27

 

HURRICANE POINT, FRIDAY NIGHT/SATURDAY MORNING

Gwen slept badly, haunted by images of Messenger’s Ferrari closing on the cyclist, striking the killer blow, then speeding off into the night. She pushed herself from bed, blowing out breaths of panic. She was going to have to do something; she just had no idea what. Run then think, she decided.

She was just lacing up her trainers outside on her deck when a throaty roar had her jogging round to the front of her house. She stood, hands on hips, as Daniel Jacobsen emerged from his Cougar.

He was carrying a bag from Bruno’s Deli. She could smell the croissants. He lifted up two coffees in a carry tray and smiled.

Gwen dropped her hands from her hips. It was impossible to be annoyed with this man. And that should have also annoyed the hell out of her.

“I come bearing breakfast. It’s Saturday morning. Don’t tell me you have to be somewhere.”

She smiled back. “Not for a while. But you’ll have to run with me first. Pain, then pleasure.” A lie, she thought; she loved to run. From the look of his body, he did too.

“Have to be barefoot for me,” he said, indicating his flip-flops.

“We could swim. Sea’s calm.”

“I have no trunks.”

Gwen grinned. “My cottage was built by naturists. You’ll thrill their ghosts.”

“Yeah, and hopefully not the sharks.”

“I’m sure you’ll just stun them.”

“Swim it is, then. You’re going to thrill the ghosts too?”

“Tempting, but no.”

*   *   *

The water was cold enough to give her a blood rush. It would have been bliss to swim without a swimsuit, thought Gwen, to feel the cold, salty water sluice over her.

“What the hell.” She wriggled, pulled off her suit, balled it up, and hurled it up onto the sand. She grinned at Daniel. “Even.”

She struck off at a fast front crawl. Daniel matched her stroke for stroke. She wondered how long he could keep up the pace. She glanced at her watch. They swam out beyond the gentle swell, a safe distance from the cliffs. Gwen found her rhythm, gliding through the water, falling into an almost mesmeric state. After half an hour, she turned around. Daniel turned with her, swam alongside, even when she upped her pace for the last quarter mile.

Time to get out of the water. She was too cold and too hungry to be coy. She strode from the waves. Daniel emerged with her. Neither of them said anything. Gwen felt an almost magnetic yearning to turn to him, somehow managed to stop herself. They grabbed their towels. Gwen secured hers round her body, was peripherally aware that Daniel did the same, waist down. She turned to him. Saw the same look in his eyes she felt in hers.

“Er, well, I think we’ve earned our breakfast,” murmured Gwen.

Daniel just smiled.

“You going to tell me about that scar?” asked Gwen as they jogged up the hill to get warm.

“If you tell me what’s been bothering you.”

“You won’t be able to help,” said Gwen. She glanced across at him. “I don’t mean that in an offensive way. It’s just…” She shrugged.

“I didn’t take offense. Like I said to Riley, I can keep my mouth shut.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

*   *   *

They took turns in the shower, Dan insisting Gwen go first. When she was done, Gwen heated the coffee in her microwave, laid out plates, squeezed some oranges. Dan emerged from the shower and walked up to Gwen, smiling at her, smelling of soap. And of man. Gwen swiveled, grabbed a tray, thrust it at him, a necessary barrier.

Together they carried breakfast out onto the table on the deck.

Gwen sipped her coffee. “So, Daniel, the scar…”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I do.”

He nodded, looked out across the huge blue sea. “Before I became a journalist, I was in the military. I joined up the minute I graduated Harvard. It was 2005. Nine-eleven had a big impact on me. I lost my uncle. Fuck of a way to die. It wasn’t about revenge, joining up—well, maybe a bit, at first. It was more a feeling that enough words had been spoken. I wanted to do something. I had skills they could use. They did use them, but I wanted to see the front line too, go where the rest of the platoon went. Iraq and Afghanistan. Wrong place, one day. Big IED. Shrapnel everywhere. Scar.” He turned back to Gwen.

“Is that why you left?”

“My best buddy died. I was inches from him. I’d done three tours. Reckoned it was time to quit while I was still walking unaided.”

She wanted to say wow, she wanted to kiss his lips. Her cell phone rang. Lucy. Shit, she’d almost forgotten.

“Boudy, running late,” breathed her friend. “Can we meet at twelve instead of eleven thirty?”

“Hi Luce, no prob.” She clicked off the call, turned back to Dan.

“I have to go out.”

He got to his feet, walked round to her, drew her up and in. His kiss was pure temptation. They both broke away.

“See you round, Boudy.” He picked up her shopping list, scrawled down a number. “In case you want a swim buddy again.”

Gwen watched him go. She could pretend she didn’t want him, knew it was one battle she was going to lose.