Chapter Fifteen. Elizabeth was stunned. She had no idea what Colby had intended to say, but it certainly wasn’t this

Elizabeth was stunned. She had no idea what Colby had intended to say, but it certainly wasn’t this. How could she think that she’d killed that woman—her girlfriend? It wasn’t her fault she had jumped. From what little Colby said, Gretchen was manipulative and got caught in her final bluff. How cruel to leave that as the last thought of the woman you claimed to love. Elizabeth tasted the hatred boiling up in her throat.

She paced around her villa until it started to close in on her. Grabbing her key and a twenty from her wallet, she headed out the door.

She didn’t mind that she couldn’t find an empty chair on the beach. She preferred to walk, needed to move to work off the nervous energy coiled inside her. Colby’s words echoed in her brain: “I killed my lover.” How hard it must have been to say that and even harder to live with the belief that she had done something so horrible. Suddenly Elizabeth remembered the nightmare.

It was one of the few times they had simply slept together, at least for any length of time. She woke to Colby thrashing around mumbling something she couldn’t understand. When Elizabeth had woken her, Colby claimed it was just a bad dream, and within minutes Elizabeth didn’t remember anything except the feel of her mouth on her.

This affair, or whatever tag they would put on it, would soon end. It had to. She had to go back to work, and neither of them had mentioned anything about seeing each other again. They wouldn’t Twitter each other, be Facebook friends, or make video calls three times a week. That was simply an unspoken understanding.

“What a bunch of bullshit, ” Elizabeth said out loud, after a newlywed couple passed. She sank to her knees, barely conscious of the water lapping around her, and it hit her like a tsunami. She had fallen in love with Colby Taylor. One hundred percent, totally, unarguably in love with the surf instructor with dark eyes, a gentle touch, and a breathtaking smile.

When did this happen? The first time she saw her? The first time they kissed? The first time they made love? Her body swayed and she moved off her knees and sat down, curling her toes in the wet sand as she gazed out into the water.

Images of Colby danced across the horizon. Mastering the waves on her board, walking in the sand, laughing at something silly, above her in the early hours before dawn. She choked back a sob. What had she done? How had she let this happen? She wasn’t in the market for a relationship, especially not falling in love. Hell, she hadn’t even been looking for sex. Well, she had certainly hit the trifecta with Colby.

An hour later Elizabeth sat in front of her computer, but not writing or conducting research for her book. She was reading the seventeenth out of eight hundred and thirty-nine hits on Dr. Colby Taylor.

As Elizabeth devoured the information, an entirely different image of Colby formed. She had graduated summa cum laude from Smith College, at the top of her class at Harvard Medical School, and had completed a prestigious residency in pediatric surgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital. She had moved to Seattle and opened her own practice and become one of the top pediatric surgeons in the country.

Article after article touted Colby’s skill in the operating room, her dedication to her patients, her generosity of giving her time to local charities. Elizabeth read at least four or five instances that stated how she had donated her skills to save the life of a child whose parents couldn’t afford it. There were pictures of Colby, mostly in scrubs, but one specific one made Elizabeth stop breathing.

Colby was evidently at a charity event, wearing a black cocktail dress that ended just above her knees, the spaghetti straps revealing strong, tan shoulders. Even looking at a four-inch-square picture, Elizabeth could tell the dress was a perfect fit, accentuating every curve of Colby’s lean body. She was standing with four other people and laughing. This was a Colby that Elizabeth had never seen. The caption identified the woman at her side as Gretchen Thomas.

Elizabeth stared at the woman who had caused Colby such pain. She was much shorter than Colby, with an edginess that Elizabeth instinctively didn’t like. Gretchen’s expression clearly said she was annoyed that she wasn’t the center of attention in the gathering. Elizabeth shook her head. She had no idea what Gretchen was thinking when the picture was shot. Anything could have been going on.

She finally pushed away from the computer when her battery died three hours later. Her legs were stiff when she stood up, and she rubbed the back of her neck as she went in search of the power cord.

No doubt about it, Colby was an amazing woman. She had simply chucked a successful career and become a surf instructor. But this situation was anything but simple. Colby was better than that. She had a wonderful skill, one that saved the lives of hundreds of children, some only hours old. And she threw it all away because, “Because what? Her stupid girlfriend jumped off a bridge, ” she said out loud in her very empty room.

She fought the urge to fire up the Dell again and Google Colby some more. What else could she learn that she didn’t already know? The World Wide Web wouldn’t tell her what she knew about the woman with the shiny black hair and serious dark eyes.

Colby was thoughtful and considerate, pulling out the chair for her, practically standing whenever she entered the room or left the table. She had a fabulous wit and great sense of humor. She looked at her like there was no one else in the world she’d rather be with. She had the softest kisses, her touch featherlight, then demanding. Her breathing became shallow when she was aroused, her skin flushed and quivered under Elizabeth’s hands. She gasped when she climaxed.

Yes, Dr. Colby Taylor was an amazing woman, and Elizabeth had fallen head over heels in love with her. What in the hell did she intend to do about it?

Colby knew it would end like this. She had told herself hundreds of times if anyone discovered her secret it would be bad. She didn’t have to worry about becoming emotionally involved. That part of her was dead, shut down tight. Or at least she thought it was. As a doctor, to remain objective she kept herself removed from her patients. If she thought of them as extremely ill little kids she wouldn’t be able to focus on saving their lives. She lived her life emotionally one step away from everybody, and she hadn’t been aware she’d done it to Gretchen too.

The water lapped over her feet and ankles. She had no idea how long she’d been walking along the shore. The sun had set hours ago, and she’d been on the beach ever since she left Elizabeth.

She was a mess, carrying enough emotional baggage to fill an oil tanker. And, like one, she was leaking after running aground with Elizabeth Collins. She had built a shell around herself after Gretchen. No one knew about her other life, her world before her life as a surf instructor. The designer clothes, the seven-figure bank account, the three cars parked in the garage of a house located on two acres only fifteen miles away.

She and Gretchen used to come here, to Maui. At least in the beginning. They would fly out every chance they had, even if just for the weekend, and spend their days lying in the sun, their nights in each other’s arms. Somewhere along the way they stopped making the trip. It was always another sick baby, another medical crisis that only Dr. Taylor could handle, and before too long they stopped going anywhere together. When Colby was able to get away, she and Gretchen rarely went in the same car. She was either coming from her office or rushing back to the hospital and cutting the evening short. At least her evening. Gretchen often stayed until the festivities were over.

Colby didn’t think Gretchen was sleeping with anyone else, but she wasn’t around enough to know one way or the other. Was that why Gretchen was trying to get her attention that night? Her final effort for Colby to see her again, acknowledge her? Even before that night Colby couldn’t remember the last time they made love.

She hadn’t been to the house here on the island since Gretchen died. She had given the keys to her attorney and told him to sell it. Instead, he’d hired a caretaker, which she discovered when he let it slip during one of their rare conversations. She had been furious and demanded he sell it, but he held firm, saying she was in no condition to make that kind of major financial decision. Like selling her four-million-dollar house in Seattle, the Mercedes sedan and BMW sport utility, and the practice she had built from the ground up weren’t major decisions.

When she first left Seattle she conversed with him once a week. They traded faxes and signatures until everything was finally settled. Three years of monthly financial statements lay unopened in a box on the top shelf of her closet. God, her life was a disaster. She was probably worth millions and she was living in eight hundred square feet above a surf shop.

“How dare you, Elizabeth? How dare you tell me what I’m supposed to feel? ” she shouted into the wind. She repeated it, louder this time. “How I’m supposed to react? ” Tears she thought she didn’t have burned her cheeks. Her throat scorched.

She couldn’t walk any farther. “It’s my life, my decision, goddamn it. My stupid, thoughtless actions killed her, and I have to live with it for the rest of my life.” She screamed into the darkness over and over until she collapsed on the rough rocks.