Patricia Potter (33 page)

“That’s the most awful frog face I’ve ever seen,” he had observed teasingly. Lisa had considered the comment carefully, visualizing the downturned ugly mouth of a frog. She’d had to smile despite herself, but it was a tiny reluctant smile, and he’d grinned. “Well, that’s a little better. A sorta frog smile.”

Remembering, Lisa couldn’t help but smile. He’d always been able to coax a grin from her. It was feeble, she knew, but a smile nonetheless. Even if it was a frog smile.

Kurt sat in the Cloister dining room, alone this evening, as he’d wished. Most of the other attendees at the International Economic Development Advisory Council would not arrive for two more days.

When he made his travel arrangements, he’d said he needed a brief vacation before the meetings.

Two days to arrange a meeting with Meara Evans.

He hadn’t decided what he would do yet. He knew she had a daughter. He had seen photos of both of them, and their images were stamped firmly in his mind.

He knew Sanders Evans had been a federal agent, and he had been worried about that. When he heard about the man’s death a month prior to the conference, he was exuberant. Fate was with him; nothing could go wrong now. Both Meara and Lisa Evans would be very, very vulnerable at the moment.

The woman was pretty enough from the picture, but the daughter was a true beauty. His eyes had narrowed with appreciation as he’d looked at the long blond hair and prettily molded face. A true Aryan. If he hadn’t other plans…

The service in the elegant dining room was impeccable for an American restaurant, and the food superb. As he waited for the lamb he had ordered, his gaze moved around the room.

There was a mixture of older couples and what looked like honeymooning couples. The young and the old and few in between. His glance finally settled on a couple in a corner, principally because the girl looked sad while most of the other young couples appeared besotted with each other.

His eyes widened as he recognized her as the one in the photo he’d been memorizing. Another amazing twist of luck. Or fate, he thought again. Or justice.

The meal lost its appeal. He considered several means of approaching her. There would be no better opportunity than an accidental meeting in one of America’s premier resort hotels. What better opening.

The waiter was serving the couple’s salads. He had time. He ate slowly and turned his entire attention to the excellent meal in front of him. He did not want anyone to notice undue attention.

His mind worked quickly but practically. He didn’t question the coincidence. He had been told there were few fine dining establishments in the area, so it made sense residents would sometimes come here. Now how best to use the advantage?

He couldn’t approach them. An accidental meeting? Possibly, but that could easily end as quickly as it began. No, he had to have a reason to visit the Evans home. He smiled to himself as he thought of one. He just needed a bit more luck.

Kurt smiled to himself. He had no false modesty. He was a bachelor, a much sought after one. He knew he was considered handsome by most with his angular face, dark blond hair, and light blue eyes that glittered in a carefully tanned face.

He ate slowly, appreciative of the superb service which was never rushed. He was just starting his dessert when the couple rose and started his way. The two would have to pass his table.

His hand suddenly knocked a knife off the table, and he leaned down just as the woman passed by, and his shoulder went into her, causing her to throw out a hand for balance. Her purse went down to the floor.

Kurt was up in a second, murmuring profuse and elegant apologies. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you. So careless of me, so unbelievably clumsy. Please allow me to retrieve your purse.”

He knelt, his back hiding the movement of his hands which quickly opened the clasp and spilled out the contents, knocking a compact under the table and out of sight. A waiter was there then, helping, and together they gathered the rest of the items: a wallet, a lipstick, a pen, some matches, a package of cigarettes. After carefully replacing them in the purse, Kurt stood and handed it to her with a courtly bow, noticing the sudden flush in her cheeks at his elaborate courtesy. She was, as he had hoped, distracted enough not to look to see whether she had everything.

“Let me present myself,” he said smoothly. “I’m Kurt Weimer. I’m here for the International Economic Conference, not,” he added with charming self-mockery, “to crash into lovely young ladies. I hope I’m forgiven.”

Lisa blushed. “I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she said shakily as she looked up into the handsome face.

“But it was my fault completely,” Kurt said. He looked over at Kelly. “May I buy you an after-dinner drink in the way of an apology.”

Kelly’s arm went around Lisa’s waist protectively. “I think not,” he said. “Miss Evans is not feeling well, and it’s really not necessary. Accidents happen.”

“Miss Evans?” Kurt said inquisitively.

Kelly had no choice but to respond. For some reason he didn’t understand, he was uncomfortable and wary. “This is Lisa Evans and I’m Kellen Tabor,” he said abruptly. “I hope you enjoy your visit to our islands.”

The response was dismissive and barely polite, but Kurt felt a tiny ball of triumph growing inside. Lisa Evans was regarding him with interest.

He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “A privilege,” he said. “And again my apologies.” As the man named Tabor moved deliberately forward, Kurt stepped aside, a slight smile on his face. He nodded in polite farewell, and sat down again, watching them leave the dining room but not before Lisa Evans turned her head and looked back. He smiled, and she quickly turned back to her escort.

Kurt leaned down and found the compact and pocketed it. His hand moved along its surface. There was engraving on the metal which meant it must hold importance for her. So much the better. So much greater her gratitude when he returned it tomorrow.

With a pleased smile, he turned back to the English trifle.

Chris leaned against the seat of the rented car. It was a dark, nondescript vehicle, one he had selected himself. He had found a quiet, oak-shaded spot on the edge of a motel parking lot. He could see Meara’s cottage three houses down.

He had waited here for two hours now, and though the car was shaded, the sun was making him miserable. He looked at his watch. Noon. Sunday.

There were two cars in the Evans’s driveway, a gray Chevrolet and an older blue Buick.

He felt like a Peeping Tom, but he knew no other way of seeing her, of seeing her daughter. His daughter. His stomach was bunched in knots, his arms rigid against the steering post. He had been patient twenty years. He could be patient a few more hours.

Time moved slowly. Impossibly slowly. He saw several people glance at him curiously, and he hastily brought his wrist up and looked angrily at his watch as if waiting for someone. He sure as hell didn’t want the police to investigate.

The door opened, and a young woman emerged, a shaggy dog with her. He thought he had seen the dog before, on the beach yesterday with a woman, but he wasn’t sure. The tide had been low and the woman walked along its edges, leaving considerable distance between him and the figure.

The woman leaned down and emerged from the porch, the dog on a leash. For a moment she seemed to look right at him, but then she turned, walking in the opposite direction.

She was lovely, young and lovely, with long blond hair swinging across her back. Her face had much of Meara’s in it, high finely shaped cheekbones, a wide mouth, stubborn chin. He couldn’t see the color of the eyes, but he could make out the long golden lashes framing them.

His daughter was wearing dark blue shorts which revealed long shapely legs and gently curved hips. A light blue blouse was tucked carelessly in the shorts, and she wore sandals on her feet. She was really quite beautiful.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel as if grasping them for life, as if he were to fall into a deep dark chasm. He wanted to go to her, God help him, but he wanted to stride over to her and tell her who he was. He wanted to hold her close, to talk to her, to discover her hopes and dreams. To share her sorrows. And protect. Dear God, he wanted to protect that innocence.

Chris watched as she disappeared down the side of the road. He wanted to follow, to somehow arrange a meeting, but he realized how wrong that would be. He owed Meara more than that. He had already promised himself he would disappear without ever contacting them if he decided Meara and Lisa were not in danger.

Minutes later, he watched Meara emerge from the house, an envelope in her hand. She was as slender as she had been twenty years ago, but her movements were not so obviously spontaneous. There was a deliberateness to them now.

That long glorious golden-red hair had been cut and tamed into a short feathery cut that framed her face becomingly, yet he wished for the old wild streaming curls which had made her appear so utterly free. She wore a blouse and skirt and, like Lisa, a pair of comfortable sandals. Also like Lisa, her face held no hint of a smile or laughter. Neither was it vulnerable as it once had been. Instead, her expression was controlled. That, more than anything, caused him pain. Was it Sanders’s recent death that painted the mask there, or had it been there for years? Because of him…

He didn’t know how long he stayed, unable to act. It was dangerous doing so, he knew. He had been here much too long. Yet he hungered for another look, for more bits and pieces of their lives.

The girl came back first, and she had just gone inside when he saw a Mercedes glide slowly past the house, turn around and turn into the Evans’s driveway. He continued to watch as a tall man, not lean but well proportioned, exit the car and confidently stride to the door. The door opened almost immediately, and after a few minutes the man entered the house.

Chris didn’t have to guess who he was. He had studied the pictures carefully.

His throat tightened as fear twisted his heart.

Kurt Weimer.

Lisa was absently petting Raggedy Andy when the knock came. She’d neglected him lately, and she expected she’d enjoyed the walk as much as he had. She released a sigh of relief to find her mother gone, although she didn’t know exactly why. She didn’t really understand why she was so resentful at the moment, but she hadn’t been able to push aside those feelings. So many emotions had swept over her since her father’s death: rage, loss, grief. It was the first time she had ever lost anyone close to her, and she realized she wasn’t dealing with it well. Not like her mother. She resented her mother for doing something she couldn’t. At first, she reasoned that it was because she had loved harder, but that wasn’t fair. If not passion, there had been a sort of tender understanding between her mother and father, a respect, that she had rarely seen between married couples.

The knock came again, and she unwound her legs from the position in which she was sitting and stood, ambling more than walking. It was probably Kelly, and as much as she liked him she was feeling suffocated right now.

She knew her mother hoped someday she and Kelly might marry, but Kelly had never mentioned it, and marriage was the last thing she wanted now. She wanted to explore the world, test her wings. She wanted to learn. She wanted adventure. She wanted so many things that she believed marriage would stifle.

Her mother had been stifled. Lisa had recognized that. Perhaps that was why her mother closed herself up so much. When Lisa had brought Raggedy Andy home, half-starved and cowering, her mother had not wanted to keep him. When Lisa had demanded why, her mother said she would only get hurt when the dog died or disappeared.

Lisa didn’t understand. She had been twelve and wanted a dog more than anything. It was her father who’d gently persuaded her mother to allow her to keep Andy. Perversely, the dog had taken her mother as his special person although he’d received little attention from her in the beginning. Now her mother and the dog seemed to have a special relationship which needed little in words or even contact.

Andy had never been overly demonstrative for a dog, and he’d been definitely wary of strangers, particularly men, yet he stuck with her mother, who hadn’t wanted him, like glue.

Andy rose reluctantly and stretched at the knock on the door. He was, Lisa thought, a total failure as a watch dog. Once Andy retired for the night, an army couldn’t wake him, and on seeing a stranger, he usually disappeared to the closest hiding spot. He was approximately ten years old now, and he became more endearingly cowardly by the year.

He waited now, his tail between his legs. Lisa smiled slightly as she reached the door and opened it, discovering the handsome stranger with the intriguing foreign accent.

Her eyes must have shown her surprise because he nodded slightly as she fumbled for words. “Mr….?”

“Weimer,” he said with a slightly sheepish smile that was extremely attractive, possibly because it seemed out of place on a face which radiated self-assurance. “Kurt Weimer. I am sorry to bother you again, but I apparently missed one of the articles from your purse last night. As I was leaving, I found this. I remembered your name and asked the manager, and he gave me your address.”

Lisa’s gaze roved over his face. He was very attractive in a continental way, his face nearly perfectly sculpted, his eyes admiring as he returned her look.