Deep Waters

knowledge with both hands. Charity definitely cared.
    She cared enough to spring to his defense. She cared enough to threaten Hank and the entire town of Whispering Waters Cove, the new community that she called home, with her family's company lawyers.
    Yes, she cared, Elias thought. They were bound together by something more than sex and food. He could work with that.
    "By the way," Hank said. "What with all the excitement, I forgot to tell you that I did learn something of interest from those two punks who broke into your place, Elias."
    "What was that?" Charity asked.
    "They admitted that Swinton had hired them to vandalize your cottage last month, Charity." Hank gave her a considering look. "Mind if I ask what you did to piss off Rick Swinton?"
    Elias sensed rather than saw the small shiver that went through Charity.
    "I declined his invitation to dinner." She rubbed her arms. "I'm told he liked to get even with people who crossed him."
    Hank shook his head. "Should have kicked the whole damn lot of 'em out of town last month. Now look at the mess I've got on my hands."
    "Why didn't you run them out of the cove?" Elias asked.
    "It's not as easy to get rid of a bunch like that as you'd think," Hank said. "Besides, the mayor pretty well tied my hands when she decided to let things ride until the fifteenth. Thanks to Her Honor, I've got two murders to deal with now."

16

    When one cannot stop the rushing river, go with the flow.

    - "On the Way of Water," from the journal of Hayden Stone

    Charity parked her car two doors down from Phyllis Dartmoor's law office shortly after nine the next morning. She got out and started walking toward the town's one drugstore. She had some errands she wanted to complete before she opened Whispers at ten.
    The items on her list included a new bottle of shampoo, some soap, and toilet paper. She also needed a roll of stamps. Life went on, even when one made a hobby of getting seduced by an enigmatic male or happening upon murder victims, she thought glumly.
    It was going to be a long day, and she was definitely not in top form. Lack of sleep was part of the problem. Her dreams had been filled with images of Rick Swinton's body floating on an endless ink-black sea. She had awakened several times during the night, each time instinctively reaching out for the comfort of Elias's warm, strong frame. But he had not been there.
    It was her own fault, she told herself. She had been the one who had insisted she would be just fine on her own last night. At the time, she had meant it. When Elias had left her at her front door, she had still been fuming about Hank Tybern's comments. Anger had given her strength. It was only later, in bed, that the grisly images had invaded her head.
    Her only consolation was that Elias's parting words had been an invitation to dinner tonight. When she had tentatively pointed out that it was her turn to cook, he had shrugged the issue aside, saying he owed her a meal as payment for the way she had defended him to Tybern.
    Charity had not argued. She sensed that, in his own way, he was trying to repair the rift that had opened between them when she'd gone bananas earlier in the evening.
    If a sexy friendship was all he could offer now, she would accept it. It was a foundation, she told herself. She could build on it.
    She eyed the small cluster of people gathered at the end of the block in front of the post office and had second thoughts about buying stamps. It was a safe bet that the chief topic of conversation this morning was the latest murder. She had no desire to answer a lot of questions.
    The glass door with the words Phyllis Dartmoor, Attorney at Law painted on it opened just as Charity was about to walk past. Phyllis looked out at her with exhausted, desperate eyes.
    "Charity, I've got to talk to you."
    She did not need this, Charity thought. She definitely did not need an extended conversation with Phyllis. But she could think of no civil way to avoid it. Reluctantly she came to a halt.
    "I suppose you've heard about Rick Swinton," Charity began cautiously.
    "Yes. And so has everyone else in town." Phyllis glanced up and down the street as if afraid of being seen with Charity. Apparently satisfied that no one was watching, she motioned quickly. "Come in. Please. This is terribly important."
    Charity sighed and walked slowly into the office. "I can't tell you very much. All I know is that he was shot. Tybern thinks that the same kind of gun was used, but