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Authors: Barbara Delinsky

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BOOK: What the Waves Bring
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As time dragged slowly on toward what she dreamed to be midnight, her imaginings grew progressively bleak and increasingly wild. Heath didn't love her; he had gone back to Jane! How simple it all seemed suddenly. He had left her here to return to his fiancee. But why here, out on the moors? It made no sense.
With lucidity wafting intermittently came recollection
of the talking Heath had done in the car. Slowly, bits and fragments returned. April had been groggy then and fighting sleep at every phrase. But he had spoken of the past; she was
sure
of it. He had spoken of his mother, his childhood, his family. He had remembered! He had remembered it all! The joy April felt was short-lived, as a vise seized her heart and closed in on it with excruciating pain. He had remembered everything … and
then
he had left her! That was how it had happened, her devastated mind insisted. For some reason she could not yet comprehend, he had abandoned her here, alone on the moors. He was back with Jane! She had lost him!
Devastation became agony, agony despair, as April tried to accept what she felt certain to be the truth. Mindlessly, she stood, swayed for a moment until she got her footing, then stumbled forward. Her destination was as unknown as so much else of what she forced herself to endure. She only felt the need to move, to try to help herself now that she was alone—truly alone—once more. Groping her way over the gentle heathland, she slid on the dew-slicked grass and fell, only to haul herself up and struggle on. The demands of the blind terrain diverted her thoughts from those others that lurked just below the surface, darting out and spearing her anew each time she stopped.
Where would she go? The house—as good a destination as any.
He
would be back in town. A tear dripped over her cheek and she blotted it with the back of her hand. Cursing her shoes, which conspired to slow her down, she wondered why she hadn't worn her usual sneakers. With realization came more tears. Distraught, she threw herself forward, running, then stumbling, seeing nothing in the darkness. Where was the house? Which direction? There was no road, no signposts, no landmarks.
If composure had always been second nature to her, it was now noticeably absent. April felt hurt and confused,
tired and cold. She only knew that she had to keep moving, had to keep running. But her breath came in ragged rasps, intermingled with sobs over which she had no control. For what seemed an eternity of seconds, she stood still to steady her pulse. And then she heard it. It was her friend, her enemy. The ocean. It was the only sound that had penetrated the leaden fog; it was the only identifiable entity in her existence.
Following its rhythmic beat, she headed toward it, pushing from emptiness, through emptiness, to something she could touch, feel, see, and hear. The ocean. She ran toward it as to an old friend, knowing that she'd found it for sure only when her feet made contact, throwing a shower of salt-spray onto her slacks. Backtracking to a drier spot, she allowed herself, finally, to stop, crumbling in a sodden heap onto the sand.
Was it a comfort or not, this ocean that had, in the past month of her life in Nantucket, been her constant companion? It had been loyal and unquestioning, ever-present and true. It had also brought her Heath.
“Heath … !” she cried aloud, repeating it in agonized moans as the surf lapped the shore indulgently. “Heath … !” Tears coursed down her face. He was gone. Heath was gone. There was only Evan. Harley Evan Addison. Back now with Jane Miller. And she was alone.
Crawling back on the sand, she huddled beneath the rise of nature's breakwater. Knees tucked tightly to her, she rocked in misery. There was nothing more to do but wait for dawn. Then she might return home, to pick up the pieces as though the past week had never happened. A dream. If only it had been a dream! Perhaps then it might not have hurt so!
Her soft weeping blended with the tune of the waves, a primitive symphony that lulled her, slowly, reluctantly, gladly, to sleep. But, with sleep, came true dreams—and they were as painful as her wakeful thoughts. For Heath
dominated them—Heath, who was hers no more. In his unreality, he taunted her, calling her name, beckoning, then turning, then approaching once more, as Heath faded and Evan emerged from the mist.
“April! Wake up, darlin'.” Refusing to give in to his cruelty, she denied him, clinging to sleep, even as she felt herself lifted and carried. “We're going home now,” he crooned. “It's all over.”
Was it dream or reality? She had to know. The voice—
his
voice—was so warm and loving. Was this further hoax? The brightness blinded her as she forced her eyelids open. Reflexively, she turned her head in toward the cover of his chest.
“That's it, darlin'. We'll be home in no time. You're freezing!”
“Heath … ?” Her voice was a weak whisper, yet not remote, as it had been last night. “Heath … is it you?”
“Now who else would spend hours looking for you, darlin'? Why didn't you stay where I left you? If you hadn't moved from there, I would have had you home long before now!” Through his gentle chiding, there was obvious relief and … and something else.
“Heath?” She opened her eyes, suddenly finding strength. “Heath … I have to know. I had such dreams. Who are you … . What are … Why … Heath!” She'd built herself up to a tormented cry. “Heath! Tell me!”
“When we get home!”
“No! Now!”
“April, don't argue. You're wet and cold. You need your strength to get warm.”
Desperation, however, gave her strength—more strength than Heath had expected. With a frantic wriggle, she managed to dislodge herself from his hold, falling to the ground with Heath close behind. Her only goal was to put breathing distance between them, to make him understand what she needed to know. Rolling to her knees, she
scampered on all fours, only to have her ankle seized, then her calf. Before she could understand what had happened, the length of her body was imprisoned by Heath's. Deftly he released his bonds for an instant, rolling her onto her back, before lowering himself again.
He was windblown and damp, nearly as much as she. As he loomed above her, his hair black and full, falling roguishly above his eyes, those eyes dark and piercing, those features unyielding, she thought of that dark stranger she had rescued from the storm so long—was it only days?—ago. There was no drugged haze to dull her senses now. There was only Heath, and she loved him dearly.
“Now,” he boomed sternly, “would you mind telling me where you were running to this time? And don't go wide-eyed and teary on me!”
She hadn't realized she was crying until he'd mentioned it, yet there was nothing she could do to stop herself. Stiffening beneath him, she willed purpose into her damp bones, though her voice was a hoarse moan. “I have to know,” she gasped. “What is happening here? You left me—”
His hands framed her face tenderly as he interrupted her. “To take care of some unfinished business. I would not have put you in any more danger than you already were. But it's over. Everything has been taken care of.”
“
What
's over?” she shrieked with a sob.
Long, strong fingers caressed the lines of her face, as though reveling in a newfound freedom. “I'll tell you everything once we're back in the house. Now.” A mischievous smile slanted one corner of his lips. “Are you ready to go willingly, or do I throw you over my shoulder—”
“Heath! I can't stand it!
I must know
—”
“—that I love you,” he interrupted, and her breath caught, mid-sob, in her throat. “It's all that matters, April.
I love you
.”
As she lay captive beneath him, stunned and speechless, she knew. She saw it echoed in his face—warming his eyes, gentling the firm line of his lips, relaxing the angularity of his dark jaw. And she felt it—flowing through his body, reaching out forever to her. It was everything she would have dreamed—and more.
“Now,” he growled softly, reading the message that had been in her eyes all along, “are you ready to come home?”
The release of her body's tension was a tangible thing, spreading from her extremities through her arms and legs then inward. As the germs of a glow broke through her pallor, April slowly raised her arms to his shoulders, broad and beckoning, then wound them around his neck and pulled herself into the cradle he offered, savoring his life-giving warmth as he lifted her tenderly and resumed the trek. Heath had no need to question her silent weeping. For her tears were of happiness and he shared them.
Heath's narrative began as his pace leveled off on the dirt road. “If you were trying to get home, darlin', you nearly made it. I left you almost a mile from here; you came within five minutes' walk of the house!”
“It was so dark …”
“I know, darlin'. I know.” As he hugged her more tightly, it was as though he tried to compensate for the memory of that darkness.
“The car … ?”
“I'll pick it up later. It's down the road a bit. Quite a bit.” She heard the smile in his voice and wondered at his total relaxation.
The fog had lifted. Even now, the sun's rays fought to burn the last of it into oblivion. April kept her eyes closed against the glare, savoring the warmth and strength offered by Heath's body. Nothing mattered to her but that he loved her; all else would be explained in time. He didn't seem to expect conversation from her, was content to keep her occupied with small tidbits of information here and there. “Here's the house now. Hold on.” Taking the front steps in a stride, he flung open the front door and surged forward without missing a beat.
“It's all right,” he said above her head. “She'll be fine. You can call the others in.”
Confused, April lifted her head to see the inside of her old familiar home, so warm and welcoming, now strangely
peopled with guests. Men. Two or three. Dressed incongruously in business suits. “Who … ?”
But Heath had turned the corner into the bedroom and the strangers fell from sight. “Friends, darlin'. No need to worry. I'll introduce them and explain it all over a nice, hot rum toddy—”
“I haven't any rum …” She saw the walls of her bedroom yield to the more intimate confines of the bath.
Heath lowered her carefully to her feet, leaning her against the sink. “That's all right. I'll find some way to warm you.” The statement was a naughty one, yet there was not a trace of seductiveness in the eyes that appraised her clinically, the hands that began to quickly work at her clothes.
“What are you—”
“You need a shower, darlin'. Hot and long. Damn it.” He peeled off the Windbreaker. “I've got to have a large tub installed. Every woman needs a bathtub. Why haven't you got one? No, forget I asked.” His hands drew the sweater easily over her head. “Can you stand … in the shower, I mean?”
Shivering as her skin was exposed to the air, she chided him gently. “Of course, I can stand. And I can undress myself, too!” Nonetheless, her fingers clung to his shoulders as he concentrated on stripping the wet clothes from her body. Slacks and pantyhose followed the sweater; then, at last, her bra and panties. Heath gave not the slightest hint of appreciation of her nakedness before he leaned across to turn the shower on full blast.
“Are you always this … detached … when you strip ladies of their clothes?”
The look he sent her over his shoulder was anything but detached. It held a very intimate form of humor. “Weren't
you,
ah, detached, when you undressed me after you found me on the beach?” His eyes were so black, so deep, yet soft and smooth as velvet, as they stroked her face delightfully.
April grinned then, recalling that very first day. “Oh,
very …
at the beginning …”
“Then I'll leave things open for later,” he crooned deceptively, straightening and all but bodily placing her into the shower, beneath the brunt of the hot spray. For an instant, before she had recovered from the suddenness of it all, April sputtered. Then the warmth and invigoration seeped through her chill and she turned toward the force to welcome it.
It was truly a moment to relish—Heath just beyond the curtain, waiting for her, the warmth of the shower, beating gently down, relaxing her. Pure heaven. Soap and shampoo were the first order of business. Then it was all pleasure. On impulse, and, in truth, submitting to the weakness of her legs, she sat down, right in the middle of the shower's spray, and offered her body to it—until the warmth began to fade. But it was Heath who reached in to turn the knob.
“Ap … ril … ?” he began, stunned when he didn't see her at first, then amused at her low pose. “April!” He lent an arm to help her up. “What were you doing?” The towel in his hand had already begun to dry her.
“I was sitting in the shower. It felt so good.”
“See! You really do need a bath! Why doesn't this house have one? I always thought baths came before showers?”
April laughed, part in response to the tickle that terry-sheathed fingers induced drying her middle. “I'm sure there was a tub at one point. The owners probably felt they were modernizing the place by installing this shower. It's really fine.”
“Hmph,” he growled good-naturedly, standing to hand her dry clothes. Not only had he brought them from the other room while she'd showered, but he'd managed to change as well. Now he watched as she dressed. With satisfaction, she noted his enjoyment of the view. She had
pulled on dry jeans but was still only in her bra when she felt the sudden and driving need.
“Tell me again, Heath,” she whispered, leaning against him, putting her hands tentatively at his shoulders. “Please, tell me again.”
His hands slid around her waist, thumbs caressing the flesh just above the denim line. “I love you, sweet April,” he murmured as softly, knowing her needs better than she did. His head lowered and he kissed her, with the care and feeling that she craved. April's senses swam from the headiness of him alone. It was all so unreal, and so wonderful.
“I love you, too, Heath …” She paused, then frowned. “But it's Evan, isn't it?”
His hands touched her arms, her neck, her face, then wound through her hair to her back, igniting her flesh at every point. “Yes, darlin'. It is Evan. But … Evan or Heath, I do love you.”
April tasted the tang of his skin as she kissed his jaw and chin enroute to his lips, which closed over hers with mind-numbing finality. Here was a man who brooked no compromise.
He may be a diplomat,
she mused,
but he will settle for nothing less than my everything!
Everything was what she wanted to give; everything was what she would demand in return.
“Heath—Evan—it will take me a while.” She blushed, pulling away to finish dressing. “I want to know what's happened. I don't understand any of this. Where is Jane? What is she up to—?”
A large finger stilled her words. “Shhh. First, get dressed and come out to the kitchen. I'm going to fix you something to drink.”
“Not coffee?” she asked on impulse, knowing, or feeling, something odd about that last cup she'd drunk.
Heath grinned, his thoughts running on a similar vein. “Not coffee. Now hurry!”
She did. Within minutes of his departure, she had brushed through her wet but clean hair, straightened her collar just so on the crew neck of her sweater, tied her sneakers tightly over her thick wool socks, and made for the kitchen, purposefully ignoring the presence of the men in her living room. Heath would explain them. Heath—Evan—would explain everything!
He was waiting for her, standing by the sink, stirring a concoction she didn't dare ask about. It was hot and mildly spiked; she needed to know no more. Slowly, she sipped its contents as Heath joined her and began to answer, one by one, the questions that had plagued her so cruelly.
“First of all,” he began, “let me tell you about myself.” He was calm, filled with the confidence of a man who felt pride in himself and his work. April was content with that pride, yet she listened closely as he outlined his career. “Everything Jane said about me was true—to a point. You know about my educational background, my work with the State Department, my position at Georgetown.” April nodded. “Well, unfortunately, she stopped before the truly pertinent data popped up. Your friend Paul was correctly informed. I
am
on a leave of absence—to serve as a consultant to the government—”
“Consultant?”
“Uh-huh. We have been working to develop the negotiation strategies for the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks. I had taken several months off to work secretly and exclusively on fine-tuning those developments.” At April's frown, he explained. “Our government has certain goals, certain bare minimums of defense below which we simply cannot yield. The negotiating process is a complex one, involving many, many smaller and lesser bargaining points, all of which contribute to the whole. Most people think it is simply a question of granting permission for each country to maintain such-and-such number of nuclear warheads. But there's much more to it than that!”
“And that's where you come in?” she asked, fascinated.
Heath nodded, smiling his encouragement. “That's where I come in. All of those smaller points have to be intricately worked out. It's like a … symphony … where, unless every note is in tune, the end is a farce.”
“Do you enjoy symphony?” The detour was on impulse and was rewarded instantly.
“I have season's tickets …”
April beamed, nothing further needing to be said on that score. With an apologetic smirk, she redirected him. “And Jane? What is her role in all this?”
Heath sighed, and straightened. “Jane is—was—a colleague of mine, as she told us. Unfortunately, she was too ambitious. Though my role in the secret strategy negotiations has been kept under wraps, she must have had some inside source—”
“That man—?”
“Very probably. Either him, or someone else of his kind. Superpatriots, they call themselves,” he mused with a sneer, “but it's doubtful that they'll do any country much good!”
“But what did they want with you?”
“My mind. They wanted to learn the negotiation strategy. What they would do with it, once they had it, is still a mystery. Jane was, I think, simply a pawn. That fellow with her was her fellow.”
“Then, you weren't … involved with her?”
Heath shook his head with a poignant smile. “Never in any romantic way, April. But there is involvement when a woman reaches a professional level and is thrown into close and frequent contact with men. The relationship is purely professional, yet it
is
close. Jane saw herself as my … my … protege, for lack of a better word. I'm afraid she hoped to get more out of the relationship regarding certain confidences than she actually got.” He paused. “She's in custody now. She
and
her friend. I have to say
that I feel very little satisfaction at having seen someone that bright come as far as she did in her career only to blow it like that!”
April shook her head, incredulous. “After what she would have done to you—”
“You only know the half! My boat? You were right! It was sabotaged! The motor and instruments were rigged to malfunction. Their idea was to pick me up and whisk me away, letting the world assume that the storm had simply swallowed me up!”
“But why were you out on the ocean in the first place?”
Understanding her puzzlement, he reached a hand out to cover hers, holding it reassuringly. “Jane was half-truthful about that. I did sail out of Gloucester to round the Cape bound for Long Island Sound. It was a pleasure trip, plus I also had to get the boat to its winter mooring. Jane had managed to stay close enough to squirrel my plans from me and I, fool that I was, trusted her. Then one of her team manipulated the weather reports that were radioed to me. I knew there was a storm coming but was told it was farther away than in fact it was. I thought I could easily beat it to the Sound. None of us counted on Ivan's picking up speed … or my being shipwrecked and washing up on your shore.”
“Thank God for that!” April lifted his hand and kissed it, holding it against her cheek, breathing deeply of its scent. “How did she find you so quickly?”
“She and her buddies were the only ones who knew I was out. They tracked me the whole way. Needless to say, they didn't report the fact that I was out in that mess. Even the government didn't know I was missing until Watson called the State Department. My family, friends, all thought I was just on a new jaunt.” He grinned smugly. “I do like to take off like that.”
April's mind jumped further ahead. “But why didn't
they simply grab you when they first discovered you were here in Nantucket?”
“I was with you.” He eyed her directly. Then, sensing her lack of comprehension, he explained. “Their problem was getting me without anyone else knowing. That was what was so beautiful about my love for sailing. I was alone on the boat. Once I was in your clutches though, I was no longer alone. Jane wasn't terribly pleased to find you here. And when you even stood up to her …” Tipping his head back he laughed heartily, a deep sound coming from his soul that pleased April enough for her to set aside her impulse to defend her actions. Indeed, she found herself joining his laughter.
“She must have wanted to sabotage
me!”
BOOK: What the Waves Bring
6.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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