Page 9 of Cruel Saint

As she reached the shore, she unhooked her tether and jogged up the sand toward her bag. Droplets of water fell from her wetsuit, glistening in the glow of the rising sun. Pulling a towel from her bag, she dried her hair before stripping out of her wet suit.

My coffee nearly slipped from my hand as I watched her, mesmerized by her movements.

I knew I shouldn’t stare, but I couldn’t look away even if an earthquake rattled the coastline. Her bikini-clad frame was a sight to behold, even from the side view I had. The rising sun played across her curves, highlighting every inch of the body I once knew so intimately.

After tugging on a pair of yoga pants and a loose t-shirt, she shoved her wet suit into her bag and slung it over her shoulder, carrying her board up the sand.

In my direction.

I quickly shifted my gaze, not wanting her to realize I’d been ogling her. Instead, my sole focus was on my crossword puzzle. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t comprehend a single clue, no matter how many times I’d read them. My full attention was on the electric current in the air, getting stronger with every step Imogene took toward me, my body responding to her like a magnet drawn to its perfect match.

Much like we were all those years ago.

It took every ounce of resolve I possessed not to look up and drink her in. As she passed the coffee shop, I felt her eyes on me, heating my skin. Then she stopped abruptly and set her board down in the sand.

“Excuse me.”

I didn’t immediately respond, the sound of her voice stirring up memories I thought I’d buried deep inside me.

It was as sweet as I remembered, the soft Georgia drawl just as endearing as it was the first time I’d met her. Images of my old life flashed in front of me — all the times we’d lie in bed, limbs tangled, her body wrapped tightly around mine as we basked in the afterglow of making love and planned our future.

There was so much we hoped to do. Build a house on a lake. Have kids. Be one of those couples who couldn’t keep their hands off each other, even when we were old and gray.

In a heartbeat, that all disappeared.

Suppressing the memories, I forced myself to meet her eyes. My heart pounded in my chest when she sucked in a sharp breath, something akin to recognition crossing her features.

Please let it be because of yesterday.

Please don’t let her recognize me.Samuel Tate.

I was no longer him, though.

The man I’d become was nothing like Samuel Tate.

For one, I was now a killer.

And I had every intention of killing again.

A strained silence surrounded us as she raked her gaze down my body. Unlike yesterday, I was dressed casually — a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie with a baseball hat — giving off the impression I’d just rolled out of bed for my morning caffeine fix.

Now that she was mere inches away, I’d started to regret this decision. Did my more casual attire spark a memory in the recesses of her mind?

I didn’t see how that would make a difference when my face barely resembled the man I once was. Should I have worn colored contacts like Henry recommended?

“Can I help you?” I asked, praying she didn’t recognize my voice.

I’d purposefully lost my own Southern drawl, and there was an edge to my tone that hadn’t been there in my former life. I hoped it was enough.

“I’m sorry.” She blinked repeatedly, as if shaking off whatever she was thinking. “Do you mind watching my board for a minute while I duck inside?” She hitched her thumb toward the familiar board.

“Of course.” My answer was clipped, disinterested.

Not holding her gaze longer than necessary, I returned my attention to my newspaper, running my pen along the crossword clue.

“Thanks.”

Once she disappeared inside, I exhaled a long breath, mentally berating myself to get my shit together. This was what I’d spent the last several months preparing for. I refused to allow my plan to fall apart because of her. I knew being close to her again would be difficult. Would throw me off. Henry warned me as much when he questioned using her in the first place.

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