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“Yes. I don’t know who, have no idea why, or even what he looks like, but...”
“Is that because he hasn’t gotten close enough, or because he’s masking himself somehow?” Rafe asked.
“Both,” she said. “I mean, he does stay back, but he wears hoodies with the hood up, or knit hats with a scarf wrapped around his neck and face like it was thirty below. Oh, and gloves. The thin, stretchy kind.”
“Interesting,” Rafe observed. “A bit overkill.”
“Maybe he’s not from here,” Jace said. “I grew up here, never thought forties were cold, but people in California would be dragging out ski wear.”
Rafe nodded. “Could be.”
Cassie looked at Jace. “You were in California?”
He nodded. “That’s what took me so long. I—”
He stopped abruptly. He had just noticed the photograph on the shelf behind her. A family photograph, taken on a sunny summer day on the beach at the lighthouse a few miles away. He remembered going with them that day, vividly. And he remembered this picture. Mrs. Grant had asked someone walking by to take it, and Jace had edged out of the way.
And where do you think you’re going, Jace? Get over here!
He remembered gaping at Cassie’s mother in disbelief. And then her father had come over and grabbed his arm to pull him into the shot. He stared at it now, saw the two loving parents, Cory next to his mother, Cassie next to her father, and...him. In between both adults, with both their arms around his shoulders. As if he were theirs. As if he, of the three kids, was the one who needed them most.
He found himself blinking rapidly. Because that had been nothing less than the truth.
* * *
That’s what took me so long.
Cassie felt a twinge of guilt at her earlier assumptions, that he wasn’t coming at all. She should have known. This was Jace, after all. Not her brother, who didn’t quite seem to understand what a promise was. Like his promise that this or that batch of trouble was the last one, when in fact he’d skated on the edge of trouble most of his life. Not her brother, who couldn’t even be bothered to return her phone calls.
Call Jace. He’ll come. He promised.
Cory had said it with a shrug, as if the world knew that Jace’s word was golden. And apparently, it still was. Because he’d simply come when she’d made that near-panicked phone call the night she’d seen that shadow lurking outside her bedroom window.
And then she noticed Jace was staring past her. The lighthouse photo? Was that what was making him look so...so...
Thankfully, Rafe brought them back to the matter at hand.
“The police didn’t think that was enough description?”
She grimaced as she refocused. “More that it could match any one of a dozen people on the street at any given time. Tourists come through here on their way to the national park, and a lot of them are bundled up, like Jace said.”
“But you’re sure he’s following you?” Rafe asked.
Maybe it really was all in her head. Why on earth would anyone fixate on her, after all? She wasn’t famous, she certainly wasn’t rich; the shop was barely getting by. And she wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous; she hadn’t broken up with anyone recently—hadn’t dated anyone in a sadly long time—nor had she had any angry encounters with anyone, male or female. No new people or angry customers at work, where she generally kept to her office in back of the florist shop except when she had to cover the counter or made deliveries to help out. No passing contacts with people while shopping or picking up her morning coffee. The answer to every question the police had asked was no, including if she had any idea why someone might be following her.
“I know it sounds crazy, there’s no reason for anyone—”
“Sometimes all it takes is an attractive woman alone,” Jace said. Cassidy’s head snapped around. She stared at him. “What?” he asked, looking utterly blank.
She reined in her pulse, laughing at herself for the silly jump it had taken. That’s all it takes, Jace saying you’re attractive? Didn’t you outgrow that long ago?
Not, she thought, that any woman’s pulse wouldn’t jump. He was still Jace, after all. Sexy cute, with those bright blue eyes and that kind of wild dark hair that always looked a bit windblown.
Do you even own a comb?
That’s what fingers are for.
She nearly blushed at the years-old memory. He’d answered her question with a glint in his eye she’d been too young at the time to understand, and it wasn’t until much later that she’d realized he hadn’t necessarily been talking about his own fingers. She’d finally gotten it the day she’d seen him outside the gym, with Kim Clark running her fingers through that thick hair. The rather predatory social leader, the kind who sniffed audibly at studious types like herself, had set her sights on Jace the day after he’d won his first judo competition.
To his credit, Jace hadn’t fallen for it.
She’s a user, Cassie. She never even glanced at me before. Besides, she doesn’t get me.
But she did. Where most people found his quirky way of seeing things puzzling, she found it fascinating. She always had.
She found him fascinating. She always had.
“Cassie?”
She realized she was still staring at him. “Sorry. Memory bomb went off.”
He looked startled, and then he was grinning. That devastating, flashing grin that didn’t just light up his face, but the whole room he was in.
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
I remember everything about you. But “It’s still the best description ever” was all she said. Then she shifted her gaze—reluctantly—to Rafe. He was watching them rather assessingly.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” she said quickly.
“You have history,” he said simply.
Oh, yes. And I just got smacked with the fact that for me, it’s not history at all.
“How long has this been going on?” Rafe asked her.
Jace felt oddly relieved that he was bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. He wasn’t sure why—he’d known there would be memories involved, simply because Rafe had been right, they had history.
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