Mail took its time getting to the island. Reed got the next card five days after his weekend off, and right before the Memorial Day weekend with its village parade, LobsterFest, early bird summer specials, and the first influx of summer people.
As always, Donna picked up the mail on the way in and arrived shortly after him. He’d made his first cup of station coffee from the machine he’d paid for himself. He’d settled the dog down with a chew bone and, though it humiliated, the little stuffed dog Barney loved.
Reed expected Barney to chew the toy to bits, but Barney habitually clamped it gently in jaws or paws and did no real damage.
As he booted up his computer with an eye toward looking over the June calendar again, Donna came to his open door.
“Chief.”
“Yeah. So this Arts and Crafts Festival the second weekend in June? I remember my mother being all about that one year. Do we have an estimate on…”
He trailed off as he glanced up, saw her face.
“Problem.” It wasn’t a question.
“You got another card in the mail. It’s the same handwriting, I know it. The postmark’s from West Virginia. I only touched it by the corner to stick it in my tote.”
“Let’s have it.”
He hadn’t expected another card as much as he’d hoped for one.
Another trail. Another break in control.
Donna set it carefully on his desk, sat.
“I’ve got something to say first, before you open it.”
“I need to get to this, Donna.”
“I know you need to get to this, but I’ve got something to say first.” She clutched her big summer straw purse in her lap. “I want to say it before you open it, because we both know this is another threat against you.”
“Go ahead then,” he said as he got out a pair of gloves, his penknife.
“You kept your word. I believe you’d have kept it whether or not you took an oath on the good book. But that’s a kind of insurance. You did the right thing and didn’t let those boys—including my grandson—off scot-free, but you didn’t mess up their lives over a prank. Dobson hammered at you, pushed at the mayor, but you did the right thing.”
“It was toilet paper, Donna, probably biodegradable.”
“That’s not the point. I didn’t know what to think about them bringing you in as chief, but I didn’t think very well. You’re young, you’re from the mainland, and you’ve got a sassy way half the time.”
He had to smile, even with the slow burn working inside him over the card waiting on his desk. “I’m sassy?”
“That’s not a compliment. But you do a good job, you treat the deputies with respect, and you kept your word. You’re good to that idiot dog.”
“He’s only half an idiot these days.”
“I didn’t like the idea of you bringing him in here, but I’ll tell the truth and say I’ve got a fondness for him now.”
Her fondness, Reed knew, included sneaking the dog tiny bone-shaped treats from a bag she now kept at her station.
“Barney grows on you.”
“I think you need a decent haircut and real shoes instead of old beat-up sneakers.”
Reed frowned down at his high-tops. They weren’t that beat-up. “Noted.”
“Otherwise.” She sniffed. “You’re doing reasonably all right. More or less.”
“I’m touched.”
“And you’re chief, so that’s that.” She dug into her bag, pulled out a black ball cap with CHIEF over the crown in white. “So this is for you.”
“You got me a hat.”
“I watch these TV movies all the time and the chief of police has a hat like this one.”
Touched, sincerely, Reed took it, settled it on his head. “How’s it look?”
“Well, you need a decent haircut, but it’ll do.”
He took it off, studied the CHIEF, put it back on. “I appreciate it, Donna. I’m proud to wear it.”
“At least people will see it and not think you’re some beach bum with that ragged hair and those beat-up sneakers.” She pushed up from the chair. “I’ll call in the off-duty deputies, so you can brief them after you’ve looked at that card.”
“Thanks.”
She paused at the door. “You be smart and you be careful.”
“I intend to be both.”
“See that you do. I paid good money for that hat. I don’t want anything to happen to it.”
He smiled for a moment as she walked out, then put on the gloves, slit the envelope with his knife.
This one read:
THINKING OF YOU
On a floral background.
Inside, over a rainbow and more flowers, the sentiment read:
YOU MEAN SO MUCH TO ME, I NEED TO LET YOU KNOW.
NO MATTER WHAT I SEE, NO MATTER WHERE I GO.
YOU’RE ALWAYS IN MY THOUGHTS.
She’d signed it XXOO Patricia, and on the inside cover had written her personal message.
I can’t wait until we’re together again. It’s been too long! I hope you think of me as often as I think of you, and with the same—should we call it passion?
Enclosed is another token of my undying loathing.
Until … Patricia.
He lifted out the lock of hair inside the sealed bag.
It wouldn’t be McMullen’s, he thought. McMullen, the abduction, the video, the killing, all that had been not just personal for Hobart, but intimate.
This lock of hair was Tracey Lieberman’s.
He took photos, sealed the original and the lock of hair in an evidence bag.
“Just come, bitch. Just stop screwing around and come. We’ll finish this.”
He contacted Jacoby, shot her the photos, did the same with Essie.
Then he swiveled in his chair, gazed out the window at the flowering bushes. Azaleas—even he knew that much. They made a nice show. He had a couple of them at his house, in flaming red, and the wild dogwood—CiCi had identified—had burst out in late March between snowstorms.
The fishing boats would be out, and the lobstermen. Before long they’d be joined by sailboats, powerboats, boogie boards, sunbathers, and sandcastles.
Whenever she came, however she got there, he’d find a way to stop her from leaving a scar on the island.
He flicked a finger down the bill of his cap, got up to brief his deputies. The dog, toy in his mouth, followed him.
* * *
In her studio, Simone circled the clay. She searched for imperfections, for possibilities of improvements. For the last few days, she’d touched up details, cutting minute bits of clay with hook and rake tools, smoothing out with kidney tools, delicately brushing with solvent to remove those tool marks.
She knew, from experience, an artist could cut and rake and smooth a piece—searching for perfection—and destroy the soul of it.
Her hands itched for her tools, but she walked out, called down the stairs to where she knew CiCi sat with her morning coffee.
“CiCi, could you come up, take another look at Reed?”
“I’m always ready to look at Reed. You haven’t let me look for days—covering him up even when you had Hank and Essie up there.”
“I know. He wasn’t ready. I know he’s ready now, but I can’t stop looking for reasons to tweak just a little more. Stop me,” she said as CiCi reached the landing. “Or tell me to keep going.”
CiCi stepped in, flipped her long braid behind her back, then circled as Simone had.
The image stood two feet in height on a base she’d created to resemble a platform of rough stone. She’d caught him, as she’d envisioned, in mid-swing, the sword gripped two-handed over his left shoulder, his body turned at the hip, legs braced, with the right foot planted ahead of the left, and in a pivot.
His hair, tumbled and with that hint of curl, seemed to flow with the motion. For his face, she’d sculpted the barely banked rage and cold purpose.
Behind his left leg, Barney stood, leaning in, head up, eyes full of hope and trust.
“God, he’s gorgeous,” CiCi stated as she circled.
“In person, or here?”
“Both. Absolutely both. Simone, this is brilliant. It’s stunning, and it’s absolutely Reed. The Protector you said you called it. And that’s just perfect. Leave it alone. Perfect’s often the enemy of done, but you’ve already gotten perfect.”
She traced a finger a hairbreadth from the scars. “Perfectly flawed. Real. Male. Human.”
“It got more important to me every day. And the more important … I want to cast it in bronze.”
“Yes. Yes. Oh, I can see that.” CiCi shifted, slipped an arm around Simone’s waist. “Will you let him see the clay model?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Let him wait.”
“I’ve let it dry. Most of me knew it was done. I can start the molding process this morning.”
“I’ll let you get to it. My talented girl? It’s going to be a masterpiece.”
“Okay then,” she murmured when she was alone.
She got her brush, the latex rubber mixture. Stopped herself, got a bottle of water, turned on music, going with one of CiCi’s New Agey playlists. Soothing harps, bells, flutes.
With the brush, she painted the mixture onto the clay. Avoiding air bubbles while coating every millimeter took patience and care, and time.
She knew his body so well now, the length of torso, the line of hip, the exact placement of the scars.
Once done, she stepped back, searching for any tiny area she might have missed. Then she cleaned her brush, put the mix away.
This process took more patience. She’d apply the next coat the following morning, then another. Four coats, she determined, before she made the mother mold of plaster.
When that dried, she’d remove the mother mold, cut the rubber away from the clay. She would have the negative image, and could pour the wax replica.
She decided she’d wait until she reached that stage before booking the foundry she used on the mainland. Pouring the wax replication took several steps, then she’d need to chase that—repair imperfections, remove seams and mold lines.
Painstaking, but she preferred doing her own wax chasing as she’d learned in Florence.
But by then, even with the steps that followed, she’d have a good sense of when she’d be ready to have it poured.
Sipping water, she turned toward her board, and the faces that waited. Time, she thought, to get back to her mission. A walk on the beach to clear her head, then she’d go back to work.
* * *
Reed walked Barney home in air soft with spring. Buildings, many freshly painted for the season, stood in soft roses, bright blues, quiet yellows and greens. Sort of like a garden, with touches of more in baskets of pansies or window boxes spilling with—he didn’t really know, but it looked nice.
Walking instead of driving reaped benefits. People along his stroll knew him now, stopped to have a word, ask a question. The best way, in his mind, to weave yourself into the fabric of a community was regular visibility—and compliments on flowerpots, paint, a new hairstyle didn’t hurt.
Barney still shied, but not as much, and not with everyone. The dog had his favorites on their comings and goings.
Barney’s top favorite—and Reed’s—got out of her car in his driveway as they approached. Barney let out a happy yip, wagged all over, so Reed unclipped the leash and let him go.
“Perfect timing.” Simone bent down to rub and stroke. Her gaze tracked up, amused. “Nice hat, Chief.”
“I like it. Donna gave it to me.”
“Donna?” Now her brows shot up as she straightened. “Well, well. You are accepted.”
“Seems like it.”
“Congratulations,” she said, moving in, winding around him, and capturing his mouth in a long, deep, steamy kiss.
“Wow. That’s an amazing way to end the workday.”
“I had a really good workday myself, so.” She kissed him again until he fisted a hand on the back of her shirt.
“Why don’t we just—”
“Mmm-mm.” She gave his bottom lip a quick bite. “Things to do first. You can carry in the supplies.”
“We have supplies?”
“We have pasta salad—another draw from my limited culinary repertoire— and some marinated chicken breasts—courtesy of CiCi. She says if you don’t know how to grill chicken, Google it.”
“I can do that, and supply the wine.”
He got out the bag as she took a square package out of the other side. He’d seen enough of them now to recognize a wrapped painting.
“What’s that?”
“Your mermaid, as promised. Get me that wine, I’ll unveil her.”
“Hot damn.” He smiled over at her as they started inside—across the porch he’d—with Cecil’s and Mathias’s help—painted orchid. “You must’ve had a really good workday.”
“I did. How about you?”
“Let’s get that wine, then we’ll talk about it.”
He’d started to develop a taste for wine, so he poured two glasses while she unwrapped the painting.
It was maybe eighteen inches square, and full of light. Blue skies blurred pink and gold at the horizon, blue water streaked with those rich tones.
But the mermaid was the star.
She sat on a stand of rocks at water’s edge, her tail a treasure of gleaming blues and greens with touches of iridescent gold. She ran a gold comb through waving masses of red hair, which spilled over bare breasts, back, torso. Her face was turned toward the onlooker.
And that face, he thought, eerily beautiful, exotic, bold green eyes all-knowing, the perfect lips curved in a sensual smile as water sprayed white against the rocks.
“She’s … wow. One sexy mermaid.”
“CiCi framed her—she’s better at that than I’ll ever be. Let’s go put her up.”
“In a minute. First, one more wow, and thanks.” He set the painting down, drew her in for another kiss. Held her an extra moment.
“I think you didn’t have such a good workday.”
“That depends on your perspective. I want to get this said and done so we can put it aside, and just be.” He eased back. “I got another card this morning.”
“Oh God.”
“Wait now. What this tells me is: She’s still hung up on me, and has lost her main focus. She’s letting emotion and personal bitchiness get in the way. She’s given us that trail, Simone, communicating rather than concentrating on evading only. That’s a plus for us.”
“She wants to kill you.”
“She tried once,” he reminded her. “I always knew she’d try again. Now, instead of letting it all lie, then coming at me when I’m unprepared, she’s giving me a trail and a time line. Not just me, but the FBI. Jacoby’s all over this.”
“If you’re trying to placate me—”
“I’m not. She’s one dangerous, crazy, bloodthirsty psychopath. You’re not only on the island, too, you’re with me on the island. She wouldn’t know that second part yet, but she’ll figure it out, and she’ll want both of us. I’m not placating you.”
“That’s clear now.” Simone blew out a breath. “Tell me about the card.”
“This one was a ‘Thinking of You’ deal,” he began, and ran it through, took out his phone, showed her.
“And the lock of hair again,” Simone added. “It’s not McMullen’s, is it? That’s been too long a gap.”
“McMullen, for whatever reasons, hit another category for her.”
“It’s poor Tracey’s, isn’t it?”
“That’s my take. Forensics will confirm.”
“I barely knew her, and only through Mi, but…” She had to take a moment, steady herself. “That link to me, links her to me. It’s harder than the others because of that.”
He brushed a hand over her hair. “I love you. This island’s my home—I even have a dog to prove it. The people who live here, who come here, they’re my responsibility now. I need you to trust me, trust I’ll take care of all of it.”
She thought of the sculpture, the heart of it. She’d created it because she knew who he was. “I do trust you. You’ll make her pay for Tracey and all the others, and that makes it easier. I’m glad you told me first, so we can put it away.”
“Good. Let’s do that. Put this away, and have a normal evening.”
“Normal sounds just right.”
“Okay then.” He scooped her off her feet, heading for the stairs.
“What’s this?”
“This is me, Rhett Butlering you up the stairs and into bed.”
“That’s a normal evening?”
“That’s how I see it.”
He made the turn, dumped her on the bed, dropped down to cover her. “You started it. Driveway kiss. So now I have to finish it.”
Barney, who’d witnessed this behavior before, padded over to his bed with his toy, settled down to wait it out.
“Big talk. Maybe I like to finish what I start.”
“You’ll get the chance.” He lowered his mouth to hers, let the kiss spin and spin and spin out.
Everything she wanted, Simone thought. Too much what she wanted. All these feelings and needs, the weakness and power rising and whirling inside her.
She held on to him and let herself fall.
He undressed her, slowly, piece by piece. No hurry, not when he felt drunk on her already. He glided his hands over bare skin, felt it heat under his touch, trailed his lips over it, felt it quiver.
Time seemed to slow; the air thickened. Every sigh, every murmur, soft as moth wings, floated out and away as they moved together, came together.
He loved everything she was, had been, would be. She loved, he knew, so he could wait for her to look at him, into him, and say the words. Because here and now, she showed him, and no words were needed.
He opened her; she couldn’t explain it. He unlocked things in her she hadn’t known existed, and he held those secret things so carefully.
She ran her hand down his side, over the scars. The Protector, she thought, but who protected him?
I will. She cupped his face, rose up to him. I will.
He slipped inside her, slow, slow, with his eyes on hers.
I will, she thought again, and surrendered.
When she lay beneath him, feeling his heart trip against hers, the beauty flooded her throat with tears.
“I like your version of normal,” she managed.
“I was hoping.” He brushed his lips over the curve of her shoulder. “I could spend a couple lifetimes being normal with you.”
Not yet, she thought. Not yet. “Does normal include dinner?”
“Right after I Google how to grill chicken.” He levered up, looked down at her. “Hey.” Brushed a tear from her lashes.
“They’re the good kind,” she told him. “The very good kind. You make me feel more, Reed. I’m still getting used to it. Let’s do this. You figure out how to do the chicken, and I’ll hang the mermaid. I suspect we’ll both be playing to our strengths.”
“Let’s see if you feel that way after you eat the chicken. The good kind?”
“The very good kind.”
He fed the dog and grilled chicken that was pretty damn okay. He admired the sexy mermaid on the bathroom wall. They took a walk, and he studied the spearing green of his emerging lupines, before they wound through the woods and down to the beach.
They gave each other normal.
He tried tossing the ball for Barney, to no avail. Then Simone picked it up, threw it. Barney trotted after it, snagged it, brought it back.
“Why does he fetch for you?”
“Because he’s a gentleman.”
“Throw it again.”
She obliged with the same results.
“Let me have that thing. Go get it, Barney!” Reed tossed it. Barney stared up at him. “Well, for—”
“Barney.” Simone pointed to the ball. “Get that for me.”
He wagged his tail, raced down the beach, and brought the ball back to her.
“He’s messing with me,” Reed decided. “I can get him to sit. We’ve got about a ninety percent success rate on that. But he gets his head caught in the stair rail a couple times a week. And he’s getting bigger, so it’s not as easy to get him out again.”
They walked on, and he tried a new tactic. Reed tossed the ball back over his shoulder. Barney ran back for it.
“I’ve got his number now.”
With Simone’s hand in his, and his dog trotting along with a red ball, he watched the moon come up over the water.
“Can you stay tonight?”
“I have to leave early. It’s a timing thing, but I can stay.”
He brought her hand to his lips, watched the moon, and thought he couldn’t ask for better normal.