accommodate him. He hadn’t been in a brawl since—
“The last time you made that mistake, she paid the price.”
Drew pivoted, startled. The fortune-teller, known as Yvette, stood on the sidewalk only a few feet away, watching him with a fathomless expression.
“Excuse me?”
“You won’t find answers in the bottom of a bottle. Nor in a barroom brawl.”
His insides twisted. People passed between them. The seer didn’t move. Her utter stillness was uncanny. So was her knowledge of what he’d been thinking.
“Can I help you with something?” he finally asked.
She let out a troubled sigh. Almost reluctantly, she shook her head. Her thick, dark hair was as long as Brie’s had been that summer.
“No,” she replied sadly. “Nor can you help her. Not yet.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I wonder if she remembers that a kiss can break the spell,” she muttered under her breath.
A fruitcake. He hadn’t heard that about her, but that crazy outfit and all the jewelry she wore should have tipped him off. No one in their right mind would dress like that on a day like this.
“The beach is crowded,” she continued. “Still, a walk might clear your head. You’ve made a serious enemy, Mr. Pierce. Tread with caution.”
So she knew who he was. She probably also knew what had happened at the gun range yesterday. Did she think he’d killed Ursula Manning as Leland Manning seemed to believe?
A noisy group of teenagers cut between them, laughing and jostling one another as they passed. He followed the orange and green swirl of her skirt as the gypsy trailed the group into the busy diner without another word.
He was tempted to go after her and demand an explanation. Only what sort of explanation could he expect from a crazy person?
Besides, Brie was inside. For several long seconds he stood there uncertainly, more unnerved by the gypsy’s strange words than he wanted to admit.
The biker had given up the wait. He pulled out of the parking lot with a roar. Drew headed for the bar. At the last moment, he walked on past, heading for the entrance to the public beach.
The sand writhed with tan bodies, loud music and yelling children. The scent of water and suntan lotion mingled in the heavy, hot air. There wasn’t even a breeze to stir the mix together.
Had there been a breeze that night four years ago?
Drew couldn’t remember. Jake and Rider, two Vietnam veterans and co-owners of Wheels, had thrown him out after his second beer. Antihistamines and beer had made his head swim dizzily as he staggered to his car that night. His fingers had struggled to make the key fit in the lock without success.
Brie had appeared at his side, still wearing her uniform. Her hair had been slipping from its haphazard knot on top of her head, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a trace of makeup. Yet he’d wanted her with devastating intensity. It had been awfully hard to remember just then why he couldn’t have what he wanted.
He’d gone all gruff and macho when she’d tried to get him to go into the diner for a cup of coffee. He’d turned back to the car and dropped the keys. Brie had snatched them up, refusing to give them to him. When he tried to grab them from her, she took off running.
That had been all the stimulus he’d needed. He could still remember how his body sang with desire as he chased her down these rickety wooden steps. Stumbling, lurching across the empty sand, he’d wanted her more with each breath. So he caught her, tumbling them both down against a still-warm dune.
She’d tasted of pie and woman and she’d kissed him back with a hunger that had first startled, then stoked his ego enormously. He couldn’t get enough of her mouth. She strained against him, incredibly soft.
He hadn’t known. Hadn’t even suspected the truth. Brianna hadn’t kissed like a virgin. She’d kissed like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. And she’d wanted him.
If she’d told him to stop he was pretty sure he could have. He liked to think he would have despite his condition. But she didn’t tell him to stop and his hands and his mouth had separated from his fuzzy brain.
Drew closed his eyes against the memory, but he could feel a swell of passion as clearly as if it were happening right now. The lush roundness of her breasts when he’d unbuttoned her uniform and pushed up her bra. The heady reaction to his mouth on her tender skin. She’d been so wild. A match to the tinder of his desire.
Maybe if he hadn’t mixed the drugs with the beer…but the combination hadn’t been nearly as potent as her mouth. He’d been wanting her for so long.
His hand tightened on the wood railing. In the dark, on that very public beach, he’d succumbed to primitive urges and claimed her innocence. Drew inhaled, surprised to find his body all but shaking at the memory. To this day, he couldn’t remember anything after that stunning shock and the incredible, mind-blowing pleasure of his own release. He had no idea how he got back to his car, or how Brie had gotten home.
One more ghost to prod his conscience.
He’d awakened hours later, alone and cramped, inside his car, sand all over his clothing. His keys had dangled from the ignition. If it hadn’t been for the lingering scent and taste of her, he would have told himself he dreamed the entire scene.
Guilt had been his harsh companion driving through the empty streets that morning. He had showered and changed, returning to the diner as soon as he could get away without complicated explanations.
If he lived to be a million he would never forget the smile of her greeting, or the way it had withered and died when he’d sputtered out an apology.
Brianna Dudley had haunted him for four years and he hadn’t realized how much until just now. He stared at the murky horizon and tried to force his stiff muscles to relax.
“You should take off your shoes.”
“What?” Drew looked down and found a small boy staring up at him.
“If you’re going walking on the beach you should take off your shoes. Otherwise they get sand in them and they feel yucky.”
The boy pushed at the bridge of his wire-framed glasses and regarded Drew solemnly.
“Yucky, huh? Isn’t the sand hot on your feet?”
The boy nodded.
“Then I guess I won’t walk down there after all.” Not even if the urge to see if that dune was still there was eating a hole inside him. The dune was probably gone, anyhow, or at least changed beyond recognition. And even if he recognized it, so what? He couldn’t undo the past.
But maybe he could find out why the present hadn’t changed. Maybe instead of a walk on the beach, he’d take a walk up the hill to where the clapboard houses sat like little boxes. If he was going to run for mayor he should see how his constituents on this side of town were coping with their lives.
