Livia seemed to be waiting to hear more, but Annie was appalled, and she lost her courage. However good her intentions might be, she could be doing serious psychological damage to this precious little girl. Scamp hung her head. “I guess I shouldn’t sing a song about something so terrible.”
Livia studied her, then climbed down off the rock and scurried away to chase a seagull.
THEO FOUND HER AT THE cottage just as she finished giving Hannibal his evening meal. “You’re not supposed to be here by yourself.” He sounded crankier than usual. “Why do I smell wet paint?”
“A little touch-up.” She spoke coolly, determined to reestablish the distance between them. “How did the wound repair go?”
“Not well. Stitching someone up without numbing them first isn’t my idea of a good time.”
“Don’t tell your readers. They’ll be disappointed in you.”
He scowled. “If I’m not here, you need to stay at Harp House.”
Good advice, except that she was experiencing an increasingly powerful urge to be here the next time her perpetrator showed up. This cat-and-mouse game had gone on long enough. She wanted a showdown.
“I refuse to raise a timid child, Antoinette.”
How many of Mariah’s judgments had Annie believed about herself?
“You’re naturally shy . . .” “You’re naturally clumsy . . .” “You need to stop being such a daydreamer . . .”
And then, “Of course I love you, Antoinette. I wouldn’t be concerned about you if I didn’t.”
Living on this bleak winter island so far removed from her city life was making Annie think about herself in new ways. In ways—
“What the hell?”
She turned to see Theo examining the wall she’d painted earlier. She grimaced. “I need to put on a second coat.”
He jabbed his finger at the faint red letters bleeding through the white paint. “Are you trying to be funny? This is not funny!”
“Make up your mind. I can either be funny or scream. Take your pick.” She didn’t feel like screaming. She’d rather punch someone.
He uttered a blistering obscenity, then asked her exactly what she’d found. When she finished, he made his proclamation. “That’s it. You’re moving up to Harp House. And I’m going over to the mainland to talk to the police.”
“A waste of time. Even when somebody shot at me, they weren’t interested. They’ll be even less interested in this.”
He pulled out his phone only to remember he couldn’t get a signal. “Pack up. You’re getting out of here.”
“As much as I appreciate your concern, I’m staying right here. And I want a gun.”
“A gun?”
“Only as a loan.”
“You want me to lend you a gun?”
“And show me how to use it.”
“That is not a good idea.”
“You’d rather I face whoever is doing this unarmed?”
“I’d rather you didn’t face whoever at all.”
“I’m not running.”
“Damn it, Annie. You’re as reckless now as you were at fifteen.”
She stared at him. She’d never thought of herself as reckless, and she liked the image. She considered it in light of her habit of falling in love with the wrong men, her belief that she could be a great actress, her determination to take Mariah to London for one last trip. And—not to forget—letting Theo Harp possibly get her pregnant.
Mariah, you didn’t know me at all.
He looked frazzled, and the novelty of it made her dig in. “I want a gun, Theo. And I want to learn how to shoot it.”
“It’s too dangerous. You’ll be safe at the house.”
“I don’t want to stay at Hell House. I want to stay here.”
He gazed at her long and hard, then thrust his finger in her face. “All right. Target practice tomorrow afternoon. But you’d better pay attention to every word I say.” He stalked away to the studio.
Annie made herself a sandwich for dinner and went back to sorting through the boxes, but it had been a long day, and she was tired. As she brushed her teeth, she gazed at the closed studio door. Despite everything she’d been telling herself about keeping her distance, she wanted him lying next to her. She wanted him so much that she grabbed a pad of Post-it notes from the kitchen, scrawled on the top one, and stuck it to her bedroom door. Then she closed herself in and went to sleep.
DIGGITY SWIFT WAS DEAD. THEO had done it. The kid had finally slipped up, Dr. Quentin Pierce had caught him, and Theo hadn’t written a word since.
He closed his laptop and rubbed his eyes. His brain was fried, that was all. Tomorrow he’d be able to start with a clear head. By then, the tightness in his chest would have disappeared, and he’d be able to make headway. The middle of any book was the hardest to write, but with Diggity gone, he’d be able to see his way clear of the muddle he’d created and find a pathway to the next chapters. As long as he didn’t start thinking about Annie and what had happened at his farmhouse today . . .
He wouldn’t wake her tonight when he got in bed next to her. He wasn’t some kind of animal with no self-control, even though that was how he felt. The novelty of making love with a woman he hadn’t grown to detest fascinated him. A woman who didn’t fall into a crying jag afterward. Or attack him for some imaginary offense.
Because Annie was so different from the women in his past, he wondered whether he would have noticed her if he’d passed her on the street? Damn right, he would have. The uniqueness of that quirky face would have caught his attention, the way she walked, as if she intended to conquer the ground under her. He liked her height, the funny way she had of looking at people as if she really saw them. He liked her legs—he definitely liked her legs. Annie was an original. And he needed to do a better job of protecting her.
He’d talked to Jessie and her father today, trying to get a feel for how people regarded Annie, but he hadn’t learned anything that raised his suspicions. They were curious about why she’d come to the island, but they were more interested in sharing their stories about Mariah. After the boats got in tomorrow, he intended to hang out at the fish house. He’d take the men some beer, see what he could pick up. He’d also make sure they knew Annie would be armed, a disturbing prospect, but necessary.
He’d come to the island because he couldn’t tolerate being around people, yet here he was, involved with everything. It had been over an hour since he’d heard her go to her room. She’d be wearing those awful pajamas. Or maybe not.
His good intentions vanished. He set aside his laptop and left the studio. But as he saw the Post-it note on her door, he stopped cold. It had one word.
No.
THEO DIDN’T MENTION THE NOTE to her the next morning. He didn’t say much of anything except that he needed his car that day. Only later did she discover he’d driven to the dock to pick up the locksmith. Knowing she didn’t have the money to pay the bill made her feel ashamed.
He was in the studio when she returned to the cottage. She took the box of wine from her closet and carried it out to his car. He opened the kitchen door for her as she came back in. “What did you put in my car?”
“Some excellent wine. You’re welcome. And thanks for taking care of the locks.”
He saw right through her. “I had the locks changed for myself. I can’t chance having my laptop stolen while I’m out.”
He was trying to let her save face, which only made her more indebted. “Uh-huh.”
“Annie, I don’t want your wine. This isn’t a big deal to me.”
“It’s a big deal to me.”
“All right. How’s this? No more Post-it notes on your door, and we’ll call it even.”
“Enjoy your wine.” She couldn’t think straight with him standing in front of her, oozing all those male pheromones, not after what had happened at the farmhouse. “Did you bring a gun?”
He didn’t press. “I’ve got it. Grab your coat.”
They went out
on the marsh. After he’d gone through the basic rules of gun safety, he showed her how to load and fire the automatic pistol he’d chosen for her. The gun should have repelled Annie, but she liked shooting it. What she didn’t like was the unexpected eroticism of having Theo so close. They were barely inside the cottage before they were tearing off each other’s clothes.
“I DON’T WANT TO TALK about it,” she snarled at him later that night as they lay in her bed.
He yawned. “Fine by me. More than fine.”
“You can’t sleep here. You have to sleep in your own bed.”
He tried to settle her against his naked body. “I don’t want to sleep in my own bed.”
She didn’t want him to, either, but however murky some things might be, this was clear. “I want sex, not intimacy.”
He curled his hand around her rear. “Sex it is.”
She wiggled away. “You have two options. You can either sleep by yourself, or you can lie here for the next three hours and listen to the details of every crappy relationship I’ve ever had, why they were crappy, and why men suck. Warning. I cry ugly.”
He threw back the cover. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I thought so.”
ANNIE HAD GOTTEN WHAT SHE wanted from Theo—the best sex of her life—but she’d also set boundaries.
Very sensible, Dilly said. You’ve finally learned your lesson.
The next afternoon, Annie took Livia outside again. It was too windy for the beach, so they hung out on the front porch steps. Annie needed to know if she’d done any damage yesterday, and she propped Scamp on her knee. The puppet got straight to the point. “Are you mad at me for talking about your daddy when we went down to the beach?”
Livia pursed her lips, thinking it over, then slowly shook her head.
“Good,” Scamp said, “because I was worried you’d be mad.”
Livia shook her head again, then climbed up on the stone balustrade that had replaced the wooden spindles. She straddled the balustrade, her back to Annie.
Should she drop the subject or keep it on the table? She needed to do more research on mutism and childhood trauma. In the meantime, she would trust her instincts.
“I would hate it if I had a daddy that did bad things to my mommy,” Scamp said. “Especially if I couldn’t talk about it.”
Livia began riding the balustrade horse.
“Or sing about it. I believe I’ve mentioned that I’m an accomplished vocalist.” Scamp began singing a series of scales. It had taken Annie endless years of practice to sing well in the vocal registers of all her puppets, something that set her apart from most vents. Scamp finally stopped. “If you ever want me to sing another song about what happened, let me know.”
Livia quit riding her horse and turned around. She stared at Annie, then at Scamp.
“Yes or no?” Scamp chirped. “I shall abide by your wise decision.”
Livia dropped her head and picked at some residual pink nail polish on her thumbnail. A definite no. What had Annie expected? Did she really think her clumsy interference could unlock such a deep trauma?
Livia shifted her position on the balustrade so she was facing Annie. She slowly moved her head. A hesitant nod.
Annie felt as if her heart skipped a beat. “Very well,” Scamp said. “I shall call my song ‘The Ballad of Livia’s Terrible Experience.’ ” Annie stalled for time with some dramatic throat clearing. The best she could hope to do was drag the topic out of the darkness into the light. Maybe that would make it less taboo. She also needed to tell Jaycie about this. She began to sing softly.
“Little girls shouldn’t see bad things
But sometimes they do . . .”
She continued her song, making it up as she’d done yesterday, but this time keeping the tune more serious and avoiding any Olés. Livia listened to every word, then nodded at the end and went back to riding her balustrade horse.
Annie heard a noise behind her and turned.
Theo leaned against the corner of the house at the far end of the porch. Even from where she was, she could see the frown etched between his eyebrows. He’d overheard, and he was judging her for it.
Livia saw him, too, and stopped riding the balustrade. He came forward, the collar of his parka turned up, his footsteps silent on the stone porch floor.
Screw his judgment, Annie thought. At least she was trying to help Livia. What had he done, other than scare her?
Scamp was still on her arm, and she thrust the puppet forward. “Halt! Identify yourself!”
He halted. “Theo Harp. I live here.”
“So you say. Prove it.”
“Well . . . My initials are carved in the floor of the gazebo.”
His initials as well as his twin’s.
Scamp thrust her chin forward. “Are you good or bad, Mr. Theo Harp?”
One dark eyebrow shot toward his hairline, but he kept his focus on the puppet. “I try to be good, but it’s not always easy.”
“Do you eat your vegetables?”
“Everything except rutabaga.”
Scamp turned toward Livia and said in a stage whisper, “He doesn’t like rutabaga either.” Then back to Theo. “Do you take a bath without making a big fuss about it?”
“I take showers. I like ’em.”
“Do you run outside in your socks?”
“No.”
“Do you sneak candy when nobody’s looking?”
“Only peanut butter cups.”
“Your horse is scary.”
He glanced over at Livia. “That’s why kids need to stay out of the stable if I’m not there.”
“Do you ever yell?”
He returned his attention to Scamp. “I try not to. Unless the Sixers are losing.”
“Do you know how to comb your hair by yourself?”
“I do.”
“Do you bite your fingernails?”
“Absolutely not.”
Scamp took a deep breath, dropped her head, and lowered her voice. “Do you ever hit mommies?”
Theo didn’t blink. “Never. Absolutely never. Nobody should ever hit mommies.”
Scamp turned to Livia and cocked her head. “What do you think? Can he stay?”
Livia nodded agreeably—no hesitation, firm nod—and slipped down off the balustrade.
“Could I speak with Annie now?” Theo asked Scamp.
“I guess,” Scamp replied. “I’ll go make up songs in my head.”
“You do that.”
Annie returned Scamp to her backpack. She expected Livia to go inside, now that the puppet wasn’t part of the conversation, but instead she wandered along the porch and down the three front steps. Annie started to tell her to come back, but Livia didn’t stray. Instead she poked around in the frozen dirt next to the house.
Theo tilted his head toward the end of the porch, clearly indicating they needed a private conversation. Annie went over to him, still keeping her eye on Livia. He spoke quietly, so the child couldn’t hear. “How long has this been going on?”
“She and Scamp have been friends for a while, but I only started talking about her father a couple of days ago. And, no, I don’t know what I’m doing. And, yes, I realize I’m meddling with a problem that’s too complicated for someone who’s not a professional. Do you think I’m crazy?”
He considered. “She’s definitely not as skittish as she was. And she seems to like being around you.”
“She likes being around Scamp.”
“Scamp is the one who started talking to her about what she saw, right? It was Scamp, not you?”
Annie nodded.
“And she wants to be with Scamp?” he said.
“She seems to.”
He frowned. “How do you do it? I’m a grown man. I know damn well you’re the one who’s making that puppet talk, but I still look at the puppet.”
“I’m good at what I do.” She’d intended to be sarcastic, but it didn’t come out that way.
“
Damn right you are.” He tilted his head toward the little girl. “I say keep going. If she’s had enough, she’ll let you know.”
His confidence made her feel better.
He turned to leave only to have Livia come scampering up the stairs after him. She’d brought something with her. Looking up at him, she opened her hands, showing him a couple of small rocks and some clamshells. He gazed down at her. She gazed back, her lips setting in their familiar mulish line. She extended her hands. He smiled and took what she’d given him, then rubbed the top of her head. “See you later, kiddo.” He disappeared down the cliff steps to the beach.
How odd. Livia was afraid of Theo, so why had she given him what she’d collected?
Rocks, clamshells . . .
Annie understood. Livia had given him her offerings because he was the one building her fairy house.
ANNIE WAS FINDING IT INCREASINGLY difficult to connect the Theo she remembered from the past with the man she now knew. She understood that people changed as they grew older, but his disturbing teenage behavior had seemed too deep rooted in psychosis to be easily fixed. He’d told her he’d had therapy. Apparently, it had worked, although he refused to talk about Regan and continued to shut down when the conversation got personal. She couldn’t lose sight of the fact that he was still deeply troubled.
Later, as she was taking out the trash, she glanced down at the cottage and saw something that made her stop in her tracks. A car moved slowly, almost stealthily, toward the cottage.
Theo wrote in the studio. Sometimes he blasted music while he worked. He wouldn’t even know he had a visitor.
She raced inside the house, grabbed the car keys, and sped down the cliff.
Chapter Seventeen
YOU WERE PREPARED TO DEFEND me with an ice scraper?” Theo tossed his parka over the back of the pink velvet couch. Two hours had passed since the unfortunate incident, and he was just returning from his second trip to town.
“It was all I could find in your car,” Annie said. “We Ninjas have to use whatever’s on hand.”