“They did, didn’t they? They’re too repressed to admit as much.”
“Or too polite.”
She shrugged. “That, too. Do you see them during the off-season, when you’re not in Maine?”
“No.”
“I thought you and Grace were betrothed in the cradle.”
“Her father might like to think so, but, no, we weren’t betrothed in the cradle. We knew each other growing up. We see each other here from time to time. That’s about it.” His mouth twitched with unexpected amusement. “Satisfied?”
“What about Linc?”
“I put him through his paces today. We did the pond hike at a fast clip. It’s not a difficult trail, although it’s rough in spots, but I made him hoof it. He kept up. He’s walking back to his place now. It’s a trek-it’ll do him good.”
“Think he’s seriously interested in search-and-rescue?”
“We’re offering different levels of courses at the field academy, from basic instruction for the novice through advanced coursework for specialists who could end up on a Fast Rescue team.”
“Like yourself,” Abigail said. “Except you’re probably past coursework at this point.”
“Not in this field. There’s always something new to learn.” He finished off his popover. “I hope Linc will apply at least for a weekend course.”
“How did you get into search-and-rescue?”
“I took a first-aid class in high school. I was hooked after that. Abigail-”
“I’ve told you what I can about the calls. The first one was easy to dismiss. I get crank calls from time to time. Lou Beeler does, too. Doyle, less so. We all took this one seriously, but the odds are it was nothing.”
“This second call this morning changes things.”
She nodded. “Whoever’s calling wants to manipulate me. I was married on the second Saturday in July. Chris was found-” She didn’t finish, simply added, “The timing of the call is deliberate.”
“Why would someone who claims to want to help you try to get under your skin?” Owen asked.
“To be in the middle of the drama. To feel important.” She shrugged. “Or maybe to mislead me. Obviously it’s not someone who wants to come forward.”
“Why not?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Owen pushed his plate aside and leaned over the wooden table. “You’ll be careful, won’t you, Abigail? This isn’t an investigation in Boston. It’s not part of your job. You’re personally involved.”
She smiled. “Now you sound like Doyle and Lou. They told me to leave the heavy lifting to them.”
“Will you?”
“Of course.”
He gave her a skeptical look, grabbing the tab when the waiter dropped it off. “My treat. I haven’t had tea and popovers in ages. I’d forgotten how good they are.”
“Owen?” She tried to keep her gaze on him but found she couldn’t. “About last night…”
“About Mattie, you mean?”
She heard the humor in his tone and scowled at him. “Very funny. I meant about-you know.”
“The fire in my woodstove. It was too damn hot.”
“You’re making fun of me, Owen Garrison, and if you think I’m going to sit here and take it, you can think again.” She finished the last of her popover, doused in butter and jam, and brushed off her fingers with her napkin, but he didn’t take the hint. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? Okay. The kiss. I have no regrets.”
“I would hope not.” He smiled. “It was a damn good kiss.”
“We did get a bit carried away. As I said, I have no regrets, but it can’t happen again.”
“Why not?”
“You’re looking for distractions, I’m looking for distractions. I’m getting strange calls. MattieYoung’s acting weird. Doyle Alden’s in a sour mood. The Coopers are in the middle of an FBI background check that might not be as routine as they want us all to believe. Jason’s selling his brother’s house.” Abigail paused, catching her breath, wondering what her litany of goings-on was all about, why she’d rattled them off. “I can’t be sneaking kisses in the dark.”
“Hands off, then?”
She didn’t answer right away, which surprised her.
Owen seized on the delay. “Not as easy as you thought, is it? Abigail, we’ve been thinking about kissing each other for a long time. I know I thought about it that time I caught you in Austin pestering my grandmother. Last night was meant to happen.” He laid a few bills on the table and placed the check over them. “It’s going to happen again.”
“Not today,” she whispered, her chest clamping down on itself, until she thought she wouldn’t be able to breathe.
His eyes darkened, and he nodded. “No, not today.”
He had the grace to let her get out of there first. She picked up her pace, moving in a half run by the time she reached her car. She drove out to the entrance to the Park Loop Road and paid for a pass, joining a car from Colorado and an SUV from West Virginia on the quiet, scenic drive.
“Chris…don’t go. We can run errands another time.”
He touched her cheek. “I won’t be long.”
She smiled, falling back onto the couch in the front room. “Good. I’ll read for a little while and take a nap.”
“Yes.” He laughed, kissing her softly. “Rest up for later.”
After he left, she read a few pages and fell asleep, wishing he’d stayed with her.
The breathtaking, classic Maine coast beauty steadied her even as it conjured up memories, the whisper of long-ago kisses, the shudder of long-ago orgasms. She could see Chris’s eyes, as dark a green as the fir trees around her, as he’d watched her in the night.
To ease the pain, she would tell herself she was a different person now, but she wasn’t. Sure she’d changed-she didn’t know if Chris would recognize her anymore. She wasn’t a twenty-five-year-old law student who’d never endured serious loss, who’d never been called to a scene of a triple homicide or looked into the eyes of someone who’d killed in a fit of rage and now couldn’t go back and undo what he’d done. Yet with all she’d done in the past seven years, she wasn’t a different person. Deep down she was the same woman who’d fallen in love with her guy from Maine, her FBI agent.
He’d been her first proper lover, and he’d relished that role in their eighteen months together.
That their life together was over didn’t mean it had never happened.
Or that she needed to pretend that she didn’t want to fall in love again. It wouldn’t be the same-it couldn’t be the same. And it didn’t have to be.
She wanted it, she realized. She wanted to love a man, to be in love with a man-not out of desperation, not just to have someone in her life, but to let it happen if it was meant to, to be open to the possibility of it.
She made no stops on the winding drive.
When she arrived back at her house, the air was still, only the distant cries of seagulls to disturb the silence. Inside, she smelled plaster dust and the faint odor of fresh paint.
She dialed Lou Beeler’s pager. When he returned her call, she was in the back room, shaking open a black trash bag, standing up to her mid-calves in debris from her gutted walls. Any more frustrations, and she’d have all the walls in the house ripped out.
“I don’t have anything for you,” Lou said.
“Did you talk to Mattie Young?”
“I did. He wants to get a restraining order against you.”
Abigail snorted. “Let him try.”
“Doyle doesn’t have anything, either. Abigail-you know these calls could be B.S. You must have made your share of enemies over the past few years. One of them could have dug around on the Internet and figured out just enough to push your buttons.”
“Is that what you believe happened?”
“I don’t believe anything. I just follow the facts.” He paused. “So should you.”
She sat on a chair covered in white plaster dust. She’d meant to throw sheets over the furniture, but hadn’t gotten around to it. Now, she had a bigger mess to clean up-and Lou Beeler doubting her objectivity.