Land's End. Marta Perry

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СКАЧАТЬ to check out the cottage for possible expansion. That was what he’d told the police, the press, anyone else who dared ask. The police were satisfied that it was an unfortunate accident with the gas heater and only too glad to have a rational explanation for their presence. End of story.

      Maybe people didn’t really believe that story, but they pretended they did. No one would dare suggest anything else in his hearing, or in Melissa’s. Or would they? He’d like to believe he’d protected his child from the speculation, but he’d never be sure.

      He tilted his head back against cool leather, letting the music soothe his frazzled nerves. He’d done what he had to, all along the line. And if he spent sleepless nights raging at God over this betrayal—well, that was no one’s business but his.

      Sarah thought there was another answer, but she was wrong. He’d accepted that, and she’d be better off if she did, too. Her face formed in his mind—the clear green eyes that weighed and assessed everything, the determined set to her mouth, that stubborn chin. Sarah wouldn’t give up easily.

      That conviction ruffled his thoughts. He’d gotten her off the island. Word would get around that it wasn’t wise to talk with her, even if she came back. She hadn’t been here long enough to make many friends who’d help her—only the people she’d recruited to help at the fledgling clinic.

      Derek had been as close to her as anyone. Maybe Trent had best close that gap.

      He shoved back the chair and went down the flight of stairs from the loft to the living room. His half brother played with his eyes shut, lost in the music. With his features relaxed, he had a strong resemblance to their mother—the same curly brown hair and full lips. Music had been a bond between him and Lynette, one Trent had never shared.

      “Derek.” He leaned against the piano. It was a piece of furniture, nothing else. He could stand here without remembering the hours Lynette had spent playing it.

      Derek played a final chord and then glanced at him, eyes curious. “What’s up?”

      “Did you hear that Sarah Wainwright was on the island?”

      Derek whistled softly. “No. Why would she come back?”

      “She has some crazy idea that Miles and Lynette couldn’t have been involved.” He hated the words. They tasted of betrayal. “She wanted my help to prove it.”

      Derek played a random chord or two. “You told her no.”

      “Of course I told her no.” Irritation edged his voice. He shouldn’t have to explain that to Derek. “What did you think? That I’d welcome her and jump right into an investigation?”

      “Guess not, when you put it that way. Still, you’ve got to feel sorry for the woman. She must be hurting.”

      “Poking into the past isn’t going to heal that hurt.” He ought to know. “I’m doing her a favor by shutting her down before she starts.”

      “She probably doesn’t see it that way.”

      “Maybe not, but she doesn’t have a choice.”

      “From what I remember about Sarah, I’d say she isn’t one to take no for an answer. Where is she staying?”

      “Gone.” He clipped the word. “She was at the inn.”

      Derek filled in the rest. “You sent her packing.”

      “Yes.” She’d be gone by now. He ignored the faint trace of regret at the thought.

      “Well, I guess that’s taken care of, then.” Derek lifted his brows, his brown eyes questioning. “Isn’t it?”

      “You knew her as well as anyone. She might contact you.”

      “And you want me to do what?”

      “That should be obvious.” He suppressed a flicker of irritation. “Close her down.”

      “Kind of rude, don’t you think?” Derek’s long-fingered hands moved on the keys, picking out something harsh and dissonant.

      “You can pretty it up any way you want.” His voice was equally harsh. “Just don’t tell her anything to encourage her.”

      “You’re the boss.”

      He frowned at Derek’s flippant tone. But Derek, no matter how he felt, would cooperate.

      A step sounded on the tile floor, and he turned to see Farrell, the driver-cum-body-guard, standing just inside the door, his heavy face impassive.

      “Well?” He’d left the man at the inn to confirm that Sarah went on her way.

      “Thought you’d want to know.”

      “Know what?” The only thing he wanted to hear was that Sarah had left the island.

      “Doc Wainwright. She left the inn, but she didn’t head for the mainland. She moved into the guesthouse at the Lees’.”

      Derek played something ominous and threatening, like a storm coming up at sea.

      “Stop it,” Trent snapped at him.

      Derek lifted his hands from the keys. “It sounds as if Sarah didn’t do what you expected. How enterprising of her.”

      “She will.” His jaw tightened, and he turned toward Farrell. “That’s all. You can go.”

      She would. No matter how enterprising she was, Sarah wouldn’t find any answers here. He’d see to that.

      Sarah rubbed the back of her neck as she turned into the drive at the Lees’ seaside villa. “Tara with hot tubs,” some local wag had called it. Jonathan stopped in front of the pillared portico, she stopped behind and he then came and slid into the front seat of her car.

      He pointed. “Just go round the end of the house.”

      Oleander branches, thick with blossoms, brushed the car as Sarah pulled up to the guesthouse. The architect had given up on antebellum design here—the cottage was a typical Low Country beach house. Its wide windows had shutters that could be closed against a storm. Between it and the main house, a turquoise swimming pool glowed with underwater lights.

      Jonathan heaved her bags from the car. “You feel free to use the pool anytime you want. That’s what it’s there for.”

      Sarah followed as he unlocked the front door and switched on lights.

      “I’ll just put these in the master bedroom. You make yourself at home. You ought to find everything ready.”

      Sarah dropped her shoulder bag on a glass-topped coffee table. Pale cream walls, pale beige Berber carpeting, glass everywhere. The bright cushions on the white wicker furniture were the only splash of color, other than the seascapes on the walls. A living room with dining area, tiny kitchen, two bedrooms, two baths…This little retreat for extra guests was more than comfortable.

      Sarah glanced out toward the pool, remembering how it had looked a year ago at Adriana’s party. СКАЧАТЬ