Cranberry Point (Cedar Cove #4)(74)

"Yes, I—" Bob wasn't given a chance to finish his sentence.

"Good. I'll have my assistant make the arrangements."

Before Bob could comment further, the phone went dead. Bob stood there unseeing, his hand still on the receiver. After a moment, he replaced the phone and slowly, almost as if he were in a trance, wanted down the stairs.

Peggy was in the kitchen with Hannah preparing dinner. When she saw him she abruptly stopped mashing the potatoes.

"Who was that on the phone?" she asked, walking toward him.

He stared at her, still numb inside. "Colonel Samuels."

"Stewart Samuels?" Hannah repeated, moving closer to Peggy.

Peggy glanced at Bob and then at Hannah. "What did he want?"

"He's coming to Cedar Cove."

Hannah let out a small cry of alarm and quickly covered her mouth. "What's he coming for, did he say?"

Peggy wrapped her arm around the young woman's shoulders. "Why are you so afraid?"

Bob wasn't sure if the question was directed at him or Hannah, but their guest was the one who answered.

"He's just so... military."

"I thought you were grateful to him for all his help with your father," Peggy said, looking at Hannah.

"I was... I am. Dad never would've gotten the medical care he needed if it hadn't been for Colonel Samuels. But... he frightens me." She trembled as if a chill had overtaken her.

"Bob?" His wife turned to him for answers he couldn't give. "What's going on?"

"I don't know. He said he had business in the area and felt we should talk. He asked that I set up a meeting with Roy and the sheriff, too."

Peggy frowned. "Does he think Dan Sherman's death and Hannah's father's are linked?"

"I don't know." But it was more than that. Samuels had indicated that he had business with him, too. Bob didn't want to see Stewart Samuels, didn't want to be reminded of the past, and yet it was there, confronting him, and had been every day since his return from Vietnam.

That night, unable to sleep, Bob lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. The digital clock by the telephone told him it was after two, but he was wide awake. Peggy slept peacefully beside him, oblivious to his anguish.

A full moon cast shadows on the walls. With the window open, the scent of the cove, of seawater, wafted toward him. He usually found it relaxing, but tonight his mind refused to let him rest. Every time he closed his eyes, all Bob could see, hear, taste and smell was Vietnam. Tension filled him. He didn't want to go back to those memories, didn't want to think about them, didn't want to feel.

Suddenly he heard the glass door off the kitchen sliding open. Bob's eyes widened with fear. He lay perfectly still as the noise drifted up the stairwell—a noise so slight Bob was sure he must be mistaken. As he strained to hear, the sound of muffled footsteps sent fear shooting through his veins. His adrenaline kicked in and he folded back the sheet and sat on the edge of the bed. Sweat broke out across his forehead. Leaning forward, he closed his eyes to listen more closely, hoping this was his imagination, after all. But the warnings Roy had given him rushed through his mind and he remembered the car that had followed him.

Bob looked around for something he could use to defend himself.

He found nothing. His golf clubs were in the garage, and the sturdiest thing he could take with him was a work boot.

Peggy stirred. Even in her slumber she must have sensed his fear. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

He brought his finger to his lips. "Someone's downstairs."

Bob felt his wife stiffen. She grabbed his arm and scrambled to a sitting position.

"How did they get in?"

"The patio door."

"Did you lock it?"

He nodded.

"Should we phone 911?" Peggy whispered.

A board creaked at the bottom of the stairs. Whoever was in the house was coming after them. It was too late to call the sheriff's office. Both Bob and Peggy froze in horror.

Nothing.

In that one beat of his heart, Bob acted. He refused to sit and wait. If someone had come to kill him, he wasn't going to die without putting up a hell of a fight. Roaring off the bed, he stormed out of the room.

Peggy cried out in an effort to stop him. Fumbling with the light, she lunged for the phone as Bob flew out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He smacked the light switch with his palm.

There, standing at the foot of the stairs, was Hannah. She gasped at the sight of him.

"Hannah!" he cried, furious with her for the scare she'd given him. "It's Hannah," he shouted back at his wife.

"What the hell are you doing sneaking around the house at this time of night?" he demanded.

She cowered before him, quaking, with her head bowed. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders and hid her face.

"Hannah, for heaven's sake, what are you doing?" Peggy ran down the stairs, tying her robe as she did.

"I __"

Bob found a folded sheet of paper on the downstairs hall carpet and leaned down to pick it up. A glance told him it was a farewell note from Hannah.

"I... I thought it was time for me to go," the young woman said, her voice so low it was hard to distinguish the words.

"But why would you sneak away in the middle of the night?" Peggy asked.