The One That Got Away Read Free Page B

unearthly sound rattled her bones and assailed her senses.
    Oh, but the cry didn’t strike fear in her heart, as much as it made that heart pound with lust and sweet anticipation. Beads of sweat coursed Cecily’s brow as she rose to her feet, determined to find the source of the sound.
    “It sounds like the cry of a lone male.” Like a stealthy cat, she scaled the darkness, leaping the distance between the daybed and her front door. Somehow, she knew she had no time to spare; whoever he was, he needed her now.
    “And for a desperate sounding being who sounds downright surreal,” she trembled in spite of herself as she took swift steps across her doorstep into the dark of night. “He sounds passing hot.”
    The wail only intensified as she slipped into her car, a Volkswagen bug whose ivory hood shone in the light of the moon. Turning on the overhead light she fumbled for her map; abandoning her efforts as an unbidden thought assailed her delicate psyche.
    “I know where it is.” She shook her head, fishing in her purse for the crystal-hued key that would fuel and feed her journey. “I haven’t been to Port Emerald for 17 years, but I know how to get there. I know every twist and turn. I know it by heart.”
    Then, with the help of a single deep breath, her heart drove her to Port Emerald.
    * * * *
    Two hours later, she knew only one thing.
    “I, Cecily Brandon, am a complete and total idiot.” With a furious blush, she buried her head in the well-worn pages of a truck stop menu, slouching in the depths of a tattered booth cushion as the powerful tones of Aretha Franklin resounded from a nearby jukebox.
    “You deserve all the R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Aretha.” She directed her next comments at the bronze-plated jukebox, which—fates be thanked—managed to drown out her confused words. “All I deserve is a one-way ticket to the looney bin.”
    “You OK, Hon?” She jumped at the sound of a sharp Southern accent, one that attacked unexpected from the side of the table.
    She forced a smile as she stared into the made up face of a pink-clad truck stop waitress, who met her gesture with a confused frown.
    “Did you want something to eat?” She tapped her foot in what seemed to be a show of wary impatience.
    Ignoring her question, Cecily posed one of her own.
    “How far am I from Port Emerald?” She tilted her head. “About an hour and 15 minutes, I figure?”
    The waitress sighed.
    “Blazes I don’t know.” She shook her permed head. “I just moved here two weeks ago from Ken-tuck. Now do you want to order, Sweetie, or would you just like to continue royally freaking out everyone in the restaurant?”
    Cecily guffawed outright.
    “I do believe I’ll take Option B. I think it’s high time I freaked somebody out.” She stared briefly at the menu. “I’ll also take a double cheeseburger and a milkshake.”
    The waitress regarded her a moment, then turned for the kitchen.
    “Coming right up,” she snapped, adding more softly, “And come the end of my shift, I’m on the first bus back to Ken-tuck.”
    Cecily giggled in spite of herself; then abruptly fell silent as the air was filled with a low, keening wail—a sound strikingly similar to the one that had launched this insane midnight journey.
    “I need that order to go!” She jumped from her seat, making a mad rush for the door.
    * * * *
    3 a.m. found Cecily racing down the familiar sands of Port Emerald Beach, though this time she embarked on a rescue mission, not a vacation.
    The swaying palms of the tropical beach glowed emerald in the moonlight; the same light that cast the sand beneath her in a cast of fine marble. Yet these surreal surroundings did not distract her from the purpose and goal at hand.
    “He’s calling for me.” This singular, compelling thought stabbed the center of her sleep-deprived psyche. “He needs me. Only I can save him. Of course, I’ll be damned if I know exactly who ‘he’ is.”
    Still she had a good idea; a concept