Page 30 of Defended By the SEAL
Charlotte knew Grams needed rest, but she was hardly restful now, and Charlotte couldn’t stand to see her that way. “Grams? Can you hear me?”
Grams’s eyelids fluttered, but the look in her eyes was distant, clouded. “They’re out there,” she murmured, hervoice wobbling and weak. “They’re waiting, hungry and cold.”
“Who’s waiting, Grams?” But Charlotte didn’t seem to have Grams’s attention. It was turned inward, as if she was dreaming while awake.
“I need Tom. Tom…” Her eyelids closed gradually, though she continued to mumble incoherently.
Charlotte stood, a fierce surge of anger rising within her. She wanted the very man who’d likely made her this way. He’s given her something, had drugged her somehow, and while she didn’t know exactly what he’d done, she was determined to find out.
Steeling herself away, she rushed to the office, but he wasn’t inside. She found him in the kitchen, his back to her as he rinsed a teacup in the sink.
She felt a spike of panic.
He turned slowly, the dim candlelight across the room casting shadows on his face that seemed to deepen the hollows of his cheeks, making him appear almost spectral. “Can I help you with something?”
She forced herself to hold his gaze, even as her skin prickled with unease. “What was in that tea you gave Grams?”
He gave a half-smile, reminding Charlotte of the iconic theater masks, one smiling while the other wept. “Earl Grey,” he said. “It’s a favorite of mine. I thought she might find it calming.”
She took a step forward, refusing to break eye contact. “I’ve had Earl Grey before, and that’s not what it smells like.”
He raised an eyebrow, setting the empty cup on the counter with a deliberate slowness. “Stress can make our senses play tricks on us. And this storm—” he gestured tothe window where the snow lashed against the glass, “—it’s enough to make anyone jumpy.”
Her eyes darted to the sink where he’d emptied the tea, his movements careful and measured, as if he’d known exactly what she’d come in here to ask. Her hands clenched at her sides as she fought to keep her voice steady. “I want you to stay away from her.”
He straightened, his gaze turning stony. Despite his next words, his tone was most definitely threatening. “Why would you ask that of me? I love your grandmother.”
She kept her tone as even as she could, but her hands were shaking. Something about this man drained her of her natural chutzpah and made her downright scared. Why had she insisted someone go to the lighthouse? Cowboy’s suggestion that they stay together now seemed like the definite way to go.
“First, you go through my things.” He pushed off the counter and moved toward her with a slowness that was unnerving.
She took a step back, lifting her hands and holding her palms toward him. “Grams asked Cowboy and me to bring those boxes to the attic.”
“Then you accuse me of hurting her.”
She took another step back. Challenging him certainly wasn’t working, and she chastised herself for thinking her assertive approach could have gotten her anywhere. What did she expect him to do? Confess to adding mind-altering substances to the orange pekoe?
She had to do something.
A light bulb went off in her brain, the lessons of her youth coming back in a rush. She softened her mouth and opened her eyes wide like a doe. “Please, Tom. I’m just so worried about her.”
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, encouraging her to continue. Closing her eyes, she brought the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe I accused you of putting something in her tea.” She hit herself in the head three times, saying, “Stupid, stupid, stupid Charlotte!”
Had she gone too far with that one? She didn’t need to win an Oscar here, she reminded herself. She just needed to convince him she was an irrational female who was easier to placate than argue with—and women had been doing that since the dawn of time.
Letting her arm fall to her side, she was relieved to see him gazing at her like a benevolent despot listening to a peasant’s plea. “I just want to be the one taking care of her,” she said. “Did she tell you I almost went to nursing school?”
“No.”
She knitted her hands and stared at the fingers she’d woven together. “I wasn’t good enough at math.” When she looked up again, his expression had grown faintly amused.
“I think you’ve done a fine job taking care of her, Charlotte, and I have no problem with you continuing to do so.”
She held her breath as he brushed past her, his footsteps receding down the hallway toward the office. The second he was gone, she darted to the sink, searching for anything that might give her a clue about what he’d given Grams. She found nothing but the faint, lingering odor of something bitter and metallic.
Her pulse raced as she returned to her grandmother’s side, taking in her ashen face and labored breathing. “No. You can’t get worse.” She couldn’t shake the feeling that time was slipping away, that whatever Tom had done was taking a more sinister toll on Grams than they’d initially realized.
She kneeled by her side, trembling as she took her handonce more. “Grams,” she whispered. “Hang on. I’m here, okay? Just hold on a little longer.”
