Chapter 52

Beaufort, South Carolina, was quintessential small-town America. When Dagan rode through it, his first thought was Cue ol’ Johnny Mellencamp. However, the drive out to Chelsea’s childhood home reminded him less of modern Americana and more of a throwback to a bygone era.

Large trees spread their branches over country roads. Big, gracious houses sat back from the lanes, their expansive lawns immaculately manicured, their white-columned facades congenial and imposing at the same time. It was beautiful country. And the moment he turned up the drive to Chelsea’s mother’s place, he began to understand…everything.

Unlike its neighbors, the Duvall house wasn’t grand. It wasn’t boastful. Quite the contrary, it was a small two-story cottage painted a cheery buttercup yellow. A wraparound porch sported various pieces of furniture arranged more for comfort than for style. The flowerpots lining the steps leading to the porch were mismatched, no doubt garage-sale finds that had been collected over the years. But what the place lacked in majesty, it made up in charm. It was a house that had been lovingly built and lovingly tended. It was a…home.

On the top step of that home stood the woman who had worked so hard to save it. One look at her, and Dagan’s stomach filled with butterflies. She was so damn beautiful. So damn—

“Well, don’t just stand there staring like a slack-jawed dummy,” the woman beside Chelsea declared, her hands going to her hips in a familiar Wonder Woman gesture that made the corner of Dagan’s mouth twitch. “Come on up here and introduce yourself.”

“Momma…” Chelsea scolded. But Dagan was quick to acquiesce. Grace Duvall didn’t strike him as the kind of woman to be crossed.

“Yes, ma’am.” He quickly climbed the steps. Once he reached the top, he extended his hand. “Mrs. Duvall, I’m Dagan Zoelner. I promised you I would come meet you. And I’m a man who keeps his word.”

Grace tilted her head, regarding him intently. She was a beautiful woman. The lavender dress she wore paid homage to her dusky skin. Her cheekbones were high. Her brown eyes were large and almond-shaped. And her handshake was firm. Maybe a touch too firm?

“Are you, now?” She pursed her lips. “Well, that’s good to know.”

“Momma,” Chelsea chastened again.

Grace dropped his hand, squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath. Her tone was a little less sharp when she said, “Well, I thank you for bringin’ my Chelsea Lynn back in one piece.”

“My pleasure.” He nodded. And my pain, he thought. Because that crazy twenty-four hours in England had brought him a heaping helping of both.

Glancing at Chelsea, he noted the heightened color on her cheeks and the trepidation in her eyes. The way she looked at him, like he was seconds away from biting her head off, made his stomach ache. Maybe Becky had been right not to want to give him Chelsea’s location. Maybe he did look like the Big Bad Wolf waiting to swallow Little Red Riding Hood whole.

He worked to soften his expression when he said, “Chelsea, you look like you’re recovering from all the excitement of this week.”

Okay, and seriously? After all they had been through together, after all they had done to each other, after he’d ridden Redemption like a bat out of hell all this way, that was the best line he could come up with?

“I am.” She nodded. “I hope you are too, Z.”

If her husky sex-operator’s voice was like velvet to his ears, then the hated nickname was like an ice pick. For a couple of seconds, they simply stared at each other until the silence between them was broken by a man in blue coveralls who came around the corner of the house asking, “Do you have a preference which end of the side porch you want the swivel camera mounted on?”

When Coveralls saw Dagan, he skidded to a stop. “Oh, hello.” He doffed a dirty baseball cap sporting the logo for the Myrtle Beach Pelicans. “Sorry to interrupt, missus. Didn’t know you had company.”

“That’s fine, Charlie,” Grace said. Her brow puckered. “It was Charlie, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, missus.”

“Good. I’m usually terrible with names, but yours rang a bell because my daddy’s great-uncle was a Charlie.”

“It’s as good a name as any, I reckon,” Charlie said.

“Sure enough,” Grace agreed.

Dagan couldn’t hide his smile. Good ol’ Southern charm on full display and dripping with banality.

“I’ll come ’round and take a look here in a bit,” Grace said. Charlie nodded, and after he disappeared back around the corner, Grace turned to pin Dagan with a keen-eyed stare. “Now, usually I’d cotton to the social niceties and make small talk with you before gettin’ down to the nitty-gritty. But as you can see, I got a lot on my hands at the moment. So I reckon I’ll just get to it.”

“Momma—” Chelsea tried to cut in.

“No.” Dagan stopped her. “That’s okay.” He nodded at Grace. “Go on and say whatever it is you have to say.”

“Good.” Grace dipped her chin. “I like a man who isn’t afraid to let a woman speak her mind. So here it is. My Chelsea is a good woman. Not perfect, maybe. But none of us are. And you could do a lot worse than her, but I’m thinkin’ you couldn’t do much better.”

Chelsea groaned. “Momma, please.”

“No.” Grace raised her hand. “No need to call me off. I’ve said my piece, and now I’ll leave you two to talk.”

With that, Grace turned and vanished around the corner of the porch. Dagan watched her go and considered the fact that she’d passed on more than her flashing smile and rhythmic, hip-swinging walk to her daughter. She’d passed on her smart, no-nonsense mouth too.

“Sorry about that.” Chelsea shook her head. “Her rose-colored glasses are deeply tinted when it comes to me.”

“As every mother’s should be,” Dagan said. It hurt to look at Chelsea. Looking at her made him want her. And wanting her made his love for her rise up so fast and so hard, it nearly choked him. Fearing that what he was feeling was written all over his face, he latched on to the first subject he could think of. “So what are you having done to the house?”

“Getting a security system installed.”

Fear trickled down his spine. “What? Why? Has something happened? Have you heard something that leads you to believe you could still be a target?” He suddenly wanted to march around the corner and check Coverall Charlie’s work. He’d seen and overcome many a security system in his day. He could give Charlie some pointers to—

“No.” Chelsea shook her head. “Nothing. This is something I should have done a long time ago.” He was surprised by the level of relief that rolled through him. “Z,” she said, “why are you—”

“Will you please go back to calling me Dagan?” he interrupted.

“Oh-kay…” She licked her lips, and his eyes pinged down to catch the movement. A longing unlike anything he had ever known gripped him. Chelsea had a mouth that was something out of a wet dream. And now that he knew what she could do with it…

For the love of all that’s holy!

“Why are you—” She tried again, but a drill whirred to life, which set off the dog next door. The big, rangy mutt ran to the row of bushes separating the two properties and started barking its head off. Which had Grace running out to shoo it away, yelling, “Git! Go on! Stop your fool barkin’, you mangy mongrel!”

Once again, Dagan felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Let’s walk down to the dock!” Chelsea yelled over the racket. “It’ll be quieter down there!”

She lifted a hand as if to place it on his arm, and his breath hitched. If she touched him, he… Well, he didn’t know what would happen. All he knew was that he had missed her touch like he would miss his own beating heart. But then she stopped, swallowed, and dropped her hand to her side.

Disappointment hit him over the head at the same time she waved him down the steps. She guided him around the side of the house where a little walkway had been created out of large, flat pieces of sandstone.

Once they reached the back of the property, he saw with his own eyes what before he had only seen on a map. Chelsea’s childhood home backed up to a body of water called Chowan Creek. But more than that, it had an expansive view of Port Royal Sound.

To say the place was beautiful would be a disservice. The only word Dagan could come up with that came close to describing the view was stunning.

The wind smelled of wet earth and slowly moving water. The afternoon sky was a deep robin’s-egg blue. And the sight of Chelsea, walking ahead of him in a soft purple sweater and painted-on jeans, was the only thing in the world he could think of that could compete with the sheer, natural splendor surrounding him.

The boards of the dock were weathered but whole, and the whir of the drill was soon eclipsed by the sound of water lapping around the base of the pilings and the tweedle-do-tweedle-do-tweet of a wren in a nearby tree.

They took a seat on the built-in bench at the end of the dock. For a while, they said nothing, simply watched the sunlight dapple the water and the wind push at the creek. The space between them seemed filled with possibility. And, finally, he turned to ask the question that had plagued him since his call with Director Russell. But to his surprise, what came out of his mouth was something else entirely.