Deadly Reckoning. Elle James
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Kayla inched toward the door. “Why the police?”
“Why not?” He shrugged. “It might give them something to do.”
Something to do? Kayla shook her head. Had the boy not heard about the murder? Curiosity warred with wariness, pushing it to the side. The teen looked harmless enough. A glance at his bicycle confirmed the flat tire. He was as tall as she was and lanky, but not very muscular. Certainly not big enough to overpower a woman and strangle her to death. And surely he wasn’t the man in Seattle two weeks ago who had tried to kill her. The boy didn’t have the build. What did Kayla have to worry about?
“Just a minute.” Kayla left the chain secure over the door, while she unlocked the doorknob and the dead bolt. She eased the door open and stared out at the young man. “I’m not sure the landline’s been turned on yet. Give me a minute, will you?”
“Sure. I guess I could push the bike all the way to the B and B, but the old man will go ballistic if I’m late. Thinks I’m a little kid or something.” The boy turned his back to the door and scuffed his tennis shoe against a porch column. “This place is so dead, it’s lame.”
Kayla cringed at the young man’s choice of words and closed the door, racing for the telephone on the kitchen counter. She lifted the receiver. No dial tone. With a sigh, she replaced the phone on the charging unit and dug in her handbag for her cell phone. The display showed two bars. Maybe.
Back at the door, she unlatched the chain and handed the phone to the kid. “The landline isn’t connected yet. But you can try using my cell phone. No guarantees—the reception isn’t great. But I got a call through yesterday.”
The boy punched in the numbers and hit the send key. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Nothing.” He pressed the redial key and waited again. With the same response, he closed the phone and handed it back to Kayla. “Guess I’m walking. Thanks anyway.” He turned and stepped off the porch.
Kayla watched him amble down the gravel road, shoulders slumped. She called herself every kind of fool. If she let herself be afraid to step out of the house, she’d more or less create her own prison. That was no way to live. If she retreated from life in fear, her attacker back in Seattle had won.
Bull on that!
Kayla was made of sterner stuff. Officer McGregor was right. Her attack had nothing to do with the woman killed last night. No one knew where she’d gone. She’d told no one. He couldn’t have followed her.
Guilt and determination pushed her out the door to stand on the porch. “Wait!” she called out. “I have an SUV. I’m sure I can fit the bicycle in the back. Want a lift?”
He turned, shielded his eyes from the sun falling toward the sea. “No, thank you. I don’t want to bother you.”
“I insist. Just give me a minute to get some shoes on.” When she turned to close and lock the door, she stopped herself. The boy wasn’t going to bother her, and she’d be damned if she acted like a pathetic old lady, locking herself inside every minute of the day. She purposely left the door unlocked and opened as she ran for her room to dig out her sandals.
When she returned to the living room, she gasped.
The teen stood beside her easel, holding up the palette and paintbrushes. When he heard her gasp, he dropped the items to the table beside the easel. “I’m sorry, the door was open. I thought you wanted me to come in.”
Kayla laughed, her voice shaky. “I did want you to come in,” she lied. “I just didn’t expect you to be so quick.”
“A guy would be stupid to pass up a free ride.” He nodded at the easel. “You paint?” He snorted. “Dumb question. Of course you do, why else have paintbrushes and an easel?”
Kayla stared at the empty canvas and sighed. “I used to paint.”
“Used to paint?”
She shrugged and gathered her keys from the kitchen countertop. “Haven’t felt much like it lately.” Hooking her purse over her shoulder, she stared across at the boy.
He didn’t seem at all in a hurry, intent on studying the paints, pressing his finger to the globs of oil on the palette. “I like the way the colors blend and make new colors.”
“Me too. It’s one of the reasons I took up painting in the first place.” Kayla moved closer to where the boy stood. “Seeing as I’m giving you a ride home, it might be nice to know your name.”
“Dakota.” He glanced at her. “Are you any good?”
“At driving?”
“No, painting.”
Kayla almost laughed out loud. She never took her talent for granted, nor her success over the past five years. From selling her paintings on the sidewalks of Seattle to being sought out by rich-and-famous art aficionados, she’d come a long way. Good at it? The laughter died before it could emerge. “Sometimes.”
The teen turned away from the palette, the canvas and the brushes and strode to the door. “At least you don’t get fined, put on probation and kicked out of your home for your art.” He pushed through the door and jumped off the steps to the ground below.
“Fined?” Kayla followed him out, locking the door behind her.
When he didn’t respond, she didn’t push. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but the stormy look on his face didn’t invite confidences.
With a tap on her key fob, she popped the latch on her SUV and the back door rose. The backseats were still folded down from when she’d loaded all her suitcases and art supplies for the trip south from Seattle.
Between the two of them they managed to get the bicycle in place, laying it on its side. Kayla let Dakota handle the heavy lifting. Once it was inside, Dakota climbed into the passenger seat while Kayla closed the hatch and rounded the vehicle to the driver’s side.
As she settled behind the steering wheel, the sun glinted off something shiny, blinding her for a moment. That something dangled off the rearview mirror. She blinked and held up her hand to keep from being flashed again. She touched a thin chain, her fingers curling around it. When she looked down, her heart stopped, her breath lodging in her throat. In her palm lay a golden locket—the locket she’d worn the night of the art show in Seattle. The night she’d almost lost her baby. The night she’d almost been murdered.
Gabe stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and scrubbed the water from his hair, his thoughts poring over the events of the day, the murder weighing heavily on him.
He’d been with the sheriff when they’d given the young woman’s parents the news. His chest was still tight from witnessing their disbelief and then the overwhelming grief in their eyes.
Adding to his crapper of a day, Dakota hadn’t been home when he’d gotten off work. Another ten minutes and he’d be late for dinner.
Not that Gabe cared so much about punctuality. He worried where the boy was and whether or not he was in any kind of trouble.
The front door opened and closed on the big old house.
Gabe looped the towel around his neck, slipped into a pair of jeans and padded barefoot through the bedroom door and out onto the landing overlooking the large foyer. “Dakota?”
When no one answered, he hurried down the stairs, reaching the bottom just as the door opened again and Kayla Davies entered, followed by Gabe’s sister, Molly, with Dakota bringing up the rear.
Kayla stopped so suddenly that Molly ran into her back, bumping her forward and into Gabe’s bare chest.
His hands automatically rose to steady her, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. “Hello, again.”
She stared up at him with deep green eyes, her hands resting against his bare skin.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Molly