CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
GAGE HEARD NOISE IN THE distance, voices. One of his captors, he thought, coming to check on him. Jahandar or a brother of his showed up every couple of days, with a new container of water and to exchange his slops bucket. Yeah, first-class service at this joint.
He wasn’t going to bother waking up for the visit. Reasoning with the fucking wankers had gotten him nowhere and he wasn’t up to small talk. He’d taken a course in hostile environment training a few years back. In regards to kidnapping, the instructor had informed the students that you bettered your chance of survival if the people holding you prisoner saw you as a fellow human. A few months later, one of the other class members, a reporter friend of Gage’s, had been mistaken for a spy and held for twelve hours by a tribal warlord. Remembering the hostage lecture, he’d gone weepy, showing off his wedding ring, wailing about his kids. Trying so hard to be human.
Come to find out, that tribe found tears shameful, and a sure sign of guilt. His buddy was lucky he wasn’t shot on the spot.
So Gage hadn’t attempted any waterworks. Instead, he’d chatted about his childhood in California. He’d made up a devoted girlfriend and called her Skye. But when Jahandar’s younger brother had pressed for salacious details about Gage’s American lady, he’d regretted bringing his pen pal’s name into the ugliness of his captivity.
So he wasn’t going to even open his eyes.
He wasn’t sure he could anyhow, because his head was pounding like a bitch and there seemed to be some sort of crust gluing his eyelashes together. God, he just got filthier by the day, and the beckoning sleep was at least one way to escape it.
But the throbbing in his head wouldn’t let him rest. Despite himself, he roused a little. Maybe he should try to talk to the assholes again. Maybe get a fresh car battery. His lightbulb had been working okay—
No, no, it wasn’t working, he thought, panic setting in as he registered the darkness behind his closed eyelids. Fuck. Fuck!
He rolled to his back, hands patting his chest, desperate to hear the crackle of paper—the packet of letters that he stashed next to his heart. They weren’t there. Fuck!
Sitting up, he felt the earth around him. It was hard-packed, orangish stuff—
But this wasn’t hard-packed. This was soft. This was...sand.
Recent events came to him in a rush. Crescent Cove. Wedding. Skye. Dinner. His decision to go to No. 9.
A flashlight to the head.
A scream.
He’d screamed? No. Shit. That scream was in real time. A real, feminine scream.
Gage jackknifed up, and the drums in his head redoubled their beat. Ignoring them, he swiped at his eyes, rubbing his sleeve against them. Then he blinked, blinked again and saw...
Nothing.
Like the hole at the ransom farm, he was in pitch-darkness. Smothering.
Helpless.
Another scream.
Skye.
The helplessness burned off in a fire that left only rage behind. Someone was hurting her—those two men, he remembered, who had terrorized her before. On hands and knees, he moved about the dark space, seeking a way out. But the deck’s concrete footings made the area into a maze and he was clammy with sweat by the time he realized he’d probably crawled away from the exit instead of toward it. Calm down, he ordered himself. Use your head.
He took in a long breath, let it out, then tried honing his senses. He couldn’t see, but he could hear. Orienting his body so that the sound of the surf was ahead of him, he turned right, recalling the location of that small door.
He bumped his head on one cement pier, his knee on a second, but then he found the outer wall. Sweeping along it with his hands, he discovered the door handle and gave it a mighty shove.
Cool, damp air blew across his face. He blinked, the moonlight almost bright to him now, and crawled out. Then he pushed to his feet, and stumbled toward the stairs leading to the deck. “Skye!” he yelled, letting her know he was coming. That she wasn’t alone. “Where are you?”
“Gage!”
“Here, honey. Here!” He slogged as quickly as he could through the soft sand in the direction of her voice. “Are you all right?”
As he made his way to the bottom step, he saw her at the top. She leaped, and he jumped back to avoid a collision. She rolled but came back up and as he reached for her, she whirled around to face the deck again.
A man, in ball cap and bandanna, was scrambling down the steps.
“Stay away from us!” Skye shrieked at the intruder. Her shoulder blades hit Gage’s chest and he tripped backward, barely staying on his feet.
Bandanna didn’t heed her warning, and that’s when she cranked back her arm, something clutched in her hand. She threw it with all her might at the man coming toward them.
He howled, his hands going to his nose. Then he growled, another animalistic noise, and staggered forward, hands outstretched.
Skye was still between Gage and her attacker, her arms wide, as if to protect him. His brave mermaid.
Curling his hands about her waist, he plucked her aside and slammed his fist into Bandanna’s oncoming jaw. The guy grunted, but kept on his feet, his fingers closing over Gage’s shirt.
Remembering another lesson from hostile environment school, Gage jerked up a bent leg, sending a vicious knee into the other man’s balls, nothing held back. The man dropped. Forget the Queensberry rules, his instructor had said. When you can, fight like a woman.
Breathing hard, Gage stood over the moaning assailant. With his right foot—the only one with a shoe, he realized now—he nudged the brim of the guy’s hat, revealing a shaved head. Then he leaned down to yank the bandanna away from his face.
Blood poured from the guy’s nose.
Gage glanced back at Skye. She was staring at the man, her face pale in the moonlight. “You know him?” he asked.
“Not his name, but...but he’s one of the pair who invaded my house.” She stepped closer, and he felt her hand clutch at the back of his shirt. “He’s—” she pointed to the top of the stairs “—the other.”
It was the bartender from Captain Crow’s, the guy who’d removed the ski mask before shoving Gage below the deck. “You stay out of the way,” he told Skye.
With Bandanna harmless for the moment, Gage grimly started for the second assailant, his fingers already curling into fists. “I’m coming for you.”
“Don’t bother,” the man said, holding up his cell phone. “I already called the police.”
* * *
THE BRIDE AND MATRON of honor were getting wedding-ready at No. 9, while Gage and Griffin had been assigned to Rex Monroe’s. They each had a whiskey in hand and were sitting on the porch, waiting for the signal from their mother. Gage felt remarkably content, and was determined to hold on to that feeling with everything he had.
It had taken him and his brother little time to dress. They both wore linen slacks and pin-tucked Mexican wedding shirts. Since the bride was going shoeless, so were they. “If a guy’s got to get married, this is the way to do it,” Gage remarked. “No monkey suits.”
“Yeah,” Griffin said. “And thank God we talked the women out of dressing us exactly alike. That would have been like first grade.”
Gage slid his brother a sidelong look. They both wore turquoise-blue shirts, one a slight shade lighter than the other. “Hey, I have an idea. We could pull the ol’ twin switcheroo. See if Jane notices I’m not the real groom.”
“Not a chance she wouldn’t notice, not even for a second,” Griffin said. “You forget your stitches?”
“Oh, yeah.” Gage put his hand to his hairline and touched the bandage. “Thanks to those assholes I’m going to look battered in your wedding photos.”
“Jane likes that. She says it will help us all remember the night before even better.”
Gage didn’t think he’d ever forget. Not his panic, not his fear for Skye, not the sight of her placing herself between him and the bad guys. “She broke that guy’s nose with my shoe,” he murmured. “You shoulda seen it, Griff.”
“I saw what you looked like. Blood all over your face and soaked into your shirt. No wonder she thought she had to save you from further harm.”
“Head wounds bleed like a bitch. My skull still aches, too, but I bet our friend Bandanna will be talking to his lawyer in falsetto for a few more days.” There was satisfaction in that. Thanks to Ski Mask—Steve—they knew the whole story now. Yes, he and his cousin had been the duo who invaded Skye’s home months back. A film lit major, Steve had fixated on rumors of the Collar. His cousin had fixated on the money they could make upon finding it. So they’d searched Skye’s place.
“My cousin Doug is not a good person,” Steve had said, not meeting Gage’s gaze and conveniently forgetting his own larceny as they waited for the police to arrive. “I’m sorry for what happened to her.”
“You should have reported him to the cops the first time,” Gage had answered, barely suppressing the urge to strangle the moron. “And why’d you call him back tonight for another search?”
“I heard your party talking during dinner—how the Collar might be at No. 9. I thought there was a narrow window of opportunity—and Doug was nearby and available.”
Because Doug was an unemployed petty criminal who appeared to be on his way to bigger, nastier things. But with Steve’s confession, the police hoped they could put the brutish thug away for some time.
With the cove mysteries solved—Steve had also been the man in the ski mask who’d ransacked the Sunrise Studios archives the month before, again looking for the Collar or information leading to acquiring it—Skye was once more secure in her special corner of the world.
On a relaxed sigh, Gage stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. There was probably forty minutes until sunset, and the sky was just beginning to take on tangerine and scarlet tones.
He leaned over to tap his glass against his twin’s. “A monkey that amuses me is better than a deer astray.”
Griffin raised a brow. “I guess I’ll drink to that, whatever the hell it means.”
It meant life was good at this moment, Gage thought. There was the beautiful cove now cleared of crime. The imminent nuptials, which would join together his brother and the woman he adored. “Do you need me to give you any wedding night advice?” he teased Griffin. “Shall we have the Talk?”
His brother knocked back the remainder of his whiskey. “Yeah. There’s a talk we need to have. Something I need to tell you.”
Frowning, Gage turned his head. “What?”
“You’re a fucking idiot!”
“Huh? What—”
“Cut the bullshit,” Griffin said, his eyes going hard. “I know all about your little adventure, your next assignment, the stupid way you’ve been going about your business.”
Shit. “Skye shouldn’t have—”
“Skye didn’t.” A speculative look entered his brother’s gaze. “I’m surprised you told her.”
“She’s impossible to lie to,” Gage muttered, looking down at his feet.
“Maybe you’ll think about why that’s the case, after I kick your ass.”
Gage took in a breath. “How’d you find out?”
“You’re not the only one with friends on the other side of the world. I put out feelers. It took a while for the intel to reach me, but it did.”
“Don’t tell Mom and Dad,” Gage said quickly, feeling as if he were ten again and hiding a bad test paper. “Or Tess, either.”
“Only if you promise to start being responsible about—”
“I have been responsible! This way no one but me is accountable.”
“Yeah, I get that’s what you tell yourself. Don’t forget I know well how your mind works. But it’s no good, Gage. Think about it, think about if it had been me no one could find, me who just disappeared off the face of the earth without a trace.”
The whiskey sloshed in Gage’s belly like stormy seas. “It’s not the same.”
“It’s exactly the same.”
“All right. Fine. But think about Charlie.”
“Mara had a tough decision to make, I agree, and I also agree that the outcome was damn rough. But in your scenario, she’d never have had a chance to help him and maybe never even know what became of him. Is that any better?”
“I hate when you lecture,” Gage said.
“You hate when I’m right.” Griffin looked over. “So...I need a wedding present.”
“I went in with Tess and David on something already. I hope it’s lace doilies or some ugly chip and dip bowl.”
His brother ignored that. “You put me on your list. I’m the contact name. I’m the decision-maker, if it comes to any decisions needing to be made.”
Gage closed his eyes. “You’re totally fucking up my day.”
“You’ll make mine if you agree,” his brother said. “I need this from you.”
“Shit. You’ve never played fair.”
“It’s the elder brother thing.”
“By eleven stinking minutes!”
Griffin shrugged. “Eleven minutes is eleven minutes.” Then he hesitated. “Trust me to do right by you.”
“Of course I trust you.” Gage knew he sounded surly. “It’s just...I’m going to be all right. I’m not going to get into any more tight places.”
“Yes, you are. You’re planning to go straight back to that ransom farm. I’m worried that it’s stress that’s driving you there.”
“It’s not. It’s...” God, he wasn’t the word guy. “Griff, you’ve got to trust me, too.”
A long moment passed; then his brother nodded. “Okay. You’re right, and I do.” His cell phone rang, and he pulled it out to check the screen, a smile breaking over his face and dispatching the tension between them.
“Showtime?” Gage asked.
“Showtime,” Griffin confirmed.
They stood as one, then looked at each other. “Are you going to get sappy again?” Gage asked.
“Briefly.”
The man hug was hard...and heartfelt. “I’m happy for you, Griff.”
His twin pushed away and slapped his hands together. “Let’s go get me a wife.”
Gage could only smile at his brother’s enthusiasm, feeling his own mood rise again. “Let’s.”
As his brother made to move off, Gage caught his arm. Griffin turned, eyebrows rising.
“About...”
“About Skye?”
“Yeah.” This was when the twin thing came in handy. It made articulation often unnecessary.
“Jane and I will look out for her.”
“I’m still going to be writing her letters,” Gage promised. “I’m not walking out of her life.”
Griffin smiled. “There’s not a doubt in my mind.”
* * *
GAGE DIDN’T HAVE ANY doubts about his brother’s future marital happiness, either. The wedding ceremony went off without a hitch. The sunset arrived as predicted by the weather service, and the group of seventy guests were in place as the music began. Jane looked beautiful in a shoulder-baring white dress, its hem skimming the sand aisle that her techie father and brothers had mapped out and then executed with the help of no fewer than three laptops running five separate programs.
They looked pretty happy about the outcome. Gage noticed the pleased smiles on their faces as they sat in the front row. Jane walked alone down the aisle, choosing to give herself to her groom. Her gaze never wavered from his face.
Rex married them. The old reporter had gotten himself some sort of lifetime pass as a wedding officiant. He did a fine job, his voice strong, his comments a combination of the traditional and personal. Best of all, they were brief.
The bride and groom had written their own vows. Gage was going to have to check out the video to listen to them a second time. He’d been distracted, his gaze lingering on Skye, who was standing near the glass door leading into the house. His siren of the cove, the self-appointed “fixer” for any last-minute problems.
She didn’t look as if she’d been fighting bad guys the night before. She was in green again, an early morning ocean shade. Her hair streamed over her shoulders in rippling waves and he remembered filling his hands with the stuff last night, once they’d finally made it to her bed.
He’d been so relieved to have her there, against him, and that euphoric feeling had yet to abate, even after the tense exchange he’d had with his brother on Rex’s porch. The deal he’d struck with Griffin grated on him a little, but he hoped it would amount to nothing. As he’d said, he wasn’t planning on getting into any more tight places.
Then it was time for the ring, so he had to pay attention again. From there, the ceremony wrapped up quickly. They kissed, the audience clapped and then the steel drum band set up on the beach began to play.
The chairs were whisked away, small tables set out where people could imbibe food and drink and it was time to enjoy the rest of the evening.
He sought out Skye. She was standing with Vance and Layla, both of them giving off love fumes. “It was lovely,” Layla said on a sigh, her big brown eyes looking dreamy.
Vance slanted a glance at her. “You want a beach wedding now?”
“Nope, I haven’t changed my mind. Ours is going to be on the grounds of the avocado ranch. Skye, what do you think? Should I go up on the aisle on horseback?”
Vance groaned. “Say no, Skye. And tell Layla to stop listening to my mother. God knows what that woman has in mind for us.”
Before Skye had a chance to engage in the discussion, Gage coaxed her away from the couple. “They’re playing our song,” he said. And they were. It was “The White Sandy Beach of Hawai’i.” With her in his arms, he experienced another euphoric wave, lifting him up. He kept riding it high, all night long.
Finally the place was clearing out. The guests were gone. Bride and groom took off for their secret honeymoon destination. Since Gage would be eight thousand miles away by the time they returned, Griffin gave him a speaking look as he left.
“Yeah, yeah,” he’d assured his twin with a slap on the back, then kissed his new sister-in-law.
He said his farewells to his parents, too, since he wouldn’t see them again before his plane left in a couple of days. His mom took it better than he had expected, but she had the prospect of two weeks at Tess and David’s to look forward to. Grandkids apparently went a long way to making up for absent sons.
Finally it was just him and Skye, standing in the driveway of No. 9, seeing them off. He smiled, looking forward to alone time with her. The siren of the cove, all to himself.
“It’s been great seeing you!” she called, waving as his parents’ car turned in the driveway. “Good—”
Gage grabbed her, out of patience. He lifted her off her feet.
Her mouth curved as she gazed into his face. “...bye,” she finished.
And that’s when he dropped off the wave. Crashed with bone-crunching force. Because, he realized, the next time she said that word, she’d be saying it to him.
* * *
SKYE MADE A VOW TO REMAIN firmly fused in each moment. It didn’t matter how many of them were left, she assured herself. It only mattered that she enjoyed each one she had with Gage. No tears, no regrets, nothing but smiles.
Still, despite the promise to herself, she was miserable the day after the wedding, and even more miserable the day after that.
But hiding it well, she thought. She was still keeping it together, though Gage’s plane was scheduled to leave late the following night.
This morning they’d packed a lunch and gone for a hike, visiting places that had been their childhood haunts. On a knoll above the cove, they sat down to rest. Side by side, they gazed out over the ocean.
“Another perfect day,” he murmured.
“The weather’s spectacular,” she agreed.
“The ocean temps are peaking.” He rummaged for a bottle of water in the backpack they’d brought.
“It’s that time of year.”
At the same moment, they glanced at each other. Gage grimaced. “We’re talking like strangers.”
In a few months, that’s what they’d be, Skye thought. He claimed they’d resume their correspondence; she didn’t think she wanted a long-distance pen affair with the man she loved.
When she didn’t answer, he lay back on the sunbaked grass and threw his forearm over his eyes. “This summer hasn’t been all bad, has it?”
“No.” She pasted on a smile, even though he couldn’t see her. “This summer’s been great.”
He lifted his arm, cast her a baleful look. “Your enthusiasm could use a little work.”
“Your brother’s wedding was great. And we caught the bad guys.”
“Both true.” He sat up again. “Are you going to be all right now, being here at the cove?”
“Yes.” That was absolutely true. “The monsters in the corners are gone.”
“What about the necklace? Are you going to let Tessie ply you with mojitos and attempt another treasure hunt?”
“I don’t know. It was Edith’s, after all, and she wanted to keep it hidden. Maybe it’s better that we never find it.”
He took a swig of water, his gaze back on the ocean. “This morning I got around to reading the article from Sunday’s paper.”
“You did?” Polly had been right; it had already sparked a flurry of interest. Skye had let the phone messages go to voice mail, but she’d taken a quick peek at her email. Reservation requests were steady.
“I didn’t realize Max had given up the movie business for her.” When she didn’t comment, he glanced her way. “I missed out on that detail. I guess I supposed it was the advent of the talkies that meant the end of Sunrise Studios.”
Skye clambered to her feet, not wanting to get into stories of men who gave up their work for the women they loved. “Shall we keep going?” she asked, brushing at the dust on her shorts. “We planned to stop by the tide pools before turning back.”
They were both tired and a little sunburned by the time they made it to No. 9. Neither of them was doing very good with the smiles.
After they’d showered and put together a quick dinner, Gage surprised her by pulling out one of his cameras. He held it a little awkwardly, looking it over as if he wasn’t sure how it worked anymore.
Taking pity on him, Skye leaned close and touched her fingertip to the shutter release. “See, you press the big black button right here, and then it saves the image in the viewfinder.”
He sent her a look. “Very funny.”
“I just thought you might have forgotten.”
“I didn’t forget.” Then he left the living room, presumably putting it away again. When he came back a few minutes later, he sat on the opposite end of the couch, a heavy, awkward silence occupying the cushion between them.
Skye shivered, glancing toward him in the near-dark room.
“Cold?”
“No.”
On the coffee table in front of the couch was the Sunday paper, the Lifestyles section on top. Above the fold was a panoramic photo of the cove. Gage nudged it with his foot. “Edith Essex died young.”
“Virulent case of pneumonia. Left Max with two babies to bring up on his own.”
“He never married again?”
“No.”
“Did he—”
“Can we talk about something else?” Skye demanded. Discussing what Max had willingly sacrificed to make his wife happy seemed an awkward subject to hash out now.
“I just wanted to know if there’s any record of his thoughts. How he felt about giving up his life’s work—”
“We don’t know, okay? We just don’t know.”
“All right, all right,” Gage said. “I didn’t mean to rile you up. As a matter of fact...”
Suspicious, she looked over at him. “As a matter of fact, what?”
“I thought you should know I made a deal with Griffin. He found out about the kidnapping and made me promise to...to change my ways. When I go out I’ll be leaving notes behind, setting up backup plans, making sure I’m covered if something goes wrong.”
Skye stared at him, feeling as if half the weight on her soul had been lifted. “I can’t tell you enough...” Her breath released in a shaky sigh. “I’m so glad to hear that.”
He smiled at her, then reached out a hand. “Then how come you’re still sitting way over there?”
They met each other halfway. The kiss tasted like desperation and impending grief, but Skye’s desire rose despite that. As the night fell, they continued kissing, one eager melding of mouths flowing into another. She thought Gage might object to the growing darkness—there was always some small source of light while they slept—but he didn’t say a word. Instead he became more demanding, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, his hands firm on her breasts, the heel of his palm insistent between her thighs.
While still fully dressed, she felt herself peaking, and jolted away from him, wanting more intimacy. Wanting skin to skin. Standing up, she tugged on his hands. “This way,” she whispered. “I want you on the bed.”
She took over then, ushering him down the hall and then undressing him in the shadowy bedroom. Again, she was surprised that he didn’t insist on some source of light. Later, she figured he’d used it as a cover. There were things he didn’t want her to see just yet.
With gentle hands, she pushed him naked onto the sheets. Her clothes went next and when she joined him on the mattress, he pulled her close. She reveled for a moment in the heat of him, in the hard length of his masculine muscles against hers as they dove into another voluptuous kiss. But it was going all too fast again, the pressure of his hard thigh at the juncture of hers taking her too quickly toward climax.
Despite his groan of protest, she backed out of his arms. But then she knelt next to his heavily breathing, splayed body and began to touch him with her fingertips, her palms, her lips, the flat of her tongue. Gage’s next groan was louder, and one of his hands fell heavy onto the back of her head. His fingers flexed in her hair as she licked his nipples and tested the resilience of his biceps with the edge of her teeth, and swirled a wet pattern toward his navel.
Her tongue found the hot, plum-shaped head of his erection, and she lapped there, too. His breathing was loud in the room, a fractured sound of need, and she felt excitement fizz in her bloodstream.
She did this to him. She did this to the man she loved.
Cupping the cool weights between his legs, she continued to explore the silky steel of him, sliding her tongue along its length, then sucking him into the hot cavern of her mouth. The sound he made in response caused her nipples to contract to aching points, and she pressed them against his sleek side, rubbing there while she continued to slide him in and out between her lips.
She glanced up, even in the gloom able to detect the hard set of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, the avid glitter in his eyes. He gathered her hair in his fist, pulling it away from her face, and she took him deeper, knowing that he loved seeing her pleasure him this way.
On another upstroke, she swirled her tongue around his head, and then he broke. On a curse, he pulled out of her mouth and dove for a condom. She was flat on her back next, and he was over her, pushing her thighs wide, penetrating her wetness in a thick, heavy slide.
Her legs lifted, crossing over his hips to draw him closer, and he started a heavy, lunging rhythm of advance and retreat. Her hips lifted into each stroke and she gasped as he toyed with her sensitive nipples. When his mouth found her neck, kissing, sucking, marking, she let her head fall back, reveling in the sweet and stinging possession.
Then he lifted his head, his gaze glittering down at her, while his body continued to plunge and retreat, plunge and retreat. “Do you have something you want to ask me, Skye?” he said, his voice heavy and rough.
Ask him? Ask him what?
“You can,” he said. “Like Edith asked Max.”
Like Edith asked Max to give up making movies. Like Edith asked Max to give up his career. Her heart redoubled its already frantic tempo. Ask him...she could ask Gage to stay.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, kissing him with a wild, almost frantic abandon. Thoughts raced through her head, and goose bumps broke across her skin.
She could ask him to stay.
But...but it wouldn’t be right.
“No,” she said against his mouth, and hot tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. “No, I won’t ask you anything.”
He lifted his head. “You won’t?”
Another tear slid along her temple. “Never.”
His body slowed then, his hips moving in deliberate, incendiary pitches. His tongue licked at her tears. And when the orgasm finally broke over her, it completely shattered her heart.
But still, there remained pieces of it left to splinter, she discovered. That happened a little later, after he’d come back with a warm washcloth used to soothe her face and body. Next he tucked her into the bed, pulling the sheets and blanket to her chin. Only then did he turn on a lamp. Only then did he crush whatever was left beating in her chest.
He was dressed. His bags were packed. There were just two, a duffel and a backpack.
Skye sat up, feeling the color drain from her face.
“It wasn’t going to be any better tomorrow,” he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His palm cupped her cheek. “We’re both wretched. So I moved up my flight.”
She continued staring at him.
“I’m going now. It will be better this way.”
“I...” Her voice deserted her. “You...”
He smiled a little, rubbed his thumb over a fresh tear. “Yeah.” Then he placed a last kiss on her forehead, and was gone.
* * *
STUNNED, SKYE LAY BACK on the bed. Overwrought with emotion, she stared at the bedroom walls and tried absorbing what had happened. He’d gone. She’d let him go.
If she’d begged him to stay, would he be beside her right now?
Yes. He wouldn’t have made the offer unless he’d been willing to follow through with it. But that wasn’t how she wanted to have him.
Gathering his pillow into her arms, she closed her eyes and listened to the waves sliding onto the sand, just as they had in Edith’s time, and just as they had when Edith was gone. Just as they had when Gage spent part of a summer with her, and just as they would now that he was gone.
Skye slept.
At first light, she awoke. Her body felt heavy as she dressed, then made her way into the kitchen. She brewed coffee, because that’s what people did in the morning. A steaming mug in hand, she walked out onto the deck and took a seat at the table, staring out to sea.
The dark heads of a pair of seals popped up from the surf. They gamboled in the waves, enjoying their morning swim. People supposed they were the source of the mermaid and merman legends. In the right light—say the gray of early morning—someone could mistake their sleek figures for those of a water-dwelling race. Skye found herself smiling at their antics.
Smiling!
But why not? She let her gaze follow the crescent shape of the beach. This was her place, her legacy, and she was still here, wasn’t she? Still in her magical, wonderful corner of the world. Gage had helped her recapture her sense of security and her ability to appreciate her beautiful surroundings.
Closing her eyes, she filled her chest with the salt-laden air. Maybe the merfolk in the cove could find a way to rebuild her heart.
Her name floated past her on the breeze. She smiled again, bemused by the power of her imagination. Gage was thousands of miles away by now, so that couldn’t be his voice.
“Skye!”
She jolted, her eyes going wide. That...that sounded so like him. Standing, she heard footsteps on the stairs leading from the beach. The top of a familiar head came into view.
Her mouth went dry. “Gage?”
Reaching the deck, he dropped his bags, then held his arms wide.
In one magnificent rush, she leaped onto him, causing him to stagger back. He laughed, his arms closing tight around her as her legs clasped his waist. “Hey, baby,” he said, pressing his face against her neck. “Miss me?”
Her fingers twined in his hair and she pulled on his head to lift his gaze to hers. “Did your flight get canceled?”
“Something better than that. My life plan got canceled.”
“I...I don’t understand.”
“I know.” He hitched her up, then carried her to the double-wide lounger, where he sat with her in his lap. His mouth found hers, and she fell headlong into the kiss—that he cut short. “Let me tell you something first.”
“All right,” she said, suddenly wary again.
“During the drive to the airport, questions kept running through my head. First and foremost, why I’d been avoiding taking pictures. Hell, I couldn’t even make myself take a final photo of you last night.”
“I thought maybe it was because of my sunburned nose.”
“Brat,” he said, then kissed it. “The answer was actually pretty simple. I’d always used the camera lens as a buffer between me and my subjects. I didn’t want any buffer from you. Not last night. Not ever.”
Skye’s heart was pounding in her chest. The merfolk must be fast workers, she thought, dizzy with the new rush of blood zinging through her veins.
“I love you, Skye,” Gage said. “I’m so in love with you.”
Her body started to tremble. “You know, you know I—”
“I know.” His grin was easy, and very pleased. “No doubt I’ll insist you say it a hell of a lot, too, but let me finish telling you why I didn’t make that plane.”
She clasped her hands together.
“When I learned about Griff’s PTSD, I did a little research. Scientists have named another condition that happens to people who experience an impactful life event—PTG, post-traumatic growth. It leaves a person with a new outlook on life and relationships. A man may discover that he wants to spend more time with family instead of his career. Maybe he sees himself putting down roots—still taking photographs, mind you—but from a home base and with a woman beside him who can fill his heart, not just his zest for adventure.”
Skye frowned. “That woman might not like the idea of being the one who curtails his zest.”
He smiled at her. “She’s going to provide plenty of zest, don’t you worry.”
At her doubtful expression, he laughed.
“Trust me, honey,” he said, then, sobering, he gathered her even closer. “While I was driving, I kept remembering Charlie, something he told me. Just a few weeks before his kidnapping, he was walking through Kabul and a bullet pierced a wall right by his head. Pure good luck that it didn’t kill him outright. And he wondered if that wasn’t a sign from the universe. He thought about going home to Mara and Anthony, right then and there.”
Skye frowned. “So your sign from the universe was the kidnapping?”
“My sign from the universe was you. At first your letters, and then your smile, and then your love. It made no sense not to heed it...not to be with you, the person who makes me happy. So...here I am.”
“So...here you are.” She smiled, her heart whole and clamoring for its turn to talk. “Do I get to say I love you now?”
“Sure, I—” His gaze suddenly shifted over her shoulder, and he blinked. “Jesus,” he murmured. “Skye, there’s...there’s merpeople out there.”
Seals. “But of course,” she replied, without even bothering to look. “They’re here to welcome you home.”