Page 7 of Eclipse Bay

“Yes.” She was surprised that he was aware of Thorn-ley’s campaign. He didn’t seem like the type who paid attention to politics. But she refrained from making that observation aloud. “It looks like the event is running late. I may even get home ahead of Mom and Dad.”

“Lucky for you, hmm? You won’t have to go into a lot of awkward explanations about why you came home with me instead of the jerk tonight.”

She glanced at him, surprised. “I’ll tell them what happened in the morning.”

He slapped his forehead with the heel of his palm. “That’s right, I keep forgetting. I’m with Ms. Goody Two-Shoes here. Of course you’ll tell your parents that you spent the night on the beach with me.”

Shock brought her to a sudden halt. “I didnotspend the night on the beach with you, Rafe Madison. And if you dare tell your friends down at the Total Eclipse Bar and Grill that I did, I swear I will…I willsueyou. Or something.”

“Don’t worry,” he muttered. “I’m not planning to announce to the whole town that we did it under Eclipse Arch.”

“You’d better not.” She gripped her purse more tightly and started walking quicker. The sooner she got back to the house, the better.

Rafe fell into step beside her again. She was intensely aware of him. She had walked this road many times over the years, but never at this hour. Crime was minimal in Eclipse Bay, but not completely absent, especially during the summer when out-of-town visitors flocked to the beach. She was very glad to have company tonight. The long walk home alone would have been more than a little nerve-racking.

Half an hour later they reached the tree-lined drive that led to the Harte summer cottage. Rafe walked her to the porch steps and stopped.

“This is as far as I go,” he said. “Good night, Hannah.”

She went up one step and paused. It struck her that the strange interlude was over. A wistful sensation trickled through her. She stomped on it with all the ruthlessness she could muster. It was okay to have a few romantic fantasies about Rafe Madison. He was the most notorious male in town, after all—at least, the most notorious in her age group. But you couldn’t get serious about a guy like this. There was no future in it.

“Thanks for seeing me home,” she said.

“No problem. Not like I had anything better to do tonight.” In the yellow glare of the porch light his eyes were enigmatic pools. “Good luck with that five-year plan of yours.”

Impulsively she touched the sleeve of his jacket. “Think about making some plans of your own Rafe. Don’t screw up your whole life.”

He grinned. Without warning he leaned forward and brushed a quick, stunningly chaste kiss across her mouth. “A man’s got to capitalize on his strong points, and I’m so damn good at screwing up.”

The brief, casual kiss caught her off guard. Heat infused her whole body. It was followed by a tingling sensation. She covered the awkward moment by hurrying up the rest of the front steps.

At the door she paused to dig out her key. Her hand trembled slightly as she unlocked the door. When she finally got into the house, she turned to look back at Rafe. He was still standing there, watching her. She raised one hand in farewell and then quickly closed the door.

The rumble of voices awakened her the next morning. She opened her eyes and found herself gazing into a wall of fog.

Morning mist was a regular feature of summer and early fall. It would likely burn off by noon, although the cloud cover might last all day. With luck there would be enough scattered sunshine to drive the temperature into the mid-seventies in the afternoon, but that was the most that could be expected. Nobody came to Eclipse Bay to get a tan. Southern California beaches catered to those who liked to fry their bare skin in the glow of the big nuke in the sky. The wild, rugged beaches of the Oregon coast were for people who preferred to put on a windbreaker and brave the morning fog to explore tidal pools and rocky shoreline caves. They were for those who appreciated adventurous walks along high, windswept bluffs and views of seething seawater churning in stony cauldrons at the bottom of steep cliffs.

The voices downstairs grew louder. Her parents were talking to someone in the kitchen. A man. She could not make out the words, but the conversation sounded tense.

She listened for a while, curiosity growing swiftly. Who would come calling at this hour? Then she caught a name. Rafe Madison.

“Oh, damn.”

She tossed aside the covers, scrambled out of bed, and hurriedly pulled on her jeans and a gray turtleneck. She stepped into a pair of loafers, ran a brush through her hair, and headed for the stairs.

She found her parents at the kitchen table with a balding, heavy-bellied man she recognized instantly.

“Chief Yates.”

“’Morning, Hannah.” Phil Yates nodded in his ponderous fashion. He had been the only law enforcement in town for as long as Hannah could recall, but this was the first time he had ever come to the Harte cottage.

She masked her uneasiness with a bright smile and turned to her parents for an explanation. A single glance was enough to tell her that something was terribly wrong.

Elaine Harte’s attractive face was tight with anxiety. Hampton’s jaw was set in a grim line. A formless dread wafted through Hannah. It was as if a ghost had brushed up against her.

“What is it?” she asked with an urgency that made her father’s eyes narrow behind his glasses.

“I was just about to come upstairs and wake you, dear,” Elaine said quietly. “Chief Yates has some bad news.”

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