with the telephoto lens, clicked. And again. Click. The couple disappeared from view. Lights dimmed. The Watcher waited. Cold crept into the vehicle.
The apartment lights went out.
Game on.
The Watcher reached forward and started the car.
THEN
ELLIE
Almost two years ago, March. Cook Islands.
The wind blew hot against my face as I gripped my handlebars and sped after Martin’s scooter through a plantation in the Cook Islands, clinging to every last drop of our travels before we had to fly back to the cold, wet Pacific Northwest and my old life.
It had been glorious. Skiing in Austria and visits to the spa while Martin met with businesspeople. A side trip to Croatia. A week in a villa in Marbella on Spain’s Costa del Sol while Martin took meetings on his friend’s yacht and I sketched with windows open to the sea breeze. Two weeks in Nice, where we enjoyed the famous bouillabaisse at the restaurant Martin had told me about over dinner in Deep Cove. There had been shopping and visits to art galleries and museums. And Martin had bought me some exquisitely beautiful Venetian beads. He hadn’t allowed me to pay for a thing, and I loved him for it. I was ready to be with a man again, especially one who treated me like a princess. One who was not after my trust fund. I’d paid dearly in losing Chloe. I’d worked hard to pull myself back up. It was time for me to be in a good place. I had a right to be happy, didn’t I? Didn’t everyone?
We navigated a series of bends on our rented scooters and came upon a lagoon with a sugar-white beach. Not another soul in sight. We parked the bikes and laid out our mats along with the small picnic provided by our resort.
Heat radiated off the sand as we ate and drank wine.
When Martin kissed me, a powerful swell of emotion ballooned up inside my chest and pushed into my throat, shaping words in my mouth.
I love you.
They almost slipped out of my lips, but like secret, pleasureful things, I held them back, cautious. I was generally cautious, and this thought suddenly reminded me of my father.
“Ellie is passive . . . It’s the quiet ones people forget to worry about. Snakes in the grass.”
Martin moved hair back off my face and looked down into my eyes. I believed I saw in his gaze those same words. I love you. My heart squeezed with happiness. On some level I knew it was a drug—endorphins. The neurological chemical cocktail of fresh love. Addictive. I wanted more.
Martin stood and dropped his shorts. “Coming for a swim?”
I hesitated. Suddenly the music in my mind turned discordant, like wrong piano notes. Fear, cold and black, snaked through me.
He saw it in my face. “Ellie?”
“I . . .” I suddenly couldn’t talk.
He reseated himself. A look of concern creased his features as he squinted against the bright sunlight. “You know, I don’t even know if you like to swim?”
So much you don’t truly know about me yet, Martin. And when you do know . . . will you still want to spend time with me?
“Do you?” he said. “Like to swim, I mean?”
I laughed uneasily. But the world had tilted sideways, and my own laugh sounded like an ugly little noise in my brain. A memory reared a demon head. It crashed in a salty wave through my being. I felt Chloe’s hand in mine. I felt her slipping. I cleared my throat. “I don’t feel like going in. But you go. I’ll watch.”
“It’s cooking hot,” he said. “Look at you. You’re glowing with sweat. Pink in the face. Tell me you don’t need to cool off?”
Conflict tangled with anxiety and a desire to please him. On the back of it rode a desperation to rid myself of these black thoughts that always came when I considered going back into the sea. I craved the freedom of swimming in the ocean again, yet I was terrified of the feelings and triggers that came with the notion.
“Come.” He reached for my hand and drew me to my feet, this solid, golden, naked man. “No waves. No currents. No sharks or anything. It’s a lagoon, El. It’s only waist-deep—shoulder deep at max. I’ll hold you if you’re scared.”
No waves. No waves, no waves, no strong currents.
“I . . . I used to swim,” I said. “A lot. I was a good swimmer. I was on a team at school .