Page 44

“A girl from Mary’s House . . .”

“Or girls? But why was it done quietly? And why is Jason not talking?”

They were silent for a long moment. Then Matt exhaled audibly and blurted, “I’ve really had enough of this.”

“What? Enough of what?”

“I’m sorry, baby, but I’m beyond frustrated. And mad. I brought us down here to have a good time. And we were doing that.” He paused and ran his hands through his hair. “But now this has happened, and there’s not a damn thing I can do, even if I knew it wouldn’t make you more upset.”

Amanda stepped toward him and ran her fingertips down his cheek.

She met his eyes.

“I understand,” she said. “I’m torn, too. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Torn? So that’s what I saw in her face but couldn’t figure out.

“Torn about what?”

“We’ve been dodging the issue since we found out that I’m pregnant,” she began softly. “I meant what I said that night at my place. That we’re at a critical time in our lives. That we’ve both been given second chances. That I want us to get this next one right.”

And, he thought, his mind filling with the image of them in the Hops Haus penthouse condominium on the leather couch, I can see you saying it in that stunning sequined dress that shimmered like the ocean is doing right now. You were really in your cups.

“Remember?” she said.

Matt nodded solemnly.

He would never forget her explaining, with uninhibited honesty, that she wanted them to have what Anne Bancroft had said was the key to her happy marriage of a half century to Mel Brooks. Amanda had quoted Bancroft saying that her heart still raced at the thought of her mate, just as it had at the start, because there was both love and excitement in their relationship: “When his tires crunch coming up the gravel driveway, I think, ‘Now the fun begins.’”

Amanda now went on: “Thanks to my dad having been a cop, I deeply understand what it is you do. And why you do it. It’s in your blood, and you do it well, which is a tremendous honor to the memory of your father and uncle. My dad knew them, and you know he speaks highly of them. As does everyone else I highly respect.”

Matt felt his throat constrict.

Amanda inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly.

“But I have to be clear,” she said softly. “You willingly put your life in danger. And you put it on the line for strangers. Damn it, Matt, if you die, the fact remains that it will destroy me. It will destroy our family—but it will really destroy me. And, yes, I know I’m being selfish with all this.”

He cleared his throat and said, “It’s understandable—”

“Let me finish, please,” she interrupted softly. “I could be dead now from the kidnapping. And you have scars from being shot while on duty. . . . It’s a miracle you aren’t dead.”

The door to the bar opened, and she went suddenly silent.

Out walked an attractive couple who looked to be in their fifties. They sipped at cocktails as they held hands. The husband, smiling broadly, quietly said something to his wife that caused her to laugh, then to move in closer and kiss his cheek.

Amanda forced a thin smile as she and Matt stepped aside and the couple passed and went down the steps. They watched them, still hand in hand, start walking the tiki-lined path toward the beach.

Matt then met Amanda’s eyes.

You may know what she’s thinking—“That could be us in twenty years, if you don’t get killed”—but keep your mouth shut, Matty.

That way you won’t have to spend the rest of the night trying to extricate your foot from it.

“’Tis better to remain mute and thought the fool than to speak and confirm it. Again.”

She gathered her thoughts, then went on: “I said I’m torn because I without question believe in what I said about us being given second chances. We can’t lose that. I want a million days like we had today on the boat.”

“Yeah!” he said. “And so do—”