Page 11 of Lone Spy

I keep running and the whine of the engine closes in, clamoring as loud as the sea. But then it slows, settling into a rumble before falling silent. I glance back.

The dune buggy sways as Ash swings out of the driver's seat. A black baseball cap shadows his eyes but I still know when our gazes touch. Something like raw fear seizes my chest with an electric jolt.

I run faster, focusing on the beach ahead, heart hammering, adrenaline pounding through me. The rumble of the dune buggy starts up again.

It closes in. Then it passes me. Chris stares stoically ahead, allowing me the privacy I so obviously crave. He continues up a hundred yards and then starts to match my pace.

Ash follows thirty yards behind.

The panic subsides and embarrassment creeps over my cheeks. Ash isn't hunting me. He's trying to protect me. That could change. But right now, I'm safe.

My pace slows to a steady jog. Ash and Chris keep their distance. No one tries to hurt me—or stop me.

Forty minutes later when I turn around to head back, so does Ash. And glancing behind me, I see the dune buggy switching directions to follow. Clouds block out the sun and the chilled wind coming off the ocean keeps my heated skin from burning.

I'm steady on the way home, my mind settled into that place where my breath and the waves fill my consciousness, all my fears and worries buried under the present moment.

Ash slows a half mile from my house—which is a reasonable thing to do. I should walk to cool down. But the idea of following his leadership makes my skin itch.

So I keep running, closing the distance between us. I have a childish urge to shove him from behind, maybe knock him into a wave. It would be real fun to knock Ash Fraser off balance.

He glances back and then picks up his speed to match me. I can almost hear his thoughts—something technical about the importance of cooling down after exertion, but I'm not sure I can ever cool down again.

The world is slipping into a ditch—I have so much power but not nearly enough. And it feels like I’m burning alive.

Ash waits for me at the bottom of my steps. The tide has receded further, the beach wider. Sun pierces the cloud cover and hits the horizon line. It glows suddenly gold.

I turn from the water line toward the house. The sand is deep and soft. My legs burn and my lungs are scorched. But I keep my pace steady.

Ash scans the surroundings, looking for threats. When I'm ten yards away and still running, his focus finds me. Ash's expression doesn't change. He doesn't take a step back to give me more space or move forward to block my path. He doesn't start up the steps ahead of me.

The man just watches me come.

When I run past him my shoulder brushes his bicep. He doesn't flinch. And neither do I.

ChapterSix

The slidingglass doors of my kitchen are open. My friend and personal trainer, Synthia Taylor, stands at the island—security knows to always let her in. My Vitamix blender whirls in front of Synthia, a bright green drink whirring up its sides.

My dog, Archie, scrambles across the tiles and out onto the deck. His fluffy body skids into my ankles and he jumps up, paws tapping my bare thighs as he whines with excitement.

I bend over and scoop his squirming body into my arms. Part Dachshund and part mini-poodle, Archie has the long body of his mother and the white curls of his father.

His face is round, and I keep his fur fluffy. He resembles a throw pillow with teeth. The dog has zero protective instincts but is an excellent cuddler and destroyer of accessories.

I would have taken him into the city with me, but Archie couldn't attend the premiere. Leaving him for so long alone in the hotel room would have made him mad enough to eat an untold number of shoes. So Synthia watched him for me, as she often does.

"Hello, you ridiculous creature," I say, holding him up to my face. Cradling him in my left elbow, I scratch his chest with my right hand. "Hello. Hello, my adorable little love. Oh, I love you so much. Yes, I do. Yes, I do."

Archie's eyes roll back from pleasure, and I grin down at his silly little face with its perfect dot of a black nose. His ears are flipped back, and he looks like he's going through a wind tunnel.

Synthia draws my focus with a laugh. Her hands rest on the counter, the blender now silent between them. Synthia's muscled shoulders are dappled with freckles that also bridge her nose. She's grinning at me.You're ridiculous with that dog.

I shrug, smiling as I cross the deck.I'm not ashamed.

The whole front of the house is glass, reflecting the ocean behind me, except where the kitchen doors are open. The tiles—white with indigo flower designs—are cool and smooth under my bare feet.

Pale yellow peonies bloom from a powder pink vase on the round, glossy white kitchen table. The six matching chairs are all pushed in. The cutting board on the alabaster marble counter, littered with green stems and an empty avocado shell, is the only thing out of place.

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