James Patterson - Honeymoon

“It’s only a little farther,” she said, her smile unchanged.

Sure enough, within a few hundred yards we came to a clearing. I tried to make out the silhouette before me. Some kind of small house—and behind it, a lake or pond.

Nora pulled up close to the front steps and shifted into park. “Isn’t this incredibly romantic?”

“Whose place is it?” I asked.

“Mine.”

I looked at the cabin. My eyes were beginning to adjust, and combined with the high beams of the Benz, I could make out the long, thick logs of the frame. It was rustic but well kept, though not a place I’d expected Nora to own.

“Surprise!” she said. “It’s a nice surprise, no? Don’t you like my little home on the water?”

“I do. What’s not to like?”

She cut the engine and we stepped outside. It was a beautiful spot all right, just about perfect. But for what?

“You know, I didn’t exactly pack a toothbrush,” I said.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it all covered. I’ve got you covered, Craig.”

She pressed her remote and the car trunk opened, right on cue. What little “cargo area” the convertible offered was loaded. Not an extra square centimeter to be had.

“You did come prepared,” I said, staring down at a duffel and small cooler. Prepared for what?

“All the fixings for a terrific late supper. Plus a few odds and ends—including, yes, a spare toothbrush for you. So what are you waiting for?”

Back up, I wanted to say.

I grabbed the duffel and cooler, and we climbed a set of old wooden stairs. Once inside, I shook my head and smiled. From the outside, the cabin looked like Abe Lincoln’s childhood home. On the inside, it was a spread from a designer magazine. I should’ve known.

“This place belonged to a former client,” Nora said as we unpacked the food. “I knew he liked the decorating job I did. I was stunned when he left it to me.”

She walked over and wrapped her arms around me. As always, she smelled great, felt even better. “Enough about the past, though. Let’s talk about the future, as in what we should do first. Make love, or make dinner?”

“Hmm, that’s a tough one,” I said straight-faced.

Of course, it wasn’t supposed to be. She knew it and I knew it. What she didn’t know was that I was actually telling the truth. Sooner or later, the sex had to end.

You can’t keep doing this, O’Hara. Stop!

It was easier said than done. Her body pressed against mine. My thoughts raced, the temptation too much to bear.

“Call me crazy, but I haven’t eaten anything since this morning,” I said.

“Okay, you’re crazy, but we’ll eat first. There’s just one teensy problem.”

“What’s that?”

She turned and looked at the stove. It was a wood-burning one, and there was no wood. “Outside around back. There’s a shed about fifty yards away. Could you do the honors?”

I grabbed a flashlight from the hallstand by the front door and walked out toward the shed. Even with the flashlight it was dark out there. I don’t spook easily, but I heard a loud rustling in the bushes along the way and I wasn’t thinking Bambi.

Where the hell is the shed?

Should I be out here like this?

I finally found it and piled wood in my arms, enough to last the night. Then I started back toward the cabin. As I said— spooky. Maybe it was the old man I’d seen back at the gas station in town. Whatever it was, I couldn’t help thinking about my father again. Things aren’t always as they appear.

Chapter 96

I RETURNED WITH my arms full of wood and got the stove going. Then I asked Nora what else I could do to help.

“Absolutely nothing,” she said with a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll handle everything from here.”

I left Nora to herself in the small kitchen and relaxed on the living-room sofa with the only reading matter there, a four-year-old issue of Field & Stream. In the middle of a deadly article on salmon fishing at Sheen Falls Lodge in Ireland, Nora called out, “Dinner’s served.”

I returned to the kitchen and sat down to pan-seared scallops, wild rice, and a romaine and radicchio salad. To drink, a bottle of pinot grigio. Very Gourmet magazine.

Nora raised her glass and toasted. “Here’s to a memorable night.”

“To a memorable night,” I echoed.

We clinked glasses and started to eat. She asked me what I’d been reading and I told her about the salmon article.

“Do you like fishing?” she asked.

“Love it,” I said, telling a little white lie, then found myself elaborating on it. Story of my relationship with Nora. “Let me tell you, when you finally reel in that big fish—the one you’ve been waiting for—it makes it all worthwhile.”

“Where do you like to go?”

“Hmmm. There are some good lakes and streams right in the area. Trust me, you can catch a big one around here. But nothing compares with the islands. Jamaica, St. Thomas, the Caymans. I assume you’ve been down there?”

“I have. Actually, I was in the Caymans not too long ago.”

“Vacation?”

“A little business.”

“Oh?”

“I was decorating a beach house for some financier type. Gorgeous place on the water.”

“Interesting,” I said, nodding. I took another bite of the scallops. “By the way, this is delicious.”

“I’m glad.” She reached out and laid her hand on top of mine. “So, are you having a good time?”

“I am.”

“Good, because I was a little worried—what you said earlier about my being your client.”

“It really has more to do with the context,” I said. “Let’s face it, if it wasn’t for Connor’s death, we wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s true, I can’t deny it. But…” Her voice trailed off.

“What were you going to say?”

“Something I probably shouldn’t.”

“It’s okay,” I told her. I glanced around and smiled. “Ain’t nobody here but us.”

She half smiled back. “I don’t want this to sound insensitive, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my profession, it’s that you can fall in love with more than one house. Isn’t it naive to think the same wouldn’t hold true for people?”

I looked deeply into her eyes. Where was she going with this? What was she trying to tell me?

“Is that what this is, Nora? Love?”

She held my stare. “I think it is,” she said. “I think I’m falling in love with you. Is that a bad thing?”

I listened to her say the words and I swallowed hard. And then it was as if everything about the strange night exploded in my stomach.

I suddenly felt sick. A reaction to what she’d said?

Keep it together, O’Hara.

I thought about what had happened the last time she cooked for me. How could I blame this on a bad scallop?

So I said nothing. I hoped it would pass. It had to.

But it didn’t.

Then, before I knew it, I couldn’t speak at all. I couldn’t breathe.

Chapter 97

NORA SAT AND WATCHED as O’Hara toppled helplessly off the chair and cracked open his skull on the hardwood floor, the blood instantly spilling out from above his right eye. It was a nasty gash, yet he didn’t seem to notice. Clearly he was more concerned with what was going on inside him.

They always were.

Still, of all the men—including Jeffrey, Connor, and her first husband, Tom Hollis—this was proving the hardest. Her attraction to the man she knew as Craig Reynolds had been real, the chemistry always there. His wit, charm, his looks. The cleverness, so much like her own. He was the best in all ways, and already she was missing him, regretting it had to come to this.