Part 2 (1/2)
Savannah turned and headed for the door. ”Let's get down there. See if we can find out what's goin' on.”
”No,” he said, blocking her path.
”No? What do you mean, 'no'?”
”I mean, this is our honeymoon, and we're not getting involved in anybody else's business. Especially if it's business that involves running or feathers on fire.”
”But-”
”No 'but's.' We made a deal that we wouldn't go looking for trouble of any kind, shape, or form while we were here. We had more than our share of drama just trying to get married. I intend to enjoy this honeymoon.”
He stepped closer, looking down at her with so much love-not to mention a l.u.s.ty twinkle in his eye-that she could hardly resist.
Then she thought of how hard that blonde had been running on the beach, dressed in her fine business suit. For a moment, Savannah's curiosity warred with her desire to stay on her new husband's good side.
After twenty-four hours, she was all too aware of how nice his good side could be.
But of all Savannah's virtues and vices, the character trait that had always been first and foremost in her psyche was curiosity. Pure and simple.
And this time, it won out over l.u.s.t. It triumphed over her soul-deep need for a peaceful vacation from their recent travails. Even her deeply engrained Southern teachings about pleasing the people around you at all personal costs crumbled in the face of pure, unadulterated nosiness.
”I have to find out,” she told him, fixing him with her infamous, cobalt blue-eyed, steely, hundred-yard gaze. ”I understand why you'd want nothing to do with it. I know you want our time here to be about loving and bonding and celebrating our nuptials, and I appreciate that. And I promise you we'll get to that.”
She took a breath and looked down at the catwalk beneath their feet. ”In fact, I promise you that later tonight, we'll sneak up here in the dark and I'll make such wild, pa.s.sionate love to you that you won't be able to see straight for a month.”
He grinned. ”Wouldn't mind trying that.”
”It's a promise. But, boy, I'm telling you something else just as sincerely. If you don't get outta my way, I'm gonna hurt you.”
He moved aside so that she could pa.s.s.
As she reached for the door, he got it first and opened it for her. As she moved past him, he put his hand on her back and gave her a little pat. ”I'm gonna hold you to that promise. Ordinarily, with the way I feel about heights, I wouldn't be lookin' for an excuse to come back up here. But that was a pretty intriguing offer you made.”
”I never made love in a lighthouse,” she said as she stepped back inside the lantern room. ”Have to make the most of life's opportunities when they present themselves. Never know if they'll come back around again.”
He followed her, giving a sheepish glance back toward the side of the light where he had been standing alone earlier. ”Okay,” he said. ”But when we come back up here-to get romantic and all . . .”
”Yes?”
”You don't wanna go around to that other side, where I was when you called me.”
”Because? . . .”
” 'Cause that's where I threw up.”
”You threw up on the walkway? Dirk, that is so gross! Why did you do that? Why didn't you lean over and do your business over the rail?”
He stared at her with haunted eyes for what seemed like forever. Finally he said, ”Lean over? Look down? Look al-l-l the way down? Are you kidding me?”
”Oh. Right.” She sighed, rolled her eyes, and shook her head. ”What was I thinking?”
Chapter 3.
Savannah made it down the lighthouse staircase in less than half the time it had taken her to climb it. Funny how much easier it was when you had gravity and rabid curiosity on your side.
Dirk was directly behind her as she rushed out the front door and closed it behind them.
”I guess I should lock it,” she said, fumbling with the keys in her hand. ”Betty Sue wouldn't have given us keys if we weren't supposed to use them.”
It took her a couple of tries to get the ancient lock to turn, but finally it slid home with a solid thunk. And when she tried the door, it was securely fastened.
”There,” she said. ”No lighthouse burglars or nor'easter's gonna push that sucker open.”
Dirk motioned toward the nearest cliff. ”How do you propose we get down to the beach from here? I've climbed all the heights my delicate psyche can handle for a while.”
”I saw some stairs over there,” she said, ”leading down from that dirt road to the water.”
He trudged along at her heels as she headed in that direction. ”Just what I need. Another big, long, high, tall staircase.”
She stopped and turned so abruptly that he ran into her. ”If you don't want to go down there with me, you don't have to. I'll go by myself and you can stand there at the top of the steps and look down and . . . Oh, sorry. You wouldn't want to do that either, huh?”
He didn't miss her sarcasm. Judging from his scowl, he didn't like it either.
”You know,” he said, ”just because you don't have any phobia junk yourself doesn't mean you should make fun of people who do. It ain't easy. In fact, it can make a person feel pretty d.a.m.ned stupid to be scared spitless of something that doesn't bother most other people.”
For a moment, she flashed back on all the times she'd made chicken jokes at his expense, and she felt more than a little ashamed of herself.
She reached out and placed her hands on his chest. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her palms.
Wow! This really is hard for him, she thought. Rough, tough ol' Dirk. Who would've imagined?
”I'm sorry, sugar,” she said, her voice soft with Georgia sweetness. ”I really am. You don't need to go down those stairs or anyplace else you're not comfortable going. And I promise I won't ask you again.”
He gave a snort and headed for the top of the stairs. ”Oh, I'm going down to the beach with my wife,” he called over his shoulder. ”I just want her to appreciate the sacrifice I'm making for her. I want major husband points.”
She laughed as she scrambled after him. ”You got 'em, babycakes. And being how it's our honeymoon, you should have plenty of opportunities to cash 'em in.”
As they hurried down the steep stairs, Dirk in the lead, she glanced to their left, to the stand of yellow-blossomed trees where she had first spotted the woman. Then she looked farther down to the rock outcropping where the blonde had disappeared. All seemed still and natural. No hint of anything amiss.
Except for the churned sand where the woman had left uneven, ragged footprints as she'd fled along the water's edge.
Savannah directed Dirk toward the stand of trees. ”The gal was dodging in and out of those big bushes,” she told him. ”Like she was trying to hide from somebody who was after her.”
They walked into the thicket and picked their way among the scrub brush, looking for anything that Mother Nature herself might not have left there.
Savannah located the first find . . . and the second. ”Here are her shoes,” she said, pointing to a designer peep-toed pump, which had been discarded beside a mallow bush. A few feet away lay its mate. Savannah wanted to reach down, pick it up, and examine the glossy, charcoal gray patent leather. But years of experience and expertise involving the handling of potential evidence kept her from doing so. Something told her these shoes and anything else they might find could wind up being evidence.