Текст книги "Stranger on the Shore "

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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Chapter Thirteen

“Hi!” A female voice broke the spell.

Griff raised his eyes. A tall, dark-haired girl, Pierce’s sister Diana, stood over their table. “Hi,” he said.

She was beautiful. As beautiful as Pierce was handsome. Willowy, sleek black hair, and those same striking amber eyes. A woman who had probably been told from the time she was a child that she should be a model. The Mathers must have taken some impressive family portraits.

“Griff, this is my sister Diana. Di, this is Griff Hadley,” Pierce said briefly.

Diana offered her hand and Griff shook with her. She had a firm grip and an open smile. Unlike Pierce, it probably wasn’t all due to Happy Hour. “It’s a pleasure,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

Griff opened his mouth.

“Don’t ask her to sit down,” Pierce warned him.

“Can I sit down?” Diana asked.

“Sure,” Griff said, and Pierce sighed.

Diana slipped into the remaining chair. “How is the book coming?”

Griff threw a quick look at Pierce. Pierce’s mouth quirked.

“It’s coming. I’m still mostly just doing research. I think I figured out my title though.”

“What is it?”

“‘Stranger on the Shore.’ It was Gemma Arlington’s favorite song, and it was supposedly playing the night of the party.”

“I remember that song,” Diana said. She hummed a few bars and looked inquiringly at Griff.

“That’s it. I looked it up. It was actually written in the sixties, so it was the wrong time period for the party, but I don’t think that’s relevant.”

“Probably not.” Pierce gave his sister a pointed look. She—equally pointedly—ignored him. Griff didn’t mind. He liked Diana in that instant way you did with some people. Maybe because she sort of reminded him of the girls he worked with back home. There was something comfortable and familiar about her, even if she was wearing a cashmere dress that probably cost a couple grand.

“I think it’s a great title,” she said. “So how is the research going? Do you think you’ve managed to uncover any clues the police missed?”

“Diana,” Pierce said. He was no longer amused, no longer joking.

The return look she delivered was straightforward and equally unsmiling. She turned to Griff. “I used to babysit Brian.”

“You didn’t babysit him,” Pierce said. “You were a baby yourself.”

“I was twelve.” She continued to gaze at Griff. “I did babysit him. I don’t mean I was ever all alone in the house with him, but Gem used to let me watch him sometimes when she was busy.” She sat back and raised her hand to catch the waitress’s attention.

Pierce met Griff’s gaze, and Pierce shook his head. Did that mean don’t listen to her or well, there goes that? If the latter, that was too bad because while Griff did like Diana and while he was enjoying this meeting, he had been looking forward to seeing what was going to happen next with Pierce. He had been pretty sure something was about to happen.

Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

The waitress wound her way to them through the increasingly crowded room. Diana ordered a round of drinks, and then rose, saying, “I’ll be right back!”

“Sorry about this,” Pierce said as his sister disappeared into the throng.

Griff laughed. “She’s nice.”

“She’s okay.” Pierce’s smile was wry.

Griff hastily ate more of his sandwich. He didn’t want to drink on an empty stomach, and it looked like he might be doing some drinking this evening.

Pierce said, “You never explained how The Great Gatsby brought you here.”

He probably wasn’t a bad lawyer. He had a good memory and he was tenacious. Griff said, “Actually a 1963 Karmann Ghia brought me here.”

“Jarrett was telling me about your car. That’s what you like to do for fun? Rebuild vintage cars?”

Griff shrugged. “I like rebuilding that particular car. I like doing other things too. I like hiking.”

“Cars and hiking. That’s it?”

“Reading. Writing. I work a lot.” All the time, according to Levi. But Levi seemed like a long time ago.

“Reading. Okay. The Great Gatsby?”

“You never read it?”

“Maybe in high school.”

“High school? I’d have figured you went to a fancy prep school.”

“I did,” Pierce said. “I went to Lawrenceville. But I can guess what you think of fancy prep schools.” He was smiling, a rueful and surprisingly charming smile.

Griff considered that smile cautiously. Yes, it did seem like Pierce was flirting with him. At least in another time and place...and with another guy... “What do you like to do?” he asked.

“I work a lot too. I sail. I play squash. I play the piano.”

“Do you?”

“No.” Pierce smiled at him, and Griff thought maybe Pierce did play the piano.

“Gatsby,” Pierce prodded.

Griff realized he didn’t want to talk to Pierce about a book that meant as much to him as Gatsby. He was pretty sure Pierce wasn’t going to get it, given that he wasn’t even sure whether he’d read it or not. And if Pierce didn’t get it and made him feel stupid, then whatever was maybe going to happen between them wouldn’t happen.

Granted, it was hard to picture anything happening. Except every time Griff met Pierce’s old-gold gaze he felt a certain warm awareness in his belly.

“You know, Thursday night is karaoke,” Diana said to her brother, taking her chair once more.

“You don’t...” Griff stared from one to the other, and Diana burst into a spluttering laugh.

“Can you imagine Pierce doing karaoke? Oh my God. I would pay anything to see that.”

“There ain’t enough money in the world,” Pierce retorted.

Diana was laughing an evil laugh. “What do you think he’ll pick to sing? He’ll do it for you,” she told Griff. “Ask him.”

“You’re insane,” Pierce told her, but he was starting to laugh too.

“What’s your favorite song?” Diana asked Griff.

“‘Counting Stars,’” he said at random.

“OneRepublic? I love that song. Pierce, come on!”

“No more drinks for you,” Pierce said.

“Coward.”

The waitress returned at that moment, and Pierce, expression resigned, paid for the round. Diana sipped from her glass, and rose again. “All right. Well, I need to get back to my friends. You two have fun.” She added to Griff, “We’re going to get together for lunch this week. And Pierce is not invited.” She met Pierce’s point-blank look with one of her own. “You’re not invited.”

Diana sauntered away. She did it well. The crowd seemed to part before her.

Pierce sipped his Black Velvet. Griff had never known anyone outside of a book order a Black Velvet cocktail. “What is that?” he asked.

“Champagne and Guinness. Here, try it.” Pierce handed his glass to Griff, and after a hesitation Griff took the tumbler and sipped it cautiously. He could have been swallowing poison for all the attention he paid to the mixture. He was only conscious of sharing Pierce’s glass, of the implications of Pierce sharing his drink with him.

“Not sure about that,” he said, handing the tumbler back to Pierce.

“It’s an acquired taste.” Pierce took another mouthful. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“No. It was just me and my mom growing up.”

“And that was in Janesville? You lived there all your life?”

“I was born in New Mexico, but we moved to Janesville when I was about six.”

“It’s nice to have roots, right?” Pierce was smiling, but Griff had the feeling his mind was on something else.

He finished his meal and pushed the plate away.

Pierce drummed his fingers in a restless tattoo. Either imagining he was playing “Chopsticks” or trying to make his mind up about something. His eyes slanted Griff’s way.

Griff smiled.

Pierce’s eyes seemed to darken. He said abruptly, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Griff nodded. “I do, yeah.”

* * *

Sure enough, Pierce lived in a mansion in Muttontown. Not one of the old, venerable mansions. Pierce’s mansion was new construction. Seven thousand square feet of brick manor house set on two and a half acres of landscaping and woodland. Inside it was all extensive millwork, wide expanses of oak floors, and custom cabinets and fixtures. It smelled like a new house, empty and sharp with the fading scents of paint and timber and stone. There was indeed a grand piano in whatever you called that giant main room. It was too big and too elegant to simply be called a living room. Besides, it didn’t look like Pierce actually lived here. For one thing there was so little furniture and so much house.

“I don’t entertain at home much,” Pierce said, following Griff’s gaze to the big empty spot in the kitchen where a table and chairs were supposed to sit.

“Sure.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever actually cooked a meal here.”

“Good thing I didn’t come for the lamb chops then.”

Pierce laughed and took Griff into his arms. It was easy and practiced, and Griff knew this was going to be safe sex. Not safe sex only in the context of condoms and common sense, but safe sex as in no one’s heart was going to get broken. Because no one was going to fall in love. This was plainly not anything unusual or out of the ordinary for Pierce. And that was okay, because while it was unusual and out of the ordinary for Griff, it couldn’t be anything more than that. He was a stranger in a strange land, and at the end of this week he would be going home to write his book. He would likely never see any of these people again. Certainly there would be no reason to see Pierce again.

This was just one night. Twenty years from now he would probably not even remember it.

Then Pierce’s mouth covered his, hot and tasting of Black Velvet, and Griff knew he was not going to forget this night. Not ever.

Pierce kissed him with sweet expertise, his heart pounding through the fine cotton of his shirt, his cock hard through the tight and tailored trousers, but still controlled, still in charge. Griff felt the exact moment when Pierce stopped thinking and began to get lost in the moment.

“Jesus God.” Pierce’s quiet, heartfelt groan sent Griff’s own heart rocketing, his cock surging against the restriction of jeans and boxers...it felt like layers and layers between them, keeping them from each other. Pierce’s breathing roughened, his mouth hungry and seeking, lips nibbling, pulling on Griff’s.

Eyes closed, hands locked on Pierce’s broad shoulders, Griff opened his mouth to Pierce’s tongue. Nobody had ever kissed him like this. In fact, this much aggression usually turned him off. But this...this heat, this insistence that felt as much like longing as force, this seemed to crackle through his bloodstream like champagne bubbles—or maybe just an oxygen bubble heading straight to his heart.

He laughed shakily and Pierce’s lips parted from his. Pierce’s eyes looked dazed. “What?”

Griff shook his head.

“What?” Pierce insisted, his gaze clearing.

“You’re beautiful,” Griff said. He blushed as the words came out, but it was true. Pierce was way out of his class. And it wasn’t because of the expensive haircut or the fancy clothes. Griff was even getting to like that heavy, perfumy aftershave, especially at this time of day when the fragrance had faded and Pierce smelled more like soap and the exertions of the day.

Pierce smiled. The wrong smile right then could have killed the moment dead, but the corner of his mouth was wry and the skin around his eyes crinkled as though Griff had said something unexpectedly endearing. “No,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

His hands had been smoothing Griff’s shoulders, as though learning the shape of him, but now they slid down Griff’s arms, found his hands. He laced his fingers with Griff’s. “Come on,” he said softly. “Come upstairs.”

* * *

Pierce left the bedroom lights on and so the room was as bright as a summer day. Even so, Griff saw nothing but Pierce. There was a bed, of course—they were sprawled on its white and cloudlike billows—but that was the extent of his awareness. So much for his reporter’s eye.

Pierce’s naked body was strong, almost sinuous, as he pressed Griff into the mattress, sliding up and down teasingly, their cocks rubbing and bumping. He was braced on his arms, smiling down confidently at Griff. His hair fell in a black sweep over his forehead.

“What do you like?”

Griff made a face. “Anything, I guess.” He was not good at talking about sex. That was one of the things that had always pissed Levi off. But it embarrassed Griff to talk about coming and, er, going. What was there to say, really? He was experienced enough, but no one would call him sophisticated. He tried to concentrate on pleasing his partner and enjoying himself. Wasn’t that pretty much it?

“Anything?” Pierce teased.

Well, no. Not anything actually. It must have showed in a line of worry between Griff’s brows because Pierce’s expression grew quizzical. He swiveled his hips in a grinding motion and Griff gasped and arched up against him.

“You like that?”

Griff nodded. He did. He liked the warmth of their naked bodies, the pulse of their cocks diving heavily against each other, the weight and the pressure and the tension. It all felt great, and it was going to feel even better unless Pierce got too fancy, too tricky.

Pierce’s flat nipples were rosy brown points against the tanned, hard planes of his chest. Griff lifted his head and licked at them. Pierce sucked in a sharp breath.

Griff closed his lips around one tiny point. He sucked hard and Pierce’s arms trembled. He whispered, “Nice. That’s nice. Do that some more.”

Griff smiled inwardly and applied himself. He knew a few things about the proper use of tongues and lips—they weren’t only useful for talking.

Pierce shifted, rocking up, and Griff scooted down, kissing and licking until he found the satiny dip of Pierce’s navel. Pierce quivered, his breath coming in harsh gasps, anticipating. Griff stole a quick look at his face.

Pierce’s eyes were closed, his lashes dark and curling and trembling against his high cheekbones. His beard was blue-black and heavy at this time of the evening. His mouth looked curiously vulnerable. Griff wanted to kiss it, but maybe that was too personal now.

Instead he slid an arm around Pierce’s waist, flipping him over. Pierce made a surprised sound, but went with it, falling onto his back, laughing a little. His cock, long and straight, jutted up all flushed and needy. Griff closed his mouth over the swollen head and devoted himself to answering that need.

He liked the sounds Pierce was making, and the way Pierce’s hips pushed up to meet him. He liked this feeling of power.

Pierce shuddered, panted, “You’re going to make me come.”

Griff’s mouth was full, he couldn’t speak, he just nodded agreement.

Pierce groaned a soft protest, though it was as much a yielding, encouraging sound. There wasn’t any stopping that train, Griff knew from experience. Pierce’s skin and hair smelled a fainter variety of that spicy cologne mingled with the musky scent of sex. He tasted salty but with a promise of sweetness.

Pierce’s hand found Griff’s head, fingers locking in his hair in half caress, half insistence. Griff tongued and teased, always returning to that deep, delicious drag of hot, wet friction. He took his time, drawing it out, making it last as long as possible for Pierce.

“Oh God,” Pierce said. “You...” The strangled words stopped and he went rigid, and then he was coming in white spumes like a champagne bottle shaken hard and smashed open. Too much and too hard for Griff to swallow, even if they’d known each other well enough to exchange premium bodily fluids. He laughed and wiped his forehead, enjoying the shocked magnitude of Pierce’s orgasm.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Pierce said, when he had breath to speak again. He pulled Griff down beside him, rolling over so that Griff was wrapped tightly in his arms. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why?” Pierce sounded honestly bewildered. Clearly this was not something he gave easily or often or maybe ever. His loss. He drew back, stared at Griff with dark intensity, his hand slipping down between the moist crevices of their bodies.

Griff closed his eyes as Pierce’s fingers closed around him. It was an awkward angle, but Pierce’s touch was warm and experienced. His palm was slick from his own release, his grip firm without crushing or bending.

“I didn’t even think you liked me,” Pierce muttered after a time, as though he’d been thinking it over.

It hurt more than it should have. Nothing could have made it clearer that liking wasn’t part of this, that Pierce probably didn’t like him, that it was just another physical activity. Like squash. And sexual curiosity. Which really was fine. Not like Griff was looking for love. But he did like Pierce. Even if he hadn’t quite worked out yet why.

Since he couldn’t answer that without looking like a fool, he kept his eyes closed and faked a smile.

Pierce’s hand moved briskly, efficiently, pleasurably up and down his cock, and Griff made himself focus on that skillful application of friction and speed. Yep, Pierce knew his stuff. He shoved into Pierce’s grip, cooperating, making it good—better—because it was good. Nothing not to appreciate in excellent technique.

He pushed further, harder, strained for it. And there it was. His whole body seized, hung motionless between utter emptiness and complete delight, and then he plunged down into shivering, overwhelming sensation. A few seconds of such sweet happiness when everything really seemed okay, like everything could and would work out for the best. He tucked the feeling away inside, dimly aware that Pierce, having used tissue from the box on the nightstand to deal swiftly, efficiently with the mess, was holding him again.

He opened his eyes and smiled at Pierce.

Pierce was watching him, his expression odd. “Well, hell,” he said very softly.

“That was great,” Griff assured him.

Pierce kissed his brow, rested his forehead against Griff’s. They exchanged quiet breaths. “I feel like I should apologize,” Pierce whispered finally.

“Huh?” Griff laughed uneasily and moved away. Getting a little distance, a little perspective.

Was he supposed to grab his clothes and take off now? He wasn’t sure. How did guys like Pierce, guys who had sex with people they didn’t like, handle this part? He was definitely out of his league.

The worst part was, he didn’t want to go. He knew he should, but he was still watching Pierce, waiting for his cue. And of course the problem was, the minute he really looked at Pierce he was instantly distracted by lust and longing.

Every inch of Pierce’s body was tanned and taut until you got to the sharp white line of where his silk briefs—silk briefs—fit. He was not waxed. There was a sexy swirl of sable on his chest and a silky black tangle at his groin. Dark hair feathered his muscular arms and long legs, and somehow it seemed all the more masculine on someone so polished, so groomed.

Pierce was giving away nothing, unfortunately. His expression had fallen back into its usual unrevealing lines. He flopped over onto his front, resting his head on his arms as though they were lying on a beach. The bed was as big as a beach, for sure.

He didn’t say anything, but Griff was pretty sure Pierce could let him know without saying a word if he wanted him to leave. He studied the long line of Pierce’s naked back, surprised to note that way down in the velvety dip of the sacral region was a small, graceful tattoo. A pair of wings floated over the inked word ZION.

“Zion?” Griff asked.

Pierce muttered something into his folded arms.

“What?”

“Youthful mistake.”

“Ah. I remember my first beer too.”

Pierce turned his head, smiling. “That joke is older than you are.”

“So you’re Jewish?”

Pierce opened his mouth. Said only, “Protestant. You?”

“Agnostic.” Griff reached over and daringly traced the black outline of feathers. “Former park ranger in Utah?”

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“I’m a reporter. I keep an open mind. It’s part of my job description.”

Pierce’s smile grew cynical. He glanced at the clock next to the bed. “I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. You mind if we sleep?”

“No.” Griff closed his eyes. “Night,” he said politely.

The light snapped out and he felt the dark drop down on them.

“Good night,” Pierce said.

Chapter Fourteen

A child was screaming.

A high, thin, terrified scream shattering the night like a fist through a mirror. And over the terrified wail a man was speaking, his voice raised in an effort to be heard, yet straining to stay calm, to reassure.

“Griff? Griffin. Can you hear me? Listen to me. You’re all right.”

Wait.What? He knew that voice. What was happening? He had been sleeping. Deeply asleep...

“Griff, it’s okay.” And now the voice sounded desperate. “You’re okay. Wake up now. You’re all right. Everything’s all right.”

Wait. Was that—?

Griff opened his eyes and the crazy, sliding kaleidoscope of dream and memory snapped back into place. He was in a strange bed in a strange room and a stranger was speaking to him over and over, the disembodied voice sounding shaken in the dark.

“I’m okay,” Griff rasped. His throat felt raw. He was winded, out of breath as if he’d been swimming miles beneath the ocean. His heart still thundered in his ears with the strain of trying to get to the surface. He was drenched. With sweat.

“Jesus.” The bedside lamp flicked on. Pierce stood beside the bed, naked and beautiful and bewildered in the muted light. Ink-black eyes, ink-black scrollwork on his chest and groin. He said roughly, “What the hell was that?”

Griff put his hand up as though to shield his eyes. Mostly he didn’t want Pierce to see whatever his face revealed. Too much, whatever it was. His voice cracked as he said, “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” But of course he knew. Night terrors. He hadn’t had one in years, but they had been a regular part of his childhood. Once upon a time he rarely made it through the night without screaming down the house.

“We’ll be lucky if the police don’t show up.” Pierce glanced at the phone as though expecting the SWAT team negotiator to ring any second. “You sounded like you were being murdered.”

Griff put his hand down. “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t know I was doing it.”

“Believe me, that did not escape my notice.” He was still watching Griff as warily as if Griff was something dangerous. “What the hell were you dreaming?”

“I don’t...”

“You have to remember something!”

Griff winced, and Pierce made an obvious effort to modulate his voice. “You must remember something. Try to think.”

How strange. He had never been asked to remember before. In fact, he had been told to forget it, put it away, think of happy things, safe things. He stared up at Pierce. He didn’t know where to begin. How to begin.

Maybe that showed because after a moment, Pierce sat gingerly on the side of the bed. His black brows formed a single forbidding line, but he was still using that careful voice. “It was a dream. It can’t hurt you. Try to think. Is there some mental picture, some image you recall?”

Griff closed his eyes. Tried his best to remember. His stomach churned as he zoomed in on...not what had terrified him but how that terror felt...how he had felt...desperate, helpless, lost, powerless. The feelings were what lingered. The images were only a confusing blur. They didn’t make sense. They weren’t clear...

No. One image stood out. He nearly laughed because it was ridiculous. In the nightmare it hadn’t been funny.

“What?” Pierce said.

Griff turned to meet his eyes. “The mechanical bird.”

“The what?”

“There’s an old clock in the library at Winden House. It’s a mechanical bird in a cage. It sings at five o’clock.”

“I remember that clock,” Pierce said slowly.

“In my dream the bird was saying something to me, but I couldn’t understand it.”

Pierce seemed to consider this. Finally, he said, “What do you think it was saying?”

“Huh?”

“What do you think the bird was trying to say to you?”

Griff laughed shakily. “‘Cocktails, anyone?’ How the heck should I know what the bird was trying to say?”

“It’s your dream.”

Griff gave another uncertain laugh. He scrubbed his face with his hands, feeling the roughness of his beard, the moisture on his eyelashes. The hair at his temples was wet too. Jeez. He shook his head.

“Take your time,” Pierce said.

The only thing weirder than the fact that he was sitting in Pierce Mather’s bedroom talking about his nightmares was the fact that Pierce apparently wanted to analyze his nightmares. There was a lawyer’s mind for you.

“I don’t know.”

“Were you afraid because of what you thought the bird was trying to say or because you couldn’t understand what the bird was trying to say?”

“I’m not sure.” He grinned crookedly. “It’s a great question though.”

Pierce was still frowning.

Griff made himself ask, “Do you want me to go?” He truly hoped Pierce would say no because he dreaded the idea of being alone. Not to mention he felt more tired now than when he’d first fallen asleep. But he wouldn’t blame Pierce for wanting an undisturbed rest of his night.

“Do you think it’s going to happen again?” Pierce questioned.

“I don’t think so. I honestly don’t know. It hasn’t happened in years. Not since I was a kid.”

“You used to get these dreams when you were a kid?”

Griff nodded.

“A lot?”

“I guess.”

“Didn’t your mother take you to a doctor or a—a—”

“Shrink?”

“Hell yeah, a shrink. I’d think a shrink was in order if it was my kid going through that every night.”

“She didn’t believe in doctors.”

Pierce’s brows shot up and then returned to that now familiar unibrow. “No doctors?”

Griff shrugged. He knew by now how odd his childhood sounded to other people, but growing up it had seemed normal enough. “I didn’t get sick. I mean, I got the usual things. The measles and mumps. I never broke a bone or anything like that.”

Pierce continued to scrutinize him like it was Mather v. Hadley, with a landmark decision at stake. At last he shook his head. “No. You don’t need to go. It’s almost dawn anyway.” He climbed back between the sheets, stretched out with a sigh. He glanced at Griff and raised the blankets in invitation.

Griff cautiously edged back over. He was surprised and even a little grateful when Pierce wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer.

“Comfortable?” Pierce’s breath was warm.

Griff nodded, shifted, rested his head in the surprisingly accommodating curve of Pierce’s neck. He sighed.

“You’re sure you’re twenty-seven?” Pierce sounded faintly amused.

“Twenty-seven and a half,” Griff replied drowsily.

“When’s your birthday?”

“June twenty-six.”

Pierce said nothing. Or Griff didn’t hear it because he was already asleep.

* * *

When he woke again it was to the sound of Pierce’s alarm clock. Nature sounds. The rhythmic sweep of the ocean. Pierce was warmly spooned against his back, and Griff came back to awareness feeling warm and irrationally happy.

He was still absorbing the surprise of that as he felt Pierce waking, blinking back to alertness. He recognized the exact moment Pierce remembered who he was with, and the withdrawal was immediate. Pierce used a gigantic yawn and stretch to move away and put some distance between them.

“Morning.” Griff was already rolling out of bed, on his feet. He found his jeans where he’d kicked them off.

Pierce scrambled out of the nest of sheets and blankets. “Hell. I’m late.”

“Thanks for letting me stay last night.” Griff didn’t look at Pierce. He had a pretty good idea of how much Pierce did not enjoy waking up to morning afters.

“Of course. Do you mind if I say goodbye now and jump in the shower?”

Friendly but brisk, as expected. He didn’t have to worry. Griff didn’t have a lot of experience at this kind of thing, but he had enough.

“No worries. I’ll let myself out.” Griff fastened his jeans and smiled across at Pierce. “I had a nice time. Screaming fits aside.”

Pierce relaxed enough to give a small laugh. “Screaming fits aside, me too.” He hesitated and then disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door firmly.

The sound of the surf continued to ebb and flow, drowning out the sound of the shower.

Griff grabbed his shirt and flapped into it as he trotted downstairs. His keys and wallet were still in his jeans pocket. He let himself out quietly.

* * *

Winden House appeared to be genteelly slumbering beneath a silvery blanket of morning fog when Griff got back to the Arlington estate. He parked in the star courtyard and walked down to the guest cottage. Today there was no Chloe jogging, no Marcus practicing his golf swing, no sign of anyone but Nels Newland using a hedge trimmer in the farthest square of the sunken garden. The angry buzz seemed to bounce off the wall of trees and shrubs.

Griff walked on, lost in thought. Early in the evening he had considered telling Pierce about the weird phone call he’d received and his suspicion that the bridge had been sawn through, but he hadn’t been able to decide, and then he’d gotten distracted. He wasn’t sure now if that maybe wasn’t for the best.

From the beginning he had pretty much been working from the angle that Johnson was the kidnapper, perhaps—though probably not—working with an accomplice on the estate. Partly that was because until he’d seen the police files he hadn’t realized there were any viable alternative theories.

The broad-spectrum police investigation had basically come to a halt once suspicion had zeroed in on Johnson. Individual threads of inquiry—Mr. Tuppalo’s credit problems, for example—had been dropped while law enforcement worked to make the case against Johnson watertight.

In a way it was understandable. Most of the household staff were trusted long-time employees. And as far as a member of the family being implicated, Griff knew the Arlingtons well enough by now to know how that idea would have gone over. Michaela would have to have been caught with her arms wrapped around the bag of ransom money for her family to even permit the discussion.

Maybe it was the sabotaging of the bridge or maybe it was simply having had time to process his interview with Johnson, but the more Griff considered everything he had learned so far, the more he was inclined to believe Johnson. If Johnson couldn’t adequately hide the ransom money, how the hell would he so successfully hide a child—or even a child’s body? That was one of the things he kept coming back to. Another was Johnson’s inability to move through the house that evening undetected. People—guests and staff—had been coming and going all night. Whoever had taken Brian had been able to move through the house unseen. Either because he or she was familiar with the interior passageways or because he or she was able to blend in. Or both. Johnson might know there were secret passages in the house, but it was unlikely he’d know where or how to gain access to them. And as far as blending in? No way in hell.