Blood Kin (26 page)

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

He laughed as he gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the house. They made it just inside the front door, where they sank to the floor in a tangle of limbs and exploring hands. Bailey slid her jeans down over her hips and opened for him.

Neither spoke, but each seemed to know instinctively what would give the other pleasure. Their love-making was hot and fierce, and Daniel barely had time to get a condom on before they passed the point of no return. Her climax, when it came, was shattering, and when she felt him drive deep inside her one last time and give a shudder of release, her joy exploded into a rainbow of colors and sweet, sweet ecstasy. Exhausted, breathless, laughing, they stripped off the remainder of their clothing, ran back to the beach, and dove into the warm waters of the bay.

He held her and she lay back in his arms, floating between earth and sky, enchanted by this man and this night. Later, when they had dried off and retreated to a comfortable air mattress in the cabin, they made love a second time. And while Bailey slept wrapped in his arms, she was free of nightmares or haunting melodies.

She woke slowly to the delicious smell of almond tea.

“Not much to offer you for breakfast,” Daniel said, handing her a steaming mug as he approached the
mattress. “I could catch you a fish and grill it. Or see if I could knock a squirrel out of a tree with a rock and—”

“I'll pass.” She laughed sleepily. “Do you think Emma will notice that we didn't come home last night?”

“Have you ever known Emma to miss anything?”

She sat up and pulled the sheet around her. “Mmm, good,” she said as she took a sip of the tea. “Honey?”

He kissed her playfully on the mouth. “Sweets for the sweet.”

She groaned. “That's awful.”

“You're something, Bailey Tawes. Do you know just how
something
you are?”

He was barefooted, wearing nothing but his jeans. His hair was damp, as though he'd just come out of the water. And he looked good enough to eat. She averted her eyes, not wanting him to read her thoughts.

“Too bad you didn't get the coin last night,” he said, sitting cross-legged on the rug beside the mattress.

“What coin?”

“The wedding cake,” he explained. “It's a tradition that goes back centuries, some say to Cornwall. Only a few families still hold to it. A silver coin is baked into the cake, and whoever finds it is supposed to be the next one married.”

“I'm glad I didn't get a slice with money in it. I probably would have choked to death.”

“Three hundred years, and I don't think they've ever lost a guest yet. I suppose there could be a first time.” His gaze lingered on her face. “Do you ever want to get married again?”

“I don't know,” she answered. “I suppose it would depend on the man. I've always wanted to be a mother, but I'm not certain I want to actually carry a child and give birth to it.”

“Cathy says you're wonderful with the kids. I think you'd make a good mother.”

“Really?” She smiled at him. “It's sweet of you to say so.”

“I mean it,” he said. He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. “Stay on awhile, Bailey. Not just for the school, but for me.”

She looked away. “Do you say that to all your girls?”

“No, I don't. And there's only been one other serious relationship.”

“And?”

“It's over.”

“Really over?”

“She's dead. Been dead for a long time.”

“I'm sorry.”

He exhaled softly between his teeth. “I think you're the one, Bailey, but I have a few things I need to iron out. I can't promise you anything solid yet . . . but . . . it was good between us last night, wasn't it?”

She nodded shyly. “Yes, it was. More . . . more than good.” She suddenly realized that although she'd told things to Daniel that she rarely spoke to anyone about, she still didn't know very much about him. Had he ever been married? She didn't think so. She was certain he would have told her if he had—someone on Tawes would have told her. And she didn't think he had ever had children. But she wanted to know exactly what he'd done for the government.

“There's one thing I wanted to ask you.” Curiosity tugged at her. “What did you do at the CIA?”

He grinned. “I could tell you, but—”

“I know,” she said. “Then you'd have to . . .”

He chuckled. “Afraid so.”

“One more question?”

“Not about the agency.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” She drew a ragged cross in the air over her breasts. “Those beautiful horses—are they really mine?”

He laughed. “Yes, or they will be, once all the legal stuff is cleared up.”

“So I could . . . we could . . . Could we go riding sometime? That is, if you ride. Horses.” She felt herself flush, and they laughed together.

“I do, and we can. I had a horse when I was a kid. Will kept it for me. He bought it from a farmer who was about to shoot it because of a leg injury. An infected hoof. Will nursed that animal for months until it was sound, and he gave it to me as a birthday present.”

“Wow, some gift.”

“I told you he was a special man. My father didn't want me to have it, said it cost too much to feed a horse, but Will always found a way to let me work off the cost of the grain. We cut the hay ourselves, by hand, and stacked it in the barn. Duke was twenty years old, had a big head and a rough gait, but he meant a lot to me.”

“What color was he?”

“Piebald, with one white eye. Ugliest horse on the island.” Daniel laughed. “I rode him bareback for years until I saved up enough to buy a saddle by trapping muskrats one winter. But in answer to your question, I'd like to go riding with you. And I can show you places you'd never get to on foot.”

“It's a deal,” she said. “And I'll hold you to it.”

“Absolutely,” he said, kissing her on the tip of her nose. “I'm a man who always keeps his word.”

Small talk and laughter eased the awkwardness as they dressed and boarded the boat for the trip back to
Emma's. By daylight, Bailey could see the beauty of the cabin nestled against a grove of old hardwoods. “It's lovely,” she said, as he started the motor and slowly backed out of the slip.

Daniel smiled. “I like it. It's quiet out here on the point. Gives me a chance to think.”

The morning air was brisk with the promise of a clear, bright day, and the incoming tide was rushing in fast so that foamy whitecaps formed on the waves. They passed a crabbing boat and two fishing skiffs before they rounded the island and followed a natural channel close to a high, wooded rise. A great blue heron rose out of the trees to soar over the boat.

“Oh, isn't he beautiful!” Bailey cried. “Look at how he stretches his legs out behind—”

A crack sounded from the shore, and Bailey let out a cry of pain as a splinter of wood suddenly tore a furrow across the top of her arm.

“Get down!” Daniel shouted, shoving her facedown onto the deck.

“What happened?” She clutched her bleeding arm and looked at the ragged hole in the side of the boat.

Daniel crouched beside her, staring at the wooded bank. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I think so.” Her heart was pounding so hard that it was difficult to think. “It's not deep, just a scratch, but what—”

Daniel fingered the hole in the skiff. “A bullet,” he said. “I think someone just took a shot at us.”

“Shot at us?” Bailey attempted to push herself up from the bottom of the boat.

“Stay down!” Fear made Daniel's grip hard enough to bruise her arm—fear that the nightmare he'd left behind in Afghanistan had followed him to the one place in the world where he'd felt safe, fear that this woman who'd given him a reason to embrace life again could have been cut down by a careless assassin's bullet.

Leaning low, Daniel let go of Bailey long enough to shove the throttle forward, pushing the engine to top speed. He held his breath and cut the wheel hard. The boat tipped dangerously to starboard, but Daniel knew he had to get them around the wooded point before the shooter got off a second round, and he had to do it without running the skiff aground on Tilghman's Sandbar. Spray splashed over the side, drenching them, but the engine purred without a sputter and they cut through the water at a good forty knots.

“All right,” Daniel said, once a solid stand of oak and cedar stood between them and whoever had fired at
him. Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. “I think it's safe for you to sit up now.”

Shaken, eyes wide, Bailey unfolded herself from the deck and stared at him. “Why would anybody—”

“Probably some fool kid shooting squirrels,” he said, cutting her off. Anger made it hard for him to keep his tone normal so that Bailey wouldn't know he was lying. There was no way in hell the bullet that had ripped a hole through the hull was an accident. He'd given up believing in fairy tales a long time ago. Someone wanted to kill him. Whether it was for what they suspected he'd done—killing Marshall—or for what they thought he was possible of telling about people still very much alive, he wasn't certain.

“A child with a gun?” Bailey said. “It's not even hunting season, is it?”

All the color had drained from her face, stripping away the veneer of resilience, exposing a naked vulnerability, filling Daniel with the overwhelming need to protect her.

“No, it's not,” he answered, “but hungry people hunt year-round on Tawes.” Lucas or another professional shooter should have been too good to have missed. Or . . .

Daniel tried to remember. Had he turned the wheel just before the shot in an effort to follow the natural channel? A rocking skiff didn't make the best target. If he had altered course, his action might have saved them. So the bullet could have been an attempt to scare him, or it could have been a genuine attempt to silence him once and for all. The powers that be would never let him live long enough to testify against them. There'd be no trials, no newspaper reporters asking questions that might embarrass the wrong people and
cause an international scandal. Homeland security covered a myriad of sins.

But Bailey was an innocent bystander. Whoever had fired that rifle had broken an unwritten rule against harming civilians, and Daniel vowed to extract a price for that transgression. “I'll make inquiries,” he said. “See what I can find out. Kids on Tawes should know better.”

“Their parents should know better than to let them walk around with guns.”

He frowned. “It isn't like the mainland. Suburbia may be opposed to hunting and firearms in general, but it's different here. Our boys and girls grow up respecting—”

“By taking potshots at passing boats?” Bailey had lost her terror and was fast becoming angry. Pink crept back into her cheeks, and her eyes glittered in the sunlight. “One of us could have been killed. If that's teaching your children responsibility, then I'm glad that I grew up in Newark.”

He wondered how he ever could have dismissed her as cute. Right now, mad as hell, with her hair in disarray and dirt on her face, she looked like the most beautiful woman on earth. He eased back on the throttle, slowing the skiff to a more reasonable speed. “You know, it might be better if you remained in town for a few days, until I find out who the shooter was. I don't want any more near misses.”

“Me either. I guess I'm not cut out for that much excitement.”

Images of Bailey ripped apart, of her broken body lying in a puddle of gore, sent a chill through him. “It was a shock. Maybe you should take a long weekend, go home for a few days.”

Bailey stiffened. “And leave my class in the middle of
summer school?” Her eyes narrowed in that steely gaze that he'd seen from Will Tawes.

Daniel swallowed the lump in his throat as memories he thought he'd put behind him rose like haunting specters. “It might make a good break.”

She arched an eyebrow, and he read the hurt in her eyes. “Is this a polite brushoff?”

“Hell, no, Bailey. Where did you get that idea?”

“We just climbed out from under the same blanket an hour ago, and already you're trying to send me home?”

“I don't want to see you hurt.”

“And I don't want to get hurt. I see your point in staying out of the woods for a few days, but . . .” She took a breath. “I don't expect a lifelong commitment after one—”

“Bailey . . . it's not like that.”

She folded her arms protectively over her breasts, but the stubborn pose did nothing to hide her trembling. Whether it was anger or fear, he didn't know, but he wanted to cradle her against him, to feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, and the warmth of her skin against his again.

Her bottom lip quivered. “Did last night mean anything to you besides a good lay?”

“More than you could ever know.”

“So we're friends?” she asked suspiciously.

“No games between us. You know that we're more than that. A lot more.”

She took a deep breath. “If you're my friend, even if you're my boink buddy, then help me. You said that your job in the agency was gathering information. Who better to help me unravel what really happened here with my family?”

He cut the engine and let the boat drift with the tide. “You could be opening a bigger can of worms here than you know. Tawes is a small community. Any man on the island over fifty could be your father. Even Emma or Creed.”

“What?” She stared at him as if he'd taken leave of his senses. “Emma?

What are you talking about? Emma or Creed? How could Emma—”

“Yes, Emma. Sweet Lord, Bailey, for a thirty-five-year-old woman, you're such an innocent.”