“Hold up a minute,” Jack called to Bennett as he paused on the sand, resting his hands on his bare knees. A moment later, Jack dropped to one knee, suddenly overcome with something he couldn’t pinpoint. The bright morning sun burned his eyes, and his chest felt like it was being tightened in a vise grip.
Maybe because he wasn’t used to running two days in a row, but he’d needed to do something this morning. Last night after Marina called, he’d downed a few tequila shots, angry at himself for letting this situation get to him.
He wouldn’t have forgotten their date otherwise. It had meant everything to him, and he’d been kicking himself for it. He’d thought it was the next day. Once again he’d forgotten what day it was.
Bennett slowed to a trot and turned around. “Hey, you’re not looking so good. Need some help, bud?” He started back toward him.
Jack held up a hand. “I don’t think I can manage the rest of this run.”
Honestly, all he wanted was a cigarette. Even though it had been more than a year since he’d quit, his stress level had blasted off the chart.
Bennett stood near him, his hands on his hips. “Were you feeling sick this morning?”
“I don’t think I’m ill. Just out of shape.”
“You’ve been increasing your time and looking pretty good.” Bennett hesitated. “Got something on your mind?”
“Always,” Jack allowed, though he didn’t elaborate.
He wasn’t one to confide in many people, though Bennett was pretty close friends with Mitch and a few others around the village. He made a good mayor because he actually cared about the quality of life for people in Summer Beach.
After investigating egregious wrong-doings for years, Jack had seen the gamut of human feelings, from those who couldn’t care less about their fellow man, to others who cared too much for their own good. Bennett seemed to occupy the balanced middle ground. All Jack could do was trust his gut, which usually served him well.
Bennett knelt beside him as if he was concerned Jack might keel over. “Is it Leo?”
Jack could have gone for the obvious, but he shook his head. “He’s a great kid.”
“Then, is this about Marina?”
“I’m lucky to have her, too.” Jack pushed a hand through his hair, damp with morning dew. If she’d still have him.
Bennett glanced around. They were alone, but he still lowered his voice. “Having second thoughts?”
“Not about Marina. Though I can’t speak for her clearly lacking sense of discernment. She could have anyone.”
Last holiday season, an old friend of her husband’s had visited. Cole. The guy was a Marine, and Jack had a hard time keeping up with him. Sure, he had been concerned. Jealous, even. And he imagined there were plenty more where that one came from.
“You’ve got a lot going on.” Bennett stretched out a leg as he spoke. “Stepping up to care for Leo has taken some adjusting, I imagine. I thought I was going to have my own child once. That was pretty sobering.”
“Leo is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Jack knew Bennett had lost his wife and unborn child to a rare condition she’d had during her pregnancy. Maybe that’s why he was so compassionate.
Bennett was staring at him with such an empathetic expression—rare among his often jaded, seen-it-all friends from his profession. Jack rubbed his temples. “I have what you might call a professional conflict.”
Bennett eased back on his heels. “Want to talk about it?”
“Afraid it’s confidential.” A year off, and he was getting soft. “I should head back to the house.”
Bennett stood and gave Jack a hand up. “Get some rest. I’ll check on those mortgage terms you asked about.”
Before Bennett could say anything else, Jack drew a measured breath to make sure he wasn’t dying before trotting home.
Although he might prefer that to facing Marina. He needed to call her today. And he had to make up for last night. Somehow.
The cottage was half a block from the beach, but it seemed like forever as he jogged toward it. On second thought, would Marina be happy there?
She’d lived in a nice apartment in San Francisco, and her grandmother’s cottage was spacious and immaculately maintained. Although small by most standards, his house was a palace compared to the shoebox-sized apartments he’d rented in New York over the years.
When Jack was on extended or back-to-back assignments, he often dropped off what little he owned at a friend’s home on Long Island. The old VW van he’d bought to drive to California had fit his needs. In a nod to Cervantes and Steinbeck, he’d named it Rocinante. He might still be living in that if not for Leo.
Most likely, he’d be back in New York chasing another story. And he never would have met Marina.
Arriving at his cottage, Jack stepped inside. The clapboard house had belonged to an artist, and murals of beach scenes were splashed across the walls. Some might call it a funky beach style, but he appreciated the art. Four white walls would have driven him crazy.
Being here in Summer Beach was enough of a challenge, even though he loved being part of the community. It reminded him of the small town he’d grown up in—only with a beach and great sunsets.
The sunset. He chastised himself again. How could he have forgotten?
He knew the answer. His life was out of control.
Jack popped a coffee pod into a machine, started a fresh brew, and waited, chewing the side of his mouth instead of reaching for the emergency cigarettes he’d hidden. Despite that, his gaze trailed toward an upper cabinet. Inside, his contraband was hidden behind an unused crock-pot Leo’s mother had given him.
Chewing a new section of his lip, he resisted. Those mints he was practically addicted to didn’t go well with coffee.
As soon as the coffee maker gurgled to a stop, he grabbed his cup and made his way to the work area he’d created in the sunroom of his bedroom. A half-drawn illustration for Ginger’s upcoming children’s book lay on the desk. That hardly seemed like work to him—drawing had been a hobby for years. He still hoped to get Ginger’s story out of her someday, but that wouldn’t happen until she was ready.
Ginger Delavie. Ace code-breaker, mathematician, diplomat’s widowed wife, and friend to many in high places. No telling what secrets Ginger was hiding. Probably many she’d take to her grave, though he hoped that wouldn’t be for a long, long time. She was still sharper than most people far younger. Someday she might let him write her story—if he could cram it into his schedule.
If he and Marina got together, what would that make Ginger to him? His grandmother-in-law?
Good enough, he decided as he stared at the illustration of three little girls. Ginger’s stories were based on tales she’d once told her granddaughters, Marina, Kai, and Brooke. They were all characters in the adventures.
This was his life now, and he had to find a way to make it pay. Ginger’s books were just being published now. While the advances had been good, he discovered he couldn’t live on that alone.
He couldn’t take Leo from Summer Beach to a high-rise in New York, though many did. He didn’t find fault with them, but Jack had grown up on a farm, and roaming through nature had kept him grounded. That’s what he wanted for Leo. Even if he had to juggle a variety of odd jobs to do it.
In the corner, a sturdy battery-powered clock ticked in the silence, mocking him while he wondered if it was too early to call Marina.
He dreaded this call, but the longer he put it off, the bigger the rat he’d feel like.
As Jack was contemplating the drawing—one child could use a more surprised expression, and he decided to add the dog in the scene—his phone buzzed with a message on a secure app he used with other journalists.
Can u talk?
It was Dane, one of his former colleagues from New York following up on Jack’s call from last night—the one he’d been talking to when Marina called. After talking with his editor, Gus, Jack had reached out to Dane to get updated intel about the man who had just been released from prison.
Jack rolled his shoulders. Here we go again. Long ago, he’d hoped this would go away. Heaving a sigh, he tapped back.
Sure. Years ago, Dane assisted Jack with research for that explosive story. If anyone could track down information, it was him. Jack needed to connect the dots to see if he was in danger in Summer Beach.
He took a swig of coffee before the phone rang. “Hey. What’s up?”
“It’s about your guy.” Dane had scant details. “Are you covering this again?”
Jack couldn’t do this to Leo or Marina. “I’m out of this, man. I’ve decided.”
“You’re never out. Not after…you know, what happened.”
Jack paced the line of windows, watching storm clouds gathering over the ocean. The memory of the conversation he had heard at the cafe haunted him, and his chest tightened again. “Let’s say he knows where I am now. How’d he find out?”
A thought occurred to him. Dane could be baiting him. Jack could imagine the headlines. Mob Boss Exacts Revenge on Journalist. Torn between disbelief and anger, he blurted out a few choice words. “Was it you? I’m not going to be part of your story.”
“Wasn’t me, dude. Give me some credit. Wouldn’t be helping you now if it was.”
“Why, then?”
“I still owe you one.”
Jack nodded at that. “At least.”
A strained laugh followed, and Jack blew out a breath. “Is that all?”
“I’ll keep you updated. Watch your back.”
“Always.” Jack tapped off the call. That wasn’t necessarily true; he’d grown a little complacent since landing in Summer Beach.
Covering wars meant keeping out of the line of fire, but the investigative work he’d done had farther-reaching, more sinister implications. What he’d unearthed had brought down illegal empires and imprisoned people. And worse. But he wasn’t the one to blame. Do the crime, you do the time—however you interpret that.
Feeling suddenly vulnerable, Jack shot a look around the sunroom. Wide windows let in plenty of sunlight.
And left him exposed.
Yet, recalling what he knew of the guy, he wouldn’t be so obvious. Still, Jack packed his work and moved to the kitchen table, drawing the cheery yellow curtains. On second thought, he swung open the back door and whistled for Scout. Fortunately, Leo was still at Logan’s home.
Waiting for Scout, he wondered how he could bring Marina into such a situation? And this might not be the only time.
Frowning, Jack peered out the door. Where was Scout? He usually came right away. Worried, Jack glanced around the small yard shaded with fruit trees and whistled again. “Hey, boy. Where are you? Get over here.”
This time, Scout bounded toward him with his lopsided gait, and Jack let out a breath of relief. He shooed him inside and rewarded him with a treat. Still an overgrown puppy, Scout plopped beside the table.
“New routine, new duty. Now you’re a guard dog, got it?” Settling down to work, Jack eyed the high kitchen cabinet, still bent on resisting, though his resolve was being tested today.
Not yet, he told himself. With any luck, not ever again. He unwrapped a new tin of mints to use as a coffee chaser and turned his attention back to his work.
It was still too early to call Marina.
As he sketched the dog in the drawing, he jiggled his leg under the table, worried more for Leo and Marina than himself.
Just then, Scout picked up his head and barked at a window.
With his heart hammering, Jack spun around. Through the slit in the curtains, he spied a bird teasing Scout.
Jack got up and fished a dog treat from a box on the counter. “Good boy, just keep an eye out for bigger prey, would you?” He gave Scout another treat as a reward, and the dog crunched happily by Jack’s feet, sending crumbs scattering.
As he closed the gap in the curtains, Jack wondered how he was going to tell Marina about this, especially after last night. He’d had the evening planned, but between his irresponsible short-term guests switching dates and the worry he had about this man being released from prison, he’d lost track of the days.
He’d honestly thought their dinner was tonight. Why didn’t she say something to him on the beach yesterday morning?
Silently, he chastised himself. He couldn’t blame this disaster on her. Or anyone else, for that matter. No, he’d made this mess
As he watched the minutes tick by before calling Marina, he thought about the offer his editor had made to him. There was still an unfinished element to the story, though Jack knew it might cost him dearly to complete it.
For now, he thought that chapter should be someone else’s to write. Jack heaved a sigh over the lost opportunity, but he could no longer risk that investigative story.
With any luck, this situation would blow over soon. In the meantime, it would definitely change his plans with Marina. She’d already been widowed once, and he wouldn’t impose that on her again. Or, for that matter, his son.
Jack stared at his phone. If Dane confirmed what he suspected, he could take his van and get lost in the mountains until this blew over, though he had never been one to back down before. This was his life, and he was determined to stay in Summer Beach with Leo. But he didn’t want to lead anyone to his son or Marina.
Then he remembered how long Vanessa would be on her honeymoon. He put his pencil down and drew his hands over his eyes. What on earth was he going to do with Leo?