What a day.

In all that had happened, one image rose above them all.

Gabe McGregor. Tall, broad-shouldered and with eyes that could light the sky. The strength of his arms around her went a long way toward restoring her faith in humanity.

Kayla relaxed against the porcelain tub.

A noise from the other room startled her. She reached for her radio, turning the music off. Silence filled the room, the only sound that of her breathing and the thunder of her pulse against her eardrums.

“I’m hearing things,” Kayla said out loud and sank back into the warmth of the bath water.

A scratchy, tapping sound brought her out of the tub. Her wet feet slipped on the smooth tile and she grabbed for the sink to steady herself. She glanced at the mirror, the steam from the bath having fogged her reflection. Bold letters glared at her, clinging to the glass where the mist dripped free.

SCARED?

Dear Reader,

I had fun writing a book with a teenage character in it. My last teenager has graduated from high school and is now in college. Living through her drama reminded me of my teenage years and how I only wanted to fit in and be appreciated and loved by my friends and family.

I was fortunate to have caring parents who didn’t quite understand the new generation, but never stopped loving me no matter how hard I made their lives.

This story is set on the west coast in Oregon where mists rise from the sea like a Devil’s Shroud, hiding sins of the evil from those who just want to live a peaceful existence.

Gabe McGregor is struggling to understand a teenage son he never knew until recently, while protecting the new girl in town, artist Kayla Davies, from a serial killer.

Watch as Kayla, Gabe and Gabe’s son learn from each other and open their hearts to a love that will bring them together as a family.

Happy reading!

Elle James

About the Author

A Golden Heart winner for Best Paranormal Romance in 2004, ELLE JAMES started writing when her sister issued a Y2K challenge to write a romance novel. She managed a full-time job, raised three wonderful children and she and her husband even tried their hands at ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas) in the Texas Hill Country. Ask her, and she’ll tell you what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry three hundred and fifty pound bird! After leaving her successful career in information technology management, Elle is now pursuing her writing full-time. She loves building exciting stories about heroes, heroines, romance and passion. Elle loves to hear from fans. You can contact her at ellejames@earthlink.net or visit her website at www.ellejames.com.

Deadly Reckoning

Elle James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my editors Elizabeth Mazer

and Patience Bloom who saw something worth printing

in my writing and who guided me in producing a

much better book.

Chapter 1

“Good night, Kayla. Get some rest, you deserve it.” Brent Kitchens, the owner of the most prestigious art gallery in Seattle, escorted Kayla to the side exit of the gallery where she’d parked her car earlier that day. “Thanks for the great turnout.”

“The thanks goes to you, Brent.” She smiled at Brent, twisting the shiny gold locket at the end of a fine chain that hung around her neck. “I’m headed for my apartment and bed. These things exhaust me.” That and being three months pregnant, a secret she hadn’t shared with anyone. She wasn’t certain how the news would impact her exploding career as an artist, especially since she planned to raise the child on her own.

“Get some rest, sweetheart.” Brent patted her back. “Want me to have security walk you out?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks again.” Kayla kissed the man on the cheek and left the building. The click of the door closing behind her made her jump and hurry toward her car. Having arrived during the day, she hadn’t realized how little lighting there was at the back of the gallery. The one light shining out over the cars barely reached hers, casting more shadows than light on her solid black SUV. Keys in hand, she hit the automatic door locks as she neared the rear of her vehicle. When she reached for the door handle, she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye.

Before she could react, a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream and cutting off her air.

Kayla kicked and fought, her desire to live and protect her baby giving her sufficient motivation, but she was overpowered by her attacker’s strength. She kicked out, her arms and legs flailing, her hands on her keys desperately fumbling for the little red panic button that she’d never before used.

The man slammed her into the side of the car.

Pain shot through her ribs, and she feared for the fetus growing inside her, but she couldn’t escape the hold. Then she was flipped around, pinned to the car with the weight of his body, one hand covering her mouth, the other hand holding an arm. She faced a man with no face, his entire head covered in a ski mask, his eyes the only feature visible in the limited lighting. Light brownish eyes, almost gold, like those of a lion, if the lights weren’t playing tricks on her fear-filled mind.

He laughed.

The low rumbling sound sent a ball of lead to the pit of Kayla’s stomach. The man hadn’t made a threat, hadn’t said a word, but Kayla knew without a doubt that he’d kill her. With her free hand, she desperately pressed the buttons on the key chain, struggling to find the right one. The door locks clicked on and off, the lights blinking.

Her attacker’s eyes narrowed and he grabbed for her hand and the keys she held.

Kayla finally found the panic button and she hit it just as a hand closed over the wad of keys.

The horn blared, over and over, the headlights and taillights blinking in unison, filled the parking lot with noise and light.

She couldn’t see it, but she heard the creaking hinges of the back door to the gallery opening. If she wanted to live, she had to get help. Now!

Kayla bit down hard on the hand over her mouth.

The man cursed, his hand moving just enough that Kayla could let out a short, loud scream.

“What the hell?” Brent’s voice called out. “What’s going on out there? Hey, someone call 911!” he shouted. “Kayla? Kayla, is that you?”

In a flash, the man moved his grip to her throat, squeezing so hard, Kayla couldn’t breathe.

She pried at his hands, her fingers tearing at his flesh, frantic to take a breath.

As his fingers tightened on her neck, he leaned close until his mask-covered mouth was close to her ear. “You win for now, but it isn’t over.” He yanked the chain from around her neck, then he let go so suddenly, Kayla slid down the side of the car. Unable to slow her fall, her head hit the pavement with a dull thud.

Dense fog clouded her vision even as precious air filled her starving lungs. Muffled voices, like people shouting into pillows, faded into silence. She could see the silhouette of her attacker sliding away into the shadows of an alley. Then the flashing stopped and night turned to pitch, the fog all-consuming. She couldn’t let it claim her.

Kayla’s eyes opened and she stared at the light shining on her table beside the bed. As quickly as the dreams came to her, they receded. The only impression she retained was one of terror and golden-brown eyes.

She jerked up out of the bed, her breathing labored as if she’d been smothered. Air, she had to get air. Kayla rushed for the window, pushing aside the drapes. She unlatched the lever and shoved the window open, sucking in air as fast as her lungs could take it.

Finally, her heart rate started to slow, and reason took hold once more. She reminded herself that she was far away from Seattle, safely tucked away in her vacation rental in Cape Churn.

Getting away had been her therapist’s idea, but the small, seaside town she’d chosen as her destination had been a whim, the result of a real-estate brochure that had caught her eye. The images of untamed waves, peaceful beaches and quaint, quiet streets had called to her in a way she couldn’t explain. It just looked like such a wholesome place to be. A good place to rediscover her inspiration again—missing ever since the attack. “A good place to have a child,” she whispered.

She rubbed her hand in gentle circles over her belly. It was too soon to feel the baby yet, but she liked to imagine her kicking back in reply. Her baby—the only person she had left in the world. When she’d woken up in the hospital after the attack, the doctor had told her she was lucky she hadn’t miscarried. If she wanted to keep the baby, she’d have to take better care of herself, get more rest and not worry so much. And stay away from dark places where bad guys hang out.

The doctor had also asked some pointed questions about her support network—family, friends, the baby’s father—and hadn’t seemed too pleased with the answers. Kayla didn’t blame him. As much as she’d hated to admit, she didn’t have a support network. Kayla didn’t have siblings or parents to call and check up on her. Her best friend and the surrogate father of her baby had died three months ago in a car accident. The crash had occurred only two days following the artificial insemination of Tony’s sperm.

For all the years she’d been on her own since the deaths of her parents, she’d longed for a family. She and Tony hadn’t been in love, but they had cared for each other deeply, and they’d looked forward to making a family together, raising their child as partners in a home full of warmth and caring—a place where Kayla could finally feel as if she belonged.

“We’ll still have that, Baby. I’m sorry you won’t have a daddy, but you’ll always have me, and we’ll be okay.”

Thoughts of her baby had gotten her through the loss of her best friend and the end of their plans to build a happy, companionable little family together. Remembering her baby had given her the strength to fight off her attacker in the parking lot long enough to signal for help. And it was with the goal of protecting her baby that she’d grimly pulled herself together in the aftermath of the attack and found a place where they could be safe.

Kayla peered out the window. Fog had crept in to cloak the coastline. If not for the gentle splash of waves against the cliffs and the strong scent of salt in the air, she wouldn’t have known that she was at the coast. Her heartbeat settled into a smooth, steady rhythm, as the last vestiges of the nightmare slowly slipped away.

Sleep. That’s what she and the baby needed. On this quiet edge of coastline, she wanted the peace of the place to wrap around them.

The therapist had taught her this trick of imagining a happy place before she went to bed. It would help settle her mind and avoid the nightmares that had woken her night after night. Now that she was at Cape Churn, it should be even easier. After all, her happy place was here with the ocean, the wind and waves. The nightmares would fade in time—she had to believe that. She’d get better, stronger. She’d heal in this quiet, peaceful place.

Leaving the window open just a little, she climbed back in bed and laid her head on the pillow.

As she lay there, her eyelids drooped and closed to the darkness, her mind settling into the edge of oblivion. Just as she drifted into sleep, a sharp scream ripped through the night.

Chapter 2

“Found her right there.” Judd Strayhorn, one of the local retirees, pointed to where the medical examiner squatted beside the naked body of the dead woman. “I didn’t move her. She looked pretty dead already, what with her face buried in sand and her skin all white and waxy-like.”

Gabe’s gaze raked the beach hoping for clues, articles left behind, footprints, besides Judd’s and the medical examiner’s. He searched for anything that would tell him how this woman was murdered, who did it and how the body ended up where it did. “Thanks, Judd. If you don’t mind coming down to the station later, we can get your statement in writing.”

“Anything you want.” Judd shook his head, staring across the yellow crime scene tape at the girl’s lifeless form. “Hate to think of what the parents of this girl are going to go through. I have a daughter a little older than her.” He sighed. “Crying shame.” The older man’s shoulders sagged as he gathered his fishing pole and tackle box and trudged up the steep hillside to the road.

Gabe couldn’t help but empathize. He didn’t have a daughter himself but, as he’d only recently learned, he did have a son. Breaking this kind of bad news to parents had always been the hardest part of his job. Now, as a parent himself, Gabe was pretty sure it was about to get harder.

Chief Tom Taggert crossed his arms over his chest. “Think she’s the girl from the missing person report last night?”

“Dark red hair, about five foot fourish.” Gabe nodded. “Yeah. Got to be the one.”

“Her friends said she disappeared from the beach down below the lighthouse round midnight.” The chief snorted. “She’d told them she was going to get a blanket from the car.”

“Had a high tide last night. Think she waded out and got caught in the undercurrent?” Cape Churn was known for its wicked undercurrent. Not many parents let their small children play in the water near the lighthouse, preferring to take them down the coast to a less dangerous beach. But the teens and young people on vacation at Cape Churn didn’t always stop to check the conditions or adhere to the warnings.

“Have to wait for the M.E.’s determination. Can’t imagine she’d go in alone, though, and not with the water as cold as it’s been.”

“Yeah,” Gabe agreed. “And if it was an accident, that wouldn’t explain why she’s naked, when her friends described her as wearing jeans and a hoodie.”

The M.E. straightened and walked toward the chief, stepping over the yellow tape. “Tom.” He peeled the rubber gloves from his hands and turned to stare down at the victim.

“Gordon.” The chief nodded toward the woman’s body. “Murder?”

“That would be my bet. I can’t say for certain until the autopsy is complete, but there’s bruising around her throat. I’ll get the report to you ASAP. Until then, I’d be looking for a potential killer.”

The M.E. left the chief and Gabe and climbed the steep path behind them.

“I hope you didn’t think you’d left the big-city problems behind you in Seattle.” The chief stared out at the ocean.

“That’s what I was wishing for.” Gabe shook his head. “I came home for a quiet, safe place to live.”

“We don’t always get what we wish for. I told you when you signed on we were normally quiet, but sometimes we have blips on the radar. The blips always seem to come with the fog. You know as well as I do that some of the more superstitious locals call the fog the Devil’s Shroud.” He shot a glance toward Gabe. “What was the weather like last night?”

“Foggy,” Gabe answered, his tone flat, matter-of-fact. He’d almost forgotten the Devil’s Shroud tales the old-timers spoke of in whispers as if by speaking of it aloud, the shroud would gain strength.

Tom shook his head. “That damn fog can be a real curse. It can hide a lot of sin.”

Gabe couldn’t argue with the chief. Fog provided great cover for someone intent on committing a crime. “I’ll canvas the area around the lighthouse. Maybe someone saw or heard something.”

“You do that. And next time there’s a fog, keep your loved ones close. We may have a killer on the loose, and I don’t want you taking any chances. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” Gabe believed in caution—especially with a case as serious as this one. He wasn’t naive about small towns, but he really hadn’t anticipated a murder in his hometown of Cape Churn. He felt as old as Judd Strayhorn as he ascended the path to the road above and climbed into his cruiser. So much for letting Dakota have free rein on his bicycle. Just because the killer’s first target had been a woman didn’t mean teenage boys were any safer.

Gabe gritted his teeth. Yet another reason to argue with the teen he still didn’t know any better than he did when the boy’s mother dropped him off four months ago.

Dakota was testing him, he knew it. What Dakota didn’t know was that Gabe didn’t give up. And given that Dakota’s mother had, Gabe was more determined than ever to make his relationship with his son work. The boy wasn’t on his own yet, and he needed to know he had a home to go to, even if he resented the man he refused to call Dad.

Gabe crept along the road headed north toward the lighthouse, stopping at the few vacation cottages and homes along the way. Most remained deserted, the summer season not fully kicked off. Schools in Seattle and Portland were still in session. In Gabe’s mind that gave them approximately two weeks to find the killer. After that, they’d have a boatload of potential victims converging on Cape Churn for summer vacation. More people to sift through, and more crime to keep them busy.

With mostly the local population to deal with at this time, how hard could it be to find a killer in a town of less than eight thousand people?

Kayla stood at the edge of the cliff her cottage rested on, her easel propped between the rocks, oil paint stiffening on her palette, a light, cool breeze flipping her hair into her face. She scanned the horizon, hoping for something to catch her eye and spark her inspiration. To her far left, about a half mile away, another jut of rocky cliffs pushed out into the ocean.

Through the trees behind the edge of the cliff loomed the shadowy outline of a building. She couldn’t make out much, but Kayla made a mental note to ask Jillian Taylor, the real-estate agent, who lived up there.

But no matter where her gaze fell, nothing grabbed her, and no matter how hard she tried to concentrate, the colors wouldn’t take form on the canvas. Last night’s scream echoed in her head, over and over. She’d assumed it was a lingering part of her dream. The fog had completely swallowed up her house, she couldn’t even see as far as the defunct lighthouse that stood a hundred yards from the cottage.

With conditions like that, if someone truly had been in trouble outside, she couldn’t have done anything to help her without risking falling off the cliff.

When Kayla had come out that morning, the sun had burned off the remaining fog and she saw no evidence of a woman, or any of the youths she’d seen yesterday evening, going down to the small stretch of sand below the extremely steep cliffs surrounding the lighthouse.

She’d been too wary to check out the trail they’d used to descend to the beach below. Although her pregnancy wasn’t outwardly visible yet, she could feel the changes in her body, the way her center of gravity was shifting. Steep steps on an unfamiliar trail was a risk she wasn’t willing to take unless absolutely necessary. Instead, she’d stood at the edge of the cliff and stared down, panning the narrow strip of beach butting up against the rocky cliffs. Nothing stood out. No sign of people. Just nature at its most rugged and beautiful.

The splendor of the rocky coast, the drifting clouds and the steely gray of the ocean called to the artist in her. In a burst of optimism, she’d run back to the house, grabbed her easel, brushes and paints out of the car and hurried back out to paint the edge of the world.

But as soon as she’d taken the brush in her hand, her throat closed up just as it had the night she’d been attacked. Her muse refused to come out of the dark and dance in the daylight.

Kayla stood in the sunshine, her hand holding a paintbrush and a palette filled with blobs of oil paints in varying colors of the earth and sky, and nothing came to her.

Tears filled her eyes and she recognized the new sense of tightening in her throat as the sobs she’d held back since the attack. The fear she’d spent the last two weeks suppressing. It was one thing to be uninspired to paint while she was still in Seattle, with all of its noise, its unfriendly bustle, its shadowed alleyways and crush of strangers. But this was supposed to be a place she could recover, a place to banish her fears and get on with her work. If she couldn’t paint here, then that meant there was a chance that the attack outside the gallery had shaken her enough to kill her muse.

Kayla’s hands trembled, the tremors jarring the brush from her fingertips. It fell to the rocky ground at her feet.

As she bent to retrieve the brush, a large male hand got to it first.

Kayla screamed and jumped back, the palette filled with paints clattering to the ground. Her hip caught the leg of the easel, jolting it so hard the canvas caught the breeze and flew over the edge of the cliff to crash against the rocks below.

A man leaped forward, yanking her toward him, crushing her against his chest.

Kayla fought him, kicking him in the shins and shoving her hands against his chest.

“What the hell—”

“Let go of me! Let go!” she yelled, landing a solid kick to his ankle.

His grip loosened enough that for a moment, she thought she could back away from him. But he caught her hand, jerking hard, once again slamming her into his solid, muscular chest so hard it took her breath away. This time, before she could punch, scratch or hit him, he clamped her arms against her sides. “Will you be still? I’m not here to hurt you.”

“You could have fooled me,” she said, barely able to push the words past the fear blocking her vocal cords.

“If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have grabbed you.”

“Huh?” Kayla finally looked up into eyes so blue they rivaled the hues of the morning sky. “You grabbed me so I wouldn’t get hurt?”

“You were about to fall over the edge of the cliff.” He spun her in his arms, still holding her close.

She faced the edge of the cliff only a foot away.

“When you jumped back, you almost backed off the edge,” he said, his breath stirring the tendrils of hair beside her ear.

Rocks slithered over the side, the larger ones pinging against others on their way down to splash into the ocean.

Kayla swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising in her throat. She gulped a lungful of air to settle her stomach. It wasn’t until she remembered to breathe that she became aware of the solid wall of muscle pressed against her back and the strong arms circling her waist, keeping her from toppling off the cliff.

“It’s a long, bumpy trip down that way.” His chest vibrated against her back, sending crazy electrical surges across her nerve endings everywhere his body touched hers, from the backs of her thighs, across her buttocks and around her waist where his arms tightened. The tingling nerves had nothing to do with fear, but something altogether different.

Kayla stiffened. “You can let me go, I’m not suicidal. I won’t throw myself over the side, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His arms loosened slowly, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether or not to believe her. He backed away before he let go of her, giving her the space she needed to edge away from the cliff.

She turned and faced the man, her eyes narrowing. Over six feet tall, dressed in a navy-blue uniform, he sported a shiny silver badge on his chest. Broad shoulders filled his navy shirt, the lines tapering to a trim waist and hips.

Kayla inhaled and let out the breath slowly. An officer of the law. Nothing to be afraid of. Other than the way her heartbeat galloped when she stared into his light blue eyes.

Kayla had never seen eyes that blue. His sandy-blond hair ruffled in the wind, giving him a casual, open and appealing look. As if the blue eyes weren’t enough, they were accompanied by high cheekbones and a dimple in his left cheek when he smiled, which he was doing now. The effect was to take her breath away, yet again. Out of nervous habit, Kayla’s hand reached for the locket she kept hanging from a chain around her neck. Not until her hand met bare skin did she remember that the locket with the picture of her parents had been lost on the night she’d been attacked. She flinched, and pulled her hand away.

“Hi. Gabe McGregor, Cape Churn police officer.” He held out a large, callused hand.

She eased her hand out toward it.

His fingers closed around hers, engulfing them in a warm handshake. It felt good compared to the cool breeze blowing in off the water.

Too good. For two weeks now, she’d had to steel herself to keep from flinching at every man’s touch. Her therapist had said it was a perfectly normal reaction to an attack like hers, but it was still unsettling—and part of the reason why she’d chosen such an isolated place to stay. So why did she feel no urgency to get away from Officer McGregor’s touch? The lack of fear was odd … and a little disturbing.

“Kayla Davies.” She pulled her hand free of his. “Do you always sneak up on people?”

That dimple flashed and Kayla could swear his blue eyes twinkled in the morning sun. “I called out, but I guess you were caught up in what you were doing.” His smile twisted. “Sorry about the canvas.”

She shrugged. “I hadn’t actually put paint to it.” She glanced up at him, raising a hand to shield the eastern sun from her eyes. “What brings you out to the lighthouse, Officer McGregor?”

“Call me Gabe.” His smile returned briefly before it disappeared and his face grew serious. “I’m here on business.”

“Business?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He reached into his uniform pocket for a notepad and pen. “Were you anywhere near the lighthouse last night around midnight?”

Kayla looked back at the cottage, her lips curling upward on the corner. “Yes. I’m staying in the cottage beside it. I was in bed trying to sleep. Why?”

He tipped his head to the side. “I didn’t know anyone was renting it. How long have you been there?”

“I arrived around dusk last night.”

“Did you notice anyone else out here?”

“Some kids went down a trail to the beach just before dark.” She squatted to retrieve the paintbrush that had been forgotten in their earlier struggles and placed it in her work case. “I counted three girls and two boys.”

“Anyone else?”

She nodded in the direction of the cliff with the building tucked into the trees. “I thought I saw a man along the cliffs to the south. I think he was walking a dog. I was inside, looking through the window, so I can’t be certain. After the sun set, I closed the blinds on that side of the house.” She didn’t tell him why she’d closed the blinds. He didn’t have to know that the new resident of the lighthouse cottage was afraid of the dark.

“What about at midnight? Did you see or hear anything?”

“Like what?”

“Anything out of the ordinary. A car, voices, someone screaming?”

Kayla gasped. “What?” The air around her got warmer, perspiration beading on her forehead.

“Did you hear a car drive up, voices, a scream, anything?”

“Screaming?” Kayla’s hand rose to her throat where the air refused to move into her lungs. “Did something happen?”

Officer McGregor’s lips pressed into a line. “One of the girls in that group showed up this morning on the beach half a mile away. She’d been murdered.”

Chapter 3

Gabe reached out and grabbed for the woman, once again, to keep her from crashing to the ground. She sagged against him, her head lolling back, exposing her neck and the distinct yellowing of fading bruises. What the hell?

“Ms. Davies?” He shifted her, holding her in one arm while smoothing the rich, auburn hair from her eyes. The color of her hair struck a chord with him. Where had he seen dark red hair recently?

Then it dawned on him. The murder victim on the beach had dark red hair. “Ms. Davies, please wake up.” He shook her gently.

Kayla blinked, her eyes staring up into his, tears filling them almost immediately. “I’m sorry.” She pushed against him, the movement not enough to convince him to let go.

Gabe kept his hold on her, his arm slipping around her waist, her breasts pressed firmly into his chest. He stood a head taller than she did; the soft curls hanging down her back brushed against his hand. Her pale skin against the deep auburn hair gave her a pretty, feminine and fragile appeal that would inspire any man to want to protect her. Including Gabe.

So where did the bruises come from?

“I can stand on my own,” she said.

“I don’t believe you. If you don’t mind, I’d rather hold on until we’re well away from the edge of the cliff.”

“But I was painting,” she said, waving her hand limply.

“Considering the canvas flew over the edge, I’d say you’re done for now.”

Her gaze held his for a moment, then she sighed. “You’re right. Who was I fooling anyway?” The last bit was muttered under her breath.

Keeping one hand around her waist, he handed the box of paintbrushes to her and gathered the easel under his spare arm. “Ready?”

“I guess.” She looked at the edge of the cliff where her canvas had gone over.

“Trust me, you won’t find it.” Gabe urged her toward the cottage. “And if you did, you wouldn’t be able to get to it. That part of the bluff is too steep to climb down and back up.”

She smiled, a short quirk of her lips. The sun seemed to come out, then fade away as quickly as it rose in her face, her green eyes darkening with her frown. “Really, I can walk on my own.”

“Prove it by walking with me first.”

She let him walk her several yards away from the edge of the cliff before she glanced up at him. “See?”

Gabe reluctantly let go of her waist, a strange feeling of loss resulting from the separation. He wanted to keep her tucked safely in the crook of his arm. Must be that waiflike appearance she had about her. Her pale skin only emphasized the dark circles beneath her eyes, adding an air of mystery and tragedy to her beautiful features.

They crossed the distance between the cliff and the cottage in silence. Gabe didn’t want to start questioning her until he was certain he wouldn’t be picking her up off the ground again. A chair would be nice. And apparently, Ms. Davies wasn’t anxious to talk right away, either, her lips pressed into a line, the frown furrowing her forehead more worried than angry.

When she reached the cottage and pushed the door open, she paused. “Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you, Ms. Davies.” Gabe stepped inside and leaned the easel against the wall. The cabin was like so many other cabins along the coast, decorated in light, durable furnishings in keeping with summer vacation beach residences. The open living space had a large picture window facing the ocean.

“Call me Kayla. Ms. Davies makes me sound old.” She set the box of supplies on an end table and headed for the kitchen. One after the other, she rummaged through the cabinets, her movements brisk and efficient, but Gabe noticed the way her hands shook a little as she unearthed a teakettle.

Gabe stepped up beside her and grabbed her hands, kettle and all. “Sit.” He led her to the dinette table and pulled out a chair, forcing her into it.

For a moment, Kayla looked as if she was about to argue, but then the fight seemed to leach out of her. She stared out the window, her face blank, expression closed. “I thought it was my nightmare.”

“What?” Gabe sat across from her and continued to hold her hands in his. “What did you think was your nightmare?”

“The scream.” Her gaze shifted from the window to his face. “I thought it was part of my nightmare. I did nothing.”

His stomach did a flip-flop, the desperation in Kayla’s face making him want to pull her back into his arms and shield her from whatever ghosts haunted her. He squeezed her hands in his. “So you heard a scream?”

“Yes. I woke from a bad dream and was just going back to sleep when it happened.”

“What time?”

“Around midnight. I thought I’d drifted off. I thought the scream was me.”

“And what do you think now?”

“I wasn’t asleep. I know that now.” She dragged her hands from his and buried her face in them. “She screamed and I just lay there.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

When she looked up, he saw that her face was streaked with tears. “I could have helped.”

“Or been just another victim.”

“If I’d realized what was going on, I could have called the police.”

“Likely the man would have gotten away by the time we got there anyway.” He took one of her hands in his again. “You didn’t kill her. Someone else did.”

Her eyes widened and her free hand went to her throat. “H-h-how did she die?”

Gabe’s gaze focused on the yellow markings on her neck. “Without having an autopsy report, I can’t be certain, but she showed signs of strangulation.”

Kayla gasped. “Oh, God, no.”

“What?”

“No.” She shook her head, more tears slipping down her cheeks before she buried her face in her hands again.

“Kayla, what’s wrong?” He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.

Her body trembled beneath his touch.

“This is my fault.”

“What? No, Kayla, I told you. You’re not responsible for what the killer has done.”

“Yes, I am. You don’t understand.” She looked up, the expression on her tear-streaked face deadly earnest. “I’m the reason it happened.”

Gabe released her shoulder to reach down and take her hand. “Does it have to do with the bruising on your neck?”

She stared up into his face, but there was a vacant look in her eyes that made him uneasy, as if she didn’t really see him there. “He followed me, he must have.”

“Who followed you?”

“I don’t know.” Her hand clenched tightly around his. “He’s come to kill me. And instead, he’s killed that girl, that poor girl….”

“Who, Kayla?” Gabe was filled with confusion. Was someone truly after Kayla? Uneasily, he realized that she did fit the same physical profile as the victim—petite frame and dark red hair. But did that really mean that someone was after her, or was her imagination running out of control? He didn’t know her well enough to say.

“Who do you think killed the girl? Who do you believe has come to kill you?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She touched the fingers of her free hand to the bruises on her neck. “I just know that he tried to before and almost succeeded.”

Some of the blankness faded away. Her green eyes were steady and focused as they stared into his, and she spoke again.

“He’s going to try again.”

A few hours later, Kayla was alone in the house again. Officer McGregor had left after he’d gotten the basic story of her attack. He’d promised to contact the Seattle Police Department for the official report in case the incident truly was related to the murder of the girl on the beach, but he had assured her that a connection was unlikely.

Cape Churn was a three-hour drive from Seattle, and by her own report, hardly anyone in Seattle knew where she had gone. The odds were very slim that her attacker would know how to find her. And yet, as Kayla stood barefoot at the window overlooking the road, she felt like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.

The scenery out the front of the cottage wasn’t quite as picturesque as out the back overlooking the ocean, but she could see when people drove up or passed by on the road.

For now, the ocean view had lost its appeal. Her easel stood beside the back window, the view as glorious as the day before, the sun high in the sky, casting brilliant light over rocky cliffs and steely gray water speckled with white-capped waves. But Kayla couldn’t find the right colors on her palette to start, an image of a body floating in the current swimming through her mind, taking away from all the glory of nature.

A woman had died pretty much outside her cottage the night before and she had heard her cry for help.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened to her if someone had not heard her cries for help back in Seattle. What if her attacker had finished her off, taking her life—and her baby’s life—the way someone had taken the life of the woman found on the beach?

“I messed up, Baby,” she murmured. “Maybe I could have helped that girl if I’d just realized …” She squeezed shut her eyes, pain twisting in her gut. “I let her down, and I’m so afraid of letting you down, too.”

She reached down to stroke her belly. “This place was supposed to be safe, a place where no one could hurt either of us, but now I’m not so sure. The worst part is that I just don’t know where that place would be.”

Her stomach rumbled, serving as a reminder to save her introspection until later and get to work on eating for two right now.

As she rattled around in the kitchen, she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. She couldn’t let herself dwell on her fears. It wouldn’t accomplish anything. Officer McGregor was probably right, anyway, that the attack was in no way related to hers. It was a tragedy—a horrible, senseless tragedy—but it wasn’t her fault. It had nothing to do with her at all.

So why couldn’t she believe that?

On the other side of town, Gabe McGregor pulled his police cruiser up next to the teenager walking his bicycle, slid the passenger-seat window down and leaned over so that he could see the boy’s face. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Where were you?”

The teen shrugged. “Around.” He pushed his bike up one of the many hills surrounding Cape Churn.

Gabe kept pace, while tamping down his frustration. “We’ve been over this before. I don’t mind if you visit your friends, I’d just like to know when you do, where you’re going and when you’re headed home.”

“Kinda stalker-like, if you ask me.”

“Not the way I look at it.” Talking through the open window wasn’t any way to get through to a troubled teen. Gabe pulled ahead of Dakota and parked on the side of the road, blocking the boy’s path. He climbed out, smiled and waved at a passing car before resuming his conversation with the stranger who was his son.

He’d known about Dakota for only a matter of months. The boy’s mother hadn’t bothered to tell him that a son had resulted from his brief fling with the older woman back when Gabe was a teen. Siena had been twenty-five, Gabe had been a naive eighteen-year-old, flattered by an older woman’s attentions. He’d even imagined himself in love with her. She’d been on vacation with friends at Cape Churn. When she’d left, he hadn’t heard from her again, until four months ago.

Siena had shown up at Gabe’s apartment in Seattle long enough to tell him that he had a son. She’d pushed the boy carrying a single suitcase in front of her, stating she couldn’t handle him anymore. Then she’d left.

After the initial shock wore off, he realized he couldn’t raise a kid in downtown Seattle, especially not with the crazy hours he kept serving on the Seattle police force. He quit his job and moved home to Cape Churn. But nothing had prepared him for the difficulties of raising a teenage boy—a troubled one, at that. Apparently Dakota had gotten into a little legal trouble. It was nothing too serious, but he was on probation, and that had apparently been the straw that had broken the camel’s back when it came to Siena’s patience with their son.

Gabe pushed his hand through his hair, rather than pulling it out, and stood in front of Dakota. He needed instant dad lessons. “I don’t ask you to keep me informed because I want to stalk you. I ask you because I care.”

“Could you care a little less? I’m not a baby. I don’t need a keeper.” The words he didn’t say, but Gabe felt, were I don’t need you.

He let the implied meaning slide off his back. Whether or not Dakota thought he needed his father, he needed someone. And since Gabe was the only one he had, Dakota was stuck with him until he finished high school. Gabe didn’t give up easily. “No, I can’t care a little less. You’re my son.”

Dakota snorted.

Gabe’s lips pressed together to keep from saying something about the boy’s attitude. He remembered having a similar one when he was Dakota’s age. Thank goodness his parents hadn’t given up on him. “As I’ve told you before, I didn’t know about you until recently, or I would have been more involved as a parent all along. But I know about you now—you’re here, I care and we’re going to figure out this father-son thing if it kills us.”

Okay, so that wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say, but so be it. He’d tried all the textbook suggestions on getting through to a teen and they had worked no better.

“I want to know where you go so that I know you’re safe.”

“Really?” Dakota’s brows rose into the shaggy hair hanging down over his brow. “Like, this town has nothing goin’ on. Why wouldn’t I be safe?”

Gabe sucked in a deep breath, last night’s victim surfacing much too quickly. “I take it you haven’t heard.”

“Heard what?”

“About the woman found strangled on the beach this morning.”

That got his son’s attention. Dakota stared up at Gabe, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not pullin’ my leg just to get me to call, are you?”

Gabe’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “Wish I was.”

Dakota’s face paled. “Dead? Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t like you being out on these roads alone.”

The teen’s brows scrunched together, that rebellious look returning. “I’m not a girl. I can take care of myself.”

“Are you sure?” Gabe asked. “Women aren’t the only murder victims in the world, you know.”

“So, that doesn’t mean it’ll happen to me.” His son bounced the bicycle impatiently. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Let me know where you’re going and when. That’s all I’m asking. That way I’ll know which ditches to look in if you don’t come home on time.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about me being run off the road if I could drive myself.”

“Boy, you are so wrong.” Gabe shook his head, a smile curving his lips. “When you start driving, I’ll worry even more.”

“Not like I’ll be driving anytime soon.” Dakota sighed.

“Your probation ends on Saturday. We’ll start driving lessons then, I promise.”

Dakota scuffed his tennis shoe against the gravel on the shoulder of the road. “Stupid to be on probation for a little graffiti.”

“It’s considered destruction of property,” Gabe stated in a matter-of-fact way. “Property that doesn’t belong to you. How would you feel if someone painted your house with graffiti?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a house.”

Gabe sucked in a deep breath and let it out. The kid had a point. They were living with Gabe’s sister in her bed-and-breakfast until Gabe found a house he liked enough to buy. “Just call and leave a message on my voice mail when you come and go from your friends’ houses, will ya?”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“At least text me to let me know where you’re going.” His voice was a little sharper than he’d intended, but he couldn’t walk on eggshells with the boy forever. “And don’t be late for dinner, it makes your aunt crazy.”

Gabe climbed back into the cruiser and pulled out onto the road, his gaze shifting between what was in front of him and the boy in the rearview mirror. He didn’t like leaving him on the side of the road, but short of manhandling him into the cruiser, he had no other choice. The kid just didn’t get it.

A murderer was loose in Cape Churn. Until they caught him, no one was safe. The knot in his gut tightened. Though he’d assured her otherwise, Gabe had begun to wonder if Kayla’s attack was connected.

Chapter 4

Kayla woke from a nap on the couch, surprised she’d fallen asleep at all. Drawn to the picture window overlooking the ocean and the road leading up from town, she noted the sun hovering over the horizon. It would be dark soon. A shiver of dread slithered down her spine.

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Kayla’s heart skipped a beat and then thudded against her chest. Her hand rose to her throat where her breath lodged, as a solitary figure appeared walking along the road. At first all she could see was a dark silhouette, until the figure moved closer.

Finally, Kayla could make out a teenage boy pushing a bicycle.

She let go of the breath caught in her throat and laughed shakily. She really was a mess. “Your mommy’s losing her mind, Baby. But don’t worry, I have six months to get it back before I can start driving you crazy, too.”

Maybe coming to the coast wasn’t such a good idea. Alone on the edge of a cliff almost made her feel more of a target than if she’d been surrounded by people in a bustling city.

The boy stopped, dropped down by the rear wheel of his bicycle, fiddled with something and then stood, his gaze panning the area.

When he spotted the cottage, he resumed pushing the bike. Instead of passing by on the road, he turned onto the gravel drive leading down to the lighthouse cottage.

Moments later, the teen knocked on the door, the sound jolting Kayla from her stupor. When she didn’t move to open the door, the boy leaned to the side and peered into the window. He blinked and stepped closer, his hand cupping around his eyes and pressing against the glass. “Hello?” The teenager’s gaze landed on her and his face brightened. “Miss, could I use your telephone?” he called out, his voice muffled by the thick panes of glass.

It would be rude to ignore the boy. “Is everything all right?” she asked, her voice little more than a squeak. Oh, no, what if someone else had been hurt? Had another woman been attacked?

“I got a flat tire on my bike. I need to call the police station.”

“The police?” Kayla inched toward the door. “Why the police?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. “It might give them something to do.”

Something to do? Kayla shook her head. Had the boy not heard about the murder? Curiosity warred with wariness, pushing it to the side. The teen looked harmless enough. A glance at his bicycle confirmed the flat tire. He was as tall as she was and lanky, but not very muscular. Certainly not big enough to overpower a woman and strangle her to death. And surely he wasn’t the man in Seattle two weeks ago who had tried to kill her. The boy didn’t have the build. What did Kayla have to worry about?

“Just a minute.” Kayla left the chain secure over the door, while she unlocked the doorknob and the dead bolt. She eased the door open and stared out at the young man. “I’m not sure the landline’s been turned on yet. Give me a minute, will you?”

“Sure. I guess I could push the bike all the way to the B and B, but the old man will go ballistic if I’m late. Thinks I’m a little kid or something.” The boy turned his back to the door and scuffed his tennis shoe against a porch column. “This place is so dead, it’s lame.”

Kayla cringed at the young man’s choice of words and closed the door, racing for the telephone on the kitchen counter. She lifted the receiver. No dial tone. With a sigh, she replaced the phone on the charging unit and dug in her handbag for her cell phone. The display showed two bars. Maybe.

Back at the door, she unlatched the chain and handed the phone to the kid. “The landline isn’t connected yet. But you can try using my cell phone. No guarantees—the reception isn’t great. But I got a call through yesterday.”

The boy punched in the numbers and hit the send key. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Nothing.” He pressed the redial key and waited again. With the same response, he closed the phone and handed it back to Kayla. “Guess I’m walking. Thanks anyway.” He turned and stepped off the porch.

Kayla watched him amble down the gravel road, shoulders slumped. She called herself every kind of fool. If she let herself be afraid to step out of the house, she’d more or less create her own prison. That was no way to live. If she retreated from life in fear, her attacker back in Seattle had won.

Bull on that!

Kayla was made of sterner stuff. Officer McGregor was right. Her attack had nothing to do with the woman killed last night. No one knew where she’d gone. She’d told no one. He couldn’t have followed her.

Guilt and determination pushed her out the door to stand on the porch. “Wait!” she called out. “I have an SUV. I’m sure I can fit the bicycle in the back. Want a lift?”

He turned, shielded his eyes from the sun falling toward the sea. “No, thank you. I don’t want to bother you.”

“I insist. Just give me a minute to get some shoes on.” When she turned to close and lock the door, she stopped herself. The boy wasn’t going to bother her, and she’d be damned if she acted like a pathetic old lady, locking herself inside every minute of the day. She purposely left the door unlocked and opened as she ran for her room to dig out her sandals.

When she returned to the living room, she gasped.

The teen stood beside her easel, holding up the palette and paintbrushes. When he heard her gasp, he dropped the items to the table beside the easel. “I’m sorry, the door was open. I thought you wanted me to come in.”

Kayla laughed, her voice shaky. “I did want you to come in,” she lied. “I just didn’t expect you to be so quick.”

“A guy would be stupid to pass up a free ride.” He nodded at the easel. “You paint?” He snorted. “Dumb question. Of course you do, why else have paintbrushes and an easel?”

Kayla stared at the empty canvas and sighed. “I used to paint.”

“Used to paint?”

She shrugged and gathered her keys from the kitchen countertop. “Haven’t felt much like it lately.” Hooking her purse over her shoulder, she stared across at the boy.

He didn’t seem at all in a hurry, intent on studying the paints, pressing his finger to the globs of oil on the palette. “I like the way the colors blend and make new colors.”

“Me too. It’s one of the reasons I took up painting in the first place.” Kayla moved closer to where the boy stood. “Seeing as I’m giving you a ride home, it might be nice to know your name.”

“Dakota.” He glanced at her. “Are you any good?”

“At driving?”

“No, painting.”

Kayla almost laughed out loud. She never took her talent for granted, nor her success over the past five years. From selling her paintings on the sidewalks of Seattle to being sought out by rich-and-famous art aficionados, she’d come a long way. Good at it? The laughter died before it could emerge. “Sometimes.”

The teen turned away from the palette, the canvas and the brushes and strode to the door. “At least you don’t get fined, put on probation and kicked out of your home for your art.” He pushed through the door and jumped off the steps to the ground below.

“Fined?” Kayla followed him out, locking the door behind her.

When he didn’t respond, she didn’t push. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but the stormy look on his face didn’t invite confidences.

With a tap on her key fob, she popped the latch on her SUV and the back door rose. The backseats were still folded down from when she’d loaded all her suitcases and art supplies for the trip south from Seattle.

Between the two of them they managed to get the bicycle in place, laying it on its side. Kayla let Dakota handle the heavy lifting. Once it was inside, Dakota climbed into the passenger seat while Kayla closed the hatch and rounded the vehicle to the driver’s side.

As she settled behind the steering wheel, the sun glinted off something shiny, blinding her for a moment. That something dangled off the rearview mirror. She blinked and held up her hand to keep from being flashed again. She touched a thin chain, her fingers curling around it. When she looked down, her heart stopped, her breath lodging in her throat. In her palm lay a golden locket—the locket she’d worn the night of the art show in Seattle. The night she’d almost lost her baby. The night she’d almost been murdered.

Gabe stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and scrubbed the water from his hair, his thoughts poring over the events of the day, the murder weighing heavily on him.

He’d been with the sheriff when they’d given the young woman’s parents the news. His chest was still tight from witnessing their disbelief and then the overwhelming grief in their eyes.

Adding to his crapper of a day, Dakota hadn’t been home when he’d gotten off work. Another ten minutes and he’d be late for dinner.

Not that Gabe cared so much about punctuality. He worried where the boy was and whether or not he was in any kind of trouble.

The front door opened and closed on the big old house.

Gabe looped the towel around his neck, slipped into a pair of jeans and padded barefoot through the bedroom door and out onto the landing overlooking the large foyer. “Dakota?”

When no one answered, he hurried down the stairs, reaching the bottom just as the door opened again and Kayla Davies entered, followed by Gabe’s sister, Molly, with Dakota bringing up the rear.

Kayla stopped so suddenly that Molly ran into her back, bumping her forward and into Gabe’s bare chest.

His hands automatically rose to steady her, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. “Hello, again.”

She stared up at him with deep green eyes, her hands resting against his bare skin.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I was too busy looking down I didn’t see you stop. Hi, Gabe, meet our new neighbor, Kayla.” Her brows rose. “You might want to put a shirt on.”

“Yeah, really,” Dakota agreed, edging past the women and his father to lope up the steps two at a time, his face a mottled red.

“Wash up, dinner is on in a few minutes,” Molly called out to the retreating teen. She shook her head. “I don’t know what it’s gonna take to get through to him.”

Kayla stepped back, twin flags of color rising in her pale cheeks. “Excuse me. I’m not usually so clumsy.”

“Blame me.” Molly hooked her elbow and dragged her toward the kitchen. “Gabe, get dressed while Kayla and I put the finishing touches on the soup. Oh, by the way, she’s staying for dinner.”

Kayla glanced over her shoulder at Gabe as Molly pulled her through the swinging door and out of sight.

For a long moment, Gabe stood staring after them, his skin still tingling from where Kayla’s hands had rested on his chest. He dragged in a deep breath and let it out, stunned by the impact she had on him. His pulse beat faster than normal, his blood burning through his veins. He’d thought his reaction over their earlier meeting had been one of fear for her life, but this kick in his gut had nothing to do with fear and more to do with physical attraction.

Gabe shook himself, grabbed the towel from around his neck and followed Dakota up the stairs. He needed to remember to keep his head clear. This was no time to get caught up in an untimely attraction. He had too much going on, between trying to connect with his son and finding a killer.

He also had to remind himself that women weren’t on top of his most trustworthy list since Siena showed up at his door with a son she’d kept secret from him for years. Growing up in a small town, he’d always assumed that the people he felt close to—family, friends, lovers—were as open and honest with him as he was with them. He couldn’t assume that anymore.

He suspected his lack of trust was part of the strain in his relationship with Dakota. He doubted Dakota would feel any better about it if Gabe explained that he was suspicious of everyone, not just teenagers with juvenile court records.

Gabe even had his suspicions that Kayla was keeping something from him. He wanted to know everything he could about this stranger with the porcelain skin and long silky hair. But the timing was all wrong—not least because he was afraid she might be in danger.

He’d spoken to the detective on her case back in Seattle. It sounded bad. Very bad. It obviously hadn’t been just a random attack. There had been phone calls leading up to it—threats, harassment. And then, on the night at the gallery, the attacker had told her that it wasn’t over.

No, this definitely wasn’t a time when either one of them needed the distraction of a relationship.

Three minutes later, he stepped out onto the landing, securing the buttons on a crisp white dress shirt, his hair combed back, shoes on his feet.

Well, just because he wasn’t looking for a relationship was no reason not to look his best.

He’d stopped to knock on Dakota’s door. “Ready?”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” the teen muttered, the steady thump, thump of music carrying through the wood paneling.

Gabe descended to the ground floor and headed straight for the kitchen, where he found Molly pouring a stockpot full of clam chowder into two large soup tureens.

“Hold that, will ya?” She handed him the stockpot, hot pads and all, and scraped the last drops of soup into the serving dish.

“That’s an awful lot of soup for the four of us.”

“We have additional guests coming for dinner.”

Gabe’s gaze drifted around the kitchen.

A smirk lifted one corner of his sister’s mouth. “She’s out on the porch, taking in the sunset.”

“Who?”

Molly shook her head. “Don’t play dumb with me. You had your hands on her long enough to grow roots.”

Heat rose around Gabe’s collar. His sister knew him all too well. Probably better than he knew himself. “She stumbled.”

“Yeah, but you held on—never mind.” Molly took the stockpot from him and plunked it into the sink. “Tell me all, and make it fast, I have to get this on the table before the guests start bellyachin’.”

Gabe stiffened. “There’s nothing to tell.” And, really, there wasn’t, just a feeling. He barely knew the woman.

Molly snorted. “Bull.”

Gabe refused to elaborate. Molly was stubborn, just like their father, but so was Gabe. “How’d she end up here?”

“She brought Dakota home. His bicycle tire is flat. You’ll need to help him fix it. Since she was nice enough to bring my nephew home, and I had enough clam chowder to feed an army, I invited her to stay for dinner.” His sister grabbed a tureen and backed into the swinging door. “Don’t just stand there, bring the other,” she commanded.

Gabe grinned, lifted the tureen and carried it into the large dining room where a long table had been set with seating for eight.

“Who do we have joining us?” Gabe asked, not really interested, but stalling for a chance to freely observe Kayla through the window.

“The Johnsons are still with us and while I was in town purchasing supplies, I ran into Jillian and one of her clients. I told them I was making clam chowder and asked if they wanted to come to dinner.”

As if on cue, an older couple emerged from the first-floor hallway, hands joined like newlyweds, which they were, having chosen Cape Churn and the McGregor B and B for their honeymoon.

Dakota shuffled down the stairs, headphones jammed in his ears, carrying his iPod, shirt untucked, hair uncombed, the crotch of his jeans drooping nearly to his knees.

Gabe closed his eyes and fought against the urge to tell the young man how to dress. He’d been a teen once. He’d worn weird clothes, listened to his music and basically drove his parents crazy.

He let Dakota’s appearance slide, his thoughts shifting to the woman he could see through the front window, leaning on the porch rail, staring out at the steely-blue waters of the cape.

Molly came to stand beside Gabe, wiping her hands on her apron. “We’re just waiting on Jillian and her client. Why don’t you go talk to our guest. She seemed kind of quiet, and very jumpy. Why, I don’t know. I’d try to get her to open up, but I have to get the food on the table. Until Jillian and her client arrive, you have time.” Molly’s mouth slid sideways. “You know you want to.”

Gabe shook his head. Molly’s exuberance didn’t hide the fact that she was also very intuitive when it came to people and their feelings. She had a way of seeing through him, not that he’d been trying to hide anything.

Kayla Davies intrigued him. He tried to tell himself it was because of her involvement in the murder investigation.

Dakota plopped into an overstuffed leather chair in the sitting room as Gabe passed by, headed for the front door.

When the screen door squeaked, Kayla glanced his way, her green eyes widening for a moment, that haunted look lingering in the shadows beneath her eyes.

“It’s beautiful out here,” she said, turning her back to him, her gaze skimming across the rugged, rocky coastline.

“I’m kind of partial to it.”

Kayla’s fingers twisted a strand of long auburn hair, her attention on the view, not him. “Is this your hometown?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He leaned against one of the wide columns and stared at her rather than the scenery. “Lived here most of my life except the time I spent as a Seattle street cop.”

“Seattle?” Her gaze shot to him.

“Hard to picture me fighting crime in the big city?”

“No. It’s just that we came from the same city.” She shrugged. “Just shows you what a small world it is.” Kayla glanced out at the sea. “What made you come back to Cape Churn?”

“My son, Dakota.”

She spun to face him, her eyes wide. “Your son?”

“You look surprised.” Gabe grinned.

“I’m sorry.” She glanced down at where her fingers tugged at a loose strand of hair. “I’m so new to town, I didn’t know.”

“Trust me, you can’t be half as surprised as I was when I found out I had a son.”

She frowned up at him. “When was that?”

“Four months ago.”

Her auburn brows rose up her forehead. “Four months?”

Gabe scrubbed a hand across his short hair. “His mother dumped him at my apartment in Seattle. Before that, I didn’t know he existed. Since an apartment’s no place to raise a kid, I brought him to my hometown.” His lips twisted. “I’m pretty sure he hates Cape Churn. And he’s not that fond of me, either. Honestly, other than strange music, I’m not really sure what he likes at all. I’m clueless when it comes to raising teens.”

“Can’t help you there.” Kayla’s hand smoothed across her flat stomach. “He seemed really interested in my art.”

A chuckle rose from Gabe’s throat. “I’m not surprised. He’s on probation for defacing private property.”

Kayla’s head tipped to the side. “He doesn’t strike me as someone who’d be deliberately destructive.”

“Graffiti.”

Her smile, though fleeting, lit her face. “Was it any good?”

Gabe stared at the waiflike woman, hoping her smile would last longer, but her lips tipped downward again, the shadows in her eyes returning.

“From the picture he showed me on his cell phone, yeah.” He shook his head. “Not that the courts saw it as anything other than a crime.”

“He needs an outlet for his art. One that isn’t against the law.” Again, that hint of a smile curved her lips.

Gabe’s breath caught. He could imagine how much more beautiful she would be with a full smile that reached her deep green eyes. “I brought Dakota here to give him a fresh start.” He glanced out across the rough waters of the cape and back to Kayla. “I wonder if it’s too small-town for him, though.”

“Any place is what you make of it. He could be just as unhappy in Seattle as here.”

Intelligent as well as beautiful. Gabe’s chest tightened. “So what brought you here? Why did you move into the lighthouse cottage?”

“The attack in Seattle two weeks ago.” Her fingers rose to her neck absently, but she grimaced and pulled them away before they touched the skin. “It was too close a call. I couldn’t walk down the street without seeing danger in every dark corner.”

He tried to suppress the urge to take her into his arms and hold her until her fear faded. After he’d learned what had happened to her in Seattle, he’d no longer been surprised that she’d struggled against him when he’d pulled her away from the cliff’s edge. It all made sense.

She fished in her jeans pocket. “He tried to kill me, but he didn’t have time. Before he got away, he yanked off the necklace I was wearing.” She held up a thin gold chain with a broken clasp and a locket dangling from the middle. “I found this in my car when I got in it to bring Dakota home. It’s the same necklace he took that night.” Her voice was steady, but he could see the way her hand shook slightly, sending tremors through the necklace chain. “I left Seattle to get away from him. I’m certain now that he followed me here.”

Chapter 5

Gabe removed a handkerchief from his back pocket, wrapped the necklace in it and then reached out to take hold of Kayla’s hand. She hadn’t even realized how cold and shaky she was until the simple touch of his fingers on hers steadied and warmed her. She let him hold her until the trembling subsided. She hadn’t felt this safe since before the attack and she didn’t want that feeling to stop.

“Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you arrived?” he asked, his voice gentle despite the implied scolding in his words.

“You were off duty and I didn’t want to frighten Dakota.”

“Don’t ever hold back on something this important. I don’t care if you have to call me in the middle of the night.” He released her hand and reached out to take both her arms in his firm grasp as he held her at arm’s length. “It might be key to finding whoever murdered the girl on the beach—and keeping him from hurting you again.”

Tears slipped from the corner of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. “So you believe me now—my attack and the girl’s death are connected after all. My move to Cape Churn brought a killer here. That girl is dead because of me.”

The tension in Gabe’s arms increased, as if he was struggling with the urge to pull her close. She was glad he resisted. She didn’t know how well she’d react to strong arms trapping her in place, especially now. No matter how comforting holding his hand had felt, surely she’d get that rush of panic if he wrapped his arms around her, wouldn’t she?

“No,” Gabe replied. “It’s like I said before. You did not kill that girl. Some low-life bastard did.”

Kayla shook her head. “She wouldn’t be dead if he hadn’t followed me here.”

“You can’t think that way. It’s not your fault,” he repeated, squeezing her upper arms gently.

Kayla gave him a weak smile, then pushed away from his grip. “I’m sorry. I’m such a basket case.”

He smoothed the hair from her face and smiled gently. “You must be terrified.”

She snorted. “That would be an understatement.”

Just then, a car pulled off the highway, the crunch of gravel heralding its approach to the B and B.

Kayla stepped away from Gabe before the driver came within view of the corner of the house where they stood. She turned her back to the oncoming vehicle, scrubbed the tears from her face and wiped her hands on her jeans.

By the time the driver climbed out of the car, Kayla had pulled herself together as best she could.

Gabe turned to greet the new arrival. “Hey, Jillian.”

A beautiful blonde stepped out, her feet encased in bright red stilettos, a slim-fitting, gray skirt suit accentuating every curve of her body. She smiled at Gabe and slammed shut the car door. “Gabe, sweetheart. I’m glad you’re here. When are you going to take me out on a real date?”

She climbed the steps onto the porch, each foot carefully placed, giving her the appearance of a model on a runway.

“Jillian, you know I love you, just not in that way. You’re like a sister to me.” When Gabe stuck out a hand for her to shake, she tugged on it, bringing him close to her.

She planted her red-lipsticked lips on his mouth, smacking loudly. “You know you don’t mean that.” She peered around him at Kayla.

Several inches shorter than Jillian, Kayla stood in a peasant blouse and faded broomstick skirt, feeling as if she blended in with the woodwork next to the more glamorous blonde in her sleek business attire.

“Who’ve you got here?” The blonde held out her hand, her brows lifting delicately.

“Jillian, Kayla Davies. Kayla, Jillian Taylor.”

“What a pleasant surprise.” Jillian’s lips turned upward in a genuine smile. “Kayla, darling. I stopped by to check on you, but you’d flown the coop. I hope you found everything all right.”

Gabe frowned. “You two know each other?”

Jillian hugged Kayla and stood with her arm around Kayla’s waist.

Kayla forced a smile to her lips, still shaken by the necklace she’d found in her car and the stab of something smarting like jealousy over Jillian and Gabe’s friendly greeting. “Jillian rented the lighthouse cottage to me.”

“We’ve exchanged a number of phone calls and emails, but this is the first time we’ve actually met face-to-face.” Jillian hugged her again. “It’s a pleasure.” Her smile faded. “I hope you aren’t put off by the news this morning. That poor girl, murdered in our town.” Her brows dipped low. “But don’t you worry. Gabe, here, will find her killer before you know it, won’t you, Gabe?”

“I’m working on it.” Gabe shoved the handkerchief with the necklace into his pocket, his solemn gaze seeking Kayla’s. “I promise to do the best I can to bring him in.”

“Please do, I just don’t feel safe anymore.” Jillian wrapped her slim arms around her middle and shivered.

A lean, black, shiny sedan pulled into the driveway and parked between Kayla’s and Jillian’s vehicles. A man dressed in tailored slacks and a polo shirt climbed out.

“Lawrence, honey. My directions got you here just fine, didn’t they?” Jillian strode toward the man and held out her hand. “Did you check out those properties I listed for you?”

The man climbed the porch steps and took Jillian’s outstretched hand. “I did. I think the one overlooking the bay shows promise. I’m just not certain it has enough acreage.” His gaze slid to Gabe and Kayla, his smile spreading across his face. He nodded at Gabe. “Lawrence Wilson.”

“Mr. Wilson,” Gabe acknowledged the latest arrival and turned to Kayla. “This is Kayla Davies, Cape Churn’s newest resident.”

“She’s renting the lighthouse cottage I showed you a few days ago.” Jillian hooked her arm through Lawrence’s and pulled him toward the front door. “I smell Molly’s famous clam chowder, let’s go inside. We can talk there.”

Molly was placing a basket of dinner rolls on the table when they entered the dining room. “Oh, good. Dinner’s ready.”

Kayla hung back while the older couple staying at the B and B found seats together. Lawrence Wilson held a chair for Jillian, and Dakota entered, headset still plugged in.

Gabe made a motion with his hand and shook his head at his son.

Dakota frowned, but yanked the earpieces out and slouched into a chair.

Gabe held a chair for Kayla and then sat beside her.

Molly took a seat at the end of the table and smiled at her guests. “If you all don’t mind, I’d like to take a moment to say a prayer for the unfortunate girl who lost her life last night.”

All heads bowed. Kayla closed her eyes, her fingers clenched around the napkin in her lap.

“Dear Lord, please look out for the young woman whose life was needlessly taken. Help her family through their grief. And Lord, please help the authorities bring the man who committed this heinous crime to swift justice. Amen.”

As everyone started talking at once, reaching for food and passing platters, Gabe leaned close to Kayla. “We’ll get him.”

Kayla stared up into his eyes. “Before he hurts someone else?” she whispered.

“We’ll do our best.” He reached over and squeezed her hand, then let go as someone passed the basket of rolls to him. “Try these. My sister makes the best honey-yeast rolls on the coast.”

Kayla took a deep breath and a roll. She needed something to do with her hands other than twisting them in her lap. And she needed nourishment for her baby.

She could still feel the warmth of Gabe’s fingers on hers. But Gabe couldn’t always be there to chase away her fears. Kayla had to deal with them alone.

Molly ladled chowder into a bowl and passed it down the table “So, Kayla, where are you from?”

Kayla placed the bowl of creamy, steaming chowder in front of her, the aroma stirring her hunger to life. “Seattle.”

“Are you here just for the summer or do you plan to make Cape Churn your home?”

Kayla smiled. “I’m keeping an open mind.” She really didn’t want to raise her child in Seattle. Especially not without Tony. No, if she was going to have this child on her own, she’d need the perfect home for the two of them.

“What happened last night isn’t making Cape Churn your number-one choice, is it?” Dakota muttered, the first words he’d spoken since taking a seat at the table.

Kayla stared down at her hands in her lap. “I’m so sorry for that girl and her family.”

“You think murder and crime is restricted to cities,” Mr. Johnson commented, “but it’s not.” He slathered butter on his roll and bit into it. “Mmm. These are the best dinner rolls I’ve had in a long time.

“Thanks.” Molly tucked her napkin in her lap and reached for one.

Jillian smiled across the table at Kayla. “I’m curious, Kayla. How did you find Cape Churn, and specifically, our little real-estate office?”

Glad the topic had moved off the murder, Kayla answered, “I received a brochure in the mail from your off ice.”

Jillian’s brows rose. “Really? Hmm. I don’t recall mailing any to Seattle recently. I had planned on doing a mass mailing next week.” She shrugged. “Someone must have been reading my mind, and I’m glad they did.”

“What is it you do, Ms. Davies?” Lawrence Wilson lifted a spoonful of chowder to his lips, concentrating on the soup, his gaze never rising to meet hers.

An introvert at heart, Kayla shifted in her seat, aware that all other eyes around the table were directed toward her. “I paint.”

“Kayla Davies.” Molly’s brows dipped. “Seems like I know that name from somewhere. I’ve been chewing on it, but can’t recall.”

“She’s only the hottest artist in Seattle right now. Heck, probably in the States,” Jillian gushed.

“No, that’s not it.” Molly’s eyes widened. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure you’re fabulous, but that’s not where I heard your name. I think it was on the news recently.”

Mrs. Johnson’s eyes widened. “That’s right. Weren’t you attacked in Seattle a couple weeks ago? It was all over the papers and on television. After an art exhibit or something?”

Kayla’s face burned and she tried to think of something to say that didn’t sound flippant. All she wanted was for the subject to drop. She’d come to Cape Churn to forget and move on.

“Sure would like more of that chowder,” Gabe said, breaking the silence. He handed his empty bowl to Molly. “Saw a vehicle head out to the Stratford mansion. Is Stratford back in town?”

Kayla let go of the breath she’d been holding and tried to relax, grateful that Gabe had deflected attention from her. From beneath her lashes, she darted a glance across the table at Lawrence Wilson.

He’d been staring at her, but as soon as she looked up, his gaze dropped.

A chill cooled the air around Kayla.

Wilson turned to Jillian and asked for the salt and pepper, breaking the tension that perhaps only Kayla felt.

“Nora Taggert said Stratford ordered takeout for two yesterday.” Jillian dabbed chowder from her lips. “Wonder who he brought back with him.”

“In all the years I’ve lived in Cape Churn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him bring someone back to the mansion.” Molly poured wine into her glass and set the bottle on the table. “He’s such a loner.”

Jillian nodded. “Doesn’t stay long when he comes. Hard to get to know a man who’s never around.”

Gabe agreed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Stratford. “How long has he been back?”

“Who knows?” Jillian shrugged. “Nora’s mention is the first I’d heard. He hasn’t been out and about except to walk along the cliff.”

“Never was one to live at the mansion for very long. And when he’s there, he doesn’t come out. The man’s a recluse, if ever there was one.” Molly nodded toward Kayla. “He lives on the crag closest to the lighthouse.”

“You should see his place.” Jillian leaned forward. “It’s the biggest house around and practically empty. His grandfather left it to him when he died. As far as I know, Andrew Stratford only comes here to check on the upkeep. Such a shame. I bet I could get a good price for the property.”

“Any idea where Stratford lives when he’s not at the mansion?” Gabe asked.

Jillian shrugged. “No. He has a service come out from Portland to tend the property and a full-time caretaker we only see on occasion purchasing supplies.”

Kayla wondered where Gabe was going with his questions about Stratford. An image of a solitary figure and a silvery-white blur flashed across her thoughts. “Does Mr. Stratford have a dog?”

Molly’s brows pinched. “No, that would be Frank Mortimer. Walks his dog along the cliff’s edge now and then near sundown. Doesn’t like people much.”

The man had been walking along the cliff around the same time the group of young people had gone down to the beach below the lighthouse. Chances were, he’d seen them from where he was. “Does Mr. Mortimer leave town much?”

“Hard to say. We really don’t see him coming and going. If he does, it’s at night when no one is watching.”

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