Sea Haven 01 - Water Bound

He had already identified himself to Rikki as Lev so he’d already come up with a variation of that name, making it more American. It was time to put the finishing touches on his new identity, one he could use here with her, because he was staying and that meant he had to use his head and force his memories to cooperate.
    He needed an untraceable computer to finish the process, and he needed to get into the small town close by. He’d left himself a few packages scattered around for emergency exits if the need was there—a major requirement in his profession. He just had to remember where his safety stashes were. He carried the dishes to the sink and meticulously washed them while he tried to force his memory to cooperate.
    He knew how to make up a new identity that would pass inspection by any official—he’d been doing it for years. He was certain he had plenty of money and he’d hidden more weapons and ammunition, but he couldn’t quite remember where everything was. That small, important fact continued to elude him. So, identity first. He had to get strong enough to go outside her home and study the surrounding terrain and set up warning systems. And he had to get on her boat. Her boat was far more vulnerable than her house.
    He’d been aware of the harbor, a small open community with a park right there where people could easily come and go. Her boat was tied up to the dock and anyone could rig it to blow, or rig her air compressor so she died of carbon monoxide poisoning while she was beneath the water.
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    He looked around the kitchen to make certain everything was in place before he went out onto the porch. Rikki was curled up in a chair, her bare feet tucked under her, her dark glasses pushed onto her nose, covering her eyes. He sank into the chair beside her and took possession of her left hand, tracing circles with the pad of his thumb.
    “I didn’t mean to upset you, Rikki.”
    “You didn’t.” She sighed and indicated the trees with her chin. “I love that grove of redwoods right there. That many redwood trees indicate water
    —a lot of water. I love that I might be living with water running just under me.”
    “I can see why that would appeal to you.” The peace of her farm appealed to him. Trees surrounded the house, tall and majestic, as if guarding her property. She kept everything neat and orderly. There was no lawn, but she had terraces of plants, bright, colorful flowers and shrubs in every shade of green. The rockwork on the terraces was beautiful and obviously done with care by someone who handpicked each stone.
    “Tell me about that night. Did you hear a noise? Did you see anyone?
    Were your parents acting different? Worried maybe?”
    She was silent a long time. He waited patiently, giving her space, letting her work out whether she trusted him enough to give him something that personal. The wind rustled the tree leaves overhead and birds flitted from branch to branch. A squirrel chattered and another answered. He noted it all rather absently as he watched in the distance for the telltale dust rising that would indicate a car on the road leading to her house.
    Rikki was utterly still, no squirming, no sound, she simply stared out into space, her face averted, her eyes hidden behind her dark glasses. She hadn’t pulled her hand away, and Lev pressed his thumb into the center of her palm and closed his eyes, feeling his way. Immediately he “saw”
    numbers in his head. She was counting to herself, and she was on seventy-eight.
    She took off her dark glasses, turned her head to look him straight in the eyes. The jolt was like a powerful punch straight in his gut. Hard.
    Encompassing. She did something to his insides, where he was tough as nails, strong and impenetrable. She slipped past his guard and managed to penetrate deep. His reaction to her bordered on primal.
    “You think my entire family was a target and whoever killed my parents missed me and is still hunting me.”
    He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her close, but her entire demeanor screamed “hands off,” so he continued to stroke caresses over her open palm, satisfied that she hadn’t pulled completely away from him. “If it 132

    was a contract hit, they wouldn’t stop, not until they were dead, and even then, the contract could be given to another hit man.”
    “Are you a hit man?”
    A day earlier he wouldn’t have been so certain. “No.” He kept his gaze on hers. “I don’t know