"Ellie's Choice"

by T. L. Gray

Copyright ©2002
ISBN: 0-87714-806-6 eBook edition
ISBN: 0-87714-291-2 PB edition

All rights reserved by Denlinger's Publishers, including the right to reproduce this electronic book, or portions thereof, in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Photo by Ben Lawson/Studio

THE AUTHOR

Tonyia Gray, also known as T. L. Gray, pens mystery, suspense, and romance. Her novels include Object Of His Affection-a crime thriller; 'Til Death Do Us Part-espionage thriller; To Catch An Earl-historical romance with a hint of mystery. You can visit her at authorsden.

THE BOOK

When there's no place left to hide, no peace of mind to be found, there's no choice but to go back to where life started falling apart and right the wrongs of the past.

Having survived the untimely demise of her brother, mother, and a failed marriage, Ellie MacGraw takes refuge on Martha's Vineyard to escape the slow suffocation that has become her life, only to discover old flame Zachary Hunter-the man responsible for the deaths of those closest to her-vacationing on the same stretch of beach. Here, amidst friends and memories, the past is resurrected through a forbidden passion, renewed family conflicts, and secrets long buried. In order to break free of the past Ellie must make painful choices that could destroy the family honor, or worse, a second chance to find happiness with the man she couldn't forget.

Select Review

"...Ellie and Zack's physical and emotional reunion will keep readers turning the pages of ELLIE'S CHOICE by T.L. Gray. A touch of suspense is added to the story, as Ellie discovers her mother's diary and begins to piece together the mystery surrounding her brother's death. At times, the secondary characters threaten to steal the reader's attention from the central story line. One secondary relationship was particularly captivating, and I hope that Ms. Gray gives those characters a book of their own.

ELLIE'S CHOICE is both entertaining and relaxing, making it a great choice for a lazy afternoon." —Julie Shininger, Bookseller & Reviewer, Member, Reviewers International Organization (RIO)

PROLOGUE

Panama Beach

"Here." Lisa shoved a cold bottle of imported beer into Zack's hand as he stumbled round the corner of the kitchen, blinking furiously at the bright sunlight stabbing his eyes like lightening shards. "Last one," she warned, "then it's a pot of kick-ass coffee and out you go."

It must be Tuesday, then, Zack thought as he made his way to the verandah and slumped into a cushioned wicker chair to take a swig from the long-necked bottle. He felt like hell, but then complete inebriation had been his objective on Friday. And to his credit he'd never yet failed to complete an assignment. His head ached, his mouth was as dry as a Mississippi cotton field, and the last three days were, blessedly, a total blank.

Thank God.

"I love you," he said, leaning back to look up at the petite brunette standing in the doorway, arms folded as she surveyed the mess that was draped across her furniture. "You know that."

"I know."

"So that's why you put up with me," he grunted.

"Ha, ha." But she wasn't in the least amused. Her accusing brown eyes whipped over him with a mixture of pity and disgust. "How much longer are you going to let that old bastard dictate your life?"

She was speaking of the colonel, of course. Colonel Warren MacGraw, the man who had stripped him of the most precious thing in his life. "Until I sober up."

"Then what?" Lisa came to sit on the edge of the chair, her fingers lightly sifting through his hair now that he had enough to finger. There was a time when he'd worn the ritualistic crew-cut, been proud of who and what he was; a Marine, a member of the Special Forces unit, ready and willing to give his life for his country.

But Colonel Warren MacGraw hadn't seen it that way.

"I rented a house on Martha's Vineyard for the summer."

"Zack, you didn't!" Lisa's eyes widened in alarm. "Why?"

"Because I can't do this anymore," he replied wearily.

"But you don't even know if--"

"I don't care. I don't care if he's there. I don't care if she's still married and has five kids hanging onto her skirts. I can't live like this."

"You can't live with being one of the most sought after photographers in the world? You've got offers pouring in from all over. Hell, you're one of the few men who can blend in with a rebel unit in Bosnia one week, then free dive for a shot of a great white off the coast of Australia the next."

"Christ, you make me sound like a super-hero."

"You're my only brother, you have to be my hero." She leaned over to kiss his stubbly cheek, wrinkling her freckled nose at the less than fastidious aroma emanating from him. Three days without a shower coupled with night sweats and booze tended to offend even the staunchest of noses. "Whew! I'll have to fumigate and burn the linens when you leave here. But really, are you sure going to Martha's Vineyard is a good idea?"

Zack took another swallow of beer. "What else do you expect from a 'traitorous, backstabbing bastard'?"

"Zack, you did what you had to do," she said quietly.

And he had regretted it ever since. He had been young then, full of patriotic ideals, possessing what he thought was a strong sense of right and wrong. He'd simply done his duty. He'd had no idea it would cost a young man--the colonel's son--his life. He'd had no idea it would cost him his soul.

Fifteen years seemed like a lifetime ago, yet every Memorial Day the darkness within rose up to taunt him. At first he had worked like a dog, taking every suicide mission that came down the pike until he was sick of himself, sick of life, sick down to the depths of his soul. Until he could no longer pretend to mean the two simple words he'd written on a scrap of paper one stormy night in Boston: BE HAPPY.

He curled an arm around Lisa's hips and pulled her into his lap. "How about I go take a shower and try to smell human again, then you can trim my hair?"

She held her nose, her voice nasal as she countered his offer. "How about you spend the summer with me in an emotionally stable environment?"

"No can do. I'm not emotionally stable."

"Well, hell, who is these days?" She let go of her nose and scrambled off his lap. "It's hip to have issues. Don't you read the papers, watch the news? Just last week some kid blew away his parents and classmates in Oregon. Or was it Tampa? Anyway, I'm not sure whether it's ballsy or lunacy for you to let the MacGraw's kick you in the teeth again. Get therapy. Grab a broad and spend the weekend in Jamaica getting your brains banged out. Run with scissors. Just don't get tangled up with the MacGraw's again. Mark my words, you'll regret it. You said yourself the old man isn't the forgiving type. I doubt he'll take kindly to you invading his space after all these years."

Zack hefted himself from the chair, finishing off the last of his beer with one swallow. "And on that note, off I go to the shower."

Lisa followed him through the patio door, past the kitchen, down the hall to the dark hole he'd been hiding in since his arrival Friday evening. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

"I heard you." He stripped off his hastily donned jeans and tossed them across the bed. Lisa wasn't going to leave without having the rest of her say, so he had to keep his boxers on till he was in the shower.

Zack stood with his head under the warm spray for several minutes without moving. It felt good to have a purpose again. For the last five years he'd wandered the earth like a nomad, from the jungles of Africa to the snow covered mountains of Tibet. Magazines like Time, National Geographic, and Diver's Exclusive paid outrageous sums for his photos. Given his background, the Pentagon often commissioned him to make topography maps from aerial photos. He'd been approached to team up with war correspondents for assignments like covering the civil wars in the Middle East, unrest in China, riots in Berlin. Then there were the documentaries of the softer kind for A&E and the nature channels. Soft--if you considered an irate moray eel less of a threat than an angry Muslim.

None of it filled the void. Not the awards or the money or the respect. His money couldn't buy him the one thing he wanted. The one thing that would make him whole again.

He heard only snatches of Lisa's droning monologue over the jets of water pummeling his body, which went something like "You're crazy. . .hangover blues. . .what's the point. . .Ellie MacGraw is a heartless bitch!"

"Was I thinking of letting you near me with a sharp instrument?" he asked, turning off the water just in time to hear the last sentence clearly. "Towel."

She shoved the fluffy white terrycloth bundle into his hand as he opened the stall door. "Maybe I'll slit your throat and deny the Colonel the pleasure. What makes you think she'll be glad to see you?"

"I'm trying not to think too hard about that."

Ten minutes later he was sitting on a hard backed chair in the kitchen, clean, shaved, strong black coffee sitting next to him on the table. Lisa straddled his lap, yanking a comb through his snarled hair to snip the uneven ends around his face. A little too viciously for comfort, but he tried not to think too hard about that either.

"Do you have a plan?" she asked sharply.

"This isn't a hostile takeover," he said dryly.

"Says you. MacGraw might have other ideas. Her husband might not like sharing. Ever think of that? Turn to the left. No, your left, not mine."

He presented the right side. "I'm going, Lisa," his tone was final.

"Fine. Go. Get your ass shot off, see if I care. Other side."

"You're being ridiculous. It's Massachusetts, not Saudi Arabia."

"I hope so, for your sake. Maybe you're right. Maybe you should go. It was a long time ago, people change, breasts sag, hips widen, thighs dimple. Is it too much to hope she now has the face of a horse and a body of a--"

He popped her bare thigh beneath the fringed shorts with his open palm.

"Ow!"

"Behave."

"Shit, now look what you made me do. I cut this piece too short."

"Blend it, nobody will know the difference. I'll bet the men just love that sassy mouth of yours."

"Matter of fact they do." She lowered the scissors and leaned back, her expression serious, concerned, pleading. "I'm going to say it one more time. Don't go."

He reached for his coffee and took a sip. "Have you ever been in love, little sister?"

"Sure." She shrugged. "A couple of times. But you can't spend your whole life moping if it doesn't work out."

"I don't mean the kind of love that flares up overnight and dies out the next morning when the sun comes up. I mean the kind that comes along once in a lifetime. The kind that makes your soul ache, where making that special person smile means you have a purpose in life."

Lisa stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "I guess not. Sounds horribly painful if you ask me."

"It can be. But when it's right, there's nothing else that can compare. Nothing."

She was looking at him as though seeing him for the first time. "I've never heard you talk this way before."

"You were pretty young when all that was going on."

"I remember the look on your face when you found out. . . That's what made me hate her. She could have waited, let things calm down a bit, then tried to work it out. If that's true love, then you can have it."

"Still think I'm a super-hero?"

"No. You've just been promoted to Saint. Anybody who can continue to carry around a torch for this long after having their heart ripped out and fed to them deserves a medal. Or a lifetime supply of lithium, I can't decide which."

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