Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

heartbeat.
    “What should I do?” she asked finally.
    “Whatever you can live with.”
    “What about Kyle?”
    “He’s a big boy. Worry about yourself.”
    “You keep telling me that.”
    “I keep hoping you’ll listen.”
    She laughed raggedly. “Talk to me, Jake. I need . . . to talk.”
    His arms tightened around her. “I’ll go or I’ll stay. Your choice, Honor.”
    “I don’t want to choose.” She burrowed against him as though the chill she felt was physical rather than mental. “Do you think whoever called has Kyle?”
    “No.”
    “Why?”
    “If he already has Kyle, there’s no point in hamstringing your search, is there?”
    She let out a shaky breath. “That was my second thought. A bluff rather than a real threat.”
    Jake brushed his lips against her hair too gently for her to feel. Each breath he took was sweet with the scent of warm woman.
    “What was your first thought?” he asked.
    “I was glad I wasn’t here alone. I’m beginning to hate the telephone.”
    “I’ll get you an answering machine.”
    “I have one. I just can’t bear to turn it on when I’m here. I keep thinking that Kyle might be on the other end.”
    There was nothing Jake could say to that. Certainly there was nothing that Honor would want to hear. So he simply stroked her chin-length, shiny hair and held her until she finally let go of him and moved away.
    “Thanks,” she said self-consciously. “I didn’t mean to, well, you know.”
    “Er, no.”
    “Cry on your shoulder.”
    He touched the dark blue flannel shirt where she had laid her head. “What are you talking about? It’s dry as a Baptist revival.”
    She laughed almost helplessly. Then she took a shaky breath and turned toward the kitchen. “About that wine . . .”
    “I’ll get it as soon as I check on the salmon.”
    The telephone rang again.
    Honor flinched. Jake headed toward the phone. She stopped him by grabbing his wrist.
    “No,” she said quickly. “I can handle it.” She picked up the phone. “Hello?”
    Jake tensed and watched her expression.
    “I’m sorry,” she said automatically. “He isn’t here right now. May I take a message?” She frowned. “Really? Can you hang on to it for a while? It’s paid for? Good. I’ll be in to get it when I can. Thank you.”
    “Who was it?” he asked as soon as Honor hung up.
    “A woman from Watermark Book Store. They have something that Kyle ordered.”
    “When?”
    “They didn’t say. Odd, though.”
    “What?”
    “I didn’t know my brother was interested in Russian history.”
    Neither did Jake, but saying it would raise more questions than he wanted to answer.
    “Modern stuff?” he asked casually.
    “No. She said the book is a catalog of the contents of Russian palaces before the Revolution. He had wanted one specifically on the palace known as Tsarskoye Selo, but there weren’t any available.”
    Jake went still. Before the Nazis invaded Russia, the Tsarskoye Selo had been the home of the Amber Room. His lips thinned and he wondered if alcohol would cut through the bitter taste of fairy dust in his mouth.
    “I’ll open the wine,” he said.
    Honor watched Jake stalk to the kitchen. She knew that he had just lost his temper, but she didn’t know why.
    “And men say that women are moody,” she muttered.
    If Jake heard her, he ignored the bait. He opened the wine, poured her a glass, and went out to brood over the barbecue.
    Honor didn’t make the mistake of tagging along. Her own temper was too uncertain. She picked up her sketch pad, took the amber out of its box, and lost herself in drawing. The Amber Man was still elusive, but she was certain of ultimately drawing him out of his golden prison.
    She didn’t know when she realized that what she was drawing looked like an echo of Jake’s strong features, but after she accepted it the drawing went much faster. It was both Jake and not—Jake, man and shadow, darkness and light, a smile from one direction and a cynically curving mouth from the other.
    After a while she became aware that Jake was standing nearby, watching her. She wondered if he recognized himself in the drawing. Probably not. Most people accepted the reversed image of themselves they saw in the mirror as reality.
    “Make yourself useful,” she said, handing him the piece of amber. “Hold this between me and a strong light source. I need to make certain that the flecks are deep enough to survive if the surface is smoothed and