At the same instant it occurred to her that although she could not see the person watching from the shadows, he could certainly see her. The flashlight in her hand made a very effective beacon.
She turned off the beam and crouched down beside Winston. “Hush.” She closed her fingers lightly around his muzzle. She did not think his low growls could be heard above the sound of the incoming tide, but if he started barking again, he would give away their location.
Winston shuddered under her hands. His attention never wavered from the cliff path.
One thing was certain, Hannah thought as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the new level of darkness. They could not go up the path. They would run straight into whoever waited there. Nor could they just stay here in the cove like sitting ducks.
Keeping her fingers around Winston’s muzzle, she tugged on his collar to guide him.
“This way,” she whispered. “Heel, or whatever it is dogs are supposed to do at times like this.”
If Winston was offended by the command, he was gracious enough not to complain. He paced obediently along beside her. She bent low, not daring to take her fingers off his muzzle as they made their way toward the dense darkness of the cliff caves. She relied on the sighs and splashes of the returning seawater to cloak whatever noise she made as she scrambled over the rocks with Winston.
The biggest danger would come from tide pools that littered the cove. At night, without a flashlight, each one was a potential trap. Things slipped and slithered under her feet, but Winston detoured safely around the edges of the pools.
The deeper darkness of a cave entrance loomed in her path. The scent of rotting seaweed enveloped her. But for once Winston showed no interest in the fascinating odors that assailed his nostrils. He was alert and focused. She did not dare release her grip on his muzzle.
“Hush,” she said again. “Please, hush.”
He gave a low, almost inaudible whimper and quivered tensely.
She put out one hand and felt for the wall of the cave. When her palm made contact with the damp rock she started cautiously forward. Winston must have sensed her intention or perhaps he was merely responding to some ancient den-seeking impulse. Whatever the reason, he willingly took the lead as they made their way deeper into the convoluted cavern.
As soon as they rounded the corner, they lost what little fog-reflected moonlight there was coming through the mouth of the cave. The quality of the darkness took on a deeper, thicker feel. Hannah could see nothing now. She stumbled awkwardly along, blindly following Winston. But after she bumped her head on a rocky outcropping and scraped a knee, she decided to risk the flashlight again.
She kept the beam pointed straight down toward the rising floor of rock. Winston trotted forward through the sandy rubble that littered the bottom of the cavern. He no longer seemed inclined to bark. Cautiously, she released his muzzle.
The path led through a series of small, damp chambers. She stumbled over the remains of an old pink-plastic sandal. Probably one that she or her sister had lost when they had come here to play years ago, she thought.
The cavern branched off in several directions. Some of the tunnels were too narrow for any human to pass through, although Winston could have made it. She selected a passage she had often used in the past. Her brother, Nick, had marked it with an X painted in red. Here in the endless gloom the paint had faded little over the years.
Winston strained forward more eagerly now, perhaps sensing the fresh air that wafted in from the far end of the twisted passage. They rounded a bend. There was a difference in the density of the light at the far end of the cavern. She realized she was looking at night and fog now, not at rock wall.
Hastily she doused the flashlight beam again and allowed Winston to draw her quickly toward the exit. His mood had altered. He was still eager, but he seemed excited and cheerful, no longer the hunter confronting danger.
“Hannah.”
The shock of hearing her name called loudly just as she and Winston emerged from the cavern sent a jolt through her. The realization that it was Rafe’s voice that echoed in the mist brought a nearly paralyzing sense of relief.
“Over here, Rafe.”
Winston whimpered and bounded up the slope that led to the top of the cliff. She rushed after him. They were both running now.
Hannah did not slow down when she saw Rafe silhouetted against the glare of the flashlight. She kept going at full speed, straight into his arms.
Chapter 16
An hour later Rafe heard her stalk back into the kitchen behind him. He removed the pan of steaming cocoa from the stove and glanced over his shoulder.
She had washed and dried her hair and tucked it back behind her ears. A thick white toweling robe was belted around her narrow waist. Her face was pink and flushed. He knew that the high color in her cheeks was not from the hot shower she had just taken. She was still fuming.
He hadn’t entirely recovered from the roller coaster of emotions he’d been through in the past hour either, he realized. Hannah and Winston had been through a bad experience, but the whole event had not been a picnic for him. He’d endured his own private ordeal.
First there had been the nightmare images he had envisioned when he knocked on the front door of the house and received no answer. Given the fact that Hannah’s car was in the drive, he’d started out with the worst-case scenario—that she was upstairs in her prissy little bedroom with another man. When he’d finally climbed out of the dark pit into which that vision had cast him, he’d summoned up some common sense and logic. Even if Hannah had been engaged in passionate sex upstairs, he reasoned, Winston would have come to the door.
Winston had not come to the door. Ergo, Winston and Hannah had gone for a walk. Given the fog and the late hour, however, that conclusion had induced other, equally disturbing scenarios. The tide was coming in. It was a damfool time to go walking on the beach.
When he’d finally spotted them coming toward him from the vicinity of the caves, the relief that had flashed through him had been stunning. Then Hannah had launched herself into his arms, and he’d realized that she was scared and shivering. Her clothes and hair were wet.
She’d told him the full story on the way back to the house, and he’d been chilled to the bone by the tale. A hundred variations on disaster had assailed him. She could have been swept up in the churning waters of the cove while attempting to rescue Winston. What if whoever she thought had watched her from the path had pursued her and the dog into the caves?
After the visions had come the questions, the primary one being, What the hell was going on? He’d made the cocoa partly as therapy for himself. Cooking always centered him and allowed him to think more clearly.
