Page 39 of Our Little Secret
A lot.
Late that night, after searching him out and spending time with him on the boat during the rainstorm, she’d been too keyed up to sleep. Just as she’d done tonight, she’d sneaked downstairs and out the back door to the deck in search of a cigarette. That time the lighter she kept with her pack in the birdhouse refused to ignite. Frustrated, she’d gone inside to search for her purse for a backup. There, she’d discovered the package she’d thought she’d left on the boat with Gideon.
Sure enough, within the package was the bracelet.
She’d been stunned at the time.
And slightly, silently thrilled.
Without thinking, she’d clasped the links over her wrist. Even in the half light from a moon peering from behind gauzy clouds, the bloodred stones had winked and glittered, portending a future she couldn’t possibly have foreseen.
CHAPTER 9
Now, as she once again stood on the back deck, the tip of her cigarette glowing in the October night, she found herself caught in memories of Gideon and what they’d shared—the glee, the sex, the guilt. All of it.
From the moment she’d clicked the bracelet over her wrist, she’d found herself fantasizing about him. Gideon had brought some much-needed excitement into her otherwise drab life. Marilee had begun to pull away from her as she entered high school, becoming more independent. It was natural—a positive development—but it left an emotional hole. Neal had been wrapped up in his career as a corporate attorney, working long hours. When he did have time off, he was out of the house for his Wednesday poker nights and Saturday morning golf games, expanding his life beyond their small family. Well, some of that had been a lie. He’d been spending time with someone else, she’d learned, which was the reason they’d split.
Neither her husband nor her daughter needed her as much any longer, nor did the start-up company that had let her go after taking most of her retirement funds.
When Gideon came along she was feeling alone and useless, as if her life was spiraling into a dull, black hole.
“No excuse,” she whispered into the night as Shep reappeared and looked up at her. “Promise,” she added, as if the dog could understand her.
Over the past few months she’d done a little research online, trying to find more information about Gideon as her obsession grew. At first pass she’d found he had no serious social media presence. No google info. There were many entries under the name of Gideon Ross of course, but none seemed to match the intriguing man with the sailboat. Finding no information, she’d let it go and hadn’t dug any deeper.
Not knowing more about him had added an edge to him, an aura of mystery that she hadn’t been eager to puncture.
She’d been a fool. A stupid, gullible fool! That much was more than apparent now.
Brooke drew on her filter tip once more, then jabbed out the half-smoked cigarette on the underside of the deck’s rail. She would wrap the butt in an old bit of trash and take the bag out to the bin outside the garage to hide it from Neal and Marilee. No reason to start a fight or give her daughter any ideas.
She thought again about the bracelet, which she’d hidden in the birdhouse with her cigarettes. She wasn’t going to go through the melodrama of returning it to him again, no. She would give it away. Donate it anonymously and be done with it. She made a mental note to add it to her ever-expanding to-do list, then glanced once more at the sloping backyard and the city beyond it. As she turned to go inside, she looked up at the window of the master bedroom, still dark, only the faintest of light seeping through the window near the bump out for the old staircase, the “fire escape” that crawled up from the laundry room to the attic. At least she hadn’t woken Neal.
Shep followed her inside and she secured the door, turning the dead bolt and double-checking the lock. She opened the cupboard for the garbage, then shoved the butt of her cigarette deep into the coffee grounds she’d tossed out earlier. Satisfied she’d destroyed the evidence and feeling foolish that she’d gone to such lengths, she swept up the sack from the wastebasket under the sink and carried it through an alcove off the living area. The door was locked thankfully, and she took the trash outside and along the path to the spot where they kept the large recycling and trash bins.
Before she went inside she heard a noise: the scrape of leather against concrete. A footstep? At this time of night? Standing on tiptoe, straining her ankle, she peered over the gate and stared at the deserted street at the front of the house. Watery blue light from a single lamppost illuminated the wide entrance to the park.
Was there someone moving between the trees? Brooke squinted, the hairs at the back of her neck rising. It wasn’t unusual for people to be inside the community’s wrought-iron barricade; the gates were never closed and the city had its share of people out at night.
She caught a movement, a shadow that seemed to dart between the thickets of pine and fir.
So what?
But it wasn’t the quicksilver umbra of a nocturnal animal as it moved silently through the trees that bothered her. It was a primal sense, something deep inside that insisted she was being observed, a strong, almost visceral feeling that predatory eyes she couldn’t see were watching her, sizing up the house.
She scanned the perimeter fencing and beyond, where the lamplight glowed dim, giving the surrounding grounds a gray, washed-out aura. The tall trees seemed to shift, leaves rustling in the slight breeze. And somewhere deep within the near darkness were those eyes, watching her.
You’re just being paranoid. Stop it! Get over yourself!
She spied no one staring at her from the shadows, so she stepped back inside, locking the door behind her. She pressed against the steel, testing its strength.
In the kitchen she was able to slip a new liner into the trash can under the sink without turning on any lights. Then she started for the stairs, but she nearly bumped into the dog, who was standing at the front door.
“Come on,” she whispered, but Shep didn’t move, his head low, his hackles raised, a rumble of a growl in the back of his throat.
“What?” she whispered, then looked through the sidelight. No one was on the porch. But as she gazed farther, across the street, through the gauzy light from the lamppost, she noticed a dark figure standing just outside the weak pool of illumination.
Man or woman?
