Rachel Brimble - A Man Like Him

Yvonne turned back to the papers in front of her. “Sure we will. No worries.”

Still feeling uneasy, Angela walked into the office, shut the door and headed for the computer. She slung her wet blazer over the back of the chair. The next ten minutes passed with her locating the latest list of guests and holidaymakers and printing it off. She moved the cursor over the screen, preparing to shut down and stopped. The guy at the bar came to mind. Her gaze shot to the closed office door.

Guilt tiptoed up her spine. The need to find out how long he’d be staying at the park took over her common sense. She swallowed. Common sense was her middle name.

“Don’t do it. Don’t do it,” she mumbled and brought up the booking information spreadsheet.

She’d spotted him the day before. He was the type of guy any girl with a pulse noticed. Especially when he walked around wearing nothing but black shorts. Heat warmed her cheeks as Angela passed her fingers over the keyboard. She typed in a request that brought up all the new arrivals from the day before.

Only one person checked in alone. Chris Forrester. She leaned closer to the screen. He’d booked in for four weeks, until July 25. A month. Interesting. She leaned back and stared at his name. He intrigued her. Why was he here? Why would a guy come alone to somewhere like Templeton Cove? It was a holiday place. A seaside town. Judging by the way Chris Forrester scowled into his whiskey glass he wasn’t there to enjoy the beach or array of ice-cream flavors. Could he have something to do with Robert?

Her gaze shot to the calendar pinned to the wall above her desk. The anniversary of Robert’s release from prison loomed. Had he found her? Sent someone to the Cove to follow her? Torment her? Nausea rose bitter in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut. No. She would not do this.

Revulsion for Robert rose up inside her and Angela snapped her eyes open.

Damn you to hell. You will not do this to me. Not anymore.

Shutting down the file, she stood. She was being stupid. Paranoid. Plain and simple. She’d felt zero need to look into any guy’s background for a very long time, and she wouldn’t let Robert taint her interest. Chris had been nothing but nice to her. Which was exactly why she was looking now. The fact niggled at her conscience. Silly girl. Leave the guy alone. Didn’t she know more than most how it felt to want the curious to turn the other cheek?

Angela whipped her blazer from the back of her chair. None of her business.

She left her office and walked back through the reception area. “Right. I’m off. I’ll see you in the morning. Any problems, give me a call on my cell.” She glanced toward the window. The night sky was black and rain ran like a stream down the glass.

“Everything’s under control.” Yvonne gestured toward the door. “Stop worrying. See you tomorrow.”

Angela stared for a moment longer before she took a deep breath. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

She pushed open the door and headed outside.

Angela lived a fifteen-minute drive from the holiday park, and getting there was like running a gauntlet. Her nerves were stretched to breaking and her neck ached with tension as she fumbled her key into the lock of her rented house and let herself in. The rain hammered against the French doors as she kicked her ruined high-heeled shoes into a corner and hung her sodden blazer on a hook behind the door. She lifted her dripping hair from her face and neck, shivering as icy-cold rivulets ran down her cheeks. Coldness seeped into her bones as she headed upstairs and into her en suite bathroom. She needed a hot shower.

Undressing as the water heated, Angela caught sight of herself in the mirror and laughed. She looked like a zombie, with her hair hanging in rats’ tails and mascara streaked down her face. Stepping under the welcome heat, she reached for the shampoo.

Chris Forrester snuck once more into her mind. His eyes were sad, his smile forced. What happened to make such a handsome man look that way? She tipped her head back, letting the water run over her face as unease rippled through her.

He wasn’t there for her. She was sure of it. The look in his eyes was universal. Instantly recognizable. At least to her. He was running, too. She doubted he ran for his life as she did, but he was definitely running. Who holidayed in a small seaside town in Devon, England, for a whole month? Nobody. Questions stormed in her head. Questions she had no business asking. He’d paid in full, up front. He was clearly there for the duration.

She opened her eyes and stared ahead at the tiled wall. Chris Forrester.

The surname seemed familiar and not just because of the hundreds of guests who had passed through the park over the two years she’d been there. She knew of another Forrester. She was sure of it. Angela shook her head, the recollection escaping her. Turning off the shower, she stepped out and wrapped a towel around her hair, another around her body.

The familiarity of his name continued to badger her consciousness as she dried off and pulled on a pair of pajamas. Ten minutes later, with the rain still lashing against the window, Angela walked into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. There was little chance of sleep until the rain eased off. Time for a trashy novel and a cup of tea.

The kitchen clock showed eleven-fifteen.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FORCE OF the pounding on the trailer door jolted Chris from sleep. He sat bolt upright, his heart racing as he looked left and right around the small unfamiliar bedroom. What the hell was that?

“Evacuation! Evacuation! Grab what you can and hurry to the camp clubhouse. Hello? Anyone there? The park is flooding. You need to leave. Now.”

The screaming outside the door was manic, frenzied. Flooding? Adrenaline shot through Chris as he fumbled from the mess of sheets wrapped around his arms and legs. He must’ve misheard. Leaping from the bed, he cursed as his toe hit its wooden frame. He felt along the walls in the semidarkness and stumbled into the kitchen. Flicking on the overhead light, he squinted against the brightness. The neon clock on the stove showed just after two.

He unlocked the door and his breath caught as he gripped the door frame. “Jesus.”

The rain came down in sheets. A moving gray mass against a pitch-black sky. The continuous blare of the park’s emergency siren and people’s screams filled the air, sending his pulse into overdrive. Chris stared in disbelief, his body immobile. Families with young children, of no more than seven or eight, waded through water that reached the adults’ knees. Toddlers cried on their father’s shoulders. Dogs lay silent in their owner’s arms, ears flat.

Chris looked toward his feet. Illuminated by the light spilling from the kitchen, the water had already reached the steps below the door, swirling fast and unwelcome in a red-brown torrent. His lifetime love of water diminished. This wasn’t a swimming pool but most likely the result of the river adjacent to the park breaking its banks. The park was situated at the very bottom of the surrounding hills. They were trapped in a damn sinkhole, miles from the beach and with nowhere for the water to escape.

Chris slammed the door and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to focus. The rain thrashed down in all its cold and heavy destruction. It would rise quickly and dangerously contained within a five-or six-mile circumference. There were houses, shops, parks...a school. He needed to do something, anything, to help. He was a strong swimmer, an instructor, a trained lifeguard.

He snapped his eyes open and tried to shove away the heavy sense of foreboding stealing through him. Water was unpredictable. It gathered strength and power quickly, making it one of nature’s most dangerous destructors. People were going to die. Mothers, children...