CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JANE HAD DISAPPEARED on him. Griffin tried tamping down his annoyance but hell! That mouth of hers was always flapping about deadlines and work to be done and then she was nowhere to be seen when he was ready to get to it. He’d ended his call with Gage twenty minutes ago, and she’d done a complete Houdini.
Of course he didn’t need her to be nearby for him to continue with the memoir. But her presence made it easier to confront those photos she’d taped around the office. His gaze would catch on a face, and something odd would pop into his head. He’d remember that person’s blood type, for example, because it was posted on them from head to toe: A POS, on helmet, vest, boots. Griffin could have taken the images down, but Jane was right, they helped him taste the flavor of the dirt, smell the stench of the men’s sweat after combat, remember the incongruously blissed-out look of a bleeding soldier sucking on a fentanyl lollipop to block the pain.
Good times.
So he didn’t want to do any of that without Jane in the room. When it got to be too much, he’d look over at her wacky shoes or her pouty mouth, and find himself centered in the present. He’d think about her center, and instead of wallowing in the past he’d be dreaming up ways to get her into bed and the ways he’d take her once he did.
After wandering around No. 9 for a few minutes, he ventured next door. His sister was the calm in the middle of chaos, as there were piles of kid crap on each bed and pretty much everywhere else. He leaned on a doorjamb, watching her pack up clothes while discussing with Russ the merits of cutting his beloved blankie in half. “Think of it, my sweetness—then if we did the unthinkable and lost it somewhere, we’d have an extra at home.”
“Why don’t you just buy the baby another one?”
Her head turned to him. “It’s a comfort object. You can’t just buy another one, because they’re not interchangeable. It wouldn’t smell the same, feel the same, be the same.”
“Creepy. You’re making it sound like Russ has a relationship with a square of fabric.”
“And it’s probably more meaningful than the ones you have with the people in your life,” she retorted. “Russ doesn’t hesitate to become attached.”
He blinked. “Hostile.”
“I’m not hostile, I’m being honest. And honestly, Griffin, you need to be careful or people are going to get hurt.”
He retreated from the doorway.
Tess pointed at him. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You back off when things get a little too real.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Let me be clear.” She huffed out a sigh. “It’s going to hurt Jane when she sees how easily you can walk away from her.”
The back of his neck felt hot. “We’re colleagues. Professional colleagues.”
His sister skewered him with a look that she’d learned from their mother. A look only the female half of the population could deliver. “Cut the crap, brother dear.”
“Fine,” he said, defensive. “But it’s just sex.”
“And I suppose you’ll tell me Jane sees it exactly like that,” Tess replied, a wealth of doubt in her tone.
“Of course she does.” He’d told her from the beginning that he didn’t have anything more to offer than temporary fun and games. Besides, it was pretty clear from their recent encounter with Ian Stone that Jane was still hung up on her ex, though Griffin didn’t know why the thought bothered him so much.
Tess shook her head. “Then I suppose it’s best. Go chase after the carrot that Gage dangled in front of you. If you’re going to get out of Jane’s life, then you should do it now—the sooner the better.”
He refused to let her older-sibling act unleash his hold on his temper. It was a beautiful day, he’d heard his brother’s voice so he knew Gage was safe, and Bossy Big Sister and her minions would be out of his hair by the afternoon. He should be able to get a lot of work done today if he could just locate the missing governess.
He stomped out of No. 8 and surveyed the beach, scanning the sand for her. When she’d left their place that morning she’d had a lacy white cover-up over that yellow swimsuit. A slender piece of lemon meringue should be easy to spot.
The only figures in the vicinity were Private and the munchkin mafia. Duncan and Oliver were on their knees, their expressions intent as they…
A little chill ran down Griffin’s spine. What were they doing? They both held short shovels that weren’t the customary plasticware that kids used at play. These had wooden handles and metal blades and looked exactly like what a hit man would have in his trunk in order to bury the evidence.
Griffin drew closer, then stopped, gaping. “What the hell?”
Jane’s head, the only part of her that hadn’t been laid to rest—so to speak—turned toward him. “Don’t use that word in front of the boys.”
“Yeah,” Duncan said. “’Cuz me or Oliver will say it by mistake at school and then get sent to the principal’s office.”
Griffin figured that wouldn’t be a new experience for them. “Sorry, boys. What the heck are you doing?”
Oliver cackled as he upended a plastic bucket of sand over the mound that covered Jane’s body. “We’s burying her alive from her crumpy bitty toes to her scrawny chicken neck.”
The kid was wigging him out. Seriously. “Uh, Jane?”
“I think it’s from a book,” she said. “At least I hope it’s from a book.”
Oliver nodded. “A book about a pirate.”
“And buried treasure,” Duncan added.
“And dead bodies,” Oliver said in a sinister voice. Then he turned to his brother. “You know what we need, Dunc?”
The older boy appeared puzzled, then his eyes sparked and his face split into a gap-toothed smile. “I know exactly what we need,” he said, raising both fists to tap them against Oliver’s. They followed that up by taking a running leap at each other to bump scrawny chests, yelled “Crabs!” in unison, then swooped up their buckets to race toward the surf. Barking in happy abandon, Private followed in their wake.
Shaking his head, Griffin crossed his arms over his chest and returned his gaze to the librarian’s head. She bit her lip, her eyes darting from Griffin to the boys and back again. “Crabs? Maybe you should help me out from under here.”
“Having a problem with your crumpy bitty toes?”
“No. I’m just not sure I like the idea of being pinned under here when the minions come back with crabs.” She bit her lip again. “I actually loathe the idea of being pinned under here when the minions come back with crabs.”
Griffin sat cross-legged beside the Jane-sized mound of sand and grinned at her. “There’s something about you being restrained like this that I kinda like. Later, we’ll get in the bathtub, and I’ll help you get the sand out of all those pesky places it’s sure to be hiding, like from between your crumpy toes and from between your—”
“I get it, I get it,” she said hastily. Then her gaze shifted away, and her voice turned casual. “I heard you got a call from Gage this morning.”
“Yeah.” Probably his Big Mouth Big Sister had let it be known, just as she’d told his twin about Griffin’s involvement with Jane. “It was good to hear his voice.”
Though his brother had gone bossy on him too. Gage thought he should cut the strings with Jane, and pronto. It doesn’t sound like you, bro, shacking up with some chick.
Jane was not some chick, damn it!
You breaking more hearts, bro?
He and Jane had an understanding, not that his siblings could comprehend that. Everybody just assumed he was on his way to harming the smartest, sexiest—
“Gage’s offer sounds perfect for you. You should take him up on it.”
—most annoying and most troublesome woman in the world. “What the hell do you know about it?” he demanded.
Inside her sand tomb he could discern her shrug. “I picked up bits and pieces. David said it’s an in-depth piece on a new rebel training camp in Somewhere-istan.”
“Somewhere-istan,” Griffin muttered. “Everybody’s a comedian.”
“It sounds right up your alley. And it’s a chance to work with your brother.”
“I’ve already got work,” he said. What was wrong with her? Didn’t she remember that this project was necessary to recoup her reputation? “Not to mention a dog.”
“Tess and family would take Private. I will, if it comes to that.”
“Tess’s minions keep her busy enough. And I can’t leave him with a talking head.”
She just looked at him. “Griffin—”
“And Rebecca’s presentation. You think I can skip out on that? The old man will live another twenty-five years just so he can tweak me about it.”
“Be serious,” she said. “For this, you can probably get an extension on your deadline. Maybe you can work the new assignment into the memoir. Or just finish it while you’re on the road. You know you can do it.”
Without her. That’s what she was saying. Go ahead, go on and go about your life.
He stared at Jane. She’d forgotten sunscreen again, and her nose was going to peel if she kept this up. Tess and Gage had been worried he was on his way to quashing her romantic dreams while the clear-eyed, pouty-mouthed book doctor was intent on sweeping him away without the smallest sign of hesitation or regret. Why did everyone, including Jane, assume he’d snatch up the first opportunity to ditch her? What kind of man did they think he was?
Besides the kind he’d professed to be from the very beginning, a mocking voice in his head answered. I don’t do serious with women, never have.
The thought turned up his temper, which had been simmering since the munchkin mafia interrupted his morning nooky, to a boil.
He jumped to his feet. “Why does everyone think they know what’s best for me? Nobody goddamn knows me at all, and that includes my sister, my twin and you. Especially you.”
* * *
JANE FELT THE WEIGHT of the sand on her chest long after Duncan and Oliver returned—crabless, thank God—and dug her out. She walked down the beach to the outdoor shower near the entrance to Captain Crow’s and rinsed off. Then, even though she didn’t have any money on her, she was able to smile a glass of iced tea out of the guy behind the beachside bar.
Nobody goddamn knows me at all.
She supposed Griffin was right, despite her earlier claims that they had an understanding. After that call from Gage, she’d expected to find him packing a bag and double-checking the expiration date on his passport. She’d promised herself she’d be happy for him. Shouldn’t she be happy for him?
But now, well… Private was going to be thrilled that the man was sticking around.
Later she wandered back down the beach. Tess’s Mercedes station wagon was stuffed to the gills, and it looked iffy that there’d be room for all the kids in David’s SUV. While Griffin was working with his brother-in-law to find places for the stroller, two skimboards and a mountain of beach towels, Jane slipped into No. 9 and quickly collected most of her clothes and personal items. Whatever she left behind could be retrieved later, since he’d decreed they’d still be working together on the memoir.
Not fifteen minutes later, she was smiling and waving as the Quincy clan exited the cove. “I’m going to the office,” Griffin said.
“I’ll be there in a little bit,” she remarked to his retreating back. When the door to No. 9 shut behind him, she located her stashed suitcases and reached into her pocket for the key to the cottage next door that Tess had handed over. When she turned the knob, she pushed one bag across the threshold with her foot. The other she deposited on the narrow bench that stood in the small entry.
A gust of air blew through the open door, and she left it standing, allowing the salt-tinged breeze to mix with the mingled scents of crayon, baby powder and nail polish. It was so quiet without the minions.
Which was why she heard the footsteps behind her. Startled, she whirled around, only to see a stone-faced Griffin stalk through the entrance. He brushed past her to grip one suitcase and then the other bag. Without a word, he turned back toward No. 9.
“What are you doing?” she said, hurrying to keep up with him.
“Do you think I’m blind? I passed by the laundry room, and the first thing I noticed is that your filmy bits of sexual torture are missing.”
Her lingerie. She’d hand washed a batch the day before and hung it on the drying rack. Of course she’d collected the garments as part of her packing process.
“This is kind of high-handed, you know,” she said, as he walked through the door of No. 9 without even looking to see if she still followed.
“Pot, meet kettle,” he muttered.
She trailed after him on his way down the hall. “Maybe I want some alone time.”
“So take an hour next door when you need it. The rest of your days and nights you’re with me.” Then he dropped her belongings on the floor of the master bedroom and took her in his arms, making sure she knew exactly what he meant by “with me.” And Jane, seduced by that long, strong body enclosing hers, pressed her cheek into the delicious, heated skin of his throat and abandoned any more thoughts of escape.
* * *
DESPITE HER DECISION to remain at No. 9, Jane realized over the next few days that things didn’t go back to the way they’d been. He wasn’t the same Griffin as before. Though he was at turns teasing and seductive and brooding, there were times when he went even quieter now, as if every part of him stilled. Like a body submerging in deep waters, he would sink inside himself to a place that was unreachable.
Nobody goddamn knows me.
She kept coming back to that, and as more time went on, she acknowledged it was true. Though she read the pages of his memoir and thought she understood something of his experience while embedded in Afghanistan, there seemed to be a link missing in the connection between herself and Griffin. Between him and the world he lived in now. He wasn’t tethered to it in any meaningful way, and he didn’t seem in any hurry to make the essential attachment.
She also began to suspect he was using sex as he’d previously used the television and his iPod and his solitaire games. It was a way to occupy his body without his brain actually being engaged.
After a short while with this newly distant man, she longed for the distraction of Tess and the minions.
She saw them not long after they’d left the cove, however, on the day that Griffin and Rex Monroe gave their talk to Rebecca’s history seminar as part of her final project. To accommodate working parents, the presentations were scheduled in the late afternoon. The entire Quincy family was there, though Duncan and Oliver were allowed to play on the grass just outside the classroom door. David held baby Russ in one arm as he and Tess sat together, fingers enmeshed. Skye attended as well, and she was in the car with Jane, Rex and Griffin as they headed back to Crescent Cove once the war reporters’ talk was over.
Unsurprisingly, the men traded insults the entire return trip.
“Your ugly mug frightened the kids,” Rex said from his place riding shotgun.
Griffin’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he glanced over at his nemesis. “Give it up, you old crank. They looked scared because they never thought they’d meet a man who handed out prunes on Halloween.”
“You shouldn’t have told them that.”
“They were yawning,” Griffin said. “Your stuff was putting them to sleep.”
The conversation continued in that vein despite how affecting their discussion had been. Rex’s experiences as a combat journalist in World War Two echoed Griffin’s sixty-odd years later. They’d both described surviving brutal temperatures, the tense boredom of waiting for action and the bonds of brotherhood between the soldiers. War was war, their accounts made clear to the teenagers, no matter what the weapons, the era, the prize to be won.
A young man had raised his hand, wanting to know if war wasn’t also exciting. They’d glanced at each other, and then Rex had admitted that it was. “It’s not do or die,” he’d said. “Combat is die or live.”
“Nothing will get your heart pumping more than that,” Griffin had added. “The adrenaline sharpens your senses in a way that can save you when you’re taking fire.” His voice had hushed, and he’d looked at Rex. “Civilian life can seem lackluster after war. Almost colorless.”
The words had jolted Jane then, and they gave her another unpleasant shake remembering them now. Jerked back to the present, she listened to the two reporters continuing their exchange of insults.
Skye spoke up for the first time, interrupting them. “I’d like to point out that forty summer-schooled teenagers gave you a standing ovation.”
“That was for me,” the two men said together.
Jane couldn’t help but laugh.
Back at Beach House No. 9, she watched Griffin aid Rex up the path to his cottage. He said it was to make sure that the “crusty coot” didn’t try stealing his half of the photos they’d mounted on a display board that Griffin carried tucked beneath his arm.
Though she couldn’t hear his voice, his tone carried. More verbal abuse. And yet his steps were slow and his hand steady on the older man’s elbow.
Nobody goddamn knows me.
But she knew enough, Jane suddenly thought, her blood starting to pulse in anxious chugs through her veins. Oh, God help her, she knew enough.
How many times had she seen the contradiction of Griffin’s attitude and his actions? Complaining about the minions and yet brushing a kiss on a nephew’s hair. His arms swooping to toss her into the ocean, then holding her close to calm her fears. Those “rules” he’d established about their sex life that were all for her ungovernable pleasure. Despite all his tough talk he’d always been so…caring.
Beside her, Skye sighed. “Look at that,” she said, gesturing toward the pair of reporters. “Sweet, huh?”
Sweet? Disastrous. Jane’s face went hot, and she couldn’t feel her feet. There was a high whine of panic in her ears, and her fingers, when she knotted them together, were tense and cold.
She’d done it, she thought, feeling sick. She’d done the very thing she’d vowed to avoid. Silly and emotional Jane had fallen in love with a man she understood well enough to know he would never love her back.