You Don't Want To Know (12 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: You Don't Want To Know
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Straining to reach the surface, her body beaten and exhausted, she knifed upward, fighting the raging current, uncertain she would make it despite the foam vest.
Suddenly, she broke the surface. Gasping, she dragged in a lungful of air just before the next huge breaker pounded down. She rode the wave, letting the tide push her over the rough rocks and across the bar, into the bay.
Limp, tossed around and beaten up, the wind and sea raging around her, she caught a glimpse of the lights of Neptune's Gate winking in the distance. Warm patches of gold glowing through the gloom.
Her heart clenched.
The expanse of turbulent sea was daunting. If she could only swim to shore . . . less than a mile . . . but first . . .
She tried to tread water, to search the white-capped, undulating surface to search for Wyatt, Jewel-Anne, and Kelvin.
Surely they were alive.
They had to be.
Hadn't they been wearing vests?
“Hey!” she yelled, but her voice was drowned by the storm. Her eyes searched through the odd shapes riding on the surging tide, the flotsam from the
Bloody Mary
. She saw no one.
Oh, please,
she thought desperately.
Wyatt, please . . .
Her throat clogged as another strong, freezing wave pushed her farther inland.
She closed her mind and held her breath, tried not to think that her brother, cousin, and husband could be lost. That she alone could have survived. If she made it.
“Hey!”
A hand suddenly touched her arm, snapping her out of her reverie.
Ava gasped in shock, her feet slipping a little as she left the memory and slammed into the present.
Austin Dern was glaring at her. He had a death grip on her upper arm.
And he looked pissed as hell.
CHAPTER 12
“W
hat're you doing here?” she demanded, yanking her arm away and stepping backward.
“Watch out!” He grabbed her again, his strong fingers curling over her upper arm and yanking her forward. For the first time, she noticed that she was less than a foot from the precipice, even closer to the dilapidated stairs.
A fresh spurt of adrenaline fired through her blood while a hundred feet below, the surf surged and sprayed, suddenly roaring in her ears. Caught in her reflection, she hadn't noticed how near the precipice she'd edged. Only a few more steps and . . .
Heart suddenly racing, she whispered, “Oh, Lord. I didn't . . .” Her heart thudded in her ears. What if he hadn't come along? What if she'd taken two steps backward and fallen? Letting out a pent-up breath, she finally shook off Dern's hand, stepping away from the cliff and toward the horses. Now there were two, Jasper and Cayenne, a sorrel mare, Dern's mount. They were grazing on the sparse grass, their bridles jangling, their tails moving in the breeze.
“What the hell are you doing up here?” he demanded.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
Thick eyebrows pulled over his intense eyes, he was glaring at her with a don't-give-me-any-crap look. “Can't you think somewhere a little safer?”
She lifted a shoulder and cleared her throat. “I was just out riding, getting some fresh air and . . .”
Why do you feel compelled to bare your soul to him? It's none of his damned business.
“This is a helluva spot for a daydream. Looked like you were about to go over.”
“No.” She glared right back at him. “So why are you here?” she demanded.
“I was missing one of my horses. And the dog”—he hooked his thumb toward the shepherd nosing around the brush near a stand of hemlock—“led me here.” His gaze held hers. “Seems like it was a good idea.”
“I'm fine.”
“Really?” One of those dark eyebrows cocked skeptically.
So alpha male. “Yeah,
really
.” Maybe she'd been only a step or two from the edge, but she didn't much like this guy's attitude. “You don't have to make it a habit of saving me.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.” Then, as another unpleasant thought occurred to her, “Don't tell me my husband hired you to be . . . what? Some kind of babysitter or . . . bodyguard?”
“I just came looking for the horse. Didn't mean to step into this mess, whatever the hell it is.”
She felt her temper simmer. “No matter what you may think because of the other night and here, just now”—she motioned vaguely to the edge of the cliff face—“I really don't need a keeper.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
He shrugged, seemingly unconvinced, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously, but he stepped away, palms raised. “No harm, no foul.” He grabbed the reins of Cayenne's bridle. “Just bring the horse back, and next time maybe you could leave me a note or something.”
“I looked for you when I took Jasper. You weren't around. And I really didn't think I needed permission to take my horse out.”
He let a beat pass and she knew what he was thinking, that she
did
need someone's okay to go riding on her own, that she wasn't in control. That she was a damned lunatic.
“You've got a big place here. I might not always be in the stable or barn, but I've got a cell. If you give me a heads-up, I could get the horse ready for you.”
“Seriously?” she said. “No matter what you've heard, I am able to saddle a horse. With my eyes closed. I might be the only one who holds this opinion, but trust me, I can do it.” Before he could answer, she added, “The way I see it, this is my house, my land, and my friggin' gelding.”
“I was just saying—”
“I
know
what you were saying, Dern!” She grabbed Jasper's reins, swung into the saddle, and left the damned ranch foreman or whatever the hell he was, staring after her.
Dern ground his teeth.
This wasn't going well. Not well at all.
Having been put squarely in his place by the very person he needed to get close to, Dern watched Ava ride away. Her back was still stiff with outrage as she half stood in the saddle, her rounded, jean-clad butt raised a bit as she leaned over her horse's neck and urged the bay into a gallop.
Dragging his gaze from her backside, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration, he told himself she was bad news. He'd blown it. Big-time. Apparently she wasn't keen on the whole knight-in-shining-armor-coming-to-her-rescue routine. Well, hell, he didn't blame her. It wasn't a comfortable role, one he'd never much practiced.
He let out his breath and was barely aware of the wind kicking up or the promise of more rain that was thick in the air. His thoughts were centered on the mystery that was Ava Garrison.
He wondered what she was like in bed and how often she slept with that prick of a husband of hers. There was definitely something off there. He'd noticed it in the way they avoided each other's eyes. Yeah, no marital bliss happening here on good old Church Island.
Why he cared, he couldn't imagine.
He didn't even
like
her. In fact, from what he'd learned, she was an A-1 bitch—that is, when she wasn't in a psychological meltdown as she had been since her boy had gone missing.
And yet he was faced with the sorry, unlikely fact that he was attracted to her.
“Slow down,” he muttered under his breath. This was all wrong. He couldn't afford to be interested in any woman right now, and Ava Church Garrison was as off-limits as they came: married, a head case, rumored to be the worst kind of bitch when she wasn't in a puddle over her kid. Definitely not worth the trouble.
But there it was.
Women had always been his downfall, but then better men than he had fallen beneath the charms of a beautiful woman. And, unfortunately, he liked them with some fire, women who could go toe-to-toe with him.
Frightened, out of it, wet-as-a-drowned-rat Ava Garrison the other night, hadn't been a problem. Sure she'd been beautiful. But vulnerable. Needy. Definitely not his type. This new Ava, though, the one who looked like she could verbally chew him up and spit him out, now that was a different story. Wrong as it was, he loved a challenge, and man, oh, man, she presented one.
He kept his eyes on her disappearing form. She was at home astride the gelding, hadn't been lying when she said she knew her way around a horse and probably a stable. He watched as she slowed the horse a bit before disappearing into the woods and wondered just what it was that made Ava Garrison tick.
What the hell is it about her that's starting to get to you?
It wasn't just her looks, he decided, though her expressive eyes crackled with intelligence, or at least they had today. And then there were her lips, full and pulled tight over not-quite-perfect teeth in her exasperation with him. Her dark hair had been damp from the rain and curled a bit as it escaped from the braid at her nape. Though a bit on the skinny side now, she still had the body of an athlete, a runner, with slim hips and small breasts and legs that went on forever. He'd seen pictures of her a few years back, before she'd lost her son, and she'd looked the same, only stronger, her waist trim, her abdomen taut.
He knew from his background information that she'd run track in high school and college, a long-distance runner who had also completed at least one marathon in her early twenties, maybe more.
He'd talked to people who had worked with her. The descriptions that had emerged were simple:
Determined.
Driven.
A perfectionist.
And to some, soulless.
A far cry from the weak, shattered woman he'd dragged from the icy waters of the bay just a few nights before. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn they were two people, because this afternoon, he'd caught a glimpse of that hard-nosed businesswoman, the one who demanded excellence, the one with the razor-sharp tongue.
At least she wasn't sleepwalking anymore.
When she'd come back from wherever her thoughts had taken her, her gray eyes had snapped with fire, her cheeks had been flushed with anger, her lips flattened in disapproval. Her chin had jutted, her jaw clenched.
Trouble was, he found her a whole lot more interesting than the woman he'd hauled from the bay. He'd watched her that night, the shivering, almost cowering victim who'd clasped her hands between her knees, worried her lip, and looked away when those who purportedly loved her had interrogated her.
Now he turned his thoughts from her with an effort. He was alone on this high ridge, the wind off the Pacific churning up white caps on the ocean and buffeting the trees surrounding this open space. He'd found the missing horse and supposed he should get going, too.
Mission accomplished.
At least for the day.
He climbed into the saddle and from atop his horse, glanced out to the sea again, trying to locate the spot he'd found her staring. Murky water, varying shades of gray, rushed through the entrance to the bay, over the submerged, hidden bar that the locals spoke of with respect and a little fear. A string of rocks guarded the entrance, tiny dark islands poking out of the water, waves crashing and spraying over their jagged tops.
So why had she been gazing so intently at the black rocks? They had nothing to do with her child's disappearance, and she was fixated on the night her son was last seen. Rubbing the back of his neck, he realized this had to do with her brother's death, a totally unrelated event.
Kelvin Church had died in a tragic boat accident, and she'd been there, had barely survived herself. That tragedy had also left Jewel-Anne Church in a wheelchair, where she'd been ever since. And within days of the tragedy, Ava and Wyatt had welcomed their son into the world.
As he whistled to the dog, he wondered if the two traumatic events in Ava Garrison's life were tangled together and how much they contributed to her current state of mind. Today she'd been lucid, sharp enough to put him in his place.
Just how long would that last?
Starting back for the house, he adjusted the waistband of his jeans. The cold barrel of his gun, hidden under his jacket and shirt, pressed against his skin, reminding him that he didn't have a lot of time to waste. With Wyatt off the island and Ava so pissed at him, she'd want to keep off his radar. He had a little free time, and there was still some daylight, enough for a quick change of plan. Pulling up on the mare's reins, he turned toward a path leading away from the sea and into the woods where it connected to the overgrown lane running south to the old mental hospital.
It was time for him to return to Sea Cliff.
 
Riding through the damp woods, with the smell of wet earth mingling with the salty sea air, Ava tried and failed to shake the image of Dern's overly concerned visage. What the hell did he think he was doing following her up to the cliffs?
He saved you, didn't he?
Maybe. She didn't think she'd have taken a fateful step over the edge, but who knew? If she had fallen to her death in the sea, everyone at Neptune's Gate would have shaken their heads and looked sad and whispered that they knew she'd decided to end it all.
She made a sound of exasperation and slowed Jasper to a walk. So Dern had found her up at the ridge, so what? It wasn't as if he were following her, appointing himself her personal bodyguard. And surely Wyatt hadn't hired the man to keep an eye on her.
Paranoia . . . Don't let your fears get the better of you . . .
But as she rode out of the woods and glanced to the south, toward Sea Cliff, she wondered if the image she'd witnessed earlier, the dark figure on the wall walk, had been Austin Dern.
But what would he want with the old asylum? He's a ranch hand. That's all. His only crime is that he keeps trying to save you from yourself.
She narrowed her eyes and blinked against the drizzle as she pulled her horse up and stared at the crumbling concrete. She heard a low howl that caused her skin to crawl before she realized it was probably a coyote.
Nothing more sinister.
And no dark figure appeared on the ledge of the old hospital walls.
“Idiot,” she muttered, and leaned forward over Jasper's neck again. “Let's go home, boy.”
The big gelding didn't need any more encouragement. His strides lengthened and the wet grass flew by in a rush beneath his hooves. Cold air stole her breath, and as they reached the creek, she saw Jasper's ears prick forward. Rather than splash through the flattened trail area, he headed straight for a deeper chasm. Instinctively, Ava let out the reins, just as she felt his muscles bunch. With Ava leaning over his neck, he sailed over the swift stream, landing with a thud on the far side.

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