A Home by the Sea. Christina Skye

to her and her year of study at the Sorbonne had been heaven. When work brought her here to Washington, she found the same kind of anonymity, and she had felt right at home.

      Except lately her trust level was at rock bottom. Since learning about James, she questioned every statement and every motive, her own as well as everyone else’s. She searched for odd nuances and tallied up whatever didn’t make sense.

      That kind of negativity drained you fast, she had discovered. It left you only half alive.

      As she studied the hard angles of Noah’s face captured in the light of passing cars, Grace realized that right now at this moment, one place felt safe. Noah had a knack for paying complete attention to those around him. When you talked, he listened as if no one else existed or mattered. It was a novel and very heady experience, she discovered.

      Not that it changed anything. Tonight was a pleasant adventure, nothing more.

      “You want to talk about him?” Noah was watching her, his eyes grave.

      “Him?”

      “Your fiancé. You were thinking about him just now, weren’t you?”

      “Yes, but how did you—”

      “Your eyes. You looked like someone had kicked you in the chest and you were choking,” Noah said roughly.

      Had he really seen all that in her face? If so, was her pain so visible to everyone around her?

      Grace felt a wave of nausea. The truth was that all of James’s friends had known what he was doing. Only she had been blind to the scattered signs. They were apart for weeks while he was working, so it had been easy to miss the other demands on his time and emotions.

      But over the long months Grace had stopped hating him. She had even stopped hating herself for missing the signs until he was dead. And now she was moving forward. She wasn’t going to let bad memories destroy her trust and hope. She wanted her life back.

      She took a shaky breath, trying to smile. “That easy to read, am I?”

      “Maybe not by others. But you’re doing it again,” Noah said quietly. “That struggle to breathe. The tension in your hands. Talk to me, Grace.”

      Memories of loss made her throat tighten. She hadn’t talked about the dark details with anyone, not even her closest friends. Definitely not with her grandfather, who would have been horrified by James’s behavior. “I—I can’t.”

      “Talking will help.”

      “What does it matter? He’s gone. All the damage is done.” She felt tears burn suddenly. “Before he died he slept with half of my friends. Maybe all of them. What did I know?”

      “The fool,” Noah’s voice was hard. “The cold-blooded idiot.” A muscle clenched at his jaw. “A man would have to be blind—and very sick to hurt you that way. He hurt himself, too, even if he couldn’t see it.” He took her hand, helping her climb over a mound of snow at the edge of a driveway. They walked for a while, neither speaking. “So how did you find out?” Noah finally asked.

      “The first clue? I was going through some of his old clothes after he passed away, and I found a letter in the pocket. There was no stamp. He was always a little forgetful that way.” Grace stared down the street, reliving that moment of her searing disbelief. “I was certain it was a mistake, so certain that some friend of his had given him the letter to drop off. Just a favor, right? Then a mutual friend, who happened to be the woman he’d written the love letter to, called me in Paris.” Grace had to stop and concentrate on the words. “She was devastated. She let it slip that he had been with her the day before the crash. He had visited her at least once a month. She said she was … pregnant. She hadn’t told him yet.” Grace blew out a shaky breath. “I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t console her. I should have, but I couldn’t say a word of sympathy. I was still sure it was a mistake.” The street blurred suddenly. “It had to be some other James. Not my James. It just wasn’t possible.” Grace stumbled. Dimly, she felt Noah’s hand grip her waist. “Not the man I was going to marry as soon as his humanitarian missions in the Sudan were done.”

      The bitterness rose and tried to take control, but she fought it back. It was getting easier every day. She was finally starting to move on.

      If she could just let the memories go.

      She rubbed her neck and glanced at Noah. His hand was still on her waist, offering silent support. “So there it is, the whole sad cliché.”

      “You’re no cliché. And you’ll get through this.”

      “I’m working on it, believe me.” She stood taller, feeling the cold wind bite against her wet cheeks. Some days she even thought she was over it. There had been too many tears, Grace thought. No more of them.

      “You’re a very good listener, by the way.”

      “I try.”

      “And you certainly succeed. I haven’t told that to anyone.” She chewed on her lip and dug for a tissue in her pocket. “So now it’s your turn. Tell me what really happened to your face.”

      “I told you. I—”

      “Yeah, right. Like I believe that. You’re the steadiest, most coordinated man I’ve ever met.” Grace eyed him without blinking. “You said you work for the government.”

      After a moment Noah nodded.

      “And?”

      “And nothing.”

      “Because you can’t talk about it?”

      Noah released her waist and studied the street. “That’s right.”

      Grace blew out a little breath. More secrets. She’d had enough of them, thanks to James. But these secrets were different. They were meant to protect, not harm. That was important.

      “So … did someone attack you? Was it dangerous?”

      Noah said nothing.

      “Did you have to kill someone?” she asked quietly.

      His eyes cut to hers. She thought she saw wariness. “What if I did? Would you walk away?”

      She heard his anger, but something told her he was baiting her. “Maybe I should. I don’t have a high threshold for secrets these days, Noah.”

      After a long time some of his tension faded. “Understandable.” He rubbed his wrist, frowning.

      Something made Grace reach over and push up his cuff. Before he could react, she saw a band of bluish bruises and a long cut along the top of his hand. “You fell,” she said quietly. “It must have hurt.”

      Noah stepped back and smoothed his cuff down. “Not so bad.” He rolled one shoulder slowly. “As these things go.”

      She had a thousand questions, a thousand frightening images of Noah lying bloody on a street, surrounded by ambulances. “So do you … fall … often? At this job you can’t discuss for an agency you can’t mention?”

      “Does it matter?” His eyes were focused on her now, his body still and very controlled.

      “Yes. It shouldn’t. I—don’t want it to matter. I don’t have any room in my life for a new set of secrets, Noah. But suddenly you’re here and you make me feel so … safe. As if things are fresh and I can actually think about starting over.” She leaned closer and brushed snow off his collar. Her hand rose, opening over his jaw. “That scares the hell out of me,” she said hoarsely.

      His covered her hand with his. “Make that two of us.”

      “You? I can’t see you being afraid of anything. You’re always so calm, so focused. Nothing gets past you.”

      “You believe that? Only a fool or a dead man feels no fear. A healthy dose of worry can save your life in a bad place.”