but she had to yell.
“You son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing out there? You nearly scared the life out of me.”
He pushed his way in. It was dark, only the lights in front of the house illuminating the area around them. She could see that he still looked like a million bucks, dressed in dark chinos, a red tailored shirt and a light jacket.
She rued the fact that she was wearing a tattered T-shirt with the words “Moon Bay” embroidered in powder blue against a deep aqua background. She was equally sorry that it was very short. Silly. Even if they hadn’t been married and she didn’t have every inch of his anatomy etched into her memory forever, they spent their lives in bathing suits. She wondered why the T-shirt made her feel so naked. And vulnerable.
He walked through the cottage, checking the front door, looking around. “Is there any other way in here?” he asked, turning around slowly and studying the living room.
“Abracadabra?” she suggested.
“Cute, Alex. Is there any other way in here?”
“Front door, back door, as you can see.”
He ignored her and headed for the small hallway that led to the bedrooms and bath.
“Hey!” she protested. She started to follow him, then paused, determined that the last place she wanted to be with him was a bedroom.
A moment later, he was back.
She frowned slightly, realizing he looked as if he had been running his fingers through his hair. She turned on the kitchen lights and stared at him once again. He looked tense. He reminded her of a shark, giving the impression of deceptive ease, while eyeing his prey to strike.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.
“There was someone walking around your cottage, looking in the windows. I chased him around one side…and lost him,” he told her.
“If there’s anyone slinking around here,” she said softly, “it’s you.”
He threw up his hands. “Alex, I’m serious.”
“And I’m serious, too.”
“Get this straight—I’m concerned.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she said firmly, “David, get this straight. You don’t need to be concerned about me. I don’t care about a technicality. We’re not married anymore. I might not have been here alone.”
“Actually, knowing you, you do care about a technicality,” he informed her.
He was far too relaxed. “You followed me,” she accused him. “You followed me when I was with another man, who was more than capable of taking care of me if I’d been in any danger.”
“Alex, I don’t really know that guy, and neither do you, and most important,” he said very softly and seriously, “we are talking about a life-and-death situation.”
She suddenly saw the man she knew from television, interviews and even, once upon a time, her personal life. The ultimate professional. Reeking of authority and command. Absolute in his conviction.
And for some reason, she shivered.
The woman on the beach had been dead. No matter what anyone tried to tell her. There had, beyond a doubt, been a corpse.
And it had disappeared.
“Maybe you’d like to explain it to me,” she said.
He stared at her for a long moment. “I keep thinking you’re better off, the less you know,” he said quietly.
“Why? You already think I’m in some kind of danger.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“You found a body on the beach. A body that disappeared.”
She shook her head, watching him warily. “We’ve been through this. Jay and the sheriff were both certain I was duped.”
“But you know it was true.”
She wished so badly that she didn’t feel such a desperate desire to keep her distance from him at all costs. Because she did know him. And she knew that he believed her. It wasn’t necessary for him to have been there—he believed her.
“If you’re so convinced, there must be a reason,” she said flatly.
“Want to put some coffee on?” he suggested.
“No.”
“Mind if I do?”
“Yes.” Even as she spoke, she knew he would ignore her. He gave her a glance as if she was behaving like a spoiled child and moved into the kitchen. His arm brushed hers as he strode past her, and she felt as if she’d been burned.
Apparently he hadn’t even noticed. He was heading for the cupboard above the coffeepot.
“Would you stop making yourself at home here, please?” she said, walking past him and shoving him out of the way. “I’ll make coffee. You talk.”
“What did she look like? The woman on the beach. What did she look like?”
She turned around and stared at him. “Like…a woman. Blonde.”
“You didn’t recognize her?” He stepped past her, impatiently taking the carafe and starting the coffee.
“Recognize her?” Alex said, startled.
“Yes, did you know who she might be?”
“No. She was at a strange angle. And she had long…or longish hair. It was covering her face. I touched her throat, looking for a pulse. And then…I don’t know how to describe it exactly, but there was no way not to know she was dead.”
“But you let them convince you that she couldn’t have been, that you were wrong, and she just got up and walked away?” he demanded.
There was a note of disappointment in his tone.
“The sheriff was there,” she told him sharply. “He doubted me. There was no body. What the hell was I supposed to do?”
He turned his back on her, opening a cupboard door.
“Cups are over here,” she said impatiently, producing two from another cabinet.
He poured the coffee. He drank his black, so she was startled when he went to the refrigerator, absently taking out the milk to put a few drops into hers.
She accepted the coffee, watching him, feeling again an embarrassed awareness of his crisp, tailored appearance and her own tattered T-shirt. Ridiculous to think about such things when they were talking about a corpse, she told herself.
“Did you mention your
