through the Atlantic, gathering strength. She would only grow more powerful the longer she vacillated, drawing energy from the warm ocean waters. Storm flags were up all along the coast from Savannah to the Outer Banks, with the National Guard positioned to help with the evacuations, if necessary. The weather stayed overcast, hot and oppressive.
While the Southeast waited to see what Hurricane Angela would do, Riley and Summer waited for a phone call. The trap had been set; now all they could do was wait and see if the quarry they sought would take the bait.
To Riley, the atmosphere in his house seemed to have turned as gray and heavy as the weather, sultry with unvoiced passion and weighed down by the awareness that regardless of the outcome of the FBI’s “sting,” there could be no happy ever-after outcome for what had begun between himself and Summer. Once the threat to her and her children had been eliminated, by whatever means, she would leave his life forever; she was adamant about that. And he was left on the horns of a terrible dilemma, knowing that the circumstances that would give her back her life would, in effect, take away his.
Because he was in love with her. Of that he was no longer in any doubt. The thought of his life beyond her leaving loomed like the vast emptiness he’d known all his life, and felt sometimes now even as he held her in his arms.
Sometimes when he looked at her, when he looked at the children…when Helen squinched up her face in that imp-look she got just before she bopped him on the nose with one of her pile-driver kisses, or when David looked up from the computer at him with that sudden brightening of joy that erased the pleat of worry between his eyes…then he’d teeter on the brink, thinking,
Meanwhile, the schedule of their days had reverted to that awkward time right after she and the children had first come to stay with him, when she’d been avoiding him and doing her best to keep the kids and animals out of his way as well. But at night, after the children were asleep and the house was quiet, she would come to him as he swam, dropping her clothing on the flagstones and slipping silently into the pool and into his arms. She would not sleep with him, nor share his bed, nor any other bed in his house, no matter how briefly; but in the warm, dark, womblike water, it seemed she could allow herself to shed the constraints of motherhood and revel in the primitive joy of simply being a woman.
They made love in and out of the water and in every imaginable way, with the fervent abandon of wartime lovers, knowing it could all end tomorrow with the ringing of a telephone.
Midway through Friday morning Danell beeped Riley out of a conference with a client. Because he knew she wouldn’t do such a thing unless it was urgent, his heart gave a lurch and accelerated as he went to meet her in the hallway.
“Who is it?” His voice sounded like a truckload of gravel.
Danell shrugged and said with a frown, “Sounds like one of those guys on the commercials, you know-‘Don’ worry, be happy’. Hey-he
“It’s okay,” Riley passed her with a reassuring touch on her arm and headed for his office. He picked up the phone, gripped it hard. “Hey, Brasher, what’s up?”
“They say we got to go now,” the deep musical voice answered without preamble. “Say the hurricane be here by tonight.” There was a pause and an apologetic sigh. “Well…she’s pretty upset, you know…doesn’t want to go.”
“Oh, Lord.” Riley closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead hard with his fingertips.
“Well… she’s scared, you know.” Brasher’s chuckle sounded almost tender. “She’s lackin’ up a fuss pretty good, too.” There was a pause, and then in a voice as gentle and inexorable as the tide, he said, “Boy, you know you’re the only one can quiet her down… make her go. You bettah come now. She’ll listen to you.”
Riley nodded, though there was no one there to see. He felt as though a lead weight had settled on his heart. “I’ll be there,” he said finally. “As soon as I can.”
He broke the connection and sat for a moment frowning at the windows, at skies that matched his mood. Then he went and stuck his head around the corner into Danell’s office. “Give me five minutes to wrap this up,” he said, indicating the conference room. “Cancel the rest of the day, and then go on home and batten down the hatches. You got plenty of milk, bread and flashlight batteries?”
Danell rolled her eyes at him. Like him, she lived far enough from the coast not to have to worry about tidal surges and such, and when the last big hurricane-Hugo-had come through Charleston she’d been in high school somewhere in Alabama. She didn’t really have any idea what they might be in for.
It took him three times longer than normal to get home. Although the Charleston area hadn’t been given the official order to evacuate, the tourists and the faint of heart-those who remembered Hugo all too well-were already heading out. At the last minute he stopped in at the Wal-Mart where he’d lately become a regular customer and picked up milk, some lanterns, a portable radio and a good supply of batteries, just in case. The lines were long there, too.
Even with all that, it was early enough that when he pulled into his driveway, Summer met him at the door, sure something must be up. Her face was pale and set, but her eyes were bright and battle-ready.
“Have you heard? Did they call?”
Resisting a powerful desire to gather her into his arms and shelter her, he shook his head and moved past her to set his shopping bags on the island countertop. He could hear the children’s shouts and laughter out by the pool.
“Something’s come up,” he said quietly as he put the gallon jugs of milk in the refrigerator, closed the door, wadded up the plastic bags and tossed them under the sink. “I’m gonna have to go and take care of something.” He heard her little gasp of dismay and steeled himself against it.
“These are for you,” he continued, keeping his tone matter-of-fact, not letting himself look at Summer’s face as he calmly spread the radio, flashlights and batteries he’d bought out on the counter. “In case I don’t get back…in case the power goes out-as you know it can.” His mouth twisted, more a quirk than a smile. He took a breath, then headed for the stairs, jerking at his tie and talking as he went. She followed him silently. “If it does, the security system for the house has a battery-powered backup that should last for a couple power’s never been out for more than an hour or so at the most, so you should be okay. Let’s see…there’s bottled water in the cupboards, and you can use what’s in the pool for washing and flushing and such…”
He turned into his bedroom, and she stopped in the doorway and leaned against the frame. He could feel her watching him as he undressed, tossed his jacket, shirt and tie on the bed, then sat down on it to take off his shoes. His movements were jerky with anger-not at her, although she couldn’t know that. How could she know he felt guilty for leaving her, resentful for having to, and defensive because of it? He strode into his dressing room wearing only trousers, footsteps heavy with his anger, resentment and guilt.
“They’re evacuating the islands,” he called back to her as he rummaged for Dockers and windbreaker, polo shirt and athletic shoes. “I’ve got to go and help somebody…somebody I’m responsible for.”
“Is it Brasher?” Summer asked, though she didn’t want to.
For a moment there was silence, and then quietly from the depths of the closet, he replied, “Yeah, Brasher’s one…”
“And the woman…the one I saw you talking to?” Oh, she wished she hadn’t said that! She’d tried not to, felt miserable the moment she did, but somehow it just wouldn’t be denied. Too late to contain the words, she stood dumbly with her hand clamped over her mouth and watched Riley come slowly around the corner from the dressing room, carrying his shoes in one hand and holding his pants together at the waist with the other. Neither Rhett nor Prince nor hero now, but just a man, an ordinary man with a life and secrets she couldn’t share.
He came across the room, his face hard, his eyes shielded from her, and sat down on the bed. She watched him as he methodically peeled off one dress sock, put on a cotton athletic sock and then the shoe. Watched him repeat it with the other foot. Finally, with both feet once more on the floor, he rested his forearms on his knees and raised his face to hers. What she saw in his eyes shocked her There was no anger there at all, but only a deep, incomprehensible sadness.
She muttered a stricken, “I’m sorry-”
He shook his head, stopping her there. And then said, in a slow, careful way, as if every word pained him, “Her name is Modeen Kemp-the woman you saw me talking to. She’s Brasher’s granddaughter. She’s a licensed practical
