Pursuit (17 page)

“Yes, it will be chilly but you’ll warm up when you start swimming. It’s not cold enough to harm you in any way, and you need to learn how to swim—starting right now.”

“I know how to swim,” she protested. This was ridiculous. “I took swimming lessons from the Red Cross when I was a kid.”

Indignation masked her real feeling—fear. The ocean frightened her. It wasn’t the tame Mediterranean or even the Atlantic, with its low breakers. The Pacific was huge,
felt
huge. She could well believe it covered half the world. The waves were often frighteningly high and unexpectedly powerful. She took a dip now and then because it was there, but that was it.

What Matt did every day—swimming way out to where he could never be rescued—was to her unfathomable and dangerous.

“You’re frightened of the water,” he said quietly, watching her carefully. Charlotte put her spoon down and folded her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. “Well,” she said lightly, “of course. You can drown in the water, didn’t you know that? I’m . . . cautious, that’s all. I’m certainly not as strong a swimmer as you are. But then not many people are.”

Matt nodded at this obvious truth. “You almost died yesterday. If you were a better swimmer, it wouldn’t have been touch-and-go. I was scared to death I wouldn’t get there in time.” His mouth tightened.

The memory made her shiver. “I had a plank caught on my pants. That wasn’t my fault. Anybody would have sunk.”

He shook his head sharply. “Not good enough. I—” He looked away a moment, then back at her, dark gaze fierce. “I need to keep you safe. You’re not giving me the information I need to do that. At least give me the satisfaction of knowing that you’re not going to drown.”

Charlotte’s arms were wrapped around her middle as nightmarish images of yesterday bloomed in her mind. The dark, cold ocean. Watching the surface recede as she sank down, down . . . She shivered and shook her head. “I need—I need some time. I almost drowned yesterday.”

“Which is precisely why you need to get back in the water today. If you put it off, you’ll never get back in the water.”

“Fine.” Charlotte turned her head to look out the window. “I’ll just be a nonswimmer. The world is full of them.”

“Charlotte.” Matt reached over to take her hand. She tried to resist, out of principle, but though he didn’t use force, resisting him was impossible. “We need to drownproof you. You live by the ocean, and you need to become a stronger swimmer. And another thing,”

he continued, when she opened her mouth to object. “You need to build up some shoulder muscle in your wounded shoulder. You need to build up muscle, period. You’re too thin.”

This was going too far. He was intruding into her private space. She wouldn’t allow that even if what he was saying was true.

Charlotte tugged uselessly at her hand, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Listen, Matt, I really appreciate what you did yesterday—”

“Your shoulder hurts at night, and it hurts when the weather turns damp. You’re losing strength in your left arm, and your left hand has lost some of its grip.”

Her mouth closed with a snap.

Matt leaned forward, his face grim. “You were shot with a low-velocity gun; otherwise, you wouldn’t be here today. You’d have bled out from the velocity shock. That’s the good news. The bad news is that you didn’t get medical care, and a low-velocity projectile carries debris into the wound—dirt, material, fragments—which probably wasn’t debrided. Only a doctor can do that, and you didn’t get medical care. Not only wasn’t your wound debrided, you didn’t have surgical drainage. You probably ran a high temperature for a week, ten days, then a low-grade fever for a few weeks after that.”

Charlotte bit her lips and sat back in her seat, suddenly cold.

Matt nodded, once, then continued. “You’re very lucky you were shot on the left-hand side and you’re right-handed; otherwise, you could kiss your art good-bye forever, because you wouldn’t have enough fine coordination left in your right hand. But if you want to avoid long-term trouble and muscle loss, you need to build muscle. You should have started rehabilitation right away, as a matter of fact. Right after the fever died down. Over and above muscle rehabilitation, you need to learn to swim for safety reasons. Right now. And you need to overcome your fear of the water. That’s why we’re going into the water today.”

They stared at each other across the table, the bright Mexican sunshine streaming in, lighting a square on the dark wood. Charlotte could literally feel the strong waves of male power pushing at her. She should say no.

But last night her shoulder had ached with the damp weather, and she’d had problems gripping the blanket with her left hand while making the bed that morning. She was proud and scared, but not stupid.

“I’ll go change into my swimsuit,” she said quietly.

Warrenton

April 26

Excuse me.”

Moira Fitzgerald turned around in surprise.

It was Friday morning, and Friday mornings were for shopping at Weegmans. Shopping for the Court household these past two months had been . . . a
challenge
as the Yanks put it.
Bloody hard
was how she put it.

Moira was absolutely certain that Miss Charlotte would come back, her name fully cleared. The nightmare of the past two months would finally be over. It was monstrous that anyone could even think that Miss Charlotte would hurt a fly, let alone her da
.
Moira had never seen two people get on like Miss Charlotte and Mr. Philip. When this terrible, terrible mistake the local Garda had made was cleared up, Miss Charlotte would return. And when that day came, Moira was absolutely determined that Miss Charlotte would come back to a fully functioning household.

Oh, how she dreamed of that day! She could even picture it. Miss Charlotte, wearing one of her white linen suits, walking in through the big front door—the one that had been freshly painted last week, with the big brass doorknob Moira polished faithfully every ten days—smiling, asking for a cup of tea with a dash of milk.

And there would be tea, oh yes, all flavors. And milk and yogurt and bread and fruit. Moira kept the house fully stocked with Miss Charlotte’s favorite foods, and then dutifully threw everything out on the expiration date. She faithfully cleaned five days a week, though there was no one to dirty the house.

Didn’t matter. When Miss Charlotte came home, the mansion would be gleaming, fragrant, perfect.

Doing the Friday morning shopping presented enormous problems, because Moira wanted the house ready for Miss Charlotte whenever she showed up, day or night, but she also hated throwing money away. There was a household account available to her, and she was scrupulous. She could account for every penny of the household money she spent. But oh, how she agonized over her purchases.

She was holding two furniture polishes in her hands. One was on sale at half price, but it wasn’t as good as the other, more expensive brand, made with beeswax. Ordinarily, Moira would always choose the better brand, but what if Miss Charlotte was still . . . away?

Would buying the more expensive polish be justified—

Someone coughed behind her, and a man’s voice said, “Excuse me?”

Turning, she saw a thin, pleasant-faced man with thick glasses, receding blond hair, and an apologetic smile.

“Hi,” he said shyly. “I’m really really sorry to bother you, ma’am, but you look like you know what you’re doing and I’m”—he shrugged his shoulders,—“well, frankly, I’m lost. I just moved to Warrenton, and I’m setting up a—household, I guess you’d call it, and I have no idea what I need. I rented a studio apartment over the Internet, and the ad said ‘ready to move in,’ but it turns out that it doesn’t have any household equipment or products.” He looked helplessly at a sheet of paper in his hand, then held it out to her. “I made a list, see? But I don’t know if it’s a good list or not.”

Men,
Moira thought. Her own dear da, may God rest his soul, had never washed a dish in his life and wouldn’t know which end of a broom to use. Moira looked at the list, read it twice, and barely refrained from snorting.

Men.
It was a miracle they could tie their own shoelaces.

“Well,” she said kindly, “you’re going to need to add some dishwashing tabs—your new flat does have a dishwasher, doesn’t it?”

At his nod, she looked back at the list. “All right, then. Hmmm. You’ll also be needing laundry detergent, fabric softener, furniture polish, and bleach. Oh, and a broom and dust pan, even if you’ve got a vacuum cleaner.”

The man had whipped out a pen and was frantically writing down her items as she mentioned them. He had at least five pens in his shirt pocket. Probably an engineer for that new software company on Madison. One of the pens had leaked, and an ugly blue splotch spread from the bottom of the shirt pocket.

The man blew out a breath of relief. “Okay.” He blew out another breath, as if he’d been in a race. “Okay, now. If I get the things on my list and on your list, will I be all set?”

He looked so worried, she smiled reassuringly. He was thin and she wondered if she should write down a food list for him as well, then thought better of it. It wasn’t her business if he wasn’t eating enough.

Moira glanced at her watch and started in alarm.

She started work at ten o’clock. It was nine thirty, and she still had to pay, load the items in her new car, and drive to the Court Mansion. She’d never been late for work, not once, and had no intention of starting now.

“Oh yes, get everything on those lists and you’ll be fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

He looked blank for a second, then realized he was blocking her shopping cart. He jumped guiltily out of her way. “Oh! Oh, of course. Sorry! Thank you so much, ma’am, I’m truly grateful for your help.”

Moira nodded graciously and headed for the long row of cash registers, wondering if she should cheat and head for the line of ten items or less. She had eleven items. No, she finally decided, after a little mental tussle with herself. It wouldn’t be fair to the others. But she was going to be late if she didn’t do something.

Looking at the bank of checkout counters with long lines, she surreptitiously stashed the new set of kitchen sponges on a shelf in the wine section, hoping no one noticed. She’d buy new sponges next week.

Next week. Maybe next week Miss Charlotte would return.

Smiling at the thought, she headed for the Ten Items or Less line with only two people in front of her, happy and secure in the thought that at 10 a.m., on the dot, she’d be at work.
San Luis

It was too beautiful a day for resentment. Charlotte stepped out onto her terrace and felt the slight wisps of irritation at being ordered about dissipating in the warm sunshine. People talked about perfect days, but actually they were few and far between—it was either too hot or too chilly or too damp or too dry.
This
was perfect. A combination of warm, buttery sun tempered by a gentle cool breeze that brought with it the smell of the ocean and the jasmine growing along her neighbor’s terrace.

Yesterday’s storm had done something to the air. It felt newborn—the first air of a new world. The air was diamond bright, and she felt as if she could see to the ends of the earth. They walked down to the beach in silence, he adjusting his much longer stride to hers. He was dressed only in swim trunks and flip-flops. He’d probably had them in the big black bag she’d seen in her living room.

Charlotte was torn between putting distance between them and wanting to be as close as possible to all that male power. He was all but naked, and she was half-amused and halfappalled that the only way not to touch him was to bunch her hands into fists. He had a mouth-wateringly beautiful body. She’d seen gym-honed male bodies before, but never anything like this, a machine built for both speed and power.

He was in many ways unsettling, even frightening. She’d found a powerful paladin, if it turned out that Matt Sanders was placing his strength at her service. Or she might have stumbled across a devastating foe.

Her heart pumped high and wild in her chest, part excitement, part fear. He kept glancing at her, as if gauging her mood, and Charlotte kept her face an expressionless mask. Charlotte stopped at the ocean’s edge, the frothy waves curling over her toes. Matt stopped, too.

They stood in silence, looking out over the wide blue ocean.

The ocean was beautiful today, so totally unlike the roiling gray monster that had almost eaten her alive the day before. She could still remember the icy cold waves, the choking sensation, the long drop to the bottom . . .

She stepped back.

He looked at her. Charlotte hated it that he seemed to see everything, understand everything. His face was expressionless, but his gaze was warm and understanding.

“Just look at that,” he said, nodding at the flat, brilliant blue expanse. “Makes up most of the Earth. A Martian from outer space would naturally assume that the dominant species on Earth was a fish. Without the oceans we would be dead.”

Charlotte had never actually thought of it that way. She swished her sandals in the tide, washing away the sand of the beach.

He watched her feet, then lifted his eyes to hers. “Leonardo da Vinci thought that the seas were the lungs of the Earth, and that the tides were the Earth, breathing.”