Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense) (14 page)

Now
the woman's face changed again.   Now it was the face of Danya's mother. 
Or—had it been so earlier in the dream?  She couldn't remember. 

Terror
shook Danya's chest as this woman—who looked like her mother, but was not quite
her—held Danya's hand and gave her a sympathetic look.  A look that told her:
this was not just a dream, this was what it was to die in your sleep.  The last
thing Danya remembered seeing was Eliana's face...her sweet, beautiful face...

The
next night Michael was over, preparing his one dish, chili.  “Want some help?”
Nicole offered, leaning close to the stove.

“No
way, this is my big moment.” 

“Really...this
is it, huh?” she said with mock pity.

“Actually,
could you hand me the wine?” 

Once
she passed the bottle, he poured a splash of Cabernet into the pot.  “So how is
that research project going?” he asked.

“So
far, so good.  There’s a lot of interesting history.  For instance, I was
reading today that in 1879, some kids on the beach came across the base of the
original lighthouse buried in the sand.  Apparently the erosion from recent
storms had partially unearthed it, and the boys more or less stumbled upon it. 
So get this—when they dug further, they found clay pits underneath, and inside
of them, ancient gold coins!”

Doubtfully,
Michael said, “Are you making this up?”

“No,
it's true!  I just read it today.  At the time, people were confused how these
coins could have gotten there.  Finally people figured that pirates must have
buried them there long ago—long before the original lighthouse was ever put
up.”

“I
wonder whatever happened to the coins,” Michael remarked, stirring crushed red
pepper into the chili.  “You know, I'm surprised you went to school for English
instead of history.  You're really into it.”

“I
love books,” Nicole said.  “You know the stereotype of women and shoes?  Well,
picture that, but with books.”

“I
read a lot, too,” Michael said, turning the stove down as the chili began to
bubble.

“You
do
?”
she said, surprised.

“Yes.”

“What,
you mean
books
?”

“Yes,
books
,” Michael said with a laugh.  “What the hell?”

Nicole
laughed then, too, realizing how she had sounded.  But honestly she would not
have pictured Michael with a book in his hand.  She wasn't sure why; maybe it
was the shaved head.
 I'm too sheltered
, she thought suddenly. 
Unfortunately, the thought flitted pretty effortlessly to the back of her
mind. 

“Well,
you're welcome to borrow something.  My aunt's library is filled with books. 
Which I realize is kind of appealing in a 'library.'  Here...”  She tugged
lightly on his sleeve.  “...I'll show you.”

With
a surge of adrenaline, Michael tossed the towel to the counter.  Finally he and
Nicole were moving past the kitchen. 

Had
she not invited him deeper into the house, he'd planned to lead her around to
that at some point tonight, but it was always better when a woman believed
something was her idea.

As
she led him down a hallway on the first floor, Michael eyed his surroundings
carefully.  They passed a closed door on the left.  Casually, he asked, “What's
in there?”

“Oh,
that was my aunt's studio,” Nicole said, glancing back.  “She painted in
there.  The library's in here.”  She led him into the next room and flipped on
the lights.

Admiringly,
Michael cast his eyes around.  “Man...this place is like something out of a
movie.”

“Isn't
it great?  I feel like it's glamorous and vintage at the same time.”  

“A
lot of paintings,” he remarked.

With
a tilt of her head, Nicole turned and looked at him.  “That's a strange
comment.”

“Why?”
he said.

“Because...most
people would comment on how many books, that's all.” 

Fuck,
that was stupid of him. 

“Take
your time, look through the books,” Nicole offered.

Michael
willed himself to remain casual, to be discreet. 
A girl in a blue dress
,
Lucius had told him.
 
That, and the approximate dimensions of the painting. 

Of
course, Michael wouldn't be relying on Lucius for information much longer.  He
fully intended to smoke out their silent partner himself and put things on more
level ground.  He wasn't greedy; he was content with 20% .  But he had no
intention of getting bled out of his cut by Lucius or some anonymous puppet
master.  Whoever was behind this job, it was obviously someone who was
determined to get inside this house—but did not know how to go about it
himself. 

Or
her
self?
Michael considered suddenly.  But he dismissed the notion that Lucius’s silent
partner was a woman.

Now
he took a quick inventory of the library walls.  It was an eclectic mix by all
different artists.  Two seascapes, a portrait of William Shakespeare, a
painting of the World's Fair, one posed royal court or another, several
elaborate landscapes.   

Well,
hell, he didn't think it would be
that
easy.  The girl in the blue dress
could be hanging in another room, he supposed.  But he wouldn't bet on it,
given the fact that—

“Anything?”
Nicole said now, breaking his train of thought. 

His
gaze shifted to her.  She was standing on the opposite side of the room, her
head barely clearing the fourth bookshelf, blinking at him, looking content,
naive.  This might be easy, after all.  He had her trust.  Which meant he could
get access to the library again.  It wasn't like he could do any real digging
with her here anyway.  “You pick something for me,” he told her and gave her an
easy smile. 

“Yeah?”
she said.  Her mouth curved into an almost mischievous grin. “You trust me?”

He
nodded.  “Absolutely.” 

In
fact—they trusted each other.  But ultimately, Nicole was the one who would get
burned.  Michael knew this and remained nonplussed about it.  He had to.  This
was business; it wasn't personal.  Besides, he could always rationalize that
the painting had never rightfully belonged to her or her aunt anyway.

“How
about this one?” Nicole said, grabbing a book off the shelf.  When he eyed the
title of her selection, he couldn’t help getting an uncanny kind of feeling,
given what he’d just been thinking about trust.  “
Embers
by Sandor
Marai,” she said.  

***

They
got back to the kitchen just in time to watch Michael's chili bubble over the
pot and spurt red-brown splotches across the stove.  “Oh shit—” he began, then
caught himself.  “Sorry.”

“Really,
you can curse in front of me, I won't break.  Here, let me get a towel.”

He
turned the heat off.  “No, I'll do that.”  When he took the towel from her and
started cleaning up the spills, unfortunately his elbow knocked the wooden
spoon that was sticking out of the pot and sent it flying.  “Oh—where—”

“It's
okay, I got it,” Nicole said quickly.  “Um, can you hand me that towel back? 
Chili's all over the floor now...” she added, trying not to laugh.  

Just
then, the doorbell rang.

“I'll
go see who that is,” Nicole said, swiping the floor quickly, then dropping the
towel and spoon in the sink.   

When
Nicole peeked through the window by the front door, she found herself...
confused. 

Red
curly hair piled high and a cheery grin caught under the porch light.  What
the—Vickie Finn had actually invited herself over anyway?  Who
did
that?

Grudgingly,
Nicole swallowed a sigh.  Might as well be neighborly.  Especially since she
was in a very good mood at the moment.  When she opened the door she discovered
that Vickie was not alone.  A tall man holding a covered dish stood beside
her.  He had an elongated, string bean quality about him, from his drawn,
narrow face to his long, thin body.  

“Hi!”
Vickie enthused.  “I hope you don't mind us dropping in like this.  This is my
husband, Todd.  We just thought we'd stop by and say hello.”

“Hi,
nice to meet you, Todd.  Sure...come on in.”  Once Nicole stepped aside, Vickie
bounded into the foyer, while Todd walked more cautiously behind her.  Seeing
the woman now, Nicole tried to picture her as Ginger had described—a hundred
pounds heavier—but she could not reconcile that image with the lithe, trim body
she saw before her. 

“Have
you eaten yet?  I made you chicken divan,” Vickie said, motioning to the dish
in her husband's hands.  She began sniffing the air.  “Mmm...something smells
fantastic...”  As if pulled by the spicy, rich aroma of Michael's chili, Vickie
walked deeper into the house.  “Whatever you're making, it is putting my
chicken divan to shame.”

As
they trailed Vickie to the kitchen, Nicole concluded that Todd was not a man of
many words.  Although to call him the “strong silent type” would be premature,
at best.

“Michael?”
Nicole called, stepping into the kitchen just two steps behind Vickie.  There
he was, stirring the chili with a dishtowel slung over his shoulder.  It was an
odd yet charming sight, him with his shaved head and powerful body, in such a
domestic context.  “You remember Vickie?  And this is her—”

“Ooh,
Nicole, I didn't realize you had
company
,” Vickie said, almost cooing at
the sight of Michael at the stove.  There was something suggestive about her
tone, and a look to Nicole as if they shared some little secret. 

Nicole
acted oblivious.  “Yes, Michael's cooking dinner and you're both welcome to
join us.” 
Blech
.

“Yeah,
stay,” Michael said with generic friendliness, “there's plenty here.” 

“Okay,
we will.  I just hope we're not
intruding
,” Vickie added, doling out
another sly look to Nicole.

“No,
you're not intruding,” Nicole lied.  “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes,
whatever you have, thanks,” Todd said.

“I'd
love
some white wine,” Vickie gushed and went to stand by the stove.  “Mmm...this
smell is heavenly...”  Shutting her eyes, she breathed deeply through her nose,
then purred.

“Let's
eat,” Nicole said quickly, as she couldn't take much more of this display. 
Catching her gaze for a moment, Michael grinned as though he’d read her mind. 

Everyone
took a bowl of chili except for Todd, who couldn't eat spicy food.  Instead he
took solely from his wife's chicken dish, which had been set on the table.  As
they ate, Vickie mentioned more than once how much she would love “a tour” of
the rest of the house.  To Nicole, it seemed a bizarre request to harp on. 
Aunt Nina's house was not a sprawling mansion, nor was it a historic landmark. 
What did she think she'd find that was so interesting? 

And
when she wasn't talking about “seeing the house,” she was flirting outlandishly
with Michael.  Considering the way Vickie had behaved with that guy, Danny, at
the Squire, Nicole had to assume she was just a shameless flirt, not a serious
philanderer.  Otherwise Todd Finn was a complete eunuch to just sit there in
the process.

“Todd,
you know that Michael's a bona fide hero, don't you?” Vickie said now.

“Yes,
I heard about what happened the other night.  That must have been scary for
you, Nicole.”

“Yes,
it was.” 

“If
Michael hadn't come along when he did, who knows what could have happened,” Vickie
added unnecessarily.  It was not something Nicole liked to keep contemplating. 

“So,
Todd, you and Vickie both run the inn?” Michael said conversationally. 
(Pleased, Nicole wondered how he often seemed to know when she wanted the
subject changed.)

“Yes,
it's definitely a team effort,” Todd replied.  “I do the books and Vickie's
more the guest services end of things.  We bought the place about twelve years
ago.  It had been called The Sea Horse then, I think.  Calling it 'Cape Town
Inn' was Vickie's idea.  Right, honey?” 

To
say that Vickie wasn't paying attention would be an understatement.  She was
wholly preoccupied with theatrically licking the chili off her spoon.

“Honey?”
Todd persisted.

“Huh? 
What?” she said, glancing over at him. 

“Cape
Town Inn was your idea, wasn't it?  The name?  That was brilliant.”

“Yeah,
I think I came up with that.  Speaking of the inn, Michael you're more than
welcome to come stay at our inn—free of charge.”  At that, Todd sat up a little
straighter.  Panic quickly crossed his face.  Undoubtedly, business was slow
enough this time of year without giving it away.  Vickie added, “It's not like
we're booked this time of year.  It's just a matter of hospitality.”

“Thanks,
I appreciate that,” Michael said, “but I'm happy where I am.”  Obviously
Michael would have to realize that Vickie was attracted to him, but the
question was: did he return the attraction?  The thing about Michael King was,
he was damn impossible to read.