Chapter 2

 

The lightning was all around him. Owen headed down the long and winding drive that separated the Warner’s house from the main road.

He was out of his element. He knew that. But teaching had nothing to do with it.

Before coming to Newport, Owen had considered the fact that in taking this one semester position at the college, he would once again be allowing his life and Andrew’s to become enmeshed. He would be poking at old wounds. But when the older man had dropped the bomb on him about his illness earlier this summer, Owen’s common sense had dropped out of the equation.

Owen had to be there for him, just as Andrew had been there for him so many years ago.

And Tracy’s resentment of him was something he’d just have to endure.

A flooded section of the road slowed the Range Rover to a crawl. The rushing waters of the creek had spilled over its banks, washing over the gravel surface.

Owen flipped on the high beams and answered the cell phone on its first ring. It was Andrew.

“What did she say to you?”

“Nothing.” Owen frowned at the wheezing he could hear clearly through the phone.

“I warned her.”

“You’re jumping at shadows, Andrew. I was tired, that’s all. Just not the party animal I used to be.”

“You don’t have to protect her, Owen. I’m not blind...or deaf. Last Sunday at the brunch, I know she sent those damned reporters to our table. And then yesterday...that flu business…canceling our lunch at the last—” The cough cut off the words.

Owen heard the sound of a drink being gulped down. “Andrew, it’s not worth getting riled about.”

“I won’t let her do this. You’re a son to me.”

“Tracy’s your wife. She’s trying to protect you.”

There was another fit of coughing. “Don’t! Don’t let her get to you. I’m telling you I want you here.”

“I’m here.” His head was beginning to pound. “I’ll call you tomorrow night after that Save the Bay thing I got hooked into. Maybe we could meet for a drink.”

“Good.” Another pause. “We need to talk.”

“Sure.” Owen ended the call. “And it’s about time we did.”

Though Owen didn’t like getting patted on the head, Rutherford hadn’t really been too far off the mark. Owen had put his life on hold to come to Newport for these four months or so. But he had no regrets, so long as he and Andrew could finally resolve what was past. He was tired of playing the game.

A brilliant stab of lightning hit the ground somewhere to his right, illuminating a small river where half of the road had been just a couple of hours earlier. Jerking the wheel, he suddenly saw the woman appear in his headlights. Owen slammed on the brakes.

“Dammit!”

His reflexes were quick, but he couldn’t be certain if he’d hit her or if she’d just fallen against the front of the car. She lay sprawled across the hood, her face resting on the metal, and he was out of the vehicle and at her side in an instant.

“Lady, you okay?”

She lifted her head slowly off the hood and tried to straighten up. Owen reached for her quickly as she wobbled a step.

“You stay right here. I’ll call for an ambulance.”

“No!” Her response was sharp as she looked up, clutching at his hand.

In spite of the dripping jacket and pants that at one time must have been tailor-made for her, the woman was a muddy mess. She was soaked to the skin, her hair plastered against her head. All in all, Owen thought, she didn’t look like someone who should be wandering in the rain in the middle of the night.

“No,” she repeated more softly, letting go of his hand and standing up straight. “I’m fine. It just...took my breath away...running into the car. I’m okay.”

The rain was streaming down her face, and lightning continued to flash above them. Unconvinced, Owen held his ground and studied her in the glare of the car’s headlights. Clearly distraught, she nonetheless turned her face away from him. Pretending to adjust the shoulder strap of the case she was carrying, she peered into the darkness of the woods she’d just left.

“Your car break down?”

“No...yes.”

“Well, which is it?”

“I...I ran out of gas.” With a scowl, she stepped around him, out of the headlight’s beam, and pushed a lock of short wet hair out of her face. Again, she shot a glance into the woods. “I thought it would be safer passing through the woods than walking on the shoulder of the state road.”

Owen stared at her in the darkness. She looked so familiar to him. A bit worse for wear, but she was well-dressed and well-spoken. But it was her face that was nagging at him. Oval-shaped eyes—he couldn’t tell the color in the darkness. The high cheekbones, streaked with mud. Or were those scratches? He tried to imagine how she would look cleaned up.

“Have we met before?” he asked.

“I don’t…believe so.”

She shivered and transferred the long strap of her briefcase from one shoulder to the other. He spotted the dark stain by one sleeve. He looked down at his own hand where she’d touched him. There was blood on his hand.

“Did you cut yourself?”

She looked down at her palm and then pulled a folded wad of wet tissue out of her pocket. “I just fell back there. It’s just a scratch. Must have done it on a rock or something.”

A bolt of lightning struck close by, and she jumped back a step. Owen suddenly realized that they were now both soaked through.

“I’ll give you a ride. Climb in.”

She hesitated a moment and looked about at the storm-tossed woods.

“I would appreciate a ride to the closest gas station. I think there’s one about a mile up the road.”

He gave her another once-over look. “Okay. Get in.”

Without another word, she moved to the passenger side, but then paused before getting in.

“I’m muddy and wet. I’ll make a mess of your car.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll send you the cleaning bill.”

Frowning, she hopped in and shut the door. Without thinking, he locked the doors. She immediately reached over her shoulder and unlocked hers.

He didn’t blame her for being nervous. Running out of gas at this hour of the night, in this storm, and now getting into a car with a total stranger. Not a particularly comfortable situation. He turned to her. “Where’s your car?”

“Just...just up the road.”

“There’s the phone. You’re welcome to use it.”

She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine when we get to the gas station.”

“It’ll probably be closed. It’s late.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can call for a cab there.”

He shrugged. “Okay. Where are you heading?”

“Newport.”

Owen reached the end of the private lane and turned onto the main road. There wasn’t a car in sight that he could see. Once he’d made the turn, he noticed she was glancing nervously in the passenger side mirror.

“I’m going to Newport. I can take you there.”

Her eyes, dark in the dim light of the car, studied his face for a moment. He looked over at her and she looked away. “If...if you don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“No trouble.”

He watched her attention turn to the outside mirror again.

“Owen Dean.” He stretched a hand in her direction. She tucked her injured hand out of the way and reached over with her other.

“Sarah Rand.”

He repeated the name in his head. Sarah Rand. Even her name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Are you certain we haven’t met before?”

She shook her head.

“What is it you do?”

“I’m an attorney,” she whispered, pulling her briefcase tighter into her chest.

Owen swerved into the other lane to avoid a good-sized tree limb that had fallen into the road.

“What kind of law do you practice?” he asked, glancing back at the blackness of the road behind them.

She continued to stare out the window, obviously pretending she’d never heard the question. He let her be. Owen concentrated on his driving, but as the silence descended, he could feel the weight of her gaze occasionally on his face.

Owen found it curious that this woman hadn’t once pushed down the visor to check her own reflection in the mirror. She didn’t seem to care at all about how her short blonde hair looked, plastered around her pale face. Or how the rain might have messed up her make-up. He glanced at her. Those were scratches running down her face, but she didn’t seem to even notice.

He frowned and looked back at the road. Something was gnawing at the edges of his memory.

For the next ten minutes, they drove on without talking, with only the wipers and the wind-driven sheets of rain to break the silence. She appeared totally content to be left to herself. Glancing in her direction now and then, Owen found her face turned toward the passenger window, her hands tightly fisted around the handle of her briefcase. Only once did she move at all, bending down to fiddle with the heel of her shoe as a car passed, going in the other direction.

“You’d be better off calling tonight and having your car towed someplace safe.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Her voice was distant, dismissive. She was looking ahead at the Newport Bridge, the top of which was enshrouded with rain.

But Owen was not ready to be dismissed. “Are you from around here?”

“You can drop me off by the Visitor’s Center in Newport. I can get a cab there.”

She was definitely dismissing him, working at a front of arrogance and coldness. This, however, only piqued his curiosity more.

“I’m an actor...and a producer,” he said, shooting her a half glance. He knew he sounded like an arrogant bastard. “I’ve already told you my name is Ow—”

“Nice to meet you again, Mr. Dean. But I would still appreciate it if you’d drop me in front of the Visitor’s Center.”

“And I suppose you’re one of those people who doesn’t watch TV.” Owen glanced at her and then looked back at the road. Her face would probably crack if she smiled. “What kind of cases do you handle?”

“Corrupt law enforcement,” she said after a pause, this time meeting his eyes. “Racketeering. Murder. Substance abuse. Very realistic and often quite scary.”

“Tough way to make a living.”

That couldn’t have been a smile, he thought. But her furrowed brow did open up for a fraction of a second before she answered.

“No, not me! You. That’s what you do for a living. I know who you are, and I’ve seen your show, Mr. Dean.”

“That’s great. But you still don’t think we’ve met?”

She shook her head more decidedly this time. “I’m positive, though we did come close once.”

Owen watched her attention turn to a police car, sirens and flashers going, traveling in the opposite direction on the bridge. Here was something different, Owen thought. A woman not trying to hit on him.

“Please take the first exit after the bridge,” she said. “If it’s out of your way to take me to the Visitor’s Center, I can get off at the gas station at the end of the ramp.”

“It’s not out of my way,” he said gruffly, flipping on his turn signal.

When they stopped at the first light, he watched her for the first time running her fingers through her wet hair and pushing it behind her ear. A couple of pine needles dropped onto her shoulder.

She had a long, beautiful neck and a firm, well-shaped chin. Owen’s eyes were drawn to her earrings. Very striking. Antique-looking. A large diamond, set in the starlike setting of smaller stones. Even her earrings looked familiar to him. He studied her profile once again. She was a classic beauty. Kind of a Garbo look to her. Lost in thought, she was looking straight ahead. Her eyes suddenly focused.

“It’s green.” She pointed at the light.

He put his foot on the gas and started down the road. Making the next turn, he frowned as they rounded the corner and headed downtown. The tent-like architecture of the Visitor’s Center loomed just ahead.

Letting her just disappear seemed like the wrong thing to do. Of course, he couldn’t force her to do otherwise. He pulled up to the curb.

“It looks closed to me.”

Her look of disappointment was all too apparent. “I can wait here. I’m sure there’ll be a cab coming soon.”

He used her hesitation to his advantage. “It’s raining. I can drop you off where you’re going.”

He pulled away from the curb before she had a chance to protest. After a short pause, she gave him an address on Bellevue Avenue.

“High rent district,” he commented, continuing on America’s Cup Avenue.

“It’s not my place.”

Then it must the boyfriend’s, he decided, suddenly annoyed. He hadn’t seen any wedding band on that fist clutching the briefcase.

He brought the car to a stop at a red light and turned to her again, almost in spite of himself. “I’m fairly new in town. Any suggestions on things to do for excitement?”

“The Visitor’s Center has lots of flyers.” A police car pulled up in the right lane, and the officer behind the wheel stared over at them. Sarah turned her face to Owen. “I...I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“Okay.”

“It’s been a tough night.”

For the first time, she looked unguarded. Even scared. Her eyes were riveted to his own. They were incredibly large. Beautiful. When her gaze flitted away, he looked again at the scratches on her face.

“Are you sure running out of gas was the only thing that happened to you tonight?”

The light turned green, and the police car beside them moved on. She turned her attention back to the road and nodded. “I’m sure.”

The small gate where she had Owen drop her was on a side street off Bellevue Avenue. The granite walls that protected the mansion rose a good twelve feet above the street. He saw no plaques by the iron-gated side entrance.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Dean.” She reached for the car door and opened it.

His hand shot out and took hold of her elbow. He fumbled in the pocket of his sport jacket and withdrew a card. “Here’s my number. Call me sometime.”

She hesitated, then took the card, staring down at it for a moment in the dim light of the car. “A local number. I thought you were new in town.”

He shrugged. “A couple of weeks hardly makes you a native.”

She gave him a polite smile and tucked the card in the pocket of her muddy jacket. “Thanks again.”

She swung the briefcase over her shoulder and stepped through the puddles to the gate. Owen sat there and watched her search in the case for keys. The rain continued to pound his car, and he waited until she opened the gate. Turning, she gave him a final wave and disappeared inside the walls. He looked up at the darkened building.

“There resides a lucky man.”

The irritation he could hear echoing in the empty Range Rover struck Owen as odd. As attractive as the woman was, Hollywood was full of beautiful women. They were always around...and always very willing. How many years had it been since he’d made an effort to pursue a woman?

In a few minutes, the mansion was far behind him. Out on Ocean Drive, a sports car raced by him, going far too fast for the wet roads. The wind was steadier here, howling in off the Atlantic, and he could feel it pushing his own vehicle. Involuntarily, Owen’s mind again returned to Sarah and where he might have met her.

Considering the way she was dressed and the expensive earrings she wore, she could be any one of the ‘trust babies’ that spent so much time in this town. He might have seen her picture in the local paper, attending one of the society events. Something stirred at the edges of his memory.

He turned his car into the long drive of the converted mansion. Waves were crashing onto the rocky sea wall, and throwing up buckets of spray over the car. At the end of the spit of land, the stone, French-style chateau stood solidly against the battering winds of the storm.

Parking in the spot assigned to his apartment, Owen pushed up the collar of his wet jacket and took off for the main door. The place he was renting was on the first floor in one wing of the mansion and had a separate entrance off the stone terrace, but the large central hallway held the panel of chrome-faced mailboxes. Hauling out the assortment of mail, he headed down the hallway to the apartment.

A copy of the Newport Daily News lay on the floor. Owen picked it up, stuffed it under his arm, and unlocked the door. The apartment was silent, except for the sound of the rain beating at the windows.

Dropping his keys on the counter, he dumped everything else on the kitchen table. Opening the fridge door, he reached in for a beer...and froze in his tracks.

Whirling, he turned back to the kitchen table and studied the picture of the woman staring back at him from the right-hand column of the newspaper.

Of course he knew her. After all, Sarah Rand had only been dead for the past two weeks.