Chapter Two

Dusk was cutting in when Arnie and AJ reached the marina. They had watched the difficult rescue operation from the cliff top. It had taken numerous attempts to back the boat close enough to the rocks to allow two members of the crew ashore to tend to the victim. From what he could see, the woman remained unconscious throughout as the team carefully transferred her to a spinal board then onto the craft. The great care taken by the rescuers told Arnie one important thing—she was still alive.

The crew were dealing with a casualty, not a body. The realization gave him some relief.

An ambulance was parked outside the lifeboat station with its blue lights flashing. They had already taken the victim on board by the time they got there.

Arnie’s parents were waiting on the waterfront. His mother wrapped her arms around him and AJ as soon as they appeared.

“My God, this is awful,” she said, kissing Arnie on the cheek before attending to his son.

Elizabeth and Martin Walker had been active supporters of the Nyemouth lifeboat station since before Arnie was born. Elizabeth had been the chairperson of the fundraising team for almost twenty years.

“Are you boys okay?” his father asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Martin Walker was fifty-nine with a full head of gray hair and pale blue eyes. Arnie had spent his entire time growing up being told by the people in town he looked just like his dad.

“We’re fine,” Arnie assured him. “Just a little cold, that’s all. Mam, could you do me a big favor? AJ hasn’t eaten. Would you take him to the fish and chip shop to get him some food?

“Absolutely,” she said, taking AJ’s hand. “What about you? Want me to bring something back?”

“I’m fine for now,” he convinced her. “If you could just take care of AJ, it would be a big help.”

“Come on inside,” his father said. “We’ll get you warmed up.”

“How is the woman?” he asked as a paramedic shut the back doors of the ambulance and hurried around to the driver’s side.

“Alive,” Martin said. “Thanks to you. If you hadn’t reacted as quickly as you did, I dread to think where she’d be. Come on, I want to get you a hot drink. You’re trembling. Pale too. It’s delayed shock. We need to get you warm.”

Arnie allowed his father to lead him through the station to the crew room. Martin gave Arnie his jacket to put on top of his light summer hoodie and filled the kettle.

As the water boiled, the door opened and a thickset man in his late thirties entered. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans. His dark hair was wet, and his broad face appeared flushed around the cheeks and brow.

Martin introduced them. “This is Dominic. He’s helmsman on the crew that went out tonight. Dominic, this is my son, Arnie. He raised the shout.”

Dominic offered his hand and Arnie accepted it gratefully. His grip was strong, the skin rough. His forearms bulged with muscle as they shook. “Good call,” Dominic said. There was a tired look in his eyes. The adrenaline of the rescue would be wearing off. “We got there just in time. If we hadn’t spotted your light, we might not have found her at all. That was a good idea of yours.”

“How is she?”

“Not good. There were some broken bones, that much was obvious, but it’s the injuries that can’t be seen I always worry about. We had to suspect spinal damage and use utmost caution.”

“Shit. That poor woman.”

“Is it true what they’re saying out there?” Dominic asked, his dark eyes looking directly at Arnie. “Someone threw her off the cliff?”

He nodded. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? I saw it happened and I’m still struggling to believe it.”

Dominic winced. “We all are.”

Martin put a mug of tea and a plate of biscuits in front of Arnie. “Eat those too. You need the sugar for the shock.”

He made a second cup for Dominic.

“The police are outside,” Dominic said. “They want statements from all of us.” He had large and very expressive brown eyes. Within them, Arnie saw flecks of amber and gold. With his dark hair and muscular build, Dominic looked every inch a hero.

No, Arnie corrected himself. This guy doesn’t look like a hero. He is a hero. The entire crew are.

It was more than the way he looked. There was an aura about Dominic, an undefined energy that made him incredibly attractive. Arnie had worked with some exceptionally good-looking men in his career, bona fide Hollywood heartthrobs, and none of them had Dominic’s naturally sexy quality. Everything about him—his face, his hair, his build—appealed. He was a knockout.

Come on, Arnie thought, pulling himself up. You’ve just witnessed a horrendous crime. A woman is fighting for her life this very minute and you’ve taken a fancy to the local hot guy. Get a grip.

He dunked a biscuit into the tea and ate it. His father was right—the sugar seemed to have an instant effect and his senses became clearer.

“How rough were things out there?” Martin asked.

“The sea’s getting up,” Dominic answered. “The wind too. Another half hour and we might not have got in there. It wouldn’t have mattered if we did. The tide would have taken her by then. It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“You’re amazing,” Arnie said, and meant it. Dominic and the crew of volunteers had risked their lives for the safety of a complete stranger. They might all have died trying to rescue her.

“I just drove the boat,” he said. “My colleagues—Joanne and Minty—they did the hard work. They transferred the woman from the rock to the boat and kept her stable the whole way back. That’s no easy job in those swells.”

“Does anyone know who she is?” Martin asked.

“Minty thought he recognized her from around town but couldn’t be sure. It’s for the police to find out now.”

“It’s hard to believe something like this could happen here in Nyemouth,” Martin said. “Something so cruel. Who do you think did it? An ex-boyfriend?”

Martin and Dominic looked at Arnie expectantly.

“I’ve no idea,” he said at last, avoiding the intense scrutiny of Dominic’s eyes. “Whoever it was, they kept their face hidden. It could be anyone. And they came from behind. So, even if it was someone she knows, I doubt she’d have recognized them.”

“Bastard,” Dominic said. He had a slight accent Arnie couldn’t place. Northern. Maybe Yorkshire. Nothing definite. The accent of someone who moved around a lot, losing all but a trace of their regional twang. A bit like his own.

It was hard not to look at him. He was stunning. That hair, the glossy sheen of his beard, the moody furrow between his eyebrows. Wow. Despite everything that had happened, Dominic aroused something in Arnie. It should have been the last thing on his mind, but Arnie couldn’t stop the desire he felt for him. He imagined holding him and kissing that mouth, thinking about the body beneath those clothes.

Stop it.

Arnie finished his tea. “I should speak to the police. The sooner they know who they’re looking for, the sooner they’ll find him.”

“Are you feeling better?” Martin asked.

“Much,” he assured his father. “Thanks to you.”

“Take care of yourself,” Dominic said. “I wish we’d met under better circumstances. Hopefully I’ll see you around some time.”

Those eyes were mesmerizing. They drew Arnie in. “I hope so too. We’re here all summer, so I’m sure I’ll run into you again.” As he tore his gaze away from Dominic’s, he couldn’t resist one last look to check out his hands, or rather his fingers. Empty. No rings there.

So? That doesn’t tell you anything. And you really shouldn’t be thinking about stuff like that. Not right now.

He headed outside. The lifeboat, sitting on its carriage, was in the center of the station. A couple of crew members were hosing off the salt with fresh water.

News of the attack had spread, and a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered at the marina. Arnie went up to the first police officer he saw and identified himself as the emergency caller.

The PC told him to wait and a few minutes later he was introduced to a middle-aged detective with chestnut hair and overpoweringly sweet perfume. Arnie repeated the full account of what he had seen on the cliff—how the masked stranger had appeared from the hollow to grab the victim and carry out their terrible mission.

It hit him for the first time that the attacker must have been lying in wait for a suitable target. And if the runner hadn’t come past when she did, then what? Just suppose AJ hadn’t been right by his side when they had passed. If the boy had run ahead or lagged behind. A few seconds was all it would have taken to snatch him and carry him to the edge. A nine-year-old boy would be a far easier target than a grown adult. Could a person be that crazy? He shook his head, barely able think about it.

“What do you remember about the attacker?” the detective asked.

“Not much. It was over so fast. I was too shocked to take in much of the detail.”

“Anything you recall will be a huge help. Were they tall? Thickset? Skinny?”

“They were average height and build, I would say. Five-eight or nine.” He concentrated and tried to visualize the moment. “A little taller than the jogger. Their clothes were dark. A hoodie and trousers, maybe jeans. And beneath the hood, they wore some kind of ski mask over their face. Whoever they were, they took no chances.”

“Can you make a guess as to their sex or age?”

He shook his head. “My natural inclination is to say it was a man, but it could just as easily have been a well-built woman. I don’t know. With surprise on their side, it could have been either. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. And where did they go afterward?”

“Again, it was all so fast, I didn’t see. They headed back in the direction they came from. Beyond that hollow, they could have gone anywhere. Toward the golf course and the car park, or up onto the moors, or back down to the town. My God, they really did have this all planned out.”

 

* * * *

 

Arnie and AJ arrived at the holiday house after eleven. It had been a long evening. When he’d finished with the detective, he’d sat down with a uniformed officer who’d taken a full written statement. They wanted to speak to AJ too, but he managed to put them off until morning. It was unlikely AJ could tell them any more than he had, and he’d been through enough for one day.

Cliff House, their summer let, was a grade II listed building, situated on North Point, a little over a mile from where the attack had occurred. It had seemed so idyllic when they’d arrived yesterday. Now Arnie wasn’t so sure.

He drove into the central courtyard, which offered privacy as it was surrounded on three sides by the buildings, and made sure the electric gates had closed behind them. He’d chosen the house because of its location. Private and remote, it was perfect for their needs.

Now that remoteness and its proximity to the crime made him notice its flaws.

Rubbish. The CCTV and security system were better than they had at home. He was being overly sensitive, that was all. No surprise after what had happened.

He unlocked the door and led AJ inside.

“Can I watch some YouTube before bed?” AJ asked hopefully.

“No chance. It’s far too late. Get ready for bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Arnie walked through the ground floor, turning on lights and closing the curtains. During the day, the views from the house were spectacular from every aspect, but at night, there was nothing out there but darkness. Anyone could be hiding in the shadows.

Cliff House dated back to the 1890s but had undergone extensive interior renovations in the last decade. Modern and well-equipped, the inside skillfully blended the past and present with a state-of-the-art kitchen, heating and air-conditioning, together with real wood floors and a log-burning stove.

When they’d heard he would spend five weeks in Nyemouth, Arnie’s parents had told him to stay with them, but he’d wanted his own space and independence. It was one thing to return to his hometown for the summer, but another to move back into the house they had raised him in.

AJ was in bed wearing Harry Potter pajamas when Arnie went up to his room.

“Did you wash your face and brush your teeth?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Prove it,” Arnie said, leaning close. AJ breathed minty freshness over his face. “Good boy.” He tucked the covers in around him.

“Dad, why do you think the man did that to the lady?” AJ’s eyes were heavy as he fought exhaustion.

“I don’t know, son, but try not to think about it now.”

“What if he comes back? We’re close to the cliff. He could push us over.”

“We’re locked in safe and secure. Nobody can get in the house, so you need not worry about that. Okay. Get some sleep.” He kissed AJ on the forehead.

“Will you leave the bedroom door open? And the landing light on?”

“Sure. Now go to sleep and don’t worry. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

In the kitchen, Arnie took a bottle of Shiraz from the wine rack, opened it and poured himself a generous glass. The wine needed time to breathe, but after swirling it around the glass a couple of times, he drank. He needed it. He was hungry too. Besides the biscuits at the lifeboat station, he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. In the fridge, he found a pack of roasted chicken breasts and a tub of coleslaw. It was better than nothing and he was too weary to cook. He made a sandwich and devoured it at the breakfast bar.

Finished, he took the wine into the living room and dropped gratefully onto the soft, beige-colored sofa.

How quickly things had changed. Yesterday they’d been father and son at the start of their summer holidays, a whole adventure ahead of them. Now Arnie did not know what tomorrow would bring but suspected it would not be good.

They had come to Nyemouth to get away from London and escape the media attention they’d been under. When the press realized he’d played a small role in tonight’s rescue, they would come calling. They would find out too—no doubt about that. There were few secrets in their lives right now.

Arnie had had full-time custody of AJ for the last five years, since his divorce. His marriage to Tara Westmoorland, a society girl and sometime model, had been a disaster. A closeted actor and a fame-hungry party girl—they’d been damned from the start.

Tara had seduced him at the London premiere of an action movie in which he’d played the secondary lead to a huge American star. Encouraged by a PR manager who had wanted to keep Arnie’s sexuality under wraps for fear it would damage his burgeoning film career, and Tara, who had wanted to exploit their relationship for fame, he’d gone along with the charade. Being photographed and seen with Tara kept awkward questions about his sexuality at bay. When Tara had fallen pregnant a few months after they met, they’d arranged a hasty wedding.

Despite everything, Arnie was determined to be a good father, and when AJ had been born, he’d never been happier.

The marriage had been a disaster on an epic scale. They’d argued all the time and slept around. Arnie had had several male lovers while Tara had fallen back into her old party lifestyle of sex, drugs and alcohol. Her exploits, regularly stumbling out of nightclubs at four a.m., became a favorite for gossip columnists, and paparazzi followed her whenever she left the house.

They had divorced after four years.

Tara’s behavior had become wilder in the aftermath. She didn’t seem to care who she was seen with and what they were photographed doing. When she was pictured taking coke in a supermarket carpark with a four-year-old AJ in the back seat, it was front page news.

Arnie had been dividing his time between work in the UK and America. When the photos of Tara snorting cocaine off her acrylic nails while AJ played with action figures in the background hit the news, he’d canceled all his commitments in the USA and had returned to England to take care of his son full time. AJ was his top priority. Though he continued to work, he chose his roles based on location, ensuring he could stay home and give AJ the stability he needed.

He protected him from the attention of the press as much as he could, sheltering him. Until recently, that had not been difficult. The media had respected those boundaries.

Until Easter this year.

When Tara had gotten involved with Richie Hughes, a hard-drinking, hard-drugging rock star, she’d become front page news again. They were the out-of-control couple the press and public loved to hate. Overnight, Arnie noticed that he too had become a person of interest. Photographers lurked at the end of the street and inundated his agent with requests for interviews. Everyone wanted to know his opinion on his ex-wife’s latest behavior. He turned them all down.

Three weeks ago, Tara and Richie had gotten married in Las Vegas. The wedding photos were everywhere. Both of them high, Richie wore scruffy jeans and a T-shirt, while Tara wore a barely there dress, slit to the waist front and back. An Elvis impersonator conducted the wedding.

Since then, press interest had rocketed. Arnie had known the best thing he could do was to get AJ away from London and the pack of journalists camped outside their house. Family, stability, normality—that was what they both needed.

A return to Nyemouth had seemed like the perfect solution.

No pressure. No stress. AJ could spend time with his grandparents and play with his cousins. He could enjoy the beaches and the landscape. An ideal summer.

The idyll had lasted exactly a day.

After what they had witnessed tonight, Arnie feared nothing would ever be the same again.