MEREDITH ERIKSSON, 42, WAS HIGH WHEN
HIT-AND-RUN DRIVER STRUCK
Paolo focused on the headline on his cell phone. A mixture of emotions assailed him. Mostly, relief.
Meredith had been reported dead, killed outright by a hit-and-run driver, up in Malibu Canyon. At the Malibu Lawn Tennis Club, Paolo had been too cautious to ask a single question that related to her. He’d even been too scared to set up a news alert on the internet—didn’t the NSA monitor searches? Instead, he’d checked the local news every day. This latest headline confirmed it—he was in the clear.
Climbing directly up the spiral staircase from the boardwalk outside, Paolo put his phone in his desk drawer and changed quickly into the short wet suit he’d just bought; black with turquoise trim. Then he took his keys, some cash, and skipped back down the stairs. Maya and her tutor, Jack, were outside now, on the ground floor, by the front door.
“Just popping out for a spot of kitesurfing, old bean,” Paolo said in his best English accent, grinning at Jack.
“Kitesurfing, are you out of your mind?” Maya folded both arms across her chest, swept her eyes up and down Paolo, examining his short wet suit.
“You’re taking lessons?” Jack said, impressed.
“I’ve taken a lesson,” Paolo confirmed. Now he was eager to fly solo.
“You got it after one lesson?” Maya asked.
He hadn’t. But what was the point paying a tutor to tell him the same thing over and over? Paolo knew what to practice, he just needed water, wind, a board, and a sail.
Jack said, “I did a bit of that myself, on Eton Dorney. It’s an artificial lake, at school.”
“Your high school had its own lake for kitesurfing?”
“Mostly for rowing eights.”
“You ever take him surfing?” Paolo asked Maya.
Jack looked curiously at Maya. “You surf?”
“Not very well,” Maya admitted. “But I can catch a wave, once in a while.”
“You’re a woman of many talents, Miss Soto,” marveled Jack. “And I would absolutely love to go surfing with you, one of these days when we’re not both up to our eyeballs in work.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she said dolefully. “Promisr is eating up all my time. But I bet you’re pretty good at surfing.”
“I’m a Cornish lad,” he said, “so I’m not totally inept. I, too, can catch a wave, once in a while. Anyway, Maya, I’d best be off. I’ll keep you posted, all right?” With a light kiss to her cheek, he was gone.
“So,” Paolo said, hooking a thumb at the tutor’s retreating form. “You and the Brit?”
“So?” Maya said with a quiet smile, closing the front door on him slowly. “You and Lucy?”
“You’re way behind,” he called after her. “That’s old news.”
Left on the outside, Paolo headed for the surf rental store. Most places wouldn’t rent equipment unless you were taking classes or already had some kind of badge. But John-Michael knew a guy who knew a guy. Paolo felt pretty sure he’d be allowed to rent some gear today.
Along the crowded boardwalk, he saw Lucy sitting cross-legged on a bench. Of course, after just talking about her. Next to her was a guy with shoulder-length black hair. One arm was entirely covered in colorful tattoos from shoulder to wrists. Around him were abstract paintings made from some kind of rubbery streaks of paint. When she saw Paolo she waved. “Hey, King, you know my boy Luisito, right?”
Paolo gave a short nod in Luisito’s direction. “Hey, man.”
“Where’re you headed?” Lucy said. “Surfing?”
He stopped in front of the paintings. “Yup. Not waves, though, I prefer to stand up, right from the beginning. Gonna get me a kite.”
She frowned. “Isn’t that super-dangerous?”
“Nah, it’s cool.”
Lucy sprang to her feet. “Okay if I walk with you a little?”
Paolo shrugged. Ever since the Meredith incident, he’d almost stopped thinking about Lucy. She hadn’t sought him out, either, but then that was normal. Could it be that she was actually feeling guilty? It was over a month since their little moment of misunderstanding. It had really stung at first but now . . . compared to what had happened to Paolo since, a fumbled romantic situation with Lucy barely registered.
“That’d be nice,” he said with an easy smile.
Lucy fell into step beside him, and he soon picked up the faint trace of her perfume—Flowerbomb. He’d noticed it on her nightstand about six weeks before, had made a mental note to buy her some at the next gift-buying opportunity. That was when he’d still hoped to get into the gift-giving zone with Lucy. Paolo was only faintly surprised to realize that this thought didn’t sadden him.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” Lucy said. “Somehow, you’re always busy . . . or avoiding me.”
“Me? No way,” Paolo said, holding up both hands. But she was right and he knew it. Meredith’s death had preyed on his mind almost constantly. If he stayed home too long he became anxious. It was better to be out, to be distracted.
“Well,” she said, and her fingers took his elbow in a sudden grip, hard enough to halt his progress. “This is important, so listen up.”
Paolo stared at her curiously. Lucy looked serious and he had no clue what else she might be about to say. For a moment, he wondered if Lucy somehow knew about Meredith. It was beyond comprehension that John-Michael would betray that confidence—not when he’d made himself an accessory to whatever crime Paolo may have committed.
It took a few seconds before Lucy was able to form the words. “Grace . . .” she began with difficulty, “I get the impression from John-Michael that Gracie’s having a hard time lately.”
Gently, Paolo pulled his elbow from her grasp. “Okay? What does that have to do with me?” Lucy was steering him toward another girl in the house? This, he really could not believe.
“You haven’t noticed at all?” Lucy said with an almost-smile.
“Have I noticed Grace?” he said candidly. “Of course; she’s beautiful.”
“But you don’t . . . y’know, like her?”
“I try to limit my interest to one girl at a time,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended. Evidently, Lucy had expected more of a flirty response and was taken aback by his brusqueness. “Why’re you telling me this, Luce?”
Lucy’s eyelashes fluttered for a second before her jaw clenched. “No, sugar,” she said, her voice taut. “I thought I’d tell you because honestly, I don’t know what’s going on with you these past few weeks but there’s somethin’. I thought maybe another girl? And I wanted you to be aware that Grace, for all she tries to hide it, is into you, Mr. King, whether or not you deserve it, which by the way you do not.”
“Grace is a nice girl,” Paolo said with a smirk. “Too nice for me.”
“I just thought that maybe if you knew she liked you, you’d be sweet to her.”
“You think I should let her down nicely? That’s what you’re saying? Like you did with me?”
Lucy broke into an amazed chuckle and pulled away from him. “Man, you’re uptight right now. What’s going on with you?”
“I’m uptight? Ever stop to think that maybe you broke my heart?”
“Did I?”
“No.”
Annoyance flashed across Lucy’s face. “Stop playing games, Paolo. And don’t play games with Grace.” She backed off some more, staring Paolo hard in the eye. Then she turned, began to stroll back toward Luisito and his paintings.
Paolo watched her go, then shrugged. He could feel a pleasant afterburn from their tense exchange. Grace liked him? Interesting. She hid it well.
She really was beautiful. Not as stereotypically pretty as her stepsister, Candace, for sure. Grace had a whole different vibe—brains and a quiet, understated beauty. She still had a girlish quality, a sort of adorable cuteness. That was probably why he hadn’t thought of her that way, Paolo reflected.
He’d assumed that Grace found him kind of skeezy. It wasn’t at all disappointing to know that she liked him. Once he opened up his mind to the possibility, imagined Grace in any romantic situation, he found himself responding with a pleasant warmth.
He was on the verge of catching up to Lucy to ask how she knew, but thought better of it. That certainly wouldn’t look too smooth. After a few more moments, Paolo pushed the idea out of his mind. Kitesurfing was more dangerous than he’d let on to Lucy; enough to require total mental focus. Danger was what his body called for—he needed that pure rush of adrenaline—to feel alive, invincible. No more hiding and waiting, no more praying that what happened in Malibu Canyon would stop haunting his nights and crowding his days with omnipresent anxiety.
The sun was warm, heating up his wet suit enough that he longed for the chill of the ocean. Ahead, he spotted two bright blue and red kites on display at the surf rental shop. He picked up his pace a little, smiling.
He had to stop worrying, accept that the whole Meredith situation was over. He was home free. Nothing could touch him. And now, he had the chance to be with someone he could laugh and hang out with. Someone who really liked him, not just for the way he looked or played tennis. Someone real.
Grace.