ShadowsintheMist (27 page)

“And do you also know he’s been arrested on three separate
occasions for drug offenses?”

My gaze faltered. “I… No. But surely, a man’s past record
shouldn’t affect his present employment.”

“Past record?” He snorted. “The last arrest was six months
ago. He spent three days in jail for possession of cocaine.”

“As I understand it, the case was thrown out of court,”
David rejoined.

“Only because the evidence was tampered with.”

“There’s no proof of that.”

“Yeah, there’s no proof because someone stole the goddamn
evidence right out of the police station!”

My eyes darted between the two. I felt like I’d been removed
from the conversation and I resented both of them.

“It was obviously a case of the police acting on a hunch,” David
said, his own temper fraying. “It’s their word against Mike’s that they ever
found anything on him. Who could steal a half kilo of cocaine right out from
under the DA’s nose?”

David’s eyes glittered with conviction but Grant’s face was
rigid. He leaned his forearms on the table, his hands flat, his fingers
splayed, hunching forward as if he intended to grab David by the throat and
throttle him. When he spoke, however, his voice was controlled, patient and a
fraction supercilious. It was the voice he used so often in court when he was
about to deliver a verbal blow below the belt.

“Who? Yes, indeed, who? Someone with enough clout to be able
to stroll into a respected, well-manned precinct house, pick up the cocaine and
stroll out again without a shred of resistance. Got any ideas, Einstein?”

David’s face reddened and the muscles in his jaw twitched
but he managed a stiff laugh. “I don’t think the officers in charge would
appreciate your slur on their honesty. And if you think Mike’s mixed up in
organized crime, you’re out of your mind.”

“Funny, I don’t remember mentioning organized crime but now
that you’ve brought it up…”

Having endured this verbal sparring with mounting
frustration, my temper finally snapped. “Stop it!” I shouted, springing to my
feet and surprising even myself with my vehemence.

There was instant silence and both men stared at me in
surprise. My cup had overturned but I didn’t even notice the cocoa splashed
across the white tabletop and dripping in muddy rivulets onto Lottie’s gleaming
floor. “Just who do you think you are? You’re acting like a couple of bull
elephants trumpeting your territorial rights! This isn’t about Mike Kensington,
or Dirkston Enterprises or…or…”

I put a hand to my head. What was I saying? Why was I so
angry? I was suddenly aware the room was shimmering with pastel lights, moving
like ripples over a mirror. I looked down at my hands where they gripped the
edge of the table and they seemed to belong to someone else, as though my arms
were detached and had become beings unto themselves.

I felt as though there was nothing to anchor me to the
ground and that at any moment, I’d whirl off into infinity. A wave of panic
unlike any I ever knew, gripped me and, in painful slow motion, I turned
stricken eyes to Grant just before I collapsed and blackness descended.

I stood on the beach, gazing up at the lighthouse. It
towered over me like a fortress. Huge, ink-black clouds whirled with uncanny
speed across a multicolored sky. I was rooted to the spot. My feet were sunk to
the ankles in cloying sand, yet my body was weightless, swaying with the
gusting air. The changing cloud patterns distorted the lighthouse with their
shadow and seemed to give it life. It seemed to be coming closer—growing
larger—its beacon fixed on me like a menacing cyclopic eye.

I struggled to pull my feet free of the sand but the
action only intensified my predicament. I heard voices drifting with the roar
of the wind—Grant’s, David’s, Leo’s, Giles’. I tried to reply, tried to call
for help but my voice caught in my throat, choking me. My eyes were drawn to a
window high in the tower. A glimmer of undulating light hung suspended there
and I watched, frozen, as it gained depth and substance.

I recognized the wedding dress and the face blurred by
tendrils of fawn-colored hair. My mother’s mouth opened and though no sound
came forth, I knew she was trying to warn me, willing me to go back. A darker
figure loomed up behind her and I watched as she turned, struggled briefly and
fell.

“Suzanna!”

It was Grant’s voice. I forced my eyes open a fraction. His
face was close to mine. I felt the warmth of his breath. Gradually, sensations
returned. My fingers ached and I realized I had hold of both his arms in a grip
that hurt. My mouth was dry and my throat was sore.

“Suzanna,” he repeated. “It’s all right! You’re all right
now!”

I loosened my hold and the muscles in my body began to
relax. The room swam slightly but I knew where I was—in my own room, in my own
bed.

“God,” I croaked. “What happened?” I squeezed my eyes shut
to try to still the spinning room. My head throbbed painfully but when I opened
my eyes again, the dizziness had subsided.

“You passed out. How do you feel?” His face was lined with
tension and his eyes were filled with concern.

“Not too good,” I admitted. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

He carried me to the bathroom and held me up while I retched
miserably. When I finished, he mopped my face gently with a cloth and put me
back in bed, laying another cool, damp cloth across my forehead. I felt better,
though my head still ached and my limbs were weak.

“I had a dream,” I rasped, swallowing hard. Grant put a
glass of water to my lips and I sipped gratefully.

“You were screaming.”

“Was I? No wonder my throat hurts. It was horrible! Mother
was in the lighthouse and—and someone pushed her.”

Grant set the glass aside and took my cold hands, chafing
them gently. I watched him and the intensity of my gaze made him look up. I was
surprised to see his eyes glistening with tears.

“Jesus, Suzanna, you sure know how to frighten the hell out
of me!”

I attempted a smile. “Really? I didn’t know you cared.”

He looked away. “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

I curled my fingers through his and gave in to my emotions
for a moment, accepting the comfort of his presence, setting aside my
suspicions and allowing myself to drift with the flood of affection that
tumbled in. I was too weak to fight it and felt no desire to. His touch sent a
thrill through me like I’d never felt before.

But the moment was short-lived. David appeared over Grant’s
shoulder, his face also lined with worry. I released Grant’s hand.

“Thank God, you’re awake,” David said. “How are you?”

“Better, I think.”

He came around to the side of the bed and hunkered down,
tracing a finger down my cheek. Grant retreated to the other side of the room
and absently fingered the knickknacks that cluttered the bookcase.

“I called the doctor. He’s a friend of Dad’s,” David said. “He
can’t come to the house but he said to keep an eye on you and if this sort of
thing happens again, you’re to go straight to the hospital. He said there’s a
flu going around that’s pretty potent.”

I nodded. “I have been feeling a bit run-down lately.”

Grant came to stand behind David and the scowl on his face
made it apparent he didn’t approve. “I think we should take you over right now
and see what’s wrong.”

“No.” Pain shot through my head as I shook it. “I’ll be all
right. I’m sure the doctor’s right. It’s just a bug. Thanks for all the concern
but I think all I need is some sleep.”

Martha appeared at the door and it took nearly twenty
minutes to convince them all I didn’t need anything and didn’t want anyone
sitting by my bedside. I agreed to leave the door ajar, so someone could look
in on me now and then. They drifted out, leaving me to sink into a deep,
thankfully dreamless, sleep.

* * * * *

In the morning, I opened my eyes tentatively. The dizziness
was gone and my stomach was no longer queasy. I was just about to attempt to
sit up when Grant popped his head around the door.

“Awake? How do you feel?”

“I don’t know yet. So far, so good though.”

“Can I come in?”

I nodded.

He entered, balancing a tray with dexterity on the
fingertips of one hand, a white cloth draped over his arm.

“Your breakfast, madam,” he announced with aplomb. He set
the tray down on my bedside table, shook out the napkin and placed it over my
lap. With a dramatic flourish, he lifted the lids on the dishes one by one. “Dry
toast. Unadulterated oatmeal. And an excellent vintage Jell-O water.”

I grimaced. “You’re joking, I hope.”

He looked pained. “I made it all myself. It’s what my mother
used to give me when I was sick. Try it.”

I inspected the offerings and bit into the toast, surprised
at how hungry I suddenly felt. Grant sat down on a chair nearby and kept vigil
until I finished, encouraging me with nods of approval and a fierce scowl if I
balked. Afterward, appeased, he removed the tray and grinned. “My, we are
better this morning!”

“Mmm,” I agreed around a mouthful of porridge. “I didn’t
know you could cook.”

“This is nothing. You should taste my fettuccine marinara.
Magnifique!” He kissed his fingertips.

“Good Lord, don’t let Lottie hear you!” Anyone dabbling in
Lottie’s kitchen courted serious injury.

Grant cocked a confident brow. “Lottie’s a lamb. You just
have to know how to get on her good side.”

“And I’m sure you’re an expert at that!”

He gave me a conspiratorial wink and I had to smile. Despite
all my doubts about Grant, he could be irresistible when he put his mind to it.
Try as I might, I couldn’t stop the rush of attraction that filled me when he
smiled just so, or the tingle of excitement when his fingers brushed mine. I
rarely had trouble with self-control but the charm or charisma or whatever it
was that Grant exuded, seemed to scramble my brain. I lowered my eyes, afraid
he might see the turmoil there and reminded myself that Grant might very well
be a cold-blooded killer.

“How come you’re not in Chicago?” I asked, noting his faded
jeans and bulky sweatshirt.

“It’s Sunday. Even I’m not that dedicated.” He paused. “I was
wondering, though, if you’d feel up to a drive? That is if you’re recovered
enough? It looks like it’s going to be a nice day and I have a feeling it may
be our last chance to enjoy the fall colors before the snow sets in.”

I didn’t answer right away and he sighed. “You still don’t
trust me?”

I shrugged. “I’m finding it hard to trust anyone.”

“Except David.” He glowered.

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

At my look of stubborn defiance, he softened. “Never mind. I
suppose logically I’d make a prime candidate for manic perversion. If I didn’t
know better, even I’d suspect me!”

I gave him a grudging smile. I knew I should turn him down
but something in me wanted desperately to trust him. If he wanted to do me
harm, he’d already had plenty of opportunities.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll go. It’ll be nice to get some
fresh air.”

“You’re welcome to take along a bodyguard.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He threw up his hands. “Hey, I’m only trying to make you
feel at ease.”

“Then, get out of here so I can get dressed!”

He flashed me that winning smile, lifted my hand and kissed
it. The brush of his lips sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with
fear. He looked up, searching my face. Our eyes locked and time froze as
battles raged within. Finally and I thought, with reluctance, he released my
hand and left without another word.

I stared after him, still frozen with strange, unbidden
emotions. Martha’s words echoed in my mind. “He loves you, you know. Has for a
very long time.” This time, they didn’t seem so unbelievable and a surge of
exhilaration swept over me.

So much had changed and yet so little. There was still David
and, despite my desperate attempts to reclaim my feelings for him, I knew deep
down it wasn’t going to work. My emotions were more muddled than ever. I was
certain the bulk of them had to do with habit and a need to cling to old
securities. They were nothing like the awakening emotions I felt for Grant.
Still, I was finding it more and more difficult to trust my instincts. Logic
reminded me that I was leaving myself wide open for, at best, disillusionment,
at worst, mortal danger. But, for once, I refused to listen. It was time I
faced up to and accepted my own long repressed desires.

In the past, the pressures of living up to the Dirkston name
and the inbred fear of disappointing Leo effectively inhibited my personal
relationships. It must have been the same with Anna. I was beginning to wonder
if it was Grant that Anna feared or the raw attraction he exuded. She would
know that her only daughter, so much like herself, would be all too susceptible
and such a romantic alliance would certainly be discouraged.

Or would it?

It was Leo who had forced our marriage in the first place.
Why? David would surely have been a better match—well-bred, well-known, stable,
reliable, a friend of the family since birth. Perhaps we all misjudged my
father. Perhaps he knew me even better than I knew myself and, in his own
inimitable way, tried to force me to accept what lay in my heart all along. If
only I could talk to him now, I thought sadly. His death left so many
unanswered questions.

I was surprised at how well I felt considering the previous
night’s episode. If I was indeed suffering from a virus, it had come and gone
with uncanny speed. Aside from a moderate weakness of muscles and overall
sluggishness, I felt no other ill effects.

I dressed warmly. The mild temperatures of our recent Indian
summer had disappeared overnight replaced by a crisp chill of impending snow.
It wasn’t unusual at this time of year to enjoy a comfortable swim in the pool
one day only to find a layer of ice on it the next. As Darla pointed out, it
was next to impossible to dress correctly.