Chapter 12

© Copyright 2003 by Elizabeth Delayne



Her fingers tightened on the note.

It was supposed to be you.

"Amy."

Amy felt, rather then heard, Derek move behind her. She swallowed against the fear and dropped back down to her bag, placing the note carefully in the side pocket, careful of her fingerprints.

"Just a note ... from Mitch," she evaded, drawing the strap over her shoulder and standing in one smooth motion.

Her heart was pounding. Go away!

Someone had hurt Chloe.

Walk—she ordered herself, when she wanted to flee. She drew in a deep breath, looked around. The beach was nearly empty. The station house was almost bleak with inactivity. A few cars dotted the parking lot and down the beach she saw a lone runner coming toward her.

Amy stopped, felt the rise of panic, and reminded herself that it would have been more odd to see no one running on the beach. It was a public place. People blurred together, moving back and forth.

She drew in a deep breath, blinked and concentrated on the warm sand that curled around her toes. She would not, she promised herself, have a panic attack. There were other chances for someone to do something. Easier, then on an open beach in front of a police station.

It hadn't happened here.

She'd left her bag in her truck overnight. It could have happened before she got to the beach. Someone could have stood outside her apartment as she slept.

As Chloe slept.

Why give it to her? Why put her on her guard? Just to scare her? Or were they taking the attention off of Chloe?

Amy hurried up the steps to the deck and yanked open the glass doors. She heard the sound of an oscillating fan and the murmur of the police radio. Her bare feet hit the cool tile. It was odd to feel normality when her heart beat double-time.

She was moving toward Ham's old office before she realized what she was doing. Ham was gone. The emotion caught her breath. She stopped mid-step. Ham wasn't here anymore.

"Derek's not in yet."

Amy glanced over at John who sat at his desk, much as Mitch used to do. His feet were propped on the desk, a clipboard in his lap as he filled out reports.

"I know—I just...wasn't thinking," Amy said and forced a laugh. "I was looking for Ham."

"Amy—" John stood, placed the clipboard down and walked over to her. "You okay?"

She nodded. "I just-It just really wanted Ham."

Someone had gone after her and hurt one of her friends. She looked at John, thought of their days together patrolling the beach. He had a family. Two little girls. She felt the words, the fear, lodge in her throat.

"I'll be all right," she promised and forced a smile. "I have to be all right."

Someone had hurt Chloe.

John wasn't the only police officer she knew.



"Mom, why did you put Eric in a closet?"

Susan Lyons looked up and found her daughter standing in the doorway of her office. She closed the legal brief, set it aside, and leaned back in her chair.

The offices at Lyons and Lyons were all roomy, with mahogany molding and grey carpet. The furnishings were sleek, the chairs comfortable. When someone had an appointment, they were put at ease, made to feel like they were at home.

"What would you have said if we gave him John Delucas's old office?"

Andrea thought of the large open office with the view of the beach that ran along the horizon. The picture window was only half the size of those in either her mother and father's, but it still let in the California sunlight.

"He's in a closet. His legs don't even fit in there."

Susan smiled. "He is a tall one, isn't he? A month ago, you wouldn't have wanted him in this building at all. Your father and I gave him temporary space, just in case he wanted out quickly. Has something changed?"

Andrea shrugged. "Maybe. We have an understanding, now."

She wasn't as comfortable analyzing why Eric was suddenly in her life as simply accepting that he was back. "He came out to the center on Saturday. We spent the day together. I guess you could say we're friends again. Our friendship was always important. I told him I'd take him to lunch—somewhere local."

Susan checked her watch. "It's kind of early for lunch."

"I'm a little early. And he has a date at the courthouse just after noon."

"That's right. He's working with your father on the Jeremiah case." Susan ran a pen through her fingers. "We have not made it easy on him, but he's taken it. He hasn't run. Andrea, that should tell you why he wants to be here."

"We're both figuring that out."

Susan nodded and opened her long drawer and pulled out a key ring. "Then how about you show him to his new office? He should be back from his appointment soon."

Andrea stepped to her mother's desk and looked at the family photo her mom kept beside her phone. It was a shot of her parents, her brother and his wife, and herself at her brother's graduation. Soon, there would be grandchildren in the picture.

She held out her hand and took the keys.

Eric had taken a long road to her, following the convoluted instructions her parents had given him, without complaint. It was time, she thought, that she gave Eric something back.

"By the way, where are you taking him for Lunch? San Padro?"

Andrea shook her head and smiled. "Kuzcos."

Susan laughed. "You're not making it any easier on him either."

Andrea nodded and started to walk out, then stopped, turned and looked at the photo that sat on her mother's desk. "You never pushed me to talk about him before," she said and met her mother's gaze. "How long have you been talking to him?"

"He met us at the door of the waiting room when we arrived, carefully relayed what the nurse had told him—even though he was still struggling with the surprise of it all. He waited outside with your father and he was on his knees in the chapel when he needed to get away, be alone, and deal with the fact that you refused to see him. I never was able to turn him away."



Anna was not at the police station or her home. Amy parked in front of the small white house with the black trim, not knowing what else to do, where else to go. She stared at the house, tried to think. The house was black and white—the way Anna saw everything. The yard was bare, the grass cut short. The windows were dark, without life.

Amy looked at the bag in the passenger's seat. She needed to talk to someone.

Derek had been with her when she found the note. She could have turned, looked at him, and he would have taken the note out of her hands, taken her to safety.

But she couldn't face him, now. If she'd told him, she wouldn't have been able to resist his support, his protection. It would have been too easy to remember what she felt when he'd kissed her ... when she'd kissed him back. If they ... whoever they were ... watched her, they watched him. If she had turned into his comfort. If she had turned to him ....

She sighed and looked back at Anna's house, pushing thoughts and feelings about Derek away. She couldn't deal with that now. If Anna wasn't at home, it was very likely that she was relaxing. Somewhere.

She shifted gears and minutes later drove through the gates of her father's home. She frowned at the cars that lined the circular drive, but it gave her hope that maybe Anna was with her dad.

"Dad?" she called out as she opened the heavy front door.

Vince Jamison stepped into the entry way stirring a drink. He was dressed for the pool in designer trunks, and because he was Vince, a matching t-shirt. Amy rolled her eyes. Did anyone work on a Monday morning?

"He's out by the pool. Everything okay?"

"Fine."

She walked through the house, stiff from her dry wetsuit and pushed her now tangled hair away from her face. She saw, even before she pulled back the French doors, that the blond buxomly woman in the pool was not Anna. She pulled back on the irritation before she remembered all the buxomly women her father had drawn since her mother's death—and not all of them blond.

Her father sat at a pool side table with his laptop. A towel was tossed to the side, but the stone around him was dry, a tale-tale sign that he had been back at work for some time. His perfectly shaved head glistened under the sun ... it was a look that suited him, and had, her entire life.

When her feet hit the hot concrete, she remembered she was barefoot. She glanced toward the pool, then back at her father.

"Daddy, where's Anna?"

He didn't even acknowledge her presence, keeping his eyes trained on his work. "At work, I imagine."

"It's her day off."

"It's not my job to keep up with her."

Amy frowned and fought back the rising irritation as she glanced back at the blond. She spotted another dark haired beauty sunning herself across the pool; Lily, Vince's long time girl friend.

Amy walked forward until her feet touched the concrete shaded by the table's umbrella. "You and Anna broke up again?"

"Adults don't break up, honey. Just move on."

"Yeah—but their hearts break."

Lance Carpenter looked up at his daughter for the first time. "Amy, we've discussed this before. My relationships are none of your—"

"None of my business, I know," Amy felt the desperation and hurt rise. How did one tell their father that they were afraid? Daddy, I need to talk to you. Daddy, someone's been watching me. I don't know what to do. Please help me.

But she didn't have the relationship with her father that would lead her to turn to him, or him to her, when trouble came along. She didn't know how to tell him.

She was afraid he wouldn't care.

Her father dropped his gaze and went back to work. "Was there something you needed?"

"I was looking for Anna."

She turned and swallowed against the rising hurt as Vince held the door open for her on his way into the back. She walked through the house, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood flooring. It echoed in the empty space. She missed Ham. He'd been her father when she'd needed one to turn to.

Amy jumped in her truck, nearly peeled out of the long drive and through the iron gate, then took a deep breath and focused. Her hands tightened around the wheel. Her palms were damp with moisture.

"Help me."

The words came out, a whisper. A prayer. She could drive around, but eventually she would be out of gas. She would have to stop. She would have to go into a gas station. Alone.

Someone had been coming around.

She pulled to stop at a red light and took a deep breath, focusing on the light. She needed someone. She had to tell someone.



Eric walked up the wide front stairs and turned the corner to go into his office. He stopped when he found the door open. The stack of papers he'd left on the top that morning was gone. The frame that held both a photo of his parents and one of himself and Andrea was missing.

"Looking for something?"

He turned at her voice. She was standing in the hallway, looking fresh and pretty in a pair of rose pants and a tank of white with matching roses. The straps were made of lace, pleated. She held up her hand, like a model, and on her finger dangled a set of keys.

"What's going on?"

She laughed and the sound shot straight to his heart. He hadn't heard that free laugh in years. Grabbing his hand, she tugged. "Come on."

Then she led him up another flight of stairs and down the hall into an open office. The blinds were raised, showing Basin Springs all the way to the beach.

"I had Margie call to tell me you were back. What do you think?"

Eric turned around. She was smiling at him as she waited for his response. Smiling ... it was hard to think beyond the surprise. "What's going on?"

"It was silly for you to be in a closet, Eric, when there was a free office." Andrea stepped forward, held out the keys. "It was my decision. I think it's always been my decision. Even if you and I aren't meant to be as a couple, it's your choice now if you remain a permanent fixture around here."

Eric reached up and took the keys, capturing her hand in his. He looked down into her eyes. The fear was gone, he thought. She was a little nervous. She was accepting.

Both encouraged him.

He took the keys and dropped his hand, turning slowly to take in his new office. He had a real desk chair that would support his height and a desk that was larger than the closet he was leaving behind. She'd put his frame on his desk and his books sporadically on his shelves. He would have to bring the rest from his apartment.

"You've been hard at work."

"I've had time. You were supposed to be back here an hour ago."

Eric turned around and looked at her. "I have an appointment this afternoon, so I had planned to take an early lunch. Can I take you out, say thanks?"

"Are you still up for experiencing some of the local scene?"

"If the local scene will take a lawyer in a suit."

"We won't give them a choice."



Amy pushed the doorbell and stepped back, taking in Anna's house. She'd been to the police station, then around town, before finally getting the call that Anna had signed off after spending the last week on a case. Family argument turned ugly, Amy thought, remembering the talk around the beach station.

Anna answered the door. She still wore her grey slacks from her suit, her button down shirt was untucked.

She looked a little surprised. Amy didn't blame her. She was still a little shocked that she was standing on Anna's front stoop in the first place.

"Amy—sorry, I just got home."

"I'm kind of glad I didn't wake you."

"You've been at the beach?"

Amy looked down and realized she was still in her wet suit. She tightened her hand on her bag. "Yeah. Anna, Ham's gone and I don't know who else to go to."

Anna stepped back and held open the door. "Come in. Why don't you go on in the bathroom and change? Get the sand out of your hair. Whatever's wrong, it'll help, I promise."

She soothed, and calmed and prodded until she showed Amy to the bathroom. Amy shut the door and turned to look at herself in the mirror. No wonder Anna had been so kind. The person Amy saw was more reminiscent of the girl from her late teens then the woman of the present.

It wasn't until she climbed out of the shower and tugged on a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt from her bag, that she noticed the sleek and feminine side to Anna's tastes. The bathroom walls were a gentle blue. A set of sage candles, at varying heights and sizes sat to the side of the counter. Taking a deep breath, she recognized an underlying scent of lavender she never would have attributed with Anna. The hand soap was shaped like long, thin leaves.

Amy drew a comb through her hair to work through the tangles as she dealt with the fear that had logged itself in her stomach. How odd it was too feel so alone.

But she wasn't, she reminded herself. She was no longer the lost girl who had no one to turn to since her mother and brother were gone.

I should have told Derek, she admitted, not to herself, but to God. You placed him there, in my time of need, and I turned away. I'm so scared. God—what's going on?

Anna was sitting at her kitchen table reading the newspaper, when Amy walked in. Anna had changed into a loose pair of blue and white capris, a simple white tee, her feet bare.

Amy set her bag on the table and sat in the chair beside Anna. She placed the note on the table in front of Anna.

"This was in my bag when I finished surfing this morning. Mitch wrote the verse. The rest—"

She shrugged her shoulders. Anna dropped her eyes, then almost immediately looked back up at Amy.

"Was there anyone else around?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. I don't know. It was just me and Cage."

Anna shook her head. "Real name?"

"Daniel Morey." Amy shook her head again and tried to clear it. "We were both in the water ... then Derek was there."

"Did he see this?"

She shook her head. "No—I didn't tell him. I didn't think—I know I should have—"

And it occurred to herself for the first time that Derek had been there by her bag. Had he known? "All of this started after he came to town."

"Mmm," was all Anna said. She stood and went to grab her phone. She dialed in a few numbers and looked back at Amy. "Gut reactions shouldn't be discounted. Unless they're yours. You were at a station. You could have started the investigation—"

Anna broke off, turned back to the phone as someone responded. Amy folded her hands on the table, looked down and studied them. Her hands were beginning to shake.

"All right." Anna said and sat back down, placing a pad and pen on the table in front of Amy. "Lets start over and I'll stop being the judgmental cop. I called in a favor. An officer will drop by and get this note in a little while. It's going to be analyzed. If there are fingerprints, we'll get them. For now, I want you to tell me what you're thinking."

Amy thought back to the summer, remembered being in the hospital. "Someone put something in my water. Someone attacked Chloe. She was wearing an orange lifeguard jacket and her hair—she'd colored her hair to look like mine. Blond. In the dark, someone wouldn't have known the difference."

Amy looked back at the note. It was supposed to be you.

With the antenna of her cordless phone Anna pushed the note away. "Stay here with me, Amy, and let's work this out."



If Eric had expected a quiet dining experience, Andrea knew he was surprised. A quite restaurant was more her style, but it was also the type of place they would have gone together as a couple. Kuzcos was dark and the music turned up. She led him over to a triangular table and handed him a paper menu.

He looked up, around, taking in the decor that was partly left over from it's days as a Chinese food establishment and partly a nod to the beach, to surfers, to skateboarding. The stage was empty, the music a popular CD common on the college campus.

The lunch crowd was sedate. Students had books between them as they studied, others sat alone reading. A group in the corner played a game of cards around their drinks and food, skateboards tucked beneath their chairs. Someone at the counter shouted across the room.

"So this is typical Basin Springs," he said and looked at her. "You told me about this place once."

"I'm sure I did. Amy and I used to come here a lot before I left for grad school. I would say it's more her style, but it's really just part of living in the ‘Springs. Being a hometown girl. That kind of thing."

Eric looked at the menu and lifted his eyebrows. "So, do I get a Hula LuAnna or a Monster Sandwich?"

Andrea laughed. "It'll take a little while to explain what these mean. How bout I order? You trust me?"

"What do I have to loose?" He grabbed her hand as she got up from the table. "Remember, I'm buying."

"Try and stop me," she challenged and skirted around the table.

"Who's the new guy?" The cashier asked when Andrea approached. Her name was Julie, Andrea remembered. She'd been a friend of Jenny's in middle school.

"He works with my parents."

"He yours?"

Andrea looked behind her, caught his smile.

"Never mind," Julie said with a laugh. "I have eyes in my own head."

Andrea opened her mouth to argue, then held her tongue. Even if she wasn't certain that a relationship would work out with Eric, the last thing she wanted to do was set him up with someone else.



Awakened gradually from a deep sleep, Amy blinked at the sunlight and looked at the old quilt that covered the bed in Anna's guest room. It was a beautiful heirloom pieced together with many different, faded fabrics. She traced the old quilting with a finger. It wasn't something she would have pictured in Anna's house.

Amy vaguely remembered Anna suggesting she drop off for awhile and offering her a bed in her guest room. She felt numb, tired. Anna had asked if she wanted to stay for a few days. Had she accepted? For once, Amy was too tired to resist.

Deep down, she was scared.

She needed to call Andrea and Chloe. How was she supposed to tell Chloe? She needed her things. Something to wear, her books.

She had not gone to her classes today.

Sitting up, Amy shifted so her legs fell over the side of the bed and she rubbed her hands over her face. She was tired. She missed Ham.

Adventures are out there for you, Amy. You've got to find your own boat and sail into your own waters.

"I don't think this is quite what Ham meant," she said a bit irritably to the empty room. Adventure or not, she still felt alone, her legs quaking as she tried to stand in her own boat.

When a phone rang somewhere else in the house, she stood, took a moment to glance into the mirror, and frowned. She used her fingers to brush through her hair and straightened her t-shirt. Then she opened the door and followed Anna's voice.

Amy could see her in the living room, at her desk. Amy stopped in the doorway, leaned against the arch. It only took a moment for Amy to realize that Anna was speaking to her father.

"... Lance—I'm not getting into that. Amy's here, she's fine—don't.... Look, don't. Amy's taking a nap. I'll have her call you when she wakes .... Well, you know what? I'm sure she can tell you what she thinks of you as a father and that has nothing to do with me. Call me back when you can remember I that I'm not one of your employees you can order around."

Wearily, closing her eyes, Anna disconnected. She closed her eyes and set the phone on her desk.

"I'm sorry that you and dad ... broke up."

Anna looked up, smiled weakly. "Maybe we skirt around the edges, but he knows I can't ... love him as he wants when he hates what I believe in. I'm sorry you heard that."

"I'm sorry I always saw you as another one of his women. You were never in that category."

"Lets hope not," Anna said with a smile. "You get a good rest?"

Amy nodded. "I've got to go back to my place. I've got to get some things, my books, some clothes. I need to tell Andrea, Chloe. I don't know what to tell them."

"They're your friends. You'll work it out together."

"I don't want to go alone. I hate to admit that to myself, but I really don't want to go over there by myself."

"Then I'll go."

Amy jumped and spun around.

Derek.

She hadn't seen him in the kitchen, but he had been there, able to watch her, able to see the fear and the grief.

And looking into his eyes, she saw his own pent up frustration.



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