Seizure(73)

“Remember that,” I said. “We have a deal.”

We were ten minutes beyond the swamp. Sewee was rounding Seabrook Island, skirting the coast in a northeasterly direction. Homeward bound.

“The Celtic cross.” I had no intention of wasting time. “Where is it?”

Chance considered before he spoke. “The cross has been at my father’s fishing camp since its purchase. Hollis and his buddies would go there to drink and avoid their wives.” The ghost of a smile teased Chance’s mouth. “Father often joked that the cabin needed a little holiness to offset the debauchery.”

Adrenaline rushed through me. I could feel Bonny’s cross in my hands.

“Where is this camp?” Ben asked.

“Tut tut.” Chance leaned back and stretched. “I’m not revealing all my secrets at once.”

“What the hell?” I jabbed a finger at his face. “You promised.”

“And I’ll deliver.” Gently brushing aside my hand. “First I need a place to crash until I figure out my next move. Food. A shower.”

Chance sent a meaningful look my way.

“You can’t stay with me.” What was he thinking?

“I’m short on options at the moment.” His tone hardened. “You need the cross. I need temporary lodgings. That makes us partners a bit longer.”

He had me. But how could I hide him from Kit?

“Tomorrow night,” Chance promised. “You have my word. Until then, you’re blessed with the pleasure of my company.”

I could think of nothing to say.

Chance smiled beatifically. “So. What’s for dinner?”





WE BEAT KIT home by five minutes.

Hi and Shelton took off the moment Sewee nosed up to the dock, claiming dinner responsibilities. They’d had their fill for one day.

Glaring at Chance, Ben asked if I needed anything. I assured him things were under control. A tremendous but necessary lie.

“Please show me to my quarters,” Chance said flippantly.

“Cause any problems,” I warned, “and you sleep on that boat.”

Once inside the townhouse, Coop circled our guest, snuffling, opinion uncertain. I was settling Chance in my bedroom when the front door opened.

“Stay here and be quiet,” I ordered. “If you hear someone coming, hide.”

“I’m hungry. Tell Daddy a friend came for dinner.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

I ran a brush through my hair and hand-smoothed my clothes, trying to calm my tattered nerves. Could I really pull this off?

“Kit would recognize you,” I said. “The night you met wasn’t exactly forgettable. Besides, you’re basically a fugitive.”

“I’ve grown a beard.” Chance stroked his chin. “And I can do a mean British accent. ’Ello Govna! May I ’ave some more gruel?”

He clearly wasn’t taking the situation seriously.

“I’m also grounded and not allowed visitors,” I said. “It won’t work.”

“What am I supposed to eat?”

“Dinner usually takes ten minutes. I’ll bring you something.”

“Won’t he check on you later?”

“He thinks I’m still angry. He won’t be suspicious if I lock myself in here.”

“Tory!” Kit called. “Whitney’s here. Please come down for dinner.”

“Frick!” Of all the timing. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Whitney Dubois?” Chance grinned. “That pretentious nitwit from the cotillion committee?”

I nodded miserably. “Why do you think I’m making my debut?”

“The question had occurred to me.”

Kit could be such a jerk sometimes. He’d given me no warning. My one rule.

“Sit tight.” I motioned for Coop to stay. “Any noise and my wolfdog will maul you.”

I slipped out, leaving Chance nervously eyeing my pet.

Kit was setting the table as Whitney moved about the kitchen. Two bags from Palmetto Pig rested on the counter.

“Whitney. What a surprise.” I scowled at Kit. “I had no idea you were stopping by.”

Kit remained focused on flatware.

Whitney looked pleased. “When your father answered his work phone, I just knew that no proper dinner had been planned. I took it as a call to action.”

Kit smiled at me weakly. “Isn’t that nice, Tor?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Whitney set out plastic containers of pulled pork barbeque and baked beans. “And we have so much to discuss.”

“Discuss?” That sounded bad.

“Tory, you’re in charge of drinks,” Kit said. “We’ll talk after we eat.”

Warning bells dinged.

Kit fidgeted throughout the meal, laughed too hard at my lame jokes. Whitney’s good mood was unshakable—my snidest comments sailed over the top of her carefully coiffed head.

The dinging escalated to clanging. This was starting to feel like a setup.

Whitney was spooning banana pudding into bowls when Kit cleared his throat.

“I’ve made a few decisions. About our future.”

“Have you.” I put down my fork.