Lie to Me (Pearl Island Trilogy #4)(45)

With the wind whipping her hair, she wondered if Allison and Aurora could be right. Maybe there was a reason—a good reason—why Luc hadn’t told her why he’d come. Maybe it had nothing to do with trying to manipulate her into helping him. Wrapping her arms about her waist, she longed to believe that. Longed for it in a way that made her chest grow tight.

She didn’t need the kind of legendary love Marguerite and Jack supposedly had. She wasn’t even sure that kind of love existed. What she wanted was something much simpler, but apparently just as hard to find: a trustworthy man who honestly cared for her. Yes, she wanted that.

A steady love would be so much better than the pain and drama Marguerite and Jack had suffered. She could imagine much too clearly the agony Marguerite felt all those years, staring out into this cove, longing for Jack Kingsley to sail into port just so they could look into each other’s eyes. Chloe couldn’t believe fear of Henri was the only thing that had held Marguerite back. Considering how many times Marguerite had been used from the day she’d been born, surely she’d feared being used yet again.

According to the legend, though, Marguerite had finally taken a chance and revealed her feelings, only to discover Jack loved her back with equal intensity. Chloe tried to imagine that moment when Marguerite found the courage to say the words, and had them returned. Honestly returned. It had cost both her and Jack their lives, but maybe the sacrifice had been worth it to experience a love like that for even a little while.

“Oh, Marguerite,” she whispered into the wind. “What gave you the courage to take that chance?”

Footsteps sounded on the pier behind her, making the boards creak.

She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find that Allison or Aurora had followed her.

No one was there.

Could it be…?

The hair on the back of Chloe’s neck stood on end, until the boards creaked again when the mounting waves hit the pilings. The storm, she realized with a prick of disappointment. Not Marguerite or Jack. Nothing but the storm.

She started to turn back, until she spotted Luc standing at the top of the hill, watching her.

Hope flared, but her cautious side tamped it down. Just because he’d come back didn’t mean he wanted to make things right between them. He might have returned simply to show her the proof he’d promised.

Even so, her pulse raced as he started down the trail. She tried to imagine what he’d say, knew what she wanted to hear.

The necklace means nothing compared to you. Yes, it’s why I came to Galveston, but once I saw you, it didn’t matter as much as being with you. That’s why I didn’t say anything.

Was it selfish to want to mean that much to someone?

As he got closer, she saw he carried some kind of notepad in one hand. The wind buffeted his shirt against his body as he stepped onto the pier and walked toward her.

By the time he reached her, her heart pounded with a blend of longing, renewed hurt, and also painful embarrassment at how much of herself she’d revealed to him that morning. She lifted her chin, forced herself to look at him calmly. What she saw in his eyes, however, gave her pause. He almost looked as if… as if he wanted her. Not physically, but emotionally. Wanted her in a way that tore him up at the thought of losing her.

She squelched that thought, refusing to give it life until she knew why he’d returned.

“You’re back,” she said evenly when he remained silent.

“Yes, I—” He looked on the verge of saying everything she wanted to hear. Then he sighed and the moment vanished. He glanced down at what he carried, then raised guarded eyes to meet hers. “I brought proof that the necklace belongs to my grandmother.”

Disappointment pierced her hope, but she hid it with practiced discipline.

“Okay. Let’s see it.” Even though she already knew the truth, she wanted to hear what he had to say.

“It’s in here.” He held up the notebook he’d brought and she realized it was an artist’s sketchpad, like the one she’d seen him drawing in so many times when they were kids. “This was my idea book when I was first scripting Vortal. I brought it with me because it contains drawings I did of the necklace.” He’d marked a place with his finger and opened to that spot. “Here’s the one we used as the basis for the portal. I couldn’t have drawn this when I was a teenager if the necklace had been sitting at the bottom of the cove here.”

She braced herself, reluctant to look down. Not looking felt stupid, though, so she forced her gaze downward—and saw a beautifully detailed pencil drawing. Unlike the animated graphic she’d seen earlier, this drawing matched the pendant exactly, including every nick and scratch.

She reached out to take the pad so she could look more closely. To her surprise, he didn’t let go. She looked up, questioning him with her eyes.

“You don’t need to see anything else,” he said, sounding oddly nervous. “The rest are just unrelated drawings.”

Suspicion tingled along her spine. Unrelated drawings, she wondered, or blank pages? “How do I know you didn’t do this drawing today? After leaving here, you could have gone to an art supply store and bought the pad.”

“Does it look like I bought it today?” He showed her the front of the beat up pad with the stained and creased cover.

“Old can be faked,” she told him. “Ask any antiques dealer. Now, let me see it.” She tugged. When he tightened his grip, her suspicions mounted. “You said you wanted my help getting the necklace back, right?”