Free Bring Him Home by Karina Bliss Page B

minimal legal requirements.”
    “The law is what this will be judged on, Claire.”
    “And he wasn’t incapable, he was unwilling!” She met her friend’s unwavering gaze and sighed. “Like I’m unwilling to hear what you’re going to say next.”
    “Talk to him, try to negotiate a solution that works for both of you. You’ll get a lot further, a lot faster than taking him to court.”
    “Argh!”
    “You’re welcome.” Jules smiled. “Maybe Nate’s changed into the badass you describe, but sounds like his heart’s still in the right place…at least where you’re concerned. Use that as your starting point.”
    “Except I told him to go,” Claire confessed. “Pack his bags and leave.”
    What if he had? “Oh, hell.” She fumbled for her cell and rang his. It was switched off. Her next call was to the estate agent, who reported Nate had left shortly after she had. When Adam started talking about the buyers, she cut him short. If Nate was leaving, the sale was dead in the water. “I’ll phone you later…and you, Jules.”
    As she cut the connection, she was already halfway out the door.
    Claire drove home to Stingray Bay at breakneck speed using a local’s knowledge to cut corners and accelerating on every straight. She scanned the roadside for the sight of Nate’s rangy frame, as well as the drivers of oncoming vehicles in case he’d organized a rental.
    He had fifty minutes’ head start, which wasn’t much for a normal person, but was way too much for an ex–Special Services soldier bent on leaving. The station wagon bounced over the grassy knolls that made up the communal yard behind the baches, all empty at this season. As she found the key on its nail under the deck and slotted it into the patio door, she peered inside. “Nate?”
    The place looked the same way they’d left it, breakfast dishes stacked in the kitchen sink. Claire swept aside the curtain to the spare room and her heart sank. Bed neatly made, bag gone. Without hope, she searched the bach, but there was no note, no message of farewell. And why would there be? Her husband’s best friend was already struggling emotionally and she’d spewed all her shameful, darkest thoughts onto him.
    Still, Claire went onto the deck, staring along the curve of peninsula she’d just driven, desperately searching what she could see of the road through the pohutukawa trees. Empty. Half a kilometer along the estuary a solitary figure walked the strip of beach exposed by an outgoing tide. An overnight bag hung from one shoulder and Claire straightened. “Nate!” He was too far away to hear.
    She tore down the wide steps cut into the clay bank, her high heels sinking into the wet sand as she hit the estuary beach. Impatiently she kicked them off and tossed them up the hill. “Nate!” In bare feet, she broke into a run, the broken shells sharp against her winter-soft soles. A shard lodged between her toes and panting, she stopped to dislodge it. When she looked up, Nate was gone. Claire ran faster, but there was no sign of him. “Nate!”
    He couldn’t have just disappeared. On the thought, her panic dissipated. She knew where he was heading. Pinching the stitch in her side, she dropped to a walk and caught her breath.
    Between the footbridge and the concrete boat ramp three boat sheds sat in varying degrees of dilapidation. Two had been built half on land, half on wooden piles, which were encrusted with generations of oysters. The largest, grounded on a concrete slab was an enormous A-frame constructed entirely of corrugated iron, with roller doors both ends. Age had faded its paint to an oxidized red. The clear sheets of corrugate that acted as skylights were an opaque yellow, and rust had scalloped some of its edges at ground level. But it was sound enough to house a forty-foot vessel with a twelve-foot beam and four-foot draft.
    As she’d suspected, the side door was open. Claire stopped to gather composure then stepped inside. Heaven