Heart of the Hunter Page 5

  A wry smile jerked his lips in a grim twist. “Sounds ludicrous now, but then, when we lived to surf and play, the one thing that was as important was our brotherhood.”

  Mitch rumbled a wordless communion of empathy. The bond and trust of friendships were rare as he’d fought and clawed to survive the streets of the underbelly of New Orleans. But now he understood. The Watch had taught him. “You never saw anything?”

  “To indicate what he really was?” Jeb looked down at the teakwood deck where shadows danced. “No.” With an abrupt shrug that conveyed an absolute contempt he amended, “Nothing that concerned me as much as it should have. I was too busy raising hell to be clever.”

  “But there was something,” Mitch persisted. There had to be. Something to explain this self-directed guilt.

  “Maybe. If you call a look or the lack of reaction something. Nicole nearly drowned trying to do something he goaded her into, and it didn’t upset him. I don’t think he cared at all. After that, when he didn’t know anyone was looking, his eyes would go flat, totally empty. Then he would laugh.”

  “As if he were putting you on. Fooling the world.”

  “He was. But we all thought we were. There were six of us, surfers first, thrill-seekers second. Anything else dead last. What we did was stupid, and, for the most part, innocuous. But I suppose it was inevitable there would be trouble.”

  “Drugs.”

  “By the grace of God, not my great common sense, I was involved only by association.”

  “The rest was by the grace of Simon,” Mitch interjected.

  The grace of Simon. Jeb hadn’t heard it put quite like that before. But as rough and gruff and unrelenting as Simon could be, the analogy described, perfectly, an element common to most of the stories of the men of The Black Watch.

  “Tony and I were already drifting apart,” Jeb continued, and realized it was as much catharsis for himself as response to Mitch. “I can’t give a specific reason. Yet, for the first time, I wasn’t really sure of him. He was exonerated on the drug charge, but I wondered.”

  A shrug pulled his denim shirt close over the muscles of his shoulders and chest. A gold bracelet flashed on his wrist as he tugged a button free. “Maybe it was just happening. The natural progression of finally growing up. Who can say? Whatever the reason, graduation and Simon delivered the coup de grace.”

  Mitch chuckled, a sound at odds with the tone of their conversation. “I know the drill. He dragged you out of trouble by the scruff of your neck, damned you for a fool, slapped your wrist, then, before you knew it you were signed, sealed, recruited and committed.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Then The Watch became your life. No friends beyond its ranks. No lovers as important.” Mitch waved an arm toward shore. “Just this.”

  He left Jeb to consider for himself the hours of work, the study, the subterfuge. A killer who had been a friend. An intriguing woman who might, or might not, be as innocent as she seemed.

  Discovering there was no more to say, they sat in silence, each bound in his own thoughts of children and killers of children. Jeb knew rage seethed beneath Mitch’s laconic comment. Someone had hurt a child—no, not someone, Tony had hurt a child. Another child.

  Mitch would remember, and Tony wouldn’t forget.

  A trill of laughter rose from some faraway deck. The lantern gutted and died. Mitch stretched, yawned and rubbed his hand over his jaw. A gesture infinitely weary. Lurching to his feet, he yawned again. “I think I better get some shut-eye before I relieve the medicine man of his duty at the lady’s house.”

  The medicine man, Matthew Sky. With his phenomenal night vision, it was without fail a foregone assumption he would take the night watch. Matthew never complained and, like Mitch, slept little.

  “You gonna hang around?”

  Not for the first time since he’d arrived bearing the news of Julie Brown, and battling his own sleeplessness, Jeb saw the toll the long hours had taken on his friend and colleague. Sliding back his chair, he stood, as well. “I’m heading back to the house.”

  “To get some sleep?”

  “Maybe.”

  Mitch was too tired to argue. Three men, four if Bishop were included, made for a wretchedly small unit, spreading the duties heavily among them. It was Simon’s call. Callison was smart, as intuitive as a cat. One man too many would flag his suspicions, and they could lose him completely.

  They weren’t the first of The Black Watch to work, virtually, around-the-clock. They wouldn’t be the last.

  At the steps leading below deck and to his bunk, Mitch paused. “Cap?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have you ever regretted it? What Simon did to your life, I mean.”

  Jeb stroked his jaw, much as Mitch had. Two dedicated men, on the brink of exhaustion, facing truths. Perhaps for the first time. “Not often, and then not for long.”

  Mitch’s head jerked in assent, a crooked smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Neither have I, but don’t tell the old fox. Wouldn’t want him to be too cocky about it, would we?”

  Jeb chuckled and waited. There was more.

  “It wasn’t insomnia that brought you to the Gambler.”

  No admission met the statement. No denial.

  “There were things you needed to resolve about the little girl and Nicole.”

  Jeb’s amusement vanished. “Some.”

  “Water’s like fire, it soothes the brain and clears the mind.”

  “It does that.”

  “You know he killed her. Julie Brown, I mean.”

  “I know.”

  “Damn his black heart! A child!” Mitch’s voice was strangled. “He just picked her at random, in the most unlikely place.”

  “A red herring.” The words were mild, the look on Jeb’s face was not. “He’s laying a false trail, to confuse and confound whoever might be looking for him.”

  “Then you believe he’s coming?”

  “Now more than ever. The last contract, Jimmy Merino’s son, shut the door to his usual contacts. Now both sides of the law want him. He has nowhere to turn but Nicole.”

  “What happens if the lady’s righteous?”

  Righteous? Innocent? Was she? “If it turns out that way, we’ll move heaven and earth to keep her safe.”

  “If she’s not?”

  Jeb moved past Mitch, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he went. “You were going to get some shut-eye.”

  “Jeb.” Not Cap, Jeb. A barometer of the depths of Mitch’s disquiet. He waited until Jeb stepped on the dock to ask the question that concerned each of them in general, and Jeb specifically. “What happens if she knows what her brother is and means to help him?”

  Jeb looked over the inlet, his gaze focused on a remote spot, facing what he’d known he must all along. When he turned back to Mitch his expression was stark. “Then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  I, not we. Jeb had assumed responsibility for the unthinkable.

  The sound of his footsteps had faded from the boardwalk, and the roar of the roadster’s engine was only a purr before Mitch made one last round to secure the sloop. Tonight marked a milestone for a man of conscience and honor. Jeb Tanner was senior agent, he would do what he must, no matter what it cost him. But it had been no secret from the first that he was deeply troubled by this assignment.

  A troubled man made mistakes.

  Tonight a last reservation had been put aside, and Mitch would rest easier for it.

  Tonight Jeb Tanner had come to terms with himself.

  * * *

  “Good morning!”

  At his greeting Nicole slowed her pace and stopped. She’d heard the steady thud of running footsteps behind her for some time and dismissed them. Joggers were rare on the beach at this early hour, but not unheard of. But Jeb was the last person she expected. “Jeb! What are you doing here?”

  Bare, tanned chest heaving from his exertions, Jeb grinned and wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehe
ad with the band at his wrist. “I live here. I’m your neighbor, six houses removed, remember?”

  “Of course I remember. Surely you don’t think I’d forget such an astounding coincidence. I just didn’t expect you here, on the beach, at this hour.” Jeb’s visit to her house in Charleston had ended almost with the storm. In retrospect, she realized he spoke very little of himself beyond saying he’d done well in stocks, retired at thirty-seven, and lived on the island. He hadn’t said why. “I can still hardly believe that after all these years we’ve both landed in this small corner of the world, on the same island.”

  “A happy coincidence, I hope.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Good, that’s settled. Now, do you mind if I walk with you?”

  “What about your run?”

  “I’ve had enough, believe me. In fact I was singularly grateful when I recognized you and would have an excuse to stop.”

  Nicole laughed. “Is that what I am? An excuse?”

  “No, Nicky, you’re not an excuse.” His gaze moved over her in lazy appreciation of the view just visible beneath her open shirt. Her skin was smooth and lustrous, the vibrant color of sun-warmed peaches. Her breasts were full, her body slender, and barely contained by an abbreviated shirt and twists of faded batik.

  He’d seen more daring costumes on the beach. Bikinis and maillots cut down to the hips or up to the armpits. Almost.

  And thongs! Lord, yes, thongs.

  All of them in every fabric. Lycra and lamé, fishnet and sheers, practical or not, leaving little to the imagination. But none as tantalizing nor as intriguing as a suit that was modest in comparison. Stylish colors and sleek lines were no match for tattered scraps held together by tempting and tarnished U-rings.

  No match at all, he discovered as he struggled to find the discipline to play the game he’d begun.

  Forcing his attention from a body that would tempt a saint as well as the devil incarnate, his gaze wandered deliberately to safer ground. Touching first on hair that blazed like black fire in the sun as it tumbled over blacker brows, then lingering on sooty lashed eyes as green as a cool mountain lake. For a moment as he lost himself in them, he almost forgot to breathe, barely remembered to think.

  Not safer ground. Not safe at all.

  A mental shake reminded him where he was, and why. Nicole had to trust him, and more, if this was to work.

  Lifting a hand to her face, he let his fingertips trail over the smooth slope of her cheek, skirted the corner of her mouth, toyed with the soft flesh of her lip.

  “You’re a beautiful woman.” His voice was intimate, as smoky as his eyes. “An old friend I’d like to get to know again.”

  Her faltering smile vanished. Color flooded her face along with a flicker of something he couldn’t quite interpret before she looked away.

  “Hey!” He caught her chin in his fingers, lifting her face toward his as he bent nearer. “What’s this?” His hand slipped to her cheek, cupping it, feeling the rush of heat, while the other stroked the line of her jaw. “I don’t believe it, a blush! I didn’t know women did that anymore.”

  “Don’t.” In a desperate move Nicole grasped his wrists and flung his hands from her. Her voice was grim, her words clipped. “Please don’t touch me.”

  Her blush blanched to pallor. One as unexpected as the other, as extreme. Startled, he stepped back, hands raised, palms turned out in a pacific stance. “All right, I won’t. But what’s wrong, Nicky? What did I say? What did I do?”

  “Don’t pretend, and don’t make fun. You never used to.” She turned away, staring at the horizon where the sea blended into the sky. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear the mockery. Not from Jeb. Especially not from Jeb. “When everyone else considered it their favorite pastime, you never did.”

  “Make fun... Is that what you thought I was doing?” When she didn’t answer, forgetting he’d said he wouldn’t touch her, he caught her arm, turning her to him. “Is that what you thought I was doing?”

  When she looked at him her gaze was steady and her eyes so intensely green from the effort they were nearly black. “Wasn’t it?”

  He saw the hurt and recalled the taunts, the cruel laughter aimed at a girl who was far too unsophisticated to realize they were prompted by envy. She was too young then, and too smart, and anyone with half a brain could see that one day she would be stunning. A pill too bitter for the intolerant, the less fortunate, and the covetous.

  “No,” he said in a gruff rumble. “Dear God, I wouldn’t.”

  She was strong. She’d needed to be to withstand the taunts and to accomplish what she had. But buried deeply beneath that strength was an unexpected fragility. A surprising lack of conceit. He might be damned for a lying bastard before this was done. But he wouldn’t pull the wings off a magnificent butterfly.

  He moved a step closer, inordinately pleased that she hadn’t pulled away from him again. His voice was low, soothing. “I was teasing, sweetheart. There is a difference.”

  She stared at him, searching his face, as if she were trying to decide if she should believe him. Jeb stood patiently, waiting for her decision, and wondered if no man had ever told her she was beautiful.

  Nicole knew she was a fool for reacting as she had. Of course he was teasing. Her mind knew, but her heart wanted to believe every pretty word.

  To silence the ache his bold stare and caressing touch had ignited in her she’d taken thoughtless refuge in bitterness. Accusing Jeb of cruelty she didn’t believe.

  “I’m sorry.” She ran an agitated hand through her hair, the disarray only making her seem more vulnerable. “No one should know better than I that you wouldn’t...”

  “Laugh at you?” Jeb supplied the hateful words.

  “Yes.”

  “I might laugh with you, sweetheart.” He tapped her upturned nose and grinned again, relieved by the easy resolution of a difficult turn of events. “But I promise, never at you.”

  As he looked down at her, at the sweet, wobbly smile, Jeb wondered what might have been if he’d met her again in a different circumstance. If Tony Callison weren’t her brother and Jeb Tanner could truly be the man he pretended.

  It served no purpose to wonder, for circumstances could never be different, and what might have been was only a dream. There was no future for him here.

  Not with this woman.

  Nor with any woman.

  With an unconscious regret for what he thought he never wanted, his hand skipped down her arm, fitting palm to palm, he laced his fingers through hers. When she left her hand in his, he drew a deep breath and held her tighter.

  “Shall we start again, Nicky?” he asked. “Maybe this time we’ll get it right.”

  Nicole nodded. She dared not trust her voice in the quicksilver shifting of his moods and hers, but with her hand in his, she was suddenly willing to try anything.

  “Then would you do me the honor of a stroll through the sand, Ms. Callison?”

  His grave and graceful bow should have been absurd for a man half dressed and on a sandy, sunlit beach. But it wasn’t.

  In the gallery, with casual clothing cloaking a body muscled and honed by his early years on the surf, he was virile and elegantly attractive. An accomplished, knowledgeable man of cold, utter calm. Once past the first delighted rush of recognition and friendship, the marvelous eyes that should have been the reflection of that man, had been shuttered, guarded, with little expression, offering no betrayal of his mood or thoughts.

  She’d sensed, rather than seen, danger shimmering beneath the icy calm. Danger she hadn’t understood. As he stood before her, holding her hand in his, bowing gallantly, she understood too well.

  He was not cold here in the sun. He was not elegant, not merely attractive. As the light played over him, turning his sun-streaked hair to a tousled halo, and his skin to burnished gold, he was too vivid, too alive to be merely anything.

  Running shorts, wet from the sweat of exertion and clinging, lef
t little doubt he was undeniably, powerfully masculine. A rogue’s grin tugging at his mouth, and a glint in his eyes, he was pure animal magnetism. And in his gray gaze keeping hers, locked deeply within dark-rimmed irises, she discovered the primal man.

  A man of fire and ice. A man of raw passions and ruthless anger, of fear and love and secret hurt. The man she’d loved all her life. Untamed, intriguing and infinitely hazardous to her good sense. There lay the danger.

  “Shall we walk, Nicky? Shall we pretend this is Eden, and ours are the only footsteps that have ever crossed the sand?”

  As he spoke he bent nearer, his breath brushing her cheek. The heated scent of him rose to her, filling her lungs with the fragrance of soap and sweat and man.

  Danger. Her mind cried it, her heart didn’t listen.

  Nicole knew she should back away. Perhaps run away. She wasn’t ready for the tenderness, nor the warmth. There was too much she had to resolve, to put into perspective. Too much she had to understand about herself, and what she might still feel for Jeb.

  She should have backed away. Should have run. Instead she heard herself saying, “There’s nothing I’d like better than to walk with you and pretend there’s no one here but us.”

  * * *

  An hour later, after they’d chased scrabbling crabs to their high-water lairs, stalked drowsing gulls and raced with the sandpipers like mischievous children, Nicole’s misgivings were forgotten.

  Until Jeb stopped scuffing sand dollars from their burrows at the water’s edge, to watch her.

  Feeling his stare, Nicole looked up from the array of shells she’d collected in her shirt. Thinking he was amused by the fine layer of sand covering her nose, with a quirk of her lips and a huffing breath she blew it away.

  And still he stared and smiled.

  Just for a while, she tried to stare him down, but he was impervious. His eyes were on her, but his mind seemed to see into her. She tried to ignore him, going about the business of lining sand dollars to dry in the sand. And still his riveting stare followed her. Nettled by the scorching intensity, she bolted to her feet, spilling shirt and spiny disks helter-skelter on the sand.

  “What?” she demanded, feet planted, hands on narrow hips. “What on earth fascinates you so much?”