Brine Read Free Page B

easy.
    Could she stand? So soon?
    She spun onto her belly and pushed up onto all fours, her body aching with exhaustion. Headlights swept a distant hillside road and revved her adrenaline. She put one foot into the sand and pressed her hands to standing. She wobbled a bit, amazed. Like a newborn foal, her strength and balance came quickly.
    Once out of the sand, she picked up the pace to a trot, her bare feet tender on the concrete. She hid behind a bush and waited for a lone car to pass. Checking both directions, she darted across the 101 and crouched in a thicket. She paused, holding her breath and listening. Coast was clear. She raced across the train tracks in the direction of the coffee shop.
    A metal fire escape to the rear of the shop led up to Allen’s apartment. The latch was broken on the window at the top of the staircase. Hopefully Allen hadn’t decided to get that fixed.
    She looked up at the window: his lights were off. Allen was an early riser, but she had no idea what time it was.
    Wait—what the hell was she doing? What was she going to say to him? She’d been missing for god-only-knew how many days, she was naked, and she was about to climb through the window of her ex-boyfriend’s apartment?
    She chewed her nails for a moment and then slammed her hands down by her sides.
    No No No . No backing out now. She was here. Nicholas’s apartment was miles away, perched on a high cliff in a gated community.
    Allen would believe her. Father Allen Wilson? Of course he would—a perfect blend of spiritual and grounded. He would help her figure this out. He’d been a priest for a stint in his earlier life. Listened to confessions, offered prayers. He’d have answers.
    Her hand grasped the railing, and the rush of the cold metal encouraged her to take the first step. She climbed the staircase and reached out from the landing at the top. The window slid open.
    “Allen ,” she whispered, poking her head inside.
    Nothing. She climbed through the window and repeated his name again. Silence. She crept toward the bed on tiptoe and dropped to flat feet. The room was empty and the sheets were tidy. She glanced around, looking for clues, and caught a whiff of incense burning in the corner, the spicy stick only half-spent. Allen must be down in the shop. She hadn’t seen any lights on downstairs, but maybe he was in the storeroom, organizing the latest shipment of supplies before the morning rush.
    She looked around the all-too-familiar apartment. A few old surfboards were tucked up in the exposed rafters; artwork, shells, postcards, and photographs adorned the walls. A wooden sculpture of the Madonna stood in a corner, the rustic Virgin’s palms open to welcome the lost and weary.
    She walked across the room and stood by the phone. She had to call Nicholas. He must be a wreck. He would be ecstatic to have her back, to know she was alive.
    She reached for the phone, but her hand snatched back.
    Her wedding invitation peeked out of a stack on the counter. Holy shit! They’d invited Allen?
    Granted, Allen was a bit of a community icon. And practically all of southern California had been on the guest list. Who invites that many people to their wedding? Who has that many friends? Certainly not her.
    She picked up the phone and held it to her ear. The dial tone whined in the background as she muttered to herself, practicing. “Hey, babe. It’s me . . . I know, but I can explain . . .” Forget that. She couldn’t explain.
    “Hey babe, it’s me . . . I’m in Cardiff at the coffee shop. . . . Yeah, Allen’s coffee shop . . .”
    Well, she could forget that too.
    The door to the apartment opened. She exhaled, looking across the room, and placed the phone back on the cradle.

5
    “ALLEN. HEY.” Her voice was scratchy. “I can explain.”
    He came closer. “Ish—what the—what are you doing here?”
    Now in his late forties, he’d aged impressively, a chiseled structure beneath his tan skin. Only a few gray hairs