Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(6)
Even with the heated seat, even with Hammett pressing close, Annie shivered. Yet she sounded sensible and prosaic when she said, “Don’t make trouble, dear. I just need water.”
Kellen pulled a bottle out of the cooler, opened the top and pressed it into Annie’s hands.
“I’ve looked forward to this celebration for months.” Annie took a small sip, then put the bottle in the cup holder. “It’s the Di Luca family Christmas, you know. We’re a large family and all so busy with the resorts and the wineries, this is the only time we can get together.”
“I know.” Kellen got a throw out of the warmer and slid it around Annie’s shoulders. “But you feel as if you’re running a fever.”
“I’m fine. Look, there’s my darling Napoleone headed our way with our overnight bags rolling behind him. The dear man will not let the staff do their job. He is so stubborn.”
“Like someone else I know,” Kellen muttered.
“Hmm?” Annie raised her eyebrows. “Dear, we can’t leave him standing out in this weather. I’m not the only one with creaky bones!” She offered her cheek.
Kellen kissed it. It was warm, too. “Have fun.”
“Believe me, we will. We Di Lucas always have a riotous good time.”
Kellen slid across the seat and put her hand on the door handle.
Annie stopped her. “When I was interviewing you, I asked what your goal was in coming to Yearning Sands. Do you remember what you said?”
Kellen met her gaze. “I said I wanted a home.”
“Do you feel as if you’ve found what you wanted?”
Kellen’s mind produced the globe of the world and spun it like a top. She saw where she was now, on the far edge of the North American continent. She saw those places she feared and avoided: not Afghanistan, not Kuwait, but Maine, New York and Pennsylvania, black holes that swallowed every ray of light and joy. On that day five months ago when she was told she would be released from the Army with an honorable discharge, she had gone looking for a position that would fit her unique talents. At first she had hesitated to come back to the United States. But her first job as a civilian had proved that nowhere in the world was safe. Yearning Sands had proved to be a shelter, and the terror that had once driven her to always glance behind had diminished. She had grown comfortable here in the job. “I could live here forever.”
“We would like that. And your friends?” Annie gestured toward Mitch. “The ones we’ve hired. Are they happy?”
“I can’t speak for them, but I think so. They came back from combat in need of employment and they found it here, where they could use their skills to make a living. That’s a great thing.”
“I want to keep my staff for years. I like to make sure they’re happy.” Annie squeezed Kellen’s arm. “I’m so glad you told me you’ll stay. The resort needs you. I need you.”
“Wow. That’s…great.” Kellen broke her hold, snatched up her yellow plastic poncho and leaped into the blustery weather. She pulled the poncho over her head and flagged Leo down.
LEO DI LUCA:
MALE, ELDERLY, FORMERLY 6’, NOW 5’10”. 190 LBS. SHOULDER-LENGTH GRAY HAIR, GANDALF EYEBROWS. MARRIED “SINCE THE EARTH’S CRUST COOLED.” RESORT OWNER. AMERICAN WITH STRONG ITALIAN ROOTS. SUSPICIOUS OF NEWCOMERS.
He bent to hear Kellen when she said, “Keep an eye on Annie. I think she’s ill.”
He sagged. “She won’t ever take it easy. The arthritis has weakened her immune system, and…” He gestured toward the car. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll do everything I can to protect her.”
Outside, the downpour increased. The wind blew. The tourist bus moved on. Some early guests arrived, and Russell, their doorman, welcomed them and carried their luggage inside.
Kellen lifted her face to the cold, rainy sky. To be bound by the iron constraints of need and affection Annie put upon her…so foolish. She knew better. Yet…need. Being needed was her weakness.
She could hear Gregory’s voice in her head, courting her, winning her. I need you, my darling Cecilia. I need your vitality, your warmth, your smiles, your youth.
Young Cecilia had fallen at his feet—and into a marriage of horrors that she had barely survived.
Her cousin, the real Kellen Adams, had died.
3
“How long has it been since you’ve been outside?”
Cecilia wet her lips, and the wind off the Atlantic Ocean blew them dry again. “Winter is hard in Maine. I couldn’t leave the house then.”
Her cousin, Kellen, slashed the air with the flat of her hand. “It’s July.”
Kellen had always been like that. Older by three years. Decisive. Bossy. Pretty, blonde, manicured even in jeans and a jacket and hiking shoes.
“I was ill.”
The two cousins climbed the granite cliffs, braving the oncoming storm to speak in private.
“You were hurt,” Kellen said. “Gregory is hurting you.”
“No. No.” Don’t make me admit anything. “He…he… I frustrate him. He’s my husband, and I’m not very bright.”
Kellen stopped walking. Took Cecilia’s shoulders. Turned her and looked into her eyes. “You’re brilliant. You were accepted to Vanderbilt, no small feat.”