RESPONSIBILITY SHARED THE bed with her and kept her awake.
She’d locked the doors and checked the windows, but still the endless possibility for risk swirled through Emily’s brain, tormenting her. Next to her, Lizzy slept deeply, curled under the pretty patchwork quilt, her arms clutching the bear.
It was a sight to soften the hardest heart, except that Emily had locked hers away years before and had no idea how to access it. And she didn’t want to.
Numb, she closed her eyes and rolled over, but still sleep stayed just out of her reach.
She thought about Ryan, about the way his fingers had felt brushing over hers, the way he’d looked at her with that intense focus that caused the world around them to melt away. Her relationship with Neil had been comfortable and nonthreatening. He’d done nothing to disturb her equilibrium or threaten her sense of safety.
Ryan did both. He made her feel things she’d never felt before. But she had no intention of allowing herself to explore those feelings in greater depth.
She knew she had issues with attachment, and she was perfectly fine with that.
For all his sophisticated charm, Ryan Cooper represented danger. The kind of danger she was keen to avoid.
She finally succumbed to exhaustion as dawn sent sunlight pouring through the window and then woke later, much later, knowing she’d slept too long. The sun beamed strong rays through the glass, adding a warm glow to the white and muted blues of the bedroom.
Daylight and silence made an uneasy combination.
Feeling a powerful sense that something wasn’t right, Emily turned her head to check on Lizzy and saw she was alone in the bed.
“Lizzy?” Her stomach cramped, and panic mingled with self-recrimination.
She should have stayed awake.
She shouldn’t have taken her eyes off her for a moment.
Telling herself that the girl had probably gone to find breakfast, she sprinted downstairs on legs that felt as useless as cooked spaghetti.
“Lizzy?” The kitchen was empty, but a chair had been dragged in front of the shelves.
Something about the position of that chair seemed all wrong, and Emily looked up and saw the glittery pink bucket was missing.
Her stomach dropped away. It was like losing your footing and tumbling into a dark chasm.
She shot into the hallway and saw that the front door was open.
Please, no, not that. Anything but that.
She should have been more careful. She should have hidden the key. She should have—
Her heart stopped because as she looked past the porch she saw the child on her knees on the beach shoveling sand into the pink bucket.
Her heart crashed against her ribs like waves on the rocks.
“Lizzy!” Forgetting that she was dressed only in flimsy pajamas, she ran. She ran faster than should have been physically possible, but it seemed the body was capable of unusual feats when driven by fear. Stones and tiny pieces of shell ripped at her bare feet, but she didn’t even notice, and then she hit the soft sand and it acted like brakes, slowing her strides and throwing her off balance.
She stumbled, regained her balance, dragging air into her screaming lungs as she tried to reach Lizzy. She could smell the sea, hear the crash of the surf and the shriek of gulls, all of it combining to unleash dark memories that merged the past with the present.
The world closed in. She saw the child through a tunnel and knew she had to reach her.
And then she grabbed her, holding her tightly, vowing that this time nothing was going to make her let go. “Don’t ever, ever do that again.” Her legs shaking, she dropped to her knees in the sand with the child against her. “Never, do you hear me? Tell me you hear me. Tell me!”
“I hear you. I wanted to see the sea.” Lizzy’s voice was muffled, and Emily squeezed her eyes shut because she wouldn’t care if she never saw the sea again.
Her limbs were shaking, and a horrible queasy feeling gnawed at her stomach.
“You must never go to the beach without asking me.”