Beguiled by Deeanne Gist & J. Mark Bertrand

Author:Deeanne Gist & J. Mark Bertrand [Gist, Deeanne & Bertrand, J. Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, General, Suspense, City and Town Life, Romantic Suspense Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Crime, Mystery Fiction, Christian, Religious, Journalists, Charleston (S.C.), Dog Walking, Robbery Investigation, City and Town Life - South Carolina - Charleston
ISBN: 9780764206283
Publisher: Bethany House
Published: 2010-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

The sun had gone down during their visit, and now a warm breeze whipped over the asphalt, flapping Logan’s jacket. He led her toward the car, checking his watch by the parking lot lights. “There’s a crab boil on the beach tonight.”

At the mention of food, she felt suddenly famished. “There is?”

“Some friends are putting it on,” he said, nodding her forward. “Unless you’d rather eat somewhere else?”

“No, I love the beach.”

He opened the door for her, then went around. After starting the engine and putting the BMW in gear, his hand trailed across the seat, finding hers, and they intertwined in the dark. A current traveled up her arm.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” she said. “Nonie doesn’t get any visitors other than me. I know it was hard to tell, but it really meant a lot.”

He ran his finger over her thumb ring. “I like her. She’s really sweet.”

They drove in silence, just the sound of the tires gliding over the road. Their hands parted as he turned on some music, a soft guitar ballad she’d heard before but couldn’t place, and then his hand found hers again.

They shared a smile.

“Almost there,” he said.

He parked above the beach. They left their shoes and his jacket in the car and advanced through the sand with bare feet. She could hear the water out in the darkness, but couldn’t see it yet. The fires on the beach served as beacons. The smell of boiling crab beckoned.

A dozen shadows lingered around a long table laden with crab and corn on the cob, potatoes, longneck beer bottles, and pitchers of sweet tea. After rolling up his sleeves, Logan picked up a hammer and went to work, making introductions over his shoulder—too many people for her to keep track of the names.

He pointed out his photographer friend, Wash, shimmying to music from the iPod player, a blonde in a filmy sundress bobbing in and out of his grasp.

“I’m starving,” Rylee said, digging some meat from a crab claw.

“Me too.”

They ate while the others swirled around them, everybody getting along with easy indifference, longtime acquaintances who saw each other often enough they didn’t need to catch up. She missed the inside jokes and felt the inquiring eyes checking out the newcomer.

“So,” Wash said, sidling up to the table. “You’re Rylee.”

She smiled. “And you’re Wash.”

“I’m glad y’all came by. I mean, after all, if you two become an item, think what a great story you can tell about how you met.”

Heat filled her cheeks. It was hard to imagine this charming, affable man had put such a scare into her by lurking in the shadows while Toro chased Logan up the monument.

The blonde wandered over, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Story? What story?”

“Diane, this is Rylee.”

Diane reached across the table. Rylee wiped her hand on the tablecloth before shaking.

“Rylee’s a dogwalker,” Wash said, a smile breaking out, “and Logan is famously afraid of dogs. He squared off with one when he was a kid and came up on the short end of the stick.

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