Catherine Coulter - Riptide

“I haven’t met Mrs. Ella yet,” Becca said, then to Adam, “She’s the sheriff’s dispatcher, assistant, protector, screener, whatever-but I know about every one of her pets for the last fifty years. Her job was to save me from hysteria while I was waiting for the sheriff to come.”

“Did it work?” Adam said.

“Yes, it did. All I could think about was the beagle named Turnip who died by running right off a cliff when he missed the corner chasing a car.”

Both men laughed, and the male pissing contest that had nearly made her take a kitchen knife to both of them was out of sight, at least for the moment. She would have to speak to Tyler if it turned out he was getting the wrong idea, and evidently he was. But didn’t he realize that being her first cousin meant that Adam was no threat? She didn’t need this. She could eat barbecue with them, she supposed. Thank God Sam would be there.

Sam didn’t have much testosterone yet.

It was just after midnight. Tyler McBride was still hanging about at the front door, and Sam was asleep in the car, his bright blue T-shirt and black kid jeans covered with the sauce from the pork barbecue spareribs. The kid hadn’t said much-shy, Adam supposed-but he’d eaten his share. He’d finally said Adam’s name when he’d taken a big bite of potato salad, then nothing more.

Would the guy never give it up and leave? Adam took a step closer to get him out of there when he overheard Tyler saying quietly to Becca at the front door, “I don’t like him staying here with you, alone. I don’t trust him.”

And then Becca’s voice, calm and soothing, and he could practically see her lightly touch her fingers to Tyler’s arm as she said, “He’s my first cousin, Tyler. I never did like him growing up. He was a bully and a know-it-all, always pushing me around just because I was a girl. He’s grown up into a real sexist. But hey, he’s here and he is big. He’s also had some training, something like army special forces, I think, so he’d be useful if someone came around.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Look, if something happens, he’s an extra pair of hands. He’s harmless. Hey, I heard from his stepdad that he is probably gay.”

Adam nearly lost it then. The laughter bubbled up. He practically had to slap his hand over his mouth to contain it. The laughter dried up in less than a second. He wanted to leap on her, close his hands around her skinny neck, and perhaps strangle her.

“Yeah, right, sure,” Tyler said. “A guy like that? Gay? I don’t believe it for a minute. You should stay with me and Sam, to be on the safe side.”

She said very gently, “No, you know I couldn’t do that, Tyler.”

Even after that, it took her another couple of minutes to get Tyler out of the house. She was locking the door when he said from behind her, “I’m not a sexist.”

She turned around to grin at him. “Aha! So you were eavesdropping. I thought you were probably lurking back there. I was afraid that you were going to try to throw Tyler out of the house.”

“Maybe I would have if you hadn’t finally gotten a grip and pushed him out. I wasn’t a bully or a know-it-all, either, when I was growing up. I never tortured you.”

“Don’t become part of your own script, Adam. I can also write whatever I want to on that script, since it involves me.”

“I’m not gay, either.”

She just laughed at him.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, jerked her against him, and kissed her fast and hard. He said against her mouth, “I’m not gay, damn you.”

She pulled away from him, stood stock-still, and stared at him. She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth.

He streaked his fingers through his hair, standing it on end. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m not gay.”

She started shaking her head, then, just as suddenly, unexpectedly, she threw back her head and laughed and laughed, wrapping her arms around herself.

It was a nice sound. He bet she hadn’t laughed much lately. She hiccuped. “You’re forgiven for trying to enforce your manhood. Got you on that one, hmmm?”

He realized he’d leapt for the bait. How could that have happened? He looked down at his fingernails, then buffed them lightly against his shirtsleeve. “Actually, what I should have said is I’m not at all certain yet that I’m gay. I’m still thinking about it. Kissing you was a test. Yeah, I’m still not certain one way or the other. You didn’t give me much data.” Not much of a return hit, but it was something.

She walked past him into the kitchen. She started measuring out coffee. When she finished, she turned the machine on and stood there, staring at the coffee dripping into the pot. Finally she turned and said, “I want to know who you are. Now. Don’t lie to me. I can’t take any more lies. Really, I just can’t.”

“All right. Pour me that coffee and I’ll tell you who I am and what I’m doing here.”

While she poured, he said, leaning back in his chair, balancing it on its two back legs, “Because you’re an amateur I looked at the problem very differently. But like I already told you, you didn’t do badly. Your only really big mistake was your try at misdirection with the flight from Dulles to Boston, then another flight on to Portland. Another thing: I reviewed all your credit card invoices. The only airline you use is United. Since you’re an amateur, it wouldn’t occur to you to change.”

She said, “Trying another airline flicked through my brain, but I wanted out as fast as I could get out and I feel comfortable dealing with United. I never thought, never realized-”

“I know. It makes excellent sense, just not in this sort of situation. I didn’t even bother checking any of the other airlines.”

“However did you get ahold of my credit card invoices?”

“No problem. Access to any private records is a piece of cake, for anyone. Thankfully, law enforcement has to convince judges to get warrants and that takes time, a good thing for you. Also, I’ve got a dynamite staff who are so fast and creative that I have to give them raises too often.

“No, don’t stiffen up like a poker. We’re talking absolute discretion here. Now, there were only sixty-eight tickets issued to women traveling alone within six hours of the flight you took to Washington, D.C. I believed it would be three hours, but we all wanted to be thorough. It turned out you called the airline to make reservations only two hours and fifty-four minutes before the flight, as a matter of fact. You moved very quickly once you made up your mind to get the hell out of Dodge. Then you had to buy a ticket to Boston, then on to Portland, Maine, when you arrived at Dulles in Washington, D.C. You didn’t want to buy it in New York, for obvious reasons. You ran up to the ticket counter, knowing full well that the next flight to Boston was in a scant twelve minutes. You wanted out of the line of fire and to get where you were going as quickly as you could. There was a flight from Dulles to Boston leaving only forty-five minutes after you landed in Dulles, but you turned it down. You didn’t have any checked luggage, too big a risk with that, which was smart of you. The woman at the check-in counter recognized your photo, said she realized you might miss that plane, but you insisted even though she tried to talk you out of it. She didn’t understand at the time, since there was another flight so soon. She told you the chances were very high that you’d miss the first plane to Boston.”

“I nearly did miss it. I had to run like mad to catch it. They were ready to close the gate and I just slipped right through.”

“I know. I spoke to the flight attendant who greeted you at the door when you came rushing onto the plane. She said you looked somewhat desperate.”