Irresistible Stranger (12 page)

Griff moved in, switched off the machine, scooped up her notes and legal pad, then claimed her hand—tight and snug. “Got room for a few gallons of Griff's Bliss?” he asked Timothy.

Timothy's mouth dropped. “I'd be so grateful. And so would my mother. She loves your ice cream.”

“Okay. Maybe I'll send over a sample of a new flavor, too, so your mom can say she was the first one to taste-test it.”

Lily wasn't sure how it all turned into a little fiasco, but Timothy, trying to be hospitable, seemed to be tripping all over Griff. And she was carrying all this stuff, bleary-eyed and kind of trip-tired herself. And Griff…well, by the time he bundled her into the car, he started laughing.

“After one of the worst days in the universe,” he said, “somehow we found a way to laugh, didn't we?”

She leaned back in the seat. “It's a miracle.”

“Nah,” he said. “It's just being together. Now let's hear it for everything you've been doing.”

She sobered immediately. “You won't believe what I discovered,” she said.

“Good stuff?”

“No. Scary stuff. And I'm getting darned tired of finding out scary stuff. You know a place called Silver Ridge?”

He shot her an odd look. “Sure.”

“Could we go there?”

O
ver a fast dinner of burgers off the grill, Lily relayed all the new information she'd discovered to Griff. The three different teenage boys targeted by arson. The escalating damage of the fires. The original label of vandalism, then arson, then serial arson. And although gasoline was a common accelerant, its repeated use in those arson incidents made up part of the pattern.

“The investigation report covering our fire said there was no link found to those other arson events. But what if there
was
a link, Griff?”

“Like what? There was no teenage boy in your house.”

“I know that. But the place next to us was for sale, empty. And the site of our fire was between the two houses.”

“But there was no teenage boy in the empty house either,” Griff said reasonably.

“Would you quit being so darned logical!” She tried again. “The police never found who caused those other fires.”

Griff nodded. “But there were no more arson incidents after your parents' fire.”

“Maybe that shocked the arsonist into quitting—because people died in our fire,” she speculated. “The question is, why there've been three arson fires
now,
since I came back to town. Or do you think that could be just coincidence?”

“One fire could have been accidental. Three—no way,” Griff said grimly.

“That's what I think. That there has to be a reason this started up again. And I still don't understand why the sheriff thinks I should leave town. Maybe that
would
stop the fires, if I disappeared. But he's the sheriff. Doesn't he want to know who's doing this?”

“He's a dad. With kids not far from your age. And he knows how much your family was hurt then. So maybe he doesn't want to see you hurt, sugar.”

“I don't want to be hurt either,” she grumbled. “But I'm running out of stuff to research. Everything I've found so far seems to verify that my dad never had a single reason to start that fire. But there's no solid proof that the fire wasn't accidental. I don't know if proof like that even exists. Especially after all these years. And you know what?”

She knew it was a child's question, but still he played along. “What?”

“At this point—I'm happy, Griff. I've learned a bunch about my dad. For my sake, for my sisters. That he was a good man. A man of honor. Not a coward. That's all I really needed to know. That he was the man I thought he was.”

“And did you need that proof?”

Something in his voice made her look at him, really look. By then they'd finished dinner, popped their few dishes in the dishwasher, and then went out to his car. During the conversation he was driving, and even though the sun was dropping fast, she could see his profile clearly, see the oddly guarded expression when he'd asked that question. “No,” she said slowly. “I always knew my dad was a good man. Yes, I wanted the public proof, if I could find it, to clear his name. But I really don't care what anyone ever said about him—I knew what was true in my heart.”

“So you trust your heart, do you?”

She kept looking at him. “I do. I have extraordinary judgment with people,” she murmured. “Particularly with men.”

He let out an amused chuckle. “You don't think you're just a bit on the trusting side?”

“You sound like my sisters—and they're wrong, too. I trust very, very, very rarely. And it takes even more than that for me to trust at a gut level. Which I can prove.”

“How's that?”

“I slept with you, didn't I? I picked you to seduce, out of the hoards and hoards of men I could have chosen—seeing as how I'm gorgeous and smart and all that.” She
figured she'd make him laugh again. Instead he shot her another strange look.

“How could you
not
know that you're gorgeous and smart and ‘all that'? Or are all the guys deaf and blind where you live?”

“Aw, that Southern sweet talk is water for a girl's worst thirst.”

“What if it isn't sweet talk?”

“Not to distract you from this totally silly conversation, but where on earth
are
we?”

“Where you asked me to take you. I admit I was surprised. But I always try to do what a lady asks.”

“
This
is Silver Ridge?”

“Well—we'll get to Silver Ridge, sugar. It's just a little complicated. Now, I brought bug spray. And we're just following this short trail to the boat. I want you to keep your hands and feet in the boat at all times. There are gators and snakes in the water.”

“
What?
Wait a minute. Wait, wait, wait.
Wait!
This isn't what I signed up for….” She galloped after him, but it didn't do any good.

“Too late to change your mind now. There's a time when you can always tell a man no, sugar. But this isn't about sex. And why ever you thought you wanted to come here, at this point you're getting your money's worth. I guarantee it.”

“Wait. Wait…”

After eating, she, knew they were headed for Silver Ridge, where she'd asked to go. But she was whipped after the emotional and physical day. She hadn't paid any attention to their outside surroundings. In the car, she'd
looked at Griff, only at Griff. Being with him had lifted her spirits and her heart like nothing else possibly could have. Somehow, he made her feel like a pure female—with an absolutely pure male.

His clothes certainly didn't define him. He was just wearing chinos, sandals, a polo; his hair was ruffled up and his chin had the day's shadow of a beard. Another guy would have looked casual. Griff somehow managed to look not quite respectable at the same time. And sexy. Damn man was always sexy. Trouble from head to toe, from his eyes to his butt to the shape of his hands.

If she had to sin, Lily thought, she was so glad it was him. There was no point in doing something halfway. Since she'd fallen off the Good Girl Wagon, she could at least fall the whole huge distance to a man as compellingly wrong for her as Griff.

But this…

She was still following him, but not happily. She'd had the sense in the car that he was testing her in some odd way; but whatever that test was, she decided she was willing to fail it. This was too darned scary.

Night hadn't completely fallen on the jagged path from the cliff to the water. Minutes of sunset were still left, that time when the sky was a violent purple, a ruby red, a deepening sapphire. In another ten minutes, she wouldn't be able to see the ghastly scene in front of her.

The water had that black, murky stillness of a swamp in a horror movie, backdropped by big old oaks and their bearded moss. Invisible things in the shadows made sounds, hungry sounds, scary sounds. The “boat” he motioned her toward looked like a raft. An inadequate
raft. It looked as if someone had glued a bunch of boards together, makeshift fashion, creating a tiny patio with a white vinyl bench and seat, with a little box table nailed in the middle.

“We're not going on that, are we?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But snakes could climb up on that. Alligators. There could be leeches in that water. Or the moss could strangle us. We could sink. It doesn't have any sides. It doesn't have any motor—”

“Hey, don't be blaming me for this deal. This wasn't my idea. It was yours. This is the way to Silver Ridge.”

“Griff, honestly, couldn't you afford a little better boat?”

“This one's ideal for where we're going. Pretty much a pole raft is the only way to navigate a shallow swamp. It's not something I do very often, but for this trip, it's perfect for what you want to see.”

“Perfect?” She said the word as if testing it, then shook her head. “Bad things are going to try and grab us in the dark,” she said ominously.

“Uh-huh. It's going to be very scary. Very dangerous. Probably the riskiest thing you've done in your whole life.”

“Hey. Don't make fun of a woman when she's busy being a major wimp.”

But Lily had to stop talking. She was having too much fun. It was like living out the old Kathryn Hepburn
African Queen
fantasy—not that Lily wanted any experience with leeches—but the swampy darkness and sounds and moss-draped trees were impossibly
romantic. Possibly, Griff already realized she was into that kind of corniness, because she'd leapt onto the raft without prompting, and immediately took up the Princess Position, lounging on the cushions. Griff picked up the long pole.

“So—where are we shoving off to, cap'n?”

With a grin, Griff motioned into the darkness. “We're just hugging the shore, for about ten minutes. You can take a turn steering if you want.”

“I won't tip us over?”

“There's only about a foot of water. And it's warm. Not a good place to swim—the bottom's too yucky—but it won't kill us if we get wet.”

“Are you going to serve me champagne and grapes?”

“Nope, but there's a cold chest in that box. Bottles of water if you're thirsty. And emergency chocolate.”

“Chocolate is a basic food group. It's always an emergency,” she informed him. She'd never have believed it—that the day's stresses—the week's stresses—seemed to ease away. She didn't stop thinking about fires and mysteries and frustrations. It was just…this was definitely an hour off.

An hour completely free.

An owl whooed its dusty call. The rich smells of moss and loamy earth and vegetation hit her nose like an exotic perfume. Frogs burped in unison from the shoreline, where grasses rustled and vines climbed the increasingly steep bank. Mist ribboned between trees, danced in the shadows.

On the left, rock increasingly dominated the landscape.
She didn't know if the stone was limestone or granite, but it was almost stark white in darkness, and where the moonlight hit it, silver.

“So…this is Silver Ridge.” She couldn't stop looking. The moonlight on the rock was darned near breathtaking, as shiny silver as a jeweler's treasure.

“Yeah.” Griff locked the pole, came over and sank to the deck beside her. “As far as I can tell, it's been the lover's lane here for centuries. Kids park on top of the ridge. Or boat in, like we're doing. There's one deep spot, just off the cliff edge—the kids have used it as a swimming hole for years. There's an underground spring there, keeps the water cool and clean. Parents have forbid kids from coming here, but it never does any good. On a weekend night—or a prom night—they could clean up selling tickets to get a parking spot on top of the ridge.”

But not tonight. There was no one here this night. But them.

Griff raised a hand, sifted his fingers idly through her hair. His touch was infinitely light, as tender as softness. His eyes found hers in the darkness.

“I forgot why we're here,” she murmured.

“Above. On top of the ridge. This was where one of the arson fires were set, long ago. You wanted to see where it was.”

“A lovers' lane.” She knew. Not the kind of
knew
where she could prove it in a court of law, but all the things she'd learned and read came together with that single snap. “It was a girl who set the fires back then. A
girl scorned. Hurt by some boy she thought she liked. Or
boys,
in the plural.”

“That's how I'd see it, from the stuff you uncovered.”

“Arsonists are more commonly male.” Lily remembered reading that.

“Maybe those are the statistics. But the first fire was in a boy's locker, then a boy's bedroom, then a lover's lane site. And since the boys were all the victims, it just seems like it had to be a girl.”

“A girl who felt hurt. Or humiliated. Or angry.”

“Or all three. A girl who needed some kind of revenge.”

The more Griff rubbed her scalp, combing fingers into her hair, the more Lily was afraid she'd fall into some drugged bliss state. It's not as if she was normally a sensualist. She was just a sucker for a head rub, and it'd been years since anyone had given her one. “You think it's the same girl who's been setting the fires this week?”

“I don't know. But two plus two usually equals four. I've been thinking how the rest of it adds up. Just supposition. But the three fires in the past weren't set to deliberately hurt any of those boys. Just to hurt property. To let those boys know she wasn't happy with their behavior. And the three fires since you've been home—they have to be about you. Because you're the only link. But no one's tried to hurt you specifically. It seems like an echo. She's telling you that she's not happy with your behavior. That you're here. Looking into this.”

“Griff.”

“What?”

“I think your reasoning is brilliant. And scary. But I can't think about this anymore. Not right now.”

“How come?”

“You know how come.” But she didn't move. And his fingers kept up that magic scalp massage. The moon and the sweet, rich smells and barely rocking raft and Griff, his closeness, all seemed to come together like wine. Too much wine. Way, way too much wine.

“I have this feeling…that you're easy, Lily.”

“I am. I am.”

“You don't seem impressed by money. I can't see you lusting after jewels. But I just don't know about the strength of your character—when you're so willing to cave for a little scalp rub.”

She needed to correct one item there. “Hey, I like jewels. Or I'm sure I could get into jewels, if I just had the chance.”

“So on a set of scales, jewels at one end, and a scalp rub on the other…”

“All right, all right, I admit it. Nothing compares to a scalp rub. But in general, there's plenty of greed and selfishness and stuff like that in my character.”

“I think we should encourage those things.” Even though the white boat cushion was long and narrow, he managed to twist her on her stomach without even nominally rocking the boat—conceivably because she was limper than noodles and already completely pliable. His hands chased up her tee, unhooked her bra. She considered expressing a little outrage—or at
least surprise—but by then he was already rubbing and kneading and stroking her back.