fingers curled into fists, and as the three of them walked across the deck together, a whirlpool of angry heat swirled in his belly. At the exit, Tess turned toward the beach while Reed started for the parking lot. David paused, looking between the two, his heart pumping the caustic burn through his system.
"Are you coming?" Tess asked.
"You go ahead. I just remembered something else I have to do." Then he quickened his stride and found Reed unlocking the door of his classic convertible. "Markov."
The other man leaned against the side of his vanilla-cream Mercedes. His expression no longer held any faux friendliness. "What?"
David got close enough to smell the garlic on his breath. "You have legitimate work for my wife, and if she's interested, fine. But if you pursue her in any other way, I'll tear your head off your body and roll it down the closest alley like a bowling ball."
He didn't wait for a response. Instead he stalked off, heading for his car and not his wife. There was no reasonable discussion to be had. No granting of requests. To hell with all that!
To hell with giving her a divorce.
He was a lousy husband and father, and just to prove it, he wasn't going to let his family go. He'd find a way to keep his distance, to keep himself safe from his crushing love for them, but seeing her with another man made it perfectly clear what David wasn't going to do.
He wasn't going to let Tess and Rebecca and the boys get away.
* * *
THAT EVENING, fog came to Crescent Cove about the same time that Griffin returned to Beach House No. 9 with Private at his heels. Jane heard the door open and shut and called out to him from her place on the love seat in the room that was the designated office.
The office that had been empty of its writer all day long - even though she'd rededicated herself to being all-business.
With that thought, she shot a guilty glance at the trash can beside the desk. At the bottom of it lay the bottle of skinny margarita she'd polished off. When the clock had read five, though she couldn't hear the blow of the conch shell up the beach, she'd decided a drink might smooth over her frustration. Some bikini must have left the partially full "diet" adult beverage behind, and she'd sipped at the lime-and-tequila concoction for the past three hours.
She might be a tiny bit tipsy.
And maybe even lonely. Her work often took her away from home, so she was accustomed to her own company, but tonight...tonight of all nights she wished she'd made arrangements to meet a friend or three.
She did have friends, good ones who had stood by her after the Ian debacle, but their sympathy too often seemed like pity. It was bad enough to feel like a fool without knowing other people considered you one as well. So she'd been declining invitations and keeping to herself for months, not realizing how alone she might come to feel.
Private's nails clicked on the hardwood as he rushed forward with a friendly greeting, pushing his face against her hand. Grateful for the canine enthusiasm, she stroked his head while sending his owner a baleful glance. The man was twelve hours late! He stood on the other side of the threshold, a dark shadow looming in the unlit hallway. "Griffin," she said, peering toward the gloom, "this morning you promised to be back right after lunch. It's dark out."
"My dog had to see a man about a horse," he said.
With a sigh, she ignored the absurdity of that and patted the leather seat beside her. Though the hour was late and she suffered from that slight inebriation, she might as well get some work out of him. That's why she was here, right? "Come sit down now, then. We can at least start thinking about progress."
His steps crossed the floor in the slow meter of a funeral dirge. He dropped to the cushion, and his weight bounced her a little, sending her head on a short woozy spin. When her brain settled, she saw he was sprawled in his seat, his head back, his eyes closed. She'd drawn the drapes against the evening dampness, and the lamp on the side table cast a glow across his face. It warmed his tan skin, but still she could see he was exhausted. Despite her bad mood, concern nibbled at the edges of