Part 89 (1/2)

Even as he stepped to the door, the wild, warning barks erupted from inside.

He stumbled back, heart racing into his throat.

He'd seen Landon with a dog on the beach, but it had seemed friendly, playful. Harmless, the sort of dog you trusted with your kids.

He'd put a couple of dog biscuits in his bag, as a bribe.

The violence of the barking didn't speak of the easily bribed. It spoke of vicious teeth, snapping jaws.

Cursing, near to tears, he backed away. Next time, the next time he'd bring meat. Poisoned.

Nothing would keep him out of Bluff House and away from what was rightfully his.

He needed to calm down, and he needed to think. It infuriated him most of all that he needed to go back to work, at least for a few days. But that would give him time to think, and to plan. Maybe come up with a new idea to implicate Landon or the woman. To get one or both of them out of the house, into police custody for a time. Enough time.

Or maybe one of the Boston Landons would have an accident. That would draw the b.a.s.t.a.r.d out of the house. Clear the road.

Something to think about.

Now he needed to get back to Boston himself and regroup. Put in appearances, make sure he was seen where he was supposed to be seen, make sure he talked to those he was supposed to talk to.

Everyone would see an ordinary man going about his work, his day, his life. No one would see how extraordinary he was.

He'd rushed it, he thought now as he checked his speed, made sure he stayed within the posted limit. Knowing he was close had driven him too fast. He'd throttle back a bit, give everything and everyone time to settle.

When he came back to Whiskey Beach he'd be ready to move, ready to win. He'd claim his legacy. He'd dispense justice.

Then he'd live as he deserved to. Like a pirate king.

He drove carefully by the beach-front restaurant where Eli and Abra held hands across the table.

”I like dating,” Abra commented. ”I'd almost forgotten.”

”Me, too.”

”I like first dates.” She picked up her wine, smiled over the gla.s.s. ”Especially first dates where I don't have to decide if I'm going to let myself be talked into bed.”

”I really like the last part of that.”

”You're home. You're home in Whiskey Beach. It shows, and I know how it feels. Tell me your plans for Bluff House. You have them,” she added, taking a finger off the stem of the gla.s.s to point at him. ”You're a plan-maker.”

”I used to be. For a while, for too long, just getting through the day was too much of a plan. But you're right, I've been thinking about plans for the house.”

She edged forward, candlelight in her eyes, the roll of the sea through the wide gla.s.s beside them. ”Tell me all.”

”Practicalities first. Gran needs to come back. She'll stay in Boston and work on her therapy until she's ready, then she'll come home. I was thinking of an elevator. I know an architect who'd come out, take a look. There's going to be a time when she can't handle the stairs, so maybe an elevator's an option. If not, eventually we could see about turning the smaller parlor into a bedroom suite for her.”

”I like the elevator. She loves her bedroom, and loves being able to go all over the house. It would help her have all that. I think it's years off, but it's good planning. What else?”