The cubicle she could handle. Not having Sam in her life was unbearable.
Checking her rearview mirror, she saw a police car speeding up behind her, its red and blue lights flashing. “Not now . . .” She put on her signal, then moved over to the slow lane, hoping it would continue past.
It did not.
The uniformed officer approached. She rolled down her window.
“License and registration, please.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Remi leaned over, opened her glove box, and pulled her registration out, handing that and her license to the officer.
“Do you know how fast you were going, Miss Longstreet?”
“Eighty-ish?”
“Eight-seven.”
“Guilty. I don’t suppose we can skip with the formalities and get to the ticket part? I’m in a hurry.”
He looked over the top of his sunglasses at her. “You realize your being in a hurry is exactly why you’re being stopped?”
“I know. And I do apologize. But the guy I love is in La Jolla. He’s leaving for a new job, and if I miss him, I may never see him again . . .” Remi saw no show of emotion from the man. She decided a different tack was in order. “No disrespect, but please, if we can hurry up with the ticket, I’ll promise to drive at a reasonable speed the moment you let me go.”
The officer walked back to his patrol car. Remi watched in her rearview mirror as he clipped her license to the top of his ticket book, then started writing. Two minutes later, he was back, giving her the narrow clipboard and a pen. She signed the ticket, and he ripped off the pink copy, handing it over. He did not, however, return her license right away.
Holding on to it, he looked her in the eye. “I’m going to be taking that next exit up there, which means there’s a very long stretch between here and San Diego without any patrol. Do me a favor? Drive careful.”
“Thank you.”
He returned her license.
Remi pulled out, then drove off, making sure she kept to the speed limit. A moment later, the patrol car passed her, and, true to his word, the officer took the next exit. She sped up, though not as fast as before. Twenty-five minutes later, she found the real estate office. It was closed, the doors locked.
Why she expected him to be there when he had at least an hour head start, she didn’t know.
She tried his number again, then tossed her phone onto the seat of her car. Finally, she called Blake. “He’s not here. Have you heard from him?”
“Sorry, no. They must have gotten through that paperwork fast.”
“Where would he go?”
There was a stretch of silence, then, “You know, he said something about staying in that hotel just down the street on the beach. You might try calling them.”
“Thanks.”
Sam’s car wasn’t at the hotel, and when she checked at the desk, he wasn’t registered as a guest.
She returned to her car. Frustrated, she stood at the door, holding the handle, at a complete loss at what to do. Looking back at the hotel and then the beach brought back the memory of their weekend and the afternoon he’d told her about his dream of building a house on the cliff top.
Their house, he’d said. Without thinking, she found herself on the beach, walking toward the bluff. The sun was dipping behind the clouds as it made its late-afternoon descent. She looked out over the Pacific as the rays of the setting sun broke through, shooting upward. The sky and clouds turned a brilliant orange, and her breath caught.
Not at the sunset, but at the distant silhouette of the man standing on the edge of the cliff.
Sam.
He stood there a moment, then reached down, picking up something from the ground. A rock, perhaps. A moment later, he threw it over the edge, the tension and frustration evident in the way he held himself.