Chapter 6

"It was the strangest feeling," Jillian explained to Ty as they walked along the water's edge. "Seeing that T-shirt scared the daylights out of me, and I have no idea why."

The sun had set over the ocean, but it was still twilight, that eerie time between day and night that seemed to distort ordinary images. The ocean tide was coming in, washing cold white foam over their bare feet as they walked south toward the cottage. After he got off work and grabbed a shower, they had followed the beach all the way to the boardwalk, more than half a mile, and gotten a piece of pizza and a frozen lemonade.

Ty caught her hand in his. "You think you're from New York City? Maybe you're a cop."

She laughed. "I don't think so. I don't know what it was about the shirt, but I know it has something to do with me. With how I got this way."

"You should start writing all this stuff down," he said thoughtfully. "I mean, it might seem haphazard or meaningless to you right now, but as time passes, and you remember more stuff, something might begin to come together."

She nodded, squeezing his hand. His touch was comforting; she didn't feel quite so all alone in the world with Ty beside her. "Oh, and there was something else."

She halted on the beach. Across the sand, beyond the dune and the gently swaying sea grass, she could see the outline of her cottage in the fast-fading light. "Claire was saying something about how I need to be careful with this crazy guy on the loose. You know, not me in particular, but women need to be careful, and I told her not to worry, that I knew martial arts. I've had self-defense classes."

"You're kidding me!" He let go of her hand and stepped back to study her. "So show me a move."

She laughed. He was so spontaneous. So unencumbered in life by things that dragged other people down. Things they couldn't even remember. "No," she said.

"Oh, come on." He moved his hands as if he were in a bad martial arts movie. "Pretend I'm the nutjob. You're walking down the beach and I come at you."

She laughed shaking her head, glancing away. "No, that's silly. How would I know you were the killer? What if you just wanted to ask me the time, or directions to the best pizza place in town?"

"I don't know." He gestured excitedly. "Wait! I'm wearing a T-shirt. It's got, you know, like a count of how many women I've killed." He drew his hand across his pale blue, garment-dyed shirt, nearly white with wear. "I've got this permanent marker in my hand, ready to mark off my next victim."

Jillian held up both hands and Ty came at her. Without thinking, she lowered herself into a defensive position and fended off his playful attack.

He moved toward her again, this time faster. "Leaping Dragon, Flitting Fly," he taunted.

Jillian felt her body spring forward, but she didn't feel as if she was in control. Without conscious thought of what she was doing, she grabbed Ty and threw him to the wet sand, pinning him down so that he was unable to move.

"Damn."

She looked down at Ty, forty pounds heavier than she was, trapped beneath her. She was as surprised as he was.

"How did you do that?"

"I don't know," she whispered, shaken. She let go of his arms and stood up. What kind of woman could do that to a young man Ty's age and size? she wondered, walking away. "And the movie was called Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon."

"Wait," Ty called after her.

All Jillian could think of was that she could have hurt Ty. Throwing someone around was dangerous. She had no right to do that, to him or anyone else.

"Jilly, wait." Ty came after her, throwing sand as he ran.

She kept her gaze fixed ahead, cutting across the beach to the crossover in the dunes in front of the cottage. "I'm sorry," she said, still shaken. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me." He grabbed her hand.

She pulled away.

"Jilly, would you listen to me?" He caught both her hands this time, forcibly stopping her. He made her turn to face him. "I'm not hurt," he said quietly. "I asked you if you could defend yourself. You showed me you could." He broke into a grin. "You kicked my ass."

Something about the way he said it made her laugh.

"I love women who can kick my ass," he whispered, wrapping her in his arms.

Ty lowered his mouth to hers, and Jillian accepted it greedily. She didn't know what was wrong her. Suddenly every nerve in her body was alive and trembling. Those dreams about sex. The bed. The tangled sheets and the naked man coming out of the shower. They must have made her horny.

Ty thrust his tongue between her lips, lifting his hand beneath her breast, and she moaned. There was something about the taste of him. The smell of him. The feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. Ty made her feel that she could survive this nightmare. As if she could, somehow, come out of it a whole person.

Jillian pressed her hips to his and smiled against his mouth. She could feel his desire for her, hard against her thigh. She molded her body to his, letting him kiss her breathless again. He was a good kisser, attentive. Giving.

She knew she shouldn't be doing this but... his touch, his taste made her feel so alive.

Ty slid his hand into her gym shorts and cupped one cheek with his hand. "Mmmm, no panties," he whispered huskily in her ear.

She chuckled, but it didn't sound like her own voice. It was deeper. Throaty. "Wash day."

He nipped her earlobe with his teeth. "Okay by me if every day is wash day."

Jillian dug her fingernails into Ty's back and dragged them downward. At the waistband of his board shorts, she hesitated. She felt as if she were on the precipice of a cliff. Did she have the nerve to step over the edge?

But his gentle kisses urged her on. She was trembling from the tips of her bare, wet, sandy toes to the ends of the strands of hair on her head. What had the police chief said to her today? Something about them both being consenting adults?

She felt her knees grow weak and she leaned against Ty's sturdy body for support as she stroked his warm skin along the waistband of his shorts. She wanted to slide down into the sand in his arms, wanted to make love with him.

He covered her mouth with his again and she closed her eyes, surrendering to this desire that she didn't understand for this kid. Didn't care at this moment if she understood. She let him lift her shirt over her head and drop it to the sand at their feet. Next came her bikini top. Her nipples hardened as the cool ocean air and his fingertips brushed against them.

Smiling, she reached out and tugged his shirt over his head, letting it fall behind him. They kissed again as he stroked her breast with an unhurried hand.

Then suddenly, the strange feeling came over Jillian again. She tore her mouth from his, tightening her arms around him, pressing her breasts to his bare chest She scanned the beach. It was dark now, and silent except for the crash of the waves washing up on the shore behind Ty.

"What is it?" he whispered. "What's wrong, Jilly?" He brushed her hair from her face. "I don't want to push you, but you know it's what we both want."

She shook her head. "That's not it." Her gaze darted across the dark beach that stretched in every direction around them. Engulfed them. There was someone out there. Someone watching them. "Let's go up to the house," she breathed, almost afraid to let go of him.

"Here's okay, you know," he whispered, stroking her bare back beneath her shirt, ever so gently. "No one can see us this far from the water. Too dark, now."

"No." Her tone was emphatic, bordering on frantic. "Let's just go up to the cottage." She gazed into the darkness, unable to see anyone or anything, but knowing he was there. "I don't want you to leave," she whispered in his ear, her arms still tight around his neck. "I just want to go inside."

He picked up their clothes, and hand in hand they ran across the sand, over the dune and onto the front porch. Shivering from fear rather than cold, she fell to her knees in front of a pile of seashells she had collected, covering her bare breasts with one arm. The key was hidden in one of the bigger ones; she had started leaving it there when she went for walks, for fear of losing it in the sand.

Where is it? Where is it? Her mind screamed as she turned over shells, sending some skittering over the edge of the porch into the sand. Her hand, at last, found the cool metal of the key, and she leaped up, jerking open the screen door. Her hand was shaking, though; she couldn't turn the old lock.

Ty reached over her shoulder and turned it with one click. Inside, she closed the door behind him, locked it, and then threw herself into his arms. Here, she felt safe.

Jillian threaded her fingers through Ty's hair and pulled his head down over hers. She didn't care what his mother thought, or Penny who cut hair, or anyone in this town. All she cared about was the ache in her body almost as great as the one in her heart.

"Ty," she murmured, tears filling her eyes. "Make love to me."

"Ah, sweetie, it's all right," he soothed, caressing her bare back. "Don't cry."

She lifted her chin, looking up into his hazel eyes as she drew his mouth over hers, kissing him hungrily.

It was as if all the fears, all the pent-up energy of the last few weeks was suddenly channeled into this one kiss. He caressed her bare breast with his hand, brushing his thumb rhythmically across her nipple. She slid her hand down below the waistband of his board shorts and cupped one muscular cheek, than dragged her fingernails over his skin.

"Mmmm," he groaned.

She pulled her mouth away from his, panting hard, and took a breath and kissed him again. Touching Ty like this, kissing him, feeling his hard, muscular frame against hers felt so familiar in the world of unfamiliar she now lived in. It felt so good to know what to do, how to react. He felt so good.

Jillian hooked her thumbs into his board shorts and pulled them down. Ty's hazel eyes were heavy-lidded; he was smiling. He stepped out of his shorts and grabbed hers. They stood naked, barefoot on the hardwood floor in the middle of the living room, kissing again. She loved the taste of him, the feel of his arms around her.

"Come here," Ty whispered, turning to sit on the couch and pulling her with him.

She sat on his lap, straddling him, looping her arms around his neck. There was no way to deny his desire for her now. She pressed her groin to his, enjoying the prickly sensation of his pale, crisp hair against her skin.

Ty slipped his hands down onto her buttocks and she lifted upward, using her hand to guide him into her. Jillian closed her eyes, throwing her head back in the sweet sensation of the moment. She slid her arms around him, rested her head on his shoulder, and began to move slowly, stroking him, pleasuring herself at the same time.

He nipped at her neck and earlobe, whispering sweet, silly things in her ear. He drew his tongue over her lips... her eyelids.

She smiled. Laughed, drunk with sensation. A part of her wanted to stay like this forever, drifting in the pleasure, in the sanctuary of his arms. But deeper urges pressed her onward. She was overcome by the heat of the hot, humid evening and of their lovemaking, and she pushed her damp hair off her forehead.

She moved faster, grasping the back of the couch with both hands, straining against him one moment, moving with him the next.

Too soon, she felt that tightening sensation deep inside. Her muscles contracted and she threw back her head, crying out as the orgasm swept over her. Ty moved slower, then faster, coming inside her as the last ripples of pleasure washed through her.

"Oh," Jillian moaned, relaxing her head on Ty's shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around him. "I think I needed that."

She laughed, and he laughed with her, pushing her backward until he was looking into her eyes. "Just glad I could help you out, ma'am."

Laughing, she gave him a shove and climbed off his lap. "Don't call me that. You make me feel like I'm robbing the cradle or something."

He flopped down on the couch and caught her wrist, dragging her down on top of him. Stretched over him, Jillian rested her head on his shoulder and, for a moment, lay there listening to the sound of the waves breaking on the beach. Then she sighed loudly.

"So, now what am I going to do?" she asked, feigning distress.

"About what?"

"You. Me. I just told the police chief this morning that there was nothing sexual going on between me and Mrs. Addison's son."

Ty kissed her temple, chuckling. "You're sweet, Jilly," he whispered. And then he sang in her ear, "Sweet as Tupelo honey."

She laughed. "What?"

He tucked one hand behind his head. "It's a song. Van Morrison. She's as sweet, as Tupelo honey," he sang, smoothing her cheek with her palm. "Even if you can kick my ass," he finished matter-of-factly.

She laughed and tried to get up, but he caught her around the waist. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To the bathroom and then to get us a beer."

He let go of her so quickly that she almost rolled off him, onto the floor. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?" He watched her walk out of the living room. "Just so you don't have ideas about putting your clothes back on."

"Nah," she answered over her shoulder, smiling. "I'll be right back, sans clothes."

Tonight she didn't want to be alone.

* * *

The Bloodsucker stood barefoot in the cool sand, his hands in his shorts pockets, watching the cottage in the darkness. Jillian had closed the curtains the moment she and Ty had gone inside, but he had been able to see their silhouettes because the light in the living room had been on and he had been here in the dark.

He had watched them kiss on the beach. Seen Ty take her T-shirt off and drop it in the sand. His, too. Had she also taken off her bikini top? He had been too far away to tell, but he didn't think so. Jillian wasn't like that. Not his sweet, lost Jillian.

After they had kissed, she had said something to Ty. She had looked around as if she knew the Bloodsucker was there. She must have felt his presence the same way he felt hers. She was beginning to feel the connection between them, and that thought excited him.

The Bloodsucker had been very disappointed when they had run across the sand, over the dune, and into the cottage. He had liked watching them kiss, though it was a little embarrassing. It made him feel funny. Squirmy. But he liked it because if he was very still, if he breathed evenly and shallowly, he could imagine what it was like to have Jillian kiss him.

Now she and the college boy were inside, behind the drawn curtains. When they had first gone in and closed the curtains, he had been able to see them because they'd been standing in front of the windows. He had watched them hug and kiss, but then they must have sat down. To watch TV maybe? No, the cottage had no TV. No air conditioning. Best of all, no phone.

The Bloodsucker hadn't meant to follow Ty and Jillian tonight. Certainly not when they went back to the cottage. He had intended to just go for a walk on the beach and then go home to clean out the refrigerator. He always kept detailed records of house maintenance and upkeep and it was definitely "clean the refrigerator" night.

But there was something about Jillian, about her lovely blond hair, her delicate oval face, and her tragic circumstances that he couldn't resist. He had followed her across the beach—unseen, of course—and over the dunes. Now he just stood in front of the cottage, watching the living room window, imagining what it would be like to be Ty, to be inside with her.

In the living room, on the couch, he knew they had to be talking. He was good at conversation. He liked to talk. And there were so many things he wanted to say to Jillian. So many things they needed to discuss.

The Bloodsucker slid a bare foot forward, toward the porch, yearning to draw closer. To look in the window. Just a peek.

But the steps creaked. What if they heard him? Would Ty come outside? Would he holler at the Bloodsucker?

No. The Bloodsucker could come up with a logical explanation as to why he was on the porch. He was good at explanations. Good at making things up that people would believe. They believed because they wanted to. Because they wanted to believe in good people like him. Like themselves.

The Bloodsucker clasped the rail and slowly lowered one foot onto the step. The wood groaned, and it sounded loud in his ears... but not so loud that they would hear inside, he thought.

He took the next step up. Then the next, each time pausing. Waiting. He couldn't hear Ty and Jillian talking right now, but maybe it was because she had the fan going. He knew she had bought an old-fashioned box fan; he'd seen her at the store. And they could be so noisy.

Reaching the porch, the Bloodsucker paused for a minute and took a deep breath. He placed his hand on his breast pocket and felt the ridge of the photo. He didn't have to take it out. Just knowing it was there was enough.

Another deep cleansing breath and he slid his bare foot across the uneven floorboards that were badly in need of some paint. Another two steps and—

A shadow rose up suddenly in front of the curtained window, and the Bloodsucker held his breath. He heard Jillian laugh. It was low, sexy laugh... like Marlene Dietrich's in her movies. He didn't like Jillian laughing like that, not with Ty, at least. He wanted that laughter to be his and only his.

He heard Jillian's voice again. Ty's lower rumble. She had gotten up off the couch, stood there for a moment to say something, and now she was walking away. Down the hall maybe?

The Bloodsucker slid one foot behind him, then the next, backing toward the step. He didn't want to go, but he knew he had to. To be caught here now would complicate things and he wanted no complications. Another night he would come for Jillian, just not tonight.

Another night, maybe he would even come for her here....

* * *

Monday at one, Jillian walked out of the shop to take her lunch break. Jenkins was still there, finishing a seascape he intended to leave to replace one she'd sold out of the window Saturday. She stood beside him, studying his latest artwork. "You want some lunch?" she asked. "I packed an extra turkey sandwich. Plenty of sweet tea."

The old man sighed and got to his feet slowly, as if every bone ached. He set his brush on the easel, his hand unfaltering, and then reached for the arm she offered. She hadn't mentioned his blindness, but he knew she had figured it out.

She headed for a bench across the boardwalk in front of the store that was shaded by a wooden slatted awning built by a Boy Scout troop. There were only a few of them, and older folks were known to get into fights over them. The other day Millie had threatened to call the police on two women if they didn't stop shaking their fists at each other over who had dibs on the covered bench.

"Business has been good today," Jillian said, making conversation. She flipped the back of the seat so they could face the ocean while they ate and she sat down, touching Jenkins's sleeve to indicate he could sit.

"I know that," he grumbled. "Blessed bells been ringing all morning. Disturbing my concentration."

She opened the insulated lunch bag she had purchased at the drugstore and unzipped a sandwich baggie. She set the sandwich on a napkin and handed it to him. "How can the bells disrupt you?" she teased, unfazed by his grumbling. She'd known him long enough to realize it was just his way. "You can't see the ocean anyway."

He took a bite of the sandwich and chomped on it noisily, the way only old people seemed to do. "I see it in my head, girl!" He took another bite. "Now what's this I hear about you runnin' some kid? Where's that tea you promised me? I'm not sittin' here getting any younger."

"Here's your tea." She pushed a plastic cup from the sub shop into his hand with tea she had poured from a small plastic container kept cold in Millie's refrigerator. "And where did you hear such a thing? You shouldn't be listening to gossip."

"Not gossip if it's true." Mayonnaise oozed from the corners of his mouth.

She pushed a napkin into his hand and gazed out over the sunbathers to the blue ocean that stretched out before them. It looked as if it went on forever. "Ty Addison. You know him?"

"I know him. Sassy mouth. Smart boy."

She smiled as she reached for her tea. She made it herself with tea bags and fresh lemon and sugar. It was too sweet for sassy-mouthed Ty, but she craved it. "You know," she said indignantly, "I don't know how old I am."

"You know you're old enough to be too old for him." He looked down between them as if he could see into her lunch bag. "You bring any fruit? A man my age needs fruit, every meal."

She popped open a recycled Chinese food container and set it between them.

Jenkins wiggled his nose that was so big it looked as if it took up half his face. "Cantaloupe. Good. I like cantaloupe." He reached in with his painted-stained fingers. "It better be ripe."

"It's ripe and you know it is because you can smell it." She took the last bite of half her sandwich. "Just for the record, I didn't set out to 'run' with Ty or any other man. It just happened." She looked at him. "But so what? It's not as if I have anywhere to go. Anyone to go to."

He popped a piece of cantaloupe into his mouth, his unseeing dark eyes staring out at the ocean. "There's one thing I've learned in life, girl, it's that you got to look forward. No sense dwelling on what bad things have happened to you. It'll just hold you back—keep you from being what you were meant to be. Drag you down, it you're not careful."

She thought about what Ty had said about Jenkins. He obviously hadn't had an easy life. The drinking, the loss of his wife, the prison time. Now his health. He certainly had the right to dwell on the past if anyone did.

"But I don't even know what happened to me," she said in frustration. "How do I move on if I don't know where I started from?"

He popped another piece of melon into his mouth and sucked nosily. "Start here."

She put the second half of her sandwich back in the baggie for later. "What?"

He pointed to his feet. "You start here."

She squeezed her eyes shut behind her sunglasses.

"That's what Ty says, too. That I can just start new here. Go wherever I want to go. Be whoever I want to be." She dropped the sandwich into the lunch bag. "Pretty easy to say when you're twenty-three and the whole world is there for you."

"What other choice you got?"

Jenkins was looking at her, and though she knew he couldn't see more than a few shadows, she felt as if he could see her. Perhaps better than she could see herself.

"Jenkins, someone tried to kill me. That's how I ended up with the amnesia. A bullet wound in my neck sent a blood clot to my brain."

"Didn't hear that."

She stared at her hands on her lap. She was beginning to tan; her skin had gone from deathly pale to a warm brown. "I haven't told anyone."

Oddly enough, Ty had never asked, not even when he found the bullet wound scar on her neck. Jenkins was the first person she had told. And now that she had said it aloud, it seemed all the more real.

Someone had tried to kill her.

So, the weird feeling she got in the cottage sometimes—that she was being watched—might not be her imagination. The other night on the beach with Ty, she had been sure someone was watching her then. Was it whoever had tried to kill her? Was he coming back for her? If so, why was he trying to kill her? She knew it had to have something to do with the nightmare, but how?

To Jillian's surprise, she felt Jenkins's touch. She looked down to see the huge hand, wrinkled, liver-spotted, and stained with paint contrasted against her much fairer, smaller hand. "Nobody has all the answers. Me least of all. You just don't want to ruin the possibilities you got coming to you, over things that already happened. That's all I'm saying." He let go over her hand and got up. "Thanks for the sandwich, girlie. I got to get home. My soap'll be coming on before long and I got to feed my fish."

She watched him walk back across the boardwalk to his easel, a slight limp making the going slow.

"See you tomorrow," she called after him.

He didn't look back. "Lord willin' and the creek don't rise."

* * *

Two nights later, Jillian sat on the steps of the cottage front porch. It was already dark out, but still warm and humid. It had been a hot day. She'd had it off, so she had spent the morning on the beach near Ty's lifeguard stand, reading a new book she'd picked up at a used place off the boardwalk. When she got too hot, she'd taken a dip in the water. To her surprise, she discovered she was a strong swimmer and knew several strokes. Ty had told her it didn't surprise him. Kung Fu chicks always knew how to swim, he said. It was the only way they got the parts in the movies.

Jillian heard the now-familiar sound of the Chief motorcycle approach, and a minute later Ty sauntered up the wooden sidewalk, barefoot, still wearing sunglasses despite the fact that it was after eight and there was no sun.

"You shouldn't go barefoot on that bike. You're going to get hurt," she said.

"Yes, Mother." He walked up the steps, planted a kiss on her lips, and continued into the house. "Got a beer?"

"You left most of a case last night."

He came back out carrying three bottles. He twisted the top off one and handed it to her. Settling on the step beside her, he twisted off another bottle top and took a drink.

She eyed the extra beer on the step between his bare, sandy feet.

"Spare." He winked and took another swig from the bottle in his hand.

She sipped the beer and deliberated on how good it was. Cold. Sharp. Ty had good taste in beer. He said that was why he never had any money. She turned to him. "You know, considering the circumstances, that's not funny."

He propped his elbows on the porch landing and leaned back, his hip pressed against hers. "What?"

"Calling me your mother."

"So don't act like it." Despite his words, he didn't sound the least bit upset. "You ready to go?" He jumped up and offered his hand to pull her to her feet.

"Let me lock up." She reached through the doorway, flipped off the kitchen light, and then turned the lock on the doorknob and pulled the door shut. The screen door slammed behind her as she ran down the steps.

Ty tucked his spare beer in his shorts pocket and took her hand in his. They walked over the dune and down to the waterline, heading north up the beach.

"You sure this is okay, bringing me?" Jillian asked, swinging his hand as they walked.

"It's cool. I'm telling you, no one cares about how old people are except old people." He cut his eyes at her and she laughed.

"Your mom still upset that you didn't come home the other night?"

"I moved out of the house four years ago. She knows she's not my keeper."

She studied the imprints her feet were making in the wet sand as she walked, and took a drink from her beer bottle. "She's your mother. It's her job to worry about you."

He gave her a look that was all too easy to read.

"I can't say that either?"

He shook his head.

"Makes me sound old?"

He lifted the green bottle to his lips. "Yup."

"For a guy with no rules, you have quite a few."

He laughed and shrugged. "Seriously. Don't worry about Alice. She's doing that menopause thing. Dad says we're just to ignore her any time she goes off the deep end. He always reels her back in." He pointed with his beer. "Up there. See the fire?"

One of Ty's friends had gotten a permit to build a bonfire on the beach in front of the house that he and twenty or so of his best friends had rented for the summer. At first, Jillian had been uncomfortable with the idea of meeting Ty's friends. She knew she wouldn't fit in. But now that she was sleeping with the guy, she decided so what if she didn't fit in? They probably wouldn't fit in with her friends, either. If she knew who they were...

"Jason," Ty called as they cut across the beach toward the dune.

"Hey, man." Jason looked like a duplicate of Ty except his hair was darker and he wasn't nearly as good-looking.

The two shook hands, fingers clasped, thumbs up the way only those born after 1980 did.

'Jason." Ty pointed to his buddy in introduction. 'Jilly." He hooked his thumb in her direction.

Jason tipped an imaginary hat. "Hey."

She nodded. "Hey."

"So come on up." Jason motioned, walking up the beach toward the bonfire. "We've got clams we baked in the sand. Joey swears they won't poison us. Drinks in coolers. Just be cool about the beer. We're not really supposed to have it on the beach, so use a cup and get rid of those. "Jason pointed toward the beer bottles Ty and Jillian were holding. "McCormick catches me with beer on the beach again, and he swears I'll spend the night in the clink."

Jason wandered away, and Ty turned to her. "You want to try some clams?"

"Sure."

For the next two hours, Ty and Jillian wandered around the bonfire, talked, laughed, and listened to the music blaring from the front porch of the old house Jason and his friends were staying in. She recognized some of the music—Marley, the Rolling Stones—and some she didn't. She had three or four beers which, she decided when she sat down in the sand in front of the fire, was at least one too many.

Sitting alone while Ty left her to wander off into the dune grass to pee, a guy about his age plopped down beside her.

"Someone said you don't know you are," he said, taking a sip from the red plastic cup in his hand. He'd been smoking marijuana, or weed, as Ty called it. She could smell the sweet scent.

She laughed. "That's pretty accurate."

"Cool." He nodded thoughtfully. "So you could be like the president, or that crazy Arab king everyone keeps trying to assassinate?"

She laughed again. "I don't think either of them is missing."

He nodded again. "But if they were."

She motioned with one hand with amusement "Could very well be me."

Again, the nod. "So, you still here with Ty?"

She glanced at the young man, even more amused now. "Yeah. He'll be back in a second."

"Okay. Hey, that's cool." He sipped from his cup. "Just asking."

"Hey." Ty walked up behind her.

There was just enough light from the bonfire for her to notice how sexy he was when he was covered in sand, had had way too many beers, and needed to brush his hair. "Hey." Jillian leaned back against his hairy shins and looked up at him. "This guy here is asking me if I'm still with you. Am I?" she teased.

Ty glared at the young man seated beside her in the sand. "You hitting on my girl, Jones?"

"No, man." He looked at Jillian, then up at Ty. "Just making conversation, that's all."

Several guys with their girls across the bonfire must have overheard the conversation. Most of them were snickering. Someone was laughing pretty loud.

"Get lost, Jones," Ty ordered.

"Hey, it's cool. It's cool." But as Jones spoke of how cool the situation was, he scrambled up and walked away. "Nice talking to you, Mr. President."

Jillian laughed and Ty kneaded her shoulders and leaned over to kiss her. "What's so funny?" he asked against her lips.

"Nothing."

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, swinging her into his arms. "I can't believe Jones was hitting on my girl. He's got nerve."

He had called her his girl. That was a pretty big commitment for a guy his age. She wrapped her arms around his neck, flattered, and leaned against him. She knew she was going to have a headache in the morning. She'd be sure to take some ibuprofen before she went to bed and drink a couple of glasses of water to rehydrate.

"So what you want to do now?" Ty nibbled on the corner of her mouth.

"I don't know." She teased his lower lip with her tongue. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm twenty-three and male, what do you think?"

She tipped her head back and laughed. "I'm not doing that in the sand with your friends watching. Besides, you know what sand can do to a woman's plumbing?"

Laughing, he took hand and led her into the dark, scooping up someone's beach towel. "So how about a little grope session, instead?"

On her feet and walking, she was pleasantly dizzy. Someone had brought an acoustic guitar down to the campfire, and he was playing a fair rendition of a song she thought was familiar. "That song..."

"Jack Johnston. You know it?"

"Vaguely," she mused.

"And the doctors are sure you're over thirty?"

Far enough away that she knew those gathered around the fire couldn't see her in the dark, she grabbed the towel from him and shook it out. They both dropped onto it, laughing, and he pushed her back into the sand and kissed her. He tasted delicious; beer and hope.

Ty came up for air and kissed her again. He stroked her breast, and she wriggled under him. "I told you—"

"I know," he whispered in her ear. "I just want to keep your motor running 'til we get back to your place."

She laughed and lifted her head to meet his lips with hers. "Oh, my motor's already running. Have no fear of that."

As Ty, lying on his side beside her, lowered his head over hers again, Jillian caught a glimpse of motion. Something... someone was in the dark. She turned her head, grabbing his shoulder. She was suddenly completely sober. "Ty," she whispered.

"Yeah?" He tried to nuzzle her neck.

She nearly felt incapacitated, she was suddenly so inexplicably afraid. "Ty, there's someone out there."

"Just one of the boys takin' a piss."

She squeezed both his forearms. "No, there in the dunes," she breathed. "Watching us."

He picked up his head. "Where?"

She started to turn her head and point when Ty leaped off the towel and took off running across the beach.

"Ty!" Jillian called.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you perverted asshole?" Ty shouted into the darkness.

Jillian sat up, then came to her feet. She didn't want to be alone. Didn't want Ty to leave her. "Ty, come back!"

He disappeared over the far side of the dune. Several girls and guys from the bonfire came running toward Jillian. They must have heard her cry out.

"You all right?" someone asked.

The first face she recognized was the kid who had tried to hit on her. Jones. "There was someone watching us from the dunes," Jillian said. "Ty went after him."

Jones ran his hand over her arm. "You okay?"

She nodded.

He picked up the towel, shook the sand from it, and handed it to her. Despite the condition he had appeared to be in only a short time ago, he, too, seemed to have sobered up. "Go on back to the bonfire with the others. Jason and I will check it out."

Everyone was talking at once. As they walked back toward the bonfire, a girl the same age as the guys offered Jillian the joint she was smoking, but Jillian shook her head.

This was not her imagination this time; someone had been watching her. Ty had seen him, too. He had to have. You couldn't chase someone's imagination.

At the bonfire, Jillian sat down and pulled the towel around her shoulders. Someone brought her a bottle of water. The CD player on the porch came back on, but the music was quieter, mellower. It was a full ten minutes before Ty reappeared.

Jillian got up, the towel still around her shoulders, and went to him. He put one arm around her. "You all right?"

She nodded. "I just want to go home," she whispered.

"Okay. That's cool. We'll go."

"You didn't see who it was, did you?" She pressed her cheek to his chest.

"No."

"But there was someone there?"

"Yeah. Someone who ran like hell. I lost him over a fence around a condo pool down a couple of blocks. We ran into McCormick on our way back." Ty was now speaking to the entire crowd. "Sorry, guys, but he'll probably be by. You better take the coolers up to the house."

Someone muttered a half-hearted protest, but no one seemed particularly upset. A couple of guys grabbed each end of the coolers and headed up the path to the house.

"We're going to take off," Ty called to Jason.

"You want to borrow my car so you don't have to walk back?"

"No, we're fine." Ty looked down to Jillian. "Unless you want to?"

She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "Let's just go."

They walked along the water back to the cottage in silence. On the porch, Ty found the key under the seashell and opened the door. He flipped on the kitchen light for her before stepping aside to let her in.

"You want me to stay a while?"

"Nah," she said, trying to be brave. In the light of the bright yellow kitchen, the darkness, the mysterious Peeping Tom, or whatever the hell he was, seemed far less dangerous. More a nuisance than a threat. "I'll be fine." She went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water for each of them, turning her back to Ty. "Go home and appease your mother. She—"

Jillian turned from the refrigerator, a cold bottle of water in each hand, and froze. The refrigerator door swung shut, smacking her on the hip. She stared at the kitchen table. "Someone's been in here," she whispered.