Page 1 of Crossing Every Line
ONE
The paperin her hands trembled. Creases from the number of times she’d read and reread this single sheet of paper left it looking old and worn. But the summons was only two days ago and had come as a complete surprise. Lawrence Justice had been absent since her kindergarten graduation. Her only memory of her father was broad shoulders and blond hair so light it looked like goose down.
The same hair she saw in the mirror every morning.
Kendall Proctor adjusted one of the many pins it took to contain her hair into the knot at the base of her neck. Instead of highlights like most of the female population, she’d added in hints of honey gold to cut the startling near-white color. Ever the reminder that she was so very different from her mother’s dark, Italian features.
She jammed the paper back into her bag and swung her feet out of the compact car she’d rented. Monterey, California was a far cry from Winchester Falls, New York. Even the scent of water on the air was different—briny and metallic somehow. Maybe she’d sneak away after the reading of the will and find the coastal road she’d read about during her eight hours in planes and airports today.
Three cars lined the moss-ridden half wall that hugged the hillside property. She climbed the steep walk-up, her shoes clicking on flagstone. Worrying the strap of her purse, she ducked under the trumpet-shaped blooms that hung from an arbor at the end of the path. Honeysuckle and jasmine scents drew her ever closer to the massive, dark house. She didn’t know quite how that could be possible with all the windows, but it was. It looked like a sterile page fromArchitectural Digest.
The wide wraparound porch was slate-gray stone filled with shadows.
Nothing said welcome. Not even a happy little wreath on the door.
Not that this was a happy-little-wreath kind of place. Probably too passé for the California set. She had one for every season. What did that say about her?
She stopped at the base of the stairs. What the hell was she doing here? The letter burning a hole in her purse was a formal request for her attendance at the reading of Lawrence Justice’s will. She wasn’t even aware her father remembered her name, let alone put her in his will.
Hell, the only reason she knew he’d passed away was because of the letter. He might’ve been a big name on the West Coast, but in Winchester Falls, New York, he damn well hadn’t rated a news bulletin.
She tucked the unruly lock of hair behind her ear once more. This was a mistake. She should turn around and go back to the airport. Sitting by the ocean would be better. Another eight hours in the airport would be better. Anywhere but here. She wanted nothing to do with the man who skipped out on her mother—skipped out on her without even a good-bye. The only good thing he’d done for them was give them the Heron. She didn’t want anything else from him.
But no, her mother had impulsively bought a plane ticket—nonrefundable, of course—to send her one and only baby girl to see what Kendall’s rich father had left her.
She rubbed the tip of her middle finger between her brows, wishing away the brewing headache. She didn’t give a rat’s ass what her father had to say. As far as she was concerned, graveside admissions were bullshit. She’d never been his daughter in any way. Why on earth had he decided to add her to the will?
If the Heron weren’t in such financial distress, she would have told the lawyer who’d contacted her to take a dive off the nearest cliff. And there were plenty in Monterey to leap off. Again, her mother had fielded that call.
She’d been too busy on the trawler. Winchester Falls had a wealth of perfect spots for fishing. The lake had even been mentioned in a few fishing magazines. It was the only thing bringing any money into the bed-and-breakfast these days. All her dreams of lovely rooms and community evenings around the dinner table had been buried under fishing tackle and bait.
She sighed and smoothed her hand over her hips to straighten any wrinkles in her suit. The flight had been eternal, and the flight back tonight would be even worse. But she couldn’t afford a hotel room. Not when her mother had cleaned them out to buy the absurdly expensive ticket to the frigging West Coast.
Kendall took a deep breath and buttoned the hidden hook of her lilac jacket. The suit felt like a straitjacket. She was getting too used to cargo pants and T-shirts. If she kept this up, she was going to have to turn in her girl card.
She lifted her gaze to the porch again and found disconcerting dark eyes studying her from the shadows. “Hello.” When he didn’t say anything back, she swallowed. “I’m Kendall Proctor.”
He stepped forward, and the diffused light gave way to a furrowed brow with a week’s worth of stubble shading a strong jaw. Everything was so angular and harsh—everything but his mouth. No, his mouth was lush in comparison. Even with the unwelcoming pinch to it.
She squared her shoulders and climbed the steps. “I hope you’re not the welcome wagon.”
“Who are you?”
“I just told you.”
The front door opened, and a tall man in an expensive gray suit stepped out. “Ah, there you are. Miss Proctor, I presume?”
Kendall nodded.
He held out his hand and helped her up the last step. “I’m Jonas Murray, Mr. Justice’s lawyer. We’ve been waiting for you.”
She spared a glance at her phone. “I’m not late.”
“No, we’re just anxious to get started. It’s been a long week.”
“Right, I’m sorry.” She followed the lawyer inside but could still feel the man’s deep, dark eyes on her. What? Did she have a stain on her skirt? On her jacket? She glanced down and paused at the entryway to the house. Dark wood floors spread as far as her eye could see. More dark wood climbed up stairs and around the doorways like a greedy vine. All of it spoke of money and the obvious influence of Frank Lloyd Wright.
California crawled with his houses. The few design courses she’d been able to take were filled with the fascinating architecture. But this didn’t have the same magic she’d imagined while poring over her textbooks. She’d been in museums with more warmth.