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Beyond Suspicion
By Suzanne Forster Julie Kenner Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
Copyright © 2004 Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
All right reserved. ISBN: 0-373-83631-7
Chapter One
The Man at Ivy Bridge "There he is," she whispered to the dust-streaked windowpane. Chloe Kates shivered with anticipation as the tall, dark-haired man materialized through the early-morning mist and hesitated at the shoreline to peer out over the foaming surf. His denim-clad legs formed a defiant triangle against the horizon as he pushed the sleeves of his fisherman's sweater up to his elbows and crossed his arms. Chloe's heart tapped out a Sousa march against her ribs.
She'd been watching him for two days now.
Since her arrival at the small, Maine seacoast resort motel the day before yesterday, she'd kept vigil at the window where, partially hidden by fraying drapes, she'd observed his every move.
Standing not more than fifty feet from her, he warned intruders away with the stony set of his shoulders. She'd only seen his face once, when he'd turned around abruptly, and she'd had to duck behind the curtain.
But sometimes once is enough.
Chloe inhaled a steadying breath. His shadowed features still haunted her. The glint in his eyes reminded her of a wolf intent on its prey.
Did he know she was watching?
He uncrossed his arms and, for a second, Chloe thought he was going to turn around again. When he didn't, she released her breath in a tight sigh. "Damn," she muttered. She almost wanted him to see her and finally put an end to the anxious waiting. She hadn't the courage to approach him and introduce herself. Breaching that angry, wind-whipped aura was beyond her mettle.
She tensed as he began to walk toward the sandy point that jutted out into the ocean. She knew from experience he would cover the quarter-mile distance quickly, then round the projection and disappear.
Gathering her courage, she slipped on a hooded, zipup sweatshirt over her tattered Harvard T-shirt and faded jeans. At the bureau mirror, she stopped a moment to comb her fingers through the wild scatter of her coppery curls and grimace at her hopelessly cherubic face before she slipped out the door.
Still half expecting him to turn around, she stayed a safe distance behind him and hoped the wind and surf would muffle whatever noise she made. An Indian scout, she wasn't.
Her canvas sneakers tried to match the path his prints made in the hard-packed sand, and the effort it took made her realize how much larger his feet were than hers, how much longer his stride. Matching her footsteps to his became a momentary obsession, until a swooping sea gull dropped its shadow in her path, startling her before it whisked away. Its cry asked a plaintive question: Why? The chill mist held her in a forbidden caress. Why was she following this virtual stranger?
Because he resembled the man at ivy bridge?
Her heartbeat jumped tempo. She must be going crazy. This damp, dank place was shorting out her circuitry. All right, she admitted, the man's features were similar, especially those blood-chilling eyes, but was that a reason to pull up stakes and follow him to the ends of the earth?
As she refocused her sights on the striding form ahead, her thoughts flashed back to the writers' conference in Cape Cod where she'd seen him three weeks before. The fleeting brush of his dark eyes had stirred memories ... haunting, half-formed images that told her he was connected to her past.
For several days afterward she'd tried to convince herself that the disturbing flashes of recall were unrelated to the man she'd momentarily caught sight of. But it was no use. His appearance had triggered a rush of déjà vu that no amount of logic could dispel.
She found out his name and even though it wasn't the name she sought, something urged her on. She learned he was a mystery writer and, with some difficulty, ferreted out that he'd taken a monthly rental in a motel an hour or so down the coast from Rockland, Maine. He was reclusive. He'd once been a poet.
But a spate of questions remained unanswered. Was he the man who, fourteen years ago, had turned her young life and the little town she lived in upside down? The man she'd seen on the bridge? She'd been twelve then, not quite a child, not yet a woman, that vulnerable time when a young girl's romantic imagination was stirring, ready to be awakened.
A shiver raised the fine hairs on her neck. Sara, her eighteen-year-old stepsister, had disappeared the same week Chloe had first noticed him near their land. Had Sara run away as they said? Or had he had something to do with it?
Her quarry increased his pace, and she broke into a trot to keep up. A tangy, salty wind snapped at her chestnut hair. There were so many reasons to stop, to turn around, pack her bags and catch the first flight back to New York. Her struggling public-relations firm needed her! She couldn't expect her partner to carry on alone indefinitely.
Not only that, she reminded herself, it had been fourteen years since she'd seen the man in question. Considering the tens of thousands of tall men with dark hair and dark eyes, what were the chances she had the right one?
But she couldn't stop - for lots of reasons she didn't understand, and for one she did - her stepfather's recent illness. He'd summoned her to his hospital bedside to ask for her help in finding his daughter. She hadn't seen James Guthrie in more than a decade, and his pallid features had shocked her. She'd feared him as a child, even hated him at times, but ill as he was now, she couldn't deny his request.
A gull's sharp cry pulled her attention back to the man ahead of her. Uncanny, she thought, observing his deliberate stride. Even the way he walked triggered flashbacks. Was it memory or wishful thinking? The man she remembered had awakened her romantic imagination and more ... he'd fascinated and frightened her.
The thought that she might have found him again set off a flurry of nervous anticipation. She increased her pace, aware of another sensation deep in her belly, a lurking tickle of fear. It should have warned her. Instead, it seemed to heighten the sense of urgency she felt.
As he rounded the point, she broke into a run, some part of her afraid he would vanish. Her hurried dash along the shoreline brought him back into her sights.
He was ascending a ramp to a weather-beaten pier that looked as if the next wave would sweep it out to sea. By the time she reached the ramp, he stood at the end of the pier, his hands braced on the slatted railing, arms spread wide. As he stared off into the horizon, Chloe saw his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. A troubled man, she concluded, an odd resonance brushing her heart.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Beyond Suspicion by Suzanne Forster Julie Kenner Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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