The Harbor

Twelve

Zoe was aware of J.B. easing in behind her, then beside her, as she made her way along Ocean Drive. He'd prodded and poked at her for information and reactions, and maybe he'd needed to because of Teddy Shelton and the break-ins-and maybe she'd let him because she wanted his fresh take on what had happened here last year. But it'd been difficult for her, even just that much questioning.

Because all along, deep down, she was convinced she'd said something, done something, that had caused her father to be shot dead early on a beautiful autumn morning.

"You okay?" J.B. asked.

She nodded. "It's different when it's your father lying there."

He said nothing, for which she was grateful.

"Zoe! Hey, wait up!"

It was Kyle Castellane, running to catch up with them. He jumped off the sidewalk onto the street and came up on her left. He was out of breath, his longish hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Wild night last night, huh? Looks like we have a serial thief on the loose in Goose Harbor."

"Let's hope that's all."

"Ooh," he said, grinning, "always the doom-and-gloom cop."

She wanted to hit him. "What's up, Kyle?"

"Nothing-just wanted to say hi. Chris tell you we stayed up until all hours brainstorming on my documentary?"

"Sounds like you're making progress."

He shrugged, still out of breath from his run up from the docks. "I run into the occasional stone wall."

Like Chris's big sister, he seemed to imply. Zoe didn't bite. "That's the way it goes, I guess."

"Chris tells me you don't want to get involved. That's okay, but maybe you can point me in the right direction on something." He paused, walking a few steps, but Zoe didn't take the bait and say yes before she knew what he wanted. "Did Olivia ever tell you about her best friend when she was growing up? Posey Sutherland. She lived across Ocean Drive, about a half mile from Olivia."

J.B. stiffened noticeably next to her and Zoe assumed Kyle's intense, self-absorbed manner got on his nerves. It was a beautiful morning, she was just back in Goose Harbor since her father and her aunt's deaths, and Kyle Castellane wanted to pick her brain for his documentary.

Zoe shook her head. "I know the Sutherland name, of course, but I don't recall Aunt Olivia ever mentioning, at least to me, a Posey Sutherland, friend or otherwise."

Kyle nodded, frowning as he considered her answer. "Posey was the youngest daughter of John Lester Sutherland. All kinds of bells and whistles went off when I saw his name. That has to be where Olivia got the Lester for Mr. Lester McGrath, Jen Periwinkle's evil nemesis."

As if he had to tell her who Mr. McGrath was. Zoe slowed her pace, dropping just slightly behind J.B., but enough for her to get the full brunt of a gust of wind blowing up off the water. But she could feel the temperature rising now that it was midmorning. "It could just be an innocent coincidence."

"I don't think so. The more I learn about her, the more I think Olivia was deliberate about everything she did. It's my guess she didn't think much of her friend's father and this was her private revenge."

"But if you have no proof-"

"I can raise the question without answering it. But I want to know what she thought of Posey's father-I want to know what happened to Olivia West's best friend from childhood. What happened to Posey Sutherland? I can't find a thing. Not yet, anyway. I'll keep looking."

"I can't help you," Zoe told him.

"I checked town records. Posey was a year younger than Olivia. They grew up together. I'm checking with the local school district to see if they have pictures of them in their archives. I imagine they already gave everything they had on Olivia to the town library."

J.B. picked up his pace, and Zoe imagined he'd had his fill of Kyle. She tried to smile at him. "You are into this documentary, aren't you?"

Kyle hardly paused. "Zoe, this is all so fascinating. You find the answer to one question, and it leads to another. This Sutherland connection to Lester McGrath- no one else has that. It's new material. She named one of the most famous villains of the twentieth century after someone she knew."

"For whatever reason," Zoe added.

He hunched his skinny shoulders against another cold, hard gust of wind, which tangled the ends of his longish tawny ponytail and made Zoe think twice about kayaking today. But Kyle was into his topic now. "I talked to Bruce Young's grandmother. She's in her nine-ties-she remembers hearing something about a scandal involving Posey Sutherland, but no one would discuss the details. That's provocative, don't you think?"

Zoe wondered how bored J.B. was, but, to his credit, he didn't try to change the subject. She angled Kyle a look. "Is this why my sister was out of sorts this morning, because you kept her up talking about the mystery of Posey Sutherland?"

Color rose to his cheeks, whether from the wind or self-consciousness Zoe couldn't be sure. "Yeah," he said. "She's a good sport when I get going. You know, this would all have been easier if I could have started when she was still alive-"

Zoe inhaled sharply. To his credit, Kyle realized what he'd said. "I'm sorry-I didn't mean to imply it was inconvenient of her to die when she did. I-" He stopped, peering across Zoe and looking sideways at J.B. "There must be a reason Olivia named her evil nemesis McGrath, too."

"McGrath's not an uncommon name," J.B. said.

"Yeah, but I'm thinking if Lester's from a real person, so is-"

"Stop!" Zoe groaned but tried to keep any sting out of her voice. "Kyle, I just had a huge breakfast that I need to walk off. I have no idea where Aunt Olivia came up with the name for Mr. Lester McGrath. I can see you're serious about this documentary, but I loved Olivia-I still miss her and think about her every day. This is all fun and interesting for you, but for me-"

"I understand," Kyle said quickly, almost sheepishly, and dropped back and shoved his hands into his pants pockets, his nose red now. But he was sullen, too, insulted. "I don't pretend I had the connection to her that you do, but she knew my family for decades-"

J.B. cut him off. "You've got a famous grandfather. Why don't you do a documentary about him?"

Kyle shook his head, taking J.B.'s question seriously. "That'd be taking on too much too soon. I'm not ready to touch my grandfather." He seemed to have no idea that anyone might consider his comment offensive and moved along. "There's something else. Christina said I'd have to ask you-she's unbending on the subject and won't give me permission herself. She says it's your house now. If you'll let me, I'd like to take a look in Olivia's attic."

"There's nothing up there," Zoe said, refusing even to glance in J.B.'s direction.

"Maybe as far as you're concerned, but she died only last year." Kyle's tone was formal, as if he were in a real negotiation and not just asking a favor of a friend. "Given the circumstances, I'm guessing you haven't had a chance to go through all her belongings yet. The house has been sitting empty for the better part of a year. If I can just go through-"

"Kyle, I know it must be so tempting for you, but you have to realize that Aunt Olivia took great care to make arrangements for when she was no longer around. She left nothing to chance. If there's anything in her attic, it'll only be what she wanted her family and any ghouls to find-"

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Is that what you think I am? A ghoul? This is a serious documentary."

"Of course it is," Zoe said. He looked so hurt. "I didn't mean to imply you were a ghoul. Look, let me think about it, okay?"

"Fair enough." He grinned suddenly, cuffed her on the shoulder. "Hey, it's good to have you back. I'll see you around, okay?"

He turned and trotted back down toward the docks, apparently delighted with her response. Zoe had the feeling agreeing even to consider his request was more than he'd expected. Feeling the cold, she knotted her hands into fists and slipped them up inside her sleeves again, picking up her pace as another cold breeze gusted off the water. She hadn't counted on the wind.

"That kid isn't doing a scholarly documentary," J.B. said. His tone was matter-of-fact, not critical. "He's looking for drama, titillation, scandal."

Zoe nodded. "You're probably right, but I hope not. Christina isn't worried-she knows him better than I do."

"Blinded by her feelings for him."

"That's cynical."

"Just stating the obvious." He wasn't argumentative, and he looked at her without expression. "Your father's death will be in it."

"It has to be, doesn't it?" She didn't mean for him to answer, and he didn't. "Aunt Olivia died the next morning."

"You blame yourself?"

"I shouldn't have told her." She pictured her great-aunt that afternoon, her thin white hair sticking out in soft white waves, like angels' wings, as she tried to remember the name of whoever it was she believed had killed her only nephew. Zoe pulled her lips between her teeth, fighting for self-control. "I thought she'd find out and it'd be better to come from me, but I should have had her doctor with me-"

"Everyone says her doctor told you it wouldn't have made any difference. That wasn't what killed her."

I know who killed Patrick. Oh, Zoe, why can't I remember anything anymore?

"Damn."

She shot ahead of McGrath, then started to jog, her legs aching almost immediately, the wind whipping tears out of her eyes. She'd been on a run on a morning just like this a year ago, an incredible future ahead of her, everything she wanted, everything she'd worked so hard for, at her fingertips. All of it had evaporated the moment she'd spotted her father's body in the wet, cold sand.

J.B. fell in beside her. He wasn't running, hadn't made a sound. He was just suddenly there, inches away from her as she slowed to a walk. "I thought I could handle being back here." She was breathing hard, not just from running but also from the tension and swirl of emotions-grief, fear, anger, frustration. An FBI agent in Goose Harbor, the break-ins, Teddy Shelton. Did they have any connection to her father's murder? Crazy to think so. Yet she couldn't stop herself. "I've been away a year and haven't resolved anything-I know that. But I thought-I thought at least I could get up this morning and have a nice breakfast, go out kayaking-"

"You had a nice breakfast. You can still kayak." A hint of humor came into his tone. "Might want to wait for the wind to die down."

She stared down at the gray, jagged rocks, a short stretch of pebble-and-gravel beach. The tide was out. Two seagulls picked at an exposed clump of dark green, slimy seaweed.

She'd gotten to her father before the gulls had. She remembered that.

J.B.'s calm was a counter to her sense of frenzy, her uneasiness. "How many people knew you liked to run in the nature preserve?" he asked abruptly, quietly.

She didn't hesitate. She'd answered this question before, at least a dozen times. "I don't know. Everyone. No one. I never thought about it."

"No way someone would mistake your father for you."

She shook her head as if he were asking a question. "No. I can't believe that. There's no evidence-nothing to suggest whoever killed him was gunning for me. Technically-" She broke off, shaking her head. "Technically it's possible, but it doesn't seem likely."

"Any leftover cases from your state police days?"

"CID looked into it, and I've racked my mind for months. No, there's nothing." She breathed out, smelling the low tide now, wondering how she'd stayed away for as long as she had. "You'd think there'd be a record if my dad was investigating Teddy Shelton. You sure that guy was keeping tabs on me?"

"No. Could be a coincidence."

"But you don't think so."

"I'm keeping an open mind."

Her own smile took her by surprise. "You're on va-cation-you don't need to keep an open mind."

He glanced at her. "Like being a civilian, don't you?"

"It has its advantages."

He acknowledged her words with a small nod. His nose, she noted, was red, too, but she still had that sensation that he belonged out here, on the Atlantic, Montana or no Montana. He had the hard-bitten look of a man who'd spent his life at sea.

"Teddy Shelton could have an innocuous reason for being here, you know," she said.

"He's not your problem, Zoe. I got into it with him. I'll play it out."

She tilted her head back and eyed Special Agent

J. B. McGrath, decided he was very serious for someone on vacation. "You're supposed to be relaxing and having fun."

He smiled. "I am relaxing and having fun."

His smile eased the tension between them and seemed to go straight through her, penetrating her natural reserve when it came to men. The way it brought a sexy gleam to his blue eyes, the way it tilted up one corner of his mouth and not the other-she found herself licking dry lips.

Without thinking, without even knowing she was doing it, she put one hand on his hard shoulder and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

He could have stopped her. He was a trained FBI agent.

She could have stopped herself, except she hadn't stopped herself from doing anything insane in a year.

He tasted like salt, and she wanted more.

Then she realized what she'd done and jumped back, swearing under her breath. "Oh, damn. I must be going nuts."

"I don't know." His voice was that studied calm, laced with amusement. "Nuts can be good."

She bolted. She called on all her mental and physical training, her ten years of experience in law enforcement, and got the hell out of there, pushing herself hard and not even feeling the wind now.

When she reached the house, she was gasping for air and had a sharp stitch in her side. She staggered up the driveway, thinking she might throw up her blueberry pancakes.

That'd be just great. Kiss an FBI agent, then throw up.

Everyone in Goose Harbor would know by noon. She'd never hear the end of it. She'd have to move back to Connecticut and stay there for good.

She could feel the exertion in her calf muscles and had to slow down when she hit the stairs to the second floor. Not in as good a shape as a year ago. Definitely. She'd tried to keep her body fat below twenty-two percent.

When she reached her bedroom, she shut the door and thought about barricading herself in, but that seemed a little over the top. She'd reacted to the moment. She was entitled. No one would blame her for being just a tad out of control her first days home.

Except maybe the man she'd kissed out of the blue.

His footsteps sounded on the stairs. "I'm going for a boat ride," he said calmly, as if nothing had happened. By his standards, maybe nothing had. "Wind's dying down. Need help getting out your kayak?"

"No. Thanks." She sounded relatively calm and normal herself.

"Water's fifty-eight degrees in the harbor."

"Chilly."

"Yeah. You might think about rolling on purpose. Cool you right off."

The bastard. The bastard. Zoe almost burst through the door and told him what an unfeeling, obnoxious man he was, making fun of her at a moment of peak embarrassment.

But she was smiling, too, although she doubted that was a good sign.

"Don't worry," he said. "Next time you won't catch me off guard."

Next time?

He trotted down the stairs. Even through her door, she could hear the kick in his step. He might think she was completely insane, but he hadn't minded being kissed.

"Well," she muttered, digging in her still-unpacked boxes and bags for suitable kayaking attire, "doesn't that just make my day?"