Chapter Twenty-Six #3
She smiled to herself. She had almost convinced herself to bring Sifis home with her too, though.
She didn’t have to officially adopt him.
They could give each other a trial run, call it more of a foster situation.
But he really was such a dear little thing, and he did seem far less grumpy these days.
With her, at least. She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a sigh.
Perhaps that was why Sifis had chosen Blane the instant he saw him.
They were both a little grumpy, but they mellowed and became rather sweet in the right company.
She forced herself back to the moment and went to double-check that the doors were locked, the way she did every night.
She paused at the dining room window before closing the curtains.
Her garden was starting to come together now.
Of course, it would take years to get it exactly how she wanted it, but she was laying the foundations, creating the shapes, doing the parts she could do. The rest was up to the plants.
Upstairs, she went to close the curtains before turning on the bedroom light.
It was a silly habit, really. It wasn’t as though she had neighbors across the road who might see her undress.
Her mother had ingrained it in her as a child, though, and some habits had apparently survived intact for fifty years.
Here, there were only cicadas outside, and she doubted they had any interest in becoming Peeping Toms. Especially not on her.
She let out a short laugh. Rosalind had tried to convince her she’d be lonely here in Crete. But then Rosalind didn’t know how easily Bea entertained herself with all the thoughts that flitted through her mind.
As she reached for the curtain, she stilled when she saw movement down in the courtyard. Her hand tightened around the fabric. It was him. She was sure of it.
She held her breath and watched as he moved slowly across the courtyard. Then her phone beeped on the bedside table, startling a little gasp out of her.
She snatched it up.
Blane: Hey, darlin’. How was your day?
She swallowed. If he’d asked five minutes ago, she would have said fine.
Now the man was walking toward her car. Should she call the police?
She looked down at the phone again. She should have answered Blane earlier, but the day had got away from her, and she really didn’t want to leave him without a reply until tomorrow.
She certainly wasn’t going to tell him about the man.
He was thousands of miles away; all that would achieve was worrying him.
So she typed quickly.
Bea: Hi, Blane. I’m fine. Sorry, I got distracted earlier. Hope everything’s going well there.
She hit send and looked back outside. The man was walking around her car now.
Her heart hammered harder. Why was he looking at it?
Looking inside? Part of her wanted to step onto the balcony and shout at him, let him know she’d seen him and scare him off.
But the sensible part of her—the part that had stopped her going out to confront him earlier—warned her not to.
She was here alone. Her phone rang in her hand.
She jumped badly enough that she almost dropped it, but relief rushed through her when she saw Blane’s name.
She answered quickly, keeping her voice low. “Hello, darling.”
His deep, gravelly voice came down the line. “There it is.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Darling.” There was a smile in his voice, but it disappeared almost immediately. “Your text said Hi, Blane. I thought there was maybe something wrong—” He stopped. “Bea, is there something wrong?”
The man had turned away from the car. He was coming back toward the house now.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
He was quiet for a moment, then his voice changed completely. “Why are you whispering?”
She swallowed.
“Bea. What’s wrong?”
“Remember the man I told you about? The one in the lane?”
“Is he there?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“He’s in the courtyard.”
“Are the doors locked?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“Upstairs. I was coming to bed. I saw him just before I closed the curtains.”
“Can he see you?”
“I don’t think so. The bedroom light isn’t on.”
“Good. Leave it off. Stay away from the window.” His voice was calm now, completely controlled. “Are all the doors locked?”
“Yes. I checked them before I came upstairs.”
“Any way he can get in that isn’t locked? Back door, terrace, anything?”
“No.”
“Okay. Move away from the window and tell me exactly what happened today. Start at the beginning.”
Bea did as he told her, retreating into the darker part of the room. She told him about seeing the man near the shepherd’s hut, about almost going out to speak to him and thinking better of it, then seeing him closer to the house later.
“And I called the lawyer,” she finished. “I left a message. I thought I’d go in on Monday and find out who he is.”
“And now he’s in your courtyard?”
“Yes.”
“Can you still see him?”
She edged toward the window.
“Don’t.”
She stopped. “How did you…?”
“I know you. And I mean it, Bea. Stay where he can’t see you.”
“All right.”
“Who’s closest to you right now? Katerina?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“Good. When we hang up, you call the police. Then you call Katerina and tell her what’s happening. Get her to come over. I don’t want you spending the night alone.”
“Blane, I’m perfectly capable of—”
“I know you are.” His voice stayed calm. “This isn’t about whether you’re capable. There’s a man trespassing outside your house in the middle of the night. You call the police, and you get somebody local there with you. That’s what I’d tell anybody in this situation.”
She pressed her lips together.
“Bea?”
“All right.”
“Say it.”
Despite everything, she almost smiled. “I’ll call the police, then I’ll call Katerina.”
“Good.”
“And I am fine.”
“I know.”
Something in the way he said it made her close her eyes.
“Call me back if anything changes. If he comes closer, tries a door or window, anything—you call me. Don’t decide it’s too small to bother me with.”
“I wasn’t trying to bother you.”
“I know that too.”
She swallowed.
“Go make the calls, darlin’.”
“All right.”
“Now.”
That did make her smile, just a little. “Yes, Blane.”
He stayed on the line until she had the police number ready on the screen.
“I’ll talk to you soon.”
“All right.”
She hesitated. “Blane?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
His answer came without hesitation. “Always.” Then he ended the call.
~ ~ ~
Blane was already moving. He grabbed the duffel he kept packed, shoved his wallet and keys into his pockets, and headed for the door.
Bea had people coming. The doors were locked.
She was calling the police. For the next little while, she was as safe as he could make her from six thousand miles away.
But that wasn’t good enough—nowhere near good enough.
He called Cash as he ran down the stairs.
Cash answered on the second ring. “What’s up, bud?”
“I need the jet.”