Spirit Bound - Christine Feehan [156]
WALKING down the main street of Sea Haven in full view of the townspeople, while holding hands with Judith, felt strange and yet exhilarating. Across the street, the ocean acted up, waves pounding at the cliffs and bluffs. White spray rose high into the air, crashing over rocks, the sound a loud boom the wind caught and carried inland. Fingers of fog streamed toward the buildings and streets, brought in by the breeze coming in off the ocean.
“Most people here are bothered more by the wind than by the fog,” Judith said, “but I love the wind and the storms here. I always feel like no one can quite tame this place.”
Stefan liked that idea. He wasn’t the type of man to stroll down the street, boldly holding a woman’s hand. His gaze moved restlessly over rooftops and delved into alleyways, although a part of him enjoyed every moment of the new experience. He seemed to be having all his firsts with Judith. He was a man used to the roles he played and he was comfortable in society when he was undercover. If he meant to become Thomas Vincent and settle in Sea Haven, he would have to grow completely comfortable in the art world with Judith. She traveled and went to galleries and conventions. She taught classes. Where Judith went, Stefan would be going, but he would always have the wildness of this place to make him feel comfortable in his own skin.
A trickle of unease slipped into his mind. He took a quick look around. The fog was heavy and massing fast, veiling the buildings in a gray mist.
Judith turned her face up to the gathering mist and smiled. “I love our sea here. It’s so wild, the mood changing every hour. It was so beautiful this morning at the farm and yet we drive a couple of miles and fog is pouring into town so fast and thick you can barely see your hand in front of your face.”
Stefan knew his “honeymoon” with Judith was about to be over. He could feel the building tension in him as surely as he could recognize the building storm of an impending tornado. He always knew when trouble was close, and as they approached the art gallery, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and every cell in his body went on alert. Without conscious thought, he dropped Judith’s hand, and crossed behind her, to put his body between hers and the buildings, rather than the street. Instincts were everything and he didn’t question himself, he simply reacted.
“Let me go in first,” he ordered as they neared the small lane between the buildings where Old Bill made his home. “Stay behind me until I clear the gallery.”
Judith frowned at his grim face and taut, very domineering tone, but she didn’t argue with him. As they passed Bill, she paused. The veteran was lying under his blanket, covering his head with one hand, shivering a little in the thick fog.
“Bill, do you need another blanket? What happened to your sleeping bag?”
The world was gray and somber, the sea crashing angrily against the bluff where Ivanov’s car had gone over to the rocks below. Stefan took a long look around while Judith talked to the homeless man, aware, even as he studied rooftops and towers, that Bill made an attempt to sit up, coughed and lay back down.
“Do you need a doctor?” Judith asked.
Bill shook his head and waved her away, clearly as independent as ever.
Judith frowned at him. “If you aren’t better tomorrow, I’m bringing Lexi, Bill, and you know what that means. She’ll be making some horrible-tasting potion for you to drink and you’ll do it because no one can resist her, not even you.”
Bill made a muffled sound that could have been a snort of laughter or agreement. Stefan urged Judith forward toward the gallery by taking her upper arm and tugging with commanding strength. She shot him a scowl, her concern for Bill overriding her good sense.
His radar screamed at him, his muscles coiling, ready to spring into action. The weight of his gun was reassuring. He had a knife strapped to his calf, one in his boot, another up his sleeve