to look around. If you need any help, just holler.”

Garrett was surprised to hear an American drawl. Not just American, but clearly southern. “Got a recommendation for something to do a little surf fishing with?”

The shop owner slid his feet off the counter and they landed with a clunk on the floor. He pushed back the hat and sized up Garrett more fully. Then he grunted. “Military, though probably not for a few years. Injury to your shoulder. Recent. Looking for some R and R and don’t much like other people. Am I right?”

Garrett raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious.

“Relax. I read people. Nothing much else to do around here when what little tourist season we have is over.” He stuck out his hand to Garrett. “Rob Garner. Retired army. Opened up shop here five years ago. Doesn’t take much to live here and the scenery’s good. I got in at a good time. In a few years, the rest of the world will catch on to what we have here and the property values will soar. Then I can sell and live high on the hog.”

Garrett returned his hand shake. “Garrett Kelly. Marine Corps. And yeah, here for some R and R and no, I don’t like people much.”

Rob laughed and clapped his hands together. “I don’t have much use for them myself. Now, if you want to do some surf fishing, I’d suggest a casting rod that you can get out there a ways with. Then you can slip it into the holder, kick back with a beer and wait for the fish to bite. All the casting and reeling those bass fishermen do is for idiots. Fishing’s supposed to be relaxing.”

Garrett cracked a smile. “Fuckin’ A.”

“Come on, I’ll get you what you need. For bait you can use shad or shrimp. Cut bait is good too.”

Garrett watched as Rob pulled down about a twelve-foot rod, handed it to Garrett and then went down another aisle to get hooks, surf weights and liters. A few moments later, he piled everything onto the counter. “You’re all set. I’ll ring you up and you can be fishing this afternoon if you want.”

“Thanks. I might do that. Got the beer already. Maybe I’ll grill some steak and have dinner on the beach.”

Rob nodded. “Yep, that sounds like a pretty good damn day to me. Enjoy it. If there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to come back in.”

Garrett broke down the rod to make it more manageable to carry, then collected the bag with all the other supplies. With a nod, he headed back outside.

Hopefully the kid had delivered the groceries while Garrett was in the bait shop. Breakfast had consisted of a dry bagel on the plane, and his stomach was doing some serious protesting. A steak and a little fishing sounded next to heaven.

He glanced over to the market to see a woman step out, bag clutched close to her chest. She glanced furtively left and right and then strode toward the coffee shack. His pulse picked up. If he wasn’t mistaken, he’d just gotten his first real-life glimpse of Sarah Daniels.

On impulse, he crossed the street toward the coffee shack. He’d intended to take the main road back, but carrying the fishing pole and supplies, he had a ready excuse to take the beach path.

When he rounded the corner of the shack, he saw her head bob down the stone steps leading to the beach. He waited a moment to give her a bigger head start and then took out after her.

At first she didn’t realize he was following her. Which further cemented his opinion that she was hopelessly naïve. When she did look over her shoulder, her eyes flared in alarm. Then she made a concerted effort to shield her reaction. She even offered a semblance of a smile as she took in the fishing gear he carried before turning around and increasing her pace.

Twice more she turned just enough that she could see him and each time she sped up. By the time she reached her cottage, he could tell she was alarmed by the fact he still trailed her. She hurried up her steps, and in her haste to open the door, she dropped one of the bags she carried.

She yanked the door open then turned so she could see him while she picked up her things. Her gaze never left him as she shoved the items back into her bag. Garrett found himself strangely transfixed and unable to look away. The pictures hadn’t done her justice, nor had they captured the haunted, frightened eyes rimmed with shadows. She looked infinitely fragile, scared out of her mind, but he also saw something else. Maybe it was the way she
tried
not to look scared or maybe it was subtle stiffening of her shoulders and the rebellious twist to her lips. She was a fighter, not the timid mouse he’d imagined.

Awareness prickled over his skin and tightened the hairs at his nape. He rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to dispel the momentary discomfort. His reaction irritated and intrigued him all at the same time.

He offered a friendly wave and continued on his way, though he found it hard to drag his gaze away from her. He didn’t want her to feel threatened by him, because he planned to see a lot more of her.

SARAH
watched from between the slats of her wooden blinds as the man jogged down the beach. Every so often he’d stop, drop down and do a series of push-ups. Sweat gleamed in the sunlight and she could see the strain on his face as he pushed himself harder.

Ever since she’d freaked out two days ago when she’d realized he was following her, she paid careful attention to her new neighbor. Granted, her imagination had run wild, but she didn’t get down on herself for being careful.

He was a big man. Beautiful. She chided herself for her fanciful thoughts, but the man
was
beautiful. He was solidly built, lean and muscled with no amount of spare flesh anywhere that she could see. His black hair was mussed on top, as if he’d outgrown a more severe military cut. Judging by the amount of time he spent working out and the way he’d roll his shoulder with a grimace, she figured he’d been injured. Maybe he was on leave or maybe he’d been discharged after his injury.

Or maybe she was just trying to convince herself that her new neighbor wasn’t a threat to her.

She closed her eyes and let the slat fall. Not everyone was the enemy. The problem was figuring out who wasn’t, and she didn’t have the luxury of differentiating.

It relieved her that she felt the stirrings of interest—feminine interest—in this man. That she could look and appreciate and even wonder about him made her want to do a fist pump in the air.
Up yours, Allen Cross. You haven’t won. You didn’t destroy me.

A plaintive meow broke her from her thoughts and she turned to see the cat sitting on the countertop, eyeing her expectantly. Sarah smiled and walked over to rub her hand over the cat’s head.

“I suppose I need to name you. I can’t continue calling you Cat, can I?”

The cat blinked and let out a purr, then walked over to the cabinet where Sarah kept the cat food. She reared up on her hind legs and pawed at the door. Sarah chuckled and went to oblige the hungry animal.

Her new neighbor had already established a routine. She felt like some stalker watching his every movement. Part of it was her wariness, but the other part was curiosity. There wasn’t much else to do out here but watch the water. There wasn’t a lot of traffic down this way because of the smaller number of houses, most of which were rentals. He was the only other person she saw on her end of the beach with any regularity, and she found herself fascinated by him.

He was up early in the mornings, jogging, sometimes running. Then he’d disappear into his cottage only to reappear later with his fishing gear. He’d set up, wade out into the surf to cast his line and then wade back and position his pole in the holder. Then he’d kick back in a rickety-looking lawn chair, ice chest on the ground next to him and wait.

She had to admire his patience. He’d sit for long periods of time until the rod tip bent, when he’d leap up to set the hook and begin reeling in. Most of the fish were smaller, but she’d stood in her window watching for a solid half hour watching him wrestle a huge catch to the shores.

He’d unhook it, admire it, hold it up in the sun and then wade out to free it again. Then he’d begin the process all over again.

She envied his freedom. The complete lack of care. He didn’t look as though he had a worry in the world other than enjoying his quiet day in the sun. She poured the cat food into the bowl and set it on the floor, then stood back as the kitty began devouring it like it was a piece of prime steak.

“Patches,” she decided. “Not terribly original. I’m sure there are thousands of other calicos out there with the same exact name, but I bet you’re the only one on this island.”

Patches didn’t look up from her food.

Sarah went back to the window to see if she could catch another glimpse of her neighbor. To her surprise, he’d changed into a pair of swim trunks and was now standing at the water’s edge. The waves foamed and covered his feet as he stared over the horizon.

He raised his arms and then began a series of motions that looked to her like a martial arts workout. Maybe Tai Chi? She watched, absorbed by the sensuality of his movements. She might have expected a man of his size to be clumsy, but he moved with a grace that surprised her.

Lyrical. He moved in harmony with the water, as though he blocked out everything but the beauty immediately surrounding him. She was, in that moment, insanely jealous of the peace that surrounded him like an aura.

She stared unabashedly as he went through the motions. At one point he turned, and she could swear he saw her watching him, but she shook off the notion. She was staring through an opening no bigger than an inch and he was at least fifty yards away. Maybe farther.

Still, it was enough to pull her away from the window. She needed something else to focus on. The isolation was driving her insane. Her gaze snagged on her laptop bag.

The waiting was making her crazy. Maybe she could check out the little bookstore in the town square. She’d even seen a section in the market where they rented DVDs. She hadn’t even turned on the television to see if it or the DVD player worked but movies would be a welcome distraction.

And she totally needed to get out of this cottage before she lost her mind.

She grabbed her bag, made sure the cat was nowhere near the door and let herself out. As she descended the steps to the beach, she looked to her right to see her neighbor swimming at a fast stroke away from shore. She stood and watched for a moment until he got so far away she could no longer see him and then she headed down the beach in the opposite direction.

Her first stop was at the coffee shack, where she set up in her usual corner, accepted a cup of the local brew from Marie and then she went through the steps to check her email. As suspected, she had no new messages. It was tempting to search the local news in Boston but she was too paranoid. The last thing she wanted was to tip off anyone as to her location. And who knew what could be accomplished on the Internet?

Yes, she was paranoid, but she could live with that. It might just save her life. It didn’t help that she was a complete idiot about technology.

Her instinct was to hurry through her coffee, go to the bookshop and rush back to her cottage. But she tempered that urge and remained to sip at her coffee and watch the goings on in the little café, such as they were. She hated the idea of going back to the cottage, where she’d once again be alone. She hated being alone. She was a people person. She liked being around people even if she didn’t interact with them much, loved the big city with all the flashes of color and culture.

She glanced out the front window to watch the passersby and speculate on their circumstances, where they came from, where they were going. When the waitress came to offer her a refill, she smiled and accepted, determined to stay and enjoy her break from isolation.

After the second cup, she was jittery from the double jolt of caffeine and anxious to be off. She slid out of her chair, careful to tuck her laptop into her bag and then exited the front of the shop to cross the street to the bookstore. It was two doors down from the market with only a fishing supply shop to separate them.