Bishop's Rock. Amanda Stevens
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during the course of their marriage.
After propping the photograph against the dresser mirror, she went out to the balcony to enjoy the late-afternoon breeze. Leaning her forearms against the railing, she stared across the rugged countryside, trailing her gaze up the vertical face of Bishop’s Rock. Hard to believe she’d once climbed to the top for the simple pleasure of viewing a sunset. The shadowy summit seemed forbidding to her now and as mysterious as her past.
The back of her neck prickled as a feeling of being watched crept over her. She slid her gaze across the landscape, telling herself she was imagining things. After everything she’d been through, it was only natural to be wary. Nightmares still plagued her sleep and she had caught herself more than once glancing over her shoulder for no discernible reason. Even though she couldn’t remember the vicious attack, her instincts had built a protective wall. All her anxieties would start to dissipate as she healed, the doctor had told her. Once she felt safe again, the barriers would come down. Give it time.
The sun had dropped below the treetops. She could hear the wind in the trees and the eerie whispering sound the water made as it bubbled up from the underground springs. She had just turned to go inside when she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Someone was coming up one of the trails, walking quickly as if on a mission of some great purpose. Glancing behind him, he left the trail and strode across the grounds toward the house, stopping short at the edge of the patio when he saw her staring down at him.
Their gazes touched and for a moment, Lea felt suspended in time. Frozen in the terror of her nightmares.
She knew that man. She didn’t know how she knew him, but she was certain she’d seen him before. He was tall, perhaps even taller than Andrew, slim and as fit as her husband, but there was something unsettling about this man’s vitality. He seemed stealthy and cunning and dangerous.
He was dressed in jeans, dusty boots and a plain black T-shirt—all of which had seen better days. His dark hair was clipped short for convenience and scruff shadowed his lower face.
He squinted up at her so that she couldn’t tell the exact shade of his eyes, but they were light and piercing and she imagined them to be as cold as ice.
Her impulse was to retreat back into the room and lock the door, but the same instinct that had erected those protective walls held her rooted to the spot as a voice in her head whispered, Don’t let him see your fear.
Andrew had already gone downstairs by the time Lea ventured out of her room. She was very late. After the unsettling encounter with the man on the patio, she’d gone inside to rest, finally drifting off to sleep despite her agitated state. Her dreams had been filled with disturbing images and warnings. Of the man’s face staring down at her in the dark. Mrs. Westin? Can you hear me?
She’d awakened with a start, gazing around the room in confusion until her nerves settled and she remembered where she was. Her head throbbed, but she decided against taking another pill. Instead, she’d drawn a bath and relaxed in the hot water until the pain subsided. Then she’d fussed over her makeup and clothing, prolonging the moment when she would open her bedroom door to a strange and frightening world.
Now she hovered at the top of the stairs, searching for her husband. He stood in the great room doorway, his back to her, but he glanced over his shoulder as if sensing her presence. Then he turned slowly to face her, his expression enigmatic as he took her in. She wore a simple green dress that had appealed to her more than the other selections and a pair of beige sandals. She’d left her hair loose about her shoulders, and a bit of concealer hid most of the fading bruises. Andrew left his spot in the doorway and came across the foyer to greet her.
She held on to the banister, disconcerted by the concentration of his stare. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I fell asleep.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you were able to rest. No one has gone into dinner yet anyway.” He took her hand and then her shoulders, holding her at arms length as he searched her face.
“Is something wrong?” she asked nervously.
“Nothing at all.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
An emotion she couldn’t name flashed in his eyes and then he seemed to catch himself. “I’m happy to see you looking so well. Almost like your old self.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “But the contrast from the past few days is startling.” He lifted his hand as if to brush her cheek with his knuckles and then abruptly stepped back. His eyes flashed again before he glanced away. “You were so pale and battered when I first saw you at the rehab center. You’ve no idea what seeing you like that did to me.”
Now Lea was taken aback. His hesitancy stunned her. In the short time since he had appeared in the garden, she’d gleaned one thing from their encounters. Her husband was a man of supreme confidence. She had attributed his reluctance for physical contact as deference to her condition, but now he seemed vulnerable and confused, as if he didn’t know what to make of his own emotions. Far from drawing her in, though, his restraint made her want to retreat even deeper behind her barriers. His self-doubt made him seem human and approachable, and she wasn’t yet ready for that kind of familiarity.
Then she noticed the man she’d seen on the patio earlier and something—another jolt of déjà vu—propelled her to her husband’s side. Andrew was also a stranger, but at least she knew something of their shared history. She had no idea where or when or how her path had crossed with the newcomer.
He had taken Andrew’s place at the great room door, leaning a shoulder against the woodwork as he watched them openly. He was dressed in charcoal slacks and a blue shirt that made his eyes seem even more electric. He didn’t smile at her as their gazes touched. If anything, Lea could have sworn she saw a flash of suspicion before he glanced back over his shoulder into the great room.
She had unconsciously pressed closer to Andrew. Released from the stranger’s gaze, she now moved away, peering through the doorway to glimpse the other guests.
A blonde appeared at the stranger’s side. “Oh, you must be the new arrivals,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Elise. This is...” She turned with a frown. “I’m sorry. What did you say your name is again?”
“I didn’t say.” His voice was low with a raspy edge. The sound of it filled Lea with inexplicable dread. “I’m Cole Matheson.”
“Elise Terry.” She was a striking-looking woman with short platinum hair and blue-green eyes. She had dressed all in black—slim trousers, fitted sweater and stiletto heels that added four inches to her already statuesque height.
Her crystalline gaze vectored in on Andrew. Her voice dropped expectantly. “And you are?”
He extended his hand. “Andrew Westin. This is my wife, Lea.”
“Well, Andrew Westin, Noah said you’d be arriving before dinner. Looks like you’re just in time for cocktails.”
“Who’s Noah?” Lea asked as they all exchanged handshakes and greetings.
“He’s a good man to get to know,” Elise said. “He pretty much runs this place. Anything you need, he’ll take care of. He’s also a tour guide if you want to venture off the main trails, and if you’re in the mood for a climb, he can see you safely up Bishop’s Rock.”
“We can handle Bishop’s Rock on our own,” Andrew said. “My wife and I are both seasoned climbers.”
“Is that so?” Elise’s brow arched ever so slightly as she turned to give Lea an assessment. “We should plan an excursion, then. How about you, Mr. Matheson? Do you climb?”
“I hunt,” he said as his gaze raked over Lea.
The stranger’s interest disconcerted