Donovans 03 - Pearl Cove

McGarry’s haunted eyes and long, bare legs. “Who opened the top drawers for Len?” Archer asked.
    “I did. He hated that, having to ask me. Just like he hated having to depend on my eyes for color matching.”
    “Len always was hell-bent on standing alone. Sometimes that’s the best way to get a job done, especially some of the jobs he did. But it’s a lousy way to live. Have you checked the top drawers since he died?”
    “Yes. There were some pearls in them, but not the best. Len kept those within his reach.”
    “What happened to the best pearls?”
    “Nothing left but the drawers. Empty.”
    “That was one busy cyclone.”
    “Greedy, too.”
    The corner of Archer’s mouth turned up. “Where’s the ladder you used to reach the high drawers?”
    Her hand closed over his wrist, pushing the flashlight in another direction. “There, along what’s left of the wall, behind that stack of shutters I thought might be saved.”
    Though the feel of her fingers sent heat licking through Archer, all he said was, “I assume Len had a room somewhere in the shed.”
    “Yes. It’s over there. Or was.”
    Archer looked at the emptiness of a destroyed wall. He could just make out twisted bits of plumbing sticking out of the floor. Turning away, he concentrated on what the storm had left behind rather than what it had taken.
    He crossed the shed, examined the shutters leaning against the ladder, and began shifting them to the side. There was no way to do it quietly. That made him uneasy, like the rising kick of the wind. Soft, furtive sounds would be buried in the background noise.
    The wind gusted in a long exhalation that made the shed creak and debris settle in a slightly different way. Archer froze, listening. He would have sworn he heard footsteps rushing with the wind.
    “Get out,” he said to Hannah.
    “But—”
    “Now.” Archer grabbed her and began running for the door.
    It was too late. A wall buckled and the metal roof came hammering down.

Nine
    B efore Hannah understood what was happening, she was facedown on the floor with something heavy covering her from head to heels. Even as she realized the weight was Archer, metal thudded and clanged around them.
    She tried to look up. She couldn’t. She was completely wedged beneath him. There was barely enough room left over to breathe. Claustrophobia swept through her in a wave that stiffened her whole body.
    “Easy, Hannah. Don’t fight me. I won’t hurt you, but what’s left of the roof sure as hell might.”
    The calm voice reassured her at a level too deep for words. She made a questioning sound that wasn’t quite fear.
    “It’s raining big chunks of metal,” Archer said against her ear. “I’ll let you up as soon as it stops. Okay?”
    She nodded.
    “Sure?” he asked.
    “Yes. Sorry. I—”
    “You have nothing to apologize for.”
    It was the brush of his mouth against her ear more than the words that silenced her. Like his fingertips had been, his lips were warm, gentle, demanding nothing of her. She let out a broken breath, and with it, most of her fear.
    She waited, listening. The gritty tile beneath her body was cold and hard. The man covering her was hot and supple. The contrast was as disorienting as being thrown to the floor while the roof came down around her ears.
    Archer shifted slightly on his elbows. Debris clattered and slid off his back. A piece of metal the size of a dinner table groaned. He arched his back, testing the weight of junk covering him. Metal grated against tile.
    Footsteps retreated at a dead run.
    It sounded like only one person, but Archer couldn’t be sure. For an instant he considered jumping up and running down whoever was fleeing. He shoved the impulse aside because it was the result of adrenaline, not thought. If he chased the intruder, Hannah would be left alone. Vulnerable. A woman who smelled like cinnamon and sunshine shouldn’t be left to face the darkness alone.
    “Archer?” she whispered.
    “Not yet.”
    Silently she waited while he listened and listened and listened. She felt suspended, almost dazed. Then—ridiculously—sleepy. Sliding down a long slow tunnel, darkness going by at a greater and greater speed. Distantly she supposed she should be afraid, but she couldn’t work up the strength. Except for her nap earlier today, fear had kept her from sleeping more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time since Len had died. She simply didn’t have the energy to be afraid anymore.
    Or