Chapter 33

Athena’s tears had dried, but her face was wan and pale. Lines of strain bracketed her mouth. Her hand holding the papers trembled as she read through the files.

Watching her torment was the hardest thing he’d ever done. No woman had provoked such a fervent desire to protect. He wanted to slay dragons, to battle her enemies, to topple empires, anything to erase the shadows dulling her blue eyes. More than anything, he wanted to be the man who rescued her from the demons of her past.

The fourteen days, sixteen hours, and thirty-two minutes he’d stayed away were the most difficult hours of his life. His very essence demanded he go to her, but he’d fought the raging desire. She was vulnerable, reeling from the shocking discovery that Angus was her biological father. She needed time to come to grips with her new reality.

His decision to return to Shelter Island and search the property for clues to her parents’ mysterious disappearance had been a Hail Mary. He hadn’t expected to find anything. Years had passed. The police investigators had gone over the island with a fine-toothed comb. What chance did an untrained dude like him have of uncovering new clues?

He must have done something right, because after three long days of scouring every inch of the stone-and-cedar cottage and searching all the outbuildings, he’d found a dust-covered cardboard box of files in the attic. The box, covered by a mildewed cotton sheet, was hidden behind a stack of other boxes filled with old clothing, vinyl records, and dated household accounts. It was labelled Russell’s High School Yearbooks.

He’d ripped off the tape sealing the box and, instead of old yearbooks, he’d tugged out investigative reports, stacks of them. Once he read through them and understood their significance, a wave of relief washed over him. The papers were proof that his father wasn’t involved in Athena’s parents’ disappearance. He was convinced of Angus’s innocence. The challenge was to persuade Athena.

“I’ve got it.” Her eyes shone with excitement, and a flush stained her pale cheeks. She waved a paper in the air.

“What are you talking about?”

“There is someone who might know what happened.” She handed him the paper. “Read this. I can’t believe I didn’t think of him before.”

When he finished skimming the paper, he arched his brows. “You’ve lost me.”

“Did you read it?”

“Of course, I did.”

She pointed at the third paragraph on the piece of paper. “The answer’s right there.”

He breathed in her sweet floral scent, and his blood heated as he remembered the slide of his fingers over her soft skin, her moans of excitement, her hot breath gusting against his chest…

“You were right.”

Her words snapped him out of his fantasy. “Really?” He smirked. “Can you repeat that?”

“Repeat what?”

“What you just said.”

She wrinkled her brow. “You’ve lost me.”

“I believe you said I was right.” He grinned. “I don’t think I’ve heard you admit that before.”

She stared at him for a heartbeat, and then she giggled. “I hope you enjoyed the moment, because I guarantee you’ll never hear me say those words again.”

Her laughter curled around him like a caress.

Their gazes connected and locked.

The moisture dried in his mouth as he lost himself in the pull of her vivid blue eyes. His heart jackhammered in his chest. Oh man. If the mere sound of her throaty laughter wreaked such havoc, he was doomed. He ripped his gaze from hers and focused on the paper in his hand. “Okay. Tell me what I’m missing.” He held up the paper. “I don’t see what’s in here that has you so excited.”

“It’s just like you said.” Matching red patches flushed her cheeks. “There was someone else who could have been on the island.”

“Who?”

“JD Burroughs. He worked the supply boat. My parents paid him to deliver supplies to the island every month. That’s how my correspondence courses arrived. He transported food, building supplies, mail, everything we needed.”

Her excitement was contagious, and he sat forward on the edge of the cushions. “Was he on the island that day?”

“I don’t think he was due to deliver the next shipment for another week, but I could be wrong. It’s been a long time.”

He blew out his breath. “So, what makes you think he was on Shelter Island the day your parents disappeared?”

“This.” She grabbed the paper out of his hand and held it up as if she were hoisting a prize. “It says here the police interviewed JD Burroughs, but he had an alibi. He was delivering a shipment to another island that day.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. He’d read the passage mentioning JD Burroughs, and he’d dismissed him just like the police and the private investigator had. The man had no motive to harm the O’Flynns. More importantly, on the day of the couple’s disappearance, he wasn’t on Shelter Island. “But you don’t believe that. You think he was lying.”

She nodded. “It’s not what’s written in the files, but what’s missing that’s important.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see where you’re heading with this. He had an alibi. The police checked him out, and they cleared him.”

She blew out a breath. “JD had a contract with my parents to deliver supplies to Shelter Island once a month. Over the years, my father and he became friends. They were both avid sailors. Whenever JD stopped at the island, Mom invited him for supper and to stay the night.

“He and Dad drank beer and talked for hours about sailing.” The corners of her mouth curved, and her eyes took on a wistful look. “JD brought sales brochures and the latest yachting magazines. Dad’s dream was to one day own a Hansard 750.”

He whistled. “Your dad had good taste. The Hansard 750 is still the top-of-the-line catamaran. Every weekend sailor I know would kill to own one.” He flinched at his choice of words, but fortunately she was too wrapped up in her thoughts to notice.

“Dad never got the chance to fulfill his dreams.” A sob hitched in her throat.

He fought the urge to enfold her in his arms and kiss away her tears. “I still don’t get it. What’s JD got to do with your parents’ disappearance? From what you’ve said, they were friends.”

“In his interview with the private investigator, Burroughs said he was delivering supplies to another customer that day.” She paused. “He wasn’t.”

His brow furrowed. “How do you know?”

She glanced up, her blue eyes intense. “I wasn’t feeling well that day, and I was supposed to be resting in my room, but I wanted a drink of water, so I went to the kitchen, and I overheard my father talking on the radio phone. He was making plans with JD to try out a sailboat JD was trying to sell him.” She stared at him triumphantly. “They arranged to meet that afternoon.”

He rocked back, stunned at her revelation. “Are you sure? This happened a long time ago, and you were just a kid. How can you be certain you’re thinking of the same day?”

“I haven’t forgotten one second of that day. I’ve relived it over and over a million times. I remember everything.” She threaded her fingers through her tangle of shiny red curls. “Every little detail.”

He studied her flushed face. True memory or wishful thinking, she certainly believed what she was saying. Her parents disappeared a long time ago. She was just a child when the nightmare happened. Could her memories of the distant past be trusted? “How come you never told anyone this before?”

“Because I just remembered.” She tapped the paper in her hand. “What’s written in this report reminded me of the phone call.”

“Athena—” He hated to puncture her enthusiasm. “—you’ve wanted for so long to find out what happened to your parents. Do you think it’s possible you imagined the phone call? Or you have the day wrong?”

Her face fell, and the light in her eyes vanished.

Way to go, buddy. What’s next? Are you going to tell her there’s no Santa Claus?

She clutched the pillow to her chest. “Do you think I made this up?”

He rose to his feet, aching to touch her, to take back his words, but he didn’t. He was afraid—terrified if he enfolded her in his arms he’d kiss her, and once his lips stroked hers, he wouldn’t be able to stop. She wasn’t the only coward in the room.

She had too much going on in her life. The last thing she needed was some guy coming on to her. He stiffened his spine and stayed a safe distance. “Look, it’s not that I don’t believe you. I just think that—” He faltered. Ugh, he was digging an even deeper grave, but shovel in hand, he plowed on. “—that you want answers so desperately you’ll—”

She cut him off. “I’ll what? Lie? Make things up?”

“For years you were certain Angus was responsible for your parents’ disappearance. Now you’re saying this JD Burroughs had something to do with what happened.” He swallowed. “Don’t you see? You’re grasping at straws.”

Hurt mixed with anger flashed in her expressive eyes. “I didn’t say JD did anything wrong. I just think it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him and see if he remembers anything that could be helpful.”

“Are you sure that’s what you’re doing?”

“You think my sudden recall of memory is a bit too convenient, is that it?” Her eyes flashed fire.

He kept silent. He’d said more than enough.

They stared at each other in an explosive silence like two combatants facing off.

The dull throb of a headache pinged in his right temple. He was responsible for the devastation on her face, and that unmanned him.

She gave a mirthless laugh. “You know, I believed you when you said you were here to help.” Her lip curled. “I’m a fool.” She wheeled around and strode from the room as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.

“Son of a bitch.” His curse punctured the air. He pounded his fist into his other hand, ignoring the pain, and he stormed across the room and kicked the stack of file folders, sending papers flying. He inhaled several deep, calming breaths, shoved his hands in his pockets, and with a resigned sigh, stomped out of the room.