You Don't Want To Know

Chapter 12


“What’re you doing here?” she demanded, yanking her arm away and stepping backward.

“Watch out!” He grabbed her again, his strong fingers curling over her upper arm and yanking her forward. For the first time, she noticed that she was less than a foot from the precipice, even closer to the dilapidated stairs.

A fresh spurt of adrenaline fired through her blood while a hundred feet below, the surf surged and sprayed, suddenly roaring in her ears. Caught in her reflection, she hadn’t noticed how near the precipice she’d edged. Only a few more steps and . . .

Heart suddenly racing, she whispered, “Oh, Lord. I didn’t . . .” Her heart thudded in her ears. What if he hadn’t come along? What if she’d taken two steps backward and fallen? Letting out a pent-up breath, she finally shook off Dern’s hand, stepping away from the cliff and toward the horses. Now there were two, Jasper and Cayenne, a sorrel mare, Dern’s mount. They were grazing on the sparse grass, their bridles jangling, their tails moving in the breeze.

“What the hell are you doing up here?” he demanded.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

Thick eyebrows pulled over his intense eyes, he was glaring at her with a don’t-give-me-any-crap look. “Can’t you think somewhere a little safer?”

She lifted a shoulder and cleared her throat. “I was just out riding, getting some fresh air and . . .” Why do you feel compelled to bare your soul to him? It’s none of his damned business.

“This is a helluva spot for a daydream. Looked like you were about to go over.”

“No.” She glared right back at him. “So why are you here?” she demanded.

“I was missing one of my horses. And the dog”—he hooked his thumb toward the shepherd nosing around the brush near a stand of hemlock—“led me here.” His gaze held hers. “Seems like it was a good idea.”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” One of those dark eyebrows cocked skeptically.

So alpha male. “Yeah, really.” Maybe she’d been only a step or two from the edge, but she didn’t much like this guy’s attitude. “You don’t have to make it a habit of saving me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Then, as another unpleasant thought occurred to her, “Don’t tell me my husband hired you to be . . . what? Some kind of babysitter or . . . bodyguard?”

“I just came looking for the horse. Didn’t mean to step into this mess, whatever the hell it is.”

She felt her temper simmer. “No matter what you may think because of the other night and here, just now”—she motioned vaguely to the edge of the cliff face—“I really don’t need a keeper.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

He shrugged, seemingly unconvinced, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously, but he stepped away, palms raised. “No harm, no foul.” He grabbed the reins of Cayenne’s bridle. “Just bring the horse back, and next time maybe you could leave me a note or something.”

“I looked for you when I took Jasper. You weren’t around. And I really didn’t think I needed permission to take my horse out.”

He let a beat pass and she knew what he was thinking, that she did need someone’s okay to go riding on her own, that she wasn’t in control. That she was a damned lunatic.

“You’ve got a big place here. I might not always be in the stable or barn, but I’ve got a cell. If you give me a heads-up, I could get the horse ready for you.”

“Seriously?” she said. “No matter what you’ve heard, I am able to saddle a horse. With my eyes closed. I might be the only one who holds this opinion, but trust me, I can do it.” Before he could answer, she added, “The way I see it, this is my house, my land, and my friggin’ gelding.”

“I was just saying—”

“I know what you were saying, Dern!” She grabbed Jasper’s reins, swung into the saddle, and left the damned ranch foreman or whatever the hell he was, staring after her.

Dern ground his teeth.

This wasn’t going well. Not well at all.

Having been put squarely in his place by the very person he needed to get close to, Dern watched Ava ride away. Her back was still stiff with outrage as she half stood in the saddle, her rounded, jean-clad butt raised a bit as she leaned over her horse’s neck and urged the bay into a gallop.

Dragging his gaze from her backside, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration, he told himself she was bad news. He’d blown it. Big-time. Apparently she wasn’t keen on the whole knight-in-shining-armor-coming-to-her-rescue routine. Well, hell, he didn’t blame her. It wasn’t a comfortable role, one he’d never much practiced.

He let out his breath and was barely aware of the wind kicking up or the promise of more rain that was thick in the air. His thoughts were centered on the mystery that was Ava Garrison.

He wondered what she was like in bed and how often she slept with that prick of a husband of hers. There was definitely something off there. He’d noticed it in the way they avoided each other’s eyes. Yeah, no marital bliss happening here on good old Church Island.

Why he cared, he couldn’t imagine.

He didn’t even like her. In fact, from what he’d learned, she was an A-1 bitch—that is, when she wasn’t in a psychological meltdown as she had been since her boy had gone missing.

And yet he was faced with the sorry, unlikely fact that he was attracted to her.

“Slow down,” he muttered under his breath. This was all wrong. He couldn’t afford to be interested in any woman right now, and Ava Church Garrison was as off-limits as they came: married, a head case, rumored to be the worst kind of bitch when she wasn’t in a puddle over her kid. Definitely not worth the trouble.

But there it was.

Women had always been his downfall, but then better men than he had fallen beneath the charms of a beautiful woman. And, unfortunately, he liked them with some fire, women who could go toe-to-toe with him.

Frightened, out of it, wet-as-a-drowned-rat Ava Garrison the other night, hadn’t been a problem. Sure she’d been beautiful. But vulnerable. Needy. Definitely not his type. This new Ava, though, the one who looked like she could verbally chew him up and spit him out, now that was a different story. Wrong as it was, he loved a challenge, and man, oh, man, she presented one.

He kept his eyes on her disappearing form. She was at home astride the gelding, hadn’t been lying when she said she knew her way around a horse and probably a stable. He watched as she slowed the horse a bit before disappearing into the woods and wondered just what it was that made Ava Garrison tick.

What the hell is it about her that’s starting to get to you?

It wasn’t just her looks, he decided, though her expressive eyes crackled with intelligence, or at least they had today. And then there were her lips, full and pulled tight over not-quite-perfect teeth in her exasperation with him. Her dark hair had been damp from the rain and curled a bit as it escaped from the braid at her nape. Though a bit on the skinny side now, she still had the body of an athlete, a runner, with slim hips and small breasts and legs that went on forever. He’d seen pictures of her a few years back, before she’d lost her son, and she’d looked the same, only stronger, her waist trim, her abdomen taut.

He knew from his background information that she’d run track in high school and college, a long-distance runner who had also completed at least one marathon in her early twenties, maybe more.

He’d talked to people who had worked with her. The descriptions that had emerged were simple:

Determined.

Driven.

A perfectionist.

And to some, soulless.

A far cry from the weak, shattered woman he’d dragged from the icy waters of the bay just a few nights before. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn they were two people, because this afternoon, he’d caught a glimpse of that hard-nosed businesswoman, the one who demanded excellence, the one with the razor-sharp tongue.

At least she wasn’t sleepwalking anymore.

When she’d come back from wherever her thoughts had taken her, her gray eyes had snapped with fire, her cheeks had been flushed with anger, her lips flattened in disapproval. Her chin had jutted, her jaw clenched.

Trouble was, he found her a whole lot more interesting than the woman he’d hauled from the bay. He’d watched her that night, the shivering, almost cowering victim who’d clasped her hands between her knees, worried her lip, and looked away when those who purportedly loved her had interrogated her.

Now he turned his thoughts from her with an effort. He was alone on this high ridge, the wind off the Pacific churning up white caps on the ocean and buffeting the trees surrounding this open space. He’d found the missing horse and supposed he should get going, too.

Mission accomplished.

At least for the day.

He climbed into the saddle and from atop his horse, glanced out to the sea again, trying to locate the spot he’d found her staring. Murky water, varying shades of gray, rushed through the entrance to the bay, over the submerged, hidden bar that the locals spoke of with respect and a little fear. A string of rocks guarded the entrance, tiny dark islands poking out of the water, waves crashing and spraying over their jagged tops.

So why had she been gazing so intently at the black rocks? They had nothing to do with her child’s disappearance, and she was fixated on the night her son was last seen. Rubbing the back of his neck, he realized this had to do with her brother’s death, a totally unrelated event.

Kelvin Church had died in a tragic boat accident, and she’d been there, had barely survived herself. That tragedy had also left Jewel-Anne Church in a wheelchair, where she’d been ever since. And within days of the tragedy, Ava and Wyatt had welcomed their son into the world.

As he whistled to the dog, he wondered if the two traumatic events in Ava Garrison’s life were tangled together and how much they contributed to her current state of mind. Today she’d been lucid, sharp enough to put him in his place.

Just how long would that last?

Starting back for the house, he adjusted the waistband of his jeans. The cold barrel of his gun, hidden under his jacket and shirt, pressed against his skin, reminding him that he didn’t have a lot of time to waste. With Wyatt off the island and Ava so pissed at him, she’d want to keep off his radar. He had a little free time, and there was still some daylight, enough for a quick change of plan. Pulling up on the mare’s reins, he turned toward a path leading away from the sea and into the woods where it connected to the overgrown lane running south to the old mental hospital.

It was time for him to return to Sea Cliff.





Riding through the damp woods, with the smell of wet earth mingling with the salty sea air, Ava tried and failed to shake the image of Dern’s overly concerned visage. What the hell did he think he was doing following her up to the cliffs?

He saved you, didn’t he?

Maybe. She didn’t think she’d have taken a fateful step over the edge, but who knew? If she had fallen to her death in the sea, everyone at Neptune’s Gate would have shaken their heads and looked sad and whispered that they knew she’d decided to end it all.

She made a sound of exasperation and slowed Jasper to a walk. So Dern had found her up at the ridge, so what? It wasn’t as if he were following her, appointing himself her personal bodyguard. And surely Wyatt hadn’t hired the man to keep an eye on her.

Paranoia . . . Don’t let your fears get the better of you . . .

But as she rode out of the woods and glanced to the south, toward Sea Cliff, she wondered if the image she’d witnessed earlier, the dark figure on the wall walk, had been Austin Dern.

But what would he want with the old asylum? He’s a ranch hand. That’s all. His only crime is that he keeps trying to save you from yourself.

She narrowed her eyes and blinked against the drizzle as she pulled her horse up and stared at the crumbling concrete. She heard a low howl that caused her skin to crawl before she realized it was probably a coyote.

Nothing more sinister.

And no dark figure appeared on the ledge of the old hospital walls.

“Idiot,” she muttered, and leaned forward over Jasper’s neck again. “Let’s go home, boy.”

The big gelding didn’t need any more encouragement. His strides lengthened and the wet grass flew by in a rush beneath his hooves. Cold air stole her breath, and as they reached the creek, she saw Jasper’s ears prick forward. Rather than splash through the flattened trail area, he headed straight for a deeper chasm. Instinctively, Ava let out the reins, just as she felt his muscles bunch. With Ava leaning over his neck, he sailed over the swift stream, landing with a thud on the far side.

The second his hooves hit solid ground, he took off at a dead run toward the stable. Ava gave him his head. She should have felt that same sense of elation as she had earlier, but now her mood had darkened, all of her worries and fears crushing down on her. How wrong she’d been to think she could outrun her problems. Impossible. She knew that.

As they neared the house, she pulled on the reins and glanced up to the window of the unused guest room. The blinds were open even though she remembered seeing them closed earlier.

Graciela was probably just cleaning and left them open.

Still she focused hard and tried to see into the darkened window, but there was no one. Nothing.

Ignoring the lingering feeling that she was being observed by unseen eyes, she rode to the stable and dismounted. Taking the reins in one hand, she unlocked the series of gates that led to the stable door.

At the entrance, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder, half expecting the rangy cowboy to appear from the trails threading through the woods.

Of course he didn’t.

Silently mocking herself, she removed the bridle, saddle, and blanket; then she cooled Jasper down and offered the gelding a special ration of oats. “You deserve it,” she said, reaching under his forelock and scratching his forehead. He snorted, his warm breath dispersing a few remaining oats before he sucked them up through sensitive lips. “Maybe we’ll do this again sometime,” she murmured before checking to see that all the horses had water and snapping off the lights.

She’d barely kicked off her boots on the porch and stepped inside the kitchen, cutting toward the main stairs, when she heard her cousin’s voice.

“Out riding?”

Damn! She should have used the back steps.

Other than being flat-out rude and pretending not to hear Jewel-Anne, she had to face her cousin.

Her stockinged feet slipping a little, Ava paused at the archway to the den where an old movie was flickering on the television screen, giving off the only light to the small room.

Her cousin was waiting. Eyebrows lifting over the tops of her glasses, Jewel-Anne took in Ava’s wet jacket and windblown hair. One of her ever-present dolls was at her side, and her knitting needles clicked rapidly in some kind of weird tempo in her fingers, the variegated shades of rose and pink being knit into something tiny, no doubt another cute little sweater for one of her babies.

Ava yanked the rubber band from her head. “It felt good.”

“To ride? In the rain?”

“Drizzle.” She shook out her braid. “Not really rain.”

Jewel-Anne rolled her eyes, then turned back to the TV. “Same difference.”

Don’t get into this argument. Remember: She’s an invalid. You have no idea how she feels trapped in that damned chair.

“See anyone out there?” Jewel-Anne asked, almost innocently, and Ava was about to report that she’d run into the ranch hand when she realized her cousin was talking about Noah. When Jewel-Anne turned to look at her again, a beatific smile curved her pale lips, an almost perfect replica of the smile on the doll sitting next to her.

A trick of your imagination.

Nonetheless, her blood ran cold. “No one,” she lied.

“Didn’t think so. Oh, here you go, Janey.” Jewel-Anne took the time to rearrange the doll beside her so that Janey’s face was turned toward the television where the flickering blue light from the screen cast weird shadows over its lifeless features. Janey sat as if mesmerized by the movie.

“There . . . all better,” Jewel-Anne said to the doll, and began knitting again, her gaze returning to the images on the screen.

Wow, Ava thought. This is just weird. Jewel-Anne blames me for the accident that took Kelvin’s life and put her in a wheelchair, and this is what she’s become.

Ava started for the stairs, but Jewel-Anne’s voice chased after her. “I thought maybe you saw Dern again.”

“Again?”

Click, click, click.

Ava retraced her steps as Jewel-Anne added, “He went out riding after you did. I saw him. So did Simon.” She glanced away from the television for just a sec. “Thought Dern might have chased you down.”

Ava refused to rise to the bait, but she had questions. “Do you know anything about him?”

Jewel-Anne thought for a moment, her needles stopping their frantic cadence. “I think Dern got the job through someone Wyatt knew. Like a friend of a friend or something. I don’t really know.” She started knitting again. Clickity click, clickity click. “Why don’t you ask your husband?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“I think he said Dern had worked for a client of his.”

Jewel lifted a shoulder, her smarmy smile in place. “So, there you go.”

“I just wondered which client.”

“Does it matter?” She looked up, her expression perturbed, and before Ava could continue, she said, “Look, if you don’t trust Wyatt—”

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” she interrupted. “I just thought Dern looked familiar.”

“Familiar? How?”

“I can’t really put my finger on it, but I feel like . . . I don’t know, that I’ve met him before . . . or maybe he just reminds me of someone.”

“Maybe you should just ask Dern.” Jewel-Anne blinked. “Unless you’re afraid to.”

“Afraid to? Of course not.”

“Didn’t think so.” But her smile said differently, and again her long needles started flashing in her small fingers. “I know; you’re just confused.”

Ava didn’t bother answering. It was useless. The woman was exasperating and seemed to love playing mind games, always trying to goad Ava.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Ava tried to outrun that niggling sense of guilt that had nagged at her ever since the boating accident over four years earlier. While she’d come out of the disaster relatively unscathed, Jewel-Anne had been tossed around the sea like a rag doll, her body battered against the rocks, her spine cracked, and only Wyatt’s strength as a swimmer had saved her.

There was a reason the younger woman was bitter.

Ava was never comfortable around her, but she really didn’t have the heart to ask her cousin to leave.

“Are you out of your mind?” she’d said the last time Ava had brought up the touchy subject of buying out her cousin. Jewel-Anne had then let that little statement sink in before adding, “And where would I go, huh? Got any ideas? An institution maybe? That would be easier for you, wouldn’t it? Not seeing me? Not being reminded.” She’d hit the button on her chair and stormed away, her chair humming along the old hardwood as she’d made her way to the elevator from the morning room.

Wyatt had been in the room and cast a now-you’ve-done-it glance at his wife, though he’d held his tongue. He, of course, had insisted the handicapped woman stay at the house. Easy for him, as he was gone more than he was here; he didn’t have to deal with Jewel-Anne very often and rarely spoke to Demetria, the nosy, dour nurse. The idea was that Demetria would help Jewel-Anne become more independent, but as Ava saw it, the opposite seemed to be coming true.

And just after the accident, Ava hadn’t been opposed to having her cousin stay in the house—far from it. Noah was born nearly two months early, only days after Kelvin’s death, and his care had been all-consuming for Ava. The baby had been her absolute joy, and so when Jewel-Anne had been released from the hospital, Ava hadn’t argued about whether her cousin and nurse could stay at the house. Why not? There was more than enough room. She’d been sleep deprived with the newborn, bereft over her brother’s death, and, yes, feeling more than a little guilty for proposing the sailboat trip in the first place, something Jewel-Anne never let her forget.

At first there had been hope that she would recover the use of her legs. Jewel-Anne’s condition had never been declared medically permanent. But after nearly five years and no visible improvement, that hope had faded, and Jewel had become a fixture around Neptune’s Gate.

Ava tried not to let her cousin get on her nerves, but sometimes Jewel-Anne’s attitude made it hard. Truth be told, the girl had simple needs: the freaky dolls; her Elvis collection, some of which were still on vinyl and played on an ancient stereo in Jewel-Anne’s room, the one Jacob had hauled down from the attic once his sister had learned it was stowed away there; old movies on television. When Demetria wasn’t pushing her charge into occupational and physical therapy, Jewel-Anne pored over newspapers, gossip magazines, and online blogs about celebrities. She was into reality shows and did get out once in a while, insisting on having different colors streaked into her hair every couple of months. She had her hair cut and colored at Tanya’s shop on the mainland, where she kept up on the local gossip.

Sometimes, Ava wondered if Jewel-Anne and Tanya’s conversation ever included Ava as the topic, but she decided not to worry about it, even though Tanya was known to tweak a story or two to add a little drama to her information. But Tanya was a trustworthy friend, whereas Jewel-Anne was not.

Still, Ava thought as she reached the second floor, it seemed that her cousin used every chance she could to dig at Ava. She wondered if she would ever get over her anger over the sailboat accident, would ever stop placing the blame at Ava’s feet.

Probably not, Ava thought with a grimace. Jewel-Anne was forever zipping in and out of places, nearly running into Ava or startling her or just getting on her nerves. She appeared to receive a great sense of satisfaction in irking Ava. Sometimes Jewel-Anne was childlike, almost impish, as if she were no older than eleven, and other times she was calculating and shrewd and adult.

And she was a liar.

Ava knew that for a fact.