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CHAPTER SIX

T ate was swilling down a martini when Becca went inside. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “You Christians are all alike—out to suck the enjoyment out of life.”

“And are you enjoying life?” Becca asked steadily. “You look like you’re trying to drown your misery, but it’s always there waiting for you when you sober up.”

“A sermon. Just what I didn’t need.” He took another gulp of his drink. “Are you here for a reason or just to make me feel guilty?”

“I was looking for Max.” Becca could see Tate was in no mood to listen to reason. The teasing man he’d been the night before as he joked with Molly was nowhere in evidence.

“His highness is in his office slaving over his book.”

“I thought you were going to do some work too. Just what is it you do?” Becca wished she could reach her cousin. She remembered the carefree child he used to be.

“I have an online investments firm. That’s about all I can do holed away on this island.” He put his empty glass on the buffet and grabbed the pitcher.

Becca sighed. If she wanted to talk to him, she’d better do it now. He’d be drunk by dinner time. “I was just talking with Shayna about the boat accident. Sad thing.”

“Yes, it was.”

Amazingly, she could see tears in his eyes. He seemed to have some feeling for her parents. Unless he was a good actor. In this place, nothing was certain.

“Did you know them well?”

“No, but it brought back bad memories of when my dad died. The second generation is all that’s left of the Baxters. Us and Gram.” He took a swig of his drink. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He turned so quickly, he sloshed his drink on the floor. Stumbling over the corner of the rug, he almost ran from the room.

Becca felt almost sorry for her cousin, though she couldn’t figure out why he would be so emotional about an aunt and uncle he hadn’t spent any time with. Maybe there was more to Tate than the shallow playboy facade he liked to project.

She mopped up his spill then went to Max’s office. A scowl on his face, he sat at the computer typing furiously. Becca had never seen a man type so fast. The way he banged on the keyboard told her he probably went through one every few months.

“I’m bored,” she told him. “I might as well work.” Besides, she’d questioned everyone in the place except Max. This might be as good an opportunity as she got.

“Fine. You’ve got some color in your cheeks at least.”

She sat at the desk and pulled a book toward her. “Where’s Molly?” She picked up a fountain pen.

“That’s mine.” He leaned over and plucked it from her hand. “No one borrows my pen.”

“Sorry. You didn’t say where Molly was.”

“At a sleepover with her best friend from town.”

“I haven’t been to town yet. What’s there?” She had only dim memories of Turtle Town.

“Not much. A couple of rundown stores, five or six houses and a dock for the fishermen. A small school for the island children and two churches, though neither one pulls in enough parishioners to keep repairs done. Don’t waste your time going there.”

“It’s clear on the other side of the island anyway.”

He nodded. “And not worth the half hour’s drive to get there.”

He was going to a lot of trouble to convince her to stay away. Becca had to wonder if he was trying to hide something. “I might like to see it anyway. Want me to pick up Molly?”

“She’s not due back until Monday morning, but sure. Knock yourself out. You can take my car. It’s the Cadillac in the barn.”

“You don’t seem the Cadillac sort,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

He raised his eyebrows. “What sort would you expect me to drive?”

“Oh, maybe an old convertible you work on yourself.”

“Like maybe the 1969 Roadrunner convertible in the other stall in the barn?”

She gaped. “You really have one?”

“Yep. The Cadillac was my wife’s. I seldom drive it.” His gaze mocked her.

“I see.” She wouldn’t look at him. Why did he always make her feel like a fool? She flipped open the book in front of her. “Did you get the copy of my research paper?”

“Yeah, I did. Looks well-written.”

Heat spread up her chest at his praise. “Thanks. I worked on it forever.”

“If I could just get this plot to come together in my mind, I’d be ready to write.”

“It looked like you were writing when I came in.”

He shook his head. “Stream of consciousness writing, trying to get a feel for my characters.”

“It must be hard to think up new characters here when you are exposed to so few people. The visitors you had a few weeks ago must have seemed like a breath of fresh air.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Who have you been talking to—Shayna? They were quite ordinary people.”

Becca bristled. “I wouldn’t think a marine biologist would be ordinary. I love to talk to people with exotic professions.”

“Science is boring to me. All those formulas to remember.”

He was skirting her question, she realized. “So you didn’t find them interesting?”

He shrugged. “Oh sure, they were nice people. And Molly was excited to meet a new aunt and uncle.”

“I bet they were quite taken with Molly.” Becca turned away so he couldn’t see the sorrow in her face. Her parents used to talk all the time about grandchildren. Now any grandchildren that came along would never know them. A lump formed in her throat, and she struggled not to cry.

“Yeah, they were. Molly still isn’t over the explosion.”

“She cried when she talked to me about it.”

He frowned. “When did you talk to her about it?”

Too late she realized Molly hadn’t wanted her father to know about going to the attic. “Yesterday when I arrived. I ran into her.” She prayed he didn’t ask where.

His attention wasn’t on her. He gazed through the window. “What’s he doing here?” He jumped up and strode to the door into the side yard.

Becca looked out to see a man about forty tying his small boat to the pier. She followed Max out the door.

“I told you not to come here.” Max had his hands on his hips and barred the man’s approach to the front door.

“You don’t own this place. Not yet.” The man had black hair with a shock of white running through it that hung over one eye. Slim almost to the point of emaciation, he didn’t seem put off by Max’s challenge.

“Gram isn’t here.”

That stopped the man. “Where is she?”

“That’s none of your business. You’ve milked her for enough money.”

The man’s gaze drifted past Max and fastened on Becca’s face. “Hello. Who are you?”

Something in his dark-eyed gaze put her at ease. He didn’t seem at all threatening, so she couldn’t figure out why Max was so antagonistic.

“I’m Becca. Becca Lynn.”

“My assistant,” Max said shortly. “And this is Robert Jeffries. He’s just leaving.”

“Bobbie!” Mrs. Jeffries waved to him from the porch. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Robert slipped past Max and kissed Mrs. Jeffries on her cheek. “Mom, you look as beautiful as ever.”

Mrs. Jeffries fluttered her hands like a schoolgirl, and Becca gaped at the sight. The housekeeper had a girlish bloom to her cheeks, and she was smiling widely. Becca’s gaze went back to Robert. She remembered him now as the suave, handsome young man she’d mooned over when she was a kid. She’d been much too young for him to notice though.

“I just made some oatmeal cookies,” his mother pronounced with obvious delight.

Tossing a look of triumph to Max, Robert sauntered after his mother.

Max practically growled as he stomped back to his office.

“Why don’t you like him?” Becca asked.

“He’s a sycophant, a man who uses women,” Max snapped. He tossed a stack of computer print-outs onto the desk and several fluttered to the floor. “He got Gram to finance his last hare-brained scheme to the tune of ten thousand dollars which he promptly lost, of course.”

Becca winced. “Still, what do you care? It’s not your money. It sounds like Mrs. Baxter has plenty. Ten thousand dollars is probably nothing to her.”

“Gram is too sweet and good for a jerk like that to take advantage of. She’s like my own grandmother. Besides, I wouldn’t let any friend fall under Robert’s influence if I could help it.”

He seemed to genuinely care about Gram, and Becca couldn’t help but believe him. Maybe it wasn’t all about the money for him after all.

“I can’t imagine why he’s showing his face around here again,” Max muttered.

“Maybe he just wants to see his mother.” But even as she said the words, Becca remembered how Robert had frowned when he realized Gram wasn’t here.

“I need to get rid of him before Gram comes home,” Max said. “He’s probably got some new scheme up his sleeve.”

“Mrs. Baxter surely won’t fall for it a second time.”

“There’s no telling with Gram. She’s got a soft spot for lame ducks, no doubt about it.”

Becca could only pray her grandmother had enough of a soft spot to help her when they met next week.

Dinner had been an excruciating affair. Robert and Max had glowered at one another all through the meal. As soon as dessert was finished, Becca invited Shayna to her room. She could sense the other woman’s loneliness and had decided she’d do what she could to befriend Shayna.

Shayna dropped to the carpet and began to look at the books on the shelves beside the bed. “Lots of classics here. I can’t remember the last time I read a book. You seem fond of romances.”

Becca’s cheeks grew hot. “They’re Christian romances,” she said.

Shayna gave a sly grin. “Still looking for Mr. Right, huh? I suppose you won’t consider a man unless he’s a Christian too?”

“That’s the plan,” Becca said. “A marriage is hard enough without trying to build a relationship where the husband and wife don’t have similar beliefs.”

“I guess that lets out Max and Nick.”

Shayna’s interest seemed a little too pointed. “I’m not really looking for a relationship right now. I’ve got plenty of time.”

“I wish I’d taken a little longer myself.”

“I’ve noticed you and Tate seem to be arguing a bit right now. Anything I can do to help?”

Shayna’s smile faded. “I think we’re beyond help.” She stood. “Thanks for the female companionship. I needed a friend. I’d better go find Tate.” She glanced at the books. “Mind if I borrow a book?”

“Help yourself.”

Shayna selected a book by Diann Hunt then hurried out the door. Becca could only hope the message in the book would make a difference. She prayed for her cousin and his wife then watched the sun sink over the horizon in a fiery display of red and gold from her bedroom window.

The house was quiet with her door closed. She wasn’t sleepy though. Maybe she could go to the attic and poke around. No one would hear her. Anything was better than staring at these four walls.

She opened her door and listened. Voices echoed from downstairs. It sounded like Tate and Shayna, though they didn’t seem to be arguing at least. Becca tiptoed along the thick rug in the hall to the door to the attic. She eased it open, and it creaked loudly. She froze, her blood pounding in her ears. What could she say if someone found her creeping up the stairs like some criminal?

The voices downstairs continued. She stepped onto the first attic step and pulled the door shut behind her. Darkness pressed in on her like a suffocating blanket. Her fingers fumbled for the switch and clicked it on. She breathed easier when light flooded the room above her head.

Treading softly, she went up the stairs to the landing above. The attic looked different without sunlight streaming in the windows. She didn’t think she’d ever been up here at night before. It seemed smaller, more sinister. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Drawing in a breath, she told herself not to be a ninny. Another room, the door closed, lay beyond this one filled with boxes and Christmas decorations. She walked forward and pushed open the door. It was dark, and she heard a soft flutter. Her hand went to her throat, and she backed away.

And plowed into someone standing behind her. Becca uttered a shriek and jumped away, whirling to face the person behind her.

“What are you doing up here?” Max didn’t seem angry as he stood watching her. His head cocked to one side, he seemed genuinely puzzled.

“You scared the life out of me!” She took a deep breath, willing her heart rate to return to normal.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Becca tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. “I was bored so I thought I’d explore. Is the attic off-limits?”

“No, but it’s not the first place someone usually chooses to explore. Most women are afraid of the bats.”

“Ba-bats?” she faltered. “I heard something in that room.” She pointed to the room behind her.

He stepped past her and shut the door. “That’s where they get in, so we keep the door closed.”

She closed her eyes. “I hate bats,” she whispered. “I had one stuck in my hair once.” She shuddered at the memory of the last time she’d been here as a kid. She’d sworn never to go back up here, and now here she was.

A chittering sound came from the corner. Becca jerked around to peer into the shadows. Her hand went to her throat.

“Uh oh, I think one might be in here,” Max said.

Becca tried to run, but her legs seemed to be broken. Then a dark shape swooped from the ceiling in the corner and seemed to be coming straight at her head. She screamed and hit the ground. Her face pressed to the dusty carpet, she put her hands over her head then looked around for something to cover her hair.

She saw a discarded jacket on a chair nearby and scrabbled along the floor to grab it. As she flung it over her head, she caught a glimpse of Max snatching up a broken tennis racquet and turning to strike at the bat. She cowered back against the floor and listened to the sounds of battle.

Max was muttering under his breath, then Becca heard a whop and he uttered a grunt of satisfaction.

“You can come out now. The bat has been vanquished.”

Becca cautiously lowered the jacket from her head. Max was grinning in a particularly revolting way.

“You think it’s funny!” she accused.

His grin widened even more. He tossed the tennis racquet onto the floor and grasped her hand to pull her to her feet. “You’re way bigger than the bat,” he pointed out.

“But it’s—it’s icky,” she said, still clinging to his hand.

He made no move to let go of her either. And he was standing close enough she could smell his cologne, a particularly enticing scent. She knew she should move away, but he’d just saved her from a fate worse than death, and she couldn’t deny her attraction to him. Her mind whispered that he might have tried to kill her this morning, but her heart didn’t believe it.

His eyes darkened as his gaze collided with hers. He took a step closer, and his other hand touched her cheek. “Becca,” he whispered. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look standing there?”

Her heart felt like it would beat right out of her chest. The tenderness in his fingertips seemed out of character for the gruff man she’d known the past two days.

“We—we should go down,” she murmured huskily.

He drew in a deep breath, and his hand dropped away. “You’re right.” His voice seemed almost normal.

Becca wondered if she’d imagined the expression in his eyes. Maybe she was reading what she wanted to see. Most men were put off by her height. She’d lugged more boxes and suitcases by herself than she wanted to. A part of her yearned to be treated like a dainty flower of a woman.

Biting her lip hard enough to hurt, she pulled her hand free and went toward the stairs. “Thanks for saving me,” she said.

“Any time,” he said quietly.

Becca nearly ran down the steps. At the bottom of the stairs, she wrestled with the door. “It won’t open.” She banged her hand against it in frustration.

She heard Max’s steps behind her, then his breath whispered across her cheek. “Let me.”

She pressed her back against the wall so he could get to the latch.

“It doesn’t have a lock on it, but it sticks sometimes.”

He fiddled with it for what seemed like an eternity. His shoulders brushed her arm as he worked on the latch. Panic flared in her chest as she realized he could kill her up here then stash her body. She told herself not to be silly, but she couldn’t get over her suspicion of him.

He was too attractive for her peace of mind, but even more than that, he might be a murderer.

He finally succeeded in getting the latch to open. The door swung open with a loud creak. “There you go,” he said, but he still blocked her escape.

Her mouth was dry as she tried to ease by him. Her chest felt like a seagull was trying to escape. “Th—thanks,” she whispered.

He stood staring down at her, and she couldn’t read the expression on his face. “Why were you really up there?” he asked. “I think there’s more to Becca Lynn than I know. Maybe I should send you packing.”

“I’m just an ordinary girl,” she whispered.

He gave a bark of laughter. “You’d never be ordinary,” he said. His fingers tucked a curl behind her left ear. “For my own safety, I should send you home.” He stepped back. “But I don’t think I’m going to do it.”

Becca didn’t pause to explain. She dashed past him as though the Windigo was on her tail. And for all she knew, that was just what Max was. A mysterious being who sucked the life out of others. Someone had done that to her parents. She just prayed Max wasn’t that someone.