Spencer's Cove Read online

Her morning ritual since returning to Spencer’s Cove was to ride along the cliffs, away from the lighthouse to the south, and then circle back to the house just as Cora had the teakettle boiling. Boots shifted beneath her. She leaned over and patted his neck. His coat was jet-black against the gray line of sea and fog. He stopped and turned so that Abby could face the ocean. Inhaling deeply awarded her the crisp scent of brine. Far below the high, dark cliff, a small strip of wet sand was slowly reclaimed by the returning tide. Swells grew as they rolled toward shore, crashed, and then withdrew as if the ocean also needed to draw a cleansing breath.

  The idea of returning to her family’s estate had been a withdrawal of sorts, but now she wondered if she’d made a mistake. The dreams had followed her anyway.

  Focus on something positive. Don’t go there.

  Since her retreat home, the extensive library had become her comfort the past few weeks. She’d found solace in her return to literary friendships. She’d gone back to worlds she’d visited long ago, before leaving for college on the East Coast and then study abroad. Personal relationships came with a risk she wasn’t sure she was ready to face again, or ever. She was alone but not lonely, so maybe this was her life. A solitary path. There were worse things. Besides, she wasn’t truly alone; she had the horses, and their care was almost a full-time job.

  Cora was also with her. Cora had been taking care of the house since before her parents’ deaths. She was the closest thing Abby had to family now, well, except for Gertrude Hampton, who managed the legal and financial affairs of the Spencer estate and was far too invested in Abby’s lack of a romantic life.

  The wind picked up and she shivered. Just thinking of holding a hot cup of tea between her chilled fingers was all it took for Boots to turn and head back toward the barn, as if he’d read her thoughts. Maybe he had.

  The stable door was open as they approached, and Evan Bell, the new groundskeeper, stepped out to greet them, carrying a halter for Boots. It was still early so she hadn’t expected to see anyone, but Evan seemed to have a similar habit of not sleeping in. Abby wondered if Evan suffered from bad dreams too. Evan had only been working on the property for a couple of weeks, too short a time for very many personal questions. Additionally, Evan was reserved. Abby might even have described her as aloof.

  Evan was an imposing woman, taller than Abby by several inches, broad shouldered, with an athletic build. If she had to guess Evan’s age she’d place her somewhere around forty, but of course she hadn’t asked. Evan’s brown hair was cut all one length, and it fell to the edge of her square jawline. Usually Evan wore a waxed cotton baseball cap that shadowed her dark eyes and kept her hair away from her face. This morning was no exception.

  “Did you have a nice ride, Miss Spencer?” Evan swapped the bridle Boots was wearing while Abby removed the saddle.

  “I wish you’d call me Abby.” Miss Spencer sounded so formal, so distant, so old. She was just about to turn thirty and not ready to feel old.

  “Yes, Miss Spencer—Abby.” Evan turned Boots out in a separate paddock to cool down.

  Abby took the saddle into the dark interior of the barn. She hadn’t been sure about hiring Evan, but when George, the previous groundskeeper, had retired, Gertie had insisted. It was probably for the best. If Gertie hadn’t jumped in and hired someone from out of the area it would likely have taken Abby forever to find someone. Especially since most of the locals believed the Spencer mansion was haunted. Maybe it was haunted, but if that was the case then the ghosts were friendly because the sprawling estate was the one place Abby felt most safe.

  Abby leaned against the railing of the enclosure that abutted the barn. A brown mare stood in the grassy open area watching her. Her name was Journey’s End. She’d arrived two days ago, rescued from an abusive situation by animal control. Her flight reflex was on high alert as she studied Abby, stomping her feet, ready to flee, with head up, and tail raised.

  “Has Iain been here yet?” Iain Green was the salty old gentleman who helped Abby with the care of the horses. Evan was a skilled groundskeeper, but she seemed to have less experience with horses. Although she’d obviously ridden before and liked to brush Boots after Abby’s regular early morning rides. There was simply too much maintenance for one person, so Iain’s help with the equine residents of the estate had been a necessity.

  “I haven’t seen him this morning.” Evan mirrored Abby’s stance, resting her forearms on the top rail of the fence a few feet away.

  She liked the fact that Evan seemed aware of her need for personal space. She never crowded Abby the way some well-intentioned people did, Cora included. Actually, Cora was the only person with whom Abby allowed any physical closeness. The occasional maternal hug was all she’d permit, even though, given the opportunity, Cora would gladly fuss over her like a mother hen.

  Abby opened the gate and walked with slow, easy steps toward the mare. Halfway across the enclosure, Abby stopped. She focused on projecting calm. After a minute, the animal visibly relaxed, planted all four feet on the ground, and lowered her head.

  “Everything is okay now. You’re safe,” she whispered. She stopped within a few feet of the mare and waited for Journey’s End to come to her. With horses, the slower the better. Especially if they’d experienced any sort of trauma. It was impossible to know what this sweet animal had endured, but old scars marred her shoulders and her flank.

  The horse brushed her velvet muzzle against Abby’s jacket. Only then did she tenderly settle her palm on the mare’s jaw.

  “Hello there.” She let her fingertips drift lightly down the mare’s neck to her shoulder. “I’m going to call you Journey, because yours is just beginning. A new journey to a better life, okay?”

  Journey snorted and shifted her stance.

  “I’ll see you later. You just rest now.”

  Journey trailed her halfway across the enclosure but stopped before she reached the fence where Evan was still standing.

  “I don’t think Iain’s been able to get that close to her yet.” Evan opened the gate for her. “You really have a special touch with horses.”

  “I sometimes think we see the world in the same way.” Horses had only so much tolerance for stress—noise, trauma, overstimulation. She knew she had the same threshold, and when she reached that threshold she shut down too.

  “Should I tell Iain to come find you when he gets here?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll speak with him later. It’s not urgent.” She spoke over her shoulder as she walked toward the back entrance of the large house.

  The kettle whistled in the kitchen. Abby shucked out of her jacket and tossed her scarf and gloves in a bundle onto the weathered bench along the entryway at the back of the house. She swept her fingers through her hair to fluff it a little after removing the wool knit hat. It crackled with static from the change in air temperature. The golden glow of the lit fire in the kitchen created an oasis of warmth that contrasted sharply with the cool blue gray stone floor of the entryway.

  “Did you and Mr. Bright Boots have a pleasant jaunt?” Cora Taylor, chief cook and house matron, turned and smiled. She was nearly sixty, but her accent still carried a hint of her childhood in Ireland.

  “We did, thank you for asking. It’s pretty chilly so we didn’t go far.” When Abby had first seen Boots she’d felt compelled to name him Bright Boots. Bright because of the sparkle in his eyes and Boots because of the two white stockings on his front feet. But now she mostly called him Boots for short.

  “Here, warm your hands.” Cora set a cup of steaming tea in front of Abby.

  She added a dash of cream and then cradled the warm mug with both hands.

  “Something smells good.”

  “Muffins with blueberries.”

  “Yum.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Cora set the pan on the stove and served a few of the muffins onto a plate in the center of the table. Then she joined Abby, slathering a healthy dose of butter on the warm bread befor
e taking a bite. “Now, tell me, what are your plans for the day?”

  Abby was reluctant to share that she had very few.

  “That reminds me, Ms. Hampton left a message for you late yesterday. I forgot to let you know, but it seems we’re to have a visitor.” Cora grinned cheerfully over her tea, her round and rosy cheeks bookending her mischievous smile.

  “What?” Abby’s stomach clenched, and tension crept up the back of her neck. The last thing she wanted to deal with was a guest in the house.

  ***

  Evan needed to make a phone call, and she was late making it. Abby had returned later than usual from her morning ride, and Evan had wanted to be sure of her return before leaving. She’d put Boots in a stall with fresh hay, and made sure Abby was in the house before she climbed in her truck and headed into town.

  A secure call was only possible from a public landline, and Spencer’s Cove had just one pay phone. It was located on the corner, near the library. The location was a bit public for Evan’s preference, but there was no other option.

  The breeze was chilly in the open-air phone booth. This wasn’t the sort of booth Superman could have changed clothes in. There was no lower half and no door, only a three-sided clear plexiglass box. She cradled the receiver against her shoulder as she zipped the front of her jacket, turned up the collar, and scanned the street for onlookers.

  “You’re late.” A woman’s voice, not much more than a husky whisper through the phone.

  She didn’t recognize the voice, although there was something familiar that tickled Evan’s ear. It was hard to even hear her over the coastal breeze winging its way past the phone booth.

  “I don’t control her schedule.” Evan wasn’t that late anyway.

  “Are there any signs of transition?” Another whispered question.

  “No.” That wasn’t entirely true. Evan had seen things she’d describe as shadows, hints, but not conclusive signs. Nothing she felt like sharing.

  “Why are you still there?”

  “What?” The question caught her off guard.

  “Why would you still be there if you didn’t feel that there was a reason to stay?”

  Was this woman challenging her?

  “I report what I see.” She wasn’t about to let this woman, whoever she was, bait her into revealing something she wasn’t ready to reveal.

  Evan had been in this one-phone-booth town, literally at what felt like the edge of the earth, for two weeks, and she’d not seen enough to report with certainty that they had a legitimate target. Unless this woman knew something Evan didn’t, in which case she should share those details.

  “I’ll relay your status update to the Council.”

  “I—” But she’d already hung up. The dial tone drilled annoyingly into her ear.

  Evan replaced the receiver and let out a long, slow breath. She stood still, head down, hands in her jacket pockets, waiting for her pulse to slow. She was pissed. Pissed off and tired of getting jerked around by some nameless, faceless whispered voice on the phone. She was the one in the field. She was the one taking all the chances, not the Council. The elders never put themselves on the line to retrieve a candidate. And she shouldn’t even be here. This wasn’t what she’d signed up for or what she’d trained for.

  Jacqueline was dead.

  She reminded herself that if not directly, then indirectly, it was her fault. Security for the ceremony had been her responsibility and she’d failed. Jacqueline had died in an uncontrolled tumble from the altar before the ritual was complete. The collapse had been catastrophic, and Evan had been badly injured in her attempt to save Jacqueline.

  Because of her failure, she’d been kicked to the curb by Leath Dane. Put out to pasture, literally, by Leath, the new Council head.

  Leath didn’t like her. That was clear. Ever since, scratch that, their conflict had begun long before Jacqueline’s death. Leath’s failed seduction had caused a rift beyond repair between them. Declining the offer only made her more of a target for Leath’s petty, bullying tactics.

  The minute Leath had been in any position of power she’d exiled Evan to the West Coast, the lost coast.

  This was nothing more than a babysitting assignment. All she was required to do was observe and report, and it was bullshit.

  “Fuck.”

  She strode across the street to get a to-go coffee before heading back to the Spencer estate. The breakfast crowd was sparse. A couple of older men wearing well-seasoned caps sat in a booth next to the wall. Several young men in hoodies, probably surfers, were seated at a four-top near the front window. It was Evan’s nature to canvas any room she entered, to catalog details about who, what, and any potential risks. In Jacqueline’s service she’d done this for years. It was a hard habit to break.

  “You can take a seat anywhere you like.” A pretty waitress behind the counter spoke to her as she approached.

  The woman was probably in her mid-thirties, warm brown skin, dreamy dark eyes, and a sexy braided bob of black hair, adorned with several gold braid cuffs. A scooped neck, faded blue T-shirt emblazoned with the restaurant’s name hugged the contours of her yoga-fit curves. Skinny jeans and black Converse low tops rounded out the ensemble. Wow, gorgeous.

  “I was hoping to get a coffee.”

  “Sure.” The waitress reached for a paper cup near the coffee pot. “Do you need room for cream?”

  “That depends on how good the coffee is.”

  Evan couldn’t help flirting a little. The woman would either be annoyed, or maybe she wouldn’t even notice. Evan wondered for a fleeting moment what it was like to have a normal life, a girlfriend, maybe even a dog.

  “I make the coffee.” The waitress matched Evan’s direct gaze and smiled.

  “I’m sure it’s good then. No need to leave room for cream.” Evan fished in her pocket for cash.

  “To go?”

  Evan had to think for a minute. It was very tempting to sit at the counter, sip coffee, and enjoy the view, but she needed to get back.

  “Yeah, to go.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to sit and drink it here?”

  Was the waitress flirting? Evan tried to read her nametag quickly so that it wouldn’t seem as if she was staring at her breasts, which were nice, but the glare from the overhead light made it impossible.

  “Maybe another time.” And she meant it. She’d come back when her time was her own and maybe even sit and eat a meal. Evan left way too much cash on the counter for a small coffee and smiled.

  “Okay, another time then.”

  Evan backed toward the door, and the waitress made no secret of watching her leave. The coffee was good. She smiled as she sipped. She had to stow the to-go cup in the holder and use both hands as she steered slowly along the scenic, winding two-lane road back to the Spencer place. She mulled the past couple of weeks over in her head trying to figure out why everything felt so screwed up. Although, to figure that out she’d have to rewind further than two weeks. Details from the day Jacqueline died kept cycling through her head, especially at night. Something wasn’t right. Something didn’t make sense. Evan couldn’t put her finger on why everything was off; she just knew that it was.

  Evan had only done fieldwork a few times when she was much younger, before she’d been promoted to Jacqueline’s security detail. She’d forgotten what it was like to be out in the real world, surrounded by those who knew nothing of the otherness that had been her reality since she was a child, taken in and sheltered by the elders, groomed to serve them. She loved Jacqueline like the mother she never knew. She’d been happy to serve as her bodyguard.

  Did sentinels usually like their candidate as much as she liked Abby? She didn’t think she was supposed to have any sort of feeling about a candidate one way or the other. Evan tried her best to remain neutral, but there was something about Abby, an unguarded innocence that triggered every protective urge she possessed. If she were honest, there had been things she should have reported to th
e Council, but she’d kept those details to herself. And she wasn’t sure just yet why.

  Sometimes the truth of a thing revealed itself over time. So she’d wait. And in the meantime, trust her gut.

  Chapter Two

  The Atlanta airport was a small city unto itself, complete with a train running every three minutes between terminals. Foster was anxious to get to her gate, having left barely enough time for the enormous line at the main security checkpoint.

  Looking the way Foster looked made TSA an adventure, and not always a pleasant one. She was tall, with hardly any hips to speak of. Lanky was her mother’s description. Plus, she usually wore jeans and a blazer of some sort, which hid her small breasts from view. This seemed to always cause gender confusion for TSA agents.

  She’d done her best to pick a line that not only moved quickly, but where the agent operating the metal detector looked as if they’d be able to discern which gender she was. Inevitably, the guys always picked the blue icon on the scanner screen, so that she’d have to go back through once they realized their mistake. Today her choices had been a woman who looked like she’d formerly been a member of the Soviet weightlifting team and a woman who looked like she’d been a top pledge candidate for a sorority at the University of Georgia, or maybe a cheerleader. At any rate, neither option seemed great.

  In the end, the choice was made for her because Helga waved Foster toward the sorority girl’s line. Pensive and in sock feet, Foster stepped through the scanner only to be held back for further inspection.

  “Would you prefer a private room?” Expertly applied eyeliner highlighted her blue eyes as the agent looked up at Foster. The nametag over the breast pocket of her pressed TSA uniform read Heather.

  “No, I’m fine here.”

  Heather ran her palms along Foster’s arms, down her ribs, then stepped a little closer and reached around to slide searching fingers up her back. This seemed more intimate than usual, right? Foster scanned the surrounding travelers, but no one seemed to be paying any attention. Now Heather was kneeling in front of her sweeping her hands slowly up the inside of Foster’s leg toward her crotch. She slowed her sweep as she ran her palm across Foster’s zipper. When she looked down, Heather winked.