Page 166 of Once an Angel
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As Justin prowled the deserted beach, the bloated moon laved the peak of each swell in molten silver.
The waves broke on the sand and rushed over his feet in a swirl of foam before the sea could suck
them back. He felt the inexorable tug against his bare soles as if the sea held the power to melt the
very shore beneath his feet.
He thrust his hands deep in his pockets. The breeze whispered of a respite from his aching restlessness, but for Justin it was a taunting refrain. He couldn't even still his thoughts long enough to hear the night's music calling to him. The only thing more elusive than sleep was peace.
Damn the tenacious Miss Winters and her letters! It had been months since he had been jolted from
sleep by the bright, merry edge of a child's laughter. Tonight the mocking echo had driven him stumbling and groaning from his pallet to seek the brighter darkness of night.
He paused, rocking back and forth on his heels, and stared blindly out to sea. Cool spray misted his skin. It had been seven years since he, Nicholas, and David had come to New Zealand to seek their fortunes. Seven years since Trini had dragged his boat ashore and pried David's stiffening body from his grip. But when Justin closed his eyes, time melted like the sand beneath his feet.
If the smooth-talking Nicky had been their wit and Justin their brains, it was David who had been their heart.
After weeks of fruitless panning for gold in the cold shadow of the Southern Alps, it had been David's relentless optimism that had given them the cheer to continue. David had hope enough for all of them; David had dreams of the future; David had Claire.
Claire. Long after Nicky was snoring, Justin would lie awake in the dark and listen hungrily as David talked of his baby daughter. As he would drift into sleep, it was almost as if the scent of her tousled
curls and the echo of her irrepressible giggle would warm their lonely camp. He had even dreamed of
her once. She had toddled from the sea, her plump arms outstretched, the lilting timbre of her voice crying for her father. In the dream it had not been David but Justin himself who soothed her puckered brow against his shoulder.
The stringent cry of a kiwi shattered his memories. Justin sucked in a breath, half expecting the beach
to erupt in a welter of Maori natives, their tattooed faces twisted in frenzied cries forutu, their sun-browned hands twined around the deadly hilts of theirtaiahas. From behind him came only the
flurry of wings as a startled gannet took to the sky.
Justin opened his eyes. He stood on a different shore now. The salt-tinged breeze of the North Island
was kinder and balmier than the stiff winds of the South Island. The palms swayed in lulling rhythms
and the sea sang instead of roaring. He had created a life for himself here. A small and simple life
stripped of snarls and entanglements. But the stench of gunpowder and blood still haunted his nostrils, mingling with the rich, sweet scent of the crimson-flowered pohutukawas.
It had been Trini, with his innocent wisdom, who had told him he still carried with him the body of his friend.
Justin kicked at the waves and started down the moon-drenched ribbon of beach. If he didn't return
soon, Penfeld would come searching for him. His valet believed him too absentminded and too
immersed in his music to find the hut once he wandered far from it.
He turned his face to the wind, abandoning his senses to the seductive beauty of the night. Stars misted the smudged charcoal of the northern sky. His hair danced against his shoulders like a dark cloak as he ambled along, lost in the pounding symphony of sand and surf.
A cloud darted across the moon; Justin spotted a dark shape against the sand. Seaweed, he thought. Or driftwood. The cloud sped away. Moonlight spilled over the beach, illuminating the shape in a pool of riveting clarity.
Justin's heart slammed into an uneven drumbeat; he glided forward as if in a trance.
A woman lay on the sand, half curled into herself, half exposed to his piercing gaze. No, not a woman, but a gossamer creature woven of moonlight and dreams. Justin blinked, expecting her to vanish. But
she remained—mysterious, provocative—and wearing not a single stitch of clothing.
