Safe Passage. Loreth White Anne

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      “Honey, quiet.” He tried to push himself to his feet, buckled under a hot wave of searing pain, “Damn!”

      “You all right?” The woman stepped further into his life.

      “Yeah.” He clenched his teeth. “Fine.”

      “Here, let me help.” She bent to take his arm and her hair fell across his cheek. The spicy, female smell of it sent an unbidden and long-forgotten wave right through him.

      He shook her off. “Just hand me that stick. I can manage.”

      She raised a dark brow, passed him his cane.

      “Thanks.” He swallowed a curse, another surge of pain, and forced himself up onto his feet. She was tall, but this way he could still look down at her from his height of two inches over six feet.

      He held out his hand. “Hi.”

      She looked down at his hand, laughed. A smoky laugh, like sex and smooth whiskey. He could almost feel the sound of it in his gut.

      “Seems a little trite after you almost killed me.” She held out her own hand. It was cool, soft to the touch. “My name’s Skye, I live next door.”

      “You’re…”

      The Bug Lady?

      “Your neighbor.” Her lips curved into a smile that made his stomach churn.

      Scott found his voice. “I’m Scott…McIntyre. This is…this is Honey.” Christ, he’d blown it. He hadn’t had time to go through the damn dossier.

      “You always attack when surprised?” She stared him straight in the eye.

      “You looked pretty primed for a fight yourself.”

      Her eyes flicked quickly away, scanned the room. “You startled me. Where’re you from?”

      Scott leaned heavily on his cane. He was supposed to be the one asking questions. He should be controlling the flow of information.

      “I’m from…out east.” Damn. He’d thought he’d have plenty of time to go through the file, familiarize himself with his cover, before running into the doctor. But this woman with the silver eyes had him cornered.

      “East? As in Ontario? Or farther east?”

      Scott attempted a laugh. “Even farther. I’ve been traveling for a while.” A long while.

      “Business?”

      “Research.”

      “You’ve come home then? Back to Canada?”

      There was that word again. Home. “I don’t have a home, neighbor.”

      “Hey, home is where the heart is. So they say.”

      “Yeah. Like I said, I have no home. Now, you tell me something, do you subject all newcomers to Haven with the third degree?”

      Something flickered through her eyes. Then it was gone. She smiled a full smile, revealing strong white teeth and a sharp twinkle in her eyes.

      “I’m sorry. Naturally curious nature, I suppose. Goes with the territory. I’m a scientist. You?”

      He cleared his throat. “Writer.”

      “Is that what brings you to Haven?”

      “Pretty much. Thought it might be a nice, quiet spot to work on my book. Close to the sea, not too far from the city, lots of space for Honey.”

      Skye Van Rijn bent to pet Honey. “You’re a real pretty thing, aren’t you?” She looked up at Scott. “She still a puppy?”

      “Pretty much.”

      “What kind of book you writing?”

      Damn. “Some call me a futurist.” The words did not come easily over his tongue. He felt anything but a futurist. Mostly he thought about the past. “I look for global trends. Economic. Social. That kind of thing.”

      “You widely published?”

      Hell if he knew. He’d just have to wing it. “Nope. Mostly small university presses, academic journals, that kind of thing.”

      She frowned. “You’d enjoy talking to my fiancé then. He’s all into big-picture economic trends and futures. Stock market, import-export business is his thing.”

      Her words blindsided him. He blinked.

      “Fiancé?”

      She smiled a slow smile, looked down at the dog. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was a sad, resigned smile.

      “Yes. I’m getting married day after tomorrow.”

      Scott couldn’t begin to identify the strange little slip he felt in his chest, the hollowness in his gut. He liked the idea of the doctor being single. Rex hadn’t told him about a fiancé. It was probably also in that damned dossier.

      “Congratulations.” The word sounded inane. It hung between them.

      She stepped back. “Yeah, well, I should be going. I’m really sorry to have barged in on you like that. There’s been no one in this house for a while. I thought you were the caterers. I’m expecting them. I thought they’d come to the wrong address.”

      She turned. Scott watched the sway of her ass as her long legs carried her to the door.

      She stopped, spun suddenly back to face him. “By the way, how’d you hurt your leg?”

      Images shot through his brain. The bullet smashing his knee. The terrorist group in the Thar. The suspicious disease he’d been investigating. Scorching heat. Pain. The hospital in Mumbai. His old life gone.

      “Skiing accident,” he said. “Torqued my knee.”

      “Oh.” She ran those exotic eyes over him slowly. “Well, you’ve got an exquisite cane. Don’t think I’ve seen wood like that before.”

      “Picked it up in Africa years ago. It’s mukwa wood, a gift from a Venda chief. Never thought I’d end up needing it in this way, though.”

      “I’m sorry.” She turned to go, hesitated, turned back. “Would you like to join us for the reception Saturday? We’re having the caterers set something small and simple up at my house for after the church ceremony. I really didn’t want anything fancy.”

      There was something about her demeanor that made him ask, “Why not?”

      She shrugged. “Jozsef wanted to have the wedding brought forward for a number of reasons. This was the best option at such short notice.”

      Scott’s curiosity piqued. “What short notice?”

      She laughed. “Now who’s giving the third degree? Good night, СКАЧАТЬ