A Whisper of Danger by Catherine Palmer

.”
    “Say no more, duckie.” The little woman stood and shook out the folds of her blue dress. “I’ll be going. You’ve had a terrible shock. Terrible. You must go and lie down.”
    “I’ve got to see about my son.” Jess tried to think of polite farewells and couldn’t. Splinter was out there. A murderer was roaming loose. “Excuse me.”
    She pushed past Rick and fled across the verandah. Kicking off her sandals, she ran through the bare grass to the fence that lined the precipice. If anyone hurt Splint . . . if anything ever happened . . .
    As she reached the cliff-side steps, a hand gripped her arm. “Jessie, wait.”
    “Let go.” She turned on Rick. “I’ve got to find Spencer!”
    “Your son is fine. He’s down there with Hannah digging clams and having the time of his life.”
    She took two more steps and spotted Splint and Hannah huddled together at the edge of the beach. They were kneeling side by side, heads touching, as they poked their fingers into the damp sand in search of tiny clams. A tin pail sat lopsided, half-buried in the sand.
    Jess stopped and sucked in a shaky breath. She could see her son’s brown-gold hair ruffling in the breeze. A transparent sheet of water left the sea and ran toward the beach, covering his knees and wetting Hannah’s skirt. Splinter laughed and gave the old woman a little splash. Hannah took a fingerful of sand and wiped it on the boy’s nose.
    In a moment, the sound of singing drifted upward. “Mungu ni pendo; apenda watu. Mungu ni pendo; anipenda.” God is love; he loves all people. God is love; he loves me.
    “Let him keep his childhood, Jessie.” Rick’s voice was gentle. “At least as long as you can. He deserves that.”
    She slumped against the cliff wall, unwilling to admit he was right. “Would you just go away?”
    “I want to talk to you.”
    “No.”
    “ Yes . God allowed me to find you again. I need to tell you—”
    “God? What makes you think he had anything to do with this fiasco?”
    “Our meeting again is no fiasco. It’s a gift.”
    She lifted her focus to his face. Sincerity was written in his eyes. She had read that expression before. Believed in it. Believed in him . Never again would she trust Rick McTaggart and his lies. Her heart was too strong. She had built the walls around it too thick. And over those walls grew the ivy of her hatred for him. Nothing could breach that. But she also knew from experience how persistent he could be.
    “If I give you a chance to talk, will you leave me alone?”
    “If you still want me to.”
    “I will.” She sat on the stone step, her back to him. “Fine. Talk.”
    For a long time he didn’t say anything. She wondered if her harsh words had driven him away. How many years had she imagined a moment just like this? How many times had she envisioned Rick coming after her, hunting her down, begging her to make peace with him? Sometimes she saw herself turning to him, tears streaming down her cheeks as she fell into his arms and accepted his repentance. But most of the time, she pictured herself laughing in his face . . . or slapping him . . . or rewarding him with nothing but silence.
    Yes, that would be the best revenge of all—that he should have nothing from her. No pardons, no tears, not even a word of understanding. Nothing but total silence.
    When he didn’t speak, she began to wonder if that was all she would have from him, too. Silence. She glanced over her shoulder. He was sitting on the step behind her, his gaze trained on the waves. Arms resting loosely on his knees, he had woven his fingers together.
    Rick’s hands. They looked the same—strong fingers, brown skin, white nails. She had loved his hands once. Loved the way he had laced his fingers through hers, squeezing their palms together and swinging their arms as they walked. Loved the way he had slipped his fingers through the strands of her hair. Loved the way—
    “I bet I’ve rehearsed this a thousand times,”